#and I am even! just taking it one day at a time

[madamechrissy]

Blueberry Yum Yum

The art in this banner is from my AMAZING moot @sweetlandspos who makes the most delicious Kuna art ahhh! go follow her <3

pairings - Fratboy Plug Sukuna x Nerdy stoner reader

summary You decide to ask your plug, Ryomen Sukuna for a hook up - but can he match your freak!? Just a fun ass oneshot about falling for your hot ass plug - he won't give you free weed though! :') WC- 11k

warnings - college AU, explicit sex, oral ( m and f receiving) Sukuna whimpering, reader is a nerdy lil freaakkk, weed smoking, jealousy, Sukuna talking shit, p in v sex - with and without protection, cum swallowing (both) tummy bulges, back shots, Kuna has piercings hehe, aftercare, Sukuna being a little yandere tbh

Comments/rbs so appreciated if you enjoyy - also I hit 18k followers the other day, I wanted to thank you all so muchhh for following me! :')

"What if we like... had sex?" Sukuna starts coughing up the thick smoke of his purple haze, wondering if it's fucking laced with something as you sit there, blunt in your hand and your legs crossed, casually smoking it as if you brought up the fucking weather.

"The fuck did you say!?" He demands after he catches his breath, you inhale your blunt now, you're by far his nerdiest client, you shocked him when you asked to buy from him the first time.

You scream good girl, certified Velma from Scooby-Doo - annoying  'actually - jinkies' nerd. The two of you even hanging out was a fucking anomaly, a mathlete and a frat boy, one he didn't try to figure out. He enjoyed selling weed to you and smoking with you, hearing your stupidly intelligent thoughts, he enjoyed looking at you too. Sure you were fucking gorgeous in that soft, sweet way.

So what the fuck was this!?

"It's been a while," you murmur, handing him the blunt back now, he takes a huge rip, coughing again as you speak. "If I'm not really your type it's cool."

"If you're... you... I..."

"Shit, it's fine. Calm down. Just was thinking it'd be fun." He keeps staring at you, mouth wide open, and you sigh, rolling your eyes. "Dude it's fine don't freak out. Forget it."

"Forget it? The fuck?" He's glaring ruby eyes at you, while you take a wad of money out of your little black backpack, decorated with anime pins all over and a ridiculous amount of keychains.

"Here," you hand him the cash, fingers brushing for a moment while he just stares. "Shit, I made it weird."

"Yeah you fucking did. Who just says that?" He glares right at you, thin brows low over his narrowed eyes, those sooty pink lashes too fucking pretty and long, god you're jealous of them!? Are they so pretty because you're baked?

"Sukuna, you've fucked like half the girls I know, I have heard you're pretty good at it." He blinks again at that, a rare blush to his cheeks, not fitting his cocky persona while you put out the blunt, letting it smoke against the tray. "Here's the money. Thanks again."

You turn, and he grips your wrist, pausing you, it feels way too good. Not only has it been way too long, Sukuna was fucking hot, every time he got too close you felt that heat, you literally clenched when he just brushed a big hand across your shoulder to grab something. And your boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, you thought maybe it would be fun to fuck him, Sukuna is sexy as fuck and chill. Now you want to disappear, clearly reading the room wrong as usual. 

You suck at that.

"You wanna fuck me? What, like... some friends with benefits? Or one time shit?" He stands, hovering so fucking tall, you turn and look at him, blazed whites of his eyes red, you swallow nervously, eyeing the tattoos on his chest in that thin white wifebeater that's just unfair to wear around you while you're ovulating, you can see his nipple piercings through it, and it's doing too much.

"I thought like once, if we liked it sure we could do it more. If we're both single and... get along... plus you're hot."

"Yeah I am." He grins and you roll your eyes.

"You know... never mind."

"Wait brat, shit." You sigh, looking up at him now, as he turns you to him, his cock twitching just looking at your dilated eyes behind thick glasses, your parted lips. His fingers brush against the softness of your sweater, watching your nipples press against the material.

"It's cool if you don't want to. Like I am chill about it  promise." He fingers the edge of your sweater, blitzed off his ass wondering if you're some fucking dream for a moment. But he feels the heat of your skin as his fingers slip up your waist.

"Think you can keep up with me, huh brat?" He murmurs then, snarky with his smirk. You step closer, your finger drifting up his hard chest.

"The question is if you can keep up with me, Sukuna." He scoffs at that, raising a brow that has two little barbells - eyebrows shouldn’t be so sexy, but then Ryomen Sukuna just is sexy, everything about him from his tattoos and piercings, to his ridiculously strong body. His height, his face… his eyes.

It’s no wonder girls do flock to him.

“Me, keep up with you?” He’s chuckling now, sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, impossibly cocky as he eyes you, acting like his heart isn’t racing when you set down your bag. “You won’t get any free weed from it.”

“I don’t want free weed, and you’re kind of an ass.” He chuckles again, when you sink to your knees however he falters, vermillion lips parted, you unbuckle him and look right under your glasses at him then, smiling just a bit.

Are you… cocky too!?

Sukuna hasn’t ever had this happen, someone just smiling as they unbuckle him with ease, he’s sure though when you see his cock you’ll pause. He’s a solid ten inches and thick as fuck, even if you’re some dick sucking pro, you’re gonna give pause. Your eyes widen then, licking your lower lip, making him ache to kiss you.

What are these corny ass thoughts!? He’s scowling at them, irritated that you on your knees has him, Sukuna, nervous!? Since when is he nervous about shit- and when you’re revealing him, and he doesn’t even help you tug down his black silky boxers, you let out a little whine that almost ends him. His hand enwraps in your hair, and your eyes meet his again.

Why are they so pretty? Why is he thinking that instead of being excited to get a blow job, as usual? You’re running your finger over his tip, making his hips jerk just a bit, moaning softly. “Are you sensitive, Sukuna?”

“Am I… you’re a brat, ya know that?” He glares as you giggle, acting like his cock isn’t way too fucking big, and you’re figuring out if you’ll be able to walk after this. “Stop teasing and show me what you got, running that pretty mouth huh?”

His thumb brushes the plump lower lip, you stroke him then, looking right at him as the rough pad of his thumb caresses soft lips, calloused from years of football but so gentle over little teeth indentations on your skin. You swallow, a little nervous suddenly, before taking a breath and leaning forward, pink tongue lapping at the precum already oozing from his slit.

Sukuna whimpers when you do.

You think you imagine it, this giant man whimpering, but as you lap again at his reddened tip, your hand slipping down his thick length, he does it again, quieter, hand pulling your hair so hard tears prick your eyes. The sight is so sexy you can’t take it, taking more of his thick tip deep in your mouth then, looking up as you suck him, your glasses fogging up from your breath.

“Oh, fuck…” He shakes it off, biting back another pathetic whimper as you start sucking hard then, he’s acting like he’s controlling your movements but he’s just pulling your hair, watching as you make more and more of his cock disappear. “Can you take more, brat?”

“Sure can,” you taunt, pulling back with a suctioned pop, but he is intimidating. But damned if you would back down from a challenge. You have next to no gag reflex, but you’ve never had a cock this big to contend with. You start sucking him deeper, head bobbing, the sounds of your saliva and his cock fucking your mouth lewd in Sukuna’s apartment.

The sight of him losing it as you suck his cock deeper in your throat, until he’s burning and stretching it with his thrusts is far too attractive, you can’t help but clench your thighs, grinding on nothing for friction watching him. His red eyes are bright, pupils shrunk to pinpoints as he fucks into your throat, the mix of need and the weed making you even wetter.

Whatever strain this was, it was making you unreasonably horny.

“That’s it, suck me deeper if you can,” he taunts softly, hips bucking up as he cups your face almost gently, fucking your throat so deep, feeling it tighten as you reach down and play with yourself under your skirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuuckk…”

You’re swallowing all you can, relaxing your throat as you find your clit, moaning then and vibrating right around his cock as he fucks your face. Your hair falls, and he uses one hand to hold it into a ponytail, letting out the weak little whine again while you slide two little fingers in your slick hole, aching for his cock inside you - even if you couldn’t walk the next day.

You’re thinking of how perfect all the ridges and veins would feel while you keep fingering yourself, tears pricking your eyes, glasses so fogged you can hardly see. He’s so close to cumming from just a few minutes of your mouth it’s pathetic, he yanks you off him then, looking down and seeing your hand between your thighs.

“What’re you-” You’re slipping your panties off eagerly then, straddling him and making his breath catch when you grind on his cock. “Let me touch you, fuck…”

“Don’t need it.” He glares ruby eyes at your audacity- he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to touch your body, your tits that are enticing him with every breath, that soppy little pussy.

“Well I do, fuck you’re slutty, huh?” You ignore him, focusing on how good his hot, heavy cock feels between your slit, whining out when he yanks down your sweater, revealing your lacy bra.

“Fuck me, please,” he huffs at that, revealing a pretty breast and moaning, thumb brushing over your pretty nipple, making you whine. “Ah!”

“Let me take my time, shit,” he mumbles, sucking your nipple into his mouth then, your hands entangle in spiky pink locks, feeling the softness of his hair as his other hand grips your ass under your skirt, dragging you over his cock. “This soaked, how? Haven’t touched you.”

“Touched myself,” he glares again, sucking your other nipple, having both your perfect breasts out for his mouth, while his hands sink into your hips, grinding that cock against your clit then, watching your head fall back. “Mnh!”

“You touched yourself, sucking me got you that excited?” He taunts, only for you to reach down, stroking his cock again, watching the blush on his cheeks as you move it up and down, twisting your fist just so. “Fuck…”

“Condoms?” You whisper, he nods, tapping your hip real quick for you to get off him. When he’s back with a gold magnum from the drawer, you’re straddling him again, but he’s lifting you up, sinking two of his fingers in your cunt now, and you whine out at the stretch. “Ah!”

“God, you’re tight… fuck…” He groans as his fingers curl inside your slick, gummy walls, gripping him so good, watching your eyes roll back into your skull. “Think you can take this cock, really?”

“Y-yes, I c-can…” he chuckles, shaking his head and hitting your spongy spot now, making your cunt gush down his fingers as you cry out.

“Cum f’me first,” he murmurs - he would never let a girl not cum before he gets his cock in her. He’d love to eat you out but you’re not giving him many chances to do shit. He’d love to kiss you, but he’s leaning back watching you fall apart for him, nodding just a bit when he curls them just right in your hole, gasping. “That’s it, can’t help yourself can you, slutty little brat?”

You should be offended, but you’re shattering for his thick fingers, gushing as the orgasm smacks you, rushing all over your body until you’re making a mess, the sound loud and echoing as he groans. Watching you cum, intense as he stares, something you’re not used to - gasping out when he sucks your juices off his fingers, moaning while he cheeks hollow.

He’s tasting you.

The sight has you faltering for a moment, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as you watch him, hearing his moan, when he hands you the gold wrapper. “Fuck, you taste that good?”

“It could be the weed,” you tease, breathless. He chuckles a bit, leaning forward, pressing a kiss on your lips, unsure of what you were okay with. But you meet his lips, and that’s when Sukuna almost cums then and there, he’s never felt whatever the fuck that is. “Mmm, your lips are so soft.”

“Surprise you?” He teases, but you nod a bit, a rough man with plush lips so soft they’re pillowy is surprising. “Take what you want, brat.”

God he’s fine as fuck.

You’re hiding your nerves when you tear open the packet, slipping it over his huge cock, did it get bigger, harder somehow!? Even the magnum barely stretches over him as you roll it down his shaft slowly, watching his sooty pink lashes flutter as you do. His lips kiss yours again, and you taste yourself on his lips, when his tongue slips into your mouth.

A mix of weed and your juices, along with something sweet - whatever flavor Sukuna is.

It’s too intimate then, yeah you’ve last fucked your boyfriend, but you’re not inexperienced either with hook ups or a friend with benefits. You’re choosy, but you’ve done this - but for whatever reason your heart races as he lets you take what you want, as his tongue ring clicks against your teeth, and you picture how good it’d feel everywhere, your tummy tightening.

The scent of the weed still smoking out in that ash tray mixes with his cologne, heady and dizzying, your glasses get so fogged you take them off, earning his chuckle as he pulls them off, sitting them on the table. “You blind now?”

“Literally… I can still see you though.” You whisper, it makes his heart race, seeing your eyes without them for the first time, he cups your face as you rub his latex covered tip on your soppy cunt.

“Pretty fucking eyes, shit,” he curses then, seeing them grow lidded, as your tight little hole starts sucking him in.

“Fuck…”

You both whisper it at the same time, as you sink down on his cock, bit by bit, and he can’t help his moan, loud as his hands move to grip your skirt, yanking it up and using it to pull you down. Your gasp fills his ears with the squelching of your greedy, slutty little cunt sinking more and more on him, and he can’t help but think if he was raw he’d already have busted.

That would be so fucking embarassing, he is Ryomen Sukuna!

He thanks god for the layer, but it still feels far too good, your cunt so tight, gripping him as you move your hips, rolling them in a way no woman should know how to do. He’s pausing you when you do it again, glaring. “You know how to ride cock that fucking good?”

“Show me what you got, Sukuna,” you whisper, acting like his cock wasn’t burning with that stretch, like you weren’t on the edge. He glares now, picking your hips up with those huge fucking hands, slamming you until he’s against your cervix now, watching with a mean grin as you scream out. “Oh my g-god!”

“Ride it now, huh pretty little slut?” He whispers, repeating it again, hands leaving marks on your ass as his fingers sink into the fat of it. “Where’s all that talk?”

You glare, shoving his back against his soft leather couch, moving your hips again and eliciting that whimper, making you smile. “You whimpering, Sukuna?”

“Oh I’ll fuck your vocal chords up next time, swear to - mmm…” he’s crying out again as your fingers grip his soft shirt, and you glide up and down his cock again. “Fucking brat.”

“Mmhmm, can you handle it?” You’re gliding up and down his cock, watching him fall apart even with your blurry ass vision you see it, how handsome he is, feeling his strength as his hands wrap your waist, and he bites his lower lip, brows drawing together as you hit just that spot in your cervix. “Mnh!”

Sukuna groans, kissing down your collar bone, your tits bounce as you work him, and he’s worried you were fucking right, how can he hold back his cum when your cunt is gripping him like that!? He’s lifting you up, slamming you back down hard, you scream out, your nails pressing into his shoulders, and he does it again, again, harder inside you, until you fucking drool.

“That’s it, can’t talk shit stuffed full of this cock, huh?” You don’t talk shit back, your eyes are rolled back as he fucks his hips up into you, holding you right up in the goddamn air damn near and using you like a little fuck toy. “That’s it, gonna cum aren’t you?”

You answer that when he slams hard and hits your cervix again, reaching down to find your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Sukuna!”

God, you crying out his name fucks him up, when he rolls it, feeling how soaked you are, making a mess down his thighs and yours, dripping with how much wetness is pouring. “That’s it, can’t help yourself,”

He’s pressing too perfectly, hitting that spot in you again when his tip drags along your slick walls, and you’re screaming out, the orgasm so hard it’s blinding, you’re trembling in his hold while he watches you, moaning at the sight. Your scream is ridiculous when he pulls back his thumb, sucking more of you off him before bottoming out inside you as much as he can.

“Ah! Sukuna…” You cum so hard you have tears of overstimulation, two little ones falling, just making you hotter. Sukuna groans, fucking up into you again and again, wrapping his arms around you as he moves you, and your cries are caught by his lips. “Mmm!”

“Mmm,” he’s lost inside you then, your little body moved where he wants you, your lips parted in screams that he drinks. Sukuna’s close, so fucking close, slowing his thrusts then and looking at you, saliva hanging from between your joined lips when they fall apart. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“I a-am?” You whisper, confused and fucked out. Sukuna didn’t seem the sweet words type of guy, he swallows, adam's apple bobbing as he pulses inside you, making you whine out again.

“Shut up,” he scowls, you blink and giggle breathlessly then, trying to roll your hips only for him to smack the fuck out of your ass. “No more of that, I’m about to…”

“Cum.” You whisper, rolling them and earning another smack, loud and stinging your skin, just making you more desperate. “Cum for me, Sukuna.”

“Brat.” He huffs, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck, making you gasp out at the sharp tearing of your delicate skin, when you feel him fuck into you hard, his thick cock ruining your cunt, while he’s teeth hurt so bad you’re cumming from the fucking pain.

You shouldn’t have talked shit.

He’s way too big for it all, smacks of skin louder when he uses you, moves you, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, while he’s busting inside that condom finally, slowing as he moans right in your fucking ear. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in, screaming out as he pulses so deep, rocking you on his cock himself now, tongue slipping up the curve of your neck as he busts.

He’s never cum like that.

He can’t see for a fucking second, biting back that whine as he nips at your ear, barbell flicking against it, and he feels your aftershocks milking him, picturing filling that cunt up so full then. The thought makes him leak more and more cum inside the barrier he wants to rip the fuck off, groaning out as he hears your little whimper, as he feels you trembling under his hands as the run across your skin.

He wants you all naked, spread for him, hands slipping over curves he only got to see bits of. Wants to see that pretty cunt spread wide for him, shit he felt it - how does it look? How would it look pouring out cum for him? He’s kissing you again, rocking you on him, still hard inside your tight walls, which keep quivering around him, until he pulls back, looking at your fucked out face.

Holy fuck. - It’s all you can think in your head, mouth opening and shutting, when he smirks up at you.

“Think I kept up with you huh?”

“Shit…” You just take a breath, smiling a bit then. “I took it easy on you.”

“What now?” He glares again as you giggle, easing off him, hissing at how sore you are. “Acting like you can even walk after that?”

“I can walk f-fine.” Your thighs are aching, trembling when you stubbornly stand, blushing as you look at the cum spurted into his condom, so much of it too, it makes your throat go dry, wanting to swallow him up next time -

Next time - Would he want one?

You shouldn’t care, but you feel it, the nagging need again that shouldn’t exist, when you grab your glasses, putting them back on and bringing him even more clearly into your vision. He stands up then, walking over and throwing the condom out, wincing as he touches himself, so sensitive and still throbbing, while he watches you slip your panties back on.

“No free weed huh?” You tease, he chuckles then, shaking his head - as if you didn’t suck dick so good he wouldn’t buy you a fucking rock if you wanted to do that every day.

“No way,” he teases back, you brush back your messy hair, giggling a bit when he comes back, buttoning his pants. “Want me to fix your hair? Looks like shit.”

“You are a dick!” He smirks again, but you nod, and he grabs a brush, a flat black one with a wide handle. “You don’t have to.”

“I fucked it up, might as well fix it,” his voice is husky then, he turns you around, slowly running it through the tangles he’d caused, and something feels way too easy, too perfect. Your head falls back a bit, eyes fluttering shut, he’s sweeter than you thought he’d be, that’s all.

Right?

He’s methodically running it through your hair slowly, until it’s much closer to where it was when you walked in, and for a moment you feel so vulnerable, sucking his dick and riding him was intimate, but this feels even moreso. Aftercare is not something you’re crazy familiar with, you were always one to dart out of wherever you were after sex.

But you don’t really want to leave.

You’ll blame the weed and his huge cock, for your mind turning to mush, when he starts braiding your hair. “Sukuna, what are you up to?”

“Shut it, think it’ll look good on you,” he huffs, running his fingers through your strands now. He’d braided hair a ton during endless football events where the cheerleaders joined in, a lot of the football guys were actually pretty good at that and even curling hair.

Your hair is silky and gently falling through his fingers as they card through it, until he holds out a hand for a ponytail. You take one of the few off your wrist when he finishes his work, slipping it over your shoulder. You touch it gently, feeling far too many emotions hitting your throat then at the sweet gesture from an outwardly rough and brash man.

“Does it look cute back there?” You tease, looking up at him, and he clears his throat then.

“I’d love to see how you look from the back,” his husky words are met with a tug on your braid, you bite back a gasp at how good it feels - when his doorbell rings, making him grimace. “Yeah what?”

“Sukuna, open up,” he hears Satoru’s pouty voice, making him sigh, and you step away now, hastily grabbing your back, looking at him. Your little braid is tempting him to no end, to yank it, to bend you over the couch, so much he can hardly fucking stand it.

He’d always found you pretty, but it’s like he can’t get his eyes off you after it, after kissing you.

The fuck is in this weed!?

“Sukuna!”

“God, hold on.” He sighs and walks over, opening the door while you grab your lighter, decorated with some nerdy anime guy you seem to be obsessed with. He’s on the back of your car and on your bag, he noticed.

Sukuna looked better than any anime guy, surely.

Satoru and Suguru are at the door now, holding up baggies of weed, bright blue and green nugs that look way too pretty and fluffy, when their eyes catch sight of you behind them. “Heyy, it’s the hot nerd.” Satoru teases, earning your eye roll.

“Oh whatever,” they laugh as they walk in, Suguru carrying a case of beer. It was the summer after college, but they used to all live in a huge frat house together, now they’ve all moved into this insanely fancy apartment together - you could fit your entire dorm in their living room - as they moved on to their Master’s degree. You were an underclassmen, still a Senior in college.

You remember them all very well, but they’re all pretty annoying. Honestly, Sukuna at least seems to be a little more mature than them, but not by much. He’s taking a beer out of the case, as they plop themselves down, Suguru puts the rest of the twelve pack in Sukuna’s fridge, Satoru busts out the rolling tray and eyes you with insane blue eyes.

“Wanna smoke, sweets?” He asks, and you shake your head with a little smile.

“I already have, and still have to drive back to the dorm,” they laugh again.

“Shit those suck, though I hear there’s a big party at the old frat house this weekend,” Satoru murmurs, handing Sukuna the blunt to finish rolling. When his stupidly long pink tongue laps at the seam of it, your tummy clenches, eyes unable to remove themselves. “You coming, nerdy girl?”

“I don’t know, not really my thing. And should you be calling me nerdy, when you’re wearing Lucemon on your shirt?” Satoru glares, and Suguru and Sukuna snort in laughter.

“You know who that is? Damn, you just got even hotter.” He smirks and earns another eye roll, they chuckle but Sukuna’s jaw tenses.

He does not like someone flirting with you.

Holy fuck did your mouth work a number on him like that!?

“Uh huh, I might go, I don't know. Um…” You turn to Sukuna now, tilting you head back to look up at him. “Thanks for…”

What do you say - thanks for the dick?

Thanks for kissing you, braiding your hair, making you cum?

“Um… the smoke, I appreciate it,” you murmur, not wanting to just blurt everything out in front of his friends. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, biceps tensing and bunching, you see your crescent nail prints in his skin then.

It makes you ache to see the visible proof.

This was a dumb fucking idea. When you thought of fucking him, you figured it’d be great, it’d be fun, but you didn’t anticipate whatever feeling this was, the one where you didn’t even wanna leave. This wasn’t how you were - you can chalk it up to the breakup, chalk it up to the weed, to the huge - at least ten inch - cock that has currently fucked you stupid…

Yeah, chalk it up to that.

“Thanks for,” Sukuna trails off now too, seeing the evidence of his teeth against your lower lip, swollen from brutal kisses. His cock is back on hard when he also notices how your sweater is hanging off a shoulder, and there are marks along your pretty collar bone from his suction, damn near making him feral as he thinks of it. “Coming over.”

“Yes, of course um… bye you all.” They wave as you rush out, leaning against the door and exhaling now, trying to collect your breath as you hear them murmur.

“Do you like her or something?” Suguru’s voice is muffled, but you hear it, and you can’t help but act like some spy, listening when you shouldn’t for the answer.

Did Sukuna…

“She’s cool, we hang out I guess.” Is his gruff answer, and you hear the echo of laughter. “Drop it, so what’s up with this party?”

You sigh, stepping away, sitting in your car for a moment too long, looking up at the window of Sukuna’s apartment for a moment, wondering if you made it all fucking weird now. You wouldn’t say you two were ‘friends’ but you were cool with each other, and now you were listening if he liked you - as if you’re silently listening on the phone with a friend in middle school or something.

You shake it off and head home, ignoring the gnawing feeling, shifting in your seat at how sore you are, you really talked more shit than you should have, you need a good hot bath after taking him.

Sukuna shuts the blinds, having looked at you as you walked, just to make sure you were good. “You hit it, huh?”

“Shut up, Suguru.” They’re snorting as the smoke fills the room.

The three of them usually share all the details of their encounters, but he sure the fuck wasn’t sharing anything about you - how you are probably the best thing he’s ever felt wrapped around him. How you sucked him stupid - got him whimpering!? - yeah, no fucking way he admitted that to anyone.

*****

It’s been a week since you last talked to Sukuna, and during that week you’re absolutely mortified by the amount of times you thought about texting or messaging him on his IG. Much, much worse, after you looked at some of his gym posts before bed, you woke up the next morning cumming thinking about your fucking plug and his huge cock inside you, fuck it was embarassing.

You wanna message him now even, but he hasn’t written you, and you don’t wanna be the girl who mentions - let’s hook up - then gets clingy. That’s just not you, and it’s not fair, you’d brought it up and it wasn’t like he asked to hook up with you. When your friends bring up going to a DnD match tonight - instead of going to that frat party, nine times out of ten you’d go for the DnD.

You don’t dig parties, and the DnD group has primo weed too.

Sukuna supplied for all of them after all.

But you instead find yourself dying to go to the party tonight - you may even find yourself buying a whole outfit. Like some goofy, corny ass 90‘s movie where the nerdy girl gets hot with a dress, except you sure the fuck weren’t taking your glasses off for that moment, since you’re damn near blind without them.

When Sukuna took off your glasses though?

God.

Snap out of it?!

You may or may not have freaked the fuck out when he hearted your instagram story before the party, biting your lip and giggling way too fucking much. You don’t even take pictures for shit, but you were feeling cute, and that just cinches it in your mind - you want to see him again and not for some weed. You just…

Want to see him.

Plug Sukuna - Hey brat, you coming to the party or doing nerd shit?

You roll your eyes a bit, ignoring the butterflies in your tummy at how excited you are to have him messaging you.

You - Do I look like I’m going to DnD?

Sukuna flushes, looking at your insta story for the twentieth time, surrounded by girls wearing literally next to nothing, coming up to him as he sits on the couch alone - shit Sukuna never did at parties. He was the life of the party usually, beer pong champion, the one making sure everyone had the best smoke or really anything they asked for.

But all he can think of is seeing you again, and he wishes it was just your pussy and not that he misses your cute little laugh - how you snort just a bit - how you push those glasses up your nose. How excited you get as you’re trying to convince him to watch your cartoons - sorry, anime - and how you take a hit from that blunt, just a bit of your glittery gloss on the tip.

He’s got one rolled up right now in the middle of a party with music blaring, mixing with the conversation and laughter of so many people, dying to share the blunt with you, to talk to you - he wanted to hit you up so many times, but he sure didn’t wanna be the dude who got pussy whipped in one encounter. You mentioned casual, one time maybe more- but the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

Sukuna was used to women blowing up his phone, begging for it again, even now he has women coming to sit on his lap, which usually is par for the course, but he just doesn’t find much excitement in it. He happens to have one on his right thigh right now, when he watches you walk into the room - and Instagram didn’t even do you justice.

You look so fucking cute, sexy little pleated skirt and a black top that shows that his marks on your pretty breasts faded - they’re just begging for more on them. He swallows nervously, god why is he nervous, it irritates him!? But he is, as your eyes meet his, and of course dart to the girl on his lap, you give him a little wave and smile, and he curses as you turn away and talk to someone then.

Sukuna unceremoniously shoves the girl off his lap, he can’t say he feels bad about it either, as he heads straight toward you, hearing one of the underclassmen gushing and simping over you. You’re just staring with a brow raised, unimpressed at the fumbling man, when he walks over smoothly with a blunt, holding it out.

“Wanna smoke, brat?” You look at him now, he’s unfairly hot and shirtless basically, unless you wanna call that black silk open kimono a top. You can see those nipple piercings, a fucking belly button ring leading to a light happy trail that makes your brain short circuit.

You hadn’t seen him shirtless, even sucking him.

“We were talking - oh, it’s Sukuna, shit! Sorry…” the boy learns fast, backing up and stuttering when Sukuna glares at him. “Catch you later?”

“Sure,” you sigh, taking the blunt from Sukuna’s fingers now, yours brushing against his softly. “I gotta pay for this?”

“Nah,” fuck he was a dick huh? He always is, but for a moment he feels bad, even though you’re teasing with a little smile, holding the blunt up for a light. Sukuna immediately busts his out, bright orange flame igniting the tip, watching the cherry brighten as you puff on it. “It’s blueberry.”

You inhale it like a fucking pro, when don’t you? Heavy, thick smoke falling out of your mouth then getting sucked back into your mouth. You look so good doing it, handing it to him without even a cough, just exhaling it back out, a smile on those pretty lips of yours. He pauses, unsure of even what to say, as he puts it to his lips, and your eyes drift lower.

Your thoughts are filthy as his, his tattoos curve with his body in a way that’s just slutty actually, black thick lines that aren’t fair honestly. Your body remembers him far too well, when he snatches up two drinks as you two walk over to a quieter part of the party, past a sea of bodies that eye the two of you. You take it gratefully, then wince as the liquor hits your tongue.

“Lightweight.” Sukuna teases, earning a playful shove from you, but your hand pauses on bare skin, watching his rippling, cut abdomen tense as you do.

Fuck.

Your pussy is pulsing from touching his skin, ugh it’s annoying. You know he hasn’t asked you to come over, so you shouldn’t be thinking this badly about him, but how can you not? The memories flit through your mind, his big hands that now hold a blunt and a red solo cup, and how they touched you.

“You look…” He pauses, wanting to say dumb fucking words.

Beautiful.

You do look beautiful.

Your eyes lock up with his, and he’s just sputtering like a fucking idiot, as if he’s never talked to a woman, he notices the shimmery shadow you’ve brushed across your lid as he looks down at you, so small compared to him. Sukuna towered over everyone, he was used to it, but something about it makes him want to pick you up, carry you somewhere and devour you.

Watch his cock in your tummy bulge.

“I look what?” Your whisper breaks his racing brain, he sips his drink and sighs now, clearing his throat and putting on a smirk.

“Hot.”

You blink a bit at that. “Hot?”

“Yeah, hot.” He curses himself internally.

“Thanks,” you trail off, it was nice you guess, but you supposed Sukuna said that to every girl, including the ones on his lap as you walked in. And you really hate that it made you sick to see it, off one time fucking him. “You look good too.”

“I always do.” You roll your eyes and laugh a bit, the sound making him ache, when his name’s being chanted by the pong table.

“You’re being summoned, Sukuna.” You tease, inhaling his blunt and stepping closer, so close he inhales your scent, driving him fucking insane.

It takes so much to save face and not drop to his knees and beg you to just allow him to lick your entire body. And he would, fuck, if you let him.

What is wrong with him.

It didn’t help he’d jerked it to you this morning, and every morning, since you’re clearly some succubus hitting all his dreams and making him wake up leaking pre.

“You good?” You ask softly, he clears his throat then, glaring at the men waving him over.

“Yeah, catch you after I wipe the floor with them?” He teases, and you nod, just a bit disappointed, but it wasn’t like you were close to Sukuna suddenly.

You were just…

A buyer, and he was your plug. A plug you had literally propositioned, seduced. Him being friendly was sweeter than he even needed to be. You put a hand on his shoulder then, feeling the weed hitting - mixing with the drink in your system, but when you touch him again it’s something else.

“Of course, I’ll be here for probably an hour or so, I don’t know too many people here.”

“Tch won’t be three minutes they’ll all be shitfaced and losers.” You laugh at that, but it’s forced, a little awkward.

The party goes on, and every time Sukuna wants to find you, you’re hidden, when he does see you, someone’s in his fucking way. Like everything and anything is blocking his way - why does he know everyone? Right now he doesn’t wanna fucking catch up, or talk, he just wants to talk to you.

He’s standing with Suguru and Satoru, as the three of them are sipping on drinks, and he sees you again finally, emerging from one of the bathrooms, but before he can think, there are three dudes talking to you. His jaw clenches at the sight of it, and he can’t keep excusing it to good sex, or wanting to hit again, it just doesn’t feel the same.

Sukuna can’t stand seeing you getting hit on, he’s glaring right at those men, sure he’s only fucked you once - but that’s enough to make him lose his shit. Suguru and Satoru are trying to get his attention, waving the blunt at him as he scowls over at the pretentious assholes talking to you. Your eyes catch his, you’re clearly unused to the attention it seems, a blush on your cheeks.

Or you like those losers.

Sukuna has been dying to fuck you again, but not just that - been dying to talk to you again, smoke you out, he didn’t say all he wanted to that day. Was it just a one time thing for you? He didn’t even get to drink your pretty pussy, didn’t get to hit it from the back, fuck he has so many positions he wants to do with you, he wants to-

“Earth to Sukuna.” Satoru says, and he clears his throat, taking a hit of the blunt and letting it fill his lungs.

“Yeah?” He grumbles, and their gazes go in your direction.

“You really like the cute little nerd, huh?” Satoru teases, earning Sukuna’s glare.

“Shit, you’re down bad bro.” Suguru chuckles, taking the blunt from Sukuna’s fingers then.

“Shut the fuck up. Just… we hooked up and…” He trails off again, and his friends chuckle, nudging each other.

“So you did, called it. And how was that, is the nerd freaky?” Satoru asks, sipping his solo red cup, and Sukuna scowls right at his best friends.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Oh shit, real bad,” Suguru says then, coughing as he takes his hit.

“Learn to take a real hit, and shut up. Not telling either of you shit.”

“We share everything, that means…” Satoru takes the blunt between his lips now, inhaling and smirking as Sukuna finds one of the men practically dragging your awkward ass to the dance floor.

You are awkward, hot and pretty as you are, you can’t dance for shit, at some point making a really awkward move Sukuna can only describe as shaking dice in your hands. “Is she… doing…”

Suguru trails off, as Sukuna laughs a bit at you. “Some interesting dance move she learned in DND maybe.” Sukuna murmurs, and he’s almost okay with it, you seem to have no interest, until the guy drags you by your hips against him.

That’s it.

“Shit… we strapping up for a fight?” Suguru asks, and Satoru grins, batshit psycho as always.

“I’m down to fight.”

“I don’t need your help,” he scoffs and stomps right over to you, where you’re being grinded on against, snatching the dude’s wrist up quickly. “She’s not enjoying herself.”

“What bro?” He’s clearly wasted, when Sukuna’s grip tightens he winces. “Shit, is it your girl or something?”

“Go sober up and dance with yourself.” He shoves at him now, and you blink in confusion. You hadn’t known how to dance really, you figured you would try, him grabbing you was creepy, but you figured you’d get him off you in a moment, when a giant, tall ass Sukuna had practically tossed the kid off.

You can’t help but feel it more, that tightening in your tummy, when his angry red eyes flit down to you. “Sukuna…”

“You weren’t enjoying that, were you?” He demands, speaking through his teeth damn near.

“Um… huh?” Are you just really high?

Is Sukuna… jealous?

“C’mon,” he tugs at your wrist now, and you follow him, so confused, yet fucking thrilled by his big hand on your wrist, in a way that concerns feminism you want him to literally throw you over his shoulder. “Short ass legs can’t keep up.”

“We’re not all giants over six four!?” You huff as he keeps tugging, and you yank back weakly, who wouldn’t be weak in that hold? “What’s up with you? You’re acting super fucking weird.”

“Am I?” He laughs, yanking you in his old room - no one has occupied it yet it seems, it was for the head of the frat and they probably haven’t appointed one yet.

“Sukuna, you’re acting… jealous?” You whisper, he scowls down at you, locking the door to one of the rooms then, arm on the other side of you as he is pressing you against the door, making you gasp.

“You didn’t like them, those guys, did you?” He whispers angrily, you blink a bit, biting your lower lip, he tugs it out from under your teeth. “Did you?”

“Would you be mad if I did? Aren’t me and you just… hooking up?” You murmur, earning a deeper glare, as your heart races.

“Once. We hooked up once, brat.”

“Once. You didn’t want more, right?”

“You didn’t want more.”

“Says who!?”

“You never messaged me… you…” He trails off, cursing now, and the two of you just stare at each other, your breasts rising and falling with your breaths, as Sukuna’s hands tighten on your face now, cupping it tightly. “Did you just want it once?”

“What do you think?” You answer back, hand slipping over his bare chest now, and then he slams his lips on yours, tongue ring clicking against the roof of your mouth when it dives inside, huge hands cupping your face even tighter. You whine into his lips, body aching. “So do you want more than once?”

“The fuck do you think?” He takes your hand, putting it right on his cock, throbbing and hard, you brush your hand against it, earning his moan.

“Then say you want it again.” You’re taunting him, nerdy fucking brat, he scowls as he tilts your chin up.

“You talk a lot of shit. Think it’s time to get all your attention focused on me now, huh?”

“How you gonna do that - ah!” Sukuna’s on his fucking knees in front of you, making you tremble, breaths coming so fast you cant function, when he lifts up your skirt, looking up at you with dilated eyes almost black, fingering the fishnet stockings you’re wearing - they have no right looking that good on your thighs. “Sukuna?”

“Hold your fucking skirt up, brat. Now.” You blink again, lost at the giant man slipping your panties down your thighs, moaning when your pussy is in his face. “Fuck, knew it would be pretty but… fuck you for it being that pretty.”

“Fuck me for it!? What’re you even doing down there!” You’re yanking at his hair, and he chuckles now, lapping his tongue along your inner thigh, watching as your pussy drools out.

“What do you think I’m doing? Gonna lick every thought of anyone from your pretty fucking head,” he whispers, kissing your inner thigh again, you gasp. “Haven’t you been eaten out?”

“I have, just… you… you do that?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he looks under those pink lashes at you.

“Of course I do, ya didn’t give me a chance last time, jumping my dick like a slutty little brat.”

“You- oh!” You’re gonna talk shit, but when Ryomen Sukuna licks up your slit then, tongue ring flicking on your clit, you lose any words. “Mnh!”

You almost say you love him from one fucking lick, one wicked stripe of his wet, hot tongue between your lips.

“Nothing smart to say, brat?” He whispers, breath hot against your cunt while he holds your folds open with his thick fingers. You can’t respond, you arch your hips now, resting your shoulders back against the door, silently pleading for more. Sukuna moans softly, flicking his tongue again. “How about you be nice, say please?”

“Please,” you let out breathlessly, and Sukuna buries his fucking face against your cunt then, drowning himself in your sweet taste, your heat, while he listens to your moans mixing with the blaring music of the party, just an echo, his heart racing in his ears as your cunt gushes down him, messy as fuck. “S’kuna mnh!”

You can’t even say his name he muses, palming his erection over his pants, he can hardly stand it, he’d tasted you before off his fingers but this was more intense, the sweetness pouring as he tries to catch it. He looks up at you, your head falling forward, feels you trembling, while you crumple that skirt in one hand, the other balancing on his shoulder.

Sukuna’s tongue slots itself into your eager hole, already pulsing around the wet muscle, curling up wickedly and hitting your spot with that fucking barbell, you scream out hoarsely, head slamming the door as he does. He has you cumming with two more flicks, as his nose bumps right against your engorged, twitchy little clit, your whines and grinding hips urging him on, drawing that orgasm out.

You’re shivering, hips bucking up to fuck his face, wanton and fucking insane how you work them, greedy, pulling at his hair now. “Sukuna!”

“Mmh, you’re so easy f’me, huh?” you want to talk shit, but his tongue flicks and swirls your clit, as your thigh brushes the soft silk of his kimono, and you can’t take it, how fucking good it feels. “Say it, and I’ll let you cum again.”

“Easy… ah!” He’s moaning now, sucking your clit into his hot mouth, vibrating it with his own moans, your skirt falls so he shoves it back up, but your hands have entangled in his pink hair, while he’s devouring all the juices pouring from your slutty little hole, all over his handsome face. “S’Kuna…”

“Can’t even say my name, huh?” He murmurs, pulling back, his face coated in you, the sight should be embarrassing, but instead it’s so sexy you whine out, he smirks - having you whimper this time, when he stands, you wobble. “Can’t stand up brat?”

“Fuck… shut up…” he’s taunting you, but he’s right, he has to wrap an arm around your hips, bending low and running his two fingers up your sensitive slit, watching as your eyes roll back, feeling you tremble in his hold. “Kuna…”

“Not my name, tch.” You’re delirious when he’s pumped his fingers deep, curling in your quivering walls. “Take them off. Now, get on the bed.”

You are not one to take orders, you scowl at first, but when he’s slid two of his fingers in your mouth, and has a thigh between yours, you’re grinding on it, desperate, soaking his pants now. He’s kissing you again, before pulling back, turning you around and unzipping the back of your skirt.

“Do I have to undress you, brat? Where’s all the shit talking? Keeping up with your freak, hmm?” He’s taunting you even as his hands shake, when your skirt slips down, and your head falls back, whining out. “You don’t talk shit when you cum, is that when your pretty mouth shuts?”

“Shut my mouth, Sukuna.” He groans, kissing down across the side of your neck, tugging your top down, then up over your head, turning you as the skirt pools around your heels. He is stunned when he sees your body, swallowing nervously, tracing the swell of your breasts, the nip of your waist, the jut of your hips in wonder.

You’re nervous, him seeing you fully, but his eyes are bright rubies when they hungrily make their way up your face. Your hands slip to his body, slipping off the black kimono, revealing his body fully, so sculpted it’s ridiculous, you lean forward, kissing along a tattoo on his chest, over a thick pectoral muscle, and he huffs, hand entangling in your hair.

“You’re fucking…” he doesn’t know how to say it, fuck.

He’s never said that.

“Hot?” You tease, kissing lower, unbuckling his belt as you do. “You’re gorgeous, fuck…”

“Me? Tch.” You nod, and he sighs now, swallowing a bit, tilting your chin up and making you pull away from kissing across his tattoos. “You’re beautiful, brat, okay?”

“I am?” You blink a bit, and he sighs, nodding, jaw tensing so hard there’s a vein popping out. “Oh Sukuna… thank you…”

“Shut up.” You blink in confusion at him, but he’s already picked you up, your arms wrap his strong neck, as his huge hands hold you. “Don’t fucking dance with anyone.”

“Like… tonight?” You ask curiously, he snorts, shaking his head and carrying you over to a huge bed, one he used to sleep in, sitting you on it and brushing your hair back.

“Like not at all.” Your blush decorates your cheeks, as you bite your lower lip.

“Do you like me, Sukuna?” Your question makes him laugh, a huge tattooed hand cupping the side of your face and leaning down.

“Do I like you?” You nod then, suddenly shy for running it like you do, and he sighs, brushing your hair back as you tug at his pants, going to stroke his cock and eliciting that soft whimper of his that wrecks you. “Yes, I like you… alot. Okay!?”

“You sound so mad about it.” You tease, stroking him slowly, over those veins that wrap his pretty, heavy cock, and he sighs, snatching your hand now.

“And you, brat, huh? Do you like me, baby?” He whispers, flipping you around, your ass arching up and out, two fingers slipping back inside your hole, stretching you out, making your head fall back as you arch for more.

“Y-yes, I do, ngh!” He pauses then, cock slapping your ass so fucking heavy, precum drizzling across your ass cheeks, dancing messy on your skin.

“Shit, you like me?” His surprised words hit even your horny ass, high ass brain, you look back, getting up on your knees, reaching a hand back around to him now, he leans forward, sighing, cupping you under your chin.

“Yes, I really do. I thought… maybe you didn’t?” He shakes his head, he’s not sure the word ‘like’ covers what he feels, but for now it’ll suffice. “As more than a friend?”

“I don’t do that to friends,” he murmurs, kissing you again, fingers running along your slit. “Don’t bury my face in my friends.”

“Then… more than that?” He nods a bit, and you melt, pressing back against him as he wraps his strong arms around you. “I’d like that too - I’d also like your cock in me.”

“Cock hungry brat, can’t have a fucking moment, huh?” You giggle, and the sound wrecks him, he’s kissing you again, tip sliding on your folds. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside you.”

“So do it…” Your answer to his insane statements is to get in the perfect arch for him, he moans as you do.

“Fuck, you sure?” You nod, hands clinging to the blankets while you soak his tip, gushing down in a soppy, squelching mess to the bed. “I’m not going easy on you this time, slutty cunt can take it huh?”

“I won’t go easy either, gonna have you whimper - ah!” Sukuna’s slid inside your cunt in a deep stroke, and without the condom you feel every fucking bit of his cock, from that fat, musroomed tip, to every vein in your slick, gummy walls. “Sukuna!”

“Fuck, loosen up,” he huffs, smacking on your ass cheek, you gasp as he groans, trying not to cum while you grip him so tight. “Now, brat.”

“I c-can’t, shit… ah!” You’re shaking as he slips out, then back inside, feeling so fucking delicious in your cunt you moan, glasses falling right off your face as he fucks into you harder now, slamming and bullying his thick cock deep inside you, so full you feel like you’re splitting apart, still wearing those heels and thigh highs, the sight of them right under your ass taking him the fuck out.

“Fuck, feel you, gonna remember my shape, aren’t you?” He huffs, as he fucks inside you, leaning over you now, hand on the mattress, gripping the blankets right next to you, veins raising from the back of his tattooed hands while his leaky tip drools on your cervix. You gasp out, whining when he stuffs you, his other hand cupping under your chin. “Asked you a question.”

“Conceited,” you huff, only earning him slamming inside your cunt, you’re blinded when he does, gasping out, ass arching for more of his brutal thrusts while he gives you the most wicked backshots, the sounds of skin slapping echoing and filling your ears, the party long since faded. “F-fuck, ah!”

“Like me, huh? She doesn’t like me, she loves me, doesn’t she?” He’s whispering in your ear, you weakly nod, you’re not typically submissive, but for him you want to be, when he rolls his hips up just so and hits your spot, you scream out at it. “Say it.”

“No… mnh!” He flips you then, right before you’re about to cum, making you whine, picking your thigh up and pulling it high, your heel and stockings ripped off, one by one, until your legs are bare, and the heel of your foot is against his chest. Like this, him hovering over you, cock prodding your soppy entrance, it’s way too intimate.

Like wasn’t a good enough term.

Fucked up over him was better.

“Wanna watch me fuck your guts up, huh? Bet you haven’t had that have you, cock ruin your fucking insides?” He’s possessive, feral as he looks down, you’ve put your glasses on all askew, he tenderly fixes them before tilting your chin down to watch your cunt make his cock disappear. “God…”

He can’t take it, how sexy it is to see the bulge slowly form as he shoves his thick ten inches as much as he can, between your puffy lips, while you watch him, lips parted, glasses slipping back down your nose again, covered with a sheen of sweat. “Oh…”

You’re watching it, the bulge, ridiculous as he fucks into you so slow, leaning over you and making your leg press up higher, a hand on the back of your thigh, he eyes your face again, as he slips in deeper, till he’s stuffed you far too full. You’re struggling to take him at this angle, deeper, slower strokes, fucking you up with every single one, your eyes going crossed then.

“Wanna see your pretty eyes,” he murmurs, taking them off, setting them aside and leaning low over you now. “Can you see me, blind little brat?”

“Y-yes. Yes.” He kisses you again, while he’s bending you in half, fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, your stomach, fuck your throat, all of it, he’s ruining your cunt until she will just know his shape and you can’t say you mind, not when he slams hard, and you feel your body tense. “Kuna, please…”

“What, brat, need to cum?” He whispers, saliva breaking apart in a thin, gossamer string as the filthy sounds of his cock wrecking your squelching cunt fill the room. “Say please, huh?”

“Please, mnh! Kuna, please,” Sukuna reaches down, like he already knows your body after two fuck sessions, finding your twitchy little clit and leaning up, rubbing little circles and angling his hips just so, your orgasm hits you so hard, already sensitive from his tongue, his mouth, those fingers.

“That’s it, cum all on me, make a fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs, but in his head he’s already mad with one thought.

His.

You weren’t dancing or talking or smoking with another dude, ever the fuck again - he knows enough people, he can make sure of it too, watching your eyes roll back, that mouth in a slutty O as your cunt starts milking him then. He sucks in a breath, now laying his heavy weight on you, mean strokes hitting so hard and deep the smacks keep echoing as you’re so fucking full.

“Slutty hole wants all my cum, huh? Should I fill you the fuck up, have you drip me the rest of this fucking party?” Sukuna’s eyes are so dark with his blown out pupils, all you can see is black with red rings around them, as he grips your hip bruising. “Can’t even talk? That pathetic huh? Thought I had to match your freak, brat.”

“Mnh…” You wanna talk back but he’s fucking you from one orgasm into another, and all you can manage is a - ‘cum in me’ - which pushes him over the edge.

“Yeah, can you take all this cum, baby?”

Baby.

It’s echoing - Sukuna, your plug, the most popular dude there is, is sweet talking you and rolling his hips. One moment it’s ‘fucking slutty cunt, feel her’ the next it’s - ‘so pretty, look at you’. The mix of filthy, nasty words and sweet whispers, and brutal strokes that ruin your cunt and tender caresses is too much, he’s too much, you can’t formulate words, a girl who's never at a loss for them.

“I c-can take it,” you whisper finally, eyes locking, and then he moans, lifting your thighs up high, shoving them until they’re flushed with your breasts, smushed as his weight presses on your thighs, and he starts fucking his veiny, slick cock harder and harder.

“Yeah? Beg for it, huh?” you bite your lip, glaring. “Beg for me to fill this perfect little cunt, be the only one to.”

“P-possessive… psycho…” he’s chuckling, like he’s really fucking lost it, slamming in one more time. “Beg m-me, huh?”

“Fuck,” he’s done with your ass, you’re literally so annoying, but he also is fucking loving it, your attitude even as he has you bent and folded in half. “Tiny little cunt, bet she can’t.”

“I can, f-fuck… just… cum in me- stop talking and - ah!” He’s done when you demand it like that, when your nails press into his biceps, his head falls back as he feels his release, so much cum, despite jerking it all week it’s been building up, waiting for you. “Sukuna!”

“God, feel her, milking every bit, greedy, slutty,” he murmurs, kissing you over and over, barbell massaging your tongue, his huge hands slipping your thighs down as his ropes of white cum paint your walls. “Fuck…”

“Mnh…” You’re weak, head falling to the side for his kisses, thighs shaking violently when he moves again. “Sukuna!”

“Mmm, never wanna fucking leave your pussy, god.” He keeps kissing and slowly pumping, your nails tear into his back, and he loves it, groaning, hoping you leave your marks as he sucks on the base of your neck, lapping up sweat off your skin.

“You cum so much, holy…” He pulls back, grinning as he leans up, kissing your lips sweetly for just a moment, then glaring.

“You’re my girlfriend now, got it?”

You giggle, breathless, brushing a lock of his pink hair back. “Am I now? Not even gonna ask me?”

His brows lower, ruby eyes narrowing. “Nope. I do have a question…”

“Hmm?”

“Wanna smoke?” You grin, nodding, and Sukuna dips, for a moment you panic, but he’s soon back with water bottles and his bag of weed, while you’re in the bathroom cleaning up. He comes behind you in the mirror, wrapping an arm under your breasts and groaning. “God, look at you.”

You turn, leaning up as he leans down, kissing you again, soon the two of you are lounging in the bed, half dressed and laughing, as he inhales the blunt and turns to his side, studying you seriously for a moment, everything feels so comfy and perfect with him, heady. “What is it?”

“Just… you’re really pretty covered in me.” He murmurs, you flush, eyeing the marks on your thighs, your breasts, taking the blunt from his fingers and inhaling it into your mouth, gesturing for him.

He leans forward, and you blow the smoke into his mouth, he lets it fill his lungs and moans, big hands gripping the narrow of your waist, thumbs brushing under the swells of your breasts. He sucks in the smoke now, exhaling, when he takes the blunt again, sighing, brushing your hair back with his free hand.

“You’re still not getting free weed, you know.”

You scoff, glaring as he grins wide. “You are a jerk!”

“Just saying, you gotta pay. Maybe a small discount.”

“A discount!? You just came inside me.” He laughs now, husky with his smirk, laying back on his arm, bent under his head, inhaling again.

“Hmm, yeah I did, didn’t I? Okay, a good discount.”

“Psh!” You shove at his big body, when he pins you down, sighing and slipping up your skirt.

“Tch, fucked her up, huh?” He leans down, pressing bites, sharp along your thighs, you gasp out, feeling dizzy and weak, cunt throbbing from him still. “She’s wasting all that cum.”

“Wasting, what- oh fuck.” He’s got two fingers shoving his sticky cum back in your abused hole, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke right on your clit then, you’re arching your back, hips bucking up. “What the… mnh…”

He sucks his fingers, handing you the blunt, you’re blushing as he makes his way back between your thighs. You inhale the blunt now, letting it hit deep as Ryomen Sukuna’s tongue ring collects the milky white cum oozing from your cunt now.

“Hmm,” you earn a glare when you decide to put your glasses on his face. “You look hot, imagine - Nerd Kuna. Ow!”

Sukuna bites your clit, the glasses looking far too sexy on him, and watches you giggle, making his heart race. “Only nerd here is you.”

“Mnh, Sukuna…” He’s lapping at you more and more, the clicking and squishing of your cunt as he cleans up the mess he’s made, all while your glasses on his face are fogging up.

He puts out your blunt, back inside you, spitting his cum and yours in your mouth, tongues swapping it so messy together, big hand wrapped around your throat, bringing you with him to cum over and over, and you realize that night, in your fifth or so round - You think you might just be in love with your plug.

I had wayyy too much fun, hope you all enjoyed ittt hehe

@teddiiursula @helpmeimbored @sukubusss @lizatonix @kitchen-cryptid @yenayaps @all-with-angel @take-metothe-moon @quackingcrow420 @notsaelty @urlocalsucc @deadasssmut @fauxxfacade @blitziwitch @lvc-lv @niamhssecretlibrary @hiccupberries @yamadramallamaqueen @din-is-a-real-mando @sagegotthesauce @sadrna @saitamaswifey @beabamboo @akirawhore @coralbae @midnightry @ehlaaa @yuaisen @sapphireillusions @rosieandthethorns @sofi4dsam @choerryp1e @hunbun-posts @melotter @hellish4ever @smoooootie @anacod @jkslvsnella @bunbun444 @toffeebrat @ehcilhc @dizzylmwahh @emochosoluvr @tyyqqaaa @mimiluvzu2 @gojoscumslut @bakery-angel @blackbeauties102

[maskedbyghost]

Part 3 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It started with flowers. It’s not the kind you grab at the corner store in a panic, but ones clearly ordered days in advance — expensive, moody ones, all dark reds and deep purples. You didn’t open the door when they arrived immediately. You just stood behind it, your arms crossed, and watched them through the peephole before deciding to get them.

On day two, he texted.

I know I don’t deserve a reply. I just want you to know I’m not giving up.

You left it on read on purpose. And it felt good.

On day three, he was parked outside your building when you came back from work. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up when you approached, but not moving toward you.

“You stalking me now?” You said, not slowing your pace.

He didn’t smile. “No. I’m just here in case you feel like yelling at me in person today.”

You didn’t. You went upstairs and slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and when you looked out the window twenty minutes later, he was still standing there, doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting. Like a dog. A huge, sad, apologetic dog.

You caved on day five.

“Fine,” you’d said, opening the door just enough to stare at him through the gap. “You want a chance? Take me out. And I swear to God if you bring me to some ‘cozy little place’ where the waitress flirts with you, I will throw your wallet in a river.”

He didn’t even blink. “Got it.”

The first date was at a sushi place where the staff barely looked up. You sat across from him in silence until he cleared his throat.

“You look good,” he said, nervous in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know.”

He cracked a smile. You didn’t.

For a second date, he chose a little cafe by the river. You sipped your drink while he talked about stupid things, about his neighbor's cat and how he chipped a tooth once in a pub fight because he tripped over a pool cue — anything to fill the space. You just listened.

“You don’t say much anymore,” he said quietly after a while.

“I said you could take me out. Didn’t say I’d make it easy.”

He nodded, like he agreed with the punishment.

On the third date, he let you choose. You picked laser tag. You didn’t go easy. You shot him in the back six times and made fun of how slow he was, called him grandpa, and asked if he needed a sit-down break. He called you a menace and grinned through all of it. When the round ended, and you were both panting in the hallway, he looked at you with something like relief.

“You smiled,” he said, like it physically pained him to notice.

“It was at your expense,” you said, wiping sweat from your neck.

“Still counts.”

By the fifth date, you were letting him walk beside you without an awkward amount of space. Still no kissing. He reached for your hand once, and you pulled away with a look so sharp he apologized out loud.

“You don’t get to touch me yet,” you said.

“Right.”

“But you can carry my leftovers.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He got the tattoo on a Tuesday.

Didn’t tell you about it. He just showed up at your door again, holding your favorite overpriced dessert like it was a peace offering. You opened the door and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“No flowers today?”

“Didn’t think they’d survive the guilt trip you were gonna hit me with.”

“Smart.”

He stepped inside when you let him. “I got something,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“If it’s another apology letter I’m gonna start framing them like art.” You said with a smirk on your face.

He didn’t say anything. Just tugged off his glove and held up his left hand. On the inside of his ring finger, you could see fresh ink. Your name in cursive letters.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

You stared. “You tattooed my name on your ring finger.”

“Mhm.”

“Like. Where a ring would go.”

“Exactly.”

You blinked at him, still shocked.

“If this doesn’t prove how sure I am about you,” he said slowly, “then I dunno what will… but just to be safe—” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek black bag from that stupid luxury brand you once mentioned in passing. “Bribery.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You really think a designer bag’s gonna make me forgive you?”

He looked sheepish. “No. But I thought it’d make you laugh.”

You took it from his hand. “I’ll laugh when I sell it and buy ten pairs of shoes.”

“That’s fair.”

You opened the bag. Inside was your favorite candy, a folded napkin from the cafe, and a tiny note that said “I remember everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then...

“You’re really not gonna give up, huh?”

“Never.”

You sighed. “Fine. You can kiss my forehead.”

He chuckled as he leaned in gently, pressed his lips just there, warm and steady, and didn’t ask for more.

It wasn’t until weeks later, after more petty jokes and slow conversations and him learning exactly how many hoops you’d make him jump through, that you finally let him spend the night again. You were already in bed when he came back from brushing his teeth, and you didn’t say anything as he slipped under the covers. Just pulled him in, hands on his chest, legs sliding over his, the way they used to.

He kissed you carefully. Like he didn’t want to push it. But you tugged him in with both hands, and he pressed you down into the mattress like it hadn’t been months, like he was starving for every second of you.

When he was finally inside you again, moving slowly, sweat running down his spine, and arms shaking from trying to hold back, he looked at you like he could cry.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking open on the words.

You rolled your eyes, breathless. “Is it my turn now to leave orr…?”

He groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, muttering something about you being a nightmare, and you just laughed and wrapped your legs around him tighter, because you knew damn well he liked it that way.

---------------------------------------------

idkkk....i kinda lost inspiration halfway...sorry if this sucks..

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbaybay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid

[kissandtellus]

LADS : ‘Current Boyfriend’ Prank

ᯓ Synopsis: How would the LADS boys react to you pulling the TikTok Video ‘With my Current Boyfriend’ Prank!

ᯓ Caleb

You set up the camera at the perfect angle, making sure to get Caleb’s massive frame into the shot. You take a few steps back and give a twirl of your dress.

“Hey everyone! I’m doing a ‘OOTD’ with my current boyfriend, Caleb!”

Caleb’s goofy smirk falters, and you swear you see his eye twitch.

“Current, Pipsqueak?” He grabs your arm, pulling you back away from the camera, his hand cups your jaw ever so slightly, even as the camera continues to roll. “Nah, you better change that tone baby. What was that?”

You cheeks are squished between his forefinger and thumb.

“M-my boyfwend fowever.”

“Thats right, Pip. Good girl.”

ᯓ Rafayel

Rafayel always finds these trends annoying. He immediately knows something is up by the way you are already giggling to yourself. You set the phone on the tripod and take a few steps back.

“So today, I am going to be asking my boyfriend a series of questions about myself-“ you break off into light laughter, struggling to finish your sentence as you catch the upmost SASSIEST look from Rafayel in the corner.

“Current? Is there one after me, Cutie? Perhaps I should let them go ahead and have their turn.” His lower lip is jutting in a pout, even as you try to pull him back in to finish the video. Rafayel dramatically recites old tales of doomed lovers, and how if you were to leave him he would throw himself into the deepest edge of the sea.

You are busy the rest of the day trying to repair Rafayel’s wounded pride.

ᯓ XAVIER

Xavier is rubbing the sleep from his eyes after waking up from a nap. You had promised him a delicious smoothie, if you could record it.

You stand by the blender and prop your phone. “Hey everyone! I am here with my current boyfriend Xavier! I am go- Xavier? Wait, no-“

You are barely able to wrestle back your phone before he snatches it and throws it into the blender, his finger dancing over the ‘blend’ button.

His sharp blue eyes burn into you.

“Current? My shining star, what have I done to deserve such a mediocre attempt at a joke.”

“It’s a trend, Xavier!”

“I am going to start revoking your phone time.”

ᯓ Zayne

Zayne looks over the rim of his glasses as you prop your phone up on his desk. You sit on his knee which he gladly welcome. He gazes up at you like you out the stars in the sky.

You hit record and wrap your arms around his neck. “Hey everyone, today I’m going to ask my current boyfriend, who’s a surgeon, about what the-“

Zayne calmly reaches over and shuts off the video.

He slides his glasses off of his nose, resting the ear piece against his lips with narrowed eyes.

“I know you are far too intelligent to think that’s funny,” he grabs your chin and tilts your head to him. “Go on, apologize.”

ᯓ Sylus

Sylus is used to your antics by now. He’s currently fixing a loose piece on his bike when you extend the tripod and place your phone onto it.

He perks his head up just enough to wave to the camera.

“So today, I am going to be asking my current voting to quiz me in motorcycle facts!” He nearly busts his head under the bike from how quick he shoots up.

His hand grabs a handful of your ass and you squeak like a little mouse. “Oh Kitten, if you were so desperate for attention, you could’ve just said so~”

A few minutes later you are restarting the video, clearing your voice and trying to act like Sylus didn’t kiss you within an inch of your life.

“I’m here with Sylus, my husband.”

[reignpage]

❀ Bev girl!reader and her favourite client, Mr. Nanami

You’ve already been hit on eight times and it’s only eleven in the morning. Tasked with driving a drinks cart around the golf course, you mostly rely on tips to make a living, which means, unfortunately for you and your dignity, having to put up with the flirtations from sweaty, pot-bellied, balding men. Married men. 

Like this one. 

“You must work out a lot, huh? How else would you get those sexy legs?” He flashes you a grin with his yellow teeth, leaning on his club, the metal glinting and blinding under the sun, as if it’s supposed to impress you. 

Putting on a tense smile, you retort, “No, this is all natural, sir. Much like our ciders, would you like one? They’ll taste great in this heat.”

He leans in closer. “I know what would taste better.”

“Perhaps your time would be better spent on practising your backswing instead of harassing poor girls, Jogo. I’ve seen straighter shots at a bar.”

You visibly relax. Your saviour is here. 

Tall, muscular, and totally out of your league, Mr. Nanami is a regular at the golf course and a favourite amongst the other girls. Whereas the typical frequenters are either dismissive or too friendly, he treats you all with respect. He tips well too, though, honestly, you wouldn’t mind if he didn’t tip at all because the luxury of being treated like a person feels just as good as payday. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration but the point is, he can get with anything.

In fact, most of the girls would be ecstatic to be thrown a bone. You included.

The greasy man grumbles under his breath and backs off, joining the other men who stood by and did nothing. Thank God – no, thank him. 

“I do apologise about my colleague’s behaviour; there’s no excuse and so I will not make one.”

Wearing a cream polo shirt, tailored trousers, and an expensive leather belt you can’t spend too much time looking at, he takes a cold bottle of water from the fridge and fishes some cash from his wallet. Damn, he looks amazing with his blonde hair and tight pants. Focus. He’s a client. 

You reject his money. “No, it’s on me today, Mr. Nanami. You’re always so nice and sweet and I appreciate it more than you know.”

His smile is nothing short of dazzling – he’s not even trying to be charming and you know that. There’s just this amazing quality about that small twitch of his lips, like smiling isn’t something he does very often but when he gives you one, you know he means it — can hear how fast your heart is beating?

You sure hope not. That would be as embarrassing as being caught pressing your legs together at the low timber of his smooth voice.

“That’s kind, but unnecessary. I am simply doing what I should.” He slides a stack of money far exceeding the cost of his water on your hand, thumb grazing the skin, sparking electricity up your arm, and fixes you a firm gaze through his thin framed glasses. “Just a little thank you for your continued hard work. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can share with the other girls.”

You laugh. “No, sorry, we all know to pocket any tips the famously handsome Mr. Nanami gives us, so they’ll have to work for theirs.”

A quirk of his brow says you just said something you shouldn’t have and he has half a mind to punish you for it but he doesn’t. 

Awkwardly, you clear your throat and start up the cart again. Being around him sends your nerves on overdrives, he makes you want to impress him, to be as witty as he is, to be better, to be good. That’s why you and the other girls can only stand to be around him for a couple minutes before you implode. 

“Well, thank you for the tips. You're too good to us." You try and avoid his gaze; it's too much to bear in one sitting. "I wish you a good day, Mr. Nanami. Oh, and watch out for the grass by hole thirteen; it was just freshly cut and the other members say the ball curves right.”

“Thank you. And, please, call me, Kento.”

Beaming, you say, “Oh great! The girls have all been wondering what your first name was. They’ll be delighted to know.”

He leans in close, fresh cologne wafting in your nose and threatening to drive you dizzy. Up close, he looks even better, you can see the light stubble on his strong jaw, the sharp contours of his cheeks and nose, and his pretty eyes, clear as day and fixed on you. 

“Let’s keep this between us, hmm?” Yet another stack of papers end up in your hands. “For being a good girl and giving me a heads up; it’ll come in handy with the bet I have with a certain Mr. Gojo.”

Then he rejoins his group, just as cool, calm and collected as when he first walked in all those years ago, leaving you completely flustered and richer than you ever have been. 

[berrryparfait]

❝ you're sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: how he reacts to you telling him to sleep on the couch after an argument. 「but the couch is so hard...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff and slight angst, yall got into a petty argument earlier that day and he's worried it's spiraled into something serious, you're just being sassy tho (and maybe a little emotional), innuendo

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: interlude: i'm not angry anymore – paramore

✧ a/n: inspired by @/erikadayshawn's jjk tiktok (¯ ³¯)♡ i seriously love her so much she's so damn good (ﾉД`)

You’re still butthurt about it, and you’re going to make sure he knows it. Sure, it was a petty argument and it happened hours ago, but you refuse to be the one making amends this time. If he’s so certain you were in the wrong, he can sleep outside for all you care!

Maybe you’re being a little toxic by avoiding communication, but you’ve been in your feelings all day while he was out and about doing god knows what (***he was working)—so the space next to you on the bed is currently occupied by your Jellycat.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you huff, refusing to turn around as you hear the bedsheets stir.

You can’t see him, but you just know he’s giving you that same haha-you’re-hilarious look you’ve practically memorized by now. He’s standing at the side of the bed, one hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised at your curled-up form.

“This is my bed, sweetie.” He sounds amused, yet something tells you he feels as if you’re being ridiculous. Nevertheless, that velvety, husky voice of his nearly has you caving.

“I don’t care. I want to sleep alone tonight.”

He sighs, long and exaggerated. Does he pity you? Or is he annoyed at you? “You’re upset about our quarrel. It’s best we settle it now rather than bottle it up and let it fester.”

His maturity and composure jabs at your pride—you’ve never been one to act reasonably in the face of embarrassment. “...You just want to sleep on the bed.”

When you turn to look at him, he’s staring at you with an asshole smirk on his face. His tone is placating when he responds, “The couch is hard, Kitten. And besides, I forgive you.”

FORGIVE YOU?! Oh, he’ll be forgiving you all right— You smack him flaccidly on the arm and he pulls away with a chuckle, flashing that dashing smile of his. Canines.

“Go back to sleep. You can deal with me later.” He crawls under the blanket with nothing but a pair of pajama pants on, smelling of soap and fresh flowers.

You cave. You’re no longer angry, but exhausted—and so relieved he’s here. How your tender heart aches for his company, even when you’re mad at him… Soft sniffles emerge from your side of the bed, and he reaches for you with warm, gentle hands.

“Aww… C’mere, sweetie…” He wraps his arms around your waist and you relax into his touch, his chest against your back comforting—grounding. “I’m sorry about earlier. How about I take you to that French restaurant for dinner tomorrow night? Would you like that?”

“...Whatever,” you mumble as his fingers wander beneath the waistband of your shorts.

He just stands there in silence, taken aback. “...Is there something you want to talk about?” he asks, ever the logical, problem-solving boy from your childhood.

“No.”

A few beats pass before he mutters, “...Alright then. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You close your eyes and force yourself to fall back asleep as you listen to his footsteps in the living room, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. He settles onto the wide couch and rests his head on one of the stiff decorative pillows, utterly spent from a crushing day at the hospital.

Am I overreacting? He must be drained as hell… Am I a shitty girlfriend? Doubts and worries swarm your mind as you toss and turn on the half-empty king bed, your heart squeezing at the thought of him having to spend the night alone out there. What if he catches a cold? What if he starts hating me? What if he gets eaten by a skin-walker?

You shove your fuzzy bedroom slippers on and trudge into the living room, trying your best to maintain your nettled expression. He opens his eyes at the sound of you stomping across the carpeted floor and stares at you, speechless.

“Aren’t you gonna try to make amends with me?! You really don’t want to sleep in the bed?!”

He fumbles for words, pushing himself up with his elbows. “Y-You said you didn’t want to talk—”

“Well I didn’t mean it!” you squeal, holding back tears.

He senses that your emotions are all jumbled up right now, and gets up on his feet to put his arms around you. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about it,” he says, calm and soothing. His hand massages the back of your head as you wail into his t-shirt. “Shh… It’s all right. I’m here.”

You look up at him with red eyes and pouty lips, too caught up in his embrace to be riled up anymore. “I was upset about our fight in the morning…”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said, baby. Will you forgive me?”

You’ve been waiting all day to say “yes”.

“Oh, hell nah—”

“Too bad, Raf! That’s what you get for pissing me off,” you spit, glaring daggers at him as he physically exhibits the five stages of grief.

“But-But the couch is so pokey and hard and—” He flails his arms around in protest, remembering the backache he had to deal with for a week after taking a nap on the couch.

You won’t be hearing any of it. Serves him right. “You should’ve thought of that earlier before saying my makeup looked weird!”

“But it did! Your contour was asymmetrical and your lips were way too overlined!”

Raw indignation rivalling the power of the sun bubbles in your gut, waiting for a chance to explode. How dare he pretend he knows anything about makeup?! “GET. OUT.”

He grumbles like a child before storming out of the bedroom and flopping onto the couch, both of you throwing silent tantrums while listening to your stomachs churn. Fuck. I could really use some Wingstop right now.

Half an hour passes before your phone dings. Notification from Rafayel. You’ve calmed down by now, so you begrudgingly open his message.

Wait a minute, is he...? Oh my god, he totally is. You've known him long enough to tell when he's down for sexy time.

You waltz into the living room with your head held high and say, "C'mon. We're going to get Wingstop."

The way the hope in his eyes disappears nearly has you cracking up. "I hate you," he sneers.

"I love you too."

He pauses, unsure of what to say. “...Is this about earlier?”

You don’t respond.

He climbs onto the bed anyway and gets under the covers with you, pulling you close and pressing his face into your hair. “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t go to bed with you mad at me,” he whispers, fear lacing his words.

Though your heart squeezes, you lock in and wriggle out of his embrace, knowing exactly how much it’ll sting. It’s his fault for constantly forgetting to let you know when he’ll be working overtime. Some nights, you sit on the couch and blankly stare at the wall, worry eating you alive from the inside.

“Please, talk to me—”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I need some space tonight.”

You can tell he’s holding back tears when he agrees to leave you alone, sliding off the mattress like a heavy weight sinking from a rock underwater. “...I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Am I too hard on him? You’re angry at him for stressing you out—and you wonder if he even realizes that you’re only stressed for his own good. Still, how can anyone stay mad at him? He’s the purest, kindest, most sincere person you know. Forcing him to sleep on the couch feels like kicking a small puppy.

Quietly, you creep into the living room, where he’s curled up on the couch with his eyes closed. I’m too hard on him.

You crawl into the space between him and the backrest, his arms immediately reacting to your presence like a bug caught in a Venus flytrap. His eyes flutter open, and his grip tightens around your midriff. “I’m sorry… I’ll call you in advance next time. I promise…”

He must’ve had a long day at work, because he sounds utterly exhausted. Broken. “Baby… You can talk to me—about work, about anything.”

“I know. I’m just glad you’re here, even if I haven’t been,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles on the bare skin of your torso. “I want you to know you’re always on my mind—no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. You’re the reason I come home at all.”

“Don’t be like that, Pips. Let’s talk about it.” He rests a hand on your hip, warmth seeping through the blanket.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He scoffs, though his voice is void of hostility. “Clearly. Listen, I don’t want this to turn into something serious, okay?”

When you don’t respond, a crease forms between his brows. Is it too late? Have you already started to see him in a different light? Nausea churns in his stomach as he slowly inches away from the bed, afraid to even make a sound.

His thoughts spiral like a swarm of moths in his head, dark and foreboding. She’s better off without me…at least for now.

You doze off a few minutes later, when all of a sudden, you hear the front door shut. Panicked, you jolt upright and slip on your slippers, fearing the worst. Oh my god. Oh my god—

Still in your pajamas, you run out of your apartment and down the stairwell, praying he’s just round the corner— 

“Pips?”

You still, the icy cage around your heart beginning to thaw at the sight of him. He’s standing in the middle of the pavement, his breath fogging in the cold air.

Tears well in your eyes as you scream, “Where are you going?!”

“...To the convenience store? I was going to get you some Buldak—” You cut him off by seizing him in your arms, relief flooding you like a river bursting through a broken dam. He chuckles, wrapping you in his jacket and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’d never leave you, Pipsqueak. You should know that by now.”

“I-I don’t want Buldak. Let’s just go back inside,” you say between sniffles, clutching his shirt with such force it might tear.

“...Can I sleep on the bed now?”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Plushie Kidnapping

(A/N): This one just ran away from me.

Summary: Max accidentally packed his girlfriends favorite plush toy. Now it's his chance to show her how good he can care for her loyalst compagnon.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader, Max interacting with other drivers

Wordcount: 2.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ___________________________

(Y/N) is on her way home from work when her boyfriend called her. She accepts the call through the car’s entertainment program, excited to hear Max’s voice after a grueling day.

“Hey Baby,” She greets him while steering the car along the streets. A smile takes place on her face, always giddy to talk to her love. “Schatje,” Max breathes into his phone, “how was your day?”

After some small talk and light banter, (Y/N) taxis her car into the parking space of her apartment building. “Are you home?” Max asks, hesitation in his voice. The young woman frowns upon hearing that. “Yeah, but we don’t need to end the call.” She assures him.

The driver hesitates again. “I made a… let's call it a moderately bad mistake.” He confesses, his voice quiet. (Y/N) stops in her tracks as she previously rummaged in her purse for her key. She looks up at the car’s display, as if it’s Max itself standing in front of her, wringing his hands with a nervous smile.

But he is not, instead he stands in a hotel room thousand of kilometers away from his girlfriend, staring at an object on his bed. She clears her throat, her little bubble of giddy having burst. “What?”

Her sharp tone makes Max wince. “This morning I did some last minute packing and - please don’t be mad at me - I may have accidentally, unwanted, really, by mistake… packed your little lion plushie.” Said toy stares back at Max accusatory. The Dutchman swears he is getting judged by it.

(Y/N) is silent for several moments. Max feels the weight though the line. He wishes for nothing more than to be able to turn back time to put the soft lion back onto her bed. Finally, (Y/N) sighs. “It’s” She starts and stops again, taking a deep breath. “You are on a triple header, right?”

That was more of a theoretical question. Of course she knows the answer. The date of his return, nearly four weeks away, is circled red in her calendar. Max doesn’t see the point in answering, instead choosing to keep quiet.

(Y/N) nods. “I- okay. You are sure you got Leon? The Leon who has been with me for most of my life? Who has been here before you?” She is waving her hands around as she is talking, still sitting in the car.

Max sits, pacing around in his hotel room. “I am so so sorry, Schatje. I- sending a package would be way too risky. We can’t have him getting lost somewhere. Or even risk it.” He paces a little more, knowing how much that lion means to his girlfriend. “I will have someone take my jet and fly Leon back to you.” At that (Y/N) lets out a humorless laugh. “Max, that’s too extreme. It’s okay. I will manage without Leon. Just… gosh this sounds pathetic. But please. Make sure he is safe. He means so much to me, even though he is just a plush animal.” (Y/N)’s voice gets quieter and quieter.

He stops in his tracks. “I promise you, Schatje. He is in the second best hands possible. No one can top yours, of course.” (Y/N) smiles to herself, albeit a bit warily. Okay. I trust you.”

Soon after, they end the call and the young woman finally leaves her car to enter her apartment.

For the remainder of the day her mind circles back to her plush animal. It was gifted to her some time during her early childhood days. (Y/N) doesn’t have a single memory or picture without that little yellow plush lion.

When she is making dinner, her phone pings. Max’s contact name with an attached photo lights the screen up. Curiously, (Y/N) puts the knife she used for chopping vegetables down and opens the messenger app.

The first thing she sees is Leon, sitting in front of an empty plate. Then the young woman spots her boyfriend, having taken a selfie of himself and her plushie during dinner, his own plate being filled. Leon is taking your spot during our dinner dates, I hope you don’t mind! Max texted her with the picture.

(Y/N) giggles to herself, her worries being eased for now. I hope you insist on paying like you do with me! Don’t let my best friend starve though. Love you two! After that, he sends her a picture of Leon sitting in front of a plate filled with a few peas. Not letting the little man starve, trust me.

And this is a common recurrence during the following weeks. Every day Max sends his girlfriend several pictures of him and Leon in different situations.

During the first weekend, Max brought Leon with him into the paddock, his little head looking out of his backpack. With a red bull can in hand and a smile on his face, he enters the paddock and is immediately greeted by different media personnel.

One of the red bull social media girls catch him on his hot girl paddock walk. “Hey Max. What’s up with the lion? Is this another opportunity to sell?” She asks, keeping up with his step and holding up the phone to film him for their instagram and tiktok channels.

He laughs a bit, tucking some hair behind his ear. “Oh no, he's my girlfriend’s most loyal companion in life and I accidentally packed him up. I promised her to take care of Leon during the triple header, and I felt like he would have been too lonely in my hotel room. So I’m showing him the paddock.” He explains, waving his arm around and pointing towards the plushie in his backpack.

That clip goes viral quicker than any video that had the word “inchident” uttered.

Soon enough, (Y/N) gets another photo of them, Leon being placed on a treadmill next to Max’s, “training” at the gym together. The picture has been taken by Rupert.

A few minutes later, the young woman receives a video of Leon bench pressing some very small weights, with Max spotting him. “He is very strong, I can see now why he is your actual protector instead of me”, he winks into the camera before the recording ends.

By the end of the first race of the triple header, the whole team has already been roped into the spiel of showing (Y/N) how good the Dutchman takes care of her stuffed companion.

Especially the red bull social media team jumped onto that wagon. They make clips of Leon getting a spa treatment at a place specialized on stuffed animals. They take Max and Leon to a zoo, showing him some actual lions. The team also ropes Leon into challenge videos with Yuki, who loses to the stuffed toy every time. (Y/N) gets the first view of course before the video hits all social media channels.

Every single video goes viral. Even other sports try to hop onto that train. But a person in a fursuit for a football team can never step up to be as iconic as a small plush lion.

Soon enough, Leon becomes some kind of mascot for the team, especially for Max.

“Schatje”, he mutters into the phone after turning another pole into a race win, still wet and sticky from champagne combined with red bull, “I think I need to bring Leon to all my races from now on.”

(Y/N) just gasps. “So it was deliberate of you! You packed him on purpose!” Ever since Max has told her that he took the stuffed lion with him, the couple has been bickering whether or not the Dutchman did it intentionally or not. The opinions on both sides are steadfast.

“Lies! Slander! I wouldn’t do such things. Maybe you just need to quit your day job and accompany Leon and me for the rest of the season. I have a championship to win and Leon has a championship winning driver to support!” (Y/N) groans at that. “Come home with my guy first and then we can do some talking. From what I saw, there were attempts to kidnap Leon. Your chances of being able to even have a conversation about my future as part of the workforce will be non-existent if something happens.”

This is true. After other drivers have witnessed the magic of the little lion, plans were made to claim that energy for themselves.

First and foremost the rookies under the lead of Kimi and Ollie tried to make some elaborate plan. In the end they didn’t go through with it, because between them all, they couldn’t agree who is allowed to keep Leon if their plan was to be successful.

Charles actually got close to getting his hands on the trophy in the form of a plush lion as he walked into the paddock with Max during the sunny afternoon for another day of media day. Staying in step with him, the Monegasque put his arm around his shoulder, acting friendly while his hand crawled towards Leon hanging out the backpack. “What is your opinion on the new soft tyre Pirelli introduced yesterday?” He tries to divert his attention.

But there is one thing he hasn’t accounted for, dealing with Max. His lightning fast reflexes. Quickly, Charles’ arm is pinned off Max. “Just touch Leon without my blessing and it’s not only my wrath you’ll get to witness, but (Y/N)’s anger too. And you don’t want to try her.” He warns the Ferrari driver. Charles backs off, a bit scared if he is being honest.

Even through all the evil attempts of commiting crimes, Leon also experiences the full mischief and chaos that comes with the other drivers and daily life in the paddock.

“Has Leon ever tried it?” Yuki asks during a fanzone appearance, gesturing towards said lion that is sat on the table on stage where they held some kind of building blocks challenge against the mclaren boys. The soft toy leans against a can of red bull.

Max is shaking his head laughing while Lando dashes to the front, his excitement barely contained as he puts his own can of Monster next to the red bull. “If he has to try something, it has to be the best energy drink in the world”, he speaks into the microphone. Their sponsors love him.

The Dutchman is quick to set the record straight. “Leon will not try any caffeinated drinks. He is like (Y/N), it would only upset his stomach and make him anxious.” Then he turns towards the crowd. “Especially some sugar water like that neon green piss.” Other sponsors hate him.

The interviewer has some work to do to calm the fans back down.

But also during drivers parades, the stuffed animal has become an icon quickly. It’s the only time where Max lets another driver hold him, since so many eyes and cameras are on them at that moment no one would dare to do something to or with Leon.

To everyone’s surprise, Oscar is weirdly possessive when he gets his fingers on him.

“I feel like it’s my turn to hold him now”, Alex whines as he makes grabby hands towards Oscar, who cradles the stuffy in his arms. He fixates the Thai with a dry look. “Too bad, I have him now.” The Australian successfully fends off everyone's advances of taking Leon from him with his witty remarks and mean glances. Up until the truck is back in the pits, where he gets approached by Max. With a sigh, he hands Leon over. “Ask your girlfriend if she also has a koala. This is weirdly soothing.”

Luckily, eventually all triple headers come to an end. The press later argues that Max’s drive to the airport after the race was faster than his actual fastest lap on track.

Finally, after three poles to wins, Max flies back to his shared apartment with (Y/N) in Monaco. He arrives in the middle of the night, rolling in his suitcase, his backpack slung over his shoulders and gripping Leon tightly in his free hand.

He dumps his luggage at the door quietly to tiptoe into the master bedroom. Max halts in the doorway, his eyes softening as he sees his love cuddled up in tshirt, clutching also one of his hoodies.

While trying to be as silent as possible, he changes out his plane clothes into some pjs before slipping under the blanket on his side of the bed. (Y/N) stirs slightly. Then turns around towards him.

“Did you-” Max already puts the small plush lion into her arms. “I did”, he reassures her with a gentle smile. He pulls her into his arms, before sighting satisfied. This is his home.

“He smells like you.” “Me?” (Y/N) hums, close to falling asleep again. “Like burnt rubber and victory.”

Max chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “And you smell like home.” He whispers, knowing she has fallen asleep already. While he looks at her, wishing he can take (Y/N) with him like he did with Leon. Carrying his love in his pocket at all times.

[atlabeth]

bittersweet - joel miller

summary: you stumble into joel's life and he has no intentions of keeping you there. too bad you're just as stubborn as he is.

a/n: did someone order a whole novella of plot mixed with occasional banter ending with no relationship in sight but a new bond that will inevitably grow to be more? no? here it is anyways!

set before joel gets to boston but he's already been separated from tommy but who tf cares about canon tbh we're just having fun here. i started this when the show first began and as usual, abandoned it and as usual, came back with a fervor 2 years later. hope you all enjoy! i barely proofread this bc ive already read it so many times while writing and i physically cannot do it one more time rn so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes

wc: 20k (officially my longest one shot! congrats joel)

warning(s): fem!reader (she is southern); decent age gap (joel is 40 and r is 27), half and half on fluff and angst; canon typical violence, some directed at reader; a lot of cursing; a lot of gun violence throughout most of the fic; numerous gunshot wounds; threats of sexual violence against reader but nothing ever happens! joel kills a lot of people (and is kinda mean for the first half of this); inaccurate medical stuff!! i did my research but am prob wrong on some stuff so pls dont flame me

both gifs bc i imagined both of them while writing and bc theyre both so hot jfc

You wish you weren’t so accustomed to waking up to gunshots. 

You dart up from your bed immediately, the sound rattling around your brain as your weary mind tries to make sense of the situation. You have your pistol in your hand before you even fully realize it, your instincts honed even in your grogginess.

Screams accompany the gunfire and you push against the grimaces trying to fight their way to the surface. This isn’t the first time the compound you’ve stayed in has been taken over by force, but it’s the first time you’ve been this unprepared, and the first time you haven’t been on the ground floor for easy evacuation. No one is in your room trying to kill you—not yet, at least—and you have to take that blessing while you’ve got it. 

You throw on your jacket and shove your feet into your boots, thankful you tucked your laces in months ago. You can handle the minor discomfort in exchange for the advantage. You throw what you can into your backpack, ensure your knife is secured in its sheath, and edge towards the door. 

Normally, you share a room with Devon, but she went on a supply run alongside a few others a couple days ago—you regret not taking her offer to come along on account of your many patients, but you can’t waste what could become a very short life on regrets. 

You open the door and peer out, trying to gauge your chances. The gunshots are getting closer and the screams are louder. If you weren’t on the top floor, you would have considered the window. But you have to get to the infirmary first, and you don’t really feel like breaking your legs. 

Soon as there’s an opening, you run. Your most recent area of refuge is a run down high school, and you know it well after your months here. You practically throw yourself down a hallway to hide from a group of men coming up the stairs, and your heart threatens to beat out your chest. 

Their rifles and shotguns are much bigger than the little handgun that you’ve carried state to state. You have to press your body against the wall to stop it from shaking, and grip your pistol so tight you feel the ridged handle indent into your palm. 

“Go room by room!” one man at the front shouts. “Leave no survivors!” 

Your only hope is to get out before they find you. The infirmary is in the old nurse’s office on the first floor��if they’re already up here gunning down the last of the compound, then you have little doubt that your patients are already dead. There’s no point in joining them out of some false sense of heroism. 

There were no heroes anymore. 

You back up slowly, making sure you stay flush against the wall while you keep an eye on the hallway. You think about slipping into the classroom you’re next to, but you decide against it. You can’t afford to get trapped. 

You continue to stealth your way down the hallways, keeping your head on a swivel as you try and think through all your escape routes. 

There’s another staircase on the other side of the top floor, but that might be too out in the open. A couple of stairwells are tucked behind unassuming doors, but that would leave you even more trapped if things went south. And of course, you can always throw yourself out a window and hope you don’t break your legs. 

More gunshots, more screams—you hear the thumps of bodies falling to the floor and you have to steel yourself. It doesn’t matter that these people were your friends or acquaintances or anything close to it. They’re dead now, and you refuse to join them. 

You turn the corner and immediately retract—a trio of armed men are going classroom by classroom, and you hardly stand a chance against one. Once you retrace your steps, you poke your head around the corner only to be greeted with the sight of more bandits. You press yourself against the wall, heart racing. 

You’re stuck in this hallway, dead if they see you. Might as well make things a little worse and at least get yourself some cover if you’re trapped either way. 

The ceiling is crumbling above you, has been falling apart for a few months. You pick up a piece of tile, take a deep breath, and throw it as hard as you can. Two of the trio go to check it out, and the third is focused on them to watch their backs. You dart out of your hallway and run as quick and quiet as you can, and you make it to the alcove leading into a classroom. 

Twin classrooms actually, connected by a door in the middle, so you’re not completely stuck. You breathe out a sigh of relief, but it’s immediately short-lived when you hear the pump of a shotgun.

You whirl around to see the empty shell fall to the ground, your hands already flying up on instinct. You’re staring down the barrel of the gun, held by a man standing in the doorway between the two classrooms. He doesn’t look particularly nice, but he hasn’t shot you immediately, so you should learn to count your blessings.  

“I’m a doctor!” you proclaim, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest at this point. You’ve learned it’s the best thing to lead with. “Don’t shoot, I—” you suck in air as fast as you can, but all this running with your life on the line is wearing on you— “I’m a doctor.” 

Again, he doesn’t instantly kill you. He keeps his gun trained on you and takes a few steps closer, and you’re making much more eye contact with the barrel than him. 

“A doctor?” he repeats skeptically. “You look a little young for that.” 

“I was a surgical resident before the outbreak,” you lie. “I just have a young face.” 

He lowers the gun just slightly, so it’s not aimed at your head anymore. “You’re a surgeon?”

“Yes,” you nod repeatedly. “They said to leave no survivors, but I— I can help any of your wounded. As much as you need, just— just please don’t kill me.”

The man stares at you and you tense every muscle in your body to not shift under his scrutiny. Eventually, he fully lowers his gun. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. You feel like you could collapse from the relief, but it doesn’t last long as he moves in. Soon as he’s close enough, he slams your hand against the wall and your gun falls out of your limp grasp. 

Your heart rate spikes as you flatten yourself against the wall in an effort to put space between the two of you, but it’s fruitless. 

“If you’re fuckin’ lying,” he mutters, his hot breath hitting your face as his grip on your wrist tightens painfully, “you’ll end up like the rest of your people.” 

“I’m not lying,” you enunciate stiffly, staring him right in the eye. 

The man holds your gaze for another moment before he nods, seemingly satisfied. He lets go of you to pick up your gun from the ground and tuck it in his holster, and you stumble forward when he pushes you with the barrel.

“Get movin’, little lady,” he says. “I’ve got an awfully itchy trigger finger.” 

You fight the urge to talk back. You’ve avoided getting shot for this long, and you don’t really fancy getting a shotgun to the face in such close quarters. You keep your hands up and start walking, hoping by pure will you can stop them from shaking. 

You walk out of the classroom and through the hallways, and you’re able to catch glimpses of dead bodies as you go. You recognize far too many of them—those with their features still intact, at least.

These people welcomed you into their community with open arms, treated you like family even though they’d only known you for a few months. You knew anyone like that didn’t last very long, but you tried to ignore it. 

You couldn’t think about that now, though. That was how the world worked—how it had worked for a long time now. 

You stumble your way down the stairs and finally make it to the lobby. Even more bodies litter the first floor—you see Eleanor, the woman who brought you back here when she could have left you for dead; Delilah, who you worked with in the infirmary; Cade, who flirted with you too much for his own good but always managed to make you laugh—

Your focus is jarred from thoughts of your comrades survival to those of your own as the man pushes you hard with the barrel of his gun. You just barely manage to catch yourself with your hands as you fall to your knees. You look up to see yourself in the middle of a group of bloodstained bandits, and you clench your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. 

“What part of ‘no survivors’ do you not understand, Jake?” one of them says. “We don’t need another mouth to feed because you want a plaything.” 

Your skin crawls at the thought, but he just shakes his head with a grumble. “I’m not like Marshall. Didn’t kill her ‘cause she says she’s a doctor. She can get Becca and Joel back on their feet,” he looks pointedly at a woman, “can make sure Nadine’s still in working order.” 

“How do you know she’s not lying?” the woman counters, and she squats down to look you in the eye. You meet her inquisitive gaze, refusing to look away—she breaks first, at least, and stands back up. “Could be tryin’ to save her own ass.” 

“I’m not lying,” you grind out. “Wouldn’t do me any good to get shot at your camp instead of here, would it?” 

“Watch your mouth,” she says, but she backs off anyways. 

“Check her for weapons and tie her up,” another one says. “We’ll take her back once we’ve picked this place clean.” 

Again, you swallow the words you want to say. You bite your tongue when you’re wrestled from the ground and searched for weapons. You don’t fight back as your hands are tied together behind your back, you don’t fight back when Jake prods you with his gun even as he follows you to the infirmary to get your medical bag, you don’t fight back against anything. 

You’re a captive of the people that slaughtered your friends, only alive because of the overexaggerated skills you’ve used like a shield since the outbreak started. Your continued survival depends on helping people you might not even be able to save, and you doubt this group will want to listen to your medical explanations. 

But you are alive. And that’s all you care about. 

(You’re not breaking the one damn promise that still matters.)

-

It’s not a very fun ride back. 

These people travel by horse and they don’t want you running off, so you have to sit in front of Jake, the man who spared your life who seems to be some kind of leader. He makes idle comments to pass the time, and it’s not as bad as it could be, but you dislike him anyway. He did help murder your whole community. 

Sunrise comes around just as you make it to camp—you have to fight to stay awake on the ride, and when you jump down, you’re reminded that this slaughter happened in the middle of the night. 

It doesn’t matter how tired you are, though, because your work starts almost immediately. You think about asking Jake for coffee as he leads you to your first patient, but you don’t think he would take too kindly to it. 

He mentioned Becca when he was pleading your case, and she ends up being your first stop. She’s got a nasty gash on her leg that she got from hopping a barbed wire fence and it’s kept her off her feet since it happened. 

You clean it out as best you can and stitch it up with what these people have on hand, which happens to be a needle and thread. At this point, you think you’ve done more stitches this way than the normal way. To her credit, she bears it well—better than Jake, who grumbles every time you ask him for the materials you need. It’s like he doesn’t even want you to help, which doesn’t really make sense when he’s standing there with his gun like he’s ready to shoot you at any moment. 

Next is Nadine, and you’re accompanied by the woman who accused you of lying. They must be close, because she doesn’t leave her side during your entire checkup. Nadine has a broken arm that you can tell she hasn’t been resting properly, but at least there’s no swelling. They’ve already done a makeshift sling for her, so you just do a par for the course checkup then refashion her sling to be more effective. None of them appreciate you telling her she needs to rest, but you figured that would be the case. This doesn’t seem to be the happiest bunch of people. 

Finally, you’re hauled off to your last patient, Joel. You’re exhausted from your sleepless night and walking on glass with every passing second, but he’s the last one. He can’t be too difficult to deal with. 

You reach the final room and Jake pounds on the door. 

“Joel!” he calls. “You decent?” 

“Do you know what time it is?” a gruff voice responds, and you hold back a sigh. Is everyone here difficult? 

Jake opens the door anyway and gestures for you to walk in. You do, and you see a man laying down in bed atop the sheets. His eyes are closed but he doesn’t even look peaceful—just annoyed. 

You purse your lips. Everyone here is difficult. 

“We got ourselves a doctor,” Jake says. “So stop complainin’ and let her look at you.” 

“I don’t need a doctor,” he says. 

“You got shot two days ago,” he retorts. “Only reason no one’s looked at it more is because no one thought you would make it through the night.” 

“I’m fine.” He sits up with a groan characteristic of someone who is not fine, and he levels his gaze at you. “You’re wasting your time.” 

“I’ve got nothing but time,” you say. “I don’t think he’s gonna let me leave until I look you over, so…” 

Joel scoffs. “Don’t tell me you went and kidnapped a doctor.” 

“We got lucky at the school,” Jake says. 

He rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’m fine.” 

You glance at your captor. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere.” 

“You better get somewhere,” Jake says. 

“I might make better leeway without you standing over me,” you say. 

He frowns. “You’re a prisoner. Can’t trust you alone.” 

“I’ve gotten through the past two patients just fine.” 

“I don’t need you jumpin’ out the window and running the first chance you get,” Jake says. 

“Look,” you say, a muscle working in your jaw, “do you want your man to get through this or not? Because if you do, I need to work in silence, and it doesn’t seem like the two of you are very good at it together.” 

He doesn’t budge, and you let out a loose breath. “You can wait outside, and if I do anything suspicious, feel free to shoot me. But at least give me the room.” 

The approval of your own murder seems to satisfy him, however temporary, because after staring at you for another moment, he grunts. He goes over to the door, then lifts his gun and looks at you. “Remember, I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.” 

He leaves the room to let the threat sit in the air, and you close your eyes and sigh deeply. You don’t know when, but you know you have to get out of here eventually. 

“And just who the hell are you?” 

You open your eyes to see Joel staring right at you, very unimpressed. He looks to be in his 40s, the greying in his scruffy hair and beard giving it away—if that didn’t do it, the hardened weariness in his eyes would. 

Men like him tend to be the worst patients, at least in your limited experience. Something tells you Joel won’t be any different. 

“A doctor,” you say. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t look like a doctor,” he says. 

You already hate this guy. “Sorry. I lost my white coat and stethoscope when people started eating each other.”

“I mean you look too young.”

“Well, you look too old to still be this annoying,” you retort. “Now tell me what’s wrong with you so we get over this quicker. ” 

Joel grumbles and rolls his eyes, but he eventually answers you. “Got shot a couple days back.”

“There an exit wound?” you ask. 

He nods. 

“How much does it hurt?” 

“Like hell.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You this short with all your doctors?” 

He grunts, and you sigh as you kneel down next to him. “Alright. Show me.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment before relenting. He shrugs off his jacket then pulls up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a shoddily bandaged wound on his lower chest. 

You raise your eyebrows. “Who patched you up? And when?” 

“Does it matter?” he asks. 

“Yes, actually. Helps me know the likelihood of infection, and if there is one, how fucked you are.” 

“Why do you need to know who did it?” 

“Because it’s pretty shitty handiwork,” you say. 

“Kept me alive,” Joel says. “Far as I’m concerned, that means it’s pretty good.” 

You roll your eyes. “You tell yourself that when you’re dying of sepsis.” 

“Not everyone has your luxuries, doc,” he responds dryly. 

“I’d say you certainly have some luxuries,” you say. “Looks like this missed your major organs, for one. You’re extremely lucky.”  

 He huffs a mirthless laugh. “Wouldn’t really classify myself as lucky.” 

“You should,” you say, glancing back up at him. “Takes an awful lot of it to get by these days.” 

Joel remains silent. You sigh again and take it as your sign to start working. 

You gingerly peel back the bandages, and to Joel’s credit, he only grimaces the smallest bit. 

“No infection,” you murmur. “That’s good.”

“Guess it was patched up pretty well then,” he says. 

You glance up at him. “You dressed it yourself, didn’t you?”

Joel shrugs. “Maybe.” 

“You seem pretty normal for someone who got shot a few days ago,” you say. 

“‘Cause it’s not the first time,” he says. “You tellin’ me you haven’t been shot?” 

You shake your head. “Stabbed, sliced, scratched, bit, but never shot.” 

His eyebrows rise. “You’ve been bit?” 

“By people, not infected.” You chuckle. “The one thing I’ve managed to avoid, at least.” 

He makes some noise of acknowledgement. “Things get crazy in that hospital of yours?” 

You smile wryly. “Nothin’ crazier than I see out here everyday. And nothing worse than Outbreak Day.” 

Joel goes quiet at that. You don’t know why you continue on as you clean out his wound, why you’re talking so much when you went through the last two patients in relative silence. Maybe it’s because Jake isn’t standing over your shoulder. 

“I worked in a hospital in the middle of Boston,” you explain. “The city practically imploded when it all started—felt like we were the epicenter of it all. Patients turned their nurses, folks in the waiting room killed their families, and all the infected that managed to escape went on a rampage in the city.” You shake your head with a sigh. “Sometimes I still don’t know how I made it out alive.” 

You feel Joel’s gaze on you for a long time after. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you busy yourself with dressing both sides of his wound now that you’ve cleaned it out. Eventually, though, he speaks. 

“Boston’s a long way from Kansas,” he says. “How’d you end up here?” 

You shake your head again as you finish taping the last piece of gauze across his exit wound. “Can’t reveal all my secrets day one.” 

“Bold to think I care that much,” he says. 

You frown. “You were the one that asked.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted when the door opens. Both of you look over to see Jake, looking unapologetic. 

“I got bored,” he says, answering your unspoken question. “Can’t take this long to bandage someone up.” 

You set down your nearly depleted roll of gauze. “I just finished, actually.” 

“He gonna live?” Jake asks. 

“Bullet went straight through and missed any vital organs or arteries, so he really avoided the worst of it,” you explain. “I cleaned it the best I could and covered it with gauze—I think it would do more harm than good to stitch it up. He should be okay, but someone should really monitor him for the next few days to make sure it stays that way. And if you have antibiotics, send ‘em his way. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to infection.” 

“Good,” he nods. “I think we have a couple—I’ll get ‘em to you.” 

“Good,” you echo. “Then I think we’re done here.” 

You stand up from the bed, thinking you’re finally in the clear, when he pulls out a pair of handcuffs. You’re about to question it when he opens them and clips one side around the radiator next to the door, then looks at you. 

“We got one last order of business,” Jake says, and it clicks in your head. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you say incredulously. 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him. Might as well be the one that treated him.” 

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. “I did what you asked, and you treat me like— like a goddamn animal?” 

“You’re a prisoner,” he says, like he has to remind you. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. You’ll run off the second you can.” 

You grind your teeth together. “Can’t even put me in a cell like a dignified prisoner?” 

“If Joel dies, it’s your head,” he says. “You should thank me. This gives you the best chance possible.” 

You want to fight it, but you can’t. Not when he could put a bullet in your head with that shotgun he seems very fond of.

So you clench your jaw, swallow your pride, and let him handcuff you to a radiator that looks like it’s a decade older than you. This motel they’ve hitched up in really has all the luxuries. 

“What if I do start dyin’ in the middle of the night,” Joel says dryly. “She can’t exactly work her magic with one hand.” 

“I’m sure she can do plenty magic with one hand,” Jake chuckles, and your skin crawls as he looks you over. You clench your jaw so hard you think your teeth might crack. 

“Real clever, jackass,” Joel intones.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Just walk your sorry ass across the room if you have to.”

“You really thought this out,” he says. 

 “Don’t make me regret makin’ her save your life,” Jake says, and he turns his attention back to you. “Don’t do—“

“Anything stupid,” you interrupt despite yourself. “Yeah, I know.”

You feel the pain before you even really see him pull the gun out, the glint of metal the only hint to the searing fire in your cheek. You fall to the ground, hissing as your free hand darts up to nurse the wound rather than try to catch yourself. The pain smarts both on your knees and your cheek, blood already spurting from the cut he opened up. Your vision swims in front of you. 

“Watch your mouth, bitch,” he growls. “Remember why you’re here.” 

You just grit your teeth as he holsters his pistol—no, your pistol, the bastard—riding through the wave of dizziness. You want to remind him you won’t be of much use if you’re fucking dead, but you don’t feel like earning yourself another badge of his approval. So you just nod in submissive acknowledgement, and he looks at Joel. 

“Keep her in check, will you? I don’t feel like dealing with more of this bullshit in the morning.” 

“Sure,” Joel says. 

That seems to satisfy him, because Jake only gives you another dirty look before he leaves and kicks the door shut behind him. 

Your eyes begin watering against your will, lesser pain than you’ve experienced in the past somehow managing to bring you down. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip as you shift to sit against the wall, hoping a different source of pain will force the blood trickling down your cheek into the background. 

You can’t cry over something like this. Not in front of a man like Joel. 

“I know you’re looking,” you say bitterly. “If you want to call me an idiot, just do it.” 

“You’re an idiot,” he says. You don’t really know what you expect. 

“It’s one hell of a group you’re running with.” You pull your hand away from your cheek, grimacing at the concerning amount of blood coating your fingers. Between this and the dull pain in your knees, you’re going to bruise something fierce. 

Nothing like getting pistol whipped with your own gun by one of the hunters that slaughtered your community like sheep to make you feel at home. 

“They’re the same as everyone else,” he says. “Don’t know how you’re still surprised after all these years.” 

Your thoughts go back to the first group you had to leave. The first time you were forced to be terribly, horribly, woefully selfish, when you lost the only thing that mattered. You wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. 

Screams echo in your mind. You shut them out. 

“...I’m not,” you say. “Just acknowledging.” 

As silence consumes the air between you, you can’t help but pull your legs closer to yourself in an effort to be as small as possible. You’re intimately aware that you’re at Joel’s mercy, and you can only hope he’s not that sort of man. Jake’s comments don’t bring you much solace. 

He must notice how tense you are, because he sighs and shakes his head. “Relax. Ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Sorry if I don’t believe that,” you mutter. 

Joel scoffs. “Don’t matter what you believe or not.” 

“Well, I believe that I’m royally fucked,” you spit. “I’ve been here for five hours and I’m already bleedin’ and stuck in a room with you. Doesn’t fare well for my future.”

“How’d you even end up here?” Joel asks. “We ain’t exactly bringing in new folks.”

You huff. “You weren’t too far off with them kidnapping a doctor.”

He doesn’t seem fazed, and you think that should concern you. “What, they just wander into a hospital and pick you up?”

“They wandered into a high school and murdered my whole community,” you correct. “I’m only here because I pleaded my case before they could shoot me.”

“...Wound does feel better,” he says. “Least you kinda know what you’re doing.” 

You glance away. “Bandaged more GSWs these past few years than I ever did in med school. I’m used to it by now.”

There’s another knock on the door and your whole body tenses. Joel calls out that it’s unlocked, and you’ve never been so grateful to see the woman from before. Nadine’s sister, you remember— Rachel. She breathed over your shoulder the entire time you fixed up her sister’s sling. 

“You better?” she asks. 

He nods. “Back on my feet, at least.” 

“Good,” she says. She seems to notice you, bleeding and deflated and restrained, and looks back at Joel unfazed. “What’s the deal here?” 

“Jake did it,” he says. “Wants to keep her in check.” 

“Long as it means she’s not a problem, I couldn’t care less,” she admits. “But you gotta get your ass in gear, Joel. Community meeting in the lobby.” 

“Y’all woke me up at four in the morning,” Joel complains. “Can’t let an old man sleep day after he gets shot?” 

“You said it yourself; you’re back on your feet,” she says. “Better see you in five.” 

She leaves and closes the door behind her, not even passing a second look at you. You felt less alone when you were moping your way through Missouri. 

Joel heaves a sigh and stands up. He grabs his jacket from the bed and slips it back on, buttoning it up in the middle. You watch him go through the motions because you have nothing else to do, but you notice the roughness of his hands. 

“You gonna do anything about those torn calluses?” you ask. 

He glances at you with a frown. “Why’re you lookin’?” 

“Got nothing else to do,” you say. “You don’t cover those up, they could lead to infection.” 

“Sounds like everything can lead to infection,” he mocks. 

“Kinda does,” you say. “‘Specially in this world.” 

Joel huffs a laugh and he pulls a couple bandaids out of your medical bag, still sitting on his bed. “That good enough for you?” 

“Don’t do it for me,” you say. “Do it for yourself.” 

He grumbles as he tucks them into his pocket, and you continue to watch him as he gets ready. Ties up his boots, shoves knives into sheaths on each leg, fixes the watch on his wrist—

“Quit starin’ at me,” he mumbles. 

“I told you,” you say. “Nothin’ else to do.” 

“Look at the wall,” Joel says as he slings a rifle over his shoulder. “More interesting than me.” 

“The wall doesn’t have your overwhelming charm,” you say. 

He scoffs. “Can’t believe I’m stuck with you.” 

You shrug. “Can always kill me yourself and be done with it.” 

“Who’ll save me when I crash in the middle of the night?” he mocks. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you say. “You patched yourself up, after all.”

Joel exhales a little harder than usual out of your nose, and you figure that’s what passes as a laugh around him. You take a strange amount of pride in it. 

You think he’s about to leave, but instead he picks up your medical bag and slides it over to you. 

“Patch yourself up for a change,” he says. “Don’t want you bleedin’ all over this expensive flooring while I’m gone.” 

That gets the slightest laugh out of you as you pick it up. “Thanks.” 

Joel grunts in acknowledgement, and he moves over to the door. You start unzipping the bag but have to pause, the sight of your blood all over your hand making you grimace. You’ve gotten some on your jeans unwittingly, and you can’t help but sigh. Sure, they’re already covered in dust and grime and blood from other people, but you didn’t want to add yours to the mix. Especially on your favorite pair of jeans. 

Maybe you’d be able to scrounge a bottle of hydrogen peroxide up sometime. It’s the least this world could give you. 

You look up to see Joel standing in the door frame, looking at you instead of leaving. 

“You’re gonna be late,” you say. “Then we’ll both be on Jake’s shit list.” 

Joel blinks. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just nods. 

“See you ‘round,” he says. 

“Not like I can go anywhere,” you say wryly. 

You go back to rummaging through your bag, trying to find the gauze you haphazardly shoved back in. Joel’s still looking at you, and his gaze burns your skin. You hope if you ignore him, he’ll leave. 

He does. He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, quieter and gentler than you expect. 

You stare at your hands, one bloodstained and the other cuffed. You’ve taken care of your calluses better than Joel, at least. 

The thought is warmer than it should be. 

Makes you realize how cold the room feels.

-

Joel doesn’t come back for a while. Half the day, you think. 

It’s difficult to keep track of time in here. With the door closed and the window shutters down, what little light streams through doesn’t give you much of an idea of the hour. 

You also don’t really have much to do, which makes the time pass even slower. 

You clean your cheek out the best you can and tape it shut with some small butterfly bandages. You hope that’ll make it heal quicker, or at least keep it protected from the elements. You can’t let it get infected after all you’ve spouted to Joel. 

It still smarts, but you try your best to ignore it. Jake did a number on you, and with your own pistol at that. 

He might have spared your life, but you’re killing him before you escape this place. 

You try to sleep, but it doesn’t really work. You’re exhausted, plain and simple, but you think your body will have to give out for you to get some rest at this point. The position you’re stuck in is too damn uncomfortable for your brain to shut off, and every time you get close, you just see the bodies of your friends, see the same nightmares you’ve relived for a year and a half. 

So instead, you decide to test your boundaries. 

You’re handcuffed to one of the middle pipes, which goes all the way down to the ground and about a third of the way up the wall. You use your finger to measure and figure out you have around five inches of leeway with the chain. Not enough to do much of anything with, but still something. 

Once you’re done with that, you just… look around. There isn’t much else to do, but this is Joel’s room. You were a psych minor before the world ended—maybe it’ll give you some insight into him, give you something to use. You’re not above manipulation if it means you can get someone on your side. 

But frustratingly, there’s almost nothing. It’s not like you expect him to have a whole decorated room in the apocalypse, but he’s really giving you nothing here. 

An open pack of bullets sits on his bedside table. His sheets are still a mess from his rude awakening because he didn’t bother to make his bed before he left. The extra unused pillows lay scattered on the ground, 

So you can’t analyze him using his barebones room—you have nothing but time, so you think back to how he looked before he left and go from there. 

Joel’s beard and facial hair were both relatively under control, so he’s someone who cares a decent amount about cleanliness and hygiene. He carries two knives and a rifle outwardly, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a handgun hiding somewhere or more weapons in his bag. He speaks with a Southern accent—stronger than yours, but you lost some of it while you were studying in Boston. 

You used to not mind. People seemed to respect you more without it, seemed to take you more seriously, and that was all you wanted in med school. Now, it just feels like another part of yourself that you’ve lost. Like you can’t even call yourself an Okie anymore. 

He looks to be in his forties, but you don’t remember a wedding ring. Whether he’s been a life-long bachelor or loved and lost and just chooses not to wear it, you don’t know. From what you’ve seen, all hardened survivor-like, it’s hard to imagine him with a wife and kids and a white picket fence life. 

But what do you know? Anyone who’s still alive at this point has to have a hardened heart. There’s no other way to survive. There’s a reason you’re fucking handcuffed to a radiator. 

Maybe before this all started, Joel was kinder. Softer. Maybe he did have a wife and kids, and he loved them more than anything. Maybe he actually smiled. 

You shake your head. No use thinking of the past, and certainly no use judging him. You’ve changed too. Everyone has. And if he has a family that he lost, then you’ve got more in common than you think. 

Maybe you can use that. 

Joel is covered in blood when he eventually comes back into the room. He gives you half a glance before he pulls his pack and rifle off and sets them on the bed. 

“Can’t believe you’re still here,” he says. 

“Can’t exactly leave,” you respond. “How’re you all bloody after a meeting?”

“Went huntin’ after,” he says. “Things move quick here.” 

“Well, how’d that go?”   

“We ain’t gonna starve, so as good as it could be.” Joel passes another glance at you, this time a little longer. “Your cheek looks better.” 

“Feels like shit,” you say. “How’s your chest?” 

“Feels like shit,” he echoes. “But I’ll live.” 

“None of that blood is yours, is it?” 

“No.” He points his finger at you. “And you’re not doin’ another checkup, doc, so don’t even think about it.” 

You smile sweetly and hold up your shackled wrist. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” 

Joel huffs. “Still can’t believe Jake did this. Like he’s tryin’ to punish me, sticking you with me.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel like they’re punishing me by sticking you with me too.” 

“You can’t be stuck with me,” Joel says. “This is my room. You’re the intruder.”

“I’m real threatening, huh?” you mock. “So much so that I gotta be restrained.” 

“Threatening, no. Annoying, yes.” 

“You’re too kind,” you drawl. You watch him unpack some more, then you purse your lips. “Y’know, you really shouldn’t have gone hunting when you got shot a couple days ago.” 

“Was only half a mile out.” Joel scoffs. “There you go provin’ my point.” 

You hum. “Guess you really are stuck with me, then.”

“Lucky me,” he mutters. 

-

Joel is in and out for the rest of the day, and even when he’s in you don’t really talk. When he comes back for the night he at least brings some stale bread and a small ration of meat for you—you and your growling stomach are appreciative, but it makes you feel like a prisoner even more than the handcuffs. 

What’s worse is how annoyed he seems about it all. Like this was your choice—like you not only chose to throw in with these people, but you chose to stick yourself with him. You think about telling Joel that, but you decide against it. 

Just because he said he wouldn’t hurt you doesn’t mean he won’t go back on his word. People tend to not really care about their word these days. 

You try to make small talk, but he doesn’t give. Eventually, when he settles in for the night, you decide to try as well. 

It’s even more uncomfortable than when you tried earlier. You lay down on the ground, you lean against the radiator, you settle against the wall— it doesn’t matter what position you try because they all cause some part of your body to start hurting within minutes. 

You thought it would be easier, considering how many nights you’ve spent sleeping on hardwood floors and cold dirt, but it’s not. Blame it on your privilege from the bed in your previous compound or the unsettling nature of being stuck in a stranger’s room or the endless nightmares that follow you wherever you go—it doesn’t really matter. 

A few pathetic hours of tossing and turning pass, and Joel ends up throwing a pillow and a blanket in your direction. When you thank him, he just grunts in response and goes back to sleep. 

It makes it a little easier. Makes you feel a bit better about your forced company, at least. 

Jake comes by in the morning to send Joel on his way for whatever task he has to do that day and pick you up. He unlocks your cuffs and takes you on the world’s shortest version of rounds. You look at Becca’s leg wound (no infection), ensure Nadine is resting her arm (she is), and by the time it’s Joel’s turn, he’s already out and about. 

Turns out him lounging in bed was an oddity caused by being shot the day before, because you and Jake find him in the parking lot with a couple others getting ready to go out on a supply run.

“You know, you really should be resting,” you say as you walk up to him. 

Joel scoffs when he sees you approaching and puts the last bullet into his rifle’s magazine. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, allowing you to see the slight ripple of his forearm muscles as he pushes the bolt back into place. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Certainly don’t need you followin’ me around.” 

He grimaces a little when he stands up, and though he hides it well, you see his arm move for just a millisecond as he fights an instinct to press against his wound. 

“Clearly,” you respond dryly. “Look, I know what I’m talking about.” 

“You look like you learned medicine from watching Sesame Street.” 

You scowl. “I know more than you ever will. Just like how I know that if you ain’t careful, you’re gonna ruin all my hard work.” 

“I’m not gonna run a marathon, so stop bothering me, will ya?” 

“I’m your doctor,” you say. “This isn’t bothering.” 

“You’re not a doctor,” he says. “And you’re certainly not mine.”

“I am one, and certainly the closest thing you’ve got to one,” you huff. “You’re not dead, are you?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Just keep your mouth shut. It’ll do you a lot more good around here than whatever the hell you’re doing.”

“If you just let me do my check up, I would be gone already,” you insist. “Instead, you’ve gotta be a stubborn asshole.” 

Joel looks behind you at Jake. “You put her up to this?” 

He shrugs. “None of us really want you to drop dead out there, I ‘spose.” 

He groans and shakes his head—you’d think you were asking him to shoot his mother the way he’s protesting. But eventually, he sits back down and does a flourish with his hand. 

“Make it quick,” he tells you. 

“I’ll do it well,” you retort. “Pull your shirt up.” 

Joel does, revealing the bottom half of his chest once again, and there’s a whistle behind you. You see Joel shoot an absolutely scathing look out of your peripherals, and you do your best to ignore it all. 

The gauze is bloody, but it isn’t soaked through. You remove the dressings and redo them, glancing up on occasion to make sure you’re not hurting him. He doesn’t grimace or wince, but when he tenses every time your fingers brush against his bare skin. 

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I should’ve asked if I could touch you.” 

“I don’t care,” he says, but you feel him shift anyways. 

The rest of it goes by pretty quickly, since you did all the important work yesterday. Once you’re done, you zip your medical bag up and nod. 

“You’re good to go,” you say. “Just keep it clean to avoid infection. And don’t get shot again.” 

He snorts. “Don’t plan on it.” 

Joel walks off to rejoin the other hunters, and you watch him go until Jake clears his throat behind you. 

“Time for you to start payin’ your keep, little lady,” he says. 

You hum. “So I don’t just get to stay handcuffed to a radiator all day?” 

He pushes you with the barrel of his gun to get you moving, and you stumble into a walk. “I hope you’re better at maintenance than you are at jokes.” 

You just sigh and bite your tongue. He sucks, but he’s not actively threatening you. Might be the least you can ask for, at this point. 

-

Your keep, it turns out, is doing miscellaneous chores. 

You do laundry. You clean rooms. You help reinforce the wall. Bits and ends of a lot of different odd jobs, but you honestly don’t mind. It’s better than sitting in Joel’s room, shackled to a radiator and going stir-crazy. 

The one bad thing about leveraging your skills is that it makes you useful, and therefore, important. These people can’t risk you running out on them when there’s new injuries to deal with every day, so you’re constantly being watched. 

Random survivors that run off are just freeing up space and food. Random doctors that run off are risking lives. 

Jake tries to make conversation, and it’s painful, but you go along with it. You swear your cheek hurts every time you look at him—he doesn’t even apologize for it, even though he’s there in the background the entire day. You want to ask him if he has any other job than to stand around you and threaten you into submission with a shotgun, but you decide to keep your mouth shut. 

Night is falling by the time you finish things up, and you sit on a milk crate in the parking lot with another stale piece of bread and half a can of beans as your dinner. Not the most glamorous, but enough to fill you up. 

You’re beginning to think it’ll be an uneventful night when you hear yelling. 

“Open the fucking gate, now!” It’s Joel’s voice, angry and frantic. “We’ve got wounded!” 

You jump into action before you even really know what you’re doing and run to the wall, following two other men that were eating their own dinner in the parking lot. Jake is on your heels as the three of you push the dumpster working as the world’s worst gate out of the way. 

“The fuck happened?” Jake yells. 

“The fuck you think happened?” another one responds. “Runners and hunters and—”

“And Paul’s fuckin’ bleeding out,” a woman continues, out of breath as she runs in. 

You look up to see Joel bringing him over in a fireman’s carry, and you meet each other’s eyes. You let out a deep breath and nod, then pull your jacket off and lay it on the ground. You snap your fingers at another one of the supply runners. “Gimme your jacket.” 

He frowns and looks at Joel, and he narrows his eyes. “You fuckin’ deaf? Do what she says.” 

He does, thankfully, and you put it down next to yours. “Put him down, Joel.” 

Joel shifts him off his back slowly then squats down to get him on his feet. Paul’s knees buckle and Joel catches him, then lowers him to the ground. 

“Go get my medical bag,” you say. “It’s in your room.” 

He nods and runs off, and you look down at your patient. The top half of his shirt is completely soaked with blood, but you see it’s coming from his arm. You put as much pressure on the wound as you can, ignoring his groan of pain. At least that means he’s still alive. Unconscious, but alive. 

You look at another one of the supply runners. “What the hell happened to him?” 

“One o’ the hunters shot ‘em in the arm,” he says. 

“And where the hell is Daniel?” Jake suddenly says. “And Lee?” 

“What the hell do you think?” the woman spits. “They got bullets in the head before we even knew what was happening— runners had us distracted.” 

“And you thought it was smart to lead ‘em right back here?” Jake asks incredulously. 

“We already lost two,” she grits. “I wasn’t gonna lose a third.” 

“God fucking damn it!” he yells, and he points at the men that helped you open the gate. “Close the damn wall off, get your damn guns, and shoot on fucking sight! You hear me?” 

They nod and get to work, and Jake runs off just as Joel gets back. He has your bag in his hand and you look up at him. 

“Get down here,” you say. “I need your help.”

He nods and kneels down beside you, setting your bag next to you. 

“Put pressure on the wound,” you say. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but I think the bullet hit his ulnar artery. That’s why it’s gushin’ like hell.” 

Again, Joel does what you ask without questioning you. You’re thankful that everyone is listening to you when you need it—you only hope he survives this so they give you a little more leeway in the future. 

You rifle through your bag until you get your water and gauze. You push Joel’s hands out of the way and you hastily clean the wound, just enough to ensure any dirt and debris is gone. You start packing the bullet hole with gauze, again ignoring his groans as you push it in deep. You do the same to the exit wound so you don’t have to get your ungloved fingers all the way in his arm—thank god, because dealing with bullet fragments is a headache you don’t think you can handle right now. 

You see Jake run past with a number of people behind him. You recognize some of them from the raid on your commune, and it makes you realize your patient wasn’t one of them. 

They all have their guns drawn out of an abundance of caution, and you think it’s a bit ridiculous, but you keep your focus where it’s supposed to be. You get Joel to apply pressure again while you check Paul’s pulse, two fingers on his neck then his wrist. It’s weak, but it’s there, and right now that’s all you need. 

You’re just about to let yourself take it down a notch when a bullet whizzes right past your ear and buries itself into the pavement. 

Your scream gets stuck in your throat, and your hand flies up to your ear on instinct. You can’t even tell if you’re bleeding because there’s already so much on you. Guess it wasn’t ridiculous. 

Joel instantly shoots up from your side, bloodied hands already pulling his rifle off his back. He’s fired before you know what’s happening, and you lunge back over to put pressure on the wound again.  

A firefight erupts immediately. Jake and another woman are yelling orders, and you can’t see whoever is shooting at you all but your only thought is that of your patient. 

You watch Joel take another shot, and then he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Get out of here!” he yells, fire burning in his eyes. You don’t need to be told twice. 

You slip your arms underneath Paul’s shoulders and stand up, then you pull him up as much as you can. You start dragging him, a mixture of adrenaline and pure willpower getting you through it. You get to the infirmary, thankful you stopped by there earlier when Jake was putting you through the gauntlet of odd jobs, and you get him onto a bed. 

You check his pulse once more—still there at a similar strength. His wound isn’t actively gushing blood anymore, and he’s regained some color in his face. Since it’s not worse, you collapse into a chair next to the bed. 

Gunshots ring out in rapid succession, and each one makes you wince. You would join to help, but you don’t have your fucking gun. At least if Jake gets shot, you’ll be able to get it back. 

You don’t think you have any friends here. But god, you really hope Joel makes it out unscathed. 

-

You don’t get to relax for very long. Three more wounded get brought in over the course of twenty minutes, each facing death in different ways. When the second is carried in, you force the escort to run out and get your medical bag, then stay with you so you can delegate. You only have two hands and you can't do every goddamn thing at once. 

One man dies almost immediately. He took a couple bullets to the chest and one hit an artery. He bleeds out before you can even start trying to pack one of his wounds. You can’t even take a moment of silence for him because your second patient starts crashing. 

It all blends together, honestly. Reminds you of the times you were with the code team for a shift, when everything was a life or death situation and everything could go wrong at once. But there’s only so much you can do in a motel room without any hospital equipment. 

You tie a tourniquet with pieces of your shirt and a stick from outside. You pack wounds once more. You drag chairs and pillows around to elevate limbs. You put pressure on the wounds until they stop bleeding. You get blood on every damn thing you touch because you haven’t been able to find latex gloves anywhere for the past two years. 

There’s only so much you can do when you have so little. 

Eventually, though, it settles down. The gunshots stop, the bleeding stops, and the pulses get stronger. Everyone that was alive stays alive over the next few hours, coming in and out of consciousness. It’s still quiet, though, because most of them immediately fall back asleep. Getting shot takes a lot out of you. 

Your assistant leaves after the first hour when you assure him you can handle the rest. You wish the sinks worked so you could get all this fucking blood off your hands, but you wipe off what you can and deal with the rest. Your shirt’s already covered in it. 

Maybe you’ll convince Jake to let you go on a supply run so you can stop by a lake or something. You don’t want to waste what little water you have on cleanliness, but you make a point not to touch your face more than you have to. The last thing you need is to get an infection because you got blood in your eye or something—you think that would be the stupidest way for you to die. 

You’re rifling through the barebones medicine cabinet, trying to see what would help in case of an emergency, when you hear approaching footsteps. You turn around to see Joel, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Joel,” you say, relief rampant in your voice, “you made it.” 

“So did you,” he says. He doesn’t sound half as glad as you do, but you’ve learned over the past two days that he doesn’t tend to show emotions other than anger. “How are they?” 

“One’s dead, three are alive,” you say with a gesture. “Dunno their names besides Paul, so I guess you can spread the word.” 

Joel nods as he looks at each of them. Again, he hides his emotions well—if he feels a particular way about any of them, he doesn’t show it. Eventually, he looks back at you.

“How are you?” His eyes trail up and down your body. “Any of that blood yours?” 

“Thankfully, no,” you say. “The worst is over. I found some antibiotics, so hopefully we’ll be able to avoid any infections. Barring those or any freak changes, the rest should make it.” 

“Good,” he says. 

“Any of that blood yours?” you ask, inclining your head. He already has a fair amount of dried blood on his jacket—comes with the territory of being Joel, you think—but there’s some fresh. 

“No,” Joel says. “We got most of the hunters, but some ran off. Couple of us went after ‘em to finish the job.” 

“Did you?”

“Yes,” he says. “Tracked ‘em to their camp and did what we had to do.” 

You nod. Seems these people are pretty good at taking out other communes, Joel especially. 

He probably wasn’t in the group that killed your people because of his gunshot. Had he been healthy, you bet he would have slaughtered them like all the rest. 

But he didn’t. And he’s shown you more kindness in his own way than anyone else here has.  

You realize hypotheticals don’t really matter to you as long as the bullet ends up in someone else’s head. You don’t really know what that says about you. 

So you look back up at Joel and ask, “We safe for the night?” 

“Yes.” 

You nod again. “Okay.” 

And that’s that. 

-

You spend the next few days in the infirmary watching over your patients. Jake is in and out, mostly checking in during the day to ask about the injured and make sure you’re not about to run away. When he stays, he lets his shotgun rest against the wall rather than keeping it pointed at you. Maybe he trusts you more—you think it’s more likely he assumes you won’t run because you have critical patients.

He’s right. You don’t know them, and you only know Paul’s name, but you feel like you have to save them—have to save him. 

Maybe it’s because this guy wasn’t part of the group that killed yours, maybe it’s because you think he’s your age, maybe it’s because he looks shockingly similar to Connor. But you feel a strange amount of obligation to this man to save his life. 

Even if you were in here alone, you don’t think you would run. Guess the Hippocratic Oath stays with you even after the world has ended. 

On the third night, Joel comes in. He has a bottle of water, your rations, and your jacket. 

“You left it in the parking lot,” he says when he hands it to you. “I picked it up when we got back from the hunt.” 

“...Thanks,” you say. You’ve been in these bloodstained clothes for way too long, but you don’t really have any changes. You were ripped out of your community as a prisoner, after all. 

You pull your shirt off and slip into your flannel. Even though some of the blood soaked through to your skin, you already feel better. You’re doing up the buttons when you realize Joel has turned his head, making a point not to look at you. 

“Uh, sorry,” you say. “I didn’t really think you’d care.”

“Figure at least one person here should respect your privacy,” Joel says. 

You chuckle. It’s oddly touching from someone like him. 

“Thanks.” 

You hang your shirt on the back of your chair. It kinda is your only top, so you can’t just go throwing it away. You’ll get it clean eventually. 

“The number’s down,” Joel says, looking at the beds. “Maya’s good?”

“I guess.” You still don’t know their names. “Bleedin’ stopped, and she was talking up a storm. Sutured her wound, gave her some pain meds, and sent her on her way.” 

“Good. How’re the rest doing?”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m mostly just waiting until they’re consistently awake and making sure the wounds don’t get infected.”

“You talk an awful lot ‘bout infections.”

You shrug. “Out here, they’re usually a death sentence.”

“Noted,” he says wryly. 

The two of you stand there for a while. The silence is awkward, but but you prefer that over the heaviness of the first night. 

“Just make sure you get some sleep,” he finally says. “You won’t be much good if you’re fallin’ asleep when we need you.”

You chuckle. “Noted.”

Joel nods again and walks off. You sit back down in your uncomfortable chair, ready for another night of anxiety, when he stops in the doorframe and speaks up.

“I’m sorry ‘bout how you ended up here,” he says carefully, as if he’s unsure of his words. “But it’s probably a good thing someone like you is at this motel.”

You smile. You think this is the first time you’ve heard him be this genuine.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say. “You’re a stubborn jackass, but you don’t make for a bad roommate.”

That gets the smallest laugh out of him. “Night, doc.”

��Night, Joel,” you say softly. 

-

Things change after that week. 

Joel looks at you differently. Everyone does, honestly—no one thinks you’re lying anymore, thinks you’re some naive twenty-something. You can hold your own, and you’re not someone to mess with. 

But not everything changes. 

(“Are you fucking kidding me?” you protest when Jake takes you back into Joel’s room. “I save three of your men and you still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you to save my men, not stay put,” he says. Since you don’t offer your hand, he just grabs your arm, pulls you forward, and locks the cuff around your wrist. “And you’re more important than ever now, little lady.”

You lunge at him, but you come up just short when Jake steps out of your range. He tuts and shakes his head at you. 

“No need for that,” he says. “I’d hate to ruin that pretty face all over again.”

“This really necessary?” Joel asks, a hard edge to his voice. 

Jake shrugs. “Way you’ve been spendin’ time with her, figure you’d jump at the chance to have her to yourself. Just don’t break her.” 

Joel clenches his jaw as Jake leaves, letting out a growl when the door shuts.  

“Un-fuckin-believable,” you mutter. Now you’re sure you’re going to put a bullet in his head before you get out of here. 

“Took the words outta my mouth,” he grumbles. 

“You wanna shoot him for me?” you ask. 

Joel shakes his head as he sits back down on his bed. “Not yet.”

You blink. “Not yet?”

He grunts. “Ain’t talking about this with you.”

So you don’t. You don’t say much because he doesn’t say much—after your conversation with Joel in the infirmary, you’re not too keen on annoying him.)

You’re good enough to save lives but still can’t be trusted on your own. Maybe it’s actually a smart move, because you spend every spare moment thinking about ways to escape and ways to put Jake six feet under. 

You also can’t stop thinking about Joel’s words: not yet. 

You might have found an ally in the most unexpected place.

Another week passes with more of the same.

You check on your patients who have all survived their wounds. They’re out of commission for another week at least, but they’re alive. You finally have a conversation with Paul and he’s so much like your brother you want to cry.

You do the chores asked and now expected of you, and though you mainly keep to yourself, you find a friend in a woman named Trish when you spend a few afternoons together sewing up holes in clothes.  

Though you’re still not trusted alone and you don’t have your own room or the freedom to move around at night, you’re no longer expected to spend every moment inside the walls. You end up doing weekly supply runs with Joel and you don’t hate it as much as you thought you would.

They never let you take the horses out, and you still don’t get a fucking gun. Apparently, you’re still a flight risk. 

They’re not wrong, but you wish they would fall for it. It would be so easy to run with a horse.

So instead you’re given a knife, and you and Joel have to set out on foot each time. Always you and Joel, because apparently you can’t get away from each other. Maybe they think he’ll kill you if you do try to run. Maybe they can see you’re starting to warm up to him. 

You don’t know, and you don’t particularly care. Joel has made it clear he won’t hurt you if you don’t try to hurt him, so you feel safe hunting with him. Besides, he’s a killer shot and you’re great with a knife, so you make a good team either way. He even gives you his revolver to use on the road sometimes, though you always have to return it before you’re back at the motel. 

But if Joel is looking at you differently because of a newfound respect, you’re looking at him differently because of newfound feelings. 

He’s handsome, anyone can see that—gruff and grizzled and muscled from the life of a survivor. He has sharp, dark eyes that narrow at everything, so much so that you bet his crows feet are from years of distrust rather than years of laughter.

You never really paid attention to it at the beginning because you were terrified you were going to die. Anything you tried to figure out about him or his life was in the name of survival, was about pinning him down in order to manipulate him. 

Joel is angry and impatient and mean, and he's probably killed a hundred different people in a hundred different ways in the name of survival—but since that night he visited you in the infirmary, you swear he’s softened around you. 

Quite frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s at least fifteen years your elder, this is the apocalypse, and you’re still in a camp full of enemies. You have no time to be making heart eyes at Joel.

So you don’t make heart eyes. Instead, you just stare at him like you normally do and tell him he’s crazy when he questions you about it. 

But god, it isn’t easy. You spend more time with Joel than anyone else—you guess he’s your Jake-appointed chaperone now—and the second time you go out on a supply run with him, you run across a lake. 

You convince him to stay for a bit so you can wash off, finally cracking when you swear to him you still have lingering blood on your hands from your night running the camp ER. You strip down to your undergarments with little care and dive in, and when you catch Joel looking you up and down in what he thinks is a covert way, you think your heart might burst. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done… well, anything sex-wise. You doubt you will ever get there with Joel, mostly because you’re going to take these feelings to your early grave, but you’re allowing yourself to be delusional when absolutely everything else in your life sucks.

After all the shit you’ve been through, you think you deserve it. 

You end up having to cut your luxury excursion short when you hear the distinct croaking of stalkers. Joel grumbles the whole time you’re getting dressed, saying you’re gonna be the death of him and this was stupid and he regrets ever saying yes to you, but he puts himself in front of you every time he thinks he sees one. 

It’s the little things. 

Two weeks later, on your fourth supply run, things go a little differently. 

Everything close by has been picked clean either by Joel’s group or people traveling through the area, so Jake and Marcos, the group leaders, decide that you’re going to go out farther than usual in order to get more supplies. Even though you go out every week, and other people hunt when they can, but it’s not enough. 

You’re fine with it and Joel grudgingly agrees to it, so after getting some extra rations and water just in case, you set out on your way. 

You find an abandoned convenience store when you’re walking down the side of a road that still has some water, meds, and cigarettes behind a couple toppled over shelves. It’s better than nothing.

When you venture into the woods you find a house. Joel insists on going first in case anyone’s inside—he checks the bedroom and the kitchen and says they’re clear. When he’s going up the stairs with his gun drawn, you a few paces after him on the bottom step, you get grabbed from behind. 

Your scream of surprise gets Joel’s attention immediately, and there’s a knife to your throat before you even know what’s happening. Joel has his gun trained on the head of whoever’s got you just as fast. 

“Let her go,” he says. 

“Not everyday I get a couple bargin’ into my house,” your captor says smoothly. He has one of your arms in an iron grip, and your other hand is an open palm to convince him you’re not a threat. “She’s too pretty for you, don’t you think?” 

“Joel—”

“Let her go,” he growls. 

“Y’all were gonna steal from me,” the man says. “Don’t see how we can walk out of here all friendly-like.” 

He presses the blade into your throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood, and you clench your jaw so hard you think your teeth might crack. Joel meets your eyes, and they actually have something in them you haven’t seen before—fear.

“What d’you want?” Joel asks. 

“I think you know what I want,” he says. His grip on you tightens and something inside of you snaps. 

You stomp on his foot as hard as you can. He grunts, the action shocking him more than it hurts, but his grip loosens and that’s all you need. You move faster than him as you rip your knife from your belt and reel it backwards to stab him in the gut. You grab his wrist and wrench it to the side, giving you the space to turn away from him and kick him in the chest. He falls to the ground, you pull Joel’s revolver out, and you shoot him in the head. 

Your breaths are coming out as pants by now, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you stare at his dead body. Pools of blood are already forming behind his head and gut, and you feel nothing but red-hot rage. 

You’re so fucking sick of men thinking they can take whatever they want, thinking they have a right to whatever they want. You’re honestly glad this happened. It meant you got to put a bullet in his head. 

Joel says your name and you realize it’s the third time. You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“I feel fine,” you say. This isn’t the first person you’ve killed, you want to tell him, far from it. This isn’t the first time you’ve killed to save your life, you want to tell him. 

For some reason, the words don’t form. 

“He tried to slit your throat,” he says. “You’re not fine.”

“Still standing, ain’t I?” 

He says your name again, a bit stronger this time. “You’re bleeding. You need to sit down.” 

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and get you out of here myself.” 

You huff. “Now you know how I felt that first night.” 

Joel shakes his head. “Always gotta be right, don’t you?” 

“You know me,” you say faintly. 

You do sit down, eventually, if only because Joel looks like he would absolutely make good on his promise. You sit on the third step and he goes one below you, and you pull your medical bag out of your pack. 

“I can clean it out,” you say as you rifle through it for your gauze. “Your hands are probably dirty.” 

“Y’know, I’m not a complete idiot,” Joel says. “Remember when you said my bandaging was good?” 

“I said it was passable,” you correct. 

“‘Good enough to keep you alive’, I recall.”

“And you think I want good enough?” 

You finally get to your gauze—you swear, it falls to the bottom every time—when Joel puts his hand on your wrist. It’s gentler than you expect, even with the calluses. 

“Let me do it,” he insists. “Need to feel fuckin’ useful somehow.” 

You stare at him, hoping your pupils aren’t dilated or something else just as stupid to reveal that your heart is beating out of your chest. 

“That’s what this is about?” you whisper. 

Joel clenches his jaw and glances away. “He could have killed you and I just stood there.” 

“You didn’t have a clear shot,” you say. 

“I should have made one,” he says. “Out here, we’re a team. Partners. You don’t let your partner get grabbed.” 

“We had no idea he was here.” 

“I should have known,” Joel says roughly. “I shoulda known and I shoulda stopped him and you wouldn’t have had to kill him.” 

You cover his hand with yours before you can doubt yourself, and Joel looks back at you, surprised. He doesn’t pull away. 

“It was a mistake, and we got out of it,” you say. “If we’re partners, then you can’t put all the weight on your shoulders and none on mine. I held my own, didn’t I?” 

Joel doesn’t respond, and you sigh. 

“If they keep sendin’ us out on these things, then you’ll save my ass so many more times,” you continue. “And I’ll save yours, and we’ll joke about it when we get back to that shitty motel and Jake locks me to the radiator for the hundredth time.” 

“So it don’t matter that I pulled more weight this time,” you say. “Because it’s a whole lotta push and pull—you just can’t pull away from me because of this.” 

“Clever,” he says wryly. “You sure you’re not a writer?” 

You manage a smile. “Not even close. Are we good?” 

Joel pauses for a moment, his gaze falling down to your hand on his. He clears his throat and pulls away, then holds his hand out. You huff a laugh and give him the gauze. 

“We’re good,” he nods. 

You sit together in silence as Joel cleans the blood off your neck, only interrupted by your occasional wince. He’s surprisingly gentle with you in a way that you never would have expected, never touching you more than he has to. Your skin burns wherever he does, and it takes everything in you to keep your breathing steady. You don’t want him to know, and you don’t want to mess up his work. 

Joel finishes soon enough, and after a quick investigation in a broken bathroom mirror, you approve. You take what’s left from the house in supplies and then you get out. It takes a little longer because Joel refuses to leave your side—”what if a clicker bursts in through that broken window? You’d be dead like that.”—but you don’t argue. You think it’s sweet, actually, but you don’t tell him that. 

When Joel insists on heading back early, you don’t fight him. When you insist you want to keep his knife back at the motel, even if it has to be a secret, he doesn’t fight you. 

You don’t talk much on the walk back, but things are different. The air is lighter between you two. Joel doesn’t frown at everything. He actually manages to joke around with you. 

Things are different. 

You’re finding out that you don’t really mind. 

-

You go even farther on your next supply run. The area isn’t as scarce as it could be, but Marcos insists on stocking up before summer, when it’s too hot to constantly venture out like this with little water. 

Things are going pretty well, all things considered. You run into a decent amount of clickers over the miles that you’re able to take down with you distracting and Joel stabbing each time. You don’t run into any people, though Joel keeps his head on a swivel.

Eventually, though, it starts to rain. Clear skies shine above you, but you still get drenched within a couple miserable minutes. 

“Where the hell did this come from?” you complain. 

Joel takes a cloth out of his pocket and wipes down his gun. “They not teach the water cycle in schools?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You scowl at the sky. “Was ‘sposed to be clear skies all day.” 

“We’ll just call it short,” he says. “Go back to the motel.” 

“We’re five miles out,” you say. The rain starts coming down harder and you curse. “We’re not making it back without getting soaked.” 

“You can’t handle a little water?” Joel asks. 

“I’m already miserable enough being around you,” you say. “Don’t need to add trench foot to the equation.” 

He shakes his head with a huff. “Fine. I remember a cave a while back— you have another mile in you?” 

“As a matter of fact, I did cross country in high school,” you say. “Also walked a whole lot when I was getting away from the coast.” 

“Always gotta one up me, huh?” 

You smile. “Always.” 

It ends up being a little more than two miles, but you and Joel make quick work of it. Soon enough, after you’ve checked for any infected, you’re sitting in a little grotto waiting out the rain.

You’ve both taken your top layers off to let them dry, alongside your boots and socks. It feels a bit strange, a bit too familiar, to be doing all this with Joel—but like you said, you’re not too fond of trench foot, so you deal with it. 

You sit near the opening of the cave, entranced by the downpour. The tension in your shoulders has slowly dissipated as you’ve watched the storm. There’s something calming about the sight, the sound— the way the world feels once it’s over. 

“You shouldn’t be so close to the outside,” Joel says. Miraculously, the tension comes back. 

“It’s fine,” you say. 

“Ain’t so fine when everyone can see you,” he says. “Ain’t so fine when a passing hunter doesn’t like how you look and puts a bullet between your eyes.” 

You sigh as you adjust your position to look over at him. He’s taken to sharpening a stick with one of his knives. “You always this positive?” 

“I’m realistic,” he says. “How do you think I’ve survived so long?” 

“Well, I’ve survived too,” you say. “And I’m not half the miserable bastard you are.”  

“You’re half my age,” Joel says. “Give it time.” 

You shake your head with a huff. “Got a bright future ahead of me, then.” 

“I’m alive,” he says. “That’s as bright as it can be these days.” 

“That’s so sad,” you murmur, your gaze turning back to the rainfall. 

You hear him stop with his knife. “What’d you say?” 

You know he heard you. Probably just trying to give you a chance to take it back, but you don’t care. “I said it’s sad.” 

“Don’t see how it can be sad,” Joel says. “Survivin’s all anyone wants out here.” 

“Maybe on a base level, but I—” you pause and shake your head again, trying to collect your thoughts. “I got a life I’m trying to build. Things I’m chasin’— things that make this all worth it.” 

“Like I said, you’re half my age.” The joking lilt he’s had fades, and you know you’ve struck a nerve. “Everything you’re trying to get, I’ve already lost.” 

“Joel,” you attempt, but he shakes his head. 

“I built a life and I lost it,” he says. “I’ve trusted people and I’ve paid for it. So don’t act like I’m doin’ all this for no reason.” 

“Then tell me,” you say, bolstered by his tone. “Tell me what you’ve gone through, what justifies this, so we can move past this— this barrier you’ve put between us, and actually get to know each other.” 

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” he grumbles. 

“Fine,” you say. “Then I’ll go.” 

By this point, you’ve shifted your position completely to face him. Joel still won’t look at you, but he’s gone back to sharpening that damn stick. 

“I’m not actually a doctor.” 

Sure enough, that gets his attention. He stops so abruptly that you think he might slice his fingertip off. He doesn’t, but he looks at you incredulously. 

“What?” 

“I’m not a doctor,” you repeat. “Or a surgeon, really.” 

He frowns. “Then how do you know how to do all this shit?” 

“I was studying to be one,” you say. “But I still had a pretty long way to go.” 

Joel glares at you. “How long?”

“I was in my third year of med school when the outbreak started,” you say. “Got to be MS1 for all of two months before everything went to shit.” 

“You didn’t even graduate?” he marvels. 

You shrug. “I passed my boards. Well, Step 1, at least. The world ended before I got to the others—”

“Oh my god,” he mutters. 

“I was still a student doctor,” you assert. “I know plenty—” 

“Not enough,” he interrupts. 

“Enough to keep my patients and myself alive,” you remark. “And more than enough to stitch up your sorry ass.” You gesture at him. “How’s that gunshot feel?” 

Joel just scoffs and shakes his head. He doesn’t look mad, like you thought he would be—just looks shocked, surprised, annoyed. Maybe angry just for the hell of it. 

“Why are you tellin’ me the truth now?” he asks. “No one else is around. I could kill you right now for bein’ a liar—tell the group clickers got to you.” 

“A liar with medical experience is better than nothing,” you say. “From what I’ve seen over the years, folks aren’t too keen on killing people like me. ‘Specially after I saved their people.”

“Besides,” you incline your head, “I don’t think you have the guts. Not after last week.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Joel says. “I’ve killed plenty of people less annoying than you.”

“Well, I don’t go down without a fight,” you say. “And I’m very good at stayin’ awake. So if you decide to go for it, you can’t take the easy way out.” 

He scoffs, but you notice it doesn’t have the malice you’d expect behind it. 

You should be wary. You’re alone together in the middle of nowhere, miles from your group—and they wouldn’t save you if it came down to it. For God’s sake, Joel has a knife in his hand. He could take you down easily enough if he wanted to. Weren’t you terrified of that when you were first stuck in his room a few months ago? 

But you’re not. You can’t deny that you like him anymore, and that could be clouding your judgment, but you’re not scared of him. Not since that night in the infirmary. 

You go back to watching the rain, making a point to have your back to Joel as you do. Maybe as a sign of trust, maybe to show you’re not scared of him—you don’t really know. But nothing happens. He doesn’t stab you in the back, literally or figuratively. 

And eventually, he speaks up.

“I’m from Texas.” 

You laugh wryly. “I tell you I’ve been lyin’ to everyone this whole time and you tell me you’re a Texan.” 

“It’s somethin’,” he says. “Ain’t that what you wanted?” 

You turn around and raise your eyebrows. “Where in Texas?” 

“Grew up in Arlington,” he says. “Was in Austin ‘fore everything went to shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. The accent and the attitude and everything else.” 

Joel snorts. “‘Everything else’?” 

“The way you carry yourself,” you say. “How stubborn you are. Classic ‘Don’t mess with Texas’. You ever have a bumper sticker like that?” 

That gets an actual laugh out of him. A genuine laugh, a genuine smile. “Hell no. I didn’t need to showboat like that. Sarah woulda never—” 

He stops suddenly, his smile fading just as quickly as it appeared. You feel the moment slipping out of your grasp quicker than you can run after it, and you feel a little desperate. 

“Who’s Sarah?” 

Joel shakes his head. “No one you need to know about.”

Just like that, the moment is gone and the barrier is back up. You try to hide the disappointment you feel. When Joel’s not being a jackass, you really enjoy talking with him. 

“...Okay,” you say. You’ve already pushed him once. You don’t want to push him again on something that brings out that sort of reaction. 

Joel goes back to sharpening the stick. It’s half the size it was before, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He’s got a couple to keep him busy. 

You go back to watching the rain. The downpour continues, and eventually, you hear the crackling of thunder in the distance. 

“Great,” you murmur. 

“You see any flashes?” Joel asks. 

“No lightning,” you say. “Least it ain’t close.” 

“That means we can still get out of here tonight.” 

You shake your head. “No way I’m doin’ seven miles in a thunderstorm.” 

“We went five miles out,” Joel reminds you. 

“And then went two miles off course to get here,” you say. “It’s already getting dark, and these woods have infected. You really wanna go through all that just to get back to that shitty motel?” 

“They got food there,” he says. “We have nothing.” 

“We’ll be fine for a night,” you say. “It’s not like we’re in danger of freezing. We can sleep in shifts so nothing can sneak up on us. We’re tucked away pretty well, anyways.” 

Joel stares at you for a good, long second. You can tell he wants to fight—he always want to fight, you’ve learned—but eventually he lets out a sigh and makes a flippant gesture. 

“Fine,” he concedes. “But we’re leavin’ at first light, rain or not.” 

“Fine,” you echo. 

You’re able to relax a little after that, knowing Joel’s not going to make you hike back to camp in these conditions. 

The rain doesn’t ease up, but as night falls, your anxiety gets the best of you and you end up sitting against the wall, across from Joel. You have a sad little dinner together, the usual of stale bread and meat from whatever animal was hunted that week. 

Soon enough, it’s pitch black outside and you only have the rain and the crickets for company. Better than rain and clickers, you suppose. 

You wish you had a book, or a ball of yarn and some needles, or literally anything to give you something to do other than stare at a cave wall. Joel isn’t much of a talker, even now. 

“I’m from Oklahoma, you know.” You decide to fill in the blanks, unable to take the silence much longer even with the rainstorm. “So we’re two southerners in a pod.” 

“Knew you had some kinda accent,” Joel says. “Just couldn’t place it.” 

“It faded while I was in Boston for med school,” you explain. “I wanted to get out as soon as possible.” 

“How’s it feel, being back in the middle o’ nowhere after spending all your time in the city?” 

You chuckle and look over at him. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Born and raised on a cattle ranch in Beaver.”

“No shit,” Joel says incredulously, and he actually smiles. “No shit you’re a farm girl.” 

“Don’t act so surprised!” you exclaim. “I’ve more than held my own out here!” 

“Thought you were some big city hotshot doctor when I first met you,” he says, shaking his head. “Turns out you’re just a farm girl med student.” 

“Well, you’re just a jackass from Texas,” you retort. 

“And you’re a jackass from Oklahoma,” he says. “Guess we ain’t so different after all.” 

You laugh and look away, unable to bite back a smile of your own. “Whatever.” 

That lightness from your walk the past week returns, and you and Joel spend the next few hours just… talking. You do most of it, because getting Joel to talk about his past is like pulling teeth, but you don’t mind. 

You tell him stories from your childhood, what it was like growing up as a rancher’s daughter. How you spent your whole life trying to claw out your roots and how, now that it’s gone, it’s the only thing you want. What undergrad was like, what med school was like, how you spent just as many nights blacked out from alcohol as you did studying until your eyes bled. 

Joel contributes in smaller places, like telling you what he was like as a kid or relaying his own high school stories, because he didn’t go to college. Tells you about his work as a carpenter. You find it hard to imagine a younger Joel when it’s near impossible to look in his eyes and see something other than the world-weary, grizzled survivor he is now, but with his words you’re able to piece it together. It helps that his voice is so nice to listen to when he’s not yelling. 

You want to ask him about Sarah, but you don’t. Things are going so well that you’d be an idiot to ruin it. You hope he trusts you enough one day to tell you. 

In the middle of it all, you realize the way you’re thinking: into the future, long-term future, with Joel a part of it. Your plan from the start has been to bide your time until you can gather enough supplies to run, get your pistol back from Jake and use it to put a bullet in his head, then get the fuck out of here. 

But now you can’t stop thinking about Joel, and you realize you want to keep him in your life. You don’t want to stay here, but you don’t want to leave him. You don’t care if he doesn’t like you the way you do, you don’t care if he doesn’t even want to be your friend—you’re just tired of running from everything and defending yourself with lies. You’re tired of being alone. 

Eventually, you can’t fight your yawns anymore. Joel tells you he’ll take first watch and you can already tell he’ll refute any arguments. You put your jacket and shoes back on and make sure Joel’s revolver is in grabbing distance, then you lay down using your pack as a pillow. 

“Y’know, this is the first time we’re sleepin’ in the same room without a radiator.” 

Joel huffs. “Yeah. You get through the night without runnin’, maybe I can threaten Jake into getting you your own room.” 

“I dunno.” Your eyes are closed at this point, the mixture of Joel’s timbre at a softer volume and the downpour all around you almost lulling you to sleep. “I kinda like being in the same room as you.” You smile. “We can ditch the cuffs, though.” 

Joel is silent for a while. If your brain were sharper, if you weren’t nearly asleep, you might’ve had the sense to worry or be ashamed. You’re sure you’ll regret it in the morning. 

“Get some rest,” he finally says. “You need it.” 

“Night, Joel,” you murmur. “Wake me up in a couple hours or I’ll kill you.” 

He laughs quietly. “Night, doc.”  

-

You dream of your old life. Early mornings on the ranch. Fighting with your brother to get the better chores and swearing you’ll never talk to him again when he gets the ones you want, just to end up racing him to the boundaries of the farm and back to settle disputes as usual. Waking up in the middle of the night to make your favorite dessert for the two of you, homegrown strawberries with whipped cream. 

You dream of the day everything fell apart. Screaming in the hospital and your coworkers being killed and sights so brutal in the streets of Boston that you will never, ever forget them. Connor forces you to keep running through it all, tells you that you can’t stop to save anyone because you’ll die too, and he is not going to let you die. He swears he won’t leave you. 

You dream of the night you saw him for the last time. Having no choice but to break the one promise your mom forced you two to make before she died in your arms, and making another one that you refuse to break for anything. The last time you saw Connor, a night that you’ve relived a million times where you’ve failed to change the story each and every time. 

You wonder what he would think about the kind of person you’ve become. 

-

It’s light outside when you finally wake up. You expect your back to be killing you, but after sleeping against a wall, floor, and radiator for most of the past few months, this was actually kind of comfortable. 

You rub the grogginess out of your eyes and realize there are dried tears on your cheeks. You hope to god you didn’t actually cry in your sleep over some nightmares—you don’t need Joel to see something like that. 

When you sit up, you see Joel cleaning his rifle. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he says wryly. 

“Mornin’,” you say, interrupted by a yawn. You have to shield your eyes from the sun, and you’re about to ask him how he’s doing when it hits you. 

“Oh my god— what time is it?” 

Joel says nothing, just focuses on wiping out the barrel. 

You push his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me up, you jackass?” 

“You needed your sleep,” he says simply. 

“Like you don’t?” you retort. “You’re twice my age, old man. You need it more than I do.” 

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll sleep when we get back to the motel.” 

You scoff. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“And don’t you feel so much better?” 

You shake your head as you stand up and begin to gather your things. “First light, my ass.” 

Joel sighs. “Helpin’ you out is a thankless job.” 

Though you want to stay mad, it’s a champagne problem that you get over it pretty quickly. You feel more refreshed than you have since you ended up in this group, and considering you were sleeping on a cave floor with your backpack as a pillow, things aren’t really going to be better for you back in Joel’s room. 

You give him a grudging thank you right before you’re about to leave, and he accepts with a smugness that makes you regret it. 

You make casual small talk for the first mile, but things go in a different direction when Joel pops an unexpected question on you. 

“Who’s Connor?”

You trip over your own feet, and you know it’s wishful thinking to hope he didn’t see it. You regain your footing and keep walking, making a point to not look at him. 

“Where’s this coming from?” Your words might come out a little too aggressive, but you don’t really care right now. 

“You talked in your sleep half the night,” Joel says. “Kept muttering about some guy named Connor, how you didn’t wanna leave him.”

“It’s none of your business,” you say. 

“You don’t get to pull that shit with me after tryin’ to go all Twenty Questions last night,” he insists. “You told me ‘bout half your life anyways.” 

Just because you told him about inconsequential childhood and college things doesn’t mean you owe him actually important stuff. You can do what he did and just shut him down again, and every other time if he happens to ask again. 

But you were preaching all that shit about togetherness and getting to know each other and breaking down the barrier. Joel might be a hypocrite, but you have to be better than Joel. 

“...He’s my brother,” you finally say. The words feel heavier saying them to him for some reason. 

“He dead?” Joel asks. Leave it to him to be blunt. 

“No,” you say roughly, hastily. “No, I—” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head. “I don’t know. We lost each other a while ago, and I’ve been trying to find him ever since. So I guess I just really, really hope he’s not.” 

“When did you see him last?” 

“Two years ago,” you say. “We were in some commune in Ohio with a buncha hunters that tolerated us because I was a doctor and he was a good supply runner. One day, one of the leaders started accusin’ a bunch of people of stealing meds. Swore the supply was goin’ down—accused every person I’d treated the past few months of bein’ a junkie and stealing. Killed every single one of ‘em over the course of a week.” You shake your head as the memory comes back in full force. “Meds kept disappearing. Soon enough, no one was left to blame but me.” 

“Did you take ‘em?” Joel asks. 

“No,” you say. “I had no reason to. Still don’t know who did it. But Connor realized I was next on the chopping block and no amount of reasoning would bring him down from the edge, even if that meant killing his only doctor.” You bite the inside of your cheek to hold the tears back. “Connor and I fought like crazy that night, but eventually, he won. He gave me all his supplies and got me to leave in the middle of the night. I wanted him to come with me, but he said they would hunt me down. Said he had to stay cover my tracks. Told me to go back to Boston, find the QZ— he would meet me there.”

Joel is silent for a moment. When he speaks up, it’s his usual. 

“You’re pretty far from Boston.” 

“Roads I was tryin’ to take were completely overrun,” you say. “I had a car back then, in pretty decent shape—decided I would try and get back to the farm just to recuperate. Resupply, take a breather, just try to shit out before I had to get all the way to Massachusetts.” You shrug. “And I guess a part of me thought that Connor might have thought the same thing.” 

You huff. “Pretty clear I never fuckin’ made it there, though. I just gotta hope he had better luck than me, and that’s waiting for me there—not dead in a ditch in Ohio.” 

“He probably is,” he says.  

“Fuck you, Joel,” you snap. “That’s all you gotta say?”

“I’m bein’ honest—”

“Well, I don’t need your honesty,” you bite out. “We made a promise to each other. Far as I’m concerned, he ain’t dead ‘til I see his bones. I don’t care how stupid you think it is.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but when he does, it’s about what you expect. 

“It is stupid.” 

“Joel—” 

“But it’s also admirable.” 

You glance at him. “You hit your head back there or something?” 

“No. Just think it’s rare to be able to keep up hope like that.” He shrugs. “One of the things I’ve admired ‘bout you for a while.” 

Again, you feel your cheeks heat—your whole body, honestly. You busy yourself with the path ahead of you while you try to remember the art of subtlety. 

“...Thanks,” you finally say. “But I think you’re lyin’. You thought it was stupid when we first met.” 

Joel snorts. “Things’ve changed since then. You’re way less annoying now—can’t hold that against me.” 

“I am the same level of annoying, thank you very much.” You smile at him. “You like me more now. Face it.” 

He just huffed and shook his head, though you could tell he was fighting a smile of his own. “Just shut up and keep walking.”

You do, for the most part. Your path is pretty straightforward, only having to take a few detours due to infected that you take out pretty easily together. You and Joel have really found a groove working with each other since you started going on these supply runs. 

Maybe that’s what gets you to speak up again. 

“You really think my brother’s dead?” 

Joel doesn’t respond immediately. He lifts a low-hanging branch so you can duck under it, and when you glance over at him, he looks conflicted. 

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” he says. “Only matters what you do.” 

“You say all the time that you’re older and wiser than me,” you say. “So give me some of that elder wisdom.” 

Joel frowns. “I’m only forty.” 

“Can’t be only forty when you’re constantly sayin’ I’m too young to know things,” you retort. “So tell me the truth. Do you really think he’s dead? That I’m wasting my time trekking across the country?” 

“...I don’t know,” he says. “Been eight years since all of this fell apart. Logically, neither of us should still be kicking, but we are.” 

“So you think he’s alive.” 

“I think people beat the odds all the time,” Joel says. “And if your brother’s got the same stubborn genes as you, then I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s beat ‘em too.” 

You nod a few times. Whatever Joel said wasn’t going to change your mind—you meant what you said, that you won’t believe Connor is dead until you see his lifeless body. But it feels like Joel is on your side, even if it’s just one foot over the line. 

Those words echo in your head again: not yet. 

You decide to test the boundaries. 

“I think so too. It’s why I’m putting up with all this,” you say. “This… group. Jake’s bullshit. So I can get out when it’s time and keep trying to find my brother.” 

This is bigger than the doctor thing, and you’ve just dropped it on a casual walk. You’re still considered a flight risk, hence Joel’s constant companionship and the radiator nights even after you’ve more than proven yourself. You don’t know how much Joel ever believed it, but this pretty much confirms that it’s true.

“Shouldn’t talk like that out in the open,” Joel says after a moment. 

“We’re in the middle of the woods,” you say. “Who—” 

“Anyone,” he interrupts. “Here or there. So whatever shit you’re planning, don’t tell me about it.” 

“Joel—” 

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t care if you get yourself killed. Just don’t get me pulled into it.” 

You walk the rest of the way in silence. 

-

Joel is barely around the next day, or the day after that. You earn your keep like normal, but it makes you nervous. You try to talk to him at night, but he doesn’t give. You shouldn’t have tested the boundaries. 

It’s not like you think he’s loyal to this group—you don’t think he’s loyal to anyone but himself—but he’s been with them for longer than he’s known you. Why would he choose you over them? It doesn’t matter if he got scared when you were grabbed, if he let you sleep a little extra. It’s probably just a glitch in his programming or whatever. 

One thing you should always remember about Joel is that he will always put himself above anyone else. You might have thought differently at some point, but it’s the truth. 

You just hope he finds it in himself not to turn you in. 

-

You barely sleep the next night, too paranoid about everything going wrong just because you decided to trust Joel with something other than watching your six. 

That means when gunshots start erupting, it’s less of a rude awakening and more of a reprieve from your pitiful attempt at sleep. 

You dart up so quickly you nearly slam your head against the radiator. You don’t like most of the people in this group, but at least they tolerate you—most of them respect you. You’re not too keen on pulling this stunt again with another group of hunters that could be even worse than this one. 

That is, assuming this is an attack by humans and not infected. People, you can bargain with. Runners and clickers, not so much. 

The thought makes you look over at Joel’s bed, surprised he’s not the one that woke you up. You quickly realize why.

He’s gone. 

His materials, his bag, his weapons—it’s all gone. What’s more surprising is that he’s actually made his bed for once. 

You don’t think he’s dead. But you also don’t think he’s coming back, so you’re officially on your own. 

A part of you hopes against it. But why would he leave without saying goodbye if he wasn’t leaving for good? 

You blink back tears. They shouldn’t even be falling. You’ve only known him for a few months and you spent half of those fighting him. But you liked him, damn it—sharp, jagged edges and all.

But it doesn’t matter. 

You’re so tired of being at the mercy of others, constantly begging for your life with white lies you can only hope are enough. You can’t sit here and cry. You have to get out of here. 

You pull your cuffed hand. It hurts, obviously, and you immediately switch tactics: pulling at the pipe you’re attached to. You grip it as tight as possible and pull, your feet pushing against the body of it for more power. 

This radiator doesn’t even work anymore. It’s old and rickety and it can’t be that sturdy, even if it’s made of metal. You’ve been stuck to this thing for your whole time here, and you are so fucking sick of it. 

You finally pull the pipe apart from the radiator with a yell, and you land on your back a few feet away from the force you used. You try to even out your breathing as you recover, and pull yourself back into a sitting position. The door suddenly slams open and you wield the pipe like a weapon, pushing away from the entrance on instinct. 

Instead of an intruder or a clicker, it’s fucking Joel. 

He stumbles inside, covered in blood with a hand pressed against his side and curses waterfalling from his lips. Your eyes widen as you continue to breathe heavily. He looks towards the radiator, then to you, but he doesn’t even seem surprised. 

“The hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“Trying to escape,” you respond breathlessly. “The hell are you doing?” 

“Comin’ back for you,” Joel says. Your face heats inexplicably. “But it looks like you already handled half the job.” 

He pulls something from his pocket and tosses it over to you. You loosen your iron grip on the pipe to catch it. 

It’s the damn key to your handcuffs. You can’t help but laugh. You wasted all that effort just for Joel to show up ten seconds later, your knight in bloody armor.  

“What’d you do?” you ask. 

“What needed to be done,” Joel responds. His voice is gruff from the pain, though he tries to hide it. You don’t understand why. There’s no point. “Now get yourself out of those things and let’s go.”

You blink and look up at him. You’ve been dreaming of getting out of this place from the moment you got here—of killing everyone that killed your people, of clawing your freedom back from those that stole it from you. You can’t believe Joel got to it first. 

“Why’d you do it?” You can’t help but ask. Far as you knew, he got along with these people. If not that, he at least survived with them. Didn’t care about the people they murdered. 

“Because I had to,” he says. “You just gonna stare at ‘em?” 

You want to ask more, but you have a feeling you won’t get anything out of him. Not now. So you push down on your thoughts of lost revenge to finally free yourself from those cuffs rather than relying on another. 

“You’ve got a minute to grab anything you need,” Joel says. You’re just starting to massage your raw wrist when he starts to walk off, hand pressed even harder against the wound he’s trying to hide.  

“Wait!” You shoot up, nearly tripping over your feet trying to follow him. It’s not hard to catch him when he’s doing more stumbling than walking. 

“There’s no time to wait,” he says. “Gunshots bring people and clickers, and I ain’t dealing with either.”

“You’re hurt,” you say, only proven correct by how easily you get in front of him. The growing patch of blood on his shirt, holding his weight on his uninjured side, his labored breathing—you don’t need to be a med student to see the obvious. “Was your murder spree interrupted?”

Joel scowls. You find it funny how he always seems to take offense to you caring about his health. “Don’t act like it tears you up inside. I did you a favor.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that,” you say wryly. “Now, can you chill out for a second and let me at least look at whatever they did to you?” 

“We don’t have—” 

“We do have time,” you interrupt. “I assume you killed everyone in here, so we don’t have them to worry about. It’ll be a second before any infected get here, but if it makes you feel better, the doors lock. And in my medical opinion—” 

“You’re not a doctor,” Joel bites out. 

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to one,” you retort. “And I don’t think you’ll make it a mile before your adrenaline fades and you’re out of luck.” You cross your arms. “Without bandaging it, you’re practically begging for an infection. How’s sepsis sound to you, Joel?” 

He stares at you—glare is more appropriate, actually. “You and your fuckin’ infections.”

You stare back, refusing to move. “Not my fault you haven’t taken a shower since the outbreak started.”

Eventually, he groans in annoyance and walks back over to the bed, taking a seat that causes him to wince. 

“Can’t believe you just wanted to walk out of here,” you say as you grab your medical bag. 

“Save the preaching, get to stitching.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pull your shirt up.” 

He does, and you get to work, going through the same motions as the first time you met. 

“You get shot or stabbed this time?” 

“Stabbed,” he says. “You ever gonna wine and dine me, or you just gonna keep tellin’ me to strip?”

You smile. “You find some good wine out here and a kitchen that works, I’m more than happy to do it.” 

You feel his gaze on you as you continue to work, feel his muscles tense then relax every time your fingers brush his skin, and you like it. You like knowing that he killed all these people without a second thought and he still reacts this way to your touch. Maybe it’s sick—this sort of lightness does feel wrong after what he did—but the more you think about it, the more you don’t care. It’s not like there’s anyone still around to judge you. 

“Noted,” he says. 

You bite back your smile to keep it from growing. “Who did this to you?” 

“Don’t matter,” Joel says. “They’re dead now.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “How’d you do it, then? These people are capable—tore my community down like it was nothing. You’re just one man.” 

“Why d’you think I did it in the middle of the night?” Joel looks away. “Surprise is one hell of an element. They expected it from you, not from me. ‘Sides, it’s not the first time I’ve done this.” 

“Ah.” 

“Always known I would do it,” he continues. “Ever since I joined this group. They were just a means to an end—they were too reckless for their own good. Woulda gotten me killed sooner or later, and I ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

“Awful lotta time to make a murder plan,” you say. “Mine feels half-baked compared to yours.” 

Joel shrugs. “Guess that’s why I did it before you. Helps not being handcuffed to a radiator. 

You shake your head with a huff. “Worst way I’ve ever slept.” 

You continue on in silence for a good while. You don’t mind because it helps you focus, especially once you start sutures—you’re usually the one that starts the conversations anyways. But then—

“I have a brother too,” Joel suddenly speaks up. 

You smile wistfully. “Now you’re openin’ up.” 

He shakes his head. “Just answerin’ your question. Why I did this.” 

You frown. You continue suturing without faltering, but Joel must see your face because for once, he keeps going. 

“You weren’t gonna get outta here anytime soon,” Joel says. “Not with Jake up your ass, makin’ those kind of comments. You didn’t hear the way he talked about you with everyone else.” 

A chill runs up your spine. You fight to keep your hands steady. 

“There was only so much I could do to protect you the way things were here,” he says. “So I changed things.” 

He talks about it so simply. Slaughtering a whole camp of people is changing things. 

But he did it to save your life. Can you really cherry pick any of that? Especially when you thought about doing the same countless times over the months? 

“My brother and I fell apart,” Joel continues. “He didn’t like the shit I was doing to survive— said there was a line we had to draw, that there was more to life than just survivin’. I didn’t agree. So we went our separate ways.” 

Joel meets your eyes. “I ain’t gonna let that happen to you. Not when you’ve still got a chance.” 

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek when you feel the pinpricks of incoming tears. 

He really did do this for you. To keep you alive—to keep you safe. 

When you fell asleep that night, you thought he was only a couple steps away from betraying you. 

Instead, he was your salvation.

-

After you stitch Joel up, give him some painkillers, and make sure he’s not going to die, you take your time going through the rest of the camp. There’s a surprising amount of materials around, especially that was being kept in individual rooms. It’s a little difficult seeing all the bodies, but not as hard as you thought it would be. 

When you get to Jake’s room, you take your pistol from his body and shoot him in the head with it. He’s already dead, but it still brings you some sort of satisfaction. You think Joel will chastise you for wasting bullets, but he doesn’t say a thing. 

You fit as much as you can into both of your packs and even more in your horses’ saddle packs. You pick the two that look to be the strongest and set the others free—they’ll stand a chance on their own rather than tied up here. 

It’s nearly morning by the time you’re done, and you stand next to Joel as you watch the sunrise. It might be the one thing you never get tired of—one of the few things that remind you of how beautiful the world used to be. 

Dawn is… oddly silent here. You grew up with frogs and cicadas and all sorts of barn animals making themselves heard into the night and early morning, but the apocalypse brings a strange sense of serenity. When it’s not being interrupted by infected or hunters, that is. 

“Feels wrong standing out here,” you murmur. “Knowin’ what you did.”

“I told you, it had to be done.” Joel shakes his head. “You wanted ‘em dead anyways.” 

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” you say. “Nothin’ does.”

“Maybe for you,” he says. 

You hum in acknowledgment. This isn’t something you want to fight over—not know. 

“Where’re you goin’ after this?” you ask. 

“No clue,” he murmurs. “I sorta… drift from place to place. Anywhere I can survive.”

“I understand,” you say. “Spent a lotta time like that.” 

You feel Joel’s gaze on you. “What about you? Where’re you off to?” 

“Boston,” you say. “It’s where Connor and I agreed to meet again. We heard about a QZ there, so figured it would be a safe place to meet after however long it takes to get there. Been tryin’ to get there for a while, but I’ve been thrown…” you chuckle, “majorly off course. Seems like a pipe dream now, but I’m still gonna try.” You glance over at him.  “Can you believe we’re stuck in Kansas?” 

“Got no idea how the hell I ended up here,” Joel says with a chuckle of his own. “Figure you would like it, though. Close enough to your panhandle.” 

“Close enough but farther than ever,” you say, and you smile wistfully. “I miss the farm.” 

“I miss Texas,” he admits. 

“Someday, we’ll get back,” you murmur. 

Joel hums in acknowledgement. He looks back at the sky, and a good ten seconds of silence pass between you before he speaks.

“I’ll get you to Boston.” 

Your eyes widen. For a moment, you’re not sure if you’ve heard him correctly. “What?”

Joel shrugs. “Didn’t save your life back there to leave you to die out here.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Joel,” you say. “You— you barely know me.” 

“Actually, you talked my ear off enough that I know plenty,” he says. “‘Sides, I’m gonna need someone to keep an eye on this wound—rather have it be the devil I know.” 

You feel a certain warmth settle in your chest, alongside a growing smile on your lips. “You’re serious.” 

“As a heart attack,” he nods. 

You stare at Joel for a good, long while, and then you hug him. 

You can’t help it. You can feel his staggered heartbeat, his uneven breathing—the way he just… stands there, like it’s the last thing he expected. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since someone last hugged him, showed any kind of affection. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. It takes a second, but he hesitantly wraps an arm around you. He pats your back more than anything, but when you pull away, he’s fighting a smile. 

“I mean it, Joel.” You laugh, almost giddy. “It felt like a death mission on my own. But with you… seeing my brother again feels real.” 

“No sense in lettin’ someone else lose a brother when I can try and stop it,” he says. 

“You’ll find Tommy again,” you say. “I know—” 

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “We made our choices. But you and Connor still got a chance.” 

You swallow the lump building in your throat and nod. No use arguing with him over one of the sorest subjects. “This means more than anything, Joel. I’m serious.” 

“Then let’s not waste it on being sentimental,” he says. “C’mon. We’re burning daylight.” 

You let out a breathy sort of laugh, full of relief, as you follow him over. Joel locks his fingers together to give you a step up onto your horse, and once you’re on, he gives you an amused look. 

“You do know how to ride a horse, farm girl?” 

“Please,” you huff. “I grew up around ‘em. Probably know better than you.” 

“Let’s not get crazy now.” 

Joel gets on his horse and you ride up closer to him so you can look him in the eye. 

“So we’re goin’ to Boston,” you say. “Any idea how the hell we get from here to there?” 

He pulls a rolled-up paper out of his pack and flattens it out. “Just so happens our benevolent leader Jake had a map. It ain’t the best, but it’ll give us a path to follow.” 

You nod a few times, your resolve steadily growing. “We can actually do this.” 

“‘Course we can,” Joel says. “Didn’t do all this just to fail.” 

“Some actual optimism,” you marvel. “I can’t believe it.” 

He shrugs. “Balance is important.” 

“And a joke, too,” you say. “If the world hadn’t already ended, I would think it was right now.” 

“Alright.” Joel huffs and shakes his head. “Let’s get goin’ before I regret bringing you with me.” 

You don’t try to bite back your smile this time. 

You stir your horses into action as you begin to ride, Joel in front of you to lead but little distance between you. 

You knew you would get out of this place somehow, but you thought you’d slip out in the middle of the night alone, running for your life with no idea of where to go next. You’d run into a group of people, barter your skills in return for your survival, and so on and so forth until you somehow made it to Boston. A pipe dream indeed. 

Instead, you’ve got a horse, a pack full of supplies, a plan, and Joel. 

You’ve got Joel, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months.  

[lovelettersfrommai]

What Shadows Whisper

Summary: The three times you were there for Bob after a nightmare…and the one time he was there for you. 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader 

A/N: There needs to be more Bob content on this app. I need it BAD. Good grief. Reader is a witch with chaos powers (purple). If you’ve been reading Marvel fan fic for a long time, you probably get that joke. This is the longest fic I’ve written! Which is exciting, at least to me! I also got a request somewhat similar to this (and I actually wrote this BEFORE I got the request. Me and y'all are in sync for real.)

Word Count: 2.5k

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to anything Marvel related, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.

Warnings !: Nightmares, mentions of Bob’s drug usage, sleep paralysis, physical violence, slowwwwwwwww burn. 

When renovations finally finished on the Avengers tower, the building still had a sense of eeriness to it. Maybe it was the fact that you had been here before, years ago, when the original team was still around. You swore if you listened well enough, you could still hear the sounds of your friends, the people you once considered a team. Maybe even a family. 

Little did you know, you were not the only one haunted by the tower’s quiet halls. It had been a long day of moving things in, and despite being physically (and mentally) exhausted, you just couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep. It was all so familiar, and yet it had none of the comfort nor familiarity that the compound had. 

You quietly walked over to the kitchen from your bedroom, making yourself a cup of herbal tea in hopes of feeling a sense of peace in the quiet night. You go through the motions, grabbing a mug and turning the electric kettle on, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, leaning against the counter top as the water boils. That’s when you heard it; the sound of whimpers, barely noticeable over the rumbling of the boiling water. At first you ignored it, but they progressively grew louder and deeper, like sobs. 

Once in the hallway, you can pin down exactly which room it’s coming from; Bob’s. Tentatively, you open the door. He’s thrashing around in bed, trapped in an unpleasant dream. You cross the room to gently put a hand on his head, the familiar thrums of something reckless and wild, something you are all too familiar with. 

Gently, you squeeze his shoulder, to try and get him out of his head. “Bob?” You whisper, eyes roaming over his face to see if it’s working. For a split second, you see his eyes rolling under his eyelids rapidly. You decide to shake him, your voice getting a little bit louder as you try to wake him from his nightmare. 

“Bob!” Your tone is a tad firmer, but it seems to do the trick as his eyes immediately shoot open, hands coming up to grab your throat. 

You heave and gasp, before using your powers to stop him, the lavender haze surrounding your hands to take him off you. As you regain your breath, you cough a bit, throat aching with the pure force that he put onto you. This seems to break Bob from his trance, as his eyes immediately soften. 

“I-I am so sorry! I didn’t- I was having a-” You shake your head. He shuts up immediately, expecting for you to chew him out the way he’s seen you do to Walker and Alexei a couple of times. He looks down at the floor, ready to be admonished like a child, but instead you speak quietly.

“Want some tea?” Your voice is a little bit gravelly from the pressure that had just been applied there, but you clear your throat and it already sounds better. Bob opens his mouth, then closes it, opting to nod wordlessly. You nod towards the door, and together, the both of you walk to the kitchen just in time for the kettle to finish boiling. You take it off of its power base and grab another mug from the cabinet, pouring you each a cup. 

The both of you sit in silence as you sip the tea. It’s not tense, nor is it particularly warm, but it is a truce, one of stability and comfort to end what was a long day. 

~ 

Bob isn’t really sure how to handle nightmares. In the night, the void infects his brain with horrific imagery, when nobody is around to help him. He tosses and turns, trying to find some rest but is only greeted by his mind playing his worst memories, reminding him of all his present anxieties and all the terrible things he’s done to the people who’ve only ever shown him kindness on some sort of sick and twisted loop. 

When he finally decides to give up on sleeping, he climbs out of bed, his pajamas sticking to his skin just like the guilt he feels for his useless existence. He doesn’t expect anyone to be awake, you all train early in the morning and go to sleep early in the night, but once he walks down the hallway, he’s surprised to see you. 

You’re curled up with a book, sitting cross legged on the couch, a blanket tossed over your lap. Before he can even consider going back to his room to wallow in self pity, you sense his presence immediately, head flicking up to make eye contact from across the room.

“You’re up.” You say simply. It’s a blatant observation.

“I- uh. Yeah. I am…” He blunders. Something about your presence is both comforting and terrifying. Maybe it’s because he’s seen you control other people with the flick of your hand, as if they were puppets on a string. But seeing you here, now, uninhibited by having to fight for your life and save the world, simply reading a book on the couch? It’s jarring. It reminds him that you, like him, are just human. 

“Had a bad dream, so…” You nod in understanding, closing the book and placing it on the coffee table. 

“Do you want to be alone, or..?” Bob shakes his head. 

“No. Stay.” He says before he can even think through his words. If you notice how much he tenses at the thought of being alone, you don’t mention it, simply beckoning him to sit on the couch beside you. He obliges, the space between you both feeling treacherous, fidgeting with his hands.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask gently. You’ve never been one to push, he thinks to himself. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t already heard before.” He looks down at his hands. Your face twists slightly as you stare at him, then you get up, grabbing the tv remote from its place on the stand.

“Then a distraction would probably be better, huh?” You turn on the tv, flipping through the channels until you eventually settle on some random nature documentary about birds in the rainforest. Not very engaging, but it’s steady. Quiet. Soothing. You move a bit closer, tossing the blanket over his lap as well as your own. He feels his spine slowly decompress and he melts into the couch already feeling incredibly more at ease with you beside him.

The documentary is enough to lull his hyperactive mind into a state of rest. As he drifts off, his body starts to slouch, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder. You freeze at first, unsure of what to do or if you should move him, but ultimately you do nothing. You stay. His presence is warm, despite the void that you know is in him. 

The next morning, Yelena is up first. She runs her hands through her blonde locks and then she stops, stumbling upon the sight of you and Bob on the couch. The tv is still on and playing some different documentary. The blanket you both are sharing has begun to slip off your laps. She tilts her head at the sight, her eyes filling with something fond before turning off the tv and leaving you two alone.

~

By the time you hit the two month mark of living in the tower, the two of you have established a routine for handling Bob’s nightmares. You’re an insomniac, he’s learned, so it’s always highly likely that you’re awake when he is awoken in the middle of the night. Depending on how bad the dream is, your guys’ routine changes; tea when he can’t really remember it, watching tv or reading him a book if he needs a distraction. He also gets special permission to go into your room. 

The nightmare wasn’t as bad today, but Bob couldn’t help but feel pissed off. He was tired, and yet every time he tried to sleep the void came back to him. He begrudgingly walks across the hallway to your room, knocking gently before walking in. 

Surprisingly, you are actually trying to sleep. You're tucked under the blankets and your head is facing the opposite wall of the door. He almost leaves when he notices, not wanting to bother you, but you turn your head and offer him a sleepy smile. His heart stutters in his chest and he finds himself walking over, just by looking at you.

“Come.” You lift up your duvet and scoot over a little, offering him solace in the warmth of your own bed. He blinks, hesitant, but eventually gives in, climbing into bed with an awkward grace that is unmistakably his. The two of you lay in silence for a little, your body angled facing him, before Bob speaks up.

“I’m so tired…” Despite your own exhaustion, you recognize the desperation in his tone. 

“…I could help you.” 

“How?”

You bring your hands up in between both of your heads, the purple haze surrounding your hands once again. 

“I can make you go to sleep? If that’s okay?” Bob hesitates. The idea of you being in his mind, willingly, fills his stomach with butterflies. You’ve already seen the void, and you’re still here. He trusts you more than he’d like to admit. With the nod of approval, your hands hover over his head. You close your eyes. 

Bob watches as the familiar lavender color drifts from your fingertips and surrounds his mind. At first, his hands instinctively grab at the sheets. He anticipates pain, but instead is greeted with the feeling of your hands, gentle as always, fingertips grazing his warm skin. His mind is then instantly flooded with something he can’t quite place.

Instead of the usual cold emptiness he feels from the void, your powers invade his brain in a warm light. It’s a stark difference from how he was feeling just a couple of seconds ago. You’ve completely surrounded his mind and body with an all encompassing spark, and for once, he feels at ease. You are so familiar. 

After muttering something he can’t quite catch, you take your hands off his forehead, his head nearly chasing it, just craving your touch. He’s left with a sense of content he’s never felt before. He feels a little bit hazy, reminding him of that feeling he got in the past when he was high on whatever he could get his hands on, only now it’s not accompanied by the paranoia; He just feels sleepy. 

You watch as his eyes droop, his body language completely different from how it had been just a mere couple of seconds earlier. Adjusting the blankets around you both, you move closer so that your head leans against his shoulder. 

“Sleep well, Bobby.” 

As he drifts off, he realizes that the nickname that his father had taunted him with all those years ago sounds just like a lullaby coming from you. 

~

Somehow, the day didn’t end when you went to sleep- Well, tried to. 

Despite your usual insomnia, you found yourself actually winding down tonight. Everything had been going well too; The mission you and the new avengers went on had gone smoothly, you got home early and were able to take the most luxurious shower of your life, Yelena had made you all dinner, and you stayed up having good conversations with the rest of the team with no fighting. By the end of the night, you had felt good enough to go to sleep. It was the making for the perfect end to an all around awesome day. 

Until it wasn’t.

When sleep finally overtook your body, you were met in the depths of your mind. It started off just like a dream would…until the colors became devoid of life, and faces of people began to blur. You could physically feel the terror of people’s minds you had hijacked in the past. Their fears are now yours. You know you’re asleep, and you know that what you’re feeling isn’t real, but you can not bring yourself to wake up. Your body is trapped under what feels like two tons worth of weight on your chest, and you swear you can see something, someone? Just watching you. 

You awaken in an uncomfortable sweat, your body shooting upright pretty much immediately after your sleep paralysis episode. Hastily, you toss the covers off of you, welcoming the bite of the cold air. 

It wasn’t real. It isn’t real.

You rub your fist into your sternum, it hurts, but you keep pressing harder and harder until you’re sure that the phantom weight is gone. That’s when you hear a soft knock on your door, followed by the quiet creak.

“Y/n?” Bob calls out from your doorway. When he takes in your state, he lets himself in the rest of the way. You won’t mind anyway. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay; he can tell just by looking at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice weak and shaken from what you just woke up from. He walks closer and takes your hand away from your chest, and gently squeezes your wrist, before letting it fall back to your side. 

“Something felt…wrong.” He doesn’t know how to elaborate without feeling like a creep. He knew that something wasn’t right with you. He just had to come and check up on you. Your jaw tenses and you avoid his gaze. Rather than make tea or distract you, he sits on the edge of your bare bed, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. A silent offer. 

Your body moves before your mind can protest the action, and you sit beside him, leaning into his embrace. The warmth of his body is immediately welcoming and you can’t help the way your body naturally relaxes, wrapping your own arms around him. He rests his chin on your head before speaking again.

“Can I ask what it was about?” His throat vibrates against your skull, and you dig your fingers into his cozy blue sweater even more. 

“Wasn’t just a nightmare. I could feel them.” You whisper. “The people I’ve hurt. Their fear. Like I was trapped in their minds while I was taking over them…” You shake your head and push into his chest slightly. He doesn't move an inch, just squeezes your body again in encouragement. 

“I couldn’t wake up. I tried.” 

“I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been pleasant.” You shrug in response, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He lets the silence settle before he helps to get your duvet back on your bed. He helps you get settled, making sure you’re comfortable. 

“Don’t go…” You mumble. Bob softens at the words, nodding. He’s not going anywhere. He crawls under the covers with you, making himself comfortable in your bed once again. Unlike usual, he is the one to close the space between you two. As you begin to fall asleep, he looks like he wants to say something- instead, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Goodnight, Bobby.” 

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. Not tonight. 

~

A/N: Rereading this made me realize how often I used semicolons…apologies everyone.

[popcornpoppypop]

Blood is Blood

Summary: You're one of the best attendings in The Pitt, Robby and Abbot trained you up themselves. When you find yourself in a tough spot and need someone to drive you home from an abortion, it had to be Robby.

Warnings: Abortion, vomit, blood, bad boyfriens

A/N: I have not had an abortion, I have had friends who had them and taken care of them after. That is mostly the information I used for this and some stories on reddit, I wanted to rely on patient experience rather than medical procedure and policy for this one.

You had only been an attending for a total of six months, and in that time, you had to help lead the hospital through a mass shooting, the idiot who let off fireworks in the trauma bay, listeria outbreaks 1 through 3, and train the new interns and med students. It had been a lot.

You had leaned on your fellow attendings, trying to learn how to be a leader and the one everyone turned to for everything. Dr. Abbot helped teach you that some people need to be pushed even if they look like they might crumble. Dr. Robby taught you how to make sure everyone was looked after. They both showed you how to carry the weight of every patient and staff member on your shoulders. You figured they would get as tense and tired as theirs were one day.

Robby and you had struck up a friendship and mentorship. It sometimes veered into something else, something neither of you had the confidence to name. Nothing more than flirty jokes and glances across the trauma bay. Besides, you had a boyfriend. Or a sort of boyfriend. You fucked a guy.

“Hey, you look like shit.” Robby smirked as you walked up to the hub desk. Your face pale, shoulders hunched, clearly dehydrated.

“Yeah. Not a great morning.” You sighed.

“You need to go home?” He asked, suddenly concerned.

“Haha. That’s so funny. I’ll be fine. Write me a prescription for Zofran and I’ll be fine.” You groaned as you sat down to start working on your morning paperwork.

“If you need Zofran, you need to go home. Maybe you got that flu that was going around, can’t have you getting patients sick.” Robby shook his head.

“It’s not the flu. I’m fine. Can you just leave it? I’m not in the mood.” You bit back.  Robby’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. You were never angry, not really and never with him or the staff. Hell, a med student vomited on your shoes and you still fussed over making sure they were okay.

“Alright. Don’t push yourself too hard.” He pointed and walked away.

You were grateful he hadn’t pushed it any further. You really didn’t know how to deal with your situation and Robby fussing wouldn’t make it better.

You managed your way through most of the shift, having to stop and sit a couple of times. Something Robby was keenly aware of. You were about to head into another room when your phone rang. Robby watched you take it, something that was also very abnormal for you. You had a strict policy with yourself about phone usage.

“What!? No. That’s not going to be possible.” You snapped. Robby watched as you got frantic with whoever was on the phone.

“F-fine. I’ll figure something out I guess. Yeah, keep the appointment.” You hung up the phone and shoved it back in your pocket as you stomped off to the next room.

“Hey, Dana, what’s going on with her?” Robby leaned over the counter. Dana looked up at him, glasses perched on the end of her nose, then to you and back to him with a confused look.

“How the hell should I know? You two are besties, surely if she wanted anyone here to know, you’d be the first.” She shrugged.

“She’s off today.” Robby wrung his hands together.

“She’s doing fine. You’re just nosey.” Dana laughed. Robby waved her off as he watched you scurry from room to room.

You were grateful when you saw Dr. Shen walk in. You were ready for the day to be over, you were ready before you got out of bed that morning.

“John, I am so glad to see you.” You sighed as you walked up to him.

“It’s nice to be needed.” He smiled as he sipped his coffee. You rolled your eyes as you began to rattle off your cases to him.

“You’re lucky you get Y/N as your number two. Shen still hasn’t found his drive yet. Not sure what I’m going to have to do for that kid to get motivated.” Abbot shook his head.

“Has she seemed off to you lately?” Robby asked as he watched you and Dr. Shen talk.

“No. But we only work together once a week. Why? Something up? You think she’s breaking” Jack leaned in with a concerned look.

“I don’t know. Dana thinks I’m being nosey. I don’t know. I’ll keep an eye on it.” Robby shrugged as he hiked his backpack on his shoulder. He ran to catch up with you as you left.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay? You seemed upset today.” Robby dug through his backpack.

“Just…don’t feel well.” You said, you could feel the emotion catching in your throat. Your body knew when the day was over and would start to make the wall of professionalism crumble.

“You need anything?” He asked as he handed you a protein bar. You often forgot to eat until you got home. He’d caught you when you passed out from low blood sugar once. He tried to shove protein bars at you every couple of hours.

You took it and flipped it around in your hands. You’re mind was racing, too much happening. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I…”

“Hey, you two coming to the park? I got those seltzer things you like Y/N.” Donnie smiled.

“I can’t.” You blurted out in a way that made the two men look at you confused. “I’m not feeling well.” You cleared your throat. Donnie nodded and walked off.

“You need me to walk you home? Where’s that boy you’re with anyway? He usually drives you home.” Robby looked around the street.

“We…broke up.” Your voice cracking.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Robby suddenly felt like an ass. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” He said, guiding you by the shoulder.

You walked in silence for a while. Robby keeping on eye on you, watching as a thousand thoughts flashed across your face. He wanted to stop and ask what the hell was going through your head but didn’t want to impose. He walked you to the front door of your apartment and was going to start his goodbyes when you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the apartment.

“Whoa, what the hell Y/N?” Robby stumbled into the apartment, nearly face-planting with the force you pulled him.

“Sorry! I just, I need something and I couldn’t ask while people were around and it’s already going to be hard for me to ask and I just feel myself losing the nerve.” Your words falling out of your mouth in a rush of anxiety and desperation.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take a breath. What’s going on?” Robby put his hands on your shoulders.

“I need to ask you a favor.” You bit at your bottom lip, tasting the copper as it started to bleed. You lead Robby into the living room, gesturing for him to sit. He obliged, though his confusion hadn’t lightened.

“Are you in trouble?” Robby ran his hands up and down his legs as his anxiety started to rise.

“No. Well, yes.” You sighed. “Okay, I need you to let me just get all of the information out and then you can ask questions.” You looked at him with big, scared eyes.

“Okay, I’ll be quiet.” He agreed, his brows furrowed still.

“I found out three days ago that I’m pregnant. I didn’t notice any symptoms for so long, most of the ones I did kind of notice I chalked up to stress. When I finally went into my GP to try and get something for my acid reflux, she told me that I was pregnant. Went to the OB, she confirmed it. Problem is, I’m 12 weeks, or I guess closer to 13 now. Anyway, I don’t want to be pregnant and I sure as hell don’t have the time for a damn baby. I got set up for an abortion appointment next Wednesday. Oh! I told Darren, the guy I was seeing. He took off, screamed in my face how it was my fault and left. Prick. Anyway, I got a call today that because it’s further along they’ll have to do a surgical abortion and I’ll be sedated and because of that I have to have someone to take me home or they won’t do it. So, I need someone to pick me up and I love Samira but she’s so young and she still lets secrets slip sometimes and you’re off on Wednesday too and I trust you to keep this to yourself.” You took a breath, feeling like you just did sprints.

Robby sat there trying to decipher the information he had just received.

“Darren screamed in your face? You’re pregnant and he screamed in your face?” Robby felt himself starting to get angry, who the hell does that?

“I think you missed the important part.” You crossed your arms.

“No, I got that important part. I’m taking you to get an abortion on Wednesday. He screamed in your face? Where does he live exactly?” Robby asked as he got his phone out of his pocket.

“He’s an idiot, not important. I’m not giving you that information anyway.” You rolled your eyes.

“I bet Abbot could figure it out. He’d have some shit to mess him up too.” Robby said mostly to himself.

“Jesus, Robby!” You snapped.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. Not important. Are you okay? I mean, that’s a lot to deal with.” Robby looked up at you with those soft, brown eyes that could melt snow.

“Y-yeah. It’s not great, but I’m fine.” You shrugged.

“You’ll tell me if you’re not.” He said it as an order more than anything.

“I will. Sorry, I freaked you out.” You tore your eyes from his in an attempt to keep from getting too worked up.

“Okay. What time?”

“Huh?”

“What time do I pick you up?” He tilted his head.

“Oh right. Duh! The procedure lasts about forty five minutes, appointment is at noon so around 12:45pm.” You nodded.

“So, 11:30am. Got it. I’ll be out front at 11:30am.” He nodded

“You don’t have to drive me. I was going to uber there.”

“Honey, Please. Like I’m letting you do that.” He shook his head, a smile spread across his face.

“Uh…” You’re mind going blank.

“I’ll see you Wednesday.” He nodded as he left.

You tried to go about the rest of the week as normal. Unsure how to feel about any of it. It was too much to think about, you put it in a box to deal with later.

You let out a groan as you forced yourself awake, Wednesday morning. You kept to your normal routine, showering, brushing your teeth, putting your hair up. The doorbell went off at 11am. Of course he would be early.

“You’re early.” You raise an eyebrow at Robby who was leaning on the doorway with two coffees.

“Wanted to make sure you had enough time to talk if you wanted.” He said, handing you a latte.

“I’m not supposed to have this.” You scolded.

“Oh we both know that it’s fine. You haven’t eaten anything right?” He asked, taking his sunglasses off.

“No, but they said no coffee.” You said sipping the latte.

“You’ll be fine. Enjoy the caffeine.” He had an Ikea bag slung over his shoulder as he barged into your apartment.

“What are you doing?” You looked at him, confused.

“Where are you going to want to rest up? Bed or couch?” he asked, looking like a man on a mission.

“Um, I was planning on staying on the couch mostly. Why?” You followed him into the living room. “I wanted to get it setup now so we aren’t worrying about it later.” He said as he started pulling things out of the bag.

“What the hell is all that?”

“Right, I did some googling,”

“Dangerous.”

“I found some Reddit posts where women talked about what they needed or wanted when they were recovering. I got you a new heating pad, a new blanket, and one of those neck massagers because it looked cool. I got some snacks, too. I got a big ass water bottle, too, that you will finish today, no arguments.” He said as he started positioning everything within arm's reach.

“Robby, you didn’t need to do all that.” You said, your throat tight with emotion.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to. So, I’m only going to ask once and then we can move on. Are you sure?” He said, suddenly getting serious.

“Thank you. Yes, I’m sure. I can’t…I can’t have a baby right now.” You looked away, the tears stinging as they formed.

“Okay. That’s okay.” He smiled. “Let’s get this done with then.” He nodded as he grabbed your sweatshirt hanging by the door and tossed it to you.

The waiting room for the OB was always so odd. Some people were there to get great news. Some for check ups, just another Wednesday. Some people were there with bad news. No one every really knew how to act. You sat in the uncomfortable chair, your knee bouncing with nerves.

“You okay?” Robby asked.

“Just nervous.” You cleared your throat.

“I forgot to ask, do you want me in there?” He shifted to face you.

“That’s asking too much.” You shook your head.

“It’s really not. If you want privacy that’s okay. But I’m more than happy to sit with you.” Robby smiled. You looked up at him, your hands were shaking and he could see how nervous you were.

“Okay. Yeah. Please.” You stuttered.

“Y/N L/N?” The nurse called out. You jumped up and scurried toward her. She brought you into a procedure room and handed you a gown.

“Hubby, you can help her get dressed.” The nurse said.

“Oh no. I’m not, I’m just here for moral support.” Robby’s face flushed red.

“Could have fooled me.” She chuckled as she left.

“I’ll just turn around, while you do that.” Robby cleared his throat as he faced the wall. You laughed as you gowned up. This man has torn the clothes off of countless patients but the thought of seeing you nude made him blush.

“You can turn around.” You said as you got settled on the bed. Your hands sat on your lap; you nervously picked at the cuticle.

“You doing okay?” Robby sat in the stool beside the bed.

“Don’t laugh, but I really have a hard time with needles and get nervous with sedation.” You sighed.

“Seriously? You’re around needles all day. You sedate people all day.” He scoffed.

“I know, other people. Not me.” You fidgeted with the collar of your gown. Robby realized you were serious and moved to take your hand.

“It’s not full sedation, just enough to relax you. I’ll be here the whole time, so you know there won’t be any mistakes. Okay?” He moved his head so you’d make eye contact. You nodded, afraid if you opened your mouth you’d start crying.

“Good morning, Y/N. It’s good to see you again.” Dr. Smith smiled as she came in.

“Good morning.” You cleared your throat.

“Is this your partner?”

“Oh no, just the moral support.” Robby smiled.

“Okay, do you need me to go over anything, I assume you understand the procedure.” Dr. Smith asked as she sat down across from you.

“No, I’m just ready to get this over with.” You took a deep breath.

“Understandable. Nurse Garcia is going to come in and get an IV going and start the sedation. Once you’re comfortable we’ll get started.” She nodded as she left.

“last chance to make a break for it.” Robby smiled.

“I can’t wait for the drugs, Jesus my hands are sweaty.” You shook your shaking hands. Robby laughed, though he could see the grief forming in your eyes.

“Hello, I’m Nurse Garcia. I’m going to get you hooked up for sedation.” She smiled. She brought a tray over with the IV supplies on it. She started cleaning your arm and your breath started picking up.

“Hey, look at me. You’re okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that.” Robby held your hand in his, rubbing the soft skin in circles to distract you.

“Yeah, I know. I know that.” You nodded. His smile made the wrinkles around his eyes form and it made your stomach flip.

“Alright, sweetheart. You’re all set.” The nurse smiled. “I pushed the sedative, you should start to feel it in a few minutes.” She said as she lowered the lights and left the room.

“Not so bad.” Robby shrugged.

“She was good.” You nodded. “You were good.” You smiled.

“Not like I’ve been doing this for thirty years or anything.” He said.

“I should bring you to every blood draw.” You chuckled.

“I’d go if you needed.” He smiled. You couldn’t tell if it was real or the meds, but Robby was flirting. You wanted to flirt back, but this was your abortion and you were starting to feel high.

“Damn, that shit hit like train.” You mumbled as you swayed back and forth.

“Okay, Trainspotting. Lay back before you fall off.” He laughed as he helped you get comfortable.

“You’re so nice to me. I like it.” You smiled up at him sleepily.

“You’re easy to be nice to.” He said as he tucked the blanket around you.

“You aren’t this nice to the other attendings. You wouldn’t tuck Abbot in.” You laughed.

“I don’t think Jack would let me. He’d be an angry sedated patient.” You both chuckled.

“You have nice eyes. I always get all giddy when you smile and they look all gooey.” You mumbled.

“Oh yeah? Gooey?” Robby leaned on the guardrail.

“Yeah, like a sad puppy. It makes my tummy all butterfly-full of butterflies.” You said. Robby should tell you to stop. He should maybe excuse himself, have the nurse sit with you. But he wanted to say the same thing back.

“Alright Y/N. We’re going to get started.” Dr. Smith came in.

“Hooray. I can’t wait to have an empty uterus.” You cheered.

“Let’s get her legs in the stirrups.” Dr. Smith said as the nurse put your feet up.

“I can’t believe I let that stupid boy knock me up. Dumb boys.” You grumbled.

“We are dumb, sorry.” Robby nodded.

“No. You’re not a boy. You’re a man. Men are stupid too but not as much. You wouldn’t scream at me. I need a man.” You grumbled.

“I’d never scream at you.” Robby said as he watched the tears quietly fall down your temples.

“A little sting now. Just to help open the cervix.” Dr. Smith said. Robby took your hand in his. You hissed as the pain hit. “Good. Alright, you’re going to feel some pressure.” Dr. Smith noted as she started her machine.

“It can help to massage her belly.” The nurse nodded to Robby.

“Right. Yeah.” Robby cleared his throat as he put his wide hand on your lower belly and gave a gentle rub.

“Hmm…Warm.” You hummed.

“Almost over.” Dr. Smith said.

“You’re doing great.” Robby said.

“Hurts.” You groaned with knitted brows.

“I know, Hun. Do your best to relax.” The nurse gave your leg a pat.

“Deep breaths, Y/N.” Robby couched.

“Ah! That’s too much!” you hissed.

“I know, just squeeze my hand. You’re nearly there.” Robby brushed some stray hair from your face.

“Okay, sweetheart. You’re all done. Everything looks good. We’ll keep you here for thirty minutes to make sure there’s no reactions and you can go home.” Dr. Smith smiled as she helped the nurse put your legs back down.

“It’s done?” You whimpered.

“Yeah, it’s done.” Robby confirmed with a soft smile. You nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I don’t want to cry.” You sighed.

“It’s normal. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Robby said, handing you a tissue.

“I wanted this.” Your bottom lip trembled.

“Doesn’t mean it was going to feel good. You’ll be okay.” He rubbed circles with his thumb on the back of your hand.  Robby felt his heart breaking for you. He also couldn’t stop thinking about Darren. That boy would be in trouble if they crossed paths.

“I’m sorry, I asked you go through this.” You sighed, the sedation starting to wear off.

“I’m not. I would hate to know you’d gone through this alone.” He smiled. You looked up at him and you felt the need to ask him if he felt what you did. You were about to say something when the nurse came back in.

“Alright, you are good to go. Remember to take it easy today, the next week if you can. Drink lots of water and good meals. You’ll be bleeding on and off for a while. If you’re going through more than a pad an hour, go to the ER.” She said, handing you some paperwork.

“Okay. Thanks.” You said moving to sit up, Robby held your arms as your head wobbled a little.

“You want some help getting dressed?” Robby asked, keeping his patient care voice on.

“I…I might need it yeah.” You sighed as you fumbled with your underwear. Robby took them from your clumsy hands. He eased them up your legs, his fingers tracing up the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He stopped at the top of your thighs, letting you take over.

“Hold onto my shoulders, step in.” He instructed as he got you into your sweatpants. You finished pulling them all the way on.

“Can you untie the gown?” You asked turning away from him. He hummed in agreement. He pulled the tie and grabbed the gown, tossing it in the laundry bin by the door. He grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head, his eyes never leaving your back.

“Sit back down, I’ll put your shoes on.” He cleared his throat as he put the shoes on. You watched as he tied them tight, the muscles in his shoulders flexing with his movements.

“Thank you.” You hummed.

“Let’s get you home.” He said, holding out his hands for you. You took them and clumsily got to your feet. You wobbled a little, Robby steadying you with an arm around your waist.

The car ride was quiet, not suffocating but nearing comfortable. You let your head lean against the cool window. You were fighting the nausea, you didn’t know if it was from sedation or morning sickness. You were losing the battle.

“Robby. Robby pull over!” You gasped, suddenly bolt up right.

“Okay, Okay.” He moved the car off the road. You fumbled to unbuckle yourself, flinging the door open. Robby ran around to you, grabbing your hair as you retched into the gutter.  “You’re okay. Easy.” He helped you sit back up.

“Ew.” You groaned.

“You alright?” He asked, looking you over like the trained medical professional he was.

“Yeah. I think it’s fine for now.” You nodded.

You had always had a low pain tolerance. You would break down if you scraped your knee. The pain radiating from your abdomen made you want to break down completely. The walk from the car to your apartment was arduous. You leaned most of your weight onto Robby. He offered to carry you, but you declined due to concerns for his back.

“Okay, let’s get you some Zofran.” He said as you got comfortable on the couch.

“I don’t have any.” You grumbled.

“Yes, you do.” He came back in with the pills. “Had them filled yesterday. Perks of working in an ER.” He smiled, handing it to you. You took them happily.

“Everyone said it wouldn’t be too bad. The liars.” You groaned as you wrapped the blanket around you.

“Different for everyone, you know that.” Robby sighed. “Drink your water. I’ll be back.” He nodded and left. You were going to question where he was going but decided you didn’t really care. Your head felt heavy and you didn’t care to fight it, letting yourself fall asleep.

“Honey, you need to eat something.” Robby’s rough voice lulling you awake. Your apartment suddenly filled with the smell of food.

“Hmm, what?” You grumbled, confused. Robby was standing next to you with a bowl.

“You need to eat so we can give you something for the pain.” He said, handing you a bowl of soup.

“What’s this?” you asked, confused as to where the hell he had found soup in your apartment.

“Chicken noodle soup. My grandma’s recipe, so no jokes. Her’s was better, not sure how.” He shrugged.

“You…made me soup?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Yes. It’s got protein and iron, two things you need most right now.” He said as he lifted a book into his lap.

“What is that?” you pointed to the book.

“Well, I would have hoped you encountered a book in med school at some point.” He teased.  “It’s a book about emotional trauma. My therapist is making me read it.” He cleared his throat as he put his glasses on.

“You brought a book? How long are you planning on being here?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Until you go to bed tonight. Or you kick me out, whichever comes first.” He said, not looking up from his book. You let out a huff, enamored with this strange man. You ate a spoonful of soup and were surprised by how good it was.

“Fuck that’s really good!” You blurted out.

“Gee thanks.” Robby chuckled.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Cook is a strong word. I get around the kitchen well enough. I make pasta, soup and that’s about it. The soup is in the genes.” He winked.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me soup.” You sipped at the broth.

“Really? Your mom never heated up a can when you were sick?”

“Ha! My mother barely checked my temperature if I was sick. I was a nuisance if I was sick. She never stayed home to take care of me. If I didn’t look sick enough, I was faking. I heated up my own soup.” You shrugged.

“Every time you tell me more about your life, I get sad.” Robby laughed.

“Oh, please.” You swatted at him. “You don’t need to stay here. I’m going to be asleep, mostly.” You said.

“Someone needs to make sure you hydrate. You’re terrible at it.” He said, flipping a page. You were going to retort but felt the distinct gush of blood that told you, you needed to change your pad at the same time a cramp squeezed your insides. A finishing move from your reproductive system.

“Oh fuck…” You groaned, hunched over.

“You okay? What do you need?” Robby put his book aside and put his hand on your back.

“Cramps. Blood. The usual.” You groaned. “I need…I gotta go change.” Your face red.

“Okay.” Robby didn’t hesitate to help you up.

“There’s going to be blood everywhere, just turn around.” You warned.

“Oh please. Like blood has ever bothered me, you know better.” Robby chuckled.

“But it’s different blood.”

“Blood is blood and I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged. “You go to the bathroom, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded. You grabbed his hands and heaved yourself up. Sure enough, blood everywhere.

“Damn, I liked that couch.” You shook your head as you hobbled off to the bedroom to get changed. When you came back out, the couch was cleaned up and a new blanket lay ready.

“I got you some OTC pain meds if you need them.” Robby’s glasses sat on the end of his nose as he scrolled on his phone. “Your color is still a little off. Do you want some apple juice? I got one that has iron.” He offered as you stood in front of him, looking confused.

“You got me apple juice with iron?”

“Well, you need to keep your blood sugar up so it’s easier for you to replenish your cells and you are bad about eating well. I knew making you drink juice would be easier.” He said putting his phone away. You watched him for a minute, trying to understand this man that was taking care of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Whoa, what!?” He looked shocked, his face going red.

“I’m so confused.” You shrugged, going to sit back down.

“Are you feeling okay? Should I be worried about neuro symptoms right now?” Robby gave a nervous chuckle.

“Maybe it’s my bad luck with men or humans in general, but I’ve never had anyone take care of me, let alone to this level, unless they were trying to get something from me.” You wrapped the blanket around yourself.

“Honey, the fact that you weren’t looked after at any point in your life makes me want to take even better care of you.” Robby sighed, leaning on the back of the couch.  “To answer your question, no. I don’t want to fuck you.”

“Oh.” You said, your face flushed with embarrassment.

“I don’t want to fuck you because you just had an abortion and feel like shit. That would be very fucking weird of me.” Robby smirked. “But, if you’re asking if I have feelings for you, then yeah. I thought it was obvious.” He said.

“Obvious? In what world!?” You chuckled.

“I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. But you said that butterfly comment today, and even though you were high, I didn’t want to push it away anymore.” He sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything tonight, by the way. Was just going to take care of you and go home. You forced my hand.”

“Jesus, Robby! You realize that all of this,” You waved your hands around the apartment and up and down his form. “would make any woman fall desperately in love with you? I already was, but you never gave a girl a chance!” You laughed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that you love me.” He winked.

“You were ready to beat up Darren for screaming at me,”

“Still debating on not doing that.”

“you googled how to take care of me in recovery, drove me to get another man’s fetus aborted, held my hair while I vomited, made me soup.” You scoffed. “Cleaned up my blood! I don’t even know the last time I had a man that didn’t cringe when I leaked through a tampon, let alone helped clean up! Of course I love you!” You shouted.

“Okay then!” He mimicked you.

“So, what now?”

“Now, you take those meds and drink some juice.” He said, looking at you like it was obvious.

“No. No, I mean with us?” You said, grabbing the pills and sipping your water.

“I don’t know. I’m leaving that at your feet, Honey.”

“Why do you always call me Honey? You’ve been doing that since I was a resident.” You cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember? You were fixing up a wound and using an entire jar of Manuka honey on it, when I came in, you had it everywhere. I think that’s when I knew I was done for.” He smiled.

[lesbianknowitall]

I was friends with her for so long like 3 years we used to be good friends and eventually we became best friends but now that I'm leaving school she doesn't care despite the fact that she cried and wrote me a letter and stuff and we promised to call each other every Wednesday despite me not having even two seconds to breath bcuz of coaching ( advanced prep classes) school and studying and I'm also learning to drive and it's just that I'm busy but I still take time for her but when I texted to remind her about our weekly calls she ignored it and then later replied she was outside and would call me when she got home ( blatant lie) it's been almost 4 hours since then and she still hasn't called back it's 10:30pm here and god I feel so upset she was my best friend and it's summer vacations she's free why can't she talk to me? Were those all crocodile tears like does she even give a fuck? Tbh she never gave a fuck qnd i sorta went along with it these few years cuz she was the best person at school but she's never really there when I need her like i need to make an appointment for her time or something... I feel stupid for caring so much cuz I've never cared for friends but this is so sad and I cried for days and lost focus from my studies and ma so distracted and to make matter worse... I was (am?) in love with her like yknow in queer way all this added with the stress of preparing for the world's most difficult medical examination is hurting me so much.... My medical examination will be in two years but I need to prepare from now hence the coaching and leaving school so I can make time for studies and I feel so bad and just god I can't do this and

Should I text her to remind her one again? This is the third time I'm unsure....

Another part of me just wants to end it like write her a letter(online) and then just drop it ( block her from everywhere)

“you’re my best friend, now i’ve got no one to tell i’ve lost my best friend.”

….

[keeryhours]

teen pregnancy series - eddie munson part 1

Eddie Munson x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Teen Pregnancy Series Masterlist

Summary:

A broken condom leads to the end of your life as you knew it.

Part 2

Warnings:

Smut (18+), oral (m and f receiving), p in v, fingering, pregnancy, threatened miscarriage, drug use (weed), shitty parents, Al Munson

Word Count: 19.2k

A/N:

I am literally the most impatient person in the world so here’s part 1 early! Part 2 will be out very soon, I’m locked in. Thank you @glassbxttless for my banner and for reading this ❤️

You loved waking up next to Eddie.

The soft rise and fall of his breathing, the wild way his hair would be splayed out across the pillow, his lips parted as he snored lightly, the peaceful look on his handsome face. Sometimes you would just watch him sleep. Other times you would trace his tattoos until he woke with a smile.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he’d say, his voice still dripping with sleep.

“Good morning yourself,” you’d say back.

This was what it was like most mornings you woke up with Eddie. It wasn’t hard to sneak into his place at night. Your parents went to sleep at 9pm on the dot, all too easy to slip out your window and to your bike. You didn’t even have to sneak into Eddie’s, the front door was fine - Wayne worked nights, and you didn’t think he’d care either way. Wayne loved you.

There was nothing quite like sleeping in Eddie’s arms. It was your safe place. Warm and cozy, like being enveloped in pure love. It was no wonder you’d rather spend the night there than in your cold bed alone with parents who didn’t particularly like you anyway.

It was the alarm that woke you up this day. Fucking school day. The alarm clock blared bright and early at 5:30am - earlier than Eddie would usually get up, but it took you a bit longer to get ready.

You shut the alarm off so as not to wake Eddie up too much and sat up in bed with a big stretch and a yawn. Eddie grabbed onto your arm as you were climbing out of bed.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled, not even moving his face from where it was half buried in his pillow and covered by his disheveled hair.

“I gotta get ready, baby,” you told him. “We have school.”

“Fuck school,” he said, voice muffled.

You laughed. “Babe, we have to go.”

He shuffled closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I just wanna stay in bed with you all day.”

“I want that too,” you said, and god, you did. “But we can’t.”

Eddie groaned but relented, letting you get up. You slid off the bed, turning for one last look at him. He was sleeping on his belly, arms wrapped around his pillow. His head was turned to the side, but you couldn’t see any of his face for all the hair. The comforter rested just at his hips, and he was naked beneath it. You admired his body, his tattoos, the slightest glimpse of the curve of his ass before the blanket hid it away from your eyes. You have to force yourself to look away.

Naked yourself, you slip on one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of panties you’d packed for now. You yawned again as you walked out of Eddie’s room and down the hall to the bathroom. Wayne was asleep on the fold out bed in the living room, probably just now passed out from work. You started up the shower, the finicky faucet taking a few minutes to get to the right temperature.

When you were satisfied, you stripped again, sitting a towel on the side of the sink and then climbing into the hot water. You always kept some shower stuff at Eddie’s, god knows you were over at his place enough.

You closed your eyes under the torrent of water. At least the water pressure at the trailer was good. You were just about to start shampooing your hair when you felt a familiar pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, a head on your shoulder, kissing your neck.

You melted back into the embrace, a smile crossing your lips. You could feel him hard behind you, his kisses on your neck turning needier and sloppy, biting down every now and then. He always liked to mark you up.

“Need you,” he grumbled against your skin, fingers tightening on your body as if to prove his point. 

You chuckled breathlessly. “Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Never enough,” he growled. “You know I can’t control myself when you’re in my house, taking showers, walking around like this. And all mine.”

You gasped when he spun you around, pressing your back against the shower wall and kissing you deeply, aggressively. You kissed him back just as eagerly, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. He lifted your leg, his tip pressing against your entrance, then- “Fuck. No condom.”

“Like at all?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“We used our last ones last night. I need to buy more.” He groaned, forehead falling onto your shoulder. “Shit!”

“It’s okay,” you said, trailing a hand up his side. “I can still get you off?”

He leaned back to look at you. “Are you sure? You don’t have to. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you said, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes as you sunk to your knees. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie whispered, cock twitching as he watched you get on your knees for him. The way you looked up at him from down there was…fuck, he’d never seen anything like it. No porno in the world could ever compare.

His hand slid through your hair as you opened your mouth for him, he tapped his cock on your tongue, rubbing the underside of it there, a low groan spilling unwillingly from his lips.

“We have to be quiet,” he said, “Wayne is right out there.”

“I think you should be telling yourself that, big boy,” you teased. You wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked, and he lurched forward, free hand landing on the shower wall behind you.

He let out a low “Ahhhh”, a mix between a hiss and a moan as you took him further into your mouth. “That’s my girl.”

You moaned around him, deep throating his impressive length properly as he watched you in amazement, his eyes half lidded, lips parted. His hand caressed the side of your head as you pleasured him, like he was so appreciative but didn’t know the words to say, if there were any. Maybe the best thanks he could give you is just to enjoy it now - and bury himself between your thighs until he can’t breathe later. Maybe you’d sit on his face. He fucking loved that.

“Baby, baby,” he moaned in a near whisper, delicious groans spilling from his lips after. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

You hummed around him, making his hips jerk into your mouth. You always knew exactly how to get him going, exactly what made him weak in the knees, what made him fall apart. And oh, was he falling apart above you.

His breathing turned to pants, his slender tattooed chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand tightened in your hair, thighs beginning to shake.

“Gonna cum,” he warned you in a whisper. “Fuck, I’m- don’t stop, I’m so close-“

You didn’t stop. You worked even harder, working for what he was about to give you, showing him how bad you wanted it - needed it. You bobbed your head on his cock quickly, tongue working the underside, and his expression looked pained.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Baby, baby, I-“

He threw his head back with a cry as it hit him, his dick pulsing as he shot his cum into your waiting mouth. He quickly looked back down, watching you take it, watching you swallow every drop of what he was giving you as he moaned, seemingly forgetting all about being quiet.

When you pulled off of him, he was leaning against the shower wall. He looked like a total vision like this, lean naked body against the wall, wet hair hanging down his shoulders, breathing heavily and dripping wet. You had the intense urge to lick every inch of his body.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” he finally said, pulling you to him again and kissing you. He didn’t care that there was still the slightest bit of him still on your tongue. He licked into your mouth anyway, tasting all of you, the mixture of the two of you. “I want to devour you, baby, please.”

“We don’t have time,” you said regrettably. “But later.” A wink.

Eddie smirked at you as you both continued with your shower, washing your hair and washing each other’s bodies. Eddie was hard again by the time the shower was over, but there was no time for more.

You stepped out with a towel around your body and one around your hair. Eddie grabbed one and wrapped it around his waist. God, he looked so hot like this.

“Let me help you,” you said. You grabbed the curl cream you had bought him and put some in your hands, rubbing the product through Eddie’s hair. The poor guy had no idea how to take care of his curls before you met him. His hair was always so frizzy, and one day you were just like - “You know it doesn’t have to be that way, right?”

Eddie closed his eyes and hummed as you did his hair. He had to admit, he absolutely loved when you did this. It was so relaxing. He had never had someone take care of his hair for him. He barely did it himself before you.

When he was taken care of, you did your own hair while Eddie brushed his teeth then shaved. You brushed your own teeth then applied your makeup while he splashed his familiar aftershave on his cheeks.

He pulled on his boxers and you snuck back to his room in your towel. You knew there was nothing to worry about, Wayne slept after work until the afternoon. You searched through your overnight bag, finding the skirt and top you planned to wear today.

Eddie couldn’t handle how put together you looked. His beautiful girl. He couldn’t believe you were his.

He pulled his jeans on with a Hellfire shirt and his denim jacket. “You know you can leave some clothes and stuff over here?”

“I already do,” you giggled, thinking of the multiple bras and underwear sets stuffed in his dresser, the curling iron you kept here, the shower stuff and self care.

“Yeah but…” He shrugged. “You could keep more. Keep a whole wardrobe here, I don’t care. You sleep here more than at your own house anyway.”

“Edward Munson,” you said, lightly slapping his chest with a smile. “Are you trying to get me to move in?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked, sliding his arms around your waist.

“Baby,” you said, a slight giggle. “We’re still in high school.”

“Yeah, but we’re both adults, technically. I’m almost 20, you’re 18…”

“You still live with your uncle, and I don’t think there’s a world where my parents would allow it, Eddie.”

The mention of your parents soured the mood. Your parents sucked. They were mean, self centered snobs, and they hated Eddie. They never even seemed that crazy about you.

“Fuck your parents,” Eddie said, a sentiment he held often. “You’re a big girl.”

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. “Maybe after high school? I don’t want to intrude on Wayne either.”

“Wayne loves you.”

“He already has one freeloader,” you teased.

“Hey!” he said, mock offended. “I’ll have you know my dealing business brings in lots of money.”

The drug dealing was a sore subject. You hated that he did it, but he wasn’t willing to give it up. He made a lot of money from it, enough to help out Wayne and take you on dates and get things he wanted and needed. In his mind, it was a great gig. In your own, you saw visions of Eddie in handcuffs, Hopper carting him off to jail. You said nothing about it.

“We need to get going,” you said instead. “I don’t want to be late.”

Eddie looked at you for a moment. Finally he nodded, snatching his keys off the table. “Alright. Let’s go.”

You walked out to his van with your backpack slung over your shoulder. He opened the door for you like he always did, and you climbed in. The old van took a couple tries to start, but ultimately did.

“Need to get her checked out,” Eddie mumbled. “Could probably do it myself.”

Eddie was great with cars. And he loved them. He was the sole reason this van was still running at all, the amount of work he’d put into it was insane.

It didn’t take long to pull into the parking lot of Hawkins High. It was packed as always. You saw your best friend Robin by Steve Harrington’s car - Steve, who didn’t even go here anymore - and you smiled and waved back at her.

“Go see Robs,” Eddie encouraged as he killed the engine. “I’ve got to catch up with the guys about our campaign tonight.”

Fuck. The campaign.

“Should I get a ride home with Robin and Steve?”

“Maybe?” Eddie said sheepishly. “Or I can run you home before we start.”

“It’s fine,” you said, “I’ll catch a ride with them. You guys have fun. It’s the big one, right?”

“Yep,” Eddie said with pride. “The end of the campaign. These fuckers have no idea what I have in store for them.”

You laughed. “I’m sure it’s a sadistic as ever.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, opening your door. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, a reminder of all you’d done together since last night and all the things you would do together next time you were alone.

You hopped out and met up with Robin as Eddie sauntered into the building. “Hey, Robs!”

“Hey!” She pulled you into a hug. “Are you ready for Mrs. O’Donnell’s test?”

You groaned. “No. I completely forgot.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you study?”

You blushed. “I was a little busy last night.”

“Busy?” She gave you a look. “Girl.”

“I know! I know.”

“There are more important things in life than fucking your boyfriend!” 

“Well, now that’s debatable.”

Robin groaned, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the school. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” She turned back over her shoulder. “Bye, Steve!”

“Oh, can I get a ride home with you and Steve after school?” you asked. “Eddie has the end of his campaign, it’s going to take forever.”

“Yeah, of course. Steve won’t care. He’s like everybody’s chauffeur.”

—

You were home by yourself that night, snacking on popcorn in your pajamas - classic big t-shirt and short shorts combo. When the phone started to ring, you groaned.

“Hello?” you answered, resting the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Baby,” the answer came from the other end, and you smiled, all irritation gone.

“Hey,” you said. “How was the campaign?”

“It was great!” he said enthusiastically. “The guys actually beat it. I can’t believe it. It was awesome.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” You popped another piece of popcorn into your mouth. “What’s up?”

Eddie’s voice dropped an octave. “Wayne left for work and I was just thinking about you…”

You smirked. “Yeah? Thinking about what?”

“Baby…” he said again, and you could practically picture him on his back in bed with the phone, shirtless, rubbing his hard bulge through his jeans. You could hear music playing over his speakers in the background. “Come over. Please.”

You felt a throbbing between your legs as you listened to his low, sultry voice, dripping with desire, all for you. Your hot boyfriend, desperate for you. Wanting nothing more than to be inside of you.

“I’ll be there in 15,” you said. You heard a low chuckle from the other end before you hung up, hurrying upstairs to slip some jeans on and grab your bag. You locked up downstairs, made it look like you were asleep in your room and locked it from inside, and slipped out the window.

The night air brushed your hair back as you rode your bike to Forest Hills. You lived in a pretty nice neighborhood, your parents never approved of you spending so much time in a trailer park. It didn’t matter that you were much happier at Eddie’s than at home.

You rode the downhill momentum to Eddie’s trailer, parking it next to the front door. Eddie opened the door for you before you even reached it, a wide grin on his face. He was shirtless, low jeans exposing the V leading down below that you wanted to see more of.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, stepping back and holding the door wide for you to walk in.

“Hi,” you said. Eddie closed the door behind you. “Wanna go to your room?”

“Not wasting any time, huh, princess?” Eddie asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He kissed slowly up your neck, nipping every now and then. You melted back against him, eyes dropping closed as you moaned.

“Did you get condoms?” you asked.

“I did.” He slid the box from his back pocket, holding it up for you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Large instead of extra large?” you teased, looking at the writing on the package.

Eddie shrugged. “They didn’t have any bigger. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Eddie knew he was big, but he didn’t let it go to his head. Well, most of the time. He led you down the hall to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He was kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe, the only thing keeping him grounded to this reality. His hands roamed your body, sending tingles through your skin. Every now and then you’d break from one another, gasping for air for only a moment before your lips found each other again.

You fell back onto his bed as he tossed the condoms onto his bedside table and he kissed up your body from your ankles back to your lips, tongue exploring your mouth with an eagerness. He undid your jeans and pulled them down your legs, savoring every inch of skin he uncovered, even though he’d just fucked you multiple times last night. Enough didn’t exist for him when it came to you.

His hands slid up your top next, kissing your stomach and your tits as he uncovered them. No bra beneath, which had him groaning. His lips wrapped around one of your nipples, tongue swirling around it as he sucked, moaning against your skin.

“Eddie,” you moaned, back arching slightly off the bed. “Fuck.”

He switched to your other nipple, never one to neglect any part of your perfect body. Eddie’s hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers tracing through your soaking folds.

“So wet for me,” he commented, his voice low as he bit down gently on your skin, earning a gasp. “Love how wet you get for me. Desperate, pretty little thing.”

You could have said something about how he was just as desperate for you with how painfully rock hard he was and that you could feel it even through his jeans, but you couldn’t form words with the way he was slipping a finger inside of you, his thumb playing with your clit, rubbing circles. He slipped in a second finger, pumping them in and out while he pressed down harder on your clit.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you moaned, mind deliriously hazy, grinding your pussy down against him.

He kissed down your body, slipping your panties off and then replacing his thumb with his mouth, his tongue flicking your clit before he pushed his two fingers back in, curling them deep, pressing right against that spot he somehow always knew how to find immediately.

“Eddie!” you cried out, grabbing onto one of his pillows and burying your face in it. Eddie chuckled against you, but didn’t relent. He was determined to have you fall completely apart for him, determined to have you cumming all over his tongue and fingers.

You felt like you were floating above the clouds, Eddie’s sinful tongue taking you straight to heaven. He wrapped his free hand around your thigh, burying himself as deep into your cunt as he possibly could. He was starving for you, and he was completely content if this was how he died.

Your body was filled with liquid heat, the coil tightening in your belly. You pulled on his long hair, earning a groan from Eddie, his fingers pumping faster, lips sucking harder on your sensitive clit.

“Gonna cum, Ed,” you moaned, body writhing on the bed, the pleasure almost too much for you. Your words only made Eddie go harder, rutting his hips against the bed for some friction on his throbbing dick.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” 

You fell apart calling his name over and over again. Half the trailer park had to know what the two of you got up to on a near nightly basis, but at least Wayne wasn’t home. Eddie worked you through your orgasm, moaning as he lapped up everything you gave him, cock twitching at the feeling of you tightening, pulsing around his fingers.

Eddie pulled his fingers out of you, placing one last kiss against your pussy as he moved back to look over your naked body, chest heaving, tits and pussy on full display, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

“You look beautiful like this,” Eddie said, his own lips and chin wet with the remains of your climax as he smirked down at you. “I can’t wait to get inside you.”

You whimpered at his words as Eddie undid his belt, his eyes locked on yours. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down until his cock sprung free. He shed them from his body, leaving both of you naked.

He kissed all over your body again, sending tingles through your skin. Eddie always liked to take his time with you, liked to savor it. You fucked all the time, but it was never any less sacred to him. You reached between you and grabbed his cock, making him groan. You could feel it throbbing in your hand. He was so needy tonight.

“You ready for me baby?” he asked, reaching for the unopened box of condoms on his table. He ripped open the box, pulling out a foil packet that was smaller than usual.

“Yes,” you whined. “Need you in me.”

Eddie ripped the packet open with his teeth, examining the rubber. He shrugged, starting to roll it onto his cock. He hissed. “Tight fit.”

“You sure it’s gonna be okay…?” you asked, watching Eddie struggle to get the condom over his impressive length.

“Yeah, it’s…I got it,” he grunted, finally getting it all the way on. It technically fit, just not well. “I am not missing out on fucking you tonight.”

“I guess if it works…” You bit the side of your lip, eyeing him.

“Oh, I’m gonna make it work.” He kissed at your neck again, reaching between your bodies to line his tip up at your entrance. He trailed it through your folds, getting himself nice and wet. He pressed against your hole again. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and then drew in a sharp gasp as Eddie pushed his cock inside.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, you never get any less tight. Shit, babe.”

And he never got any less huge. As many times as you’d had sex at this point, it never got any less intense. It had actually hurt the first time - at least that went away. You hadn’t been a virgin, but damn.

He set a pace rolling his hips into you deep, fucking you slowly and sensually. Making love to you. He couldn’t stop kissing you everywhere, couldn’t control the way you made him feel like he was going to explode with how much he loved you and how good you made him feel.

“My beautiful girl,” he cooed, big hands holding your thighs up against your chest. He had the perfect view of your pussy taking his cock, he could watch every inch of himself sinking into you. He wished he had a camera - he’d love to have this view to look at whenever he wanted.

“Feels so good, Eds,” you moaned, rolling your hips up as much as you could to meet his thrusts at his pace. Your bodies were working together in perfect synchronicity, a beautiful harmony of bodies and passion and love.

“Can I go faster?” he asked, out of breath from his efforts of keeping himself under control. “Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” you cried. “Please.”

Eddie began snapping his hips into you faster, harder. The sounds of your moans and skin meeting filled the small room, drowning out the soft music over the stereo. His headboard banged into the wall with every thrust, chipping the paint.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned, his head thrown back and eyes closed. You were addicted to watching the way his muscles in his neck and chest flexed, clenched. Like he was holding back.

But god, the feeling of his cock pounding into you mercilessly like this? It was unreal.

He pulled out of you abruptly, but before you could complain about it he was flipping you onto your stomach. He spread your legs slightly and mounted you from behind, slipping back in with ease.

You gasped again at the intrusion, but this angle somehow felt even better. You looked over at the mirror on his dresser, watching as he pounded you from behind, looking down at you like he wanted to devour you whole. You could see his whole body, the way his thighs clenched with every thrust into you, the slightest jiggle of his ass, the way his hands were gripping your ass so tightly it would leave marks.

“Oh, god,” you whined so quiet you didn’t even think he could hear you. 

“Doing so good, baby. That’s it,” he grunted. “Just take it, take me, let me fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You were falling apart. You felt like you were frantically clinging to the edge of a cliff, the precipice of your undoing. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum again.”

He groaned, fucking you faster. “Yeah, that’s it princess. Let yourself go for me. Wanna feel you cum on this cock.”

You grabbed onto the pillow, biting down onto it as you started to see stars, your eyes rolling back as you came for the second time.

“Ah! Ah!” Eddie was gasping and groaning from behind you, the way your pussy was clenching around him was driving him crazy. “Fuck, ‘m close.”

“Please cum for me,” you begged him. “Please. I need it, need to have it.”

Eddie groaned loudly. “Fuck! Yeah, baby, go on and take it. Take the way I’m fucking you. Take this fucking load. Shit!”

He stilled deep inside you, as deep as he could go. He moaned and moaned into your neck, cock pulsing as he came. “Ah! Fuck, fuckfuckfuck-“

You were both gasping for breath, both completely spent. Eddie didn’t want to move from on top of you - he could have fallen asleep right there. You were in such a dreamy post-sex trance, you might have just let him. Let him sleep with his cock in you.

But he had to move. He pulled out of you, rubbing your back as he did. Then, you felt him freeze behind you.

“Oh shit,” he said, clear panic rising in his voice that only set your own anxiety off. “Uh-“ He was nearly

hyperventilating. “Shit shit shit. Shit! Fuck!”

“What??” you asked, turning and sitting up in the bed, equally panicked just from his reaction.

Eddie held up the condom - the ripped, empty condom.

Your blood went ice cold. “Ed-“

“Fuck, what the fuck are we gonna do?” Eddie asked, in pure panic mode. “What if I got you-“

“That hasn’t happened yet,” you said quickly. “Some people have sex for years without getting pregnant, you know? Just because you…finished inside, doesn’t mean I’m necessarily pregnant.”

Eddie wanted to listen to your voice of reason, but it wasn’t helping. He knew the risks of what had happened. He knew how bad his odds were. You were young, healthy. Teenagers. Still in high school. And with his luck…

“Fuck,” he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He angrily threw the broken condom into the trash can before covering his face with his hands.

“Baby…” you said, your voice small. “Are you mad?”

“Not at you,” he said, turning and taking your hands. “God, never at you. I’m mad I was such an idiot. I never should have used those condoms. I’m a fucking dumbass.”

You looked at him, sympathetic for how hard he was being on himself. “You didn’t know. It’s okay.” You squeezed his hands. “We’re in this together no matter what, right?”

Eddie was quiet for a minute. “What if I just ruined your life? All because I couldn’t hold off for a day.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re…if I got you…” He looked like he couldn’t even say the word. He turned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “It’s going to ruin your life. You’re so smart, baby, you have so much you can do. My life…well, I’m on my third senior year attempt, so I don’t see college in my future. I’m a drug dealer. I still live with my uncle. I’m going to drag you down.”

“Eddie, that is not true,” you said sternly. “Don’t ever talk bad about yourself like that. You are not dragging me down.”

“Everything I said is a fact,” he said sadly. “You’re…you’re better than me, princess. I would hate myself if I tied you down with a baby right now.”

“Eddie.” You turned his head to look at you. “I don’t feel any of those things. I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if we…well, we’ll face it together if it happens, yeah?”

Eddie considered your words. Finally he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Eddie, I love you. More than anything.” You kissed his cheek.

“I love you too, baby girl,” he said, moving to kiss you again. His lips lingered against yours, the kiss lasting longer than intended. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re too good for me, you know that?” he said.

You shook your head. You heard that enough from your parents, you didn’t need him saying it too. “Not true.”

He smiled softly at you, like he didn’t quite believe you. But he didn’t push the matter, taking your hand and kissing each knuckle. “I love you.”

“And we’re in this together,” you said. “We’re in this life together. No matter what.”

A small smile. “No matter what.”

—

Three weeks later, you missed your period.

Every day you checked, looking to see if it had finally come, just late enough to give you the scare of your life and teach you a real lesson. How could we have been so stupid? you’d think, frustrated with yourselves for making an obvious mistake just to fuck each other. We couldn’t stay off each other for one night?

Eddie seemed to have completely forgotten. He didn’t mention it again, didn’t ask about your period (it’s not like he kept track of your cycle anyway), wasn’t stressed at all. You didn’t mention your worry because you didn’t want to bring him into your anxiety spiral with you. 

When your period was a week late, you came clean to Robin outside after school.

“What???” she exclaimed, way louder than you would have liked. You shushed her, putting your hand over her mouth. A few classmates in the parking lot turned to look at you, but quickly lost interest. You removed your hand once she got the idea. “You think you might be pregnant?” she whispered.

“I…yeah, I think so,” you said. You couldn’t meet her eyes.

“How could you- oh my god.” She looked like she was freaking out more than you even were. “How did this happen?”

“A condom that was too small?” you explained sheepishly. “It broke.”

She just looked at you, blinking. “Of all the risks to take-“

“I know,” you said.

“Does Eddie know?” she asked, lowering her voice even further.

“That the condom broke?”

“That you’re late,” she said, giving you a look like now isn’t the time for jokes.

You looked down. “No. I think he forgot all about it.”

“He forgot-“ Robin looked like she was about to explode with the lecture brewing in her brain. “We have to get a test. Find out for sure before you scare the shit out of him.”

A test. Your stomach hurt at the thought.

“Will you go with me?”

“Of course,” she said, holding your hand. “We can get Steve to take us to the pharmacy on the way home. Or to my place.”

“Steve?” you said, looking at her like she was crazy. “You want Steve Harrington to take us to get a pregnancy test?”

“He won’t tell anyone,” she said quickly. “He’s trustworthy. I promise.”

Eddie came walking out of the school then, laughing with Jeff and Grant. He saw you and flashed you a big smile, immediately heading in your direction. You and Robin both looked at him with awkward, halfhearted smiles in return.

“Hey, baby,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Ready to go?”

“Um, actually,” you said, “Robin asked if I wanted to go study at her house.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, surprised. Usually you wouldn’t change plans at the last minute. He looked at you with his brows furrowed, but didn’t question you further. “Okay, that’s cool. I’ll call you tonight?”

“Okay.” You forced yourself to give the most convincing smile you could. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips before he twirled his keys around his finger once and nodded at Robin. “See you later, ladies.”

You watched him get in his van and leave before you and Robin met Steve at his car.

“About time,” he said to Robin. “I’ve been waiting here forever.”

“We have an emergency,” Robin said immediately once everyone was in the car, you in the back seat.

Steve froze. “What kind of emergency?”

“A pregnancy emergency.”

Steve looked at Robin like she had grown a second head. “Robin, you’re a lesbian.”

“Not me, dingus!” Robin said, slapping him lightly on the arm. “Her!”

“Oh,” he said. He turned around and looked at you, then his eyes went wide. “With Eddie?”

You blushed, unsure what to say, but Robin smacked him on the arm again. “Don’t be rude!”

“Ow,” he mumbled. He started the car and pulled out of the Hawkins High parking lot. “So, you want me to…?”

“Take us to the pharmacy to get a test,” Robin said.

Steve nodded. It was obvious he felt extremely awkward. “Okay. Got it.”

He drove the three of you to the pharmacy, where he waited in the car while you and Robin went inside. You felt embarrassed, like every person in the store could look at you and tell what you were there for.

“I think they’re back here,” Robin mumbled, looking through the aisles. Sure enough, you found the pregnancy tests in the back with the condoms and tampons.

“Um…I guess just this one?” she said, picking up a box that said Clearblue. “Results in 30 minutes.”

30 minutes to find out if your life would be changed forever, you thought. You followed Robin to the checkout counter, where an older lady was working. You and Robin gave your best we are absolutely not dealing with the epidemic of teen pregnancy right now looks - trying to be as nonchalant as possible. The lady looked at you strangely, but said nothing at all.

Back in the car with Steve, you felt like you could breathe again.

“Got the goods?” he asked, starting the car.

“Yes,” Robin announced proudly. “It was relatively painless.”

“For you,” you mumbled.

Steve drove back to Robin’s with nothing but the sound of the radio playing. The atmosphere was heavy, or maybe you were just imagining that with how scared you were, how much you were dreading what was to come.

When Steve pulled up outside of Robin’s house, he looked at the two of you awkwardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you in the morning,” Robin said. She climbed out and you followed suit, walking up to the house with the pharmacy bag clutched in Robin’s fist. Steve called out “Good luck!” through the window.

Her parents weren’t home, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to have to explain anything, like what you’d bought, or, later, why you were having a mental breakdown.

Robin took the test out of the bag, you looking at the box over her shoulder. She opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. The two of you read the instructions in silence.

“So, it looks like you just, uh, collect the sample, then put it in these little pots, and if it’s blue, you’re pregnant.”

You nodded. “Seems simple enough.”

“I think we got it.” Robin handed the box to you. “Good luck, girl.”

“Thanks.” You gave her a look before you took the stuff out of the box. You went in the bathroom, and took the test.

Once it was in progress, you and Robin sat on her bed. “30 minutes,” you reminded her.

Silence.

“Are you nervous?” Robin asked. “No, sorry, that was a stupid question. Are you scared out of your mind?”

“Yes,” you answered easily. “Fucking terrified.”

Robin took a deep breath, as if she was the one who’s life was on the line. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. Either way, you’re a smart girl. You’re gonna figure this out.”

You weren’t so sure. If you were so smart, why were you sitting here in this situation right now? You’d think you would have known better than to use that fucking condom. “Eddie is going to lose it.”

“If it’s positive,” Robin said. “This could be nothing. Just a lesson learned.”

That’s what you hoped, but you weren’t sure you’d be so lucky. After an excruciating wait, the timer went off on Robin’s watch. She turned it off, then looked at you. “The moment of truth.”

You took a deep breath. You were pretty sure you were about to throw up all over Robin’s beige carpet. You walked into the bathroom, acting like you were in a haunted house and someone was about to jump from around the corner and scare the shit out of you.

You reached the sink. You looked at yourself in the mirror before you allowed yourself to look down. You looked scared. You just knew Eddie knew something was up, if you looked like this you weren’t hiding shit. You thought this might be the last time you saw yourself this way, as just a teenage girl with a normal life.

You looked down.

Blue.

Your heart stopped in your chest. Hot tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t know what to do - that was the first thought in your head. I don’t know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked from outside the room. “Do you want me to come in there?”

You stepped out, hands shaking where you were playing with your ring. Robin looked at you with worry written all over her features. “What’s the verdict?”

“You’re going to be an auntie,” you said. As soon as the words were out of your mouth, the walls caved in. You couldn’t breathe. You felt like the walls were pressing in all around you, trapping you, stealing your oxygen.

“Oh, jeez,” Robin said, rushing over to you. “Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe. Just breathe with me.” She started taking long, slow breaths, trying to guide you, but you weren’t hearing any of it. You couldn’t hear her over the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears, your heart racing, knees going weak as you collapsed onto the floor.

“Shit!” Robin dropped to her knees next to you, pushing your hair out of your face, lightly tapping your cheek. “Hey, look. Listen. I need you to breathe with me, okay? I need you to breathe. Jesus, you’re seriously having a panic attack.”

All you could think of was Eddie, of the future. Would Eddie leave you? He said you were in this together if the worst happened, but what if he hadn’t meant that? What if he only meant it when it wasn’t really happening? People never really know what they’re going to do in a situation until it happens to them. He was young. He wanted to be a rockstar.

You were sobbing, the kind of ugly sobs where you were gasping for air, desperate to draw something into your lungs but finding nothing. You didn’t think you’d ever cried so hard in your life. Not even when Jason Carver broke your heart in 7th grade.

Robin muttered your name. “You’re scaring me. Please calm down, babe, it’s…you’re going to be okay.”

You did your best to breathe along with her, and eventually you were drawing in shaking breaths, laying on her chest and soaking her shirt with your tears. She just stroked your hair, patiently letting you calm down. When the numbness kicked in, the tears stopped and you merely sniffled, wiping at your eyes.

“Do you want me to call Eddie to come take you home?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “Can you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Of course. Do you know his number by heart?”

You nodded. You dialed the number for her and she held the phone to her ear. It rang a couple times, and you wondered if he might not answer and what you’d do then. But finally you heard the timbre of his voice through the phone.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin said. “Can- yes, she’s here. She’s- she’s fine. Yes she’s fine. Just feeling a little sick. Can you come bring her home? Yeah. Okay. Bye.” Robin hung up the phone and turned to you with a reassuring smile. “He’s on his way.”

Eddie, who drove like a maniac on a normal day, arrived at Robin’s minutes later. You went downstairs, and Robin stopped you right before you got to the front door.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said, pulling you into a hug.

“Should I…am I supposed to tell him now?” you asked, your voice weak.

“Maybe you should,” she said. “Just get it over with. Rip the bandaid off.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You got this,” she said. “I promise.”

You left the house, walking down to the street where Eddie’s van was idling. You could hear his music playing from outside. You opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“Jesus,” Eddie said when he saw you, eyes still swollen and red, looking like hell. He quickly turned the music down. “Shit, baby, what happened?”

You let out another big breath. How were you supposed to do this? Just say it? Rock his world like that with just two words? Two little words to change his life forever. And he didn’t even know it. He had no idea what was coming to him.

“You can start driving,” you told him instead of explaining anything at all.

He looked at you with worry. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes soft. “Baby. What’s going on?”

You fought the tears back. You were not going to cry again. One slipped out and you wiped it away.

“Are you crying?” he asked. “Babe, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll talk while you drive,” you said.

He just looked at you. “Okay. Mine or yours?”

“I have to go home. My mom is cooking lasagna.” You dreaded seeing your parents, especially tonight. You weren’t telling them now, that was for sure. They were going to lose their minds.

“Okay.” He pulled away from the curb, beginning the short drive to your house. “Now talk.”

You twisted your ring around your finger - your main nervous habit. Eddie clocked it immediately.

“Is it bad?”

Was it? Yes. And no. It was both, you supposed. You didn’t really know how to answer that question right now.

“I took a test.”

Eddie looked over at you, confused. “A test? What kind of test? Not your SAT? That wasn’t supposed to be until next month.”

Something about the fact that he remembered when your SAT test was taking place warmed your heart. Sure you had talked about it, how nervous you were and how much work you were putting into studying for it, but you never thought he’d remember the actual date. Those worries felt miles away now, trivial.

“No.”

“Then what kind of test?” he asked. “Did you get a bad grade? Because baby, it’s really not the end of the world, you’re so smart-“

“Do you remember the broken condom?”

Silence. Complete, heavy silence, like a blanket over you both.

“Yes,” he finally said.

Deep breath. “Eddie-“

“Are you pregnant?” You could see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. His arms were shaking slightly.

“Me and Robin got a test. We took it and…it was positive.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered. “You’re sure?”

“I think so.”

Eddie had reached your house. He killed the engine in the driveway behind your parents’ cars. The reminder of your parents sent the nausea rolling through your stomach again. He didn’t look at you. He chewed on his thumb nail as he looked out the window.

Minutes went by without a word spoken. It scared you. What was he thinking? Was he going to leave you?

“Can you say something?” you asked when you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please.”

He looked at you. His eyes were swimming with a million thoughts. You wanted to reach inside his mind and see what was happening.

“So…you’re pregnant,” he said, a mixture between a statement and a question.

“Yes. At least, that’s what the test said.”

“Is there a possibility that you’re not?” he asked, the hope in his voice making your chest ache.

“The test said it was 99% accurate.”

His eyes closed. He blew out a big breath, then rubbed his hands over his face. He looked like he was trying to erase the nightmare. You didn’t really blame him, but there was no running.

He didn’t say anything for a while. He was looking down, like he was completely lost in his thoughts. “So you’re pregnant,” he said again.

Your turn to pause. “Yes. I guess so.”

“I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought we were in the clear. You didn’t say anything for weeks-“

“My period was late, but I didn’t want to scare you,” you mumbled.

“You should have told me,” he said. He still wasn’t looking at you, and that was starting to scare you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I was just…I was scared. I didn’t want you to be scared, too.”

It was silent. The seconds ticked on like hours as you waited for him to respond, to say anything. Every second that passed increased your anxiety, increased the fear that you’d end up doing this alone. Eddie was going to leave you.

Eddie was spiraling. How could this happen? Well, he knew the answer to that. But what shitty luck, right? What did this mean? It meant everything. It meant his earth was turning on its axis, time was changing, he would be changing. What does our future look like? Eddie didn’t have any fucking money. He had a little from his dealing, but - fuck, he couldn’t be a drug dealer and a dad. But he’d have to do something. He’d have to start bringing in money immediately. Paying for your appointments, for the baby supplies. Then paying to survive, bills and food and a whole human baby who would need diapers and wipes and all kinds of stuff. What will this do to our relationship? What if you broke up? What if he became a single dad, seeing his kid every other weekend, paying child support, forever having to watch you with another man? And most of all - what if he wasn’t cut out to be a dad? He didn’t exactly have the best example growing up.

“Eddie, when it happened, we said we’d do it together, right?” you reminded him. “Don’t do this. Don’t get upset and push me away. Not now.”

Eddie didn’t say anything. He still wouldn’t look at you. “I think I just…need to process this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, worried. Your stomach felt like it was in knots, your chest tight again. You didn’t know what you’d do if Eddie left you. Your parents would probably be kicking you out, and you’d be homeless. Homeless and a single mom.

“I just need to think about things, okay?” he said. “I…need to be alone. To think.”

You looked at him. You willed him to turn and look at you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, that he still loved you and was going to be here for you. But he didn’t do or say any of those things. Your heart sunk to your toes.

“Okay, Eddie,” you finally said. You waited to see if he’d say anything else, but he didn’t. No goodbye, no I love you as you got out of the van and walked to your front door. You heard him driving away as you opened the door and walked inside.

The smell of the lasagna was overpowering as you walked in, and with your sensitive pregnancy sense of smell, you almost threw up on your mom’s fancy carpet.

“It’s about time you got home,” your mom said as you walked into the kitchen. She was setting the table, your dad already seated. “We were just about to eat without you.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, dropping your bag by the wall and taking your usual seat. 

“Don’t do that,” your dad snapped.

“Do what?” You were genuinely confused, but you really weren’t in the mood to deal with your parents any more than you had to tonight.

“Mumble,” he said. “It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” you said again, clearer this time.

“You weren’t with that loser boyfriend of yours, were you?” your dad asked with a snort. Your mom smiled lightly to herself - you knew she agreed.

“Eddie is not a loser,” you said, knowing it was a mistake.

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” he said. “The boy is a mess. He’s dumb as rocks, repeating his senior year for the third time. He’s always in trouble with the police. I think the boy does drugs. He’s dragging you down, and you refuse to see that.”

You were seething, thinking about stabbing your fork right in his stupid smug face. “That’s not true.”

“Honey, it is,” your mom said. “You could do so much better. I really think you should-“

“Mom, I’m not breaking up with Eddie,” you said, looking down as you poked at your food. Although, you thought to yourself, he might just do it for me anyway.

“You don’t talk to your mother like that,” your dad said, beginning to raise his voice. You could feel a headache coming on. Actually - you could feel more than that. Nausea rose in your stomach quickly and you jumped up from the table, nearly knocking your chair over in the process, and ran to the downstairs bathroom. You fell to your knees and emptied your stomach, trying to hold your hair back and not make a mess.

When you were finally done, you cleaned up and walked back to the kitchen. “I don’t feel good,” you said. “I’m going to go lay down. Thank you for dinner.”

You turned and left, hearing your dad yell from behind you.

“You better not be pregnant!”

—

After he dropped you off, Eddie drove around for a while. He wasn’t going anywhere specific, didn’t have anywhere he wanted to be. He just needed to think.

He thought about every scenario, every possibility. The good, which made his chest feel warm, made him want to turn the car around and apologize and tell you he can’t wait to do this with you - and the bad, which stopped him. He ended up back at his trailer, Wayne already gone for the night.

He didn’t know what to do. This was life shattering. He didn’t want to ruin your life any more than he wanted to ruin his own. He knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to be successful with his music one day. He was going to be letting the whole band down.

Eddie picked up the phone. He just held it for a while, debating. Wondering if he really wanted to do this. He dialed the number he had memorized.

The recording asked him for the inmate number - he had that memorized, too. He punched it in, waiting. After a number of rings, the phone was picked up.

“Hello?” the gruff voice came from the other end of the line.

“Dad,” Eddie said, his voice broken.

“Well, I’ll be,” Al Munson said, a laugh in his voice. “If it isn’t my boy. What brings you to call your dear old dad tonight?” 

Eddie sighed. “I just…something’s happened. I didn’t know who to go to.”

“Oh yeah?” Al sounded amused, like this was entertaining to him. “And what’s that?”

Eddie let out another deep breath. “I got my girlfriend pregnant.”

It was silent for a minute. Then, Al laughed. “Well damn, boy.”

Eddie felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t going how he hoped. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for, but it wasn’t this. He regretted picking up the phone. “Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t that just fuckin’ great!” Al said. “I’m gonna be a granddaddy. Well, Ed, while you were stickin’ your dick in anything that moves, I’m over here working hard, day and night, for nothin’. You better be grateful for what you have, boy, and get that girl an abortion. This is going to ruin both of y’all’s lives. Put an end to it now while you can.”

That little rant was the last thing Eddie had expected to hear from his father. He felt like his head was spinning, his chest tightening. “Dad, I- I’m not gonna ask her to get an abortion.”

“Why the hell not?” Al laughed. “Believe me, son, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret throwing your life away. You got that little band, don’t you? Don’t you want to try to make it big?”

It sounded mocking when he said it, but it was true for Eddie. He did have those dreams, as childish and far fetched as they may be. And he knew you wanted to go to a good college, wanted to make something of yourself.

“She’s my priority,” Eddie said. “If she wants this baby, I’ll have this baby with her.”

“Son, you’re a fool,” Al said.

Eddie clenched his fist. He had the sudden urge to punch a wall. “I love her.”

Al laughed, hard. “Like I said. A fool.”

Eddie hung up the phone, slamming it down onto the receiver. He was seething, taking deep breaths, his hands shaking where they were still clenched tightly. The phone call with his dad had only served to make him even more upset, now angry, at his dad, at himself, at the situation.

He didn’t know why he had called his dad in the first place. His dad had never been dad of the year. He hadn’t even seen him in person for 7 years, not since he went to prison. And before then, before Wayne, he was neglectful. Eddie cringed as he remembered Wayne shaving his head the day he moved in, his curls in mats.

His dad had never been a father. The only things he ever taught him were how to hotwire a car, how to be a good liar, how to steal without getting caught, how to deal without getting caught. His dad knew all about dealing - more than weed.

He remembered his mother. The little pieces he still had of her, at least. It made his chest feel warm, thinking of how she had loved him, how caring and kind she had been. He had no idea how she ever ended up with Al Munson. She was an angel.

Eddie knew you would be just as good of a mother as his own mom had been. He knew you’d be the best mother ever. He didn’t worry for a second about how his kid would turn out when it came to you.

But what about him? He already passed on his genes, isn’t that enough damage? Maybe he should take himself out of the equation. Run. Get away from this kid before he has the chance to fuck them up. Because surely that’s what will happen - he’ll damage them beyond repair, make them into as big of a fuckup as he is.

But no. He can’t just abandon you like that. As much as he knows this kid would be better off without him, he knew you wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave you to raise a child alone. Especially not with your shitty parents - god, how would they react to this? Not well, that was for damn sure. You wouldn’t have their support and he knew it.

There was really only one thing for him to do.

—

You cried your eyes out that night. Your pillow was soaked with tears, your eyes still red and puffy from earlier, now worse. You wondered if you could get by with missing school - your parents had heard you getting sick. But what if they made you go to the doctor? Fuck.

You woke up the next morning with your face practically stuck to your pillow. You wiped the dried tears away. You went into your bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror - you looked like hell. Your lower lip trembled, and you just knew it was going to start up again, but you were able to hold it back.

You splashed cold water on your face, helping to soothe your flushed skin. Then you turned the shower on, undressing and stepping into the hot water. It relaxed you immediately, the water beating down on your shoulders and easing the ache in your bones. You didn’t know sadness could make you so physically miserable. Or maybe it was the pregnancy. Maybe both.

When you were done with your shower, you dried yourself off, then started on your hair and makeup. You dressed like you felt, in a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Your parents had already left for work. You bounded downstairs, nausea still plaguing you.

You grabbed a granola bar from the pantry and forced yourself to eat it. You weren’t even sure how you were getting to school - was Eddie coming? Should you call Robin and Steve?

You were just considering picking up the phone when you heard a car horn honking from out front. You peered through the kitchen window, seeing Eddie’s van.

Your stomach clenched in knots. Was he here to break up with you? To tell you he wasn’t going to do this?

You grabbed your bag and walked out of the house, locking the front door behind you. You stuffed your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walked to the van. He reached across the seats and opened the door for you when you reached it.

You looked at him cautiously as you climbed in. You were trying to read his face, to prepare yourself for what was to come. He was unreadable, though. That was rare for Eddie - usually you could read him like a book.

He started the car and pulled out of your driveway. It was a few miserable, tense minutes before he finally said something.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I scared you last night. I just needed to think.” He reached over and took your hand in his right one, driving only with his left. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to do this alone.”

Tears brewed in your eyes, but this time they weren’t necessarily sad ones. “I was scared.”

“I know, baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I’m scared, too.”

“Where did you go?” you asked.

“I just drove around,” he answered honestly. “Went home and, uh…called my old man.”

Your eyes went wide. “How did that go?”

Eddie scoffed. “As well as you’d imagine.”

You softened. “Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

He waved you off, like the conversation wasn’t still eating him up inside. “It just…made me realize that I never want to be like my dad. I never want to make my kid feel the way he makes me feel.”

“You would never, Eddie,” you said softly. “You’re nothing like your dad.”

He shook his head. “I’m not so sure. I feel like a chip off the ol’ block.”

“You’re nothing like your dad,” you said again, firmer this time. There wasn’t a single thing you saw in common between Eddie and Al Munson. You’d never had the displeasure of meeting him, but you had heard plenty.

Eddie gave you a sad smile before turning back to the road. “Well, it means a lot that you think so.”

“I know so.”

It was quiet for a minute. A less tense quiet than it had been minutes ago. “I just…I’m sorry for running out on you like that,” Eddie said. “We’re partners, right? Always will be. In everything. Especially this.”

His words made you feel better. You had longed for him to come back and do this, to tell you he didn’t mean to act that way and that he loved you and this baby. That wasn’t exactly how it happened, but it was close enough.

“I love you,” Eddie continued. “I would never abandon you, I fucking swear that.”

You squeezed his hand. “I love you too, Eds.”

Another minute of quiet. The gears were turning in Eddie’s head, his mind still spinning even as he drove the familiar path to school on autopilot. “But we need to talk about it.”

“About what?”

“The baby,” he said, the first time either of you were saying the words. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do. And how we’re gonna do it.”

“Can we go to your place after school?” you asked, playing with the strings on your hoodie.

“Sure, baby.” He squeezed your hand, a silent promise that everything was going to be okay.

When Robin saw you in the parking lot, she sped over to Eddie’s van, throwing her arms around you in a hug as you stepped out. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” you said sarcastically. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“No.” You mustered up a smile. “But you don’t have to worry about me. Seriously.”

“Um, you had a full on panic attack on my bedroom floor yesterday after getting life shattering news. Of course I’m worried about you.”

You were grateful to have a friend that was so supportive and caring, but you couldn’t handle the attention right now. You already felt like you were drowning in worries. “I promise I’m okay, Robs.”

She looked at you skeptically, but accepted it. “Okay. If you say so. But tell me if you’re not, okay? I’m here with you. Always.”

You felt bad for pushing her away. Robin cared about you more than most people in your life. The least you could do was let her.

The school day passed uneventfully. Part of you had been worried that the news was written on your forehead and everyone would know. You just knew someone would be able to tell, then the whole school would know and you’d be even more of a pariah than you were for being The Freak’s girlfriend.

You were still relieved to climb into Eddie’s van at the end of the day. You always felt safe with him - being alone with Eddie was like coming home. He drove the two of you back to the trailer. Wayne was still home when you arrived.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted you when the two of you walked inside. He was dressed for work at the plant, drinking a cup of coffee with his lunchbox sitting on the counter next to him.

“Hey, Wayne,” you said with a genuine smile.

“Oh, hey, Eddie. How was your day? It was fine, thanks. How was yours?” Eddie said, pretending to be upset at being ignored.

“How was that math test?” Wayne asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Eddie paled. “We’re going to my room. See ya, Wayne!” He quickly ushered you into his bedroom while you laughed.

“How was the math test?” you spun and asked him once you were alone in his room.

“God, I don’t even want to think about it,” Eddie muttered. “I already know I failed.”

Your chest ached. “I told you I’d study with you.”

“Yeah, well…” Eddie said, “I had a lot on my mind today anyway.”

You knew the feeling. You’d barely been able to pay attention in class today. You knew this discussion was coming, and you didn’t know how it was going to go.

Eddie flopped back on his bed, and you took a seat next to him. He rubbed your back gently.

“You wanted to talk?” you reminded him, the nerves creeping up on you. What if this wasn’t a good talk?

“I just…” Eddie sighed. “How are we going to do this?”

You didn’t know. You hadn’t really had the chance to think that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah…exactly.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, tangled from how much he’d been messing with it today. “Are you sure you don’t want to…?”

“To what?” you asked. “Get an abortion?”

“Yeah.”

You thought. “I just don’t think I can, Eddie.”

Eddie continued rubbing your back. “I understand, baby. It’s okay. It was just an option.”

Not that there was anything wrong with getting an abortion - it just didn’t feel right for you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not upset.” If Eddie was being honest with himself, he wished you would get the abortion. He felt that was the best choice for you both, the easiest choice. The idea of the two of you keeping this baby scared him shitless. But he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to do with your own body.

“So…” Eddie began awkwardly. “How will we make money? To support us and the baby?”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

“Okay. Where will we live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Baby.” Eddie stopped rubbing your back, looking at you seriously. “We really have to figure this shit out.”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up. “I really don’t. I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do. I really wanted to graduate. I wanted to go to college.”

It was quiet. “Baby, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to go to college.”

Your chest ached. You could feel your future slipping from your grasp, the future you’d been building your entire life. The one you’d put so much effort into bringing to fruition in your high school years. It was falling away before your eyes.

“I…I’m gonna drop out,” Eddie said.

“What??” your head snapped in his direction. “Eddie, no.”

“Baby, I…” he scoffed, “I had my chances. If one of us has to drop out to start working so we can save up, it has to be me.”

Tears welled in your eyes. You felt like you’d done so much crying lately. “You’ve been working so hard this year. You’re so close.”

“It has to happen, princess,” he said gently, pushing your hair out of your face. “I have to take care of my family now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the couple of tears escaping, sliding down your cheeks. You felt horrible. You felt like you were ruining Eddie’s life. “Where are you gonna work?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I can get. Melvald’s, maybe. Restaurant. Anything.”

“Is stuff like that going to take care of all three of us, though?” you asked, the worry eating at you.

“It’s better than nothing, baby. I can keep looking. I just need to start saving money now.”

“Can I still finish school?”

“If you feel up to it,” Eddie said. “But, yeah. I don’t want to make you drop out, too. Maybe you could even go to college in a few years, when the baby is older.”

You smiled at that. “You think?”

“Maybe,” he smiled back. He laid on his back, hands crossed behind his head on his pillow. He looked lost in thought. “I think you should stay home with the baby until they’re older.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. People scare me. I want to know they’re safe.”

You felt the same. There was nowhere safer for your baby than with you, right? Not that you knew all that much about taking care of babies right now. It’s not like you had any siblings or even little cousins. “I agree.”

“Good.”

You laid down on the bed next to Eddie, curling up into his side. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. “How are we gonna tell Wayne and your parents?” he asked.

You let out a long breath. “That’s going to go over horribly with my parents.”

“I know.” He thought for a minute. “I…have no idea how Wayne’s going to react. He’s probably going to be disappointed in me. Which feels pretty bad.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, because he was probably right. And you couldn’t even blame Wayne. You guys had fucked up. And now your lives were forever changed.

“The guys are going to freak,” he said with a sigh.

You hadn’t even thought of the band, or the Hellfire club. How would they react? They were counting on Eddie to help make the band’s dream a reality. Eddie was the guitarist, the lead singer. How was he supposed to do that with a baby?

“I’m sorry your life is ruined,” you muttered, the guilt weighing on your chest.

“It’s not, baby,” he said. “And neither is yours.”

—

You had known about the baby for a couple of days. You were dressing for school, wearing a pair of jeans and a band shirt with a sweater. Eddie was driving you to school like he did every day.

You practically ran down the steps to meet him outside when you heard him pull up, but your mom stopped you right before you got out the front door.

“You need to stop hanging out with that boy,” she said, looking you in the eyes in a way that made you uncomfortable.

“Mom, no,” you said. “I’m not breaking up with Eddie.”

“You need to think about your future,” she said. “That boy is going to ruin your future. Whether you end up pregnant, or on drugs, or living on the streets. You’re going to be 22 years old with three kids and that boy in prison just like his father.”

You weren’t sure if you were about to cry or scream in her face. “You know nothing about Eddie.”

“I know enough.”

You pushed past her, walking to Eddie’s van with your fists clenched. You climbed in, slamming the door.

“Woah, baby mama, what’s wrong?” he asked, beginning to drive away.

“Just my mom,” you muttered. 

“Being herself, I assume,” Eddie said with clear distaste.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t listen to her,” he said. “You know she’s full of shit.”

But her words lingered in your head anyway, plaguing you the way only she could. What if Eddie did get in trouble for dealing and go to jail? It wasn’t impossible. And you were pregnant. God, you were going to have to tell her so, too.

You were distracted all through the school day, but tried your best to focus in class. You were standing up from your desk in english when Tina stopped you, her nose scrunched up like something was disgusting.

“Think you got your period,” she said, snarky as always.

You froze. “W-what?” you asked, looking at her.

“Your period?” she said. “Seems kinda heavy. Might want to go to the nurse’s office.”

She walked off, but you paid no mind to her. You looked down at your seat - and saw it covered in blood. You gasped, covering your mouth in horror - the tears started and you felt your heart shatter in your chest. No. No no no no no no.

You tied your hoodie around your waist and ran out of the room straight to Eddie’s locker, where you nearly crashed into him.

“Woah, babe, what’s going on?” he asked, steadying you by the shoulders. His eyes were swimming with concern.

“We have to go to the ER,” you cried. “Now.”

“Jesus- what’s going on?” Eddie asked.

You leaned in close. “Eddie, I- I think I’m having a miscarriage.”

His eyes went wide. “No. You’re not.”

“We have to go,” you said, taking his hand and walking off. You were acutely aware of the blood all over the back of your jeans, how you were probably still bleeding. What if you were losing the baby right now?

You felt on the verge of hyperventilating. Eddie ran to the van, opening the door for you and laying a towel down in the seat. “Shit, baby,” he cursed as he helped you climb in and saw the blood. His voice cracked, like he was about to start crying, too.

He drove you to the ER as fast as he could without getting pulled over. He had weed in his pocket, and in the back - he didn’t need that. He pulled up to the ER in record time, finding a spot and nearly carrying you into the hospital.

“I think my girlfriend might be having a miscarriage,” he blurted out to the receptionist, who looked up at him like he was stupid.

“What’s your name?” she asked you.

You gave her your name and info.

“How far along are you?”

“I…don’t know,” you admitted. “We just found out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re pregnant and this isn’t just your period?”

Eddie wished that were true. What a relief that would be, he thought. But if there really was a baby in there - he didn’t want to take any chances. He wasn’t going to lose it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you said, getting irritated with this lady.

They brought you back to get your vitals, finding your blood pressure high. “Probably from the stress,” the nurse said, but they brought you straight back anyway, having you change into a gown.

A tech came in shortly after. “I need to take you for an ultrasound,” she said, much more kindly than the woman at the front desk.

“Can he come with me?” you asked, holding onto Eddie’s hand tightly.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, looking like she genuinely felt bad. “But we’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

You followed her down the hall and to a room with an ultrasound machine. “Lay on the table with your legs up there, and scoot all the way down.”

You froze. “I thought ultrasounds were on your stomach?”

“Not this early,” she said apologetically. “It’s just a little uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.”

You laid on the table, feeling incredibly exposed. She began the ultrasound, the screen turned away from you. She kept pressing buttons and writing things down.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your stomach aching from anxiety. “Can I see?”

“I can’t show you or tell you anything,” she said, “we have to wait for the doctor. I’m sorry.”

You laid there, staring at the ceiling. You pretended you were anywhere else, doing anything else. You imagined you were at Eddie’s, laying on his bed while he played you a new song on his guitar. “I wrote this one for you, baby,” he’d always say.

She finished up and you were glad to put your legs back together. You followed her back to the room, where Eddie was waiting, bouncing his leg nervously. When you walked in he stood up, rushing over to you. He grabbed your arms. “Is the baby okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “She couldn’t tell me anything. We have to wait for the doctor.”

“That’s fuckin’ stupid,” Eddie said. “Why couldn’t she just say ‘yes, everything’s okay? You can stop worrying about the fate of your child’?”

Your child. Eddie caring about the fate of your baby so much made you feel a little better. You just hoped it wasn’t about to be ripped away from you like this.

You got back in the bed and the two of you waited nervously. It was maybe 30 miserable minutes later that the doctor walked in, introducing himself.

“How’s the baby?” Eddie asked as soon as the doctor stopped talking.

He pulled out some images, holding them out to show you. Eddie leaned over your shoulder to look at them. You couldn’t exactly make any sense of them - it was just a black and white image of some blobs.

“This right here,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the blobs. “Is called a subchorionic hematoma. It’s a collection of blood in your uterus. Most resolve themselves and are nothing to worry about, although the bleeding can be scary.”

Can be? You were just now breathing like normal again.

“So everything’s okay?” Eddie asked, wanting to get to the point as soon as possible.

“Yes, everything’s okay,” the doctor said, and you and Eddie collectively let out a breath. “The babies are perfectly fine.”

You felt relieved. Everything was okay. You turned to Eddie, but found him white as a ghost, staring wide eyed at the doctor.

“Did you say babies?”

You froze. Did he? You slowly turned to the doctor.

“Yes. You’re about 7 weeks along with twins.”

The ground fell out from under your feet. Your head spun, your blood felt like ice -

Eddie hit the ground.

—

Eddie woke a minute later, having been propped up in a chair by your bed. The nurses checked him over, but they knew he was fine. The doctor let you know you could leave, and you and Eddie were left alone.

“Fuckin’ - twins,” he breathed. “Two babies. Jesus.”

You couldn’t believe it either. If you had been scared before, now you were twice as scared. How were you going to afford two babies? How were you going to take care of two babies alone?

Eddie walked back out to the van with his hand protectively on your lower back, staying close. He helped you get in and closed the door for you.

“I don’t want to go home,” you admitted. “I just want to go to your place.”

Eddie smiled softly at you. “My house is your home, sweetheart. But yeah, of course.”

You leaned your head against the seat and watched out the window the whole drive to Eddie’s. You had been in the ER for so long, the sun was just starting to set. You felt relief that the baby - the babies - were okay. You were relieved you were going home with Eddie. Things were going to be okay.

Eddie pulled up in front of the trailer. Wayne was home - he was off tonight. You knew he wouldn’t question you. “Wait,” Eddie said, and he jumped out of the van and ran around to your side. He opened the door and basically lifted you down.

“I’m not made of porcelain,” you laughed as he sat you on the ground gently.

“To me, you are,” he said.

He led you to the front door, letting you go in first. Wayne was in his chair with a beer, watching TV. He looked up at the two of you when you came in.

“Hey, Wayne,” you greeted him.

“Hey, darlin’. Ed.” Wayne took a sip of his beer, looking at you both with an unreadable expression. Wayne was very closed off, it was impossible to tell what that man was thinking. “Can you two sit down for a minute? I’d like to talk to ya.”

That was strange. You looked at Eddie, who only shrugged back at you. The bleeding had stopped and you’d had the chance to clean up, so you sat down on the couch, Eddie next to you in between you and Wayne.

Wayne turned the TV off. Silence descended over the room, heavy and suffocating.

“Ed,” Wayne said, “your daddy gave me a call.”

Eddie froze. Oh fuck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wayne took a sip from his beer. “He told me somethin’ you, uh…told him?”

You looked at Eddie, confused as to where this was going. Eddie was sweating, all of a sudden it was way too hot for his jacket. He took it off, tossing it onto the floor.

“You wanna tell me somethin’, Ed?”

Eddie signed. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. But he didn’t say anything, and the way he was refusing to answer Wayne was scaring you.

Getting nowhere with Eddie, Wayne turned to you. “Honey, are you pregnant?”

Oh. Eddie had told his dad about the baby - babies, you corrected yourself again. Not that he had known that then. You looked at Eddie, who still looked panicked, but you couldn’t lie to Wayne. “Yes.”

Wayne looked between the two of you sadly. “Oh, kids,” he said, like he could see your fate laid out before you, and it wasn’t a good one.

“It’s twins,” Eddie contributed, looking at his uncle sheepishly. “Just found that out tonight.”

“Twins?” Wayne said, genuinely surprised. “Goddamn, son.” You almost laughed.

“Are you mad?” Eddie asked, scared not of what Wayne would do, but what he would think of him.

“Mad?” Wayne asked. “No. I’m just…worried. What are you gonna do?”

You and Eddie exchanged a look. “I’m going to drop out and get a job to save up some money,” Eddie said.

Wayne’s face fell. “Oh, Ed.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “But I have to. Right? I have to.”

Wayne didn’t say anything, because Eddie was right. There was no way around it that he could think of. He couldn’t afford to support Eddie, you, and a baby - two babies, which everyone kept forgetting and re-remembering. As much as he wanted to help, he didn’t make enough at the plant.

“What you have to do is stop that mess with the drugs,” Wayne said, pointing at Eddie. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

Eddie flushed. “Yeah, I know.”

“You cannot be gettin’ into trouble doin’ that stuff. Not now. I turned a blind eye to it for too long.”

Eddie nodded.

“Okay.” Wayne slapped his knees. “Well. You think you two have got this?”

You and Eddie looked at each other. Did you have it? You’d have to. “I think we’ll be okay,” Eddie said.

“Do your parents know?” Wayne asked you.

“No,” you answered. “We’ve only known for about a week. I’m not exactly excited to tell them.”

“I don’t blame you, sweetheart,” Wayne said. He knew how your parents were. They had met before, they looked down on him and Eddie for their social status, for their income, for living in a trailer park, amongst other things. “But you’ll have to tell them eventually.”

“I know.”

“We’ve got your back,” Eddie said. “If they wanna be assholes about it…”

“Which they will.”

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled you close. “It’s going to be okay.”

Conversation over, you followed Eddie back to his bedroom. He quickly cleaned up his rolling tray, papers, and baggie of weed that were laying on his bed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…smoked a little last night. I’m done now, though.”

You didn’t say anything, watching as he put his stuff away. He sat on the bed and held his arms out for you. You went to him, letting him wrap his arms around you. He laid his head on your stomach.

“I’m so happy you’re okay. All three of you,” he said. “I was so scared.”

“Me too,” you agreed. Eddie laid his forehead on your belly, his thumbs rubbing circles over it. He lifted your shirt up and pressed a kiss to the smooth skin, his lips lingering there. Your heart thudded in your chest at the display of love and affection.

“I love you both,” he said to your belly. “I’m your daddy, and I’m going to take such good care of you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or your mama.”

Your stomach flipped, and you were pretty sure you’d never felt so in love with Eddie than you did in that moment. 

He pulled you down to lay next to him on the bed, cuddled together, legs tangled. His hand rested on your belly, rubbing soft, slow circles until you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

—

The hospital set you up with your first OBGYN appointment. It was a week after the ER visit, and you’d been a nervous wreck. You hadn’t been bleeding any more, but what if you still lost the babies? You were looking forward to going just to hear that everything was okay.

You and Eddie left school early, heading to the doctor just after 5th period. Eddie stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as you checked in at reception. You found two seats together and sat as you filled out the clipboard of questions.

It asked all kinds of things. The standard doctor’s office questions about you, some awkward questions about your sexual history, and even questions about Eddie - ‘the father’.

“‘How many sexual partners have you had?’” you asked him, reading off the question.

Eddie blushed. “What?”

“It’s asking!”

“About me?”

“Yeah!”

He blushed deeper. “You know the answer to that question.”

You did. You just liked teasing him. “Remind me?”

Eddie gave you a look. “You know you were my first.”

“Oh yeah,” you smiled. Eddie nudged your shoulder playfully.

“Asshole.”

You turned in the clipboard when you were done, going back to your seat and waiting to be called. It wasn’t long before a nurse came for you, and you stood.

“Do you, uh, want me to go?” Eddie asked. He was jittery, bouncing his leg like he often did when he was nervous.

“Can you?” You didn’t know why you were nervous to ask him, you knew he would in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, of course.” He stood and followed you, trailing behind as the nurse led you to the back. She recorded your height and weight, blood pressure and temperature. You were taken to a small room with an exam table in the middle and two visitor chairs by the wall. Photos of babies decorated the walls. Eddie looked all around, seeming uncomfortable.

The nurse asked you even more questions. Some typical, some that made you blush. She asked Eddie a bunch of questions about his and his family’s health history. She left, and you and Eddie were alone.

“I didn’t realize they’d need so much information from me,” he said. “I thought this was all you.”

“You are the dad, right?” you teased, laying back on the exam table.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I better be.”

“They’re half you. Of course you matter.”

Eddie hadn’t thought of it that way. The babies were half him. And half you. There was something beautiful about how you’d come together to make something so precious as these two little babies. He placed a hand on your stomach - you had developed the smallest little baby bump - and rubbed it, smiling up at your face. He gave you a little wink.

The tech came in with the ultrasound machine. “How are you guys today?” she asked, setting up the machine. She put the gel on your stomach.

“Nervous,” you admitted. Eddie squeezed your hand.

“Don’t be,” she said. “This is supposed to be the fun part.”

She flipped on the machine and placed the wand on your belly. The image appeared on your screen, and you saw your two little blobs wiggling around in there.

“Congratulations on the twins!” she said. “There’s baby A,” she measured the smaller blob, “and there’s baby B.” The bigger blob was next to the smaller one, like they were cuddled together. Almost like it was protecting the other one.

Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of them - your first real glimpse of your babies. You glanced at Eddie, who was covering his mouth with his hand, staring at the screen with so much love in his eyes.

“And we can’t know if they’re boys or girls yet?” Eddie asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll find out at the 20 week scan.”

“How many weeks is she now?” he asked.

The tech took some more measurements. “She’s measuring about 8 weeks right now.”

Eddie blew out a rush of air. 8 weeks seemed so early and so long at the same time. “And how many weeks are there in a pregnancy?” he asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

“There are 40,” she explained. “But twins often come early, around 35 weeks.”

Eddie paled at that. How was the pregnancy almost a quarter over already?? Nothing was ready. Nothing at all. He still didn’t even have a job, and these babies were coming so soon?

You both watched the screen for the remainder of the ultrasound. She printed you a strip of photos to keep, which you held close to your chest - you would cherish these. Eddie took one to keep in his wallet. 

When she left, you cleaned the gel off your stomach. Eddie helped you wipe it up with paper towels.

“That was cool, huh?” you asked, smiling at Eddie as you pulled your shirt back down.

“Very,” he agreed, smiling back at you. “I can’t believe there’s really two in there.” He poked your belly.

“Me either.” You laid back. “Does that mean I’m gonna get like…extra huge?”

“Probably,” Eddie teased. “Beautiful no matter what, though.”

The doctor came in next, introducing herself and congratulating you both. She told you it seemed that the subchorionic hematoma had taken care of itself, so she felt it was nothing to worry about. She went over the do’s and don’ts of pregnancy, told you to start taking a prenatal vitamin, and instructed you to come back in a month.

With your ultrasound photos and appointment card in your hand, you and Eddie left the office. He helped you up into the passenger seat before getting in on his own side. “What do you want to do now, baby?” he asked you.

“I think we should go to the pharmacy for those vitamins,” you said. Your mind was entirely on the babies, wanting them to be as healthy as possible, especially after the miscarriage scare.

“You got it.” He started the van and drove in that direction, his music playing from the speakers.

You went in together when you reached the pharmacy. Eddie walked with his hand on your lower back, as if you might faint without him. You reached the correct section and found the bottles that said prenatal vitamins - you picked up one of the bottles, checking the price.

“Jesus. Why are these so expensive?”

Eddie looked over your shoulder, seeing the $30 price tag. “Shit. I don’t know, baby. But I don’t have enough for that on me.”

“Me either.” You sat the bottle back on the counter. “I guess it’ll be fine until we can afford it.”

Eddie was quiet. He felt like he was failing you and his babies. “I could sell-“

“No, Eddie,” you snapped. You did not want him selling drugs again. “We’ll figure it out. You started applying for jobs, right?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Of course I have.”

“Then you should have something soon,” you said, “and we’ll get it then.”

Eddie felt like shit walking out of the pharmacy with you empty handed. He felt like the biggest failure, just as bad of a dad as his own. He had spent some of the last of what he had on some weed - he knew it was wrong and that you had both agreed, but he was so stressed, he needed something. He felt horrible about it now, though.

He drove you back to your house. When he shut off the engine in your driveway behind your parents’ fancy cars, he looked over at you. “Are you sure you want to go in there? You know you can spend the night with me any time.”

“I know,” you said softly, almost like you regretted it immediately. “I’ll be okay. They’ll notice something’s up if I don’t come home at all. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay, baby.” Eddie leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“I know,” you mustered up a smile as he pulled away from your lips. You didn’t really want to leave Eddie, but you at least had to stay until they went to bed. They weren’t completely stupid.

Eddie watched you climb out of the van and walk to your front door. He watched until you were safely inside - only then did he allow himself to start his engine and pull away.

You could tell something was off the second you walked into the house. Your dad sat in his chair looking smug, while your mom paced nervously. Your dad looked pleased to see you when you walked in.

“What’s going on?” you asked cautiously. You weren’t sure if you were prepared for the answer.

“What’s going on,” your dad said, “is that little boyfriend of yours is finally going to get what’s coming to him.”

Your blood froze. “What do you mean?”

“I had a talk with Officer Callahan,” he said. “And he agrees that Eddie needs to be taught a lesson. They have proof he’s been dealing.”

You felt sick to your stomach, like you were two seconds away from getting sick on the floor. “Dad, no. Eddie quit, he doesn’t do anything like that anymore. He’s a good guy, please.”

Your dad looked almost pleased with himself, like he was happy to see you so distraught. “He should have made better choices. Maybe this will set him on the right path.”

“Dad, come on. Don’t do this.”

“You need to grow up. You both need to grow up. You need to find someone who actually deserves you. Someone better.”

You felt like screaming. You felt like throwing something at your father’s face.

“It’s for the best,” your mom finally spoke up. “It will scare him straight, at least.”

Was this your fault? Were you ruining Eddie’s life just by being in it? Your parents were being ridiculous, but that doesn’t mean the police department would see it that way. You couldn’t stand the idea of Eddie getting in serious trouble, especially not with babies on the way.

You ran upstairs, picking up the phone on your bedside table. You dialed Eddie’s number, hoping he’d had the chance to get back home by now.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding confused.

“Baby,” you said. “My dad did something really fucking stupid.”

Quiet. Then, “What?”

“He said the police are after you for dealing,” you cried. “He said you’re going to get in trouble.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Your dad’s a real piece of work, huh?”

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “Really scared.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said. He was always so calming to you, even over the phone where you couldn’t see his face or soak in the warmth of his arms. “But it’s going to be okay. I haven’t even been dealing lately. They’ve got nothing on me.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffled.

“I’m sure. Your dad’s just trying to scare us. He’s just a dick.”

You laughed, wiping at the tears on your face. “Yeah. He is.”

“Believe me, baby. We’re going to be okay.” You knew if Eddie were here he’d be brushing your hair behind your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You wished he was.

“Okay.” You trusted Eddie wholeheartedly, and if he said there was nothing to worry about, you were going to try to listen to him.

“I need you to get some rest, okay baby?” he said. “For yourself and for those little babies.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, babe.”

—

Eddie’s last day of school was nearing. He had put in his request to drop out, and had been putting in job applications all over. He was stressed, that was clear, and you felt bad, like it was all your fault.

The Hellfire Club didn’t know it was their last typical Hellfire meeting. Eddie walked in and the guys all looked up from where they’d been sitting, going over their characters.

“Well, boys, I have some news,” Eddie said, kicking one foot up onto his throne and leaning on his knee. This got everyone’s attention, and they leaned in closer, hanging on to Eddie’s every word.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asked. They could tell Eddie looked serious, and that scared them.

He held his hands out. “Well, it seems, that I…am going to be a father?”

The guys all just stared at him. “You’re what?” Jeff asked. “No fucking way.”

“No no no no no,” Gareth said, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the thoughts from it. “You’re not- huh???”

Eddie gave a halfhearted shrug. “I knocked up my girlfriend.”

“You’re not being serious,” Dustin said.

“There’s no way he’s being serious,” Mike added. “He’s full of shit.”

Eddie reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He pulled the ultrasound photo out between his pointer and middle finger, holding it up. Gareth snatched it from his grasp, the guys looking over his shoulder.

Sure enough, it had your name written at the top. But that didn’t mean it was real. “Bullshit,” Gareth said. “This isn’t a baby. And there’s two little blobs. Nice try.”

“And that’s where we come to the second part of my news,” Eddie said. “It’s twins.”

The room froze. Everyone was looking up at their DM with horror and shock. “You’re being serious?” Grant asked.

“Dead serious,” Eddie said. “Those are my little beans in there.”

Everyone looked back down at the ultrasound, trying to make sense of it, of everything. They couldn’t wrap their minds around Eddie - their Eddie - being a father. It seemed absurd.

“So…” Dustin began, knowing there was more to the story.

“So…” Eddie contributed. “I’m dropping out. Have to get a job to take care of the babies.”

That sent a silence over the group. “You’re what?” Jeff asked.

“I have to,” Eddie said. “It’s the only way I can take care of my family, man.”

“Eddie, you’ve worked so hard to graduate. You’re just going to drop out your third senior year so close to graduation?” Jeff was hurting for his friend, being one of the only Hellfire Club members to be around for so long and see the work Eddie had put in. No one wanted to see Eddie fail at his goals.

“I have to,” Eddie repeated, dejected.

“And, wait-“ Gareth said. “What about the band, man? What about our dreams with Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s heart sunk. “I…I mean I can try to still be in the band, but-“

“But your family’s going to come first now.” Gareth snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’d do this to us.”

“I didn’t get her pregnant on purpose, man,” Eddie said, getting frustrated with his best friend. “Shit happens.”

“‘Shit happens’? Really Eddie?” Gareth was getting more upset by the second, standing to face Eddie. “That’s what you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Eddie retorted. “My family is none of your business.”

“Your family, oh right,” Gareth scoffed. “I thought we were your family! I knew something was going to happen the second you started dating that girl-“

“Don’t talk about her,” Eddie said, his voice low, a warning.

Gareth was taken aback. “Jesus, Eddie. You really have changed.”

Eddie shook his head. “What, just because I love my girlfriend? Is it not metal enough for you to have a family with my girlfriend? Grow up, man.”

The guys were all speechless. This was not the Eddie they thought they knew. The Eddie who treated D&D and Corroded Coffin as the most important things in the world - his first babies. Now he was throwing them away in favor of you and the real ones.

“I understand why you feel the need to do this,” Dustin said, careful so as not to set Eddie off again, “but can’t we still have Hellfire Club meetings outside of school?”

Eddie thought for a minute. “You guys want to take it outside just so you can keep playing with me?”

“Hell yeah,” Mike said. “You’re the best damn DM we could dream of.”

Eddie cracked a smile at that. “Where could we have it?”

“My house?” Mike offered. “We have a whole basement we can use.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay. This could work. I might be a little busy, though. Being a dad and all.”

The guys laughed and congratulated Eddie - except for Gareth, who was still pissed off. Eddie didn’t miss the lack of support from his best friend. “Come on, man. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what, Eddie?” Gareth questioned, standing. “Upset that you’re ruining the chances of the band ever making it? Upset that you’re just giving up on school and dropping out on your third attempt that you were definitely going to succeed this time? How can you just throw your life away?”

“Gareth, I don’t have a choice,” Eddie said, trying to get it through the drummer’s head. “These babies are coming. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Gareth didn’t calm. He gritted his teeth, looking Eddie in the eyes. “You’ve changed, man.”

“Yeah, you have to when you become a dad!” Eddie said, waving his hands around for emphasis. “Come on, Gare. You’re my best friend. You don’t want to be Uncle Gare to two extremely cute kids?”

Gareth dared to crack the tiniest smile. “Stop.”

“Just think about how cute they’re gonna be,” Eddie continued. “Little metalhead babies.”

Gareth was softening. He didn’t like the changes this promised, he didn’t want Eddie to grow up so fast, but he had to admit to himself the image of Eddie as a dad made him feel a little proud of his friend. “You gonna have them listening to Metallica in the womb?”

Eddie laughed. “Damn right.”

“Do you really have to drop out, though?” Jeff asked, still concerned. “What’s that going to do to you, dude? You’ve worked so hard.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie looked around. It was clear he was trying not to be affected, to look like he didn’t care. He clearly cared a lot. “It’s just what needs to be done. So I’m doing what I have to do.”

Everyone was quiet. No one had a better idea, but they didn’t want to see Eddie throw away his hard work, either. 

“Okay, man,” Grant said. “Do what you have to do.”

“And congratulations,” Dustin added. “On being a dad and all.”

Eddie smiled a little. “Thanks, dude.”

“Yeah, man, congratulations,” Mike said.

Grant and Jeff congratulated him too, but Gareth still seemed upset. In agreement that the Hellfire Club would continue outside of school, everyone felt a little better, but their final campaign in the drama room was bittersweet.

—

Eddie got a job as a dishwasher at Benny’s. He hated it.

He had dropped out and was now working full time, doing something he absolutely hated - and he realized just how much dropping out affected him. He was depressed. He lost his sense of worth, feeling like the biggest failure imaginable. Took my senior year three times and still never graduated, he’d think to himself as he washed dishes until his hands were red and raw. Now look at me.

You didn’t get to see Eddie as often anymore. News was out at school - everyone knew Eddie dropped out because you were pregnant. At least you didn’t have to hide the belly anymore - you could dress normally at school. It was at home that you had to be careful.

You hadn’t heard anything else about Eddie getting in trouble, so you hoped your dad had just been bluffing. You never put it past him, though.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Eddie greeted you at the door as you reached it. He had just gotten off work and it was obvious, his eyes red and tired. He pulled you into his slender chest, his long arms wrapped around your body. You buried your face in his shirt.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it. He missed you all day while he was at work. He thought of you and the babies constantly - do it for them.

You didn’t get to see Eddie as often anymore. He usually worked late, and by the time he was getting home you were going to bed. This was the first night you’d gotten to spend with him all week.

“They’ve grown,” he said as you stepped back, placing his hand on your belly.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Word’s out at school. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it from my parents at this rate.”

Eddie frowned. He knew it would be bad when they found out. “You look cute,” he said, changing the subject.

“Thanks,” you blushed. “I don’t feel cute.”

“Being pregnant with my kids is a good look on you,” he smirked. “Maybe I’ll have to give you another one-“

“One pregnancy at a time, babe,” you laughed.

“Come on,” Eddie said, “I’m exhausted. I just want to hold you in bed.”

You weren’t arguing. He led you by the hand back to his bedroom - quickly cleaning up something on his bed and shoving it into the closet. You gave him a strange look, but didn’t push it.

He pulled his shirt over his head and laid down on the bed. You joined him, cuddled up against his chest. His fingers played absentmindedly with your hair while you laid together. Eddie turned, catching you looking at him. He smiled and pressed his lips to yours.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered against your lips.

“Missed you more,” you teased back, but his kisses were quickly taking your breath away. You were breathing heavily, his tongue pressing into your mouth and exploring it eagerly.

His hand slipped under your shirt, brushing over the bump before reaching your tits. He palmed them over your bra, moaning into the kiss. You moaned lightly, hips involuntarily grinding against his, feeling him already hard beneath his jeans.

He slipped your shirt over your head and unhooked your bra, kissing all over the exposed skin, his tongue flicking at your nipples. They were more sensitive now and had you arching your back into him, his hands sliding along your back as he sucked on your tits.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “It’s been so long. I need you.”

“I need you too,” you agreed, your panties already soaked at the mere thought of having Eddie inside you again.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked, kissing back up to your neck. “I need you bad. But I don’t want to hurt them.”

“You’re not going to hurt them,” you promised him. “They’re safe in there.”

Eddie grinned. “Does this mean I get to fuck you raw now?”

You blushed, the idea sending heat straight to your throbbing core. “I guess so.”

Eddie groaned, diving back in to bite at your neck as his hand expertly undid your jeans. He pushed them down as much as he could before his hand was beneath your panties, tracing through your soaking folds.

“So ready for me,” he mumbled. “You want this just as bad, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, writhing in your need to be touched.

“Looking a little desperate, baby,” he teased. “Do you need me?”

“Need you so bad,” you moaned. You had no shame, you were desperate for Eddie to fuck you and you wanted him to know.

Eddie groaned from low in his throat. He slipped a finger inside you, pumping it slowly. You gasped at the sudden feeling, then you were grinding your hips down, wanting more.

“Needy little pussy,” he whispered in your ear. “Look at how desperate she is to take me.”

You whined. Your mind was going hazy, you weren’t thinking straight. With Eddie’s finger pumping into you, his calloused thumb rubbing at your clit, and his mouth kissing and nipping at your neck, you were in another world.

“Need it now,” Eddie said, then he was sitting up, pushing his own jeans and boxers down and pulling your clothes the rest of the way off. His hard cock sprung free against his stomach, ruddy tip leaking.

Eddie lined his cock up with your entrance, pushing just the tip inside. He moaned, loud - his first time feeling you raw and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to last more than two seconds. He couldn’t look at you like this - it was going to make him bust immediately. He buried his face into your neck instead, rolling his hips to push his cock in the rest of the way.

You whimpered, holding onto him tightly. Everything was so much more sensitive now, you felt as if you could feel every ridge and vein of Eddie’s cock, heightening the pleasure. His hips snapped into yours quickly, as if he’d lost control and needed more and more of you.

His old bed squeaked as he fucked you, his groans muffled into your neck. You gasped, tangling your fingers in his long curls, pulling slightly. That made him shudder, tightening his grip on your thigh, a choked moan coming from his lips.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he moaned, kissing from your neck to your shoulder and all over your chest. “You’re so beautiful. Feel so good. Your pussy is so perfect.”

You whined. “Feels good, Ed.”

“Yeah?” he panted, speeding up his pace just a little. “You like that?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, eyes falling closed.

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Tell me what you like.”

“I love when you fuck me like this,” you whined. “I love your cock.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You opened your eyes to see him staring intently down at you, eyes locked on your face, his cheeks tinged pink with the exertion and his impending orgasm. “It’s so big. Fucks me so good.”

Eddie groaned, his head dropping forward. His curls tickled your breasts, moving with his thrusts. “I’m so close,” he choked out. “Need you to cum for me.”

You were close, too. Especially when he reached down and rubbed against your clit, making you gasp. Everything was so sensitive, his touch sending electricity through your veins.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I can feel you- holy shit- you’re so tight around me-“

Eddie tried his best to hold back, but the feeling of your pussy clenching around him as you came sent him over the edge. He let out a strangled gasp that turned into a loud moan as his orgasm hit him abruptly, cumming deep into you for the first time - on purpose, at least. He rutted into you with shallow thrusts as he shot his load into you, body trembling from the intensity.

After he pulled out, he flopped onto the bed next to you, his chest heaving with his breaths. You eyed the posters covering his walls, his guitar - his sweetheart - hanging across from you. It was all so Eddie. God, you loved him.

“That was insane,” he laughed, turning on his side and throwing his arm across your waist. “I needed that, baby.”

You kissed his nose, then his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand rubbed over your belly, a goofy grin on his face. “All three of you.”

You fell asleep in Eddie’s arms, cuddled closely to his chest. You slept peacefully, feeling safe and loved.

Eddie had a different experience. He couldn’t sleep, mind racing with thoughts of his life and future. He stared up at his ceiling, a sinking feeling in his chest. He was so disappointed in himself. This was supposed to be his year. He was supposed to graduate, make something of himself. Instead, here he was, a high school dropout washing dishes with soon to be two children to support.

He was a loser, just like he’d feared. Just like his dad. He had done everything in his power to keep from this fate, but it was all for nothing.

Mostly, he felt guilty for the babies. What kind of dad could he be if he could barely take care of himself? He made so little at Benny’s - it was better than nothing, but not by much. How the hell could he pay for the things two babies would need? And what about you?

He knew you deserved better. All three of you deserved better.

The only thing that got him through was the weed. He had promised you he would stop, but he was smoking more. It was a daily thing now, every second he had that he could get high, he’d take it. He was so miserable with his life, he needed the release.

You would be furious. Eddie knew that. He knew he shouldn’t still be smoking, he shouldn’t be wasting the little money he had on weed. He had even been calling out on days he got too high - which happened decently often. He knew his behavior was only solidifying his status as a total fucking deadbeat loser, but he couldn’t help it.

He had to have something to keep him going. He was so fucking depressed he didn’t know what to do with himself. If the weed helped, so be it.

Eddie crept out of the bed, careful not to disturb you. He opened his closet as quietly as possible and pulled out his stash box. He had a joint already rolled, which he plucked from the box and stuck behind his ear as he grabbed his lighter from the dresser and walked outside.

Taking a seat on the front steps, he removed the joint from his ear and brought it to his lips, sparking it up. He took a deep drag, the pungent smoke creeping down into his lungs. He held it, then released, the smoke billowing out from his lips in big clouds.

The warmth took over his body quickly. He felt lighter, happier. Every drag of the joint made those negative thoughts float farther away. He wasn’t thinking about his shitty job, or the fact he was going to be a father, or that he had dropped out of school and pissed off all his friends. There were no worries.

For that moment, everything was fine.

part 2 very soon

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[robbysreaders]

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader warnings: not beta read, barely proof read oops word count: 3k idk what happened i started with the bar scene and then felt like it needed some lead up and here we are notes: be kind to me, i am not a writer but these doctors have awoken a monster in me.

Robby got roped into a frontline workers’ talk at a local elementary school.

Shen’s mom’s friend is the principal if some public school and somehow that’s how Robby ends up walking into a fluorescent-lit elementary school foyer the same morning Shen’s leaving for his bachelor party weekend.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” he texts Shen.

“We’re naming our firstborn Robby,” Shen fires back.

“You know I’ll hold you to that,” he replys

He walks in with AirPods in, sunglasses still on, looking a bit lost. You glance up from your clipboard and do a double take.

He pops one AirPod out just as you mutter, “Oh… you’re not Dr. John Shen.”

“Nope, I’m not. He’s on a boat somewhere. Bahamas, I think. You’ve got me instead. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Older. Not as good-looking.” taking his sunglasses off.

“I never said that,” you say, blush creeping up your neck. “I think he must’ve told our principal and it didn’t get passed along. No worries—I’ll just update my intro slide.”

“Sorry for the switch-up,” he says, finally meeting your eyes properly, and holding the look a moment too long.

“Really, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you to the gym. Kids will be filing in soon. Just a quick overview of what you do, your schooling, then a few questions. You’ve got backup—a fire chief, a nurse, an EMT. You’re not on the hook for the whole thing.”

As you walk, he points to a motivational poster taped to the wall: a kitten dangling from a tree branch.

“‘Hang in there.’ Very ER-core.”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s more for the teachers than the students.”

He chuckles.

He introduces himself to a room of squirming third to fifth graders with “So I work in a place where people try to die and I spend most of my time convincing them not to. It’s great.”

They’re hooked.

He talks about trauma bays, night shifts, a time he held someone’s heart in his hands. The kids go wild.

One kid asks if he’s famous.

Another asks if he’s seen poop.

A third says: “You look like Iron Man.”

Robby: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

After the assembly wraps up, your work bestie sidles up to you.

“So we’re just gonna ignore that Dr. McHottie was eye fucking you the whole time?”

You don’t look up from the stack of worksheets you’re grading. “Literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head. “You should’ve gotten his number. Or I should have. What do you think they’d say if we just called the hospital?”

“I think it violates HIPAA.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think that you know what HIPAA is.”

You roll your eyes.

But the universe isn’t done.

Later, still riding the post-event adrenaline, you stop at the grocery store on your route home. This day earned you cake and a bottle of wine. You’re crouched down in the wine aisle, scanning for the cheapest red on the shelf, when someone clears their throat behind you.

“I think you’re better off with a white. With, uh, berry chantilly cake,” he says, peeking into your basket.

You look up. It’s him.

“An ER doctor and a sommelier? A modern renaissance man.”

“SAT words. The future’s in good hands,” he teases.

“So what’s your wine recommendation then?” you say standing up.

“Oh, I don’t know shit about wine.”

You laugh, and the silence lingers a beat too long.

“I—” “Not—” You speak at the same time.

“Ladies first,” he smiles.

“I was just going to thank you again for coming this morning. Not to show bias, but you were definitely the kids’ favorite.”

“Yeah, the heart story always kills. No pun intended.”

“Well, they had plenty of questions after you left. I told them they missed their chance.”

“I could give you my number. Y’know, in case more vital questions pop up. Or… you could use it to talk to me. Maybe even plan a time for me to take you out?”

You chuckle. “That line work on every elementary school teacher you try to pick up?”

“So far I’m one for one.”

“Not sure that’s statistically significant,” you reply, handing him your phone.

You text him your name—just your name and a smiley.

His phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then winces.

“I’m so sorry—I have to take this. Yeah… I’m just around the block. Okay. Be there in seven.” He turns to you, regret softening his expression. “Really sorry. I’ll text you later?”

“Of course, Dr. Robinavitch. Go save lives.”

”Everyone calls me Robby, or you can call me Michael” he says heading out. Just before the door closes, he glances back once more.

Later, you’re finally home. Glass of red in hand, cozy on the couch. You scroll, half-buzzed from the wine and the day, when a new text pops up:

Michael: My research says champagne’s actually the move next time—for the cake, I mean.

You grin.

You: Not a ton of room in the budget for a Thursday night champagne toast on a public school salary. Think I’ll stick to my $9 red.

You snap a selfie: you, the wine, a smirk.

Michael: Could be my treat? Next Thursday?

Followed by a link to a cozy bar you’ve been wanting to try.

Your fingers hover for only a second before typing:

You: It’s a date ❤️

You get there first.

The bar is small, dim, and full of mismatched chairs and candlelight. The kind of place where couples whisper over charcuterie. You’re nursing a glass of something bubbly, trying to look casual and not like you checked your makeup in your phone camera twelve times already.

Then the door creaks open, and there he is.

Button-down rolled at the sleeves, hair mussed just enough to look effortless—though he’d never admit it took longer than it should’ve. He spots you instantly and smiles like he doesn’t do that often. Like it caught him off guard too.

“You clean up nice,” you say as he slides into the chair across from you.

“You clean up… irresponsibly good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and making you laugh.

You clink glasses and dive straight into easy conversation. It flows, faster than either of you expected. He tells you about the time a raccoon got into the ambulance bay. You tell him about a class trip gone wrong and how a goat chased the entire third grade around a petting zoo.

There’s food—fancy grilled cheese, olives, tiny things with aioli—and more wine. You talk about work, but not too much. You learn he’s been at The Pitt longer than he planned. That he’s not from Pittsburgh, but ended up staying because… well, because.

You don’t push.

He watches you talk with his chin resting on one hand, doing that thing again—looking at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t mind not solving.

Midway through dessert, a berry cream tarte— the closest thing they had to the cake you bonded over a week ago— he leans in a little.

“Be honest,” he says. “What’d you actually think when I walked into the school?”

You smirk. “I thought you were a dad who got lost on his way to drop off a forgotten lunchbox.”

Robby laughs. “Brutal.”

“Okay, and also… I thought, oh no, he’s hot.”

He raises his glass. “That’s better.”

He offers you a hand to help you out of the booth and follows beside you, hand barely there at your lower back.

You’re standing outside, the city quiet in that just-past-bedtime way. There’s a light breeze and the smell of something warm from a nearby bakery.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Me too,” he replies. “Thanks for not fleeing halfway through.”

“Thanks for not turning out to be a wine snob.”

“I told you, I know nothing about wine. I was just trying to impress you. I was frantically Googling wine recommendations so i could have a reason to chat with you.”

You both laugh, and then there's a pause. A beat of quiet.

He tilts his head. “So, uh… what’s the move here?”

You step forward. “Well, you did save a lot of lives this week.”

“And you wrangled children into making a thank-you card with the word ‘trauma’ spelled wrong.”

“Tramua is the French spelling,” you deadpan.

That makes him laugh again—but softer this time.

Then he kisses you. Slow and warm, like he’s been thinking about it since the grocery store.

When you pull back, he looks at you like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.

Instead, he laces his fingers with yours.

“Did you park around here?”

“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Can I walk you home? Make sure you get there safely.”

You smile. “Of course. It’s that way,” you say, pointing left.

He releases your hand just long enough to move to the curb side, then grabs it again without a word.

You walk in comfortable silence. That kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your stoop. “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but… it is a school night.”

Robby chuckles. “Can I kiss you again?”

You don’t answer—you just lean in. And suddenly you’re a teenager again, making out on your front porch under a flickering streetlamp.

This time, he’s the one to pull back first, forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Guess I have to be the responsible one.”

You steal a few more kisses anyway, laughing softly, before finally saying goodnight and slipping inside.

You’re curled up in bed, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes, red pen in hand, when your phone buzzes:

Michael: Made it home. Thanks for a great night.

You: I had an amazing time. Up until I got home and got a paper cut on a stack of quizzes I need to finish before tomorrow.

Michael: Sounds serious. I can’t diagnose over text. Could I see it in person? Maybe Saturday?

You: I’d love that, but I won’t be in town—I can’t believe this didn’t come up. I leave tomorrow for an elementary STEM conference. Riveting, I know. I’ll be back Wednesday.

Michael: My schedule’s rough next week. Could you do Friday?

You: One date in and we’re already juggling calendars. I think that’s a good omen 😊

But yes—I’ll pencil you in for Friday.

Michael: Pencil? Ouch. That kind of hurts.

You: Okay, okay. Permanent marker. Color coded. Red for Robby.

Michael: That’s more like it ;)

The days go fast—seminars, lectures, hands-on demos. You barely stop moving.

But every spare second you get, you’re texting him.

Sometimes flirty. Sometimes funny. Sometimes just: Here’s what I’m eating. What about you?

It’s been a while since you’ve been in something like this. But it’s never felt this easy. And you’re really hoping he feels the same way.

Little do you know.

It’s almost time for handoff , and shockingly the ER is in a lull which gives the team time to strike an inquisition on Robby. Dana kicks it off, perched on a nurses station desk.

“Alright Robinovitch, spill”

He looks at her over his glasses, “I just finished handing off to Shen, theres nothing else to spill.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” he says with a frown.

“All week your face is trying so hard not to smile, it’s giving your wrinkles wrinkles.”

Shen turns from the drawer hes been rummaging in for snacks. “Wait, are we talking about how Robby’s been… weirdly chill?”

“I’m not chill.”

“You told a med student that it was alright, we all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was there,” Dana grins. “Who are you?”

Robby leans back in his hair, sips his coffee. “Maybe I’m growing. Emotionally.”

Dana gasps. “Oh my God. He’s in love.”

Robby chokes slightly on his drink. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had your nose in your phone every free moment you’ve had.” Dana adds. “You’ve taken real breaks where you go talk on the phone in the ambulance bay.”

Robby sets his cup down, but he’s not denying it. Just smirking like someone caught red-handed.

“Alright who’s the lucky lady?”

“You don’t know her and you’ll never know her.”

Shen looks like he’s doing calculus in his head and leans in. “Wait this started when I was on my trip, oh my god, did you meet a hot mom at the elementary school?”

Robby pauses. Just long enough.

“Holy shit, I don’t owe you any more – you got your repayment a hot MILF.”

“Oh my God,” Dana says.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not a mom, she’s a teacher”.

There’s a beat of silence before Dana grins. “You know what? I love this for you.”

Robby rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“Wait,” Shen says. “Does she know you’re, like, emotionally stunted?”

“She’s a 3rd grade teacher. I think she’s prepared.”

Dana hops down. “I’m gonna need details.”

“You’re not getting details.”

Friday rolls around and you’re more excited than you’ve ever been for a second date. It’s cozy and dimly lit—more plants than light fixtures, menus scribbled on chalkboards, and the faint buzz of a bar that feels like a well-kept secret.

You spot him at the bar, already seated towards the back. He’s dressed down again, but there’s something intentional about it—like someone who spent an extra minute wondering what shirt to wear.

He catches your eyes and smiles like he forgot how to do that for a while until recently.

“You’re punctual,” he says, clearly pleased.

“You’re early,” you reply, shrugging off your coat. “I was promised a perpetually late, cynical doctor.”

“Tragic. He’s been replaced by a man who googled ‘cozy date spots that don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.’”

You laugh. “And did it recommend this place?”

“Nope. Shen’s girlfriend did. Which I now realize makes this deeply traceable.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—do they know?”

Robby sighs. “Dana cornered me in central. I didn’t confirm or deny. Shen said I was glowing. It was… a dark time.”

You smirk.

The food is good—small plates, easy to share. The conversation is even better.

He opens up, just a little—enough to mention the long hours, how emergency medicine pulls you in like a rip current, how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he’s really good at.

You tell him about your student who tried to fake a cough for three weeks to get out of a math test, and the tiny triumphs that feel like wins no one else sees.

He watches you talk, head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy smile. His fingers rest near yours on the table. Not touching. Not quite.

Finally, he says, “I’ve gotta be honest—I haven’t really… done this in a while.”

“Tapas?”

He chuckles. “No, like—dating. Letting someone in. It’s easier to stay busy. Stay… guarded, I guess.”

You nod. “Well, I haven’t really dated someone who sees more blood before lunch than most people do in a year, so.”

“So we’re both out of practice.”

“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deliberate. This one without surprise. This one because he wanted to all night.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable cadence. You see him a few times a week, more often than you thought you would, but you don't complain. You love his company.

Your schedules do still clash at times.

You planned to go home after parent-teacher conferences. Michael had already mentioned he had plans—finally joining his coworkers for a long-overdue drink after weeks of skipping out.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to meet your own colleagues for a post-conference drink. It’s been a day, and you deserve it.

But as you walk into the bar, you spot a familiar profile near the corner.

You don’t even hesitate. With a little liquid courage in hand, you stroll over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“So… they really just let anyone in here nowadays?”

Michael turns, eyes lighting up in that way that makes your stomach dip. “How’d you find me?”

“Coincidence. We needed to lick our wounds after the parent-teacher conference firing squad.”

One of the guys at the table leans toward the person next to him. “Ahhh. This is the teacher.”

Michael grins and slides his arm around your waist, his hand resting easily at your hip. “Right, where are my manners?” he says introducing you to the team.

You smile, trying not to let the arm-around-your-waist thing short-circuit your brain. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’ll get back to my workplace complain-fest and let you return to yours.”

You squeeze his shoulder lightly, but before you step away, his hand shifts on your waist, catching your attention. He leans in and lowers his voice just for you.

“If you head out before we do… come say bye?”

You meet his eyes and nod. “Of course.”

The moment you slide into your seat, your coworkers pounce.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t have friends outside of school.”

“Thanks for introducing us to your hot doctor friends???”

“Wait—HOLY SHIT, was that Dr. McHottie with his arm around your waist? Did I miss a chapter?!”

You laugh and give them the short version. You field a rapid-fire round of teasing, eye-rolls, and maybe a few not-so-subtle attempts to angle to get set up with his coworkers, but eventually the conversation drifts to who cried in the hallway today, who mispronounced “photosynthesis,” and whose turn it is to deal with the PTA bake sale disaster.

Your group starts calling it a night. Long day, longer week. You say your goodbyes and make your way back toward Michael’s table, which has thinned out significantly as well.

He stands when he sees you. “My friends couldn’t hang. I’m calling it a night too—just wanted to say bye.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you want another drink, honey,” Dana offers, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You could never,” Michael says, standing and lightly touching your elbow. “What are you drinking?”

You smile. “Whatever you’re having.”

You settle in at the table. The conversation is easy, flowing from hospital horror stories to favorite dive bars to why Dana is banned from karaoke at two different establishments.

Michael returns with drinks, sliding yours to you and casually resting his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles that make it a little hard to concentrate on anything Dana is saying.

You laugh, you listen, you really like his friends.

The convos come to a close and you all start heading out. You shrug on your coat, and Michael helps, fingers brushing lightly down your arm.

“Want to walk me home?”

He smile. “I’d love that.”

The conversation is light—teasing, wandering, nothing too deep. You talk about favorite childhood snacks and your worst Halloween costumes. He tells you how Jack once sliced his palm on a pineapple slicer and tried to pretend it wasn’t bleeding.

As you reach your apartment steps, you stop and turn to him.

“That was really fun,” you say, quietly. “I like your friends. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “They loved you.”

“Good. Glad I passed the first big test.”

He chuckles. “Teachers and their testing.”

There’s a pause. Then: “So… want to come up?” you ask, voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, not pulling away. “I’d really like to. But I just came off a twelve-hour shift, and I’ve probably had two more drinks than I should’ve. If I sit down, I’m going to be half-asleep in seconds.”

You take his hand and start walking him toward your door.

“Then that’s settled,” you say. “Can’t have you falling asleep in the Uber.”

You open the door, letting the warm light spill into the hallway, and look back at him with a little smile.

He follows you in without another word.

You flick on the light and immediately cringe.

“Wow. Sorry. My place looks like my classroom exploded in here.”

Michael steps in behind you, taking in the scattered worksheets, the pile of books on your couch, and the half-folded laundry draped over a chair.

“You should see the trauma bay on a Tuesday,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of a stool. “This is a spa by comparison.”

You kick aside a rogue glue stick. “I did mean to clean today, but then 30 small humans and their guardians demanded to know if their kid is ‘thriving academically’ while also asking what ‘phonics’ actually is.”

He snorts.

You pad to the kitchen and grab two glasses of water, handing one to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

He grins. “Responsible and charming.”

You sit on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. He follows, moving slowly—like someone who’s used to being on his feet for twelve hours and finally has permission to stop.

He slouches into the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the backrest. He takes a sip of water and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Go for it. My couch has a strict no-judgment zone.”

There’s a long, easy silence after that. Not awkward—just soft.

Eventually, you get up and offer him a hand “you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on”

He reaches for your hand —warm fingers curling around yours for just a second longer than necessary.

He follows you to your room, hands still intertwined. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time you’ve shared one without hooking up before. It all feels very intimate.

There’s a surgical precision to how he fits into your evening routine that leaves you a little breathless as you settle into bed.

“Night,” he murmurs wrapping an arm around you and nuzzling in.

You squeeze his hand once, gently. “Goodnight, Michael.”

[honeytonedhottie]

luxurious self care routines⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🛁💕

self care is so important both for our mental and physical well being. its one of the girliest hobbies and for good reason too, when i practice self care i pretend like im caring for a doll (except im not rly pretending bcuz i am a doll). pouring into myself is my PASSION especially in luxurious ways...💬🎀

ATMOSPHERE ;

atmosphere is the most effective way to get that luxury spa like feel. light some candles that smell nice, warm ur towels and bathrobe before using it and make sure that u have all ur spa day supplies on hand so that u dont have to walk back and forth. some important items to have during ur luxury self care day are ->

🧁 cucumber slices (for ur eyes of course)

🧁 a warm cup of tea or a refreshing cup of infused water (whatever ur in the mood for) bonus points if u drink it in a wine glass

🧁 warmed towels and bath robes

🧁 a facial steamer

🧁 luxurious bath tray (with ur drink, candles, products, etc)

🧁 bubble bath

also, play some soft jazz or calming music in the background, i love bossanova so thats what i listen to. also try to avoid harsh lightings and opt for a softer light instead. we wanna feel RELAXED, like we're in an exclusive spa.

SKINCARE RITUALS ;

double cleanse ur skin and make sure to really take your time, feel free to massage ur skin too. make sure that ur letting ur cleanser sit on ur skin for a couple of seconds to really reap all the benefits you can. use a facial mask, i rly love making my at-home rice face mask. i also enjoy the aztec clay mask and sheet masks that have ingredients like aloe and rice.

BUBBLE BATH ;

soak in a warm bath with fluffy bubbles and ur hair in a pretty girly shower cap. i love to have the lights dimmed while im in the bath and a juicy book on my bath tray. if i dont have a physical book on hand which i prefer bcuz on luxurious self care days i like to go screen-less, i'll read one of my spicy web comics and just soak in the bath.

when finding a good bubble bath for your luxurious self care day i want u to do your research! i love my bubble baths fragrant and i love them to make LOTS of bubbles so some of my recommendations are the doctor teals bubble baths, i also really enjoy the creme shop boba bears one cuz its so cute and the lush bubble bars (they feel like a treat every time)

now when you get out of the bath it is SO important to have a nice hot towel and bathrobe to slip into. it just feels like a warm hug UGH it elevates the experience by like a million percent, its an absolute necessity don't you dare skip this.

FOR YOUR HAIR ;

while doing a luxurious spa day i recommend doing treatment on your hair like a deep conditioner or a hair mask. also massage ur scalp. ever since i've been on red note i learned that we have five meridians on our scalp and by massaging them we can stimulate growth and relieve stress so thats def something you guys should get into. bonus: use a hot towel wrap or a heated cap to let the mask soak in

FOR YOUR BODY ;

exfoliating always makes me feel like im shedding an old skin and stepping into a new one so it's a must have step. after exfoliating, moisturize with a thick, luxe body cream or body oil. go for something with shea butter, cocoa, or almond oil so you feel buttery soft. then spray a light body mist or your fave perfume, even if you’re just staying in/going to bed. smell is part of the fantasy

MASSAGE ;

this part is sooo underrated but like, once you add massage into your routine, you’ll never skip it again. it just feels like a princess reset. i always say a good massage makes me feel like melted caramel. you can do it yourself or u can make ur bestie do it for u, it’s giving luxury either way.

🍨 first, grab your fave body oil or lotion. i love using something that smells like vanilla, roses, or coconut milk, bonus points if it's a little sparkly. warm it up in your hands (cold lotion is illegal on spa day) and start by massaging your neck + shoulders. move in slow circles and don’t rush.

🍨 take your time on your arms, hands, and even your scalp...we carry so much tension there. i literally feel the stress leaving my body when i do this.i also use a gua sha or jade roller on my face + neck.

🍨 extras i’m obsessed with: — heated neck wraps — those cute lil wooden roller tools

put on your soft music, breathe deep, and just melt. your room isnt not a bedroom anymore. it’s a private suite in a 5-star spa in paris.

[magicspacedragon]

Screen captures read

TIFU by admitting to my girlfriend that I pretend she is a giant cockroach when we have sex. M submitted 8 years ago " by I-Love-Roach

Ever since I was a teenager I have had very intense fantasies about having sex with a giant roach. It started in 9th or 10th grade when we read The Metamorphisis by Franz Kafka. As I started to think more and more about the roach creature that the character had become, I started to imagine what it would be like if a woman turned into the roach instead. I found this idea very arousing. I would not be repulsed or frightened of her, as the characters in the story are. I would take care of her. Then my thoughts started to get sexual with the character. Eventually I sort of dropped the bit about her having been a human woman first, and I kind of imagined this fictionalized roach species. They are giant roaches, the size of a person, and have complete intelligence. I kind of over time conjured up an "imaginary friend" of sorts. She was one of these roaches and her name was Ogtha. I would fantasize about her often. Whenever I masturbated I'd be imagining elaborate scenarios of me and Ogtha making love. When I started to have actual sex, I found I could not, uh … perform, if I wasn't thinking of Ogtha. So basically now, anytime I have sex with a woman, I am pretending that she is actually Ogtha. Not just think about Ogtha, I concentrate intently to visualize that I actually am doing Ogtha. I don't want to think about the girl at all. There is only Ogtha. Of course this sex can never be as exciting as my fully imaginary sessions with Ogtha, there are things that her multiple appendages and antennae allow for that a human woman can never match. So anyways, I've been in a relationship with my girlfriend for about a year. 3 or 4 times I have tried to have sex with her and not pretend she is Ogtha, but I just can't do it. So essentially every time we have sex I am imagining she is Ogtha. I finally confided this to her the other day, and I was blown away by her reaction. I thought she might take it a bit badly at first but that she'd get used to it. No. I have never seen such a look of disgust before. Outraged is not an understatement. She is not even returning my texts now. I am afraid she is actually going to break up with me and also that is going to tell people about Ogtha. I don't know how I will face anyone. This is going to sound silly but I also feel guilty about feeling shame, as if Ogtha will be saddened by this, even though I "know" she is imaginary. I just don't know what to do at this point. Edit: The reddit user Cyae1 was kind enough to speak my post into a youtube video: http://youtu.be/ p5aMxobg-s He asked I put it in my post. I did this because I do think an audio can be good. I do appreciate being placed on youtube.

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TIFU by admitting to my co-workers that my wife, Ogtha, is an "imaginary" giant roach. (An update of sorts to my prior tifu from 5 years ago.) L submitted 2 years ago by I-Love-Roach

Hello, 5 years ago I submitted the story of me telling my then girlfriend that when we made love I was envisioning her as a giant roach: https://np.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/2i7jid/tifu_by_admitting_to my_girlfriend_that_i_pretend/ The gist of the backstory is that ever since I was a teenager I have fantasized in my head of making love to a giant roach, a roach the size of a person. Eventually I concocted an entire backstory and personality for this "imaginary" roach, who I named Ogtha. Whenever I would engage in private pleasurable deeds (if you know what I mean), I would imagine in my head vivid and elaborate scenarios with Ogtha. It got to be I could not perform with an actual partner unless I pretended they were Ogtha. You might think of the scene in Blade Runner 2049 (which my original tifu predates by the way) where the main character makes love to a prostitute, but his hologram girlfriend kind of holograms over the body of the actual person, so he can "pretend" he is making love to his hologram. That is what it was like with me and Ogtha, but instead of a hologram it was just my imagination. In the 5 years that have passed since this topic was posted, I decided to stop fooling myself and I just committed to the love of Ogtha. I know she is not "real" per se, but in my head she is an actual personality. And I am in love with that personality. I don't care if she is a roach or if she is "imaginary", the love is real. Call me deluded, but it's harmless, it makes me happy. I have not had a real girlfriend again since that incident 5 years ago, but occasionally I have had one-night stands via online apps (with the understanding of it being one night in advance), and on these times I always envision the woman is Ogtha, my sensual roach queen. Now, I mean no offense to the women of course, and even a gentlemen once or twice (the many appendages of Ogtha make translation to human gender almost irrelevant), I just envision they are Ogtha. And no, ha ha, I have never confided to them about it! I learned my lesson. The thing about it though is that I became so in love with my Ogtha that I "married" her. I even did a little ceremony in my living room. I recited my own vows, and she recited hers. I even went on a "honeymoon", which technically you could say was a solo vacation to New Orleans for a week, but in my mind Ogtha was with me the entire time. In my mind I think of her as my wife. Now here's where I fucked up. I got so used to thinking of her as my wife in my head, that a few months ago at work I nonchalantly said "my wife" in some innocuous sentence. I think it was something like "Oh yeah me and my wife love that show" in regards to Chopped. So now everyone was asking me about my wife, because they had never heard I was married or even dating anyone. Everyone kept pestering me. Wanting to know about her. Wanting to see pictures.

I became full of panic. I did the one thing I swore I would never do again. I talked to other people about Ogtha in real life. We were at a team lunch, and I just let it all spill out. I told them about how I became enamored as a teenager with the Franz Kafka story, how my "fantasy" evolved into an actual "imaginary" entity with a personality, and how I slowly began to grow in love with her. What started as a mere sexual attraction to giant roaches blossomed into a whirlwind romance, and that she became the love of my life, even though her existence was in my own mind. At first they thought I was doing a creepy joke, but I convinced them I was telling the truth. Well, they were afraid and disgusted. I have been a pariah at work ever since. Everybody steers clear of me, we used to have a good social life, now people only speak to me for work related reasons. Even working virtually now, nobody sends me a Slack message unless it is about work. I even heard a rumor that people went to HR, but they were of course told nothing could be done. I have lost my good work friends because of this and it is indeed jeopardizing my career, because my bosses think I am insane. I have ruined my friendships and future career prospects due to my honesty. I am thinking of starting to look for a new job, although it is difficult in the current environment. I can start fresh elsewhere though. No matter what, I will be staying with my wife, Ogtha. For me, it is Ogtha Forever. If you must know, I do hope that even if I am an old man, that one day the technology is invented to extract the Ogtha personality from my mind and implant it into a real external body, either of a genetically engineered or a mechanical nature, and me and Ogtha can then experience genuine physical connection. But if she must remain within me, that is fine. Her love keeps me warm on the coldest of nights! Thank you. TL;DR - I foolishly told my co-workers that my wife is an "imaginary" giant roach and now they don't like me anymore and my career is in shambles.

i wish i could see this picture for the first time again

[plutodexay]

Thunderbolts* Headcannons

Them asking you out on a date and how they would go about doing it!

Includes Bucky, Ava, Walker, Yelana, and Bob! In that order

⋆˙⟡Bucky⟡˙⋆

He would be awkward but weridly confident. Like he would need to pysch himself up in the corner before walking over to you but would also have the idea that theres no universe in which you'll say no to him.

Its not the most romantic thing, he didn't bring flowers or a gift but he has that old timey mindset of how to do these things and that comes heavily into play.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me?" Bucky asked, a smirk on his face that for once showed no malice.

"Dinner?" You could feel your eyebrows furrowing at the simple question. Bucky was mostly distant with you, making this honestly a somewhat scary situation, but also an exciting one.

"I like you." His hand reached out to grab yours, the warm skin a contrast from what you'd expected. "And I would like to treat you to a nice evening if you'd let me." Emphasizing his words by bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into the back of it. You knew what your answer was.

⋆˙⟡Ava⟡˙⋆

Something tells me she'd be waiting for you to ask her first, like she would be secretly staring at you and trying to egg on conversations that could potentially lead to the two of you being alone together.

If she did end up asking first, it would be out of despration or a slight outburst in the middle of a conversation. Asking is hard but she also doesn't want to risk you getting with someone else or leaving.

"I mean I have the reservation, I'll probably just ask some random tinder match to go with me ya know?" Yelena laughed along with you at your words, the topic of this stupid gifted reservation on valentines day driving you insane.

"Could take me." Ava muttered, face strained in annoyance as she stood by the both of you.

"Sorry say that again?" You asked, trying to make sure you heard her right, and you really hoped you did.

"Take me." Ava said louder this time, a tone of anger in her voice. "I'm right here, more than willing to have all the cringe romance shit you could just take me."

"I'd love to." Her face turned to one of pure shock, matching Yelenas similar expression. "You'd be the perfect date."

⋆˙⟡Walker⟡˙⋆ (Im still in the constant changing opinion of this man but I am a women of giving daydream ideas to people so enjoy)

I don't even think he asks. He's full of that surface level confidence that slowly fades the more comfortable he gets around you. His pride is intense so he just doesn't ask, he tells you.

Even with this he'll get visbily excited when you don't say no. He has an extra kick in his step when he walks away from you after it. You can't point it out until much later in the relationship which by then he'll admit to rehearsing it all in a mirror the nigth before.

"You me the park at 7pm tomorrow." John said as he walked up to you, no hello's or anything else.

"Oh yea?" You chuckled as you watched his smirk faulter at your pushback for just a moment.

"Yea, you have a problem with that." He took a step closer, keeping eye contact with you seemingly attempting to challenge you to push him furhter. You weren't going to, you knew that but the fact that he did not for these few seconds made it much more fun for you.

"I'll be there." You broke the silence, and all you got was a nod from him as he turned to walk away, watching as he walked as if he'd had multiple shots of expresso hilariously.

⋆˙⟡Yelena⟡˙⋆

Oh so stereotypical for some reason. Once she knows she wants you she will be getting you and that is the end of the discussion. She'd ask you while handing you a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers wrapped in perfectly tied ribbon.

It'll be done in private to, a timed place where nobody could dare to interupt. She wants it to be perfect even if its just a first date and she will make it painfully so. She won't have anything planned for the actual date though, wanting to get your opinion on it before hand.

"Is there any reason why we're out here?" You said aloud, looking around the quiet park. This specific spot you were in had nobody running around it, you could hear the rest of them off in the distance yet here and now it was just you two.

"I wanted peace and quiet so I could ask you." Yelena's tone was serious but her face gave off hints of excitment. You watched as she ducked below the bench to pull out of bundle of flowers. "For you." She extended the flowers towards you, waiting with a smile until you grabbed them.

"Why?" You could feel the confusion on your face as you switched focus between the flowers and her.

"I would like to take you out on a date if you'd let me." Now she was nervous, you could hear it but god was it endearing.

"Please do."

⋆˙⟡Bob⟡˙⋆

Sleepily, its the only time he has enough confidence. You two would be resting in the common space after a mission, everyone else had left to go to their own rooms but you two always watched something before doing so.

He'd be half asleep bundled under a big blanket on the couch next to you when he'd ask. Saying he'd been thinking about it for ages and would really like to start sharing couches. Falls asleep the moment you agree but thankfully remembers in the morning.

"We should share a couch one day." Bob mumbled, words coming out at the right commercial break.

"Yea?" You chuckled, pushing your own blankets down enough to get a view of his red but bundled face in the tv's light.

"Mhm." He hummed, eyes closed and shifting further down into the cushions. "If we go out on a date we could do it." A smile grew on his face, imagining that scenario.

"I'd like that." You responded, watching him grin adorbly. "If you'd like." You added, knowing his tired mind races from him often enough that it can and has become an issue.

"Zoo date?" He whispered, prying his eyes open to look at you with baited breath for a response that wouldn't ruin the moment.

"Zoo date."

[pixiefelixie]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ where i land.

: ̗̀➛ pairing — volleyball player!hyunjin x reader, university au : ̗̀➛ word count — 19k : ̗̀➛ content — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, MDNI due to very mature themes (smut warnings below the cut), underaged blogs will be blocked, mentions of an injury, grief over identity loss, lots of crying and kisses, they're in love your honour

you’re dating the university’s best right-side hitter—hyunjin, best of the court, all instinct and fire. volleyball is everything to him. has been since before you met. but when an injury cuts his season short, hyunjin’s forced to face something he’s never had to before: a future without the one thing that’s always defined him. now, with his knee and his heart barely holding together, he has to figure out who he is off the court—and what it means to still be worthy of love, purpose, and you.

author's note: i had way too many of these long fics collecting dust in my drafts so i figured… might as well post this one! volleyball is everything to me so this one’s super self indulgent and written straight from the heart 💔🏐 i hope you enjoy it <3

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: two sex scenes, oral (m. receiving), cw! safeword (used, respected but late; very very mild nonconsensual elements, not glamorized), piv, protected sex, dirty talk

volleyball was everything to hyunjin.

not just a sport. not just a hobby. it was the pulse in his fingertips, the reason he got up in the morning, the way he measured time—not in months, but in seasons. you met him at one of those tournaments, back in high school, when your team had already been knocked out and your friend dragged you to the other gym to “watch the boys play.”

you’d rolled your eyes. “what, like for fun?”

but then you saw him.

and suddenly, it was fun.

you’d never seen a guy move like that before. there was something different in the way he played—like every step was instinct, like he knew where the ball was going to be before it even left the setter’s hands. he played right side, but there was nothing “side” about the way he commanded attention. his hits were vicious. his blocks were surgical. and when he smiled—after a perfect kill that sent the crowd erupting—you felt it all the way in your ribs.

you’d played too, but never like that. never with that fire. you had enjoyed the sport. he loved it.

somehow, he noticed you that day.

maybe it was because you were still in your jersey. maybe because your friend was not-so-subtly pointing at you while whispering. maybe—he’d later tease—it was because you didn’t look impressed, and that irritated him just enough to want to change your mind.

from there, things moved fast—faster than either of you expected. a few exchanged dms turned into late-night facetime calls, which turned into weekend meetups halfway between your schools. it didn’t take long for hyunjin to ask you out officially, nervously gripping the edge of his gym bag like it might shield him from rejection. you’d said yes before he could finish the sentence.

after graduation, the decision was easy. he got a scholarship for volleyball—a full ride, no surprise—and you got accepted into the same university for a program that made your high school guidance counselor say, “you sure about this?” you were. you always had been. smart, focused, maybe a little stubborn—your idea of a challenge was enrolling in the hardest courses they offered, just to see if you could survive.

so there you were. two years into university. him, chasing championships. you, chasing equations, reports, exams you barely had time to breathe through. but somehow, it worked. you studied while he practiced. he came to your presentations in a hoodie and brought you bubble tea after midterms. you helped him stretch when he was sore. he held you when you broke down from stress.

you both had it all sorted out.

the alarm blared at 7:00 am, dragging you out of a dream you barely remembered. you groaned, buried under a mess of tangled blankets and limbs. hyunjin mumbled something incoherent beside you and flopped onto his stomach, arm stretching across your waist, pulling you closer without even opening his eyes.

you lay there a second longer, eyes still shut, nose tucked against the side of his neck. he smelled like laundry detergent and sleep and something warmer underneath—something you’d learned to associate with safety.

“i have weights in forty minutes,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

“and i have a chem lecture in thirty,” you mumbled back.

“skip.”

“you skip.”

a pause.

he peeked one eye open. “can’t. game tonight.”

that made you smile. because even now, even half-asleep, his entire face changed at the mention of it. his mouth curved up automatically. his eyes lit up, even through the haze of grogginess.

tonight’s game was big.

hyunjin had been talking about it all week—hell, for the past month. their rivals from the west coast were flying in. undefeated so far, just like his team. he’d been studying footage of their right side like he was prepping for an exam.

“it’s gonna be a bloodbath,” he’d said last night, lying back on the dorm floor, tossing a stress ball in the air while you highlighted your textbook. “in a good way.”

“is there a good way for a bloodbath?” you’d asked without looking up.

“for the winners, yeah.”

he was so ready. sharpest he’d ever been. his vertical had improved, his timing was better, and he’d finally stopped complaining about the weird new brace he had to wear on his ankle. every time you saw him walk out onto the court, you swore he looked taller. like something about it gave him a new center of gravity.

and now? now the alarm was screaming, and still—neither of you moved.

“five more minutes,” you muttered, curling into him.

hyunjin groaned into your hair. “ten.”

“we’re going to be late.”

he exhaled heavily, like the weight of responsibility was something he could blow off with enough dramatic flair. but he didn’t let go. his leg was tangled with yours. his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, just resting there, warm against your skin.

“whenever you sleep over, i can never get up,” you murmured, voice still scratchy with sleep.

your hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft and messy from the pillow, a little damp at the nape from how warm it had gotten under the covers. he sighed, melting a little under your touch, his whole body relaxing like you’d pressed a switch.

hyunjin shifted slightly, his nose brushing your neck as he spoke, voice muffled and boyishly whiny. “well your bed’s comfier than mine.”

you smiled, still playing with his hair. “it’s the same mattress, genius. university-issued.”

“yeah, but yours also smells like vanilla and detergent.” he tilted his head just enough to nuzzle under your chin. “mine smells—not like this.”

you groaned, the alarm still blaring beside you like an obnoxious countdown to responsibility.

“okay, that’s it,” you muttered, reaching out with one arm and slapping the snooze button harder than necessary. silence, blessed and brief, fell over the room.

then you turned back to hyunjin and gave him a shove. “up. seriously. we’re gonna be late.”

he grunted dramatically, refusing to budge. “just a few more—”

“no,” you said, already halfway untangling yourself from the sheets. “we're not doing this again, hwang hyunjin.”

but before you could escape, he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you back in with one quick tug, your back flush to his chest.

“hyun—!”

he was already on the attack, pressing quick, fluttery kisses against your cheek. “you’re so mean to me in the mornings,” he whined between kisses.

you squealed, squirming as his lips trailed toward your jaw, tickling your skin with every dramatic pout he planted there. “hyune—stop, i’m gonna be late—!”

“you say that every time,” he said, voice smug now, lips brushing just under your ear. “and you’re always exactly on time.”

you were laughing now, full and unfiltered, even as you tried to wriggle free. “that’s because i sprint across campus!”

“good cardio,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth like punctuation. “you’re welcome.”

you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, grinning as you pushed at his chest.

“dick,” you whispered under your breath, eyes narrowed but your mouth twitching with a smile.

his jaw dropped. “me?”

you shook your head, biting back another laugh as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching with a small groan before grabbing the t-shirt draped over your desk chair. you tugged it down over your sleep shorts and ran a hand through your hair, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

“i swear,” you muttered, turning toward the door, “when i come back, you better be gone.”

hyunjin was already spreading himself out dramatically across your bed, arms tucked behind his head, hair fanned out against your pillow like he lived there. he rolled his eyes with the laziest grin.

“yeah, yeah. kick me out of my own second home, why don’t you.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you opened the door. “i’ll see you tonight.”

“six p.m.,” he said immediately, eyes flicking toward you like he’d already counted the hours in his head. “stadium.”

you nodded, one hand still on the knob. “wouldn’t miss it.”

a pause, just long enough to make the next part soft.

“love you,” you said.

hyunjin didn’t even hesitate. “love you too.”

you smiled, small and real, before pulling the door shut behind you.

the hallway was already buzzing—dorm doors cracking open, slippers shuffling against linoleum, the distant hiss of a kettle in someone’s shared kitchen. you padded down toward the shared bathroom, toothbrush in hand, weaving past two girls arguing over whose towel was dripping onto the floor.

the mirror was still a little foggy from someone’s shower, but you wiped a stripe clear with your palm and leaned in.

you knew today would be a good day.

it always was when it started with him.

the sky had started to dip into that golden haze that only showed up right before sunset, warm and honey-colored, stretching long shadows across campus as you and your friends made your way toward the stadium.

you were ready, as always.

university tee half-tucked into your jeans, a hoodie tied around your waist just in case it got cold later, and two neat stripes of your school’s colors painted on your cheeks. your friends had done them for you in the dorm bathroom twenty minutes ago, giggling the whole time and arguing over whether the stripes should be angled or horizontal.

they settled on angled—“for spice,” someone said.

now, the group of you walked in a loose formation down the path that led toward the stadium, sneakers scuffing pavement, laughter bouncing off the brick walls of nearby buildings.

hyunjin had texted you an hour ago: you better be loud.

you chuckled to yourself, tucking your phone back into your pocket as your friends kept chatting, loud in that way they always were before a big game.

“i can’t believe the season’s only just started and we’re already undefeated,” one of them said, adjusting her hair in a compact mirror before snapping it shut. “like, they’re actually insane this year.”

“did you see the last match? they crushed them. that one guy on the other team literally fell over trying to block hyunjin.”

you bit back a smile. “he just… misjudged the angle.”

“mmhmm,” another friend teased, bumping her shoulder against yours. “downplaying your man like he doesn’t hit like a cannon.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks warming just a bit under the paint. “i’m just saying. he doesn’t try to humiliate people.”

“sure, but he still does,” someone laughed. “he’s too good. honestly, the whole team is stacked this year. if they keep this up, they’re gonna make playoffs easy.”

“maybe,” another added cautiously, “but tonight’s gonna be rough. the other team’s no joke.”

you glanced over as she pulled up a screenshot from their athletics page, stats already loaded. “their outside hits like a monster, and their libero—what’s his name again?”

“bang chan.”

everyone groaned in unison.

“that guy’s insane,” someone muttered. “like, literally everywhere at once. how does someone cover that much court?”

“i know,” your friend said, squinting at the screen. “his defense is gonna be annoying as hell. they’re never letting the ball drop.”

“but hyunjin’s a smart hitter,” one of your friends chimed in, shifting her tote bag higher up her shoulder.

“he’s been studying chan for weeks,” you said, a little proud, a little breathless just thinking about it. “like, frame-by-frame footage. movement patterns, positioning, even how he transitions between zones.”

“god,” someone groaned, “that sounds exhausting.”

you shrugged. “not to him. he actually gets excited about it.”

“of course he does,” another one laughed. “i swear hyunjin would analyze a toddler’s footwork if it helped him.”

“we shouldn’t even be worried,” one of them said, pushing open the stadium door as the music grew louder, brighter. “this is our court. we got this.”

you stepped into the arena, and the atmosphere hit you all at once—bright lights, echoing shoes squeaking across the court, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs being peppered back and forth. the crowd was already buzzing, rows of students and alumni piling in, decked out in school colors and face paint, waving foam fingers and handmade signs.

your eyes found him almost instantly.

he was across the court in his warmup jersey, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back loosely. he looked focused but relaxed, like his entire body was vibrating with anticipation. his approach was clean even during warm-ups, like he didn’t know how to give less than everything. you watched him leap—effortless, practiced, beautiful—and send the ball flying just inside the corner line.

you smiled, already feeling your chest tighten.

“seats there!” one of your friends pointed, already heading toward a row just off center court, a perfect view of hyunjin’s side.

you all squeezed in, tossing bags under the bench and adjusting your hoodies as you settled. 

hyunjin was locked in.

even from the stands, you could see it—that razor-sharp concentration that settled over him like armor. he moved with precision, muscles coiled and ready, every jump timed to the millisecond, every swing calculated. he jogged to the sideline to grab a water bottle, tilting his head back for a quick sip. his coach leaned in, already pointing toward a clipboard, going over rotation tweaks. hyunjin nodded, jaw tight, eyes flicking between the notes and the court.

then, just for a second—his gaze lifted.

he scanned the crowd like he was looking for something he already knew would be there.

and when he found you, his lips curved, small but unmistakable. the kind of smile meant for one person only. quick, careful, just enough to say hi.

your heart did a little flip.

you raised your hand in a tiny wave, fingers wiggling, trying not to grin too hard.

he held your gaze for just a beat longer, then dropped his eyes back to the clipboard, nodding again as his coach spoke.

“gag, you two are so gross.” your friend beside you muttered.

you rolled your eyes, leaning on her dramatically. “shut up.”

the other team began filing in from the opposite tunnel.

their uniforms were sleek, crisp white and navy. they looked good—annoyingly good. confident. sharp. a few of them glanced toward your team’s side of the court as if sizing them up before the first whistle.

your heart was racing.

it wasn’t nerves—not exactly. more like adrenaline, like your body already knew something big was coming and was bracing for it. you crossed your arms loosely over your chest, trying to play it cool, but your knee bounced under your seat.

on the court, the other team began their warm-up routine.

clean, practiced, ruthless.

their libero—bang chan—moved like he was born there, gliding from one end of the court to the other, dropping into receive like it cost him nothing. the way he read every toss, every angle, every fake-out—it was unreal. you watched him dive for a pancake save that should’ve been impossible, only to bounce back up like it hadn’t even winded him.

their outside’s swing was vicious. quick wrist, sharp cross. every hit landed with a smack loud enough to echo through the gym.

your friends went quiet. no more teasing.

“okay… they’re kind of terrifying,” someone finally whispered.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not with how your chest had gone tight.

across the court, your team was finishing their own lines of warm-ups—hyunjin among them, focused, shoulders rolled back with that quiet confidence he always carried on game days. but even so, you could see it in the way his brows furrowed for just a second after the opposing outside hit another brutal cross.

he saw it too.

the competition was real.

ten minutes later, the buzzer rang. the music cut.

a few quick announcements echoed through the gym—rosters, school chants, the referee’s name, the starting rotations—but it all blurred in the noise, the kind that made your chest vibrate from the inside out.

then the whistle blew for real.

first serve: one of your team’s middles. he bounced the ball twice, exhaled, and sent it clean over the net.

the other team received it smoothly, the pass was perfect. set. attack. your team scrambled into defense. a diving dig from the back row saved it just in time.

quick set on your side. middle hits—blocked, but avoids it.

the rally built fast, back and forth, clean hits and sharper recoveries. you were already on the edge of your seat, watching the ball blur between teams like it had a mind of its own.

and then—finally.

another pass. another set. this one floated just high enough, just fast enough.

hyunjin’s.

he was already moving, feet thudding against the court in three quick steps, arms swinging back. you knew that approach—the precise angles of it, the sheer snap in his body as he launched into the air.

once he hit it, the ball shot across the net, slicing through space and aiming dead for the back corner, right where he mastered it.

“mine!” someone from the other team yelled—too late.

the ball hit the floor with a smack so loud it echoed in tangible vibrations.

the stadium exploded.

cheers erupted around you—students jumping to their feet, fists thrown into the air, stomping and shouting. the first point was yours.

you and your friends jumped up instantly, yelling over the chaos.

“let’s go!” one of them screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth..

you clapped hard, heart pounding, adrenaline syncing with the rhythm of the chants echoing through the stadium.

then the next serve from your team came—and the other team answered.

quick pass, faster tempo. a sharp hit split the seam between your blockers. the ball slammed into the floor with just as much force, just as much precision.

point: theirs.

a collective groan rippled through your side of the gym, but no one sat down.

and your team didn’t back down.

the pace picked up fast, every point earned with blood and sweat. it was a tug-of-war. one point for you, one point for them. hyunjin hit clean again. bang chan dug it up like it was nothing. then another rally—your setter faked to the middle, backset to hyunjin again, and he threaded the ball through hands that never even touched it.

then they answered with a kill off the block.

it was a beautiful game.

terrifying game.

every serve, every swing, every dive left you holding your breath. you could feel the pressure mounting with every passing minute, the margin for error shrinking. both teams were reading each other too well.

before you knew it…

your server missed. an ace from the other side. another tight roll shot that just barely dropped over the net. and all of the sudden—

they were pulling ahead. by four. and not fluke points—smart ones. high digs. strategic hits. they were pulling ahead with control, and you could see the frustration start to creep into your team’s side like a slow leak. a few mistimed passes. a block that wasn’t there fast enough. a shake of someone’s head. it was all piling.

your friends tried to keep the energy up—clapping, chanting, yelling encouragement—but you could feel it. the shift.

and suddenly to you, it wasn’t just about the game anymore.

it wasn’t about the scoreboard or the rally count.

it was about him.

when hyunjin played well—really well—it was electric. he’d leave the court flushed and buzzing, body thrumming with victory, adrenaline humming through every cell. he’d throw his arms around you in the hallway after and talk a mile a minute about everything—the timing, the blocks, the play he almost fumbled but didn’t. he’d be unstoppable.

and sometimes—more than once—those were the nights you’d end up in his dorm room, down on your knees before he even got his jersey off, just because you were both so high on the win it didn’t make sense to stop. you loved seeing him like that. weightless.

when he lost, you also knew him. sometimes, sure, he’d shake it off. crack jokes in the locker room, say stuff like we’ll get them next time, tug you close and act like nothing had ever gone wrong.

but other times…other times it hit him like a brick wall. you’d seen it. after certain games, he’d shut down completely. he wouldn’t want to talk. wouldn’t want to eat. wouldn’t even want to be touched—not even by you. and not out of anger, but out of guilt. out of this impossible pressure he carried like it was stitched into his skin.

tonight felt like one of those times. you could already feel it closing in around you.

he was playing well. that was the worst part. he was moving sharp, hitting smart, putting everything he had into every point—but it wasn’t enough. not yet. and you knew exactly how much harder that would be for him to swallow.

the whistle blew, cutting you from your thoughts. timeout—your side.

your team gathered near the bench, forming a loose huddle around the coach, towels slung over shoulders, water bottles passed down the line. from the stands, it was hard to hear what was being said, but you could see it all in their faces—tight jaws, shallow breathing, sweat glistening down temples.

hyunjin was the last to step into the circle.

he ran a hand through his hair, pulling the tie loose as if he couldn’t stand it anymore. it flopped down messily over his forehead, but he didn’t bother fixing it. he leaned forward with his hands on his knees, listening, nodding occasionally.

the coach was gesturing rapidly now, drawing imaginary lines in the air, shifting pieces they couldn’t afford to lose. you could practically hear the urgency just from the way he moved—faster than usual, clipped and sharp.

one of the middles clapped his hands, trying to hype the group up. another player tapped his chest twice, mouthing something. the timeout ended with one last sharp clap from the coach, and just like that—they were moving again.

your team filed back onto the court, more focused now, like something had shifted in those sixty seconds. you leaned forward in your seat, hands curled tightly in your lap as your friends whispered around you.

“what do you think they’re trying?”

“i don’t know—but they’ve switched completely.”

and they were.

it wasn’t obvious at first, but then you saw it—hyunjin wasn’t starting from his usual position. the setter had shifted too. your middle blocker was crouched lower than usual, almost like he was prepping for a sprint, not a block.

and then the whistle blew.

the serve flew over—clean, controlled.

your team received it smoothly, but instead of setting to the outside or middle, the setter jump set backwards across the court—a full-speed, cross-body set with almost no telegraphing.

it landed perfectly in hyunjin’s zone.

he wasn’t even fully visible to the blockers until the last second—disguised behind the rotation shift. he came flying in from the back row, not where they expected him, soaring with his body stretched out like a missile.

the crowd gasped before the ball even touched his hands.

you sat up straighter, brows furrowed. “wait—what are they—?”

hyunjin launched from the back row like it was second nature, legs slicing through the air, body twisting mid-air to angle the hit just right. and then—

crack.

he didn’t go cross. he didn’t go down the line.

he hit straight into the softest, most empty pocket on the entire court—dead center, back row, right behind their setter. not even bang chan could cover it.

the ball smacked the floor.

perfect. no touch. clean.

you didn’t even have to wait for the whistle.

point. yours.

you were on your feet in an instant, mouth wide open, cheering at the top of your lungs, barely hearing yourself over the roar around you. your friends were jumping, grabbing each other, laughing in total disbelief.

“holy shit!” someone yelled beside you. “that was insane!”

but just as quickly as it started—the noise stopped.

like someone hit mute.

a chill crawled up your spine.

you turned back to the court—confused, heart already thudding for a different reason—and your eyes locked on the place where hyunjin should’ve been standing.

he wasn’t.

he was on the floor.

no.

he was clutching his knee. his fingers were digging into it, and his face was twisted in something you’d never seen on him before.

not pain from a cramp or a bruise.

something deeper. sharper.

you felt the blood drain from your face.

his teammates were already moving—rushing to him from every side, their celebration cut off mid-cheer like someone had yanked the breath out of the room.

the setter dropped to his knees beside him. the middle crouched low, hands hovering like he didn’t know what to touch. 

and hyunjin wasn’t getting up.

you couldn’t even hear the crowd anymore.

just the dull ringing in your ears and your heartbeat thudding somewhere too high in your chest.

“no,” one of your friends whispered beside you, voice tight. “no, no, no…”

you couldn’t move.

you were frozen in place, staring at him through the blinding white of the stadium lights, through the sea of players gathering like a wall between him and the rest of the world. you could barely see his face anymore—but you remembered the way it looked.

like he knew.

like in that one second—he knew something was wrong. something bad. something he couldn’t walk off.

suddenly, the crowd shifted, murmurs rising like smoke. they were carrying him.

two staff members on either side, arms looped under his shoulders, another holding his leg steady as they carefully lifted him off the court. hyunjin’s face was buried in the crook of his elbow, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension from where you sat.

you stood halfway out of instinct, trying to follow him with your eyes, but the mass of movement on the court swallowed him up. the trainers led him to the far corner near the benches, behind a curtain.

and just like that, he was gone from view.

your stomach dropped.

on the court, your coach looked stunned—frozen for a second too long, his clipboard limp in his hands. he blinked hard, almost like shaking himself out of a daze, and then turned, his voice barely carrying over the now-muted stadium.

a sub scrambled to his feet, face pale as he stripped off his warm-up jersey and jogged toward the line. no one looked ready. no one was ready. the rotation was lopsided now. the rhythm shattered.

they had to play without him.

your team returned to their positions like ghosts, stiff and quiet, eyes flicking toward the sideline every few seconds.

you didn’t even realize you were walking until your feet hit the concrete stairs of the bleachers.

one step. then another.

the sound of the game behind you dulled into nothing. cheers, squeaks of sneakers, whistles—it all faded into a low hum, like your ears were full of cotton. you pushed past people in the aisle without meeting their eyes, murmuring apologies you didn’t really mean.

you couldn’t stay in there.

not with the scoreboard still ticking. not with them still playing like everything was normal.

you slipped out the side exit of the stadium, the heavy doors swinging shut behind you with a thud that echoed down the hallway.

the air out here was colder. sterile. the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you moved past storage closets and empty water coolers, the polished floors squeaking under your shoes. no signs. no directions. just your gut pulling you forward.

you passed the locker rooms. the hallway turned narrower, less familiar, walls a little grimier, like you weren’t meant to be here without a staff badge. but you kept going. past laundry carts and low murmurs behind closed doors.

and then—around a final corner—you saw it.

the door leading to the first-aid clinic. you moved closer, careful, heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.

you reached for the handle.

it didn’t budge.

locked.

from inside, you could hear muffled voices—the medic speaking low and even, someone voice barely audible in return. you leaned in instinctively, trying to catch a word, a phrase, anything that would make this feel less terrifying.

but you couldn’t make anything out.

your fingers stayed wrapped around the doorknob for a second longer, trembling slightly, and then finally dropped to your side.

you backed up a step. then another.

your back hit the cold concrete wall behind you, and you slid down slowly, knees folding until you were crouched there in the hallway like you’d forgotten how to stand.

you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.

everything felt warped, like the fluorescent lights above you were humming louder than they should, like the cold of the floor had sunk all the way into your bones.

you didn’t hear the door open. you only saw it move.

a creak. a shift. then a sliver of light spilled into the hallway.

someone—one of the medics, probably a student trainer—poked his head out. young. clipboard in hand. his brows knit as he glanced down and saw you there, curled up in your hoodie and university tee, the stripes of face paint still smudged across your cheeks.

you blinked up at him, dry-mouthed.

“hi,” you said.

it came out too soft. like a question you weren’t sure how to ask.

he stared for a second, taking in your whole mess of a posture and game-day colors, your trembling hands and your knees drawn up to your chest. his eyes flicked to the crest on your shirt, the one that matched the jersey hyunjin had been wearing.

“were you trying to open the door?” he cleared his throat. “can i help you?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. you looked down at yourself—still dressed like you were going to war for school spirit, like this was just a fun night out.

you felt ridiculous.

you looked up at him, throat tight. “is hwang hyunjin in there?”

the man nodded slowly, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. “yeah. he is.”

something in you relaxed at the confirmation, just for a second—but it didn’t last.

the guy looked over his shoulder, then back at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i do. but you shouldn’t be here.”

your stomach twisted.

you nodded, more out of instinct than agreement. “i know,” you whispered.

“it's nothing personal. he's just not in great shape right now,” he said, more gently this time. “they’re still figuring out the damage. trying to keep things quiet. we don’t want anyone back here yet.”

you nodded again, this time more shakily, pressing your fingers into the hem of your sleeve just to feel something solid. the man lingered for a moment, still halfway in the doorway, like he didn’t want to be the one to push you away completely.

then, after a beat, he sighed. “but i can check.”

your head snapped up.

“really?” you breathed, eyes wide.

he hesitated—then gave you a look that said don’t make me regret this before slipping back inside and gently shutting the door behind him.

you stayed frozen in place, heart in your throat, chest rising and falling way too fast. you stared at the door like you could see through it, like if you just focused hard enough, it would let you in.

seconds passed. maybe a minute. it felt like an hour.

then the door creaked open again.

the man leaned out and gave a slight tilt of his head. “come in,” he said quietly.

you didn’t even hesitate.

you scrambled to your feet, legs still shaky, and followed him inside.

the room was colder than you expected. colder and too bright.

it smelled like antiseptic and old sweat and something metallic, like the sharp edge of panic that hadn’t quite left the air. you stepped inside slowly, eyes adjusting to the stark contrast between this place and the roaring stadium just minutes ago. the walls were a dull gray, the floor scuffed with years of cleats and court shoes. it didn’t feel like a place where someone like hyunjin should be.

he sat on the padded table, jersey still on. his left knee was wrapped, elevated on a foam wedge. his face was pale, damp with sweat, lips parted like he’d been breathing through pain for too long.

the doctor stood beside him, glancing at a clipboard. “alright, hang tight,” she said gently. “we’ll be back in a few with imaging details, okay?”

hyunjin nodded slowly, not quite meeting her eyes.

then she turned to leave, pausing only to give the trainer a quiet nod. they both slipped past you, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

you stood there.

for a second, hyunjin didn’t move.

then his head turned toward you, slow and heavy like it took effort just to look.

his eyes found yours—and they weren’t the ones you knew.

this was something else entirely. empty. distant. like he was still falling, even now.

he didn’t say anything.

his jaw was tight. his hands rested stiffly at his sides, like he didn’t trust them to hold anything—not even his own weight. his shoulders were tense, his posture too upright, like the pain was the only thing anchoring him.

you took a few slow steps forward, hesitant like you were approaching a stranger.

“hyune,” you said softly.

nothing.

just the faintest twitch of his fingers.

you could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the way his lip wobbled for a half-second before he caught it. he blinked—once, then again—and looked away, back down to his knee like if he stared at it hard enough, it might undo whatever had just happened.

you took another cautious step toward him, watching him crumble in slow motion.

your voice came out quiet, barely more than a breath. “one to ten?”

it was a thing you always did—after tough practices, late-night cramps, bruises from blocked spikes. you’d ask it with a smile, even when he was clearly hurting, and he’d roll his eyes and say two or four, just to seem tough. sometimes he’d lie and say ten, just to make you laugh.

but this time, he didn’t answer right away.

he let out a sharp breath through his nose, almost like a laugh—but there was nothing funny in it. his hands finally clenched into fists at his sides.

then he looked at you, and something behind his eyes snapped.

“it doesn’t matter.”

his voice was flat. cold. shaky with everything he was trying not to feel.

you froze.

“i’ve seen this,” he said, more to himself now. “i’ve seen guys go down just like this. same way. and just like that—” he snapped his fingers harshly. “they’re done.”

you shook your head instinctively. “no, hyun—”

“it’s over,” he said, cutting you off, voice cracking around the edges. “do you get that? and i felt it the second i landed.”

he paused, shoulders rising like he was trying to hold himself together with just breath. you stepped closer, barely breathing, your hands aching to reach for him—but still unsure if he’d even let you.

“i know,” you said gently. “i know it feels like that right now. like everything’s ending. but it’s not—hyunjin, it’s not over.”

“no,” he said sharply, voice rising, fraying. “y/n, don’t—don’t say that.”

your heart splintered.

his hands trembled on the edge of the table, clutching the vinyl padding like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“you don’t get it,” he said, turning his face away from you, eyes glistening. “you’re brilliant. you’ve always known what you’re doing. everyone on my team does too,” he kept going, his voice shaking harder now, barely holding together. “they’ve got degrees lined up. internships. backup plans.”

his chest rose and fell faster, his breath uneven. he finally looked at you, and the heartbreak in his face knocked the wind from your lungs.

“i don’t,” he said, quietly, helplessly. “i don’t have anything else.”

his chin trembled. and then—just like that—he broke.

tears welled in his eyes too fast to stop, slipping down his cheeks before he could even wipe them away. he tried—he really tried—to hold it in. but it was no use.

“this sport is all i have,” he whispered again, voice barely there, shattered between sobs.

you didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t. there was no fixing this with words. no comforting lie that would make him believe it wasn’t happening. so instead, you stepped closer, so gently, and reached a hand toward him.

fingers threading through his hair—slow, steady, soft.

he flinched at first, like touch would be too much, but the second your hand settled there, something in him caved. his shoulders dropped. his head tilted forward into your palm like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

your other hand came up to cradle the back of his head, guiding him forward.

he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently into your stomach, his whole body folding inward. you wrapped your arms around him, holding his head like something precious—like you were trying to shield him from the weight of what was happening.

and for the first time since the fall, he let himself be held.

it had been a few days. to no one’s surprise, the other team took the win home.

the official word came down two mornings after the game: full acl tear, grade three. complete rupture. months of rehab. no return this season. no guarantees beyond that.

you’d been there when they told him. sat beside him in the tiny office with the blinds drawn, the doctor’s voice steady and clinical as she read off the report. hyunjin hadn’t said a word the entire time. just stared down at his hands, jaw locked, expression unreadable in that terrifying way it gets when he's not okay but refuses to show it.

since then, everything had been... quieter.

the news spread fast, of course. the university’s athletic account posted an official update—“wishing a full recovery.” his teammates rallied around him publicly, reposted the announcement with hearts and strength emojis. but under all that noise, in the places that mattered, it was like someone had pressed pause on hyunjin’s whole world.

and your friends never asked either.

not really.

they gave you the space to bring it up first, which you hadn’t. a few of them texted to say they were sorry, or that they’d heard and were thinking of you both. but no one asked how he was holding up. no one pushed.

you appreciated it more than you could say.

because honestly, you didn’t even know what to tell them.

he’d texted earlier this morning to let you know he was in his dorm room when you asked him where he was.

he hadn’t wanted to talk volleyball. at all. the day after the diagnosis, he shoved his gear into a box and pushed it into the back of his closet. he didn’t even watch the next game. 

so he tried something else.

a distraction. something that didn’t involve courts or rosters. something that felt like anything but the thing he loved most.

you found him in the corner of his dorm room, tucked beside his desk where the late afternoon light streamed in from the window. his crutches leaned against the wall beside him, forgotten for the moment. he was sitting on a low stool, hunched over a sketchpad with a charcoal pencil in hand, his left leg extended stiffly in front of him in its brace.

you paused in the doorway for a second, just watching.

there was smudge on his cheek. a little streak of black where he must’ve rubbed his face without realizing. his hair was pulled back in a messy bun. there were shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well—not that he ever said it out loud.

he lifted his head when he heard your footsteps.

you softened instantly. “hi, hyunjin.”

he gave you a small smile—barely there, but real. “hey.”

you made your way over, sliding onto the empty stool next to him, careful not to bump his leg. up close, you could see more of the charcoal dust on his fingers, the soft curve of concentration still lingering in his brows.

“whatcha working on?” you asked gently, nodding toward the sketchpad in his lap.

he looked down at it, then tilted it slightly so you could see.

it was a portrait—stunning, honestly. still unfinished, but already detailed enough to recognize the profile, the emotion, the shadow work. you blinked at it, impressed.

“is that…?” you started.

“one of my favorite movies,” he said, lips twitching up just a little. “it’s the scene i always liked.”

“it’s really good,” you said honestly. “like… really good.”

he gave a little shrug, wiping his thumb along the side of the paper to soften a line. “i still remember a bit from when i used to do it. a few years ago. took a class once. my teacher said i had a gift.” then he smiled again, sheepish this time, “and i ignored her and spent all my time elsewhere.”

you knew what elsewhere meant.

volleyball. always volleyball. 

but you didn’t push.

instead, you just nodded softly, watching the way he blended the shadow near the jawline with a precision that felt both practiced and instinctive.

“how’s your knee?” you asked after a quiet moment.

without looking up, he murmured, “honestly? it hurts pretty bad.”

your chest tightened.

he shifted a little on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but winced when his brace caught against the edge of the table leg. “the meds help a little, but the brace is stiff as hell. and i keep waking up at night.”

he rubbed his palm over his knee gently, not like it helped, more like it was habit. a quiet frustration simmered beneath his words—one you’d come to recognize too well. the kind that wasn’t about pain alone.

you reached over and brushed some charcoal dust from his wrist.

“i'm sorry,” you said, softly.

he looked at you, then—not just glanced, but really looked. eyes a little red, a little tired.

but grateful.

you let your fingers linger just a moment longer against his wrist, feeling the faint tremble in it even as he tried to keep his hand steady over the page.

“when’s surgery, again?” you asked gently.

he looked down at his knee again, then exhaled slowly through his nose. “this weekend.”

you nodded, the word settling heavy in your chest even though you’d known it was coming.

“saturday morning,” he added. “they want me there by seven. it’s at the ortho clinic just off campus.”

“are you nervous?” you asked.

he didn’t answer right away.

then, with a voice so quiet it barely made it to your ears, he said, “yeah.”

you nodded gently, already a step ahead of him.

“i’ll borrow my friend’s car,” you said. “to come get you that morning.”

hyunjin looked up, surprised.

“i talked to her about it already,” you added with a soft smile. “it’s all set. i’ll drop you off and take you home after. whatever you need.”

his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders melting just slightly. “thank you, really.”

you didn’t look away.

“of course,” you whispered.

there was a pause, a quiet beat that hung between you like a thread.

his eyes flickered to your mouth—slowly, deliberately.

and before you could even catch your breath, he leaned in.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it was careful, like he was trying not to break something fragile—like you were the only solid thing left in a world that had suddenly become unsteady.

his lips lingered on yours for a breath longer, then another—like he didn’t want to let go. when he finally pulled back, it was just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed, breath brushing softly against your skin.

he didn’t say it. just stayed there, breathing quietly, forehead against yours.

trying not to think about how it used to feel to have you underneath him. or how badly he missed it.

because this wasn’t how it used to be.

whenever you two made out, i would get…physical. you used to kiss like you couldn’t get enough. tangled limbs, rushed hands, mouths colliding again and again between laughs and gasps. he used to grab you by the waist and lift you right into his lap, pin you to the bed. you’d end up flushed and breathless, clothes half-off, his hands under your shirt, yours in his hair.

but now…

now there was no way he could move like that. couldn’t let things get wild or fast or messy. his knee wouldn’t let him. the brace made everything stiff, every shift a risk. he couldn’t even kiss you too hard without pain flaring through his leg.

his breath hitched.

still close, still barely touching, but something in him had started to tremble. not from pain—at least not just pain. his skin had gone hot. your mouth had been so soft against his. your fingers, gentle on his wrist. the warmth of your breath, the kindness in your voice—it stirred something in him that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with need.

real, aching, quiet need.

and you hadn’t noticed yet. you pulled back just slightly, blinking at the way his face had tensed, how a sheen of sweat had started to rise along his brow.

“hyunjin?” you asked softly, brows drawing together. “are you okay?”

he didn’t answer. just closed his eyes for a second, jaw tightening as he breathed out slow through his nose, like maybe he could will the heat in his body to disappear.

you leaned in, frowning, thumb brushing a bead of sweat off his cheekbone. “what’s wrong?” you whispered, more worried now. “what do you need?”

you started to move—maybe to grab water, maybe just to give him space—but his hand shot out and caught your wrist before you could stand. not rough, but firm. stronger than he’d touched you all week. his eyes met yours then, wide, dark, burning in a way you hadn’t seen since before the injury.

“you,” he breathed.

you blinked, breath caught somewhere in your throat. “what?” you asked, voice small, barely more than a puff of air.

hyunjin didn’t answer right away.

instead, his gaze held yours and then he guided your hand down, slow, deliberate, until your palm met the heat between his legs. his fingers curled lightly around your wrist, pressing, just enough for you to feel it.

hard.

you froze.

he was already so hard it pulsed beneath your touch, straining against the soft fabric of his shorts, hot through the cotton. your lips parted in a quiet, startled breath—eyes flicking up to meet his again, searching, questioning, caught between confusion and something much heavier.

he swallowed.

and then he was looking at you differently—like he couldn’t stop. like he’d forgotten everything else. the pain. the brace. the sterile clinic room with its sharp fluorescent lights. all of it faded as he stared at your face now, your wide eyes and parted lips, your fingers still resting right over his cock, uncertain but not pulling away.

you looked so soft. so concerned. so painfully beautiful.

too good for him.

too gentle to be caught up in whatever this was trying to turn into.

the image of how you used to look beneath him—hair spread out on the pillow, flushed cheeks, that gasp you’d make when he kissed your neck just right—it slammed into his chest so hard it almost knocked the air out of him.

and still, your hand stayed

you didn’t even realize your thumb had shifted slightly, tracing the heat through the fabric without thinking. you could feel how hard he was now, pulsing against your palm like his body was begging without him having to say a word.

but your heart was racing, chest tight, torn between the rush building in your core and the sting of guilt that came with it.

“i…” you started, voice catching, eyes flicking down, then back to his. “i can’t—hyunjin, you’re hurt…”

the words felt wrong even as you said them. his leg. his knee. the brace locked stiff across the line of his thigh. he couldn’t move the way he used to, couldn’t roll you under him, couldn’t press his weight into you like before. and part of you was terrified of doing anything that might make it worse.

but hyunjin didn’t flinch. didn’t let go.

his fingers tightened around your wrist, just a little. his throat worked around a thick swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to speak.

“we don’t have to…” he started, voice hoarse. “go all out,” then he exhaled—long and slow, jaw clenched like it physically hurt to hold the words back—and the sound that came with it wasn’t just breath. 

it was a moan.

and it hit you somewhere deep.

your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up—heat blooming between your legs. his voice always did that to you, but hearing it like this—like he couldn’t even help it—made something tighten hard in your belly.

“just…” he breathed again, eyes dragging across your face like he couldn’t get enough, “just something.”

his gaze dipped lower. to your mouth. the flush climbing your throat. the way your thighs had pressed together just slightly as you sat.

and still—god, still—you looked at him with that soft, hesitant concern. the look in your eyes that made his cock twitch painfully inside his shorts.

for a second, you didn’t say anything—just stared at him, fingers still resting on the thick heat of him, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. the room felt too small, too quiet. you were straddling the edge of something, dizzy with want but scared to fall all the way in.

then—slowly—you reached behind you.

your hand found the door handle, turned it, and you heard the soft click of the lock sliding into place.

hyunjin’s eyes tracked every movement.

you still didn’t look at him as you pulled your hand back, settling it in your lap. “i’m scared,” you whispered.

it wasn’t a plea. it was just the truth. raw. honest. the way your voice only got when you couldn’t hide what you were feeling anymore.

and he softened immediately.

not in his body—he was still hard, still aching—but in his face, in his eyes, in the way his hand slowly loosened its grip on your wrist and slid up to cup your waist instead. “don’t be,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over your shirt. “you’re with me.”

you swallowed hard, then reached up and gathered your hair in both hands. twisting it quickly, you tied it into a loose knot at the top of your head—out of the way. practical. familiar.

his breath caught.

you didn’t have to say anything. he understood.

his cheeks flushed, mouth falling open slightly as he watched, and then—careful, slow—he rolled his chair back a few inches. the wheels squeaked softly against the floor, giving you more space, clearing the narrow strip between him and the edge of the desk.

then he hooked his thumb under the waistband of his sweatpants.

the fabric caught for a second on his brace, but he tugged gently, shifting the good leg first, inch by inch. down past his hips, baring the tight line of his stomach, then the hard length of him straining up against his briefs, thick and flushed and twitching where it pressed into the cotton. he pushed them down too, just enough, cock springing free with a soft thud against his lower belly.

he watched you the whole time.

like you were the only thing in the room. like every breath he took depended on what you would do next.

it took you a second to breathe.

the way he looked sitting there—back against the chair, legs parted carefully around the brace, chest rising and falling under his t-shirt, flushed and exposed and completely still except for the twitch of his cock—was enough to make your knees feel unsteady even though you weren’t standing.

god, he was beautiful.

long and thick, flushed at the tip, a bead of slick already welling there as if his body was just as impatient as his eyes. his body tensed when you leaned in, gaze flicking between his face and the heavy line of him resting against his lower stomach.

you reached out with your hand—no hesitation this time—and wrapped your fingers gently around the base.

he hissed through his teeth.

“fuck—” he breathed, head tipping back against the edge of the chair.

you stroked once, slow and curious, thumb brushing just beneath the tip. he twitched again, harder, a tremble running down his thighs as he tried to hold still. his hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white.

“is this okay?” you asked, voice low, thumb circling now.

he nodded, eyes half-lidded. “yeah. yeah, that’s—” he couldn’t finish. his head rolled back, dark hair threatening to slip free from the messy bun. it spilled around his shoulders as he exhaled, a shuddering breath that turned into a soft moan when your grip tightened just a little.

you did it again. squeezed at the top, slow twist of your wrist, then slid your hand back down. you couldn’t stop watching his face—the way it tensed, the way his mouth parted just slightly, the sheer effort it took for him to stay still in that chair.

and he was so warm in your grip. so hard. so desperately full.

you leaned in.

hyunjin’s eyes snapped down to you, breath hitching audibly. his fingers twitched at the edge of the chair arm, and then your mouth was on him.

he let out a sound—half-moan, half-gasp—as your lips slid over the head of his cock, tongue swirling to catch the taste of him. you moaned around him, soft and quiet, and the vibration made him groan aloud.

“ah, fuck—baby—”

you took him deeper, slowly, carefully, easing your lips down his length while your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

hyunjin’s breathing turned ragged, each inhale sharper than the last, his chest rising fast beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. you could feel him throbbing on your tongue, as your lips slid down again—deeper this time, slower, letting the stretch of him fill your mouth.

his moans were coming more freely now.

soft, broken things that fell from his lips with no control. his hand finally let go of the chair arm, trembling as it hovered in the air for a second before he reached out and touched you.

fingertips to your temple first. featherlight. like he was afraid he’d shatter if he took more than that.

then his palm curved behind your head. but it didn’t stay gentle. the longer your mouth worked around him, the more his grip tightened, his breath falling faster.

and then he started pushing.

harsh and mindless.

each time you tried to ease back, his hand would push forward again, holding you there longer, deeper, chasing the heat of you without any thought. his hips couldn't do what they used to—his knee locked him in place—but his hand compensated for everything his body couldn’t. and it kept pushing, guiding, pressing you down until you couldn’t take more without your throat burning and your breath catching.

you let out a muffled noise, hands bracing against his thighs, trying to signal to him to slow down—but he didn’t hear it. didn’t see. his head had dropped back, hair falling loose around his flushed face, lips parted in a moan that sounded more like a sob.

he wasn’t with you.

he was inside himself—somewhere dark, somewhere drowning—and using your mouth like it was the only way to claw back toward the surface.

you choked softly, eyes stinging, unable to pull back. your throat ached.

every push of his hand kept you down longer than the last—too deep, too fast. your jaw was sore, your eyes blurred, your lungs clawing for space that wouldn’t come. the weight of him, the pressure, the heat—it wasn’t pleasure anymore.

not for you.

it didn’t feel like him.

not the way he usually was. not your hyunjin, who used to check on you between every kiss, who held your face like it was something sacred, who used to stop even if you blinked too fast.

now it felt like he didn’t see you at all.

like you weren’t a person anymore—just something to forget the pain in his knee and the fear in his chest. he wasn’t here. not really. his head was thrown back, hair falling wild around his face, mouth parted like he was dreaming. his hips twitched and his grip only tightened.

and you couldn’t breathe.

you reached up blindly, panic crawling up your spine, and your fingers found his wrist. you squeezed—hard—nails digging in, not gentle. you tugged, sharp and clear, trying to break through the fog he’d sunk into.

he didn’t respond.

you let out a sound around him—muffled, choked—desperate, strained. the shape of your safe word barely formed against his skin, but you tried. a soft, garbled syllable that wasn’t a word but should’ve been enough.

he finally stilled.

right on the edge of another thrust, his body went stiff, lips parting like he was about to say something—maybe your name, maybe nothing at all—but you beat him to it.

you yanked your head back with what little leverage you had left, slipping free from his grip, from his cock, from everything.

you coughed, choked, gasping as cool air hit your throat again, and then the tears came—hot, sudden, uncontainable.

“red,” you managed to say, voice cracked and hoarse. “red—red—”

the word hit like a gunshot.

hyunjin froze.

his whole face changed in an instant. every bit of color drained from his cheeks, and his hands, which had just been gripping the arms of the chair like a lifeline, fell limp.

“oh my gosh.”

you were already sliding backward, falling to the floor, knees knocking the desk leg as you curled in on yourself. your hands shook where they braced against the tile, and your chest heaved as you tried to pull in air that wouldn’t come smooth. you were crying now—no sound at first, just tears streaking hot down your cheeks, lips parted in a silent sob, your throat too raw to speak.

he scrambled, clumsy, heart in his throat. one hand yanked his sweatpants back up, barely getting them over his hips.

“hey, baby, i didn’t fuck, i didn’t know—i wasn’t thinking, i’m so—” his voice broke, and he reached for you with trembling hands. “i’m so fucking sorry—”

he touched your face, barely.

fingertips to your temple, your jaw, trying to check if you were okay, trying to wipe the tears that kept coming. his touch was gentle now. so different from how it had been minutes before, like the realization had shattered something inside him.

but you couldn’t look at him.

you were shaking too hard, too fast, every breath coming short, sharp, uneven. you curled further into yourself, arms hugging your sides, forehead pressed to your knees. you didn’t push him away—but you didn’t answer him either.

your skin recoiled under his fingertips.

even though his hands were soft now—so soft, barely brushing along your jaw like he was scared to break you—you still flinched. a subtle twitch at first, then a shiver so full-body it knocked your balance as you tried to push upright.

“don’t,” you rasped, voice raw and shaking. you didn’t mean to sound so small. so scared. but you were.

he froze.

you didn’t even look at him. you couldn’t.

your hands scraped the floor as you stood—clumsy, uneven, like your legs weren’t steady under you. you grabbed for your bag, for your phone, for something solid to hold onto. everything in your chest felt like it was spinning, tearing, trying to collapse into itself.

“i need to go,” you whispered, backing toward the door.

hyunjin’s mouth opened, but no words came. just a broken sound, breath catching, shoulders shaking like his whole body had stopped working.

“i didn’t know,” he finally said, voice cracking. “i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t—”

he was crying now. not quietly. not the kind of tears you hide.

they poured down his cheeks, one after the other, lips trembling, eyes wide and full of everything he couldn’t fix. “i’m so sorry,” he choked out, curling forward like the words hurt. “please, i didn’t mean to hurt you, baby—”

but you were already reaching for the door handle.

your hand shook as you unlocked it, chest tight, the cool metal grounding you even as the room blurred with tears. you still couldn’t look at him. not with how scared you still were.

the door clicked open beneath your trembling fingers, and cold air spilled in from the hallway—but it didn’t clear your head.

it didn’t make anything better.

you stood there for a second, caught in the threshold, chest still heaving, heart still slamming like it didn’t know how to stop. you didn’t look back. couldn’t. you could hear him behind you though, curled forward on the floor, gasping through sobs he couldn’t swallow down.

but that wasn’t him.

that wasn’t hyunjin.

not the one you knew. not the one who used to cradle your face between kisses, who used to hold your hand in the dark just because he liked the way your fingers fit his. not the one who used to whisper how much he loved your voice, even when you were only reading out loud from your textbook.

this wasn’t him.

and whatever this injury had done to him… it went deeper than you thought.

it had eaten something. hollowed him out.

left behind someone who could shut his eyes and chase comfort in your body without even hearing you cry.

you wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, but more tears came.

because you knew him. you knew his heart. you’d seen every soft piece of it. you’d held it. and even now, you wanted to believe that he didn’t mean it—that the real hyunjin was buried under all that pain and grief and fear of losing the one thing he’d built his life around.

but wanting to believe wasn’t enough. not tonight.

you stepped out into the hall. the door clicked shut behind you.

and for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t feel safe with him.

it was still dark when you parked outside his dorm.

the campus was quiet—too quiet for 6:30 a.m., the sky barely touched with light, the windshield misting over with the last traces of night. you sat there in your friend’s borrowed car, engine idling low, hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the front door.

a minute passed. then two.

and then—you saw him.

hyunjin came down the steps slowly, crutches under each arm, hood pulled up, sweatpants hanging loose over the bulky brace on his leg. his pace was careful, uneven, but steady. he moved like he didn’t want anyone to look at him too long.

you got out immediately, door creaking in the quiet. “do you need help?”

he looked up and gave you a small smile—gentle, so much softer than you expected. “no i’m okay,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “thank you.”

you stepped back as he opened the passenger door and climbed in, easing himself down. he slid the crutches into the backseat, shut the door, and settled in without a sound.

you walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and pulled your seatbelt over your shoulder.

as you started the drive, the streets still empty and blue-tinted with morning, he turned to you.

“you really didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something heavy.

and maybe he was right.

you shouldn’t be here. not after what happened. not after how he hurt you—physically, emotionally, in a way you still hadn’t figured out how to name. but you were here. because you loved him. because no matter how much pain there was, you couldn’t stand the thought of him going through this alone.

so you just said, “it’s okay. i didn’t want you to be alone after surgery.” you glanced at him, voice soft. “i know anesthesia can make you dizzy.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment. but when you stopped at the red light and looked over, you saw the way he was staring at you—like your care was something he couldn’t quite believe was still his to receive.

his eyes stayed on you, searching. you could feel the weight of it even in the stillness.

then, his voice broke through the quiet. fragile. raw.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

you didn’t respond right away. your fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, your throat catching.

“what i did… that day…” he shook his head, gaze dropping to his lap like he couldn’t even look at you. “it was unforgivable.”

you opened your mouth to say something, anything—but he kept going.

“are you okay?” his voice cracked. “did i hurt you?”

you didn’t answer immediately, and that silence alone made his breath hitch.

you wanted to say no. wanted to take his pain and carry it for him, like you always did. but you couldn’t lie—not about this.

so you whispered, barely audible, “a little.”

he flinched. your hands were still on the wheel, eyes locked on the road, but you could feel him unravel beside you.

you swallowed hard. “you didn’t mean to. i know that.”

“but i did,” he said, almost to himself. “i was so far gone i didn’t even see it.”

the pain in his voice made your chest ache.

and still, the car kept moving forward—two people in the same space, carrying wounds too fresh to fully name, but still choosing not to let go.

the clinic came into view faster than you expected—just a few more turns, a quiet lot, and a small sign out front that read orthopedics in clean, neutral lettering.

you pulled into a space near the entrance, engine humming to a stop. the sky was still a soft gray, the sun just beginning to push up over the horizon, casting a pale gold light across the windshield.

neither of you moved.

there was still time. maybe ten minutes before they’d call him in. enough to sit in the quiet. enough to say the things that hadn’t found a place yet.

hyunjin stared out the window for a moment, then turned toward you slowly. his face was pale in the early light, eyes heavy with everything he’d been holding back.

“i don’t even know how to start,” he said softly.

you glanced at him, your heart twisting. 

he leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the car like maybe it would offer answers. “i’ve never felt so… lost. i thought i could just push it all away. pretend like it didn’t matter if i played again. pretend like i didn’t care.”

“but you do,” you said.

he nodded slowly, eyes closing. “i do. i care so much it’s eating me alive. and i used you to make it stop for a second.”

you looked down at your hands, folded in your lap

“i don’t know what i’ve become,” he whispered, voice cracking like the words hurt more coming out than staying in. “i look at myself and i don’t… recognize it. the way i think. the way i treat you. the way i can’t stop being angry.”

he stopped, swallowing hard. 

“and even after everything,” he went on, quieter now, shaking his head in disbelief, “you still show up. at ass o’clock in the morning, no less.” he gave a broken laugh. “still with that look on your face like you don’t hate me.”

you looked up at him then, and he met your eyes, raw and stunned and aching.

“you’re still the sweetest damn thing,” he said. “and i feel terrible.”

he meant it. every word. you could hear it in the way his voice faltered, in the way he couldn’t even look at you too long without blinking hard, like he was afraid he’d cry all over again.

and in that moment, it wasn’t just guilt.

it was grief—for the person he used to be. for the person he thought he ruined. and for the fact that you stayed anyway. you reached over, gently placing your hand on his arm—warm, steady, grounding him in the silence between you.

“you’re going through so much right now,” you said softly. “more than i can imagine. and… i get it. i do.”

he didn’t look at you right away, but you felt the way his muscles tensed under your palm. like the weight of your understanding was heavier than blame.

“i’m not saying it’s okay,” you continued. “it’s not. what happened scared me. and i’ll admit that—because i can’t lie to you. it was scary.”

he flinched, but you squeezed his arm gently.

“but i still want to be here,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “because i know your heart and what happened that day wasn’t you.”

he turned to you, eyes glassy. “i don’t deserve you.”

“that’s not for you to decide.”

he exhaled shakily, dropping his forehead for a moment like he needed to gather every ounce of control he had left. then, with his voice low and sure, he looked up and said:

“i promise… nothing like that will ever happen again.”

you watched him, holding your breath.

“i swear, y/n,” he said. “i’ll never put you in that place again. you’ve never had to say our safe word before that day, not once. and from now on… you won’t. you never will.”

you saw the guilt in his eyes. but more than that—you saw the intent. the need to mean it. to prove it.

you nodded slowly, your chest tight with everything you hadn’t said but still felt. and then, without overthinking it, without needing to say another word—you leaned in.

you kissed him.

his lips moved against yours with the same softness, like he understood exactly what you were offering. like he was afraid to take too much. one of his hands moved to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, his thumb trembling just slightly as it hovered near your cheek.

he kissed you like he wanted to be better. like he needed to show you that he could be.

you pulled back slowly, your forehead resting gently against his.

there was a beat of silence—just breath, just warmth.

then you whispered, “ready to get cut open?”

a huff of air left his nose, and he actually chuckled—a real one, small and hoarse, but real. “god, you really know how to set the mood.”

you smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to feel like hope.

without another word, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened your door, the early morning air spilling in, cool and crisp.

hyunjin followed, slowly shifting forward and carefully maneuvering his crutches. you circled around the car as he swung the door closed behind him, crutches tucked under his arms, his weight shifting just slightly as he adjusted. you could tell it still hurt.

still, he looked at you—and you both started toward the entrance together.

click. you locked the car behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet lot.

the automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the two of you stepped into the quiet sterility of the clinic lobby. the floors gleamed under fluorescent lights. 

hyunjin made his way to the front desk while you hovered just behind him. he gave his name, confirmed the time, signed a clipboard with a hand that trembled more than he probably meant it to.

the nurse behind the counter offered a polite smile. “we’ll call you when he’s in recovery.”

you nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

hyunjin turned to look at you then—nervous, but trying not to show it.

you reached out and gently brushed your fingers down his sleeve. “i’ll be right here when you wake up,” you said softly.

his eyes lingered on yours like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he just nodded.

and that was enough.

the room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of a monitor and the pale light bleeding in from the hallway. hyunjin lay asleep in the recovery bed, his face slack with exhaustion, an oxygen clip on his finger and a thin hospital blanket draped up to his waist. one arm rested loosely at his side, the other still bandaged from the iv.

you sat quietly in the chair next to him, one leg pulled up to your chest, your phone dimmed low in your hand.

you hadn’t meant to look it up. you weren’t sure what made you do it—curiosity, maybe. restlessness. you didn’t want to call it masochism.

but there it was. the clip.

posted on some account. zoomed in.

you watched it with your stomach in knots, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment played out on repeat. the set. hyunjin’s approach. the jump. you already knew what was coming, but even bracing for it didn’t soften the blow.

then the landing.

your eyes flinched before your body could.

the twist of his knee was subtle—too fast, almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it. you hadn’t even noticed it that night in the stands. not like this. not with the slowed frame-by-frame and the awful, perfect clarity.

and then the collapse.

he went down like someone had pulled the ground out from under him. you winced, lowering the phone, suddenly too aware of the weight in your chest. 

you slammed your phone down onto your thigh, a little harder than you meant to. the sharp sound cracked through the stillness of the room like a drop of glass, and the screen went dark in an instant.

you exhaled shakily, your eyes finding him again—hyunjin, pale and quiet, the blanket pulled up to his waist, the brace peeking out from underneath. he looked fragile in a way that didn’t suit him. too still. too quiet.

and then—his fingers twitched.

you sat up straighter.

he stirred, eyelids fluttering once, twice. slowly, he blinked open one eye, unfocused and hazy.

“hi,” he murmured, voice low and rasped and soft as crushed velvet.

your chest squeezed.

“hi, hyunjin,” you whispered back, immediately leaning in.

you kissed his forehead gently, your hand brushing through the strands of hair damp against his temple. he smelled like antiseptic and warmth and something familiar underneath.

“how are you feeling?”

he blinked again, a tiny, tired breath escaping his lips. “fine.”

you smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“i’ll get someone,” you said. “let them know you’re awake.” you said softly, and reached for the small remote clipped to the side of his bed. you pressed the call button, the little light blinking red.

you sat back a little, still holding his hand, your thumb moving in slow, absent circles against his skin. he was drifting in and out—still groggy, but awake enough to keep his eyes on you, like you were the only thing anchoring him.

there was something else you had to say. something you'd been told in the hallway an hour ago by a nurse with an apologetic smile and a quiet voice.

you waited, watching him breathe, steady and slow.

then finally—quietly—you said, “there’s something i should probably tell you.”

his eyelids lifted slightly, still heavy from the meds. “hm?”

you hesitated.

“i don’t think you’ll want to hear it,” you admitted, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “but… your coach is coming here.”

that got through.

his expression didn’t change much, but you felt the shift. a tension curled through his body—subtle, but there. like something bracing underneath the surface. his fingers tensed under yours.

“he called while you were in surgery,” you continued gently. “said he wanted to see you himself.”

hyunjin stared at the ceiling, his jaw tightening just a little.

you didn’t push him to respond.

you just kept holding his hand.

you were here. no matter who else came through that door.

hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment longer, eyes still on the ceiling like he was searching for something in the sterile white above him. then his grip on your hand loosened—not letting go, just… relaxing.

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “i need to talk to him at some point.”

you gave him a small smile, brushing your thumb along his knuckles.

a few moments passed in comfortable silence before the door creaked open and a nurse stepped inside, clipboard in hand. she offered you both a warm smile as she crossed to hyunjin’s side.

“hey there,” she said gently. “how are we feeling?”

“numb,” hyunjin deadpanned before breaking into a smile.

the nurse chuckled. “fair enough. let’s run some vitals, make sure you’re tolerating everything okay.”

he nodded, letting her work. blood pressure. pulse. pain scale. you watched as he cooperated without complaint, quiet and steady, his expression unreadable but calm.

just as she finished scribbling the last of her notes, she looked up. “by the way,” she said lightly, “your visitor is here.”

hyunjin stiffened for a half second. then he adjusted his posture slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher, straightening in the bed as best he could.

“he can come in,” he said quietly.

the nurse nodded and stepped out.

the door opened again, and this time a tall man stepped in—mid-forties maybe, graying at the temples, weathered face, windbreaker zipped up halfway with your school’s logo printed over the chest. he paused inside the doorway, eyes scanning the room until they landed on hyunjin.

you started to rise, hand slipping from hyunjin’s as you moved toward the door, ready to give them privacy—space for whatever this conversation was going to be. but before you could even take a full step, his fingers tightened around yours.

you stopped.

his grip wasn’t firm, but it was certain. quietly asking you to stay with him.

so you stayed.

you eased back into your seat beside the bed, glancing up as the coach stepped further into the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered in a way that made the space feel smaller, more serious. but his eyes weren’t cold—just tired. like someone who’d been doing a lot of thinking.

you cleared your throat gently. “hi, sir.”

he looked over at you and gave a small nod, his voice low but familiar. “y/n.”

then his eyes returned to hyunjin.

“hi, coach,” hyunjin said, his tone polite, quiet. measured.

the man stepped closer, stopping just at the foot of the bed. “how’re you holding up?” he asked.

and somehow, the question felt heavier than it sounded. not just about recovery. not just about the knee. it was everything.

hyunjin didn’t answer the question at first. he just sighed—long and slow—his eyes falling to the edge of the blanket draped over his brace. the weight of it all was written in the slump of his shoulders, the way his fingers idly traced the seam in the bedsheet like he needed something to do with his hands.

the coach watched him for a beat, then took a breath. “i’ve been thinking about that last rotation,” he said, voice even but laced with something deeper—guilt, maybe. “i pushed for the shift. pulled you from front to back too fast. you were approaching from the wrong angle and i knew it. that back-row pipe—” he stopped himself, rubbed his jaw, “—that’s a brutal landing when your momentum’s off. you were running too shallow and i let it happen.”

hyunjin’s eyes lifted slowly.

“you’ve done it in practice, yeah. but not like that. not with the pressure we had. i was thinking strategy, not bodies. and yours paid for it.”

“it’s not on you,” hyunjin said, almost too fast.

the coach didn’t argue. he just gave a quiet nod and said, “things like this happen.”

but there was no ease in the way he said it. no comfort.

hyunjin went quiet again, his gaze flickering back to the ceiling, and you stayed still in your chair beside him, fingers curled lightly in your lap, unsure if you should say something or just keep breathing.

then, the coach glanced at you—kindly, not harsh—and said, “y/n, could we have a minute? just the two of us?”

you turned immediately to hyunjin.

his eyes met yours, unreadable at first… then, after a moment’s hesitation, he gave the faintest nod.

you nodded back, slowly rising to your feet. “i’ll just be outside,” you said gently, the words meant more for him than anyone else.

you gave the coach a polite bow before slipping out of the room, leaving the door to click softly shut behind you.

the hallway was quiet, cold, the kind of sterile stillness that made every sound feel sharper. you lowered yourself into the nearest chair just outside his room.

their conversation carried on—quieter now, more personal. you couldn’t hear the words anymore. just tone.

and then—silence.

you sat back against the wall, letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, eyes drifting closed for just a moment.

whatever was being said inside that room… you hoped it was enough.

it had been a few weeks since the surgery.

the brace was still on, the crutches were still with him, and the follow-up appointments had become part of your shared routine. you’d bring him snacks while he iced his leg. he’d quietly wait for you outside your lectures, scrolling through his phone without really reading anything.

but something had shifted.

not physically—he was healing fine. but emotionally? that was harder to track. harder to measure.

because he hadn’t told you what his coach said that day in the hospital room. not once. not even in passing. you didn’t push, not after everything.

you didn’t know if it was good or bad. whatever his coach told him in that hospital room—it lived in the space between you now. not sharp, not violent, just… there. quiet. heavy. untouched.

he never brought it up, not even once. you never asked. not because you didn’t want to know, but because part of you was afraid of what it would mean if he told you. what it might take from him. from you.

still, you noticed the change.

he’d started talking to his teammates again. slowly at first. then it was late-night facetimes, low conversations on speakerphone while you worked next to him, laughter that didn’t sound forced.

and with you? he was closer.

he reached for you more now—your hand, your waist, your sleeve as you walked beside him. he asked you to stay longer, hang out more, nap in his room, sit in silence and just be. you figured it was because he wasn’t practicing anymore—because the hours he used to fill with drills and reps now echoed open and unstructured.

but still… there was something.

something you couldn’t name. like he was hugging you a little tighter for reasons you didn’t understand. like he was grateful in a way that didn’t quite match the moment. like every time you kissed him, he wasn’t just kissing you back—he was holding onto something.

and whatever it was, it all started the day you left him alone in that room. the day his coach walked in and closed the door behind you.

right now, you were walking beside him through one of the quieter buildings on campus, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the tile. the hallway was nearly empty—just the occasional distant echo of footsteps and the buzz of old overhead lights.

hyunjin moved slowly, carefully, but smoother than he had in weeks. he only needed one crutch now, swinging it lightly with each step like he was getting used to the rhythm. his other hand was in yours, fingers laced together, warm and easy.

you were telling him something ridiculous—some story about your friend’s disastrous attempt at making microwavable dumplings and accidentally melting the lid of a tupperware container into something that looked like abstract art.

hyunjin laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “how is she still alive?”

“honestly?” you said, grinning, “i ask myself that every day.”

he smirked, then glanced down the hallway, squinting at a door at the end of the corridor.

“oh, hey—look,” he said, nodding toward the wide windows. “that’s the gym.”

you followed his gaze, eyebrows lifting. “huh. i didn’t realize we were near here.”

he leaned a little toward the glass, cupping a hand around his eyes. “looks empty.”

you looked in too—big open court, polished floor, no lights on but the sun slanting in through the high windows gave everything a golden glow.

“let’s go in,” you said, nudging him playfully.

hyunjin moved to the edge of the court, leaning lightly against the wall, one crutch tucked under his arm.

you peeled off toward the storage room, curiosity tugging at you, and came back a moment later holding a volleyball. scuffed, slightly deflated, but good enough. you dropped it to the ground and gave it a bounce.

thud.

it echoed through the empty gym, and hyunjin’s head snapped toward you, eyes lighting up with something close to amusement—maybe even delight.

he laughed, short and warm. “do you even remember how to play?”

you raised a brow, spinning the ball in your hands. “um, of course.”

he gave you a look. “you wore your kneepads under your knees.”

you gasped dramatically. “because all the girls did that! all the time!”

“yeah, and none of you could walk straight after practice.”

you grinned, bouncing the ball again. “listen, it was about the aesthetic, not the function.”

he shook his head, biting back another smile, and for a moment—just a flicker—something in his posture loosened. like this place didn’t just hold what he lost… but also what he loved.

you caught the ball, turning it over once in your hands, then glanced up at him with a little smirk.

“ready?”

hyunjin raised an eyebrow, still leaning casually against the wall, his crutch beside him. “you’re seriously gonna toss it to me?”

you shrugged. “you’re the one judging my form.”

without waiting for a response, you tossed the ball gently in his direction—a soft arc, easy and slow, aimed straight for the area in front of him.

he didn’t even shift his weight.

just lifted his hands, angled his forearms, and bumped it back with a crisp pop, so clean and precise it floated right back into your arms without even spinning.

you caught it, eyes wide. “okay, show-off.” you bounced the ball again, the sound echoing lightly off the gym walls. “wanna pepper?”

hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “you sure?”

you grinned. “i’m not that out of practice.”

he chuckled, pushing off the wall a little. “alright, but if you hit it like, way over there—” he gestured loosely to the far side of the court—“i’m not hobbling after it. i’m on injury probation, remember?”

you nodded solemnly. “deal.”

and then you tossed the ball up and bumped it gently, the pass floating toward him with enough air for him to set it.

he caught it with his fingertips and flicked it up with practiced ease—smooth, clean, almost too perfect. it dropped right above you, and you popped it back over with the heel of your hand.

he bumped it again—still sharp despite barely shifting his feet—and this time, you set it back high and slow.

and then—he slammed it.

not full power, but with that controlled snap of the wrist that made it drop out of the air like it’d been yanked by gravity itself.

you squealed, lunging forward with both hands out, managing to dig it just before it hit the floor. the momentum tipped you over and you rolled, laughing as you landed flat on your back, arms outstretched.

at least the ball floated back toward him.

he tucked it casually into the crook of his arm and grinned down at you.

“you’re mean,” you said breathlessly, still grinning, hair a mess, pride only slightly bruised.

he laughed, eyes crinkling as he looked down at you sprawled across the court.

“you’re still very good,” he said, voice low but honest, the kind of praise that didn’t feel like flattery—just truth.

you chuckled, brushing hair out of your face as you pushed yourself up to stand, brushing your hands against your jeans. “you’re just saying that because i nearly sacrificed my knees for your hit.”

“hey,” he said, the ball still tucked in one arm. “don’t complain about your knees to me.”

you rolled your eyes, walking toward him with a dramatic limp. “oh, i’m sorry. want me to tear the other one so we match?”

his eyes widened in mock horror. “you wouldn’t.”

you smirked. “i might.”

he shook his head, biting back a grin. “you’re evil.”

you chuckled, that warm kind that came from somewhere deeper, and leaned in before he could say anything else—pressing a kiss to his mouth, soft and sure.

he kissed you back instantly, instinctively. like it was muscle memory. like you were the one thing he never had to think twice about.

his hand slid up your waist, slow and careful, fingers curling around your side as if he needed to hold on to something real. you melted into him—every part of you relaxing, sighing against his lips like this was home, like he was.

when you pulled back just enough to speak, your voice was quiet, steady.

“i love you, hyune.”

his eyes searched yours for a moment, wide and open and impossibly full.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your side.

you stayed close, your forehead resting gently against his, his breath still warm against your lips.

but then he shifted—just slightly. his hand lingered at your waist, but something in the way his fingers curled changed. slower. hesitant.

“y/n…” he said softly.

you pulled back just a little to look at him.

there was something in his voice—something heavy. the kind of weight that made your chest go still before your heart could catch up. your eyes searched his, waiting, sensing it.

he was about to tell you.

about that day.

you could feel it in the silence that stretched after your name.

but then he blinked, looked away for a second too long, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“never mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “it’s nothing.”

you turned your gaze forward, toward the far wall of the gym, swallowing the ache in your throat.

because it wasn’t nothing. you knew it wasn’t. but you also knew he wasn’t ready.

not yet.

the room was dim, lit only by the warm spill of the bedside lamp. the sheets were bunched at the foot of the bed like they’d been pushed down in your hurry to get close.

hyunjin lay propped against the headboard, pillows stacked behind his back, his bad leg stretched out carefully. his other knee was bent slightly, his chest bare, skin flushed, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you—like you were something he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch again.

you were straddling his hips, thighs braced on either side of his waist, your palms resting gently on his chest. the stretch of you around him made your breath catch, and his hands trembled slightly as they found your hips, grounding himself in the heat of your skin.

his hands, still trembling slightly, smoothed up your sides beneath the hem of your soft cami, the thin cotton clinging damply to your back with sweat. you rocked your hips down again with a muted gasp, the motion achingly slow, the stretch deep and languid.

“ah fuck,” hyunjin hissed through his teeth, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat. his fingers dug into your hips, but not hard enough to hurt. just enough to keep himself tethered to the moment. “you feel so fucking good like this.”

your breath caught on a tiny whimper as you lifted again, the slick sound of him leaving you wet and open echoing faintly in the quiet room. you were trying to be gentle, mindful of the way his injured leg stretched out beside you, but each time you rocked down again, that careful rhythm unraveled a little more.

“hyune,” you breathed, voice shaking as you bent forward and braced your hands on either side of his chest. the motion pressed your cami tighter across your breasts, the thin fabric straining where your nipples peaked, soaked slightly where sweat clung. he looked up at you like you were something divine, dazed and reverent, his lips parted in awe.

“you’re killin’ me, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding from your hip up to the curve of your waist, fingers splaying under the hem of your shirt. he dragged it a little higher but didn’t take it off. “you’re gonna make me come just like this, fuck—”

you clenched around him, involuntarily, your thighs trembling. his voice cracked when he spoke again, rough and ruined and soft all at once.

“when my leg is healed” he started, mouth moving against your skin, teeth grazing lightly, “i’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you. i swear to god. gonna make up for every time i made you do the work. every single one.”

you whimpered, your whole body twitching in response, overwhelmed by the promise laced in every word. “y-yeah?” you managed to breathe, rocking into him again, the angle shifting just enough to brush something electric deep inside you. your legs shook harder.

he nodded, his hands gripping your waist now, steadying you. his eyes burned up into yours, pupils blown wide. “yeah. gonna have you under me, bent over. won’t let you move without feelin’ me deep. gonna fuck you ‘til you cry.”

his eyes, dark and glistening under the low light, locked onto yours like you were the only real thing in the world. his breath stuttered as he watched the way your face contorted, trembling with need, sweat beading at your temple, your thighs trembling against his hips. you rocked into him again, slow and deep, and he felt it—felt that flutter around his cock, the tight drag of your walls clenching just a little harder as the friction built.

“i love you,” he said suddenly, voice raw, breaking like a wave against your skin. his forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing your cheekbone. “fuck, i love you so much—”

your breath caught, your entire body jerking with the force of it, the sweetness cutting right through the heat and making your chest ache.

“i—i love you too,” you whispered, voice cracking, every word ragged with pleasure and emotion. “i love you, hyun—i’m so close, i can’t, i need—”

he didn’t wait. his right hand slid down from your waist, fingers skimming over the curve of your stomach before settling between your thighs. the pad of his middle finger found your clit, slick and swollen, and began to rub slow, tight circles with practiced pressure.

“right here?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice shaking with restraint as he moved in rhythm with your hips. “right here, baby? gonna come for me like this?”

you moaned helplessly, louder now, no longer trying to hold anything back. “oh gosh—hyun, please—right there, don’t stop—”

his hips jerked beneath you, his control unraveling. “fuck, i’m close too—so close,” he gasped, his cock throbbing inside the condom, still buried deep, pulsing with every clench of your cunt around him. the way your walls squeezed him each time he rubbed over that spot—it was too much, too perfect.

you clung to his shoulders, nails pressing half-moon imprints into his skin as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably. you rolled your hips forward, just a little, and his finger pressed harder to your clit as he gasped out your name.

that was it.

your orgasm hit like lightning, white-hot and overwhelming. you cried out, your voice a broken sob of his name, your body locking tight around him. he felt every twitch, every contraction as you fell apart in his arms.

his hips bucked once, twice, and he buried himself as deep as he could, cock swelling, spurting into the condom as he came with a low, guttural groan against your neck. 

his hands clutched your waist as you both trembled through the aftershocks, breath mingling in broken pants and gasps, bodies locked together in a perfect, trembling knot.

you were still pulsing around him, thighs twitching, mouth open and eyes glazed, his cock softening slowly inside you. his hand lingered between your legs, rubbing you gently through the afterglow until you whined and squirmed from the sensitivity.

“hey,” hyunjin whispered, brushing your hair back with a hand. his other arm stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you close, eyes soft. “you did so well, baby. so, so good for me.”

you shifted slightly, thighs sore, core still pulsing. with care, you lifted yourself off of him, wincing just a little at the sensitivity. hyunjin’s hands steadied you as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“i got it,” he said, sitting up slightly despite the stiffness in his brace. he pulled the condom off, tying it quickly before tossing it into the small trash bin beside his bed. then he reached for the tissue box on the nightstand.

his touch was gentle as he wiped between your thighs—tender, almost reverent, like you were something sacred. “still okay?” he asked, voice low and sweet.

you nodded, cheeks flushed. “yeah. i promise.”

he nodded too, lips pressed together like he was holding back something bigger than a smile. he cleaned himself next, wincing slightly as he adjusted his leg again, then tossed the tissues away and reached out for you.

“c’mere.”

you didn’t hesitate. you crawled back into his arms, your body folding against his like you belonged there—because you did. he pulled the blanket up over you both, tucking it behind your shoulders, then tucked your head under his chin.

he exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that let everything finally settle. his hand found your back again, drawing lazy circles as your breathing began to match his.

you yawned softly, the kind that made your whole body rise and fall with it, head burrowing a little deeper into his chest. the sound made hyunjin smile—tired, full, quiet.

he kissed the top of your head gently.

“y/n,” he murmured, his voice barely above the hum of the bedside lamp.

“mhm?” you replied, eyes still closed, voice muffled into his skin.

he paused. you could feel it in the way his chest stilled under your cheek—like something shifted. his fingers stilled too, resting softly against your spine.

“what would you say,” he said slowly, “if i told you volleyball isn’t my life anymore?”

your eyes opened at that, the sentence settling slowly into your sleep-fogged mind. you tilted your head slightly, just enough to see him. “what?”

hyunjin didn’t answer right away.

his eyes flicked toward the ceiling again, lips parted like the words were there, just stuck somewhere behind his teeth. you waited, watching the way his throat bobbed in a slow swallow, the way his arm tightened just slightly around your waist.

you blinked, still half-draped over him, heart starting to thud with a dull ache. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “it’s always been your life.”

“i know,” he murmured. his voice was low—like he didn’t want to scare the words away.

his hand drifted slowly along your back, thumb brushing the curve of your spine. “it always was. volleyball… it used to be everything. but ever since this injury…” he paused, inhaling shakily. “i’ve come to learn things. about myself. about life.”

you looked up at him then, brows drawing together, curiosity flickering behind the sleep still clinging to your eyes. “like what?”

he didn’t answer right away. just stared up at the ceiling, as if the words were etched into the plaster and he was tracing them with his eyes.

“i’ve learned that it’s always been something else,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it.

you blinked. “something else?”

his eyes stayed on the ceiling, but you felt the way his fingers flexed gently against your waist, like he was anchoring himself in the feel of you.

“over the sport,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “even when i didn’t realize it. even when i said volleyball was my whole world.”

you shifted slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow now, your gaze searching his face. “hyun… what could possibly mean more to you than volleyball?”

his eyes flicked down to meet yours.

he didn’t say anything.

not a word.

just looked at you—really looked—like you were the only thing that made sense in a world that had stopped making any. his lips parted like he might speak, but nothing came out. no dramatic confession. no flourish of words.

just silence.

and then, softly—so soft you barely heard yourself—you said, “oh.”

it hit you all at once.

you.

it was you.

you were the something else.

the thing bigger than the game. you were the only thing he was holding onto when everything else had slipped.

you laid your hand over his heart, feeling it thump unevenly beneath your palm.

you blinked hard, the weight of it pressing into your chest. “where is this coming from?” you asked quietly, eyes never leaving his.

hyunjin’s gaze dropped again, drifting toward the edge of the blanket between you. he swallowed.

“that day,” he said slowly, “when my coach came to see me after the surgery.”

you waited, heartbeat skipping.

“he told me something.”

you sat up a little straighter, heart inching into your throat. “what is it?”

he hesitated, like saying it out loud might split something wide open all over again. his fingers found the hem of your shirt and tugged at it absentmindedly, grounding himself in the soft cotton and your even softer skin beneath it.

“i was scouted,” he said finally. “before the injury.”

your breath caught.

his voice was steady, but quiet. “there was a team. a higher league. semi-pro. they were gonna offer me a spot.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“i didn’t know,” he added. “he was going to tell me after the game. but after i got hurt… they pulled the offer. said they couldn’t take the risk.”

you felt your heart twist, like something inside you folded over on itself.

“i would’ve said yes,” he admitted, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “if i hadn’t gotten injured, i would’ve gone. even if it was across the country”

the silence pressed in around you again—thick and heavy.

“but after everything that happened,” he continued, voice thinner now, like he was peeling something vulnerable straight off his ribs, “i don’t know if that choice would have been the same.”

you stared at him, your fingers tightening slightly where they rested on his chest. “what do you mean?”

hyunjin’s gaze stayed distant for a moment, somewhere just past your shoulder, like he was still watching a version of himself walk away without looking back.

“i mean…” he exhaled, slow and unsteady, “i used to think i’d drop everything if the opportunity came. no questions. i thought that was the only path that mattered. that if i didn’t take it, i’d be nothing.”

he looked at you again, and the rawness in his eyes almost knocked the breath out of you.

“but then i got hurt. and everything stopped. and you were still there.”

you didn’t speak—just waited, the knot in your throat growing tighter by the second.

“and for the first time,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “i had to sit in the stillness. in the silence. and all i could think about was you. not the scouts. not the stats. not the path i’d worked my whole life for. just… you.”

his thumb brushed absentmindedly along your hip.

your chest ached.

not in the way it used to when he was on the court and you were in the stands, watching him soar.

this ache was deeper. heavier. like your heart finally understood the cost of everything he’d carried—and everything he was letting go of.

you leaned in slowly, your forehead pressing gently to his, your breaths mingling in the soft space between words.

“you’re everything to me as well,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly, “but… i prepared myself for anything, hyun. i always knew volleyball came first. i knew it was your number one. and i never wanted to be the thing that got in the way.”

his hands found your face, cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t believe you were even saying that.

“but it’s not,” he said, firm now. immediate. like the words had been waiting just beneath his ribs. “it’s not anymore.”

you blinked, lips parting, but he kept going—eyes locked on yours.

“it used to be. god, it used to be everything. but that version of me…” he exhaled, shaky but sure, “he didn’t know what it felt like to almost lose you. to really see what we have. what we built. that version of me didn’t know how much this—” his thumb brushed beneath your eye “—could wreck me in the best way.”

he leaned his forehead harder into yours now, eyes fluttering closed.

“you’re not in the way,” he murmured. “you’re the way forward.”

you let out a sound between a breath and a sob, something quiet and broken and whole at the same time. your hands slid up to hold his wrists, grounding him just as much as he was grounding you.

“i didn’t want you to have to choose,” you whispered. “but i’m so glad you did.”

“i didn’t choose because i had to,” he said. “i chose because i finally saw what mattered.”

and then you were kissing him—softly, slowly, like the words weren’t enough anymore.

because they weren’t.

not when your hearts already knew.

you breathe in.

let it out.

all you can focus on is the ball.

the sun’s high, white-hot above you, and the roar of the ocean fades into a blur behind the thud of your heart and the beat of your bare feet in the sand. everything else—voices, heat, even the sting of sunscreen in your eyes—melts away. you watch the opposing server toss the ball up. perfect arc. sharp spin.

and then—smack. it’s coming.

you move, knees bend, arms out. you bump it up to your teammate, the ball floating clean and high. she’s already there, ready. you sprint toward the net, muscles burning, the sand pulling at your ankles like it’s trying to slow you down but it won’t—not this time.

your friend sets. high. wide. just how you like it.

you jump.

arms raised, eyes locked on the ball as it hangs in that slow-motion drop of gravity.

and then—

hands.

fast ones.

hyunjin.

he’s already there. tall and smug and laughing as he blocks your spike like he was born to ruin your day. the ball ricochets off his hands with a satisfying smack, straight back into your side of the court.

point: him.

you groan, letting yourself fall dramatically into the sand.

“are you serious?” you yell, spitting a bit of hair from your mouth as you push yourself back up. “you couldn’t let me have one?”

he’s already on the other side of the net, grinning so hard his eyes crinkle.

you narrow your eyes. “oh, that’s it.”

he sees it—the shift in your posture, the way you start dusting sand off your knees with purpose—and his grin widens into something almost nervous.

“y/n,” he warns, backing up a step. “let’s not do this—”

you duck under the net without a word.

he yelps.

“you’re insane!” he shouts, already turning, already running—feet kicking up clouds of sand as you sprint after him.

“you’re dead!” you call back, laughter bubbling in your throat as your feet pound across the beach.

he’s fast, but you’re faster.

he bolts for the shoreline like it’s his last line of defense, chest heaving, arms flailing a little as he yells back, “you’re gonna ruin my hair!”

“i’m gonna ruin your whole life!”

by the time he reaches the water, it’s too late. you’re right behind him, and he dives into the shallows with a splash, trying to put distance between you like the ocean’s suddenly his new home turf.

you charge in after him without hesitation. the cold water smacks against your legs, but you don’t stop. 

you launch yourself forward, leaping onto his back with a triumphant shout. he staggers, arms pinwheeling as he lets out a loud, delighted, “agh!” before catching your legs instinctively.

“you menace!” he laughs, gripping your thighs to keep you from sliding off. “you were actually trying to take me down!”

“i succeeded,” you declare proudly, clinging to him like a backpack as he spins in a slow, splashing circle. “it’s justice for that block.”

“justice my ass,” he grumbles, but he’s grinning too wide to mean it.

you wriggle off his back and drop into the water beside him with a splash, waves slapping against your sides as you gather both hands full of seawater.

“don’t you dare—”

splash.

right in his face.

you’re already sticking your tongue out at him, playful and smug. “oops.”

he shakes his head, then tips it forward sharply, water flying off his hair like a wet golden retriever.

“ugh,” he says through the dripping mess, “i hate you.”

you raise a brow, wading back a step, hands spread in mock offense. “you do not.”

he glares at you—then ruins it with a grin.

“no,” he says, stepping closer, sloshing through the surf until he’s right in front of you. “i really, really don’t.”

you barely have time to breathe before he leans in and kisses you—warm and smiling against your mouth like he can’t help himself. you break the kiss with a grin, breathless and glowing, then splash one last bit of water onto his chest before turning to wade out of the surf.

“c’mon,” you call over your shoulder. “i need a towel before i start growing gills.”

hyunjin jogs after you, still dripping, grabbing your hand just as you hit the edge of the beach. the sun’s warm against your skin now, sticky with salt and laughter, and your friends are scattered across the sand—some sprawled out tanning, others still bickering over who’s winning the volleyball rematch.

you find your towel half-buried under a tote bag and collapse onto it with a happy sigh. hyunjin flops beside you with the grace of a man who has zero shame about tracking wet sand onto everything.

he starts towel-drying his hair while you lean back on your elbows. that’s when you notice the sketchbook tucked beside his bag, its pages curling a little in the heat.

“oooh,” you hum, reaching for it. “whatcha working on?”

he lifts his head, a little surprised, then wipes his hands on the towel and scoots closer. “you can look,” he says, reaching out to open it to the latest page.

you blink.

it’s the beach. this exact beach—down to the curve of the shoreline and the way the volleyball net leans slightly in the wind. but what gets you is the color. the emotion in it. the tiny splash of a figure in the water, mid-jump, arms outstretched like she’s flying.

“hyun…” you say, voice soft, awed. “this is beautiful.”

he shrugs, ducking his head a little. “just messing around.”

you look at him, fully. “don’t do that. don’t downplay it. this is crazy good.”

his cheeks flush, but he smiles as he flips to the next page—another sketch, this one of his teammates gathered around a bench.

“y/n,” he says, leaning back on one arm, gaze drifting out toward the water, “i’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

you glance at him, curious. “what is it?”

he bites his bottom lip, then says, “the university’s letting me switch my major. i’m going into kinesiology.”

your mouth drops open. “what?”

he grins. “yeah. like, officially. rehab sciences. sports performance. biomechanics. they even said i could tailor a track toward athletic recovery and art-based therapy if i submit a proposal.”

you blink rapidly, heart swelling so fast it nearly bursts. “hyunjin, that’s… that’s amazing. that’s so you.”

his gaze flicks to yours. “you think?”

“i know.” you reach out and squeeze his hand. “i’m so proud of you.”

his fingers curl around yours, warm and a little sandy.

“thanks,” he murmurs, eyes soft. “i didn’t think i’d ever get excited about a future that didn’t have a court in it.”

“you don’t need a court to make an impact,” you say, nudging him gently. “you just need a place to land.”

he smiles at that.

then he kisses the back of your hand, quick and bashful, like he’s still getting used to this version of life—one where he’s building something new, with you beside him.

you let the moment sit there, warm and full, before you smirk.

“a place to land,” you repeat. “y’know… preferably without tearing anything this time.”

before you can blink, his fingers are at your sides.

“hyun—” you shriek, twisting away as he pounces. “don’t you—ah!”

he tickles you mercilessly, fingers digging into all your worst spots as you writhe and kick, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

“say sorry!” he demands, grinning like a madman.

“never!”

he wiggles his fingers harder. “say it!”

“fine—fine!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks from laughter. “i’m sorry! you’re a graceful athlete with good landing skills!”

he finally stops, letting you collapse against the towel in a breathless heap. you’re flushed, still giggling, your hand swatting weakly at his arm.

“you’re evil,” you mumble.

he stretches out beside you, completely at peace. “you started it.”

you glance over at him, watching the way the sunlight catches the curve of his smile, the softness in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he wants to see today—or maybe ever.

and somehow, with your hair a mess and your clothes damp and your skin covered in sand, it hits you all at once.

you’ve got it all figured out.

this boy. this life. this love.

you didn’t know if the pieces would fit—through injuries and arguments and fear—but they did.

they do.

hyunjin nudges you gently with his foot, still smiling. “what are you staring at?”

you hum, scooting a little closer. “just the rest of my life.”

he blinks.

then grins.

and says, “looks good from here.”