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coolwyous · 1 day ago

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┈─★ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ( 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 .) / pt ii.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a few years after the worst heartbreak you've ever known, you're back at the ranch for one week to pay your respects after your grandfather suddenly passes away. you're convinced you're over the stupid farmhand that made you swear off love— until of all people, megan skiendiel shows up at your door, same hat, same boots, same sad brown eyes.

ˎˊ˗ 🌾 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: cowboy! megan skiendiel x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 12k, modern cowboy!au, exes to lovers, jealous + protective bf megan wahhh, explores themes of grief, slice of life, small town vibes, MILD angst, we KILL the cowboy (jk happy ending i swear!!)

➴ you might want to tune in...: 𝗢𝗦𝗧: golden hour - kacey mustgraves. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: i don't trust myself (with loving you) - john mayer. ♩ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: still your girl - gamma skies. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜: wait by the river - lord huron. ♩ 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: superglue - role model. ♫

➴ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶 can be found here. ᵎᵎ

cw:// suggestive scene, mentions of death (parent/grandparent.)

your skin crawls being there. same place, 3 years later.

“sorry we couldn’t get you from the airport,” your uncle apologizes.

“it’s okay. the train wasn’t all that bad.”

“it’s so nice to see your face round here again. wish it was under better circumstances.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. when your grandfather passed away suddenly, your parents did nothing but argue about who would come to represent your family at the funeral. both insanely busy with their own jobs, the role fell to you, much to your protest. but considering his money was what was going to fuel you through your future goal of med school, you had little room left to argue.

(after all, you’d also promised yourself you’d never mention a word of what that summer did to you, and that was a promise easily kept.)

now here you are, back at the place you swore you’d never return to, trying to get through the week unscathed.

“who are they?” you ask, motioning to the two random boys working together to take your bag into he house. they stumble over themselves, struggling to get the handle to tuck away.

“just some sorry excuses for cowboys,” old pete spits. “ever since the kid left, we needed the hands. but they ain’t much help.”

the implication isn’t lost on you. they needed two guys to do what megan did by herself.

“y/n,” your aunt’s voice cuts in, sounding worried. “your uncle should tell you-”

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you cut her off, knowing already by the tone where this is headed.

“she doesn’t want to talk about it,” your uncle reiterates, shrugging.

you’re napping on the sofa by the open window to enjoy the mountain air breeze when a rustle outside stirs you. you hear the crunch of gravel, some footsteps making their way up to the porch, and a thud as someone sits in the old rocking chair.

“use the truck as long as you’re here, you get that old thing to run better than anyone. thank you again for coming,” your uncle’s voice is muffled against the hum of the cicadas.

“don’t mention it.”

you feel a jolt through your spine. you know that stupid voice.

(worse, you remember that stupid phrase. her first words to you.)

you leap off the couch and see her clearly through the window.

she’s leaning against one of the posts of the patio fence, arms crossed over her chest, a suede jacket and blue jeans with those stupid boots and that stupid fucking hat.

you feel immeasurable rage bubble up and out of your chest, and before the sense can kick in, you’re racing past the front door and pushing her backwards full force, sending her toppling backwards off the railing and onto the dirt.

those brown eyes look up at you, wide and full of confusion as she processes what’s going on, and you feel instantly sick to your stomach as you take her in. three years weren't enough to forget every feature of her face, and you ache realizing that her eyes are heavier, the creases between her brows deeper, and her smile lines faded.

(she’s older now, and granted you are too, but years ago, you were dreaming of being the one to grow old with her.)

“you’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here,” you spit.

if you were half a screw more unhinged, you’d slap her then and there, but a part of you knows a girl who takes beatings from thousand-pound cattle or pissed off horses would probably hardly even flinch at you.

she rises to her feet slowly, the patio fence the only thing between the two of you. she dusts off her jeans and eyes you with uncertainty. you want to be in her face again, but she mirrors your movement like a wrangler watching a bull, careful and calculated. for every bit you lean to move towards her, she leans away.

“y/n…” your uncle tries to quell you, standing up from the chair.

“you didn’t even go to your mom’s own funeral and you’re coming to my granddad’s, who you barely fucking knew?” you blurt, barely able to contain yourself as you stumble over your own feet. “what kind of stupid fucked logic is that?”

her jaw goes hard, and she pulls the brim of her hat down to cover her eyes from your view. she waves curtly to your uncle and makes her way over to the truck, and it fills you with rage to see her drive away down the road so easily.

“i tried telling you–” your uncle starts, but you don’t want to hear it. you sprint back upstairs into your room and lock the door, trying to calm your racing heart.

it’s just a week, but it might as well be another summer in hell.

they know not to ask you about her.

“i wouldn’t recommend the fields tonight, stay here,” your aunt tells you gently, seeing you pull a jacket over your shoulders as you make your way downstairs, having been holed up in your bedroom since last night’s interaction.

but if anything, that pisses you off more, this stupid girl won’t be the reason you’re stuck inside all day, and you take a horse out through the property to clear your mind.

(maybe you’ll be less stubborn next time.)

you recognize her instantly once you see her in the steer pen, beer can in one hand, crushed cans littering the fence post where her jacket is hanging and the horse is tied to. your first instinct is to turn around, but your hands stay firm on your horse’s reins instead of backing the two of you out of there.

you can see her outline faintly against the sunset. she’s waving her hat in the steer’s face, taunting the beast intentionally, dipping out of his way as soon as it starts to run towards her.

a one-man bullfight.

as soon as you get your horse finally turning, deciding you’ve had enough, you see her trip over the heel of her boot, slipping and landing back-first into the ground. the steer, seeing red, starts to run directly towards her.

you feel your stomach lurch. as angry as you are, a half ton creature crushing her is probably not the revenge you were seeking.

you dismount quickly and run straight up to the fencing, waving your hands wildly.

“hey! hey you!” you scream at the bull, the desperation in your voice apparent. it breaks the silence between the bull and megan, and breaks his concentration briefly. he turns to look at you, realizing you’re behind the fence, and then turns back towards his previous victim.

but megan, as much as you hate her, is quick on her feet to scramble out of the pen and roll underneath the fence post, her chest heaving as she escapes the near-death experience.

she’s wobbly as she gets to her feet, breathing heavily still. she grabs her hat off from the ground and dusts it off.

“thanks for rescuing me.”

“you’re selfish as shit, for so many reasons, but getting yourself killed by a cow on the week of my grandpa’s funeral would be another notch on your stupid belt.”

“not my best idea,” she wrinkles her nose, and you feel rage boiling from beneath your skin.

“drunk, stupid cowboy.” you shove into her, feeling the hot tears threaten the corners of your eyes.

“you loved this drunk, stupid cowboy, once,” she bites back immediately, faster than you had ever expected, and her voice is strained, as if she’s been screaming or yelling.

or crying.

you say nothing and turn around, mounting back on your horse to leave.

she says nothing, but you hear the crunch of the metal beer can beneath her boot.

“you said she stopped living here,” you tell your uncle over dinner that night. you try to be calm, but your tone changes the words into an accusation instead of a comment.

“she did,” he tries to reassure you. “she came into town for the service.”

“is that where bruce went?” you question, having noticed only tilla’s presence on the property. “you let him leave with megan?”

“who’s bruce?” one of the replacement farmhand boys asks dumbly, and old pete simply slaps the back of his head to chastise him for interrupting.

“she needed him more than we did,” he insists. “i felt bad splittin’ the two up. she sends me pictures of him every week.”

“you guys still talk?” you feel the back of your neck light on fire. isn’t your family supposed to have your back? “is that how she found out about grandpa?”

“your grandpa loved that kid, said she respected the land, understood it,” old pete interjects, seeing your uncle clearly drowning under your line of questioning. “they talked even after she quit workin’ here.”

“the service is on sunday, like he would have wanted, and then they read his will on wednesday when your cousins all get here,” your aunt reminds you, as if it’s supposed to offer you comfort.

“i don’t want to be stuck seeing her.”

“that might be hard,” your uncle rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “she agreed to come help out on the property for a few days, just while we arrange everything—”

“you’re joking,” you blurt. “but those new boys are living in her old room.”

“she’s staying in the old log cabin up the road by the stables. you aunt never let us go in there cause of how cold the nights get, but meg figured out the wood stove and where the smoke was leaking from, that damned kid. always so sharp.”

“y/n, you leave in a week, and it’s not like she’s living in the house and having family meals with us. i know it’s not ideal, but…” your aunt tries to console you, but you’ve already stood up by the time she trails off.

you take your plate up to your room and finish dinner with your book in silence. your aunt’s words ring in your head. just get through the week.

the next day, thursday, you’re going stir-crazy by mid-day. you’re tired of being holed up in your room since the sunrise.

if you run into megan, you’ll simply walk away. free will, or whatever. you deserve the right to go explore and find closure, and then never think of this place again.

and somehow, despite the hundreds of acres the property owns, you’re reading up against the fencepost, trying to enjoy the summer sun and the smell of the clean mountain air through the tall grass, and you hear a quiet hum. that gentle, soft hum that had once calmed every pressing worry in your body.

megan’s words ring through your ears.

you loved her, once.

“y/n,” she breathes, recognizing you as she walks along the trail, hands in her pocket.

“what do you want?” you ask, watching as she approaches cautiously.

“i owe you an apology,” she tells you, kneeling down to be at eye level, still keeping a fair amount of distance between the two of you. her statement catches your attention.

you don’t owe her forgiveness, but part of you needs the closure.

“i’m listening.”

she takes a deep breath, her eyes avoiding yours. her hands wring together, as if she’s rehearsed this and is nervous to forget her lines.

and then she opens her mouth, and your heart sinks.

“i took advantage of you that summer, when you were lonely. that was shitty and irresponsible of me. i should have known better. i’m sorry.”

you feel the bile rise up in your throat. you weren’t sure what to expect, but surely this was the worst possible thing to come out of what she could say. that was the last possible perspective you’d have taken about that summer, the way you two grew closer by equal parts proximity and shared time getting to know each other, like two opposites discovering just how much they balanced the other out.

“that’s how you’re looking at this?” you ask in disbelief.

“i was the only person around your age for miles,” she shakes her head, still avoiding your gaze.

“you are so full of shit,” you breathe, completely unable to say more than that. “my god.”

“sorry, y/n.”

“you know, i was hoping when my uncle said you’d left, that you’d gone and done some reflecting and growing and there would be even a chance at closure with you.” you stand up, worried if you stay seated any longer, you might pen up too much energy and try to push her again. “but you haven’t changed at all.”

you’re half expecting her to defend herself, but instead, she simply tilts her head looking up at you from where she’s still sitting.

“what, like you’ve changed?”

you scowl at her. “i’m a completely different person than i was back then.”

“tiger can’t change its stripes,” megan says simply. “people don’t change.”

“but they grow,” you cut back quickly, feeling the anger threatening to boil over. “and if you don’t grow, you die sad and alone, which is what’s going to happen to you while i go off and live my life.”

you see megan’s brow twitch.

“and i’ll go off and live it with someone who isn’t scared to be in love with me, ‘cause that’s what i deserve, and that wasn’t you,” you continue, before turning on your heel to start walking away. you’d give anything to make sure she doesn’t see you cry. “i don’t deserve someone who minimizes it or writes it off or runs away from it.”

you hear the crunch of her boots against the dirt as she gets up and catches up to you easily, her voice ringing out from behind you.

“sorry for minimizing it.”

“it’s fucking gross for me to talk about it, but i’m not afraid to admit it like you are. i loved you so much and i genuinely pictured the future with you, and to hear you talk it down to me just being lonely and young— i hate thinking that’s what you think of me.” you stop briefly, trying to shake your head to stop the tears from continuing. “you ruined everything.”

but then she reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact makes your whole body illuminate with electricity. her grip is gentle, but so unbelievably strong. her eyes are finally seeking yours, her gaze hard and serious, as if she’s flipped a switch.

“did you find someone else while you went home?” she asks, her voice low.

“who cares if i did?” you yank your arm out of her grasp. “i wanted it to be you.”

“i care,” she says weakly, and you decide you’ve had enough.

whatever version of megan you might’ve loved is long gone.

“no you don’t care. all you care about is protecting yourself.” you leave your book there, deciding you’ll come back for it another time, and turn on your heel to walk back towards the lodge. “i’m leaving. i’ll see you at the funeral, then i can’t wait to never fucking think about you ever again. bye megan.”

one of the trees by the creek catches your attention as you walk back to the lodge, trying to clear your head of thoughts of the ginger.

there’s a little notch carved into the side of it, like a tally mark.

you turn around the tree and notice that the whole thing is notched. carefully scratched tally marks as high as you can reach, down to the very bottom, made by a hunting knife or a swiss army knife or something.

you keep walking straight back to the lodge. you could swear you hear something like your name being called out behind you, but you chalk it up to the wind and leave it where it lays.

friday morning, two days before the funeral service. you’ve managed to find a rhythm where you move fast enough around the property to not get caught up enough to run into megan again. this time, you’re rustling around in the wooded area by the field, hoping to figure out where the hell your book ended up.

you hear the faint rustle of leaves, and then a quiet set of yips and yelps. your legs go numb as you recognize the pattern— megan had taught you how to recognize the noises of different animals, and coyotes sound an awful lot like what you’re hearing around you.

“hey pete?” you call out, trying to see if your sounds can potentially scare them off. “pete?”

“not funny,” you yell a little louder, your voice shaking slightly. you hear the yelps getting louder, a bit closer, and you try to ramp up your yells, clapping as well. “get outta here! go!”

the noises only come closer, and you wish you would have come prepared with some bear spray or something to get out of this, but before you can worry too much, there’s a rapid sound of crunching twigs through the woods.

someone is running to you.

you can only hope it’s pete, or your uncle, but the ginger hair is quickly colliding into you, landing the both of you into the dirt. you can’t hear the animals any more, and figure it was megan’s chaotic racket that scared them off.

“you okay?” she asks quickly, her arms holding her up to hover over you.

“get off of me,” you huff, trying to push off her shoulders.

she steps away, and you see the fresh rips in her jeans, the scuffs on her boots, and the briars all stuck to her.

you look back from where she had run– a thicket of bristles, and you see the barbed wire just a few yards behind.

“what did you do?” you question, trying to piece it together.

“i might’ve gotten caught up in one of the wire fences when i heard you. came running, probably should have been more careful,” she admits, staring down at her ruined pair of levi’s.

“don’t do that again,” you threaten, but your heart abandons you. the near-miss with the bull was enough. you can’t risk unpacking the pain of something happening to her.

“okay,” she breathes simply. she searches for something in her back pocket, and retrieves your book. “this is yours.”

she leaves the book next to you, and turns to disappear back into the treeline.

friday evening. you’re face to face with the pond. the air is sticky, oppressively hot even as the sun comes down, and you decide you’re not afraid of anything if you’re able to face all these memories of megan and make it out in one piece.

you don’t exactly want either of the new boys watching you strip down to your underwear, so you tell yourself you can teach yourself how to swim without supervision as long as you stay with your head above water.

admittedly, you’re getting more and more confident with each stride. it’s easy enough to think you’re getting the hang of it when you’re only torso deep, and the water is still. you wade in a tiny bit further, enjoying the cool water against your skin.

your foot slips on a rock much too smooth for you to grip, and you feel yourself slip under the water by accident. you miscalculated just how deep this thing is.

you don’t have enough time to gasp a final gulp of air before you feel the water in your mouth, in your lungs, your limbs flailing to try and get a grasp of something nearby to pull yourself out.

you feel the strong hands, much too familiar, wrap around your waist and heave upwards to get your head above the water. you gasp a breath and feel yourself flailing, but her grip is so strong on you, so firm, you go limp as she kicks backwards to get you back to shallower water.

the two of you collapse on top of each other at the shore of the pond, and she lets go of you immediately.

“you okay?” she asks, those too-familiar brown eyes scanning over you, brows knit together. her clothes are completely drenched through, the fabric clinging to her.

you shove her away, trying to build distance between the two of you, as you reach for your flannel to cover yourself up. “fucking hate you.”

“quit saying that,” she grimaces, her nose wrinkling as she turns to look away from you, as if she’s pained by your statement.

“leave me the fuck alone, megan,” you nearly scream, exasperated.

“you were drowning,” she says back, as if in disbelief.

“i don’t want you near me, what part of that do you not understand?”

“i’m not looking for you,” she snaps. “but i keep finding you.”

“somehow,” you snap back frustratedly.

“somehow,” she echoes, but her voice is softer, and you see her face change.

you feel your heart thud. you can’t handle whatever is about to come out of her.

“don’t–” you try, but the stupid cowboy is always too fast.

“i tried calling you,” she blurts, “every day, all of fall season after you left.”

“that’s all i meant to you, the fall time? three months?” you shove her further away. “sounds about right.”

she grabs your wrist, again. you freeze, her gaze locking into yours as her voice drops.

“y/n, for a split second, you meant the rest of my fuckin’ life,” she tells you firmly, her voice unwavering. “after the fall time, i called you every friday morning for a year.”

your heart nearly stops in your chest. your fridays in town together.

it clicks, faintly. the mystery phone number that always called during your friday 8am class, you always let go to voicemail, and it never left a message. you thought it was a spam number and blocked it after three weeks.

“please don’t get back in there,” she starts, motioning to the pond. “if you got hurt…”

she trails off, biting down. you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

you feel yourself eager to bite back, eager to wound her and make her feel half of what you feel.

if i got hurt? do you know what you’ve done to me?

you’re not cruel enough to drive the point home. you know she knows the damage she’s done. she gets up off the ground and wrings her shirt out before she walks in the opposite direction, leaving you alone without another word.

you burst through the door of the ranch house and lock eyes with your aunt, who is at the table peeling onions for tonight’s dinner.

“did megan actually try to call me the whole fall season?” you rush, the words bursting out of you faster than you could think them through.

“why are you wet?” your aunt asks in shock. “y/n, look at the state of you!”

“please,” you press, and you see her face twist. she lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“after you left, i could tell something was off. she’d take bruce and make the drive out to town every damn morning before anyone woke up just to try and use the pay phone.” she stands up and wipes her hands on her apron. “blew half her pay a week just on gas alone. she said she didn’t trust the cell service up here on the ranch.”

“every morning?” you question, but your aunt has never been one to exaggerate.

“then it was just the fridays, like when you two’d go to town and run your errands. when that stopped working for whatever reason, she got it in her head to start writing on the porch and she’d stay for hours writing these letters. she’d go up to the mailbox every morning, then just turn around without putting it in. i think she thought i didn’t see her, but god gave women a sixth sense for these kinds of things.” she shoots you a pointed look. “sneaking about things.”

“oh,” you say simply, the back of your neck burning.

“she lost something when you left,” her tone softens, reaching out a hand gently onto your arm. “kid wasn’t the same after that. never seen her angry before, but i assume that’s what it was– anger. tried to hide it but you don’t just smoke a pack a day and work yourself to the bone without it going noticed, y’know?”

“sorry,” you say simply, blinking as you try to make sense of it all.

“sweetie, your uncle is simple, and old pete doesn’t know anything.” she shakes her head again, as if she’s letting you in on a secret. “and i’m not the type to tell anyone how to live, much less an independent, smart girl like you. i’ll let you make your own decisions.”

she walks away, and you assume that’s the end of it, but she emerges from the pantry with a small box, heaving it with both hands. she drops it on the table in front of you, and you see it’s taped shut.

“but do i believe these are for you.”

you hesitate, but take the box upstairs into your room. you change into some dry clothes and peel back the tape to open the box.

in it, filled to the brim, are little envelopes, no dates, no addresses, no anything. you fish down to grab one from the bottom and slip a finger under the seal to take the letter out. you sit on your bed, taking in the handwriting.

i think of you every time i go to the rodeo. did you know that’s when i asked for a sign from god? that night was the first time i didn’t beat my own record. every other time, i lasted longer and longer, and the one and only time you came with me, i fell short. i think it was my mom telling me that there’s something else out there that feels better than just winning stupid shit.

you blink, setting the paper down. you read a second, then another, and another. you don’t realize you read through the night until your eyes droop and you fall asleep, pile of papers surrounding you.

(somehow, her voice rings even louder in your mind.)

saturday evening. you slept in til the mid-day to catch up on how late you were up. you’ve spent too long that day reading all her letters, leaving a few of them to save for later that night, your eyes strained from focusing all day. she talks about her mom, about loss, about mourning, about her regrets and her fears.

and she talks about you. every letter, a new memory you didn’t know she had treasured, catalogued away in that supposedly empty brain of hers— a new way to look at each memory the two of you had made that summer.

your fingers slip one in your back pocket, one of your favorites, one that had validated the experience the two of you had shared.

we had dinner on the porch today, because the cicadas were singing so beautifully. it made me think about you and the time you sat and kept me company in the rocking chair while we peeled potatoes for dinner. that was the first day i pictured us getting old and grey. i realized i didn’t need the ranch, i just needed you.

you shake your head and try to empty it of thoughts of her. whoever this version of megan was, it was gone, and the one you have now is what you have to accept.

your stomach twists at the thought. you need to focus on anything but the ache in your chest of reliving all these moments, knowing how she felt on the other end of it.

“can i take auntie’s car into the town?” you call out to the house.

“be safe on the road. you don’t usually drive it alone, it can get tiring,” your uncle calls back to you. “her keys are on the mantle.”

you find the keys, and take your aunt’s vw bug out of the garage and onto the dirt road, starting the hour-long drive out to the town. familiar, but never one you’ve done alone, you figure it’s the easiest thing you can do to get out of your own head.

you end up at the bar, the only other thing open past 9pm in this god forsaken small town. you’re used to a bustling night life in your city, but forget that things are much much slower up in the mountain. the parking lot is full of familiar-looking trucks and old cars, clearly a town celebrating the freedom of the weekend.

you enter and take in the old country bar: neon signs, mounted animal heads, and hundreds of framed photos of people and places around the town. couples dance to the music, others play pool at the tables nearby, and some are getting rowdy near the mechanical bull ride.

you let out a quiet breath and sit yourself at the bar. you feel the crinkle in your back pocket. a letter you forgot to take out before you had left the house.

before the bartender can even get to you, a mustached man posts up in the seat next to you, resting his elbow much too far into your bubble.

“the niece from the city,” he says simply, and you realize you might not be a stranger to these people after all. “let me buy you something.”

“no thank you,” you nod politely. whatever his intentions are, your focus was to spend the night alone in a new place, and considering you weren’t even old enough to enter the bar last you were here, this is your best bet at making a memory in this town for yourself, without megan’s hands on it.

(and how predictably rude of this man to ruin it…)

“i insist,” he pushes, flagging for the bartender to come over.

“i promise i’m okay,” you press back, rolling your eyes. nothing good can ever exist outside of a man ruining it.

but then he’s taking a strand of your hair in his dirty hand, and you feel yourself tense.

“pretty hair, on a pretty girl,” he tells you, playing with the lock within his fingers, leaning in much too close for your comfort. “how’re you likin’ the countryside so far?”

you feel yourself try to move away but you freeze at how imposing he is in your space. you’re sure any other interested girl would swoon being in your position, a confident man making it clear he’s interested, but this is quite possibly the opposite of what you’d want in this moment right now.

your mouth opens to protest, but there’s no sound. his hand is suddenly yanking backwards, and you see his body swing back out of the chair. you realize he’s been shoved away from you.

you smell it before you see her. pine and campfire.

and in an instant, she lands a punch to his face, square in the jaw.

“sorry sorry, my hand slipped,” she apologizes to him lazily, shaking out her wrist from what you can assume will be an impact bound to bruise. she takes a quick look at him, and you’re shocked when she spits on the ground next to his head, her eyes narrowing. “i’d stay down there if i were you, my hand might slip again.”

“out,” the bartender growls, whistling towards the two of you and pointing to the door. “now. come back when you’re sobered up, kid.”

“what the fuck?” you scowl at her, before a random pair of hands are shoving the two of you out the door and into the parking lot, the chill of the night air nipping at your nose.

megan doesn’t seem the least bit unphased, her eyes wide but focused on you.

“did you get a lot of people flirting with you back home?” she blurts, almost breathlessly. you can see her hand already start to swell, but she’s paying it no attention.

“why do you care?” you jab back.

“i can’t–” her face twists, her eyes scrunching shut. “i can’t stand the idea.”

you can’t give any thought to her rambles right now. “how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

“i am kinda–” she pauses, wrinkling her nose, “a little drunk. no liquor store so the bar is the only option when the gas station closes. came here and wanted to forget about you.”

you stare her down, contemplating what comes next. the choice is easy.

you sprint right over to your car and lock yourself in, megan irritatedly following behind you and knocking on the glass that now separates you.

“open,” she grunts, testing the door handle.

“go away.” you scowl at her through the glass. “i’ll scream, and someone will come and beat your ass.”

“don’t drive an hour home when you just drank like that,” she pleads, her voice softening slightly. she slumps against the car, leaning her face near the window to be able to look you in the eyes. “i’m gonna stay as long as i need to fix this. i’ll stay all night if i have to.”

her eyes are so warm and inviting, even through the barrier of the glass. you have half a mind to kick the car in reverse and let her go tumbling over the hood.

“i don’t want to be around you, what part of that is not getting through your skull?”

“i hurt you and i ran away instead of running towards you,” she says suddenly, pressing her forehead against the window. you’re shocked by how tender her voice sounds, a world of difference from her apology on the ranch. “i was scared to love something that deep and have it ripped away from me, and i ran away from it instead so it’d hurt less.”

“but it didn’t hurt less,” she continues, her eyes avoiding yours. you see her lip tremble, but she hardens her jaw to steady it. “it left something.”

“i was angry with you. i was angry for the first time in my adult life,” she admits. “i had gone numb after my mom, and then you show up, and it’s like everything was back to full volume after being silent for so long. being up here, it gave me a routine to fall into. it made me stop thinking, and then you showed up, and all i wanted to do was think about you, and the future, and the beauty in everything. you put something back in my head, and when you left, it made me angry.”

“i didn’t leave you on purpose,” you finally manage, silent throughout all of this.

“you could have stayed. we could have kept everything the same, and you had to go off and leave me,” she pushes back, but her voice is small, barely audible now across the glass.

“the same?” you question.

“we could have lived on the ranch and lived so easy, y/n.”

“i tried to bring you with me–”

“and i wasn’t ready. and that will haunt me forever.” her lips press into a fine line, and your heart thuds as she lets out a quiet breath. “i’m sorry i wasn’t ready to love you how you deserved.”

the apology. a real apology.

with that, you feel it rise from the gravel, the summer you had burned and buried, the feelings you had worked so diligently to try and rid yourself of before they destroyed you. you can close the chapter where you hate her, and move away from it all.

“i guess we were just kids,” you breathe after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” she reiterates. you roll the window down, and she leans on the frame, her head poking into the car. “i am really truly sorry.”

“no.” you don’t want her to grovel and ruin the moment, waving her off. “you gave me closure. done being angry.”

“you are?” her eyes light up.

“i leave wednesday night, and it’ll be easier not having to seethe with rage every time i see you,” you offer as a truce.

“i’m more than good with that,” she nods, and you feel the next chapter writing itself.

“i’m hungry,” you say simply, and she arches a curious brow at you.

“the diner is 24/7,” she offers.

“dinner, at the diner?” you ask, pointing up the street.

“i need to sober up before i try driving back to the ranch, and so do you,” megan says. “it’s a five minute walk. we can get the cars after?”

you nod and the two of you walk together to the diner, keeping a cautious distance in between yourselves. you ignore the crumple of paper in your back pocket, the letter begging to be read.

she orders a black coffee and watches you the whole time you eat your pancake platter.

you watch her back. your heart echoes something each time your eyes meet silently, but you do your best to quiet it as you make small talk about the town.

home.

sunday finally comes. the service is beautiful, and they bury your grandpa next to your grandma.

“they get to be together even after all they’ve been through,” your aunt says, something like admiration in her voice.

you look at megan, and she’s fixed her eyes on the hole in the ground, biting down on her bottom lip to stay anchored. you can already tell what she’s thinking of and what this brings up for her.

before you can stop yourself, you reach for her hand. she takes it and squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.

that night, after the service, your uncle insists on taking the whole family out to the bar, saying it’s what his father would have wanted. your grandpa was a big character, and it’s not out of the picture to think he had asked for something like this to lighten everyone's spirits.

(you don’t mention having been kicked out last night. luckily, nobody asks.)

“you know, when god shuts a window, he opens a door,” your great aunt says, motioning to the couples all paired up for the dances.

“slim pickings,” your cousin wrinkles his nose, motioning to the local singles at the bar.

“oh your generation— i was married at your age. stop being such a pill. just find someone good looking and go from there,” she huffs.

“bet you $20 that you won’t go walk up to the best lookin’ person in this room right now and give ‘em a dance,” he teases you. his side of the family have always been bolder and brasher than you have, but with a newfound sense of confidence, you don’t feel quite ready to step down.

you bite back. “bigger stakes. i want grandpa’s truck.”

“no chance!” he gawks, but the mischievous grin tells you he likes your mettle. “i know for a fact he signed it to me in the will. you’ll see wednesday.”

“no money. i get a dance, and i get them to last longer than 30 seconds on the bull,” you push, upping the stakes.

“ha! i’d like to see what idiot can last past 10.” he laughs and shakes you on it. “truck’s yours if you can do it.”

“the both of you are so crass,” your great-aunt scolds. “we laid him to rest not hours ago and you’re already pawning off his belongings!”

“i want that truck,” you emphasize, before throwing back one more shot to try and muster the courage to do this.

you scan the room of the people who aren’t family, and your cousin is right. not many options left to try, much less people who seem strong enough to be able to win you that mechanical bull bet.

your eyes land on the tall figure, leaning up against the wall, in that same stupid hat and those stupid boots. you hear the echo in your ear again, but push it away as you approach her.

“hi,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around her neck much too easily. her eyebrows arch nearly off her forehead in surprise, but her hands take to your back with far too much ease.

“hi.” megan says back simply, her nervous eyes looking over your shoulder and then back down at your now-swaying bodies. “is there a reason why your great-aunt looks like she wants to kill me?”

“no,” you grin, and megan can instantly tell you’re up to no good.

“sure it has nothing to do with two girls slow dancing?” she questions, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. she’s so steady on her feet, swaying the two of you along to the song playing over the speakers.

“might,” you continue with the short answers, trying not to give yourself away.

“i figured.” she shakes her head and lets out a snort, but before either of you can question it, her hands are dipping down from your back to the dip of your waist. you want to correct her grip, but you can’t find the words to tell her to move her hand. it feels much, much too comfortable there, like the grooves were made for her strong hands to hold onto.

“if she’s mad about this, she’s gonna hate watching you beat all my boy cousins at riding that mechanical bull,” you laugh.

“what? i’m not getting on that thing.” she wrinkles her nose, motioning over to the bucking machine. “no self respecting bull rider would.”

“i can’t convince you?” you bat your lashes up at her, though the thoughts of the bet are starting to fade from your memory as you look into those perfect brown eyes.

“convince me?” she echoes, laughing. “you want to convince me?”

“maybe i just wanted to see if i’ve still got it.” you’re not sure where this sudden rush of boldness comes from, but you chalk it up to the drinks and the lively vibe of the bar party.

“oh, like you don’t have suckers for you back home?” megan teases, though her voice waves and drops the slightest bit. “i’m sure you’ve got a line waiting out the door for you.”

“i might,” you goad on, curious about her shift in tone.

“please tell me you’re not interested,” she insists, eyebrows knitting together, and part of you buzzes at the way her voice shifts in the slightest.

“not many cowboys in the city to pick from.”

“is that your type?” she inquires, and you feel her grip on you tighten slightly.

“maybe it was, at one point,” you hum, trying to stop yourself from playing with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “but only the cowboys who’d do anything for me.”

“hm,” is all she says, her eyes searching for something in you. you’re about to say something more, but the song ends and megan lets go of you, excusing herself with a nod of her head. you wonder if you’ve pushed her too far.

you head back to the bar to grab another drink. you’re barely getting the cup from the bartender when you hear an obnoxious rise of cheers from the other end of the room. you look up at what’s causing the ruckus, and feel yourself smile against your will.

stupid megan, riding that damn mechanical bull, her knuckles white as they grip onto the handle and her face tensed with focus. the timer on the wall with big red numbers keeps ticking up, up, up, until she’s set the new bar record without so much as a slip.

“fuck!” you hear your cousin scream from across the bar, throwing his drink angrily into the wall.

you offer a slow clap of congratulations as megan fans herself off with her hat and comes marching up to you.

“hope that’s proof you’ve still got it.” she points a playfully menacing finger in your face. “please don’t go testing any other cowboys. this one will do just fine.”

you feel something pluck at you from deep in your chest. those eyes that know you. those hands that make you feel safe. that voice that unnerves you and comforts you all at once.

the feeling from the diner comes back. home.

“drive me back to the ranch, cowboy?” you ask suddenly, reaching out to her. “i want to get out of here.”

her eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. you can see the debate in her eyes, the pause between the two of you, the quiet, hesitant swallow she takes before opening her mouth again.

“of course,” she nods, grabbing her jacket off the barstool and handing it to you, out of habit. you see her freeze and start to pull her hand back, her uncertain eyes meeting yours.

you grab the jacket from her and step ahead of her into the parking lot, slipping the worn denim over your shoulders. you take a deep inhale. pine and campfires. home.

the drive back up is mostly spent with you listening to her hum along to the radio, your first time listening to country music in god knows how long. her voice is soft as it’s always been, melodic and peaceful, and you’re focusing on the moonlit grass as the truck finally makes it to the trail leading up to the property.

“i— um, thank you, for today,” she breaks the silence, avoiding your gaze to focus on the road. “i’m sorry it wasn’t the other way around.”

“don’t be. i knew my grandpa was at the end of it,” you reassure her. “i’m sure it wasn’t easy for you thinking about your mom.”

“it was easier with you,” she says softly. “thank you again.”

there’s a heavy pause between the two of you. you don’t know what possesses you to speak up, but you do.

“i read your letters,” you blurt. “i think all of them.”

“oh,” she blinks, eyes widening.

“thank you for writing them like you said you would.”

“of course.” she lets out a quiet breath as the truck takes a familiar turn up the road. “thanks for reading them, i guess. never thought they’d see you.”

“is this the cabin where you’re staying?” you wave for her to stop the truck, wanting to get a better look at the tiny log cabin off by the pasture. “my uncle said you fixed the stove in there, got it to heat up.”

“you know me,” megan shrugs dismissively. “still no good at much else but fixing and wrangling.”

you swing the truck door open and step out, wanting to get a closer look at it. it’s tiny, likely only one room, but it suits her somehow. you can picture her so, so cozy here.

“you could come in, and see how the stove works,” megan offers slowly, her eyes hesitantly following yours.

you know it could be a clean end, to ask her to drop you off at the lodge and go from there, but something is calling you to her, and you can’t seem to quiet that voice this time. you nod, and she fidgets with her keys for a moment to get the door open, grabbing a log from the pile in front of the door.

you enter behind her, and she’s tending to the woodfire stove that warms the whole cabin. it’s tiny, exactly how you’d imagined, but the roar of the fire and the coziness of the space makes you admire how megan had managed to make this old abandoned cabin seem like a home.

(or maybe, that’s just megan’s touch.)

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, noting how she keeps her gaze fixed on the stove, her hands in her pocket as you two stand on opposite sides of the fire to warm yourselves.

“just felt nice to dance with you again,” she breathes quietly, as if it’s a confession.

“reminded me of that night in the field,” you admit, without thinking. you notice her brow twitch, and you take a careful step closer to her, tilting your head to try and meet her gaze. your voice quiets. “did it remind you?”

“it did,” she confesses.

the way her voice shifts is stirring something in you. you reach out, gently wrapping your index finger around her pinky, as if to test her.

“i think you should leave,” she breathes quietly, looking down at your now-laced fingers.

“why?” you ask gently, carefully.

“i can’t tell you why,” she answers quickly, something worried in those big brown eyes.

“i want you to tell me why,” you press, and you can feel it in your chest, bursting against your ribs, begging to be spoken out loud.

megan gives you a look, a look of hesitation, and you try to meet her eyes with your own pleading gaze.

“i want to ask you to stay,” she says slowly, “and then it’s going to crush me when you go.”

“so then i just don’t leave,” you whisper back, taking another step closer towards her.

“i can’t keep you here forever.” her brows are furrowed, and you can tell she’s debating something within herself.

“be brave enough to ask,” you press again.

“please stay the night,” she pleads, reaching for your entire hand, eyes sincere and voice shaky. “and then stay forever.”

you feel the thud in your chest multiply into a thunderstorm.

“do you remember my birthday?” you ask, holding tighter onto her hand.

“of course.”

“i wished for you,” you admit. “that i’d get to stay with you.”

“oh,” she says simply, her eyes softening.

“and then you promised me you’d take care of me for the rest of my life, and i felt like i was dreaming.”

megan bites her lip. “i broke any chance of that, didn’t i?”

“i want you to ask me again,” you press one last time, and megan doesn’t leave you waiting.

“i’d like a chance to fix it.” her eyes, wide, pleading, warm, dig into yours. she takes your hand and presses it against her cheek, scanning over every inch of your face. “all of it.”

“i need to hear you—” you start, but she cuts you off quickly. this stupid cowboy, who knows you like the back of her hand.

“i love you, y/n,” she beats you to it, your hand still caressing her face, but she pulls at your belt loop to bring you close, her strong arms pulling you in to press you into her. she presses her forehead into yours, her eyes scrunching shut as if the confession pains her. “i love you like you wouldn’t believe. loved you then, love you now, think i’m gonna be stuck loving you until i’m old and grey.”

you don’t need anything else, and a part of you thinks megan knows that. you pull at her jaw to kiss her, a kiss to make up for each one she’s owed, and the echo silences itself as she kisses you back forcefully, eagerly, her strong arms wrapping around you to lock you in place against her.

back in megan’s arms, you are home.

“i missed you,” she breathes into your neck, sliding your shirt over your head much too easily, the kisses she plants along your collarbone sending shivers through your entire body. “a lot.”

“mmhmm, less talking,” you hum playfully, one hand grasping the back of her neck to keep her close as the other trails off under her shirt and up the hard planes of her stomach.

“i’m serious,” she pushes, nearly a growl. you haven’t heard her voice like this, low and gravelly in your ear, and it sends a twinge through every nerve in your system.

“i know you missed me. you punched some stranger in a bar just ‘cause he tried buying me a drink,” you tease. you pull her hand away from your belt and point to her swollen, bruised knuckles as if to prove your point.

“i punched him ‘cause he touched you,” she blurts, stopping her movements to hover over you in the bed and meet your eyes. her dark eyes are taken over by something that makes your heart race. “i saw red. i couldn’t even look at another person after you left.”

“the whole time?” you ask breathlessly, wanting to squirm beneath her but she has you trapped beneath her strong arms as she simply stares, looking you over. “were you waiting for me to come back or something?”

“i felt sick thinking about anyone else,” she grimaces. “and i felt sick thinking about you with anyone else.”

“i didn’t think i was ever going to see you again,” you confess, and you feel her pause, connecting the dots.

“did you think of me?” she finally asks, eyes searching for something in you.

“all i could do was wish they were you,” you admit.

there’s a heavy pause, megan still hovering above you, but you see something flip in her, those dark eyes unrecognizable. she sits up, pulling her own shirt over her head in a swift motion before she runs a finger along your bottom lip, her calloused thumb tracing your teeth. you’re eager to beg for her to do something, anything at this point, but the moment you try to sit up to kiss her back, she pushes you back down by the sternum, her hand staying pressed against the base of your neck. her forcefulness makes your brain go numb.

“each of them, all i could do was wish they were you each time, megan,” you repeat desperately, seeing the effect it had on her the first time. your wish is granted, and she leans back down to nip a quick, forceful kiss into your neck.

“that’s my girl,” she murmurs into your ear, before stepping back next to the bed to stand and let you watch her undo her belt buckle. you feel your mouth go dry at the sight, your pulse racing at the clank of the metal and the impending zip of her jeans.

“yes i am,” you grin, before she reaches back for you, strong hands pulling at what’s left of your clothes to reclaim what belongs to her.

the next morning, you’re back in time 3 years and reliving the summer romance with the wrangler. you know your timeline is shorter now, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling to be back in megan’s arms.

she’s carrying you on her back as you two wade through the pond, your arms wrapped around her neck as you bury your face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. your whole near-drowning thing had traumatized her, and she refused to let you near the water without her present. you don’t mind– you’re enjoying the feeling of her strong back, admiring her pretty face and slicking her hair back from the water our of her eyes.

“why did you quit the ranch, when you said you’d stay?” you ask curiously. there’s two days left with her, and you want to use it making up for lost time, unpacking everything left unanswered.

“found something that i loved more than i loved the ranch.” she says, as if it’s that simple. she splashes at a dragonfly along the surface of the water. “it hurt too much to keep thinking of you everywhere i looked.”

“you missed me,” you repeat from the night before.

“if only you knew half of it,” she hums.

“what did you do to that tree out there?” you point to it, the cut up one by the water. “it looks like a wolverine mauled it.”

she hesitates for a split second, before a sheepish smile takes to her features.

“i told myself i couldn’t keep driving myself crazy, so i’d make a notch in the tree for every day i still felt like i missed you. i promised myself that once i stopped putting tallies in there, i’d be officially over you.”

you wait for the resolution, but it never comes.

“i killed the tree. too many notches,” she says flatly. “the days i’d missed you didn’t end.”

“that’s a lie,” you laugh, splashing water onto her face.

she shakes her head and turns to look at you from over her shoulder, her gaze serious.

“y/n, i never got over you. you took a part of me with you,” she breathes.

“i’d like to take all of you with me, this time around,” you tell her quietly.

“as you wish,” she smiles, and you reach for her jaw to melt into a kiss over the song of the cicadas and the frogs.

tuesday comes, and you’ve spent every moment with megan, to the point that it’s your first time coming back to the lodge in almost 24 hours to pick up fresh clothes.

“you plannin’ on staying the rest of your trip up there at the cabin with the kid?” your aunt asks, arching an eyebrow at you as you run into each other by the stairs.

“maybe,” you eye her hesitantly, but she waves you off quickly.

“don’t play coy, i’m not bein’ nosy,” she rolls her eyes, pushing you by the shoulder as a reprimand. “i need to know if i can give your room to your other cousin when she finally gets up here tonight.”

you smile faintly. “that should be fine.”

moments later, megan shows up on one horse for your two person trail ride, and you realize all notions of keeping this to yourselves are good as gone. your aunt gives you a look after she spots the ginger out the window.

“i’ll have the boys take your stuff over to the cabin while you’re gone.”

“thank you,” you nod.

megan spots you through the window, and breaks out into a giant smile as she tips her hat down at you. you look up to see your aunt witnessing the entire thing.

“i’m glad you came back, y/n.” she says simply. “i think we all are.”

“i am too,” you finally admit. she waves you off, and you slip out the door to go run into your cowboy’s arms.

the night before the will-reading, you get an email that your flight is delayed til thursday, and it gives you an extra few hours with megan. you change your train ride to thursday morning, and the two of you spend the extra time locked away in the cabin.

“i owe you a real apology,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into your shoulder blade from behind as she spoons you. her voice is soft against the combination of evening crickets and curious owls. “i’m sorry about everything.”

“you already apologized,” you shake your head, watching the flames from the oven cast shadows against the wall, outlining her face into the wood. “i forgive you. i owe you an apology too.”

“you have nothing to be sorry about,” she says back quickly, her fingertips dragging along the skin of your thigh and up to your hip.

“i tried to push you to heal sooner than you were ready for. i thought i could fix you.” you had done your own reflection, and granted, it doesn’t excuse how things ended, but you know there’s no moving beyond this without accountability. “i wouldn’t know what it’s like to miss someone like that. i judged you for something unimaginable. i’m sorry.”

she kisses the dip between your jaw and your ear, her nose pressing into your neck.

“it used to be easy to just run away, but i think i’m healing confronting it head on,” she says quietly.

“proud of you,” you murmur back, reaching to pull her hand to your lips and kiss along her almost-healed knuckles.

“i wish you could have met her,” she says suddenly, her lips still against your neck, and your heart aches for her.

“i’m sure she was perfect,” you say simply, and megan nods in approval.

“she would say the same about you.”

wednesday. the will reading, which they decide to do on the porch of the ranch, as your grandpa would have wanted.

your cousin is less than thrilled when the attorney reads off the list of allocations and indicates that grandpa’s truck is indeed in his name. he gives you the keys as soon as they’re handed to him, and megan’s eyes widen in surprise.

“the old ford?” she questions, her voice quiet to not disrupt the rest of the proceeding. “it’s your uncle’s favorite.”

“uh, it was your favorite if i remember correctly,” you laugh. “you spent so much time fixing that stupid thing up.”

“i fucking loved that thing,” she beams, and you realize maybe that was your motivation this whole time. “you’re so cool.”

your cousin’s whining voice bursts you and megan out of your bubble.

“y/n’s not even listening, and she’s got the ranch in her fucking name!” your cousin bemoans.

you feel your heart fall into your stomach. “excuse me?”

“i told him i’ll take care of it until i’m tired, but i won’t turn into old pete and waste my life wrangling cattle til i’m grey.” your uncle dusts his hands on his jeans, getting up from the rocking chair where he was seated. “we don’t have kids. i saw this coming. he said you were the only person who saw it for what he saw it for.”

“but med school is–” you start, but he waves you off.

“i’ve got a few more good years left in me. do what you gotta do, then sell it when the time is right.”

“that’s all in your name,” the lawyer nods at you as a dismissal, and you immediately turn to meet megan’s wide eyes.

“holy shit,” she says simply in disbelief, and you hear your great-aunt grunt in disapproval.

“you could give it to the kid,” your aunt suggests, motioning to megan. “we all know she’d take care of it like nobody’s business.”

you look at megan, who stares back at you, dumbfounded.

“what would you want to do with it?” you ask.

“baby, it’s the fucking ranch,” she gapes. you take her hand and pull her a few steps away to hide out inside, away from the ears of your family.

“do you want to stay and watch it with my uncle, while i’m gone?” you ask her gently, holding both hands in yours, offering her the solution you feel she’s been waiting for. “you could go back to your old life.”

for some reason, the offer feels like you’re letting her go. but you know how much this property meant to megan, and something about her coming back to claim it as its steward feels so, so right.

but instead, she looks at you with determined eyes. she shakes her head.

“i’m not making the same mistake twice,” she nods, assuring you. she gives your hands a squeeze. “i choose you, and everything else will turn out alright.”

“i don’t know if you’d be happy in the city,” you sigh, brushing your fingertips across her sun-kissed cheeks.

“not running from anything any more.” she grabs your hand off her face and presses a kiss into your open palm. “i’m happiest where i’m with you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “so we let my uncle keep going til he retires. does that mean you’ll come with me now?”

“i’d need to get brucey,” she says hesitantly. “and he doesn’t fly very well.”

“i’ll go with you to get him.”

“you will?”

“let me fly home, then i’ll come to wherever you are. we’ll road trip, move you out, grab bruce. when is your lease up?”

“i’m monthly, work for lodging and pay.”

“okay. so we get bruce, you move in with me in the city. i start med school, you…”

you pause, seeing the look in her eyes. the planning, the talking about the future so concretely, it scares her, you know it does. the last time her face changed like this was your last day, that summer. you feel yourself want to vomit.

but megan knows you, and she can sense your apprehension. she reaches for your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“i can work on cars,” she offers gently, a smile on her lips. “until you’re done with school.”

“that’s an option.” you nod, beaming at her optimism. they feel like shaky steps towards you, not away. your eyes water at the thought of a happy future with her, one you had imagined was ripped away from you.

“or work with animals.” she grins back.

“or go to trade school,” you build on her idea.

“the future, it’s scary,” she breathes. “but it’s gonna come whether i’m ready or not. might as well get ahead of it.”

“and then i finish school, do a fellowship, and once i’m finished, we come back.”

“really?” her eyes light up brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. “you don’t want to sell it?”

“i don’t need a busy life. just a rewarding one,” you tell her, smiling. “small towns need doctors too.”

“i don’t want you to give up your dreams,” she says worriedly, tilting her head in concern.

“you taught me how to slow down. please don’t expect me to be helping wrangling baby cows every morning, but i wouldn’t mind you still being a cowboy. it’s what you live for.” you reach up to tilt her chin back up, reassuring her as you fix her hat. “it’s not giving up. it's a beautiful compromise.”

she grins back at you, and takes the hat off her head to fix it on your own head.

“i like compromise with you.”

your final night before your 6am train ride to the airport, she takes you camping in the fields.

she explains the concept of a harvest moon— a full moon so big and so bright, early farmers could work all night collecting their harvest by moonlight alone.

the fire she’d built starts to dim down, and you feel the exact same way. you could watch her in the moonlight for the whole night.

“that’s sagittarius.” she points up an arrangement of stars, her feet crossed and her head propped up on a backpack she’s using as a pillow. you’re laying so comfortably cuddled into her, your head resting on her chest, lulled into a cozy haze by the song of the mountain and her perfect voice in your ear.

“no way,” you drawl, forever impressed by her knowledge.

“and that’s asparagus.”

you blink quickly in confusion. “what?”

“and that’s me getting a headshot in fortnite.”

“you’re stupid.” you push into her shoulder, laughing. “i knew you were full of shit.”

she smiles back and presses a sweet kiss into the top of your head, letting her lips linger against your hair.

“i’ll see you in a week?” you ask, and the question doesn’t feel as heavy as you had thought it would.

“yes you will.” she kisses your head again, humming into your hair. “that’s a promise.”

“thank you.”

“i had you once, and that meant everything to me,” she tells you, breathing you in once more. “i think i spent my whole life waiting for you.”

“i’m here now,” you remind her, cuddling in closer.

“never letting you go again,” she reassures you.

(you believe her.)

“hey baby, the neighbor is asking again when you’re going to sell him the truck,” you call out, pushing past the door into the apartment.

you’re kicking your shoes off in the hallway, giving a quick rub to bruce’s head as he greets you. you hear the rumbling from the kitchen, and you pop in to see the jeans and a vintage tshirt, with her head and torso under the sink, doing something to the garbage disposal.

“he can kiss my ass. that thing is staying in the parking spot that i pay for until the end of our lease,” she threatens back, sliding out from under the sink and washing her hands before hitting a switch. in an instant, the same garbage disposal that was broken this morning is magically back and working. “i’m not driving anything smaller.”

you laugh, reaching out for her. “you and your stupid ego.”

“hey, everywhere i’ve ever lived, lifted trucks are like, the shit,” megan grins, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you in for a greeting kiss. “it’s the biggest thing we work on at the shop.”

“oh, i bet you’re the number one lifted truck modder in the city,” you nod playfully.

“i’m alright.” she shrugs, wrinkling her nose, but she’s fixed on the topic of her damn truck. “thinking about how sad you’d look getting dropped off by some rizzless loser in a cowboy hat and boots, in a fucking minivan or something. just wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“yeah, all my classmates think the coolest think about me is you,” you gripe. megan’s insistence on taking you to class every day, in the truck, wearing what she always does, has made you quite the talking point among your first year med school classmates.

“so crazy, ‘cause i think you’re the coolest thing about me,” she grins, looking down at you with a glint in her eyes. “y’know what else i’m thinking about? summer time.”

“that’s still 2 months away,” you laugh at her eagerness. your last summer break before medical school fully takes over your life, planned to be spent on the ranch with megan, rotting away without a care in the world.

“we could get married up there,” she suggests out of nowhere, but her voice is so so sweet, it makes your heart melt.

“what is this, farmer needs a wife?” you tease, arching a brow at her. “i thought it was supposed to be a vacation.”

“okay, okay,” she holds her hands, clearly playfully displeased with your response.

“hold your horses, there,” you goad on, and she narrows her gaze at you.

“oh, now you’re just being a pain.”

you grin. “if the boot fits.”

“enough with the puns,” she groans, rolling her eyes, grabbing you by the waist to swing you easily over her shoulder and whisk you into the bedroom, your scream laughs filling every corner of your apartment.

your summer vacation comes, and the chilly montana nights welcome you both back with open arms.

she slips her jacket over your shoulders, and the motion feels as natural as breathing. you see the front pocket is still full of the flowers she picked for you along the trail, meant to press into your book along with a few of the letters she had written you. you keep your favorite letter one in your back pocket, eager to read it to her in between chapters of your book.

you’re walking behind her, following her steps as she confidently leads you two through the field. she’s singing something mindlessly to herself, her voice filling the air comfortingly.

you tuck your hand into the pocket, trying to warm your fingers, and feel yourself freeze. your fingertips trace along the edge of the object, the edges too wide to be her swiss army knife, the top being the wrong texture to be a pack of cigarettes she might be hiding–

your pulse quickens as you realize inside the pocket, you feel a little box. small, velvet, that kind of box.

“where are you taking me?” you ask quickly, the realization striking you.

“don’t worry about it,” she waves you off. you can’t see her face, but you can hear the grin in her voice, and you can’t tell if you finding the box is part of her plan or an innocent mix up. with megan, it could quite frankly go either way, and you can’t tell which one makes your heart swell more. “ain’t anyone told you that it’s bad luck to question a cattle wrangler on a full moon?”

“you’re making that up.” you try to keep your voice even, not wanting to ruin her plan as the two of you keep walking, but you feel the back of your throat go dry.

“maybe,” she shrugs playfully.

“stupid cowboy,” you try to bite back, but you feel your voice shaky, and she simply reaches back behind you for your hand. she grabs you, and the two of you keep walking, her paces strong, steady, keeping you alongside her easily. she smiles knowingly, and tips her hat down, her eyes fixed on the skyline.

“i love you too, city girl.”

(the letter rings through your ears, your favorite one out of all of them, etched into your memory at this point so deeply, you know it by heart.

i don’t know if you’ll ever read these, but i fell in love with you that day that you read to me. which one? your smart ass is going to ask. not the one by the creek, or the one by the cows. it was the one on the roof, where you told me to quit smoking. i realized that day i have something really, really beautiful i’m excited to live for. i really, really love you, y/n.

-your cowboy, forever.)

#megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader #katseye x reader #katseye megan #megan katseye #megan skiendel imagine #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous golden hour.

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the-grimm-writer · 1 day ago

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Thinking about having a toxic relationship with your yan. Knowing that you should run away and never look back. But the way he makes you feel is something no other person can replicate, and he knows this.

It's addicting, the way he knows you so well. The small things that he knows will get to you. Remembering your favorite movie and show. Your go to take out order. Your guilty pleasures that he doesn't judge you for.

And he knows your body so well that he knows all the right buttons to push, how hard or slow to go for you to scream and cry with pleasure and make you come undone.

He's so close to being the perfect man for you. If he hadn't gotten so possessive over you before you became more than just friends with benefits. Or if he didn't hate when you showed attention to anyone else, even friends that you've been close to long before you even met him. Not to mention how pushy he gets for you to move in with him after just a few months of being together.

Because of that, fights with him were often. Why did you look at that guy at the store for too long? Who were you just texting? Let him see your phone. Why didn't you respond to him? Why do you have to leave? Just stay with him.

If you do leave or try and break things off, he uses all the excuses for you to come back. That he misses you. He can't live without you. Even just the classic you forgot something at his place.

You go back despite your friends begging you not to. Terrified that one day they'll see you on a missing person's poster and they'll never see you again.

Worst of all, you know they have a reason to worry.

You know the things he says during fights are true. He wants to lock you away and throw away the fucking key. He wants to bash any other person who even looks at you wrongs head in until they're an unrecognizable mess on the side of the road. That you belong to him. That he knows how he feels isn't healthy. He just loves you so much that he just doesn't care.

Then once you're done screaming at him, telling him that you're done, you hate him and never want to see him again. That all your friends and family were right about him, he grabs you and pulls you into an aggressive, passion filled kiss that always leads to your clothes being ripped off of you.

And after a night filled with rough hate sex, covered in marks and bruises, he gently pulls you into his arms. He kisses your cheek, softly apologizing for going too far. He buys you gifts the next day as well. Expensive jewelry and even the cute little plush that you've been wanting from the store.

He swears that he'll never do it again. Confesses that he just loves you so much that sometimes he can't help but snap. And you melt right into his sweet words, thinking that maybe it is okay for someone to love you the way he does when he makes you feel like the most special girl in the world even after hurting you.

When you tell him that you love him too, he knows he has you exactly where he wants you. Right by his side. Even if it winds up destroying you both.

BNHA: Keigo, Dabi, Natsuo, Aizawa, Kirishima

JJK: Choso, Geto, Gojo, Nanami

Tokyo Revengers: Mikey, Izana, Kazutora, Nahoya, Ran, Sanzu, Hanma

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songbirdseung · 1 day ago

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𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 𝑩𝑶𝒀 / 𝑺𝑰𝑴 𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

Everyone kind of saw your boyfriend, Jake, as the babygirl in the relationship; the one to be spoiled, taken care of, and loved on constantly. And to be fair, they weren’t exactly wrong. He was your baby. The one you’d drop everything for, the one you’d die for. You’d do anything to make him happy, and he knew it, taking full advantage with those wide, pleading eyes and that cheeky grin that could get him anything he wanted.

But what people didn’t see was the way the roles would sometimes reverse.

Because there were moments, many moments, actually, where Jake completely flipped the script. He wasn’t always the clingy, whiny, spoiled one. No, there were times when he’d turn it all the way around, going above and beyond to baby you instead, never letting you lift a single finger, doting on you as if you were royalty. And when you finally sat him down, hands holding his face as you begged him to just relax and stop doing so much for you?

He never listened.

"Jakey, seriously-"

“Mm-mm.” He’d shake his head, placing a finger against your lips with a playful smirk. "You take care of me all the time, babe. Let me do this for you, okay?"

And you couldn’t even argue because every single time, those puppy eyes would come out, that signature pout curving on his lips, and you folded like a house of cards. The moment you gave in, that innocent pout would shift into a triumphant smirk, and before you knew it, he’d be dragging you along somewhere, his next surprise already planned.

It was the little things, too. The way he could take the most mundane moments and make them feel like a fairytale, the way he never let you sit in boredom for too long, always finding ways to entertain you. Whether that meant teasing you endlessly, poking at your sides just to hear you squeal, or pulling you into his lap and demanding your attention because he was your boyfriend and you were legally obligated to adore him 24/7.

Sure, Jake was your babygirl. But more often than not, he was also the one making sure you had everything you needed, never letting you go without, proving that underneath all his teasing and clinginess was a boyfriend who would literally carry the weight of the world if it meant making your life easier.

Like right now.

“Sim Jaeyun, just come back for the rest,” you called, watching in amusement as he hauled every single grocery bag from the trunk, arms flexing under the weight as he refused to do a second trip.

"Shut up and just open the front door, woman," he shot back, jaw clenched as he balanced a watermelon on his hip like it was a toddler.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you stepped aside and let him inside. He really was something else. The perfect balance between boyfriend and best friend. The type to poke fun at you at every given opportunity, but also the type to kiss away your pout before you could even think of being mad at him.

And it was little things like that that made your heart swell.

Like when he’d text you while out, giving you barely five seconds to respond before fake-threatening to leave you empty-handed.

"hey dummy, i’m coming home soon, need anything?" "reply now or i’m leaving the store." "fine. ignore your loving boyfriend who just wanted to do something nice for you."

And yet, even when you did ignore his texts, he always came home with something anyway. A snack you’d been craving, a new hoodie he saw and just knew you’d love, or even a single flower, just because he felt like getting you one.

And when he placed it all in front of you, arms crossed, lips forming that exaggerated frown, demanding an apology in the form of babying him back?

Yeah, you’d just roll your eyes and pull him into your arms, rubbing his back like a child as you cooed, "My poor, neglected Jakey. How ever will you survive without my attention?"

And the second you started babying him? That pout disappeared, his smirk returning, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face into your neck.

Yeah, you spoiled him.

But, God, did he spoil you right back.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jake #jaeyun #sim jaeyun #jake enhypen #jake sim #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #sim jake #enhypen jake

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lilangelbud · 17 hours ago

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The front door slammed shut, sending a jolt through the house. The sound echoed like a gunshot, and I froze mid-step on the stairs, my fingers tightening around the banister. I knew that sound—that anger. It wasn’t the usual tired sigh or the heavy drag of his boots after a long day. No, this was different. This was heated. My stomach twisted as I heard his keys clatter onto the table, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, moving closer to the living room.

I lingered on the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. Maybe if I stayed quiet, if I didn’t move, he wouldn’t notice me. But then his voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Get down here. Now.”

My throat tightened. I hesitated, my mind racing. I’d been a brat earlier, I knew that. I’d pushed him, testing the limits of his patience, and now it seemed I’d found the breaking point. Slowly, I descended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached the bottom, I found him standing in the middle of the living room, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his face a mask of frustration.

“Do you even realize how much of a little brat you’ve been today?” he snapped, his voice low but edged with something dangerous. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve had a long fucking day, and the last thing I need is your attitude.”

I opened my mouth to respond, to apologize maybe, but he was already moving. In one swift motion, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward. I stumbled, my knees hitting the carpet as he pushed me down. I gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, but his grip was firm, unyielding.

“Stay. Still.” His voice was a growl, and I felt my body obey before my mind could even process the command. He didn’t bother with niceties, didn’t waste time on gentle touches or sweet words. His hands were rough as he tugged at my skirt, pulling it up around my waist, and then his fingers were hooking into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down just enough to expose me.

I let out a soft whimper, my face burning with shame and something else—something I didn’t want to admit. My hands gripped the carpet, desperate for something to hold onto as I felt him shift behind me. I heard the unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he freed himself, and then the weight of his body pressed against mine.

There was no warning, no preparation. He didn’t ask, didn’t wait. One moment I was trembling beneath him, and the next I was gasping as he pushed inside, his cock stretching me in a way that made my vision blur. “Daddy!” I cried out, the word torn from my lips as he bottomed out inside of me.

He didn’t pause, didn’t give me time to adjust. His hips began to move, hard and demanding, each thrust driving the air from my lungs. I was panting, my body struggling to keep up with the relentless pace he set. Every movement felt like too much, overwhelming in the best and worst ways. My hands clawed at the carpet, seeking purchase, but there was no escape, no relief.

He leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough. “You’re such a good little hole for Daddy, aren’t you? Taking me so well, even when you don’t deserve it.” His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated how they made me feel, how they made my body respond.

His grip tightened on my hips, his thrusts growing even more urgent. I could feel him slip out for a moment, only to push back in with a force that made me cry out. I was soaked, my body betraying me as it clung to him, welcoming him even as I told myself I didn’t want it.

And then, just as I felt myself teetering on the edge of climax, he shifted again. I felt the blunt pressure of him against my entrance, and I knew what was coming. My breath caught in my throat, my body tensing in anticipation. “No, Daddy, please—not there, it’s too much, it’ll hurt—”

But he didn’t listen. With a low groan, he pushed into me, the stretch unbearable as he filled me in a way I wasn’t ready for. I clenched around him, my body shaking as I tried to adjust to the sensation. He paused for a moment, his breathing ragged, and then he began to move again, slow at first, but with an intensity that left me gasping.

“See? You can take it. You’re taking Daddy so well, baby.” His voice was a whisper, but it felt like it echoed in my head, drowning out everything else. I felt small, so small beneath him, like I was nothing more than a toy for him to use. He shifted his grip, one hand moving to my throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make me aware of his control, of the power he held over me.

“Da-...dad...daddy!” I choked out, my voice trembling as I tried to form the words. He chuckled, the sound dark and throaty, and then he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke.

“Daddy knows what he’s doing, baby. You just take his cock.” His words were a command, and my body obeyed, even as my mind screamed in protest. He pushed my head down, using it as leverage as he drove into me, his thrusts growing harder, more desperate. I could feel him chasing his own release, his movements becoming erratic as he neared the edge.

And then, as he pressed small, almost gentle kisses to my shoulder, his grip on my hair tightened, and he whispered the words that sent a shiver through me. “Your holes are mine to use, pretty girl...all your holes.”

Tip me

#fauxcest #fauxc3st #1cky family #!cky thoughts #dad k!nk #dad kink #dad k1nk #dadcest #dadcon #dad x daughter #dad daughter #1cky daughter #1cky d@d #1cky d4ddy #!cky k!dd0 #!cky daddy #!cky k!ddo #!cky daughter #lilangelbud

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berrryparfait · 21 hours ago

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wishful thinking ❀˖°

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: feelings were hurt, hearts were broken. and now you fear he might have found someone new. you screwed up big time, and it just might be too late to take it back. 「i still love you, i promise.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: angst and eventual fluff, reader begs for forgiveness after hurting him, complicated feelings, misunderstandings / miscommunication, jealousy, dramatic bridgerton-style monologues, romcom climax vibes, implied m*rder

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: sylus – 1.7k | zayne – 1.4k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: i miss you, i'm sorry – gracie abrams

✧ a/n: this would've gotten me in trouble on booktok but i love it when the fmc grovels for a change (assuming she was in the wrong ofc). there's something so romantic about stepping up to get ur mans back!!

Those last words you said to him still echo in your head, a torturous reminder of the damage you’d dealt. Guilt is a heavy burden, and that horrible voice in the back of your mind tells you it’s one you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life.

You never meant to say it. You don’t mean it—not even in the slightest.

Two weeks ago, you hurt the man you love. And you haven’t spoken since. You’ve spent the past few days wallowing in regret, consumed by a terrible sadness that’s been eating you alive. Sylus hasn’t reached out either, and part of you knows you deserve it.

How could you have been so stupid, to ruin such a fresh and fragile relationship like that?

You still remember exactly what you said to him. He came home one night with blood on his clothes, most of it undoubtedly not his. You’d been crashing at his place for the week, so you were the first to see the mess he’d created on himself. You don’t know why, but in that moment your first instinct was to lash out at him; to blame him for his needless violence and cruelty. You hadn’t even thought to ask if he was okay, or why he’d caused the mess to begin with.

“I’m tired of you always showing up like…like this!” You gesture to his scarlet-stained shirt, a look of terror on your face. “Why can’t you just live like a normal person for once?”

He sighs, seemingly exhausted. He can’t seem to look you in the eye. “I’ve had a long day. Please don’t yell at me like that.”

“We’ve been together, what, a month? How am I supposed to trust you when you’re always covered in someone else’s blood? How am I supposed to feel safe around you?”

“You feel threatened around me?” A dangerous intensity sparks in his face then, though he still looks strangely solemn and withdrawn, as if the conversation is bleeding him dry.

“Yes. I do.” I glare at him, pulse spiking. “I see why everyone fears you. They have a good reason to. You’re exactly who they say you are, Sylus.” The words come out harsh and hard-edged, and he flinches.

He doesn’t respond, but the look in his eyes changes. The indignation vanishes, replaced by a hurt so painful you have to avert your gaze. He turns from you and stares at the floor, utterly broken.

“I hope I never see you again,” you spit, shoving past him and out the front door, your shoulder brushing against his as you leave.

That was the last time you saw him. The memory remains as raw and merciless as it was the day after. Luke and Kieran had been the ones to fill you in. It turns out he’d hunted down and taken care of a group of bandits who had been stalking you earlier that week. He’d eliminated the threat but chose not to tell you, not wanting to cause you unnecessary worry. Idiot.

You need to do something. Apologize for your stupidity. Admit your mistake.

Get him back.

The past two weeks have been excruciating—suffocating. You wonder if he’s been feeling the same. It wouldn’t be surprising if he never wanted anything to do with me again. I trampled all over him and now I want him back? The nerve.

But you have to try. You need him to know how much you love him.

The annual Linkon Charity Gala is in two days’ time, and if you’re lucky, someone special might be in attendance.

…

The ballroom is swarming with haughty elites, a sight you and Sylus would’ve poked fun at if you’d attended this event together. Once again, your stomach twists sharply and you have to remind yourself not to lose your courage. You were here for one thing and one thing only: to get your man back.

You decided to wear something simple tonight; a short, red dress with black sneakers and your hair shamelessly undone. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you didn’t belong in this crowd. People were already starting to glance your way, but you didn’t care.

You search the sea of people for a head of white hair, which doesn’t take very long. He was always one of the tallest men in the room. As usual, he’s impeccably dressed, in a well-pressed two-piece suit the color of a raven’s feather. He looks devastatingly handsome tonight, and your heart pangs once more.

But as the crowd parts slightly, you feel your breath finally escape your lungs for real. He didn’t come alone.

A beautiful woman stands to his right, her small arm looped around his, a gentle smile on her face. She’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and she looks like she comes from this world. His world.

Who is that? Don’t tell me he’s moved on already… They laugh effortlessly at each other’s jokes, never missing a beat as they move through the crowd and sip at their champagne flutes.

Then time stills as his gaze passes over yours, a fleeting moment so intense and powerful that you gasp in surprise. His crimson eyes startle slightly at the sight of you, and you’re unsure if it’s because he wasn’t expecting you to show up at such a pretentious event or because you’re wearing an obscenely casual outfit to a charity ball.

Or if he just wasn’t expecting to see you again period.

You panic and look away, pretending not to notice him. Suddenly, you wonder if this whole grovelling act of yours was a mistake. Who are you to barge your way back into his life? After everything you said to him? He’s probably better off with that girl…

Wait, where did she go? She’s no longer at his side. You frown in confusion, then stop dead in your tracks when you realize she’s walking towards you. Fuck, fuck fuck—

“Hi! I don’t think I’ve seen you around before... What’s your name?” she asked, her smile bright and genuine.

You can’t think of a single reason why she’s talking to you. Your brain goes into high alert, and your eyes scan the crowd for Sylus. He’s staring right at you, a blank look on his face.

“I’m…” You hesitate, but something in her expression tells you she doesn’t have bad intentions. “I’m sorry. I have something to say to your date.”

The girl frowns, puzzled. Nevertheless, she takes a step back to give you and Sylus—who’d squeezed his way through the crowd—some space. You both stand there staring at each other for a few seconds, uncertain and wary. His guard is up, you can tell.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and steady your quavering voice. Now isn’t the time to cower away from him. Not now, not ever. “I came here for you.” When he remains silent, you press on. “I’m an idiot. I hurt you. And I’m so, so sorry.”

A small crowd has begun to form around the scene, but you pay them no mind. “I understand now that you were just trying to protect me. I didn’t even ask…” you trail off as your voice chokes with tears, “I didn’t even ask if you were okay…

I took you for granted. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t stop thinking about what we could’ve had—together. And now I’m here in this stupid dress and these stupid shoes at this stupid charity event, which I think is great, by the way, but everyone’s staring at me and I can’t even pour my heart out to you in peace! God!”

At this, the crowd dissipates a little, leaving a wave of awkward murmurs in its wake. You ignore the tears streaming down your face. Sylus is still staring at you, his piercing eyes unrelenting. “And your new girlfriend is gorgeous and nice and-and—Ugh! You both probably deserve each other more than I’ll ever deserve you. But that’s okay. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, and that my life has been hell without you, so you’ll hopefully feel better about yourself after the shit I said two weeks ago…

I just miss you. And I needed you to understand that I’m sorry, and I love you, Sylus.”

The air thins and the silence thickens in the moments that follow, everyone else ceasing to exist as you just stand there, face to face.

He takes a step closer, and you can feel the heat emanating off his body. “If you only knew how much you’ve plagued my thoughts…” His eyes search yours, vulnerable and fearful. “I only wanted to keep you safe. It’s still the only thing I want.”

You reach out to cup his cheek, your heart beating so fast you’re certain he can hear it.

“I frightened you away from me. I’m a monster.”

You shake your head with such force your brain rattles. “No. You are not a monster. Would a monster do everything in his power to keep me from harm? I love you, no matter what you think you are. All you have to do now is forgive me, and I’m yours.”

The ridge between his brows deepens, and you know a million doubts are passing through his mind. “I could never hold a grudge against you. You know I adore you—more than anything.”

You smile as you lean your forehead against his, and all feels right in the world again.

A thought startles you from your dream-like state, and you swivel around to face the girl he brought to the event.

She raises a perfect eyebrow and grins smugly at you. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just a plus-one he hired to attract the sponsors.”

You sigh in relief as you turn back to Sylus, who looks so happy you feel your heart expand beyond the confines of your ribcage. “Let’s go home.”

“I’d like nothing more.” He eyes your dress coyly, one hand already reaching out to grab you by the waist. “Cute.”

“Shut up. I was in a rush.”

You’re an awful person. You can’t stop thinking about it—the pure helplessness on his face as you tossed his feelings aside and spat at his pride.

How he’d ever come to like you, you have no idea. Dr. Zayne was the best of us; pure at heart and driven to the core. You know he tries his hardest to balance all aspects of his incredibly busy life, but even a wonder like him can’t always do it all.

He takes his job as a cardiac surgeon more seriously than most. Fates rest in his hands, and it’s common knowledge around the hospital that he’d jump into a boiling volcano before giving anything less than his all to every single patient. That’s just the kind of person he was. Dedicated, compassionate Zayne.

Your Zayne.

No, not anymore. Not since you stomped on his spirit less than a month ago. The memory remains imprinted on your skin, fresh and terrible…

He’s late for your date again. It’s the third time this week. Who does he take you for? You pace back and forth underneath a swaying apple tree in the park, frustrated by his repeated tardiness. You know he’s a busy man, and that doctors don’t have it especially easy in Linkon. But three times? That’s pushing it.

“I apologise for being late. Something came up at the hospital.” He’s clutching two cups of warm coffee in his hands. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He offers you a cup, his expression frazzled and dazed.

You make no move to take the cup from him. The hostility in your voice is palpable as you spit, “How often is this going to be happening? It’s been a whole hour, and you couldn’t even be bothered to text me? I can’t even look at you right now.”

His hand retreats in shock, and he looks down at the freshly-cut grass beneath his feet. “I’m sorry. Let me take you for dinner—”

“No. There will be no dinners or dates for as long as you can’t show up on time! God, you’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

You spot the exact moment he utterly crumbles, and your brain kicks into fight or flight mode. Flight. Definitely flight. You storm off in the opposite direction, hoping he doesn’t follow you like a sad puppy, because that would be a hassle you don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with today.

The scene ends as you shake your head at yourself, disgusted by your lack of empathy for a person who—in your eyes—could quite literally do no wrong. You find out days later from a fellow doctor of his that the reason he’d been late so many times that week was that one of the neighbouring hospitals had recently shut down, causing a sudden spike in demand for Akso Hospital’s resources—including their most proficient cardiac surgeon.

You were being immature. Short-sighted. Inconsiderate. The amount of stress he must’ve been feeling, having to deal with such an overwhelming influx of patients… And you’d only made things ten times worse for him. What a shitty girlfriend.

You’re in the midst of scrolling through social media when you see it: Zayne, in another girl’s post??? The air gushes out of your lungs as you try to understand what you’re looking at. Don’t tell me he’s…moved on already?

In the photo, a woman with a pretty smile poses cheekily next to a calm and collected Zayne. It’s a selfie taken at a coffee shop next to the hospital. A steaming cup of coffee sits on the table in front of him, next to a chocolate croissant that has no business being in a platonic setting like this one…right?

Your stomach drops as you scroll through the comments under the post, most of which sound like this: You both look so cute together!!! kekekekeke I wonder if our pretty surgeon will finally be the one to thaw our cool doctor’s heart??? TTTTTT

Fuck these comments. Fuck whoever wrote them. Zayne’s heart had been in the midst of thawing before you froze it right back up again, and it’s unfortunate for those netizens that you never do anything halfway.

…

You stand before the automatic hospital doors and take a deep calming breath. You can do this. You have to do this. Zayne deserves an apology, and he’s going to get one.

A part of you knows that coming here in the middle of the afternoon to potentially cause a scene that may or may not result in anything good is selfish. Shameless. But your heart has been aching at the mere thought of him. Even if he doesn’t forgive you—which he would probably be right to—you need him to know how you really feel.

“Hi, do you know where I can find Dr. Zayne?” The urgency in your voice is almost embarrassing, but you couldn’t care less right now.

The young nurse frowns in thought, seemingly unsure. “He might be in his office right now. There aren’t any major heart surgeries taking place today, so it’s unlikely you’ll find him anywhere near the operation room.”

“Thanks!” You nearly jog in the direction of his office, a renewed determination coming to life in your chest.

The love of your life is just beyond this—Huh? It’s empty.

You scan the room for any trace of Zayne, instantly remembering how much of a clean freak he is. Nearly every surface is shining spotless, a true reflection of his desire for order and cleanliness.

Maybe he’s on his way back. No harm in waiting a little while. You perch on the edge of his work desk and begin rehearsing your apology speech. I’m sorry… Please forgive me… I’ll never do it again…

Just then, the door swings open and not one but two surprised faces stare back at you. Zayne, with the girl in the photo.

Oh, fuck.

Your face flushes as you scramble off the desk and inch towards the door. “I was just leaving…” you chuckle awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to vanish from the face of the earth right about now. The pretty doctor gapes at you, then quietly asks Zayne if she should leave the two of you alone for a minute. He nods at her a little regretfully, and she makes her way down the long hallway.

Silence ensues. He’s the first to break it. “Why are you really here, <y/n>?”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry, Zayne. For everything I said to you that day at the park. I was being thoughtless. Stupid. And you have every right to hate me because lashing out at you like that without finding out what really happened that day was so, so wrong.”

He looks slightly wounded at the mention of what happened. “You found out about the other hospital?”

Your eyes well with tears. “I asked around.”

Zayne glances away then, his tone distant and cold. “You were never meant to find out.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. Besides, we weren’t exactly on great terms at the time.”

The guilt already eating away at your insides multiplies. Goodness, he must’ve felt like absolute shit that day.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” You want to scream at yourself. “I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I just had to tell you this much. I know I’m an idiot, but I’m an idiot who loves you.”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, a hesitant expression on his face. “It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers, “and I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart flutters back to life at those few simple words, and you run into his arms. The embrace you share is hurt materialized—long overdue, special. You’re both emotional wrecks, but you have each other again, and that’s more important than anything else in the world.

“I’ll always be here for you Zayne, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll let you. And please don’t refuse the coffee next time. I’ll admit that didn’t feel very good.”

“I’ll drink all the coffee in the world!” You’re full-on sobbing by now, and he wipes your tears away with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

A bitter thought still nags at you. “Wait, what about the lady who was just here?”

“Oh, she’s a friend of mine. We work together in the surgical department.”

“A friend? Have you seen her comments section?”

He stares at you blankly, puzzled. “What’s that?”

You giggle at his social media illiteracy. “We need to get you a new phone. How does the most talented surgeon in Akso not know what a comments section is?”

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

#reader is absolutely insufferable in this one but hey we all make mistakes #idk why i made her wear that outfit to the ball #the romcom spirits possessed me #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #sylus #zayne #lads #lnds #lads sylus #lads zayne #sylus x reader

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hhoneylemon · 13 hours ago

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚒𝚖

mark grayson x reader

genre: fluff, comfort

scared confessions, longing looks, gum that lost taste

mark is far gone. you’re everything he wants and you’re right there. he looks at you from across the room as though you’re the other half of his being. he’ll chew on gum until it’s lost its taste and then even after that. he doesn’t even realize he’s staring until your gaze meets his. standing awkwardly in front of you in the hallway and giving you a shy compliment, he delivers a confession and asks you out. he feels the weight release from his shoulders when you say yes.

study dates, vanilla lip balm, sharing straws

mark’s busy often, but he does his best to make time to have study dates with you. he isn’t the best student, but he does his best to help you. he carries vanilla lip balm everywhere he goes but forgets to apply it most of the time. when he does, he puts on too much and subconsciously rubs his lips together. he’ll share a straw with you at a restaurant, exclaiming that it saves sea creatures and is beneficial to the environment. you smile at the dorkiness.

beat up shoes, midday naps, apology kisses

mark has a few pairs of shoes he rotates through in a week. his favorite pair is beat up and he can’t bother to buy a new pair of that model. sentimental value. he often takes midday naps to make up for the sleep he misses while he trains or flies off to save the world during the night. it may take an hour for him to respond to texts, but he always does. he gives apology kisses like they’re his lifeline. when he’s late to a date or hangout, when he misses something completely, when he upset you by being blunt or because he was upset and said something mean. they’re normally to the cheek or forehead, but he’ll press them to your lips if he feels like he’s in extra trouble.

dancing without music, breathless laughter, chewed nails

mark’s a terrible dancer and he loves music. he saw a video on instagram and decided he just had to recreate it with you, saying it was cute. with no music playing, he dances with you in his family’s kitchen while his parents were on a date in some other country. every time he accidentally steps on your foot or you bump into the counter, he laughs and bumps your foreheads together by accident. after he accidentally tripped the both of you up, he laughed until his voice grew hoarse and he couldn’t breathe. you noticed as he brushes a hand over your cheek that his nails were short and stubby. with how stressed he looks sometimes, you can easily assume he bites on them.

burnt brownies, bloody knees, pleading looks

mark is a sweet boy. he can’t stand that he doesn’t have any kitchen skills, so he uses his mothers cookbook to bake something for you. he ruins it by setting the wrong time on the timer and the brownies came out crunchy and hard. he got frustrated and wouldn’t look you in the eye for a day. he’s a clumsy individual, tripping over his own feet, having balancing issues, occasionally crash landing while flying. before his invulnerability kicked in, he constantly had bloody knees. now they’re dusted with scars. he gives pleading looks towards you after little disagreements. he looks like a kicked puppy. he just wants to make up with you, he can’t stand the two of you being upset with each other.

tracing scars, late night conversations, blowing out candles

mark’s been hit many times, and he has scars to prove it. sometimes the wounds heal without scars, sometimes they do. if he feels down, he’ll fly to your house and settle into bed with you. you cuddle up to his side and lie your head on his chest as he begins talking to you about anything and everything. you take his arm and trace along the scars, replying when needed and listening when needed. his mother enjoys lighting scented candles around the house to give a more homey feeling. every night, she leaves them lit so that mark can blow them out before he goes to bed. he enjoys seeing the flame die out and the smoke left in the aftermath.

binging shows, polaroids, caramel m&m’s

mark enjoys watching tv, and he loves when you start watching shows that he does. if something falls under an interest of the both of you, he texts you about it and plans a date for the two of you to binge it. his walls are decorated with posters of comics and superheroes and photos of he and his friends. the section above his headboard is dedicated to polaroids of you and him. his favorite is the one of you kissing his cheek while his face is flushed red. a little embarrassing, but he thinks it’s cute. one of his favorite candies is caramel m&m’s and he always has a bag somewhere in his room. his kisses taste like chocolate and caramel more often than not.

nighttime popsicles, counting stars, whispered promises

mark loves hanging out with you at night. he’ll fly over with a box of popsicles and you’ll sit on your bedroom floor eating them while giggling quietly between each other. the rest of the box gets stored in your freezer. he’ll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you to the window, leaning his head against yours so that you two can count stars together. he’ll pretend to know constellations and point randomly to seem cool, but then sighs and admits he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. in the darkness of your room, he’ll lie on the floor with you and hold you against his side. his whispers can barely be heard as he promises to keep you safe and keep you happy.

tight hugs, warm hands, chapped lips

mark has few things in his life that bring him much joy these days. he’ll return from a fight that left him upset or tired and give you a tight hug, holding you agsinst him until you ask him to let you go. his hands are always warm, which is such a pleasant feeling when he cups your face or holds your hips. he presses kisses to your forehead and cheek, sighing in bliss as he can unwind with you and relax in your bed or on your floor. you tease him about how he needs lip balm and he groans, complaining about how he’s enough as a person as is.

declaring love loudly to the sky, linked pinkies, warm blankets

mark feels so giddy with you. after a date gone well, he’ll soar into the sky and laugh like it’s the only thing he knows to do. he yells where nobody can hear him, declaring his love for you and how he’ll keep you safe, happy, and loved. when you walk together or sit together at a table, his hand finds yours to link pinkies. he tells you he loves you for the first time when your pinkies are locked, letting you know it was a promise. his blankets are often cold, as he’s never really in bed. he’s always outside of the house for some reason or another, so he likes cuddling with you in his bed to warm them up. he’s happy to be your blanket as well, half lying on top of you when he’s particularly clingy.

double knotted laces, long apologies, crying in the shower

mark is experienced with danger. he keeps his laces double knotted so that he doesn’t trip and embarrass himself. this is a habit from when he was younger and would return home with bloody palms. he’s a courageous person and won’t back down from a challenge, but he’s terrified that his connections to you will get you hurt. he gives you long apologies when his hero life begins invading your time together. he couldn’t stand losing you, so his apologies are always well thought out and with good meaning behind them. when you get into arguments about his hero life or when something threatening happened to you, he finally breaks down. he’ll take a shower to wash all the sweat and blood away, but also to be alone when he cries. he doesn’t want to hurt you. he’s also willing to cry while hugging you or cuddling with you. he trusts you and would let you see him at his worst to know so. you soothe him and it’s as though you know all the secrets to making him feel better.

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible #x reader #gn reader #male reader #fem reader

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mi-co-uk · 2 days ago

Text

𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱

loner!reader x needy!chris

plot: after the party, the sexual tension becomes too much to bear..

WARNINGS: SMUTTT, lots of neck kissing, chris is a munch, mentions of intoxication, getting caught - embarrassment. use of y/n , I think that's it but let me know if I've missed anythinggg . the series itself will contain smut fluff and angst ⋆𐙚 NOT PROOFREAD ! 2.5 k words

( this can technically be read on its own but it's a part of a seriesss )

pls enjoy <3

NAVIGATION

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4 || pushing it down and praying

the state chris woke up in became increasingly confusing as he tried to remember the night before. he remembers turning up at the party, he remembers feeling pissed off. what he doesn't remember, is how he ended up with his boxers discared and his dick carelessly abandoned with his bedroom door was wide open. immediately humiliated, he resorted to comfier clothes before heading to the main room, hoping to fill the missing gaps of his memory.

the sun was peering in from the kitchen window, shining on matt who was eating while mindlessly scrolling on his phone.

"you looking for y/n?" matt asked without averting his eyes from the device.

"she was here?"

"you don't remember?" chris' eyes were finally met by his brother's as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "jesus kid, didn't realise you were that out of it."

chris began massaging his forehead, desperate to apply enough pressure to push away the growing migraine.

"just tell me what happened, matt."

chris had never felt so appalled at the idea of making out with someone. some random girl who's name was lost on him, matt had said. if anyone, chris had a memory of making out with y/n but his brother assured him that didn't happen - chris knew it would've been too good to be true.

"whys she not here then?"

"you tell me. last thing I knew was she was gonna stick with us today but she went back home this morning. barely said goodbye to me." chris knew it was wrong to feel warmth at the idea of you brushing off matt completely, especially considering his unease at the growing closeness between the two of you recently. he quickly pushed down these thoughts to focus on the situation at hand.

"what was she like then? after the party"

"pissed off, chris." again, the smugness he felt was probably morally wrong - but you were pissed off that chris had been with someone else, and that meant something new.

he knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to try anyway. he dialed your number, listening to the tone while he hoped to hear you answer. what the fuck was he gonna say? ' sorry that I made out with someone even though we aren't together? sorry that I'm glad I did since it meant you can't deny you have feelings for me? '. his mind was a whirlwind of apologies, all feeling incredibly fake while he still relished in the idea he could call you out. why doesn't he just do that instead?

the ringtone of your phone drilled through your head abruptly as it snapped you out of your disassociative state. you were relaxed on your bed, reflecting on the night before with a growing anger the more you thought of it all. you instinctively go to press a button on the screen - the sharp gesture messing with your focus as you accidentally accept the call.

"fuck." you exclaimed without thinking.

"hello to you too." chris' cocky voice came from your speaker phone, your eyes rolling in annoyance from the sound of it.

"I didn't mean to pick up."

"aw, I can feel the love from here."

you take a deep breath before responding, the microphone picking up on it. "I dont feel like doing anything today. if that's why you're calling."

"what's the matter, baby?" his teasing continued, fueling your irritation further.

"not your baby." you muttered quickly. "and maybe it's that fact you were all over some girl-"

"jealous?"

your breathing hitched, realising what you'd essentially admitted "what? no-"

"you seem it"

you dont want to give in to his game. how much did he remember from last night? especially if he knows about the girl from the party.

"I um- how much do you remember? as in after the party?"

"nothing."

"how-"

"matt told me. said you were real pissed off too"

the whole situation was exhausting. you felt far too exposed for comfort. and now you had to tell him everything matt didn't know about last night.

"chris, about last night." you took a deep sigh, almost expecting chris to interrupt - but he stayed quiet. "more stuff happened after the party."

you knew you should just get to the point but it felt impossible to do so.

"you kinda, um. you- fuck I can't say it."

"w-what happened?" chris' had was filled with various scenarios- terrified as he remembered the state he woke up in, and how it could relate to what you were about to tell him.

"you were just all touchy! and- I don't know I just ran out."

"shit, I'm so sorry y/n"

"it's whatever-"

"I'm still sorry-" "I didn't mind it."

you could hear him chuckling through the phone. "oh yeah?"

"goodbye chris."

"aw cmon-"

you hadn't meant to confess as much as you had - but there was a small sense of relief regardless. however, no matter that you hadn't minded what happened after the party, you were continously replaying the scene of him and that girl in your mind.

'drunk words are sober thoughts' - did that apply here? did he really not care enough about you to show some restraint? or was he just that drunk?

you'd worked together a plan. an extremely petty one. but right now, you couldn't see a scenario that didn't end in chris getting his act together - so you didn't really care.

- matt I'm at the door let me in

chris had decided to give you space. he was hoping it would piss you off enough that he wasn't trying to contact you as desperately as he would normally, for you to call him first this time. he felt like it was a lost cause after about 6 hours in.

it was his typical routine to bother matt about ordering food, hoping they'd want something similar enough that he would just end up paying for it.

his walk towards matt's closed door was interrupted abruptly when he heard a female voice - laughing, coming from matts room. he could've sworn it sounded like - and it happens again. the laugh chris always works desperately to hear, the laugh of his favourite person. but you were in matts room.

he hurriedly pushed open the door, the sight of you and matt laying together - clothed, thank god, laughing at trash tv. your eyes met his instantly, a glimmer of hope sparkling in them.

you'd explained matt what you wanted to happen. the best case scenario and the worst case scenario. endless conversing for hours, waiting for chris to turn up for whatever reason, and it worked out better than you imagined it.

he was angry. of course he was. but once again, laying eyes on you tugged down his guard. especially when you looked at him that way. you werent confused, or irritated at chris' intrusion. you were relieved - even excited.

he wipes his face in frustration, taking a minute to evaluate and make his next decision. he watched matts eyes dart between the two of you, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. he noticed barely, a slight twitch from the corner of your mouth, before you just couldn't give in as a small smile spread across your face.

"cmere." chris muttered in a sigh, his head gesturing towards the hallway he was stood in.

you eagerly got to from matts bed, turning your head as you got to the door frame to give matt a quick wave goodbye. your excitement starting to rub off on chris.

he was now leant against the kitchen table. a flat expression on his face despite the energy he was giving off.

"the fuck was that then, huh?"

"what's what?" you muttered, unconvincingly acting as if you had no idea of his problem.

"you tryna piss me off, pretty?" you edged closer timidly, chris' hands reaching for your waist to pull you against him. you completely avoid eye contact, staring at the floor, wall - anywhere but his expression. "that was the best you could do?"

the comment was not expected - you turn your head quickly to meet his gaze, a wide smirk greeting you.

"barely gave me a reason to be pissed off."

your smile is wiped completely, realising you'd overworked your revenge in your head when in reality, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. now it was just embarrassing.

"aw, it's okay, I know what you want," he leans down to start placing light kisses over your neck, light enough that you completely craved the needy, rough kisses he'd given you before.

"please" you let escape in a breath, chris' grip tightening to pull you impossibly closer.

"feel good, baby?"

you whine in response, tugging on his hair closer in desperation for more friction.

he gave in just a little - his kisses becoming a little more sloppy and relaxed, encouraged by the grip you had on his hair aswell as your small needy sounds. but he wanted to tease you a little more - he wanted you to earn it.

his kisses were light once more, placed just on your shoulder blade. "why didn't you get matt to do this, hm? that would've pissed me off real bad."

he pushed your lower half into his own, allowing you to feel his hardening bulge.

"words." he demanded, applying a quick squeeze to your ass making you squeal.

"I- didn't" a moan interrupts you as chris nibbles as your skin while you answer, "didn't want him to."

you could feel his smirk as he ran his lips across your skin. "just wanted me, huh? wanted my attention real bad?"

you nod eagerly, before chris gripped your hips and turned you both around, pushing you against the table as he towered over you. he pressed his lips firmly against yours, groaning in pleasure from the taste. his hand grips the back of your neck to deepen the contact as you pull him closer by his shirt. chris absentmindedly starts grinding his hips into yours, his desperation for you becoming even more evident. he picks you up by your thighs hurriedly, placing you onto the table surface.

he broke the kiss to concentrate on tugging up the end of your dress, gaining access to your core. he looked ahead at you for approval, as you lay across the surface propped up by your elbows. in response you opened your legs further with chris stood in front of the gap, admiring your clothed pussy.

without further questioning, he bent down to push his nose against the covered warmth, the pressure intending to tease more than pleasure. he wanted you to be needy, he wanted you to beg, to give in to the desire and mirror his own desperation.

his eyes meet yours once again, a wide smirk spread across his face as he reads the anticipation in your expression. eyes locked, he presses kisses to the tops of your thighs, beginning to trail around where you needed him the most. he listened intently to your small gasps and needy whines, chuckling to himself as he waited for you to speak up for what you want.

you reach down, gripping his locks to tug him closer to the damp spot forming on your panties.

"what did I say earlier, baby?"

you groaned in frustration before responding. "w-words?"

"mhm, so what'd you say?" he continues teasing with kisses, awaiting your response.

"please?" your breathing was the opposite of steady, sharp gasps escaping you as he nibbling on your thigh - just enough to increase your pent up sexual frustration.

"gonna need to do better than that, princess. be specific"

chris loves seeing you like this. whining for him, craving him.

you shake your head in humiliation, "can't say it."

he withdraws his face completely, leaning over your torso to press needy kisses to your lips, groaning in response when you moan into his mouth.

he breaks contact, gripping your jaw firmly but not harshly, forcing you to look at him.

"you listenin'?" you nod, hoping he'll just give you what you want without going through the process of specifying what you want. "im gonna be nice okay? all you gotta do is say yes when something feels good, yeah? you say no I stop. you're too quiet then I stop. got it?"

"y-yes"

"yes what?"

"yes please?"

"atta girl," he starts lowering towards your warmth again, "mind your manners 'n be nice 'n loud and you'll get what you want."

chris needed matt to hear. you were too dazed by desperation to realise the consequences of being as loud as he wanted - this fact making his cock strain somehow harder against his jeans.

he licked a flat strip on the top of your lacy panties. the rushed unexpected contact forcing a loud whine escape you.

you begin muttering praises, "yes-" moans interrupting you as he sloppily kisses your clit through the panties. "m-more please."

he grins, removing himself from you which earns him a whine, his fingers tuck under the waistband to pull the barrier down, allowing chris to admire your soaked pussy.

you analyse his expression - desperate for an indication that it was what he wanted.

he licked his lips, eyes full of hunger that flicker to yours - relentlessly waiting for you to beg.

"please.. need it so bad."

"you look so perfect for me," he mutters full of lust, "you're being so good, baby."

he urgently worked his tongue into your folds, closing his mouth around the warmth and pushing his face deeper into you - intensifying the pleasure. it rushed - as if he was terrified he'd never get the opportunity to be where he was ever again. he began pushing his finger into your cunt, pumping them in an out as you lost all control over your whining. his fingers curled with precision as his tongue worked rapidly. the pleasure began intensifying-

"are you fucking serious?!" nicks exclaimed panic shot through the pleasure , burying it back down as if nothing was happening previously. chris lifted his head from your pussy, the juices spread across his mouth with a dumbstruck expression. you heard nicks footsteps disappear in a trail back to his room, but you couldn't help but hold onto the embarrassment that came with being caught in such a vulnerable state. chris' eyes were still heavy, processing the whole moment - he'd had you exactly how he'd craved, and it had been perfect. until it wasn't.

you closed your legs in shame, sitting upright onto the surface trying to regain control.

regrettably, chris knew the moment had ended. he pressed quick kisses to your thighs before tugging your dress back down to cover you further.

you mutter an apology, guilt of disappointing two different people in the same 30 seconds hitting a nerve.

"'s okay .. 's okay" he pressed gentle kisses to your cheek and pulled you in for a tight hug - you instinctively reciprocating. it could be considered dramatic- sure. but it was more than that to you. you let your guard down considerably which resulting in humiliation. did nick think less of you? could matt hear? fuck he must've. did chris think less of you? was he mad? were you even good enough? what if he was relieved of the interruption so he didn't have to pretend-

"you're fucking perfect."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

next part ->

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ - mi

a/n , does anyone actually read these

taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @faiyaz555 @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @baebadoobee4ever @fw-lee @afr8idofrats @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @chrxsprettygirl @franticroads @m4gz-png @sosasturns @clairomatt @allisonclairee @mattshorsenecklace @whor3ing @matts-girlfriend @obsessedwiththesturniolos @shadowthesim237 @xeneasworld @chrisslut04

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