#but I also wanted this out by the end of the year!

[hellfirenacht]

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Fic Summary: Eddie had a casual thing going, but when that ends he realizes he has more options than he thought. SMUT

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fem!reader, slightly-experienced!Eddie, virgin!Reader but don't make it weird, friends to lovers, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, porn with plot, or maybe plot with porn, drug use (weed), two idiots figuring things out, slightly ambiguous ending, no use of y/n, Reader is not described

Notes: No beta, what am I a fish?

Word Count: 7.8k words

Master List

Eddie had known he was being used, he wasn’t an idiot despite the fact that she thought he was. He knew from the second that she asked him to meet her behind the school what she wanted, and for once he gave in. 

It had happened twice before, and with both of those girls he shot them down immediately and walked away. Aside from not being interested, those girls were too young for him anyway. 

It was obvious that Heather wanted more than a dime bag when she sat at the picnic table. Eddie didn’t do subtle, and neither did she. He had been ready to turn her down and walk away but he didn’t. He should have, but he didn’t. 

Maybe it was because she actually talked to him before the exchange. Buttered him up with questions about his band and his pins. Maybe it was the way she sat on top of the table and had her skirt hiked up to a dangerous level. 

The most likely reason is that she wasn’t a kid and Eddie was just a guy. An 18 year old and a 20 year old hooking up wasn’t a crime. 

It lasted longer than he thought it would. 

Three months this went on, sneaking around and never being seen together. It had been fun at first, a little dangerous. For a while it made him feel like being a freak wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hearing someone scream his name in pleasure was a lot better than out of anger. 

The first month was the best. 

The second month, things were getting strained. Rick always says that pleasure was the business, but in Eddie’s case the pleasure was ruining his business. He couldn’t keep cutting deals with her, and he was barely making enough to buy more from Rick. Plus condoms were way more expensive than he thought. Eddie would cheap out on a lot of things, but condoms and guitar strings were not it. 

Heather was also getting bored by the third month. She stopped asking him questions and stopped talking to him. She didn’t even stay to cuddle, or she’d kick him out of her place after getting what she wanted. Sometimes even before he got his. 

The sex was fun until it wasn’t. It became mechanical, uninteresting. Screams of pleasure now sounded shrill and fake like some of the bad pornos he’d sneak from the local novelty shop. Eddie found himself enjoying the company of his right hand more than Heather as the end of the third month came to a close. 

It was a relief when Heather and Jacob were seen walking down the halls hand in hand passing Eddie’s locker that day. No words were needed, just a look from Heather that made it clear that it was over. 

That was fine. He hadn’t been in love with her or anything, but it stung. Girls didn’t want Eddie Munson, they wanted the Freak, the Drug Dealer, the Guitar Player. 

Okay fine, girls didn’t even want those things from him most of the time. Any girl that attempted to flirt with him was either clearly making fun of him, or just wanted bragging rights. Even those girls were so few and far between. 

Eddie was never looking to be anyone’s boyfriend. He has other priorities; his band, his club, his friends, his van, his Uncle. All of that came before things like romance or dating. 

Sex, however, fluctuated on that list. He was a healthy young man after all. 

Wayne had just left for work, and Eddie had closed the curtains and turned off the lights in the living room before popping in his favorite VHS into the player. 

It didn’t do anything for him. 

Eddie waited for the excitement to build inside of him but the longer he watched the less interested he became. The moaning sounded too forced, and the girls just weren’t doing it for him like before. 

But he had nothing else to do so he kept watching, not even paying attention. His eyes glazed over and he found himself thinking of anything other than what was supposed to be his distraction for the evening. 

He wished he had a joint, but Heather had taken his last one. Rick was out of town for the next few days. 

The only thing that snapped him out of his haze was the sound of the door slamming open, and you bargain in like you owned the place. 

“Jesus!” Eddie jumped and grabbed a pillow and held it over his crotch, which wasn’t even necessary as his pants were still fully up and he was barely half-hard. Eddie panicked and scrambled for the remote, pushing every wrong button to try and turn off the stupid porno. 

“Bad time?” you asked dryly, walking over and looking point blank at the tv where some blond chick was bent over a table while being pounded. From this angle it was hard to tell if it was in her pussy or her ass. 

“Don’t you ever fucking knock?!” Eddie asked as he finally managed to turn the tv off, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Not when it’s important.” You said, still looking at the now blank tv. “Are your pants up yet?”

Eddie set aside the pillow and turned on a lamp. “They were never off. It wasn’t doing anything for me.” He was being more honest than he intended. You two were friends, good friends even. Eddie would consider everyone in Hellfire a good friend. Despite his lapse in judgement with Heather, Eddie didn’t really do casual.

Eddie liked passion, he liked knowing that he was alive. He wanted to feel wanted. Maybe that’s why he spent those three months with Heather. At least she tried to make him feel wanted for a moment before she got bored. 

You turned around to look at him with a disappointed frown. 

“What? Can’t a man enjoy an evening alone with his porno collection?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t like you to be judgemental about sex, he knew for a fact that you had your own small collection of dirty pictures and romance books. 

You took a deep breath and sat next to him on the couch, turning to face him. Eddie stiffened a little, noting the irony that every part of him was now a bit more stiff except for the part that he had wanted to earlier. 

“Eddie... where have you been?” you asked carefully. 

Eddie was surprised at the question and a little confused. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been here or at school or-”

“I mean, yeah.” you interrupted. “You’ve still been at school and running Hellfire, and at the Hideout but...” You stopped and furrowed your eyebrows as if you were unsure how to really finish your sentence. 

“But...?” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest. 

“It’s like you aren’t around. We all keep trying to hang out with you and you keep blowing us off. You stopped hanging out after band practice with Jeff, Doug keeps trying to get you to hang out to talk about the new D&D expansion, and every time I ask you to hang out you say you’re busy.” You finally manage to say. 

Eddie flinched, and rested a foot on the coffee table. “I’m allowed to have a life outside of school, you know.” He was being defensive, and he knew it. 

“Yes, and that’s fine!” you said quickly. “You’re allowed to have other things going but I- we miss you.”

Shit. Eddie felt like a heel at those words. He hadn’t meant to blow his friends off for Heather, it just happened. He figured as long as he was still running the game and showing up for practice then everything would be fine. 

Eddie had wanted to feel wanted, but had turned his back on the people who actually wanted to be around him. 

Damn Heather and her short skirts. 

No, that wasn’t completely fair. She had been honest about what she wanted. Heather wanted sex and cheap weed. Eddie, as much as he would never want to admit to it, had craved something deeper. Not with Heather, per say, but just in general. 

Eddie was never looking to be someone’s boyfriend, but for a while it was nice to act like one. It was a complicated feeling. 

“Sorry.” He said, more to the discarded pillow than to you. “Things have been weird these past few months. My schedule has just cleared up though so I’ll be around more.” 

There was silence from you for a long while, and Eddie was worried that his apology wouldn’t be enough. 

“Did she dump you?”

Eddie froze in place and he felt all the blood drain from his face. How had you known...? 

“Wh.. what?” Eddie could only manage to force out as his mind scrambled for anything to say to either explain or get out of this conversation. 

“Heather. I uh, I saw you two in the forest on accident.” you said, messing with a rip in the couch. 

Eddie grabbed the pillow again and covered his face with a groan. “How much did you see?” he asked. 

“Enough to know that she’s willing to be shirtless when it was barely 40 degrees outside.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie smacked his head on the pillow a few times as he heard you let out a small giggle. 

“I’m pretty sure I heard her say that, too.” You said, catching the pillow he had tried to smack you with. 

You grabbed the pillow and held into it now. “Did you like her?”

The question gave Eddie pause. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I thought I could since she paid attention to me and at least tried to get to know me a little but...” 

You put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a rub. “I get it.” you said quietly. “Sorry you got dumped.”

“I’m more pissed that I spent so much on weed and condoms.” Eddie admitted, feeling relieved that he had someone to talk to about this for now. “She cleaned me out of my stash, and Rick’s out of town.”

You gave him a shit-eating grin. “Who’s your best friend?” you asked. 

“Jeff.” Eddie said immediately, not even thinking. 

“Damn, that was cold.” you cackled, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the ugliest joint Eddie had ever seen. “I guess you don’t want to share then, so I’ll just keep this to myself-”

“Shit- wait- you-” Eddie stumbled over his words. “You! You’re my best friend. Right now.”

“Just right now?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Right now and alternating Fridays.” He promised. 

“Good enough.” You decided as you handed over the joint. 

He took it and stared at the slightly crumpled paper in his hand. “Who rolled this?”

“I did.”

“This is... shit.” he said. “Hold on, I at least still have some papers.” Eddie said and you rolled your eyes and he hopped up to run to his room. 

“It wouldn’t be shit if I had my normal guy to roll for me!” you called after him. 

“You had three months to learn!” He yelled back, rummaging through his drawers. 

“I did, and apparently it’s not good enough for you!” 

Eddie’s laugh echoed through the trailer and he came out, turning on a lamp as he did, and it felt good to actually laugh again. He began quickly disassembling your joint and reassembling it with fresh papers. 

“I came all this way with a joint as a peace offering to make sure we were still friends and it wasn’t good enough.” You sighed dramatically, leaning against his shoulder with all of your weight. 

Eddie’s head snapped up to look at you, but his hair was in the way. He nudged you off and turned to look at you. “You thought we weren’t friends?”

“You stopped talking to me outside of school.” you said. “We barely talked during Hellfire, and you’d always run off the second you were done with your gigs at the Hideout. I thought I’d done something wrong until I saw...” 

Eddie let out a deep sigh and went back to rolling the joint. “Sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t just you, I was blowing off everyone-”

“While Heather was blowing you.” you nodded, leaning against him again. Eddie winced but did not argue. He licked the paper and finished the joint. 

“Let’s go outside.” Eddie said. “Wayne’s been on my case about smoking inside.” 

The two of you made your way outside the trailer, and further away from the park where no one would bother you or smell what you were doing. Just because it was a trailer park, it didn’t mean that some of the neighbors wouldn’t call the police for something so stupid. 

The chill of late winter had turned into a mild spring, and there were patches of grass that weren’t as brown as the others, and a few were even green. Eddie led you to a nicer patch of grass that was down wind and lit the joint, taking a hit. It wasn’t the best weed, but it was free and he had no right to complain when you were sharing with him. 

It was comfortable standing outside with you. Despite not having seen you in what felt like years, conversation flowed easily between the two of you as the joint was passed back and forth until it was no more than ashes under Eddie’s sneaker. You caught him up on any gossip you knew, while Eddie pretended not to care about how two cheerleaders were caught kissing and the scandal it caused. 

The two of you drifted back to the trailer, collapsing on the couch. You leaned against his shoulder again and Eddie stared at the black reflected glass of the TV. Well, you two were high and he figured some background noise would be entertaining. Without thinking, he reached out and turned it back on. 

The two of you were back on the site of the porno that Eddie had been half-heartedly watching earlier. The VHS had still been going, even if the TV was off. Eddie scrambled to find the right button to turn it off, forgetting in his haze that the tape player didn’t have a remote and he’d have to walk over and manually turn it off. 

You, however, burst into a mess of giggles at the sight of the actress bouncing on her coworkers dick like it was her job.

Well, wait, it was her job. 

“No, no, leave it!” You said as Eddie made a move to get up. “I wanna see what you’re jerking it to.” 

You had always been open when it came to things like sex, but the high seemed to remove your filter entirely. Eddie leaned back on the couch again, so thrown off by the request that he couldn’t think of a reason to say no. 

“So, is there a plot?” you asked, giggling harder every time there was a close up of the man’s balls. “Is she a poor young woman who couldn’t pay the plumber? A mishap with the pizza man when she forgot her wallet?”

“Uh, no plot.” Eddie said, his head swirling with the weed and the surreal situation he’d found himself in. Tonight he was supposed to be watching this alone as a pity party, not with his friend laughing about what got his dick hard. 

Shit, was his dick getting hard?

“It’s just a bunch of scenes from others in the series.” He clarified, coughing. Eddie glanced at the opposite corner of the couch, groaning internally at how far away the pillow was. 

“A ‘best of’ clip show? Not my usual style, but I see the appeal.” and despite your giggles, you still didn’t have any real judgement in your voice. 

“Yeah? And what are you getting off to?” he asked, deciding if he can’t beat it ‘em, join ‘em. 

“I like my porn with a little more plot.” you said, still staring at the tv. “It’s not enough to know that two people are getting it on, I need to know why they’re fucking to really get into it.”

“So porn never does it for you?” 

“No, I’ll still get off to these videos, it’s just not as satisfying. It’s just easier to get off knowing that the woman is going to be able to pay for the pizza.” 

This time it was Eddie’s turn to burst into laughter, which only made the two of you laugh harder. You slipped from his shoulder, face landing on his thigh was a small thud and another round of muffled giggles from you. Eddie was just thankful you didn’t slide face first into his boner, for a number of reasons. 

When you made no move to get up, Eddie rested a hand on your shoulder, enjoying the weight of you with his mild high. 

You pointed to the tv, where the current actress was bouncing at a different angle. “Did she do that?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, honestly. Fuck it, what was there to lose now? “She was more shrill though.”

“What about that?” You asked, when the position changed to doggy style. 

“Did that, too.” Eddie sighed, watching the film. Watching this made him think that maybe, perhaps, Heather had been putting on a performance with him. “Usually in the van.”

“The van?!” You gasped, scandalized. “Eddie, we use that van!”

“We did that in the front seat, too.” he motioned to the new position on screen. “It... wasn’t good.”

And so, that became the new topic of conversation between the two of you. Every new position that was being shown on screen, you asked about and Eddie answered honestly. His boner kept fluctuating between half-hard and full mast as the two of you chatted. 

“Was she your first?” you asked, when the conversation died down. Your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant? Eddie couldn’t be sure. 

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah.” he finally said. “I mean, I had a blowjob before last summer but... yeah. She was my first.”

You didn’t say anything to that, and Eddie wondered if you had fallen asleep. “Who made the first move?” 

“She did. She was just in it for cheap weed and sex.” He wasn’t proud of it. “And it’s not like she was a kid or anything, she’s eighteen.” 

“I know, I know,” you waved your hand. “You aren’t a creep.”

“It’s not like I’m drowning in options here in Hawkins.” Eddie said, feeling like he needed to defend himself, despite knowing you weren’t judging him. “Everyone at school is too young, and my reputation doesn’t really get me many dates.”

“You could have asked me.”

The words were so quiet, they were almost drowned out by the obnoxious dirty talk that the man on screen was doing to the woman. Eddie froze for what must have felt like a minute, trying to convince myself that you had said what he thought he heard. 

“What?” 

“If you just were looking to fool around, you could have.... Asked me." The last two words were even quieter, but unmistakable. 

Why did Eddie’s dick suddenly feel harder than it had in days? Why was he now just noticing that the woman on screen had damn near the exact same body type as you? Why was he now imagining trying the position on screen with you? 

You must have taken his stunned silence as awkwardness and so you pointed as the scene changed again. “Did she do that?” You asked as the woman started blowing the man.

“No.” Eddie said, and that got you moving. You sat up and turned to look at him, your face a bit too close to his.

“Really? No blowjob?” You looked scandalized and that amused him. 

“She wasn’t really into oral.” Eddie shrugged. “I didn’t go down on her either.”

“You don’t do that?” 

“No! Wait- yes-” Eddie was thrown off for the hundredth time today by your line of questioning. “I would have. I wanted to.” 

“And she said no?!” This seemed to be the most offensive thing Eddie could have said to you. “She’s seen your tongue and the fact that you never shut up and said no?!” You were practically gaping at him. 

“She wasn’t into oral.” Eddie repeted, glancing at your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again. 

You could have asked me. What would your lips look like wrapped around his-  

Jesus Christ, what was he doing?

You could have asked me.

You were an option this whole time?! 

Time seemed to stay still between the two of you. Your face looked warm, and Eddie had a bad feeling his wasn’t much different. He swallowed, trying to decide if he was allowed to be thinking the thoughts that were now rushing through his brain of you and the porno and all your damn questions. 

“Why the curiosity about everything?” Eddie blurted out the first question that came to his mind. “Wait, have you-?”

It was now your turn to be thrown off and you looked down. He really hoped his jeans were hiding his boner and that you weren’t looking too closely. 

“Like you said, freaks don’t have a lot of options around here.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. “No one’s really looking to date the local burnout.”

“You could have asked me.” Eddie didn’t really know it was true until the words came out of his mouth. Maybe it was the weed, or the boner, or the porn, or the fact that your hand was resting on his thigh- yeah, you were quickly climbing up to the top of the People Eddie Munson Would Realistically Date list. 

Fine, you were the only one on the list right now. But fuck, quality over quantity, right?

“You didn’t seem interested in dating.” you said, and he didn’t miss the way your eye flicked down to his lips for the briefest second. 

Why the fuck was the tape still playing? Shouldn’t a moment like this deserve a better soundtrack than fake porn moans?!

“I don’t know if I’m really boyfriend material.” Eddie admitted. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“So am I.” you said in a half laugh. 

Yeah, of everyone else in Hawkins you probably understood him the most. You had been a good enough student in school until you weren’t, and had dropped out when offered an extra year of high school. Eddie almost did the same, once, before Wayne convinced him otherwise. 

What did Eddie even have left to lose? This night was weird enough. 

The first kiss was fast, but firm. A press of his lips to yours for just a moment before pulling back. That movement seemed to sober you both up, realizing what you were doing. Your eyes were less hazy, far more focused and aware than before. 

You mimicked the kiss, letting your lips linger just a bit longer than his before pulling back as well. 

Neither of you pulled back from the third kiss. 

With some awkward adjusting and shifting, you were moved to straddle Eddie’s lap, and his hands rested on your hips as tongue was added to the mix. He could taste the weed on you, reminiscent of Heather but without the cherry flavored lip gloss. Your hands rested on his shoulder, slowly rubbing down his chest and then back up which felt good. Then your fingers slid into the back of his hair and that felt really good. 

Why hadn’t he just asked you? 

Your hips shifted and pressed against the straining bulge in his jeans. “Is that for me or her?” you asked against his lips, motioning your head just slightly towards the tv. 

“You.” Eddie didn’t hesitate for a moment, before sliding his tongue into your mouth before you could ask any more dumb or distracting questions. 

One of his hands slid up and under your stomach, feeling the warmth of your skin there. He felt the way your stomach flexed slightly, as if he had accidentally tickled you and pressed his hand more firmly down. His hand crept up on instinct before stopping himself just before your chest. 

Shit, you had just said you were a virgin, right? How far should he be asking to go-

The thought barely crossed his mind as one of your hands slid down his arm and pushed up on his elbow, elevating his hand those much wanted few inches so that his palm was now resting on top of your bra. Eddie groaned and gave your covered breast a squeeze, which you arched into. 

Eddie’s fingers traced over your bra, squeezing occasionally as he tested out your reactions. His hands followed the path of your bra strap to the clasp and he pinched so that it came undone. 

“Oh good, I don’t have to teach you that.” You laughed softly against his lips before pulling back to slide off your shirt. It only got a little tangled with your loose bra before falling to the floor. 

Boobs.

Eddie was a simple man, and the sight of your chest out and free and bare was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all night. There had been plenty of tits on screen this evening, but nothing would compare to the real thing right in front of his face. 

They jiggled as you laughed. “My eyes are up here- oh.” Eddie knew where your eyes were, but they were not his focus as he dove in and immediately latched onto one of your nipples while rolling the other. 

You arched into his mouth, and tangled your fingers into his hair more. He groaned as you tugged at the roots at the base of his neck, and flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple. As he played with your tits, your hips started rocking against his crotch and Eddie tried to adjust himself so that you’d be rubbing against his cock. 

“Knew you’d be good with your tongue.” You sighed, as he swapped to your other breast. You leaned down and grabbed the back of his shirt and gave it a tug. Eddie was quick to pull it off and toss it aside in record time so that he could get back to playing with your breasts. 

He probably could have stayed there for hours if you hadn’t pulled him back up into a kiss, letting your tongue flick out to tease his before sliding your lips down to his neck. You pushed his hair out of the way, and Eddie tilted his head back against the couch, one hand moving backup to your breast.

“Hickies?” You breathed into his ear, which resulted in a full body shudder from him. 

“Only if I can leave them on you too- fuck-” he had barely agreed before your lips had latched onto the side of his neck and began sucking hard. If he had any thoughts outside of how good it felt, he might have wondered if he’d be able to cover the forming bruise with his hair. That Monday he would be walking around the school with a low ponytail, where rumors would fly between him getting lucky or having been attacked by leeches. 

“Jesus Christ...” he breathed out as you attacked the side of his neck, alternating between soft pecks, hot open mouthed kisses, and an assortment of hickies. “Thought you were a virgin.”

You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look; it was one you often gave him during d&d. “Don’t make this weird, Eddie.” you said. “I’ve made out before.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly and to try and salvage the mood he leaned in and nipped at your neck. “I won’t make it weird.” 

“Save that for next time.” Your voice hitched and your hands gripped his arms as he started mimicking the way you had been kissing his neck. When he felt you shudder or grip his arm tighter, he focused on that spot until you started rocking your hips again. 

Eddie slipped one hand down your side, resting at the top of your shorts and rubbing his thumb against the button. You reacted by reaching down and unbuttoning it yourself to give him the go ahead. 

With you unzipped now, Eddie slid his hand into your shorts but didn’t get very far. The material wasn’t stretching enough and the angle was awkward for his wrist. 

“Might need a different position for that.” you laughed as he removed his hand. 

“Should we go to my room?” Eddie looked up at you, hoping that question didn’t backfire on him. 

“You should turn the porno off, first.” you climbed off of him and grabbed your discarded clothes. “I don’t think Wayne wants to walk in on that.” 

In the midst of making out, the tape had FINALLY stopped rolling, and was running through the end credits. Rewinding could wait, Eddie quickly ejected the tape and shoved it back in it’s generic looking sleeve. When he turned, you were already heading towards his bedroom, topless. 

He had never seen a back that looked so sexy in his life. 

You had dropped your clothes at the side of the bed, and when Eddie tossed the tape aside you grabbed him by the belt and pulled him close, barely giving him time to close the door. You were kissing him again, deeper and more passionately this time as the two of you scrambled to push down each other's pants. 

Eddie pushed you onto the bed, and he had to stop himself from cumming in his boxers at the sight of you panting and in your underwear in his sheets. You were looking up at him as if he were the only person in the world that mattered right now, and there was a clear damp spot on your panties. 

Heather had never been to Eddie’s trailer except once, when he had to grab a special purchase from his room. She had refused to come in, as if being seen at Forest Hills was an embarrassment. All of their time had been in his van parked in secluded spots, in the forest behind the school, or at her home. 

Seeing you in his bed, wanting him, was too much to take. 

He was on top of you again, kissing your neck as his fingers pulled down your panties. You kicked them aside as he started kissing down your body again. 

“Please tell me I can go down on you.” Eddie’s head was hovering right over your hips, looking up at you.

Your legs spread at the plea, and you didn’t waste time with words as you pushed his head down to where he desperately wanted to be. 

It took one lick of your slit for Eddie to be pissed at himself. He could have been doing this the whole time?! His arms wrapped around your thighs and his tongue dove in to explore every part of your pussy. You squirmed against his face, gasping and gripping his hair. 

“Fuck- Eddie....!” you gasped, in a way that only encouraged him. 

Eddie was quick to find a rhythm with his tongue that you seemed to like by the way you were letting out quiet whines. You weren’t nearly as loud as she had been, and so every gasp and sigh of his name was a victory to him. He spread your lips to get a better look at you and found himself grinding against his mattress at the site. You were wet, there was no question about that and it wasn’t just from his tongue either. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” your voice was breathless, and the corners of your mouth were turned up. 

“I don’t have a camera.” Eddie nipped at your thigh making you jump. “...I might get one now though.”

“Not on your life. There’s no way I’m gonna let pictures of me like that be dropped off to an hour-photo.”

“What if I got a polaroid instead? Instant development.” 

Eddie felt a special kind of high, the kind that only came when he was running a really good session or when he was playing with his band during a really good set. He didn’t know that sex could be more than just mindlessly horny- he was having fun. 

No one told him that this was an option, dammit. 

“Put a pin in that.” you laughed. 

“I have something else I’d rather put in you.” Eddie said as his finger started to ease into you. 

“Fuck.... if this didn’t feel so good I’d kick you out of bed.” you laughed breathlessly. 

“Kick me out of my own bed?” Eddie looked at you amused as he started rocking his finger in and out. 

“Wouldn’t even feel bad about ih--ohh- oh god-” You stopped talking, your sounds now turned into louder gasps and whines as Eddie curled his finger up and found that sweet spot. 

“Found your off switch.” he said with a shit eating smirk as he started massaging your g-spot. 

“Fuck... you....” you whimpered, your heart clearly not in it. Your legs were squirming as he stroked your inner walls, as if you couldn’t decide if you wanted to push him away or beg for more. 

“We’ll get to that.” Eddie said and decided to put his tongue to better use as he leaned back in to wrap his lips around your clit and start licking again. 

Eddie lost himself between your legs, and he had no idea how long he was down there. He always had an oral fixation, and was quick to decide this was now one of his favorite things to do with his mouth. 

You were getting louder, which only spurred him on more. His tongue worked fast against your clit while he kept a more steady pace with his finger. When he decided you were as wet as you were going to get he carefully started to push in a second digit which slid in easier than expected. He was rewarded with his name being moaned, and your walls clenching around his fingers. 

One of your thighs started trembling, which had to be a good sign. Your fingers tightened in his hair and your core was starting to tense up. 

Eddie didn’t expect you to actually start begging.  

“Fuck- please don’t stop.” you gasped out. “Please, Eddie I’m so close please, please please-” 

Eddie had no plans to stop, and he would have happily stayed there all night if you let him. He didn’t stop his pace, keeping everything exactly as what he was doing because if it was working he didn’t want to risk you losing the orgasm he was working so hard to build. 

You came with a strangled cry, and he felt the way your walls throbbed and squeezed around his fingers. He sucked on your clit until you had to push him away from over-sensitivity. 

You were left breathless on the bed, your body completely melted into his sheets. Eddie wiped his mouth and moved up to kiss up your neck to your lips again. You had tasted so good, he had to share. 

When he finally pulled back, he was looking down at you with what had to be a goofy smile. Those past three months were becoming less and less appealing in hindsight. 

“You really never did that before?” you asked, tracing the puppet strings on his arm. 

“I’m a quick learner when I’m excited.” he replied, and you pulled him close to kiss his neck again. The kisses were softer this time, as if an apology for the myriad of hickies he was sure was on his neck now. 

Legs wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer. Your hands trailed along his chest, and Eddie settled between your legs. He rocked his hips, enjoying the feeling of his cock rubbing up against your pussy. 

You pulled him back into a kiss, which was happily returned. Eddie was more than willing to give you all the time you needed to recover, though he would be lying if he wasn’t already thinking about other positions to get his mouth on you. 

Eddie grunted as you suddenly pushed and rolled the two of you over, and you were now straddling his hips, grinding against his cock. 

“Fuck” he groaned, grabbing your thighs. He watched the way your hips rolled hypnotically and he bit the inside of his cheek to not cum. 

“Your turn.” You purred, your nails scratching down his chest in a way that made his eyes roll back and his hips buck slightly. His turn? Had Eddie ever had a turn? He was so used to being the one in charge lately, in Hellfire or band practice or sex- “Do you have any condoms?”

Eddie’s brain exploded. Violently. When he came to his mind raced for where he hed put the small box of condoms. 

“Dresser-” he finally managed to choke out. “Should be on the dresser.”

You slid off him and walked over to the dresser, which was covered in discarded clothes, a cigarette tray and more than a few empty beer cans. He made a mental note to try and clean up more next time. 

He really hoped there would be a next time. 

The sight of your ass swaying and slightly bent over his dresser was one that he would engrain into his memory forever. He could name about a half-dozen W.A.S.P. songs that suddenly felt very relatable. 

You turned around with the condom box, giving him a look that worried him. You turned the open box over and nothing fell out. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Eddie groaned, sitting up on his elbow. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening without a condom.” you said dryly. “Guess she really wiped you out, huh?” 

Eddie fell back on the bed with a groan. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You tossed the box to the side and crawled onto the bed again, spreading his legs and settling yourself between them. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you high and dry.” you said, placing a kiss to his hip bone. 

He looked down at you, feeling his cock twitch at the way you licked your lips. 

“Shit- you don’t have to-” 

“Eddie, when have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?” you asked as your hand wrapped around his shaft. 

“G-good point.” he choked out. Your hands were softer than he had expected and you gave his cock a slow stroke aided by your wetness that was still on his shaft.

“Just let me know what feels good.” you said, leaning in and licking him from base to tip. Eddie was torn between closing his eyes and laying back and staring at you intently as you played with his cock experimentally. 

You leaned over him, using his thigh for a bit of leverage as you wrapped your lips around his tip and let your tongue slide over the sensitive skin of his head. He let out a low groan, trying not to thrust up into your mouth. You were being a tease whether you meant to or not with the way you were taking your time licking and sucking him.

“I can’t promise I can let you fuck my throat, but I’ll do what I can.” you said when you pulled back after a few minutes. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how casually you said it, as if you were talking about fixing his amp for the hundredth time. “Something funny, Eddie?”

“You just said that so casually.” he giggled, remembering that he was also high from earlier. His laughter was contagious, and soon you were giggling again to. 

His cock was only half-hard by the time you two were done giggling, but that quickly changed when you leaned in and wrapped your lips around him again. You slid him about half-way into your mouth before stopping, and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft. 

Eddie Munson had been given one blowjob before the previous summer by a girl he met a town over at a small show he had been playing with Corroded Coffin. That night he had felt like a rockstar getting blown by a groupie, and hide rode that high for months. 

You, admittedly, were not nearly as experienced as that girl had been but he didn’t care. Seeing you, one of his best friends, blowing him sent a thrill up his spine more exciting than the fantasy he had lived out. This was different and he was far too gone to try and figure out why. He just wanted to keep you here with your enthusiastic mouth on his throbbing cock. The way you were humming around his cock and looking up at him occasionally made it clear that you really wanted him to feel good. 

No one told him that someone just wanting to make him feel good was a fucking option.

You sucked his cock as if this was the one thing you had wanted to do all day. Your head moved up and down enthusiastically and your tongue was everywhere. For the first few minutes you would occasionally come up to breathe before finding your rhythm and learning to breath through your nose. 

Eddie’s orgasm came far quicker than he would have liked. He was still so worked up from eating you out and learning a lot about how he enjoyed sex that it only took about ten minutes before he was pushing on your shoulder to warn you that he was going to blow. 

He should be embarrassed. Eddie was gasping and letting our sounds that were damn near whining as you pulled away. You were panting, your lips a touch swollen and eyes glazed over as you jerked his cock. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around yours, guiding it to the pace he needed to spill all over himself and his stomach. He really hoped that next time he’d be able to cum on your tits or in your mouth. Please, let that fucking be an option-

You grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned him up, and Eddie made a note to do laundry soon. You wiped your mouth and collapsed next to him, and he reached for you. 

He wished he hadn’t been so surprised when you easily cuddled up against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I knew your tongue would be good. She really fucking missed out.” you said, your arm laying across his chest. 

“I studied only the best techniques.” Eddie said, holding you just a bit tighter. Cuddling after sex (or whatever it was the two of you had done) felt just as good as getting off. Well, maybe second only to getting you off. 

“How much porn do you watch?” you laughed. 

“I have three tapes and a stash of magazines.” Eddie said honestly, because why would he need to hide that from someone he was so close to. Heather had once glimpsed one of the tamer issues of Heavy Metal that he had in his van and had rolled her eyes in disgust. 

“We’ll have to swap material sometime.” you suggested, looking up at him. “Or we can do a movie night like we used to. Just more hands on.” 

“So there’s really gonna be a next time?” Eddie asked. 

“I mean, I’d like there to be. I would really like there to be.” There was a slight waiver in your voice, the kind that he knew when you were considering a risky move in D&D. 

“It’ll probably be a while before I can afford condoms.” He admitted. “I’m kinda wiped for cash until Rick comes back.”

“Oh no. You’ll have to use your mouth on me again. How awful. However shall we go on?” you sighed in a dramatic fashion. “Oh well, if I must sit upon your face next time then so be it!”

Eddie could live with that. He was more than okay with that. 

“Well, if you’re sure you’re fine with that, then I’ll just have to grin and bear it.” He said, matching your tone of dramatic exasperation. 

The two of you laid there for a moment in silence, coming down from the highs of orgasms and weed. 

“This isn’t going to make things weird, right?” you asked after a few minutes. “I don’t want this to be... I don’t know. I liked doing this with you, and I don’t want this to fuck up what we have.” 

Eddie had been so lost in the strangeness of the evening, he hadn’t really stopped to consider the consequences of what would happen after. “I won’t make it weird.” he promised. “I’m not about to start being nice to you during the game just because you blew me.”

“Good, I’d be mad if you did.” you shook your head. “We don’t need to label this but.. If we’re gonna be doing this more, just know that I’m only going to be doing this with you.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of people around here banging on my door to get a piece of this.” Eddie motioned to his dick. “Even if I did, I'd rather just be messing around with one person.”

You grabbed his flaccid dick and gave it a wiggle, laughing at the way it moved. Eddie felt that he should maybe be offended at you laughing at his cock, but he fought himself laughing at the weird feeling. 

“Little Eddie isn’t going near anyone else.” he said as you kept wiggling it. 

You dropped his cock finally, which had started to wake up again from the attention. 

“Nevermind, I’m never touching it again after you called your dick that.” you cackled. 

Eddie rolled over and hovered over you. “I can live with that as long as I get to go down on you again.” 

“Oh my God-”

“Just Eddie is fine.” 

You half-heartedly pushed him, your eyes alight as you looked up at him. 

“So... when does your uncle come home?” you asked. 

“Not until about six or seven.” He looked down at you, his cock already coming back to life again. 

“Wanna go again?” 

“Only if we can cuddle after.” 

“Deal.” 

By the time the two of you had passed out in his bed, Eddie had realized that maybe there was more to life than just the bullshit hand he had been dealt. And as you lay next to him, wearing one of his shirts while asleep next to him, he started thinking... 

When given an option, he would prefer you as his first choice. 

Author Notes: I might write a sequel later if I feel like it but we'll see lmao. This wasn't originally Eddie x Reader, it was just a character study but then I got horny lmao.

Tag List: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @ghcstpyre @wheels-of-despair @crocwork-clockodile @cyanfairywren @justalotoffanfiction @ihaventgotaclue-really

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

[aquarius-johnny]

"seasons of love" | johnny suh

𝜗𝜚 genre: fluff, smut | wc: 10.7k | au: strangers to lovers 𝜗𝜚 pairing: johnny suh x afab! reader 𝜗𝜚 warnings: dom! johnny, big dick johnny (hehe), mentions of alcohol, phone sex, exchanging of sexual pictures, dirty talk, masturbation, oral (m + f receiving), spanking, fingering, multiple orgasms, talking through it, praising, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, pet names (baby, pretty, pretty girl, my girl, honey), reader's bestie's has a name for writing purposes, mentions of other members (mark, doyoung, yuta), it's intentional that johnny always greets the reader with 'hey baby' 𝜗𝜚 summary: moments of love throughout the seasons with a boy you met on a dating app. 𝜗𝜚 aimee's thoughts 💭 : i tried to edit this to bring it down to at least 8k, but the smut scenes kept pushing up the word count, but those of you who read it, i hope you enjoy! feel free to send me your thoughts!

check out my other work! → m.list navi

── Winter

[Thursday, 6:20 PM]

💌 Johnny: I don’t believe in love at first sight, but you have me considering love at first swipe.

That’s the first message Johnny sends you when you match with him on some random dating app your best friend begged you to get on to find someone to spice up the boring routine of your everyday life.

Your thumbs hover over your phone’s keyboard, chewing on your bottom lip as you think of a reply only to have another message come in.

💌 Johnny: Wait, that might be too forward. Maybe this will work instead: 💌 Johnny: My mom told me not to talk to strangers online, but I’ll make an exception for you. 

You shake your head as you playfully roll your eyes at his messages, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth.

You: Yeah, that works a lot better. You should open up with that line from now on. 

You reply, anxiously waiting for his response as you swipe through the profile of the attractive man you’re surprised you matched with. 

💌 Johnny: Can’t. I’m not a fan of using the same line on multiple people, so I hate to break it to you, but that line is for you and only you.

You: Oh? Mind if I use that line, too? You’re smooth with your words.

💌 Johnny: But it’s for you and only you :( What if it gets you someone else? That’s not fair! 💌 Johnny: Also thanks, I’m only smooth through messages though. Flirting with people irl makes me nervous.

You: Really? You don’t strike me as someone who gets nervous around people.

💌 Johnny: And you don’t strike me as someone to be on a filthy dating app like this.

You: Filthy? But you’re here, too.

💌 Johnny: I’ve been here for months now and I can say with confidence, you and me? We’re the exception.

You: Striking out?

💌 Johnny: Left and right :(  💌 Johnny: It's not me, I swear!

You: What else could it be?

💌 Johnny: Maybe the universe had its plans for me to meet you. I mean, we’re here now, right?

You bite down on your bottom lip, feeling a sensation of flutters in your stomach that you haven’t felt in a very long time. Looking down at your phone, you see another message pop up.

💌 Johnny: I’ll lay off the flirtatious comments, it’s going to lose its effect if I keep going and we don’t want that.  💌 Johnny: Sooo…how was your day?

You let out a small laugh, typing out your response. As you lay in bed messaging this stranger back for what felt like hours, you learn he’s born and raised in Chicago, he’s an only child, currently works at a startup company that focuses on coding education for students, his last relationship ended nearly a year and a half ago, and he has great music taste. He even shares his favorite songs with you — sending you a link to his Spotify profile to check out some of his created playlists. 

You share bits of yourself, somehow feeling a bit mundane compared to the man you’re talking to. 

💌 Johnny: So genuinely asking, why’d you jump on this app? I figure you don’t have a hard time meeting people in real life.

You: My friend told me to download this “filthy app” to spice up my boring routine. It's easier to meet people online nowadays, I suppose. You: What about you? You seem extroverted enough to meet people in real life, and you’re not hard to look at, so what’s the catch?

💌 Johnny: Not hard to look at? Did you just call me good looking without actually saying it? That’s cute.  💌 Johnny: You’re cute, too. 💌 Johnny: But like yourself, I find it’s easier to meet people online. I can think of what to say before I send it whereas I’d probably be stumbling over my words in person.

You: Mr. Smooth Talker stumbling over his words? Can’t see that happening at all.

💌 Johnny: Why don’t we meet and you can find out?

You: Not comfortable with that, yet. After all, I just met you. How do I know you’re not a killer?

💌 Johnny: Fair enough, I don’t know if you’re a killer, too, so I’ll wait. 

You: Might be a while. I’m a painfully busy girl these days.

💌 Johnny: As long as you’re willing to respond, I’ll wait however long I need to.  💌 Johnny: After all, the universe brought us together and we don’t want to disappoint the universe, right?

[Tuesday, 10:06 AM]

It’s been a couple of weeks since matching with Johnny and you both have been in constant contact with each other every day – the only time there’s a break in communication is during work hours, but even then you both find yourselves opening the app to send a quick message to each other. 

Although you normally would be messaging outside of the app with the rate you’re going back and forth at this point, you don’t mind. While a small part of you feels maybe this is his way of keeping you at a distance, you convince yourself this is purely getting to know him – not worrying about whether or not you’ll be getting a relationship out of it. It doesn’t stop you from thinking about him more than you should and it certainly doesn’t prevent you from wondering if he’s thinking about you as much as you did him.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear your best friend and co–worker, Yuri, call out your name before giving a gentle nudge to your arm. When you look at her, she’s looking back at you suspiciously – noting your lack of attentiveness these past few days.

“What’s been distracting you these days?” She asks, twirling her favorite pen between her fingers. “It’s not like you to be daydreaming during work.” 

You apologize, slightly shaking your head as if it’ll refocus your train of thought. “You were saying something about lunch?” 

“Yeah, think you can come with me to that cute coffee shop?” She lowers her voice before continuing, ensuring no one hears her next sentences. “I need fuel for this stupid project.” She rolls her eyes before letting out a huff. “I don’t know what the hell the boss was thinking, assigning a five person project to two people, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a rough couple of months.” 

“Good idea,” you nod, clearly distracted as you see your phone screen light up with a notification from Johnny. You’re tempted to open it, but you flip your phone over instead, sharply inhaling to refocus on your task at hand.

“So,” Yuri drawls. “Who’d you meet on the app that has you acting like this?”

You turn your attention to Yuri – tilting your head and knitting your brows together in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As you try to bite back a smile, Yuri notices you shying away from her. 

“Oh come on,” she rolls her eyes, shifting in her seat. “You came in with your eyes glued to your phone, your phone screen is lighting up like crazy with notifications, and you’re seriously distracted.” She sends you a devilish grin, reading you like a book. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in love.” 

“Not in love,” you quickly clarify as you begin to jot down a priority list for the project that was assigned last week. “But if you must know, yes, I did meet someone.”

Yuri’s eyes nearly bulge out of her skull, clearly surprised you’re actually giving someone your time which isn’t something you did since your last relationship that ended two years prior. Yuri stands from her computer chair, quickly gathering some of her work essentials. “Come on,” she lets out, softly hitting you in the arm to grab your attention. “Let’s go to the meeting room to work on our project and you can tell me everything about this guy.”

Upon entering the meeting room, Yuri shuts the glass door and flips the sign on the door to “in use” before pulling some of the blinds down halfway to prevent onlookers who walk past the floor to ceiling windows.

“Tell me everything.” She squeals, pulling a seat next to you. “Do not leave anything out.”

You sharply inhale, bracing yourself to tell your best friend everything you know about Johnny. As you share, her face lights up as she listens to you talk about this mystery guy which in return causes your face to heat up from excitement and embarrassment at the same time.

“Pictures! Show me pictures.” Yuri smiles widely.

You pull up his dating profile and you hand your phone over to her. The first picture already has her gushing. “Oh, he’s cute! Like really cute.” When she reaches the end of his photos, she lets out a small, disappointed sigh, wanting to see more. “Have you two met in person yet?” She asks, handing your phone back to you. 

You shake your head, puffing your cheeks. “We haven’t had the time to,” you sigh. “Plus, I’ve been kinda putting it off.”

“And why is that?” Yuri’s brows furrow, almost disappointed in your actions — or lack thereof.

“It’s easier to communicate over the phone.” You defend, crossing your arms. “Plus, meeting in person feels so serious. I’m enjoying getting to know him.”

Yuri nods in understanding. “Well,” she deeply inhales before stretching her arms over her head. “At least you know he’s not in it for a hookup, that’s for sure.”

“Wait, how do you know that?”

“I don’t think he’d be messaging you after you rejected seeing him the first time, especially for this long. A guy like him doesn’t need to play the long game to get laid, either. Regardless, there’s definitely something about you that’s keeping his attention, that’s for sure.”

[Tuesday, 11:47 AM]

As you’re waiting in line to place your order, you finally check your phone to check the messages from Johnny that you missed before lunch. The beating of your heart accelerates causing your hands to lightly tremble as you unlock your phone, almost nervous to see what he has to say to you but your nerves begin to settle when your eyes quickly scan over his words, causing you to smile at your phone.

💌 Johnny: Hey, I hope you’re having a great day so far! 💌 Johnny: I fed this stray cat on my way back to work and it followed me all the way to the building. I think it thinks I’m its dad, now. 💌 Johnny: Btw, if I asked for your number, would you freak out?

You: I guess you’re a cat dad, now. Congrats!

You: Also, no, I wouldn’t freak out. Do you want my number?

Before you could slide your phone into your pocket, you feel it vibrate in your hand.

💌 Johnny: Yes I want your number 💌 Johnny: If you don’t mind 💌 Johnny: Please :)

[Wednesday, 6:19 PM]

As you’re laying in bed, your phone lights up with a message from Johnny. It’s been like this for a month and a half — waking up to a good morning text, constantly texting throughout the day, and ending the night with a good night text. 

💌 Johnny: I was wondering something.

You: Yeah?

💌 Johnny: We’ve been texting for almost two months now, right? When do you think I can hear your voice? 💌 Johnny: Not that I don’t enjoy texting, I do! I’m just curious to know what you sound like.

You: Why don’t you call me and find out?

Within seconds, your phone lights up with his name popping up on your screen. You feel your heart nearly jump out of your chest while your stomach feels like it’s doing a hundred cartwheels at once as you read his name on your screen. Heat rushes under your skin before you finally answer.

“Hey!” You greet eagerly before you silently curse yourself, thinking you sound too enthusiastic for the first greeting.

“Hey,” Johnny giggles on the other line. “It’s great to finally hear your voice.” 

“Yeah, it’s great to hear yours too.” You bite down on your bottom lip, internally squealing as you speak to him. “How are you?”

“Better, now that I get to hear you.” 

“Do I sound like what you expected?” You softly question, pulling your knees to your chest after sitting up in bed – clearly too excited to be casually laying down.

“I don’t think I had any expectations,” Johnny laughs. “But somehow your voice is better than I imagined.” He happily sighs. “What about me? Do I sound like what you thought I would sound like?”

“I don’t think I thought about it as much as you have, but I like it.” You pause for a second. “Your voice, I mean.” 

“Yeah, I like yours, too.” You could sense a smile on his face before he clears his throat. “So, how was your day?”

── Spring

[Monday, 6:50 PM]

You slump onto your bed, your head pounding with a headache that creeped in around two in the afternoon and settling itself in the crevices of your skull. You’re swamped at work and the only thing you’ve been looking forward to these days is talking to Johnny. However, tonight is filled with disappointment when you find out he’ll be at his friend’s house for a small get-together for the night — earning a groan from you knowing you most likely won’t hear his voice before bed when you’ve gotten so accustomed to it. 

💌 Johnny: If you need me, just call me.  💌 Johnny: I promise I’ll answer :)

You smile at his text before tossing your phone onto your bed. Hopping into the shower, you hoped that the steam would somehow alleviate your throbbing head only for it to still be there when you got out. Getting ready for bed, you check your phone to see Johnny sent you a picture of him and his friends playing a game of monopoly with the attached text: wish you were here. 

Before you could respond, Yuri’s contact photo fills your screen, pulling your attention towards her instead. 

“Hey!” She greets. “Sorry to talk about work, but it’ll be quick!”

Sitting on the foot of your bed with a towel wrapped around your body, you let out a quiet sigh to brace yourself. “Sure, what’s up?” You let out, yawning from the mental fatigue you’ve been feeling the past week.

“You don’t sound too well,” Yuri comments, hearing ruffling from her side — assuming she’s opening a bag of her favorite snack. 

“I have this horrible headache that water and meds can’t seem to get rid of,” you pout and groan, falling back into your bed, phone situated against your ear.

“Why don’t you call Johnny,” she teases. “I heard an orgasm can fix a lot of things. Maybe it can relieve that headache of yours?”

“Ha ha,” you dryly retort. “I still haven’t met him in person and even if I did, he’s hanging out with friends tonight.” 

“Okay, so get him on the phone for phone sex?” Yuri advises nonchalantly. “Nothing’s hotter than sneaking away in the bathroom to hear moans on the other end of the phone.” 

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” you laugh before you hear the crunch of a snack on her end of the call.

“It’s the thrill that keeps me going in life,” she giggles. “Get some sleep, I’ll just talk to you tomorrow about the project. You, my friend, are in desperate need of a good night’s rest. Nighty night!”

Pondering the thought for a moment, your thumb hovers over Johnny’s number in your phone. You look at yourself in your full length mirror placed in front of your bed. It can’t hurt, right? 

Settling on the thought of ‘just do it,’ you begin fluffing the pillows against your headboard before positioning yourself with your back pressed against your pillows and in view of the mirror. You unwrap the towel around your body, open the camera app on your phone – ensuring your face is blocked, spread open your thighs, and capture a shot of your reflection.

Without a second thought, you’re opening your messaging app and attaching the photo to the message thread you have with Johnny — adding the text: wish you were here, too before you impulsively hit send. 

Your heart races — the adrenaline from doing something you find to be incredibly risky and something you’ve never dared to do before. You see the little notification that indicates Johnny has opened the text, causing you to throw your phone across your bed, almost afraid to see what he’s about to say. Two messages come in before you cautiously grab your phone to read them.

💌 Johnny: Hey, um, did you mean to send me that? 💌 Johnny: I can delete it if it was a mistake

You: Not a mistake but if you don’t like it, feel free to delete it 

Your heart pounds against your chest and your mouth goes dry in anticipation. A wave of regret suddenly washes over you and you begin to type out an apology text to Johnny – something along the lines of not blaming him if he never wanted to speak to you again. You’re about to send it until another text from him pops up.

💌 Johnny: Can I call you, please? 

Quickly erasing the previously typed out message, you respond with a simple yes. Within seconds, you have your phone pressed to your ear.

“Hey,” you softly greet.

“Hey.” His voice is hushed, but you hear a faint echo as he speaks, indicating he’s in the bathroom. “What’s up with that picture you sent?”

“You don’t like it,” you sigh. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckles softly. “The total opposite, actually. Just wondering why all of a sudden.”

“I have a headache that won’t go away and I heard an orgasm would help relieve it.” Your voice is so timid and shy, Johnny can’t help but find it cute.

“I can help you with that, for sure.” He breathily responds. “Hold on real quick.” 

You hum, cunt dripping with excitement. Your mind races at the realization that Johnny was absolutely down for this just as much as you are. Your phone vibrates against your ear, seeing a photo attachment pops up.

“I sent you a little inspirational photo,” Johnny whispers. “In case you need to imagine what you’re working with.” 

You open the message, letting out a loud, surprised gasp at the picture he sent. “T-that’s not little,” you stutter, staring at the photo of his cock he sent you — his lengthy shaft is mouth watering as your eyes follow the protruding veins that run from the base of his cock to his redden mushroom tip that’s clearly leaking clear and thick precum. 

“Do you like it?” Johnny lets out an amused laugh at your reaction.

“Love it,” you breathe; breath shakier than expected.

“Touch yourself for me,” he instructs. “Let’s make you feel better, hm?” 

“Mm,” you softly let out. You place him on speaker and lay your phone against your chest before you lick your index and middle finger and begin tracing circles around your excited clit, letting out soft moans into your phone. 

“That’s it, baby.” He coos. “I wanna make you feel good, you wouldn’t have to do a thing if I was there with you.” Johnny’s hand slicks up and down, trying to muffle the noises he desperately wants to let out. 

You softly groan. “What would you do to me?” Your voice sends shivers down his spine — so soft and sweet, it’s driving him crazy. 

“Everything,” he sharply inhales. “I’d eat my baby out so well, you’ll forget how to speak. I’d fuck you so good, you’ll be craving it all the time. Everything you want me to do, baby I’ll do it for you.” He groans, his fist tightening around his hardened shaft.

You giggle, dipping your fingers into your cunt. “I wish my fingers were yours instead,” you pout. “I bet you would make me cum on your fingers alone.”

“Tell me how it feels inside of you,” he begs, jaw slacking open, his mind running wild with sinful thoughts of you. 

“It’s soft, warm, and really really wet,” you smile. “I think it’d be a perfect time for you to slide inside of me. You’re so big and I just know you’ll stretch me so well.”

“Fuck,” Johnny mumbles under his breath, imagining himself bottoming out inside of you. “I wanna make you cum all night,” he whispers, voice hitching. “I wanna make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Can we make that a promise?” You bite down on your bottom lip.

“Mhm,” he smiles. “I promise,.”

You rub yourself quickly, your moans bouncing off your bedroom walls mixing with the muffled sounds of Johnny’s pleas. “Faster,” you whimper. “I want you to fuck me faster.”

Johnny speeds up his pace, biting down on his bottom lip to muffle his groans from his friends. His breath quivers and a soft, desperate whimper parts his lips. You match Johnny’s pace.

Neither of you speak – only allowing the frenzied noises that escape your lips to talk for both of you. 

“Baby,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum.” 

“Me too,” he grunts. “Fuck, wish you could cum all over my cock. I wanna feel that pretty pussy tighten around me.”

His words give you that small push to your orgasm, crying out as you ride out your high, fingers rapidly rubbing over your clit as your mind flashes the photo of Johnny sent you, imagining him release inside of you.

The raunchy noises you make send Johnny over the edge. He bites down on his bottom lip and a strangled groan is heard. Strings of thick, hot ropes paint his blushed cock, shaft twitching as he closes his eyes, his mind imagining filling you up with his creamy essence. 

You lift your phone to record a video as Johnny gathers his thoughts before quickly cleaning himself up. Opening your front facing camera, you keep your lower half of your face in frame as you bring your two digits to your mouth, sucking off the remnants of your release. You hit send and wait for him to open it. 

“Your lips are so perfect.” Johnny gives you an entertained chuckle. “I’d love to see them wrapped around my cock.” He sighs, imagining the sight. “How’s your headache, by the way?”

“It’s gone now. Thank you for helping me,” you sigh in pleasure. 

“Anytime,” he smiles against his phone. “Anytime you need to do that again, call me.” 

“I will,” you giggle.

[Friday, 8:30 PM]

“How’s work going?” You ask Johnny, cuddling into your pillow. 

“It’s going well. We’re working on getting some people on this project to build a kid-friendly coding software where kids as young as five can learn how to code in schools.” He pauses, taking a sip of his drink. “We’re hoping that it’ll build interest at a young age. But enough about me, how’s work going for you, baby?” 

Your body never fails to react when he calls you the pet name he settled on. “It’s been hectic,” you yawn. “The project Yuri and I have been assigned to isn’t the easiest to balance when the workload we usually get is the same.” 

“I’m sorry, I wish I could do something to help,” he pouts sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do to help ease your stress?”

“Give me some of your ability to be extroverted for the duration of this project,” you weakly laugh. “I hate having to talk to people and the fact we have to present our ideas to higher ups constantly nearly sends me into a breakdown every time. I applied for this job because it didn’t involve a lot of contact with people, but our boss clearly has another direction he wants to take the company.” 

“Not much of a talker? That’s hard to believe with how much you talk my ear off every day,” he jokingly remarks.

“Guess I have a soft spot for you,” you hum, heart swelling with love for the guy on the other line. 

“Good,” he smiles. “I like talking to you. I actually find myself missing your voice every day. Sometimes I think my only motivation to get through the day is being able to hear you before bed every night.”

“Missing my voice? But you said you hear it every night.” You shift in your bed, giggling at Johnny’s words. 

“I know, but that doesn't mean I don’t miss it when we hang up,” he tiredly chuckles, clearing his throat. “I guess that means I like you a lot, huh?”

Your heart skips a beat, feeling your entire body heat up at his confession. 

“I guess it does,” you sigh with a smile. “But it’s okay because I like you a lot, too.” 

[Thursday, 6:30 PM]

“We should head home,” Yuri yawns, tugging on your office chair as she tries to pry you away from your computer. “There’s no point in staying here if we’re not getting overtime.”

Rubbing your temples, you stand from your chair. The office you’ve been in since eight in the morning is now dimly lit — the lights of busy businesses lined on the strip of your office building illuminate through the floor to ceiling windows. Only a handful of employees tapping away on their computer’s keyboard, trying to finish up the overwhelming amount of work they’re drowning in. 

You grab your belongings before walking with Yuri to the building’s parking garage and to your car. You tiredly wave goodbye to her and check your phone to find a couple of worried messages from Johnny.

💌 Johnny: Good morning, baby! I hope you have a great day today. 💌 Johnny: I miss you, work is a drag :( 💌 Johnny: Getting lunch with a few of my co-workers. I hope your day is going well. Enjoy your lunch! 💌 Johnny: Are you okay? Haven’t heard from you at all today.  💌 Johnny: Baby? I’m seriously getting worried. Is something wrong? 💌 Johnny: Text me when you’re done with work, please.

As you warm up your car, you send a quick message to Johnny.

You: I’m sorry, today was absolute shit. Yuri and I needed to stay back but I’m leaving the office now. I’m sorry I didn’t text you today :( I didn’t have a minute to myself, but I’ll call you when I get home.

When you’re finally home, you throw your belongings to the side, desperate to finally have a moment of peace after a hectic day. You give Johnny a call, like you said you would. He answers after two rings, your mind finding a sense of peace once you hear his voice. 

“Hey baby,” he greets. “I missed you today.”

“Hi,” you softly let out. Your eyes begin to prickle and tears threaten to fall.

“Are you okay?” He asks concerned, voice so soft and sweet.

“No.” Your voice trembles as you let your tears fall before you let out a sniffle. “I’m really stressed.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind, pretty.” 

Your complaints begin to spill out of you, tears staining your cheeks as your frustration grows. Johnny stays quiet, offering the occasional hum to let you know he’s still there and that he’s listening to you. He attempts to find comforting words, but you find yourself yearning for physical comfort — sick and tired of being alone every night when you could be with him instead. 

“Johnny?” You whisper weakly. 

“Hm?”

“Can I come over?” You ask, tired and exhausted.

“Come over…like to my place?”

“Mhm. You live in the city right? It shouldn’t be too far from where I am, I can probably drive there.”

“Are you sure?” His words intertwined with deep concern. “You sound pretty tired, baby. I can pick you up, instead.”

“I can drive,” you smile weakly. “I promise I’ll drive safely.”

After some convincing, Johnny sends you the address to his apartment building. You quickly wash up and dress comfortably before heading over. 

[Thursday, 7:30 PM]

As you carefully scan the apartment numbers, you stop in front of his door. Your nerves are sent into overdrive; part of you reconsidering suddenly meeting him at his apartment and wondering if you should turn around and leave, but you decide not to, considering how you longed to see Johnny. 

Lifting your hand, you knock on the door. You’re holding your breath in anticipation, waiting for Johnny to open it. You look down at your feet when you see the front door open, your eyes lifting to meet the tall man in front of you. You let out an exhale when you see the guy you’ve been talking to every night for months.

“Hey baby,” he smiles bashfully, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Come on in.” He extends his hand out for you to grab.

You take his hand and step inside, quickly removing your shoes. “Thanks for letting me come over,” you smile up at him, lightly tugging on his fingers.

Johnny pulls you into him, engulfing you in a warm embrace — you take note of his lingering cologne, a woody musk scent that makes you hum; etching the scent into your mind. His hand cups the back of your head, gently petting your hair to comfort you. “I’m glad you’re here, have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head, your cheek still pressed against his chest. “I didn’t have time to,” you sigh, basking in his warmth and embrace.

“Good,” he kisses the top of your head. “I just finished making dinner, we can eat together.”

During dinner, there wasn’t a moment of awkwardness and you silently thank him for taking the reins when it comes to the conversation. Johnny has a knack of making you feel comfortable in his presence. 

You appreciate how he listens intently, too — occasionally hooking his fingers with yours as you speak, causing you to stumble over your words when you’re aware of his touch.

“Cute,” he smirks amused by your timidness, bringing the back of your hand to his lips before giving your skin a soft and tender kiss. 

After dinner, you watch Johnny wash the dishes as you sit on the island counters behind him. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. 

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not too much and I’m almost done. Thanks though,” he grins. 

He quickly puts away the dishes before turning to you. His hands plant themselves on top the countertop on either side of you. “How’re you feeling?” He asks, gently pushing your hair behind your ear. “I know you weren’t feeling the best when you called earlier today.”

“Better,” you smile, resting your hands on the sides of Johnny’s neck, your thumbs idly rubbing against his soft cheeks. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have you.”

You flicker between his eyes before your gaze falls onto his lips, noting the natural pout he has before it turns into a smirk — taking notice of you staring.

He slowly leans into you, one hand resting on your lower back and pulling your body closer to his. 

When Johnny’s lips meet yours, a spark in your stomach ignites and your heart swells tenfold after feeling his touch. 

“So much better than I could ever imagine,” he praises, earning a soft giggle from you before you capture his lips once more and deepening the kiss. He gently rolls his tongue over yours before taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Your hands fall to his waist, pulling him close as Johnny’s hands caress the sides of your face, holding you in still. 

You’re both pulled out of the trance when you hear Johnny’s doorbell ring. 

You pull away from him, face flushed with heat and a light red tint covering Johnny’s cheeks. “Expecting visitors?” You ask, feeling Johnny’s thumb gently rubbing the exposed skin of your lower back. 

“No,” he shares, shaking his head. “Let’s just ignore it, maybe they’ll just go away.” He teases, mouthing the crook of your neck and tickling you in the process. 

A guy’s voice is heard calling out for Johnny which is followed by a pounding on his front door. “C’mon we know you’re in there! We saw your car parked downstairs!”

Johnny drops his head in disappointment upon realizing who it is, causing you to softly laugh at his reaction.

”It’s my friends,” he sighs. “Their timing is impeccable.” He sarcastically retorts, rolling his eyes before pushing himself away from you. 

You quickly hop off the counter top and grab your belongings before following him causing him to stop in his tracks. 

“Wait, you’re leaving already?” He asks, his voice dripping with disappointment. “I’ll tell them to leave.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you rest your hand against his warm cheek, giving him a small smile. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to interrupt. They clearly want to hang out with you.”

Grabbing your hand, he shakes his head. “Please don’t leave,” he begs. “You just got here. I don’t wanna say goodbye yet.” 

“John!” His friends call out, rapidly knocking on his front door.

“Hold on!” He shouts back before turning his attention back to you, lowering his voice. “Stay the night, please? We won’t do anything but sleep, I promise.” 

“Baby,” you sigh. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Call in sick. You need to rest after today.”

“If I do, what about you?” You half heartedly giggle. “You’re gonna call in sick too?”

“Yeah, why not?” He smiles. “We can have a rest day together.” 

Your brows lift in shock. “You’re serious?” 

“Yes,” he lets out. “I’ll quickly introduce you to my friends and then I’ll tell them to go home.” 

You stay quiet, contemplating his offer. While this isn’t something you’d normally do, it’s something you want.

“No,” you shake your head. “You don’t need to send them home.” 

Johnny’s heart quickly drops to the pit of his stomach and you note his change in emotion causing you to lace your fingers between his.

“They can stay and hang out with you. I’ll just,” you pause, scanning the room to look for something, anything, to do. “I’ll go lay down and you can join me when you’re done.”

Johnny’s eyes light up. “Y-you’ll stay?” He flashes an excited and toothy grin, squeezing your hand. 

“Yeah. It’s innocent, right?” You clarify.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he promises. “But…”

“But?”

“I’m not letting you hide away in my bedroom.” 

He opens the front door. Two of his friends are about to greet him, only to be taken aback at the sight of you. He quickly introduces you to his friends — Mark and Doyoung.

“Be nice,” he warns them. “She’s hanging out with us tonight.”

── Summer

[Saturday, 9:40 PM]

Loud music blares from the speakers and the rooms fill with the chattering of drunken people. Low lights illuminate the walls throughout the house and the smell of sweat mixed with alcohol fills the crowded rooms. 

Johnny ensures you’re glued to his side, both of you choosing to stay sober for the night. Other people’s flirty glances towards Johnny don’t go unnoticed by you, but Johnny’s subtle gestures remind you he has eyes for you and only you. 

You find yourself leaning against a wall as Johnny whispers sweet nothings in your ear causing you to giggle like a teenager in love. One of your hands plays with the silver necklace dangling around Johnny’s neck while your other hand grips onto his broad shoulder. Johnny’s cages you between his body and the wall behind you, leaning in to press kisses on your cheek.

“Remember when we had phone sex for the first time?” You whisper in his ear. 

Johnny gives you a nod. “How can I forget?” He bites down on his bottom lip. 

“Can I see the picture you sent me, in person?” You ask, tugging on the waistband of his jeans, pulling his hip into yours. 

“Yeah, you definitely can.” He places an endearing kiss on your forehead.

“Think there’s a vacant room upstairs?”

“Let’s go find out,” he smiles, taking your hand in his before guiding you through the crowded steps. He jiggles each door knob to every room in sight to see if any of them are unlocked. To your surprise, a door opens and Johnny quickly pulls you in. 

Pressing you against the back of the bedroom door, his fingers quickly find its lock as he hungrily attacks your lips. Johnny’s large hands wander your body, groping every crevice before settling on your ass. He gives it a nice smack, earning him a playful yelp from you. 

You palm his hardening length through his jeans before pushing him towards the bed, the back of his knees hit the mattress and causes him to fall onto his back. Straddling his lap, the pads of his fingers harshly press into your hips — your jeans softening the pressure and potential bruises he’d leave otherwise. 

Johnny desperately guides your movements as you grind against his crotch before his fingers slowly begin to unbutton your jeans.

“Ah ah,” you snicker with a smirk, guiding his hands back to your hips. “This is about you tonight.” 

Johnny gulps, throat bobbing up and down as he swallows hard, lips slightly parting at your words. He watches as you sink to your knees between his legs.

You undo his jeans before hooking your fingers into his waistband to pull the fabric down his thighs. The sight of the large outline of his bulge that’s pressed against the dark colored fabric holding it back causes you to involuntarily tighten between your thighs.

Propping himself up, he watches as you palm his crotch before tugging on his underwear, releasing his cock from the fabric. It slaps against his abdomen and his mushroom tip ends right below his belly button.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of his thick and long length — licking your previous glossed lips and grabbing his heavy cock with your hand. 

“Definitely bigger than anything I’ve had before,” you comment right before licking a long strip from his balls to his tip before engulfing his cock head into your mouth. 

His jaw falls open, the warm feeling of your mouth sending shivers through his body. 

Sinking him further in your mouth, you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag at the feeling before you realize you weren’t able to take all of him on your first try. 

Johnny realizes then proceeds to gently push down the top of your head, encouraging you to take more of him inside of you. 

You’re gagging on his length, tears brining your waterline before you blink, feeling them trail down your cheeks.

“There you go baby,” he coos, stroking the back of your head. “Taking all of me so well.” 

When you pull your head back, strings of saliva follow, causing you to smile up at him as you use your hand to pump him. 

“Promise me something,” you let out, rubbing circles against his sensitive tip with your thumb. 

“A-anything,” he swallows sharply, voice hitching at your touch. 

“When we fuck for the first time, whenever that may be,” you pause, letting pool of your spit fall onto his cock before you spreading it up and down his erection. “Promise you’ll cum inside of me.” 

“I promise,” he quickly answers with no hesitation. 

You hum and your free hand cups his jawline. “You’re such a good boy,” you coo, stroking your thumb against his cheek. 

“Only for you,” he shakily exhales. 

Your stomach flutters in excitement and you grin at his words. Using your hand and mouth simultaneously, you suck and stroke Johnny until he’s a complete mess under your touch. Your gags and lewd, obscene noises bounce off the four walls mixed with Johnny’s noisy moans and breathless pants only for it to be muffled by the blaring music downstairs. Your saliva drools from your mouth and onto the carpeted floor under you as you continue to bob your head up and down.

Johnny holds the sides of your head, keeping you in place as he bucks his hips roughly into your mouth.

“Such a good girl,” Johnny says through clenched teeth, every word punctuated with a deep, harsh thrust. “You’re all mine, right?” 

You quickly nod your head, allowing him to use you as he pleases. 

“Say it,” he orders, pulling on the roots of your hair to make eye contact with him, cock still stuffed into your mouth.

“I’m all yours,” you attempt to repeat, your words distorted causing his cock to twitch before he thrusts into your throat.

Your jaw begins to ache and you’re sure you’ll be feeling the aftermath in your throat tomorrow morning, but you don’t care. The only thing you’re focused on is getting Johnny to ecstasy — and you do.

His thick warm, velvety ropes flood your mouth and you swallow it with ease, making sure to suck him dry of every drop he has. Placing your hand on his thighs, you rub his skin to smooth his quivering legs before he pulls you into a deep kiss. 

There’s a pounding on the bedroom door before Johnny’s name is shouted on the other side. He quickly stands, pulling his underwear and pants up as you fix your appearance in front of a mirror in the room. 

He quickly wraps an arm around your waist before pulling you away from the mirror and causing you to softly laugh before he unlocks the door.

“C’mon you horny bastards,” Johnny’s friend, Yuta, sighs. “We’re leaving. The party is getting out of hand downstairs.”

[Friday, 6:18 PM]

After long weeks of work, both you and Johnny look forward to the weekends where you both can indulge in the moments you have with each other, alternating between staying over his place and him staying over yours — this time, at his.

You text Johnny to let him know you’re outside, something you found strange considering you always used the spare key he’s given you. 

The door flies open and you’re greeted by Johnny, eyes sparkling with excitement and a childlike smile is plastered across his face.

“Hey baby,” he greets, quickly grabbing your hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Hi,” you giggle. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t I be happy to see you?” He pouts, taking your overnight bag and placing it on the nearest chair. 

“You can be, but there’s something…” you pause, squinting your eyes suspiciously. “Different today.”

Johnny happily sighs, caressing your cheeks before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I have something for you in our room,” he says, lips pressed against your forehead before taking your hand and leading the way.

“Our room?” You swoon, gripping onto his arm. 

“Yes, our room,” he chuckles. He takes a sharp inhale before he turns the door knob. 

You’re greeted with a makeshift picnic set up on the bedroom floor. 

“The weather has been shit lately and work has been taking up our time, but I know that you’ve always wanted a picnic date, so I had to improvise.” He nervously bites down on his bottom lip. “I hope it’s okay? If not -” 

You pull him into a kiss, surprising him before he quickly adjusts to your movements. He slowly pulls away, Johnny’s cheeks blushing a pink tint.

“It’s more than okay,” you smile. “It’s sweet, thank you.”

He kisses the tip of your nose before leading you to the picnic blanket and having you both take a seat.

You eye the food he’s made, all of them being your favorite. 

“Also,” he says, pulling a bouquet of your favorite flowers from the inside of the picnic basket. “Got these for you.”

You lift your head, smiling and gushing at the gesture before reading the mini card attached to it that reads: I'm really embarrassed it took me this long to ask this, but will you (finally) be my girlfriend? - J

Johnny looks at you embarrassed as he bites down on his bottom lip. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t officially asked you to be my girlfriend because I’ve been used to already calling you my girlfriend. It wasn’t until a coworker asked how I asked you out that I realized I didn’t. I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I swear I would’ve asked you like three months into us meeting.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, playfully hitting him with your flowers. “But this is really sweet, thank you baby.” Pulling him into a hug, you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, playfully poking him in the stomach.

“Good,” he whispers, stroking your back. “Because I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I love you, too.”

── Fall

[Saturday, 4:36 PM]

Johnny wraps his long arms around your waist, pecking kisses on the back of your head. A whiff of his signature cologne fills the air around you as you wash the remaining dishes in the sink before Johnny’s friends come by to carpool to a friend’s wedding. 

Johnny carefully moves the soapy dish from your grasp before removing the bright pink gloves from your hands.

“Honey, what are you doing?” You ask suspiciously, watching him smoothly slide the gloves off your fingers. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night,” he whispers into your ear. “How your ex’s were nothing but selfish when it came to pleasing you.”

You recall the conversation you had last night — Johnny asking why you refuse to let him eat you out when he always begs to taste you while you’re giving him head. You intimately share your inexperience because your previous partners never bothered to please you in that way — making Johnny your first. He simply nodded before changing the subject. 

You're unaware he’s been thinking about it — until now.

Johnny pulls you into his pelvis, feeling his large bulge, through his dark slacks, press against your back.

“Mm. What about it?” 

Johnny slowly hikes up your sage green satin dress, exposing your cute lace black thong that he begged you to wear today. 

“While I think it’s a shame you’ve never been eaten out before, I’m glad you haven’t.” His palms rub up and down your exposed skin, giving your ass a nice, hard slap before roughly groping you and rubbing your skin to soothe the sting. 

“Why’s that?” You softly question as your hands grip the edge of the sink. 

Johnny’s palm slides against your stomach before dipping between your thighs. His middle finger rubs against your clothed clit. His lips lift into a smirk as he nuzzles his nose behind your ear. 

“I get to be the first and last person to taste you.” His voice is low, husky, and confident. 

In one swift move, he turns you to face him before he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and places soft kisses against your collarbone — well aware of how long you spent doing your makeup for the event. 

“Let me show you how good it feels,” he softly begs. “How good I can make you feel.”

“Now?” Your eyes widen in surprise. “But your friends?”

“I don’t care,” he mutters against your skin. “All I care about is making you feel good.”

Your lips slightly part at his offer before you nod. 

“Use your words, baby.” He softly instructs. “Can I show my pretty girl how good it feels?”

“Yes please,” you gulp.

“Good.” Johnny sinks to his knees, tilting your pelvis up for better access to your fluttering sex. Extending one leg onto the countertop, Johnny slings your other leg over his broad shoulder before pushing the thin fabric aside to expose your pussy — something he’s been dying to see and taste for months now. 

Without hesitation, he spreads open your folds before devouring you like a starved dog. His tongue laps over your clit, circling around the sensitive bud before sucking on it. 

“Taste so good,” he groans, eyes closed and focused as he licks up your wetness against your slit before returning his attention to your clit, quickly flicking the tip of his tongue against it. 

Your whimpers turn into loud moans as you feel his tongue work its way around your needy pussy. You bite down on your bottom lip, feeling your core tighten at the satisfying feeling coursing through your body.

Johnny guides your hand to the top of his head, silently giving you permission to grab a fist full of his hair which you do. 

“Feels so good,” you mumble under your breath, tugging on his hair to keep him close. 

Johnny sucks on your clit, his eyes lifting to watch bliss wash over you — your jaw falling open before you capture your bottom lip between your teeth, brows knitting together, and watching your pretty eyes rolling back from pleasure.

The tension in your core snaps, every muscle in your legs and thighs tighten, and your toes curl when a tingling sensation strikes. You gasp as you reach your climax, fingers tugging on Johnny’s hair to keep him in place as you roll your hips against his tongue, using him to ride out your high. 

His movements slow, using the pace of your hips as an indicator of when to stop. 

You retract your hand from his hair and your chest moves up and down, trying to catch your breath. 

Johnny places soft, sweet kisses against your thighs before using the back of his hand to wipe your slick off his chin. He readjusts your pretty underwear before helping you off the counter and quickly rinses off and dries his mouth in the kitchen sink before giving you a kiss on your temple. 

“T-thank you,” you shyly let out — quickly smoothing out your dress and swiftly fixing Johnny’s hair. 

Before he could respond, the front door bell rings. “Always impeccable timing,” Johnny smirks before he goes to open his front door to greet his friends.

[Saturday, 7:26 PM]

During the wedding reception, you watch as guests dance to some early 2000s tracklist the DJ mixed together as you sit at the table you and Johnny were assigned to with his friends.

“Do you guys want anything? We’re gonna get something to drink,” Doyoung asks, his eyes flickering between you and your boyfriend. 

“No thank you,” you smile before feeling Johnny’s hand press against your lower back.

Johnny simply shakes his head and Doyoung leaves with his other friends to the open bar. Your boyfriend quickly leans into you. 

“Come with me to the restroom,” he whispers, lightly tugging on your arm. 

“What?” You chuckle. “Why do I need to go to the restroom with you?” 

“I need to taste you again,” he simply states, pushing your hair behind your ear. “I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. I’m fucking addicted,” he whispers in your ear. 

With enough of a reason — in your eyes — you both stand up and you follow Johnny into the nearest family restroom. The next thing you know, you’re bent over the sink with your dress bunched around your waist and a leg lifted over the counter.

Johnny’s on his knees, behind you, with his thick cock in his hand — pumping up and down his shaft as he licks your drenched pussy.

“So fucking good,” he growls, fist tightening around his erection, pumping faster as his tongue matches his speed — pulling you towards your orgasm at an embarrassingly quick pace.

You’re a whining mess, your hot breath fogging up the mirror in front of you. “I’m gonna cum,” you softly cry out, covering your mouth with the palm of your hand to keep you quiet.

Both of his hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he rapidly pulls an intense orgasm out of you. 

Without a second thought, you sink to your knees when Johnny stands and you take his erection into your mouth, rolling your tongue over his swollen mushroom tip before you stroke him until he finishes — his cum painting over your tongue. 

“You know,” you chuckle as you touch up your makeup in the mirror. “You could’ve just fucked me. I wouldn't mind.”

Johnny readjusts his suit, tucking his white button up long sleeve shirt into his black dress pants before fixing his belt. He smiles at your words. 

“While I’d love to do that,” he sucks the air between his teeth. “I don’t want our first time to be in a random hotel restroom.”

You coyly look down at your heels, unable to argue with him before he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You deserve more than a quick fuck for our first time,” he smiles at you through the mirror.

[Sunday, 5:13 PM]

You smooth out your dress in the mirror when Johnny appears behind you.

“You look very pretty,” he smiles, placing his hands on your shoulders before sliding his palms down your arms. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Nervous.” You swallow hard before Johnny’s arms engulf you into a hug. “What if your parents don’t like me?”

“They’ve been dying to meet you,” he chuckles. “They always ask about you whenever I go to visit them, telling me to bring you the next time I come over.”

You hesitantly nod your head, nervously fiddling with your finger tips before Johnny turns you to face him, lifting your chin to meet your eyes.

“Even if they don’t like you, which they will, it won’t stop me from being with you. We’re in it for the long run, right?” He lifts his pinky up, waiting for you to interlock yours with his. When you do, he places an endearing kiss on your forehead. 

“C’mon baby, we don’t wanna be late.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, leading you out the front door.

When you arrive, you cling on to Johnny’s arm. You thumb over his skin, trying to soothe yourself before the front door swings open and Johnny’s mom pulls him into a hug before she excitingly does the same with you. 

“Ah! So glad you could make it!” Johnny’s mom claps, grabbing your hand and leading you into her home.

Throughout the night, you meet Johnny’s side of the family who welcome you with open arms. As you’re speaking to his cousin, you feel Johnny behind you, snaking his arm around your waist before excusing you from the conversation you’re having.

“I wanna give you something,” he whispers in your ear, pulling you up the stairs. 

Johnny pushes a bedroom door open to reveal his childhood room that seems like it hasn’t been touched in ages. 

“Wow, this is where the other half grew up, huh?” You smile, slowly walking through his room and scanning his walls — eyeing Johnny’s medals and awards from his school days.

Johnny doesn’t say a word, but he flashes a grin in your direction before he pries open a drawer from his old desk, fishing for an envelope before turning back to you.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he warns, taking a seat on his old twin sized bed.

“I promise I’ll try not to laugh.” Taking a seat next to him, you’re eying the worn out envelope in his hand. “What’s that?”

“When I was in high school, my first girlfriend broke up with me and I was devastated.” He chuckles to himself. “So, caught up in my emotions, I wrote a letter to give to the person I’m serious about.”

“Serious?” You pause, confused. “Like long term serious?” 

“Like ‘til death do us part serious,” he laughs before nervously clearing his throat. “I thought I’d give it to you.”

Your brows slightly lift in surprise as you carefully take the envelope between your fingers. “You didn’t think about giving it to your other partners before me?”

“None of them met my parents,” he softly nudges you with his elbow, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “I used that as an indicator to see if I was serious enough about them. Clearly none of them made the cut.”

Your heart swoons at his confession. “Should I open it?” You giggle, flipping the envelope over to see the sealed flap. 

“Do you want to open it?” 

You think about it for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of the sealed flap, tempted to rip it open, but instead you let out a small sigh. 

“Not yet,” you smile at your boyfriend. “Since we are in it for the long run, I’ll open it when we decide to take the next step. If that’s okay with you?”

“That sounds like a plan.” He rubs your knee, nodding his head. “Just don’t laugh at the horrendous spelling and grammatical errors when you do, please.”

“Now that is something I can’t promise.”

── Winter

[Saturday, 8:47 PM]

“Okay, ready?” You shout to your boyfriend from the en suite bathroom. “Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yeah!” Johnny shouts back, back resting against the pillows that line the bed’s headboard with his eyes shut. He’s in nothing but his underwear — something you requested for tonight.

Emerging from the bathroom, you carefully climb onto your shared bed. You sit on your knees, facing your boyfriend. A nervous bubble forms in the pit of your stomach before you tell him to open his eyes.

Johnny’s eyes flutter open, jaw dropping at the sight of you in a raunchy two piece white lace lingerie set that you paired with a white wedding veil you got from a friend’s bachelorette party. 

“Wow,” he breathes — for the first time, you’ve rendered him speechless.

“Okay, I will admit maybe the veil is too much but,” you pause, getting on all fours to lean in and place a soft kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. “I think it sort of ties it together. Don’t you think so?”

He absentmindedly nods his head, too distracted by the way the delicate fabric wraps around your body perfectly — almost like it was meant for you and only you.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when your lips press against his. His breath hitches before he pulls  away shyly — his head spinning as blood rushes straight to his cock.

“What’s wrong?” You pout, heart sinking. “You don’t like it?” 

“No!” He gives you a small chuckle. “I love it, I really, really do. I think I love it a little too much.” He looks down at his crotch, the fabric tenting above his erection. 

You lick your lips, biting down on your bottom lip. “Cute,” you smirk before you straddle his lap, his shaft pushing against your clit. Your lips hover over his — a mischievous smirk pulling on the corner of your mouth before you slowly move your hips against him. 

“I love you,” Johnny mumbles, his hands guiding your hips. “You have no idea how much I love you.” 

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Why don’t you show me how much you love me?” 

Johnny cups the back of your neck to pull you into a hard kiss. He gropes every crevice of your body — his rough hands sliding over your exposed skin. He mouths the crook of your neck, licking and sucking your skin to ensure marks appear the next day.

In one swift move, you’re under him. He quickly removes the only fabric he has left on his body and the tip of his painfully hard cock presses against your clit. 

Johnny licks his index and middle finger before pushing aside the fabric and circles your sensitive bud — surprised at how wet you are. He dips both fingers inside of you, slowly pumping his digits into your soaking hole. His movements gradually speed up and his palm slaps against your needy bud. The squelches of your wetness mixed with his movements fill the room and a string of moans to part your lips.

Johnny’s jaw falls as he watches you squirm under him, enjoying every second of it — the way your eyes roll back, the way your back arches that makes his fingers move deeper inside you, the way your fingers dig into his wrists thinking you could muster the strength to slow him down.

“Cum on my fingers baby,” he orders through clenched teeth. “Give it to me.” 

An overwhelming sense of pleasure washes over you that has your heart pounding against your chest and your thighs quivering from bliss.

Johnny’s movements slow, giving your sensitive clit a few rubs before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Do you still want me to keep the promise I made?” He asks, referring to the first time you gave him a blowjob.

“I’d be upset if you don’t,” you giggle. “Don’t hold back, baby. I’ve been waiting for this.” 

With your permission, Johnny slowly fills you with his cock — he hisses as he feels your pussy grip around him. 

Your nails dig crescent shape indents into his forearm as he sinks deeper into you, face burning with heat. 

When he finally bottoms out, he presses gentle kisses against your cheek right before he sharply snaps his hips into you causing you to cry out in pleasure at the sudden sensation. 

“Gonna fuck you ‘til you’re craving it,” he warns through gritted teeth. “ Every night.” Each word is punctuated with a brutal thrust into you. 

“P-Please,” you manage to let out, feeling your cunt continue to drip from arousal.

Johnny grips your waist, his hips ruthlessly striking against your skin.

“Baby,” you whimper, pushing your palm against his abs. 

He smirks down at you, pinning your wrist against your stomach. “You said don’t hold back,” he grunts. “I’m doing what you asked.” He pushes your knees to your chest, your legs hanging over a shoulder as he bends forward — his mouth hovering over yours.

“Want me to stop?” He asks.

“No!” You quickly retort. 

“Want me to go slower?” 

“No…” you shyly reply. 

“What do you want?”

“To make you proud.”

You’ve piqued your boyfriend’s interest. “And how are you going to do that?” He questions with a wicked grin.

“Take it like a good girl.” 

Johnny doesn’t say it, but he finds it absolutely fascinating how you manage to make him speechless when it’s usually the other way around. Instead, he hungrily rams into you while watching you chase your high. 

His pelvis hits your clit repeatedly as his cock’s head kisses your g-spot with every single thrust. 

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, hands on either side of Johnny’s neck, holding him close to you. “I’m gonna -”

“I know,” he chuckles.

Your face grows hot and your skin prickles. There’s a fire in your abdomen and you feel yourself losing what’s left of your composure. You attempt to cover your face only to have Johnny pin your wrists to the sides of your face. 

“It’s not nice to cover your face,” he scolds. “Especially when you’re so fucking pretty when you’re about to cum. Go on baby, cum on my cock. Make me fucking proud.” 

You quickly come undone, every muscle in your body tightens and you begin to see stars as Johnny fucks you through your intense orgasm. 

“There you go,” he coos. “That’s my girl.” 

Your body goes weak as you look up at your boyfriend with a cock drunk smile dancing on your lips. “Please cum inside of me,” you beg, bringing your hands to cup his jaw. 

You watch as Johnny’s eyes darken at your words. He recklessly thrusts into you, balls harshly slapping against your ass. Johnny mutters incoherent nonsense when his hips stutter before you feel something warm fill you up.

“F-fuck!” He chokes out before you pull him down to your lips, muffling his cries as he empties himself inside of you. 

His body collapses next to you, panting as he attempts to catch his breath. Johnny weakly pulls himself up to give you a tender kiss against your temple before he falls onto his back again.

“Promise me something,” he lets out. 

“Anything,” you reply as you place your hands on your stomach.

“Promise me you’ll marry me.” He swallows hard before turning his head to look at you. 

You turn your head to look at him. Your eyes scan his expression before you give him a small smile. “I promise.”

[steveseddie]

kiss it better

written for the @steddiebingo get lucky mini event | prompt: there was only one bed | rating: t | wc: 2,9k | cw: blood mention | tags: different first meeting, post s3, injured eddie, steve takes care of him

read on ao3

Eddie doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s all roughed up and bleeding, his lip stings, and his head is pounding. 

He should’ve known that stopping for gas was a bad idea as soon as he saw Carver and his stupid friends kicking it at the gas station. Foolishly, he thought they wouldn’t notice him or try anything. 

Turns out he was wrong. 

They snuck up on him, cornering him against his van, all four of them.

And maybe if Eddie had kept his mouth shut, they would’ve been fine just stealing his stash but of fucking course Eddie didn’t. Instead, he ended up getting beaten up until the store clerk came out and scared them all off– Eddie included, because apparently he was ‘asking for it’. 

So now he’s driving around, wondering what to do because his uncle is home at night for once, and Eddie doesn’t want Wayne to see him like this. He can’t go to Jeff’s house either– their parents don’t like Eddie, and they’ll like him less if he gets blood on their carpet. The same goes for the other Hellfire guys, especially the kids. Their parents might not know Eddie yet, but showing up like this certainly won’t give them a great first impression. 

A thought occurs to him. A stupid thought. He remembers last week when Henderson crashed his bike, and the person who fixed his cuts and scrapes was no other than Steve Harrington. Apparently, the guy has experience patching people up, and even more surprising is the fact that he’s a nice guy with a soft spot for Eddie’s new sheepies. 

When Henderson told them the story, Eddie scoffed and laughed at the absurdity of it, but Wheeler and Sinclair quickly backed the kid up. Harrington showing up later that night to give all of them a ride further proved that they might’ve been telling the truth. 

That doesn’t mean Harrington won’t tell Eddie to fuck off if he shows up at his door asking for help, but it’s worth a try. Eddie can’t keep driving around Hawkins like this, not when he’s starting to feel dizzy. 

So he drives to Loch Nora, easily spotting Harrington’s house thanks to the familiar BMW parked out front. 

Over the years, he’s heard the rumors about Steve’s parents rarely being home, and as he walks up to the door and rings the doorbell, he hopes they’re all true. That it’s just Harrington in the house tonight. 

But after a couple of minutes, during which no one opens the door, Eddie starts to wonder if Harrington himself might not be home at all.

“Fucking figures,” Eddie mutters, turning on his heels, resigning himself to spending the night in his van, hoping that the new sheriff won’t find him and write him up. 

But just as he takes a step towards his van, the door opens behind him, and when he glances back, he finds a bleary-eyed Steve Harrington peeking through the opening. 

His eyes widen the moment he sees him and Eddie can’t help but notice that he also relaxes a little, like he was expecting something worse than the town’s freak knocking on his door in the middle of the night. 

“Munson?” He says, his eyebrows furrowing.

Eddie gives him a dorky salute. “Evening, Your Majesty!” 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, but then Eddie steps into the porch light, and he gasps. “Jesus, man. What happened to you?” 

“Fucking Carver and his fucking friends. They took my stash and beat me up.” Steve winces sympathetically, but Eddie can tell he’s still wondering why that led to Eddie showing up at his door. “Henderson mentioned that you fixed him up the other day, so I thought– I, uh–” He stops talking as he realizes just how dumb this is. Harrington and he aren’t friends, they don’t even know each other. He grimaces. “You know what? Nevermind, this was stupid, I’ll just fuck off. Night, Harrington.”

“Dude, wait!” He says, opening the door wider. Eddie gets a glimpse of a bat in his hand, and he can’t help but wonder exactly what Steve was expecting to find at his door. 

“You, uh– you’re gonna finish the job?” Eddie asks, staring pointedly at the bat, which he can tell now is covered in nails. What the fuck?

“What?” Harrington looks down at the bat. “Oh. Shit, man, no, I just– sorry, uh–” he trails off, simply setting the bat aside against the wall. “You don’t have to go.”

“No, I do,” Eddie says, tugging a lock of hair in front of his face, embarrassed. “You don’t owe me anything, we’re not even friends–”

“No, but you’re friends with Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair.”

“So you’ll help me for them?” Eddie asks quietly. 

Harrington shrugs. “Won’t be the worst thing I’ve done for those shitheads.” And before Eddie can ask what he means by that, he steps aside, holding the door open for Eddie. “Come in, man.”

Eddie steps over the threshold and hears the door click shut behind him. It’s not his first time here, but the house looks so much different without a party happening. Empty, sterile, cold. 

Harrington gestures at the staircase. “First aid kit is upstairs,” he says, and with a nod, Eddie follows him to the second floor and into his bedroom. This– this is new. Never in a million years did Eddie think he’d be in Steve Harrington’s bedroom. So while he looks for the first aid kit, Eddie walks around and snoops. 

He doesn’t find anything interesting. Harrington’s room is pretty boring actually– the plaid wallpaper, the sports magazines on the desk, the action movie posters over the bed. But then Eddie notices a cork board near the desk, and stuck to it there are pictures of Harrington with Eddie’s kids, as well as a few others– the redhead girl who recently moved across from his trailer, the Byers kid that went missing a few years ago, a girl with short curls that he’s never seen before, and a girl who Eddie guesses is Sinclair’s little sister. So the kiddos weren’t lying, Harrington does have a soft spot for them. Or maybe for nerds in general, Eddie thinks when he recognizes Robin Buckley from the marching band in a few pictures as well. 

Maybe that’s part of the reason why Harrington didn’t shut the door in his face. Eddie is a nerd, after all. 

“Found it,” Harrington says, heading to the bathroom and gesturing at Eddie to follow. He sets the first aid kit on the sink, rummaging through it. With a wince, Eddie hops onto the counter next to it.

“Dude, are you expecting an apocalypse or something?” He snorts, staring at the contents of the kit. He expected painkillers and some bandages, but Harrington has a fully stocked first aid kit. Eddie glances up from what he’s pretty sure is a suture kit to see Harrington’s nose scrunched up. 

“I tend to get beaten up a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

Eddie has. He thinks back to Harrington getting beaten up by Byers, then by Hargrove, and then last summer by– actually, Eddie doesn’t know what happened that time. He just knows it had something to do with Starcourt burning down. 

“So you’re an expert?” He asks, legs dangling back and forth. That is, until Steve moves to stand between them. 

“Yup. You’re in good hands, Munson,” Steve says, playfully wiggling his fingers.

Eddie gulps, suddenly nervous about having Harrington’s hands on him. Maybe he should’ve thought this through. 

Steve probably notices his hesitation, and his hands pause halfway to his face. “This might sting a little, but I gotta clean up the cuts first.”

“Go for it, doc,” Eddie jokes, but his voice wavers a little. 

Harrington huffs out a little snort, the corner of his mouth ticking up for a second before his expression turns focused. He gently touches Eddie’s face with a strip of gauze and whatever he soaked it with makes Eddie flinch when it comes in contact with the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” Steve says sympathetically. He dabs at the cut again, and even if he knows what’s coming, Eddie can’t help but inch back. “Dude, stay still,” he chastises, using his free hand to grab Eddie’s chin and keep his face in place. When he finishes with that cut, he moves on to the one on Eddie’s cheekbone. The whole time Eddie is holding his breath, not because it hurts but because Steve is touching him so gently, and it’s making his stomach flip flop nauseatingly. 

“Why did Carver beat you up?” Harrington asks, giving Eddie a short break while grabbing more gauze.

Eddie snorts. “Do jocks need a reason to beat up freaks?”

Steve’s lips purse. “Guess not.”

“I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re asking, uh–” He trails off momentarily as Steve grabs hold of his chin again and starts cleaning up the cut on his bottom lip. “I, uh, I might’ve insulted his dear mother, but that was only after he and his asshole friends cornered me.”

Steve’s lips stretch into a bemused smile. “It’s good that you fought them off when you did.”

Eddie throws his head back with a cackle. Steve hmphs and grips his chin more firmly, making his stomach do a backflip. “Bold of you to assume I could fight off four jocks on my own. I’m built like a fucking twig, man.”

Steve’s eyes dart down to Eddie’s bare arms in his cutoff shirt. “You’re not,” he mumbles before clearing his throat and averting his eyes, his cheeks pink under the bathroom light. “How did you uh, get away then?”

“Guy from the store scared them off,” Eddie mumbles as Steve cleans his last cut, the one on the bridge of his nose. He leaves the spot between his legs to get more supplies and Eddie finds himself looking down at Steve’s arms, big and strong with muscles rippling underneath his sleeping shirt. Steve could probably fight off four guys with those arms. 

Or not, he thinks when he remembers how many times he lost a fight in the last couple of years. Still, Eddie bets they could do some damage. At the very least, they could easily lift him. 

“I don’t think you need stitches,” Harrington says, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts. He tries to school his expression into one that doesn’t say he’s fantasizing about Steve lifting him into this very own sink. He really doesn’t need another jock punching him tonight. 

“That’s good news, Nurse Harrington.”

“Your face will probably bruise, though,” Steve says, grabbing some butterfly band-aids, applying them over the cuts.

Eddie grimaces. So much for Wayne not finding out.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, you’re good,” he says, gesturing at him to continue. “I, uh, I didn’t want my uncle to see me like this. That’s why I didn’t go home, he ain’t working tonight.”

“What were you gonna do if I didn’t open the door?”

Eddie shrugs, wincing a little when Steve applies the band-aids over the cut on his nose. “Sleep in my van, probably. Might do that anyway when you’re done patching me up, doc.”

Steve scrunches up his nose. Eddie gets hit by the urge to kiss it. “Yeah, no, you’re not. You can stay here. I didn’t go through the trouble of fixing you up so you can crash your van and die from a possible concussion,” he says, his hands settling on his hips. 

“What do you know about concussions, Harrington?” Eddie asks, trying to ignore the way his body tingles at the prospect of spending the night here.

“I’ve had like, three at this point, man,” Steve says with a snort. “So you’re staying?”

“If His Majesty insists,” Eddie says with a royal twist of his hand. 

Steve shakes his head amusedly and closes the lid on his first aid kit, which Eddie takes as a sign that they’re done here and hops down from the sink. 

“So which guest bedroom is mine?” Eddie asks, following Steve out of the bathroom.

He pauses and gives Eddie a sheepish look. “Oh, uh, actually there are no guest bedrooms.”

Eddie frowns. That doesn’t sound right. “What? But I heard Tommy Hagan brag about hooking up in every one of them during your parties.” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking Tommy,” he mutters. “Yeah, we used to have guest rooms but my parents turned them into a gym, an office, an art studio. Since they never have friends or family over.”

“So I guess I’ll take the couch?” Eddie asks. It looked comfortable enough from the glimpse he got before Steve led him upstairs. Better than the old one back at the trailer.

But Steve shakes his head. “No way, you just got the living shit beat out of you. I’m not making you sleep on a couch.” Before Eddie can ask where he’s making him sleep, he casually adds, “We can share my bed.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you borrow some clothes to sleep.”

“What?”

Steve’s mouth twitches up and Eddie wonders if he’s messing with him, but then he walks over to his closet and starts rummaging through his clothes. “Do you prefer shorts or sweatpants?” He asks over his shoulder. 

The thought of wearing any clothes belonging to Steve leaves Eddie gaping like a fish. 

“Eddie?” Steve says when he doesn’t get an answer. “Uh, sweatpants are fine,” he stammers out. 

Soon, he’s holding in his hands one of Steve’s old Hawkins High shirts and a pair of sweatpants. He excuses himself to change in the bathroom– and takes advantage of the privacy to have a little freak out because he’s about to sleep in Steve Harrington’s bed wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes next to Steve Harrington. 

He wonders if Steve was right about him having a concussion, and if that could be causing hallucinations. That would make more sense than whatever is happening instead.

But concussion or not, Eddie figures he might as well roll with it.

He allows himself a sniff from Steve’s shirt that he’s wearing before he tells himself that he needs to be normal if he doesn’t want Steve to get weirded out and kick him off the bed.

But when he steps out of the bathroom, Steve is the one acting weird, by building some kind of pillow barrier in the middle of the bed. 

“Uh, I know you’ve probably heard the rumors about me, man, but you don’t have to do that, I won’t jump you in your sleep,” Eddie says, hanging a hand from his neck. 

Steve cocks his head, frowns and then when he realizes what Eddie is saying, he frantically shakes his head. “What– oh, no, dude, no– this isn’t for you, I’m not worried about that,” he says earnestly. “This is for me! I tend to move a lot and cuddle anyone I sleep with.”

Eddie relaxes a little. If Steve knows about him and he’s not throwing pillows at him, then maybe he’s cool with it, so he hesitantly gets on the bed– and even lets himself crack a joke. “And you don’t want to cuddle with me?” 

Thanks to the moonlight filtering through the curtains, Eddie sees Steve’s cheeks pink up. “I do, but uh, I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Back the fuck up you– you do?”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, brushing his hair back. “Who doesn’t love cuddling?”

“Straight guys sharing a bed with a gay dude,” Eddie says, blinking at him with owlish eyes. “That’s who.”

“Well,” Steve starts casually before upending Eddie’s whole world. “I’m not straight, so your point is moot.”

What in the ever loving fuck? 

“I think– I think you were right about the concussion,” Eddie mumbles dumbly. “I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating right now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re not. I mean it. Dudes are hot.”

A hysterical laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Yeah,” he says in a high-pitched tone, giving Steve a pointed once over. “I know.”

Steve’s lips stretch into a smirk. “Thanks, but I was talking about you.”

Eddie squeaks pathetically, and the only thing he can think to do is throw the covers over his head. 

Steve’s chuckles are muffled, but he still hears him down there. “Relax, Eddie, I won’t jump you,” he says, echoing his words. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind.”

“What was that?”

Eddie removes the covers, his cheeks are burning and Steve can probably tell by how red they must be. “I said I wouldn’t mind.”

Something dark flashes across Steve’s face before he gets it under control. He reaches over the pillow barrier to brush his thumb gently over the cut on Eddie’s cheekbone. “Tell you what, if you make it through the night, I’ll do it.”

Excitement and anticipation bubble up in Eddie’s chest. With a feigned pout, he says, “You would deny a dying man his last wish, Stevie? That’s cruel.”

He snorts amusedly. “Let’s say I’m giving you an incentive to live.”

“How do I know it’s worth it?”

Just as he did in the bathroom, Steve grabs Eddie’s chin and uses his hold to pull him closer, over the mountain of pillows until he can press his lips against Eddie’s. 

He keeps the kiss short, sweet, and ends it with a swipe of his tongue over Eddie’s cut lip. It stings a little, but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

Eddie blinks dazedly at Steve, who is grinning smugly. 

“Now you know,” he says, and with a wink, he flops down on the bed. “Sleep, Munson. And don’t die.”

Eddie doubts he’ll me able to sleep after that, but he refuses to die before he has the chance to kiss Steve Harrington again– or before he can send Jason Carver a fucking thank you note. 

[lemonlover1110]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲

Zayne

[Chapter 1] Resentment

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Minors do not interact! Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (f. Receiving), Nipple Play, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Angst

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

The air feels too heavy to breathe. Your room doesn’t feel like your own tonight. You want the night to be over, but you also want it to last forever. This is it.

It’s your last night together before Zayne is off. You don’t know the next time you’ll see him. You’ve had months to prepare for this, but you’re still not ready. 

He’s going overseas for research, further helping people’s health while sacrificing certain aspects of his life. He’s such a selfless human being that you almost feel bad for being upset. He doesn’t seem to be feeling any particular way about it, so you don’t understand why you’re so upset.

You just know this is the end, and you can’t help but feel melancholic. This is the last time you’ll see him. This is what you agreed on. An unspoken agreement. You know you’re holding him back, and you don’t want to keep doing that. You don’t want for the resentment to build up until he can no longer stand it. 

You want to end things while you can still control them. You want them to end on good terms. 

“Are you enjoying the movie?” Zayne asks when he notices that your eyes look glossy. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you as close as he can tonight. It’s hot tonight, his warmth is definitely not needed, but you can’t move out of his embrace. Cuddling with him in bed is the only thing that’s keeping you from crying.

“Yeah, it’s funny.” You comment, and you feel his finger poke your cheek. His eyes observe you, trying to figure out your train of thought.

“It’s so funny that you’re not laughing?” He points out, and you sigh. It’s clear that your feelings are getting the best of you tonight, and you can’t help it. 

“I’m going to miss you.” You tell him, turning around to face him. You look into his eyes, feeling your heart break a little. Eyes that bring you so much comfort couldn’t cause you any more pain right now. 

You know it’s all going to work out in the end, and you’ll look back at this and laugh about it. Maybe you can reunite in the future, but right now things won’t work out like you want them to.

“If you miss me, you can always call.” He answers as your hands cup his face. You kiss the tip of his nose, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“You’ll be busy, I better not.” A sheepish smile comes to your lips, and he gently kisses you. His hand rests on top of yours.

“I will always have time for you, even if this is…” He begins but he stops talking before tears can spill from your eyes. “I can always talk to you. We’ve always been friends.”

“You know, I’m happy for you.” You end up pecking his lips. He knows that you’re trying your best to be his rock, but the sadness aura is too heavy to ignore. 

“I can come back earlier and we can–” He begins but you shake your head. You refuse. You don’t want to be the reason Zayne stays behind. 

“We can always reunite.” You tell him. You don’t know much about what he’ll do, but from what he’s told you, it can last anywhere between months to years. It’s something he’s been raving about, in a field that he’s passionate in; you don’t want to be the reason he stays behind. “I don’t mind waiting a couple of years for you.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.” He tries to reassure you, but it doesn’t work. The more attention you pay to time, the longer it takes to pass.

“Let’s not talk about it.” You end up saying, knowing that you can spend the entire night talking about this with each other. You’ll end up crying all night and all day tomorrow if you don’t attempt to talk about something else.

“What do you want to talk about then?” He responds, and you shake your head. You don’t really know what to talk about. Silence takes over the room for a minute, the corny lines that come from the television now louder than ever. Any sadness fades away, a loud laugh leaving your lips.

“Why did I pick this?” You sit up, looking for the remote to pause the movie. He sits up as well, attempting to mimic your every move. You aren’t the only one that’s lost right now.

“It’s funny.” He answers as his chin rests on your shoulder. You chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes. 

“You don’t even know what’s going on.” You argue, and he hums. There’s no point in acting like he was paying attention, his eyes were too focused on you to even bother looking at the television.

“You said it was funny so it must be.” He responds, making you chuckle. You kiss his cheek before turning off the screen. “What do you want to do now? I know you aren’t tired.”

“You can pick a different movie.” You tell him, but he isn’t in the mood to watch anything. He wants to do something with you, something that involves talking… Or more. “Or do you want to do something else?”

He just wants to forget about tomorrow. He wants to enjoy every inch of you. He wants to reach into your soul and comfort you. He also wants to make every last minute enjoyable. He wants to get lost in you, as if you have the rest of eternity to spend with each other.

“Yeah.” Zayne replies, leaning in for a kiss. You don’t hesitate before giving in. A kiss that’s supposed to be innocent on his end, the meaning quickly changing as you deepen the kiss. Your tongue enters his mouth and presses against his own.

Dark eyes look into yours when he pulls away. His forehead rests against your own, trying to have some restraint. Your hands go to the back of his head, pulling him back into a kiss, fingers sneakily moving down his body.

Your hot fingertips touch under his shirt, trailing up his torso while his lips pull away and begin to kiss down your neck. He’s leaving a messy trail of kisses until he’s stopped by your shirt. His hands go to the hem of your shirt, eyes looking up at you for reassurance. You give him a subtle nod before he lifts up your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mutters as his hands unhook your bra. His mouth moves down to your breast, continuing his sloppy trail of kisses until his tongue begins to circle around your nipple. 

“Oh– Right there.” You softly moan as you feel his hand rub against your clothed pussy. Zayne wastes no time in satisfying you, hand going into your pants. His fingers run through your folds before they focus on playing with your clit. 

“I need you.” He says, unlatching before getting on top of you. Your back hits the mattress again, and Zayne is pulling down your pants. He nearly tosses them across the room before dipping his head between your legs. Zayne doesn’t even bother taking off your panties, he pulls them to the side.

His breath gets caught up in his chest before he kisses your pussy. Zayne, who always knows what to do in the toughest situations, is always unsure how to start in this situation. No matter how many times he does this, he’s always unsure of what the first step should be.

His tongue runs through your folds, while your thighs begin to squeeze around him. His tongue finds your clit, flicking it. He could die right here, and he’d die a happy man. He’s sure he enjoys this more than you do. Even when you’re pulling on his hair and softly moaning his name even when he’s barely doing anything.

“Zayne… Right there.” You shut your eyes while he runs his fingers through your folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, a loud moan escaping your lips as he begins to move them in and out of you. 

He sucks on your clit, eyes looking up at you for reassurance. A reassurance that isn’t needed with how you sound. He curves his fingers just right, hitting the sweet spot that fills you with pleasure.

You bite down your lip as his tongue moves down. He takes his fingers out, tongue moving down to tease your entrance. His fingers continue to play with your clit, and you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

“Fuck… Fuck.” You moan while your climax slowly takes over you. You’re so close. You’re so close to finishing and he knows it. Which is why there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes when he raises his head. A whine leaves your lips, only to be cut off by his lips. 

He’s hungrily kissing you while your hands are attempting to unbutton his pants. A kiss won’t cut it anymore, he’s gotten you started and you need him. You bite down his lip before you pull away, breathlessly saying, “I need you. Please.”

“Anything you want.” He affirms as he pulls down his pants. He’s spreading your legs while he pulls down his briefs. He spits down on your cunt before he runs the tip of his cock through your pussy.

“Do you want me to get a condom?” He asks as he’s teasing your entrance. You shake your head before he pushes himself inside of you. He gives you a second when he bottoms out before he slowly begins to move.

This is a great way to forget about everything. His lips go down to meet yours again in a sloppy kiss. 

“God, you’re so perfect.” He murmurs as his thrusts pick up some speed. His dick hits all the right spots, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His hand to cup and squeeze your tits, too hard for him to ignore. 

His hips slow down as his head dips down, mouth wrapping around your nipple again. Your hips meet his halfway, thrusts too slow for your liking. He barely even notices, too engrossed with your tits in your mouth.

“Zayne–” You moan, back arching as his dick hits every right spot. His tongue licks your breasts, going to your other tit to worship it. He’s sucking, teeth grazing your skin. The temptation to bite is strong, but he’s able to consume himself.

“You feel so good.” Zayne tells you as he unlatches from your tit. His hands hold on to your hips as his thrusts pick up speed once again. Your back arches as your hand goes down to play with your clit, pleasure consuming you once again. 

His hand replaces your own, playing with your clit. He does a better job than you do. Your orgasm approaches once again, and this time, he won’t snatch it from you. He praises you for it, telling you how great you’re doing for handling him, until you come all over him. 

You see white, your climax coming at full force. You moan his name over and over again as he continues thrusting in and out of you. His eyes can’t come off your face, watching every tiny expression that you make while he fucks you. A sight that will be engrained in his mind for as long as he lives.

“You’re so beautiful.” He nearly whispers as his moves become more unregulated. He kisses you again, but not the same as before. He’s more gentle, yet more passionate. He’s moaning in your mouth as he gets closer to his release.

Your brain almost tricks you into thinking about how much you’ll miss this, but the thoughts are stopped when you feel his warmth fill you up. His lips remain on you while he’s deep inside of you, even if he’s stopped moving.

“Zayne.” You’re breathless when he pulls away. You’re about to ruin the mood again, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you wrap your arms around him, hugging him as tight as you can. 

“Are you okay?” He asks as if he was close to being rough. You kiss him before humming in response.

“Will you cuddle with me?” You do the eyes that make him weak for you, though there’s no need for them. You act as if you weren’t cuddling before this.

“After I run you a bath.” He responds, and you sheepishly smile. 

“You have to take a bath too or else you’ll go to bed all stinky.” You point out, and instead of giving you a clever remark, he agrees. 

“Let’s take a bath together then.”

You can’t fall asleep. Even when it’s damn near four in the morning, you can’t close your eyes. You keep looking at him as he so peacefully sleeps. You tired him out.

You look at the clock, anxiety looming in when you realize that you have to wake up in a couple of hours to drive him to the airport. But maybe that’s not the issue that causes your anxiety. You can’t sleep for other reasons.

You should tell him. 

There’s a heavy truth that you sit on, and you have to tell him. It’s his right to know. You don’t want to hold him back though. Resentment will build up if you hold him back, and you refuse.

Your thoughts get the best of you, even if the outcomes that play in your head are nearly impossible, you’re so damn sure that it’ll be your reality. He’ll resent you more for what you’re about to do, but the thought doesn’t linger in your mind.

“Is everything okay?” You’re startled by his voice. Too caught up in your own thoughts, you failed to notice he woke up. You feel his warm hand on your cheek, thumb caressing you.

“I can’t sleep.” You confess, the tip of your finger tracing the bridge of his nose. 

“Why? Are you hot?” He asks, ready to use his evol to cool you down. You shake your head, though he can’t see it. You should tell him now, but it’s too late. You’ve known for a week, you can’t tell him last minute. “Is it because…?”

“I don’t know what to make you for breakfast tomorrow.” You end up answering, making him click his tongue. He brings you closer to him before kissing your forehead.

“I don’t need anything. I just need you to sleep, okay?” He replies.

“Are you the same Dr. Zayne who scolds me for not eating breakfast?” You ask, and he chooses to remain silent.

Doctor’s orders don’t apply to him.

This is it. You’re walking Zayne to his terminal, and you’re wondering what you should do. Your hands are intertwined while you quietly walk. Even though your relationship ended last night, girlfriend privileges still apply for another twenty-four hours.

“How long is the flight?” You ask him, breaking the silence. Your thoughts eat you alive, and you don’t want to begin crying in front of him.

“Twelve hours but I have a long layover.” He answers. You’ll be uneasy all that time, wondering if he’s okay and if he needs anything. You’ve started to worry more about him the last week, and it’s a feeling that won’t fade with time. Every night you’ll be wondering if he’s okay.

“Can you call me when you get there?” You request, and he gives you his subtle smile. A smile that’s supposed to reassure you, but your stomach churns. 

“It’ll be late here, I’ll text you.” He responds, and you nod. You want to tell him to call since you want to hear his voice, but you’ll take whatever he gives you.

“Is it cold over there?” You come to a stop, not wanting to walk in comfortable silence. You want to make awkward small talk until he leaves. You want to hear his voice until you no longer can.

“Very. Luckily, I have my special sweater to warm me up.” He answers, and you try to smile.

“The same sweater you said was a weird color.” You tease, and he clicks his tongue. He ends up letting out a low chuckle before agreeing.

“I’ll still put it on because you got it for me. Even if it doesn’t suit me.” He replies.

People walk around you, the area becoming crowded. Boarding is about to begin. 

Zayne isn’t one for public display of affection, but he doesn’t fight back the hug that you give him. He won’t take your love for granted this time. He holds you tight, allowing himself to enjoy the comfortable embrace. A comfort that won’t be just around the corner anymore. 

“I’m going to miss you so so much.” You’re holding back tears as he kisses the top of your head. This is your last chance. Your last chance to turn his life upside down. 

“I’ll miss you too.” He responds. You look into his eyes, but you quickly look away, scared that he’ll notice the guilt in your gaze. “Will you wait for me?”

“Always.” You force a chuckle before kissing his lips. He cups your face, taking a good look at your face. He wants to remember every aspect of you as accurately as he can. He wants to shut his eyes and remember every feature of your face as light as day. “I love you, Zayne.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead, and you can nearly throw up. You’re despicable.

Boarding begins, and you have to let go. Zayne looks back at you one last time, giving you one more chance to stop him and confess.

You don’t.

You fight back tears and wave at him as he walks away, choosing to remain silent. Regardless of your choice, resentment will brew.

[lavenderprose]

I'm thoroughly convinced that in any sort of modern-day AU, Rook and Emmrich are the couple whose first date basically just never ends. There's a meet-cute. They meet in the grocery store when they both reach for the same jar of pickled eggs. Or in an elevator of a fancy hotel where Emmrich is attending a conference and Rook is on a galpal's bachelorette vacay. Or at a blood drive where Emmrich is grading papers and Rook is reading the trashiest novel she could get her hands on.

They hit it off. Emmrich, of course, finds Rook charming and Emmrich is, of course, the king of unassuming rizz. They exchange numbers. They go on a date that weekend to some stuffy gastropub that Emmrich apologizes for recommending no less than six times mostly because Rook looks at the prices on the menu with the kind of dismay that Emmrich remembers from being young and poor and hungry.

He pays for their meal, of course, and utterly insists that she order dessert.

They go for a walk. They Uber home, again on Emmrich's dime. Emmrich walks Rook up to her doorstep and intends to leave her with a quick peck, maybe even on the cheek, and a promise to call --but Rook slinks her arms around his neck and presses her body to his and invites him up.

"Terribly sorry," Emmrich half-yells into the Uber driver's passenger side window "It seems we're both staying here! I have--a tip--" He shoves a twenty dollar bill through the cracked window. It flutters anticlimactically onto the passenger seat. "Here you go!"

Rook's apartment is small, cluttered but clean, and they do not reach the bedroom. Emmrich fucks her on the sofa, which is second-hand and which they sink into alarmingly far, and they enjoy the afterglow together by scrolling through late-night offerings on a delivery app because Rook mentions that the gastropub's serving sizes were abysmal. They order a pizza, and Rook eats wearing nothing but her lacy purple thong and Emmrich's discarded white button-up. Emmrich watches her and feels his heart nervously flutter.

He stays the night.

In the morning, he plans to make her coffee and offer some eggs and then take his leave, because it seems polite and he has no reason to think she wouldn't want her Sunday to herself. Instead, Rook drinks the coffee, pops out of her chair and mentions that there is an Antivan bakery just down the street if he wants to walk with her.

He does, of course.

"I'm applying to graduate programs right now," Rook tells him, chewing on a biscotti, cute fingers wrapped around a second coffee. They sit in the window of the bakery on a pair of charmingly previous-century wrought iron bistro chairs. "There's one program...I want it so badly, but they only accept six candidates every three years. I've been out of school for a few years and I was going through some stuff in undergrad, so my GPA wasn't the greatest. I'l doubt I'll get in."

"Which program?" Emmrich inquires. Each of their pairs of legs are folded under the table, his right-over-left and hers left-over-right. They periodically tap their feet together and each time it happens, he smiles.

"It's a fellowship to study at the Grand Necropolis," Rook tells him. "Specifically, their program on funerary practices from the turn of the first millenium, which is--what?"

"Oh," Emmrich says, a little flustered. "Nothing, it's just--well, I'm tenured at the Necropolis. I know exactly the person who will be reading your application. It's not my program, of course, but I could...would you like me to look over your application? I know what she'll be looking for."

This is how Emmrich ends up sitting at Rook's dining room table well into the afternoon, reading through her extensive application to the Necropolis' fellowship program. She's undersold herself extensively--and he tries to aim her in a better direction while also not getting any of his fingerprints on the application. Myrna would easily be able to tell if she was reading an application written by someone who she'd eaten brunch with once a month for the past eight years.

"I should probably be going," Emmrich says, stretching out his back after several hours. "I have a...well, my bird gets nervous if I'm gone for long periods of time."

"You have a bird?" Rook asks, with delight, and this is how he ends up being driven back to his place by an overly-excited Rook, who apparently had a childhood dream of owning a parrot.

Manfred seems equally fascinated by her, as he hops onto her shoulder and makes a serious of hisses.

"His previous home evidently had cats," Emmrich tells her, gently petting the top of Manfred's head, and Manfred displays his other skill--screeching 'Emmrich!' over and over.

This is when things start to blur. Emmrich makes dinner, they eat, watch an episode of whatever is on the TV, and then have sex again--in the bed this time, Rook on top, hair down, and she looks...well, he doesn't last long.

In the morning, she goes to work. Texts him in the middle of the day to ask if he likes Tevinter food. He says yes, and she asks if he's free that evening. Also yes.

It's about a week later that Emmrich realizes they haven't spent much more than a workday apart since Saturday. It being Saturday again, Emmrich mentions it.

"Oh," says Rook, looking suddenly unsure. "I'm sorry, did you--if you need me to go, I can--"

"No!" Emmrich all but yells. "I just meant--am I monopolizing your time? Do you have...things I'm, er, keeping you from?"

Rook settles back against the sofa, which she's been lounging on beautifully on this rainy Saturday morning in Emmrich's pajama top and underneath Emmrich's mother's crochet blanket.

"Most of my friends are also, y'know, busy professionals," Rook sighs, head leaning on her hand, hair draping. "It's hard to make time. And I don't have family, really. I can leave if you want, really, I would understand. I just got a little carried away because--well, it's nice. To have someone to come home to." She frowns. "I don't know, is that weird to say?"

"No," Emmrich says, tears watering in alarming fashion. "No, darling, it makes perfect sense."

Everyone is only vaguely concerned when Rook moves into Emmrich's place a month later.

"It's not like we're getting married," Rook scoffs repeatedly.

Except that they do, before the end of the year. By that point, however, it seems that everyone has made peace with the situation--mostly because they finish each other's sentences, and sigh like lovelorn puppy dogs when they're apart, and mostly because nobody can really imagine them any other way nowadays.

[hellspawnmotel]

Any specific thoughts on Noelle’s seemingly one sided crush on Susie? Ur analysis are always real neat

hm! well I kinda already talked about this but only in a tag essay like 2 1/2 years ago (here) so I can get into it again.

I think noelle's crush on susie reveals a lot about noelle as a person, though the story and framing so far have kind of conditioned us to just look at it as a surface level "omg mean tough girl x sweet shy girl! lesbians!!" and maybe even subconsciously connect it to alphys/undyne and just brush it off as the type of wholesome relationship toby likes writing. I also don't think the crush is necessarily one-sided! you could argue that susie felt pressured into saying what she did on the ferris wheel, but susie is all about breaking the rules and doing whatever she wants so that wouldn't make much sense to me. her responses seemed very genuine. it could turn out to be a fleeting feeling or susie mistaking a desire to be friends as a desire for romance, but I don't really have enough information to speculate much on that yet.

back to noelle, pre-chapter 2 noelle's attraction to susie seems far more based in fantasy than anything, kind of objectifying susie's violence. which is fine, she's a teenager, it doesn't make noelle a bad person, it just indicates that the crush is very shallow to start off. susie is also a symbol to noelle, someone she definitely sees as representing freedom and defiance, which is something she craves. noelle does end up very open to the possibility of getting to know susie as a real person once she learns susie is "nice" but her priorities are still more with her own feelings than susie's.

this is tricky to talk about as an adult, so first I'd like to remind everyone that I have Been a teenage girl and I remember very clearly what it was like, haha. anyway I would argue that noelle's interest in susie is also undeniably sexual, even if she doesn't fully realize it. I think we all kind of know that but it's uncomfortable to just say in plain language. (this is an aside but I think the way toby implies this from noelle's dialogue and internal monologue is REALLY smart from a writing perspective, it leads the brain there without getting weird about it.) in addition to freedom, susie also represents adulthood to noelle in that way. she represents the future, one where noelle can fully express herself. at the same time, noelle associates the feeling of fear with being protected by somebody else in her childhood, the past. susie is "the good kind of scary", both sexually exciting, an "adult" feeling, and nostalgically comfortable, a "child" feeling. susie could be the bridge between past and future that noelle, who is notoriously frozen in her own childhood, needs to move forward. I think that could apply even if the two don't end up together, just from noelle working through her own feelings about it all.

I could also get into the implications of suselle being "the narrative's approved ship" or how noelle's relationship with susie contrasts her relationship with kris, or even how we're conditioned to see lesbian relationships as either inherently more "wholesome" or the taboo and exciting "toxic yuri", but this is getting really long already. idk where it all will end up going but I think theres already a lot to dive into if you look past the surface!

[woso-writing]

Secret Supporter

Renée Slegers x Arsenal!staff member

A/n: I know that some people enjoy reading Renee fics and I am one of those people so I thought I would make one.

You had been with your wife for nearly 10 years now and yet no one other than her family knew about the pair of you. You and Renée met when you were both playing for Linköping and you both instantly hit it off and became great friends before long the friendship developed into more than that and then after being together for 3 years, Renée asked you to marry her. A few years after you got married you both retired from football because you knew you wanted to start a family with Renée but unfortunately, the latter was forced to retire because of a knee injury. But through the unfortunate circumstances it did also mean that you now have two beautiful children called Anneliese and Lucas. After she retired, Renée was adamant that she wanted to go into the managerial side of the sport and you supported her through the whole process when you both got offered a job at Arsenal, Renée the manager and you the head physio, you both knew that you couldn't turn down the offer. So that leads you to where you are today, you have been at the London club for nearly three months now and still no one knows about you two, or the fact that either of you have children, well not yet.

Y/n: *Answers the phone* Hello, how can I help?

AT: Hello, is this Anneliese Slegers' parent?

Y/n: Yes speaking.

AT: Ok, well I am Anneliese's teacher and I am afraid that you will need to come and pick your daughter up as soon as you can.

Y/n: Ok I will see what I can do, it may not be me or her mum as we are both at work but I will try and get in contact with a family member, can I ask why? Is she ok?

AT: Anneliese said she was feeling ill and then she was sick a few times when we were taking her to a quieter room to give her some time, she seems to be feeling a bit better now but because she was sick she will need to stay at home for at least 48 hours.

Y/n: Ok, thank you for calling me, someone will be there to pick her up as soon as possible.

AT: Thank you and sorry to disturb you at work.

You hung up the phone and tried to get into contact with Renée's sister as she was meant to be over from the Netherlands for work but it turns out the trip got cancelled and she is still at home, slightly panicking you leave the physio room and walk up to Renée's office, knocking on the door when you get there.

Renée: Come in, oh hey you, what has Kyra done now?

Y/n: It isn't Kyra.

Renée: Oh ok serious, what's wrong?

Y/n: I have just been on the phone with Annie's teacher.

Renée: Oh god, is she ok?

Y/n: Apparently she said she wasn't feeling well and then she ended up being sick a few times and they need one of us to go and pick her up, which I can do but then I am going to have to bring her back here and I didn't know what to do.

Renée: Ok, well either way we need to go get her, do you have any girls in this afternoon or is it meant to be pretty quiet?

Y/n: No I have Caitlin and Leah coming in, as well as a few of the girls after training.

Renée: Ok so there is no way I can get you out of that then.

Y/n: No, I mean I am happy to bring her back here, she can lay down in there and just sleep if she's still not feeling well.

Renée: And she does look exactly like you so they probably wouldn't pick up on anything.

Y/n: Ok I will go get her now, I'll keep you updated babe.

Renée: Ok, I need to get to training but if anything happens you know where I am.

You walk out of the office and quickly go to your car, leaving and driving to the school as quickly as possible, when you get there, not only do you see Anneliese waiting for you but your eldest, Lucas is also sat there playing with his sister.

Y/n: Hello you two, are you not feeling well either Lucas?

Teacher: Yes sorry we didn't phone because we thought you would already be on the way but Lucas has also been sick so we assume it is something that they have picked up outside of school.

Y/n: Ok, well thank you, come on you two let’s get going.

Anneliese: Where's Mama?

Y/n: She's at work baby, do you want to go see her?

Anneliese: Yes please, can you pick me up please mummy?

Y/n: Of course I can baby, come on Lucas.

You get them back to the car and into their car seats before driving back to the training ground, when you get back you go into the physio room which you expect to be empty but when you get to the door you can hear people inside.

Y/n: Right you two, no one here knows that me and your mama are together so try not to mention her and we will go see her soon ok?

Lucas: Ok mum.

Anneliese: Ok mummy.

You walk in to see that the noise is coming from Kyra who is arguing with Alessia over something.

Y/n: What have you done this time Kyra?

Kyra: Umm that can wait, who's this little one? She is adorable.

Y/n: They're mine, this is Anneliese, and this is Lucas, wait Lucas where have you gone, buddy?

Lucas: I'm here mum *sitting in your spinny chair* 

Y/n: Of course you are, right Kyra let me just put this one down and then I will be right with you.

Anneliese: No me stay with you mummy.

Y/n: I'm sorry baby but I need to help Kyra, I promise you can have loads of cuddles later.

Kyra: How about you come and sit next to me whilst your mummy does what she needs to do?

Anneliese: Yes please

Y/n: Thanks Kyra, now what is the problem today?

Kyra: Well a certain someone called Alessia was being too rough and stood on my foot when I was getting ready and I didn't have my boots on yet so yeah.

Y/n: Right ok I can fix that.

You wrap up Kyra's foot and ankle and tell her not to train today just because she lost quite a bit of blood and it is quite bruised but she should be fine for the next training. The younger girl decides to stay in your physio room and plays with Anneliese which cheers your daughter up now that she is feeling better, Lucas just sits there on your phone watching one of his shows because he still isn't feeling his best, luckily no one has noticed how much your son looks like your wife so you haven't had to have to awkward conversation about that.

Beth: Hello my favourite physio, you are needed on the pitch.

Y/n: But training finished like 20 minutes ago why is anyone still out there?

Beth: Well I wanted to practice my free kicks a bit more and Renée said she would help me and I don't know but she kicked it and I think it was her knee.

Y/n: God ok, that woman needs to know when to stop, right Kyra can you stay here please with these two, I'm sorry to put it on you.

Beth: I'll stay here too, don't worry about it.

Y/n: Thanks, guys.

You say buy to the kids before walking out and practically running out to the pitch, meanwhile back in the physio room.

Beth: Who are these two little cuties then?

Kyra: Y/n's kids, you were both a bit ill so had to leave school didn't you little one?

Beth: Aww bless, she looks exactly like Y/n.

Kyra: I know, and I know it isn't possible but Lucas over there looks like a little Renée.

Beth: He does.

Anneliese: That's because she is our mama, silly Kyra.

Kyra: Wait what?

Lucas: Annie! Mum said not to say anything.

Anneliese: Sorry I forgot *starts to cry because she thinks she is in trouble*

Beth: Hey kiddo come here *Picks Anneliese up* It's ok you aren't in trouble, it can be our secret, me and Kyra won't tell anyone ok?

Anneliese: Ok.

Meanwhile back outside with you when you get to Renée and luckily she is the only one out there now other than Daphne who goes in when you get to your wife

Y/n: What have I told you about being careful, you can't keep up with the girls anymore babe.

Renée: I wasn't even doing anything that hard, I just kicked the ball a few times.

Y/n: You still need to be careful babe, do you think you can walk on it?

Renée: I'm not sure.

Y/n: Right ok, I'll go get some of the girls so that they can help us get you inside, I will be right back ok?

You don't wait for her to answer and just make your way back inside to ask Kyra and Beth for help, not knowing if any of the other girls are still there. Once the girls have helped Renée inside they both say they need to leave and that they'll see you both tomorrow, as soon as they leave the door you feel a gentle tap on your leg.

Anneliese: I go see Mama now?

Y/n: Of course baby, she's just over there, be gentle though please Annie, mama has hurt herself a little bit.

Anneliese: Ok mummy *runs over to Renée* hello mama.

Renée: Hello Annie, are you feeling better now?

Anneliese: Yes, mummy said you hurt yourself, are you ok mama?

Renée: I am going to be just fine baby, it is just my silly knee.

Y/n: Yes your mama was just being silly and forgot that she is not a professional athlete anymore.

Anneliese: Silly mama.

Y/n: Yes Annie she is very silly, anyway I think we should get all of you home *you hand Renée some crutches*

Renée: I don't want to have to use them again.

Y/n: Well, I am afraid you do not have a choice, maybe this will teach you to be more careful in the future.

Renée: Fine you're probably right.

Hope you enjoyed :)

[hongjoongspoetry]

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and  concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter. 

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes. 

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words. 

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends. 

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates. 

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?” 

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes. 

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue. 

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went. 

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him? 

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?” 

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain. 

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening. 

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere. 

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that? 

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up. 

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!” 

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind. 

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?” 

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you  couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past. 

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row. 

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul. 

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to. 

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls. 

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.” 

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license. 

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe. 

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen? 

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.” 

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.” 

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side. 

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store. 

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view. 

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items. 

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.” 

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter. 

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags. 

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin. 

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.” 

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them. 

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. 

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.” 

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind. 

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again. 

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table. 

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more. 

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange. 

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse. 

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness. 

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed. 

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels. 

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture. 

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale. 

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up? 

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew. 

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames. 

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!” 

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?” 

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were. 

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually. 

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew. 

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities. 

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go. 

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.” 

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it. 

“We are both at fault, love.” 

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy. 

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him. 

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation. 

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one. 

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.” 

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.” 

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[sachikoq]

I don't really know if this is the place to post this, I'm undiagnosed so if this doesn't really belong I'll delete it if need be, but the moment this really well and truly sank in for me was in 6th grade. I was entering a new school and it being one of those "charter schools" that required uniforms and whatnot, the whole place had this air of self-importance. I'd been bullied by both other kids and adults before but here after a certain point basically everyone began to avoid or start shit with me. There was this one guy in particular who particularly didn't like me and definitely convinced a lot of others to avoid me at that, but it's not really like anyone else did anything about it nor was he really the only one so much as just the most vocal. I'd end up sitting alone unless forced into being in a group at any point. for basically the entire year and any friends I did make tended to go away when they didn't really have to be around. I remember teachers singling me out often for doodling in my notes or something or for the things I liked or for how poor I was or the way I carried myself. At the end of the year, on the last day that school year anyway, One of the only people I managed to convince to talk to me at all came up and told me he was just putting up with having me around so I didn't feel bad, and that nobody really liked me. I started crying heavily in the corner of the room I was already sat in and I just couldn't really stop. Eventually some of the girls in class noticed and the teacher from one of our other classes came over in a rage and demanded we all follow her to another room as she scolded everyone for what had been going on. I remember her being so fucking mad, she was red in the face yelling at them and even when it should've felt like I was finally "winning" or something it still felt awful that it really had to come to that. The one thing I remember her saying was along the lines of "The moment you make anyone feel less is when I have to step in and this becomes a problem." I want to go back someday and thank her but I became a shitty student and for a while in the years after that I began to lash out at others a bit as well, so even if I wasn't worried about the optics of a trans woman randomly visiting a middle school in Florida, I don't think she'd really want to hear from me again anyway. Even so she was one of the only people who ever came off like she actually gave a fuck. I wish I could apologize to so many fucking people from back then for lashing out afterward or for not doing the same but it's neither here nor there ig I know saying things like that comes off like a demand for forgiveness when that's not really ever gonna happen nor does it need to.

I'd tell my parents and they didn't really get it, my stepdad's also a so-called "vaccine truther" and has since spread that to the rest of my immediate family so that ship sailed long ago, and only solidified itself when we were having an argument and I said "what exactly is so wrong with having an autistic child?" and he responded "That's easy for you to say, imagine being the parent to a child like that." Our issues even when like 99.9% of neurotypicals claim to give a fuck about them are never our own to them. It's about the parents or the community they live in or this and that. Nobody ever wants to fucking address the elephant in the room with this shit and it's probably because they already know where the fuck they stand.

I failed a grade after that and the next years after that it never really got any easier or better aside from finding other people who'd been through similar. The only people I ever really felt safe around after this were other autistics. To this day the only people I ever truly feel OK around are other autistics. Being an adult and leaving my parents' has made it easier to take hold of my life but it doesn't make that feeling of "does this person really just hate me" ever go away.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 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.)

[gregheiferly]

LOVEY-DOVEY

first comes love

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. established relationship, hurt to comfort, angst, fluff, leon’s mental problems, future smut, ddlg

note. the first of hopefully 3 chapters?!! i have lost the ability to write im ngl,,, i promised this fic over a year ago and never got it out but i forced myself thru it bc it’s been sitting around like unfinished for a year LMFAO so it’s clunky.. doesn’t make sense… and also i do want to make clear this isn’t supposed to be a baby and marriage = happy marriage sort of fic i just see that ending for this couple in particular.. anyway ignore typos,, ignore any mistakes and pretend it makes sense. feedback / rbs always appreciated!

i would also appreciate if you read this post about plagiarism by a user on both tumblr and ao3

lovey dovey

“I used to hear Hola! and jump—Oh, gosh, I’m not racist or anything, I voted—“ Ashley adjusts her monogrammed scarf, looking at him with her new face. It’s the same, but different. Tighter, brighter, when her eyes widen her brows don’t raise and when she pouts her chin doesn’t dimple. 

“Ashley.” Leon interrupts to get her back on track before it gets any worse. 

D.C. does its best to dampen his mood, torrential rain soaking him to the bone, but you’re wearing these tiny winter booties that make his day a little better. 

“I just bet, I mean I know Leon never tells you anything about Spain, or anything at all.” She waves her hands in a flourish, not a hair out of place. “I signed an NDA, I don’t know how long they last, but I’m sure it must be over by now, I don’t really believe in them to be honest–What is a piece of paper going to do? I mean, it’s not like the piece of paper knows who I’m telling.” 

“She’s too little to know,” Leon says out of instinct. He takes the role of Daddy very seriously these days. 

“Leon.“ You frown at him, it’s so cute he’ll think about it for hours. 

“Sorry.” Is all he can come up with. 

“Anyways, I wanted to ask about plans,” Ashley says, the exchange going unheard by her. 

(If she’s not talking she doesn’t really seem to care about the conversation at hand.)

“Plans?” Leon doesn’t follow, and neither do you.

“Oh, you know.” She dabs at the corner of her lip with a handkerchief that matches her scarf, her lipstick leaves a pink smear on the edge of her cup. It’s heart-shaped. Fucking Cupid over here. “Haven’t you ever thought about babies, Leon? You’re pretty old now.” 

That’s not her card to play. Shouldn’t he be asking her about babies? She’s only getting older, not many eggs left in her basket. But, y’know, that’s not very PC, and Leon really isn’t that bad. He’d like nothing more than for her to move at her own pace - it was hard enough seeing Sherry grow up, passing her off to a guy nearly ten years younger than her—And Leon is in no place to talk about age gaps, but guys are immature and stupid, he would know.

“Ashley,” he interrupts once more, though he has nothing to say at all. Marriage. Babies. Jesus Christ, you are the baby. He’s got jackets older than you. 

“We haven’t thought about it—I mean, I ask him about it sometimes, but nothing serious,” you tell her honestly, the corners of your mouth drooping downwards in a frown.

You are one unhappy little girl and he is in for one hell of a ride back home. 

“I never make plans that far ahead,” he says, rehearsed, before your soured mood runs off the edges of your face and into the rest of the room. Distemper in a dogfighting ring. 

“Hm.” You make a noise beside him, knee bumping his under the table. It’s a touchy subject. An untouchable subject, actually, because he refuses to sit down and talk about it, he shuts it down immediately. You can’t make babies with a baby, that’s just plain wrong. 

(But you can fuck said baby every which way. You can spit in the baby’s mouth and spank her raw. That’s perfectly normal.) 

“The next time I see you, Leon, it better be at your wedding,” Ashley warns him, a burnt orange blazer draped over her slender shoulders as she primps herself up enough to face a camera or two. “I’m happy to help with, well, with everything, I have a lot of time and money to waste so don’t think you’re bothering me. Oh and another thing—Leon?”

“Yeah?” He shifts from foot to foot, the arm circling your waist drops to his side limply. 

“You can call me anytime, you know that, right?” She stares at him, right through him with her big brown eyes. “And you know I can see when you’ve read my texts, right?” 

Leon nods stiffly, he stands there like a fucking scarecrow when she wraps her arms around his neck.

“I know,” he mumbles into perfumed hair. 

When you ask him, “Why didn’t you hug her back?”

He tells you, “I didn’t want to make you jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous.” That’s right. You’re a very self-assured little girl with your head screwed on right, he can’t go around telling such obvious lies. 

“Dunno, just felt weird,” Leon admits, plucking the fuzz off your sweater to keep his hands busy, “haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“That’s your fault.” You walk ahead and he knows you’re pissed. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

The air crackles with tension, heavy enough to shift the layout of Leon’s home a little to the left—Or maybe you really have gone and done that without telling him, taking over his world with parts of your own - it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. That’s got to be some form of gaslighting. He can’t even see the TV from this angle. 

“Baby?” Leon calls out.

You poke your head out of the kitchen. 

“Did you move my chair to the left or am I losing it?” He shifts in his seat, moves from left to right, leans back to try and understand what has gone on. 

“You’re losing it, I moved it to the right.” You wipe your wet hands on your skirt, it borders on frumpy, makes your hips look even wider. He pretends that he hasn’t ever thought about knocking you up. 

“Why, baby?” You’re testing his patience, being short with him, huffing and puffing and sticking your nose in the air.

“Because it looks better, but I can’t do it when you’re home ‘cause you never get up.” Carefully, you edge towards him, skirting around the room until you find yourself in daddy’s lap. 

The weight is grounding, his hands find your hips in no time, fingers dimpling the fat as he squeezes down to ease whatever is going on inside of him. “You can’t stay mad at me, baby.”

“Yes I can.” 

“Who’s gonna take care of you then, hm?” Leon asks, sliding his cold hands under shirt to grope your heavy tits. He pretends that he hasn’t thought about running his fingers over your lace bra to find milky wet patches. That he hasn’t thought about you, glassy-eyed and in desperate need of daddy’s help, pushing your leaky tits against his chest and begging him, pleading with him to take on the role of dairy farmer for the day.  

“I can take care of myself.” You shrug. So cold, so cute. “But you, daddy.” You kiss his nose. “Without me, you can’t even remember to take your meds.” 

That’s right. You did well without him. You didn’t need a daddy until you found the right daddy. You wanted a daddy so dearly, but you can take care of yourself just fine. You can pour your own juice and you can tie your laces and fix your hair just fine, it’s just better when daddy does it for you. 

“True,” Leon mumbles, he kneads your breasts contemplatively,  “but it’s good to ask daddy for things, I don’t want you getting hurt doing it on your own.” 

“I have bandaids.” Comes your rebuttal. 

“Baby, you’re being mean.” Leon’s voice verges on a whine. 

“I’m not being mean, Leon.” You let yourself melt into him, fat tits spilling through the gaps in his fingers. His hands are small and there’s too much of you to contain. “Why don’t you want to marry me?” 

That’s a loaded question. One he can’t quite answer because there’s no real answer and he doesn’t really want to answer it.

“You’re too good for me.” 

“Oh my goood,” you groan, rolling your eyes so hard you age backwards, and it really makes you look like a teenager—A little girl—It makes him feel like your father. Not your daddy, but your father. And hell, he’s old enough to play the part. 

“What?” 

“It turns me off when you say shit like that, like ohhh I’m such a old loser, I can’t even get it up, baby, why are you even with me?” You do your best Leon impression, it almost makes him smile. “You literally want everyone to feel bad for you all the time, and you know what, Leon?”

“What?” Leon says again. He’s feeling parched. Lightheaded. Sick. Psychotic. Bad. Just fucking bad. Everything gets so bad when you’re not smiling at him.

“I can’t feel bad for you if you don’t tell me what’s going on—You don’t tell anyone what’s going on so nobody feels bad for you.” You stand up, his hands are left cold and empty. “Only you feel bad for yourself, you literally sit around all day drinking and feeling shitty about sitting around and drinking—You don’t even want to do anything anymore, you didn’t even want to see Ashley today! She loves you so much, she’s your friend and you can’t even text her back because, because… Well, I don’t even know!”

“Baby—“

“You don’t go to therapy and you forget to take your meds, and, and I have to remind you all the time and—“ You take a breath, your lips moving soundlessly as you count to ten. “I don’t mind doing that for you, I like taking care of you and I like when you take care of me—It makes me happy that you let me y’know do that…” You gesture to a stray pacifier on the coffee table. “And I love you, Leon, but it’s just like you never want to fix anything, you just want to stay like this and I don’t want that, Leon—“

“Babe–“

”I told you that I wanted to get married, I told you that it would be a problem for me if you didn’t want kids, Leon—I don’t want to be with you if you don’t want that with me, I told you that before we got serious and you said yes and now—“ You throw your hands in the air, cutting yourself off with a half-aborted sob and splitting his heart right down the middle.

“It’s not like that, baby,” Leon starts gently, pushing up out of his armchair so he can hold you like you need to be held, “I didn’t… It’s not you, you know that don’t you? You’re perfect, you’re a good girl, it’s just…”

“What?” You press your face into his chest, searching for comfort as you run your hands over his back. “It’s what?”

“It’s me.” 

“Oh my god, Leon.” Your voice breaks, and you look up at him. For a minute it’s like you’re in soft-focus, like you’re a love letter gone yellow with time, sepia-stained and unspeakably tender and—and the reel is burning away because you’re too beautiful to last forever. You’re the most fragile little package, stamped to handle with care and he’s tossed you onto someone's lawn and you’re going to be plucked away by a porch pirate and—God, he’s such a fuck-up. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

Might be cliche, but it’s true. It’s him, not you. It’s always him. It’s why he’s been alone for so long. It’s not work, it’s not what happened in Spain or Talk Oaks, not even Raccoon City—Not mom, not dad, not Ada or Jack or Ashley or the fucking President, it’s not some grand, tragic circumstance—It’s just him. 

“If I marry you…” Leon’s mouth dries up while he flicks through a mental Rolodex of excuses. 

I drink too much. I’m depressed and probably bipolar. I’m infertile. You’re a baby, I can’t have babies with a baby. You’re too young. I’m too old. Especially for kids. I look like I could be your dad. I’m suicidal and needy and if we have kids what if you like them more than me? I work a lot. What if I put our kids in danger? What if I put you in danger? What if I’m a shit dad? What if you stop liking me after we tie the knot? You’re so young, you have your whole life ahead of you and you want to marry an old man? You should leave me for someone younger. Please don’t leave me. 

All of it is true, although none of it is an honest answer to your question—The answer is quite simple really—Leon won’t marry you because he refuses to be happy. 

“If I marry you,” he says again, eyes flickering from your eyes to your pout, “what will Sherry think?” 

Your hands are in tight fists by your sides, bottom

lip trembling as you struggle to remain impassive—And he knows you like the back of his hand, like the veins in his dick—That wrinkled nose could only mean one thing. You’re not about to cry, you’re mad at him. 

“Leon.” Your jaw tightens, grinding your teeth into a fine powder. “You know Sherry isn’t thinking about you, right?”

“How could you say that?” He asks, somewhere between hurt and confused. 

“I’m just… Like, fuck, Leon!” You angle your face away from him, cycling through every stage of grief as you gather your thoughts. “It’s not about what Sherry wants or what she’s thinking or whatever, it’s about what I want and what you want.” 

“But—“

“She isn't a part of our relationship, Leon, nobody is.” You tilt your head back, looking up at the ceiling and squeezing your eyes shut. Praying or doing a breathing exercise. “Like… Like you don’t like Jake and she still married him because he makes her happy, Leon—Why don’t you want to be happy with me, Leon?”

“I am happy,” he lies. 

“Don’t lie to me, Leon—Do I not make you happy, is that what it is?” You look at him helplessly and he stands there with nothing to say. 

“You do make me happy,” Leon insists softly, you’re the only thing that makes him happy. Light of his life, apple of his eye, the centre of his whole entire world.

“I just don’t get it anymore, Leon.” 

Oh, god.

“I don’t… I made it clear that I wanted something serious, I want to marry you and I want to have kids with you—I don’t get why you would lead on me like that.” You cross your arms over your chest, bracing for his answer. “Has all of this been for nothing?”

To be entirely frank - Leon is being selfish. 

He’d rather keep you in limbo than let you move on with someone else. He doesn’t want to think about you in bed with someone else, calling someone else daddy, letting them touch you and take care of you—It makes him dizzy, he’s getting jealous of a guy he made up in his fucking head. You’re the only good thing in his piece of shit life and he has no intention of letting you go—He really should, and he probably would if you asked him a year ago, before the D word but now—

Leon feels out of place. 

If he’s not your daddy, then who is he? 

“You’re just… You’re just freaking out ‘cause Ashley put it in your head,” Leon retorts childishly, “we don’t need a baby to be happy.” You’re the only baby he needs to be happy. 

“Are you kidding, Leon?” Your nose is running and you wipe at your face with balled up fists. “Don’t make this about Ashley, you know that isn’t the problem—I really can’t believe you, if you're not serious about me then why are you still with me?”

Truthfully, he didn’t mean for all of this to go so far - then your toothbrush joined his, your Sylvanians found a nice spot on his mantle next to the potpourri, the whole daddy thing happened—

And all of that means that this is not a midlife crisis or a fling or a distraction. 

It means that you’re his girlfriend, the woman he loves.

“I am serious about you.” 

We just want different things, would be the right way to put it. It’s not entirely true, but Leon doesn’t know how to tell you that peace is unrecognisable to him. He doesn’t know what it feels like, it scares him, the finality of marriage and kids and all of these childish dreams he had so long ago—It’s scary, and it takes a lot and Leon could shoulder the whole fucking world if he had to and the whole fucking world is a lot. He’s done it before. Jesus Christ, he’s fought creatures that go beyond the scope of human understanding, but all of it comes to an end. Fights end. Missions get completed. Damsels are saved and monsters are slain and Leon gets home okay as he can be. 

But this… Marriage. There’s no way out—Like, there’s divorce, obviously, but something about marriage is permanent. He can’t shoot a gun and get out of a marital dispute, and he can’t outrun a missed birthday because ultimately he has to come home to you.

Coming home to you sounds good. It is good. It’s the reason he bothers coming home after work instead of bumming around in bars like he used to. But, but, but it’s about trust and working together and while nothing will really change you’ll legally own him and he’ll legally be yours and that’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young to take on and technically you’re already doing all of these responsible things for him and—Marriage is just different, okay?

“I don’t think you are, Leon.” You blink at him slowly, sadly. 

“I am,” Leon insists because he is serious about this. About you. He loves you and he knows that, but he’s fine with what you have now. Girlfriend-Boyfriend. Daddy and baby. “I am, baby, but don’t you think that we're moving into this too fast?”

“It’s been two years, Leon.” Another slow, sad blink, you look off to the side. “I told you I was dating to marry, Leon, I told you what I wanted, I want kids with you—And I’m sorry but you’re not getting any younger, if you’re just wasting my time—“

Something sharp and ugly takes hold of his chest. ”You just think I’m gonna blow my brains out before I give you a baby, that's all you want from me.” That isn’t what Leon wanted to say, but the room is getting too small and that struck a fucking nerve. 

“Excuse me?” 

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A rotten sole-crushed peach, that's all he is, it’s true. And he doesn’t deserve you, but he doubles down selfishly. “You think I’m gonna blow my brains out before I give you a kid,” he repeats, “that’s why you’re freaking out about this now.” Leon’s so very talented at fucking things up. Paperwork, his liver, his entire fucking life. 

“No… That’s not—Are you kidding me? Is that all you got from this, Leon?” You’re looking at him with these accusatory eyes and you’re not calling him daddy or tugging at the back of his shirt for attention. “How could you say that about me? Is that what you think of me?”

Leon would like to say no and he’d like to apologise, instead he fumes silently, teeth clenched so tightly they’ve started to ache. “C’mon, use your big girl words and tell me the truth.” He’s not very tall, but he’s taller than you - he looks down his nose at you. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, Leon.” The shift in his behaviour is new, you’re used to his self-loathing, his laziness and reluctance and his general unlikeability, but this—Leon has never been mad at you, and he doesn’t want to be mad at you and he’s more mad at himself than he is you—But still, like, he looks mad at you and he can see the way you’re trembling, puffing out your chest and standing your ground to appear so much bigger than you are. It breaks his heart, he’s the worst daddy ever. The most dick-headed jerk of a boyfriend and you’re still here. Fighting for him, well, with him, you’re here and you’re fighting with him, that’s still something. 

“Why not?” Leon tilts his head to the side, his face softening in faux confusion. “You like it so much, don’t you?”

God, maybe he’s not so normal after all, and you haven’t fixed him, and bad thoughts always come back, and if he was normal he wouldn’t be wanting to jump off every balcony and walk into every main road and disappear into bodies of water.

Leon isn’t normal. Big surprise.

He’s just starting to realise that it doesn’t matter how many people love him, it doesn’t matter how many medals he’s awarded, it doesn’t matter that he’s a treasure to some degree, an old gun worth keeping—None of it matters, Leon realises, none of it will ever fucking matter because he is who he is. 

Leon is going to lead a miserable dogshit life because he can and he will and it doesn’t matter how many good or bad things happen to him, it doesn’t matter who he falls asleep next to - he’ll still feel shitty in the morning. 

(At the end of the day, he’s a Kennedy, and no Kennedy has ever been particularly lucky.) 

“I’m trying to be serious, Leon, and you’re acting like a child!” Your bottom lip quivers, and you’re probably wondering where your daddy has gone. “I can’t… I can’t believe you’re talking to me like that right now.” 

Neither can Leon. 

Guilt coils in his gut like a snake, constricting and hissing in the back of his head that he should know better, he’s so much older, he’s your daddy, and he’s meant to take care of you. That’s what daddies are for.  

“I don’t want to… I don’t want to force you into this, Leon, I don’t want to make you marry me if you don’t want me—“ He does want you. He wants you so bad. “—I don’t want to force you to have kids with me if you’re not ready, I just wish you had told me before I moved in with you—“ The hurt that crosses your face strikes him right in the heart, teardrops beading your gossamer lashes. 

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly, quietly, earnestly, not daring to take a step closer because he doesn’t deserve to feel you or smell you or touch you, “I want to be with you, I love you.” 

“I don’t know anymore, Leon.” You look to him helplessly, blinking up at him with these big doleful eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, equally as helpless, “I don’t know.” 

He��s your daddy, he’s meant to know, but he doesn’t, so he just stands there like an idiot. 

“I’m sad,” you tell him honestly, “I’m going to go upstairs now.”

Leon goes to follow you.

“Don't follow me.”

Leon goes back to standing there like a fucking idiot. 

[lostinlovingrevery]

Domestic bliss with Logan 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Hubby

Logan Howlett X Reader

Married life suits him

A/N: Thought of this ask today while I was working on a build project and came up with this!!! Enjoy <3 I want to be married to this man- also any Logan could be imagined, but Origins certainly has hubby vibes doesn't he? :)

Warnings: Married life, a lil short thing about mutants, suggestive ending ;), Logan nesting like crazy

"They're just people, mutants are just people with special abilities. I don't hold that against them! They deserve a normal life as everyone does-"

The talk show host rambled on and on. The usual spiel over mutants and their place in the world. Men in suits talking about the rights of people again; as if they were God and had any choice in what a man did and didn't deserve.

Logan wasn't really listening to it though. Background noise that he tuned out for the most part. He just liked having the old radio playing, kept him from drifting too far into his mind.

Occasionally it would start to static, losing it's connection and he'd reach over and bang on it- mess with the antenna. You've offered a hundred times to buy him a brand new radio, but he's insisted that this was perfectly fine. Why waste the money?

The smell of cigars and cut lumber filled the space- his workshop. Inside what was actually a barn at one point, but no animals to keep in it yet. You want goats and chickens- he plans to surprise you with a few baby chicks around late spring- once he gets a chicken coop built.

He puffed on his cigar a few times, before blowing smoke up into the air, while he examined the drafts he's been working on all morning. Dusty and smudged from multiple times he's had to erase and redraw lines he's messed up. He ashed the cigar on a glass tray, sticking it back between his teeth as he creased his brows in focus- reading his notes, observing his sketches- picking at details he forgot or needs to change.

He's building you a reading room. You don't know that yet. A nice cozy room, with lots of windows for sunlight, and walls with built-in shelves for all your books and knick-knacks you could never find space for. Putting it on the east side of the house- so you can watch the sunrise, your favorite time of day.

Least he could do, after spending the last few weeks building the dining room and driving you crazy with all the dust and bare walls and tools scattered over the floor- alongside some other messes.

He picked up the sound of your footsteps crunching against the gravel outside. Lifting his pencil, he added a few more notes to his drafts as he waited for you to try to sneak up on him- as you always do. Trying- and failing to surprise him, a little game you had with him for years.

You were being awfully quiet. Though the sound of your heartbeat always gives you away. He was always listening to it, a sound that brings deep comfort to him- no matter how far you were.

Once he discerned how close you were, he removed the cigar from his lips, setting it onto the tray and turning to look at you with a quirked brow.

You immediately froze at his stare, a plate full of food in your hand. Your shoulders became hunched and you pout.

"You can't pretend at least once to be surprised by me?"

"Even if you know better?" He asks.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer and proudly presenting the plate of food that you've been cooking all afternoon for him.

"Lunch."

"Mm." He observes the plate, taking it from your hands and setting it atop his drafts- concealing it from your eyes. His hand went around your waist and pulled you close. "Looks good." He hums, eyes trailing up and down your figure- and you knew he wasn't talking about the chicken salad you made.

You giggled, leaning forward to peck his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Working hard?"

"Me? Nah. "

"Mm." You smiled, before glancing over at the papers, not paying any particular mind to them. "Don't be out here too long, okay? I miss you."

"Promise." He looks up, and gives you a sweet smile, and leans forward to give you a peck on the lips.

You began to walk away, but he caught your hand and pulled you back to him, pulling you into his lap with ease, eliciting giggles from you as your arms wrapped around his neck. "What was that?"

"Take a look." He reached over to the workbench and moved his lunch out of the way, giving you a proper view of that smudgy construction drafts. You leaned forward, his hands holding you securely in his lap while you examined the drawings and notes.

"Is this..."

"Yeah."

You looked at him, a knowing smile on your face. "I thought you said you were done building for a bit- especially after the incidents with the dining room."

He dropped the circular saw while it was running. Created a big gash in your new flooring- he hasn't fix that yet. Then he accidentally knocked over a can of paint that spread out and leaked into the carpet in the other room- replacing the carpet is on his list. Accidentally broke a window, just have cardboard taped over the panel for now.

He was handy, but he was not agile.

"This is different." He says. "It's for you."

You looked at him in surprise. "Lo, you don't have to-"

"I know. I want to. You deserve it, love."

You bit your lip as you felt heat blooming in your cheeks.

This man always finds a way to make you flustered.

Looking back at the plans again, your fingers fiddled with the collar of his flannel. "Well... If it's going to be outside for the most part, I guess I can't complain."

"I'm sure you'll find something." He teased.

You gasp, hitting his chest playfully, but he caught your hand and pulled you closer so he could kiss you. You both start laughing, mirth escaping you as you kiss.

His hands pulled you closer into his lap, and your pecking kisses melted into something messy and deep. His hand that rested on your thigh traced up your body, down your arm, and over your hand that was pressed to his chest, where he felt the ring he's given you not long ago, resting where it rightfully belonged; his own ring brushing over it.

"Mm." You hum as you parted from him with a soft smooch. "Why don't you take a break from this, spend some time with me?"

"Sounds perfect." He hums, his arms scooped you up from his lap as he hopped down from the chair, carrying you out of the barn, to your country home that you share with Logan.

The radio host droned on in the now empty barn.

"These....people, mutants, they have feelings! They- They hurt, they go through a lot of pain. They love too! They have family, friends, people they care about. So what if they can do special tricks that some of us can't?" The host carried on, "They have a right to live their lives, and to live it happily."

[straows]

Garden Injuries p.2

—in which you wake up after being out for three days from fever, only to find Sukuna waiting by your side. He's rather eager for you to heal... for many reasons.

A/n: I really wanted to write this but like I want to implode because I kind of fucking hate it?? Also, should I make a taglist??????

<< part one

Waking up, you immediately felt a raging pain in your thigh. You could feel your heartbeat pulse in the wound— it was that kinda bad. Not only that, but your throat was dry and you were colder than Sukuna’s attitude towards humans.

Slowly, you pried your eyes open. It felt like you’d been asleep for years, you’d been asleep for three days while the fever wore off. Sighing, you sat up, biting your lip as you winced, keeping down the hiss that threatened to leave you.

Looking down at your body, you had no pants on. Only your panties and the shirt you were wearing were sure as shit not yours. It is massive, and dropped over your body like a blanket almost. The neckline slipping over your shoulder too.

Taking the neck hem to your nose, it smelt like Sukuna. And immediately, embarrassingly enough, it had you smiling softly. However, you quickly notice a figure moving in the corner.

“You’re finally awake, brat.” Sukuna walked over, crouching down in front of you. He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, “you humans are so weak, however you are on the tail end of the fever.” His eyes glanced down at the wound on your leg, and his jaw clenched with frustration.

Because you’d hidden this from him, it’d gotten infected. The stitches you’d received from one of the servants were horrible and had only made the wound worse.

“Uraume tells me this wound will take a while to heal. It will scar,” he glared at you as he leaned in, his face inches from yours, “this is your fault, brat.”

Your brows furrowed, and you huffed, “I was fine without your help, my Lord.” Oh you were feisty. And he fucking ate it up. No one else had the balls to snap at him like you did, and you didn’t even have balls.

“You would’ve died from the fever and succumbed to your wounds without me.” He mused, raising a brow when you scoffed at him. Looking like a pissed off squirrel in his eyes. A cute one at that.

“This is why I hid it from you,” rolling your eyes, you began to try and stand, only for him to quickly push you back down by your shoulder.

“Remember who you speak to, brat.” His glare silenced you promptly, but you still had a pout on your pretty lips. “You will be staying in this room with me from now on.”

“What about the garden? That is my only duty here—“ you were a bit worried now. Sukuna was known to throw away servants who could no longer do their jobs. He’d kill them and use them as an example. But you knew damn well you were his favorite.

“What of it?” Sukuna narrowed his eyes, before sitting down in front of you, a servant came in promptly with a tray of a variety of foods, ranging from meat to fruit to sweets. “Eat.”

“Well I can’t stay here and tend to the garden… your chambers are quite far.” You tried to reason with him, before quickly snatching a chunk of steak with your hands and fucking devouring it. You were starving.

Sukuna enjoyed watching you eat like an animal far too much. It had satisfaction pooling in his stomach, yes, he’d provided for you. You, his future wife and queen.

“Your duties as a gardener have been removed, another servant has replaced your position.”

You froze mid-bite, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, “but— but that’s my job. No one else does it better than me!” You are nervous now. Your only job, the thing you were best at had been taken. Now what were you to do?

“You will remain at my side. As I had said three days ago before you passed out. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” Sukuna tilted his head slightly, before putting the meat in your hand. He grabbed a small cloth and wiped your hands and face before grabbing you by your hips and easily pulling you against his chest. Your body rested between his propped-up knees, back fitting perfectly against his chest.

“I-I… don’t remember.” Your face was a bright red as you let Sukuna move you. Swallowing nervously you tilted your head back so you could look up at him.

“Then I will remind you,” his hands came to rest on your throat, so you’d have no choice but to stare up at him, “You are my mate, my queen, and my woman. You will no longer be a simple servant. You will command all others and learn how to lead so you may lead alongside me.” He said it so easily, while you just stared at him.

And you stared.

And stared,

Before busting out laughing. “Pfft— my Lord, you shouldn’t just like that, I almost believed you.” Your laughter mellowed down to giggles as you smiled, before looking up at him again, you saw his hardened expression and shut your mouth.

“I do not jest, human.” His brows were furrowed and he pulled to a natural frown.

“M-My lord—“

“Sukuna. You are no longer my servant, do not address me as such.” He corrected, his eyes analyzing your reaction with growing amusement.

You sighed, “Sukuna, I’m not even one of your concubines, wouldn’t at least one of them be a better choice?”

“I’ve gotten rid of them.”

“What?!” Your jaw dropped as you stared at him. “Why?”

“You are the only one I need. I grew tired of their touches and crave yours. I just have to wait till your wound heals.” He mumbled and moved his chin to rest on your shoulder. His big hands came up to rest on your soft stomach, “soon you will be round with my heir.”

“Heir?!”

“Yes.”

“This is insane.”

“Sanity has nothing to do with what I plan for us.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hands gently kneaded your tummy as thoughts of you full and round with his kid popped up. Oh how ready he was to finally have you and claim you.

“…you’re serious?” You stared at the tray of food, then down at his hands that explored your torso.

“Yes. Once again, I am not joking, human.” He huffed.

“…right. I still want to take care of the garden.” You were so confident when you said that, a mistake on your end.

“Have I not made myself clear? Must I make you understand another way?” Sukuna bit down on your shoulder, making you gasp before a squeal ripped from your throat as his hand dipped underneath your panties, cupping your cunt in a way that had you aching.

“Wait—“ You tried to grab at his wrist, but he was not having it. It merely made him slip a finger into you, to prove his point.

“You are no longer a servant. I do not touch my servants like this. You will understand this.” His voice was determined and stern as he curled his finger inside you. Slowly stretching you. And while, yes, he was doing this to prove his point, he’s also been holding himself back from touching you. And this? This was a great excuse to get his hands on you… and in you.

Moaning softly, your back arched against him as his middle finger, thick and long, curled inside you. And soon, his middle finger was joined with his ring finger.

“You will learn to rule by my side, I will not have it any other way.” He spoke against your ear, finding your reactions to his touch utterly delicious.

He abandoned the gentle approach and began to quickly fuck you with his fingers. The feeling of you squirm and moan against him had his cock(s) growing hard. “Does that feel good, human? Hm?”

You nodded your head quickly, and despite the pain in your leg, you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his hand, chasing the pleasure that had your muscles taught in need.

“I can feel you tighten around me, your body is so honest.” His other hand slipped under your arm before grasping at your tits. Squeezing and kneading the soft, heavy flesh.

“Kuna-!!” Your words were slurred as you continued to work your cunt like he knew it with his eyes closed.

Sukuna merely hummed in response, happy with simply watching you fall apart against him. He sighed in satisfaction when you finally came around his fingers, and he could feel how tight you squeezed.

“When you heal, I will claim you, and then you will be fully mine.” He murmured against your ear, a smug grin rose to his lips as you just whined in response, your body already growing tired. Eyes fluttering shut, in record time your breathing evened out and you’d fallen asleep against him.

“My weak little human.” He wrapped his arms around you in a protective hold, the feeling of finally having you in his arms was one he was rapidly growing fond of.

[zepskies]

ONE MORE DAY

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: You and Dean take a beat to de-stress with a nice hot shower.

AN: Surprise! I know I said this was coming on Friday, but I rearranged my posting schedule so I decided to drop this one early.

Finally, another little story for the Midnight Espresso-verse! This one is going in chronological order, shortly after the end of In Bad Weather, in which she and Dean have retired from hunting, gotten married, and have a family. 💜

(Oh yeah, for those who read If I Stay, their son is also named "Robbie" in this storyverse. 😂)

Posted on Patreon: 3/18/2025

Word Count: 2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Shower smut. Established relationship (married!), grumpy middle-aged Dean, fluff, and a slight twist.~

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Dean’s body tenses under the hot spray of the shower head. His humming stops, his head tilts, and his awareness sharpens in the way that only thirty years of honed hunting reflexes can’t dim, even after ten years of retirement.

The bathroom door creaks and shuts, oh so quietly.

“Robbie, you better not flush that damn toilet, or it’s an old-fashioned spanking this time. I’m serious,” Dean warns. His voice is deep and grousing, laden with the weight of his day. He’s too fucking tired to withstand third-degree burns at four o’clock in the afternoon, just because his son wants to prank the old man (again).

When the shower curtain peels back, revealing your manicured nails and the sight of your little smirk, Dean relaxes in relief.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you tease.

A smile twitches at his lips. “For you? Both.”

You laugh, and it reaches your eyes. They’re still beautiful. You’re still beautiful to him, especially when you have that cheeky gleam in your eyes.

“Can I join you?” you ask.

Dean begins to grin as he gestures with his chin. “Get in here.”

Quickly you shed your jeans, V-neck top, bra and panties, having already taken off your ankle boots. You do that delicate, sexy thing of twisting your hair up into a twisty bun and securing it on top of your head, then Dean reaches for your hand to help you step into the tub. There you slip your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your naked breasts against his back.

“You’re not gonna get soaked up back there, sweetheart,” he says.

“What if I’m already wet?” you reply. You press your smile against his skin.

Dean smirks, watching your hand that’s already wandering south of the border. You graze your nails through his happy trail. It stirs arousal low in his gut. 

“Sounds like you’re ahead of the game,” he says. He tries to turn around in your arms to face you, but you tighten your hold around his waist. Your hands move up to playfully squish his belly.

“Ooh, what’s this little paunch?” you tease.

Dean snorts. “You know damn well. That’s where all your paella’s goin’.”

You giggle and continue to stroke his soft stomach. He feels a bit self-conscious about it, truth be told. There was a time where he could wake up after a bender, eat a double bacon cheeseburger for breakfast, and keep driving for eight hours, just to grab a beef burrito and a plate of nachos for dinner and wash it all down with a few beers. He’s finding the evidence of it now with some love handles that don’t want to straighten out, among other places on him that never used to jiggle.

“Hey, I’m fifty-three,” he says. A number he never used to think he’d hit. “Dad Bod is a rite of middle age.”

You hum in agreement. “I like it. Gives me something to hold on to.”

Dean feels you nip the back of his arm, then soothe the bite with your tongue. He smiles hard, despite the way his cheeks are warming up.

That’s it. He winds back an arm to wrap around your shoulders, gaining leverage enough to turn around and face you. He cradles your cheek in his hand and guides your face up to his for a steamy kiss.

But he cuts himself short before you can truly sink into it as much as you want to.

“Wait, where are the kids right now?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Robbie’s at baseball practice, and Cari’s at her friend Tiana’s house. They’re working on a history project,” you supply. You give him a mischievous look that says, You really thought I wouldn’t think of everything?

Dean slowly smiles. “God, I love you.”

The water is starting to losing its steam a little, but it doesn’t stop him from capturing you in another kiss. You breathe into it, and into him as you cling to his hips. Your nails lightly bite into his flesh and drag white lines of pressure across his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah? How much?” you ask, between kisses; between the wandering of his hands over soft curves he's never gotten tired of. He likes his hands full, especially of you.

Dean chuckles. He secures you with an arm around your waist, then settles you against the bathroom wall. He grabs a good handful of your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your leg around his hip. Then he frees his other hand, so he can drag his fingers through your slick folds.

“Hmm, you were right about already being prepared,” he says, laying a smiling kiss to your forehead. You tilt your head up to him, aiming for a kiss. He ends up swallowing your soft cry when his fingers brush your clit, first just circling the hood, then massaging with more pressure. Precision. Just like the way two of his long fingers slip deep inside your wet channel.

You cling to his arms and whimper against his lips, a wordless plea from your tongue curling and tangling with his. It’s quick and rough, the way he fucks you with his fingers, strokes that sensitive place along the ridge of your walls, and circles his thumb over your clit until he feels it swell.

Then he drags his hand away, smirking against your lips. Some things don't change, and that includes how much your cocky-ass husband likes teasing you. Today he has time, and he's taking full advantage of it.

“Mmph,” you whine, but you don’t let him get far. Your hand moves with intent down his body, from chest to soft stomach, to then wrapping firmly around his thick, solid length. You caress him a few times, smiling at his grunt of pleasure and the way he presses his forehead against yours. His weight and the broadness of his frame pin you to the wall. He’s all you can see, his warm skin all you can feel, except for the cool tile against your back and your ass.

Dean grasps your jaw with one firm hand, slipping his glistening fingers into your mouth. You know what he wants, and you immediately suck on his digits. Your tongue swirls around each one, tasting yourself on his calloused fingers.

“Fuck, wanna feel your pretty mouth doing that on my cock, baby,” he grits in your ear. You release his fingers with a soft slide of your lips.

“I can do that,” you say, but you lead him closer by the hand you have wrapped around him, your thumb teasing the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. “After you fuck me hard enough to split this tile.”

Dean pauses, shooting you an amused look. “You sure about that?”

“Come on, baby. Make me retile the bathroom,” you challenge, half-giggling all the while.

He shakes his head and captures you in a kiss. You’re fucking ridiculous sometimes.

He still takes your challenge (somewhat) to heart though. He takes your hand that still has a firm grip of his cock and guides it to your entrance. Inch by inch, he pushes inside and makes you both groan loudly. He further parts your folds to strum at your clit again, this time to a rhythm of his own making. Your nails bite into his shoulders as he begins to move inside you, inching you higher on the wall. A curse falls from your lips as you cast your head back against the tile.

Dean palms one of your breasts, teases a hardened nipple; the little tingles and zings feed the well of pleasure building in your core. Your fingers rake through his hair and grip him tight. The inner walls of your pussy do the same around his cock. Every deep, hot stroke is like a firebrand of sensation pulsing against your G-spot.

“Oh, fuck—” you choke, grabbing the back of his neck. Dean once again invades your mouth for a deep kiss. He consumes your cries of pleasure as your core pulses with that heady, fluttering warmth.

Ten years of marriage, and he’s still the one who makes you come apart.

The suddenness if your orgasm flooding around him, your inner walls gripping him tight, soon has Dean’s hips stuttering and his body locking up on him. He burrows in deep on reflex, pressing every inch of your body against his.

You hold him just as tightly, with his strong hand helping you keep your thigh wrapped snug around his hip. You even clench around him on purpose while you feel him hot and throbbing inside you. Dean shudders.

For a moment, it’s ragged panting breaths and the shower spray beating down on you both. It’s familiarity, and the anchoring sureness of being home.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. Slowly, he pulls out and releases your thigh. He raises a hand to brush wet strands of hair from your cheek. A grin curves his lips. “We still got the fuckin’ heat.”

“Mhmm,” you agree airily. You stroke his back in turn…until a sudden realization strikes you, makes you almost dumb with shock. Oh, fuck. “Dean.”

He’s busy pressing slow, tantalizing kisses along your jaw. “What?”

“I just remembered something…kind of important.”

Dean pulls back enough to see your face. He’s mostly blissed out, but still sharpens to attention. Did we lose track of time? Does one of the kids need to be picked up? Is dinner burning on the stove?

“I haven’t taken birth control this month...or last month either,” you say, biting your lip. “I was gonna go by the pharmacy later today.”

Dean pauses. He tilts his head as he processes. And then, he snorts and shakes his head.

Of fucking course.

He ultimately drops his forehead on your shoulder in defeat.

You rub his back more in apology now.

“I’m sorry, baby. I forgot,” you say. And you laugh, because that’s what you do when you’re embarrassed.

One little adventure doesn’t guarantee you’re going to get pregnant, of course, especially so soon after being off birth control. But history dictates that Dean is a potent man.

“This is entrapment,” he claims, even though his voice is muffled by your shoulder. Even though you feel the edges of his smile, threatening a smirk.

He finally untangles from you, to the tune of you laughing in earnest. You both clean up under the now frigid water. Dean slaps a hand over the knob to turn it off.

“Aw, come on. We have two already. What’s one more?” you ask, as Dean pulls back the curtain and helps you out of the shower. He’s a gentleman, even when he’s giving you skeptical side-eye.

“Okay. I’m gonna remember that when you’ve got your legs put up in those stirrups and you’re cursing me to high hell,” he remarks.

“Hey, I never once did that, not even with Cari,” you point out while drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel. For some reason, your daughter had been a more difficult birth than Robbie, maybe because she had been your first. Or maybe that was already foreshadowing the way she’d torment her little brother.

“Hmm, I dunno, I seem to remember a lot of never again! And why the hell did we do this? And a lot of other things in Spanish I literally can’t repeat.” Dean wraps his towel low on his hips, his Dad paunch proudly displayed. He grabs you by your waist and tugs you in close while you laugh.

“Well, then you’re remembering wrong,” you say, smirking up at him in amusement. You take his face in your hands and give him a slow, lingering kiss. When your lips break away from his, he opens his eyes and meets you with a wry smile.

“I guess so,” he says, quirking a brow.

The more he thinks about it…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you guys did get to add to this little circus. As much as he’ll admit to becoming a grumpy old man sometimes, you and his children are the best parts of him.  

Soon a heavy breath escapes him, his thumbs stroking your waist.

“One more eventful day of retirement for the books, huh, sweetheart?” Dean teases.

You nod, giving into the urge to rest your head against his bare, dewy chest. His anti-possession tattoo lies in the corner of your vision. You have one to match along your hip. It’ll always brand you both in body and in mind, but for your children, for each other, and for yourselves, you try to remind yourselves that this is real.

It’s yours.

It won’t be taken away.

Neither of you will let it.

“One more day,” you say.

AN: For those of you who haven't dipped into the Espresso-verse yet, I hope you enjoy this little window into their future! 😘 ☕

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@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

[missmaymay13]

dear god - q.hughes

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

q.hughes x fem! oc | 9k

summary: No matter how hard Quinn tried to push Vanessa away—out of fear, guilt, or the belief that he didn’t deserve her—she kept finding her way back to him. Even when he shattered her heart, even when he left her in the dark, she still showed up. And in the depths of his pain, when he was broken and terrified and finally honest about how much he loved her, it became painfully clear: she was the one constant he couldn’t live without, and no amount of distance or silence could ever truly keep her away. based off of the song 'dear god' by tate mcrae

a/n: alright guys i wont lie i had such a hard time finishing this story. i couldnt get the story to flow properly, i struggled filling the gaps between parts and i will probably rewrite this in the future. i think it honestly needed to be longer but i just didnt have the mental capacity for that rn lol. so sorry in advance if it seems like a rushed/ jumbled mess but also pls enjoy lol!

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The Hughes cabin was humming with life, the late June air thick with the warmth of summer and the buzz of celebration. The sharp scent of lakewater mingled with firewood and the stale tang of cheap beer soaked into the creaky deck boards—remnants of years of memories clinging to every surface. The night vibrated with energy: music, laughter, the crackle of a dying bonfire—but all of that faded now, giving way to something softer. Quieter.

The music had long since died down, replaced by the occasional drunken laugh echoing from inside. Most of the lights were out, save for the dim porch bulb casting an amber halo across the dock—a lone beacon in the dark. Overhead, the stars stretched wide, scattered and bright, as if the universe itself had spilled over Michigan.

Vanessa Calder—Nessa to the Hughes family—tipped her nearly-empty beer bottle back, letting the last warm drops slide down her throat. She sat curled into the corner of a docked boat, knees hugged to her chest, a flannel wrapped around her like armor. It smelled faintly of lake air and sunscreen and teenage boy—probably Luke’s. She didn’t care. It was familiar.

She didn’t even know why she came out here. One minute she was in the crowd, laughing, dancing, swaying under string lights—and the next, she was seeking stillness. The cabin felt loud in more ways than just sound. It always did. And when things got too much, she slipped away.

She thought about senior year. College. The looming unknown. And the ache that came when she thought about not having Jack beside her through it all.

So she came out here. To the dock. To the lake. To the silence.

She didn’t hear the soft steps until the boat dipped slightly.

Her heart jumped—and then she saw him.

Quinn Hughes.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just eased himself down across from her, beer in hand, unopened. He moved like he always did—carefully, deliberately, like he was carrying something fragile inside him and couldn’t afford to let it spill out.

His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends like he’d just showered or taken a swim. He wore a hoodie, sleeves shoved to his forearms, and basketball shorts that hung loose on his frame. The moonlight caught on the sharp lines of his face—his cheekbones, his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. He looked like a secret. Something sacred.

Nessa swallowed hard.

“Didn’t think anyone else was awake,” she said, her voice soft, like she didn’t want to disturb the quiet.

Quinn glanced at her. “Couldn’t sleep.”

And that was it.

Silence again. But not uncomfortable. Just… new.

She had known Quinn for years, but always from a distance. Jack’s older brother. The one who’d already made it. The one who slipped in and out of their lives like a breeze through an open window. He was kind, always, but there was a distance to him. Like he lived just slightly out of reach.

And maybe that’s why she never tried to close the gap.

But Quinn? Quinn had noticed her. Always had.

She didn’t know that, of course. That when she first came over to the cabin at thirteen—cast on her wrist, big pink backpack slung over one shoulder—he’d noticed how easily she made Jack laugh. That she never tried to impress anyone, never tried to belong. She just... was. Loud and opinionated and loyal as hell. She told Jack he was a baby for being scared of bugs and then squashed one with her cast like it was nothing. He’d never forgotten it.

He’d told himself, back then, she was just Jack’s friend. That was the rule. But rules got harder to follow as she got older. As he did.

Now, sitting here across from her in the boat, her hair tangled in soft waves, her arms curled around her knees, her eyes lit only by moonlight—it felt dangerous. How easy it was to notice her. To see her. Not as Jack’s best friend. But as her.

She broke the silence again.

“I’m scared.”

Quinn’s head tilted slightly. “Of what?”

“Everything,” she said with a soft laugh. “Senior year. Leaving. I know what I want to study but it doesn’t make it easier. Everything I know is slipping away, and I’m pretending I’m fine with it.”

He nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. “It’ll shift. It always does. But you’ll adjust. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

She turned to him, brow raised. “You don’t even really know me.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I know you more than you think.”

Something flickered across her face.

“Jack talks about you. All the time,” he said, voice low. “You’re part of this family. I remember the first time you came here. You had that cast. That backpack. You told Jack to stop whining and dared him to jump in the lake. You’ve always been... unshakable.”

Nessa laughed, surprised. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” he said simply.

And he hadn’t. Not a single second.

She leaned back, her fingers absently playing with the edge of the flannel. “I think I’m just afraid of losing everything I know. Jack’s been my constant. My reset button. We’ve never crossed that line—we’re just... us.”

Quinn’s voice was quiet. “That kind of bond’s rare.”

She nodded. “Yeah. But even rare things change.”

He looked down at his beer, turning it in his hand like he was weighing something unspoken.

“I miss them all the time,” he said suddenly. “My family. Vancouver’s... a lot. People think once you hit the NHL, you’re set. But it’s isolating. I miss birthdays. Holidays. Luke’s entire high school career. I try to stay grounded, but sometimes it feels like I’m just... drifting.”

Nessa looked at him—really looked. The weight of his words made him seem less like the polished pro everyone else saw, and more like a person. A boy far from home, doing his best to keep from unraveling.

“I always thought you had everything figured out,” she whispered.

He let out a breath. “I don’t think anyone really does.”

Their eyes met again—and something shifted.

The air between them crackled. Like a string pulled tight, waiting to snap.

He leaned in first. Slowly. Giving her time to pull away.

But she didn’t.

Her breath caught as she closed the distance, their lips brushing—tentative, testing. Then deepening. Natural. Hungry in the softest way.

His hand found her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. Her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie, grounding herself in the heat of him.

And then it all unraveled—quietly, beautifully. Clothes slipped away. Fingers trembled. The boat rocked beneath the weight of bodies learning each other with reverence.

They didn’t speak. Words would’ve shattered the moment.

After, they lay tangled together, skin damp with sweat and lake air. Her head against his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her back. Hearts racing.

Then, laughter. Uncontrollable. Breathless.

Nessa rolled away, grinning. Dropped the blanket.

And jumped.

The splash echoed across the lake.

Quinn blinked, stunned. Then—without thinking—he followed.

She was waiting, slick hair clinging to her neck, eyes wild with moonlight. She looked like a painting. Untouchable.

He found her easily, pulled her close. Kissed her again. And again. Water between them. Limbs tangled. Everything suspended in that moment of stolen bliss.

It felt like freedom. Like everything he’d been running from had finally caught up.

If the world had frozen then, maybe it would’ve stayed simple.

But nothing ever stayed simple.

Not when desire ran this deep. Not when fear clawed just as hard.

Because Quinn Hughes—who spent years keeping his walls up, who spent years pretending he didn’t see her—couldn’t stop now.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

And he knew, deep down—

She was going to be the one thing he couldn’t hold onto.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Vanessa Calder graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in broadcasting and a résumé that screamed work ethic—internships, sideline reporting, hours behind and in front of a camera. It hadn’t been easy—nothing ever was—but she made it. She crossed the stage in heels, shook hands, hugged Jack Hughes afterward while he cried harder than her parents, and looked toward the future with a cautiously optimistic heart.

Her friendship with Jack never wavered. If anything, it grew stronger. He flew her out to games when he could, always with a plus-one ticket and a “just say yes.” And when Luke was still at UMich, she was basically his emergency contact. Luke called her more than his RA. Whether it was late-night study cramming, dragging him to his first flu shot, or teaching him how to do laundry without shrinking his socks, Nessa had become part of the Hughes family.

They were her family.

And then—she landed the job.

Her first real offer. The kind you dream about when you’re up at 3 a.m. with caffeine jitters and too many browser tabs open. A rinkside reporting position with an NHL team, straight out of college.

The Canucks.

Vancouver.

The adrenaline had barely settled when the email arrived. She accepted within minutes. No hesitation.

But when the rush wore off, her hands were shaking.

Because she knew what that meant.

Quinn.

The last time they’d really spoken, it was that summer. The party. The dock. The kiss. The lake. Her legs tangled in his. His hands tracing her spine.

And then?

Nothing.

No texts. No calls. Just distance.

And not the obvious kind.

Quinn hadn’t ghosted her like a normal guy. He did it with surgical precision. A subtle, practiced avoidance that hurt more than silence ever could. When she was around, he wasn’t. When she texted, he replied with one word. When she laughed at a joke, he looked away.

She could still feel the ache of it. The humiliation. The confusion. The sharp sting of not knowing why.

And Jack? Jack never suspected a thing. Because why would he?

As far as he knew, nothing ever happened.

She could never tell him.

“Hey, Jack, by the way—your brother and I had sex on your family boat and then he ghosted me. Hope that’s cool.”

Yeah. No.

And the kicker?

When Jack found out she’d accepted the job in Vancouver, he FaceTimed Quinn right in front of her. Put him on speaker.

“Yo, Q—you gotta keep an eye on Nessa now that she’s out there. She’s gonna kill it. But still—watch her back, alright?”

Her entire body went still. She wanted to crawl into the couch cushions.

A) She didn’t need watching.

B) Quinn Hughes was the last person she wanted watching over her.

But the Hughes family? Overjoyed. Jim called her their “West Coast daughter.” Ellen cried happy tears. The idea of their sons having family in every NHL city made them beam.

So she packed up. Signed a lease on a too-small apartment near the arena. Hung up her Michigan memories on the walls. She told herself she’d be fine. She always was.

But that ache?

It hadn’t gone anywhere.

Not when she still didn’t understand why Quinn had left her behind like she never mattered.

The first day was a blur. Nervous excitement. Curled hair. Light makeup. Blazer pressed. She wore the gold ‘H’ necklace Jack gave her before he left for Jersey. A good luck charm.

Her smile was practiced. Her handshake steady. But by hour two, her confidence began to slip. Names blurred. Faces blended. The weight of the newness settled on her shoulders like a storm cloud.

And then—just as the tour was ending—

“Let’s swing by the players’ side,” her guide said cheerfully. “Oh—and here comes our captain now. Huggy! Come say hi!”

She turned.

Quinn Hughes stepped out of the locker room like some kind of sick cosmic joke.

Hair damp. Stubble along his jaw. Canucks shirt clinging to his frame in a way that should be illegal.

Her stomach dropped.

His eyes locked with hers.

He froze for a fraction of a second.

But only a fraction.

Then the mask slipped into place. Calm. Professional.

Their tour guide smiled. “I’m told you two know each other well!”

Her heart lurched.

Quinn’s face didn’t flinch. “Welcome to the team.”

His voice was polite. Empty.

Like she hadn’t once slept wrapped in his hoodie, skin against skin, lips tangled in his name.

She smiled, tight and polite. “Good to see you again.”

Liar.

Because it wasn’t good. It was a punch to the gut. It was confusion and pain and unresolved anger all wrapped in a perfectly-tailored Canucks shirt.

Then came the second blow.

The guide grinned. “He’s been talking you up, by the way. Said you were the perfect fit when we were discussing new hires.”

Her mind blanked.

She blinked.

What?

He recommended her? After avoiding her for years?

After acting like she was invisible?

Quinn’s expression remained unreadable. A flicker, maybe, behind his eyes—but it vanished.

The rest of the day was a blur.

Nessa went through the motions. But her thoughts were chaos.

Why would he do that? Why pretend she didn’t exist for years and then tell his team she was the “perfect fit”? Was it guilt? Was it... something else?

She didn’t sleep that night. Just stared at the ceiling of her new apartment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the quiet tick of betrayal that had never fully gone silent.

And Quinn?

Quinn had been holding his breath since the second he saw her name on that hire list.

When the media team asked for input, he should’ve said nothing. Should’ve kept his distance like he always did.

But he didn’t.

Because she was brilliant. She was the perfect fit. And because some pathetic, aching part of him wanted her near. Even if she hated him. Even if she never looked at him again.

It was selfish.

He knew that.

But Quinn Hughes had spent years trying to forget the feel of her skin under his palms, her breath in his ear, the sound of her laughter echoing off Michigan lake water.

He couldn’t.

He told himself the distance was for her. That he was protecting Jack. Protecting her. That if he stepped back, she’d be spared the chaos of his life.

But that was a lie.

He’d been protecting himself.

Because when she looked at him like she saw him—really saw him—it scared the shit out of him.

So he buried it.

Built a wall.

Pretended the summer night that changed everything was just a memory, not a turning point.

But now, with her walking the halls of his arena, wearing that little gold ‘H’ on her neck—

He felt it all again.

And worse?

He knew he didn’t deserve to feel anything at all.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The Canucks had a home game, and something felt off from the first shift.

Quinn was tense. Off-balance. His passes weren’t sharp, his zone entries sloppy. He second-guessed himself in ways he never did. It showed in every shift, every rotation. By the third period, the frustration was radiating off him like heat. A cheap hit along the boards triggered him—he shoved back, exchanged words, nearly dropped gloves. The refs stepped in before it escalated further, but the damage was done.

He was ejected. Just like that.

The crowd buzzed with confusion. It wasn’t like him. He didn’t snap. He didn’t get emotional.

Until now.

Vanessa watched it all unfold from her position rinkside, heart in her throat. She barely registered the commentators murmuring beside her or the producer in her earpiece asking for updates. Her eyes tracked Quinn’s retreating back as he disappeared down the tunnel, jaw clenched, helmet under his arm. He didn’t look back.

She didn’t expect to see him again that night.

But when she returned to her office after postgame interviews—shoulders tight, heels aching—he was there.

Leaning against the wall across from her door.

His hair was still damp from the shower, curling at the ends. He’d thrown on a suit jacket but hadn’t bothered to button it. His tie was gone. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes were dark. Stormy. Like something was building beneath the surface and he didn’t know where to put it.

Her breath caught.

He didn’t say anything.

“Let’s go,” he said.

It wasn’t a request. It was quiet, but certain.

She stared at him, frozen in the doorway, her hand still on the knob.

He didn’t explain.

She didn’t ask.

She just grabbed her coat, slipped her bag over her shoulder, and followed.

They didn’t speak as they walked through the quiet back halls of the arena. No words. No explanation. His hand came to rest lightly at the small of her back—not possessive, but grounding. Familiar. Her skin buzzed under the touch.

Outside, he opened the passenger door of his car for her.

She slid in.

The drive was silent.

No music. No talking. Just the soft hum of the engine, the glow of city lights, the occasional flicker of his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

She didn’t ask where they were going.

She didn’t need to.

When he pulled into the underground garage of his apartment building, her stomach twisted. The last time she’d been here... she didn’t let herself think about it.

They took the elevator up in silence. He unlocked the door. She stepped inside.

It was quiet. Lived-in. A little messy. Blankets askew on the couch. A half-empty water bottle on the counter. His duffel bag in the corner, unzipped and spilling gear.

She stood in the entryway, unsure, while he paced a few feet away—silent, tense, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Why am I here?” she asked, her voice low.

He turned to her slowly.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

He looked wrecked. Not in the way athletes did after games—but in the way people did when they were unraveling and had nowhere left to hide.

And still—he was beautiful. Soft stubble, eyes heavy with something he wasn’t saying, shoulders bowed under the weight of too much held in for too long.

Her heart hurt.

He stepped closer.

She didn’t move.

He stopped only when she was within reach—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He planted his hands on the doorframe behind her, not touching her, but caging her in. Not threatening. Just... overwhelmed.

He was breathing like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

She looked up at him. “Quinn…”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t kiss her.

Just stared at her like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

So she leaned in first.

And when their lips met, it was nothing like last time.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was messy. Desperate. Loaded with every word they hadn’t said.

He kissed her like he’d lost control of something he’d been keeping locked away. Like if he didn’t kiss her, he’d fall apart.

She matched him—fingers tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer, like this was the only way to understand each other.

They found the couch without trying. Her bag hit the floor. His jacket slipped off his shoulders. Their hands were everywhere—rushed, frantic, but still careful in the way only people who had once been everything to each other could be.

It wasn’t about sex.

Not really.

It was about needing.

It was about not knowing how else to say, I’m still here.

When they collapsed together, tangled in blankets, sweat cooling on their skin, he buried his face in her neck. Said nothing. Just breathed.

And for the first time in a long time—

She let him stay.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It happened again the next week.

Another loss. Another late night. Another knock on her door just past midnight.

He didn’t say much. Just stood there, hoodie pulled over his head, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes shadowed and tired. And she let him in.

No questions. No rules. No promises.

It became a rhythm. A quiet agreement that neither of them ever spoke aloud. After a bad game, he’d show up. And she’d let him.

Some nights they barely spoke. Others, he’d collapse onto her couch, bury his face in her lap, and let her run her fingers through his hair while the silence pressed in heavy around them. He never cried. Not once. But there were nights when the weight of him—his body, his breathing, the way he held on—felt like he was barely holding it together.

They slept tangled up in each other, skin against skin, limbs draped like safety nets. Some mornings he was gone before the sun came up. Other times he made coffee, handed her a mug like they were just any other couple starting their day. And for a few fleeting moments, it felt normal. It felt real.

But then the door would click shut behind him, and she’d be alone again.

And the ache would return.

Because she was falling back into him.

Willingly. Stupidly. Softly.

She knew it wasn’t sustainable. She knew she couldn’t keep letting him in without him ever really staying. But the quiet after he left felt worse than the hollow before he came.

So she took what she could get.

Until, one night, it wasn’t him who showed up.

It was her.

She knocked on his door after a particularly brutal game—one where he didn’t just play badly, but looked lost. Like he didn’t even recognize himself on the ice. The kind of game that would’ve eaten him alive. The kind of night she knew he’d be spiraling.

He opened the door, and for a second, he looked surprised. Then he stepped aside.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. She kissed him hard, fast, pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he let her. Let her take control. Let her pour every word she didn’t know how to say into the way she touched him.

Afterward, she lay in his bed, heart thudding, staring at the ceiling. He was beside her, silent. Awake. Breathing steady.

“This isn’t nothing,” she said, quietly.

He didn’t respond at first. Just turned his head, looked at her like she’d pulled the floor out from under him.

“I know,” he said eventually. “It never was.”

But that was all he gave her.

And she wasn’t sure it was enough.

But then he started showing up after wins.

Not just the hard nights—the ones where his frustration clung to him like a second skin—but the good ones too. The ones where he played well. Where the team pulled off a comeback. Where the locker room was loud and buzzing with adrenaline.

And still, he came to her.

She opened the door to find him smiling. Not broken. Not unraveling. Just Quinn.

At first, it caught her off guard. She didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know what part of him was reaching for her when he wasn’t hurting. But he came inside like he belonged there. Like she was the only place he wanted to be, whether the night had gone to hell or not.

It drove her crazy.

Because it felt like something. Like progress. Like maybe this wasn’t just a pattern built on pain and need. Maybe he wanted her even when he wasn’t falling apart.

But he still didn’t talk about it. Didn’t give it a name.

He’d kiss her like she was his favorite secret. Slide his hands under her shirt and hold her like he couldn’t bear to let go—but when morning came, it was still the same routine. Coffee. A quiet goodbye. The soft click of the door.

No conversation. No clarity. Just the weight of everything left unsaid.

And it ate at her.

Because if he wanted her when he was hurting, and he wanted her when he was happy—

Then what the hell were they doing?

She couldn’t ask. Not yet.

But she was starting to wonder how much longer she could keep pretending it didn’t matter.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no explosion. No screaming match in the middle of the night. No door slamming, no shattered glass. Just a slow, quiet unraveling. A steady erosion of the pieces of herself that had been holding onto hope—hope that maybe, eventually, he would be ready. That maybe, if she just stayed soft and patient and open, he’d reach for her the same way she kept reaching for him.

She kept waiting for him to say something. To name it. To acknowledge the weight of what they were doing. To admit that the line between comfort and love had long since blurred. She waited for a look. A moment. A shift. Anything to tell her that he saw it, too—that he felt it the way she did.

But he never did.

And it hollowed her out.

The nights blurred together. Her apartment no longer felt like hers—it felt like theirs, in all the ways that hurt. The ghost of him was in every room. A hoodie slung over the kitchen chair. A pair of socks left under her bed. A coffee mug that always seemed to reappear in the sink. A toothbrush in the medicine cabinet he never acknowledged, but always used.

He was everywhere. But not really hers.

Not in the way that mattered.

She started noticing things she used to excuse. The way he’d kiss her so softly, but then retreat—pulling back like it scared him. The way his eyes would lower whenever she asked a question that came too close to the truth. How he’d murmur her name in the dark with reverence, but never once in the daylight. Never when anyone else could hear.

It made her feel like a secret. Like a refuge. Like a place he came to hide when the world became too much. And she loved being that safe space for him. But she was also tired of being temporary. Tired of being the in-between. Tired of being the thing he needed, but wouldn’t claim.

She tried to be okay with it.

She tried to tell herself that what they had—this quiet, aching almost—was enough. That even if he never called it love, even if he never gave it a name, she could still hold onto the pieces of it that felt real. His hands on her hips. His head on her chest. The way he’d whisper things into her skin like prayers.

But slowly, quietly, it began to chip away at her.

Until the night it finally cracked open.

It was a Thursday. The air was heavy with impending rain, the kind that hadn’t started yet but clung to everything. He came over late, like he always did. Smelled like clean laundry and the faint sting of post-game sweat. A fresh bruise bloomed beneath his cheekbone—he didn’t mention it, and she didn’t ask. That was their unspoken rule. Don’t ask. Don’t push. Just exist in the space between.

She let him in. Because she always did.

He kissed her like he missed her. Like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground. They didn’t talk. Just touched. Undressed in the dark. Fell into each other like a pattern they knew by heart.

After, he lay sprawled across her bed, scrolling idly through his phone like he wasn’t unraveling her with every second he didn’t speak. She sat at the edge, wrapped in one of his T-shirts, staring out the window. The city lights blinked back at her, soft and indifferent.

She didn’t speak for a long time.

When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Are you ever going to tell me what this is?”

Quinn froze. His thumb paused mid-scroll. Slowly, he turned to look at her. Something in his face shifted, tightened.

“Ness…”

“No,” she said, still quiet but firmer now. “I need you to tell me. Because I’m going insane. You come here. You sleep in my bed. You hold me like I matter. And then you leave like none of it means anything.”

He sat up, legs over the edge of the bed. Hands clasped together between his knees.

“You know it means something,” he said.

“Then say it,” she pushed. Her voice cracked around the words. “Say what it means.”

He was silent.

She let out a broken laugh—bitter, exhausted. “Exactly.”

“Nessa, this isn’t simple—”

“No,” she snapped, standing. “It’s not. But it could be. If you just let it. If you just chose me. If you stopped hiding behind excuses and fear and whatever this is.”

She was shaking now. Her chest tight with the weight of every unspoken word she’d carried.

He looked up at her like she was breaking his heart. But still—he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t fight.

Still.

Tears stung behind her eyes, hot and sharp. But she didn’t let them fall.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I can’t keep giving you all these pieces of me if you’re never going to take them.”

He stood then. Reached for her like it was instinct.

She stepped back. One foot. That was all.

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t get to touch me if you’re not going to stay.”

The room went still.

He looked at her, completely gutted.

And then he nodded. Just once. Small. Devastated.

She turned before he could see her cry.

This time, she was the one who left.

And for the first time since this all began—

He didn’t follow.

He didn’t move for a long time after she left.

He just sat there, still half-dressed, the sheet tangled around his waist, staring at the door like it might swing open again. Like maybe she’d come back. Like maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. Like if he stayed still long enough, the ache in his chest would dull, or maybe vanish entirely.

But the silence settled in heavy. And it stayed. It crept into the corners of the room, coiling around the spaces where her presence used to live. It seeped into the air, into his bones, until the entire apartment felt like a museum of what used to be.

The next few days passed in a haze. He didn’t sleep much. Didn’t eat. His routines dulled into muscle memory. Wake up. Practice. Skate. Shower. Pretend. He played like a shadow—still there, but not fully. He hit his marks but lacked his edge. His passes were sharp, his skates fast, but there was no fire in him.

The guys noticed. JT asked once if he was good. Hughes nodded, offered a quick "Yeah, all good," and slipped out before anyone could press. But everyone knew. Something was off. Everyone saw it.

He kept thinking about her standing by that window. Her voice when she said, "You don’t get to touch me if you’re not going to stay." It echoed louder than anything else in his life. Louder than the skates on ice, louder than the crowd after a win, louder than the silence that followed her leaving.

He remembered her face, the way her eyes looked tired but hopeful. The way her voice didn’t shake until the very end. She hadn’t been angry. That was the worst part. She’d been done.

The apartment felt hollow now. Too clean, too quiet. Her hoodie still hung behind the bathroom door. Her scent lingered on his pillow, faint but present, clinging like a ghost that refused to let go. The extra toothbrush sat untouched in the medicine cabinet. Her favorite blanket—the one she always pulled around her shoulders like armor—was still folded in the corner of the couch.

He kept replaying everything he hadn’t said.

He thought about her hands, always cold. How she’d tuck them under his hoodie. The way she would narrate random things out loud while brushing her teeth. The sound of her laugh when she was tired, how it cracked like she didn’t have the energy to fully hold it in.

He thought about texting her. Calling. Driving to her place and standing at her door the way she had so many times for him. But fear rooted him in place.

What if she didn’t want him back?

What if he said everything he should’ve said months ago, and she just looked at him the way she did that night—calm, tired, and done?

He told himself she needed space. That she deserved that. That he was giving her time to breathe.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He was still scared. Scared to be enough. Scared to fail at something that meant more to him than any game ever had. Scared to admit that he loved her, and had for longer than he ever let himself believe.

And worst of all—he was scared that now it was too late.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Vanessa didn’t see him for two weeks.

Not at the rink. Not after games. Not in the tunnels, not in warmups, not even in passing. It was as if he’d rearranged his entire existence to avoid her, and she hated how much it hurt. How much it still felt like rejection.

She told herself it was a blessing. She needed space. Needed distance. But her chest still clenched every time she walked into the arena and didn’t see him. Every time she opened the team group text and saw his name without a reply. Every time she passed the visitors’ bench and caught herself scanning for his profile.

The silence gutted her at first.

It made everything feel louder—her thoughts, her doubts, her heartbeat echoing in the silence of her apartment. She’d grown used to his presence, to his steady breathing beside her, to the way he always pulled her in close even when he was half-asleep. Now, it was just her and the quiet.

But then the silence hardened her.

She buried herself in work. Took every available assignment. Said yes to back-to-backs, to feature shoots, to sideline interviews she used to avoid. Anything to fill the time, to keep her from sitting in the stillness long enough for the ache to take over. She got good at pretending.

She was professional. Polished. Composed.

But under it all, she was unraveling.

Nights were the worst. When the world slowed down. When the distractions stopped. When she lay in bed with her phone pressed to her chest, staring at the ceiling. Thumb hovering over his name, always wondering—if she messaged him, would he answer? Would it even matter?

She never sent it.

She couldn’t be the one to reach out.

Not again.

She saw glimpses of him through the lens of her job. In highlight reels. In locker room interviews she had to edit. He was composed, focused. A professional.

But she saw through it. She knew what his real smile looked like. And it wasn’t that.

And still—he said nothing. Reached for nothing.

She held her silence like a shield. A fragile kind of pride. But it didn’t protect her from the ache. From the way her body still curled toward the space he used to fill. From the echo of his voice in the back of her mind, whispering her name like it was something sacred.

She missed him.

God, she missed him.

But she couldn’t go back to what they were.

She couldn’t keep playing the safe space if he wasn’t ever going to make her his home.

So she waited.

Not with hope—hope had burned out weeks ago, flickering away with every unsaid word and closed door.

She waited with dignity. With clarity. With the kind of quiet strength that came from choosing herself for the first time in a long time.

If he came back, he’d have to do it on his own.

He’d have to mean it.

He’d have to fight.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It all came to a head near the end of her first season.

The pressure of making it to the playoffs was on everyone's mind—media, staff, fans—but for Quinn, it wasn't just about points and standings. He was injured. Had been for most of the season. A nagging, persistent issue he'd pushed aside for too long had finally caught up to him.

And when the scan came back, when the team doctor looked him in the eyes with that grim expression and said the words he already feared, it hit him like a freight train.

"You’re out for the rest of the season."

It felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His stomach dropped. His throat closed. For a moment, he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in his ears.

He sat there, silent, numb. Hands clenched into fists so tight that his injured knuckles turned white. Every word that followed blurred. Something about rehab, recovery time, timelines. None of it mattered.

Because it was over.

He was supposed to be their leader. Their captain. The one who stood tall when the team needed him. And now, at the most critical time of the year, he was benched. Useless. Broken.

He thanked the staff with a quiet nod and left the facility without saying a word. He barely made it to his car before the first sob ripped out of his chest. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly he thought it might snap in half. And for the first time in years, Quinn Hughes cried like a kid.

Not the silent, stoic kind of tears he’d trained himself to shed in private. But the full-body, breathless kind. The kind that left his throat raw and his face flushed. The kind that emptied something deep inside.

He didn’t go home right away. He drove around for hours, circling the city with no destination. At one point, he parked in an empty lot overlooking the water and stared out, trying to breathe. But nothing felt real.

His body ached. His pride burned. And worst of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Vanessa.

She should’ve been the first person he called. The one he leaned on. The one who would sit next to him, not saying a word, just being there.

But he’d destroyed that. Torn it apart with his silence. With his fear.

He remembered the night they crossed that line. The boat. The stars. The way her laugh had echoed over the water. The way she looked at him like he was more than just a hockey player. Like he was Quinn.

And he remembered the morning after, the way the light hit her bare shoulder as she stirred in his bed. The quiet peace of it. The way he panicked.

Instead of telling her he loved her—because God, he did—he shut her out. Put up walls. Pretended it was nothing.

He hurt her. Repeatedly. And she pulled away.

So now, here he was. Alone. Broken in every way. And the only person who could truly reach him had every reason to walk away.

His family noticed. Ellen noticed.

And eventually, she called Vanessa.

Ellen, who had always been like a second mom. Who’d helped her through college stress and lonely holidays. Who made her tea and let her curl up on the Hughes' couch like she belonged there. Who’d always referred to her as “our girl” in group texts and had slipped her a bracelet for good luck before her first day with the Canucks.

Ellen sounded tired. Worried.

“Can you check on him, Nessa? He’s not letting us in. But maybe... maybe he’ll let you.”

How could she say no?

How could she explain to Ellen that her son had dangled her heart like a puck in a shootout—teasing, drawing her in, only to leave her flailing when he skated right past? That he made her feel like first-line material behind closed doors, and a healthy scratch in public?

So she didn’t. She sucked it up. Bit down the resentment. Swallowed the ache. And she found herself standing in front of a door she knew too well. The paint chipped near the bottom where his hockey bag always hit it. The doormat crooked like always.

She knocked softly, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear. Half-hoping she could turn around and leave and say she tried.

But he did.

And when the door opened, her breath caught.

Quinn looked... broken.

There were bags under his eyes, dark and heavy. His cheeks had thinned out. His hair stuck up in uneven waves, like he hadn’t brushed it in days. He wore an old hoodie—one she remembered from college—and sweatpants that sagged at the waist. And his eyes, those warm hazel eyes, were dull.

Her heart clenched.

Of course she knew he was injured. She worked for the team. She’d spent the last few weeks asking players about his absence in press conferences. But this? This wasn’t just about being off the ice. This was something deeper. Something heavier.

Suddenly, she felt a pang of guilt. For shutting him out. For assuming he was fine. But then she reminded herself—no. Her feelings were valid. He’d hurt her, too. He’d left her hanging in the worst kind of emotional limbo. That didn’t go away just because he looked like a ghost now.

When he opened the door that evening and saw Vanessa standing there, arms crossed, eyes guarded but filled with something he couldn’t name, it nearly undid him.

Her presence brought both relief and devastation. Relief because she was there. Devastation because he didn’t deserve it.

it was like walking into a stranger’s apartment.

Coffee rings stained the counter. Dishes sat crusted in the sink. A blanket was tossed haphazardly on the couch, and empty Gatorade bottles were stacked near the recycling bin but hadn’t made it in. Takeout bags crowded the trash. The TV remote was on the floor.

It looked like a college dorm. Like Luke’s old place in Michigan, not the home of a 25-year-old NHL captain.

She looked at him.

“Shower. Now.”

Her voice left no room for argument. It wasn’t a request—it was a command.

Quinn blinked, almost confused, but nodded slowly. His shoulders slumped like he was back in Michigan and Ellen had just scolded him for leaving wet towels on the floor. Without another word, he shuffled toward the bathroom.

The second the water started running, Vanessa got to work.

She moved through the kitchen first, tossing the trash, scraping old food into the bin, loading the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters with a damp cloth she found under the sink, fluffed the couch pillows, folded the blankets. She paused when she found his book on the floor—spine bent, pages warped. She placed it gently on the side table.

Then she opened the fridge.

And sighed.

It was practically empty. A few sauces. Half a bottle of orange juice. Old takeout containers that had long passed the acceptable window of consumption. She checked the expiration dates. Grimaced. Closed the fridge.

She pulled out her phone and opened a grocery delivery app.

She ordered the basics. Eggs. Bread. Chicken breasts. Pasta. Fruit. Soup. Snacks. A case of water. Some of his favorites—salt and vinegar chips, the protein yogurt she used to catch him eating in the middle of the night when they shared hotel rooms.

And when the order was placed, she moved back to the living room.

The sound of the shower was still running, but something about the apartment already felt... less heavy.

It was the first time in weeks that she’d felt like herself around him again. Like she could do something. Like she wasn’t powerless.

Like maybe—just maybe—he was finally ready to let her in.

But that didn’t mean she’d make it easy for him.

Still, when the shower kept running and the minutes ticked on, something inside her shifted. It was just a little too long for someone to be in there, even someone as emotionally clogged as Quinn Hughes. Vanessa stood by the kitchen island, arms crossed, fingers tapping against her bicep. The buzz from the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment besides the steady stream of water behind the bathroom door.

She told herself it was fine. He probably just needed a few extra minutes. Maybe the water was helping his sore muscles. Maybe he was just letting the steam do its thing. But a sliver of worry pushed its way under her skin. She knew Quinn. And something about the silence behind that door felt wrong.

Curiosity, concern, and a little guilt warred in her chest. Finally, she padded toward the bathroom, feet quiet against the hardwood. She paused in front of the door, knocking gently.

"Quinn?"

No answer.

The doorknob was warm in her hand. She hesitated—counted to five—then turned it.

Steam spilled out in thick waves, fogging her glasses and curling around her legs. The bathroom smelled like eucalyptus and soap and something faintly metallic. Her eyes scanned through the haze, finally landing on him.

He stood under the water, unmoving. Shoulders slumped forward, head slightly bowed, eyes wide and startled like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It was a look she recognized, one she hadn’t seen since he was nineteen and she found him stress-baking banana bread at two in the morning during finals week.

Only this wasn’t funny. It wasn’t charming. It was heartbreaking.

"You okay?" she asked, voice quiet but cutting through the fog like a blade.

His face crumpled in frustration, embarrassment flashing across his features.

"No," he muttered. "I—I can’t open anything. Shampoo. Soap. My grip’s shit right now."

He lifted his hand like proof, fingers barely curling around the empty air.

Her stomach twisted.

There was a long pause where she didn’t say anything. Just watched him. Watched the water cascade over his tense shoulders, watched how small and worn down he looked. Her throat burned.

Then she sighed. A soft, tired sound.

She stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her.

He turned, confused, blinking at her through the mist. "Nessa, what are you—"

But she was already moving. Unbuttoning her shirt, slipping it off with slow precision. Then her jeans. Her bra. Underwear. She folded each item carefully, placing them on the closed toilet lid like she’d done this a hundred times before. Because she had. 

Quinn’s eyes didn’t leave her, not for a second. He looked stunned—still as stone, mouth parted slightly.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, softer this time.

She stepped into the shower without hesitation, water hitting her skin with a familiar heat.

"Just be quiet and turn around," she said, voice calm, steady.

He obeyed without argument.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was reverent. Heavy with everything they hadn’t said, with everything they’d avoided. She reached for the shampoo, popped the lid, and poured a small amount into her hand.

Then her fingers were in his hair, massaging the soap into his scalp with slow, deliberate care.

It was the kind of touch that unraveled him.

His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his shoulders dropped. Really dropped. Not just a sigh or a stretch—but a full-bodied exhale, like the tension he’d been carrying for months was finally dissolving beneath her hands.

She worked the lather in gently, tracing the shape of his skull, letting the pads of her fingers press into him in a way that felt grounding. Healing.

When she rinsed the shampoo out, her hands slid down to his back, lathering soap, moving in circles over tight muscles, down his spine, across his shoulder blades. He twitched slightly under her touch.

"Don’t get any ideas," she warned, lips curving slightly.

A dark chuckle escaped him, low and tired. "Too late."

But he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t cross a line.

He just let her take care of him.

And when she was done, she reached for the towel on the hook outside the glass door.

"Rinse off," she said softly, stepping out, steam swirling around her. "I’ve got dinner for you out there."

She didn’t wait for a reply.

He turned, still silent, watching her disappear behind the closing door.

Alone again in the shower, Quinn leaned against the cool tile, water still rushing over his skin, and let his forehead rest against the wall.

It was weird.

Weird because it was nice.

Nice in a way that made Quinn’s chest ache.

Nice in a way that made him feel like shit.

As the water soaked into his hair again, he let the guilt rise. Let it sit heavy and choking in his throat.

Because he thought about all the ways he’d failed her.

About how long he’d been drawn to her—how Jack brought her around and she was sunshine wrapped in sarcasm, and he had to dig his nails into the inside of his palms to keep himself in check. She was off-limits. Always had been. And then she wasn’t. And then she was, but he’d already tasted what it felt like to have her.

That night on the boat changed everything.

It broke his rules. Broke him.

And instead of facing it, he shut down. Pretended it didn’t happen. Pulled away because it scared him.

He saw the pain in her eyes when he did. And he still kept going. Kept taking from her when it suited him. And when she finally gave him a taste of his own medicine—when she closed the door on him—he realized just how badly he’d fucked up.

Because the ache he felt in her absence wasn’t just about sex. It was about her. Her laugh. Her sarcasm. Her voice calling his name across the rink. Her presence.

He felt disposable. Rejected.

And that’s probably how she had felt every time he used her and left.

It wasn’t a good feeling.

Not even close.

And now? He was terrified he’d realized it too late.

When Quinn emerged from the bathroom, his skin still warm and flushed from the shower, he padded quietly into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and a fresh hoodie. Steam clung to his damp curls, and he rubbed the towel once more over the back of his neck before tossing it into the laundry hamper.

He froze.

There she was. Vanessa.

Standing in his kitchen, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, scooping steaming soup into a ceramic bowl. She moved easily through the space, grabbing a spoon, setting it on a folded napkin, pouring water into a glass beside it. She looked like she belonged there—like she’d done it a hundred times before. The sight of her in his kitchen sent a ripple through his chest, something tight and unfamiliar. Something that felt suspiciously like longing.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the doorway of his bedroom, watching her.

What if this was every night? he wondered.

What if he hadn’t messed it all up?

"It’s chicken noodle," she said, not looking up. "Figured it’d be easy on your stomach."

He took a shaky breath. "Why are you doing this?"

She paused. Then set the ladle down with a quiet clink. "Because Ellen asked me to."

His chest caved. Of course. "So this is pity."

Her eyes snapped to his, fire flickering behind them. "Don’t do that. Don’t twist this. You’re the one who pushed me away, remember? You’re the one who couldn’t even look at me in public after making me feel like I was the only person in the world behind closed doors."

His hands balled into fists. "I didn’t know how to handle it!"

"Then you shouldn't have touched me!" she shouted, the sound of her voice splitting the quiet. "You shouldn't have looked at me like I was yours and then acted like I was nothing."

His voice cracked. "I was scared."

"So was I!" Her eyes brimmed with tears. "But I stayed. I gave you everything. And you made me feel like I was begging for scraps. Like I wasn’t worth being seen."

He stepped forward, jaw clenched. "I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did! You broke me, Quinn. And now I’m here, cleaning your kitchen, feeding you, and I don’t even know why!"

He dropped into a chair, face in his hands, shaking. "Because I love you."

The words hung in the air, trembling and raw.

She froze.

"What?"

He looked up, eyes shining, voice barely holding together. "I love you. I am so goddamn in love with you that it physically hurts. I think about you constantly. I miss you even when you're standing in front of me. I know I don’t deserve to say it—not after everything—but it’s the truth. And I promised myself I wouldn’t hurt you. That I’d protect you. That I’d never cross that line with Jack’s best friend. But I did the opposite."

He stood slowly, inching closer. "I used you when I was hurting. I treated you like a secret because I was terrified. Terrified of what it meant. Terrified that I’d ruin it, ruin you. And I did."

She blinked fast, trying to hold it together, arms hugging her ribs like she was trying to contain everything that wanted to spill out.

"You did ruin it," she whispered. Her voice was soft but sharp. "You made me feel like I was disposable. Like I was your escape, not your choice."

He nodded, pain flickering across his face. "I know. I know I don’t deserve your help."

She swallowed hard. "You don’t."

He sucked in a breath that rattled in his chest. "Then why are you here?"

She stepped closer, stopping just in front of him. She tilted her head up, eyes locking with his, and for a second, it felt like time paused.

"Because I can’t stand seeing you like this. Because no matter how much you hurt me, I still care. And I hate that I do. But I do."

His breath hitched. "You shouldn’t."

Her hand lifted, trembling slightly as she ghosted her fingers over his cheek. "Let me help."

His head dropped, forehead pressing against hers like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"I’m scared," he whispered. The words trembled on his tongue.

She didn’t flinch.

"Scared to let myself go. Scared to fall for you completely and not know how to stop. Scared of needing you. Scared that if I let myself have this—have you—I’ll ruin it like I always do."

His voice cracked open. "Scared of a future with you. Because what if I break it? What if I lose you? What if I lose myself?"

And he looked so small in that moment. So vulnerable. His hands hung at his sides, twitching like they wanted to hold her but didn’t believe they were allowed.

She reached for him instead. Wrapped her arms around him and gently lowered them both to the kitchen floor. They sank down together, a tangle of limbs and trembling hearts, backs against the cabinet, knees folded, breathing ragged.

He collapsed into her, head buried in her shoulder, his entire body shaking like he couldn’t hold in the weight of everything anymore. Her fingers found his curls, threading through them gently, grounding him.

"I’m so scared," he said again, his voice barely audible. "Because of how much I love you. Because of how much I need you. I can’t function without you. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without thinking about what I did to you. The thought of you being gone? It fucking terrifies me."

Her chest clenched. She pressed her lips to his temple, a soft, lingering kiss that said everything her words couldn’t yet.

"Please, Quinn," she whispered against his skin. "Let me help. Let me be there for you. Let me love you out loud. You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore."

He lifted his head slowly, eyes meeting hers. Red-rimmed, exhausted, but open. Searching. The kind of look that begged for forgiveness even when he didn’t think he deserved it.

And something in him cracked wide open.

He nodded.

Not because he thought he was worthy.

But because he believed her.

And for the first time in weeks, he let himself be held. Let the walls fall. Let the fear speak. Let the love in.

Let himself fall.

Let himself love her.

Not in secret. Not in fear.

But in the quiet, honest way they both needed.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to start healing.