#god I hate every time I just get stuck with closing shifts

[koukoupepia]

Getting scheduled closing 3 days and then opening 1 day is driving me insane my sleep schedule is gonna be fucked beyond repair

[wonryllis]

ʬʬ. ! POKER FACE ﹙ SHE'S GOT ME LIKE NOBODY ﹚

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park sunghoon with fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ enemies but secretly in love and oblivious, fluff. LIB? word count `2375

prompt. wiping a bit of frosting (or smth else) off of their cheek while eating and taking it for themself from list 02. part of this event by @okwonyo

JAY VER. JAKE VER. SUNGHOON VER: one-sided

"you look like a chipmunk," and i wanna kiss you so bad right now. sunghoon really wishes he could do that, grab your jaw, fingers digging into your soft puffed cheeks, and pull you against him as he smashes his lips into yours.

he's been dreaming of it for as long as he can remember. for as long as he knew he shouldn't be dreaming of that. for as long as he knew you have hated him and for as long as he has been supposed to be hating you too.

look sunghoon doesn't really have a solid reason to hate you besides the fact that you crush on his best friend (especially when he's been here all along?) but if getting to talk to you and sticking close by comes at the cost of pretending to do, then he doesn't really mind it. though it doesn't do much because everyone, from friends to professors, everyone can see how he's been waiting on the opportunity to jump you.

and you? you are the most oblivious thing there can ever be. sunghoon could be right up in your face, whispering sweet nothings and everything in between and you'd refuse to believe he feels anything but hatred for you. if not that then annoyance? because you for sure are always annoyed at him and his flirty antics.

"shut-" he's suddenly reaching forward and across the table, hands cupping your cheek, oh god he's melting you're so soft, thumb swiping against your skin to wipe off the salad dressing. he puts it into his mouth next, sucking off the sweet sauce with an irritating smirk on his face,"so cute," a look of lure in his hooded eyes staring at you,"eat slowly baby no one's gonna take your foo-,"

"m nat yiur baby!" you interrupt immediately, speaking through the stuffed salad in your cheeks, eyes shifting back and forth to heeseung sitting beside him. praying he wouldn't misunderstand even though your insanely fast beating heart clearly knows who it's beating for.

"come on babies don't speak with full mouth, no matter how cute you look," i'm gonna die if you don't stop right now sunghoon feels like he'll combust any moment, blow his cover and mess everything up. he doesn't give a shit that your crush aka his friend, is sitting right next to him, if anything he's doing it in front of him on purpose even though he knows the boy has got no feelings for you. he has just got something for the way your face scrunches adorably when you get annoyed, and how your oh so kissable lips turn into an angry pout that does nothing to show your anger but tempt him even more.

"ou knww wat m levnig," grabbing your plate with you, you give heeseung a tight lipped cheery little smile and two short kicks under the table to sunghoon before leaving the area.

fuck park sunghoon and fuck his hotness and fuck how he gets to you every single time. your heartbeat keeps on getting higher and skipping beats with each step you take, repeatedly hearing his words in your head again and again. even more so when you hear the sound of his footsteps behind you, those very familiar clicking of his chelsea dress shoes that suit him devilishly well.

"enjoy," sunghoon leaves the table after you, patting his friend's back in a quick apology and rushing away.

"yo chipmunk cheeks! wait up for me!"

"get away!"

just fucking kiss already. lee heeseung has had it enough already. he can't stand third wheeling anymore, it's making him sick. he needs to get you two into seven minutes in heaven or something. just anything to end whatever this is you have going on with him stuck in between.

"whatcha doin baby chicks?" sunghoon's annoying ass voice has you looking up from your book, eyes following him as he drags out the chair beside yours and plops himself down smugly. he's alone. he's alone alone.

"where's heeseung?" you ask, remembering how he promised he'd bring along the boy for a study date. the sole reason you agreed to meet him in the library.

"somewhere between those shelves," sunghoon fingers point towards the rows behind your table,"probably getting you know what," he suggests, resting his head on his hands, staring at you trying to find your guy. "liar, he's not like you," you retort and it has sunghoon grinning from ear to ear,"hm, what do you think i am like?" there's a hint of amusement and a tone of teasing in his voice, it makes it hard for you to conceal your nervousness. so many times of it happening yet you still can't control the fluttering butterflies and sparks in your stomach. are you sure you're crushing on the right person? well heeseung is nice he helps you with notes from missed classes and most importantly doesn't taunt you for being second.

"a predator," nevertheless trying to outwardly stand your ground is something you have learned to do when it comes to him. do not show how weak he gets you. do not let him have the upper hand. that's been your motto since day one.

you almost feel your heart jumping out of your chest when he bends to grab the seat of your chair and pulls you closer, leaning so close to your face, you feel his breath hit your lips with every exhale,"so you must be my pretty little prey?" if you move just an inch forward you'd end up smearing your cherry gloss on his chapped lips, feeling hyper aware of every little movement from the touch of his fingers near the hem of your skirt to the little shifting you do in your seat. fidgeting and constant staring at each other's lips. the faint hovering of his palm on your thighs, the other lingering over hand resting on the table, like a cage in between,"you're gettin-"

"guys i finally found it!" you're snapped out of it when heeseung slams a pile of books on the table, hands flapping up to slap against sunghoon's chest and push him away with all the might you got.

it takes you a few minutes to settle yourself down into calm, ignoring the way sunghoon complains about being harshly shoved for apparently no reason. and smiling at heeseung as he explains how he'd been trying to look for some books on zoology which somehow happened to always be borrowed out, that is until today. you take a second look at the books he shows, hitting an embarassing realization, eyes switching between the two guys.

"wait- you were looking for these books over there?" pointing to the same rows sunghoon did initially.

"what else were you thinking in that tiny head of yours, chipmunk?" sunghoon wiggles his brows suggestively knowing exactly what you were thinking of, enjoying the way you come to the horrific realization of how you both were just flirting, more specifically of what you implied and what you didn't deny.

"nothing, shut up and do your own work!" a poor attempt at brushing it off but he'll let it go since you aren't really alone right now. a lovesick grin, eyes trained on you the entire time. only heeseung notices and once again wonders of when you'll knock it off.

"miss second place at a frat party? that's new," if there's hell, yours is definitely tied to sunghoon, your personal lucifer on guard. amidst a roaring crowd of people he still manages to find you and get on your nervous in a matter of seconds. time and again he's proven to be the bane of your existence.

"shouldn't that go for you, mr first place? don't you want to keep it?" against the counter on the far end of the kitchen, he has you trapped.

"keeping you? i think i already have it," his lips grazing over your ear as he whispers in a low voice, pulling away immediately to leave you wanting for more. "no i-" you shutter for the first time in front of him, shit.

"i meant the last assignment, i scored more than you," you sound much softer and tinier than you would have ever liked to, but your brain's in such a mess you can't think straight.

"you're so studious it's cute but chipmunk i couldn't give a shit about being second place to you, you can take my place any time you like," he gets so much closer again you start panicking, if you don't get out of here right now, losing all your pride and prudence to him wouldn't be impossible anymore.

pushing him away slightly you hope he'd give way to you,"i'm gonna go find heeseung," adding all the more reason to it. "let me help you with that," but he's adamant on not leaving you alone today. six months of watching you have a crush on his best friend and he's had enough.

dragging you out to the living room, he brings you to the couch on the other end of where heeseung stands surrounded by his group of friends. and sitting down on it, is immediately pulling you onto his lap, hands going around the waist to hold you close,"let's make him jealous," his lips brush against yours, getting a sweet taste of your lipgloss. just like how he's always imagined.

"kiss me,"

and heeseung sighs from across the room. fucking finally.

taglist. ( open ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @nanabbg @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[buckslvrz]

oblivious - evan buckley x fem!reader

summary: buck and reader are both so stupid they can't realize they're in love with each other.

genre: fluff 

warnings: swearing 

pairing: evan buckley x fem!reader

word count: 803

note: omg not me in my writing era,,,, no but fr if this sucks, please spare me because it's my first time trying to write in years! please like n reblog if you like it! if u don't, please leave constructive criticism. i can take it, i'm not a little bitch :P

In the bustling firehouse atmosphere, Buck and I were rushing up the stairs after a call, hoping to get a bit of peace before the alarm went off again.

I throw myself down on the couch with Buck following suit, both of us still clad in our gear but finally catching our breath. I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes, but Buck just had to ruin the silence with his big, fat mouth. "I think you might have scared the flames away for good with that one," he quipped, a playful smirk on his lips.

I rolled my eyes with a laugh, picking up a pillow and throwing it at his head. "Oh, please. Like you're one to talk, Mr. 'I Can Handle Any Blaze,'" I retorted, glaring at him with a smile on my face.

We continued back and forth, but our teasing was interrupted by the rest of the 118 walking over to the couch. Hen had a small smirk on her face and I knew she was about to say something stupid. She made it her mission to tease Buck and I every day. "Hey, lovebirds, save the flirting for after the shift," she joked, earning a chorus of laughter from the group.

Buck and I exchanged embarrassed glances, both our cheeks flushing slightly. I just huffed and stuck my finger up towards them, hoping to play it off like I didn't care. "Come on, guys, we're just friends," Buck protested, his tone slightly defensive.

"Yeah, we're friends just like the rest of you, fuck off." I added, feeling embarrassed as they all laughed at us. I turn my head slightly and glance at Buck, my eyes meeting his immediately.

They continued to tease us as they walked over to the kitchen area. Buck and I were still staring at each other. It felt like he was trying to say something but nothing was coming out. "Anyways, they're annoying." I chuckle nervously, trying to play it off as I stand up and walk towards the stairs.

I made my way down them but heard footsteps behind me. I glanced back and saw that Buck was following me. "Do you hate the idea?" Buck asked. His face was red and he was biting the inside of his cheek.

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously, my head tilting slightly. He sighed and grabbed my arm gently, tugging me behind the firetruck.

"Do you hate the idea of us being together? Does it gross you out? Would you like it? I mean give me something y/n." The words tumbled out of his mouth, his hands flying everywhere. He was looking anywhere but at me.

"Buck," I sigh softly, "Of course not. I wouldn't mind being with you." My eyes widen at the words that leave my mouth, watching his face snap towards mine as I begin to panic.

"I mean if that's what you want too!" I exclaimed, my hands shaking as I laughed nervously. My face felt like it was on fire. Oh god, I couldn't do this. I didn't wait for a reaction, I just spun on my heels but his arm stopped me.

Buck wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest as he looked down at me, smiling with a small blush on his cheeks. "I knew you couldn't resist me."

I roll my eyes and hit his chest with my hands, letting them rest on his shoulders. "You're insufferable, Buckley," I smile up at him and watch as he glances at my lips before dragging his eyes back up to mine.

I save him the effort and lean up, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming our lips together. My stomach felt like it was on fire as I run a hand through his tousled hair. His lips move against mine with hunger as I giggle into his mouth. "About damn time!"

We both pull away from each other startled, and look up to see Bobby and Hen standing on the balcony looking down at us. They both had huge smiles on their faces. "Eddie! Chim! You will not believe what you just missed!" Hen yelled again as Bobby whooped and clapped his hands. I laughed loudly as Buck slipped his arms around my waist again, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"We should have done this sooner," He mumbled, bumping his head on mine gently. I hum in agreement, "I know, we're too stupid." Buck shook his head and chuckled, pressing a small kiss to my lips. "No, we're smart, we just procrastinated," he whispered, his lips brushing against mine. I pull away, my cheeks flushed as I shake my head. "Well, at least we did it now," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

jess mariano fic where they bicker a lot and the whole town is tired of it (especially luke 💀) and fem!reader calls him sunshine because he's so obviously NOT sunshine and he calls her princess and they're so mean but also they're in love your honor (pre-dating)?????

thank you so much for the request love!!

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You and Jess hated each other, and the town was tired of it.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Jess Mariano x Reader

You were wiping down the counter at Luke’s, rolling your eyes for the hundredth time that morning as you listened to Jess clatter dishes in the back. Since the day he showed up in Stars Hollow, you’d been at war. He had this knack for getting under your skin, always with some snarky remark or that cocky grin that made you want to throw a coffee pot at his head.

And, of course, Luke—bless his exhausted heart—thought it would be a good idea for you to train Jess when he started working at the diner. Which meant you were stuck with him every shift.

"Careful, Princess," Jess muttered as he brushed past you, grabbing plates to bring out to a table. "Wouldn’t want you to break a nail."

You shot him a glare, biting back the urge to snap something worse. "Please, Sunshine, if I wanted your advice, I’d ask for it."

He turned to face you, an eyebrow quirked. "Sunshine?" Jess's voice dripped with sarcasm as he leaned in, so close you could smell the faintest hint of cigarettes and the leather of his jacket. "You’ve got jokes now?"

"Oh, yeah. You’re just a ray of joy, aren’t you?" You crossed your arms, refusing to back down.

"I’m not the one acting like I’m too good for this place," he retorted, eyes narrowing in that familiar way that made your blood boil. "I get it, you were the queen of Stars Hollow High, but guess what? No one cares here."

Your jaw clenched at the mention of your high school reputation. The "popular girl" label was something you'd worked hard to leave behind, and Jess wielded it like a weapon, knowing exactly how much it pissed you off.

"Maybe if you stopped acting like an arrogant jerk for five minutes, people wouldn’t hate you so much." You shot back, shoving a coffee mug into his hand.

"And maybe if you stopped pretending to be perfect, Princess, you wouldn’t be so insufferable." Jess’s smirk tugged at his lips as he called you the nickname he knew you hated most.

Before you could fire back, Luke’s voice boomed from across the diner. “Will you two stop for five minutes?!”

You turned, wide-eyed, just as Jess casually flipped the mug in his hand, and—of course—it slipped. The ceramic hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Luke threw his arms in the air. “Again?! Another mug? I can’t afford this many replacements just because you two can’t flirt like normal people!”

“Flirt?” you and Jess echoed in unison, horrified at the very suggestion.

You were about to respond when the door swung open again, and Lorelai entered, taking one look at the scene before shaking her head. “Oh, God. They’re at it again.” She grabbed Rory’s arm and started pulling her out of the diner. “Let’s go, Rory. It’s way too early for this.”

“But my pancakes—”

“We’ll get pancakes at Al’s. Come on.”

Luke groaned audibly from behind the kitchen window. “Can you two please just get along for one shift? Is that too much to ask?”

You shot Luke a look. "Tell that to your nephew. He’s the one who acts like he owns the place."

“Maybe because I’m the only one here who actually does any work,” Jess quipped, smirking as he leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed.

Your fists clenched, resisting the urge to knock the smug look off his face. "You're insufferable."

“And you’re spoiled.” His words were harsh, but there was something flickering beneath his tone, something softer, hidden behind the sharp edges of his sarcasm.

“Jess,” Luke warned from the kitchen, his patience thinning by the second. “I swear to God, if you two don’t quit it—”

But you couldn’t stop yourself. Something about Jess made your blood boil, but in a way that also made your heart race. Maybe it was the way he never backed down from you, always meeting your fire with his own. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he was challenging you, daring you to push back.

"I’d rather be spoiled than miserable like you," you shot back, fully aware of how cruel it sounded.

Jess’s smirk faded, and for a second, just a second, you saw something crack in his expression. He stepped closer, voice lower, more serious. "Yeah? Well, at least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not."

Your heart thudded in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something else entirely. But the way he was looking at you now, eyes locked on yours, made your stomach flip.

Suddenly, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous.

"You don’t know anything about me," you whispered, hating how breathless you sounded.

"I know enough," he muttered, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable for once. His gaze flickered to your lips for a split second before he looked away, jaw clenched.

Before you could respond, Luke stormed over, slamming a towel onto the counter between the two of you. "Enough. Both of you. I’m not going to let you ruin this diner with whatever—" He gestured between you and Jess, flustered. "This is."

Jess backed away first, his usual arrogance slipping back into place. "Whatever you say, Uncle Luke."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you grabbed the coffee pot and moved to refill a customer’s mug. But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Jess. Something electric, something dangerous.

And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly why you couldn’t stay away from him.

@honesttogodbimbo your request is pretty much this only so check this out and you can tell me if you want something different instead! 💗

[dalamjisung]

the escape plan ❋ hwang hyunjin

word count: 3528

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x hwang hyunjin

description: you love working as a barista just because you love people watching. in this case, you end up watching hyunjin and his failed date. this is the one where you and hyunjin learn that the escape plan should've been plan A to begin with.

part of Summertime’s Special Collab with @catiuskaa | series masterlist here

It’s the way he smiles that makes chuckle from behind the counter. 

The bar is full today, but then again, it’s full most nights. During the week, you mostly see older couples, and it fills your heart with warmth to imagine a life in which you get to grow old with someone next to you. But then you mind the bar and the older creeps flock in and, suddenly, celibacy is looking pretty good. The weekend is when the youngsters, like you, flock in. 

Seeing people your age on dates is quite funny. It reminds you of why you used to like dates so much and, at the same time, hate them so much. You kind of miss it, the whole excitement of having a crush and getting ready for a date. It’s the silly dances and the makeup process and the singing with a hairbrush that makes you softer for those moments past. But you just don’t have time for that anymore, not with work getting busier by the second. For a minute, you wonder if tourist season came a couple of weeks early, judging by the new faces you see coming around… his included. 

To be fair, you think every single bartender in that place stopped what they were doing to watch him walk in. He is definitely someone you will all gossip about in the back room, and from how your co-worker keeps elbowing you every time he moves, you know she’s going to be your main source of entertainment during closing time. “Oh my god, Y/N, just look at him,” She groans, putting the cup she’s washing down in favour of leaning forward over the counter, as if she can just touch him like that. “He’s so handsome… why can’t it be me on that date?”

“Oh, I don’t think you want to be on that date,” You laugh, raising your brows while getting their drinks ready. He looks soft, gentle; kind enough to sit through what is visibly one of the worst dates you’ve seen during your shifts so far. “That smile is so fake I’m afraid it might get stuck.” 

“How do you know? It might be the best! With a guy like him, I’m sure it will be the best…”

“For her, sure,” Putting the drinks on a tray and getting out from behind the counter, you get ready to go deliver them. Their table is in your section, and if you’re honest, a little snooping never hurt anyone. “But him? Girl, he’s leaning away from her! He’s basically wincing! Don’t be so superficial– just cause he’s pretty doesn’t mean that’s all he cares about!” 

“Go find me some gossip!” She whispers with a wink and basically pushes you off. 

Being a bartender isn’t what you want to do for the rest of your life. The thought of figuring the rest of your life out, though, makes you shiver in horror. You don’t really see a point in planning the future if that means you can’t really live in the present, and so for now, for this moment, this you, this time, you love your job. You love interacting with people, you love listening to stories through the counter, you love when people ask you to make a drink you think they’ll like. Deep down, you know you won’t stay there forever, but that’s just not something you’re ready to face yet. 

“Excuse me,” You announce yourself quietly, approaching from the side so you don’t accidentally spill anything on them. 

There is an order to serving tables– first the napkins, then the cups, then a gentle smile and a small bow before walking away. Despite your words, the goal is to be a ghost, almost like the cups appeared there without a presence looming over the guests. But you move slowly, you’re gracious, polite, and definitely curious. 

“…and then like, they fired me!” Her voice is almost squeaky.“Because I told them I wouldn’t take a meeting from the hairdresser!” 

“But… it was during your work hours…” 

This is the first time you hear his voice and it shocks you. It’s lower than you expected and oh so quiet, like he regrets saying the words even before he says them. You cough a little, hiding the laughter bubbling in the back of your throat. And he must have heard you because he immediately glances up, eyes meeting yours and it’s almost like, when he notices your pursed lips, it unlocks something in him that makes his lips purse too. The speed in which you both look away is comical, but now you know he knows. The bridge between you two has been shattered and now, it’s like you can’t keep crossing. 

“Yeah, but they still should respect my personal boundaries, you know?” This is the moment she looks up at you, eyes lingering a little too long as if she’s questioning why you’re still there. “Anyways, should we get some food? Could you bring us the menu?” 

“Of course, I’ll be right back.” It takes you a minute to grab the menu and return. “Here you go, ma’am, what can I get for you?” 

She rattles off some random items and you make sure to memorise them before turning to him. “And you, sir? What can I get you?” 

“Oh don’t bother, he’ll be sharing what I’ve ordered.”

When she says this, you’re still turned to him and he’s looking right at you, and both your eyes go wide. “Could you please show me where the bathroom is?” He asks instead, and you nod while he gets up and tells his date “I’ll be right back.”

The restrooms are on the upper section of the bar, and you take him upstairs with a stupid smile on your face. He looks like he’s around your age and the long, tired sigh you hear coming from behind you is the last draw– you start laughing out loud, only looking back at him when you get to the top of the stairs. He looks like he’s amused at your reaction yet tortured because of his reality. 

“You’re laughing because it’s not you sitting across from her!” He gasps, head falling in his hands dramatically. “I don’t even need the bathroom, I just need to get out of there!”

Giggling, you nod. “It does seem like it’s not going well.”

“Oh god, even you guys noticed?!”

“To be fair to you, we see dates going all kinds of ways here, so it’s a part of the job.”

For a second, he falls silent, eyes stuck on yours like he’s trying to speak directly into your soul. “I need an escape plan,” He mumbled, head cocking to the side. “And you might just be it.”

“Sorry?” Your eyes go wide at his suggestion. “I can’t– I mean, you can just tell her, no? Just–“

“Oh come on, you’ve seen dates going all kinds of ways and you think I can just tell her?! Are you crazy?! I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t throw a drink on my face!”

“Why did you even ask her on a date? Poor girl thinks she has a really handsome guy into her and you’re planning an escape,” You asked, looking around to make sure no one is listening to your conversation. The last thing you need is a snoopy client deciding to interfere and tell the girl themselves. You’ve seen it happen and you were the one having to separate the fight. 

“I didn’t!” Whining, he stomps her foot on the ground like a child and your brows shoot up in curiosity. “My friend set me up because I haven’t really been going out lately, and it’s not like I was desperate, you know? I was just… busy! But he set me up regardless and he said he met her at a party because she’s his friend’s cousin’s best friend or something like that and I thought ‘how bad can this be?’ but as it turns out it can be really, really bad and I just want to go home and watch some TV with my dog!”

The way he is panting by the end of his rant has your heart squeezing out in sympathy for him. You’ve had had your fair share of bad dates, and it always feels more urgent than they actually are, but in the moment, while you pretend to be someone you’re not and smile at things you normally wouldn’t, all to appease someone you have no intention to see again, it’s a terrible sensation. Feels like getting lost, like you push yourself so far away that you worry if you’ll ever find your way back. And it made you feel guilty, knowing you were purposefully lying to someone who seemed to be having a good time, although by themselves. 

It’s not like you, to interfere and meddle, but he looks so upset with those plump, pouty lips that even you can’t resist it. “Fine,” You mumbled, straightening your back abruptly. “But you’re paying for her! Don’t be a dick! Just… Just follow my lead.”

“You are my saviour!” He cheered. “I’m Hyunjin, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Hyunjin,” You smile, offering him a hand to shake. “I’m Y/N. Also known as your escape plan.” 

What follows next is a really intricate plan. He will go back. He will smile. He will listen to her and give her the attention he craves because as much as he seems to be hating this date, she isn’t and you are not to make her night the worst night of her life. While he does all that, you will grab the food she ordered and you will bring it to her. In your tray, a mysterious drink will sit dangerously by the edge and as you put the food down, the weight shift will destabilise your hand and suddenly Hyunjin will be covered in liquid. He will then be very upset about it, and order the bill, which he will pay in full. Then, he gets to go home should your plan work. 

“You’re a genius,” Hyunjin whispers before returning to his table, and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

All in all, you understand why the girl looks at him like how she does, you’re pretty sure anyone around him is looking at him like that– impressed and slightly intimidated. Hyunjin is a beautiful man– he is way past handsome, at this point, and you would describe him as beautiful. His lips are full and his eyes are sharp, and his laughter, even in misery, sounds like fine tuned music. For a second, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be the one sitting in front of him. He seems charming enough, from your brief interaction; would you have fun? Would he want to escape you, too, or would he stay? Shaking your head, you go back to the counter.

“Did I see you go upstairs with Mister Handsome or do my eyes deceive me?” Of course she was watching you. 

“Your eyes are right, but your mind deceives you,” Rolling your eyes, you can’t quite hide the slight blush tainting your cheeks at her insinuation. 

“You cannot seriously tell me you don’t think he’s cute,” She squinted, stepping closer to you with a teasing smile you ignore, you still have to load the tray and make a random drink. 

“I never said that,” You whisper, trying to keep the conversation private even though you two are in a very open space. “But I don’t know the guy. All I know is that he asked me to get him out of that date so… here I go.” 

Everything goes according to plan. Hyunjin is acting like a gentleman by the time you make it to his table, and the cup of the mysterious, too colourful concoction falls perfectly in his lap. You act the part, too, apologising repeatedly for the accident while pulling out tissues from thin air to try and help him dry off. “Sir, I am so, so sorry!” Maybe you are verging on overacting, but what do you know about that? You’re a bartender, not a Hollywood star. 

The fatal mistake, though, is when your eyes meet again. This time, you can’t help yourself and you snort, so loudly and unload like that it catches everyone by surprise. The tables around are either laughing or gasping and you can’t help the way your entire face goes red, actually embarrassed about this stupid, stupid plan. What were you even thinking when you agreed to this? “I–“ Even your hands shake, the nervousness of your sudden self-awareness getting the best of you with all those eyes burning your back. 

“It’s okay.” 

Somehow you hear him above the screeching screams of the poor girl sitting in front of him. “Y/N, it’s okay,” Hyunjin whispers, shaking his head with a hint of a smile that is not mocking nor cocky. His smile, all pretty and cute, is just as comforting as the little nod he sends your way, reaching towards the floor to pick up the tray with one hand and help you up with the other. It’s steady and large, his hands, and you can’t help but freeze a little when he touches your elbow, pushing you upwards with a smile. “There you go. Thank you, I’ll come to the counter to pay in a second.” 

That is not part of the plan, but you just nod, scurrying away as fast as you possibly can.

This feels weird. You’re not shy. Never have been, actually, which is what makes you so happy working with people; you crave the social interaction, love the conversations, smile at the compliments. It fuels you, knowing that, at some level, you’re making someone happy, even if just for a second when they get their food or their drink. It makes you feel happier, too. Well, usually it makes you feel happier too, but, now, there is nothing you want more than to disappear. “Y/N! Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” 

“Can you mind the bar for a few minutes?” You mumble, already making your way to the back door. “I just need a second.” 

The back room is every barista’s safe place. It’s where everyone goes when things are getting a bit too much and they need a second. Right now, you really need a second. You need to ground yourself again, remember that the present is good enough and there is no need to project the future, especially not a crazy fantastical version of it. Sitting down on a chair, you let your head fall in your hands, eyes closed as you just enjoy the quietude of it all. It’s easy, creating a whole scenario in your head, when a guy like Hyunjin is being so kind and gentle and funny. And it’s easy to forget the consequences, too, even if you can’t stop laughing at it. 

It’s the cringeness of it all that gets to you, the way you replay that scenario in your head again and again and you shiver and shudder at the memory of you trying to clean the purposeful mess you made while everyone around stared at you. Chuckling, you shake your head. “Y/N, you are a very silly person,” You mumble to yourself, getting up with a final deep breath. Your co-worker pops her head in the room before you can even take a step towards the door. 

“Hey, your table paid and left. You can come out now, the cute guy wasn’t angry.”

Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better to know he just… up and left. But you nod regardless, smiling weakly at her. “Thanks,” You mumble and then it’s right back to work. 

The rest of the night is uneventful. Boring, almost, and you can’t help but feel uncomfortable. Like you had just done something you were going to regret, like… like you had just been used as a means to an end. “I got it,” You grab the keys before your colleague can. “Go home. You did great tonight, I’ll close up.” 

At this point, you just feel like being alone. What started as a good day has quickly gone off the rails, and you don’t particularly regret anything, but you need some time to process everything that happened in the past few hours. And that’s okay– all you need is time, nothing else, nothing less.

Ironically, it seems like time is all you don’t have. 

“Y/N.”

You almost trip on your foot, mountain of cups in your arms about to go down had it not been for his reflexes, hands catching you at the very last minute. “Jesus Christ! Hyunjin! What are you doing here?!” It’s like he has some kind of weird power over you, face immediately on fire at the feel of his hands on your arms. 

“I came to thank you!” His hands go up in defence and you laugh. “You disappeared after the whole escape plan and I couldn’t thank you properly!”

“So you thought that sneaking in at almost three in the morning when I’m alone in an empty bar was the best way to thank me?” You whisper, eyes wide like a kid who’s afraid to get in trouble. You can’t stop the incredulous smile playing on your lips, though, and you snort a laughter out. “I just met you and this is kind of creepy…”

This time around, he’s the one that looks startled. “I’m not creepy!” He is so dramatic with his gasp and his hand over his heart. “I came here to say thank you and–“ Hyunjin pauses, face a bit blushed. “And you know, I owe you one. You were so nice to help out and you embarrassed yourself–“

“I wouldn’t say I embarrassed myself–“ You cut off quickly, face falling on your hands in a clear contradiction to your words.

“Y/N, don’t kid yourself, that was embarrassing,” Hyunjin snorted. The tension, the one that floated in the air for the first seconds of this interaction and the one on your shoulders whenever you thought about the burning sensation of people staring at you, is gone, and left behind is just this– the giggling, the stepping around each other, the getting to know more. You like this… and it feels too natural for something that looks so misplaced. This kind of interaction, this kind of back and forth, the joking and the banter– this is what makes a good first date, in your opinion. 

But this can’t be a date… right?

Y/N, stop daydreaming, you think to yourself. 

“But it was hilarious. And it was a favour,” He continues, finally taking one, then two steps towards you. “And I want to repay you.”

“You don’t have to–“

“I really want to,” He says, wincing a little at how desperate he sounds. “Okay, I see how I’m coming off as creepy. But! In my defence! I don’t know your number and I don’t know your schedule!”

You just raise your brows at him. 

“At this point there is no escaping my fate,” Hyunjin chuckles, but before he can say or do anything else, he looks at the counter. There are some cups, pens, and notepads you still have to put away. “May I?”

You just nod, eyeing him curiously. “What are you doing?” 

“This,” Hyunjin says, ripping a piece of paper he scribbled on and giving it to you. “Is my number. Text me tomorrow? I really want to pay you back…” 

“And how will you pay me back? Unfortunately, I don’t think there will be an opportunity for you to trip and spill a drink over me any time soon.”

“I mean, come out to get a drink with me and I’m sure I can arrange that.” 

You stutter, eyes wide when he just shrugs. “W-What?”

“Or a coffee!” He quickly says, nodding excitedly. “Anything. Dinner, lunch, coffee, drinks– whatever sounds less creepy right now, cause I’m really nervous I’m coming across like a stalker and I don’t want to scare you off or–“

“Or I might be the one needing an escape plan?” You joke, grabbing your phone from your pocket and typing in the number he has just given you. 

With quick fingers, you quickly send him a message: hey :) drinks sound good.

Hyunjin frowns at the buzzing coming from his phone at such an early hour. But the smile on his face when he reads your text is just breath-taking, and yes, maybe you’re being superficial, or maybe you’re not, but the way your heart picks up a little is not superficial at all.

“Drinks it is,” Hyunjin nods, trying to hide a smile. “I know just the place.”

“I swear to god if you say here I will–“

“Great service, great food– it makes sense!”

“Go home you creep.”

There is a pause before he turns around to leave. You can hear the smile in his voice when he calls your name. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a date.”

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

Wohooooo Hyunjin's is out >.< I'm loving writing for this series!!! as always, make sure to go to @catiuskaa profile to go check out her incredible pieces for this series and her general masterlist!

[kinardsevan]

Buck sees an old video of Tommy during a rescue and is insanely turn on so he goes on a deep dive to find anything he can. Competency kink unlocked

It was all Evan could do to close his mouth as he stared at his brother-in-law’s phone. Chimney had mentioned the rescue earlier in the day, but fuck, something about actually seeing Tommy repel down the side of a mountain with nothing but a harness to hold him up was hot. 

It was a risky move. Granted, Evan was learning his boyfriend loved risky moves. This one in particular though, had been in an icy downpour in the middle of December. He’d been the only one tall enough to be able to make the drop between where the rope ended and the cliffside in order to reach the kids who had fallen there and get them back up into the harness so they could be pulled back up to safety. There was plenty to be said about how the rescue could’ve gotten Tommy killed, but the fact that he’d done it was hot. He’d put everyone else on the scene before himself, never mind the way his clothes were sticking to him from the rain. Even though the video was over a decade old from some news footage, just seeing had been what kept Evan going through the rest of his shift, after which he’d promptly driven to Tommy’s house, determined to get his tongue on his boyfriend's skin and lick every inch of his beautiful, beautiful chest. And that was only the beginning. 

A week and a half later, Evan was stuck on the couch, courtesy of a bad strain in his leg on a rescue of his own. He’d been ordered to sit out the following shift and rest, and of course Tommy had to work. Evan had hated it at first. At least, until he hobbled into his livingroom, halfway through an episode of Days of our Lives when the news cut in. 

It was hot. So hot that Evan had to unbutton the collar of his polo when he saw his boyfriend on the TV.

Harbor was at a scene on a highrise, trying to get people out of a partial collapse, and Tommy was fucking repelling the side of the building to get people out. The news was holding such great coverage that Evan was able to watch him get two kids, an adult, and their dog out of the building before they finally switched to an interview with Chief Simpson. And it was right about that time that Evan realized he was hard. He groaned at the realization, far too frustrated from the way watching his boyfriend work affected him, and even more frustrated at having to solve his own problem. 

Still, he didn’t forget. 

Nine hours later when Tommy stumbled through the doorway to the loft, Evan was at the door, waiting. He promptly shoved Tommy back against it and hit his knees. Tommy furrowed a brow, running a hand through Evan’s hair as he looked down at him. 

“What’s happening right now,” he asked, a little incredulously.

“Watched my sexy ass boyfriend save an entire family today,” Evan replied, unzipping his pants and reaching into them. Tommy groaned and dropped his head back against the door. “Figured he should get a reward for that.” 

Tommy tilted his head down, ready to say that it was just his job, he wasn’t doing anything extra, only to get a full view of Evan going completely down on him, pulling a moan out of the middle of his chest. 

“Fuck, Evan- oh my god.” 

Little laughs, almost cunning. And then all the way down. Tommy jolted. And then, only because he wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer otherwise, he pulled Evan off of him, pulled his pants back up. Evan scowled at him. 

“I was doing something,” he whined. 

Tommy shook his head, leaning down and sweeping his boyfriend up from the floor, tossing him over his shoulder like a ragdoll. 

“Sorry baby. My boyfriend said I need to do him instead. Besides, you said yours deserved a reward, and this is the one he wants.” 

[pedrospatch]

lost on you l a safe haven drabble

series masterlist

summary: You’re missing Joel and a certain mare seems to be picking up on your sadness—or at least that’s what you think is happening when there’s a sudden change in her behavior. Why else would Stella be acting so strange around you?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. angst, horses, and a lil more angst. reader’s pregnancy is lightly being implied, but it has not been explicitly stated yet, only hinted at. no Joel, he is only mentioned in this one. Dina makes an appearance, i threw in some comedic moments to try and balance out the angst. ends with a horsey hug.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: so this is meant to be as a bit of a filler fic before chapter 9 is posted and shit hits the fan. i knew i wanted to do a short drabble that touches on how reader is doing after the confrontation she had with Joel. i also asked people to send in short prompts for the series to do some no pressure writing exercises, and this particular prompt that was sent in was just incredible and i decided to incorporate it. It makes me nervous to post a fic with no Joel in it, but my heart wanted to write it so fuck it, I just wrote it. chapter 9 is almost done and will be posted soon. @eyesneverbeensoblue i hope it’s okay to tag you in this and tell you thank you so much for the idea!

Lately, I’m getting lost on you

I tore your world apart like it was nothing new

every day I’m a slave to the heartache…

Summer slowly, but surely comes to an end.

The days are long, but the nights without Joel?

They’re even longer, at least, that’s how it feels.

You miss him. Oh God, how you fucking miss Joel Miller.

He’s all you can ever think about.

Every second of every minute of every single day.

You miss Joel so much that it physically hurts. Every part of you just aches for him. Aches. 

Your insides feel like they’re on fire, and you can't put it out.

The heartache is agonizing, almost unbearable—it’s unlike anything you have ever felt before.

In front of others, you hold it together pretty well. But when you’re alone, behind closed doors? 

That’s when you fall apart. Crumble into pieces.

Losing Joel is something you will never heal from. Never.

Traces of himself he’d left behind—would you ever be able to wipe yourself clean of them? Of him? Or would you have to spend the rest of your damn life trying to get over the man who fucking adored the hell out of you and who loved you so unconditionally?

“He misses you, you know,” Ellie says, quietly. She stands beside you and diligently runs a hard, bristled hand brush along Jasper’s side to clear his golden coat of dirt and debris. The palomino is just one of several horses that needed tending to after that morning’s patrol shift. Realizing you’re too busy jotting down notes in Jasper’s handwritten file you keep for him—you kept a file for every single horse in the commune—Ellie clears her throat and then speaks again, louder this time. “He misses you.”

You wince and stop mid scribble.

“Ellie—” you trail off, your throat going dry.

Even though you’d asked her about a hundred and one times not to talk about Joel, Ellie was hellbent on bringing him up to you as often as she could. At first, it seemed innocent enough. She stuck to just letting you know how his recovery was going.

“His shoulder’s healing really well.” 

“Donna came over to help with physical therapy.” 

“He’ll be back on patrol in a couple of weeks.” 

So you’d given her a pass. Besides, you would be a liar if you said you didn’t want to know how he was healing after his injury.

However, Ellie then began to wander into more sensitive and dangerous territory.

“He asked me about you.” 

“He was drinking again last night.” 

“He looks so fucking miserable.” 

You know why she’s doing it.

It’s not to make you feel guilty for hurting Joel.

Hell, she knows that you’re hurting just as badly. She loves you and she loves Joel—the two people Ellie cares about more than anything are suffering without each other.

You hate that she’s essentially been pulled right into the middle of this mess that you’ve created.

Ellie is collateral damage. This is all hurting her too.

“He misses you a lot,” she adds after a minute.

You exhale sharply. Her words feel like a punch to the gut and they knock the wind out of your lungs.

Finally, you look up from your clipboard, turning to her. “Ellie,” you say her name warningly. “Stop it. We’re not going to do this today. Okay?”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbles, placing a hand on Jasper’s side. “If someone was missing me, I think I would want to fucking know.”

You feel the lump steadily rising in your throat.

“Ellie, please don’t—”

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!”

The sound of Dina’s voice fills the horse stables.

The teenager whips herself into Jasper’s stall, skidding to a stop in front of you, sweaty and breathless, as if she had just run across the settlement.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” She apologizes, setting her bag down on the ground. Pulling a scrunchie from the back pocket of her jeans, she throws her long, black hair into a messy bun as she explains herself. “Talia asked me to help her out in the library this morning and I totally lost track of time. And then on the way over here, I bumped into Mrs. Miller as she was walking home from the market and I mean, I could not just let a pregnant lady carry all those heavy bags across town—”

“Dina, breathe, sweetheart.” You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. As long as you show up, that’s all I care about. Especially since Tommy and Maria moved Logan to patrol duty. That’s another stable hand gone, so I need all the help I can possibly get around here.” Slipping your clipboard under your arm, you glance from Dina to Ellie. The emotions from what had happened just seconds before your niece had run in are bubbling, threatening to boil over. “Listen, I have to go do a routine examination on Stella. Finish up with grooming Jasper. I have a couple of horses that are due for baths—Luna and Bandit. Then it’s feeding time. Got it?”

Dina smiles brightly. “We’ll take care of it, won’t we, El?”

Sensing your urgency to leave, Ellie gives a subtle, small nod of her head. “Yeah. We will.”

“Good. I’ll come check on you girls when I’m done with Stella.” Spinning around on the muck caked heel of your boot, you hastily leave Jasper’s stall and nearly fly all the way down the stables and into Stella’s.

You rush inside, closing the top and bottom half of the Dutch door before sagging back against the wood. You toss your clipboard aside on the floor of the stall and lift both your hands, covering your face as you choke back sobs of pure agony.

He misses you. 

As you will yourself to keep yourself from falling apart, you feel a warm muzzle dig lightly into your lower stomach. Dropping your hands from your face, you glance up only to see Stella peering at you with clear and unmistakable curiosity in her big brown eyes.

“Hi there, my gorgeous girl,” you murmur softly to the pregnant mare. A tear slips out from the corner of your eye and you quickly wipe it away with the back of your hand.

Stella lowers her head and sniffs at your stomach, right where she had dug into you. Her ears prick forward and she nuzzles the same spot again.

You shoot her a strange look. You’ve never seen her exhibit this type of behavior before.

“Stella, what are you doing?” you ask, almost as if you expect her to speak and give you an answer. “Why are you being so weird?”

Stella sniffs you again, then nips at the hem of your tank top.

“Hey! Cut that out.” You can’t help but let out a watery giggle as you carefully pull the fabric out of her mouth. Realizing the strange behavior must have something to do with the mare sensing the intensity of your negative emotions, you gently place both of your hands on either side of her muzzle. Inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you slowly exhale it through your mouth before touching your forehead to hers. “I’ll be okay, girl. I’ll be okay. There’s no other choice—I have to be okay.”

An hour later, you’d finished the examination.

Stella had continued to act oddly around you, her behavior becoming more and more peculiar as time went on. You were bonded to her of course—you were bonded to just about every single horse in the commune—and so it didn’t really surprise you that the mare was so in tune with your emotions and could feel that something was off. She was extremely attentive to you as you worked, her eyes never leaving you, not even for a second.

Stella also continued to sniff you, nuzzling you in the stomach any chance she had. For as bizarre as it was, it brought you an off sense of comfort and it made you feel less alone.

“Hey auntie.” Dina opens the stall door, poking her head inside. “Can we come in?”

“Of course.”

She pushes the door open further and walks into the stall with Ellie on her heels. Both of them are almost completely soaked from head to toe. 

Your eyes widen. “Um, girls, I’m pretty sure I told you to bathe the horses—not yourselves.”

Ellie lets out a small scoff. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Bandit wasn’t having it,” Dina chuckles. “But he’s all clean, and so is Luna. We just came in to tell you we’re going to go dry off and change our clothes. We’ll be back for feeding time.” She glances at the mare. “How’s our sweet mama-to-be doing?”

“Good. She’s as healthy as a horse.”

The teenagers roll their eyes, but laugh.

“You’re so lame, auntie.”

“Just a little equine veterinarian humor. My dad used that one on me all the time.” You grin at the memory. “Stella’s doing really well. In about seven or eight months, we’ll have our new baby.”

“Well then, I think someone deserves a little treat since she’s doing so good.” Dina reaches into the bag she has slung over her shoulder and pulls out a crisp, red apple. She walks over, holding the fruit out in the palm of her hand for the horse. “Here you go, girl.”

Stella gives the apple a sniff, then takes it from her. 

Usually, she wolfs it down in just a few chomps—but what she does next surprises all three of you. Apple still between her teeth, the mare turns and pushes her muzzle into your stomach.

“Oh shit,” Ellie cackles. “No fucking way!”

“Oh my god,” Dina grins. “Is she—she’s giving it to you?”

Shocked, you lift a hand and delicately take the apple from between her teeth. “Stella, you silly girl! What are you doing?” You hold it out for her. “This apple is for you, sweetheart. Here, take it.”

She tosses her head in the air.

Dina snorts into her hand. “She just told you no!”

“She wants you to have it.” Ellie shoots you a teasing look. “Come on, princess. Take a bite.”

You look at her, then down at the apple, which is covered completely in Stella’s slobber.

“Um, no thanks. I think I’ll pass,” you mutter. 

“Auntie, don’t be rude,” Dina jokes. “It’s bad manners to refuse her offer.”

Rolling your eyes at your niece, you turn back to Stella and tell her, “I’ll eat it later. When it’s washed.”

“We’re starting to smell like wet horse,” Ellie makes a gagging noise as she takes a whiff of her shirt.

Dina lifts the collar of her blouse to her nose. “Oh, gross. We are starting to smell like wet horse.” She reaches out with her opposite hand, grabbing one of Ellie’s. She laces their fingers together. “Come on, let’s go change.”

You can’t help but notice the way Dina looks at Ellie—with the sweetest, most adoring little smile.

You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly.

Ellie’s eyes meet yours and she blushes deeply.

If you ever had a chance to give Ellie Williams shit, this was it—but instead, you just give her a subtle wink from where you stand. Her face instantly goes from red to maroon.

“Be sure to be back in an hour for feeding time!” you call as Dina pulls her out of the stall. “I’m not feeding all these horses alone!”

“We will!”

Once the girls are gone, you turn to Stella and wrap your arms around her neck. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up today, pretty girl.”

She rests her head on your shoulder.

You feel more tears coming and hug her harder.

lyrics: Lost on You - Lewis Capaldi

[facioleeknow]

Time for love ° Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin. the immortal Adonis, falls for a human.

WC: 2094 Genre: Greek mythology AU, angst, smut

TW: make up artist reader, model hyunjin, smut, masturbation, thigh riding, handjob, mention of cum, borderline asshole hyunjin, greek gods and goddesses, mention of blood, angry hyunjin and angry deities

AN: thank you from th ebottom of my heart to th elovely @leeknowsallyoursecrets , for giving me her opinion about this.

My Kofi if you want to support me <3.

Hyunjin was old. Hyunjin was really really old. Eternal youth they called it. When one thinks about youth, they imagine freshness and fun; a colorful, colorful phase when you get to try new things and explore the world. Hyunjin’s life was anything but; he had seen every corner of this earth and tried every experience that was humanly possible. His life was flat and gray, there was nothing more to do and he was bored.

He remembered his first life. His name was Adonis and he was considered the most beautiful man in the whole world; he was so beautiful that goddesses soon appeared on his doorstep and asked to share his bed. That’s how his story became myth, or what people thought it was.

He had lived many lives from then, he had taken many names and done many things, he lived a tranquil life and minded his business; had sometimes taken a couple of lovers but nothing that had stuck to him. 

His life and pattern of change had come crumbling apart when one day the gods decided to come out in the open and introduce themselves to humans. With time everything was uncovered and the protagonists of every myth became their own kind of celebrities. He had never been more famous in his life, but he also had never been more lonely. He was beautiful and that was a fact, and with the fame came the modeling offers. He modeled for the most famous maisons of fashion of the world and people loved him. No they didn’t love him, they loved his body, they loved his face, they loved his fake smile and fake confidence.

His days were always the same, he would wake up at an insane hour, get on set, get ready, shoot, get unready, check social media and then go to bed, just to do it all the following day. Day after day the cycle had never been broken, for years on end. Until it had.

When he walked inside the photo studio, he could sense something had shifted in the air. He hated changes. A heavy hand smoothed back his unruly hair, his eyes closed almost on instinct after he sat down in his makeup chair. He had requested a special chair, made of one of the softest furs he had ever touched, where he could sleep and relax.

Something warm and small suddenly touched his shoulder, hesitantly. He hissed and his eyes shot open, his staff knew better than to interfere with his pattern. 

His breath hitched in his throat when he opened his eyes. This wasn’t his usual make-up artist.

“Sorry to disturb you Mr. Hwang, I am Y/N L/N, your new makeup artist,” your voice was sweet, way too sweet to be human, but he knew all deities by heart. Perhaps some kind of creature.

“What happened to Ha-na?” his eyes bore holes into your skull, his gaze held a fiery passion you had never seen in your life. Is this how an immortal looks?, you thought.

“She’s on maternity leave, sir,” you had never felt that nervous in your life.

The conversation died off after that but his eyes were fixed on you. There was something about you that Hyunjin couldn't quite pinpoint, his inside felt like they were lit on fire. His head told him that if he looked away from you, something bad would've happened. He had to have you, one way or another, he didn't even care if you were human or not.

Since that day Hyunjin had always waited anxiously for your arrival every morning. You would always greet him with a tight lipped smile while you closed into fists your obvious shaky hands. He liked to think your hands were shaking and your heart was beating out of your chest because of him. 

At night Hyunjin would lie awake and think about you, your hair, your lips, your hands, your eyes, but most of the time he would think about what laid under your clothes, how your curves would look and how they would feel in his big and soft hands.

He had to have you, he didn't care if you were human or not.

The second time Hyunjin spoke to you, it was weeks after your first encounter.

“What are you?” his eyes bored into yours like the first time you met.

 “What do you mean sir?” 

His presence felt almost overbearing, it looked like he was towering over you, it felt like he was everywhere, you couldn't run from him. But in reality he was still sitting in front of you.

“Don't play coy. What kind of creature are you?” 

“Creature? I'm human, sir,” your eyes wide as saucers at his assumption. You? A supernatural creature? 

“Are you lying to me?” His tone was stern and demanding.

“No, sir, I would never.” 

He didn't reply.

He was scary. Immortals were scary and dangerous for humans more than anyone else. You should've been fearful of him but a familiar throb between your legs kept growing and growing and you couldn't help but feel ashamed.

Hyunjin could feel your arousal, he could read it on your face. After centuries he could read human emotions quite well.

“Everybody out!” His tone left no space for arguments. The staff and photographers scurried out of the room with their hearts in their throats.

“Come sit.” The immortal patted his spread legs, his big hand encased your wrist.

“Excuse me?”

“You don't want to?” he sounded cocky now, a new emotion he let you see.

“I didn't say that,” you stuttered.

“Then be a good girl and straddle my thigh.” 

His hands never left your body, not even when you complied and positioned yourself how he asked. He was in control, he was the one guiding your movement.

A small gasp escaped your lips when you felt him ground you on his strong thigh.

“Please sir, touch me,” the shame fueled your pleasure like never before.

“No can do, get yourself off like this or don't at all.”

That was the best orgasm of your life.

After he touched you, Hyunjin couldn't get enough of you. He thought your voice was sweet at first, but your moans were even sweeter, your skin tasted like nectar and your pussy like ambrosia. He was addicted.

Sleep came easier to him now but not even in your dreams he could escape you. Your voice, your sweet whines, your skin, your scent, they all clouded his brain even in his slumber. He'd wake up hard as a rock every night and leaking. He would fuck his fist roughly, just how he liked it, he would use all of his toys and cum again and again until his seed had permanently stained his satin black sheets. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He had to feel you clench around him, he had to feel you rake your nails down his back, he had to push your legs to your chest and see fat tears roll down your cheeks.

So he would get up and drive to your house where he would fuck you until you both passed out. It became some sort of routine, one that he followed religiously. But the more he saw the bigger a foreign and strange feeling grew inside him. It started at the pit of his stomach and then spread through his chest like a warm blanket enveloping him in a tight hug. It was comforting and that unsettled him.

He was confused and ignorant, he hated that. But he knew that it didn't come from him, somebody was attacking him. That's how Hyunjin found himself in front of the goddess of love, Aphrodite, herself.

“What have you done to me?” he yelled. He knew yelling at a deity was not a smart move but the anger was consuming him, mixing with that strange feeling and making his blood hot.

“You cursed me, didn't you? You cursed me because I don't want to share a bed with you anymore, you selfish woman.” The moment those words came out of HYunjin’s mouth he regretted them. The room started shaking along with the anger of the goddess, everybody knew not to anger Aphrodite. he was foolish, he thought he could get away with it because he used to be her favorite lover. The goddess grew in stature, the light bulbs in the room exploded, leaving the only light her angry eyes. 

“You foolish human, how dare you speak to me like this,” this was not Aphrodite the goddess of love, this was the goddess of fiery passion and victory, “ I did not curse you. You do not hold significance in my eyes anymore, you are a mere human. Humans all fall in love, it’s their destiny.”

The walls of the pristine white room they were in started to crack under the gravity of the goddess full immortal form. Hyunjin knew that the fact he was not dead meant that Aphrodite let him live as a sign of charity and because of the time they shared their bed. But she did not give second chances, she never had so he quickly kneeled and when he felt the presence of the immortal get gradually less overbearing he got up and walked backwards until back hit the door as a sign of respect and then left. 

The drive home was pure madness, flashes of rage traveled through his body like lightning before leaving like nothing had happened. Hera was punishing him for angering her daughter, nothing was less expected from the goddess of family. When he stumbled into his house, with shaky hands he grabbed his ceremonial cup and offered his bloods to the gods to appease them and as a thanks for sparing his life.

The following day Hyunjin avoided looking at you in the eyes, he had never looked away from you, not even once. You were so used to having his fiery gaze on you that now your whole body felt cold as ice. 

‘Maybe he’s tired,’ you thought while you worked. Tired or not, you felt him miles away from you even if you were touching his skin with your very own hands. Something had shifted between you. 

The next day felt like a deja vù, Hyunjin still had his eyes closed and he still refused to talk to you. You felt wronged and cold. The following days followed the same pattern, it felt like a terrible nightmare. His nightly visits had also stopped and so did his texts. 

Anger and frustration were eating away at you. Work had started to get tougher and Hyunjin’s attitude was making your mental health drop. The last straw was the pouring rain, you were stranded at work, with no umbrella, when all you wanted to do was go home, eat ice cream and sleep.

Fat teardrops started dropping down your cheeks, why was this all happening to you? Why couldn’t you live in peace? Why was Hwang Hyunjin doing this to you?

“Are you crying?” That voice. Hwang Hyunjin.

“That’s none of your business, Hyunjin,” you furiously wiped at your cheeks.

“It is,” his hand cupped your cheek and you had no strength to fight it, “ it is because you are the only woman i’ve ever loved in my long life.” Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Say that again.”

“You, “ he paused, “ are the only wo-”

You didn’t give him the chance to finish his sentence, your lips attached to his and you richest deflated with relief. Kissing him felt familiar and natural. The recognizable desire that always lit within you when you were with him started spreading through you like wildfire. Your hands quickly traveled to his pants and unbuttoned his pants without thinking, you had done that countless times. His dick was already hard and leaking, waiting for you. Your soft hand wrapped around his velvety skin and tugged and moved just how you knew he liked, how you knew drove him mad. Your lips found his neck and nipped and sucked at his pulse point, his weak spot.

“Oh, baby, I’m not going to last, I think I’m cumming.”

A quick swipe of your thumb against his slip made him spill all over your hand, his head thrown back in ecstasy and his eyes tightly shut.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, lover, but first let me return the favor.” 

A hand on his chest stopped him.

“Take me on a date first.”

“Whatever you want, lover.”

[eyesxxyou]

❝ sunshine pt.2 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. a little internalized homophobia. leg humping. handjob thru underwear. lots of kissing. hobie being a lil shut. weeks of avoiding hobie become moot when you and him find yourselves alone in a bathroom together.

wc: 3.6k

You wish you hated Hobie Brown.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He kissed you, did unspeakable things to you in that closet. And you let him. You enjoyed even, you relished in the way his mouth felt, his lithe fingers sinking into your flesh. the way he cooed in your ear. It would be easy to write him off completely, hate him for the rest of your life, his smug face, his hooded eyes that gaze into yours and hold secrets only known between you, him, and God.

But you don't hate him. You can't. You hate yourself more than anything. You should have never indulged him, never let him put a single finger on you. Because now, when you lie in bed at night and close your eyes, all you can see is him on his knees, feel your cock sliding down the pocket of his throat while he looks up at you through his lashes with those dark eyes of his. You can't get it up any other way. Women don't do it for you anymore.

The moment the two of you left the closet you told everyone to leave. You picked up Hobie’s clothes and shoved them into his arms before sending him out the door with the rest of them. You never once looked him in the eye.

Your friends asked Hobie what had happened inside the hour you spent together and Hobie, being quite the convincing liar, simply shrugged as if he had no idea what had set you off. “Nothin’. Think ‘e migh’ be claustrophobic.” But he knew. You both would always know, no matter how hard you attempted to scrub it from your mind. He’d keep it a secret if you did. He might start shit from time to time but he wasn’t into outing people. He’d keep the secret for you if you didn't want it.

You know better. You know yourself. If you were alone with him, something like that would happen again and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

So you avoided Hobie like the plague after that night. Every invitation to hang out was promptly turned down with an excuse that was only a thinly veiled lie, obvious to no one except for Hobie who knew better than to accept that you were sick 3 weeks in a row.

It was understandable. He had made you question everything you had known about yourself all within a matter of an hour. Why would you want to be around him? You feared him and everything he symbolized to you.

“It’s Hobie, isn't it?” Your friend, Riri, sighed. She had come in person to get you out of the house. There was no pretending to be sick, no feigning exhaustion. She came and she called you out so accurately you feared that Hobie might have told her what had happened in the closet. Your chest squeezed and you lost your breath, terrified that she may know.

You scoffed, anxiety swelling within your chest as you pretend to roll the question off your shoulders. “Hobie? Why would I care about Hobie?”

“Everyone knows you can't stand him. And you haven't been the same since we stuck y’all in the closet. Did he say somethin’ to you?” You looked into her eyes for any semblance of your secret and found nothing. You wished you could tell her, your shame, your pleasure, the absolute heaven you felt being in that closet with Hobie. You’d just embarrass yourself.

“No, that's ridiculous. I find him just as endlessly irritating as I always have.” You reach up, tug at your hair softly, and shift your gaze. You were telling on yourself. Fuck, if you didn't agree now, she’d definitely know that there was something up with you and Hobie. “I’ll go, it’s whatever. Just let me get ready.” Your voice was quick, snappy, you were definitely acting suspicious. But you hoped you conceding to going would distract her enough to forget.

It did. Your friends weren't the most aware bunch.

That's how you ended up here, standing in the midst of a true punk party. There was a mosh pit in the front, people inches away from getting punched in the face, starting an all-out brawl. Most were drunk or high off shitty beer and even shittier drugs.

Hobie was on stage performing. You heard his voice before you saw him, the way it echoed in your ears and left you delirious. Riri dragged you into the crowd, just far away from the mosh pit to not get trampled over, and you saw him. His dark skin glistening in a thin layer of sweat, fingers meticulously strumming at his guitar, lips pressed against the mesh of the microphone as if he were attempting to kiss it like he kissed you.

He wore a plaid skirt, his muscle shirt was just cropped enough to reveal the scant of his abdomen and the hair on his slender naval. You saw him and all you could think about was how you wanted to touch him. You wanted his black-painted lips on your neck, wanted to bury your fingers in the new growth of his hair, wanted your cock in his mouth once again and maybe to put his in yours. 

The thoughts terrified you but what frightened you even more was that when you came to, Hobie was looking at you. Smug, careless, beautiful, like he knew just what you were thinking about and he was thinking the very same thing.

Face hot and embarrassed over being caught, you averted your gaze. You turned on your heels and swiftly left Riri to make your way to the bar. You needed a drink, or five, so that maybe your nausea could be attributed to something worthwhile. But no matter how far from the stage you found yourself, Hobie’s voice was still in your ear, teasing your senses, tempting your body. You felt hot and parched. 

“Give me the strongest you have.” You asked the bartender and pressed your face into your hands.

Hobie played three of his songs before his time was over, the entire time you watched from the corner of your eye. Watched the way he swayed, jumped, wrecked the stage, a force to be reckoned with. You watched him and his bandmates, your friends, walk backstage and felt relief. You wouldn’t have to hear his voice everywhere you went. You hadn’t considered that meant that they would all gravitate over to you to have a chat over where you’ve been for nearly a month now.

They came over with Riri, the unknowing traitor, Hobie standing taller than everyone else in the back. They hugged you one by one, slapped your back, kissed your cheeks, told you they were happy you finally agreed to hang. You would have loved to see them if Hobie hadn’t tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him. 

He smelled like musk and faint, fragrant cologne, your nose pressed to the side of his chest. You look up from where you sat on your barstool only to find him already smiling broadly down at you. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with they presence. Miss me, sunshine?” He was so smug, so proud. If only you could kiss that look from his stupid face and leave him breathless for once instead of the other way around.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm from your shoulders. “Don’t get so full of yourself.” You downed the rest of your drink and requested another one. Hobie came, sat on the stool beside you, and told the barkeep to add all your drinks to his tab.

“Ya been avoidin’ me, sunshine?” Hobie only really seemed interested in talking to you. The others chatted aimlessly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to notice the way Hobie’s eyes glazed over you, the way his smile seemed a little different when it was directed at you. They also didn’t notice the way he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing soft circles into your flesh, the way his digits fingered the rips at your jeans.

“Whyever would I be avoiding you, Hobie?” You grabbed his hand to stop his gentle assault on your thigh and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers in with yours.

“I don’ know. Why are you avoidin’ me?” His hand was hot and rough with callouses. If only he’d touch you a little more. Slide his hand up your arm, brush over your neck. You could feel your body growing warmer by the moment. You couldn’t be trusted with him, couldn’t trust yourself for that matter.

You tore your hand from his. “You know exactly why. I hate it when people play dumb.”

“Jus’ add i’ to the long list of all the reasons ya hate me.”

Oh, if only it were so easy to hate. You’d hate him till the day he died. You’d hate him beyond the grave. You’d hate him until the world combusted into flames and everyone burned with it. But it wasn’t so easy. It was actually quite hard to hate someone you longed so carnally for. If you could rid yourself of him for good, you would in a heartbeat.

Hobie ordered himself a nice large glass of beer and leaned in. “Was i’ so bad, what we did? Ya seemed to enjoy i’ in the moment.”

Your eyes grew wide, glancing about to ensure your friends hadn’t heard him.

Hobie scoffed. “Please, too loud in here. They all wrapped up in ‘emselves to pay attention t’us. Look here, sunshine.” He reached out and gently grasped your chin to make you look at him. His touch was like fire all throughout your body. Looking him in the eyes lit something in the pit of your stomach. "Ya look good t'nigh'."

His drink came and he took a sip of the froth at the top while looking at you, his gaze all affectionate and tender. The way one lover would look at another. He didn’t even have to touch you to get you riled up because you both knew him looking at you through his lashes like that was just the way he looked at you when he kissed the tip of your cock.

You needed air. It was suddenly so stuffy where you were, you felt like you were suffocating. The ache of your cock made your jeans tighten. You felt nauseous.

You must have looked crazy standing so abruptly. Your friends attempted to call your name as you pushed your way through them and searched wildly for the nearest exit. The best you could find was a bathroom sign. That would have to work.

The bathroom was grimy and covered in graffiti. Your boots suck to the floor when you walked and you’re sure you could see a leftover powdery substance on the side of the sink. You turned on the water and cupped your hands beneath it to gather some and splash it on your face. 

Nothing between you and Hobie had to change. If he would simply stop provoking you, you could ignore everything else. The way your eyes lingered on his exposed body, the way his lingered on yours, the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking till he came on your tummy, the way you came in his mouth and he drank it all up.

You pressed your hand against the bulge in your jeans and moaned softly at the pressure. Then there was a knock at the door, startling you out of your momentary pleasure and reminding you that you were indeed in a public restroom.

“Oi, sunshine! Ya alrigh”?” Hobie. He just simply couldn’t let you have a moment of reprieve. Readjusting yourself in your pants so it's not so noticeable, you opened the door only to be met with Hobie leaning against the frame. He looked at you, questioning, before inviting himself right in. “Le’s talk.”

“Talk? You wanna talk?” You slammed the door shut and locked the door behind the two of you out of instinct. “We have nothing to talk about, Hobie. Absolutely nothing.” Your demeanor was cold, your lip curled. It all belied how much you needed him to stop looking at you that way. With heavy eyes and a touch of a smirk on his lips.

Hobie quirked a pierced brow at you. “Who’s playin’ dumb now? Ya tink I ‘aven’t noticed how you’ve been actin’? Yer meaner than usual.” He approached you. Slowly. He looked at you, watched to stand your ground. “God, yer down bad, aren’cha?”

Your face was hot, cock hard in your pants. You said not a word. Let him get close, really close, leaning into you while staring into your eyes.

“It's okay, though. I like ya mean.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, hands tight in the fabric as you turned him around and pushed him against the wall. “You think this is fucking funny, huh?” You shook him a little, pressed his thin body to the door, your eyes aflame with passion and anger. Hobie just looked at you, smiling, with his hands up as if to surrender to you, his eyes heavy with seduction.

You hated that look, so cocky and proud, fucking gorgeous. 

You were rough when you kissed him. You knew you couldn't be trusted with yourself or with him. You knew it would all lead to this. And God if it didn't feel good. His lips were so soft, sweet, a little salty from his sweat. You held his shirt a little tighter, pulled him a little closer and his hands settled on your hips.

You let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him slide his hands up and down the length of your body, slide beneath your shirt. His thumbs looked into your pants and tucked his knee between your legs to press against the growing bulge in your pants.

Just like that, he took control of you. You melted into him, licked into his mouth as you moaned, rutting yourself against his knee. You were desperate, panting, needy. You showed all your cards just as they were dealt and now you had nothing but an empty hand and a hard cock.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout'cha.” Hobie panted into your mouth, hands pawing at you. Your kiss was sloppy, filled with swapped saliva and sticky tongue. “Missed ya. Looks like ya missed me too.” He chuckled softly as you licked his bottom lip, sighing with pleasure when he pressed his knee harder into you.

You should stop this. You should be stopping yourself. But you simply couldn't control yourself and you didn't know if that said more about you or about him. You were insatiable. You were angry. You were horny out of your mind. 

Hobie let you suck on his lip and tongue, chuckling the whole time. It made you stop, your hands tightening up in his shirt. “Is something funny?” You pushed him against the wall harder, your body pressed against his, your aching cock against his knee. You tried to play tough, your face firming up, but Hobie already witnessed how desperately you've been wanting him this entire time.

Hobie sighed softly, looking at you, smiling broadly. “Nah, nah, ‘m laughin’ ‘cause ya definitely like me, sunshine. Just as much as I like you.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours, and kissed you softly. Lips latching, tongue licking, teeth nipping, you didn't resist him as much as you thought you would. You hadn't imagined for it to feel so good the second time around.

“Lemme help ya out, sunshine.” Hobie pressed his knee harder into your crotch and you crumbled, panting into his mouth with your eyes squeezed shut. One of your hands unballed itself from his shirt and found itself settled against the apple of his throat, pressing and squeezing while you humped his leg into oblivion.

The friction was delicious. The pressing and grinding with his tongue down your throat left you a little delirious. You were lightheaded and feared you might faint if he kept holding your waist like he was, moving your hips for you, pressing you harder.

“Keep goin’, pretty boy. Ya got i'.” Hobie crooned into your mouth as your lips fiended for another kiss, a lick, something, anything to satiate the burning in your chest, the fire all over. His fingers sunk into the meat of your thighs with his soft grip that meant to gently coax you towards your climax.

How embarrassing. To cum in your jeans just from humping a leg. But God, if this didn't feel good, if Hobie wasn't doing you so right. You pushed him harder against the wall, squeezed his throat a little tighter as you ground yourself into him.

Your free hand slid down his front and beneath his skirt to feel the bulge of his erection through his underwear. You weighed him in the palm of your hand, clumsy massaging and fondling. You didn't know how to handle him. Attempting to conjure up the way you touched him the last time you two felt each other, you rubbed him, felt the wet patch where precum leaked and soaked into the fabric of his underwear and stroked his tip.

Hobie shuddered, one that rattled through his entire body. He gripped you harder, bruising your hips and thighs and he drove you further into his knee and left you shivering. You squeezed him in your palm and he moaned.

It was pathetic how easy it was to forget how much you wanted to hate him. Your brain was foggy with pleasure and need. Your hands groped at each other with a fiendish desire. Hobie nipped at your bottom lip. “Fuck, jus’ like tha’.”

You were so close. Your lips broke apart from his with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your head felt back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat which Hobie greedily attacked with lips and teeth and tongue. “Gonna cum f’me? Hmm, sunshine? Go ‘head ‘n make a mess f’me.”

You whined, your body rocking back and forth with the waves of your orgasm. You hadn't cum in your pants since you were a teen and never before because of another man. You felt as though you should be humiliated but you were so wrapped up in Hobie's sweet scent and the way he moaned into your neck as you pressed your hand into him and felt his cock twitch in your hold.

You rubbed him harder, faster, determined to get him to come undone the way he had your world falling apart. Hobie chuckled against your throat. “Tryna get me t’cum, pretty boy?” His lips peppered kisses to your lovely throat. You nodded, your hand stroking his throat with your thumb. “Give it to me, please.” Oh how the mighty fall.

Hobie faltered a bit when you squeezed his balls in your hand, whining into you like a puppy. “Beg.” He sighed softly against your neck. “Beg fo i'.”

"Please, please. Shit, Hobie, give it to me " Overstimulated, his knee still pressed into the wet spot in your sticky jeans, your hips still rutting into the mess you’ve made of yourself, you jerked him off through his underwear, stroking it rapid, blundering twists of your wrist. Hobie liked how inexperienced you seemed, he found it amusing how hard you tried to please him.

You knew he was just on the edge of an orgasm by the way his moan lowered an octave. He sang for you like he sang on stage, your own private show. His hands gripped you with an impossible strength, tongue lavishing over your throat. He nosed at the curve of your jaw and moaned into your ear as he came in your hand, leaking out into the cotton of his underwear.

You were left panting, stroking at each other in tender touches. You were uncharacteristically affectionate, desperate for it. You needed his hands, his lips, his soft chuckles, his pretty smile. God, you were losing it.

“Fuck-” You pulled away from Hobie, your entire body coiling away from him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It all came back to you like a tsunami. How did you let this happen? Again no less. What in the world were you thinking? What the hell has he done to you?

“Sunshine, calm down. It's okay.” Hobie reached out for you but you almost fell over trying to get away from him. Your hands gripped the sink for stability and in hopes to ground yourself in reality. “No, no, it’s not okay, Hobie! We need to stop this.”

“Whatever we have goin’ on between us-”

“There's nothing going on between us,” you insisted. “There should be nothing going on between us.” Hobie scoffed at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would’ja get ova y’self? We didn' make each other cum by accident. This keeps happenin’ fo’ a reason. We like each other.” He motioned between the two of you, his eyes softening.

“I can't do this, Hobie. I can't give you what you want.” You rushed past him and escaped out of the bathroom door before Hobie had a chance to catch you. It was a mistake to come out. You should have left the moment Hobie touched you. 

It was just your luck to run into Riri on the way out the door. You bumped into her just as you neared the exit. She had whipped around, ready to let you have it until she saw that it was you and worse, when she saw the tears streaming down your face. As if this night couldn't get even more embarrassing.

You said nothing to her. You simply pushed past her and left the bar with her calling after you. Hobie approached behind her, watching you leave with sulken shoulders and smudged makeup.

“Shit.”

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[steddieas-shegoes]

It could have started when Eddie was basically living with Steve during his constant physical therapy post-Vecna.

It could have started when Steve took Eddie out for “adults only” dinners and movies that no other adult was invited to.

It could have started when Eddie visited Steve at work every shift to make sure he ate lunch, and giving him a very serious, no-way-you’re-getting-away-with-not-eating look.

It could have started when Steve had a migraine that almost had Robin dragging him to the hospital until Eddie stepped in and offered to keep watch over him for three days straight.

But it was hard to tell because Steve and Eddie circulated each other like the planets revolve around the sun, and circles don’t really have a beginning, or an end.

*************

“Dingus! Your boyfriend is here!”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Robs!”

Robin and Steve managed to work most shifts together, which helped the time pass. They bickered like siblings, though, and when Eddie showed up, Robin tended to annoy them both or completely disappear.

Steve was clueless as to why and Robin refused to give him any hints. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she’d said with an eye roll and snort.

“Did you just call me his boyfriend?”

Eddie would hate to hear it, but he was like a ray of sunshine anytime he entered a room. At least if you asked Steve, that’s what he’d say, and he’d probably blush the entire time he said it.

He wouldn’t acknowledge it.

He’d pretend he thought that about a lot of people.

He’d be lying.

“I did. Maybe you two shouldn’t be so obvious all the time.”

Eddie and Steve just stared blankly at Robin.

“Steve’s not even gay!”

“Eddie doesn’t even like me like that!”

They both spoke at once, turning to each other in shock.

“I do like you like that!”

“I’m into both!”

They both spoke at once again. Robin just started laughing and walked away.

“You like me?”

“You like guys?”

Okay, deep breath. One at a time.

“You go first,” Steve said, hoping Eddie would clear any doubts from his head.

“I’ve been halfway in love with you for months, Stevie. I thought,” Eddie cleared his throat, awkwardly looking down at the floor. “I thought I was being too obvious sometimes. But I knew you weren’t into me back so. I mean we can still be friends. I don’t wanna lose you.”

Steve took a step closer to him.

“I’ve been halfway in love with you for months, too. I just thought you were being nice to me.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head at the floor before looking up at Steve.

Beautiful, incredible, stupid Steve.

Never believing that anyone could care about him for him.

“I think maybe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

Steve’s jaw dropped, but closed quickly, his mouth settling on a soft smile.

“I guess maybe we have. What gave it away?”

“Probably the fact that you’re attached at the hip and any time someone mentions either of you to the other you get this dumb lovestruck look on your faces,” Robin stuck her head out from an aisle to yell at them.

“Shut it, Robin!”

She went back to what she was doing, deciding whatever meddling she’d managed was probably enough.

“So let me get this straight…”

“That may be difficult for both of us,” Steve let out.

Eddie cackled. “Oh god. I think I’m more than halfway in love with you,” he got out between laughter.

Steve joined him, mostly happy because Eddie was happy.

He probably should have realized this a lot sooner. Like, way sooner.

When they finally calmed down, they stared at each other with the look Robin was probably describing.

Lovestruck was a word for it, but it was more than that.

They were two people who never should’ve even been in the same circle, and they weren’t until they had to be. But since then, they’d chosen to be a part of each others’ lives. They’d chosen to support each other, and rely on each other, and trust the other person to be what they needed through it all.

They existed as two separate people still, Steve would never wrap himself up in someone so much that he lost himself. Not again.

But they had spent months becoming a pair, unbeknownst to them, and it made them better, it made them find ways to grow amongst trauma no one could imagine but them.

When they kissed, there weren’t fireworks, there wasn’t a world-ending realization that this was the love of their life, or even a racing heartbeat.

There was something that settled though. Something they hadn’t realized had been waiting for months while they danced around each other.

Not even Robin’s cheering from across the store could ruin their moment.

[laundrybiscuits]

“Eddie,” Robin says, eyes wide in a way that means trouble. “Edward Munson, I sincerely hope your last will and testament is in order, because you are going to completely and totally die when I tell you who just got hired at Scoops Ahoy.”

Eddie groans. “Don’t tell me Tammy Thompson is giving up on her Nashville dreams.”

“No, I hate you, shut up forever, you’ll never guess.” Robin pauses, then in a dramatic whisper she’s definitely picked up from Eddie himself, says: “Steve Harrington.”

“Jesus. No shit?”

“Yeah, I have to train him. Oh my god it’s the worst. He’s so bad at, like, everything.”

She shoves at his shoulder until he moves out of the doorway of the trailer, and flings herself backwards onto his couch. “Like! Okay! I showed up to my shift thinking it would be a completely normal day in which I would be bored out of my skull distributing frozen dairy products to the flotsam and jetsam of Hawkins, and Ned’s like, hey Robin, you’re showing the new guy the ropes today. And then that freaking jackass has the freaking nerve to say—” Her voice drops a full register. “Uhh, nice to meet you, I’m Steve. Nice to meet you! God!”

Eddie cringes sympathetically, sucking air between his teeth. There’s a special kind of indignity to being so completely and utterly below the radar of Hawkins High royalty, even former bearers of the crown. It’s not as if Hawkins is a big town; Eddie’s pretty sure he could pick every single person in the graduating classes of ‘84 and ‘85 out of a crowd. He’ll probably be able to do it for ‘86 too, though he’s trying not to think about it too hard. So he’ll be a senior again (again) this fall, whatever. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

Once in a while, he wastes some time really, really wishing he’d gotten to know Robin earlier in the year. Maybe even last year. For undying friendship reasons, yeah, but also because with her in his corner, he might’ve actually passed enough of his classes to fucking graduate on his second fucking try.

But he’d only actually met her, like actually met her for real instead of passing her in the hall sometimes, when he’d let himself get suckered into rejoining band. It wasn’t like he could’ve brought his guitar in, but he let it slip to Miss Genovese that he could read music and keep time, and they needed someone to wallop the bass drum, and he figured a little experience fucking around with percussion might be the one thing he could salvage from the year. He’d just…been so goddamn tired of feeling stuck, spinning his wheels. Music was something he could actually handle; something he could actually get better at. Something he could master. He's man enough to admit he needed a win.

The actual songs were all stuffy Holst and Sousa numbers, but they’d had some fun technical bits he spent his evenings hammering out for a couple weeks. And then right around the point when he’d gotten good enough to get bored and think about quitting like last time, it had somehow wound up that shooting the shit with the gangly weirdo in the trumpet section was one of the best parts of his day. Unfortunately, by the time they’d gotten close enough for her to start bullying him about homework and shit, it had been way too late to save his chance at walking that ‘85 stage with assholes like Steve fucking Harrington.

Not that Harrington would’ve even noticed, apparently.

“Anyway, the one singular saving grace about the entire situation is that he looks even dumber in the sailor costume than I do, so at least that will make me feel better about my life until he gets fired for burning down the ice cream freezer or something like that. Eddie, I cannot stress this enough: he is so bad at this job.”

Eddie very tactfully does not bring up the litany of screw-ups that Robin’s admitted to over the last couple weeks since she started at Scoops; he just says, “Buckley, it sounds to me like you might be in need of some quality relaxation time this fine evening. I can offer you a nice cold beer, some herbal refreshment…or a fiendishly weird new song to learn with an intro riff that'll make you cry.”

Robin, inveterate nerd of his heart, sits up immediately and chirps, “New song, please!” just like he knew she would. She’s going to run off and elope with his acoustic one of these days, and he’s not even mad about it.

“Coming right up, m’lady,” says Eddie. “I promise this entire Harrington situation will be over before you know it, and neither of us will ever have to think about him again.”

(ETA: First chapter of this fic has been edited/expanded and posted on AO3)

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 15.5k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: this chapter gets me right in the feels every time. I love watching the way Joels character changes and his train of thought shifts. I hope you guys like this chapter because it was so fun for me to write 🥹❄️

Masterlink

Chapter 3: Blue

As it turns out, extreme levels of dopamine in his brain after a bone chilling orgasm is exactly what Joel needs to level himself out while you’re sitting beside him in the passenger seat. It doesn’t make him stop thinking about it, but it does keep the tiny little gremlin in his head that tells him to pop a stiffy at bay. The only thing he has to worry about is his eyes, keeping them off of you and on the icy driveway as he pulls away from the house. The snow has started to melt, leaving behind a sloppy mud that makes the truck slip and slide. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your car out, even if I can I don’t think you’ll be able to drive it in this.”

You make an exaggerated groan and he doesn’t even need to look to know you’re rolling your eyes at him from your spot beside him on the bench seat. “You just love deciding what I can and can’t do, don’t you? You know I lived here my whole life right?” He dares a glance over and you’re staring at him with your eyebrows knitted together and your arms crossed. His eyes tick down and he wants to kick himself in the head for even looking because your shirt is leaving nothing to his imagination and little to wonder about how good they would look bare with his dick between—jesus christ, Joel, get yourself together Man. “I wasn’t doubting your ability, I’m suggesting that it would be dangerous for you to even try.”

The truck hits the pavement and most of the snow has melted, but the freezing temperatures leave a icy film across the top. He had to go easy on the breaks and hope to god the truck makes it up the inclines he has to take to get to your car. The last thing he needs is to be stuck out here in the cold with just your bodies to keep each other warm. He absolutely one hundred and ten percent wont survive that, not without absolutely humiliating himself. God, he fucking hates how much you affect him against his will.

“Since when do you care about what’s too dangerous for me, huh?” Why in the hell is he arguing with you like you’ve been married for twenty years? “You left me in the snow to freeze to death in my car four days ago, why am I going to listen to you about whats too dangerous for me?” You have a point, but so does he so he just shuts his fucking mouth and keeps on driving.

It takes twice as much time to get down the pass than it usually does, but the lower Joel gets, the more the ice melts into cold water and mud. By the time he gets to your car, the road is clear but the car is still sunk down to the rims in the embankment. Theres a uneasy sort of silence in the truck, something lingering around the cab of the old blue pickup that feels like shame and embarrassment.

“Texting, huh?” He breaks the silence with a crude joke that earns him a deep glare. “Fuck you, asshole. You know, I really don’t know what it is that my parents see in you. My mom always said how polite you were but I don’t believe that for a second after knowing you for a few days.” You prop open the door and climb out into the snow with your car keys in one hand and the other holding your unzipped jacket closed. Your stupid fucking shoes and that tight ass—fuck.

How is he supposed to be okay with the way you make his body react when you literally curse the ground he walks on, thinking he’s the worst thing that ever happened to this damn town? He gets out after you and slips on his gloves to keep the cold off his hands. The winter always leaves him cracked and brittle from cold work, sometimes his knuckles bleed and his bones ache for gentle hands instead of hard callouses and a cowboys scars. “You don’t know anything about me.” He reaches into the back for a chain while you open the door to your car. “I know enough. I know you’re bullheaded and selfish. I know you’re rude and you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Fucking bitch, like he’s not allowed to have some self preservation after the life he’s lived, always cleaning up Tommy's mess and abandoning his own life in the process. “Don’t act like you’re any better.” You lean out of your car and make a face at him while he hooks the chain to the front of the truck. “Me? You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Like you didn’t just spout off about all the things you think is wrong with him—he can do that too. He has a fucking list of reasons you piss him off. “I know that you’re entitled and expect people to be at your beck and call. I know you’re privileged with no regard for anyone around you.”

He follows the chain to your car and hooks it to the chassis underneath. “Well were just a match made in fucking heaven then, aren’t we?” Its dripping with distain and bitterness, so Joel ignores the comment no matter how much his brain runs and runs about all the way he could be made for you, the way’s he’d fuck that attitude right out of you until you’re quiet. But he can’t and he won’t, he’ll probably spend the rest of his life wondering what you’d feel like, the way you’d shake and scream and beg for more—but wondering is far as that fantasy will ever go.

Because at the end of the day, you’re still Hank's daughter and you’re still half his age and—you hate his guts, which is definitely a deal breaker when it comes to getting someone in your bed. So he keeps his mouth shut and heads back to his truck to tug your car out. “When you’re out, hit your brakes so you don't slam into me.” You sink down into your seat and glare at him. “I’m not stupid!” He never said you were, but he doesn’t expect you to know everything, so he does his best to be the helpful asshole he usually is.

He pulls the little car out, manages to keep the chain tight until it's back on the road and the brake lights come on in front of him. He puts the truck in park and hops out to unhook the chain, but you don’t open the door. When the car is unhooked, you’re already pulling away without a word of thanks. Joel knows he’s well past earning the way you treat him, but that doesn’t make him stop wishing he could just get you out of his head already, wish he could hate you with that same mind altering disgust that you have for him, maybe watching you drive away would be easier.

Two months pass much like the first week. Joel keeps to himself, you frown at him and avoid him where you can. When you do see one another, Joel feels like you’re always at each other's throats. Everyone in the house has started to notice the distaste in your strained relationship, if Joel is willing to let himself call it that. It’s more like a forced acquaintance. Either way, your parents even see the way the two of you bicker and fight, but rarely does anyone but Tommy make comments about it. Tommy likes to bring it up any chance he gets, usually when Joel is alone just to rile him up further. He says stupid shit, like “I bet the sex you guys would have would be crazy good” when it’s just him and his brother at the dinner table and it makes Joel stiffen and run off to the cabin without his plate or a goodbye.

He sneaks in later for his plate and catches you in the kitchen with red eyes and tear stained cheeks, but you cross your arms over your chest and try not to meet his eyes. You’re dressed in just a big tee shirt and he can see from your bare feet to the tops of your thighs. He’s the luckiest son of s bitch in the world that he just worked himself over twice because he would be tenting his sweatpants right there in the kitchen.

That was three days ago and he still can’t get the sight of tears in your eyes out of his mind. He wonders if he did that, if he’d said something that struck a nerve and there you sat at the kitchen table after everyone was tucked in bed, crying your pretty eyes out. He feels like the worst fucking person in the world because of it, so he stays away even more, makes himself sad little ramen noodle dinners in his sad little hunting cabin he shares with his brother and he stares at his ceiling wishing it was you he was looking up at—smiling instead of frowning for once—all he wants is to see you smile. Really smile, for him, at him. He wonders what your eyes look up when they light up, wonders what your skin feels like when its not shaking in rage.

But between all the avoiding and hiding, Joel didn’t even realize how quickly Christmas had snuck up on him. He checks his phone sometime after lunch, his day spent getting the herd ready for another brutal snow storm. He’d been to town that morning for hot feed to keep them warm and any supplies they might run out of while snowed in, while deep, dark clouds hung in the distance. He was leaving the feed store when the clerk waved at him with a polite “Merry Christmas!” When he made it into the truck, he pulled out his phone and realized the date, December 24th. It was Christmas eve and it was an absolute miracle that stores were open right now. It was only eleven thirty and the sign posted on the door says it closes at two.

He starts to put the truck in reverse, turning around to look behind him while he pulls out. When he does, something inside of him doesn’t let his foot off the brakes. He thinks about you—in Christmas pajamas on the floor opening dumb little gifts from your parents because it's the first Christmas they’ve had with you for years. He imagines what they’d get you, probably things a grown adult needs—products, socks, underwear, (don’t even go there Joel) and he thinks about how disheartening that must be to a woman like you, used to proper city living now, expensive gifts and pretty things. You deserve pretty things, Joel wants to give them to you.

He turns around, throws the truck in park and jumps out, heading back into the feed store. He makes a bee-line for the glass jewelry case sitting in the corner, partially scavenged through since it is the day before christmas and all—he should have thought about this weeks ago. He scans through everything, shiny horse shoe earrings, matching pendants, jeweled cowgirl boots on a chain and turquoise ring sets. None of them look good enough, none of them scream you, sweet you—fuck, he’s seen it, when you’re so damn sweet, when you think no one is looking—Joel is, always looking.

He kneels down, scanning the bottom shelf of the case when he spots a simple golden chain and a bumble bee dangling delicately from its tiny hoops. It doesn’t have any stones on it and Joel thinks he likes that more, that it’s simple and graceful, not too flashy or obviously shoutings “look at what you do to me, look at how much I wish I could have you.”

In the end, he has just enough bills in his wallet for the necklace, tells the clerk he doesn’t need a bag as he stuffs the box in his pocket and heads back to the truck.

He has a busy day when he gets back to ranch, Tommy is checking on the pregnant heifers while Joel fill’s multiple feeders with hot grains that will keep them warm through the impending storm. He has just enough time before it starts to snow to get the horse fed and the equipment properly covered in tarps. This storm is set to drop more snow than they have seen all winter and Joel doesn’t look forward to the animosity that comes with never being able to get out of each other's hair. “How’s the heifers?” He asks Tommy when he brushes grain off his hands. “They all seem pretty far out besides one, she was really soft, sort of worried me.” Heifers get soft around the tail when they are close to caving, but Joel doesn’t think she’ll be willing to have her calf in this storm, so he lets it go. Instead, he takes a spot beside Tommy at the stable door.

“Snow’s comin’ down thick now,” Tommy says from the protective covering of the stable, staring out across the yard at the powder covered ground. Snow blows through the big sliding door, filling the building with cold gusts. “We should get inside before it gets worse.”

Joel wants to—when he looks off at the two story house, the christmas tree shining through the window, he spots you on the other side of it, fixing and ornament hanging from the nettles. The stable is a stone's throw from the house, Joel can see every feature, the color of your eyes, your sweet, sweet smile—because he’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s so busy staring, he doesn’t catch it in time when your eyes meet his across the yard. That sweet smile falls, those soft eyes harden and he feels his gut lurch. “You go ahead, Tommy. Think I’m going to hit the hay.” Tommy knows this bit just about as well as Joel does, knows he’s been avoiding the house, your parents, you because nine times out of ten, it’s just Tommy at dinner these days. Joel spends his night with microwaved meals and old episodes of The Rifleman to keep him busy until he finally gives in and slips his hands in his pants.

Tommy doesn’t put up a fuss, instead, he claps Joel on the shoulder and gives him this sad sort of smile before heading off towards the house. Joel turns in the other direction, follows the fence line for a half mile until he reaches the cabin. His feet are cold, his lips feel cracked after a long day outside in the harsh weather. He microwaves a sad little dinner, pretends the mac and cheese on the side is half as good as warm food at the table when the people he looks at like family. He’s simply not welcome there anymore.

He gets through two episodes before he promptly passes out, his pants left intact tonight because it’s not his dick leading the way tonight, its that look in your eyes when you saw him across the driveway. The pang he felt in his chest when you frowned and turned away like it hurt you to look at him.

He sleeps through the night, propped up like that on the couch and when he wakes on Christmas morning, his neck has a crick in it and his back is killing him. He barely drags himself off the couch and into the shower before his day has to start. The hot water eases out some of his muscles, but it still hurts like a bitch to stand up straight or turn his head.

But the cattle aren’t going to let him take a day off, the horses won't care for themselves, so he gets to it only a few minutes late. When he heads out the door, the ground is covered in two feet of pure white snow and dark clouds still hang overhead.

His Christmas is spent in the field’s and the stables and the box in his pocket burns a hole through his thigh the entire morning, until he’s shoveling off the driveway and the front door comes open. Louise makes her way onto the porch with a plate in her hands, shuffling down the slippery steps when she gets Joel’s attention. He tosses down the shovel and hurries over when she starts to wobble on the second step and nearly slips. He catches her arm and helps her steady before letting out a cold gust of air that fogs through the chill around him. “Miss Lou, what are you doin’ out here? It’s freezing.” She has a light coat on and her cheeks are red from the cold.

“You’re the one out here in the cold, Joel. It’s Christmas and you’re the only one working. Have you had a decent meal this week? I haven’t seen you at dinner in…well, I don’t know how long.” She’s the one reason Joel feels guilty for avoiding the house, in the years he’s lived here, she's always enjoyed cooking for them, she’d always tell him he couldn’t keep her dream alive if he was malnourished. He feels like that now, running on half the calories a man his size should be taking in and his mind is in a constant state of despair these days.

“Just needed some space is all, Ma’am, nothin’ you did.” He assures her, taking the plate carefully and helping her back up the steps. “I know it's not just that. My daughter can be really difficult sometimes…I know you two bicker. It’s a shame, really—I thought the two of you would hit it off.” That's the whole problem and what a shame it is that Joel can’t look at this woman’s daughter without thinking about all the ways he could have her, make her his. “Would you come inside? Hank and I got you something, he thought you would be in this morning but you never came. I'm sorry if your food is cold.”

He didn’t care if it was cold, his stomach hurt because he was so hungry, he'd eat it if it was frozen. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her no, so he heads inside the house with snow covered boots and a nervousness he hasn’t felt here since the first day he stood in this living room. For so long it's felt like his home too—but now he can't help but feel like an intruder.

When he closes the door behind him, Hank and Tommy are watching the game, but you’re nowhere in sight. He tries to shake off his nerves, moves to the couch beside Tommy and sits down. At his brother's feet is a brand new pair of deer skin gloves, Tommy’s favorite—but hard to come by. He knows they weren’t cheap and his heart aches a little, knowing they’d worked hard to pull together the money.

“Glad to see you can pull yourself away for a few minutes. You know it ain’t goin’ anywhere, stay for a little while.” He knows that—the storm will be with them for four days and he knows there will be more snow to shovel tomorrow, but he can’t stay for long, not when your prying eyes finally detect him in your safe haven. “I’ll stay for a little while, still a lot to do out there.” He knows Hank is too old for that kind of work, Tommy’s too lazy and Joel wants nothing more than to escape. “Got you somethin’, been saving up for it for a while now.” He leans down towards the tree and picks up a rather large box—it’s not gloves thats for damn sure. “Sir, I…I didn’t get you nothin’.” He didn’t have the money, he spent every dollar he had to his name on a stupid necklace for his daughter that would rather see him outside in the freezing weather shoveling snow than on her couch in front of the fireplace.

Hank throws a hand, playing off Joel's concern with an amused huff. “You do so much for us around here without asking for anything in return. You had one when you got here but i know it got tore up taking the cattle to pasture.”

Joel rips the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box with the word Stetson on the top. Joel doesn’t even want to open the damn thing, he knows what's inside and how much it cost, an arm and a leg, probably a month's saving in the off season. “Hank…”

The olde man shakes his head firmly. “You deserve to have the sun off your neck, son. Just say thank you, make sure it fits.”

He pulls open the box and inside lays a black felt hat with a matching band, beautiful leather work that loops into an ornate metal buckle to hold it in place. He pulls the cowboy hat from its box, puts it on his head and—it’s a perfect fit.

It's been a long time since he had a hat, a lot longer since he had a nice one and a lifetime ago since he had the money for a new one, especially one this nice. “I don’t know what to say—thank you, Hank…this really…means more than you know.” More than he knows how to convey with words. It’s been a long time since Joel had a hat that fit, one that wasn’t second hand or made for someone else’s head. But this—this was made for his head, the measurement must be damn near perfect. “How’d you know my size?” He wobbles his head around and the hat doesn’t budge, hangs on snuggly. He’ll even be able to ride with this on. “I measured your head while you were sleepin’.” Tommy tells him with a smug grin. “That's weird, Tommy. I would have kept that to myself.”

It draws a laugh out of Hank who has abandoned the game in favor of watching Joel's excitement. “Well, what are you waiting for—go check yourself out in the mirror, make sure you like it,” he stands and walks over to the mirror hanging on the wall above a decorative entryway shelf. When he spots himself in the reflection, he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s seen the man looking back at him. He’s graying in his beard a little, the age lines on his face have gotten deeper and more pronounced, but the black hat on his head makes that same man grin from ear to ear.

The stairs creek behind him and he turns half of his body to look up them. Stopped halfway down the stairs, you’re staring at him with a slightly slacked jaw. Joel knew it, Christmas jammies that leave your legs exposed to his greedy eyes. This time, he tries to keep them to himself. “Oh, uh…” he swallows down the lump in his throat and his pocket burns all over again. Should he give it to you now? Will everyone question him if he does? If he waits to get you alone, does that suggest that the necklace means everything he wants it to? A peace offering, an ice breaker, a “I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you, but I want to try again.”

Instead, he leaves it in his pocket and tries to tamper down the way his cheeks heat. “Merry Christmas, Honey.” He tilts his hat up a tad so he can look up at you, but your slightly dumbfounded look morphs into irritation and discontent.

“What are you doing here?” You cross your arms and Joel’s good mood disappears. “Your mom asked me to come in and eat. Your dad wanted to give me this.” He points to the hat and your eyes roll as you make the descent down the rest of the stairs. “So if you’re in here, who’s taking care of the ranch?”

It isn’t often that someone sticks up for one of them in an argument, they tend to not get between the two of you, but to Joel’s surprise, Hank interrupts his daughter. “He’s allowed to come in the house, Honey—he works hard around here, he’s not a yard dog.” But that doesn’t stop you from sneering at him when you pass him on your way to the kitchen where your mother is. “Sure looks like one to me.” It’s under your breath so Hank doesn’t hear, but Joel does.

And he feels like a fool. A fool for spending the last of his money on this stupid fucking necklace, like a fool for being so plagued by thoughts of you in a different world, one where you don’t innately hate him, one where he doesn’t fuck up every chance he has to change the narrative.

“I should get back to it, I’ll see you guys…later.” He starts to head for the door when Louise pokes her head around the corner. “Please come in for Dinner!” Joel tells her that he will, he hates lying to miss Lou, but he does it because it’s Christmas and the last thing he wants to do is worry her today.

He wastes the day shoveling off the driveway, tries his best to rub out the crick in his neck and finally calls it a day when the sun is nearly set and the animals are bunkered down for the night. It’s started to snow again, so Joel makes his way back to the cabin with tired limbs and a new dusting of snow hanging onto the brim of his hat.

Dinner is just as lonely as the night before but this time he doesn’t pretend it's Lou’s cooking, he lets it be exactly what it is—a tasteless mush and his misery to sip on.

The Rifleman is just as predictable as it was the night before, as is Joel—who falls asleep before he has the heart to get his hands on his dick. But unlike last night, he doesn’t make it long propped up on the couch before a knock startles him awake. He drags himself to the door with sleep in his eyes and a chill in his bones. When he pulls it open, his pocket ignites again. On the other side of the door, you’re standing in front of him with a plate in your hands and a vicious storm letting down behind you. Did you walk here in that? “My mom said I chased you off, that’s why you didn’t come to dinner.” Well, you aren’t wrong. If you were still away at college, Joel would have no problem spending Christmas with Hank and Louise and Tommy who is apparently too good to walk you down here.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” He says. He glances to the side where his hat hangs on the rack. “Actually, my mom made me so no, I didn’t have a choice.” Ahh, of course—of course you wouldn’t do something that nice for him. “Well, thank her for me, then…” he reaches out for the plate and his fingers brush yours—bolts of electricity shooting up his arm and igniting his starved skin. It’s been so damn long since someone has touched him with kind hands and all he wants is yours—your soft, gentle hands he’s seen folding laundry and soothing horses. You don’t release the plate, but your eyes track up to his, meeting them across the threshold.

He could hold that gaze for the rest of his life if you’d let him—he’s always wanted a chance to get lost in your eyes and he’s getting it right now, his home pouring with cold in exchange for the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle in your irises. “Joel—“

There's a loud sound somewhere over the fence beside the cabin. It draws both of your attention to the blinding darkness. Joel knows that sound, a distressed heifer, probably the one who was too damn close to calving in a storm like this. There’s no way Joel can save that calf if it doesn’t make it and even if he wanted to, the snow is too thick to help.

“What is that?” You ask, finally dropping your hand away from his when you glance back up at him. “Heifer, think she’s calving—Tommy said she was really soft and her milk came in. Afraid that calf might not make it tonight.”

There's a look of disbelief in your eyes, shooting from Joel to the fence line and back. “You can’t help her?” Joel shakes his head and listens to the cow cry out again. “Nothin’ I can do for her. They aren’t supposed to be calving yet, we still have a few more weeks and it’s too cold out there. We might lose the heifer too.”

Joel observes the way sadness takes over your face, then determination. “I’m going out there to help her.” You tell him, already heading off the porch before Joel can even interject. “Don’t you hear me? She’s not going to make it, honey, just let it go.” But you don’t, you start to jog towards the fence line, so Joel huffs in annoyance and slips into his boots and jacket, finally pulling his hat on on his way out the door. He grabs a spotlight off the shelf by the door and follows your tracks through the snow to the fence line. It doesn’t take him long until he finds you, knelt behind a laboring cow, who’s already pushing in the freezing cold. “I can’t get this calf to safety and this storm is getting worse—it’s not safe to be out here.”

There's blood marring the white snow and your delicate hands. “I’m not letting her die in the snow on christmas because we made her have a baby, Joel—she didn’t ask for this.” Joel sets the light in the snow beside him and rolls his sleeves up, kneeling down beside you in the soaked snow. “She’s not going to make it.”

You make a face at him, one Joel is more than accustomed to. “I’m not letting her die alone, then.” And Joel isn’t going to leave you alone in the snow for a second time, so he stays there beside you, helping deliver the little black calf, who shivers wetly in the cold. It’s a little boy, floppy ears and a wobble to him when he tries to hold his head up. Joel can't help but smile, because this is always beautiful, even if he can't save this little calf. He looks up and you’re grinning right back at him, your cheeks bitten red by the cold and your hands shaking, but you look so fucking proud right now. Joel is too, after watching you pull that calf out of his momma like you were made for that.

“What if we get them inside, would they make it then?” Joel doesn’t see how, the snow is too thick and someone would have to carry him. “They wont fit in my cabin and the stable is a half a mile away. We’d have to drag momma through this snow.” He has a lead in the cabin, he could get her out of this snow, he thinks. Would she even want to go, after having a calf in the ridged cold. “We should try—we should at least try.”

Joel leans back and brushes the blood off on his pants. “Yeah—fine, we can try. Stay right here, keep rubbing him to keep him warm.” He stands and jogs back to the cabin, racing inside for the lead that he runs back to you with. You have the calf laid out along your legs while you rub his wet skin. “He’s slowing down. I can feel his heart slowing down.” He’s getting too cold out here—if Joel doesn’t act now, he won't make it, so he wraps the halter around the heifers head and hands you the lead. “Think you can pull her? She’s going to put up a fight.” You take the lead from him and nod, grabbing the light out of the snow while he picks the calf up under his belly. He makes a little sound at Joel while he starts to make his way through the deep snow.

It’s a long walk back to the stables, but you tug on that heifer and Joel carries the calf the entire way there, until he reaches the gate and manages to push it open just enough to get them through. He makes it to the stable doors in just enough time, throws it open and helps you inside. It’s not much warmer in here, but theres no snow and theres straw in the empty stable towards the back, so Joel makes his way over and lays the little calf down in the bedding. You’re right behind him with the heifer who takes straight to her baby once she has him in her sight again.

Joel plops down in the straw in the corner of the room once they are both situated, trying to catch his breath and warm himself up at the same time. He’s covered in blood, so are you, but you saved both of their lives and Joel has more respect for that than he knows what to do with. You risked your life out there for a baby cow and his momma.

“You did a good thing, out there. I’m sorry I didn’t want to listen to you.” You find a spot beside him in the hay and sink down, leaned against the wood wall with your shoulder pressed against his with how closely you sit. “You have every right to question me…you’re right, you know…I have no clue what I’m doing around here. Four years of school and the only thing I know how to do around here is the books, which is easy because were so broke.” Joel's heart aches for you, the sadness in your tone and the defeated look in your eyes. “I almost got us killed out there.”

Joel shakes his head and leans himself back against the wall too. “But you didn’t. You saved us a lot of money and saved his little life. I’d say that's a win.” He knows it doesn’t feel like one when everything else is coming down on your shoulders, but he can pretend it is for your sake. “Thanks, Joel.” You lean a little more, bumping his shoulder with a quiet yawn.

His pocket begins to burn again, but this time, it isn’t followed by the shame he’s felt all day. “I uhm…I hope it’s not weird, but I got you something…” he reaches into his pocket and starts to fish it out. “You didn’t have to do that,” you interject but he shakes his head. “I just saw it while I was at the feed store, thought of you.” He pulls out the blue box and holds it out to you. He tries not to read too much into the look on your face when you open the box, but he has to know. It looks like confusion, then shock and finally, sadness. “I was really rude to you this mornin’…and you had this in your pocket to give it to me?” You look over at him with big eyes, full of something Joel has never seen in them. “It’s alright—I deserved that.”

You shake your head and start to pull the necklace out of the box. “I called you a dog, Joel—you didn’t deserve that.”

He shrugs his shoulders, trying to rid both of you of the shame of that conversation. You hold the necklace up and admire it for a while, the little gold bee that’s going to lay against your chest, against your heart. You hold it out to him with a little quick of your lips. “Would you?” He takes it from you and you turn your back to him, using one hand to hold up your hair while he undoes the clasp and brings his hands around your neck, laying it around your delicate throat. It feels so intimate, sitting here in the hay beside a newborn baby calf in the middle of a snowstorm on christmas.

His knuckles brush against your neck gently when he does the clasp together, letting is hang from your neck, feels like a fucking brand on his skin. You turn back around, meet his eyes and smile carefully. There's a comfortable silence filling up the space between you, so Joel leans back against the wood and sighs to himself. “Let me walk you back to the house…it’s getting late.” His words are low and slow.

You nod at him and he stands, holding out a hand to pull you to your feet. He walks you out of the stables, through the blizzard and up to the porch of the big white house. “Where are you going?” You ask him when you get to the door. “Don’t know if I can make it back to the cabin in this. Might sleep out in the stable so I can keep an eye on the little guy.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at him for a long moment, then glance behind you at the warm house. “Come inside…Tommy took the guest bedroom but you can have the couch. It’s better than being out here in the cold.”

He wants to decline, but when will he get this opportunity again? To mend what's been broken between you? “Yeah—sure, that sounds better than straw poking me in the ass all night long.”

It makes you giggle and that makes Joel's stomach churn, his cheeks heat and his hands flex as he follows you inside. You get him a blanket, help him get situated in the low glow of the christmas tree in the corner.

When he kicks his boots off and settles down on the couch, you start to head for the stairs. He thinks you’re going to head up, but you pause at the bottom of the stairs before turning to look at him. “Thank you for helping me today.”

He hums, smiles and shakes his head. “It was my pleasure.”

There's another long silence, then you take the first step up the stairs. “Goodnight, Joel…Merry Christmas.”

He smiles back at you with tired eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.”

[abbys-wifey]

red looks good on you

pairing: vada cavell x female reader

warnings: drug use, alcohol consumption

a/n: vada is literally the cutest little person.

Bored. That’s how I felt being stuck at home on a Friday night with no dads, no sister and no fucking weed.

Of course it was my choice to not go to some dudes party that my twin, Mia, had decided to go to but I hate the party scene anyway, hormonal guys trying to pull you into a bedroom so they would get some stupid alone time, and crappy cheap beer. Not my type of fun time.

“Uhhh.” I groan and collapse onto the couch a simple cup of vodka in my hand. Taking a sip and trying my hardest not to make a face I check my phone to see Mias number flashing on my screen.

“Yeah?” I pick up the call and place it against my ear.

“Hey Y/N just letting you know Vadas staying tonight. We’ll be home in like twenty.” Mia’s voice is slurred slightly.

“Ok just get home safely.” I reply and I can hear the rolling of her eyes. “Just because your a minute and thirty seconds older doesn’t mean I’m a fetus. Relax.” She scoffs before hanging up.

I smile softly at her drunk bickering before leaning my head against the armrest of the couch. Vada. I may or may not have a tiny crush on the small brunette girl. Since the shooting her and Mia had become inseparable, and she had been at our house every day which is given me enough time to be somewhat smitten.

“Hellooo.” Mias voice echoes through the house as she bursts through the front door. “Living room.” I yell back taking another sip of my drink.

Mia appears first, hair disheveled and stance wobbly. But the person I was really looking at stood slightly behind Mias tall stature, Vada looked somewhat the same, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and her outfit stained with what looked like a variety of different alcohols.

“Hey Vads.” I smirk waving at the shorter girl who seems to blush slightly, an awkward hand rising to wave back. “We are going to shower. And then we will come find you for a drink partay.” Mia spins in a circle, almost tripping over her own feet as she giggles like a small child.

I roll my eyes at my sister who tugs on Vadas wrist pulling her up the stairs, my eyes following her tiny figure until they disappear.

As soon as they disappear my eyes widen. “Shit I forgot to ask Mia.” I slap my forehead and down the liquid in my cup (with disgust) before scrambling off the couch and up the stairs.

I think the drink had taken its effect slightly as I became oblivious to the shower running, and instead burst into Mias bedroom.

“Hey have you got any we-“ I trail off as Mia is no where to be found, instead a half naked Vada dressed only in shorts and a bra stands with flushed cheeks beside Mias bed.

“Oh shit sorry, I was just gonna ask if you guys had any weed.” I duck my head down and go to close the door when Vadas voice stops me.

“It’s in her dresser, and it’s ok. We are both girls anyway and I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of girls in bras. Not saying that your a slut or anything because your not. Well you could be I don’t know. But like-“ Vada continues to ramble as I smirk, slowly opening the door again and trying not to let my eyes drift to her chest.

Shifting through Mias draw I finally find her stash while Vada continues to talk. “Vada. Honestly. Shut up.” I laugh watching her face go red. “Sorry, I ramble when I’m drunk or around hot people. Not saying that your hot. Well you are but like it’s different cause I’m also like kind of drunk.” She begins again and I chuckle at her rigid stance.

Moving slightly closer to the girl I raise an eyebrow. “So you think I’m hot?” I whisper. That causes Vada to shut up, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. I open my own mouth to speak again when Mias voice stops me.

“Oh my god. Stop hitting on Vada Y/N. And is that my weed?” She stalks over, dressed in only a towel and pushes me towards her door. “Give me my weed.” Her hand opens towards me palm flat as I stand at her door occasionally glancing over at Vada who remains red and frozen.

“Love you Mia.” I turn on my heel ignoring Mias curses as she slams her door closed. Holding the weed in one hand I head back to the living room and grab the rolling papers stashed in our cupboard.

…..

“Give it back. I swear to god Y/N. Or at least give us a hit.” Mia groans now fully dressed and standing over me as I tilt my head up at her batting my eyelashes innocently.

“You may have a hit.” I hold out the joint to her and she scoffs snatching it from my hands and placing it in her mouth. “Your infuriating.”

Mia inhales and gestures over to Vada who joins me on the couch, a safe distance between us causing me to feel slightly upset. “Here.” Mia hands the joint to Vada who inhales with a slight cough. “Right now I’m going to piss. Save me another puff.” Mia glares at me before heading back up the stairs.

“Here.” Vada passes me the joint blushing as our hands ghost over one another.

“Thanks.” I grin at her and inhale letting the high wash over me like a wave.

Vada remains silent for a moment and I can almost hear the gears in her head churning as she thinks of what to say next. Her eyes drift over to my face as she turns her body so it’s angled slightly further my way.

“You are hot by the way. Like just in case you didn’t understand what I meant earlier. Like your hot to everyone. Not just me. Not that I find you like hot in the ‘I like you’ way but like-“

My head turns to face Vada as she rambles her eyes finding a way to look at every other surface in the room but mine. I grin slightly before sighing. “Fuck it.”

With swift movements I cup Vadas face moving my lips to meet hers cutting off her ramble. Her eyes widen for a second before her lips begin to move against mine. A second passes before I pull back reality hitting me. “Oh shit. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that. I kinda just thought about doing it and it happened.” It’s my turn to ramble as Vada watches me with red cheeks.

Her hands find my my face, abruptly cutting off my rambling as she pulls me back to her lips. “I didn’t mind.” She smiles pulling back after another second.

I laugh relief flooding over my body as I lean my head against her shoulder. “Let me take you out? Like on a date yeah? So I can show you it’s not just the weed making me feel like this.” I look up at her to see her cheeks flushed as she nods.

“Red looks good on you.” I chuckle gently caressing her face.

She simply groans in embarrassment.

“Shut up asshole.”

I bite back a smile and place another kiss on her lips.

“So this Tuesday. Me and you. On a date.” I whisper.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[littlemissaddict]

Just a little StevexFem!Reader something, not proofread and unedited.

I Told You So

“You've got to be kidding me!” Robin's voice echoes throughout the empty store as soon as the door closes behind the last customer.

“What have you done now?” Steve sighs from behind the counter as he tries to peer around the shelves to find where Robin's voice came from.

“Me? Nothing” she answers, finally revealing her location and moving, with purpose, to join Steve at the counter. “You on the other hand” she trails off as Steve scoffs.

“Me? What have I done other than doing what we are paid to do?” He defends, not liking that he's been blamed for something when he doesn't even know what that something is.

“Oh my god, I knew you were an idiot but I didn’t think you were blind as well” Robin groans dramatically and buries her head in her hands. Steve is even more confused now but he's starting to realise that this has to have nothing to do with work. “I swear you flirt with everyone girl that walks through that door but that girl,” Robin throws her arm in the direction of the door where said girl has not long since left, “That one girl who is so clearly into you, you have never even thrown a line her way” she explains but by the confused look still on Steve's face she can tell he has no idea who she is talking about until she says her name.

A look of recognition washes over Steve's face and finally she thinks he's realised but then a frown settles on his face. “I think you've gotten it mixed up Robs, she's not into me she's just friendly is all” he replies with a shake of his head. Sure Steve's desperate to find ‘the girl’ the one that he can love and who will love him back, the one who he can share a future with, a family with but the girl Robin is talking about is not her. Yes she's friendly, always greeting him with a smile, asking him how his day was or how his weekend had been but they were not signs that she was into him.

Robin feels like banging her head against a wall at how stupid Steve is being. “Really!?” She fixed him with a stare and he nodded in reply. “Okay so let's say she is just being friendly, why does she come in almost every shift that you're here?”

“She likes movies, me being here has nothing to do with it” he answers with a shrug.

Robin groans, “So when she comes in, she says hi to both of us, just being friendly but say she's browsing the films and I go over to ask if she wants any help you can guarantee her answer will be she's just looking” she sets up the scene for him, it's something she'd noticed after just a couple of visits to the store not that she's bothered by it but she just wishes Steve would do something to put the poor girl out of her misery. “However, if you go over and ask if she wants any help then the answer is always yes and she'll spend ages listening to your awful taste in movies and she'll always leave with one of the films you recommend” Robin adds, hoping that Steve will finally get it.

“I don't have awful taste in movies” he protests, thankful that the store is empty as he doesn’t want anyone else to have to listen to Robin's fantasy world. “And clearly it's just a case of right time right place” he responds in answer to her previous accusation.

Robin answers his stupidity with a groan of frustration, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Fine don't believe me but next time she's in and you're being your normal charming self, flirt a little and you'll see” she says, pushing herself from the counter and walking back towards the pile of movies she was sorting through before all this.

For the next week Steve had been scrutinising his every encounter with her because as much as he hated to admit he was wrong, Robin's words had stuck with him and while he wasn't getting his hopes up that a pretty girl was finally into him, he had started realise that Robin had been right and that she seemed to hang around and wait for him instead of Robin. So he'd had it planned, he was going to do as Robin said, he was going to flirt a little and see her reaction just to make sure.

As if on cue the door chime sounded and he looked up from the pile of videos he was scanning back into stock only to be greeted with her smile. Steve couldn't help but smile back, “If it isn't my favourite customer, what can we find for you today?” He asks, abandoning the tapes and making his way around the counter towards her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Robin's head peek over the top of one of the racks from where she was returning already scanned tapes back to the shelves.

“Oh uh” she stumbled over her words and Steve wondered if it had been his ‘favourite customer’ quip or if she was just surprised by his forwardness today as usually she would browse the shelves for a bit before either he or Robin asked if she needed any help. “Um I'm not sure, what do you suggest” she covers her words with a small smile hoping it would distract from her earlier slip up of nerves.

“Well what do you fancy, action?”

She shakes her head.

“Horror?”

Another no. Steve had expected that though as he knew she didn't like them but he liked to tease.

“No I know, no tough guy to keep you safe while watching. Sci-fi?” He moved on as if it were nothing, like he hadn't just remembered something she'd said months ago, even if it was a joke, and that she wasn't short circuiting in front of him.

Another, albeit delayed shake of the head.

“How about a bit of romance?” He followed his words with suggestive raises of his eyebrows that had her stuttering out an ‘okay’ as she followed behind him towards the right section.

Steve was enjoying himself, it'd been a while since his attempts to flirt had received anything but a roll of the eyes or in some cases a giggle if they'd been after a bit on discount but he doesn’t think he'd managed to turn anyone into a stuttering mess. Maybe Robin was right and he was expecting a ‘told you so’ in the very near future but he was going to make it worth it, maybe get her to agree to a date before she left.

“Now this one I have been told, from a very credible source, is a classic” he played it up, reaching toward the shelf and pulling out The Princess Bride, “it tells the tale of a beautiful princess who falls for a simple farm boy, who is in search of employment and gets attacked by a pirate?” Steve stops a little confused by the synopsis of the film and as he hears a giggle he looks up to find it coming from her.

“Sounds like it has a bit of everything” she smiles, sounding more like her normal self than the stuttering mess Steve had made her with his unexpected flirting. “Ok you've convinced me, I'll take it” she adds, holding out her hand for the tape.

Steve moves to give her it before he seems to rethink pulling it back again. “Too late, I think it's already been rented,” he teases, a sad smile on his face, “so I guess you'll just have to come watch it with me” he adds notchantly as though it's an afterthought and not as if he'd planned it from the moment he realised that Robin was right.

“Well then I suppose that'll have to do” she tries to play it cool when really she's freaking out because Steve Harrington has practically just asked her on a date. “Friday night, your place?” She asks.

“Friday night, my place” he confirms with a nod. Problems, or in this case perks, of living in a small town everyone knew everyone's business including where they lived.

“I'll be seeing you then” she nods, the smile in full force on her face as she turns, heading towards the door but she stops before she exits. This time turning in the opposite direction, Robin's direction, and that's when Steve notices that Robin's still peeking over the shelves but she's quick to duck down as if she hadn't been watching the two of them. “bye Robin” she chuckles before actually leaving this time.

After the sound of the door closing and the footsteps retreating does Robin finally exit her hiding place. “You know Robin, if this works out then I owe you one” Steve smiles appreciatively at her as he places the tape on the counter ready to ring out.

“Yeah, yeah that's just what friends are for, just don't parade it in front of my lonely, single self” laughs with a shake of her head.

[rosekasa]

“I was going for the cheek/forehead and I missed 😳” kiss for any side of the square ❤️

AHHH ANON THANK U!!!

92. “I was going for the cheek/forehead and I missed 😳” kiss - from this amazing list by @kisspromptsforthelovesquare !

Ladybug hates Hawk Moth for a lot of reasons. But interrupting the first date she's had with her boyfriend after his month away in Verona truly takes the cake.

Coming to a halt at Champs de Mars, she sets Adrien down on his feet. The power still hasn't come back on after the attack; the safety announcement hasn't been broadcasted yet, and no one has been brave enough to come back out and return to their picnic blankets.

"Thanks, Ladybug." He dusts himself off once he's out of her arms. Despite being cornered in an alleyway for two hours, he still looks gorgeous -- brand new white shirt perfectly pressed, not a strand of hair out of place. "You really didn't have to trouble yourself, though. I could've just walked."

She knows that very well -- but she wasn't about to let Hawk Moth win. He can interrupt all her dates as much as he wants, but he cannot stop her from exercising her God-given right of enjoying how attractive her boyfriend is up-close and personal.

"What are superheroes for?" she says with a smile. "I mean, I know Chat Noir is your favourite, but unfortunately you were stuck with me today."

He laughs awkwardly. "Chat Noir? My favourite?" he says. "I'd like to have a word with some of your sources. I've been a Ladybug fanboy since day one."

She rolls her eyes. "Your flirting is even as bad as his."

"You should meet my girlfriend. No one thinks my flirting is as bad as she does."

She can't help but laugh. Of course he wears that like a badge of pride. The thing he'd lamented the most while in Verona was how text messages 'didn't do justice' to his awful lines.

"Maybe you should follow her example more often and I won't have to save you from akumas all the time," she says.

He smiles. "But it's always nice to see an old friend."

She goes in for a casual, habitual side-hug. As if he's just a regular-schmegular civilian she's been saving for months and not the guy she was close to building a shrine for to get him to come back to Paris early.

Just as they begin to pull away, Ladybug leans in and presses a polite kiss to his cheek.

Except Adrien, about to say something, turns his head at the last second, and her lips land squarely on his.

They both freeze.

A beat passes, then two. He hasn't moved yet. Neither has she. One of them probably should, though.

But also... she hasn't kissed Adrien in a very long time.

No. Maybe enjoying how attractive her boyfriend is is her God-given right, but Hawk Moth would definitely have a field day if he found out Ladybug was kissing supermodel Adrien Agreste while his girlfriend was nowhere to be found after an akuma attack.

She leaps back, lips smarting. "I am so sorry."

He blinks a few times, as if she'd just hit him with her yo-yo. "No, I mean-- it's fine."

She opens her mouth to speak. Before she can, he reaches up and wipes a thumb over his chin. Pink gloss comes off. He looks at her, nonplussed. Blush shoots up to her hairline.

"You're not wearing your passion fruit lip balm?" he asks.

Silence passes over them for many seconds.

"...What?" she says.

He rubs his fingers together, pouting. "This is sparkly," he says, as if that's any kind of explanation.

"...What?"

He looks up, and his expression shifts. "Do you not... know?"

Eyes wide, she shakes her head.

More silence ensues.

"...How?" he finally says.

She stares at him. "What do you mean, 'how'?"

"I've seen you de-transform before almost every single one of our dates," he says. "You got to the airport five minutes after class ended to see me off. I thought you wanted me to know you were Ladybug."

Before, at least, she might've been able to convince herself they were talking about different things. Not after that.

"But you-- you said I'm an old friend!" she says. "You referred to your girlfriend!"

"I thought we were doing a bit!"

She sighs deeply, scrubbing her hands down her face. This is Hawk Moth's fault. She doesn't know how, but it is.

"Why were you shocked when I kissed you?" she asks quietly.

His face turns sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the grass.

"I missed you," he says. "We haven't kissed in a long time."

Ladybug's heart leaps in her ribcage. No, she's not giving Hawk Moth credit for this.

Flying forward, she wraps her arms around him and brings her mouth to his, kissing him entirely on purpose.

The power comes back on after two minutes. While she's not sure about Hawk Moth, Twitter, at least, certainly has a field day.