#going to play with high school years for the first time!!

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[ginggain]

What sport did you used to play? Also, what made you finally give in and eat yourself into a lardass

So I played baseball, football, and hockey! I also tried just about everything growing up from running to soccer to basketball. I would always run and I was a very fast runner, and decent at most sports too but I was always the tall skinny kid, so after high school into college I decided to put on more weight (first pic is start of college second is end) so I put on about 15-20 pounds after high school, mostly muscle and I loved it, I loved feeling bigger and more dominant, I loved being hungrier and being able to eat more, and at this point I had already been exposed to feederism but I never considered it for myself. One night in college I decided to just go get a bunch of food and eat until I couldn’t anymore… then my greatest orgasm ever happened lmaoooo… it felt so different and so good, I pictured myself growing larger and larger and feeling so much better the heavier I got. I didn’t really try to stuff too much after then, just making sure to eat consistent, I didn’t know if it was what I wanted yet in life but it was definitely there.

So then on and off for about two years after that I bounced from living in my college town to living back home to eventually finding my own place. I stuck around 160 for a lot of that time in there, would work on the road and lose 10 pounds here sometimes more, so I could never consistently hit the gym or consistently stuff and eat. Then about a year ago I slowly slipped back in, I started stuffing again, I started spending days at a time just eating and growing. I loved the feeling and I loved how greedy I was and felt. Over time I became a lot bigger in the community and a lot bigger person lmao. From august of ‘24 till now I have put on around 30 pounds and I have loved how fast it has piled on and I have never felt better about my body. The itch to keep growing and to see just how fat you can be never goes away, you forget about it and it grows and grows in your mind until you turn right back to it :) I fully have plans on this being my life now. I’m ready to give it all up, I’ve had my fun in my past smaller body, done everything I could really do with it and I’ve just always wanted to experience a whole different lifestyle of being big and every move revolves around food. I so badly yearn to be that biggest person in the room at any time, just eyes drawing towards you wondering how a person could possibly become that big. Not knowing my whole past life of being fit and healthy. Plus I know a lot of you find it quite hot how a person decides to make drastic changes that effects every part of their life :)) hope you all enjoyed reading!!

P.s what I mean by being unrecognizable is like to compleeeeetly change forms, so that my arms don’t even look the same, so that so much fat grows on my neck and face it makes it not even look like who I used to be, just someone drowning in their own lard, knowing they did it to themselves and knowing they are too physically big to turn it around. That’s unrecognizable.

[keeryhours]

please be gentle (when you’re tearing me apart)

Eddie Munson x female! reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You’re in love with Eddie, Eddie’s in love with someone else. Somehow, he accidentally ends up in a relationship with you anyway.

Warnings:

(18+), SERIOUS angst, there is only pain here, hurt/no comfort or hurt/a little comfort, cheating, pregnancy, pregnancy complications, birth/c section, Eddie is really out of character and is a total dick, Chrissy is out of character and she also sucks (sorry guys), smut, fingering, protected p in v, virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, really awkward first time!

Word Count: 14.6k

A/N:

WOW okay this was totally unexpected to write. The length especially. This is just something depressing for the anti-Valentine’s Day mood. I’ve been nervous to post so I hope you enjoy! Big giant thanks to @punkrockmlchael (who made my beautiful banner again and also beta read), @the-witty-pen-name , @fizzing-imagines, @losingmygrasponreality, @writhingg , and @lesservillain for bouncing ideas and beta reading! I couldn’t have written this without you. Also ignore that there’s only dividers for half the fic, apparently you can only add 10 images to a post 🙃

dividers by @/strangergraphics

Best friends.

That’s what you and Eddie were, and always had been. Growing up as neighbors in Forest Hills, you met when you were 8 and Eddie was 10, after he moved in with his uncle.

To be honest with yourself, you had had a crush on Eddie Munson since the first time you laid eyes on him. A silly childhood crush at first, he was so cute with his curls, short at the time, and it made your heart beat fast whenever you walked to the store together for snacks and he held your hand.

He would play you all kinds of music you’d never heard before, heavy stuff that was totally new to you. You weren’t sure about it at first, but you grew to love it. When he got into D&D, he would talk your ear off about his campaign plans for hours. You didn’t mind. You liked listening to him talk. When he started Hellfire, you were the first member to join. You didn’t know how to play an instrument, but you were Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan.

Eddie was everything to you. He was the first person you went to with any news, the only one you were excited to tell anything and everything to. He took you to see every new slasher movie, bought you your first dice set. He was the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last you thought of at night. At some point, it turned into more than a crush.

At some point, you fell in love.

Eddie was oblivious. He never dated in high school, but that didn’t seem to bother him. You didn’t, either, but it was mostly because you were so preoccupied with loving Eddie. You tried dropping hints, but he never seemed to figure it out. You were too scared to just get it over with and tell him outright.

So, you remained best friends. Just friends.

—

“Are you going to prom this year?” Wayne asked, sipping his beer as he sat relaxed in his recliner. Eddie nursed his own beer, feet up on the coffee table.

“Nah,” Eddie said. “You know that’s…not my thing.”

“You should go at least once,” Wayne said. “Might regret it.”

“I doubt it.”

“I had a great time at my senior prom,” Wayne reminisced, smiling at the memory. “You should give it a shot, Ed. Why don’t you take your little friend from next door?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t feel that way about her.”

“You can go as friends,” he pointed out. “I’m sure she’d like that. Girl adores you.”

“I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me,” Eddie winced, sipping his beer. “I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”

“You don’t have to marry her, Ed. Just show her a good time. You two have been so close for so long, I’m sure she would understand.”

Eddie thought about it. He didn’t want to go to prom, like at all, but he wanted to make his uncle happy. And if he had to go with someone, it might as well be you, his only female friend, right?

So, he approached you at your locker the next day at school. “Hey.”

You turned to him, your face immediately lighting up with a huge smile. “Hey, Eds.”

“I, uh,” Eddie looked around awkwardly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d want to go to…prom with me?”

Your eyes went wide, but inside your heart was thundering out of your chest. Had Eddie really just asked you out? “Prom? Really? I thought you hated prom?”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s my last senior year. Hopefully, at least. I figured I might as well give it a shot. We can pre game and sneak in some alcohol. And if it’s lame, we can ditch.”

You couldn’t wipe the huge smile off your face. You were almost a little concerned at how hard your heart was beating in that moment, like it would give out. “I’d love to go with you.”

Eddie gave you a soft smile. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at 6 that night.”

You watched as Eddie left, heading in the direction of his next class of the day. You waited until he was out of sight before you went sprinting in the direction of Robin’s locker.

You found her there, taking her books out. She startled when you ran up on her, placing her hand over her chest. “Jesus. What’s up with you?”

“Eddie just asked me to prom,” you blurted out. Robin’s jaw dropped open.

“No way!” She exclaimed, her look of shock turning to one of pure excitement. “This is huge. I always knew he was into you.”

You blushed. “I don’t know. I had given up hope of him liking me back. This was so out of the blue. I didn’t even think he wanted to go to prom at all.”

“Maybe he’s just better at hiding his feelings,” Robin offered. “Either way, we’re going dress shopping. Prom is only two weeks away!”

That weekend, Robin convinced her mom to drive the two of you to Indianapolis to go shopping in the big city. You were both giddy with excitement - Robin wasn’t much of a dress girl, and she didn’t have a date. The only person she wanted to take, she couldn’t ask. You were pretty sure Vickie was into girls and Robin in particular, but Robin was still too scared to make the move. You didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like typical rejection if things went wrong. So, instead, Robin was going with a group of girls from the marching band as friends.

Her mom took you to the huge mall, which was much more impressive than Starcourt. It was huge, with a ton of different stores. You made a stop at Camelot Music first, where Robin got a new Blondie tape and you grabbed the new The Smiths record and a Metallica Master of Puppets tape for Eddie, since his had recently broken.

Next was the formal wear store. You were both immediately overwhelmed when you walked in, the racks and racks of fancy dresses as far as the eye could see. All different colors, lengths, and styles. It was…a lot.

“Well…I guess let’s get started,” Robin said, her voice unsure.

You probably tried on 50 dresses each. You and Robin giggled as you tried on the dresses her mom picked for you, big floofy pink and blue monstrosities.

“You look like a marshmallow. Like a big pink marshmallow,” Robin had commented.

“Yeah?” You laughed, gesturing towards her powder blue gown. “Well, you look like a wedding cake.”

An hour and a half into dress shopping, you were both getting tired and totally over it. You had the last gown you’d picked out in your hand, and you told yourself if you hated this one, too, you’d just say fuck it and go to prom in your ripped jeans.

You pulled the dress over your head, smoothing it down your body. When you turned and looked into the mirror, you gasped. You actually looked…beautiful.

The dark purple dress hugged your curves, pushing your breasts up and making them look much sexier (and perkier) than they really were. The skirt fell above your knees, showing off your legs. You did a little twirl, the skirt swishing around your thighs. You loved it, it was by far the best one you’d tried on.

“Are you alive in there?” Robin called from outside the dressing room, and you smiled to yourself.

“I think we have a winner,” you called back.

“Ooh!” Robin said just as you moved the curtain and walked out. You saw Robin standing in a dark blue dress that looked beautiful on her, the skirt long but flattering.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You look stunning! Eddie is going to lose his mind.”

You blushed at the mention of Eddie. “You do too!” And she did. Finally, you had both found something.

After you left the dress shop with your bags in hand, you were both feeling much happier. You made a stop at Afterthoughts, where you found some earrings and a necklace to match your dress.

You couldn’t believe you were going to prom, and with Eddie. It was a dream come true.

You couldn’t wait.

—

Prom night, you were shaking as you got ready. The dress was just as beautiful as you remembered. The jewelry you had picked out matched your dress even better than you’d hoped.

Eddie picked you up right on time. He smiled at you awkwardly when he picked you up, holding a corsage in his hand. “Hey.”

You beamed at him. “Hi. Is…that for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at it like he had forgotten he had it. “You look pretty,” he told you as he slipped the corsage onto your wrist. You blushed as you pinned the boutonnière to his black suit jacket.

“You look handsome yourself,” you told him shyly.

Eddie drove the two of you to the school. The parking lot was packed with students’ cars and even a few rented limousines. Just as you were about to get out of the van, Eddie stopped you. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out two black flasks, handing one to you.

“This should make this night a lot more fun, yeah?” He smirked. You smiled back, before making a face as you took a sip of the burning liquid. Eddie laughed, which made you start giggling, too.

You took a photo together at the booth near the gym doors, which Eddie wasn’t super excited about. The next thing he did was head for the food, piling a tiny plate full of appetizers. You followed him, grabbing a cup of punch to help wash down the liquor in your purse.

Eddie wouldn’t dance with you until after he’d finished his flask, claiming it was stupid and he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing at prom. But by the time he finished it, he had enough of a buzz that he didn’t care. You were tipsy, too, and absolutely elated when he stood and took your hand, leading you to the floor just as a slow song came on.

Eddie playfully groaned, rolling his eyes, but he pulled you close to his body anyway. Butterflies took flight in your stomach as he placed his hands on your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. The two of you swayed together in time to the music. You could not stop smiling. You laid your head on Eddie’s chest, tuning out the music as you listened to his heartbeat.

After prom, you headed back to the van. You’d had the best night of your life, one you would never forget. Yeah, you were both a little bit intoxicated, but you were floating on the clouds for a whole different reason.

“D’you want to come back to my place?” Eddie asked as he started the engine. “We could drink a little more, smoke a joint. Wayne’s working.”

You wanted nothing more. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

At the trailer, Eddie rolled up a thick joint as you gathered the bottles of liquor and shot glasses from the cabinet. Eddie was back in normal clothes, and you’d changed into one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were too big on you.

Eddie sparked up the joint as you poured each of you two shots of tequila. You clinked your glasses together before downing them both. Eddie took the first drag on the joint, his eyes falling closed as he inhaled the thick smoke. He looked gorgeous like this, curls still tamed and framing his face. The smoke escaped through his perfect lips, trailing up and throughout the bedroom. He handed the joint to you, and you gratefully took it, bringing it to your painted lips. Some of your lipstick had rubbed off on the shot glasses, leaving a stain.

As the night went on, the two of you got progressively more drunk and high. By the time it was 2am, the two of you were giggling messes, listening to music over the stereo and talking about the latest campaign. Suddenly, in your drunkenly stoned haze, you remembered the gift stashed in your purse.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, jumping up to grab your small bag. “I forgot. I got you something.”

“You got me something?” Eddie asked, confused, his words slightly slurring together.

You reached into the purse and pulled out the bag from Camelot. You hoped he loved it, because now that it was in your hands, you were suddenly nervous. You turned, smiling softly as you handed Eddie the bag. “I just saw it while I was at the mall with Robin and I thought of you.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at you as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the Metallica tape, a huge grin spreading across his face immediately. “Shit! You didn’t have to do this. But it’s fuckin’ awesome you did.”

You giggled, flopping back onto the bed next to him. You laid with your head on his pillow, smiling up at Eddie from where he sat next to you. “I’m glad you like it. I know yours broke. Probably because you play it all the time.”

Eddie poked you in the side, making you laugh harder. “Shut up, Freak. You love Master of Puppets just as much as I do.”

“That’s true,” you conceded. You looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes gazing down at you. They sparkled, like his personality was shining its way through. He had a strong nose, kissable lips. God, you wanted to kiss those lips.

Eddie had never realized how pretty you were. He always just saw you as his long time best friend, the girl who definitely crushed on him but he never saw that way. He still didn’t think he had feelings for you, but…you were pretty.

“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” He asked, pushing a section of hair off your shoulder.

You blushed at the question. You didn’t have much experience, your love life was nonexistent. But you had kissed someone, at least. “Yeah. Tommy Hagan in 7th grade.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Tommy Hagan? That dickhead? You never told me that.”

You shrugged, your cheeks red and hot. “It didn’t mean anything. I got invited to Heather Holloway’s birthday party and he was there. We all played spin the bottle. It only lasted two seconds and we never really talked again.” Eddie hummed. “What about you?”

It was Eddie’s turn to look sheepish. “Uh, yeah. A girl at school, Chrissy, in 8th grade. We didn’t date or anything.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. “Chrissy Cunningham? You didn’t tell me that, either!” He had never mentioned her. You knew it was stupid, but you were struck with jealousy at his words.

“It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off.

“Look at us,” you laughed. “18 and almost 20, and we’re still a couple of virgins.”

Eddie looked down at you, something unfamiliar swimming behind his eyes. He had never wanted to kiss you before this moment, but now... “I mean, we can change that.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. This could be a point of no return, a step in a direction he didn’t want to take. But in his drunk and high mind…he wanted it. He wanted you.

He leaned forward slowly, so slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat right before his lips pressed against yours. They were just as soft as you always dreamed they were, and your mind went even more hazy from his kisses.

Neither of you were experienced at all and you were both pretty intoxicated, so the kiss was a little awkward and desperate. All tongues and teeth clashing together, hungry for one another. Eddie’s hand slid beneath your t-shirt - his Hellfire shirt - trailing up your smooth skin until he reached your breasts. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were bare chested beneath the thin shirt. His calloused fingers delicately grazed your nipples, making you shiver. You’d never been touched there before, never felt anything like this. Being touched by Eddie was so much different than being touched by your own hand.

“I love your tits,” Eddie mumbled against your lips between kisses. You hummed, arching your back into his touch.

“Feels good, Ed,” you moaned quietly, body turning into pure electricity under his wandering touch. Your own hand tangled in the curls at the back of his neck, loving the way your bodies molded together, the feeling of his body finally pressed up against your own.

“Yeah?” He squeezed your breast one more time before his hand moved to your back, sliding down your body until he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. You gasped, feeling how hard he was through his own sweatpants. “You feel how hard I am?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back. You moved your hand to his chest, sliding it down his body until you reached the tent in his pants. He groaned as you felt him, squeezing his cock through the material.

Eddie sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. You eyed his bare chest, the tattoos adorning his pale skin. You traced a finger over the design on the left side of his chest. God, he was so hot.

His hands slid up your shirt, pulling it up and off. His gaze dropped straight to your tits, he was practically drooling. He reached for the waistband of your sweatpants next, pulling them down your body slowly, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You were grateful you picked something pretty, red and lace.

“So sexy,” Eddie moaned. He leaned forward and kissed your stomach, which startled you a little. He trailed kisses up your body until he reached your breasts, where he ran his tongue over one of your nipples before wrapping his lips around it. You moaned as you arched into his touch, his mouth, whatever he would give you.

His hand slid down your body slowly, slowly, until it reached your panties. He slipped beneath them, fingers dipping between your folds. He could feel how insanely wet you were, and it only made his cock harder.

“So wet for me,” he said. “Bet you can’t wait for my cock.”

You whimpered as he pressed a finger against your entrance. Slowly, carefully he pushed it inside, stretching you for the first time. You gasped at the intrusion, but the pain faded quickly. Eddie slowly pumped his long finger in and out of your pussy, pressing against something deep inside that felt incredible as he curled his finger against it. He added a second finger shortly after, and the stretch was more intense, but from the feeling of the size of his cock in your hand, you knew it wouldn’t even be comparable.

Eddie fingered you a little longer, getting you nice and wet and ready for him, before he removed his hand and slipped your panties off. Now bare before him, he drank you in with his hungry eyes. His cock twitched in his pants.

You helped him push them down his hips, and he kicked them off onto the floor. He didn’t have boxers on underneath, and his dick was so much more impressive once fully revealed. It was big enough that it made you feel scared even through your mind haze.

“You can take it,” he assured you, his words still slightly slurred. “I know you can.”

He reached over you into the bedside table and pulled out an unopened box of condoms. “Finally get to use these,” he laughed, taking one out of the box and ripping it open. You watched as he slid the rubber over his hard cock, tip red and glistening. You wished you could have had a taste.

Eddie got in between your legs, kissing all over your neck before meeting your lips again. His tongue pressed into your mouth immediately, attempting to distract you from the pain where he was lining himself up and slowly beginning to push inside.

You whined as he began to fill you, inch by thick inch. When he was fully seated inside he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you, making you gasp. He set a quick pace, desperately rutting into you as he chased his pleasure, his drunken rhythm sloppy and uneven.

You held onto him tightly as he fucked into you, and he groaned into your neck where he had his face buried. “Feels so good,” he moaned, not exactly caring how you felt, only worried about his own quickly impending orgasm. It was his first time and he was not going to last.

“Eddie,” you whined, “you’re so big.”

He groaned at that. “Yeah, baby? You like it?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, and it did feel good, but he was also splitting you in half.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He pumped into you just a couple more times before he was stilling, buried to the hilt inside you as he filled the condom. He moaned loudly, body trembling on top of you as he rode out his orgasm. You didn’t get to cum, but you were too drunk to care.

Eddie pulled out, removing the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. He collapsed onto the bed next to you, his naked body sweaty, chest heaving.

“That was…good,” you said, not knowing if it was or not. You were happy to have lost your virginity to Eddie, and the whole night had been a dream. But he hadn’t exactly cared about your pleasure. You waited for Eddie to reply, to say anything, but nothing came.

He was already snoring.

—

The unbearably bright light shining through the window around his curtains is the first thing Eddie experienced the next morning. It woke him up, but he only squeezed his eyes shut tighter, groaning as the light made his pounding headache infinitely worse. Fuck, he drank way too much last night.

He barely even remembered it. He remembered the prom, he remembered drinking a lot, doing shots, and smoking a joint. He remembered you, but his memory was hazy. How did you get home anyway? He didn’t remember driving you home after prom.

Eddie stretched, his muscles stiff. He was naked beneath his blanket, which wasn’t entirely unusual. He probably just didn’t feel like changing once he got his suit off.

Eventually he figured he should get out of bed. He rolled over and stood with another old man groan. Fuck, he had to cut back on the drinking, because he definitely felt a lot older than 19 right now.

He pulled on some boxers and a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor, remaining shirtless. Wayne would be passed out in his own bedroom after a long night of work at the plant. But Eddie was starving, and he needed something for that headache.

When he stepped out of the room, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Something delicious was wafting from the kitchen, the smell of bacon overpowering some other food scents. That was weird. Wayne didn’t cook breakfast, not the morning after a work night. He walked down the hall cautiously, brows furrowed as he neared the end of the hallway. He turned the corner, and froze.

You were there in the kitchen, expertly flipping a pancake in a pan. A plate sat on the counter next to you filled with bacon, and another pan on the next burner was cooking scrambled eggs. Oh, and you were dressed in nothing but Eddie’s oversized t-shirt and your underwear.

Oh shit, Eddie thought. What the fuck did I do?

The floor creaked as he stepped into the kitchen, and you turned around, a smile spreading across your lips at the sight of him. “Hey, sleepyhead. I made us some breakfast. Thought you could use something on your stomach.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say or do. Did he sleep with you? Oh god. He was going to be sick. “Uh, good morning. You, uh, didn’t have to do all this.”

He watched as you plated the finished pancakes and eggs. “I thought we could both use a big breakfast after last night,” you said, giving him a smirk. Oh, shit. He did sleep with you last night. He drunkenly lost his virginity after prom, to you.

Fuck. He was a fucking idiot.

You started making plates for the both of you. “I set out a water bottle and some Tylenol for you over there,” you said, nodding to the corner of the counter. Eddie took the medicine immediately, desperate for some relief from his unbearable headache. Now he wasn’t sure what was making it worse, the hangover or the knowledge of what he’d done.

He sat down across from you at the small table. He didn’t know what to say. Your friendship would never be the same after this. He knew you liked him, he didn’t like you, then he slept with you. Now he had to crush your heart. He really felt like he was going to be sick.

“Did you sleep okay?” You finally asked as the two of you ate, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Eddie snapped back to reality. “Oh. Yeah.”

You smiled softly at him. You figured he was just still cloudy from the weed. “I had a good time last night.”

“Yeah…” Eddie said. “Me too.”

Your face lit up at that, and he could have slapped himself. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t even remember the sex. He was not doing a good job of not leading you on. “Listen,” he said, “about that-“

“It was really good,” you said. Eddie’s watched as your cheeks turned red and you looked down at your plate. “Sorry. I just meant…I enjoyed it. Being with you.”

Eddie had suspected, known even, that you had a crush on him, but this was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud. Eddie was really going to have to stomp on your heart to put an end to those thoughts, and it was all his fault. He never should have brought you home after prom. “Look, I-“

“I didn’t think you liked me back,” you continued, rambling nervously, excitedly. “I…to be honest with you I’ve had a crush on you for years, but I was always too scared to tell you. But you never seemed like you were into me…until last night.” You giggled, covering your mouth. “I can’t believe we’re together now.”

Together?

Oh, fuck. He couldn’t do this. He could not do this. He couldn’t crush your spirit, wipe that elated smile off your face. He’d never seen you look so happy. He felt like the biggest asshole.

“Oh, yeah,” he said instead. “Um, me either.”

“I can’t wait to tell Robin,” you continued. “She’s going to freak.”

—

Eddie couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into this situation.

Sure, you were his best friend so he liked your personality, and it’s not like you weren’t cute, but he just didn’t have feelings for you in the way you did for him. But now he had slept with you and you thought he liked you back. He had somehow, some way, become your actual boyfriend.

“I thought you didn’t like her like that?” Gareth asked the next school day after prom at lunch. You were sitting with Robin today. You often bounced between the marching band table and the Hellfire table.

“I don’t,” Eddie said simply.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant looked at him like he was crazy. “Then how…why…?”

Eddie slammed his hand on the table. “Stop grilling me, okay?”

“Someone’s cranky,” Jeff muttered, turning back to his lunch tray in front of him.

“Yeah, you’re in a pretty shitty mood to be the only one of us to lose his virginity and get a girlfriend,” Grant commented. Gareth and Jeff agreed, nodding along.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie muttered. “Would be nice if it was with someone I’m actually into.”

“Harsh,” Gareth tsked. “You should be honest with her. You’re just leading her on.”

“I can’t.” Eddie buried his face in his hands, exasperated and stressed. “It’s gone too far. She thinks I’m her boyfriend. She thinks I like her back. I can’t crush her like that.”

The other three boys exchanged a look. “So…you’re just gonna marry her?” Grant asked.

Eddie froze. That is where this would eventually lead if he didn’t turn it around. But he was scared. He couldn’t bring himself to burst your bubble. “I’ll figure something out.”

As lunch was ending, Eddie jolted when you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, babe,” you giggled. “How was lunch?”

“Good,” Eddie said, giving each Hellfire boy a look that said don’t say or do a damn thing.

“You guys are so cute,” Robin said, holding her hands over her chest as she tilted her head to the side with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re finally together.”

Eddie felt sick. Just like he had all weekend, since the morning after prom. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Your whole face lit up with a smile. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out after school. Do our homework and work on the Curse of Vecna.”

Eddie groaned internally. This was such a disaster. “Sure.”

That day after school Eddie drove you back to his place. He reluctantly did his homework with you, mostly copying your answers rather than actually learning anything. Then the two of you laid on his bed and made out.

Hey, if he was going to be stuck in this relationship with someone he didn’t actually care for, the least he could do was take advantage of the benefits.

—

You spent four years with Eddie before you started noticing something was off.

It was the scent you started noticing on his clothes at first, like flowers and vanilla. You lifted his shirt from the laundry, the unexpected smell hitting you. You didn’t own anything that smelled like this, and Eddie certainly didn’t. You knew the smell of his cheap cologne better than anything, the amount of times you’d laid your head on his chest and smelled that distinctly Eddie scent. Something was wrong.

When you confronted him about it, he brushed it off. “It’s this new girl at work. Her perfume is so strong, everyone smells like it.”

You accepted the answer for the time being. But then there were other things you began to notice. A scrunchie that definitely didn’t belong to you on the floor of the passenger side of his van. A condom wrapper in the bathroom trash after you’d been out of town for the weekend. And finally, a pair of pink panties stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans that were so clearly not yours it was nearly comical if it hadn’t made you want to die.

When you confronted him about it the next time, it was with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. “Eddie,” you said, your voice cracking as you tossed the panties onto the floor in front of where he sat on the couch. “What are these?”

Eddie knew he had been caught. There was no getting out of it this time. You didn’t own any underwear like that, and it was the wrong size. How could he have been so stupid to have kept the panties? “I…”

“Really?” You sobbed. “You have nothing to say?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” Eddie looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with someone else.”

Even though you already knew his words were true, they still hit you right in the heart. You could feel it cracking, could feel the fault lines forming, the blood and life seeping out of it. “With who?” You asked, barely audible. You weren’t sure if you wanted the answer, but you needed it.

“That’s not important-“

“It is important,” you said. “It’s important to me.”

Eddie didn’t respond at first. He didn’t want to respond. “Chrissy Cunningham,” he answered reluctantly at last. “But don’t pull her into this, she doesn’t deserve to be-“

“Chrissy Cunningham?” You scoffed. “Eddie, we’ve been together for four years. Chrissy knows we’re together. So she was just fine sleeping with a guy she knew was taken?” You laughed humorlessly through the tears. “Wow. You guys are perfect for each other, then.”

Eddie shook his head. “Don’t do that, man, she-“

“‘Man’?” You couldn’t believe the conversation you were having. “Wow, I sure got demoted from baby fast, huh?”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “Please. I don’t wanna do this. I don’t feel like doing this.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have cheated!” You yelled back. “Why would you do this? How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”

Eddie mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t catch.

“What?” You asked. “I can’t hear you. Just fucking tell me. Why would you do this to me?”

When Eddie looked up at you, his eyes were full of anger, flames flickering behind his normally sweet doe eyes. The ones you had gazed into, taken comfort in so many times. When he opened his mouth, nothing but poison seeped out.

“Because I never loved you!” Eddie yelled, hands running through his hair to the point he was practically pulling it out. You had never seen him so upset. “Fuck! I went out with you because we were friends and I felt bad, and by the time we’d been together for months it was too late. I never liked you back like that. That’s the truth, finally.”

His words hit you like a shot to the chest. You stared at him with your lips parted, staggering gasps being dragged into your lungs. You shook uncontrollably as if it were suddenly freezing. But the tears didn’t yet fall. You felt like you might be in shock. “How…”

“How did I pretend to be in love with you?” He scoffed. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, but it doesn’t seem like you ever noticed. You were so blinded by who you wanted me to be, you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. Hey, as long as I came home and fucked you before passing out next to you, you just took it.” He laughed, a cruel, sinister laugh. “You just let me treat you like shit. Like you have no respect for yourself, or were just that obsessed with me.”

You didn’t even know who this was in front of you right now. This person who looked like Eddie, sounded like Eddie, but was spewing such horrible, hurtful words that Eddie never would. You didn’t recognize him at all. You wanted to blame his words on his heightened emotions, but you could tell everything he said was true. Especially with the cheating to back it up.

That’s not how you treated someone you cared about.

“So you just led me on for four years instead of telling me?” You asked. There was no fight behind your voice like there was in his. Only hurt and defeat. “Eddie…even before all this, you were my best friend. How could you do this to me?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Because he was a selfish idiot coward? That was the truth. “Look, me and Chrissy- it just happened. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. She came in to the Hideout, we got to talking-“

“And you fucked her?” You finished for him.

He just looked at you. “Yeah.”

The truth was, Eddie felt bad. He knew he had fucked up astronomically bad. He had led you on, used your body, betrayed you. Wasted four years of your life. He knew you thought he was the one, he knew you were waiting for a proposal that was never going to come. It was his fault things had gotten this far.

Maybe he thought he could fake it ‘til he made it. Maybe he thought if he pretended to be into you, eventually he would be. But that never happened.

And now you were crying, hard. His chest ached for some reason, even though he had no right to hurt for what he had done to you. He deserved to feel like shit.

He wasn’t prepared for the next words that came out of your mouth.

“I’m pregnant, Eddie,” you said, eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop the torrent of tears currently streaming down your face. There was no response. You had to force yourself to open your eyes and look, wondering if he was even still there.

He was. He stared at you, brown eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re- no.”

“I am,” you said, voice hoarse from crying. “I…”

Eddie shook his head. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening. It’s not fucking happening.”

You only cried harder. The pregnancy hormones had nothing to do with this; this was pure devastation, pure heartbreak. Your heart felt like it had crumbled in your chest and there was nothing left to repair even if you could.

“Let me see the test,” he said, holding a hand out.

“Why would I lie?” You asked, voice weak. You were so emotionally worn out, you felt like you could sleep for weeks. Months. Years. You wanted to.

“Because you want me to stay with you?” He scoffed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re lying, but I want to see to be sure.”

You just stared at him. Finally, you said “Fine,” going into your shared bedroom and coming out with a piece of paper with your office visit report. “I went to the doctor. Here.”

Eddie took the paper from your hands, examining it carefully. Sure enough, under “Reason for Visit/Diagnosis”, it said “Pregnancy - 8 weeks”.

“Christ,” Eddie said. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to erase the information from his brain. He was panicked. He couldn’t be a dad. Not right now, maybe not ever. He didn’t even know if he wanted kids. And with you? His soon to be ex girlfriend who he had treated like shit and didn’t love? “I mean fuck, man. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your voice was small, like all the fight had left you.

Eddie felt like he had ruined his life. For one thing, you were both still so young. That was without even mentioning the mess of a ‘relationship’ he had gotten himself involved in, the fact that it would never work out even if he wanted it to because he didn’t have feelings for you, and now he was standing here crushing his pregnant girlfriend’s heart. Like an asshole.

He was an asshole, and he knew it.

“Look,” he said finally. “If there’s really a kid-“

“There is.”

Eddie continued. “I’m not gonna abandon it. I’ll…be here. I’ll pay child support, I want to share custody, I want to be involved.”

You nodded. At least there was that, you supposed. As heart broken as you were, as much as you felt like going to sleep and never waking up again, you couldn’t bear the thought of Eddie leaving both of you. This baby deserved better.

“Look, I…I need some time. I’m gonna go stay with Wayne for a little while. Until I can get my own place.” Eddie looked at you with pity now, the news of the pregnancy dousing the fire of his earlier cruelty. “You can keep the apartment. We’ve got the guest room for the baby, unless you decide to move out.”

You just nodded again. “Okay, Eddie.”

The two of you looked at each other. This wasn’t just the end of your apparent farce of a relationship, but also of your nearly lifelong friendship. Things between you and Eddie would never be the same again. He had taken your heart you gave to him and stomped on it, spit on it.

That was the thing you couldn’t get past. He hadn’t just rejected you, he had destroyed you. The cheating, the lying. Playing you like a fucking game. Like you meant nothing not just to him, but at all. You didn’t know how you’d ever learn to trust again, or if you even wanted to. Eddie slept on the couch that night, too late at night to drive to Wayne’s.

When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

—

Your pregnancy was difficult. You had severe morning sickness in the beginning - hyperemesis gravidarum, your doctor called it. You struggled to keep any food down, and ended up hospitalized for fluids multiple times. Your doctor was concerned and considered you a high risk pregnancy. You went from monthly doctor visits to weekly. You felt pretty sure your emotional devastation wasn’t helping your physical health whatsoever.

Eddie was helpful, at least. He called you every couple of days to see how you were doing and if you needed anything. He remembered your appointment days and called to ask what the doctor said. He shopped for your groceries for you and dropped them off at the house. It would have felt nice, if you didn’t know he was only doing it for the baby and not you, and if you didn’t know he was still sleeping with Chrissy.

You went through most of the pregnancy alone. At 16 weeks, you noticed a bump for the first time, standing in front of your full length mirror as you got ready for work. It took you by surprise, this little baby bump that seemed to have popped up overnight. You ran your hand over the skin there, surprised by how firm it felt. There was really a little baby in there.

You had an ultrasound that afternoon. You were thrilled to see the baby, one of the only things you looked forward to anymore. The technician showed you your baby, thriving and wiggling around in there. It made your heart swell. She measured the heartbeat and played it out loud, the little whoosh whoosh whoosh comforting.

Eddie came to the apartment that evening to bring you the baby swing he had bought. You were in the kitchen cooking yourself chicken alfredo for dinner, wearing a thin tank top and your short sleep shorts. Eddie let himself in, since he still had a key in case of emergencies. You weren’t surprised to hear him coming in since he’d told you he’d be over.

You heard his footsteps heading into the kitchen, then - “Woah.”

You turned from where you’d been stirring the sauce, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He gestured towards your stomach. “You, uh…your…”

You laughed lightly. “The bump? Yeah, that’s new.”

Eddie walked over towards you, leaning against the counter next to the stove. He didn’t know how to feel about it. It was strange to see, and it made him feel weird in his chest. Something he’d never felt before. “It’s…it’s cute. You look cute.”

You laughed again. “I’m about to get a lot bigger.”

The two of you stood in silence for a minute. Then, finally, Eddie worked up the courage to ask - “Can I…can I feel?”

You were surprised by the question. Sure, Eddie had been pretty devoted to this baby during the pregnancy, but it still caught you off guard. “Oh. Sure.”

You turned and he walked up to you cautiously. He raised his hands, slowly moving them towards you as he looked up at you for confirmation it was still okay. Finally he placed his hands on your belly, feeling the firm bump beneath his hands. It was real. He knew it was real, but now it was real.

“Wow,” he said after a minute. “That’s…wow.” He gently rubbed the bump, in shock that that was his child beneath his hand.

“I got an ultrasound today,” you said. “Want to see?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately. He watched as you headed into the living room, already developing the slightest little waddle. He couldn’t help but smile.

You pulled the printed photos from your purse, bringing them over. Eddie gently took them from your hands. “Holy shit!” He said, laughing as he closely examined the photos. “It really looks like a little baby now instead of a blob.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a smile. “They said we’d find out if it’s a boy or a girl at the next one. At 20 weeks.”

Eddie’s eyes darted up to you. “Really? Can I…go?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Really? You want to come with me to the appointment?”

“Yeah, of course. I want to know what we’re having. I want to be there myself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking about it. “How will Chrissy feel about that?”

Eddie’s expression hardened for the first time since he’d come over. “I can do whatever I want. And we’re not talking about her right now.”

You rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen to tend to your dinner. “I guess you can come, Eddie. It’s your baby too. But don’t bring her.”

“I’m not,” he assured you. You thought he’d have to be a fucking idiot to bring her, anyway. “I just want to be there.”

You felt like you couldn’t take that from him. If he wanted to be an involved father, he could. You encouraged that, in fact. This baby didn’t deserve to be born into the mess that was your relationship, or what used to be your relationship. Your issues with Eddie needed to be put aside for the sake of your child.

So, four weeks later, you waddled your 20 week pregnant self down the stairs of your apartment complex and into Eddie’s van where he sat idling, waiting to pick you up. He helped you climb in, and you waved him off when he tried to buckle you up. “I’ve got it, Eddie. I’m not totally helpless.”

“I know,” he said, “I just want to help.”

You rode to the doctor’s office without speaking, the only sounds being the heavy music playing over the stereo. You couldn’t stand it. Since the break up, you couldn’t listen to Eddie’s music anymore. Too many memories, too many associations.

When he pulled up at the office, he hopped out quickly to run around and offer you a hand as you carefully climbed down. The bump was significantly bigger already, it was in the way and threw off your center of balance. And Eddie was not about to let you fall and hurt yourself and the baby.

You had grown to know the staff at the office since you were there so often. They greeted you by name the second you walked in, looking pleased to see you. In the exam room, Eddie sat in the visitor’s chair, looking as awkward as he felt.

When the tech walked in, she barely managed to contain the surprise on her face to see Eddie with you. You had been to every appointment alone, and they knew you weren’t together with the father. But she quickly plastered a smile to her face, walking over to you.

“Are you excited?” She asked you. “It’s a big day!”

“So excited,” you giggled. “I’m ready to know.”

You laid back and lifted your shirt up and she squirted the cold gel onto your belly, your least favorite part. She placed the wand on your stomach and began moving it around. There was a screen only she could see, and a bigger screen facing you and Eddie that showed the baby.

The little wiggling baby popped up on the screen, moving all around. You smiled, relieved to see the little guy or girl was doing well. You always worried between ultrasounds that something would happen.

The two of you watched as the tech examined and measured the various body parts, making notes in your chart as she performed the exam. Then, finally, it was time.

“Okay,” she said. “Everything looks great! Do you want to know what you’re having?”

“Yes,” you and Eddie answered immediately at the same exact time. You glanced at each other, laughing lightly.

You were nervous. You weren’t sure why. You really didn’t have a preference for the baby’s sex, but this was a huge deal. This made it real, really real. The baby was about to go from “the baby” to your son or daughter. They would have a name, you would be able to shop more. This was a huge moment, and your heart thumped hard in your chest.

She moved the wand a little, looking where she needed to look. She smiled - “It’s a healthy baby girl.”

You choked out a light sob, hands moving up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. A baby girl, a daughter. Your daughter. Thoughts flashed through your mind of pink little dresses, playing dolls, dance recitals and late night dance parties. Or maybe she would be more of a tomboy, playing sports and getting dirty. You would love her no matter who she turned out to be.

Eddie stared at the screen in awe. A daughter. He was having a daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t have a preference for the gender either, but hearing it was a girl, it just felt right. Like this was the child he was meant to have, this was the perfect outcome. His body overflowed with the love he felt for this tiny person already. He nearly reached over and grabbed your hand, but thought better of it. It wasn’t his hand to hold anymore.

You left the appointment in high spirits with a stack of ultrasound photos in your hand. You kept looking them over, amazed at how much the baby looked like a baby. Just as you were about to get back in the van, you felt something move that made you gasp and nearly drop your bag.

“What??” Eddie asked, immediately by your side. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

You looked up at him wide eyed. “I…” You were about to say something else when you felt the movement again. You quickly grabbed Eddie’s hand and placed it on your stomach, right where you felt it.

He looked at you strangely, but kept his hand there. Then, a second later - another kick, right where Eddie’s hand lay.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, jerking his hand back out of instinct before putting it back. “Did she just kick?”

“I think so,” you said, an incredulous giggle in your voice.

“She’s strong,” Eddie commented with a smile. He gently rubbed his hand over the bump. “My girl. Gonna be a soccer player or something. Or just kick some serious ass.”

You laughed, your hand resting next to Eddie’s. “This has been the best day I’ve had in months.”

Eddie felt a pang of guilt at that. He knew he was the reason for your sadness, for your pain. And now here you were, giving him the greatest gift he could dream of, even if it’s one he didn’t expect. He couldn’t wait for this baby to be here.

Robin threw you a baby shower when you were 33 weeks pregnant. You were huge and uncomfortable, and still mentally a disaster. But Robin had put in so much work you were at least going to make an attempt to enjoy yourself.

She had taken you shopping for a dress, and you’d landed on a long, light pink one with a hem right beneath your breasts, the rest of the dress draped over your belly. It made you feel pretty, even if gigantic.

When you and Robin walked in, the party was already underway, your friends, family, and acquaintances mingling around, eating from the buffet table. There was a table surrounded and piled high with gifts, a rocking chair with a bow on it sitting next to it.

“Oh my god, Robs,” you said, tears springing to your eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did,” she said, nudging your arm. “You deserve it, babes. You and her both.” She placed a hand over your belly, making you smile. “You’ve been put through hell this pregnancy, the least I can do is give you a good party.”

Robin led you over to the buffet table, where Steve Harrington was standing. You furrowed your brows at your best friend as you walked, and she gave you a sheepish smile and shrug.

“He’s different now,” she said. You couldn’t believe your ears. “He’s not King Steve anymore. And he helped me out a ton with this party. He’s kind of a dingus, but he’s cool.”

Steve gave you a kind smile as you approached. “Hey,” he said once you’d both reached him, standing up straight. “Congratulations. You look beautiful.”

You blushed, because you certainly didn’t expect him to say that. “I’m huge,” you said.

Steve chuckled. “Well, you’re growing a whole human. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard work.”

You were completely shocked that Steve was being so nice to you. He had never been mean to you, but he definitely saw you and Eddie as Freaks in high school, and never gave you or Robin the time of day. He really did seem different.

“Come on,” Robin said, pulling gently on your arm. “Let’s get you and that baby something to eat. It’s gonna be a great party.”

And it was a good party. You were having a good time talking with your guests, everyone wanting to feel the baby and asking you questions. The food was good, too, you thought as you filled your third plate in 30 minutes. You were having a good time.

That is, until the door opened and two guests walked in late.

Eddie walked in, looking awkward, a gift bag in hand. He knew a good number of the people in attendance hated him, and for good reason. The fact that Eddie showed up to your party wasn’t the bad part. You were on okay terms. It was the fact that he walked in, hand in hand with Chrissy Cunningham.

Your heart stopped in your chest. You hated that you still weren’t over Eddie, but it was the truth. You felt like you would throw up at the sight.

“Oh, fuck no,” Robin muttered under her breath from next to you, before she stood tall and started walking over to them with purpose.

“Robs, wait!” You called, following after her, but Robin’s long strides were much faster than your 8 month pregnant waddle. Robin was already there when you reached the three, her finger pointed in Eddie’s face.

“And what do you think gives you the right to come marching into her party with your little girlfriend?” She was yelling, fury in her eyes like you’d never seen. “What the fuck is wrong with you??”

“Robin-“ you started, but she wasn’t even hearing you.

“You are the scum of the fucking earth,” she said to Eddie. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong outside enjoying the day. You belong in a cave.”

Eddie was looking at her with an irritated expression on his face. Chrissy stood next to him, her big eyes wide as she held onto his arm. It made you feel so much worse.

“This is my daughter’s baby shower,” he said. “I have a right to be here.”

“No, this is her shower.” Robin gestured towards where you stood slightly behind her without even turning around. “This is for her. She has been through hell, and it’s entirely your fault. The only thing you did besides ruin her life is put the damn baby in her. Good job, Eddie!”

Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Down, guard dog, this has nothing to do with you. Get out of my face. I’m here to celebrate my daughter. Not yours.”

“And you had to bring your skank with you?”

Both you and Chrissy gasped. You had never heard her speak that way before. Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Don’t talk about her like that. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She slept with you multiple times while knowing you were in a relationship. So yeah, she’s a skank, and you’re a slut too. I guess you guys are made for each other.”

“Babe, why don’t we just go-“ Chrissy said softly.

“Babe,” Robin mocked. “How cute.”

“I’m not leaving,” Eddie said, looking from Chrissy to Robin, and finally to you. “I deserve to be here. So get over yourself.”

“I think you should leave, Eddie.”

You turned as you all looked behind you, where Steve had walked up. His expression was serious, and Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.

“This doesn’t concern you, Harrington.”

“Well, it kind of does,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “These are my friends. I helped organize the party. No one would have cared if you wanted to be here, but you had to go and bring your girlfriend to rub in her face?”

Eddie was taken aback. He couldn’t believe Steve Harrington was here and had the nerve to talk to him and his girlfriend this way. He was about to say something rude back when you spoke up.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice timid. “They can stay.”

Steve and Robin looked at you with concern etched on both of their faces. “Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly. “Robin told me your pregnancy has been complicated. You don’t need any extra stress.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated. You weren’t entirely sure if you were really okay with it, but you didn’t want drama at your baby shower. At least, not any more drama than what had already been caused.

Steve looked at you, giving you any chance to change your mind, but you didn’t say anything else. Steve looked at Eddie and Chrissy. “She says you can stay, you can stay.”

The rest of the party was admittedly very awkward. Eddie kind of felt like shit - he knew he shouldn’t have brought Chrissy here. It was the wrong move. He thought maybe it would be alright, but the second he walked in the door he knew what a mistake it had been.

When it was time for gifts, you felt a little uncomfortable. Even as a child you had never enjoyed the whole “opening gifts in front of the whole guest list” part of parties, but you knew your older relatives would find it rude if you didn’t.

You got a lot of lovely gifts - lots of girly clothes and tiny dresses, bottles, burp cloths, a baby monitor, baby soap and towels, health stuff, toys, all kinds of things. You even got some bigger items, like a high chair, a car seat, and a stroller. You were so grateful you teared up multiple times. As a single mom, you had been worried sick about how you’d afford a lot of this stuff.

When you opened Eddie’s gift, it was just a piece of paper inside the bag. You were confused, until you took the paper out and saw the photo of the crib you had been eyeing on it, and a note that he had ordered it for you. Cue the waterworks.

Chrissy’s gift was probably the ugliest baby clothes you’d ever seen in size 24m and a toy she wouldn’t be able to play with for years. You wanted to throw the gift back in her face. She did that shit on purpose.

The rest of the party went well. You managed to avoid Chrissy, or maybe she was avoiding you. You gave each of your friends and family hugs as they left when the party was over, thanking them for coming and for their gifts.

Eddie gave you a nod as he and Chrissy left. He was always so much more pleasant when he wasn’t with her. You could always tell when she was in his ear, too, because he would start stupid arguments and stress you out. You were tired of Chrissy in your business. You never wanted to see her for the rest of your life.

But that was Eddie’s girlfriend, the girl he actually liked, and Eddie was this baby’s father. So you supposed you’d have to live with her.

At 33 weeks, days after the shower, you noticed horrible swelling in your hands and feet. More than the normal pregnancy swelling. You brought it up at your doctor’s appointment, and she was immediately concerned.

Your blood pressure was through the roof. You were diagnosed with pre eclampsia and told to head straight to the hospital to be admitted.

You cried on the way to the car. This whole pregnancy had been hell, and as excited as you were to meet the baby, you were miserable. And it wasn’t time for her to come yet. You were terrified.

You drove around the corner to the hospital’s main entrance, walking inside and giving the receptionist the paper from your doctor. They had you upstairs and set up in bed in no time, hooked up to monitors and put on strict bed rest.

The first thing you did once you were settled was grab the bedside phone. You dialed Robin’s number first, filling her in through tears. She promised to be over right after work with movies to watch, wanting to make you as comfortable as possible while you had to be in the hospital.

Next, you called Eddie.

“Hello?” He answered, a laugh in his voice, and you could hear Chrissy giggling in the background. It made you feel infinitely worse.

“Eddie. It’s me.” It was obvious in your voice that you’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly serious. “Is it the baby? Is she coming? It’s too early!”

You sniffled. “Not yet. But I have pre eclampsia. They hospitalized me and put me on bed rest until the baby is born.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Do you, uh…do you need me?”

“Can you run by the apartment and grab my bag I packed?” You asked. “Maybe throw some extra stuff in there since I’m going to be here for a while?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The next week in the hospital was a long one. You were bored to death, even with Robin and Steve coming by every day after work and on their days off. They would bring different movies from Family Video every day, and they had bought you a collection of board games to play together.

At 34 weeks, things took a turn for the worse.

Your water broke and labor began far too early. You were in a panic. Robin had been visiting at the time, and next thing you knew, doctors and nurses were rushing in, checking your vitals and fussing over you. The contractions started immediately, coming strong and fast.

“Call Eddie!” You called to a shocked Robin, who froze for only a few seconds before dashing for the phone.

By the time Eddie sprinted through the door, breathless and mercilessly alone, things were well underway. Labor had set in fast, and the baby’s vitals were dropping. They had to get her out as soon as possible.

“We’re going to be taking you back for a C section, okay?” The doctor told you kindly, but you could hear the seriousness of the situation in his tone. “We need to get this baby out right now.”

You had never been more terrified in your life. You could not lose this baby. You didn’t care much about your own well-being, but losing this baby would kill you.

“Can I come?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking. He was equally terrified. This baby, his daughter, meant the world to him already and she wasn’t even here yet. He needed both of you to be okay.

“Yes, you’ll just have to change into a pair of scrubs,” the doctor said. “One of the nurses will bring you some then bring you to the OR. We just need to get her in there and prepped immediately.”

Eddie watched as they wheeled you from the room quickly, disappearing down the hall with an urgency that made him sick to his stomach. Just as he’d been told, a nurse walked up with a pair of surgical scrubs and a hair cap, snapping him out of his internal panic.

He went into the bathroom and changed into the scrubs, pulling his hair up into a bun and putting the cap on. He slipped the shoe covers on last. He felt like he looked ridiculous, but he really didn’t have time to think about that right now.

Inside the operating room, you laid on a table with your arms strapped down out to the side. You also wore a cap over your hair, and a large drape curtained off everything below your chest.

“Hey,” you said, sounding nice and calm and a little out of it. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Eddie said. He stood next to you as the doctor got to work. He did not want to think about what was going on behind that curtain.

It wasn’t long before the doctor said “Here she is!” and the next thing Eddie knew, he heard a shrill cry. It made his heart stutter in his chest, he lost his breath. Moments later one of the nurses came around with the tiniest baby Eddie had ever seen, wrapped in a hospital blanket. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His child.

You gazed at the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. You were so drugged up you couldn’t really comprehend the moment, but you knew that tiny bundle was your daughter. Here at last. And alive, healthy. Pink skin and a head full of brown hair.

“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse asked as the doctor went to work on stitching you up. “We have to get her to the NICU, so only for a moment. I’m sorry.”

The NICU. Eddie didn’t want to think too hard about that. “Yes, I want to hold her.” Eddie held out his arms and the nurse gently placed the tiny baby in them.

She was so small. She felt like glass, like the most fragile thing in the world. He took in every aspect of her appearance, from her hair that matched his, to her tiny button nose, her little pink lips. Her eyes were closed, so he didn’t get to see her eye color.

He moved over to you and held the baby down for you to see. “Here she is,” he whispered to you. “Our baby girl.”

You smiled a loopy smile, but you could feel the love practically bursting out of your chest. “Hi, Lottie,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Charlotte Mae.”

Charlotte did great, and had none of the problems common in premature babies. It was a miracle, and you were so grateful.

There was a knock at your door before it opened. Robin walked in, Steve trailing behind her. They both had smiles on their faces and held gift bags. Steve held a bouquet of beautiful flowers. He wore a yellow sweater and jeans, his long hair styled. You couldn’t help but notice how cute he was.

“Hey, mama, how are you feeling?” Robin greeted, coming over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at the sleeping baby in your arms. “Hi, Lottie!”

“We’re doing good,” you said, a tired smile on your face. Eddie had been over earlier, but had to leave when Chrissy called the hospital phone, demanding he come home. It had made your chest ache, especially when he obeyed.

“Hey,” Steve said, moving to your other side. He held up the flowers. “I, uh, brought these for you.”

“Had the idea, picked them out, and bought them himself,” Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.

The way Steve was looking at you did something to you, something felt deep in your chest. “Thank you,” you smiled at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“We also brought you these,” Robin said, placing both gift bags on your lap. One was purple with pink tissue paper, and the other was blue with yellow paper. “Can Auntie Robs hold her now?”

“Of course,” you replied, gently passing the tiny bundle into Robin’s waiting arms. She held the baby like a natural, gently rocking her.

You reached for the purple bag first. You pulled the paper out and found a comfy pair of pajamas for yourself, and a matching set for Charlotte. There was a card inside that read, I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best mom ever! Love, Auntie Robs.

You almost teared up, looking at Robin. “Thank you,” you said. “This means so much.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Now open Steve’s!”

You laughed as you grabbed the blue bag and removed the paper. Inside you found an assortment of candy, and a small teddy bear. A card inside read Motherhood looks beautiful on you. You’re going to rock it. I’m glad we’ve become friends. Love, Steve.

“How did you know I have a sweet tooth?” You asked Steve with a laugh. You couldn’t focus on his note right now unless you really wanted to cry.

“Robin,” he laughed. “She filled me in.”

Robin and Steve visited for as long as they could, taking turns holding Charlotte and helping to take care of both her and you. You were so grateful to have such support, such amazing friends.

Custody was a whole other ordeal. You and Eddie had agreed that he would get Charlotte every other weekend, starting when she was 5 months old and could take a bottle when she was with Eddie since you were breastfeeding.

It worked out, Eddie didn’t argue with you much unless Chrissy started convincing him to, as she sometimes did. He started missing his scheduled weekends, claiming plans with Chrissy. The thing is that Chrissy knew what weekends Eddie had Charlotte, and she would do this on purpose. And he just let her.

It made you so mad. Lottie deserved better than this. She deserved a father who was excited to see her any chance he got. You began to resent Eddie more and more.

It was Saturday night, and Eddie had bailed for the weekend again. He was taking Chrissy to Indianapolis to spend the weekend and go shopping. Honestly, you were in the mood for a good cry.

Not only was Eddie bailing on his visitation, but he was also pushing for more. You didn’t understand it, but you knew who was behind it. Chrissy just liked stirring up shit between you and Eddie. You were convinced she got a kick out of it.

You figured the best way to get a good cry was to go rent a sappy movie. You were sure a good romance would have you sobbing within the hour. You packed Lottie’s diaper bag, strapped her in her car seat, and drove to Family Video.

You smiled when you saw Steve behind the counter through the glass doors. He was on the phone as you walked in, but he gave you a big smile and held up a finger to tell you to hold on a second. You started browsing the movies, seeing what was available.

Steve got off the phone as quickly as possible, rushing over to your side. “Hey, Lottie,” he greeted the baby on your hip, making her giggle and reach for him. You handed her off as Steve happily took her. “So, what brings you in today? Not that I’m not excited to see you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Steve. “Rough weekend. I need a good cry.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You sighed. “Just Eddie and Chrissy stuff. The usual.”

Steve nodded in understanding, but it pissed him off. He hated the hell Eddie and his girlfriend put you through on a constant basis. He wished he could make it better. “So you need a sad movie?”

“Yeah. Any recommendations?”

He thought for a minute. He browsed the shelves as Lottie played with his name tag. “Hmm…oh!” He reached forward and plucked a VHS off the shelf. “This one will get you for sure.”

You took it from his hands. “Steel Magnolias. I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh, it’ll definitely make you cry,” Steve laughed as you examined the tape, reading the back synopsis.

“Do you know that because it made you cry?” You teased, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at him again.

Steve blushed bright red. “Maybe.”

You laughed, poking him in the side. “Who knew you were such a sap, Steve Harrington.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his free hand in surrender. “Chicks dig a guy who’s in tune with his emotions.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” Steve confirmed with a grin. You could never wipe the smile off your face when Steve was around. He was just so fun, and kind, and funny. He was a great friend, and cute, too, if you let yourself admit it.

You exchanged the tape for Lottie then followed Steve back to the counter where he checked you out. “Just one movie tonight?”

“Yeah. I pass out too early now to watch more than one.”

Steve chuckled as he scanned the tape and pulled up your account. He clicked on his computer for a few seconds before a receipt began to print. “Alright, you’re all set.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as you took the tape and receipt from him. “I’ll see you around, Steve!” You turned and began walking to the front door, ready to get home, get Lottie comfy in bed, then watch your movie.

“Hey,” Steve said, stopping you. You turned around, confused.

“What’s up?”

“Um…” Steve cleared his throat. “Would you…want to go out sometime?” His voice was nervous, like you’d never heard it before.

His words caught you off guard. You raised your eyebrows, switching the baby to the other arm. “What?”

“Go out? Like, on a date?”

You blinked at him. “You want to go on a date…with me?”

“Yeah,” he smiled nervously at you. “I’ve…been wanting to ask you out for a while. But you just had so much going on, I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate…”

“Steve, you could never do anything but make my life better. I love spending time with you.”

He beamed at that. “Yeah? Well…would you want to go on a date with me?”

“Sure,” you smiled. “I would love that.”

You finished packing up Charlotte’s bag, making sure it was stocked with plenty of clothes and her favorite toys, including the teddy bear Steve had given her, which was her absolute favorite. Eddie had plenty of diapers and wipes at his house so you didn’t have to worry about that.

You had your date with Steve tonight. He was going to be picking you up shortly after Lottie left, so you had already gotten ready. You wore a short little dress that you’d been waiting for an excuse to wear forever, your hair hung perfectly, and you had done some light makeup. You hadn’t dressed up like this and gone on a date in…ever.

There was a knock at the door right on time. “There’s daddy!” You told Charlotte, who smiled big and clapped her little hands together. You scooped her up and headed for the front door, opening it to reveal Eddie.

Eddie smiled at Charlotte, but immediately took notice of your look. “Where are you going all dolled up? Got a hot date?” He asked, a sneer in his voice.

Your smile dropped. So he was going to be like this today. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

Eddie didn’t like that. The thought of it struck an unusual and unwelcome jealousy into his chest. “With who?”

“That’s none of your business,” you said. You handed over Charlotte’s bag. “I can do whatever I want. You cheated on me, remember?”

He didn’t acknowledge your second comment. “It is my business if you’re bringing my daughter around some guy.”

You stared him down. “Well, you bring your mistress around our daughter, so I don’t think you have the right to say anything.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Chrissy is my girlfriend.”

“Sure.” You turned to Charlotte, smiling at her. “I’ll see you Sunday, baby girl. I love you so much.” You gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek before handing her off to Eddie. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Eddie left, and you sighed. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You would not let Eddie ruin this night. This was your first time being asked on a date, and you were going to have a good time.

It was about 15 minutes later that Steve picked you up. He looked handsome, wearing a button up shirt and jeans. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers that he handed you as you opened the door.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and you could tell from his voice that he truly meant it. You blushed deeply as you took the flowers.

“Thank you,” you smiled. Steve followed you into the apartment, stepping over toys as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed a vase and filled it with water, placing the flowers inside.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you walked with Steve to his car. He held the passenger side door open for you, and you smiled at him as you slid in. He was such a gentleman.

“I was thinking, dinner and a movie is too lame, too cliche. We watch movies all the time. So,” he gestured into the backseat, “I packed us a picnic, and got us tickets to see David Bowie in the city tonight.”

You stared at him, blinking. “I…no you didn’t.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I did. I know you’re a big fan, and he was performing nearby, so…”

“Oh my god!” Your heart was beating out of your chest, you felt like it would explode. “Steve. Oh my god.”

Steve was very proud of himself for this one. He knew you’d freak out, but your reaction was even better than he hoped. “That’s why I asked you out tonight specifically. I, uh…already had the tickets.”

You quickly swiped a falling tear off your cheek before it could mess up your makeup. “Steve Harrington, I think I’m in love with you.”

That made Steve’s heart swell. Because he felt the same way about you.

Steve drove the two of you to the park, where you found a spot next to a large tree. He laid out the blanket and sat down the picnic basket he’d packed full of all kinds of foods. You ate together, laughing and joking and having the best time. But you couldn’t shake the buzzing excitement in your belly from the news of the concert.

It was a couple hour’s drive to the city, but it was worth it. The show was incredible, everything you dreamed seeing David Bowie would be. Steve held your hand, which sent electricity through both of your bodies.

When Steve brought you home, he walked you to your apartment door. Butterflies were flying in your stomach, still ecstatic from the most incredible date you ever could have imagined.

“I had a great time,” Steve said.

“Me too,” you agreed. “Truly. Do you…want to come in? The night doesn’t have to be over yet.”

A smile spread across Steve’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Steve followed you in. As you turned to him, you saw something behind his eyes. Like he was thinking, considering something. He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand, thinking he had never seen someone as beautiful in his life. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I…yes.”

Steve smiled lightly. Then he was leaning in, closer and closer, until his lips pressed to yours.

Sparks flew. You kissed him back eagerly, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own. The kiss turned heated, Steve pressing your back up against the wall as he kissed you passionately. His hands began sliding up the skirt of your dress.

“Steve,” you said, breathless against his lips. “Take me to my room.”

The next morning, you woke up next to Steve. He had his arm around your waist, cuddling you close. You were both naked. As you awoke, Steve did, too, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“I’m not,” you giggled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve asked you to be his girlfriend that morning. It may have been a little soon, but you happily said yes. You knew Steve well, he was one of your best friends. You knew you wanted to be with him.

Robin was ecstatic when you told her the news. “About time!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “Took you long enough, dingus.”

You knew you had to tell Eddie. As much as you dreaded it, he deserved to know as the father of your daughter. You waited a couple of weeks into the relationship, wanting to be sure things were going to work out before you brought it up. But your relationship with Steve was incredible, a kind of joy you never thought you could experience in a relationship.

Eddie came to the door to drop off Charlotte one Sunday evening. He was a little early, and Steve was over.

“Shit,” you hissed as he knocked at the door. “I guess it’s now or never.”

You answered the door, loving how Lottie’s face lit up at the sight of you. “Hi baby!”

“Mama!” She called, reaching for you. You took her from Eddie’s arms, sitting her on your hip. “Dada!” She exclaimed next, only she wasn’t looking at Eddie.

Steve had come up behind you, and Lottie was pointing at him. Your mouth dropped as Eddie’s face turned to one of pure anger. “What the fuck?” He said.

“I swear, I don’t know what that’s about. She’s never called him that before,” you explained quickly. Honestly Eddie deserved to have his feelings hurt, but you knew how destroyed you would be if Lottie called Chrissy Mama.

“What is he doing here anyway?” Eddie asked, gesturing towards Steve. “I don’t see Robin here. Do you have a life of your own, Harrington?”

You looked between Steve and Eddie. “Ed…me and Steve are…together.”

The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He figured you would date eventually, but maybe he just got spoiled by you being single. He didn’t expect the pain of finding out you had moved on. And with Harrington? “What?”

You pursed your lips, knowing this had the potential to go badly. “We’re together. Steve is my boyfriend.”

Eddie just stared between the two of you. Then, he laughed, a sinister sounding chuckle. He knew he had no right to be pissed, but he was pissed. “Well, isn’t that just great.”

“Eddie-“

“No,” he said, holding a hand up. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You do whatever you want. Enjoy your life with Steve.”

And with that, he left. He didn’t even tell Charlotte goodbye.

Things with Steve were incredible. He was the best boyfriend you could ask for, and he was amazing with Lottie. She loved playing with him, and he could sit on the floor and play with her for hours without getting bored.

You had been together for a year and a half when he surprised you with a trip to the beach. You spent the weekend laying out in the sun, playing in the ocean, making love until the early morning in your suite.

On the last day there, you were walking down the beach hand in hand. As you were looking down at the sand for seashells, you noticed some writing in the sand. You let go of Steve’s hand to walk over and read it.

Will you marry me?

“Steve!” You exclaimed. “Look, someone proposed! How cute-“

You froze when you turned around to see Steve on one knee, holding a beautiful ring in a black velvet box. You gasped, tears immediately falling. You always were emotional.

“Will you make me the luckiest guy in the world and marry me?”

Eddie came home a little early from work one evening, and immediately knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere before he even heard the noises. Those unmistakable noises.

He crept down the hallway, careful not to make any noise. Not that he thought he’d be noticed, anyway. Not with what he deeply suspected was going on.

He made it to the bedroom he shared with Chrissy. The door was slightly ajar, and he took a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.

Chrissy and her ex, Jason Carver, were in his bed, absolutely going at it. Eddie knew this was what was going on from the moment he walked into the apartment, but seeing it, he still felt like he’d be sick. Chrissy turned at the sound of the door opening and screamed, covering herself and Jason, who didn’t really seem to give a fuck at all.

After Jason left and Eddie was left alone with his girlfriend, he demanded the truth. She admitted she had been sleeping with Jason again for months.

Naturally, Eddie kicked her out. Then, he was alone.

Alone with only his thoughts, he had too much quiet time to think. And what he found himself thinking about was you. Far too often. He thought about your relationship, how he fucked everything up, including your lifelong friendship. Sure, he got his beautiful daughter out of it, but he could have treated you better. He should have treated you better.

He also thought about the way you’d treated him. The way you had loved him. How you were the only woman who had ever loved him, besides his mom all those years ago. How he had taken you for granted. He thought about how he would feel if some asshole treated Lottie the way he treated you. The thought itself made him furious.

Because now that Chrissy was gone and he was no longer blinded by his lifelong crush, he was realizing something:

Eddie loved you.

Not just as the mother of his child, or as a platonic friend, but love love. The kind he had been too blind to see back in high school, back during the days of your relationship.

He hated himself now. He had fucked up more than was even fathomable. He had thrown you away, for Chrissy. You were so much better than Chrissy in every way. Prettier, smarter, funnier, kinder. And you had treated him well.

Eddie dwelled on it for months. He grabbed his mail from the mailbox as he headed into his trailer one day, flipping through the various bills and junk mail - until he stopped at one with your name on it.

He dropped the other pieces of mail in his rush to open that one. He nearly ripped it in half getting it open, and as he pulled out the card inside, his blood ran cold.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. and Mrs Harrington.

It was too late.

tags

@ali-r3n @crispystarfishhottub

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 !!

𐚁 bull rider ! beau arlen x high school sweetheart ! reader !! home has never been a place but a person, and he's finally ready to go back to you . . . six years too late. ℧ mdni !! sexual content. high school sweethearts to exes to lovers. couple's quarrels. festering tension. angry sex? word count : 14.1k (LMFAO) ☆ minor characters !! kelsey. daisy. delilah gaylestone. rhett gaylestone. moonlight. sunshine. brooks williamson. abigail williamson. ella gaylestone.

FIVE YEARS AGO —

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?” 

“why, yes ma’am, i’d say so.” 

you pause the tv on his face, taking in every single detail about beau that had changed in the last 6 years. his facial hair was fuller, hair a little longer and a lot less kempt. his eyes held deeper bags beneath them, but still shone with the glimmering gold-green that swayed you toward him in the first place.

you hit rewind, and then play again.

“mr. arlen! another victory under your belt buckle,” the interviewer says, sounding breathless even though she had not been the one atop a bucking bull, grasping at the horn of a saddle for purchase to keep from tipping off. “i’m sure this feels typical for you, by now.”

three championship belt buckles, four second-place trophies, and so many medals and roses that the mere announcement of beau arlen being next had the stadium littered in petals. 

not that you kept up with him, or anything. 

“the thrill never dies, no matter how many times it’s happened,” beau says, dimples dipping into his cheeks. he lifts the stetson off of his head, runs a sweaty hand through sweatier locks of hair. 

the interviewer’s name fades onto the screen below her too wide grin. kelsey jones wants in your man’s pants, and you aren’t entirely convinced that he didn’t take her home that night. how many fingers had undone that giant championship buckle, while you sat at home, waiting for a man too busy chasing thrills to remember what he left in the montana dust? 

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?” 

you turn the tv off.

behind you, daisy arlen clacks her toy blocks together, building a tower taller than she was. her gold-green eyes flick up to meet yours, little mouth parted in wonder, forming babbling sentences that were only ever semi-coherent.

this one sounded devastatingly close to the innocent ramblings of a little girl asking for her father.

you scoop her up, placing her in the crook of your hip that she lived in. "sorry, sweetheart," you say on a sigh, with a final glance toward the blank tv screen, "daddy ain't comin' home."

beau arlen was a friend of a friend of a friend. your best friend was a princess of a girl named delilah, most fondly known as del, who was dating a farmer's son named rhett, who was best friends with beau.

of course you knew all about beau. del couldn't seem to go a day without bringing up rhett, which most of the time had beau's name in her mouth too. you'd never properly met him except the occasional shared class in your small town's smaller high school, but you had a backlog of blackmail on him in the back of your mind.

he went to church every sunday after partying all night saturday with his friends. he snuck into rhett's barn to go for a late ride with his favorite of the gaylestone family's horses, moonlight. he so often stole from the arlen liquor cabinet that half of the vodka was water, and he misplaced which bottles were which all the time.

but meeting him? no, you'd never had the pleasure of it. del spent a lot of her time with rhett, but she never skimped on a girls' night every weekend, where you'd get to hear all of the shenanigans that the montana boys got up to.

it was routine. you got to know all of the little things about one of your town's most notorious rebellious cowboys, and pretended that you didn't know that, in turn, he probably got to hear all about you.

del sat on your bed, navy blue nail polish still wet on her fingers as she idly waved her hand around, humming along to whatever song drifted through the radio on your sidetable. "rhett wants to hang out tonight."

you startle from your spot next to her, a second coat of maroon drying on your own fingernails. "what? no. he knows every saturday is girls' night and," you wave your hand in a mock imitation of hers, "boys' night for him, or whatever."

"i know," she hums, like she wasn't trying to completely skew this routine you guys had built up since you were in junior high. "s'just that brooks is sick, and rhett doesn't like hangin' out one-on-one with beau. says they get all drunk n' sentimental."

you could think of so many worse things they could get up into besides cuddly and pouty, but teenage boys were prone to thinking a molehill was a mountain.

you don't look over at del, not wanting to look her in the eyes as she so casually tries to abandon you for a boy. you know, something that best friends always promise they won't do, before they do it. "so, you're gonna go hang with rhett and arlen?"

her eyes are on you; not glaring, but staring hard enough that it could singe your temple. "no. rhett and arlen wanna come over."

"what?" you sound like a broken record at this point, but seriously, what? "no way."

"you've got that ol' barn!" she argues, conveniently looking away when you fix her with your own stare. "your folks will never find out."

"delilah."

del stumbles on a little giggle, examining the handiwork of her freshly painted nails. dark blue like the sky and the headband she wore to keep the stray curly bangs out of her eyes. "it's just a one time thing," she assures, curling her fingers around your wrist, "don't you wanna meet beaauuu?"

"no." passing him in the halls was plenty, thank you. "no, i do not wanna meet beaauuu."

"beau wants to meet you." you close your eyes as if that alone could erase that sentence from your reality. "rhett said so. that's why i ever even brought this up, y'know? i wouldn't drop this on you if i wasn't desperately tryin' to get my girl coupled up for double dates with me."

the ulterior motives were sickening. you were in pajamas, for crying out loud, and now two of the three hellions of your grade were about to be at your house. not that you cared what rhett thought of you, or really what beau arlen did, but...

del had been your best friend since you two were in diapers. she could have read your expression without seeing it, looking straight through the back of your head. she nods toward your closet. "the white sundress. with those boots of yours." she smiles wide, like she wasn't turning the tides of time completely on their axis in one sentence. "beau likes cowgirls."

your family's barn was a rundown little thing on the edge of your property before it delved into fields. your father kept it up for sentimental value, having built a newer, sturdier one closer to your home. makes the walk shorter for me n' my old bones, he'd said once.

the ladder to the loft was unsteady and rickety, but you could still remember climbing up there when your hands were too small to properly grip the rungs, could remember running back to the house at sunset and your mom plucking pieces of hay out of your hair before supper.

it was oddly intimate, having this many people in a space that was once your favorite place. hell, even del had only been in here a couple of times, and now here she was, and her boyfriend, and... beau arlen.

he had that gleam in his eyes that mothers warned their daughters about, a head of hair that poked out through the brim of the hat he wore. he had a plaid jacket tied around his waist, leaving him in a dirt stained white tanktop and an equally stained pair of faded blue jeans.

rhett was already drunk and incredibly sentimental. he clung to del's arm like a bride walking down the aisle, nuzzling his face into her neck like a cat marking its scent. you didn't even get a chance to wish her good luck before he was attaching himself to her.

which left you and beau. beau, who stood in the corner of the barn, looking elusive and mysterious without even meaning to be. he had a sweaty glass bottle of beer in his fingertips, his other hand tracing idly over the splintering wood.

wanted to meet you, your ass. he'd isolated himself, looking just as awkward as you felt. it really was your fault for believing your best friend wouldn't make up some sort of tall tale to get to spend a full weekend with her boyfriend.

beau turned on a dime, his eyes finding yours, too fast for you to pretend you were not, in fact, staring at the back of his head. half of his mouth lifted in a smile. he doesn't say hi, or address it, just jerked his head in the direction of the wall he'd been looking at.

"there's writin' on it," he said, taking a quick swig from the bottle he held. "'m guessin' you're princess peach."

your face flushed against your will. you'd forgotten all about— "no, actually," you blurted out, as eager to throw del under the bus as she'd been with you, "that's del."

his smile widened for a second, before he turned back to the engravings on the wooden paneling. "so you were princess strawberry."

this was not a good idea. this space was not for anyone else but you and the littler versions of you that still lingered in memory. beau arlen did not do anything to earn seeing these glimpses of you.

"come over here n' stop wallowin'," he laughed, tapping a nail against the writing, "'m not judgin' you or anything, sweetheart. i happen to think it's endearing as all get out."

you really did not want to see his live reactions to the little scraps of your childhood in these walls, but what else were you supposed to do? let beau arlen walk your space on his own and third wheel with rhett and del?

so you walked up to him, the chipping wood barely doing anything to mask the words you and del had scratched into the walls many years ago. "if it makes you feel better," beau drawled, his voice softer now that you were shoulder to shoulder, "i used t'do the same thing when i was a kid."

"pretend to be a strawberry princess?" you asked incredulously, eyebrows shooting up on your forehead.

his laugh was as warm as a shot of whiskey. his teeth were straight and blinding in the moonlight. you'd been so adamant on never properly meeting him that you'd forgotten why you wanted to stay away so badly. boys like him, with smiles like that, were nothing but trouble.

"no, i used to..." he shook his head, glancing back toward his friend and yours on the other side of the barn. del was stuck in a sloppy slow dance with rhett now, and somehow, the stetson on his head was now on hers. you barely restrained the amused smile, and beau didn't even bother to try. "i used to pretend i was a cowboy," he finally said, head tipped down as he stares up shyly through his eyelashes. they were so long. his eyes were so green. good lord. "wrasslin' up all of the angry bulls. takin' care of business as the arlenville sheriff."

"arlenville?" you broke into a little surprised laugh. "no. no way."

beau nodded, his lips curling higher up at the sound of your laugh. this was a terrible idea, leaving you two alone like this, because now you were beginning to think that the double dates with rhett and del didn't sound so appalling. "yes way." beau sat the empty bottle in his hand down on a mottled barrel next to him, using both of his freed hands to throw a pretend lasso. "beau arlen, arlenville's hero, gatherin' up all the wild horses and settin' 'em back loose. cleanin' the streets."

it's so damn ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh again. beau kept the invisible lasso between his two hands, tossing and tossing until he hooked you. his eyes told you that he was well aware of the fact that he'd already gotten you hooked, lined, and he was just waiting for the sinker.

"are you trying to say i'm wild, beau arlen?" you asked, and you couldn't even help it, really — he did have you lassoed! — when you inched closer by his pretend pulling.

beau's eyes raked up and down your figure, and something shifted in his gaze. another thing you'd heard down the grapevine of your interconnected friend groups was that beau arlen didn't date. he didn't ever really have interest in anyone, just on taking care of the farm he grew up on and causing mayhem every saturday before church with rhett and brooks.

but the look in his eyes said otherwise. those dangerous, golden green eyes. "i'm sayin' i'd sure as hell like to find out."

PRESENT DAY —

the radio filters through the speakers of beau's faded red pickup truck, the cab of it rattling as he presses the gas pedal down more firmly. the window is down, his elbow propped out of it, fingers tapping idly on the door's frame.

he hadn't been back in montana in six years.

he still remembers the day he left. you, standing on the arlen family farmhouse's front porch, waving bye as he backed down the dirt driveway. i'll be back after this competition, baby, he'd promised, the gps on his phone spouting monotone directions through the aux. you couldn't yet afford a plane ticket, so he opted to drive the twenty-two hour trip. a small price for following his dream, wasn't it?

you'd given him a kiss goodbye for good luck. it'd worked. he won the bull riding championship down in dallas's championship rodeo. he stayed an extra day to bask in the victory, following where the party went, enthralled by the way his name sounded in everyone's mouths. beau arlen, bull riding champion. had a hell of a sound to it.

and the following day, when the thrill of the rodeo died down, beau went chasing down another, and another. montana became a blurry memory in the back of his mind. he never forgot you, but you were definitely a reason that he kept away. how could he face you after he broke a promise like that?

but it wasn't easy to maintain a champion status when younger, more wily riders kept popping up left and right. there was a reason that most retired before their mid 30s. beau was getting up there, closing in on his thirtieth that year. it was hard to hang up the hat, harder to not think of it as giving up, but he had to be sensible somehow.

god knew he hadn't used his brain six years ago, when he threw something stable away for a job that gambled on his life, risking it for an adrenaline rush and a belt buckle to add to the collection.

still, beau was only a man. he rolls back into the town he grew up in wearing the most recent of his buckles, the final one he'd won. he may have been giving up the lifestyle and dream he'd chased for so long, but he wasn't going to undermine his accomplishments.

he remembers the path home, even years later, without needing to look it up. his parents had gifted him the family home as a wedding gift, making him promise to put it to good use. give us some grandbabies, his mom had told him, in front of you and the entire rest of his family and your family and all of your friends, with the sweetest smile on her face.

another promise he didn't keep. another one in the back of his mind that haunted him, day in and day out.

your car is parked up by the shed when he pulls in beside it. beau doesn't expect a warm, welcome greeting from you. hell, he's sure he's gonna walk up to the front doorstep and be met with your hand stinging his cheek. he'd deserve it, too.

there were so many memories in this house. you didn't want to go anywhere for your honeymoon, so you both spent it breaking in every piece of furniture, the air in the house so thick that the open windows condensated. rhett and delilah's wedding gift to you was moonlight's foal, sunshine. he'd take you down to the river on his property, tucked away between shady trees, paving trails with sunshine's hooves.

what could he possibly say to fix this?

beau bites the bullet, shoving the driver's door open and stepping out. he grabs his duffel from the bed of the truck and hooks it over his shoulder, his expression set in a grimace as he glances at the house again.

you were watching. he could see the bottoms of the curtains swishing with the sudden jostle. the front door stays closed.

he deserves this. he knows he does. but he'd kill to see you smile. to feel your arms around him as you welcome him home. but that sort of treatment was earned, and he hadn't earned any of it, not when he abandoned you for six years for a short-lived dream.

the porch steps creak under his boots, the wood soft and splintered with age. for a moment, beau just stands there. he can hear you moving around on the other side of the door; the soft sound of music drifts out from the gapped windows, your laughter echoes through the the heavy door he raps on.

three knocks. the doorbell doesn't work. he kept promising to fix it, and then he was gone.

your warm laughs gets closer, the music louder when you pull open the heavy door and meet his gaze through the screen door.

beau watches the realization settle on you. surprise, heartache, and horror, all in quick succession. your lips are parted in some semblance of mortification, and beau can't possibly understand why. anger and upset were what he expected — hell, his jaw was tight and steeled, still expecting the slap to come.

he does not expect the screen door to shove open into his shoulder, and a little toddler in a white sundress and cowgirl boots to barrel into him. "playtime!" she shouts, barely even processing the man attached to the leg she'd caught herself around.

his old cowboy hat falls off of her head and on his feet. he's on autopilot, his brain not catching up to the forefront of his mind yet, as he bends to grab it for her, anything to avoid the look in your eyes.

"t'ank you!" she says, flashing him a toothy grin, a prominent gap in the middle of her little baby teeth. she's off again before he can get another word out, but not before he sees her eyes. pale gold-green and glittery; the eyes of a dreamer.

a month passed, and beau and you ended up dating. rhett called it, getting a twenty dollar payout from brooks when he recovered from the bout of flu he'd gotten. they'd had a running joke that you'd end up being the girl to tie him down. it was just fact and fate; rhett was dating your best friend, delilah, and brooks was dating abigail, the third to your little friend group. who else would pair together with the single of his friend group, but the single of yours?

his parents brought you up every chance they could. it was an endless cycle of, when are you bringing that sweet girl of yours over? and do we ever get to meet your little girlfriend, beau? as if the town wasn't the size of his pinky, and they hadn't watched you grow up as much as they'd watched him.

beau wasn't keeping you from them, not really. he'd meant to bring you over for your first anniversary, but you'd both gotten a little tied up in each other in the high school parking lot. and then he'd meant to on prom, but your parents wanted pictures even though you were already running late, and, well, he loved your parents, so why would he deny that?

now, there was no escaping it. you'd both just graduated, and on a day full of celebrations, beau thought there was no better time than now to show you off to his family.

the entire family. he didn't intend for his parents and grandparents and every person in between to be back at his farmhouse when he'd drove up the driveway, but why else wouldn't they have been there?

"no." your feet are firmly planted on the car's floor, your arms petulantly crossed over your chest. "no, beau, i did not sign up for this."

"hell, neither did i," he grumbled, turning off the engine and spinning in his seat to face you better. the hand he had on your thigh squeezed reassuringly, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "c'mon, maybe it'll be fun."

your eye twitched. beau loved the hell out of that eye twitch. "is this revenge for our first date?" you asked, a look of disbelief in your eyes, mouth trembling with all of the panicked words that threatened to spill out at once. "when my dad bombarded you at the front door?"

beau blinked. "honestly forgot about that."

"bull."

"bull?" he laughed, putting his hands up in a mockery of surrender. "okay. you're right. i didn't magically forget about the time your daddy walked outside to meet me with a rifle—"

you poked him hard in the shoulder. "unloaded."

"—unloaded rifle." beau snatched that hand of yours and kissed each of your knuckles. "but i did not set this all up. my mama's been pesterin' me about bringin' you over, so i thought now was a better time than ever, and—"

"apparently the entire arlen bloodline caught wind."

beau snapped his fingers with his free hand. "bingo." already, he can see the curtain's ruffling with the breeze and movement inside, shadows dancing across the glow of gold through the thin fabric. he was pretty sure that was his uncle howling with laughter, too, so loud he could hear it through the inside of his pickup. "hey, maybe it'll be fun."

you gave him a look that said you did not believe him within an inch of your life.

"we can drink?" he offered next, running down his list of reassurances. they were dwindling.

"all of your alcohol is water." you lurched forward to poke him again, and he caught your finger once again. more reassuring kisses. they were all he had to offer.

beau hmphed. "forgot about that too."

you could sit in his passenger seat and argue until your face turned blue. so he takes the initiative and let go of your fingers, shoving his door open with his shoulder.

he circled around to your side of the pickup, pulling open your door for you, a hand extended for you to take. "c'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, nodding toward his hand for you to take, "y'look too damn pretty to hide away in my truck all night."

you really did, too. a part of beau felt bad for dropping all of this on you so suddenly, but the other part is damn glad that all of his family gets to find out at once about the pretty girl he'd managed to snag.

you stared at him, and beau really expected for you to put up more of a fight. you'd fought him harder over less, like how much butter and salt to put in your popcorn at the movies. but you took his hand with nothing more than a little sigh.

"let's go meet the arlens."

beau's face had never been so red in his life. his family flitted up to the both of you in waves, always with the same routine. congratulations! what a pretty couple you make! marriage? kids? did his mama tell you about the time he played in cow patties thinking it was mud?

he'd never been so glad to have an excuse to drag you away. your family's graduation party wasn't even until tomorrow, but you'd on the spot made up the lie to save you both.

his intentions were pure. they were! he'd planned to sneak you out of the house and take you down into the woods on his family property, to show you the little rushing river deep in the trails, to show you the trees that he'd carved his name into, like you had with your barn.

and then he'd remembered that barn you had.

far enough away from your house to keep the both of you out of sight from your parents, and unofficially deemed as your special place that they never entered without warning.

the story wrote itself. your last act as reckless teenagers before you delved facefirst into adulthood. he'd insisted on being a gentleman, testing the ladder to the loft and making sure it didn't fall. he even held the top steady when you started the climb up. making it back down would be a different story, but you'd get there when you got there.

the stars were so bright from up there, through the open window in the wall. the moon hung high in the sky, the crickets chirping outside, talking to each other through the wind.

you were on his lap before he could even get properly settled on the dilapidated pile of hay, little pieces tickling along his skin as he shifted into it further to let you get comfortable.

he worked your dress's zipper down carefully through the onslaught of kisses. his tongue swiped against your lips, tasting the faint traces of vodka clinging to your mouth. it was definitely watered down, and definitely his fault, but it only made you all that much sweeter to taste.

your fingers trailed down his flannel, working the buttons open with ease as you stumble across them, until the shirt was open and spilling off of him. beau slipped it off of himself, laying it in a beginning pile in the hay next to your jacket.

the kiss broke, and you lifted your head enough for the moonlight to pour in and light your skin aglow. he couldn't look away for a moment, captivated. your teeth held your bottom lip tight between them, looking up at him through the expanse of your eyelashes, and he's gone. he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

there was no rush to it, no sense of urgency. it was you and the moon to keep him company, and he didn't want to rush through the good things, not when it came to you.

beau slipped one sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder, his fingertips dancing over your collarbone. he followed their kiss with a proper one of his own, mouthing softly at the sensitive skin until he made his way up to your ear.

the words that came out aren't what he expected. he meant to say i love you, to seal it into your skin with his lips, to embed it into your veins and bloodstream. maybe he even would have said it a few times, permanent ink below your ear, on your neck.

instead, beau said, "marry me."

you stumbled on a laugh, your hands flattening on his chest. "what?"

he should have taken it back. "marry me." he didn't. "don't have to be right now. don't have to be next year, or the year after that. but promise you will."

your eyes glimmered in the moonlight. you looked so damn beautiful. he thought proposing would have been all nerves and jitters, that he'd get cold feet at the simple idea of marriage and commitment, but his mind made the decision for him, and he already knew that you were different. nothing felt hard or scary with you.

"beau," you said his name like a breath, "you're kiddin' me."

he shook his head, and now he was laughing, giddy and bright. his arms encircled your waist, tugging you closer to him in his lap. "say yes."

"no." but you were grinning from ear to ear. "you're crazy, arlen."

"say yes," he whispered again, nuzzling his nose against yours as he steals a kiss. "don't you wanna be a crazy arlen along with me?"

you extended the kiss, prolonging it, your palms going up to his face to hold him that close a little while longer, until you're panting breathlessly on his lips. "yes."

beau eyes popped open. he grabbed your hips with his big hands and flips the both of you so that your back was pressed into the hay. "say it again."

"yes," you nearly squealed with laughter, and he wanted to bottle the sound, he wanted to swallow it whole and never forget how happy you were right here, now, beneath him, "i'll marry you, beau arlen."

your happiness was a virus he was destined to catch; tugging a grin onto his already gleeful expression. "welcome to the arlens," he breathed as he leaned forward and stole another kiss, and another. "now we got somethin' to celebrate on our own."

daisy sits at the kitchen table, legs swinging and kicking straight out in front of her. she has a plate full of peeled apple slices and colby jack cheese cubes in front of her, mindlessly babbling as she pops them into her mouth.

she is oblivious to the tension between you and beau at this table. beau, sat at one end of the table; you, propped up against the other, hipbone digging into the sanded wooden edge.

"when did this happen?" beau asks, and there's some sort of accusation in his tone, but you aren't sure if you really hear it or are just at a predisposition to think negatively about every word from his mouth.

you both stare at each other for a while. certainly he doesn't think that you'd broken your vows when he skipped town. certainly he didn't look at your daughter and not see the arlen green eyes in her.

you glance down at the table, disbelief still clouding in a haze in your eyes. "when do you think?"

when your eyes dance back up to his, his smile is tight-lipped and force. "she's six." it's not a question, or something requiring confirmation. he knew. knew, and just didn't believe what was in front of him, almost like you couldn't, either.

"i am!" daisy pipes in through a mouthful of mashed apples. she offers beau her brightest, toothiest smile. she even had the same dimples as him.

beau spares her a glance, then, like he couldn't any longer ignore the pull toward her. hair in low pigtails over her shoulders, already coming loose around the ponytail holders, shorter strands poking awry from underneath the too big cowboy hat she wore too.

it's tense. you're sure he's going to blow up. beau wasn't really the type to lose his cool, but the beau you thought you knew wasn't this man, either. this man was aged six years, and just as capable of leaving you as much as he promised not to.

daisy holds out an apple for him, kicking beneath the table so wildly that the dining chair's legs screech against the hardwood floor.

he takes it, the tightness of his smile never loosening.

there's something he wants to say. beau always got this twitch on the corner of his lip when he was keeping something back, locked tight away behind a carefully placed mask of coolness. you saw that expression a lot - in high school, when rhett started to get clingy, or brooks got mouthy, or at his family's graduation party, when he was reaching his limit with the endless interrogations. each time, you'd slide in and swoop him away before he popped off with something he didn't mean.

there was no saving him this time, because he'd already lost himself.

you glance out toward the open fields in your backyard. a little playground sits in the dead center of the grassy plains, like it popped out of the earth itself. the chains of the swing ding against the metal poles as the wind blows them wild, bringing inside the scent of daisies and sunflowers.

"coffee?" you ask, because when have you ever been able to help yourself when it came to beau arlen? he'd had you hooked and lined from the beginning. it was just a part of you, by now, that need to calm the storm that brewed behind his eyes.

beau glances over toward the machine by the fridge. "machine's broken."

your turn to smile tersely. "was broken. six years ago."

his parents bought you a new one, after daisy was born. the least they could do, they said, considering their son was across the country living a dream that he promised he wouldn't let get in between you two, while you were at home alone raising his little girl.

there is just as much that you want to say as he does. so much anger and cruelty you want to spew at him, just to hurt him like he'd hurt you.

instead, you turn to the coffee machine to start a pot. it can wait. all of the fighting can wait until daisy isn't here. she was already wrapped up too much in the both of your mess, and she didn't deserve to become a weaponized pawn.

the screen door slams into the wall behind it, just hard enough for you to know exactly who it was without turning around. great.

"where's my pretty li'l berry princess?" abigail calls from the doorway, and from the little whiny fusses, you know that del is right behind her. the guys were probably on diaper bag duty, using that as an excuse to linger in the driveway and smoke.

beau inhales sharply. at least he's aware of how much his leaving and returning would stir things. and now he could fester in his guilt a little more, knowing that his friends and yours rallied behind you.

daisy's out of the chair before you even turn around to greet any of them. her excited squeal and sprint have the cowboy hat falling to the ground again.

the porch steps creak under the weight of the guys' heavy steps, and rhett's cough is a telling sign enough of the cigarette he shared with brooks if the smell wasn't. "delly insisted we bring you some of this cherry pie she made last night—"

"it came out so pretty," del interjects, the closest one to the kitchen doorway now that abigail had gotten hung up with your daughter. "i had to!"

"it's real good, girlie," rhett sighs, a soft thud creaking the floorboards as he drops the diaper bag down, "so damn good, i left it in the car so we can just take it right on back home—"

"rhett gaylestone!"

del peeks her head into the kitchen with a sweet smile. there's a baby carrier across her chest, a tiny head peeking out of it beneath her chin. she doesn't even glance in beau's direction; why would she? no one ever expected beau arlen to show his face back in montana.

"sorry about him," she says, wiping her palms on the skirt of her dress, "you know how the montana boys are. unreliable as sin—"

you watch it unfold. the moment that beau straightens his back, and the movement draws del's attention. she visibly startles, her mouth hung open.

it's a trainwreck. neither of them speak, but the tense smile had yet to leave beau's mouth since the realization of daisy clicked in his head.

"what the hell was all that?" rhett asks with a laugh, coming up behind his wife to prop in the doorway behind her, one hand coming around her to rest his hand on her stomach, just beneath the baby carrier. "about us montana boys being unrelia..." of course rhett would know to look where beau was sitting. they used to sit at the kitchen table, on that exact end beau was at, gambling away pocket money in games of poker, straw hanging out of their mouths. "unreliable."

beau clears his throat. "hey, rhett."

rhett scoffs out a sort of laugh, sounding more discomforted than anything. "brooks owes me twenty bucks."

brooks laughs from the other room. still as oblivious as abigail and your daughter to the fact that her daddy was home now, and what that meant. "no fuckin' way," an audible slap from abigail, and a groan to follow, "sorry, kiddos. no flippin' way. don't flip with me this time, i ain't fallin' for it this time. you can't convince me for nothin' that beau arlen's at that table—"

beau sucks in a deep breath through his teeth. he looks ready to bolt, and you're sure, from previous times, that he will.

"you should stop bettin' against me, williamson." his voice is raspier than it typically is. maybe you'd feel more bad for beau if he didn't do this to himself.

you shake your head. you'd kept silent, and calm, and collected for the last two hours of him being in your space, sharing snacks with you guys' daughter. "no, beau," you say, meeting his gaze when he finally turns it toward you, "i don't think he should."

the river cut through the forest, the sound of rushing water echoing around you. little splashes of waves spilled over the edge of it, sloshing against the damp muddy grass lining it. a little farther up the hill leading down to it, you're perched on a red and white plaid picnic blanket.

there was a book in your hands, held open with your left hand, the wedding ring on your finger glittering under the sunlight. these early days of your marriage were the easiest by far. it felt so natural, being in beau's space, your lives woven together like crochet.

beau was in the river, trying to catch frogs. you didn't remember what even led him to want to, just that you were adamant that you weren't joining him. sunshine was tied to a tree a few feet from you, chewing on patches of grass and whinnying.

"baby, you ain't gonna believe this," beau called from the river, the water splashing as he trudges out of its shallow depths.

you glanced up, and then immediately back down. "i don't wanna see whatever frog you've got captive."

beau laughed, something held in his one hand, the other coming up to run through his wet locks of hair clinging to his forehead. "i gave up on the damn frogs," he grumbled, each footstep squelching beneath him, "ain't no fun when you're a grown adult and not an eight year old. damn things are too quick."

you set your book aside, tucking it back safely in the picnic basket. you snatched a strawberry from the wicker, biting off the sweet end off it. "so what on earth are you about to drop in my lap?"

he flung his arm out at you, throwing stray water droplets across you. you knew he would; that's why you protected your book, after all. you were well adapted to the antics of your husband, by now.

"guess."

"i already guessed a frog." you sat up a little straighter, cringing at the dirty water droplets in your dress. "i lost. now you gotta just tell me."

beau dropped down in front of you, legs crossed, water pouring down his bare torso and onto the corner of the blanket he sat on. he opened up his fingers to reveal what was in his hand.

you blinked a couple of times. "a... rock?"

he groaned. "baby. i love you so much." he leaned forward to snatch your hand, yanking you a little closer to him. "so much, you know that. my beautiful, beautiful girl. you gotta open up that mind a little."

you huffed as you ended up kneeling in front of him, your knees sinking into the wet cloth beneath you. you snatched the rock out of his palm, and just faintly on the rock's smooth surface, in faded white paint, was rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"bingo," he snapped his fingers, leaning up a little to duck his head and see your expression. "told you, remember? when we met? used t'carve my name into tree trunks. used to leave it everywhere."

you tilted your head curiously at it, a small smile curving your lips upward. "i thought you were pretendin' to be arlenville sheriff, not rodeo champion beau arlen."

"when the life of justice got borin', i switched it up." he took the rock back from you, something wistful in his expression as he reads the words over himself. "s'what i wanted the most, y'know."

you did know, somehow. beau wore his dreams and his heart so proudly on his sleeve. you'd lived with him long enough to know that, after work, he'd settle onto the couch, kick his legs up, and turn on reruns of the rodeo championships. he could predict who would win, which bulls were more troublesome than the others, and when a cowboy made a bad call on a dime.

beau glanced up to meet your eyes, that same wistful smile on his lips. "what were your dreams like?" he asked, setting the rock down next to him on the picnic blanket. "not the strawberry princess ones, or the silly ones. what did my little sweetheart see herself growin' up into?"

you hummed a little to yourself, shifting a little so that you could splay your legs over his lap. forget not wanting to get dirty or wet. "a nurse, once," you said, scrunching up your face at the memory, "i used to insist on havin' every baby doll in the market, because i wanted to take care of them. make sure they were alright, y'know?"

beau nods, his arm slipping around your back to cradle you properly against his side. "you would look good in the scrubs," he teased, but you knew, like you always did, that it was never with bad intent.

"mmm, maybe," you agreed idly, "but i didn't want to go through all that school. i wanted to just... just launch into somethin'. and so i shifted gears completely. no more baby dolls, but flowers. made up my own little garden patch just outside that old barn down at my folks' place."

beau's fingers traced lines and shapes down the curve of your spine. "that when the strawberry and the peach princesses come into play?"

you slapped him lightly on the arm, chuckling a little to yourself. "stop it. but yes. del and i planted everything we could to see if it would grow, and call it our princess magic if it did."

"a damn flower girl," beau murmured into your neck, planting little kisses on the skin. "it suits you. what changed?"

"nothing changed," you said, tipping your head to press your temple to his. "i still dream about flowers. havin' a big garden in the backyard, havin' a shop downtown."

beau scooped you up, settling you comfortably in his lap, straddling his waist and the wet denim clinging to his legs. "well, what the hell is stoppin' us now, from gettin' you that flower shop of yours downtown?"

there were those eyes again, the ones you always knew meant bad news, back when you were younger and still dancing on the cusp of being in love and running before he could fully swoop in and steal your heart.

your lips curled, teeth worrying at the bottom one. "maybe nothing. maybe everything."

"no. nothin' is." beau leaned in to capture your lips in his, pulling the bottom one loose from your teeth with his own. "we'll get my baby a flower shop. we'll get you a garden in this backyard. hell, we'll fill all the fields with sunflowers and daisies."

your head fell backward in a laugh. "stop it!" but it's half-hearted, because beau always knew how to lasso you into all of his crazy dreams, and he was already beginning to sell you on it without needing to do much convincing at all.

"we'll name all our kids after flowers," he mumbled against your jawline, kissing upwards until he met the corner of your mouth. "daisy. rose. violet. lily."

"what about the boys?"

beau paused, taking a breath before he stole a proper kiss from your lips. "we jus' won't have boys."

you're silent for a long while. beau always made the impossible and the unachievable seem so pretty and within reach. you lifted your hand to touch his cheekbone, swiping gently across the smooth, sunkissed skin, before you let it fall to the ground next to the both of you, grabbing the little rock he'd placed down.

rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"but then who will continue on with your bull ridin' legacy?"

beau's gaze is unbelievably soft when he meets your eyes. his fingers close around yours, bringing them to his lips to place a gentle kiss to each knuckle. "you're worth more than every dream, sweetheart." again, he kisses each knuckle, one by one, lingering on them this time. "i think a flower girl and a cowboy make a mighty fine pairin'."

you'd let beau tuck in daisy. daisy. his baby girl's name was daisy. she looked just like you, all except for the fire in those pretty green eyes she'd inherited from him. she was tiny, and a little spitfire, and it ached so desperately that he didn't get to watch what shaped this little girl. that, in a way, his absence did more for her than his reappearance had.

her room was a scattered mess of baby dolls and plushie horses. on her small dresser, beau had plucked that old hat of his off of her head and popped it there before he'd scooped her up and tucked her into the baby blue blankets on her bed.

"are you staying?" she asks him quietly, her voice a little slurry and sleep addled, tiny fingers curled into the hem of her blanket, holding it up to her chin.

beau brushes those stray, wild hairs off of your forehead, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her temple. "of course i'm stayin'. and miss out on my future rodeo champion growin' up? no way."

daisy's giggles spread a warmth through his veins that he hadn't felt in this house in far too many years. for the first time since he came back, he felt welcomed, though he knew that it was only because she didn't know, not really, who he was. "mommy told me about you."

"what did mommy say?"

under her little elbow was a little white horse plush, near identical to sunshine. his smile is hesitant, but there, as he drops his hand down to pat its head, and then hers.

"mommy said you were a dreamer," daisy says wistfully, her eyes fluttering as she forced them open, "that you chased things and chased things, no matter what it meant. she said you rode off into the sunset."

beau frowns when her eyes fall shut and stay shut, the rise and fall of her little breaths deepening and slowing. there was a time when people said that about him and meant it in a good way. there was a time when his name was spoken with reverence and awe.

that was before he'd moved up from local rodeos to the big time, where he proceeded to take all of his dreams besides that single, blinding one and dump them away.

one more time, he leans down to kiss the top of daisy's forehead, before he pushes off of the edge of her bed and flicks the light off as he leaves. he pulls the door shut behind him, leaving it gapped so that the golden light in the hallway filtered through. he didn't know if she was scared of the dark. beau didn't know much of anything about his daughter.

he did know, though, that someway, he had to make this right with you. you, who was sitting on the couch in the living room, filtering through channels on the tv screen. you glance up at beau when his steps creak on the old floors, before you quickly glance away.

"i'll put on the rodeo for you."

beau grimaces. like hell he'd want to see what the newer, spunkier cowboys were doing after he'd hung up the hat. like hell he'd want to watch it anyways, not right now, not after those showings were part of the reason his head got too big and he stopped thinking rationally.

"put on the simpsons or somethin'," he waves a hand idly in the tv's direction, "not that shit."

"whatever you want, arlen." you press the remote into the arm of the couch, your smile forced and sickly sweet at once. "you'll be the one down here watchin' it."

beau sidesteps as you pass, his face screwing up in irritation he didn't deserve to feel and confusion. "we're not even gonna talk? you're just gonna go to bed?"

"yes, beau," you toss back at him, spinning on your heel to face him. there it is, he wants to think. the anger he'd expected and didn't get, not once, until the sun fell and the guests cleared and their daughter drifted off. "yes. i'm gonna go to bed. because in the morning, i have to drop daisy off at kindergarten. i have to go to the shop and work. not all of us have the luxury of hangin' up a hat and callin' it done."

beau's lips thin. he nods a couple of times, his arms crossing firmly over his chest. "go on, sweetheart. keep 'em comin'. what else have you been stewin' on while i was gone?"

"you're a coward," slips out of your mouth as easily as i love you once did. "you abandoned everything at the first sight of freedom from this town. you didn't even think twice."

beau shakes his head, now, and doesn't stop. "you think i was free out there?" he takes a step closer to you, towering over you. you don't shrink. not even a little. "you think i felt free any of the days i wasn't in the ring? that i didn't feel suffocated by the weight of your hurt, back here?"

"you don't know a thing about hurt, beau. not if it hit you in the face."

"so hit me in the face. show me how it felt."

your palm cracks across his cheek, his jaw slackening with the force of it, skin reddening beneath the pale brown of facial hair. "there it is," he says out loud this time, a hand coming up to rub at the stinging scruff, "my pretty girl's fire."

"i am not," you shove his chest back, pushing his spine into the back of the couch, "your pretty girl."

beau throws his arms up and glances around. "and why the hell not? you got another man around here i don't know about? hidin' under our bed?"

your eyes flare. he's lashing out. he knows that all he's doing is finding all of your wounds and prodding at them until they rebruise, but he can't seem to stop. "so it's true, then."

"what's true, honey?" his eyebrows bounce, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "you'll have to talk to me if you wanna get pissy with me."

the eye twitch. beau missed everything about you while he was gone, but goddamn, that eye twitch. there was a twisted sort of comfort in the fact that only he could ever bring it out of you.

"you fucked kelsey."

"hey, watch the language, alright?" he tsks. "baby girl's upstairs tryna sleep n' all that."

"you fucked kelsey jones from tv, and now you're projectin', tryin' to make up some random man that i cheated on you with—"

beau's expression sharpens. "never once did i cheat on you." something has gone awry, and his control in this battle of words and anger has slipped. somewhere in your anger and your hurt and his guilt and shame, something got validated that shouldn't have been. "you think i cheated on you?"

"don't even lie to me, beau arlen, i'll go grab a goddamn butcher's knife, and—"

"i. never. cheated. on. you." his voice comes out firmer, and more harsh, than he intends. you fall silent. the echoing buzz of it in his ears is louder than any of your fight, so far. "never once was tempted."

your mouth trembles with, he hopes, anger and not tears. if you started to cry, he'd crumble. every bit of his resolve would crash down. "she wanted to fuck you."

"hell, a lot of people wanted to fuck me," he laughs, tries desperately to dampen the fire, but it only seems to stoke it a little higher. "kelsey jones only saw the big belt buckle. if terry gold had won, she'd have been all over him, too."

you don't even move. beau would have thought time was frozen in place if the simpsons wasn't quietly playing behind him on the tv.

"and 'i didn't think twice' about leaving?" he continues when you still don't say a thing. "sweetheart, i thought about you every damn day. no win was a win without you there, seein' your grinnin' face on the sidelines. i kept chasin' and chasin' because i thought i'd feel good if i won enough, or if i won the right championship, but by the time i realized that it never felt like a win because you weren't there, six years had passed."

not an excuse. beau knows he has no excuse at all for not just immediately turning to go back home, so he wasn't even going to bother trying to make one.

"i was going to tell you when you came home," you say, and the familiarity of your quiet voice is like a knife. "i knew you'd win. i told you that day that all of our dreams were coming true."

beau winces. "i know."

"and then you never came home." the knife plants itself in his heart and twists. the anger rises like a flush over your heated face. "you just kept movin' around, and i was left in your house, with all these little reminders of you, and an even littler one inside of me, and you were gone."

what can he do besides take it? he did make that choice. he made it over, and over, because he was a coward, and didn't want to face this exact conversation.

he thinks you might slap him again. but all you do is walk closer, like you really want him to feel the force of the consequences, until you're close enough for him to breathe in that perfume of yours.

"i can't even say i hate you," you manage, even though the words are stifled and choked on, a physical lump in your throat, "even though i want to."

beau's hands raise to cup your face between them, tilting your head up to properly look in your eyes. his always shimmered with wildness, something uncontained and dangerous; yours shimmered now with tears and everything broken between the two of you.

he doesn't mean to kiss you. he leaned down to whisper his apologies into your breath so that hopefully you'd breathe them in and know he meant them. but beau was not very good at doing the right thing, or the thing he intended to do.

you're tense when your lips meet. you taste like cherry chapstick, or maybe it was the two bites of delilah's cherry pie you'd had. he almost pulls away, has the apology lined up on his lips along with all of the others, but then you grab his face and force him closer.

your grip is harsh. nails bite into beau's skin as he follows your lead, his hands sliding under your thighs and hoisting you up into his arms, helping you to wrap them tightly around his waist. there's a lot of blind stumbling, but he makes it down the hall to your room.

your room, his room, both — what did it matter anymore?

it's even more haphazard as he collapses down on the edge of it, more focused on keeping you planted in his lap than he is on where he's landing. the room is still decorated the same, in the little glimpses he catches between breaths. the pictures in the frames on the dresser, the calendar still months behind, though he wonders if it's now months and years behind.

beau's heart aches, tight and taut behind his ribs, so he kisses you harder. his fingers find the zipper of your dress and start to trail it down, going back up to unclasp your bra in that same swoop.

your hands are on his chest, ripping at the flaps of his flannel, popping the buttons open, some of them flying loose. you look so beautiful in your anger, all bright eyed and flushed. beau lets you peel his shirt off of him, tossing it aside in the room. he lets you run your soft fingertips down his chest until they reach his jeans.

"stupid ass belt buckle," you grumble under your breath, looking up at him through your eyelashes, almost as if you were teasing him rather than trying to hurt him.

but the words hit their mark. yeah, the buckles were stupid, in the long run. he threw away the first six years of his daughter's life and six years with you for this stupid ass belt buckle. he'd wore it home as if it was some sort of flex that this is what his life boiled down to, on his own choices.

"let me make this right," beau murmurs down the column of your throat, sucking little marks into the skin, tasting the bruising skin with his tongue. "i'll make it right."

the belt buckle unclasps, and you're yanking it off of him wordlessly, though he can hear the little pants of breath falling out of your mouth. "can't," you manage to say, tugging open his jeans and trying to pull them off under your own weight.

"can't i try?" beau tugs the sleeve down your shoulder, helps you slip your arm loose from it.

you nudge his face up with your nose and steal a punishing kiss, teeth colliding and pinching the skin of his inner lip between them. "i'd rather you just shut up."

you'd hate him for this in the morning. hell, you'll probably hate him for all of this the moment that your orgasm subsided. he'd take these little moments of tension-ridden peace while he could.

the dress pools down on his waist, hung up by the fact that you were still in his lap, just like his jeans were. beau raises your arms to work the straps of your bra off, tossing it away as aimlessly as you'd thrown his shirt.

he goes back to your throat, trailing kisses downwards now, between the valley of your breasts and everywhere in between.

beau hooks his fingers into your panties with his lips sucking little marks on the tops of your breasts, tugging on the hem. "gotta get up for a sec, baby," he mumbles, kissing the sensitive marks he'd left, "got us at a standstill."

you raise up on your knees, kicking the dress away from you. the look you give him is some variation of malice, but he can look past the lingering hurt and see it for what it was. passion laced in with your anger, turning into something beautiful and violent, lashing against your veins and threatening to get out.

beau kicks his jeans off, his boxers following suit moments afterwards. he grabs you by the waist to get you to step between his legs, tugging your panties down your legs once you were close enough.

the lack of clothes seems to revitalize that rage warring inside of you. you go from complacent and warm against him to looking completely furious that this is happening at all. beau again expects another slap, but it doesn't come this time, either. instead, your hand shoves him back down onto the mattress.

"i want to hate you so bad," you say to him, a wobble to your voice that is more than enough proof that you meant it.

he reaches down for your hand, tugging you on top of him. "show me how bad," he whispers against your mouth, before he teases at your lip with his teeth.

you interlock your fingers with his, and for a second, it feels like it used to, back when you were both twenty and everything was fun and easy. it feels like the cool wind of nostalgia and the warmth of love. you lift the conjoined hands to rest against his chest as you shift from straddling his waist to settling into his lap, sinking down onto him in one slow motion.

beau watches every second. watches as your lips part as he stretches you open, your eyelashes flutter against your cheekbones. you still fit so perfectly around him, even if it hurt to admit that. how could he have thought for even a second that there was a dream better than the one he had in his lap?

your eyes lock onto his, and somehow, it's more intimate than your first time together was. more intimate than the entirety of your honeymoon. every emotion flashes across your face at once, and he reaches up to thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away the stray eyelash, though all that was, was just an excuse to touch you.

his other hand finds your hip, reluctantly having let go of your fingers, helping to guide your movements on him, even if you didn't need it. you knew what you were doing, knew what you wanted.

"i'm sorry," beau finally breathes out, the words more of a grunt than anything else. he opens his mouth to say more but you slap your hand over his lips, and it's all he can do not to laugh.

you grind down into his pelvis a little harder this time, smearing slow circles where you're connected, your lips open in wordless pants. "i told you to shut up."

"can't." he groans this time, his hips bucking up into you, the tip of his cock brushing along your cervix. he starts, and can't seem to stop it, as he meets your movements and buries himself into your tight walls. "got too many — too many things to apologize for."

even with glassy, dazed eyes, you manage a glare at him. it's probably the sexiest thing beau's ever seen. "you didn't answer my calls."

"felt like a dumbfuck," his voice is muffled against your palm, and your grip tightens over his mouth like a silent urge to shut the hell up, but he's never been one for listening, "sorry. dumbflip. thought it'd make it worse — when i didn't have an explanation."

you're not usually as domineering as this. you weren't exactly submissive to him, but you'd never held the control you had over him in positions like this and used it against him. because one moment you had a quick, steady pace as you rode him, and now you were agonizingly slow, your jaw ticking.

"you should have answered." beau wasn't listening. he could feel each time you stretched around him and could tell by the way your thighs tightened around his when he'd hit that spot deep enough inside of you to make you squirm. your hand squishes his face between your fingers to draw beau's attention again. "should have answered. should have checked in."

"i'm sorry." what was he even apologizing for again? all beau could think about was how his head was tipped back to meet the stern look in your eyes, and how pretty your mouth looked when it was pursed in that little pout. god, he was going to fucking bust like a teenager. "won't do it again."

"that's a terrible apology."

"sorry." all he can say is sorry. he'd been reduced to a mess of a man beneath you, and when he seemed to be reaching the point of desperation that you wanted him at, you finally stopped fighting against his grip's guidance and quickened your pace again. "really sorry, baby."

you move your hand away from his mouth, replacing it with a kiss that was almost loving, slow and languid. "you've got six years to make up for in one night. good luck."

yeah. good luck, alright. he didn't think he'd make it to the morning alive.

the adrenaline and the thrill that came from being in the bullring was an intoxication of its own, but beau found that it was nothing at all compared to the look on your face when he found you in the stands.

he'd pull you half over the gate and kiss the daylights out of you, until your lips were swollen pink and his ached with the loss of it. he'd stand on the podium with the local montana championship buckle on his belt, and it wouldn't even settle in that he'd won at all until you were dragging him back to his truck in the parking lot.

the people around town started saying his name differently now. he was outgrowing the reputation that he, rhett, and brooks had left as a heathen montana boy and was becoming his own name. a renowned name. one that, he could tell, you were proud to have attached next to yours.

"did you see?" you asked him one day at breakfast, sliding the newspaper across the table to him. "the next rodeo's gonna have scouts for the big leagues."

you were always his biggest fan. you told him to pursue this dream of his, ensured him that it was just as important as yours were to him, and so it only made sense that he take this next step for you. that he outshine every other guy in the county and take it big, down to dallas, texas.

and so he did. beau sustained a minor ankle sprain and a dislocated arm, but by god, did he ride hard, setting a local record and capturing the eye of that scout.

dallas has been waiting for a guy like you to come out, the scout told him. and beau saw gold; bright, shining, blinding gold.

"come with me," beau said the night before he had to leave, throwing handfuls of clothes and necessities into a duffel bag. he dreamt big, but he didn't plan big, and when given a week before the championship, he'd waited until two days before it to start and finish his packing.

you're taking the hangers that he tosses onto the bed, hanging them back up in the closet. "can't. i've got a shop to run and a horse to keep happy."

"sunshine'll live without her favorite girl for a few days."

"okay. scratch that." you snatched his stetson off of the dresser and put it delicately on your head. "someone's gotta hold it down here in arlenville."

beau laughed heartily, shaking his head in pure, unbridled amusement. "and you've taken up the mantle?"

"a sheriff's gotta do what a sheriff's gotta do."

he wanted to keep pushing, but he knew that you were stubborn — and right. you had a shop here to run, had a garden to maintain, and someone did have to watch over sunshine. as much as he wanted you there alongside him, he understood where you were coming from.

"i'm gonna bring it home, baby," he said when he rises to his feet, zipped up duffel sitting on the end of the bed. he tugged you into his arms, dipping down to kiss you once, twice. "gonna get the gold."

"i know," you nuzzled up into him, noses brushing together, "my cowboy can do anything."

beau ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "i should teach you how to ride," he murmurs, leaving little kisses down your cheek, just below your ear. "give her a li'l lesson on cowgirlin' up before i head out."

you laughed as he scooped you up in one arm, his other hand adjusting the hat properly on your head.

beau had put the hat back on you, too, that next day, when he was about to head out on the road. "keep it nice n' warm for me."

"don't you want it for good luck?"

beau's eyes ran all over you, his expression melting at the sight of you. "no. don't need it. i'll be back after this competition, baby," he promises, brushing a knuckle over your cheekbone, "and i've got all the good luck i need right here."

he brings his ring finger up to his lips, kissing the wedding band he wore. your eyes were a little glossy, but you still looked beautiful. a little nervous, maybe, but so was he.

beau takes a hold of your face between his bigger palms and drags you down to press his lips to your forehead, lingering there for awhile.

"i've got to tell you something," you breathed onto his lips, glancing between the both of his eyes. "but i'm gonna wait until you're home again. gotta keep your head on straight, don't you?"

beau laughed, taking your hand to kiss your wedding ring, too. "my head's always a little screwy around you."

"i'm serious," you laughed, too, and there those tears were again. he wished he could take them away, if only so you didn't look so devastated about these few days apart. "all of our dreams are coming true, beau."

he nodded, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose once more. "they are," he agreed, brushing your hair out of your eyes, "and we've got so many more to make."

letting go of you was the hardest decision he'd ever made. if beau didn't, then, he wouldn't have. he'd have stayed there in your arms and wiped away all of those tears as they fell. but some dreams were infinite and some had a time limit, and he wasn't capable of letting this one slip through his fingers.

"i love you!" you called from the porch, waving at him through the windshield of his truck as he turned the engine.

beau hopped up to sit in the open window of the driver's seat, head peeking out over the roof of the truck. "i love you more, baby."

you open your mouth like you were going to argue, but you must have known that again, it would have kept him there for hours, going back and forth until one of you caved and you wound back up in bed.

he gives you a little wave this time, as he shifts to settle back into the driver's seat. beau starts to back out of the dirt driveway, alternating between your shrinking form on the porch, waving at him, and looking out the rearview mirror.

leaving one dream for another. it made him feel a little sick, knowing that he was leaving you here and not having you next to him, but at least it wasn't forever. at least it was just a few days that he'd be gone, and then he'd get to see you again.

just a few days.

the sun crested over the hill that the arlen farmhouse was planted upon, spilling bright gold through the glass and onto the sheets that you'd gotten tangled up in. last night was a blur of sweat and sex and too many apologies to count. at some point, you'd deemed beau forgiven enough to get some sleep, even though you felt a little nauseous over the thought of beau in the bed next to you.

too familiar, and yet not enough so.

at least beau seemed to get it, in a way. it may have taken a fight and a few mean words to get through to his skull that this wasn't something that could be solved in one night. he'd missed the birth of his little girl. he'd missed her first steps, first words, and her first lost tooth. missed her first day of kindergarten.

you felt as angry at him for it as you felt guilty. you did try to tell him, but beau didn't pick up the phone, and there was never a solid address to send letters to. you'd tried, but it still wasn't his fault that you found out about the pregnancy the day that he left. it was just his fault that he chose to not come back.

beau shifts a little in his sleep, his arm tossed over your waist and tucking you closer into his chest. he still smells a little like sex, but underneath it all is that cologne of his that you'd missed so desperately.

"g'mornin', sweetheart," beau rasps into your hair, pressing a kiss into the mop of it, just behind your ear. his voice is like gravel and sin. you'd both changed a lot in these last missed years, but fundamentally, he was still beau, and you were still yourself.

you see those traces of him in his smile when you tilt your head up to meet his sleepy eyes. the alarm clock on his side of the bed read 5:43. you'd have to start rallying daisy for breakfast, soon, so she had enough time to play and watch cartoons before school, like she always did.

just because your life routine changed didn't mean that hers had to.

beau brushes the hair away from your forehead. "what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

"nothing." too quick to reign true. what was the point of trying to lie, anyways? you'd already slept with him. the anger was already dealt with, leaving nothing but a dull sort of ache in its place. "just... thinking how i have to wake daisy up, soon."

and that you felt a little guilty for everything. guilty for the fight. guilty for kissing him. guilty for pulling him back into your bed like he hadn't walked out on you. guilty for hearing his apologies and still not knowing whether it was safe to forgive him.

his smile doesn't fade, not even for a second. there's still the underlying fear that he was going to leave again, but at least there was the reassurance that he was still beau arlen, sweet as a man could be when he wasn't so caught up on the what ifs.

"let me."

your eyebrows furrow. you open your mouth to insist otherwise, but he steals a kiss before you can. his lips dance with yours slowly, savoring the taste and the familiarity of the motion. "i'm serious, baby. let me."

beau shifts again behind you, this time to ease you onto your other side to face him better. words don't come to the surface now that you need them to.

"what was her first word?"

"baba." you smile a little, thinking back to little daisy in your arms, her tiny fingers grasping impatiently for the bottle in your fingers. "she was hungry."

he smiles, too, a shadow replica of yours. just as hesitant, sad; the same feeling of loss over what could have been a shared memory. "first steps?"

"she ran." you lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a second, remembering those days when she was littler but just as rambunctious, barreling into everything without a care of the scrapes and the bruises. "i was walkin' with her, holdin' her up on my feet, and she just... took off."

"sounds like you," beau teases, kissing the tip of your nose.

you snort, opening your eyes again. "no. it sounds like you."

beau's little smile fades. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb across it. "i'm sorry," he whispers, sincerity oozing out of the words so thick that you could almost taste their bittersweet honey, "i should have been here. hell, i should have long already been here."

"you should have answered the phone, too."

he nods. "should have done a lot of things differently."

it's not that you didn't forgive him, or that you were entirely angry with him. those feelings still existed, but at least he was here now, and at least he knew he messed up. you couldn't exactly make a proper judgement call on if he'd changed and learned from those mistakes, now; not until he proved that he meant these pretty promises he was making.

"daisy..." beau mumbles to himself, a little huff of a laugh falling from his lips, now. "i can't wait to get to know her."

"she's just like you," you say, desperately hoping that he ignores the voice crack in your words. "full of dreams and energy and wonder. she's great, beau. she's really great."

the pad of beau's thumb swipes underneath your eye, tracing the lift of your cheekbone. "we gotta get the hell up," he says around a yawn, a dimple poking through his muss of facial hair as he gives you a little grin, "we've got a little girl to drop off at school."

TWO YEARS LATER —

daisy is seven, almost eight. she calls beau dad with ease, even though she had from the moment that she met him. she brings home report cards with straight a's and b's and notes from the teacher about being a little bit mouthy, a little bit wild, but otherwise a wonder to have in class.

beau has her in front of him on the swingset, pushing her even though she insists she can do it herself. he knows she can, but he has a lot of parenting to make up for, and he was so damn glad to.

inside the house, he could hear the chattering of his friends and yours, cleaning up the remnants of a get-together dinner. ella gaylestone is just as crazy as rhett was, and so she was leashed to his belt loop to keep from running and tearing things up, even though beau knew that she just wanted to come out here and play, too.

he was picking up these things, these natural instincts that came with being a parent. rhett and delilah probably knew that their little girl wanted to play, but they also knew that sometimes, like now, daisy just wanted some time with beau.

he'd never deny his baby girl these moments, either.

abigail was pregnant with her and brooks's first. a boy; the first boy to get granted heir to the montana boys legacy, they'd said, though the girls were already proving themselves to be just as worthy too. daisy was so clever, and ella was crazy; they would pick up where beau, rhett, and brooks left off just fine.

"daddy, you never told me about the bull ridin'," daisy says suddenly, craning her head back over her shoulder to look at him. her green eyes were so pale and bright in the setting sun. "i thought you'd have so many stories."

she loved sunshine as much as beau had once loved moonlight. you and beau had signed her up for horse riding lessons that she didn't need, not when she was already a natural. she was his kid, through and through.

"what do you want to know?"

she hums, tapping her fingers along the chains she holds onto. "was it scary?"

"very scary."

"why did you do it then?"

beau wasn't very good with the why questions that came with parenting, though, but was any parent? he mimics her humming noise, just to make her laugh. "sometimes the scary things are the best things."

it was as good of an answer as he could give. that was something she'd learn with time, just like he'd learned how to slip into the role of father. something innate that clicked into place when the time was right.

it'd been terrifying to leave you, that day. it'd been terrifying to come back. it'd been terrifying falling in love with you, and even more so when he fell deeper in love. it'd been horrifying to meet his daughter at six years old. all of those things were things that he did not regret.

he glances out toward the open fields of land behind the arlen family home. daisies and sunflowers and, now lining the fence of their yard, roses. the wind blew and with it came the sweet smell of flower petals and pollen.

the back porch door swings open, and out toddles a wobbly stepped little girl, heading straight for the playground. rhett looks a bit sheepish in the doorway, tossing his hands up in exasperation. "she's got a mind of her own."

"that's alright," beau reassures, slowly pulling daisy's swing to a stop, even with her protests. "you gonna be okay hangin' out with uncle rhett and little ella?"

"do i get to stay up late tonight?" already bargaining with him. daisy arlen was definitely his little girl. you'd been right about her being just like him.

beau sighs dramatically. "i guess so. only tonight, though. you've got school again in a couple days."

daisy picks up ella and puts her on her hip, and it nearly makes beau's knees buckle. he doesn't want her to grow up just as much as he does want her to. it's so bittersweet, watching kids become adults, seeing how quickly it all happens. he used to carry daisy on his hip like that.

he turns to head back inside, waving away rhett's offer of a cigarette as he does. brooks seems to smell the cigarette through the florally scents in the wind and passes beau on his way in.

"they're havin' girl talk," brooks warns, snatching rhett's cigarette from between his lips, "good luck in there."

beau snorts. what did beau need luck for when he's already gotten lucky enough to have earned your forgiveness and your trust again?

still, he lingers a little longer in the kitchen, listening in for a good time to dip in and see you again. no amount of time anymore was enough time with you, in his mind.

"do you know what it is, yet?" abigail. beau smiles a little to himself, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

your voice chimes in next, a little hum to the words out of your mouth. "no. i don't think we want to know, either."

"that couldn't be me. i had to know the second i could." delilah. her voice is louder than the others, and before he knew it, she was about to run straight into him. "oh, sorry, beau. girlie, your beau's in here!"

beau shakes his head, stepping out of her way. delilah goes straight for the lemonade pitcher, and so beau goes ahead and grabs her a cup. "very original, delly."

"hey, i got a lot of cheesy beau jokes to catch up on!"

beau snorts, letting delilah pour her glass of lemonade before he steals it right from her hand, dipping out of the kitchen and into the living room as she protests behind him.

"beau," you say with a little sigh, looking up from your spot in the rocking chair to meet his eyes. he comes to stand next to you, bending down to kiss your temple.

abigail's nails tap mindlessly on her own lemonade glass. "maybe you will tell me," she says, sitting up straighter, "since your girl here won't."

you roll your eyes fondly, your hand coming up to steal beau's off of the armrest. he lets you take his hand, tracing shapes on his palm with your fingertips. "she's being nosy."

"i'm always nosy! so tell me!" abigail looks over at beau, now, one hand strewn over her swollen belly. "what are your name ideas?"

beau huffs out a laugh, taking the stetson off of his head and draping it on top of yours. "this is what that's about?"

"told you," you hum, your free hand lifting up from your own swollen belly to adjust the brim of the hat on your head, "nosy, nosy."

beau doesn't mind it, though. he's got years of talking about his kids and boasting about his family to make up for. "rose. we were thinkin' rose."

notes. u may be thinking omfg dahlia finally watched big sky !! beau arlen !! no i did not. i stole his name and the lil info i could find on the big sky wiki n i made an au <3 bc that is my specialty!!! not knowing canon shit so i make aus!!! terrified to post this literally bc what if the beau arlen lovers think i did bad. i will pretend i don't see. anyways this is long asf sorry i had a STORY TO TELL !!! LOL

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra

[dearstvckyx]

High School Sweethearts - NH13 (ft. NJD players , Hischier family)

summary: the four times you and Nico talked about marriage, and the one time where the talks came true / childhood friends - high school sweethearts - husband and wife

pairings: nico hischier x reader / njd players x reader / hischier family x reader / jack hughes x reader

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

1. The Playground Wedding

At seven years old, “marriage” wasn’t much more than a game. The two of you stood under the big oak tree in the schoolyard, hands clasped together as your best friend Jonas took on the role of officiant.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Jonas declared, barely holding back a snicker.

Nico’s face turned red instantly. “No kissing!” he protested, shaking his head so hard his hair flopped over his eyes.

You made a disgusted face, nodding along. “Yeah, gross!”

Jonas rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Fine, then just hold hands. And say ‘I do.’”

You and Nico glanced at each other, suppressing giggles before mumbling in unison:

“I do.”

“I do.”

Jonas clapped his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Okay, now you’re married! That means you have to stay together forever!”

At the time, neither of you thought much of it. Forever was just a word, and marriage was just a game. But even as you ran off to the swings afterward, hands still loosely linked, neither of you let go first.

2. Late-Night Conversations in High School

Years passed, and what was once a childhood game had become something real.

It was your senior year of high school, and the two of you had been dating since freshman year. You were lying on Nico’s bed, staring at the ceiling as music played softly in the background, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked, voice quiet in the dim glow of his bedside lamp.

“With you?” Nico turned his head to look at you, a small smile playing at his lips. “Always.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you pressed on. “Do you ever think about, like… marriage?”

Nico was silent for a moment, then shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not something I’d want to rush, but I can’t really imagine being with anyone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me neither.”

He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Then maybe, someday…”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Someday.”

3. After the Draft

Nico had been drafted first overall to the New Jersey Devils, and life had changed overnight. Between training camps, media obligations, and moving to a new city, everything felt like a whirlwind. But when he had a rare free moment, he called you.

“You sound tired,” you noted, voice laced with concern.

Nico chuckled softly. “I am. But I wanted to hear your voice.”

You bit your lip, missing him more than you wanted to admit. “Is it everything you expected?”

“It’s… a lot,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. I just wish you were here with me.”

Your heart ached. “Me too.”

There was a pause before he added, almost shyly, “You know… if you were my wife, you could come with me anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. “Nico—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a nervous laugh. “Not yet. But… someday, right?”

You smiled, your chest tightening with love for him. “Someday.”

4. Jack Hughes and His Big Mouth

Taking care of an injured, very drunk Jack Hughes was not how you and Nico had planned to spend your evening.

Jack was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes. “You guys are so cute. Like… stupid cute.”

You exchanged amused glances with Nico. “Thanks, Jack,” you said, adjusting the ice pack on his knee.

Jack suddenly sat up—or at least tried to, before flopping back down with a groan. “No, but like, seriously. Nico talks about marrying you all the time.”

Your eyes widened. “He does?”

Nico groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jack—”

But Jack had already passed out.

Silence filled the room until you turned to Nico, raising an eyebrow. “All the time, huh?”

Nico sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean… yeah. I do think about it. A lot.”

You felt your heart swell. “Me too.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile. “Good. Because I meant it when I said someday.”

You leaned against him, your fingers finding his. “Someday,” you echoed, squeezing his hand.

5. The Proposal

The New Jersey Devils had just won the Stanley Cup. The arena was electric—fans screaming, confetti raining down like a dream, and the sound of skates scraping against the ice as teammates embraced, shouted, and celebrated the biggest moment of their careers.

You stood at the edge of the chaos, watching Nico soak it all in. His hair was damp with sweat, his face lit up in pure joy as he hugged his teammates, lifted the Cup high above his head, and let out a triumphant yell. You had never seen him look happier, and it made your heart swell with pride.

Then, as if he could feel your eyes on him, Nico turned to you.

His smile softened, something deeper flickering in his eyes as he skated over. Without a word, he reached for your hands, his own still trembling from adrenaline, from the weight of what he was about to do.

The roaring crowd, the flashing cameras, the sea of teammates and WAGs—everything blurred into the background.

“You know how I always said ‘someday’?” he began, his voice thick with emotion.

Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around his.

Nico took a shaky breath and reached into the collar of his jersey, pulling out something that had been tucked beneath the fabric—a ring, carefully secured to a thin chain around his neck.

Your hands flew to your mouth as your heart pounded in your chest.

“I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment,” he continued, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions written all over his face. “And I realized… there’s no better moment than this. No better place. No better time.”

He let go of your hands just long enough to drop down onto one knee, right there on the ice, surrounded by his teammates, his family, the fans who had watched his journey from the start.

Your vision blurred with tears as he held the ring up to you, his blue eyes shining with nothing but love.

“You have been with me through everything—every high, every low, every dream I chased. And through it all, the only thing I was ever truly sure of was you.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t want to say ‘someday’ anymore. I want forever to start now. So… will you marry me?”

For a moment, all you could do was nod, too overwhelmed to form words. When you finally found your voice, it was barely more than a whisper—shaky, full of love, of certainty.

“Yes,” you breathed.

The arena erupted into cheers as Nico slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands still shaking, and then, without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ice and spinning you around.

The cameras flashed, the confetti kept falling, and somewhere in the background, Jack Hughes was loudly cheering, “ABOUT TIME!” Earning a smack on the back of his head from Jesper.

But all you could focus on was the boy who had once fake-married you on a playground, who had spent years saying ‘someday,’ and who was now kissing you in front of thousands, sealing a promise that had been written in your hearts all along.

Someday had finally arrived. And it was perfect.

Extra:

The ones who knew

The drunkenness of Jack Hughes

[is-the-sky-blue]

NEW LIFE: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Synopsis: When you are thrust into a new life of motherhood you find yourself overwhelmed.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), fluff, satosugu x reader, creepy old man, mention of teen pregnancy (reader is not pregnant)

Being a teen mom is scary and strange to say the least

You never planned for this to happen but then again you guess no one plans to become a teen parent. But at least with pregnancies they are an expecting parent, they have time to prepare, ready themselves to adjust to their new life, but you were pushed into a life of children without any forewarning. Suddenly a care taker of three five year olds and a six year old despite being almost a hundred percent sure that you didn't even have your period six years ago.

It's an inexplicable feeling to comprehend the idea of being a mother of four despite never having sex. A strange thought for children to manifest in your life without any time to prepare. You didn't have the scare of not having your period for a month, never needing to buy a pregnancy test to try it out while praying for only one line as the thought of lugging around a swollen belly throughout campus sent anxious beads of sweat down your spine. Never giving birth but even if adoption encompassed the same criteria at least these parents could plan, filling out paperwork as they searched online for beds and toys in the mean time.

Even with foster parents they are expecting a child to enter their home to some extent, ready to open their doors yet you never undid the lock, it was kicked down with a battering ram as you didn't only face the responsibility of caring for one life like most expecting parents, but four. 

It's a bizarre emotion to come to terms with as you sit at your laptop in the dead of night, trying to scroll quietly as you read forums, and scoured through mommy blogs, finding parenting books only to half relate to each confessing adult. 

No one is ever ready to be a parent, a line that struck close to home yet as they continue so did your disconnect, reading words that contained foreign experiences as they try to console the masses but not you. Sharing how motherhood is a struggle yet as you watch your child grow you slowly get accustomed to it, figuring out your child's unique quirks, their likes, dislikes and what works for your family. That after birth and you hold your child for the first time a sense of maternal love washes over you. How changing your baby's diaper for the first time and feeding them are moments where your connection only grows and you find a way to handle your conflicting emotions. They continue to go on, stating that it's fine to make mistakes, confessing how they accidentally burned their baby's hand with a curling iron but they'd forget soon enough anyways, brains not able to retain memories from so young yet you couldn't afford making such mistakes. Your children will most definitely remember any accidental pain or misstep you make, after all even in your high school years you could still recall stories of your elementary youth. 

You couldn't afford to inflict anymore trauma whether it be purposeful or not, especially since these children you huddled in your home carried a dark past with them that you struggled to light up, your bulb barely dim, struggling to even create a spark to brighten their situation. 

Your experiences with children limited, even in your youth you never hung around kids your own age much, living with only your grandmother facilitating an environment where you spent a lot of free time listening to gossip about other townsfolk in your village and how your neighbours, cousins, mailman apparently had an affair. You spent more time learning how to cut fruit into fun shapes like dragons, knowing how to traditionally make matcha and play shogi with your elders instead of playing tag in the back parking lot of your school after class. 

Your living room often filled with elderly grandmas as they huddled around your tv, peeling apples as the latest episode of their favourite soap opera graced the screen, yelling about the stupidity of the male lead as you walked inside through the genkan rather than having peers over where you inevitably talked more than studying for your upcoming test. However instead of it being peers or elders on your couch it was now children, four children that you had to pay attention to. You couldn't let your inexperience keep you from caring for them.

You couldn't let your habits of letting your boyfriends handle it continue on. No longer able to just push off the responsibility of letting, usually, Suguru coax a crying kid out from where they hid in an abandoned warehouse while on a mission whereas you focused more on smashing cursed spirits through walls.  

You couldn't do that now, no monster in your living room to divert your attention towards while a child sobbed. Suguru couldn't handle it every single time, you had to uplift their mood, had to make conversation even if you could only nod your head at their incoherent ramblings, often puzzled as you sat silently but attempting to appear attentive, but you knew you were bad at it. It was obvious, especially when Satoru popped next to you, sparking a delight into the children as he gasped and laughed, their big grins never targeted towards you.

You were unable to find a way to form a sense of connection, it was as though a growing ravine separated you from the rest of your mushed , abruptly pieced together family. You were a household unit, a family but it felt instead of being a caretaker you were some sort of second cousin twice removed who crashed on the couch in the basement, an invisible presence that no one acknowledged as you ignored any and all responsibilities.

Opting to hide in the kitchen instead of tying pigtails on little girls while they got ready for school. Trying to keep a sense of distance as you watched Suguru weave intricate styles, a job you'd traditionally have, knowing full well you were better at braiding than the long haired man as it was often your hands doing his hair and yet you busied yourself with flipping pancakes, pretending not to see him struggle with the small thin hair tie, not acknowledging how he snapped a third one while trying to secure one of the twins' ponytails. 

Part of you just refused to acknowledge these children as your own, unsure on how to become their parent when you yourself were still a child. It slightly felt as though if you didn't interact with them then maybe this wouldn't be your reality, this wouldn't be your life. 

It's not that you didn't want to be apart of this new family, it's just that you didn't know how, any exchange between you and one of the kids that inhabited your home feeling awkward at best as you stumbled through your minimal knowledge collected on children, ideas you've read yet struggled to implement. 

You weren't sure if any of them even quite knew who you were despite it almost nearing a month of them being in your care, a relatively short period of time in the grand scheme of things but a long one when considering you've been with them 24/7. 

You were useless, a straggler in this house who offered nothing other than a salary. Suguru and Satoru had fallen into their roles almost seamlessly. Geto you could expect  this from with his already caring nature but even the arrogant Gojo was doing better than you. 

You were an unneeded presence, every passing moment left you thinking what would happen if you packed your bags and disappeared, would it matter, would anyone in this house care. It's not like the family dynamics would shift, not like you'd abandon any responsibilities as you carried none in the first place. 

The only thing you'd leave in your presence was a salary that wouldn't even create much an impact with Satoru carrying the Gojo name and wealth, the disappearance of your cheque merely seeming like a couple of cents to this household.

You found yourself wondering what your life would currently be like if you had taken Satoru and Suguru up on their initial offer.

It was like a domino effect, the three of you separating to go on individual missions. You could still remember the day as you sat on the stairs leading to Jujutsu Tech, Satoru's messages letting you know he was on his way back, with a surprise at that

You were rubbing your arms for warmth as you pondered exactly what surprise he'd be bringing, maybe a souvenir or new snack he'd wanted you to try. "(Y/N)!!!!" he called and you sprung to your feet with a grin, spotting his head of white hair skipping down the sidewalk, his empty hands sparking confusion before your eyes landed on two short bodies trailing after him.

His surprise was two children he had kidnapped.

"I missed you" and his arms wrapped around you instantly, a puckered kiss landing on your cheek as you tried to squirm out of his grip, peering over his shoulder at the two kids who still stood a few meters away, Satoru's sudden burst of speed not reciprocated by the children. 

"Who" you furrowed your brows with a whisper "are they?" you tried to keep your voice low, not wanting them to hear but it seems as though the man didn't get the memo 

"This is Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro!" he grinned, patting the tops of their head, or at least trying to, Tsumiki compliant while Megumi tried to swat him away. "They're Toji's kids," he stated as though it was no big deal, "and well you know about the Zenin clan," he yammers off and to be honest you were tuning him out after that moment, staring at the two children who met your gaze. "And you know how I kinda kille-"

"Yeah yeah I get it," you cut him off, knowing full well that this wasn't an appropriate conversation topic to have with the children, of said dead man, around. "So what are they doing here," you tried to say in an unoffensive tone, not wanting them to think they were an undesired presence.

"Well I was thinking of keeping them safe so the Zenin clan doesn't get their mangy little hands on them," he whistles, trotting up the steps as he wandered towards the school "let's get inside first, it's kinda cold," he hummed.

The Fushiguro children had quickly taken residence in your bedroom and you left them in Satoru's care, spending a few more hours in the main school building under the pretense of training to give the kids a bit more space, or at least that's what you rationalized to yourself, not wanting to confront your true feelings of discomfort and shock as you let Satoru entertain them, his lack of comments on your missing presence further solidifying your attempts to distance yourself to figure out your new situation. Suddenly a care taker to two children you had never met before but were reminiscent of a man you had disdained. 

It wasn't until you returned back to your room that night, exactly two days after Satoru's arrival, that you realized Suguru had returned. You expected to merely see two children in your room, not four. You weren't ready, not prepared for a surprise of any sort and your shock was evidence, your feelings far more evident than with Satoru as you froze in the entrance, almost immediately catching sight of two little girls standing on your desk chair in front of the bathroom mirror clinging to Suguru as he stood, comb in hand. 

"Oh" was the only thing you could say, the two girls appearing disheveled, bruises loitering their sunken faces, and you noted the slightly bloody towel on the floor, the neat bandages wrapped around their bodies and plastered on their face.

"You just missed Shoko," Satoru commented but you couldn't take you attention away from the other set of children that infiltrated your space. You caught Suguru's eyes instead, a cursory glance thrown over his shoulder as he offered a shaky smile, facade far more pale, a sense of fear loitering in his gaze.

"I-Is that so," you try to divert again, replying back to Satoru as you slipped off your shoes, trying to regain a sense of composure. "Well," you paused your bag slumping against the floor with a heavy thump and you watched as the girls grabbed for Suguru, paranoid glances being shot your way as he pat their heads, trying to soothe them. "You should probably dampen the ends of their hair, it'd help," you offer, watching as he struggled to get through the tight knots in their locks, "but it also might be best to cut off the ends," you murmur, averting your gaze as you unpacked your bag, putting your textbook back onto your bookshelf, sending a small nod to the Fushiguro siblings who perched on your bed, peering at you over the manga you let them borrow, "because they are so dry."  

"You think so," he hummed and you felt a sudden rush of anxiety overwhelm you, your ability to suppress your flooding feelings slowly dwindling after only a few seconds. They doubled from two to four. You hadn't even adjusted to the thought of two new presences in your life, but now it felt all too real. You couldn't ignore it, your feeling of helplessness as you stared at what you quickly realized would become your family. Four children you weren't consulted about, four children who now only had you and your boyfriends to rely on.

"I just realized," you purse your lips, trying to push back the bitter bile that suddenly rose in your throat, these sudden changes looming over you as your small dormitory grew tighter with each second, as though the walls were closing in. "I forgot my water bottle at the track," you attempted to persuade, keeping tears at bay as you clenched your fists, still not ready to confront reality, not ready to enter this type of life. "I'm just gonna go and-" you were hastily slipping your shoes on, feeling your fingers shake, "g-get it real quick," and you couldn't hide the shaky crack in your voice, your ill concealed suffocation known.

You had left that day, you probably could've never returned, but you did, taking four hours too long to supposedly grab your water bottle. It was dark when you re-entered, quiet, the only light from a dim computer screen on your desk and the warm glow from your lamp on your side table. You could make out four children sprawled about your room, the twins asleep beneath the covers of your bed, the Fushiguros each taking up a bean bag chair. Small snores filling the air along with whispered mumbles

"(Y/N)," they had called softly upon hearing the creak of the door, eyes suddenly on you. Bodies quick to rise to greet you.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Suguru approached first, his hand resting on your cheek and you stared up at him, refusing to let the pit in your stomach grow and let your bottom lip wobble. "I texted you but I should've called you."

"It's fine," you nod, "It's my fault for not checking my messages" you sighed, remembering the list of texts between Suguru and Satoru that you had finally read after leaving, messages sent before Suguru had arrived home loitering on your phone, mentions of the dark haired man's discovery and how he'd be bringing the girls back that your silenced phone didn't let you privy to. No notifications of his warning jumping to your home screen. "What are you two doing" you hummed, trying to shift the conversation, unable to take his pitiful glance any longer, slipping from his grip, not believing in yourself to stay composed in his grasp but part of you wished you hadn't, the screen holding images of houses for sale.

"We were looking for somewhere new to move into," Satoru explained, "we need more space," he gestured throughout your room and you paused, the situation suddenly growing even more real.

"Move," you paused, eyes downcast as you tried to steady your breaths but jolted when Suguru tried to hug you from behind, escaping from his comforting hold, not ready, not willing to fall apart right now. 

"Yeah..." Suguru trailed off, slowly retreating his hands to his pockets, your refusal clearly hurting but even with the look on his face that had been there since he retrieved the two girls you couldn't find any more of yourself to spare, not able to emotionally handle the grief apparent in his features along with your whirlpool of flustering feelings. 

"If you don't want to move you don't have to," Satoru says suddenly, catching your attention.

"What do you mean, you just said we couldn't stay here because the kids need more space," you snapped at him with a hushed tone, unsure on why there was an anger rising within you.

"Yes they do, but you don't have to go with them."

"So you want to buy a house and let them live alone," you quirked a furrowed brow and you felt a thick tension rise in the air.

"No," Suguru hesitated, "we were considering moving out with them and letting you stay... here."

"What-" you frown turning to him, feeling those tears sting, unable to keep them away, "are you trying to abandon me."

"It's not that!" Satoru is quick to reassure, voice reaching an octave too high, the sudden groan coming from your bed sending the three of you into quick silence before the shuffling ceased and one of the twins, you didn't know who, still unsure on either of their names, returned to sleep. 

"You didn't sign up to take care of them," Suguru said in a hushed tone, "we don't want to force you into a parent position when you don't have to be, after all it was Satoru and I who brought them here, you don't have to take responsibility for them." 

You stared at the ground in front of you, letting water blur your vision as you bit your lip. "You are clearly uncomfortable and we just don't want you to feel like you have no choice but to go along with us."

"What do you mean I have a choice, of course I don't have a choice," you snap, feeling a rivulet cascade down your cheek.

"Baby you don't have to come with us."

"What do you mean, of course I do. We are dating aren't we, what would happen to our relationship if I just stayed here, huh," you began to spout incredulously, feeling a sob quietly wrack out form, trying your best not to make too much sound, not wanting more onlookers as you fell apart, "do you want to break up with me, is that it, is this just your way of trying to break up with me," you shudder.

"O-of course not," Satoru stuttered clearly taken aback by your sudden crumbling, aware of your slowly slipping sanity but not expecting the breaking point to be when they were trying to offer you an out.

"We love you so much, you know that don't you," and Suguru is staring at you with a pleading look, fist clenching, unsure on whether he should make a move forward. 

"Then you wouldn't be trying to leave me like this" you pursed your lips, staring at them with anger as you balled your hands. 

It was dropped after that, you followed them, the escape you thought you needed, the door you thought was locked was opened by them, mournful glances as they clearly did not want you missing but allowed you a chance anyways, shut by your own hands, sealed with your own will.

You had stayed on your own accord, demanded that you wanted to stay which only further fueled the guilt you carried as you stumbled about clumsily, clearly not fit for the lifestyle you somewhat voluntarily signed up for. 

This is a choice you made, you just had to work harder to be able to fulfil the role you wanted to claim and today was a great opportunity to make some sort of progress in that mission.

"I specifically demanded that a parent or guardian is present not a sibling!" the man in front of you rumbled, his brows furrowed as he stared you and the little boy next to you down, his cheek covered with a band-aid that accompanied the matching ones on his palm and knee. His lips pulled into a pout as he sent a resentful glare to the older that lectured you both.

"I'm sorry," you could only bow, hyperaware of how young you truly are to be Megumi's caretaker but you couldn't dwell on the thought, not right now. The heavy hearted sigh that released afore you had you stiffening.

"Regardless you and you family need to take better care of that brat, problem children aren't allowed in my school, learn to discipline him," and the gruff words had you gripping the arm rests of your chair to keep your anger in check.

"I would prefer it if you didn't call him such names," you attempted politely

"And I would prefer it if he didn't hit his fellow classmates," he spat, gesturing to the boy and his family who sat in the seat across from you, the black eye having boy clinging to his mother's shirt, eyes rimmed with red as he stuck his tongue out at Megumi. "Especially classmates who are children of esteemed benefactors that help keep our schools programs running" he tacked on and you had to bite your lip from spewing that no money was being donated to the school but his greedy pockets, knowing full well that art programs were still fully reliant on parents to provide materials to their children, after all it was you who visited the craft store more than once, but then again he probably assumed you were just an ignorant elder sister who didn't know much. 

"That's right! Do you know how much it'd cost if we decided to press charges," yet another pompous man chimed, twiddling with the end of his mustache "we are clients to one of the best law firms of the country, in fact we are one of their biggest investors," and you had to keep yourself from tsking at his flaunt of wealth knowing there was a black card in a certain blue eyed boy's pocket that'd be able to buy all their assets and not make a dent into the never ending digits of his bank account.

"I am truly sorry that Megumi hurt your child but I'm sure he had a reason for acting out, he's a sweet kid I swear," you explain, knowing full well of his kindness, despite being merely an onlooker the way he watched out for his elder sister and the twins as well was evidence of his caring personality. 

"Are you saying my kid deserved to get punched by that brute," the mother finally huffed, still holding onto her child.

"That's not what I sai-"

"Then what are you saying, I mean look at my son, our heir, do you think he received these bruises because they were merely roughhousing." 

"I'm just trying to state that your son might've done something to trigger Megumi is all, I mean he's hurt too."

"For gods sake kid," the principal tsked, "you just don't get it, it doesn't matter whether or not that boy is hurt the Sato heir has been harmed by his filthy little han-"

"I don't appreciate you badmouthing my son in front of me! Megumi's wellness is also important!" you snapped, furrowing your brows, "as an educator you should treat these boys equally despite how much money his dad gives you."

"Ha!" the so called prestigious father snickered, "son," he whistled and you could feel a sudden sense of dread shadow over you, "looks like I see where that runt gets it from now, how old are you anyway," and his eyes seemed to rake slowly up and down, his leering gaze causing you to cringe in your seat. "When'd you get knocked up, huh," he chuckled and you clutched the arm rest, trying your best just to grit your teeth are bare it.

"I don't think that's an appropriate thing to say in front of children."

"Well you are far from appropriate it seems," he chuckled once more, "if you are so willing to spread your legs I'll make sure to give a well disciplined kid," he smirked, a grotesque face that had a wave of nausea churn in your gut and you could feel the wood splinter beneath your hands, your expression of disgust mirrored on his wife's face but she was quick to recompose herself.

It wouldn't be hard to make it look like a cursed spirit attacked and left some deceased in their wake. "Calm down sweetheart don't get your panties in a bunc- AHH" he jolted, toppling from his chair with a heavy thud. "What's wrong with you!" he screamed, fingers reaching up to touch his face, horrified to find a slit of blood leaking from his cheek.

"Calm down old man, wouldn't want you having a heart attack now," you growled, fully standing as you retracted your arm, tsking at the splinter of wood sticking out the far wall, piercing the hung portrait of the principal, he once sat in front of, right in the heart. 

"I- are you crazy!" the principal fumed, stumbling to his feet as suddenly the Sato boy burst into a fright of tears, clinging to his mother, "what kind of psychopath bitc-"

"Let's go Megumi," you cut him off, keeping him from saying such words to the little boy as you tap his shoulder, hauling his backpack off the floor as you ushered him out the room, double doors slamming open as other administrators rushed in, startled by the sudden commotion but you walked through the crowd, bodies parting as you led Megumi out of the office, a silence washing over you two as you exited out the main doors, quietly walking down the steps, the click of metal ringing as you slung the backpack over one of your shoulders, little keychains hitting one another as you approached the crosswalk, staring at the big red hand that faced the two of you as the little automated beeps echoed the movements of your prodding fingers.

"Hold my hand..." you break the silence, extending a palm out to the boy but his sudden blank stare had you slightly recoiling. 

"Why?" he just furrowed his brows looking up at you.

"Uh," you pause, you didn't quite have an answer you just knew that children were supposed to hold the hands of someone older while crossing the street, "for safety," you offer and he shakes his head.

"How is you holding my hand gonna keep me safe," he huffed, "we'll just both get hit by a car instead."

"Oh, well..." you think, "if there is a car, I'll be able to get you out of the way quicker by throwing you to the other sidewalk if I'm holding your hand," you try and his unnerved gaze had you questioning your every word before a heavy sigh left his lips, his hand meeting yours just as the crosswalk switched.

"I probably got suspended or expelled," he suddenly piped, seemingly unbothered as the two of you stepped across the street.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that," you apologize with a scratch of your head.

"It's not your fault," he murmured, "I would've got suspended even if you didn't throw a chair at that jerk's dad."

"I didn't throw the whole chair, just part of it."

"Does it really matter, you still threw a chair at him," and you didn't have anything to say back to that as he soon pulled out of your grasp as your feet met pavement again.  "And you broke the principal's painting."

"Okay I get it," you mumble, suddenly feeling like a scolded child as you readjusted the backpack slung across your shoulder before you caught sight of the blooming bruise on his cheek, a red scab of slowly drying blood crusted on his lip and you looked up to glance at the sky before he could catch you staring. "Well uhm, it's kinda hot today," you pitch, the barely peeking sun creeping out from behind the clouds, the gloomy sky, clearly going against your comment, "do you want to go get ice cream..?" 

Suddenly his feet halted from where he stomped in front of you, the pebble he was kicking running sideways into the road as he spun around, "ice cream.." he paused, skeptical, "why?"

"J-Just because," you stammer, "it's hot, aren't you warm," you try to play it off, "we can go to the corner store just down there," and you point down street, the floor sign advertising a new product a couple meters away indicating where the shop was located.

"I got into a fight today," he huffed, "why are you giving me a treat."

"Man aren't you just supposed to say okay and book it until I change my mind," you raise an accusing brow.

"Well you're being weird, you aren't really good at this whole parenting thing."

"Sorry for not being a professional," you scoff half heartedly, sparing a lopsided smile as you lead him towards the store. "So let's just go yeah?" and you speed up your pace.

It didn't take long for you to reach the door, the boy obviously more excited than he was letting on with the way he rushed alongside you, the ringing of the bell above the door singing as you pushed open the glass, letting him walk in first before you travelled through the store you knew all too well, the place a spot you used to frequent in your first year, Satoru loving the strawberry swirl twin pops that he'd eat all on his own, the artificial flavour a bit too much for even your palate and something Suguru would rather jump off a bridge than eat, Shoko not even option to share with but it's not like he minded, far too excited to eat both on his own. 

The big brand covered blue floor freezers greeted you and you stared through the glass top, the colourful packaging catching your eye before a mop of spiky hair planted next to you, tippy toes trying to push themselves to their full height, unable to glance inside. "Do you want some hel-"

"No," he was adamant, bouncing up and down as he scanned, "I want that one" he slammed the clear lid, little hand smacking absentmindedly, obviously unaware of his options as he chose at random.

"Okay," you grin, spotting the strawberry twin pops but you ignored where he pointed, knowing full well the little kid wouldn't enjoy it, your observations over the past few weeks leading you to believe he enjoyed chocolate more based on the snacks he'd specifically choose from the stash Satoru would bring home almost everyday. "Here," and you yank out a chocolate covered vanilla ice cream, handing the packet to him before grabbing one of your own, "I like these ones too," you muse.

You were quick to head to the register, coin pouch at the ready, "but still, why would you buy me something for getting into a fight," he said again, his demeanor more worried, eyes a bit wider and you hum, trying to formulate an answer.

"Well you're a sweet kid, I know that much."

"But I beat up another kid."

"For a good reason."

"How would you know that."

"Because that boy was picking on Mimiko," you state, placing down both your items onto the counter, flashing a smile to the cashier as you pay. "Thank you," you wave to the worker, pushing open the door to let Megumi out. 

"How do you know that," he finally asks, his peering eyes curious.

"That kid had her hair tie on his wrist," you note, unwrapping his dessert, pulling the wrapper down around the stick, words of mommy blog past telling you how to avoid sticky hands before handing it to him. "And it's certainly no coincidence that Mimiko and Nanako are on a field trip today," you continue, watching as he breaks through the outer chocolate layer, the cream cooling his slightly swollen lip. 

"You are weird," he huffs and you can only reach down to ruffle his hair.

"Back at ya!"

You were quick to patch him up once you got home, little lessons you learned from Shoko and your line of work making first aid second nature as you applied ointments to his lips and ice to his bruises before letting him rest in his room, quietly taking respite in your own bed, the sound of children voices entering your home not stirring you to stand as you lay, lingering words itching at your skin.

 'When'd you get knocked up, huh.' You aren't even an actual teen mom and yet these comments sent a disgust shiver around your bones, a gnawing discomfort sucking at your marrow as you curl tighter, it felt shameful, scary, your situation was misinterpreted and you felt so sick, you couldn't believe how others your age who actually went through the fearful process felt.

Squeezing your eyes shut you let a singular stray tear fall down onto your pillow before wiping it away, not letting sadness linger before slowly letting the heavy blankets fall off your body, pushing yourself to sit at the end of the mattress. They were home you should greet them.

But you couldn't bare to move. 

The clock ticked closer to dinner and yet Megumi hadn't seen you leave your room. The door sealed shut, neither the blue eyed freak or Suguru had gone to check in on you so he just assumed it was fine. They had returned a few hours ago and yet you hadn't gone out to greet them, but he didn't bother to pry, not when he was tasked with setting up the table, carrying bowls of steaming rice from where his sister stood at the counter, spooning it into bowls at the rice cooker, to the oval wooden table a few meters away. 

He found it strange, taking notice of your lack of presence when everyone sat down to eat, no one called for you, but then again you often missed dinner. The few weeks they had all gathered in this new home missing your presence at the dining table during all meals, your presence only ever loitering in the kitchen either prepping or serving foods, never taking a moment to sit down with them, always in some type of rush. 

He knew this and yet it felt weird not to have you around, the singular chair that remained empty suddenly feeling like an eyesore as he picked at his broccoli. 

"So Megumi do you wanna tell me what happened to your face yet," Suguru finally asked, turning away from little Mimiko who finished her story.

"Nothing," it was dismissive, shoving the chunk of broccoli into his mouth, trying to avoid conversation under the pretense of having his mouth full, even if he wasn't fond of the flavour.

"So you got those bruises from nothing," the gremlin man asked him and Megumi scrunched his face, waving his hand at the giant to try and shoo him away. "Megum-"

"Satoru leave it for now," Suguru hummed, taking notice of the little ears listening in from all around the table, "he's not too hurt right Megs," he grinnned, trying to ease the worried look on Tsumiki's face.

"Mhm," he grumbled.

The food filling their plates came and went and soon enough after a few episodes of cartoons the two men were hauling him and his sisters off to bed, and unfortunately the glasses weirdo was in charge of tucking him in.

"So you want to tell me what happened at school," he prodded again, crouching down right next to the side of his bed and Megumi just stared up at this ceiling, ignoring his alien eyes. 

"No."

"Well can you just tell me anyways."

"No."

"Jeez tough crowd," he sighed, slumping his head onto the mattress as he flopped to his butt, the low toddler bed easy for him to lean on from the ground. "Seriously you don't want to tell me anything."

"Yup."

"Well then, anything notable that happened at school that doesn't have to do with the bruises on your face," he asked, trying to get something out of the boy.

"Mmm," he just groaned, flipping over to his side, back to the man as he faced the wall "well," and Satoru could pick up on the lingering question weighing on the boy's mind.

"What is it," he quietly spoke, as though if speaking loudly would spook the query away.

"What does being knocked up mean?" he finally spoke.

"Huh!" the man all but shouted, startled by the words and Megumi flipped around to face the perturbed adult, glasses on the tip of his nose as he stared at the kid, mouth agape.

"Never mind," he grumbled.

"Wait, wait, wait," the man rambled, suddenly springing to his knees, lurching forward to try and keep Megumi from dismissing him, "where'd you hear that?" yeah maybe knocked up as in knocking on a door, right, he tried to reason, hoping context would help his situation.

"At school,"

"Who said that, and why,"

"Why are you asking so many questions," the boy grimaced, suddenly feeling interrogated, "just go, let me go to bed." 

"Megumi can't you just tell m- OW," and the boy started thrashing, kicking at the tall white haired man, trying to force him out of his room.

"Just leave you old man!" he yelled, suddenly feeling his kicks no longer connect as the sorcerer reactivated his infinity. 

"Okay, okay," and he pushed to his feet, rubbing at his arm, pretending to be harmed more than he was while the child only stuck his tongue out, clearly feeling no remorse as he got out of bed to try and push him away faster, door being slammed the moment his feet left the threshold of his door, nearly being slammed between the wood as the sound resonated throughout the hall.

"What was that about?" Suguru asked, quietly shutting the door to the twins' room, brow raised in confusion.

"Megumi just asked me what being knocked up means," he murmured, still quite shocked.

"What?" Suguru jolted, shoulders straightening as his eyes narrow in confusion, "wait why."

"I don't know, I tried to ask but he kicked me out," and he gestured to the door. 

"Should I go try and as-"

"What's going on," it was a quiet voice, the small peek of warm light pouring into the dim hall, and they spotted your head around the door frame, hair messy as you whispered.

"It's just about Megumi," Satoru sighed, walking over to you before snaking his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you perch on your tippy toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"Did something happen," you mumble, head resting on his chest as he swayed slightly, the only sound you caught was Satoru's surprised yelp before Megumi called him old and threw him out, the sound quite amusing and you were eager to catch the expression on his face, however his warm touch was still welcomed even if you missed the perturbed look you wanted to see and giggle at.

"Megumi asked me what being knocked up meant," and you felt a wash of dread strike you.

"O-oh is that so," you tried to laugh it off, "is this what kids talk about in school," you attempt but Satoru felt you stiffen in his grip the moment the words left his lips and it seemed Suguru caught the flash of a certain emotion cross your face.

"You picked Megumi up from school today right," Suguru approached, soft smile on his lips as he took ahold of your hand that rested on Satoru's back.

"Yeah," you breathed, suddenly feeling a strange sense of guilt.

"Was there anything specific that happened, I noticed that he had some bruises on his face,"  he continued, his tone was gentle, yet you still felt unsettled.

"Oh, well he got into a fight with one of his classmates."

"Hm," and Satoru pulled away, hands planted on your shoulders as he stared at you, "did he win."

"Toru that can't be your first question," Suguru sighs and he pulls the two of you into your shared room, worried that not asleep children would listen in on your conversation.

"But it's important," the man groaned, flopping back first onto the bed.

"You're such a weirdo," Suguru mumbled, taking a spot next to him before opening his arms for you to rest in, but you merely opted to sit next to the laying bodies, interlacing your hand with his, your actions clearly unexpected.

"And you like that," Satoru wiggled his brows before Suguru let a heavy hand fall onto his gut, laughing at his groan. 

"Anyways do you know why he got into a fight," Suguru raised a brow and you reach to play with his hair, toying with the ends.

"Some boy was picking on Mimiko at school," and this seemed to catch their attention as both of their gazes snap towards yours, "Megumi gave him a good beating though," you snickered.

"If he didn't I would, maybe I still will," the blue eyed boy mumbled and you couldn't restrain your laugh, feeling that guilt wash away.

"You can't beat up a little kid."

"Who says."

"The law." 

"But regardless does that mean you got called in to the office."

"Yeah," you hum, you small ministrations of toying with his hair halting as your tried to suppress the bubbling memories, "I think he might've gotten expelled."

"For beating up one kid? What about that boy, he was picking on Mimiko," Satoru jolted to sit, face full of rage.

"No I think it might also be my fault," you sigh and decide to lay on your back grabbing one of the pillows to hold close to your chest .

"Your fault... what'd you do," and Satoru is grinning, prying eyes prodding at you and you couldn't help but turn away.

"I kinda threw part of a chair at the boy's dad."

"You threw a chair," Suguru laughed incredulously.

"Only part of it!" you whined.

"But you threw a chair," and Satoru joined in on the laughter as Suguru pulled you close, his chuckles vibrating in his chest, the feeling tickling your cheek.

"Yeah and I think he was a big deal too."

"Can't be a bigger deal than a Gojo," the man snarkily remarked.

"Wellllll," you drag out, "apparently they are esteemed benefactors that are clients of one of the best law firms in the country," you mocked.

"and I don't need law firms to handle my work, I can deal with it on my own," Satoru hummed and Suguru snickered at his confidence.

"But still what happened that made you need to throw a chair," the long haired man chuckled, already imaging the sight and Satoru eagerly nodded, clearly ready for a juicy tidbit of drama.

"Oh well," you pause, "you know," and you trail off, prying yourself away from Suguru's arms, suddenly sitting as a new wave of dread swirled in your stomach, you should've diverted the conversation better, or thought of an excuse before hand, "um," you pause brain running blank.

"Hey..." and Suguru sits up, concerned, "did something happen," he continued, hand reaching for your back but he pauses when you tense, the pillow in your arms crumpling in your tight grasp.

"No nothing it's fine," you laugh, but the wet look in your eyes told him otherwise as your chest tightened with each breath.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Megumi asking what knocked up means...right?" Satoru furrows his brows, clearly concerned, words moving slowly from his mouth but the moment the question fell the tightening of your shoulders told him everything he needed to know. "Baby," he cautiously starts but you push yourself to your feet.

"Oh would you look at that, I completely forgot Yaga gave me a mission for tonight," avoid, avoid, avoid, your brain repeated, trying to slip out of your discomfort.

"(Y/N)," Suguru's voice was stern but you could only shake your head, cupping your ears with your palms as you tried to ignore his voice, you wouldn't let him stop you, you couldn't stop, you couldn't confront this, you couldn't tell them, not now, you weren't ready, the fear in your body wouldn't let you.

"I b-better get going," you choke out in response, your flooding waterline only the start to the progression of your deterioration, lip already beginning to quiver as your compressing lungs began to burn.

You were quick to try and walk away, quick to grab the door handle and start to pry it open, but he was quicker, Satoru's hand slammed the door shut, the small sliver of your escape locked in an instant.

You were trapped.

Oh no, oh no, you couldn't do this, not now, not with them, you couldn't let them see you like this and your hand was frantically trying to yank open the door but he was just far too strong, your shaking fingers not helping in your endeavour.

"(Y/N) don't try and run away from us again," he breathed, body leering over you as his hand slammed above you, keeping it tightly shut.

"Why won't you tell us what happened," Suguru cooed, the crease in his brow revealing his worry, "did they say something to you."

"No," you were too quick with your answer, they knew, they both knew, you were screwed, you were so so so screwed, "I- uh," and your eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, the bathroom, could you get to the bathroom, if you did you could lock the door and maybe buy yourself some time.

"Don't even think about it," Satoru stopped your train of thought, and Suguru was quick to block the view of your only hope.

You were trapped, trapped, trapped and suddenly you felt the walls closing in on you, they were surrounding you, the ceiling was falling, the floor of dashing up quick.

"Woah there," and it wasn't the room but you, you were falling, back slumped against the door as you fell to the floor, big hands that only thing slowing your descent of keeping you from crashing down.

"(Y/N)," it was blurry sounding, that didn't make sense it couldn't sound blurry, but it did, it did why did it sound blurry, nothing made sense, what, where were you, why were you, and there was a pain in your chest, your chest it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

"Breathe baby please," and your hand was raised to his chest, they were crouched, one hand was rested at the back of you head, keeping it from lolling to the side as you could feel your palm raise and fall along with his own lungs, "can you just copy me please," and it was pleading, Satoru, Suguru you couldn't tell, couldn't tell whose limbs was whose, where your hand stopped and his body began, the murky colours fading in and out.

Why were you freaking out again, it doesn't make sense, why were you falling apart, it wasn't your fault, you did nothing wrong but why were you choking on air, why was their pain clawing at your organs, why did you feel nauseous. 

"Ohhh," you breathed out, eyes widening as you tried to process, your brain spiraling, why were you feeling so gross, so ashamed, you didn't do anything and your chest flooded with oxygen before you let it out with a huff, breaths following your hand, following his chest.

"There you go, thank you, thank you so much," and he still sounded blurry.

"They said," you sobbed, the words sending a shudder through your body, "t-that I was, they said I wasn't appropriate."

"appropriate?" one voice whispered and you could feel your chest heave.

"S-Said I should s-spr" and the word felt foul coming out of your mouth, "spread my l-legs," you hiccupped, "that he, he would give me a well disciplined kid, and, and, and I," you stumbled over your words, brain rambling as your mouth followed, unsure if you were even stringing together real sentences.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and your hand gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, "I'm sorry that jerk said that to you," he continued and you wrapped your arms around him, head burrowing in the crook of his neck as another sob wracked your body, a somberful scream echoing onto his skin.

"I-I didn't like it, I didn't like it, I didn't," you cried, feeling hysterical, panicked, overwhelmed.

"I know, I'm sorry that happened to you, he's gross," and a hand was patting the back of your head. "But he's not here, you are safe, you'll be okay he can't touch you."

"I didn't like it."

Your cries continued, repetition spilling over and over again as you were held, brain mush as settings changed, feelings changed until you were wrapped in blankets tucked onto a mattress until silence broke into your cries.

Your eyes shut, you didn't quite know when, but it happened, must've happened because here you were opening them, cradled in tight grips holding you close. Your eyes hurt, they were sore when they fluttered open.

"Are you awake," soft, gentle and you knew this voice, it wasn't blurry it made sense.

"Yeah," you whispered and Suguru grinned.

"m'sorry," you murmured.

"What d'ya mean sorry, what'd you do wrong," Satoru was quick to grumble, chin resting on your shoulder as he scolded you.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Suguru answered for you, reassuring any thoughts in your brain, "that must've been tough, being told such disgusting things," he comforted, validating your feelings.

"It was weird," you confess, "to be told things like that."

"It's not just weird, that guy's a creepy asshole." Satoru insulted and you couldn't help but laugh at his anger fueled insults and you pat the hand he had around your waist, turning your head to catch sight of his furrowed glare.

"He's right," Suguru nodded, "but when things like that happen don't try and keep it from us, we're a team, let us help you."

"But I felt bad."

"For what."

"Well, it's just, he spoke as though Megumi was my kid but," you pause "I mean I get that we adopted him, adopted all of them but I'm just not used to the idea of being," and you sigh the weighted word feeling heavy on your tongue and the connotated meaning sent a discomfort through you, "a mom," you spoke.

"That's alright," Suguru assured, "it's hard to get used to our new life."

"Yeah but," you sigh, brows creasing and suddenly your eyes stung, "I just feel so awkward around them, I don't know what to do, I've never taken care of a child before let alone 4 of them and I haven't even got to learn because- because other parents they, they," and you started stumbling again, bringing your hands up to roughly wipe at your eyes, "they get to at least learn as their children grow, but they are all already in school and everywhere I look they say you are able to learn as they grow but I can't do that, I don't know what to do it's just," and you let out a frustrated groan, legs slightly kicking in anger. "I just don't think I can be the mom, the mom they need,"

"Sweetheart," Suguru trails off.

"They went through so much and I just can't be the person they need me to be, I can't be like all those mom's who are able to comfort their kids and know what they need, I can't be a mom," you confess, "I mean they are just so good at it, they are able to handle it so effortlessly. Even today that Sato boy's mom was able to comfort her kid, she was able to hug him and he turned to her for comfort, I can never be that for these children, I'll never be able to provide that support they need and I, I," you were running out of breath, your ramblings long as weeks of insecurity finally verbalized.

"You," Satoru stops you, "won't be able to be that type of mom, the type of parent who does everything so effortlessly," and his words seemed to bite but he continued, "because that type of parent doesn't exist, what you see online is manufactured, all those things you read are written in a specific way, no one talks about meltdowns or tantrums or their insecurities, but even if they don't mention it,  that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"Parenting is different for everyone, and it'll be especially different for our family, after all we have a learning curve to get over," Suguru cracked a smile, "but you are the smartest person I know," and his hand grabbed yours and your palm was on his lips, "you'll be able to find a lifestyle that works for you, you'll be able to learn how to talk to them, I know you will, I mean just think about today with Megumi, you picked him up from school, you were able to spend time with him alone and that was fine wasn't it."

"I probably got him expelled."

"And I would've instead if you hadn't," Satoru snapped, "now that he's already expelled there is nothing to lose when I crush that old perv's head." 

"Satoru," you whined, "you can't do that." 

"Well you threw a chair."

"I only threw a part of it," you huffed before resting your head backwards onto his shoulder, "I don't think I'll be able to do this," you sigh, "these kids deserve a mom who is good at their job, a mom who wants to be doing all of this and is able to do it with ease."

"But you do want this (Y/N), you stayed even when you had a chance to leave."

"Yeah but maybe I was wrong, maybe I was making a mistake. I was scared of losing you, I didn't want to break up, I was being greedy, I was looking at these kids and I could only think I could put up with anything if I could be with you. I was romanticizing this whole situation, I was dumbing it down, I haven't even done much and yet the little bit of parenting I actually do is far more difficult than I imagined. I just always feel exhausted, and scared that I'm gonna mess up and make them hate me, I just feel like some big burden in our family, you guys are able to handle it all, and I just hover around and-"

"What do you mean burden," Satoru scoffed.

"The only reason we are able to take care of them is because we know we can rely on each other, and you. Today didn't overwhelm us because I knew I could go on the field trip with the twins and Satoru could take Tsumiki to her art class after school, because we knew you'd be able to take care of Megumi, we knew you'd be able to take care of the loose ends." 

"(Y/N) we can only do this because you are here, the only reason I'm able to adjust is because I have you and Suguru as my 2 constants, you are a pillar that I can rely on and I want to be a pillar you can rely on too."

"I'm pretty sure it's a rock, not pillar." you correct but he only presses a ticklish kiss to the crook of your neck causing you to laugh.

"That's besides the point," and another kiss.

"Just remember," Suguru mused, leaning in to press his own kiss to your forehead, "take your time, you don't need to rush and try and become a person you aren't." 

"Okay, okay," and suddenly you couldn't stop laughing, Satoru pecking your skin over and over again, his hair tickling your neck.

"We can get through this together alright, remember you aren't alone," he mumbled against your flesh and the vibrations only further the sensation as you giggled, pushing his head away from your skin.

"Thank you," you could only smile, and it felt as though all your worries were crushed, in between their arms you knew you weren't alone, you'd be okay, you didn't have to be a mom, you could take your time with your learning. You were fine, you'd be fine.

"My face hurts," his little voice echoed and you raised your head, catching sight his mop of dark hair peeking in through the door frame and you sat up.

"Still?" you questioned, already to your feet, as you walked over to him, the once crusted over scab ripped away, beads of blood blotting his lips as the black eye only purpled even more from the last time you saw him, the bruises swelling stronger. "Did neither of you give him an ice pack" you turn around, staring at the two men who stiffen, Satoru's guilty look all you needed before you were ushering Megumi into the kitchen. You shuffled over to the freezer as the boy climbed onto the dining room chair, watching as you shook the frosted condensation off one of the ice packs before wrapping it with a clean towel.

You crouched down next to him, staring up at his bruised face, placing a gentle hand to poke at the swollen skin, grimacing as he winced, it really did get worse and you reached up to place the ice onto his cheek, patting his hand when he flinched. "Sorry I know it hurts, just hold that here okay" you tell him and he nods before you go and reach for the cabinet above the fridge, pulling down the plastic bucket of medicine, yanking out a bottle of ointment you had used earlier in the day, quickly moving to reapply it to his lip.

As you screwed the cap back on he only looked down, hands fidgeting as he opened and closed his mouth, hesitant to speak.

"Is something wrong," you tilt your head, trying to duck down to catch his eye.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly blurts out.

"Huh, what do you mean?" you smile "what are you sorry for."

"At school, they said mean things to you."

"That's not your fault," you shake your head, "and I'm fine see," you grin but he only turns away, voice lowering as he whispered.

"But you were crying."

"Oh," you hadn't realized he had heard you.

"You were sad," he mumbled, "because they said mean things to you, b-but they wouldn't have said anything if I didn't punch him."

"Hey Megs," and the nickname fell out effortlessly, "none of that is your fault, they are just mean people, I'm all better now, okay, so you don't have to feel bad, you didn't do anything wrong," you tried to reassure and you watched as his lower lip wobbled.

"Today must've been scary for you too huh," you ask, finally catching onto his flooding emotions, he was like you, trying to hold himself together until he couldn't anymore, and you watched as the first tear drop fall. He was crying, you froze, what were you supposed to do, and you could feel the hand you cupped on his cheek slowly dampen as you wiped his tear away.

He looked like you, so small, so helpless and completely overwhelmed and you couldn't help but think back to how Suguru and Satoru helped you, how they comforted you, now it was time for you to do the same. "C'mere," you whisper, opening your arms wide and he practically falls into embrace, his head resting on your shoulder and you sigh, listening as his sobs grew louder. He was scared, his fingers tightened around your shirt, holding onto you for dear life and you patted his back, trying to soothe him as you pulled him onto your hip, standing as you rocked him back and forth

"You'll be okay Megumi, I promise no one is going to get mad at you, you're safe now," and he hiccupped and you found yourself instinctively pressing a kiss to his temple as you bounced him in your grip, cradling him and as you lifted your head, you caught sight of two figures in the hall, watching you, smiling and you realized you could do this, you were doing it, parenting, the bonds you were worried about making were formed.

You didn't rush it, you took it at your own pace and you realized time will help you, aid you in your effort, and you hugged the boy tighter, you could do it, were were doing it, you weren't trapped, you weren't suffocated you were here, mimicking the love you felt, no not mimicking reciprocating it, you were sharing your own love with him as you comforted him, expressing your emotions as you patted his back, rubbing soothing circles as he cried.

"It's okay Megs, you'll be okay" you coo, you could share your love, you could parent at your own pace, you were able to do it. You were fine.

"We'll be okay" 

[enhaflixer]

all i know is we said "hello" (and your eyes looking like coming home)

family friend!Jungwon x f!reader

Synopsis: Years of just friends start to unravel when Jungwon dates the wrong girl, and you realize you might’ve lost him for good—until one fight changes everything.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: Angst to fluff, Jealousy & misunderstandings, Toxic ex-girlfriend, Emotional confrontation, Kissing

Masterlist

AN: THIS ONE GOES OUT TO MAAAA GIRLLLLLL @naurwayyyyy YOU GO BSF HOPE U LIKE IT

-

Yang Jungwon met you for the first time at a neighborhood playground when you were both six years old. The air buzzed with excitement as children ran across the wood chips, their laughter ringing through the summer evening. The smell of grilled food drifted from nearby picnic tables, where parents gathered to chat and keep a watchful eye on their little ones. You had just finished building a sandcastle, proudly shaping the turrets, when a shadow loomed over you.

Can I help?” Jungwon’s voice was quiet but curious. His neatly combed hair and serious expression made him look oddly formal for a playground, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made you nod.

Together, you molded the castle, carefully adding moats and bridges. He handed you a twig to use as a flag, and when you placed it at the highest turret, he clapped as if you had just accomplished something grand. That was all it took. From that moment on, you were inseparable for the rest of the evening. You chased each other across the monkey bars, competed to see who could swing the highest, and shared his snacks—because, as Jungwon had explained, “friends share snacks.”

When the time came to leave, your parents had to pry you both apart. Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Looks like they’ve found their new best friend.” His mother nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

And they were right.

Your friendship with Jungwon only deepened as the years passed. Your childhood was filled with shared birthdays, school projects, and whispered secrets under blanket forts. Summers were spent playing hide-and-seek until dusk, while winters meant snowball fights and cups of hot chocolate at each other’s houses. There was never a moment of hesitation between you two—Jungwon was your person, and you were his.

At a school talent show in third grade, you had nervously gripped the microphone, ready to perform a duet with Jungwon. You had practiced for weeks, but the crowd made your stomach churn with nerves. Jungwon had noticed immediately, nudging you gently before whispering, “We’ve got this.” When you finally sang, his voice carried yours, steady and sure. By the time the song ended, the entire auditorium had erupted in applause.

Then there were the family picnics, where both families gathered in the park with packed lunches and coolers full of drinks. Your parents, ever the shameless matchmakers, would tease, “Look at our little soulmates.” You and Jungwon would exchange exasperated looks before groaning, “We’re just friends!” But despite the protests, there was an undeniable closeness between you that neither of you could—or wanted to—explain.

Even on rainy days, when plans were canceled, the two of you found joy in the simplest things. Instead of sulking over ruined outings, you built elaborate pillow forts in your living room, draping blankets over chairs and stringing fairy lights inside. Those rainy afternoons were filled with whispered conversations and laughter, the outside world forgotten as long as you were together.

High school brought new experiences and social circles, but your bond with Jungwon remained unwavering. At your first school dance, you had both stood awkwardly near the refreshments table, watching your peers with amusement. “This is weird,” you had muttered.

Jungwon had chuckled. “Very weird.”

But eventually, he had held out a hand, grinning. “Come on. Just one dance.”

With a reluctant sigh, you had taken it, and for the rest of the night, you danced—badly, terribly even—but together.

As high school progressed, you faced more changes. Exams, sports, extracurriculars—all the things that came with growing up. But at the end of the day, you and Jungwon always found your way back to each other, whether it was through late-night calls about homework stress or spontaneous ice cream runs after rough days.

Until Soojin happened.

-

University was supposed to be an exciting new chapter, a place where you and Jungwon would navigate the unknown together. But then Soojin Kim entered the picture, and everything started to change.

You first noticed her at a university mixer, where her effortless charm and striking beauty immediately caught Jungwon’s attention. You had watched, a strange feeling settling in your stomach, as she laughed at his jokes, leaning in just a little too close. Jungwon, captivated, barely noticed when you excused yourself early that night.

The first time Jungwon introduced you to Soojin over coffee, you knew something was off. Her saccharine smile never quite reached her eyes, and though her words were laced with politeness, every compliment felt like a carefully disguised jab.

“You and Jungwon must have been such adorable kids together,” she had said, stirring her latte. “It’s cute how you still follow him around.”

Something in your chest twisted, but Jungwon, oblivious, had only beamed. “Yeah, we’ve been inseparable since we were kids.”

Soojin had tilted her head, smiling. “That’s adorable. But I mean, college is all about moving forward, right?”

It wasn’t long before Jungwon started canceling plans more often. “Sorry, Soojin wants to go to this concert tonight,” he’d text last minute. Or, “I’ll make it up to you, promise.” But promises didn’t stop the empty seats at your usual café meet-ups or the growing ache in your chest.

-

Your birthday had always been special—an unspoken tradition where Jungwon would take you to your favorite café, just the two of you. It was something you both looked forward to every year, a brief moment of certainty in a life full of change. But this year, something was different.

You sat alone at your usual table, the one by the window where the sunlight would always hit just right. A small slice of cake sat untouched before you, the candle flickering unsteadily. You checked the time again, your phone screen lighting up to show that nearly two hours had passed. The initial disappointment had settled into something heavier, something that ached deep in your chest.

You had hoped—hoped that despite everything, despite Soojin and the increasing distance between you and Jungwon, today would be different. That maybe, for just this one day, he would remember.

But the empty seat across from you told a different story.

When the bell above the door chimed, you glanced up, your heart foolishly lifting for a split second. And there he was—Jungwon, breathless, his hair slightly disheveled, his jacket hastily thrown on. He scanned the café, his eyes finding you instantly, but instead of relief, all you felt was the sharp sting of resentment.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, rushing toward you. He slid into the seat across from you, his hands pressed together as if in prayer. “I lost track of time.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. The scent of Soojin’s perfume still clung to his clothes, sickly sweet and unmistakable.

“You lost track of time,” you repeated, your voice eerily calm. “Or you just didn’t care enough to be here?”

Jungwon flinched slightly, his brows pulling together. “That’s not fair. You know I wouldn’t miss this on purpose.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Jungwon, do you even realize how many times you’ve said that lately?”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped as if carrying a weight you hadn’t meant to bear alone.

“I’ve been trying,” he finally said, voice softer now, like he was trying to mend something that had already cracked beyond repair. “I know I haven’t been around as much, but—”

“But you always have time for her,” you interrupted, your voice raw. “Jungwon, I’m not asking for every second of your day. I never have. But you used to be my best friend. You used to show up.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in your throat. “But you did.”

And that was the worst part. He had hurt you, not because he wanted to, but because you had stopped being a priority without him even realizing it. And now, sitting across from him, you weren’t sure if there was a way to fix it.

You pushed your untouched cake toward him and stood. “Happy birthday to me,” you muttered, turning before he could see the tears threatening to spill.

As you walked out of the café, the cold air hit your face like a slap, grounding you. For years, Jungwon had been your safe place, your constant. But now? Now, you weren’t so sure.

And maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

-

The days following your birthday were eerily silent. The usual pings of Jungwon’s messages that once filled your phone were now just ghostly notifications that you left unread. He called—once, twice, ten times—but you never picked up. Every attempt he made to reach you was met with quiet rejection, your heart too raw to even consider the possibility of listening to whatever excuse he had prepared.

The absence of his presence was both a relief and a new kind of pain. You had spent so many years orbiting around each other that now, without him, you felt unsteady. But what hurt more was the realization that maybe this was inevitable. Maybe, despite everything, people did grow apart. Maybe you had just been fooling yourself into thinking you and Jungwon were different.

Minji, your closest friend at university, noticed immediately.

“You look like hell,” she said one afternoon, plopping down next to you on the grass outside the library.

You exhaled, leaning back against the cool stone wall. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re walking around like a zombie,” she pressed, concern lacing her voice. “You haven’t spoken to Jungwon since your birthday?”

You shook your head. “No. And I don’t plan to.”

Minji studied you for a long moment before sighing. “You know, you’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to feel hurt. But you’re also allowed to talk to him.”

You knew she was right. But the thought of facing Jungwon, of pretending things could somehow go back to normal, made your stomach twist.

“Maybe I’m just tired of always being the one who cares more.”

Minji didn’t argue. She just squeezed your hand in quiet support.

-

Jungwon didn’t stop trying.

Every day, he sent a new message. I know you don’t want to talk, but I just need you to know I’m sorry. Or Please, let me explain. Some nights, you stared at your phone longer than you should have, your fingers hovering over his contact before locking your screen and setting it aside.

But the walls you had built around yourself started to crack when you saw him outside the lecture hall one afternoon, standing in the cold, waiting.

For you.

The moment your eyes met, he looked like he had something to say, something desperate, something urgent. But instead of walking over, you turned in the opposite direction.

You didn’t know what hurt more—the way his shoulders slumped in defeat or the way you kept walking, pretending it didn’t matter.

-

The following days were filled with a silence heavier than any argument. You ignored Jungwon’s texts, his missed calls, his weak attempts to act as if things could simply go back to normal. Minji had been right—maybe it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

But he wasn’t the only one trying to get your attention.

Soojin cornered you in the university library one afternoon, a saccharine smile stretched across her lips. “You really thought he’d choose you over me?” she mused. “It’s sad, really.”

You didn’t respond, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much her words affected you.

“Jungwon will come around,” she continued, twirling a strand of her hair. “But by the time he does, it won’t matter. You’ll already be out of the picture. You’re just some pathetic wannabe who I have to end up stepping on to get what I want.”

Her words settled over you like a dark cloud, but what neither of you realized was that someone else had overheard the conversation.

Sunghoon, one of Jungwon’s closest friends, had seen everything.

And he wasn’t going to let Soojin win.

Jungwon hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—not the happy, familiar version he had grown up with, but the hurt expression you wore at the café, the disappointment in your eyes when you walked away from him. It haunted him, clawing at the edges of his thoughts, leaving a hollow ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

Sunghoon’s message had been the final push.

You’ve been blind for too long. It’s time to open your eyes.

So Jungwon had listened.

He met up with Sunghoon later that evening, sitting across from him in their usual spot on campus, but this time, the easy camaraderie they normally shared was missing. Sunghoon was serious, his expression set in something Jungwon rarely saw—disappointment.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Sunghoon asked, shaking his head. “How much she’s hurting?”

Jungwon swallowed hard, staring down at the table. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he admitted. “I just… I thought we were fine.”

“Fine?” Sunghoon scoffed. “Jungwon, she’s been holding herself together while you’ve been running around with Soojin, acting like she doesn’t exist.”

His stomach twisted. He wanted to deny it, to say that it wasn’t true, but as Sunghoon’s words sank in, so did the reality of the situation. He had neglected you. He had made you feel like you were nothing more than a leftover part of his life when, in truth, you had always been the most important part.

Sunghoon leaned forward. “I saw Soojin today.”

Jungwon frowned. “What?”

“In the library,” Sunghoon said. “She was talking to Y/N, telling her she was just some pathetic little girl waiting around for you. That she never had a chance.”

Jungwon felt something inside him snap. “She said what?”

“She tried to make her feel small,” Sunghoon continued, watching Jungwon closely. “And you know what Y/N did? She didn’t let her win. She stood up for herself. She walked away.” He paused. “From Soojin. And from you.”

Jungwon felt like he had been punched in the gut. He thought back to every time you had tried to reach out, every moment where you had smiled through your hurt and pretended you were fine when you weren’t.

And he had let you suffer alone.

“Damn it,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to talk to her.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, you do. But this time, don’t just show up with excuses. Show up with the truth.”

-

Jungwon barely remembered the walk to your apartment. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach in knots as he rehearsed what he was going to say. He had no right to ask for forgiveness, but he had to try. He had to make you understand just how much you meant to him.

When you opened the door, your expression shifted from surprise to guardedness.

“Jungwon,” you said, your voice tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said quickly, before you could shut the door in his face. “Please. Just give me a few minutes.”

You hesitated before sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”

Jungwon stepped inside, his gaze searching yours. “I messed up,” he began, his voice raw. “I hurt you, and I didn’t even realize how badly until it was too late.”

You crossed your arms, looking away. “Jungwon—”

“No, please,” he interrupted. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I let Soojin get in my head. I let her convince me that you’d always be there, that it didn’t matter if I pushed you aside. But it did. It mattered more than anything.”

Your lips parted slightly, your fingers tightening around your sleeves. “Jungwon…”

He stepped closer, his eyes shining with something desperate, something real. “You are the most important person in my life. You always have been. And I was an idiot for not seeing that sooner.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “Then why did you choose her?”

Jungwon shook his head. “I didn’t choose her, I broke up with her. I was just too scared to admit who I really wanted. And by the time I realized it, I thought I had already lost you.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and uncertain. Then, finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping. “You hurt me, Jungwon.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I need you to know that I—” He hesitated, then looked you straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, voice steadier this time. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too stupid to realize it.”

You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—shock, disbelief, something else. “Jungwon…”

He swallowed. “Please. If there’s even a part of you that still—”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of bottled-up emotions, of missed chances and unspoken words, colliding all at once. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if to make up for every moment he had let slip through his fingers.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

Jungwon let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I know.”

You smiled, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “But I love you too.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right again.

The Honeymoon

The ocean waves lapped softly against the shore, the golden light of the setting sun casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow. You and Jungwon walked barefoot along the beach, fingers intertwined, the sand cool beneath your feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves was the only sound between you for a moment, peaceful and steady—like the quiet certainty that after everything, you had finally found your way back to each other.

Jungwon gave your hand a gentle squeeze before stopping, turning to face you. “I still can’t believe we’re here.”

You smiled, feeling the salt-tinged breeze against your skin. “Me neither.”

His eyes softened, filled with a warmth that sent a familiar flutter through your chest. “After everything, I never thought I’d get to have this with you,” he admitted, brushing a stray hair from your face. “That you’d still choose me.”

You reached up, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You fought for me,” you whispered. “And you never stopped.”

He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll never stop,” he promised. “Not now. Not ever.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deep, filled with every unspoken vow, every moment of longing that had led you to this very place. It was a kiss that tasted like forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you knew without a doubt—this was just the beginning.

[thissying]

Max Verstappen is starting a Formula 1 season in which he has to mind his words. The FIA ​​has tightened the screws with sky-high fines for swearing. "I'm not going to say very much anymore, that's for sure."

Rally driver Adrien Fourmaux was the first victim of the stricter rules. The Hyundai driver said "We fucked up", during the Swedish Rally, in a live interview on TV. The result was a 30,000 euro fine, although 20,000 euros of that was eventually made conditional.

Verstappen got into trouble with the FIA ​​last year because he used a similar term in the press conference for the Singapore Grand Prix. He had read the statement about Fourmaux.

"When you see what it says and what that rally driver said, I think you better keep your mouth shut from now on. But then there won't be many interviews anymore, that's true," Verstappen predicted on Tuesday in the run-up to the F175 event in London.

"You have to be very careful what you say, that much is clear," Verstappen replied when asked if he can still be himself. "And you can give your opinion, but you have to be careful with that too. Then you can also get a penalty, because it can be insulting," he said about the rules tightened by FIA president Mohamed Ben Sulayem.

It is of course a topic of discussion among the drivers' guild. Drivers' union GPDA already issued a statement last year. "People are now looking at what we can do about this," Verstappen explained.

Although a number of drivers stated in London on Tuesday that they understand that swearing is being restricted here and there, according to Verstappen the drivers are on the same page; his page.

"I think that the majority of what I read, and not everyone responds of course, finds it abnormal, those kinds of fines," said Verstappen, who was keen to emphasise that despite a salary of millions, no one likes to pay tens of thousands of euros in fines. For Formula 1 drivers, the amounts can amount to 80,000 euros.

"You lose money anyway. It is of course never nice to pay. I have had it a few times, that I had to transfer those kinds of amounts. But I am not going to suddenly change because of that," he pointed out the lack of an effect.

"There is emotion and passion in it," he described his regular swearing over the radio. "Of course I understand that swearing is not okay. But if you use the example that young children are watching, then I think: what did you do yourself at school, or while gaming or when you played football on the street? Everyone does it."

"And of course you have to be careful at certain times, I understand all that too," he added. "But I don't think it has to be described so clearly. It can also be a bit of common sense."

At least that is not the case with the FIA. Violations of the swearing rules can ultimately lead to exclusion from races. It is theoretically possible that a driver misses races due to swearing penalties and therefore misses out on the title. "That would be something, yes," Verstappen stated.

The Limburger had a playful solution to the problem "Maybe I should just swear in Dutch, or in Limburgish. Almost nobody understands that." Verstappen has mastered his regional language quite well. "Although I don't speak it that often anymore." Which Limburgish swear word he would use, he kept to himself with a laugh. "Of course I'm not going to say that now."

Verstappen is therefore starting the Formula 1 season with the handbrake on his language use and fines hanging over his head. "It still depends a bit on what you say and who it is aimed at. But I'd rather spend that money on something else," he pointed out, referring to the pregnancy with girlfriend Kelly Piquet. "A nursery, for example, new paint."

- nu.nl

[jaegahh]

plsss make mikasa headcannons 🙏🙏👨‍🍼🤾‍♂️🗑️

GIRLFRIEND MIKASA HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩

content: sfw, female! Reader, fluff, bit of smoking mentioned <3

Mikasa’s strong. Like, really, really strong. She’s effortlessly able to pick you up. The ease of doing so always leads to her swooping you up in her arms when you’re too tired to walk up the stairs of your shared loft. She adores how soft you look in her arms.

Mika’s obsessed with your cooking. OBSESSED. Coming home to a warm plate of food you fixed for her after a long hour at the gym is like coming home to heaven. She’ll definitely make sure you know it, too.

Also because she can’t cook to save her life.

She’s definitely the type to be up at the ass crack of dawn. I’m talking 5:30 am, going on a morning jog, heading to the gym, working on something hands-on.. or sometimes just for the sake of being up. She always makes sure to give you a kiss before she leaves, of course.

Her phone is filled with pictures of you. All 1,209 of ‘em. Her lock screen is her favorite one, where you’re smiling and so beautiful in the pretty beach dress you wore when she first asked to be your girlfriend. It was your senior year of high school, and ever since then you two have been inseparable.

You’ll say something about a new TikTok challenge or a new meme you found while scrolling on Instagram and she’ll nod at you without a clue. She’s a bit behind on pop culture references and things like that :(.. Probably because she’s always off doing something productive.

She’s big on games— especially storymodes, though she doesn’t mind the occasional online multiplayer ones. Any free time she’s got is gonna be spent on her PC playing video games. Usually Red Dead Redemption 2, The Last of Us, Life is Strange.. sometimes Fortnite (she’s definitely a chapter 1 season 1 player don’t play w herr). Every once in a while she’ll force you to play something together. Scary games in particular. God, she loves making you play horror games.

“Im scared! Miki where did that thing go? It was just—,” suddenly, the monster jump-scares you and you’re screaming— almost falling off your girlfriend’s chair. You stare at the screen with a pounding heart and furrowed eyebrows, noting the ‘respawn’ button as you were killed for the millionth time now. You huff in frustration.

“Bye! I am not playing this game no more.” You turn to face Mikasa, when you see her laughing.

You cross your arms. “What’s so funny!?” Mika tries to stop giggling, but the cheeky pout on your face only makes her laugh even harder.

“‘M sorry, you’re just too cute. We can play that roblox game now if you want.” Mikasa giggles, as she exits off the game for you. Pressing a sweet peck to your nape, she gestures for you to flip your position on her lap. Now straddling her waist, you sigh with relief as she rubs soft circles onto your back, thankful that horror is over.

With a calmer heart, you turn to log into your account on the computer. “Let’s play Dress to Impress?”

Giving your cheek a little kiss, she whispers, “Whatever you want, baby.”

She’s very easily flustered. You would tell her she looks pretty and she’s already turning red. It’s adorable how bashful she gets 😭

She’s very, very, veryyy protective. Sometimes even too much. Always has you plastered to her, with an arm around your waist or a possessive hand around your hip. She never leaves you out of sight, even if its a quick grocery run or a shopping day at the mall— you’ll be right in front of her, and she’ll be right behind you. She always has a glowering look on her face, and if her overwhelming body language didn’t scare away lingering stares, then the threatening look on her face sure did. She’d never want anything to happen to her precious girl :(

That also applies to her doing absolutely everything for you. Carrying a bag? She’s got it. Need to run a quick errand? Don’t worry, she’s already grabbed the keys. Too tired to walk up the stairs? She’ll carry you. Heading to book an appointment for a massage? Like hell she’s letting someone touch you. She’ll have the 5-star experience at home.

Her physique is sooo delicious. She’s got strong arms, toned legs, defined abs.. she’s just so fit. Always sends you pictures of her at the gym, all sweaty and pretty for you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently caressing your back.. she lovess to feel you relax in her touch. Really, it’s cause she loves to always have her hands on you. You’re just too gorgeous.

Loves back hugs. There’s just something so sweet about being able to hold you so tenderly, pressing warm kisses to your neck. Definitely her favorite type of hug.

Has to have you sat on her lap. There’s just no other way. When you watch movies together, play video games, when you’re having a quick smoke sesh, when you’re kissing— she’s always gonna have you pulled right onto her. She loves seeing you sat so prettily on top of her

LOVES when you get a new set of nails. Bonus points if they’re long, charmed ones. They feel so good when they’re wrapped around her pretty neck when your making out.

Kissing you is her favorite thing; if it’s on your lips, on your cheekbone, on the spot right in between your eyebrows, anywhere on your body— but she especially loves to kiss your neck. Always before going to sleep, she’ll make sure to snuggle up real close and litter you with kisses all over your face and neck before letting you rest. she just loves you too much

Mika always makes you feel loved. Whether that’s through sweet gifts she spoils you with, thoughtful gestures, passionate kisses, or loving words. She’s just perfect.

A/N: HI BABIES!!! I apologize for the fat text coming up. it’s been one hell of a 2 years. this was just rotting up in my drafts, along with countless other works i haven’t had the time nor motivation to finish. so so sorry for the late response nonnie. this isn’t proofread, and unfortunately isn’t too organized either. the writing and characterization might also suck.. as it’s been quiteee a long time 😅. also, i didn’t use the “Girlfriend!Mikasa who (..)” start.. but i think i might for other works in the future?? would you like that? lmk! I feel like tumblr has moved on from the usual bullet point nd dump haha. sorry again sweetheart! hope this was alright for uuu <3 i will try my hardest to be more active for u guys soon!! MWA💋💋

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with The Guardian (2025)

The actor Jonathan Bailey sits at a large table in an otherwise empty room: charcoal cable knit sweater, loose pinstripe trousers, hair neatly coiffed. He is chewing gum, sipping coffee, talking through his recent career, and a certain serendipity that has rendered him reflective. At 36, he’s fresh from his turn as likely-lad love interest Fiyero in Hollywood’s blockbuster adaptation of Wicked; as a child, seeing the stage show was a milestone for him. “I remember thinking Fiyero was such a good part.” Later this year he will star in Jurassic World Rebirth alongside Mahershala Ali and Scarlett Johansson. “I saw the original Jurassic Park with my family, aged six, at the cinema,” he says. “It was the first time we all went together to something like that. It was seminal, but so rare for us.”

And this month, Bailey will star in Richard II at the Bridge Theatre, directed by Nicholas Hytner. Bailey is its protagonist. It is another example of full-circle career moment. In 2013, he appeared on stage in Hytner’s Othello. Same playwright, same director, same city – Bailey can’t help but consider all that’s changed in the intervening years. “Back then I was too young,” he says. “I came into the rehearsal process not mature or confident enough.”

Landing the role of Cassio, one of Othello’s lieutenants, had been so important to him then. “I didn’t go to drama school,” he says, “and there was a common belief that if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be able to do classical texts, or perform in the big theatres. There are all these stories we are born into that we have to unpick. For me, one of those was how limited I felt.”

Bailey remembers the day that changed. “It was late December,” he says, “and I was walking along London’s South Bank.” He was on his way to the National Theatre to meet Hytner for a callback. “I’d worked so hard and for so many reasons it felt…” He cuts himself off, then goes on, “Working at the National was beyond my wildest dreams.”

Bailey performed the two scenes he’d prepared. Then, Hytner unexpectedly suggested a third, which Bailey hadn’t rehearsed. “I’m not very good at just reading and going,” he says. “I can’t really come up with… Anyway, I went with instincts. He offered me the job in the room. It was a defining moment in my career.”

All sorts of opportunities followed for Bailey: American Psycho at the Almeida; Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s TV debut Crashing; King Lear opposite Ian McKellen; BBC satirical sitcom W1A. He was made very famous for playing a leading Lothario in Bridgerton, the Netflix behemoth. “Now being back with Nick,” he says. “I have a much fuller and more cherished understanding of him as a human as well as a director. Getting back into a room with him now, with all that’s happening, just felt obvious.” Hytner’s praise for Bailey is just as high: “He can speak Shakespeare like it’s his first language… The stage is his element.”

It’s Wednesday lunchtime, early January, in a central London studio space. We’re meeting halfway through five weeks of Richard II rehearsals in full swing a few floors below us. He’s sitting at a large table. In front of him is a bulky script covered in yellow highlights. “It’s only half,” he says, flicking through, playful panic in his voice. “Not only that, I’ve thinned it, and taken out the scenes I’m not in, which feels very Richard II.”

It’s Bailey’s first stage production since 2022. Through Bridgerton, he has been exposed to a global audience. But theatre is where it all began. “So returning to the stage, now, just felt so right. And I don’t think I’ve changed at all, even if certain things around me have.” It has taken some adjustment, this new level of “Black Mirror-esque” notoriety that he’s experiencing. It’s why he likes the intimacy of these rehearsals, after months spent on sprawling film sets. And he’s enjoying being based in London for an extended period, close to friends and family.

Bailey is charming, handsome and self-effacing as we talk, but doesn’t seem entirely at ease. That gum chewing is fervent now; he’s fiddling with what’s in front of him. He habitually self-edits as he speaks. There’s a vagueness that, at times, feels purposeful. At regular intervals, he simply stops mid-sentence.

Take the play itself. “It’s such an incredible, searing interrogation of power, government and monarchy…” he says. “You have someone with the cast-iron right to rule, who is absolutely unfit to lead, emotionally underdeveloped… And Shakespeare wrote to be played, not published. There are so many references and nuances to what an Elizabethan audience would have understood… It’s about translating it from that, and delivering it to a modern audience, so the effect hopefully has the same vivid fervency and front-footedness especially politically and especially in this instance with monarchy and leadership.”

It sounds interesting. So where is he turning to for inspiration for his tyrannical overlord? I ask. Trump? King Charles? The Saudis?

“That’s for the viewer to see. I have very clear ideas and I hope the audience will, too…”

He won’t be drawn. I’m curious as to why. He shakes his head.

“You’ll have to come and see it.”

Later, over email, Hytner is more forthright: “The play wonders what happens when an entirely legitimate leader is set on ruining the country he leads. No good options. Submit or resist – either way you end up with chaos.”

Ahead of Wicked’s late-November release, there was a preview screening in Sydney. “It was part of this massive press tour, but for me it only lasted two weeks. The girls are incredible,” Bailey says of his co-stars Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, plugging the project for months on end. “And they’re still at it, still shining.”

In Oz, Bailey went along with one of his sisters and her two daughters in tow. It was the first time he’d sat back and watched the film properly. “I was so overwhelmed,” he says. “Even now, it makes me quite emotional. If there was the purest form of joy I had as a kid, it was singing and dancing.”

His family was based between Reading and Oxford. Bailey has three older sisters. As a child, he’d be dropped at basketball club at the local village hall. “From outside, I could see my sister’s ballet lessons through the window. I wanted to be in there with them. I’d go and wait at the back of their class in my Velcro trainers.” He enrolled. “I was obsessed and loved it. Dancing and singing felt like a vocation.”

Music also filled the family home. By the time Bailey was 10, his sisters would go out clubbing. “The next morning, they’d come back, and I’d get them, hungover, to do impressions of their different friends dancing.” It was a family affair. “We loved 90s club classics. Me, Mum, Dad and my sisters went through a phase of going into the new room – we had an extension, then called it that for 20 years – and we’d put on vinyls and dance, all of us.”

One day, he stopped. “I don’t know what happened,” he says, “for whatever reason, I didn’t confidently carry through the dancing. I got self-conscious in my teens that it was signalling something else. It just didn’t feel… I probably just knew it was better to be playing rugby than dancing. I became really self-conscious. There weren’t other dudes dancing.” One teacher called Bailey a “fairy” in front of his entire class. “In your teenage years it’s so raw. You lose your skin. And there are certain things in life,” he says, “that allow people to think they know something about you, and those assumptions mean you stop doing something you love. You curb or you police yourself. You don’t make the joke, or say the quip. You don’t stand up and advocate for yourself or your friends. And you start to slowly crumple. That’s purely on the basis of this idea of signalling. These stereotypes.”

One becomes fearful, he continues, of the immense hurt that others can cause. “Even more pain than binding yourself up slowly and creating a space of safety and refuge in your own mind or heart. That’s where it gets dangerous and people stop doing the things they’re supposed to. And how brilliant that we…” He pauses, surprised, concerned even – it seems – by how much he’s sharing. “It’s a scary time, isn’t it. On the one hand, I do think there’s such a… People are so much more open-minded about what defines masculinity now. What defines heterosexuality. What defines gender. But on the other hand, there’s a swing, obviously, towards… Anyway, that one will have to be a dot-dot-dot for you.”

It’s not that Bailey dropped performing as a child, only that things took off in a different direction. Back in ballet class, there’d been a callout from the Royal Shakespeare Company. “They needed young boys to play Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol.” He was seven years old. “My parents weren’t sure. It was so outside their world.” His mum worked in the NHS. “And Dad was a DJ, basically, in Piccadilly Circus at [70s nightclub] Snoopys.” But a child actor? “It’s a big ask, from a kid. I was really protected by them, but they gave me this opportunity.” He was cast, and continued to be through school. “It was extraordinary, really. I didn’t miss any lessons. By 13, I’d done three productions for the RSC, and a stint in the West End. All before I hit puberty.” Then came his first Shakespeare production: Prince Arthur in King John at the Barbican with the RSC. “I was 12 or 13, and that set me on another course. ‘Fuck, OK, you can also do this.’” The memories are visceral, even now: “The sickly, sweet smell of fake blood. Dry ice. All those senses. I was taken. That’s maybe where my creative juices were channelled more, over singing and dancing.”

He has worked solidly since his teenage years. Bridgerton, though, catapulted him to stardom. Afterwards, says Bailey, “I was contending with how things would change in my life.” The press introduction, a growing, global fandom, interest in his personal life and sexuality… “On one hand,” he says, “the success of Bridgerton, being able to play that role, and for who I am not to affect people’s perceptions; the love story between a man and a woman.” He pauses, again. Oh, actually.” Some nervous laughter. “It’s just, I’m cautious. I’m who I am and always will be. It’s an extraordinary thing to see and hear the word ‘gay’ next to your name all the time. It’s something I’m incredibly proud of, but it’s also not something anyone else would be defined by. So to go straight from Bridgerton, where inevitably that was talked about, to do a series like Fellow Travellers? It came along like some sort of beacon.”

Fellow Travellers, a Showtime series in which Bailey and Matt Bomer star, follows the romance between two American politicos, from the 1950s to 1980s. Production started as series one of Bridgerton started streaming. Among a predominantly queer central cast, cocooned on set, Bailey’s sexuality was entirely un-noteworthy. “All with our own experiences,” he says, “coming together. And learning about the history… The men who endured and experienced such horrendous and extraordinary things.”

Simultaneously, he was inundated with requests from charities following Bridgerton’s success. “I felt frozen by wanting to help.” The sheer scale of what was being asked and what he might do with his platform, connections and cash felt overwhelming. So, he founded the Shameless Fund. “Raising cash and erasing shame to support the global LGBTQ+ community. We’re giving grants this year. I’m so proud of it. It was all in theory. It seems so obvious and clear. We’ve raised a lot of money for initiatives that need cash and a platform. “And the thing is,” he says, “I can’t be a mouthpiece. I’m an actor.” As is clear through our conversation so far, he’s impassioned and engaged, but being outspoken doesn’t always feel comfortable. It must be challenging, I say. So many eyes and ears pointed in his direction. “The noise is turned up,” he says. “And when it’s about your family, or your identity… And nobody is going to question that headline, in a different outlet with their own agenda. That’s what’s left and it isn’t true. That’s why I’m really protective. I’ve seen something so specific about my identity be twisted. Ultimately you want peace within yourself, because the world is wild enough as it is. It’s too important now, with rights being stripped away. What’s so obviously looming…” Back to Wicked, I suggest.

“OK,” he says, relieved, “so I was doing Cock [his West End stint in Mike Bartlett’s comedy about sexual identity] and I knew a film of Wicked was happening.” In the dressing room before curtain up one night, Bailey recorded a self-tape. “As I was singing, doing a karaoke version of [Fiyero’s big number] Dancing Through Life, I got called to stage on the Tannoy. Fuck it, I just sent it.” There were some positive noises. “Then the dates didn’t look to be working out. Wicked said they couldn’t be sure about what they wanted…” Bailey made other plans. Then, out the blue, dates shifted: the part was his. The months that followed were hectic: during one stretch, while juggling Fellow Travellers, Bridgerton and Wicked, he was filming for 34 days straight.

“I’d come from set, sleep on a flight, go straight to a Bridgerton ball, then the next day be dancing with Ari and Cynthia. Everyone else for Wicked had three months of rehearsal. I had three days.” There’s a knock at the door: Bailey is being summoned back down to rehearsals. “The conclusion to that,” he says, “is Wicked happened and I’m so proud. Before I knew it I was Dancing Through Life…” Suffice to say, he’s thrilled to be.

Richard II is at the Bridge Theatre until 10 May, bridgetheatre.co.uk

Source

[hottiesforhockey]

look at me ⎜d.mercer

pairings: dawson mercer x afab!reader genre: smut ⎜established relationship ⎜ warnings: katoptronophilia (this is a new word for me) ⎜pwp ⎜insecure reader ⎜ masturbation ⎜ praise kink ⎜descriptions of anxiety ⎜ synopsis: your first night at a devils home game leaves you feeling a little insecure - dawson knows just the kind of exposure therapy you need. word count: 4k authors note:  this was requested by @devilsandrangersfan so I hope they enjoy!

(unedited)

The moment you step into the Prudential Center, the roar of the crowd vibrates through your chest, rattling your ribs. The energy is electric—fans clad in red and black, jerseys sporting bold names and numbers, the crisp scent of ice lingering beneath the stadium lights.

“So is this your first time at a game?”  

“Excuse me?” You gaze shifts over to the petite brunette sliding into the chair besides you - Dawson had shown you to the family box just before warm ups started, placing the “family and friends” lanyard over your neck before leaving you with a soft kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll meet you back here.” He said softly, knowing that you had no idea how to get around the arena without inevitably getting lost in the crowd somewhere, you had just nodded still unsure what to say as you took in the lavish lounge, a spread of food on the tables off to the side, a bar on the back wall and obscenely large viewing chairs with the perfect view of the ice. 

You and Dawson has only started dating a few months ago — well officially dating, your friendship having built up for years over high school but never seeming to actually go anywhere until he came home last summer — you turn back to the woman with a surprised look that she was still waiting for your answer. 

“Oh, ah yeah” you start, catching yourself quickly before adding, “I mean I’ve been to his games before just not here in jersey.” You explain, again taken by surprise by the roaring crowd as the teams zoom onto the ice the large ’91’ catching your attention instantly. 

The brunette smiles knowingly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she leans back in her seat.

"It's different here, isn't it? The energy, the fans—Jersey loves their hockey. And they love Dawson." You nod absently, your gaze fixed on the ice where Dawson glides effortlessly, weaving through his teammates during warm-ups. He looks so at home here, so confident. It’s not that you doubt your place in his life, but something about tonight, about being surrounded by people who have watched him play for years, makes you feel like an outsider. You’re still adjusting to the idea of being ‘Dawson Mercer’s girlfriend’ rather than just his old friend from home. The title comes with a level of attention you hadn’t quite prepared for.

"I'm Aly, by the way," she offers, snapping you out of your thoughts. "My Husband’s on the team too—Stefan." She says pointing to the jersey with "NOESEN" written on the back in large letters, you nod in understand quickly sharing your name as well.  Relief washes over you at her friendly demeanour, and you shake her hand. 

"Nice to meet you. So you’re, like, used to all of this?" She laughs, gesturing toward the arena with a flourish. 

"Oh, it took time, trust me. We haven't been in Jersey long but the first few games, I was so overwhelmed by the noise, the fans, all the little traditions—it's a lot to take in. But once you get the hang of it, it’s kind of addicting." You glance at the ice just in time to see Dawson’s gaze flicker toward the box. When he spots you, he grins, waving frantically before skating back to where his fellow teammates are stretching. Your stomach flutters.

Aly nudges you. "See? He’s got eyes on you already. You’ll be fine." continuing the chatter away as the game starts. 

The intermission is a welcome reprieve, a chance to step away and take a breath as you excuse yourself from your seat besides Aly who sends you a knowing smile, turning to one of the girls next to her to discuss the refs bad calls. You step away from your seat, wandering toward the back of the lounge to grab a drink. 

You’re taking a long sip as you turn back to the group of wives and girlfriends in the box — only recognising a few from instagram and photos Dawson had shown you, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed. The atmosphere feels suffocating, the laughter and chatter filling the space with a kind of intensity that presses in on you. Each one of them looks so effortlessly put together, so confident. They are comfortable in their roles, perfectly in sync with the world Dawson lives in. You feel like an imposter in your jeans and oversized sweater, standing there awkwardly with your drink in hand. The contrast between your casual appearance and their designer outfits makes your pulse quicken, and your throat tightens in discomfort.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the conversations happening around you, but it only makes it worse. Aly is talking to a woman you don’t recognise, laughing about something, and you can’t help but notice how easily they fall into their conversation. The others seem so at ease with each other, like they've known each other for years, and you’re just the odd one out, lingering on the outskirts. You can’t remember the last time you felt so painfully aware of every little detail about yourself—how you don’t quite match their polished appearances or their effortless ease in this world.

"Are you alright?" a voice interrupts your spiralling thoughts. You turn to find a woman standing next to you, a gentle smile on her face. Her expression is warm, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s seen this kind of discomfort before.

"Yeah," you force a smile, but it feels so strained. "Just a little... overwhelmed, I guess." She nods knowingly, as if she understands exactly what you mean. 

"It’s a lot at first. I remember feeling like a fish out of water when I first started coming to these games." Her words only deepen your sense of being out of place. She’s been here before. She knows what she’s doing, she knows the others, she knows the expectations. You’re just the girl from home who never thought she’d be here, let alone be surrounded by so many people who seem to have everything figured out. And here you are, standing in the middle of it all, trying to pretend like you belong. You’re still standing there, feeling like a ghost, when Aly’s voice cuts through the murmur of the others around you.

"Oh, hey! Come sit with us!" She waves you over enthusiastically, the warmth of her invitation a stark contrast to the cold knot in your stomach. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should just slip away, hide in the corner, but you nod and make your way over, forcing your feet to move.

As you sit down, you feel the eyes on you. You can’t help but notice the glances exchanged between the other women, the soft smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. Maybe it’s all in your head, but the way they look at you feels like they’re measuring you up, sizing you up in a way that makes your skin itch.

"How long have you and Dawson been together?" one of them asks, her voice polite but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

"Uh, a few months," you answer quickly, your heart racing. You want to add something else, something that will make you seem more worthy of being here, but your mind goes blank.

Aly jumps in to rescue you. "They’ve known each other for years, actually. Been friends since high school." The mention of the word “friend” sends a ripple of unease through you, and you quickly glance at Dawson. He’s on the ice now, his movements smooth and fluid, but the moment he sees you, his eyes lock with yours, and you can almost picture the smile he’d send you as he focuses back on what his teammates is whispering to him as they prep to start the second period. Your heart stutters, and for a moment, you feel seen. But it’s only a brief moment. The reality of the situation comes crashing back in.

You glance around again, catching sight of another woman with flawless hair, her jawline sharp and perfect, her outfit so sleek and coordinated. Her eyes flick to you, then flick away, and you feel the weight of her judgment—real or imagined—pressing down on you. You’re still just the girl from home. You haven’t earned your place here, in this world, not like they have.

The game drags on, but you can’t focus. You’re so wrapped up in your own insecurities, in the comparison between yourself and these women who seem so much more polished, so much more in tune with everything, that the sound of the crowd fades into background noise. You feel smaller by the second.

Before you know it, the game is over and each of the players is happily bonking their goalie on the head, the other WAGs slowly filing out of the family box as their partners clean up and reach the room to collect them. 

Aly wishes you a ‘see you next time’ as she clasps her husbands hand, turning her attention to him and cooing over the game he played, you watch them for a while the feeling of discomfort settling deep in your stomach as you stand up, suddenly feeling the need to escape. Your drink is long gone, but you feel the need to move, to get out of this box before the pressure inside your head gets to be too much.

You’re halfway toward the exit when you hear a voice calling your name.

"Dawson?" you say, turning around to see him making his way toward you, his expression concerned. You had almost forgotten he said he would come to get you after the game. 

"You alright?" he asks softly, his eyes scanning your face, noticing the strain in your features. His hand rests gently on your shoulder, grounding you in a way only he can.

"I..." you swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. "I just feel... out of place. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this."

Dawson’s brow furrows, his hand slipping down to take yours. "What do you mean?" You glance back at the family box, your gaze lingering on the women who seem so comfortable, so sure of themselves, and it all tumbles out. "I just feel like everyone’s got it all figured out, the look, the vibe, whatever it is, and I’m... just here, trying to keep up.” You take a breath, swiping at the hair falling in your face,  “I just don’t belong here, Dawson."

His expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand now cupping your face gently. "You belong with me. That’s all that matters." The sincerity in his voice pulls at something deep inside you. The overwhelming pressure of the moment melts away, and for a brief second, you let yourself breathe. 

“Let’s get you home.” He whispers, slowly reaching out to take your hand, hesitant to do much more hoping to avoid making you more overstimulated then you already seem to be. The ride home is quiet, the low hum of the engine and the soft music from the radio the only sounds filling the space between you. Dawson doesn't push you to talk, but you can feel his gaze flickering to you every so often, his concern evident. Your hands rest in your lap, fingers idly twisting together as you stare out the window, the city lights blurring past.

As soon as you step into Dawson’s apartment, a familiar warmth settles over you. His place has always felt comfortable, lived-in, with soft lighting and worn furniture that makes it feel like a home rather than just a space to exist in. You toe off your shoes, making your way to the bedroom your boyfriend following closely behind, Dawson’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, stopping you in place before you can escape to the bathroom.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice low. "Talk to me." You hesitate, still feeling the weight of everything from tonight pressing down on your chest. But the concern in his eyes, the patience in his touch—it makes it impossible to brush him off.

"I just..." You exhale, shaking your head as you glance down. "I felt so out of place tonight, Dawson. Like I didn’t belong. Those women—they’re so confident, so sure of themselves. And then there’s me, standing there in my sweater and jeans, feeling like I somehow wandered into a world I was never supposed to be part of." His fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrist before he lets go, only to cup your face instead. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch firm but careful, as if he knows just how fragile you feel right now.

"You belong with me," he says, repeating his words from earlier, but this time there’s something more in them—something deeper, something raw. "Not because of where I play or who I’m around. You belong because you’re you. That’s all I want. That’s all that matters."

You swallow, your throat tight. "But I don’t fit in." He exhales, shaking his head slightly. 

"You don’t have to. There’s no rule saying you need to be like them. I don’t want you to be like them—I want you to be you. The girl I’ve known forever, the one who calls me out on my shit, who knows how to make me laugh even when I’ve had the worst game of my life. That’s who I fell for. Not some version of you that fits into some mould." The sincerity in his words, in his gaze, makes something inside you ache. He steps closer, his fingers trailing down to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. The air between you shifts, thickening with something unspoken, something deeper than just comfort.

Your lips part slightly, your pulse quickening as he studies you. "Do you get it now?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or do I need to convince you a little more?"

Your breath catches, heat rising in your cheeks at the challenge in his tone, the teasing glint in his eyes. The tension crackles between you, pulling you closer like gravity itself is at work. His nose brushes against yours, not quite a kiss, just lingering there, waiting.

"Dawson..." your voice is barely audible, but the way his lips curve tells you he hears it.

"Hmm?" he hums, his thumb still lazily stroking along your jaw. "Tell me what you need, baby."

The way he says it, soft yet firm, full of intention, makes your stomach flip. The doubt that had wrapped around your ribs earlier loosens, just a little, as his hands slide down to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. His body is solid, warm, grounding.

"I just need you," you admit, barely getting the words out before his lips finally press against yours. It starts slow, deliberate, like he’s proving a point more than anything else. Like he’s trying to kiss away every ounce of insecurity lingering in your mind. His fingers flex against your waist, holding you tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You won’t.

Not when he kisses you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters.

“You keep talking about yourself like that, and I’m gonna have to remind you just how perfect you are.” His voice was low, warm, coaxing as he pulls away, your lips still tingling from the feeling of his. You let out a soft laugh, but he catches the way your eyes dropped again, your confidence still shaken. That wouldn’t do. Not for his girl.

His fingers curled under the hem of your sweater, dragging it up over your head before you could protest. His lips pressed against your bare shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against him as he turns you to face the large mirror. 

“Look,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Watch the way I touch you.” Heat bloomed in your chest, spreading down your spine as his hands roamed, slow and deliberate. His fingers traced over your ribs, teasing along the band of your bra before slipping lower, mapping the dips and curves of your body with reverence. Every touch sent a shiver through you, every glance at your reflection making your pulse quicken.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, dark and full of intent. “See what I see?” he asked, his voice husky, laced with something almost possessive. “Every inch of you drives me crazy.” Your breath hitched as he let his lips trail down your neck, his hands gripping your thighs, urging them apart as he made sure you saw—saw how easily he unraveled you, how much he worshipped you. His fingers make quick work of unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them slowly down your legs as he help you take each foot out, sliding them to the side. 

Then, he moves away from you, grabbing the chair in the corner of the room, shucking off all the clothes that you’re going to have to clean up later and dragging it to sit in front of the mirror, he takes quick steps around to the chair sinking into the plush leather with a smile, patting his lap lightly as he settles in. 

“Sit.” He says softly, and it’s not like you need any further instruction, stepping around the chair to sink into his lap, Dawson quickly slipping each of your thighs over his until you sit on his laps with your legs spread open.  “Keep watching,” he murmured against you, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

He glanced up, his dark eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. “You see now?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. “How could you ever doubt how much I want you?” By the time he was done proving his point, there was no doubt left in your mind—you belonged there, with him, in every way possible.

Dawson’s hands tighten on your hips, his touch grounding, firm. The heat of his palms against your skin is almost too much, too intense, yet not nearly enough. His voice is low, coaxing as he tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze back to the mirror where your reflection tells a story of surrender and desire.

“Don't look away,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck as he trails kisses down the sensitive skin there, his lips leaving a path of fire in their wake. “I want you to see what I see.” Your breath catches as his hands wander, fingers tracing slow, teasing patterns along the inside of your thighs, the anticipation thrumming through you like an electric current. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the way he takes his time, savouring every little reaction he pulls from you. His eyes flicker up to yours in the reflection, dark and hungry, his pupils blown wide with need. A slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers against the thin fabric still covering you has your thighs tensing, your lips parting in a soft gasp. Dawson smirks, his other hand splaying against your stomach, holding you in place against him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me take care of you.” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing, barely touching where you need him most. The anticipation coils tight in your belly, a desperate ache settling deep in your core.

“Dawson,” you breathe, your head falling back against his shoulder, your body instinctively pressing into his touch, silently begging for more.

He hums in approval, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb circling over the clothed peak, sending another wave of heat through you. “So sensitive,” he muses, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “So responsive for me.” You whimper as his fingers finally press where you need them, his touch both gentle and commanding. He works you into putty with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. The sight of him touching you, of your body arching into his hands, only fuels the fire burning between you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and something deeper, something possessive. “So perfect. So beautiful.” Your hands grasp at his forearm, nails digging in slightly as pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter until it feels like you might come apart at the seams. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips soft, reverent.

“You feel how good you are for me?” His voice is a low rasp, his fingers curling just right, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your answer is a broken moan, your body trembling in his hold.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls his hand away, leaving you aching, desperate. You let out a frustrated whimper, but before you can protest, he catches your wrist, guiding your hand down instead.

“Show me,” he whispers against your skin, his voice laced with dark encouragement. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.” Your breath shudders as your fingers take his place, the heat of his gaze burning into you as you touch yourself under his watchful eyes, only slight pushing your panties to the side to get full access to your dripping cunt. His hands don’t leave you—one steady on your stomach, the other stroking over your breast, his hand tugging the cup of your bra down, a smile spreading across his face as your breast tumbles out, his thumb flicking at your sensitive peak. Every sound you make is met with his approving hum, every shiver answered by the slow, deliberate grind of his body against yours.

“Just like that,” he coaxes, his mouth tracing the shell of your ear. “You’re so beautiful when you let go.” Your movements become more frantic, the pressure building unbearably fast under his murmured praise. His lips press against your temple, his voice a steady, grounding presence. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me see how good you are.”

The pleasure crests, a wave crashing over you, stealing the breath from your lungs as you unravel in his arms. His name falls from your lips in a desperate cry, and he holds you through it, whispering sweet, reverent words against your skin, his hands gentle as they stroke over your trembling form. As the aftershocks fade, you collapse back against his chest, breathless and sated. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his grip on you unyielding, protective.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Just perfect.” He continues to whisper praises into your ear, his lips tracing a path down the column of your throat. Every word, every touch, is designed to unravel you, to strip away every lingering doubt until all that’s left is the certainty of him—of this.

“You feel that?” he murmurs against your skin, his hands gliding down your sides, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, the firm press of something hard against your back. “That’s me wanting you. Every inch of you. Every part of you that you think doesn’t belong? It does, baby. You do.” Your breath stutters as he shifts beneath you, the firm press of his body against yours making it impossible to think about anything other than the way he fits against you, the way his hands guide your movements, slow and deliberate. His lips brush the shell of your ear, and you swear you feel him smile.

“I could spend all night reminding you,” he says, voice thick with promise, “but I think you’re starting to get it now, aren’t you?” His fingers slip lower, teasing, coaxing, until your gasp fills the space between you. You meet his gaze in the mirror, your body flushed, lips parted, eyes heavy with desire. And in that moment, you finally see what he sees—how much he wants you, how much you belong here, with him, in every way that matters.

And as the night stretches on, Dawson keeps his word—reminding you, again and again, until there isn’t a single doubt left in your mind.

[hansmic]

𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

hyunjin x gn! reader

summary:
you and Hyunjin are high school sweethearts and go your separate ways, each experiencing heartbreak and growth along the way. Years later, you cross paths again under unusual circumstances. Can you rekindle your old flame, or is it just a nostalgic memory?

genre: fluff, romance

warnings: none

word count: 661

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It started with a glance, a fleeting moment in the crowded high school hallway. You locked eyes with the new transfer student, Hyunjin, and the electric feeling of attraction was undeniable. Over the course of several weeks, you found yourselves drawn together, spending afternoons studying, laughing over inside jokes, and sharing dreams for the future.

The first time your lips met, it felt like fireworks exploding in the night sky. For the first time, you understood what it meant to fall head over heels.

Years passed, and life took the two of you down separate paths. You both faced heartache, disappointment, and the harsh realities of adulthood. Each of you grew and evolved, carrying the memories of your high school romance in your hearts.

One day, while browsing social media, you discovered that Hyunjin was now famous, and rumors of a troubled life in the spotlight. Curiosity piqued, you sent a private message, wondering if he remembered you from his past.

To your surprise, Hyunjin responded almost instantly, his tone warm and friendly. You caught up on the past, laughing about old times and updating each other on your lives. The spark was still there, hidden beneath the surface, and you wondered if the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Eventually, you decided to meet up for coffee, both nervous but excited to see each other after so many years. The moment you saw him walk through the door, your heart raced just as it did back in high school.

As he approached your table, you couldn't help but smile. "Hey, stranger," you say, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. Hyunjin grins, his eyes lighting up as he takes a seat across from you.

"It's good to see you, " he replies, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "I've missed you more than you'll ever know."

The conversation flows easily, with you both sharing stories, laughter, and memories. You can feel the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment, like a flower slowly opening its petals.

When it's time to leave, you exchange numbers and promise to keep in touch. You hug, and as you pull away, you realize that the spark between you is as strong as ever. Will you have the courage to explore these feelings again, or will you let them slip through your fingers like sand?

Over the following weeks, you and Hyunjin continue to text, call, and meet up when your busy schedules allow. With each interaction, the bond between you deepens, and you realize that the old flame has never truly been extinguished.

One rainy evening, as you share a cozy dinner at a quiet restaurant, you find yourselves in a heartfelt conversation about your past love. "Did you ever think about us? About what could have been?" Hyunjin asks softly, his gaze locked onto yours.

You take a deep breath, unable to hide the vulnerability in your voice. "Yes, " you admit. "I thought about us all the time. I wondered if we'd ever have a second chance."

Hyunjin's eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like the world around you disappears. "Do you think we deserve that? A second chance at love?" he asks, his voice trembling with hope.

You reach across the table and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I think we do, " you say, your voice filled with determination. "We've both grown and learned from our past. Why not see where this connection takes us?"

Hyunjin's face breaks into a wide smile, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, love has a way of finding its way back. As the rain continues to fall outside

you both know that this is just the beginning of a brand new chapter in your story. Together, you will face the challenges and joys that life has to offer, stronger than ever before and ready to embrace the love that's been waiting for you all along.

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hope you enjoyed

masterlist is here!

[whirlpool-blogs]

Five Questions with Jack Hughes

May 29, 2019 | Timestamp: Jack Hughes (5:03)

Do you feel ready to play in the NHL next season? "My speed and skill will translate well, and I believe in my heart I'm the best player in this draft and the best player on the board. I'm a confident kid so I think I had a great year. I know in my head and in my heart that I'm an NHL player and I think that after my experience at the World Championship, it solidified in my mind that I'm ready to go for it next year. I want to be an impact player and come out of the gates fast."

What was the most memorable moment for you as the youngest player for the United States at the 2019 IIHF World Championship in Slovakia? "Just to be in the locker room with the NHL players, go out to dinner with them, hang out with them. I feel like it was an invaluable experience and kind of like going to Harvard law school, I guess, because that's the best education you could get being around guys like that. You've got guys there like Ryan Suter, a 14-year veteran in the League, who was once in the same position as me. Patrick Kane and James van Riemsdyk took great care of me, taking me out to dinner, talking with me, and teaching me things. Those are guys I kind of created relationships with that will help me for the next couple of years."

Did you meet your goals and expectations at the NTDP this season? "You want to be realistic for the year, but I think of myself pretty high, and I had some goals in mind like breaking the record for most career points at the program and did that. I kind of shattered it and hopefully no one will touch it for a couple of years. I wanted to get the single season record but I missed a few games with an injury and finished with 112 points; the record was 117. Along the way, you don't really think of it that much but keep pushing the pace and pushing your play. I had a pretty good sequence of games at the World Under-18 Championship but our main goal was to win gold there, and we didn't. I'd trade all 20 of my points there for a gold medal, but I feel like I had a pretty good tournament."

How did two seasons at the NTDP make you a better player? "First of all, it makes you a better person. You're growing up with 23 kids your own age on the same team and dealing with the same things. It's kind of a brotherhood you create there, and you can't really say that about other places. The NTDP is a great spot to grow as a human. If you want to dedicate your life to becoming a hockey player, your game will absolutely go through the roof. There's a shooting room there and you're on the ice two hours a day, there are two games over the weekend, you skate 5-to-7 times a week, lift three times a week. If you want to be a hockey player and you're an American boy, the NTDP is the place you need to go."

What are your plans between the end of the Combine and the NHL Draft? "Just having some fun and relaxing. I don't think I'm going to work out or skate. I was in Europe for almost two months (at the World Under-18 Championship in Sweden and World Championship), just playing hockey, being dialed in and focused. Now that the hockey season is over, I think I'll just watch the Stanley Cup Final, golf and hang out with friends ... be a kid for the last month. Then I'll head to Vancouver. I think my life will change a lot once that weekend goes by."

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - The End

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 2000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"No, you can't knock down this wall!"

Jules looked at me with a puzzled expression in front of the model that stood before us.

"It’s a load-bearing wall!" I added.

Jules sighed loudly, slumping dejectedly onto the backrest of the kitchen chair.

"But without that, the main room is too small!" he grumbled.

"But without that, the floor above will collapse!" I teased him.

Hugo, who was cooking in front of us, started laughing, openly mocking his brother.

"You’re not going to build my house, bro!"

"Yeah, yeah! Go back to your stove and make us something disgusting again!" he shot back, offended.

"It’s funny, you didn’t think the tiramisu was that bad yesterday!" Hugo retorted.

In one swift move, Hugo threw a dish towel at his brother’s face, who immediately threw it back even harder.

"Oh guys, you’re not four years old anymore!" I thundered to call a timeout.

Hugo shrugged and went back to his culinary duties. Turning back to Jules, I tried to help him with his model.

"Look, if you take this piece and knock down part of this wall…"

"Let him think for a bit, how else can the student surpass the master?"

That was Lucy’s mischievous voice, which suddenly rang out. She came out of the bathroom with wet hair and had just overheard our conversation as she joined us. She walked towards the kitchen, glanced at the model, and placed her hand on my shoulder, gently moving it up to my neck.

"But Jules, don’t make this beautiful house collapse!" she added.

"Not you too, Mom!" Jules replied with such a desperate tone that it triggered a collective laugh in the kitchen.

Two years had passed since that fateful evening.

Jules had entered an architecture school and was about to take his second-year exams. I knew he would pass without any issues—he was very talented, even if he made a few mistakes out of audacity, always attempting new projects.

Hugo had joined a famous culinary school after spending a year in law school, mainly to please his parents. He had hated it, just as I had predicted, and I had managed to convince Lucy to let him pursue his passion—cooking, which he did brilliantly. He had moved to Paris to follow this training, while Jules had stayed with us at first. Later, he moved into a shared apartment with his friends in the city center this year. Hugo had come over for the weekend, and the boys were celebrating their 19th birthday with friends on that sunny afternoon in May.

I had grown very close to them, even becoming accomplices. Jules had gradually accepted the situation, although he struggled with some remarks at high school, and the fact that I moved in with him so quickly had somewhat upset him. But we had managed to build a real relationship of trust, as time went by. He had resumed playing the piano with me, something he had given up on years ago, and was even going to do his two-month internship with my firm this summer.

As for Lucy and me…

An ocean of love defying many obstacles.  

Nothing was easy. Slowly, rumors spread around town: "She lives with a woman," "A younger woman, she left her husband for her," "She even moved in with her," "She’s the architect Ona Batlle!" "The Mayor is with a woman!"

We had to face many stares, some whispered comments.

Generally, I feigned indifference. Lucy had occasionally gotten upset by some comments in her political profession.

Some journalists even wanted to interview me. It was the first time that a politician of her stature had publicly appeared like this, and she didn’t hide it, which naturally fueled curiosity. But while we didn’t hide it, we didn’t want to go to the other extreme either and expose our privacy.

My friends and family were incredibly supportive. My parents adored Lucy and made her feel very comfortable in the family. Lucy’s friends accepted her well, even though they were initially surprised.

The most difficult part had been with Lucy’s family. It’s always easier to brush off comments from strangers, but family—that hit the heart. Her parents had struggled at first. They learned about the situation in town quickly, before Lucy had had the chance to tell them herself, which likely fueled their bitterness. I had only met them a year later, in a rather cold and tense encounter, almost freezing. I had to keep my composure—it was for Lucy. But things had improved lately, and they were willing to see me. The atmosphere, though not warm, had become more friendly. The only one still resistant was her older brother, who didn’t miss an opportunity to throw jabs at me. He couldn’t accept that his little sister was with a woman. I tried to avoid seeing him as much as possible, even though I had to during family meals and other Christmas gatherings. The rest of the time, Lucy would go alone to see her brother. It was about finding compromises to be as happy as possible.

Happy and in love, we were, wildly.

That’s how we got through the tough moments—exhaustion from certain attitudes or comments, some evenings when Lucy came home crying in my arms after talking to her family, after reading some insulting letters… Some nights when I, too, felt overwhelmed and hurt, her arms were there to comfort me.

We had never questioned our relationship, neither of us.

We also learned to laugh at it all, to take it with humor. One evening, Lucy came home with several dozens of letters addressed to her that she had received at the town hall, all separated into three different bundles.

She handed them to me.

"The first one is full of homophobic letters, insults! The second is letters of support from people saying it’s good to see public figures living openly, that it helps them too. The ones that warm the heart, kind of…"

"And the third?" I asked, curious.

A smile spread across her face.

"Letters from half-perverted people interested in us both, if you know what I mean!"

"I’m relieved to see that pile isn’t the biggest!" I replied, joining Lucy’s laughter.

There it was, simple. We had to move past it, laugh, live.

She had shown me her native island, Corsica, while I had taken her to the Basque Country, where I grew up. Whenever we could, though it was difficult with her schedule, we would escape to different places, flying off for weekend getaways in new European cities.  

We lived our love freely.

Lucy came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, her hair dry, dressed in a cream-colored suit that suited her perfectly. We had an official lunch at the town hall that Saturday noon with the President of the Region, an influential man close to the Prime Minister. I had gotten used to attending certain official lunches and dinners, though it depended on my schedule and mood.  

The political world was something of an enigma to me, even though I was passionate about it. I had trouble with the way some people operated and the pervasive hypocrisy that could exist. In this somewhat peculiar world, anything was allowed. I knew this, but I had learned it even more by being beside Lucy.

"Boys, I’m counting on you for your afternoon by the pool and the barbecue tonight! Don’t mess things up! By the way, how many of you are there?"

As Jules said "30", Hugo, in the same breath, said "Only about 15".  

That, combined with Hugo’s glaring look at his brother, made me laugh immediately, which Lucy definitely did not share.

"Are you kidding me, Hugo?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

Hugo shrugged.

"No, it’s Jules exaggerating, we’re between 15 and 30! More like 15 than 30…"

Jules tried to recover, wanting to back up his brother.

"Yeah, exactly! I’m bad with numbers, I always overestimate!"

I couldn’t stop laughing at their weak acting. Hugo tried looking at me for support while Lucy pointed her finger at them.

"I’m warning you guys, I don’t want any wild behavior when we come back tonight with Ona!"

Hugo then put on his charming face, the one he knew so well.

"No, Mom, we’ll be the best sons …", then he turned to me, "…the most adorable sons-in-law in the world!"

I raised an amused eyebrow as Jules innocently asked.

"And what time exactly are you coming back?"

"Surprise, gentlemen! We can come back whenever we want!" Lucy immediately chimed in.

Jules put on his most dejected look before adding:

"Live your life, you’re not going to live off us, are you?"

"Very funny, Jules!" I replied with a wink. "Clue for the time: We’re visiting Alexia at the hospital after lunch!"

"Ah yes!!! She just gave birth!" Jules said with excitement.

Alexia had indeed just given birth to her second child, a little boy named Leo. I was going to meet him for the first time with Lucy today, and we were both excited. Lucy had teased Alexia when she entrusted me with her projects before going on maternity leave: "No women, just men’s projects," she had said, referring to her first pregnancy, which had been the reason for our meeting. "I’m not jealous, by the way!" Lucy loved saying she wasn’t, or at least, that’s what she liked to make people believe.

"And you’re coming back straight after?"

Jules didn’t let up and pressed on with his investigation.

"No, I managed to convince your mom not to play the police here by inviting her to dinner tonight!" 

"So that’s why the invitation, you were in cahoots with them!" she said with a feigned angry look.

"Exactly, I was bribed by the boys, and it’s going to cost them dearly!"

The boys smiled at my remark, giving me a look full of gratitude.

It was now my turn to get ready before heading to the lunch. I took my time in the shower, slipping into a navy blue dress, tying my blonde hair in a fishtail braid.  

Lucy gave me a sparkling wink when she saw me arrive, whispering a "splendid" discreetly.  

Before leaving, I gave one last look at the boys.

"Don’t forget, your friends' friends are not necessarily your friends! You could end up with 50 people like that…"

"Don’t worry!" the boys replied in unison, before Hugo added, "Thanks for taking her to the restaurant!"

"The pleasure is all mine!" I replied with a wink, before giving one last piece of advice: "And take it easy on the vodka!"

I joined Lucy in the driveway.

"Do you think we’ll find the house still standing?" she asked as we stood by the car.

"Don’t forget, it’s solid! And if when we get back it’s a remake of Project X, I’ll give you a friends' discount on the renovations!"

She smiled at me, stepping forward to plant a kiss on my lips.  

It was when she stepped back that a high-pitched scream rang out.

"What is this..." she exclaimed, surprised, turning her head.

It was Coco, our puppy, somewhat upset by the heel that had just stepped on him.

———————————————————————

THE END

[j0kers-light]

Breakfast for Two

We all love a filler chapter right? I fell in love with domesticating Joker for Y/n, this chapter was so much fun to write.

You bought the piece of furniture at an estate sale purely for decoration purposes, not practicality. Its boards were probably older than you and most likely on its final years, but the antique charm and the gorgeous color convinced you to buy it. At this rate you'd be replacing it with something a lot more practical.

RIP to my old antique couch. She was beautiful 😪

Along the way your hands unloaded and disassembled the gun from base memory.

Alluding to Y/n’s involvement with her family’s gang. Yes I did 🤭 gotta fill up the chapter with background information to reel in the audience 🥹

You had a patient to save and that medical experience you shunned in high school would come in handy. Nodding to yourself ,you located your first-aid kit from the storage closet and approached the sofa.

I guess this is more of the nurse!Y/n idea I had in mind coming out to play. She’s gonna nurse her baby back to health! (I’m going to ignore the floating comma here I’ll edit it later)

“Aww, is the little bunny squeamish?" He smiled, seeing the tips of your ears flush a faint red. "Don't call me that." You chided. "You arrree!" He replied in that teasing lit of his. A trait of his that you were slowly adapting to.

THE FIRST TIME JOKER CALLED US BUNNY. aHH!

"I'm going to get water. C-Can you um..?" You nodded at your arm that he held. Joker hesitated but reluctantly let go.

He didn’t want to let go!!! Ugh ya boy was down bad SO early on and didn’t even know it.

"Keep your voice down dear. We wouldn't want to wake the neighbors, hmm?" How could he crack jokes at a time like this?

🫣 ooooh okay J

You glanced at Joker not expecting him to already be staring at you. Your words died in your throat at how his deep pine eyes swirled with exhaustion. This was a psychopath, a monster in a tailored suit, staring straight into your soul. And like a fool, you didn't look away. Joker was injured but there was no doubt he could kill you even with his limited strength. A flimsy paper clip could turn into a weapon in Joker's hands.

Yessssssssss referencing comic book Joker and giving him poetic character details all in one paragraph. I was I my bag!

He knew there was something dark and ugly buried deep inside of you and he wanted to see it was dragged into the light. And what fun he would have destroying that sickly sweet outlook you had towards life! He smiled to himself, earning a raised eyebrow from you.

Foreshadowing ladies and gentlemen. Joker wanted to learn Y/n’s deepest secrets so he could break her— not knowing that she was already broken. That’s why he turned soft. That’s why he simps. Joker couldn’t break her so he subconsciously vowed to fix her.

His lashes brushed against his white cheeks and you believed without the ghastly makeup, he could be quite the attractive guy.

OH GURL HE IS FIONE! He will show you some more chapters done the line 😏😏😏😏

Joker kept his anger in check but couldn't hold back the harsh glare he sent your way. This wasn't the first time you interrupted him but he was getting sick of it. You sat there enjoying your food like nothing was wrong when a raging monster sat inches away from you demanding respect.

Joker beloved.. calm down. We not gone hurt you. I need you to be a bit more open minded towards others.

What did he promise you?! He didn't remember much after digging a bullet out of his thigh. Anything beyond that point he really could have said anything without his knowledge. Just what kind of agreement did you two shake on to have you so relaxed around him? He had to remember!

Such a shame he broke that promise not to hurt us 😬

"Ohh... I knew there was a reason why I liked you." Ignore him Y/n, he doesn't mean it that way! Honestly, your own mind couldn't accept reality.

Yes he does mean it like that Y/n. 👀 Joker denied himself for so long, that man had heart eyes for us from the very beginning 🤣

His Lighthouse Re-Read Thread

Hey hi my loves!!! I've read my own story 14 million times but I never did an official reread thread so thank @jaysmentalspace for what's about to happen! 🖤✨

This will be an interactive thread. Yes, you can join in with your own comments, reblogs, whatever! I will start from chapter one and I guess, review/commentate my own story! I hope you enjoy the ride. There's gonna be fun facts, behind the scenes commentary, who knows. 🤷🏾‍♀️

His Lighthouse masterlist let's get started.

[apricote]

aged up fen into a teen yesterday and he was not that weird looking he was when i did it in cas?? kinda dreamy tbh