#i beat it once and never touched it since

[stars-inthe-sky]

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah.  I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

[storiesoflilies]

warnings: descriptions of smoking, injuries, and war. sfw.

when you first saw soldier!toji he looked far too out of place.

he’d come in with the other wounded that had been dragged in from the front lines. tall and broad, a god made of dark smoke that filled the washed out grey of the hospital tent. he was deathly quiet as he sat at the edge of a cot, stained shirt clinging to the expanse of his chest, his boots caked in mud and blood. you’d heard him refuse to lie down, seen him wave his hand for the fussing medic to just leave him alone.

you were confused why someone like him was in here.

he looked invincible.

“i don’t need all this,” you heard him snap again, his green eyes flashing as he stood up. “just quickly fix me so i can go.”

toji plonked himself down in front of you, heavy and crass, a dark brow quirked at you expectedly. his eyes swept over your nurse in training uniform, at your fraying sleeves that used to be a crisp white. he met your gaze without blinking, and you tried hard not to stare at the dried blood embedded into the scar on his lip.

“can you stitch me up?” he grunted.

you swallowed thickly and nodded, biting the inside of your cheek, already reaching for a needle.

“good,” he said, and he was already pulling off his shirt before you could ask him to.

your eyes widened at the gash running all the way up his side, and you instinctively reached over for the morphine.

a large, impossibly warm hand enveloped your wrist firmly.

“no,” was all toji murmured. “i don’t need it.”

and just like that, you found yourself patching up a god sitting in your cot. he never flinched once, not even a hiss of pain. only an all consuming silence. like his nerves had long since stopped bothering him at all.

-•-

you weren’t supposed to let him in.

there was a golden rule you were often warned to never break. never get attached to anybody, least of all the soldiers you treated. never get drawn into their eyes or their pain, never let them charm you, and never be stupid enough to go and fall in love with them.

but toji, he had a certain gravity to him.

you couldn’t stop yourself.

at first, he never bothered to learn your name. it was if he had that same golden rule to never get attached to anybody. he just called you doc, and you weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, especially after you’d told him that you were still a nurse in training and to stop calling you that.

you also don’t know why he kept showing up to your cot.

he’d breeze through the infirmary, skipping past the other more senior nurses and medics to come straight to you. his fingers would pull away at his bandages, a sort of formality, his way of saying hello to you, maybe. a way to let you know that he needed help and that you were the only person he wanted touching him.

you had to stop yourself from smiling at that.

“you really shouldn’t be here,” toji said one night, his eyes fixed on the floor as you cleaned out a shallow wound on his arm. “you should be somewhere safer than here.”

you furrowed your brows. “what?”

“this isn’t the kind of place for someone who jumps every time they hear a gun go off.”

you didn’t think you still did, you’ve been here for months.

you didn’t think anybody had noticed.

“doesn’t matter,” you shrugged your shoulders. “the silence is worse, sometimes.”

he looked up at you. “oh?”

you met his gaze, fresh gauze in your hand, fingers grazing his bicep. “because every time it gets quiet, it means whatever has happened out there is over, and anything left is mine to fix.”

that made him pause.

he watched you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“fair enough,” he muttered.

-•-

you started to notice things about toji too.

the way he never sat with the rest of his unit, a shadow in the corner as he ate his rations. the way he cleaned his pocket knife with the heel of his left boot. the way he always kept his gun pristine. the way he walked out of the infirmary with a new scar and not a word of complaint, seemingly ignoring every time you told him to be more careful.

he never thanked you for helping him.

not out loud, anyway.

but one day, you found a tin of dried peaches in your pack. it was a rare ration, not one you were privy to often. a day later, a crumbling chocolate bar was tucked away neatly underneath your pillow.

you knew it was toji.

and you definitely knew not to say a word about it.

another night, he was standing outside the infirmary. you were one of the last to leave, your shift having ended quite a few hours ago, but you just couldn’t go. your mind was racing, back aching from being hunched over one too many bodies, fingers stained with the scent of iodine.

it had been… a rough day, to say the least.

you’d spent a few hours just restocking shelves, checking over all the soldiers in their cots. you changed dressings and cleaned things that you knew would only be dirty again in a few hours.

you didn’t care.

going to sleep didn’t feel right.

but there was toji just outside, waiting for you.

at least, you thought he was. he was leaning against the side of a supply truck, one foot braced against the wheel, his sleeves tucked up to his elbows. a cigarette dangled between his lips, his skin honeyed with the glow of his lit match. he didn’t look up at you, not right away, just took a slow drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke that he was made of drift away from him.

“you always finish up this late?” he asked, voice gravely.

his voice sounded familiar to you, you thought. it was the sound of someone who’d seen too much and didn’t sleep enough. you knew it because it was like yours too.

you crossed your arms tightly together, breath fogging in the cold night air. “the others need the rest.”

he turned to look at you, his face half shrouded in pale moonlight.

your breath hitched.

“you don’t sleep much, do you?”

you hesitated. “not really.”

toji exhaled, pursing his lips. he reached into his back pocket, pulled something out, and held it towards you.

a cigarette, half-crushed, but still dry.

“i don’t smoke,” you mumbled quickly.

toji shrugged nonchalantly, but the small smile playing on his face told you he didn’t mind. “didn’t ask you to.”

you smiled, and took it anyway.

-•-

the worst came at dusk.

when the sky split open like a skull and the ground shuddered beneath your feet as the shells came screaming down around you. the alarms were blaring, people scrambling around for shelter, ducking behind crates, clutching helmets with their hands.

a roar of noise, a rush of air whistled in your ears.

and then, black.

you woke to dust coating your throat, settling into your lungs like an old friend. there was blood filling your mouth too, warm and bitter. there was someone screaming, you think, maybe they next to you. you couldn’t tell. everything was muffled, and god, why was there this crushing weight on your chest?

“hey!” a voice shouted through the ringing in your ears. rough, familiar. “you with me?”

your eyes adjusted, and you blinked twice, three times.

toji.

he was on his knees beside you, uniform riddled with burn holes, a rivulet of blood trickling down his temple.

“stay awake,” he ordered sharply. “you hear me?”

you couldn’t answer. you just watched him as he curled his hands around the beam that was squeezing the life out of you, his muscles straining as he lifted it off you and threw it far away like it was poison.

“i had to come back,” he hissed, a strange tightness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “you’re so stubborn, i told you to get outta he–”

you were far too dazed to listen to him chastise you.

you couldn’t even move.

but when toji just hoisted you up and into his arms, you felt like you’d finally found your way home again.

-•-

when you came to again, it was probably around midnight.

the tent you were in was barely holding up. the canvas was torn, corners sagging under the weight of the rain and ash. a single oil lamp burned in the corner, a golden glow filling the space, but it didn’t make you feel warm.

and at your side was toji.

he was seated on an overturned crate, bloodied and impossibly still. cigarette ash dusted the ground beneath him in little pile.

“you’re awake.”

you tried to speak, but nothing came out properly.

“you got lucky,” toji added, smoke curling from his nose. “you could’ve been crushed.”

your hand moved before you could stop it, reaching for him.

he froze.

just for a moment.

and then he was pressing something cold and hard into your palm.

his dog tags.

you looked up at him in alarm.

“i have to go,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes, his hands still wrapped around yours. “i just...”

he didn’t finish, he didn’t have to. it was an unspoken thing in the air, but it was as real as the warmth in his hands.

if toji fushiguro wasn’t going to come back, he didn’t want you to know about it.

“i know,” was all you could manage.

toji held your gaze for a moment longer, then he stood.

and just like that, he turned and left without another word.

-•-

for three weeks there was nothing.

no letters.

no news.

no body.

you didn’t ask around. it was easier not to know. every day bled slowly into the next. as you fiddled with the dog tags around your neck. you cleaned his tags all the time to take your mind off everything when it was quiet.

and when nobody was looking, you pressed them to your lips.

you realized toji had been sparing you. you don’t know what you’d do if you heard his name called and knew that he was really gone. it was better to pretend he was still alive out there somewhere, smoking in the dark. every day you watched the trucks roll in. every day you checked the faces of the soldiers in those trucks, silently hoping that toji was in one of them, alive. you didn’t realize how hard your hands were shaking, didn’t realize how hollow your chest felt each time a canvas sheet was pulled back from another face.

not until your senior held them in hers and told you to sit there and just breath.

it was another grey day, bitter and cold, when you heard the familiar rumble of more supply trucks pulling into the camp. a convoy of men were slumped over in the back of the truck, uniforms dusty and torn, their faces blank and eyes sunken. there was a heavy fog hanging low like smoke, and the ground was still soft from the rain the night before. you were wrapping up a soldier’s wrist when the last truck pulled in. there was a loud call for stretchers and hands, and a flurry of motion erupted around you.

you looked up, and there he was.

toji.

alive.

you stared, hard. there was a choking sound clawing its way up from behind your throat and out of your mouth. the clean roll of bandage slipped from your fingers and into the mud.

his eyes lifted and found yours amidst the chaos.

toji didn’t wave at you. he stood there like he was a ghost. like he couldn’t quite believe he was here and that this was all real and you were real. you were running before you could think straight. your boots splashed through puddles as you shoved past medics and the throng of soldiers unloading the truck, the cold wind biting at your cheeks.

he didn’t move until you were right in front of him.

and then, slowly, carefully, he reached up with a bandaged hand to touch your face.

your voice cracked, your heart in your throat. “what took you so long?”

toji huffed something that you thought might be a laugh, weak and raw, as he pulled you into him.

he didn’t kiss you right away. he just held you close for a while. one of his arms was in a sling, pressed gently between the two of you, and the other rested on the small of your back. his lips were on your neck as he buried his face into you, breathing deeply. you held onto him tight, feeling the way his ribs moved beneath your fingers with every shaky breath he took.

then his lips were on yours.

it wasn’t hungry or urgent. it was deliberate, patient. toji fushiguro was a god, and yet, he kissed you like a man who wanted to savor you slowly. to learn the way your lips moved against his. to feel the way you melted into him, soft and yielding, molding yourself around him like a warm blanket against the cold.

toji fushiguro kissed you like it was the only thing he knew anymore.

in a way, it was the same you.

-•-

he couldn’t stay for long, you knew that.

three days later, toji’s unit was deployed again. the sky was still pale with the light of the dawn, and the air smelt like wet earth and gunpowder. you tried to give him back his dog tags, but he only shook his head.

“hold onto them for me,” he murmured with a small smile. “that way i have to come back to you.”

you smiled back, but it was tight, thin around the edges. you never liked to see him go.

“come back anyway.”

and he did.

again and again.

each time more bruised. more battered and aching. but he always found you. like his soul knew where yours was. you never asked what he’d seen, or what he’d done out there. you wondered how much longer the war would drag on. how many more times you had to watch toji come and go like a god of war, called to a battle nobody else could fight except for him. how many more nights you’d sleep with your hands pressed your ears to drown out the noise.

then, the war finally ended.

and still, toji found you.

you were waiting for him at the train station, because you already knew toji fushiguro would be the last one to come home. there he was, uniform all cleaned up and boots shining in the morning sun, a duffle bag strung over his shoulder. and you were there in your nurse’s uniform, fingers still smelling faintly of iodine.

toji walked straight to you, no hesitation, no time wasted.

“well, doll,” he started, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “guess i owe you a drink.”

you only laughed, standing on your toes and throwing your arms around his neck.

“you owe me your life, fushiguro,” you smiled, your lips brushing his.

toji kissed you then, slow and grounding, a god tasting real peace for the first time.

it made you feel full.

of promise, of peace.

of home.

“take it,” he murmured against your mouth. “it’s always been yours.”

-•-

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

@alialucille i hope you enjoy <3

[cacoetheswriting]

we can't be friends | chapter five from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.7k

summary: He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, this chapter is their fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

When morning light sneaks in through the half-opened blinds, you slowly blink awake, taking in your surroundings and a smile creeps up on your features.

You slept on the couch. Actually, you slept on top of Eddie who slept on the couch. Legs tangled together under the fleece blanket, one strong arm draped over your body, chin pressed to the top of your head, holding you close.

Someone clears their throat, interrupting your momentary bliss. You jolt as if you’d been caught doing something illegal and sit upright as your head snaps to see Steve leaning against the arch frame, smirking at what he’s just witnessed.

“Well, isn’t this a sight to behold.” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “Nice to see you two really made up.”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” A grumble comes from beneath you. Low. Territorial.

When you look down, Eddie’s eyes are still closed, so you focus yet again on Steve. His grin an inch wider than before as he raises a brow at you. He mouths something intangible, although you have a feeling it’s inappropriate and your cheeks bloom with blood at the insinuation.

In the meantime, Eddie moves a hand to your hip. His right. The one close to the couch. The one Steve can’t see because it’s hidden behind you. A lingering secret that sends a shiver through your entire being, while also making you hyper aware of your current position. You are practically sitting in the metal-heads lap. The sudden reshuffling due to Steve’s presence caused this development and because you don’t hate it, the feeling of Eddie’s groin beneath your pelvis, you hurry off. The brunette, the sofa.

This causes Eddie to open his eyes. Your back is to him and he wonders for a moment what you’d do if he reached for you again, pulling you onto him once more because he already misses the feeling. Instead, he stretches.

“Coffee?” You quip and without waiting for an answer from either of the guys, you disappear into the kitchen.

The eavesdropping is unintentional. They just start talking, rather loudly, before you get a chance to turn on the fancy coffee machine.

“I meant what I said, dude.”

“What?”

“About you two making up. It’s nice to see.”

A beat of silence. Your finger hovers over the ON button in wait for Eddie’s next words. Unintentionally, of course.

“It never should have taken this long.”

Your heart skitters behind your ribs. The coffee machine lights up, whirring into life. Eddie’s voice fills every inch of your brain as you watch the dark liquid pour into a mug, smiling to yourself. They join you a second later. The topic has changed, but you don’t care to listen in anymore because you got what you wanted. 

Steve asks if you feel like coming with him for a smoke. You shake your head and tell him later, after coffee. Eddie says the same, so Harrington slides out the back door, leaving you alone with the metal-head once more.

“Morning,” he says with a smile, approaching where you stand. “How’d you sleep?”

‘Never better’ seems like too loaded of an answer for this unchartered territory. You opt for a politically correct, “Not long enough.”

Eddie laughs. “You could say that again.”

You slide the full cup on the counter, in his direction, and grab another one. He thanks you, bringing the brim to his mouth as the machine starts buzzing. It scalds him, the coffee. He grimaces briefly, dabbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but goes back in for another sip because you’re the one that made it and as ridiculous as it may be, he’ll drink molten lava if you were ever to offer.

He leans against the counter and drinks his burning coffee. Soon, you do the same. Your arm brushes against his and the silence stretches on. Nothing but the sound of birds chirping outside and Harrington’s voice coming in through the parted door, presumably on the phone to his mom.

“Or Henderson,” Eddie says because apparently now he can read your mind.

You look up at him. His side profile. The dotted freckles like a sprinkle of cinnamon and you begin to count them, like you did last night when he leaned in to kiss you. At least you think that’s what he wanted to do. He stopped himself with an inch of space between your lips and his, and redirected to peck your forehead instead.

Then he sprung off the couch, asking if it would be okay that he have another beer. You sat there for a moment, after Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, replaying his incline in your mind until you wanted to scream. All of this was too confusing, too raw. You needed a cigarette, so you robbed one from Steve’s packet, poorly hidden inside the pocket of his jacket, and barefoot, stepped out the front door into the starry night.

Eddie found you a couple of minutes later and asked if you were okay, in that soft voice of his. The one that makes you weak in the knees — always has. Not really knowing how to answer honestly, you nodded your head and exhaled some smoke.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Eddie wonders, catching your eyes.

You nod again.

“You said you wished I told you about seeing Billy that night, because maybe things would have gone differently.” He pauses, intentionally leaving out the ‘us’ part since he’s slightly afraid to get the answer to his own question. “What did you mean by that? I asked, but we were… interrupted.”

Exhaling another puff of smoke, you briefly chew on your bottom lip, pondering how to word your thoughts on the matter in a coherent way and not like the ramblings of a girl pathetically obsessing over her ex-best friend, his feelings, and her own feelings towards him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left,” you say.

“It would have been that simple?”

When your throat starts to close up and the tears threaten to bubble up to the surface, you put out your half-finished cigarette and wordlessly head back inside. Your first instinct is to say goodnight, without answering his follow up question, and go sleep in your own bedroom. You linger in the hallway, considering, until the metal-head’s fingers intertwine with yours and he leads you towards the sofa.

The question remains unanswered in the morning and you’re hoping he doesn’t bring it up again. 

And Eddie doesn’t. 

Not while you finish your coffee, not while he helps you with breakfast, not while the group saunters in one by one, not while you all eat. The answer remains a secret, just like knowing whether he actually wanted to kiss you or not.

When you go upstairs to get ready for the day, Eddie doesn’t follow. For all of five minutes, you’re grateful to be alone. Under the shower however, as the hot water scalds your skin and as you lather yourself with orange-scented body wash, you wish he was here with you, talking to you, touching you. A lot of force is required to push those thoughts deep. To drown them, down the drain with the soapy water of your morning rinse.

Despite being friendly, somewhat friends, there’s now an awkward tension between you and the curly-haired brunette. He sits in your car for the drive into town, although he makes himself comfortable in the back and doesn’t say a word the entire drive. Just steals glances through the rearview mirror. Once parked, he walks off with Steve and Jonathan in the opposite direction, when you hoped he’d go with you, and a few hours later, when the group meets for lunch, he sits at the far end of the restaurant table and only converses with Nancy.

You feel like you’re going insane.

He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

The group doesn’t split again after the bill is settled and the waiters thanked. You walk together through the main street, looking in the windows of the local stores, talking, laughing. Robin’s babbling in your ear about her girlfriend while you nod along, her happiness radiating through you, if only momentarily. You tell her how you’d love to meet her and she says, “soon”, because it really is that simple and you’d forgotten how long it’s been when life was easy.

Someone tugs at your jacket, pulling you backwards. You barely get a chance to apologise to Robin and suddenly the group is twenty-or-so steps ahead while you remain, with Eddie holding onto you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, tone pressing, eyebrow raised.

You blink, taken aback since he’s the one who’s backing weird, not you.

“Did something happen?” Eddie questions further and you force yourself to shake your head.

“You tell me?”

“Me?”

“Eddie…” It’s more of a sigh. A huff.

He furrows his dark brows. Confusion spreads through his features, matching the expression on your face, and you stare at each other for a whole minute.

His ring-clad fingers are still holding onto your jacket, clinging onto the hem. He doesn’t pull you closer and he doesn’t make any effort to take a step forward either, to lessen the gap. He just stands there, holding a piece of your clothing, and staring at you with those big brown eyes. For some reason, this feels a whole lot more intimate than sleeping together on the coach.

You clear your throat, the dryness becoming unbearable.

“Eddie,” you say his name again, “You’re the one that’s been ignoring me since breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” he protests, “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Well, it seems like you have.”

And then the unexpected happens: he laughs. Loud and pure. Head hanging, swaying side to side, as the giggles carry through the light breeze. It further deepens your confusion, but the sound is infectious and sure enough, you’re laughing too.

“One night of open communication must’ve drained the batteries,” he says, grinning. “We really must get better at that.”

“Talking?”

“Talking even when there’s nothing to say.”

And he finally pulls you close, swinging one arm around your shoulders. He places a tender kiss on your temple and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“You smell nice,” he mutters into you and your heart pitter-patters.

“Oranges,” you tell him, although you’re not sure why.

He hums, kisses the top of your head, and eventually pulls away. His touch lingers. Imprints of his fingertips, his kisses, burn into you and you’re unsure now more than ever if you’re misreading this whole thing because he’s never been this affectionate before. Then you have to remind yourself again that a lot of time has passed and people change. He’s just being friendly, you think. Staying friends is what you need to focus on. Not the hammering of your heart or ringing in your ears whenever you look at him.

Itching for some composure, you find an AA meeting. A quick Google search reveals the local groups and as luck would have it, one is about to meet.

You throw your car keys at the metal-head and ask him to collect you in about an hour. He nods in agreement and your friends walk you to the door of the building. No one asks about it, which you’re grateful for because how would you even explain to someone who’s not an alcoholic why you suddenly need a meeting.

Inside, the chairs are lined in a circle. Different from your group in Vegas where they face the podium, but then again this is a small town and everyone knows each other anyway.

You’re not nervous as you sit and you don’t feel any sort of way when people start gathering, nodding in your direction to acknowledge this newcomer.

One by one, they speak. Share stories from their day, week, month. Experiences and turbulence. Mention people, faces. Reason why they may have wanted to reach for the bottle and clarify why they didn’t, in the end. An elderly lady fought with her daughter. A new dad is battling sleepless nights and the feeling of helplessness. Someone lost their job. Someone else got a new job. Life happens for these people — for you — and it makes hard liquid appealing. To elevate, to numb.

When it’s your turn to share, you wipe the palms of your hands on your linen trousers and crack your neck.

“My ex-boyfriend gave me my first drink. He died. Unrelated, but at the same time, not really,” you begin, a timid smile circling your lips as you speak, “I found out recently he was cheating. I mean, I had my suspicions but never had any eyewitnesses to corroborate the rumours, so I continued to walk in my relationship with rose-coloured glasses. Finding out the guy I uh, loved, was indeed a lying scumbag is a tough pill to swallow. It sucks, you know? I drank myself to sleep every night after his funeral and now I can’t help but wonder if I found out back then, whether I would’ve cared so much to mask the pain of his death. Or whether I’d just grieve like any other normal girlfriend would — crying, with friends and family by my side.”

“Grief isn’t linear,” someone points out. “Neither is sobriety.”

You bop your head in agreement. “There’s just the issue of the person who told me. The one that caught my ex. The one I can’t stop thinking about today, yesterday, the last few years. He’s been there for me, then he wasn’t, and now he is again. Seemingly. I don’t know. I’m a little confused about the whole thing and this feeling of uncertainty makes me itch.”

Once the hour is up, you saunter back into the afternoon sunshine. Eddie’s waiting for you, as instructed. He’s leaning against the side of your Jeep and smiles when he sees you. Small, happy. He hugs you briefly before opening the passenger door. You don’t protest by telling him it’s your car therefore you can drive back, instead you watch him jog around the front and hop in, starting the engine.

For the first few minutes, it’s quiet.

“How was it?” Eddie asks, eyes darting to you briefly, then back on the road ahead.

“Good,” you answer plainly since there’s not much else to say about AA.

He hums a note of understanding and keeps driving. Momentarily, it’s quiet again.

“Do you think you would’ve gotten sober if you stayed?”

You tilt your head in his direction.

“I don’t know.” Honest. You want to leave this topic there, but you can see the wheels inside his mind are spinning. He’ll never say, out of respect for your journey, but he wants to know more. “Probably not. Hawkins reminded me too much of Billy, that’s why I drank in the first place.”

The metal-head notes the use of past tense, but doesn’t point it out.

“Have you ever taken an ice-cold shower?” You wonder.

Eddie’s curious eyes meet yours as he pulls up to a red light. “On purpose?”

You nod.

“God no.”

The borderline disgust in his voice, at such a trivial thing, makes you stifle a laugh. You turn to look at the road ahead and an idea pops into your mind — because it’s the only way you know how to explain what sobriety feels like for you.

“Take a left at the next light,” you instruct.

Eddie does as you say. He proceeds to follow your directions, off the main road, avoiding potholes and fallen tree branches. He drives down the windy road, through the woods, until the car comes up on a clear. A parking lot, of sorts. Except there’s no other cars around.

After the metal-head cuts the engine, you tell him to follow and he does, still without protest or question why. You lead him down the bushy slope, drop from grass to pebbles in the least ladylike fashion and hear him say: “Mind your step, angel.”. Your cheeks burn instantly. 

Once you reach the water, Eddie not far behind, you stop. There’s a tree straddling the lake’s edge. Large roots, weeping branches, fine lines on the bark that tell stories older than anyone could even begin to comprehend. A hole in the leaves above makes it the only tree illuminated by sunshine. The edge of the water near it glistens with tiny dancing fairies. A sight to behold, you think.

“Wow,” the metal-head breathes. “How do you know about this place?”

“Robin,” you answer him, “She told me she came here the first night. Said it was a good place to clear one's head.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitches upwards as he takes in the view. This small, secluded lake. Barely seen by the sky. Known to a few, now to him — thanks to you. A girl that’s been in his orbit seemingly forever, yet a mystery all the same.

He doesn’t get to ask why you brought him here because the answer starts to reveal itself when suddenly, you’re stripping off your clothes.

“Shit,” he exhales sharply, snapping his head in the direction of the forest behind. “What are you doing, angel?”

“What does it look like?”

There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes Eddie’s pulse pop. He relishes in the sound, heart strumming like a well-tuned guitar, blood rushing to all the wrong places, (or maybe the right ones). And so the metal-head joins, standing now at the edge of the water in nothing but his boxers and various metal chains. He’s still not looking at you, however. He doesn’t — a gentleman — until he hears a splash and his name being called.

“Come on, hot shot!”

Surrounded by the lake and shadow of the trees, Eddie can barely see you. He follows nonetheless, one foot in front of the other.

The water is unwelcoming. Frigid, crisp. Numbing to the skin. He winces as he glides towards you and the closer he gets, the wider your smile grows.

“Is this some sort of test?” He shouts across.

You giggle and ask loudly, “How do you feel?”

“Oddly, like I’m on fucking fire.” Eddie replies, his voice growing quieter as he stops a mere foot away.

After an inhale of a single breath, you nod.

“This is why I stop myself from drinking.”

Eddie’s brow shoots up. “So you can dunk yourself in freezing cold water?” He asks, bewildered.

“So I can feel alive while doing it.”

His insides contort at your words. There’s something raw about your admission. Like you’ve just exposed a certain part of yourself that you haven’t shown anyone prior to right now. The metal-head has the sudden urge to reach for you, hug you. He wants to shield you from your own demons, your own pain. Protect you from bad memories and bad habits, and take back every single horrible thing he’s ever said to you. Eddie wants to go back in time, to the night of Chrissy’s party, and tell his past self to give you more grace because he finally realises your actions weren’t specifically to hurt him. You were just numb.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, breaking him away from his thoughts.

After he nods, your arms weave around his neck as your legs kick together under the surface, barely brushing. You instruct him to hold his breath and counting down from three, you pull him along, heads underwater.

Panic attacks his nervous system then dissipates just as fast. He can feel everything. Every cell in his body, every muscle. The blood pumping in his veins, the steady stream of energy flowing from his head to his toes. 

And the metal-head can feel you too. In the darkness of the water, his fingertips work the outline of your body. Memorising each dent and curve, each crease and how they all connect to create the perfect shape. 

When your legs wind around his waist, bringing you two chest to chest, Eddie can feel the push and pull of your working lungs. He can no longer hold his breath, a thought crossing his mind: this is the closest he’s ever been with anyone, even physically. Sex doesn’t compare to what he’s after experiencing, although he allows himself to wonder if with you, even that act would be otherworldly.

“Are you alright?” You ask, coming afloat.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

The slight shake of his head sends his locks on a journey, droplets falling from each end and gently splashing against your face. You don’t move. Remain firm with your hands and legs wrapped tightly around the brunette, afraid to let this moment slip — because once you’re back ashore, there’s no safety of deep waters to harbour deep feelings.

Eddie doesn’t intend to move either. His brown gaze latches onto yours again as his fingers continue to dig into your flesh under the confines of the ripples. He’s no longer cold. Hasn’t been for a while. The water has transformed from frostbite to sauna and all it took was a heavy admission, plus your body pressed against his.

There’s a split-second, a breath, an impulse, during which Eddie wants nothing more but to dip his head and kiss you. Hard. Like he’s dreamed of doing for as long as he can remember. Like he should have last night until he chickened out at the last moment — since, at the end of the day, he’s mostly been the opposite of confident when it comes to acting on his feelings towards you.

So instead, Eddie smiles.

“I’m still not going to take cold showers.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, hot shot, I won’t ever make you do this again.”

“That’s not what I said, angel.” The metal-head points out after shaking his head. “This, I’m actually enjoying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then he clears his throat, grin fading to something softer. “I appreciate you bringing me here. I can imagine this wasn’t easy, opening yourself up like this.”

You shrug in his arms.

“It’s different when it’s you,” you admit, voice almost a whisper, while dropping your gaze to his mouth. 

It’s brief, this slip, but Eddie catches the motion of your eyes instantly. By design of some higher power, his grip on you tightens in that moment. His internal turmoil subsides, if only for a moment long enough to do this:

“Fuck, baby.”

And just like that, Eddie’s lips are on yours.

You don’t hesitate to kiss him back. Mouth instantly parting as his nails dig into your sides. He tastes of heaven — disguised by tar from the Lucky Strikes he smokes and the minty aftertaste of blue-packet Mentos. A whole new meaning to the word: intoxicating.

The tips of your fingers tangle themselves in his dark-brown curls, tugging gently with every tilt of your heads. Tongues dancing together, fighting to obtain dominance although you know it’s pointless because the longer Eddie is kissing you, the more you know he’s got all the power and you feel elated.

An explosion of emotions. Love, lust, hurt, betrayal, forgiveness, friendship. They’re all there, swimming together with you and the metal-head. They fuel the kiss further, deepening the intensity. He bites your bottom lip, hands trailing up your bare back until they reach the strap of your bra. That’s when he pulls away. 

“Holy shit,” you breath, heart beating like it’s on a rampage and Eddie’s only matches the tempo.

“Holy shit,” he repeats.

For a moment, you float. Continuously holding onto one another as the sun moves away and the implication of what you just did dawns.

Eddie has the same thought. He hates that it’s the first one after such a magnificent performance, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this — you — for as long as he can remember and now that you’re in his arms, now that you kissed him back, he wonders if it’s all too good to be true. He reasons that the worry is warranted because when tomorrow ends, you’ll be on your way back to Vegas and he’ll be licking his wounds once more, waiting for you to change your mind and come back.

The irrational part of him however, wants to taste your lips again. That’s the part that wins.

This kiss is softer. He’s then trailing along your cheek, the tip of your nose. His hands move to cup your face and he forces your eyes closed with his thumbs, then pecks each of your eyelids. He’s committing your features to memory and you shiver under his delicate touch.

Whenever you silently swim back to shore, Eddie’s lips are on yours for the third time. Smiling against his parted mouth, you try to tell him that you two should talk about this, that only a few hours ago you both agreed your communication can be lacking, but he brushes you off. One hand splayed on the small of your wet back, the other holding your jaw, he’s insisting to continue grazing your lips until they’re chapped.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters in between catching his breath, “Tomorrow, before we say goodbye, we can talk about what this means. In the meantime, please let me enjoy you, angel.”

And you don’t argue. Only nod at his request and let him kiss you all the way back to the car. Pushing you up against every other tree, then the bumper of your Jeep, nothing but hunger in his mahogany gaze.

It’s really quite the miracle you get dressed. Breathless and dizzy, reddened lips. Eddie watches you (pretends he’s not) pull the cotton t-shirt over your bra, also concealing the red guitar pick around your neck, and something in him twitches. An urge to rip it back off you and throw you in the backseat. He has to remind himself of your group of friends who are probably wondering what’s taking this long.

The metal-head kisses you once more after helping you into the car. A peck. Short and sweet. Then he drives. Back down the windy trail, through the forest, and out onto the main road. He does so in silence, but it’s different than any quiet you’ve shared before. Filled with a certain four letter word.

Your phone rings. Connected to the sound system of your car, the speakers vibrate as Jax’s name illuminates on the Apple CarPlay. You don’t think when you answer.

“Hey there, lonesome soul.” His voice is chipper, as usual.

Eddie shoots you a glance and mouths ‘lonesome soul’ like a question and you wave your hand to signal you’ll tell him that story later.

“How’s your weekend going?”

“Good.” Then a smile circles your lips. “Great, actually.”

On the other end of the line, you can hear Jax chuckle. “I take it that friendships have been mended.”

“Something like that,” you say and briefly meet Eddie’s eyes. The brunette smirks, licking his lips.

“That’s good, Miss Lonesome.” You can hear the clacking of dishes and you think of the time difference, then of his habit to sleep in at the weekends, and think he must be making a late breakfast.

“Listen, confirming that you still need me to fly out, meet you in Fort Wayne for the trip back home. I know you hate flying alone.”

Home. That word makes Eddie tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Knuckles whitening. He acts before he can change his own mind and presses the mute button.

“Say no.” The metal-head tells you.

You arch a brow. “What?”

“I’ll fly with you. Tell him no.”

A certain sense of satisfaction washes over you as you nod at the metal-head, then unmute.

“I’m glad you called to check,” you begin, “But plans have changed, so you can stay in cosy ol’ Vegas. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay.” Jax says, mid bite of something. “I am glad to hear that ‘cause I did say yes to this date, completely forgetting about you. Not intentionally, of course. I’d never intentionally forget about you, lonesome.” He’s babbling and you playfully roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Bye, Jax.” You call out to the speaker, “I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ends, you sit back and tilt your head to look at the metal-head.

“What about your radio show?”

“What about it?” He asks, staring at the road ahead.

You suppress a smile. “Are you sure Dustin is up for covering a couple more slots? Not to mention all of the widows and wives trapped in loveless marriages waiting to hear you on the other end of their radio’s, how will they ever survive?”

Eddie snorts a laugh. “Good one, angel.”

He turns into the driveway, the beautiful lake house coming into view. He parks the Jeep next to his own, more beat-up vehicle, and cuts the engine. As the buzzing of the car dies down, with a hand on the door handle, Eddie turns to you.

“It’ll be fun, no? Give us more time to, I don’t know, catch up.”

“Catch up, huh?”

He smirks. “Among other things, if you’d like?”

You lean across the gear shift knob and kiss him earnestly, as pleased as Punch. 

Steve asked you the other day if you were ‘happy’, you told him yes. Now, sitting here with Eddie, following the afternoon you just spent together, you weren’t so sure if what you’ve been feeling this whole time was indeed happiness. Comfort maybe, disguised as elation, because you had built yourself a good life in Las Vegas. A college course you are passionate about, a job that keeps you busy and pays quite well, new friends who keep your mind and timetable full. None of that seems to matter when Eddie’s lips touch yours. None of that equates being happy.

“Eddie—” You mutter against his mouth.

“Mhm…”

“We should talk earlier than tomorrow.”

The metal-head sighs and pulls away. Then he nods, one long drop, because he doesn’t seem to have any other option. 

Rationally, Eddie knows talking this through is the right thing to do. A lot has happened since your arrival and even more since your late-night conversation last night. A lot changed: especially  feelings, unspoken or otherwise. The kiss(es), plural. Eddie knows talking about what it all means going forward is the right thing to do. He knows and he desperately doesn’t want to do it.

What if you tell him he’s misread the situation and you’re not interested in him like that? He could barely handle it once. A second time and he might just land in bed with one of those lonely middle-aged women that are always chasing him around town — a desperate attempt to forget you after finally having a taste.

What if you tell him you like him too? That’s a whole other can of worms. Can you do long distance? He for sure can’t. He hasn’t seen you for over three years, he can’t handle not being able to see you for a minute longer. However, which one of you is ready to uproot their lives? He presumes the answer is neither.

The questions pile up in his brain and Eddie knows he should get the answers.

“Later?” He proposes, “Today, but later.”

And later it has to be since the metal-head hops out of the car before you get a chance to respond. He helps you next, always the gentleman, and follows you to the front door without saying another word on the matter.

Luckily, your friends don’t question where the two of you have been. Nancy offers some food, considering you’ve missed dinner, so you and Eddie eat outside, watching the rest of them play cards. 

Rummy is their game of choice, although they’re all quite shit and the Vegas girl in you can’t help but make fun of their lame attempts. You offer some tips and even help Robin cheat a couple of times, which gets a rise out of Steve and he makes you “help” him next.

The sun has long set. Jonathan lights some candles while Robin jokes how she didn’t peg him for an ambiance guy. He flips her off. Subtle, but it makes everyone else giggle. Argyle and Steve sneak off to share a joint down by the water, they ask Eddie to join but the metal-head just shakes his head. You wonder if that’s got anything to do with you, but you don’t ask. Instead, you press into his side, arm to arm, and place your head gently on his shoulder.

Robin is eyeing the sight from across the table. She winks in your direction then mouths, “I told you so.”, and you’re in half-a-mind to flip her off too as blood rushes to your face, cheeks burning hot.

Once everyone else has had a few drinks, Rummy becomes even more difficult to grasp and gets exchanged for Uno. Rulebook aside, because you’ve all played by your own ever since you can remember, Nancy deals the first hand. Steve and Argyle return in a fit of joy. They say they won’t play, just observe, so Nancy reshuffles as you whisper to Eddie that he should keep his eyes on his own deck. He nudges your side, a smirk circling his perfect face.

This is the beginning, you let yourself think.

As the game continues, you slip into a momentary feeling of peace. That should have been your first clue of what’s to come next since good things never last. But you ignore the vibrations coming from your phone and they keep piling on. 

Voice notes.

Earlier that morning, on her way out the door, Chrissy Cunnigham spots you on the couch, cuddling in your sleep with her ex-boyfriend. You, the girl she always worried about, despite Eddie’s insistent stance on the matter. The sight before her pale-blue eyes fuels Chrissy’s rage and she decides the highroad isn’t something worth taking.

Received to your old Instagram account, a clear-headed Chrissy Cunningham spills her sorrows into the microphone and shares them with you. The message is clear. Eddie Munson is not who he says he is.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

@ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc @cyressluvy @mango-slush-boba @iyskgd

[smutmind]

Hi, what about a story in which Red Velvet´s Joy is on a hotel room, and someone who hired two male prostitutes sends them by acciddent to her room, but she decides to keep the service for herself to destress and they end up double penetrating her until she squirts

NO MISTAKE

She opened the door expecting chamomile tea.

Instead, two men stood there. Broad. Dark-eyed. Dressed like trouble in matching black shirts and the kind of calm that only came with confidence.

“Cara Kim?” the taller one asked, glancing at his phone. “Two-hour package. Room 2207.”

Joy blinked. “I’m 2207… but there’s no Cara here.”

A pause.

The shorter one tilted his head. Recognition hit him first. “Oh,” he said, softer. “Shit.”

The taller man went still. His gaze lingered, just a beat too long. Then he cleared his throat. “Wrong client.”

Joy wrapped the robe tighter across her chest. “Wait—what kind of… package?”

The shorter one’s mouth quirked. “Private entertainment. Hands-on.”

Realization bloomed hot in her cheeks. “Oh.”

The tall one took a small step back. “We’ll go. No worries.”

The shorter one glanced at his phone again, jaw shifting like he hated what he saw. No Cara. No tip. No pay.

Joy hesitated. They weren’t pushy. Not once did they try to flirt their way in. But something in the room—the quiet, the weight of the last week—pushed her forward.

Always adored, never touched.

She looked at the taller man. His arms folded, respectful, but his eyes stayed on her mouth like he wanted it parted for him.

“Since you’re already here…” she said slowly, voice soft. “Would you—”

The shorter man lifted an eyebrow.

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, “I’d hate to waste your time.”

Neither spoke.

Then the tall one, voice steady: “Are you asking us to stay?”

Her heart pounded. “Yes.”

They moved like shadows—silent, sure. The door clicked shut.

The taller one came closer. “You sure?”

Joy nodded. “I’m not… experienced. Not like this.”

“We’ll guide you,” the shorter one said, stepping behind her. “You stop us anytime.”

His fingers brushed the belt of her robe. She didn’t stop him. It slid open, cool air kissing her skin.

“God,” the tall one murmured, eyes dark. “You’re stunning.”

She stood there, bare and breathless, cheeks hot. The air shifted between them—thicker now, full of promise.

“I’ve never…” she whispered, voice catching.

The shorter man stilled. “You want to stop?”

She shook her head. “I want to learn.”

That changed everything. The taller one stepped close, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her skin.

“Then let us teach you.”

His hand moved first—fingertips skimming down her collarbone, brushing one nipple, then cupping her breast like he was memorizing the weight. The other man knelt in front of her again, slower this time, waiting for her to look down.

When their eyes met, he kissed her inner thigh, just above the knee. “You guide us,” he murmured.

Her legs parted. A silent answer.

His tongue slid over her—light, testing. She shivered, gasped, hands grabbing for something, anything. The couch edge steadied her.

“Breathe,” the tall one whispered against her ear. “Let it build.”

He kissed her jaw while his hand moved to her hip, fingers grazing her skin like silk.

Below, the rhythm deepened—tongue and fingers working in tandem, not fast, just focused. Joy’s knees trembled.

“You’re so responsive,” the tall one murmured, one arm around her waist now, holding her upright. “That’s beautiful.”

When her moans turned desperate, the man between her thighs slowed to a stop and stood.

“Turn around,” he said, voice warm. “We’ll go slow. I want you to feel everything.”

She hesitated, breathing hard.

The taller one kissed her temple. “We’ve got you.”

Joy turned. Hands guided her gently to the back of the couch. She felt one man behind her, hard against her skin, and the other in front—kissing her, grounding her, keeping her open.

“Ready?” one asked.

She looked between them. Nervous. Needy.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Teach me.”

The taller man kissed her hard. No build-up this time. Just heat and hunger, his tongue sweeping her mouth as the other one moved behind her—hands on her hips, steady and sure.

She felt him press in—thick, slow, splitting her open. She gasped against the kiss, fingers clawing at the back of the couch.

“God,” she moaned. “That’s… so much.”

“Breathe through it,” the man behind her said, voice low and strained. “You’re doing perfect.”

He slid deeper, hips flush against her ass. She trembled, caught between too full and not enough.

The taller man brushed hair from her cheek, cock already thick in his fist. “Open your mouth, baby.”

She did. Lips parting, tongue out, aching to be filled. He pushed in slow, giving her time, but her mouth was hungry now. She sucked him deep, moaning around him as her body rocked back into the other man’s thrusts.

One behind her, fucking her open with long, deep strokes.

One in front of her, guiding his cock in and out of her mouth, eyes dark with lust.

She let them use her.

And then, between muffled moans and messy breaths, she pulled off the cock in her mouth and said it—not like a command, but a confession.

“Call me Sooyoung.”

The name hung in the air. She saw it ripple through them.

“Sooyoung,” the man behind her grunted, driving into her harder. “Fuck, that’s it.”

The one in front of her cupped her jaw. “Sooyoung. Look at me when you take it.”

She looked up, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She sucked him deep again, faster this time, tongue sliding under the shaft, spit dripping from the corner of her mouth.

The rhythm turned brutal—hot, pounding, unrelenting.

She gasped, choking on pleasure, on cock, on the raw heat in her belly.

“Such a good little slut,” one of them growled.

“Taking both of us like you’ve done it forever.”

Her reply came in the form of a moan—high, cracked, helpless.

They held her between them, panting, praising, fucking. Her name—her real one—echoed from their lips like worship.

“Sooyoung.”

The man behind her gripped her hips and thrust in deep, filling her with such obscene, perfect pressure she cried out around the cock in her mouth.

“Fuck—yes, god, yes—don’t stop.”

Her voice cracked, high and desperate.

The taller man fisted her hair gently, pulling her mouth off him to see her face. Eyes wild. Chin wet. Body trembling.

“You close?” he asked.

She nodded, drool and moans spilling in equal measure. “I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Good,” the man behind her growled, pounding harder now. “Give it to us.”

Sooyoung came hard. Her body jerked, knees weak, a strangled sob punched from her throat. They didn’t stop. One held her upright while the other fucked her through the trembling waves.

When her legs gave out, they caught her—lifted her, guided her onto the bed like she weighed nothing.

She lay there, dazed, legs splayed, chest heaving.

The shorter man crawled between her thighs again. “One wasn’t enough,” he said, voice dark with promise. “Not for this body.”

He buried his face in her, tongue ruthless now—no teasing. She screamed, fingers in his hair, hips thrashing. The taller one slid two fingers into her mouth and watched her suck them like instinct.

“So needy,” he muttered. “So fucking ready.”

The second orgasm hit like fire—hot, ripping, her thighs clamped around the man’s head, and he held her down through it, licking every shiver out of her until she went still.

But they weren’t done.

She barely registered her legs being lifted—one to each side. The shorter one slipped into her again, cock gliding through slick heat.

Then the taller one leaned over her, kissing her jaw.

“Sooyoung,” he whispered. “You want more?”

She turned her head, eyes blown wide. “Yes. I want all of it.”

He stroked himself once, then slid lower—beneath, behind.

She tensed. He paused.

“Breathe,” he said. “You’re ready. You’re so wet, so open for us.”

She nodded, body already begging.

When he pushed into her ass, slow and tight, she gasped—half-pain, half awe. Her fingers grabbed at sheets. At skin.

Two cocks. One filling her deep. The other stretching her slow. Her mouth fell open.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re taking us so good,” one moaned. “So tight.”

They moved together, bodies in rhythm, stretching her around them.

She sobbed—pure sound. Her back arched. Her name spilled from their mouths like a chant.

“Sooyoung—fuck, Sooyoung—”

She shattered.

She came screaming, eyes clamped shut, whole body locked in a quake that rolled from her core outward. They kept going. Another built. And another. Each one stealing more of her voice, her breath, her thoughts.

When they finally slowed, emptying into her, kissing her skin like apology and reward, she was wrecked—hair wild, body shaking, throat raw.

She laughed.

Just once. A breathy, disbelieving laugh.

“I’ll never forget this,” she whispered.

Neither would they. ---

Three hours later, the suite smelled like sweat, sex, and the faint citrus of spilled champagne.

Sooyoung—Joy to the world, Sooyoung to them—lay sprawled across the cool sheets, one leg half-tangled in the comforter, her skin kissed red in places only they’d seen.

The men were getting dressed. Slowly. Like they didn’t want the night to end.

She watched them from the bed, cheek pressed to her forearm. “You’re really going, huh?”

The taller one smiled, slipping his watch back on. “That was the agreement.”

“No one would believe this anyway,” the shorter man added, buttoning his shirt. “Even if we talked.”

She pushed herself upright, hair a tousled halo, eyes soft. “I’m glad you didn’t leave earlier.”

The envelope sat untouched on the nightstand. Her payment for Cara’s night. She picked it up and held it out.

The taller man hesitated. “That’s not why we stayed.”

“I know,” she said, stepping off the bed. Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Take it anyway. And let me give you something else.”

They looked at each other. Then at her.

She knelt between them.

Naked. Unhurried. Reverent.

She started with the shorter one—stroking him gently, licking his tip with slow, practiced drags. When he groaned, she took him deeper, hands steady on his hips, her throat relaxed from earlier. She didn’t stop until he spilled into her mouth with a sharp, bitten-off curse.

Then she turned to the other.

He was already half-hard just watching. “Sooyoung…”

“Let me,” she whispered.

She licked him slow, base to tip, her tongue circling the head before taking him deep. He moaned her name, one hand in her hair, hips trembling under her control. She sucked him until he groaned, thick and pulsing, releasing on her tongue.

She swallowed everything.

Then stood. Kissed each of them once—soft, closed-mouth, final.

“You were perfect,” she said, voice husky. “Don’t forget it.”

The door closed behind them. Quiet. Clean.

She turned back to the bed, still aching, still smiling.

It wasn’t love.

But it would haunt her in all the right ways.

[returnofeternity]

Love your writing oh my days,

May I please request some more misty x butch reader?

I'd love to see how you'd write really pervy misty,, like s1 realness. Maybe along the lines of reader comes around to Misty's house to help with removing a tree that fell during high winds, out of the goodness of being a friendly/helpful neighbor. Chopping it with an axe on a hot day, only a singlet on while Misty secretly watches through the window,, maybe even taking some photos idk... reader coming in for some water, all sweaty and misty comes downstairs from watching and all flushed in the face,, and reader innocently just brushes it off for it being a hot day

she's been on my mind nonstop <33

-🦇

ty ty! i have another misty x butch reader in the drafts but my brain hasn't been working lately....

· · ⎚-⎚ · ·

misty quigley butch chaser. it's real. you know she has tabs on all her neighbors, and when you moved in, she kept an extra watch on you. even set up cameras in your yard that you still haven't found :)!

you two are kind of friendly with each other?! usual neighbor friendliness yaknow, but if you ever need anything urgently, you always go to her house. and maybe she's the one who stole said item just so you'd come over, but you'll never know. she usually tries to keep you longer, and sometimes her touches and sweet voice work on you and you guys end up enjoying a nice drink together, but you take your thing and leave, telling her that you'll drop it off the second you're finished using it.

i know she was praying and praying that the tree would fall down lmfao. she would see it sway and hear how it'd crack during windy days, and she almost did the work herself because she knew you'd come over and help if she asked, but the wind beat her to it. her first thought after it fell wasn't that it almost crashed into her living room, it was you coming over and her being able to watch you help her out.

once it's safe enough to go outside, you're surprised at how messed up everyone's yard looks. just toys, trash, and branches everywhere. and it's fucking hot as balls now. no wind to cool you down at all. then you see a blur of pink and blue, and look across the street to see your neighbor, misty quigley, waving at you. your heart skips a beat at the fallen tree in her yard, and you immediately rush over to ask if she's alright. she doesn't even look phased, she looks cheerful actually, and she doesn't even mention it when she begins to speak to you, just asking about your day. you kindly offer to chop it down for her, telling her that you just need to go home really quick and change into something more comfortable since it's blazing hot outside, and she's already drooling and rubbing her thighs together at the thought.

she gives you That Look when you knock on her door with your axe, and it's awkward as you wait for her to look you in the eyes. eventually she lets you in, inhaling your sweet scent and subtly touching herself down there before she closes the door and follows you. you place down your hat and axe and ask her if you could use the bathroom real quick before you start working, and she eagerly shows you where it is. what about perv!misty who goes to the bathroom after you exit and start working, rubbing the towel you wiped your hands with on her face..

it's canon that misty records every corner of her house so of course she downloads today's recording so she can rewatch you out there for later. and for masturbation purposes.

she's able to sit on this wooden basket near the frontyard window and stuff her fingers in her pants while watching you!! to you, it just seems like she's protective of her house, maybe even a bit wary of you, but ohhhh if you only knew :)

misty who has audio in the cameras outside and plugs in her earphones to her phone so she can hear your grunts even better. taking screenshots from the surveillance on her phone and also taking perverted pictures of you. zoomed in on your ass. zoomed in on your biceps and stomach when she gets glimpses of it. zoomed in on your pits. she's just trailing after every single sweat drop she can see on your body, subconciously licking her lips while she touches her phone and admires you.

mistys gone when you decide that you need a break otherwise you'll pass out in her yard, and you quickly fix yourself something refreshing to drink. you feel disgusting and sticky as you feel the amount of sweat dripping off your face and back, and grab a paper towel from the rack to wipe it all off. surely misty wouldn't mind, right? where is she anyway, you think. you wander out into the living room, passing by caligula's cage and sticking your finger in his cage as you take another drink of water. he squawks out and playfully nips at your finger, making you pull back quickly. "ow! you little fucker." you moan, wiping your finger on your thigh and glaring at him. before he can squawk out an insult at you, you hear the sound of misty coming down the stairs and turn around to see her gripping onto the rail tightly as she walks down, a bit wobbly too. she huffs out and swipes at her bangs covered in sweat, swyaing to you with a slight frown on her face. "are you finished?" "oh. no. i just needed a break." you tell her, taking a long sip of your drink. "i hope you don't mind that i helped myself to some water." "help yourself to anything!" especially me, misty thinks to herself, smiling sweetly at you. her eyes wander to your sweaty neck, eyes lighting up with desire as she thinks about cleaning you all up with her tongue. you nod and awkwardly stand around, not knowing what to say to her next. it feels a bit unnerving with how hard she's staring at you, and you start to think you have something on your face. "is it hot up there too?" you mumble, pointing up with your finger as you bring the glass to your lips. misty cocks her head. "in your room? you're all... flushed, so i thought it must be hot up there." misty forces a laugh and shakes her head. her thighs still burn from riding her vibrating dildo while watching you on her laptop, the camera she angled perfectly in the front yard giving her the best view of you working. her lips twitch with want when she thinks back to how amazing and full she felt when she stuffed her mouth with another dildo of hers, imagining it being you throatfucking her with your packer.

thinkingg about misty who makes sure to rub up against said packer when you leave, hugging and thanking you for doing such a good job. it makes you feel some type of way, you even get goossebumps as her lips graze your ear.

and of course she steals your hat that you left on her couch! she took it and brought it up to her bedroom the second you went outside to start working, and she humped it. grinded her pussy and clit on the brim while going through the cam again later that day.

[secretlysamcro]

Part 1 | Part 2

Female reader x Jax Teller SPOILERS, explicit language, talk of DV, & lil bit of angst/emotions & of course, smut. If you're under the age of 18, dislike any of said topics or have not finished the show, then please read no further. Please remember, anything written between the barbed wire is a memory!

"What happened after I left?" Opie's voice cracks through the quiet. He’s leant up against the railings in the lot, arms crossed with a heavy gaze set on his best friend.

Jax doesn’t look at him right away. Just breathes out slow, cigarette burning down between his fingers. "I told her"

Opie straightens up "Told her what?"

Jax's jaw moves. His eyes are somewhere off in the distance, like he's back in that moment. "Everything" he pauses, dragging again from his smoke. "Why I stayed with Wendy. Why I pushed her away. Apologised for a lot of shit I didn't handle right. Told her all that"

Opie raises his brows, surprise flickering across his face "All these years later, you finally let it out, huh?"

Jax chuckles, but its dry. "Yeah. And she told me some shit too...shit I never even knew…" He shifts his weight, glancing over at Opie, his eyes narrowing just a touch, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it anyway. "…but you knew, didn't you?"

Opie meets his look but doesn't flinch "Yeah…I knew"

Jax doesn't bite, doesn't get pissed, just shakes his head with a tired smile "You coulda told me brother. Coulda saved a lotta pain"

"Could've..." Opie agrees "But it wasn't mine to tell. I was holdin' both your secrets. Couldn't betray either one of you. Figured when the time was right...shit would figure itself out"

Jax nods slowly, like he respects it, even if it does sting. "Kissed her too" the confession comes out fast, grabbing Opie's attention, his head whipping round to Jax.

"Fuckin' hell Jax" a short laugh comes out "How'd that go down?"

Jax breathes out hard through his nose "She kissed me back...then we spoke about us, about all that time in between" he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand "told me about some pink diary you found when we were kids"

Opie barks out a laugh at the memory. "Shit... I forgot about that. Had your name written across every page. Hearts n’ sparkles and all that shit. Confessin' her love on every damn page"

Jax grins, breaking into a laugh. "Said she threatened to beat your ass if you ever told me"

Opie nods, somewhat embarrassed for his 13 year old self "She wasn't bluffin either. Had me pinned to the wall and shit" They both laugh but its short lived, the silence heavier.

"After that, I just...tucked her in, kissed her forehead and let her sleep. She's been through hell Ope, she's not there yet. Not fully"

Opie looks at him, understanding in his expression "She will be" he uncrosses his arms, stepping away from the railing "Anything been said since?" Jax shakes his head, as clueless as Ope is, "Nah...nothing. I dont wanna push her, and I guess she feels the same...its still...fresh, ya know?"

Jax pulls up outside his house, noticing Gemma's car parked out front. He laughs to himself, she'd been here more than ever now that you were back in town, staying with him. She loved you. Always has, always will. In some ways, she looks at you as the daughter she never had, especially back in the day when you were constantly around.

He walks through the kitchen door seeing Abel sat at the table next to you, excitedly showing off one of his new toys. Gemma, leaning against the counter, coffee cup in hand. He begins making his rounds, a kiss to his moms cheek, then one to Abel's head. He hesitates the slightest when he reaches you, but still he places one to your head too.

Since that first kiss and the unload of confessions, neither of you had really talked about it. It's been a week since that night. Since you, Jax, Opie and Happy collectively put an end to the chaos that had once haunted your life. Jax had insisted you stay with him while you figure out your next steps, and you hadn't argued with that. How could you? Jax has always made you feel safe.

"What is this, show and tell?" Jax teases, ruffling Abel's hair.

"y/n wanted...wanted to see" Abel chimes in, his face lighting up. Gemma chuckles over the rim of her coffee mug.

"I did indeed" you respond, smiling warmly at Abel, your eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

Since that night at St. Thomas, dragging Wendy's OD'ing ass through the sliding doors alongside Jax, this was the first real time you'd met Abel. And even though it's only been a week, the kid had already latched onto you like he'd known you his whole life. You sat at the table, letting him chatter on, showing you some beat up toy truck like it was the coolest thing in the world. You laughed, genuine and easy, letting him climb halfway into your lap to tell you all about it. Across the room, Jax leans against the counter, arms folded across his kutte. Gemma stands next to him, mug in hand, both of them watching, silent. The same thought probably running through both their minds. Jax broke the quite first with that dry voice. "You hear from my crazy ex wife at all?" Gemma takes a sip of her coffee, shaking her head. "Not directly, no. Word is she's still tucked away in that rehab joint. Might actually be takin' it serious this time" Jax scoffs, low and bitter. "Good for her, but she ain't comin' near Abel. I don't give a fuck how sober she gets" Gemma doesn't argue, just gives a little hum in agreement, setting her mug in the sink before crossing the room to Abel "Come on, sweetheart. Lets go see Uncle Unser" "Uncle Unser?" Jax mimics, laughing at the nickname. Abel hesitates, looking up at you with big eyes "But...but I wanna stay with y/n" Gemma crouches down beside him, smoothing a hand over his messy hair. "She'll be here when you get back baby, come on" She shoots you a knowing look, before taking his hand and guiding him towards the door.

Jax ruffles his sons hair again on the way out "Later buddy...be good for Grandma...and uncle Unser" he laughs as the last words leave his mouth, Gemma punching him jokingly as she leaves.

Jax stays leaning for a second, his eyes on the door like he was still in that moment. Then he pushes off, walking over to you and dropping into the seat across from you. No words right away, just that look. The kind that says everything he didn't know how to say yet.

He leans back in the chair, his thumb rubbing absently against the wooden table. For a long second, he doesn't say shit. Just watches you with that familiar expression he wears so well.

Then finally, his voice sounding almost curious. "You holdin' up alright?"

You shift in your seat, picking at the frayed edge of your shirt. The memories crashing into you all at once. The motel, the screaming, the sharp crack of the lamp, the blood. You hadn't talked about the relief when Jax and Opie kicked in that door, or the quiet knowledge that Jax and Happy had finished what you started. And then, Jax's mouth on yours like it was the only way he knew how to keep you grounded.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "I'm gettin' there"

He pauses, long enough for the words to settle. "I’ll never let anyone ever touch you like that again...you know that right?" The ferocity in his voice leaving no doubt in your mind that he meant every word. But the unspoken hangs heavier, because the part neither of you were mentioning still sat between you, glaring, waiting to be acknowledged.

Finally you break the silence, softer this time "And the other thing?"

Jax lifts his head, something unguarded flicking over his expression. He slips a hand over his face, like it might wipe away everything he's feeling. "You talkin' about the over due confessions...or the kiss?"

You nod, slow and steady, your chest tightening with each inhale. "Both" you say with a quite laugh, trying to ease the tension.

He makes a sound, a mixture between a groan and a sigh as he rubs at his stubble like he's trying to stall. "Look...it happened" His voice is low and gravelly. "But we aint gotta dig into it right now. I know your heads still all over the place. And this...whatever the fuck this is...I aint tryna complicate shit for you y/n" He shifts uncomfortably, frustration seeping through the cracks.

"Fuck...I dont know what im sayin" Jax was always different with you. Never reckless, never cold, for the most part. Just careful in a way most people never got to see.

You reach over, laying your hand over his, soothing him like you always have, even without meaning to "whatever this is Jax...I want it. I just...gotta get my head right first. Figure out where the fuck I'm standing"

He nods, no words leaving his mouth. Then, he places his other hand over yours, holding it like something solid within the chaos. His voice is rough when he finally speaks. "Figure your shit out darlin', but I ain't goin' anywhere, however this works out, I'm here"

You nod in quiet understanding, comforted by the lack of pressure. He's not asking you to say more than what you want to, not pushing you for answers or feelings that you're not ready to lay bare. It's just easy. Like it used to be.

Pushing away from the table, you gather the empty plates and cup left behind by Abel, walking them over to the sink. The water runs warm over your hands as you rinse, lost in the rhythm of it. You don't hear him move, but you feel him.

He leans against the counter beside you, arms braced back on either side like he's still holding the weight of the conversation. "There's somethin' else I wanna ask you"

You glance up at him, rolling your eyes with a smirk that doesn't quite reach the eyes. "Here we go..."

He grins, catching your look, bumping your hip lightly with his own. "Relax. It ain't anythin’ deep darlin" he laughs, crossing his hands over his kutte. "Moms had this fundraiser planned for months..." he's watching you, but not pressing too hard "...she wants you to come. Shit everyone does. But I get it if you're not up for that yet. Lotta faces. New, old..." He shrugs, looking down for a moment, like hes not sure how to word it without sounding needy. "...If you'd rather stay here, chill out...I won’t hold it against you"

You laugh a little under your breath, the sound laced with memories "I'll come" you say after a moment, drying your hands on your thighs "Haven't stepped foot in that clubhouse in years...plus I still need to meet Lyla, see if she's actually good for Ope" you say slightly teasing, but your smile fades. Just enough for Jax to notice.

"What?" Jax asks, his tone calm but suspicion evident.

You blink, caught off guard "What?"

"That look..." he says, tilting his head "what's goin' on in that head of yours?"

You hesitate, chewing your bottom lip for a second before the words finally slip out. "I just...Donna. The funeral. Me not coming" you exhale hard through your nose, eyes dropping to your feet "you think he hates me for that?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

“I should’ve been there” you continue, your voice smaller now. “I wanted to be. I just…He wouldn’t…”

The air between you both was still. Heavy.

His mind drifts back to Donna’s funeral. You weren’t there. But Tara was. She stood beside him that day, handing him his pride to place back over his shoulders. Her hand tucked into his like she belonged there. A picture you’re not yet privy to. A part of the story he has yet to tell you.

You’d witness Tara break Jax’s heart before. The time she left for Chicago, and on your last visit to Charming, she was back again, like nothing had happened. Dressed in scrubs, hair tied back working Wendy and Abel’s case. What you didn’t know though, is that night, when you left without a goodbye, Tara was the one who stayed.

It was her who helped Jax pick up the pieces in the weeks that followed. Her who sat through the night feeds, who whispered calm into the chaos while Abel fought to heal. She showed up when you didn’t…or couldn’t. Like some twisted mirror of the past. You stepping out, Tara stepping in. The roles had reversed again.

Jax shakes his head slowly, his jaw working as he chews over his words. “Back then, yeah…he probably didn’t understand it. We were all pissed and broken. Tryna keep our shit together and failing at it”

You look up at him, seeing how his face flickers between honesty and restraint.

“But now?…” he adds, his voice a little less harsh “Now he gets it. He knows why you never showed, even if it did hurt him at the time”

You nod, the guilt still weighing heavy in your chest. You didn’t no show to be a bitch. You didn’t go because your asshole of an ex had started the controlling behaviour, manipulating you in ways you couldn’t even see.

“It’s in the past, darlin”

You swallow hard, letting the silence stretch a little longer before asking what you’ve wanted to for years. “Still haven’t got a straight answer from either of you…” you murmur ��…about Donna’s death”

That made him freeze, the inside of his cheek bulging where his tongue moves along it idly “drive-by gone wrong” he mutters “you already knew that y/n” he shifts his weights and you catch it.

“Yeah, that’s what I was told. Doesn’t mean it’s the truth” you raise an eyebrow.

Jax doesn’t say anything, just stares at you. A look you knew too well. One that he gave right before he started lying through his teeth or shutting down completely. He held your gaze, unflinching until he looks away first.

“You gonna help Mom with the fundraiser chilli?” He asks, his voice almost teasing “like old times?”

And there it was. The shift. That thing he always did. When the air got too heavy or the questions too close. He redirected. Changed lanes. Diverted you into nostalgia like it was the safest option. You saw it happening from a mile off, but you let him have it.

You smile, “yeah” the corners of your mouth lifting “I’d like that”

You stood beside your car, your hand twisting your keys between your fingers like you were trying to distract yourself. Everything was packed. Suitcases shoved in the trunk, bags loaded in the back seat. Every piece of your life that mattered crammed into your car. Everything else... you were leaving behind.

The clubhouse was your last stop. Final goodbyes. Closure, or some weak version of it. It was a Friday night, so you knew the place would be full, just enough noise and bodies to hide behind. You hadn't seen Jax or Opie since the night they found out you were leaving. The fallout was minor but it lingered in the air like smoke.

You stepped inside.

Pool balls clinked somewhere in the back, old rock hummed through the speakers. Just another night at the SAMCRO clubhouse.

"Come here sweetheart" Gemma's voice cut through the air like it always did. Soft but edged with iron. She wrapped her arms around you before you could even respond, holding you by your lower arms, looking you over like a mother trying to read the truth through your eyes.

"You certain about this?" She asked, voice low, like she already knew the real answer.

You forced a smile, swallowing down everything that wasn't a yes "I'm sure"

Her grip on your arms tightened. Her eyes not softening one bit. "You're gonna be missed round here. You know that right?"

"I know"

She leaned in a little closer. "You make sure that man treats you right. You hear me?" her tone dropped, and then she glanced over her shoulder, just once, towards the far back table.

"Cause if he doesn't...It wont just be me on his ass"

You follow her gaze. And there they were.

Tucked in the back corner, the table that once felt like home. Jax sat next to Wendy, Ope sat across from them, Donna curled into his side, their kids half asleep but still buzzing, refusing to shut their eyes while the grownups talked.

"Look who finally came to say goodbye" Opie muttered, nudging Jax with his elbow, his tone light, but not without a little edge. Jax didn't answer at first, but his eyes caught yours.

"She's really leavin'?" Donna asked, her eyes drifting towards you, brows drawn together.

Donna was never part of the trio back in the day, not until Opie grew up enough to realise she was everything he needed. You'd been wary of her at first. Not jealous of her, just unsure how she'd fit in. But over time? she did. Until things started changing. Until she got pregnant, and Opie stopped coming around as much. Until you started spending more time alone with Jax. Time that never quite felt innocent.

You gently pull yourself away from the conversation with Gemma, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek, thanking her for everything she'd done for you over the years. She doesn't respond right away, just gives you that familiar look. The one she’s given you since you were a kid, showing more care in one glance than most people could manage with words.

Gemma's been more of a mother to you than your own ever was. Your real Mom barely noticed when you were around, let alone when you weren't. But Gemma? The time spent at her house, at the table with her and her boys... that was home. A real home. Somehow always finding room for you in the mess of her world.

You took a breath slightly deeper than usual, mentally preparing for the possibly storm ahead.

“Hey” your voice is quite, just about heard over the hum of music and conversation.

You step to the edge of the table, leaning closer to Opie and Donna's side of it. Donna immediately gets up and pulls you into a hug, arms tight around your shoulders. "God, y/n I'm really gonna miss you" she says, her voice wavering with emotion. "We all are"

You smile faintly, pulling back just enough to see her face. "Its not like I'm never gonna see you again" you laugh playfully.

"I know...but still..." She laughs, brushing your arm affectionately "It wont be the same without you around."

You give her a short smile, then glance past her and kneel slightly at the table so you're eye level with the kids.

"You two..." you say, smiling mischievously toward Kenny and Ellie "Be good for your Mom, okay?" They nod giggling as you turn your head toward Opie "But keep being lil' shits for your Dad alright, don't make it too easy for him" Both of them bursting into laughter, even Opie cracks a smile.

"Alright, come on you two" Donna says through her own laughter, ushering the kids away, leaving just you, Opie, Jax and Wendy.

Opie offers a small nod your way, tapping his knuckles once on the table. "Glad you came by"

You smile towards him, "Would've felt wrong if I didn't"

Jax is sitting back in his seat, relaxed but still unmoved. He hasn't said anything, hasn't even looked at you properly since you walked over. He's got a toothpick in his mouth, twirling it between his fingers like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Wendy hasn't moved either. She stays leaned in a little too comfortable against Jax, her legs crossed towards him, on edge like she's waiting for something to start.

"So..." you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady, though your hands were already trembling. "...I just came over to say my goodbyes"

No one says anything at first, Opie just stands, towering over you like he always had, a solid presence that always felt like home.

"Come here" he says, pulling you into a hug without waiting. One of those hugs that wrap around every crack in you, like somehow he was trying to pass on his strength and safety through touch.

"You ever need anything...anything at all you call me" he murmurs into your hair "We're here for you alright? you got us...always". You nod against his chest, try to thank him but your voice is gone. The tears already started slipping down your cheeks, hot and slow, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

Still wrapped in Opies warmth, you hear movement behind you. The scuff of a chair, a murmur of voices. You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jax rising from the table, Wendy beside him, her hand ghosting across his arm as she whispers something in his ear. Jax doesn't look your way, doesn't say anything. Just walks off with Wendy towards the dorm without so much as a glance back.

Your hearts drops, leaving a slow sinking feeling in your stomach. Heavy but numb. Opie pulls away slightly, eyes following yours towards the direction Jax had just left in.

You force out a laugh, but theres no humour in it, just ache. "Guess he doesn't wanna know me anymore"

Ope sighs, resting a hand on your shoulder "Nah. He's just...stuck. Caught up in his own shit. Doesn't mean he doesnt care"

You roll your eyes, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "You always do that"

"Do what?"

"Make excuses for him" you say, turning again to meet Opies eyes. "We've been through everything together, thought he'd atleast say bye, whether he's pissed at me still or not"

He looks at you with that quiet sadness in his eyes, like he wishes he could fix things for you, but he knows he cant. "He's not good at this part" he says finally "Never has been"

You shrug, trying to swallow the lump in your throat "Yeah, well...thought I meant more than that"

Opie gives your shoulder a squeeze, and places a goodbye kiss to your forehead "You do" But it doesn't feel like it. Not tonight.

You move away from Opie, wiping your face again before anyone else can catch the tears still clinging to your lashes. You make your way around the room, weaving through laughter, music and the haze of smoke that always fogged the clubhouse. Your next stop is Clay. He was never warm with you. Not like John was. But once Gemma’s house became his, he still let you in, fed you, let you crash whenever and back then, that counted for more than you’d like to admit.

“Take care of yourself” he mutters, giving you a raise of his beer.

Next, is Piney. Puffing on a cigar as his oxygen tank hissed faintly beside him. He was always harder to crack, but you knew he watched over you in his own quiet way. Just like he did with Opie. With anyone he considered family.

Then, Chibs and Tig. Posted up near the bar. Tig deep in some half drunk debate about why dogs are better than humans. You talk a little and listen to their drunken wise words of wisdom about the big world beyond Charming.

“Good luck out there lass. Not too much trouble, yeah?” Chibs pulls you into a side hug, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Tig grabbing your hand dramatically to his chest “Don’t miss me too much” he laughs before kissing your hand.

You look around the room for a moment, taking in the faces, the sounds, the weight of years in every corner. This place, this life…letting it all go hurts more than you thought it would. As a teen, you resented all of this. The Kuttes, the calls, the runs. When Jax and Opie prospected, it was like losing them. Like the club had taken them away and given them new priorities, different rules to live by. You’d been left on your own again. But then they got patched. Fully integrated within the club, not just hanging on to the edges anymore. They were the club. And you watched them rise, watched them stop taking orders and start carving their own path. But now? You were walking out of it. Out of the clubhouse. Out of Charming. And away from them.

You hadn’t intended to chase after him. You’d made peace with leaving it as it was. But when you saw Wendy leaving the dorm, that stupid fucking smirk on her face, something in you snapped.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was closure. Maybe it was the years between you that deserved something more than silence. You pushed open the dorm door without knocking. He looked up from where he was sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie half zipped, elbows resting on his knees like he’d been stuck in that exact position since Wendy left the room. His eyes met yours, startled slightly but not surprised.

“Ope said you're going through some shit right now, but that doesn't mean you should fucking ignore me Jax..."

Jax exhales, sitting up straighter “y/n…”

"You couldn't even talk to me at the table? not even a fucking goodbye?"

Jax stood slowly, not defensive yet...but close enough "I didn't know what to say"

"Bullshit" you seethe. "You've known me since we were six Jax. You've never shut up in all these years that I've known you... but tonight, the night I leave you suddenly go mute?"

"It's not like that"

"Then explain it!" you shouted, stepping towards him "Cause right now, it feels like you couldn't give a shit"

Jax stepped forward, the space between you shrinking. "Don't pull that shit y/n. You're the one leaving. You're the one walking out with that asshole no one can fucking stand!" he stops abruptly, he obviously had lots more to say.

You laugh bitterly "Go on, say what you really think"

"I think he's a controlling prick who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you" he snaps "and you're making a fucking mistake"

Your laugh is louder this time, more sharp "You've got a fucking nerve"

"What's that suppose to mean?" he says, his brows furrowed together in the middle of his face.

"Shes a fucking druggy!" you shout "Wendy doesn't give a shit about you. She loves the high more than she's ever loved a person, and you fucking know it!"

"People change" he says, so fucking casual.

"She wont" you hiss "You wanna be careful Jax, shes the kinda girl to trap you with a kid or something. Lock you in for life"

That did it. He didn't yell, didn't argue. He just stepped back, slowly like your words landed right in his chest. And that's when it hit you. Your stomach dropped, because his face gave it away before his words ever could.

"Wow" you laugh breathless, shaking your head as the weight of it sinks in "She’s…she’s already pregnant?"

He stands there, somewhat deflated. Eyes unable to meet yours "Wasn't planned" he says eventually.

"How long have you known?" you ask, your tone sharper now, like you already know you're not gonna like the answer.

"A few weeks..."

"A few weeks" you repeat, your heart rising into your throat "So all this time you've been pissy at me for not telling you about leaving...and you've been sitting on this?"

He starts pacing, clearly uncomfortable "I didn't know how to tell you, I..."

"Does Opie know?" you interupt, arms now folded tightly across your chest.

He sighs "Yeah"

You let out a bitter little laugh. "Course he does"

Theres a silence between you both, long enough to hear your own breathing until he finally speaks up, his voice softer now "This really what you want?" he asks "To leave Charming to be with...him?"

You look away for a second, the truth almost slipping off your tongue, nearly breaking free. But now you know Wendy's pregnant, what's the fucking point? You laugh softly, but there's no humour involved "I could ask you the same thing"

He rolls his eyes at your tone, his jaw clenching in frustration. You don't give him the chance to respond "Yes." you say, the lie rolling off your tongue "Its what I want" you lie again.

Jax nods slowly, trying to make sense of everything he's feeling, trying to hold it all down. "Okay" he says simply

"Okay" you echo back.

You take a step closer, your hand reaching out, fingers resting gently on his arm. "You'll be a good Dad, Jax" you say with a smile that hurts. He looks at you like he wants to say something, but instead he just pulls you into a hug that nearly folds you. He holds you like he's afraid to let go, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"Take care of yourself darlin" he whispers, his voice still rough around the edges. That's his apology, his goodbye.

"Yeah..." you whisper back, your breath catching in your throat "You too”

The rooftop was quieter than you remembered. No piney shouting up from the lot below after catching you with one of his cigars again, no Clay pacing and yelling for Opie and Jax when they were supposed to be doing whatever stupid prospect duty they had been assigned. Even the wind felt softer up here, moving slow past your ears.

You made your way up here not long after Gemma had loaded Abel into her car, muttering something about giving the grown ups a chance to be reckless again. She winked at you before she left, like maybe she knew damn well you needed it. And maybe she was right. After the shit you’ve had going on, after everything with your ex, after everything you survived, you deserved a night of recklessness.

You’d spent most of the afternoon helping Gemma at the chilli stand, just like you did when you were sixteen and trying to prove you had what it took to be an old lady. Bossing the prospects around, elbowing Tig when he tried to steal just a little bit. Flicking napkins at Opie when he teased you every time he walked past. Lyla had been kind and sweet, you felt yourself warm to her faster than expected, especially once you saw how Opie looked at her.

You’d apologised to Opie for not being there at Donna’s funeral, finally said the words that had been weighing in your chest for a while. Told him the truth, how your ex wouldn’t let you come, how he used his control like a weapon and by the time you realised how far gone it all was, you felt like you didn’t have a choice. The apology was small, but honest. No drama, just raw, simple truth between two people who’d been through too much.

“You’re here now” he said, pulling you into a hug.

The first few hits of the joint sank deep into your chest, loosening whatever tension was left in your shoulders, mixing with the effects of the whisky you just downed not long ago. You lean your head back against the brick wall behind you, eyelids heavy, lips parted as you watch the smoke disappear into the sky.

And then you hear them, the footsteps of someone making their way up to the roof. You didn’t even have to look.

“Didn’t think you’d come up” you say low, already passing the joint to the empty space next to you.

His hairs a little messy, in that awkward growing it out stage, his eyes glassy from the drink. He doesn’t say anything, just took the joint from your fingers, sinking down into his usual spot.

For a while, neither of you spoke, until your voice cuts through the silence. “I cried you know”

Jax doesn’t say anything, but you feel the way his body stills. Waiting for you to continue.

“The night I left. From the clubhouse to his place. I cried the whole way…” you weren’t even sure why you were telling him now “…I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking on the wheel, felt like I was driving away from something I hadn’t figured out yet”

And still, he said nothing. Just let you speak, the way he always had when he knew it mattered.

“I kept thinking…why am I leaving? Why am I running towards someone I don’t fully trust?” You laugh under your breath “then I realised what I was running away from too”

He turns to look at you now, forgetting about the joint burning away.

“You told me Wendy was pregnant, and it was like something inside of me just…collapsed. I didn’t know why. I had no reason to be hurt. You and I weren’t…We never even…” you stopped yourself.

“I know” he nods once.

“It’s my fault” he says softly, like he didn’t mean to say it loud.

“What is?” You turn to him slowly

He drags a hand down his face “That you ended up with him. That whole mess. It’s on me” he looks at you deeply, his eyes flickering over you features “If I’d just been straight with you from the start…if I’d just said something that night, maybe you wouldn’t have gone runnin’ to someone else. Wouldn’t have gotten stuck with someone like him”

“Jax…”

“You left and I just let you go. I didn’t stop you. Sat there like a fuckin’ idiot and told you Wendy was pregnant while you were halfway out the door, like that wasn’t the worst possible moment”

“I left first…” you sigh “…I thought it would hurt less if I left first. Told myself it was time…needed a new start, something stable, someone outside of this life. I was scared of feeling too much Jax, being second to everything you already had going on. Tara, then Wendy…I was scared that if I stayed, I’d spend the rest of my life pretending you weren’t the only person I wanted to be with”

He was listening, deep in thought but still not speaking, still giving you your time.

“It didn’t hurt less” you laugh “Think it hurt worse. Every day I was with him, I kept thinking about how easy it used to be with you. How safe I felt. Even when shit was messy, club chaos or whatever, you were always there” your eyes are glistening now, not from the high, but the tears threatening to spill.

"Its not your fault Jax" you say quietly, your eyes strictly on him. "Don't carry that like it is. You aint the only one who stayed quiet. I didn't say anything either"

He looks at you but says nothing, but you can tell the words land where they need to.

"And about that night...at the hospital...I'm sorry"

He lifts his chin, taking in what you're saying. With everything that has happened since you've come back to Charming, you still haven't given him a reason why you left so suddenly.

"I shoulda waited. Shoulda said goodbye properly. But standing next to Gem and Clay, seeing you holding Abel like that...so small and so fucking...fragile I...my head was fucked Jax. I wanted to tear Wendy apart. I always knew she would...." you stop yourself, now still isnt the time. "...plus, he didn't even know I was in Charming, I needed to get home before he noticed or he..." You trail off, your voice portraying the unforgotten ache. "I fucked up, I know. I Shouldn't have left you alone with all that shit Jax"

He shakes his head, and lets out a deflated laugh. But its not amused, its more sad "I wasn't alone, y/n"

Your brows crease together, the expression asking the question for you.

"Tara" he says bluntly, eyes now fixed on the lot below, the memory of how easily she slotted back into his life after everything she had already done to him, clear in his mind. "After you left...she stuck around. She knew I was breaking, knew I'd take help from anywhere...anyone"

You process the words slowly, the pieces falling into place "You and her...?" you ask gently, trying to sound neutral, but there's a tiny thread of disappointment in your tone.

He nods "For a bit. I still loved her...or thought I did...I don't know" he pauses, his jaw stiffening "She had this ex from Chicago. Obsessive type. Scared she couldn't shake him and she knew if she came to me with it...I'd handle it" he doesn't look at you, but you don't need him to.

"Handle it" you say back to him, saying the words out loud making the meaning much more obvious.

He turns his head finally, eyes meeting yours. And in that look, you know. You know what he did.

"So i'm not the only woman you'd kill for?" You nudge him with your shoulder, easing the tension just a small amount, he cracks a stiff smile.

"I don't regret what we did for you" he says, his tone confident, unwavering. "Not for a fuckin' second. But her? She played me...knew how to get through the cracks, I just didn't see it till it already happened"

"She still around?"

He shrugs "In and out of St Thomas, haven't seen her for a while though...haven't wanted to"

You want to be mad for him, to rip both Tara and Wendy apart with words, and hands. But instead you just lean your head slightly against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for everything" you whisper.

"I'm sorry you felt like you had to leave" he breathes the words back.

And that's it. Thats all that needed to be said. You both sit there, quiet now, staring out at Charming like you used to. It's not the same, nothing ever is. But for a few minutes, sitting head to shoulder again?

It feels close enough.

Hours pass, the fundraiser burning itself out into the kind of night samcro always end up with. One too many bottles passed around, someone half naked on the pool table, Tig getting head in the corner like its a performance. Chibs is blackout drunk laughing at his own joke as Juice sings along to a song no one even remembers putting on. There’s smoke in the air, sweat on the walls and the sound of someone throwing up behind the garage.

Somewhere between that last rooftop silence and now, you and Jax both had more whiskey in your system, more heat in your blood, your laughter louder and limbs heavier. The kind of drunk that made you feel warm and reckless, like you could say anything, do anything. You both peel away from the noise and drift towards the dorm, just like old times. Except when that door closes behind you?

Everything was different. It started off with that look.

That slow, heavy Jax Teller look. The one that always came with a slight tilt of the chin, that 'I've already fucked you a thousand times in my head' look. Eyes low, and his voice rough but smooth at the same fucking time.

"You know..." his eyes dragging down your body, lingering where your dress hugged tightly at your hips "I used to jerk off thinkin' about you in shit like this" No smile, no shame just quiet truth. The whiskey clearly catching up to him, making the truth easier to confess.

That hit hard. Not because you've never wondered if he thought of you like that, but because he finally fucking said it. You swallow hard, heat prickling across your chest, and for a second you almost let the silence hang.

But then, you stumble forward, letting it slip. "I used to think about you when he fucked me"

His mouth parts, but he says nothing.

"Every single time" you continue, eyes darting over his expression "I'd close my eyes...pretend it was your hands, your voice..."

His nostrils flare, and you catch the way his jaw ticks at your confession "You sayin' that to piss me off?" the crease in the middle of his brow returns, as he takes another step towards you, real fucking close now.

"No. I'm saying it cause its true"

And that was all it took. It wasn't rushed, but it wasn't slow either. It was drunk, desperate and years overdue.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you don’t hesitate. You let him press you down, let him crash over you like a wave that had been building since you were fifteen. His mouth found yours fast, sloppy, rough and hot with the taste of whiskey and want. His hands were everywhere. Under your dress, up your thighs, while your fingers yanked against his belt like it was the only thing between you and everything you both needed. You were a mess already, breathless, laughing into his mouth as his teeth caught your bottom lip and he groaned against you, a sound you were new to but already couldn't get enough of. You didn't know where to start, and neither did he.

You panted, still grinning as you work to undo his belt buckle, you were laughing, frustrated and breathless fighting with the damn thing.

Jax smirks, barely lifting his head from where he was sucking at your neck "need help?"

"No...I got it" you tug harder, making a strained noise, grunting completely giving up.

Jax chuckles leaning away from you "you're pullin' the wrong way"

"I know how a fucking belt works" you snap, laughing as he sits up just enough to do it himself

"There..." he says, finally popping it open with a flick of his wrist "...Jesus christ"

You've seen him naked before. Back in the day, drunk nights, long summers, dumb dares. It wasn't every day but it wasn't rare. Jax never gave a fuck. You'd walk in on him pissing behind the clubhouse, stripping off in the lot after a job, passed out bare assed on Opes bedroom floor more times than you could count.

But this? this wasn't the same.

Because now you were laid back on the dorm bed, dress hiked up around your hips, the fabric of your panties glistening with desire, your thighs open wide, Jax Teller nestled between them, shirtless, breath heavy and his belt finally unfucking done.

You feel the head of his cock slide through your folds, slow and teasing. Catching against your clit before slipping lower. He was soaked in you, you were already shaking and then, he pushes in.

Slow.

Just the tip at first, but it was already enough to knock the air from your lungs. Your whole body tenses, your back arching away from the bed as a gasp breaks free from your throat as the stretch hits you hard. Deep, full and perfect. He was thick, so fucking thick and he didn't stop. He kept going, inch by aching inch, burying himself inside you like he belonged there.

"F...fu..fuck" You choke out, head falling back against the flat as fuck pillows.

Jax groans, deep in his chest, One hand sinking into your hip, tight enough to leave marks, and the other placed on the matress just beside your ribs.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ y/n" he grits out, voice already wrecked "You always been this fuckin' tight?"

You let out another moan, fingernails scraping over his reaper.

The weight of him pressing down against you, feeling every inch of him, every breath, every shudder that rolled off his body and into yours. His dick buried deep, his hips grinding slow and heavy like he couldn't bring himself to stop, even if he wanted too. His hand found your neck, his thumb at your jaw, holding your head in place like he needed to keep you right there beneath him. Your hips roll, matching the drag of his cock like your body had memorised this rhythm in a dream. You tilt your hips just enough to catch him deeper, your waist moving in desperate waves meeting each thrust with one of your own. It was filthy and perfect, the way your bodies collided, the slaps of wet skin, the quiet, gasping moans pressing into each others mouths. You could feel him shaking above you, the way his muscles locked tight trying to keep from spilling too soon. Every time he sinks back in, you push up to meet him, grinding against him, slow and purposeful, letting him feel just how fucking badly you’ve wanted this.

Your thighs clamp tighter around his hips and your ankles lock just behind his lower back, keeping him close as he grunts into your neck, fucking you harder now, less rhythm but more need. You move with him, catch his vibe and fuck him right back. In the clubhouse, Opie was drunk too.

Not face down in the dirt drunk, just that slow heavy buzz that settled deep. Behind his eyes, in his chest, in the memories he hadn't thought about in years. The drunk that made you nostalgic, stupid and curious.

The lot was still loud, the party just about winding down but not done. Music still playing low, croweaters doing their job. But you and Jax? you'd dissapeared. He finished his beer and started wandering. He checks the rooftop first, your old hangout. Empty beer bottles, finished whiskey glasses and an ashtray with half smoked joints. Then the kitchen, the back office, even the damn garage for some reason. Still, nothing.

So now he was zig zagging his way towards the dorm, muttering under his breath, mostly to himself.

"Dumbasses probably passed out somewhere" he grumbles.

He didn't knock, cause why the hell would he?

The door creaks open on the old hinges, and there you both are. Right in front of him.

You. Naked, flat on your back with one leg now hooked over Jax's shoulder.

Jax. One of his hands wrapped around your throat, the other gripping your thigh as he rams straight into you like the rest of the world didn't exist. Your moans filling the room, loud, wet and desperate. Jax looking like a man fucking possessed.

He backs out slowly, carefully. Pulling the door shut with quiet movements of a man defusing a bomb. It clicked closed, and he stood there in the hallway, blinking like he'd just seen a ghost.

Then he laughs, low, rough and tired.

"Bout fuckin' time" he mutters to himself, before taking a seat back at the table, lighting a smoke and trying to burn the image of his childhood bestfriends fucking eachother.

💀 photos & gifs do not belong to me, just edited together (apart from the cute lil diary entry hehe) so credit to all original owners.

When I put out part 2 of this I was just shy of 300 followers, and today I fucking made 600 followers. Six hundred? Six hundred of you I don’t even know why or how. But I love you all, each and every single one of you. Thank you for all your likes, comments, reblogs, requests, questions & support honestly love u guys with ma whole heart.

I’ve been a lil slow I know, apologies writers block is a bitch! But I’m still here, writing (&struggling) behind the scenes lol. 🖤

JAX TELLER MASTERLIST

xoxo secretly samcro

[mysteriousxgirls]

Liyana wasn’t angry. Not really. Anger would’ve been easier—cleaner, sharper. But this? This was something messier, heavier. Frustration knotted in her chest like a tightly wound thread, twisting with every breath. She didn’t understand how he could think she was lying—why he’d think she’d ever make something like this up. She had no reason to. No motive, no gain. Only the truth she had clung to all those years, believing it had just gone unheard. She was already walking away, heart beating too loud in her ears, when she felt it—his hand closing around her arm. Her breath hitched sharply in her throat, chest freezing mid-inhale. His touch wasn’t rough, but it pulled her back—physically, emotionally. Closer to him. Closer to the thing she’d been trying to escape since she stepped out of that booth. She turned to face him, heart pounding now for a different reason. Her eyes searched his, saw the storm in them. And then he spoke, voice low, almost hoarse. No blame. Just disbelief. Hurt, tangled in every word.

Her own voice broke before she could fully control it. “You’re saying I’m lying?” she asked, staring at him like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That I didn’t pour my heart into those letters just for you to never receive them?” The words tore out of her, shaky and raw. She’d written to him in the quiet moments between auditions and exhaustion, on trains, in tiny apartments, under dim lights with trembling hands. She’d bled into those pages, thinking of him, needing him to know she hadn’t forgotten. That he still mattered. Back then, she had no one. No manager, her parents still living in Medellin. She had no time, no structure—just hope. That was when Ryan came into the picture. He was her friend at first and when things got overwhelming, she’d trusted him to help. She had asked him to send the letters. She remembered the way she’d handed them over, one after another, sealed and scribbled with her heart in every word.

But what if... what if they never made it to Diego? Her breath caught in her throat. Her voice dropped to a whisper, more to herself than to him. “Fuck… I—I think Ryan never sent them.” The thought staggered her. A part of her wanted to deny it, to push it away and keep believing in something better. But another part, the quiet, honest part that always knew when something was wrong, couldn’t find another explanation. Would Ryan really do that? Would he be that cruel? Or careless? Her gaze lifted to meet Diego’s, and all she saw was hurt. Not just his—but hers, mirrored back at her. “Diego…” she said, softly, stepping closer. Her hand reached for his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against skin that had once felt like home. A single tear escaped down her face, cutting a path she didn’t bother to wipe away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” For the letters. For the lost time. For trusting the wrong person. For ever leaving. For everything.

Diego didn’t move at first. He sat there, eyes fixed on the swinging door, the hum of the pizza place bleeding back in. Warm sunlight slanted through the windows, catching the edge of the table where the crumpled bills sat—too much money, left behind like punctuation at the end of something irrevocable. He dragged in a breath, sharp and unsteady, and then pushed himself up. The booth creaked beneath the sudden motion, but he barely noticed. Tension had shifted in his chest—no longer the heat of frustration, but something colder. A question without an answer.

Out on the street, the afternoon unfolded bright and unbothered. A breeze carried the scent of warm bread and diesel fumes, mingling with the tang of fried cheese from the food cart at the corner. “Liyana,” came the call—low, rough around the edges. A few long strides brought him closer. Fingers closed gently around her arm—just to reach. Her skin was warm, tense beneath his hand. He pulled her body towards him, cutting off the space she was retreating into. In the sunlight, her eyes looked darker, guarded. For a moment, he didn’t speak. “You didn’t write to me,” he said, quieter now—voice stripped down to something real. “I waited, Liyana. Every damn week, I checked. Nothing.” No accusation, just confusion softened with hurt. A crack he hadn’t let show until now. Eyes searched hers, brow knit—not in anger, but in disbelief, maybe even guilt. The noise of the city carried on around them, loud and indifferent. But between them, a silence hung heavy, waiting.

[98tsuki]

midnight idles.

moonlight spills silk through curtains that sway in front of the window, opened just a crack to let a gentle breeze sift through snow white strands.

peace, once his enemy, relents instantly at the first touch.

it begins with hovering just before you make contact with his infinity—with him—gaze never leaving him. an unknown feeling lodges itself in his chest and burrows deep, making a home.

he’ll be selfish just this once, he tells himself. he curls into the feeling of human touch initiated by someone else, snow white lashes settling over high cheekbones. his shoulders ease gently as the sky beats a gentle legato against the window panes. neither of you move to close it.

fingertips chase the outline of his jaw, leading up to behind the shell of his ear, and he peers at you, curious. calculating. it saddens you. he knows it does.

force of habit, he mumbles. you know.

but here, he learns to drop his troubles at the foot of your bed before he makes himself at home. long limbs tangle with yours and take what you can give him. you wonder if it will ever be enough.

satoru gojo hoards touch like a man starved.

it eats at him wholly, foreign and uncertain, but he craves it. lingering touches, arms brushing past, gentle squeezes on shoulders. you hover over him each and every time, a silent question always present, and that indescribable feeling digs a larger hole in his heart.

the world whittles down to the smell of rain and your laundry detergent, and he’s almost lulled to sleep from the miscellaneous shapes you draw into his shoulder. his head nestles into the crook of your neck like the last puzzle piece slotted into place, content and whole. he feels whole, and uncharacteristically quiet, he mulls over his choices.

“what’re you thinking about?”

a multitude of things, really. his next mission, the people he could afford to care about, their safety—trying to protect them long enough before the world greedily swallows them whole and spits them back, returning in shells of their former selves. the world isn’t kind to most. (he would know.)

and you.

“me?” he shifts to look at you, and your expression is one of pleasant surprise, fingers stilling. they’re still warm against the slight chill of his skin, and the contact spreads heat down his arm. he moves to intertwine his fingers with yours.

he hums his agreement, “always thinking about you.”

force of habit. you smile.

“you changed my life, you know?” the admission is soft, mumbled against your skin, and just barely audible above the gentle rustling of clothes. his gaze lands on the contrast of your fingers resting above his knuckles. “i feel.. safe. with you.”

he doesn’t say since then, but it’s heard. you squeeze his hand three times instead and he exhales softly.

“besides. ‘gumi likes you, so there’s no getting rid of you now. you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

he snorts a laugh when you reach to pinch him with your free hand, fondly remembering the boy sleeping soundly a room over from yours.

“no objections from me.”

[bigmamaelli]

Are We Still Friends

Hamzah x Reader

Please excuse the writing, i was sleep deprived but i needed to post something for yall 😫

꧁ When a confusing night pushes two friends past the line they never thought they’d cross, the silence after speaks louder than the moment itself. But was it a mistake… or the truth finally slipping out?

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You’d been best friends with Hamzah since high school—long before the followers and the attention. Back when life was simpler, messier in different ways. You don’t remember exactly how it started, just how quick it happened—texting all the time, him walking you to you classes sometimes, those casual meetups that started to feel like rituals. One minute you were acquaintances, and the next he was the person you told everything to.

You got close fast. The kind of close where people assumed something was going on. Where sometimes, maybe… you did too.

There were moments—quiet ones—where the things he said lingered too long in your head. Compliments that felt too soft to be casual. Glances that held just a beat too long. Maybe you flirted back. Maybe it meant nothing. Just friend stuff. That’s what you told yourself. It didnt happen often maybe a few times over the years you two had been friends, but when it did happen it felt obvious.

You weren’t supposed to end up tangled in his sheets, flushed and breathless, mumbling his name like a prayer you didn’t know you knew—barely conscious from the drinks and whatever else was coursing through your system.

But you did.

And everything changed after that.

—

You had both been drinking and smoking. Not too much—just some shots, BuzzBalls and weed the usual mix passed around at Hamzah’s place with a few of your friends. You were tipsy, loud, leaning into him more than usual—but that wasn’t surprising. You were always a little clingy when you drank. Always a little too affectionate.

Hamzah hadn’t had as much, but enough to feel it. He didn’t push you away. His arm stayed around you longer than necessary, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt as he talked to the group like it was nothing. Like you always touched each other like that.

But it felt different.

His hand lingered. His gaze dropped to your mouth more than once. He kept looking down at you—not the friendly, lopsided grin you were used to, but something softer. Warmer. Like he was looking at someone he already had.

At some point—between the laughter, the sway of bodies around his apartment, and the speaker humming low in the background—the night shifted. The others scattered, half-distracted by conversations or their own drunken haze. No one was really paying attention to you anymore.

You and Hamzah sat too close on the couch. Said nothing. Just… stared. And something in the silence cracked open.

And then—like gravity had finally gotten tired of waiting—he leaned in.

His lips brushed yours once. Light. Testing.

Then again—deeper this time.

You didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. The buzz in your body made it feel like slow motion, like your heart had dropped and floated at the same time. His mouth moved against yours with an urgency that didn’t match the lazy hum of the party around you. Like the room had melted away and left only the two of you.

It should’ve felt wrong. It should’ve snapped you back to reality.

But it didn’t.

It felt… inevitable.

His hand slid up the side of your neck, thumb grazing your jaw as you leaned into him—like your body had been waiting for this. It felt oddly intimate, more intimate than a drunken kiss should’ve felt. His other hand anchored on your thigh, firm, grounding you even as your head spun. You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he murmured something against your mouth you couldn’t even process.

Your hands gripping his hoodie, pulling him closer, needing him closer. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered there were people around—but it was muffled. Blurry.

You were drunk. And all you could think about was how warm his skin felt. How careful his touch was. How none of it made sense, but somehow it did.

You weren’t sure who stopped kissing first, but your head was spinning by the time you pulled away.

Hamzah was still close—close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, warm and a little uneven.

You blinked up at him, half-dazed. “…That was weird”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice low.

You both eventually stood up, not saying anything. Somewhere across the room, someone shouted over the music and someone else laughed. The real world was still happening. But not in here.

You swayed a little on your feet and laughed suddenly—soft and awkward. “I feel like I forgot how to stand.”

Hamzah steadied you with a hand at your waist. “You’re standing right now.”

“Barely,” you grinned, gripping his hoodie for balance.

You were both breathing too hard. Still standing way too close. Still holding onto each other like you hadn’t registered what just happened.

You glanced at his mouth, then at the hallway behind him, then back at his eyes.

“Do you—” you started, but stopped. You didn’t even know what you were asking.

Hamzah looked at you like he did, though. Like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something.

The air between you crackled. Too warm. Too quiet, even with the bass thumping down the hall.

You were the one who said it. Barely above a whisper.

“Can we go to your room?”

Hamzah didn’t say anything right away, just kept looking at you like he was reading a decision on your face.

Then he nodded.

You followed him down the hall in silence, barely remembering how your legs worked, your head full of cotton and noise and him. The floor felt weird under your feet. Or maybe that was just you.

He pushed open his bedroom door, and you stepped in after him like it was automatic. You didn’t look around. You didn’t need to.

You just kind of stood there.

Hamzah moved to sit on the edge of the bed like he didn’t know what else to do, elbows resting on his knees. His hoodie was still warm from your grip earlier.

You were swaying a little.

“This is…” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “Weird, right?”

“A little,” he said, soft.

You laughed awkwardly, rubbing your forehead. “Are we supposed to like… talk?”

Hamzah shrugged. “Youre drunk.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”

You moved toward him before you could think better of it—feet slow and unsteady. You sat beside him, your knee brushing his. Neither of you said anything.

Then you blurted, “I feel like I’m floating.”

Hamzah smiled a little. “You look like you’re gonna fall off the bed.”

“I might,” you mumbled. “Catch me?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Then tilted his head slightly. “C’mere.”

You leaned in first.

The kiss wasn’t smooth this time. It was messier, warmer, slower. You didn’t really know what you were doing. You just knew you wanted to keep kissing him—every time you stopped to breathe, you leaned right back in like you couldn’t help it.

Your hands were on his hoodie, his fingers brushing your waist. Everything was hot. Unsteady.

You pulled back just a little, your voice barely audible. “Is this stupid?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you again, harder this time.

You didn’t even mean to climb into his lap. It just happened. One second you were sitting beside him, the next you were straddling him, your arms around his neck like this was something you’d done before.

It wasn’t. But it didn’t feel wrong.

He let out a soft breath when your body pressed close, his hands holding your hips gently, like he was scared to grip too tight.

You kissed him again—deep, slow, and way too long—and whispered against his mouth, “Don’t stop.”

Your breath hitched when Hamzah’s hands slid under your top, fingers splayed against your waist. He hesitated there—just for a second—like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you like this.

You didn’t stop him.

You leaned back in, kissing him again—your lips slower now, more open. Heat pooled between your legs when his tongue brushed yours, gentle but a little needy, like he couldn’t help it either.

His hands moved higher, fingertips brushing the band of your bra. He wasn’t smooth about it—you could feel the pause, the uncertainty—but his touch still made your skin tingle.

Your hips shifted against his lap before you even realized what you were doing, and he breathed out like it caught him off guard.

That changed something.

He held you tighter, and you kissed harder—deeper—your fingers curling in the collar of his hoodie. You didn’t think. Just pulled it up and off, half-laughing when it got stuck over his head for a second.

“Sorry,” you whispered, breathless.

Hamzah just shook his head, lips parted. “You’re fine.”

Your shirt came off next—less graceful, kind of fumbly. And suddenly you were in your bra, in his lap, his eyes flicking down before he kissed you again, more urgently this time.

You didn’t know where to put your hands. So you just held onto his shoulders, steadying yourself, feeling his warmth under your fingers.

Then he kissed your neck.

He didn’t ask permission. Just moved slow, mouth dragging down your skin like he’d wanted to do that for a while. One hand slid down between your thighs—light, careful, and shaky.

You twitched at the first touch.

He froze instantly. “Wait—you okay?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Yeah. Just—keep going.”

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and deeper now, like he was trying not to lose it too fast.

You weren’t sure if either of you knew what you were doing anymore.

But you didn’t stop.

And neither did he.

You weren’t even fully out of your jeans yet. They were halfway undone, but neither of you seemed to notice—or care. You were too busy kissing him again, too warm and dizzy and wrapped up in the way his hand was still moving between your legs.

Not smooth. Not fast. But enough to make you shake a little.

Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders as your hips tilted into his touch, chasing it like you hadn’t even realized how badly you needed it.

“Shit,” you whispered against his mouth. “I’m sorry—I just—”

“Don’t be,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Please don’t be.”

You blinked down at him, half-laughing. “This is so… weird.”

He smiled, barely. “Kinda.”

“Like you’re literally my best friend.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes flicking down to your mouth again.

He didn’t say anything else. Just kissed you again—open, messy, like he was afraid you might back out if he thought too much.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You reached down and finally shoved your jeans the rest of the way off, tossing them without looking. Your thighs brushed his as you settled back into his lap, both of you breathing too hard, eyes locked like you couldn’t believe this was still happening.

“Do you—” you started, biting your lip. “Should we—?”

He was already reaching toward his nightstand, drawer half open before you even finished.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I got it.”

You watched him fumble a packet out, dropping it once before grabbing it again. He looked nervous for the first time.

“I’m not, like, trying to rush—” he started.

“I want to,” you cut in, soft and serious. “I just—don’t laugh if I get weird, okay?”

He smiled—small, kind. “You’re already weird.”

“Hamzah.”

“I’m kidding. I won’t.”

You kissed him again. Deeper this time, your hips rolling against him without warning. He groaned into your mouth, the tension snapping loose like it had been building for years.

You didn’t need to say anything else.

Your bodies did the talking—fingers trembling as he slid your underwear down, lips finding your neck again as you reached for him, tugging his boxers just enough. His hands settled on your hips like he was steadying himself, even though you were both swaying a little.

“Come here,” he whispered, and it wasn’t smooth, but it made your stomach flip anyway.

You nodded, letting him guide you down onto him, slow and careful. Your breath caught—his did too—and for a second neither of you moved.

Then you exhaled, shaky. “Fuck”

Hamzah grinned through his own unsteady breath. “Yeah.”

And then you both started moving, quietly, awkwardly, like you were figuring it out with every roll of your hips. There were giggles, soft cursing, too many hands in the wrong places until they weren’t.

—

You woke up squinting against the light bleeding through the blinds, your head dull and aching, your mouth dry. The sheets smelled like him. You blinked, trying to piece things together—not the act itself, you remembered that—but how you felt about it.

It was just drunk sex. Between friends. That’s what your brain kept repeating, like if you said it enough, it would feel normal. But it didn’t. Not really. You weren’t sure if you were embarrassed or just unsettled by how quiet everything suddenly felt inside your chest.

You sat up slowly, the hem of his shirt—oversized and unfamiliar—falling over your thighs. You didn’t remember putting it on. You didn’t remember much after anyway. You reached for your phone on the nightstand, just for something to do, something to hold onto.

That’s when the door opened.

Hamzah stepped in, holding a glass of water and a couple pills. His expression was… unreadable. Not embarrassed exactly, but tight. Like he was trying not to show something. Annoyed? At you?

He placed the glass down on the nightstand without really looking at you. “Just thought I’d let you know I’m heading out,” he said, voice clipped—like he didn’t want to say more than he had to. You felt the heaviness in the room, like the air between you had changed or something.

You nodded, slow, unsure. “Okay,” you murmured, trying not to sound weird about it. You didn’t match his energy, couldn’t even figure out what his energy was, but it stung a little. You weren’t sure why. He felt so different from last night, and it made you unsettled, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

He paused for a second, like he might say something else, but then just gave a short nod and turned to leave.

And you just sat there in his bed, hugging your knees, resting the glass against your lips, still trying to understand if something between you had gone off—or if it had always been this weird to begin with.

—

You got home that afternoon and went through the motions like everything was normal. Showered, changed, cooked something, and settled on the couch with a show playing low in the background. But your mind wasn’t really in it.

You hadn’t let yourself think about last night too much. Not in full detail. You sort of pushed it aside, filed it under “too much alcohol” and “deal with it later.” But Hamzah’s face kept creeping back into your memory. The way he looked at you this morning—distant, unreadable. Maybe not disgusted, but… off. Like something in him had shifted.

You hadn’t talked since. Unless you counted the awkward ten seconds of him leaving his own room like he wanted nothing to do with what happened. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You were both hungover. Probably both weirded out. That didn’t mean everything was ruined… right?

Still, your phone sat heavy in your hand for the better part of an hour before you even opened his contact. You stared at his name on your screen like it didn’t belong there. Like this wasn’t the same person you used to text ten times a day without thinking.

Your thumb hovered. Then you typed.

“hey are we good?? ion want anything to be weird yk we were drunk”

You sent it before you could second guess it. No overthinking.

You set your phone aside and tried to refocus. There were bigger things happening in your life—responsibilities, plans, literally anything else—but your mind just kept circling back to that. Him. Last night. This morning. The way everything had gone from easy to… weird.

You queued up a movie you actually liked, hoping it’d distract you enough to stop replaying his expression in your head. You weren’t even sure what it meant. You hated that it was starting to feel like something had changed, but you couldn’t tell if it was between you—or just inside him.

An hour in, your phone buzzed. You nearly gave yourself whiplash reaching for it, heart jumping stupidly in your chest.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Mandy.

“did you and hamzah hook up last night?? i saw you two making out on the couch and then go to his room lol”

You exhaled sharply, leaning your head back against the couch. Someone else reminding you of it—like you weren’t already stuck in that mental loop trying to figure it out.

Still, you loved Mandy. And maybe it was a good thing. At least now you didn’t have to hold it in.

“we have to go out tomorrow. i’ll debrief everything that i remember”

You sent it quickly and closed the chat before she could start asking more questions. But as soon as your screen returned to your inbox, your heart dipped again.

Hamzah had left you on seen.

For an hour.

You stared at it for a second longer than you wanted to admit, then locked your phone and tossed it to the other side of the couch like that would somehow make it hurt less.

You tried to convince yourself he was just busy. Maybe he’d gone out, maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Which would’ve been fair. It was weird. A little messy. Maybe even a little embarrassing. You told yourself he probably needed time to figure out what to say.

You clung to that excuse for the first hour.

Then two passed.

Then four.

You kept glancing at your phone like maybe the screen had glitched, like maybe the message hadn’t actually sent. But no—there it was. “Seen.” No reply. No typing bubble. Just silence.

By hour five, your stomach felt hollow.

You tried to stay distracted. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Cleaned your kitchen that was already clean. Rewatched the movie you’d put on earlier, but didn’t remember a second of it. Every noise your phone made that wasn’t him made your heart sink a little lower. You weren’t upset exactly just disappointed.

By the time you gave up and went to bed, your mind slowed down. You laid there in the dark, eyes on the ceiling, replaying everything from the night before—how it started, how it felt, what his face looked like when he pulled away.

You finally fell asleep with your phone under your pillow, just in case.

And when you woke up the next morning, the first thing you did was check.

Still nothing.

Not a single word from him.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything he could’ve said.

You didn’t want to believe that drunk sex would be enough to ruin everything. Not with him. Not after all the years, the memories, the you and him of it all. You kept telling yourself he just needed time. That he was still processing it, the same way you were.

But deep down, something in you stirred uncomfortably.

Because if it were just that—just awkwardness or confusion—wouldn’t he have said something by now? Confirmed that everything was okay?

You had always meant something to him. At least, that’s what you thought. Enough that he’d try. Enough that he wouldn’t just vanish into silence like none of it mattered over a little embarrassment.

You kept forcing yourself to believe he was figuring it out. But the truth was, some part of you already knew—there was something else behind his silence. Something that had shifted.

And whatever it was, it wasn’t just about being drunk.

It was late in the morning now—almost 11:00—and you still hadn’t moved from your spot. You were supposed to be getting ready to meet Mandy, but instead you were curled up in bed, phone face-down beside you for no particular reason, mind tangled in everything except plans.

As much as you wanted to hear from Hamzah, part of you felt like you needed to talk to Mandy even more. She wasn’t just a friend—she was your person, even if you met through Hamzah and Martin. Over time, your connection had taken on a life of its own. With her, things always made more sense, or at least didn’t feel so heavy.

You finally sat up after what felt like hours of just thinking, hugging your knees to your chest for a moment before thinking to yourself, Time’s not gonna stop for you to sit here and overthink. You weren’t sure if it helped, but it got you on your feet.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom and let the hot water run down your body, standing still beneath the spray, eyes closed. Like you were hoping it would rinse off the weight of everything you didn’t know how to feel yet.

After your shower, you moved more purposefully—still quiet, still not quite distracted, but at least doing something. You styled your hair the way you liked it, swiped on just enough makeup to feel a little more in control. Then picked out something cute. Something flattering. Something that made you feel like you again, even if just a little.

—

“Bitch, I’m so mad,” you said, barely containing yourself as you marched over to the table where Mandy was already sitting, iced coffee in her hand.

You tossed your bag onto the seat next to you and plopped down with more force than intended, the chair scraping a little too loudly beneath you.

Mandy raised an eyebrow, already half-grinning. “Okay, calm down, what happened?”

“Oh my god—don’t even get me started,” you huffed, leaning forward with your elbows on the table, hands in your hair. You felt like you were going to explode if you didn’t get it out.

“Debrief me,” she said, leaning in too, like she was settling in for tea. “Start from the top.”

You sighed hard, sitting upright again as you stared at her, wide-eyed. “So obviously you know about Hamzah and me—how we… y’know.”

Mandy nodded, lips twitching, like she was trying not to smile.

“We were so drunk and high, like way too many shots. It literally just happened. One second we were laughing and then suddenly I’m like—in his room.” You paused. “But it wasn’t even, like, romantic, it was just… drunk and messy and stupid. Not a big deal.”

She raised her brows. “Okay… and?”

“Well, I went home yesterday morning, right? And I texted him—nothing crazy, just ‘hey, are we good?’ And he ignored me.” Your voice rose with disbelief as the words poured out. “I’m sorry? Like… you were there, too, Hamzah!”

Mandy blinked. “Wait, what?”

“For hours, Mandy. Literally all day. I even convinced myself he was, like, busy or something—like I was being crazy. But no, I woke up this morning and still nothing.”

You let out a frustrated breath and dropped your head dramatically into your hands.

Mandy gave you a long look, then slowly sipped her drink. “That’s actually insane.”

“I know, right?” you sighed. “Like I’m not even mad that we hooked up—I’m not crying over him or anything—but we’re best friends. How are you gonna ghost me like I’m some one-night stand?”

“Well…” Mandy leaned back, brows pinching thoughtfully. “I actually saw him yesterday at the office.”

You perked up. “You what?”

“He was there with Martin. I didn’t talk to him really, just said hey, but he seemed kinda… I don’t know. Off? Not like upset, just like… weird energy.”

You stared at her. “Weird how?”

She shrugged. “Like, quiet. Not making jokes like usual.”

“Oh, so he’s mourning,” you deadpanned, flopping back in your chair.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Girl, shut up.”

You looked at her, serious again. “Do you think I ruined everything?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “He did—if he’s making it weird, that’s on him. You’re allowed to be confused and awkward, but ghosting you? That’s immature.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip. “It’s just… I didn’t think one stupid night could mess things up this bad.”

Mandy reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “Then maybe it’s not just one stupid night, babe.”

And just like that, your heart dropped a little lower into your stomach.

“And its only been a day just give him a little time maybe hes still processing” she shrugged, reassuring you.

You nodded slowly, half doubting but still having hope she was right.

—

A few days had gone by now. Still no real conversation, no effort, no explanation—just one single text from him that read: yeah were good.

That was it. No follow-up, no question, no hint of what he actually meant. Yeah like that was supposed to be enough for you to work with. You stared at the message for a long time after it came in, your thumb hovering over the screen, trying to decide if you were being overly sensitive or just finally seeing things clearly.

You hadn’t spoken in a week. Not really. And now, the silence was starting to eat at you—not just because of what had happened that night, but because you missed him. Like… him. Your best friend. The one who used to send you videos of his cats, who’d show up at your place with food when you had a bad day, who knew every version of your laugh.

Now it was just… weird.

You tried to be chill about it. Tried not to spiral. You told yourself not to message him, that he’d reach out when he was ready—but the longer you waited, the more it felt like he wasn’t planning to. And it wasn’t about closure or feelings or whatever people usually text about after a messy night. You just wanted to know if you’d lost him. It felt dramatic jumping to that conclusion but you didnt know what to expect.

You stared at his name in your phone longer than you should have, until your chest tightened and you gave in.

“Are we still friends?”

You hit send, then immediately regretted it.

It felt like too much. Like you were making it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

But also, so was he, so maybe it was already a big deal, and you were just the first one to say it out loud.

You stared at the screen, annoyed at yourself for sounding so dramatic.

Like—what were you even asking?

You were probably just overthinking everything like always.

Still, you couldn’t help it. The silence was messing with your head.

And even if it was dramatic, it was honest.

The kind of question you only ask when something suddenly feels unfamiliar.

When someone you’ve always known stops feeling like a guarantee.

Mandy had kept you in the loop when it came to him—said he seemed fine. Normal. Laughing at work, hanging out at there house, joking around with Martin like always. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t been ignoring you specifically.

It stung. Not because you wanted something romantic from him—because you didn’t even know what you wanted—but because it felt personal in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Like he had chosen to pretend you didn’t exist, and no one else had even noticed.

You tried to rationalize it. He wasn’t the type to make a big deal out of stuff. And yeah, it was awkward—but it wasn’t like you’d confessed your love to him or anything. It was drunk sex. People moved on from that. Friends got over that. Especially if it wasn’t a big deal.

So why didn’t it feel that way?

Why did it feel like something had shifted under the surface—and you were the only one who felt it?

Another day passed.

By now, the confusion had settled into something quieter. Not gone—but dulled, like a bruise you stopped pressing on. After the first few days of questioning everything, you’d decided not to let it run your life. You weren’t going to obsess over it, not when you still had things to do, places to be, people to talk to. You told yourself to keep it in the back of your mind, like background noise—just don’t let it take over.

Are we still friends? The words sometimes distracting you from getting on with your day, even though you tried to bury the thought.

But it was hard to ignore something that kept lingering like this.

You were still on delivered. Five days now. No opened message, no reply, not even a reaction. Just silence. It didn’t make sense. And the longer it dragged on, the more your frustration started to outweigh the sadness.

It wasn’t just about the night. It wasn’t even really about the sex anymore. It was about how he was acting—how he was making this into more of a thing than it needed to be. How easily this could’ve been a weird little blip, a passing moment between two friends, if he hadn’t decided to make it something else by shutting down completely.

You would’ve moved past it. You wanted to move past it. But he wasn’t letting you.

Life kept moving. Yours, his. Work, errands, chores, dinner with friends. Everything stayed on track like nothing had changed—except it had. And only you seemed to be sitting with the weight of it.

Eventually, you’d had enough. You weren’t going to keep being the only one carrying this tension in your chest.

So you messaged Mandy.

“Would it be crazy if I just showed up at the office and asked him?”

You watched the three dots appear, disappear, then come back.

“Not at all you deserve answers!! tell me how it goes babe”

She wasn’t wrong. You knew the times he was usually there, you’d visited enough—dropped off food, helped them film. It wasn’t like you didn’t belong there too. And if he was going to keep dodging your texts, maybe cornering him was the only way to make him look you in the eye.

Still, the whole thing felt surreal. Like you were planning some big confrontation with a stranger.

But that’s what it felt like now.

Like he wasn’t your best friend anymore.

Like you weren’t even sure if he remembered what that meant.

—

It took you a while—just sitting in the quiet—before you moved.

No distractions, no music, just the low hum of your AC and the ache that hadn’t really gone away. You grabbed your bag, checked your phone again out of habit, and headed for the door. Your hand hesitated on the handle of your car before pulling it open.

This felt… weird.

Not scary, exactly. Just strange. You weren’t used to needing courage for something like this—for him. It used to be easy, showing up. Seeing him. Talking.

Now it felt like you were going to confront a stranger.

Still, you got in, started the car, and drove. Nothing dramatic. Just a normal trip. But underneath it all, you were aware—this wasn’t just about asking him what was going on.

It was about facing what might’ve already changed.

You didn’t have a whole speech planned. You didn’t need one. You just wanted to look at him and ask, Why are you acting like this? Why had he ghosted you like it was easier to pretend you didn’t exist than confront how he actually felt?

It wasn’t the sex. You were sure of that now. It couldn’t just be that.

Something else had shifted that night. Maybe for you. Maybe for him too. But the silence made it impossible to know which.

And maybe that’s why you were really going.

Because the not-knowing?

It was worse than any answer he could give.

You knew the office code. You’d punched it in a hundred times, usually walking in next to him, both of you too caught up in whatever conversation you were having to notice the keypad beeping.

It felt different this time. Quiet. Stiff.

Cory was at his laptop, headphones on, barely looked up when you passed through. You gave him a quick “hey,” then kept moving.

You didn’t even know if you really wanted to see Hamzah. But you kept walking until you did.

He was on the couch, fashion nova hoodie on, sunk into the cushions like he hadn’t moved in hours. His eyes flicked up when he heard your steps—lingered on you just a second too long—then dropped back to whatever was in his hands like it didn’t matter.

You stood there for a beat waiting for him to acknowledge you.

“Are you being deadass?” you asked, your voice low, almost testing him.

“Hamzah,” you said again, louder.

“What?” he said, barely looking up.

“That’s it? ‘What’? You know what.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Maybe why you’ve been ignoring me for two weeks?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave you that look, like you were the one doing too much. Like you’d crossed some line.

You stepped closer. “I’ve been busy,” he said flatly.

“Have you?” you said, a little smile escaping because of how ridiculous that was. “Look, I get it. It was weird. You’re allowed to feel weird. You’re allowed to regret it. Just don’t make it a thing and then act like a child.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing, Hamzah? Because I’ve been sitting with this shit for two weeks while you walk around like it never happened.”

He looked away again, jaw tight. His throat moved when he swallowed.

You watched him for a second.

“You’re acting like it was some big thing,” you said quieter.

That got to him. You saw it. The small shift in his face.

He didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t push.

Finally, after a long pause, he muttered, “I didn’t mean to make it a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “But you did.”

He stared at the floor. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“It just—it fucked with my head,” he admitted, voice lower. “I didn’t know what to do.”

You blinked, feeling a little dizzy. “So your solution was to ignore me?”

He shrugged. “I thought it’d be easier.”

Your heart dropped, but you stayed calm. “Was it?”

His jaw clenched again. He didn’t answer.

He finally looked up at you, his eyes softer now but still holding something unreadable. “Can I be honest?” he asked, voice quieter this time—almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud.

You nodded slowly. “Hamzah, that’s all I’ve wanted this whole time—for you to be honest with me.”

He exhaled, then rubbed the back of his neck, almost wincing. “I wasn’t that drunk,” he said, his brows pulling together. “Like—I didn’t even smoke. I was basically sober.”

You blinked, taken aback. “So…?”

“I went along with what you were doing because I wanted to,” he said, jaw tightening again. “Not because I was drunk.”

That hit you harder than you expected. You inhaled slowly, processing it.

“Oh,” you said, nodding once. You felt it settling into your chest—what he meant. Why he’d been avoiding you. “Okay…”

Hamzah looked angry, but not at you. More like at himself. Like saying it out loud made something click in a way he didn’t want it to. Like it was clear he’d been avoiding his feelings for a while.

“That morning,” he said, voice low, “it felt too real. I didn’t know how to talk to you without giving myself a false sense that something could happen between us.. more than just sex—and that felt wrong. Like I crossed some line I wasn’t supposed to.”

You walked over to the couch, your movements slow, careful, like you didn’t want to spook him. Sitting down next to him, you looked at his profile, the way his gaze stayed locked to the floor like the truth embarrassed him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you said gently, “I kinda felt the same way.” you admitted a weight you didn’t even know you had being lifted off your shoulders.

He glanced at you now, just a flick of his eyes.

“I was confused at first— still am.” you continued. “Like—why did it feel like such a big deal? We were drunk, we were friends… it shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. And I think deep down, I knew it wasn’t just about that night. I think i was in denial, for how i felt.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight. “For you.”

He didn’t speak right away, but his hands fidgeted in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. The room felt too still, like even the air was holding its breath.

“So what do we do now?” he asked finally, barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, eyes on your knees. “I don’t know yet.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. And maybe that was okay. Because for the first time in days, things weren’t bottled up or ignored or misread. You were both just sitting in it—raw and honest. Even though it wasn’t exactly the outcome you wanted it was better than not being heard.

Are we still friends? The words repeated in your head again, but you already knew the answer.

Whatever you were now, it wasn’t just friends.

And even if you wanted to go back, something had already shifted.

There was no undoing it.

Taglist: @giuliannna @hamzahsbaby @freakzah444 @slushingkoala @hamzahsbiggestfan @evilinternetgirl @dizzym3l @infinitefireflies @sturniyolo @khxna

[scribble-dribble-writes]

The Void - 7

—————

Bob x Yelena

—————

He stared at the ceiling, the attic felt out of place. It had once been familiar but now it felt like an illusion.

He knew it was an illusion.

He’d been drifting in an out of these rooms the more he used his power or tapped into it. A part of him was always afraid and then another part of him was braver, to sit in the silence, to let Yelena’s words surround him.

To remind him as often as he needed.

He heard his father yell through the cracks, he felt the slight flinch in his body when the plates crashed but it didn’t carry the same significance it had once did. He didn’t have an alternate version to combat this image of his dad.

But now he did.

He watched Alexei interact with Yelena, this man who easily could break every bone in a regular human’s body, would hunch over and laugh loudly along with his daughter. What he found absurd was that they were never related by blood, when they were inseparable.

To Bob, they were the embodiment of a family. He would hover around the periphery of their interactions and the moment Alexei spotted him, he would reel Bob into this cocoon of laughter and it filled him with a sense of belonging. Of deeper understanding that this was what he missed out on.

Bob looked through the cracks at his younger version and heard Yelena’s voice.

So young and brave.

Why had he believed he was weak this entire time?

Why was standing up for what was right a weakness?

Now when he looked at his younger self, he did it with patience and love.

The only reason he dreaded being here was running into him, the alternate version of him. He feasted on his fear. Maybe since there was nothing to fear about, he had probably vanished.

But when Bob felt the cold, he knew he spoke too soon.

“Searching for me?”, the whispers surrounded him.

“Your girlfriend isn’t around to protect you.”, yet another jab.

Bob got up slowly, dusting his hands, keeping his eyes stuck to the floor. He didn’t want to amplify his fear and yet his heart began to race. He felt the stutter as he searched for words.

“Wh..wh..what do you want?”, he held onto the edge of his sweater. The rough texture keeping him grounded.

“I was hoping to meet you. It’s been a while.”, the void laughed and Bob took a step back.

But even with being in the same room, Bob could feel the void had grown weaker.

“You’re hungry.”, he stood taller as he placed his hands behind his back and heard the laughter die down.

“You’re waiting for me to succumb to your taunts.”, Bob looked up and saw the dark figure.

“You need me to survive.”, the void’s voice trembled and it was a funny feeling, he had never once heard a waiver in his voice.

Desperation.

“I don’t need you, not anymore.”, Bob smiled and the void took a step back, as though he was scared.

“All you did was keep me locked up in these rooms. Replaying memories that were bad for things that were out of my control. Let me play you a good one.”, Bob reached out and touched the wall.

It crumbled, the void was not in control anymore.

“Sssttoopp.”, the void hissed as the new room that emerged was brighter, the sun was shining and the sea was glistening.

Bob had always loved the beach but he had never gone, he hated how everyone there seemed to have a good time while all he felt were layers of emptiness. But his first time being there along with the rest of the crew, it was a new memory he had made. One he took solace in.

Alexei was busy making hot dogs as the smell of barbecue filled the sea salt air, Walker brought out the soda cans from his make shift cooler and handed it around. Ava set up the picnic blanket for herself which Walker then decided to squabble over. Bucky was set up on his foldable chair with a book in hand not quite interested in the commotion and finally, Yelena….

Bob’s heart skipped a beat everytime he got to this point of the memory. His most favourite, most treasured. Yelena was by the shoreline, her pants folded up halfway, her feet dug into the wet mud as the waves slowly lapped up till her knees. Her eyes closed, the sun beaming down on her face, her hair wild and free to the rhythm of the wind when she turned over to see him and called for him.

“She hates you.”, the void spits out but Bob couldn’t care. He was mesmerised, walking towards Yelena hurriedly, hope and happiness rising to the surface of his soul as he rolled up his pants.

The water was cold, her hand was warm, the void’s sensation was no where around him.

“You’ve got to step up your game.”, Bob laughed as he felt the wind against his skin.

“You’re not afraid of me.”, the Void fell to his knees next to Bob, a stark similarity to when he had last seen him.

“I’m not.”, Bob said softly and watched the Void shrink into the outline of Bob as a little boy

“Why?”, the boy asked, his eyes, two gaping white holes looking at him.

Bob stepped away from Yelena and crouched down to meet his eyes.

“You’re a version of me that had once been hurt.”, Bob spoke as he took the little boy’s hand. Yelena had done the same at a time he couldn’t even look at her.

“And I nurtured you till you controlled me with what you knew best. Our hurt and past mistakes.”, Bob spoke as he pursed his lips, he felt his eyes tear up. He never found the courage to do this his entire life and now he had.

“But I’m not hurt anymore.”, he smiled confidently, looking around at his friends.

“Your attempt to strike fear was out of the need to protect me, to keep me hidden and safe.”, he narrated.

“But now I am safe.”, he confessed as he looked at Yelena who was calling for him to step into the water.

“I can’t let you stay anymore.”, he looked at the kid sympathetically. A new vibrant feeling taking over him, a feeling of hope.

“I need to reorganise my rooms to let the light in.”, he smiled one last time as the void grew weaker and weaker. Bob leaned over, his love for himself had grown since he saw himself through Yelena’s eyes. He reached forward and placed his forehead on the little boy’s forehead. The light around him grew exceedingly bright till he heard the sound of sea gulls and the vacuum faded.

When he opened his eyes, the void was nowhere to be found. The world around felt like it had never been touched by darkness. So he ran towards her. Slipping out of his shirt as the waters embraced him, as her arms were held wide open for him to crash into. He finally felt clean, rid of any trace of darkness that once controlled him.

He stirred, the traffic noise from the streets of New York filtered through faintly as he stretched in his bed. The pillows were comfy and the light filtered through. That heavy pit in his body was no more. He felt in control for the first time in years and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

[labyrinthinesyndicatex]

The brush of her lips against his cheek burned hotter than the stinging in his knuckles. Cian stood frozen, watching Mariana pull away, his injured hand suddenly cold and empty without her touch. "Ice. Right. Will do." The words came out hollow, automatic, nowhere close to what actually spun through his mind. He wanted to tell her that punching that guy wasn't about proving anything - it was pure instinct, like breathing or blinking or falling for her all over again at this stupid food festival. He wanted to craft perfect sentences that would make her understand everything left unsaid between them, but his brain offered nothing except static and fragments. Her coconut shampoo lingered in the space between them, tormenting him with memories of mornings when that scent had filled his entire world. "I know you had it handled," he finally managed, wincing at how inadequate it sounded. A thousand better responses died unspoken on his tongue. His pulse hammered in his ears as she stepped back, creating distance that felt like miles instead of inches. The festival continued around them - people laughing, vendors calling out, life moving forward - while he remained trapped in this moment with her, struggling to find words that wouldn't come.

"Mari … " Her name slipped out before he could stop it. The sound hung in the air between them as she turned slightly, halfway between staying and leaving. His healthy hand moved on its own, and his fingers caught hers just as she turned away completely. Something electric shot through him at the contact, obliterating every carefully constructed barrier he'd built since Georgetown. Logic screamed to let her go, to maintain the careful friendship they'd negotiated. Instead, his bruised hand found the small of her back, gently drawing her closer. For one breathless second, he searched her face, looking for permission, resistance, anything. "To hell with ice," he murmured, and closed the distance between them. His lips found hers in a kiss that started soft, questioning, before deepening into something that erased two years of careful distance in an instant. His bruised knuckles forgotten, he cradled her face with his injured hand, every point of contact setting his skin on fire. The taste of her - familiar yet somehow new - rewrote everything he thought he knew about moving on. His heart thundered against his ribs, beating out a rhythm that felt dangerous and inevitable all at once. This kiss wasn't planned or sensible, just necessary as breathing - honest in a way words could never be.

Mariana can't stop staring at his knuckles, all red and raw from connecting with that jerk's face. She's holding his hand between hers like some precious thing that might break, which is ridiculous considering what those fingers just did. "I can't believe you punched him," she murmurs, tracing the edge of his knuckle where a bruise is already forming. Her heart won't stop racing, and it's not from leftover adrenaline either. It's from the way he's looking at her right now, eyes still blazing with that protective fire that makes her knees weak. This isn't supposed to be happening. They're just friends now, casual acquaintances who run into each other at food festivals and make polite conversation. Not people who defend each other's honour with their fists. Not people who stand this close, breathing the same air, making her dizzy with what-ifs and maybes. 

She should definitely let go of his hand now, but her fingers refuse to cooperate. "When you said you couldn't stand him talking to me like that..." Her voice trails off because what can she even say? Thanks for the caveman display that absolutely should not turn me on but totally does? Thanks for reminding me of all those nights we spent protecting each other in different ways? His reassurance that he knows she can handle herself makes her stomach flip with anxiety and want. Does he still know her? After all this time? His joke about damaging his reputation as a peaceful bar owner makes her bite her lip. Even now, with tension crackling between them, he's trying to make her smile. It's unfair how easily he does this. He slides past her defences like they're nothing but tissue paper. When he flexes his fingers beneath her touch and says those money-makers will be fine, she almost laughs despite the worry gnawing at her insides. God, she wants to kiss him so badly it hurts. The urge crashes over her like a tidal wave, drowning out common sense and self-preservation. She rises on her tiptoes, heart hammering against her ribs. She chickens out at the last second, pressing her lips quickly against his cheek instead. It's safer. It's not enough. It's all she dares. "Thanks for defending me," she says, reluctantly letting go of his hand and immediately missing the contact. "Even though I had it handled. Put some ice on that when you get home, okay?"

[lokis-wager]

I don't really like Undertale that much. I don't hate it, but I don't really like it either. I think Earthbound is much better and actually emotional resonates with me in the way that Undertale tries to, but doesn't quite hit. Undertale does have better characters tho, there's been no one so far who really 'hits' like Papyrus and Alphys did for me.

I haven't finished either game, though. I really don't feel like the ending of Undertale is gonna be worth grinding to try to beat the final (?)boss. I hate combat in Undertale. I'm probably a third of the way into Earthbound and haven't had to grind yet, but I really enjoy turn-based combat, and the system where you get to walk over weak enemies and kill em without even making it to the battle screen. Even if I hit a grind wall or a tough boss, I don't see myself losing interest.

And Earthbound has better music :p

[magicaloneandmystery]

hair

summary: bucky doesn't let anyone touch his hair. well... anyone except you. [written from the pov of Sam.]

warnings: fluff and more fluff. reader is described to have positive, sunny personality. NOT PROOFREAD.

"hey man, your hair is a little messy," Sam wasn't going to mess with Bucky's hair, he merely meant to correct it, but the way Bucky immediately halted his actions and gripped his wrists, Sam understood that Bucky Barnes was incredibly, incredibly protective of his hair.

that was when he realised never to touch it. or even think about touching it.

over the years, Sam has seen countless people try and tidy his unruly locks of hair, but Bucky has had the same reaction to all.

a swift grip on the wrist, a soft glare, and a small mutter of "don't touch my hair" was clockwork at this point.

so when you came along - you with your bright smiles and your cheerful nature - Sam often wondered why you put up with his grump of a friend.

don't get him wrong, he was incredibly happy to see him with you, blossoming out of his shell and all.

but it still puzzled him.

on a particularly slow morning, Sam had dropped in for a visit at the Barnes and (y/l/n) household. Alpine had greeted him like she always does - attention seeking attitude melting away into indifference once she got enough head scratches.

Bucky was still waking up from his sleep, moving around the kitchen with you in perfect sync, both of you preparing breakfast while Sam lounged on the island chair next to the kitchen.

he was busy on the phone, but when he looked up next, his jaw dropped and the phone fell from his grip to clatter on the counter.

there was Bucky Barnes, leaning next to you near the stove, as you brushed your hand in his hair and twisted it all around your fingers, letting him rest his head on your shoulders.

who the fuck is that, Sam wondered.

that can't be Bucky.

when Bucky, ever the skillful assassin, felt Sam's eyes on them, he turned to him with a questioning face.

"since when do you let people touch your hair?" San asked without missing a beat.

"I don't." he replied simply.

"but (y/n) was just now-"

"(y/n) is not people. she's different. special."

that shut Sam up. it was disgusting, really, how sweet Bucky was around you.

you cooed at him softly. "aww, thank you baby," and kissed him on his cheek.

"I need more coffee to deal with this disgusting cotton candy shit so early in the morning," Sam muttered under his breath.

thank you for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)

I know the ending was quite abrupt but tbf I didn't have a very well planned out idea 😭 lmk what you think!

[screampied]

you don’t really realize you’re growing old with satoru until you spot a grey tress inside the roots of your hair as you’re looking in the mirror. the thing about marriage and life itself was that time really doesn’t stop—for no one. as you entrap the lock between your fingers, you murmur out to satoru with a cheeky grin. “satoru baby, c’mere.”and as he’s lying in bed with a wrinkled nose, he reads some book titled ‘three men in a boat.’ as he flips a thick page, his cerulean blue reading glasses crook down the bridge of his nose before he turns his attention toward you.

“yesss, honey?” he rubs his eyes, bringing a palm up to his growing stubble. as he got older, you noticed how he moved a bit slower. satoru was still fit as he aged, but he’d have a bit of a waddle whenever he walked. it was cute—how his limbs were getting more and more fragile, but he was still labeled as the strongest despite his inevitable aging.

he makes his way behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you make eye contact through the mirror that reflects you both, a happy married couple. “look, we’re finally matching now,” and his face softens once you bring the silvery colored strand up to his view. ‘matching,’ because his hair was naturally a snowy white . . almost similar to the strand of hair you just showed him.

although as the years progressed, satoru was growing ashen grey streaks too.

“i guess we are,” he replied in a gentle tone, his hands remaining on your hips. satoru’s touch was always gentle and ginger. he presses his lips near the back of your nape before letting off a soft sigh. “you’d look pretty with white hair, actually.”

“prettier than you?” you hum, glancing at him through the mirror. satoru towers over you as he holds you, the band of his wedding ring grazing against your hip.

again, you watch as the corners of his lips crease into a smile. a toothy genuine one where his dimples show.

“haha, veeeery funny,” and as he buries his face into your neck, he deeply ponders to himself for a moment.

to think . . how much time has passed, out of all the countless tiresome battles he’s had to face—

all those years at trying to keep the world safe and now, he could finally relax. having his arms around you gave him a peace of mind, and in the end it was all worth it because at the end of the day, satoru gojo—the strongest, came back to you. you were his personal safe haven and he was yours.

“but honeyyy,” he yawns with rosy pouty lips, shifting his chin up to rest against your left shoulder. satoru starts leading you toward your side of the bed. “ ‘s pretty late, let’s getcha back to bed, hm?”

“okay,” you mumble, already feeling your eyes starting to get heavy again. satoru’s still got his burly arms wrapped around your waist as he leisurely guides you back to bed. he was clingy, and that never changed. satoru gojo’s always been clingy ever since the two of you met. as he pulls down the cover for you to enter, you crawl back in and he gets beside you.

satoru slings an arm around you, pulling you close as his hooded eyes starts a staring contest with the swaying wooden ceiling fan.

it’s moving slow. . just like time was.

whenever he was with you, it felt as if time stood still. and as the both of you cuddled against each other with your head resting against his beating heart, he sighs. it’s a content happy sigh, and satoru’s hands find their way near the top of your head. his thin fingers maze it’s way near your soft grey growing strand before he leans in, giving the crown of your head a goodnight kiss. “mwah,” and he watches as your eyes briefly widen before glancing away, growing sheepish. “get some rest, my love. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

you nod, too drowsy to reply and he pulls you closer. satoru’s heartbeat was steady and slow, and each pulse that bested against your ear made you felt more and more protected. as he holds you firm and close, a hand of his softly caresses your forehead—brushing against the soft hairs that cling onto your skin.

as your breathing starts to relax and your eyelids finally close, he realizes you finally drifted off to sleep. satoru exhales lowly, almost forgetting to take off his reading glasses. as he places them near the nightstand, he lies back down, giving your sleeping state once last glance.

“i love you,” he whispers against your ear before reaching for the pearled lamp switch. “so much.”your head nuzzles against his chest and he assumes that was your non-verbal way of saying it back, even in your sleep. cute.

the only sounds that could be heard were the faint tick tocking of the grandfather clock that stood near the hallway and your soft breathing as you deeply slept. satoru feels a smile tugging against his glossed lips yet again, but this time it’s different . .

it’s not the same smile from when you showed him that you were graying, it was a more genuine smile that was satisfied at everything—primarily at life. satoru’s long crystalline lashes gradually flap shut as he smiles to himself, a thumb brushing against your forehead. all those battles was worth it in the end, because right now, he’s at the only place he wanted to be . . with you.

life wasn’t a competition, but satoru finally felt at peace, true peace—and that peace was being in your presence. he wasn’t one for believing in good endings, but maybe this particular one wasn’t so bad.

“i . . won.”

[agxxb]

We All Need Joel’s Help .𖥔 ݁ ˖

joel miller x f!reader

summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.

warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]

You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.

Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.

That’s when everything fell apart.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.

The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.

"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.

You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…

"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.

He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.

You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.

"She hates me."

You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."

"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”

“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”

He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.

"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.

You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."

Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.

"Come here.”

You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.

"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."

You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.

He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."

You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”

There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.

"Let's get you home, yeah?”

He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.

As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.

"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.

He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.

He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”

It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.

“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”

“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”

Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.

“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”

“It’ll work out.”

Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.

"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.

You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.

"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."

Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."

You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."

He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.

"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"

You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.

"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."

Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.

"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."

He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.

He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.

It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.

He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.

His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.

The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.

He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.

His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.

He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.

“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."

You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"

You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”

His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.

“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”

He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”

You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.

His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.

He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.

You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.

Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.

You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.

“Never been better.”

There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.

His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.

“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.

You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.

You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.

Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.

Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.

“Yeah?”

You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.

You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."

"Oh, my god..."

You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.

"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."

"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"

He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.

"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.

"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.

“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”

“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”

Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.

“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”

You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”

“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”

Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”

[cathnospam]

“One kiss won’t hurt our friendship, right Katsuki?”

You ask him that at least once a week, for the past 4 months. At this point he’s not sure if it’s a joke anymore.

“Shut up and focus!”

It all started at your graduation party, everybody was having fun and kissing each other;

Mina with Kiri

Ochaco with Deku

Jirou with Denki

Even Sero managed to find somebody to make out with in a corner. It left you and Bakugo the only ones out of your friend group kissless during all of that you both just shared glances at them and each other before heading back up to your dorms for the evening, he didn’t care much to continue the celebration and you were just feeling a little awkward seeing everybody paired up.

Later that night Bakugo came to your door to grab an aspirin from you after 1 two many drinks, “Stupid ass music is still playing I’m about to blow the fucking speaker up.”

“Here. Also, eat. You haven’t eaten since this morning so your blood sugar is probably low too.”

He glared at you with an annoyed look of confusion, “Don’t observe me.”

He says as he takes the other half of your sandwhich, eventually he just stayed in your room, making himself comfortable splayed out on your bed as you were finishing packing to leave on Monday back to your parents, and that’s when a night of comfortable silence between you both turned into you making a joke about everybody hooking up in your class except you both.

“Yeah, even Robot legs got some pussy tonight i think.”

Which led you to making a joke about you stealing a kiss from each other, I mean you figured why not, you’re hot, he might have a mean mouth, but your blonde friend was hot too, it wouldn’t mean anything, but Bakugo immediately rolled his eyes and scoffed at you. It wasn’t mean either it was more of a, “Yeah right as if.” kind of thing.

It wasn’t a direct no though.

Since then you’ve had a continuous back and fourth of asking for a kiss, which again he never ends up saying no like any of the continuous fan girls he got during 2nd year.

Once the new semester of Uni started it became a routine and honestly you never thought you’d actually wear him down.

“It wouldn’t hurt our friendship y’know…it’d be something we do once and never speak about again.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“No I’m a good kisser.”

“Yeah right.”

“Yeah too, but you wouldn’t know because you won’t just come here and let me take your kiss virginity.”

You probably took it a little too far with that, because you’ve been friends with Bakugo long enough to know he is a drama. Queen.

“Who the hell said i never kissed anybody before?! I probably have!” His voice cracked, already a sign that he was lying. He definitely never kissed anybody. You knew, he probably knew you knew, but he refused to give you the satisfaction even IF his face became flushed.

He got up from his desk to sit in front of you on the bed, uncharacteristically so he cupped your cheeks, your phone long forgotten between your legs having to be forced to look into his irritated face.

You never noticed how sharp and soft some features of his face were.

And how clear his skin was.

And how pretty his eyes were even if they’re fiery and mad, “Close your damn eyes.”

“I’m not closing shit YOU close your eyes.”

You matched his energy by cupping his cheeks, they were nearly burning to your warm touch, thumb caressing his smooth skin. The tension was so thick between you both, you swore you could hear both your heart beats quickening. His lips were grazing yours as you pulled him closer, your stomach was actually doing backflips seeing as Bakugo had the choice to push you off, curse you out and never talk to you again, but

He didn’t and you didn’t stop either until you pressed your mouth against his. You could taste the mint gum he had in his mouth when you started to move yours, Bakugo’s sweaty hands took grip of your waist, partially holding onto you and also wiping it off on your shirt.

You were surprised when he still didn’t pull away, for an inexperienced kisser he got the hang of the way your tongue was dancing to be let inside, which he finally gave you access, but completely took charge and slid his tongue into your mouth instead.

What turned into an awkward still moment of passion transitioned into a wet, sloppy make out session which him getting lost from what he’d experienced as his first moment of pleasure ever. His hands pushed you on your back firm on top of his pillows, but not disconnecting from your mewls against him.

He tasted sweet and savory, his lips were average sized and hot, but managed to consume you. This was more than a kiss this was damn near foreplay.

Both of your bodies felt so connected though. It felt right, something so foreign felt…comforting. It suckling and moaning noises until the harsh knock on Bakugo’s door broke you both out of your cloud 9.

“Shit—Who is it?” He barked at the door, hovering over your panting body, his chain dangling over your face seeing his sharp jawline clench out of irritation,

“Hey man, we are heading to get some food y’wanna come?” It was Denki and Kiri oh so unknown to the view right behind his door, that if they wanted to barge in because the door was unlocked could see their hot headed friend on top of his own friend and in between her legs.

“No I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“Wait I’m hungry—-“

“Shut.Up.” He covered your mouth, almost growling at you for speaking, the footsteps eventually fade off and he sits back up. Looking away.

“Well I’ll be damned you are a good kisser.”

“Shut— I know I am.”

“Well. I figured, because I sure as shit didn’t know what I was doing.”

He snapped his head at you, realizing you were lying about being an experienced kisser. He didn’t know whether to feel prideful or mad, “You—“

“Well you lied too. I know you never kissed anybody. Thanks for letting me take your lip virginity though.” You giggle wiping the lips gloss you left on the corner of his lip, you weren’t sure because he had some black joggers, but you tried to not mention the somewhat obvious growing erection from between his legs that made him more embarrassed.

“If you tell anybody I’ll—“

“You’ll what…kiss me again?”