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adelliet · 3 days ago

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Joel Miller x f!reader

MILLER'S ABYSS

Summary: Your sister is marrying one of the Millers — but you despise the other one, and the feeling is mutual. Still, family is supposed to stick together, not tear each other apart. So, over time, the two of you grow closer… far closer than anyone ever expected.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, enemies to lovers, age gap (not really mentioned), strong language, nicknames (goor girl…) praise kink, sexual tension, oral sex ( f receiving ), creampie, rough unprotected sex ( p i v ), harassment, mention of weapons and alcohol

A/n: Hello! I swear to god I wrote a long ass novel. I am really sorry for anyone, who decided to read the whole thing…anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You’ve been around since the very beginning of your sister’s relationship with Tommy.

From the moment she started gushing daily about how beautiful his eyes were, how no man had ever smiled at her the way he did, how kind and attentive he was. You witnessed it all — the blissful highs and the inevitable lows. The fights, the breaks, the tearful late-night conversations about breaking up… though they never actually did.

You were there for every moment, even the ones you wish you hadn’t been. Kate had never been shy about sharing even the most intimate details of her relationship with you. She had no filter, and unfortunately for you, that included describing her and Tommy’s sex life in disturbingly vivid detail.

Once, you even caught them in the act in your own house. But hey, that’s a memory you can kind of laugh about now… sort of.

So when she told you Tommy had proposed, you weren’t surprised — not in the slightest. You were happy for her. You loved your sister more than anything, and you knew she had chosen the right guy. Honestly, you were just relieved she hadn’t chosen his brother — Joel.

From the first moment those grumpy, judgmental eyes met yours, Joel Miller had been a pain in your ass. Arrogant. Insufferable. Always had something snarky to say about you at every family gathering. And sure, you gave it back. You were never the type to sit there and take it. Which is exactly how this rivalry had formed. Let’s just call it what it is: you and Joel were enemies.

Until now, it wasn’t really a problem. You could ignore him, roll your eyes when his name came up, and pray you wouldn’t be seated next to him at dinner. But now that your sister was officially going to be a part of the Miller family, officially taking their name, sharing their home, their holiday dinners, that made you, like it or not, a part of their family too. Great.

And if that wasn’t enough, your sister had been relentlessly pushing you to make peace with Joel. “For her.” As if you owed it to her to get along with a man who seemed to exist solely to piss you off.

She guilt-tripped you into it, like she always did, and you hated that it worked. Because as manipulative as she could be, you loved the hell out of her. And you knew this meant the world to her. But Joel? Joel was still a jackass, pre-wedding or not, he wasn’t going to change.

You were still at home when Kate barged into your room like she owned the place — which, technically, she almost did, considering how often she was there. Dressed in a soft green sweater and jeans, she looked casual, relaxed, and maddeningly excited.

Meanwhile, you were half-dressed, still holding a flat iron in one hand and a look of pure dread on your face.

“Come on,” she said with a cheerful grin. “It’s just dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at her in the mirror. “It’s never just dinner when Joel’s involved.”

Kate sighed dramatically, flopping down on your bed like some exhausted mother of the bride. “You two need to get over this weird… war thing. He’s really not that bad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He once referred to me as ‘extra baggage’ in front of your entire family.”

“Okay, yes, that was… not his finest moment. But he was joking,” she admit, but still tried to save it.

“Oh yeah, nothing screams hilarious comedy like being publicly insulted.”

She sat up, crossing her legs under her. “Please, babe. Just try tonight. For me. If you can survive one dinner without threatening to stab him with a fork, I swear I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You say that every time.”

“And yet you keep saying yes,” she smirked.

You groaned. She was right. You hated how much you loved her. With a final puff of frustration, you turned off the flat iron, stood up, and grabbed your jacket. “Fine. But if he calls me ‘baggage’ again, I’m pouring wine on his lap.”

Meanwhile, Joel is going through the exact same thing. Tommy’s been in his ear all week, pressuring him to play nice. To “just give her a chance.” Tommy’s been acting like he’s the victim, like he’s stuck in the middle, practically begging Joel to make the effort. So now you and Joel are both being dragged into this under the pretense of a “family bonding” dinner.

By the time you two got to the Miller house, it was already dusk. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the wood panels and old swing seat hanging to the side. Tommy opened the door before you even knocked. He immediately scooped Kate into his arms, greeting her with a kiss that lasted a bit too long for your taste.

“Jesus, get a room,” you muttered under your breath.

Tommy chuckled. “Evenin��,” he said, giving you a nod.

You gave him a polite smile. “Hey.”

Then came the moment your blood turned cold. Joel stepped into the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His hair was slightly damp like he’d just showered, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t say anything — just looked at you. You looked back. And there it was again, that mutual expression of ugh, it’s you.

Kate and Tommy exchanged matching looks and leaned into your ears simultaneously.

“Be nice,” she hissed at you.

“Don’t start anything,” Tommy whispered to Joel.

You both scoffed.

Dinner prep was a disaster waiting to happen. For some unknown reason, probably Kate and Tommy being evil geniuses, you and Joel were tasked with setting the table and bringing out the food. The tension in the kitchen was unbearable.

“Could you not stand in front of the fridge like a statue?” you snapped.

“I’m getting the damn salad, princess,” Joel grumbled, pulling out the bowl and practically shoving it into your arms.

You glared. “Try using your words instead of your muscles, Neanderthal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tempt me to go back to grunting. Might actually be more productive.”

The more you moved around each other, the worse it got — bumping hips at the counter, brushing arms when reaching for the same spoon, and more than once, you two knocked elbows hard enough to make you both wince.

“Watch it,” you muttered.

“You watch it,” he shot back.

“Jesus Christ,” you both said at the same time, throwing your heads back in sync. Which, of course, only made things worse because now you were in sync, and that was not acceptable.

Finally, Kate came in and clapped her hands. “Enough! Can you two just pretend not to hate each other for one night? Please?”

You and Joel both grumbled something under your breath and carried the last dishes to the table in stony silence.

Dinner was… exactly what you expected. You sat across from Joel — naturally. Your jaw was clenched the entire time, and you were very aware of every fork and knife placement, just in case they needed to become weapons. The air was so thick with tension it could’ve been sliced like the roast chicken on the table.

Kate and Tommy tried to salvage the evening with small talk.

“So…” Kate started, glancing between you and Joel, “how was everyone’s day?”

“Fine,” you said flatly.

“Work,” Joel replied, same tone.

Tommy tried to step in. “Hey, did you two know you both listen to Johnny Cash? I found out the other day when—”

“I liked him first,” you snapped.

Joel raised a brow. “Didn’t realize it was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition with you.”

Tommy looked between you both like a tennis match was playing out on the table. “O-kayyy…”

Kate, bless her heart, still tried. “Oh! What’s one thing you two have in common, hmm? Let’s start there.”

You both said nothing.

Joel took a slow sip of water and said, “We both hate this dinner.”

You nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

Kate sighed, Tommy just reached for the wine bottle, shaking his head. They both knew this is going to be a long night.

Dinner was mostly quiet — painfully so. The clink of forks against plates and the occasional hum of conversation from Tommy and Kate filled the room, but that was about it. You and Joel barely spoke.

Occasionally, your eyes would meet across the table, sometimes with passive annoyance, other times with flat-out disgust, and sometimes with something neutral. But even neutrality between you two felt tense, like a ceasefire that could end at any moment.

Tommy tried to lighten the mood a few times, making dumb jokes about the food or poking at Joel’s cooking skills.

“This chicken dry, or is it just me?” he teased with a grin.

Joel gave him a look. “If it’s dry, it’s ’cause you didn’t baste it. That was your job.”

Kate laughed, trying to follow up. “At least you two managed not to kill each other in the kitchen, right?”

No response. But they tried again.

“So,” Kate began, clearly reaching, “any plans this weekend?”

“I work,” you said.

Joel echoed, “Same.”

Another silence fell, heavier than before. The kind of silence that made your jaw ache just from clenching it so long. No matter how hard Tommy and Kate tried to spark something between you two — laughter, small talk, anything — the tension in the room snuffed it out before it could catch fire. It wasn’t just awkward. It was chemical.

You and Joel in the same space were like two opposing forces, constantly repelling, constantly charged. Too close and it sparked. Too far and it still lingered in the air like static.

After dinner, as expected, you and Joel were once again exiled to the kitchen, this time to wash the dishes.

Kate had literally clapped her hands and said, “Bonding time!” before shoving the dirty plates into your arms. You didn’t even have time to argue before she and Tommy disappeared into the living room, probably to laugh about your misery.

Now you stood next to Joel, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder at the sink.

He washed. You dried. Silence.

The sound of running water filled the space, along with the occasional clink of a fork against a plate. You hadn’t said a single word since you entered the kitchen, and neither had he.

The mood wasn’t angry, though. Not anymore. It was something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

You turned your head slightly, and your gaze drifted downward, toward his hands.

You didn’t mean to stare, but something about them caught you. His hands were large, strong, weathered. The veins stood out beneath the tanned skin, pulsing slightly as he gripped a soapy plate. His knuckles looked a little bruised, like he’d been working with tools recently, or maybe throwing punches. There was hair on his forearms, just enough, and the muscles flexed subtly as he moved, the way a man’s body does when he doesn’t even think about it.

You swallowed. Your eyes lingered on his fingers. Long, sure, and steady. You imagined, just for a split second, how they would feel against your skin. What they would do if they weren’t holding a dish, but holding you. You bit your lip.

The kitchen faded around you. The water noise dimmed. Everything felt slow, heavy, thick like honey. Your chest tightened, your stomach dropped, and something low and electric buzzed between your legs — a tension that coiled and pulled without warning, warm and unwanted and there. You weren’t even breathing right.

You didn’t realize he was speaking to you.

“Hey. Plate.”

Your head snapped up, too late. He was holding a clean plate, expecting you to take it. But your hands stayed frozen, and when he let go, it slipped. The crash was loud.

Porcelain shattered against the floor in a sharp burst, and you gasped, stepping back automatically.

“Shit,” Joel muttered under his breath, already reaching down.

You moved forward, instinctively trying to kneel, but his hand shot out fast, palm pressed against your hip to stop you.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his voice low — not angry, not annoyed. Protective. You froze in place.

He crouched and swept up the shards quickly, moving with precision, barely saying a word. He worked silently, efficiently, like it was nothing, but his jaw was tight. His eyes flicked up at you once, his brows furrowed. His expression was angry and confused all at once.

He stood back up after dumping the last of the shards into the trash bin, wiping his hands on a towel with a sigh, sharp and fed up.

Then he turned toward you with that same ever-present frustration in his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?”

You blinked at him, speechless.

“What, were you daydreamin’ so hard you forgot how to use your hands?”

His tone wasn’t playful. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was accusatory, like you’d done it on purpose, just to piss him off.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was frozen in place, the towel still clenched in your fingers, your lips parted like you might say something — but no sound came out. You weren’t even mad. Not this time. Because underneath all that embarrassment, all that tension, was confusion.

What the hell was that?

Why had you been staring at his hands like they were goddamn poetry? Why had your brain short-circuited and your body reacted like that — like you wanted something from him?

From Joel fucking Miller.

You didn’t understand yourself right now. At all.

Joel scoffed under his breath when you didn’t respond and brushed past you without another word, tossing the towel over the edge of the sink and leaving you standing there — warm, unsettled, and angry at no one but yourself.

After you and Kate finally left the Miller house and inhaled the fresh night air, Kate looped her arm through yours. She looked up at you with that too-knowing expression.

“Well?” she asked, her voice casual, but the look on her face said spill it.

You gave her the look — that don’t start with me kind of face.

Kate exhaled, long and exaggerated. “Seriously? What is it gonna take for you two to stop acting like mortal enemies?”

You didn’t answer right away, just stared out at the sidewalk ahead.

“I know he’s annoying,” she went on. “I know he’s pushy, and grumpy, and rude as hell, but Jesus, he’s not the devil. He’s just Joel.”

You finally spoke, voice lower than usual. “I get it. Okay? I get it. You’re marrying into his family, I’m technically gonna be stuck with him for the rest of my life, blah blah blah.”

She smirked. “So you’ll try?”

You sighed. “I will. But only if he does, too. I can’t be the only one putting effort into something we both clearly hate.”

Kate made a noise between a laugh and a groan. “Fair enough. But God, I swear, if you two ruin the wedding photos with your death glares…”

Back inside the Miller house, Joel was slouched on the couch, legs spread out, beer in hand. Tommy returned from the kitchen with two more beers and plopped down beside him.

“So,” he said, cracking open a bottle. “What the hell happened in there?”

Joel didn’t even look at him. “She dropped a plate.”

Tommy squinted. “She dropped it?”

Joel shrugged. “I handed it to her, and she just… didn’t take it. Let it fall. Her fault.”

Tommy gave him a really, man? look. “You think maybe she was distracted or somethin’? Maybe you distracted her?”

Joel scoffed. “You think she was distracted by me? Please. If anything, she was probably daydreamin’ about strangling me.”

Tommy raised a brow, clearly not buying the sarcasm. “You ever think that maybe the reason you two can’t stop fighting is because there’s somethin’ else going on?”

Joel shot him a glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Tommy said, leaning forward with that big-brother patience, “that you’ve been on her case since day one. And maybe it’s not just because she annoys you.”

Joel opened his mouth, but Tommy cut him off.

“I’m serious, man. The wedding’s in a few days. Can you do me a favor and try to get along with her until then? I don’t need you two turning the rehearsal dinner into a goddamn war zone.”

Joel looked away, jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just took a long drink from his bottle.

Eventually, he muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

The tension between you and Joel hadn’t eased in the slightest since that night at the Miller household. If anything, the silence had grown louder, more hostile. Kate and Tommy, of course, refused to give up on their master plan to “bring the two of you together,” as if your lives were a cheesy rom-com and not a daily emotional battlefield.

With the wedding quickly approaching, they decided the best way to force bonding would be through responsibility. Specifically: seating arrangements and wedding invitations. Apparently, this critical task needed the undivided attention of you and Joel. Together. Alone. In their house. Because of course.

Kate and Tommy conveniently had an appointment in town, something about last-minute candle holders and music rehearsals, and “oh no, what a shame, you guys will just have to hold down the fort!” Kate practically squealed while Tommy tried to look like it wasn’t part of their evil plan.

So there you were, sitting stiffly at the Millers’ dining table, stacks of RSVP cards, envelopes, and color-coded guest lists spread out in front of you. Joel sat across from you, equally still, equally uninterested in being here.

The silence was thick. Occasionally, one of you would mutter something like, “He’s allergic to nuts, right?” or “That name’s spelled with an ‘e’.”

Minimal communication. Minimal eye contact. Maximal contempt.

You let out a heavy sigh as you picked up a fresh stack of blank envelopes. “Y’know, this would’ve been so much easier if the world hadn’t ended,” you muttered under your breath. “A few clicks and everyone would’ve had a damn email invite. Done in five minutes.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You miss the internet that bad?”

You shrugged. “I miss not having to do this shit by hand, yeah.”

He scoffed. “It’s a wedding. People used to do this all the time.”

You shot him a look. “People used to do a lot of dumb things.”

Joel raised both hands in mock surrender, then muttered, “Including arguing about paper.”

A few beats passed in silence again before you looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “This whole thing’s weird, isn’t it?”

Joel looked at you cautiously. “Which part?”

“All of it,” you said. “Two people falling in love in this… mess. Choosing each other. Wanting to celebrate it. Feels like some part of the old world pretending it still exists.”

He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

You watched him a second longer, then said, “I mean… what does that even mean anymore? Love. You think it still means the same thing it used to?”

Joel finally looked up.

You met his gaze, and the words slipped out before you could think twice, not really curious, more mocking than anything else. “What does love even mean to you, Joel Miller?”

He stared at you, his jaw slowly tightening.

You added with a touch of venom, “Have you even ever been in love? Or are you too emotionally constipated for that, too?”

He froze. The look in his eyes darkened, and the air between you changed.

“The hell did you just say?”

You didn’t flinch. “I called you a pussy, Joel.”

His nostrils flared. “Say it again.”

“I said, you’re a pussy.”

The silence that followed was dense, almost buzzing. Joel’s eyes drilled into you, and for a second, you weren’t sure what he was going to do. Yell? Walk out?

But instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, voice low and sharp.

“You wanna talk big, huh? Then tell me, what does love mean to you, sweetheart?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Since you’ve clearly got all the answers.”

You hesitated, heart skipping. Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” Joel said.

You stared at the table for a long moment, heart pounding in your ears. Then, before you could stop yourself, your voice broke the silence.

“Love is… when you can’t breathe right unless that person is in the room. When you’d rather fight with them than be at peace with anyone else. When you want to see all the ugly parts of them and still stay. And when their pain… feels like yours.”

You didn’t dare look up, not right away. When you finally did, Joel was staring. Not blinking. Not moving. Just looking. Like he’d never really seen you until now.

He cleared his throat suddenly, shifted, and said, “Huh.”

Then he nodded. Once. Turned back to the list. The moment lingered. Hung between you like a string, pulled taut.

Then he spoke again.

“Love’s when you wanna walk away but something keeps pullin’ you back. When you can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how they laugh… or how mad they get. When you know it’s messy and it still feels like home.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Something inside you had shifted.

But before it could settle, before the warmth could sink in…

Joel muttered, “Still doesn’t explain why you act like a damn gremlin every time I speak.”

You scoffed. “Because you speak like a man who’s never been hugged.”

“Then maybe you should try it sometime,” he shot back.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I’d rather hug a cactus.”

“Figures,” Joel said. “Prickly little thing like you would.”

Still, despite the insults, the two of you finished the task. The guest list was done. Invitations sorted. But the words exchanged, the raw ones, clung to the air. And you didn’t quite know how to feel.

You had just gotten home, the front door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. Your shoulders slumped immediately. The moment you stepped into your own space, a small but safe corner of Jackson, you let out a sigh that had been bottled up since you left the Miller house.

The silence here was different. Not tense or charged like it had been with Joel. Just… quiet.

You slipped off your jacket, toed off your boots, and dropped your bag on the floor without ceremony. The thought of Joel’s voice, his eyes locked on yours when you told him what love meant to you…it haunted the back of your mind like a persistent shadow. You shook your head, trying to return back to reality.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You already knew it was her.

Kate stood there with a small smile, holding a container of something vaguely edible and homemade. “Peace offering,” she said. “And no, you don’t get to say no.”

You let her in, and a few minutes later you were both curled up on your couch, the dish of food forgotten on the coffee table. Kate had that look, the one she wore when she was trying to act casual, but her whole soul was bubbling with questions.

“So…” she said, dragging the word out dramatically. “How’d it go?”

You blinked, already mentally preparing your response. “Fine.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Fine?”

You nodded. “We didn’t kill each other. That’s a win.”

She stared at you, and you could practically hear her brain doing somersaults. She knew something was wrong. You've never looked so confused.

Kate pulled her legs up onto the couch and faced you fully, expression softening.

“You look… tired,” she finally said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Long day,” you replied simply, brushing it off.

Kate gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How was the… invitation thing?”

You shrugged. “It’s done.”

There was a pause. You didn’t elaborate. And she didn’t press. You could feel her gaze lingering on you, trying to read something on your face, but you didn’t let her see it. Whatever was still spinning inside you, the strange heaviness, the warmth that shouldn’t have been there, the ghost of Joel Miller’s voice, that was yours. Yours alone.

Kate leaned back with a sigh, folding her arms.

“I know you don’t want to talk about him,” she said softly, “but I just… I need to ask.”

You looked at her, guarded.

“Do you think it’s ever going to change? Between you and Joel?”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at your hands, picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Some things don’t change,” you said quietly. “Some things just… stay broken.”

Kate’s face twisted, the fight going out of her. She blinked quickly, but it didn’t stop the tears that started forming.

You looked over, guilt blooming in your chest. “Kate…”

“I just wanted it to be perfect,” she whispered. “My wedding. This whole day I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid. I wanted everyone I love to be there and to be happy and whole.”

“You will have that,” you said firmly, even if your voice shook a little.

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks as the tears finally fell. “Not if you two are at each other’s throats the whole time.”

You stayed quiet, watching her break down in front of you — your strong, soft-hearted sister who tried so hard to keep everyone together.

“I know I sound dramatic,” she laughed bitterly through her tears. “But I don’t want to remember walking down the aisle and seeing you scowling in one corner and Joel brooding in the other.”

You reached out and took her hand. “You won’t. I promise.”

Kate sniffled. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try,” you said. “I don’t know what he’ll do, but I’ll try. For you.”

That seemed to help — not fix it, not fully, but soften the edges of her sadness. Her grip on your hand tightened.

Kate wiped her cheeks and let out a breathy laugh. “You better try, because if not, I was going to threaten you with the world’s ugliest bridesmaid dress.”

You snorted. “I’d wear it. Just to ruin your photos.”

She gasped in mock offense, then started laughing, a real one this time. You joined her, and for a few minutes, the air was lighter. Less pressure. Less ache.

At least for now.

The bed creaked softly beneath him as he shifted for the third time in five minutes. Joel lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling of his dimly lit bedroom, the moonlight cutting across the room in a cold stripe. The air was still, thick with silence, and yet his mind was unbearably loud.

He’d tried everything. Rolling over. Flipping his pillow. Forcing his thoughts toward patrol routes, inventory lists, anything functional. But no matter what direction he turned, you were there. Like a ghost he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t exorcize.

Your face hovered behind his eyelids. Not angry or sharp the way it often was — but softer. Lit with that rare, fleeting smile you gave Kate. Or the way your head tipped back when you laughed at something that actually caught you off guard. That sound — fuck, that sound — warm and bright like the first day of spring after a brutal winter.

And then there was the way you touched your hair, that unconscious little motion, fingers gliding through it, tucking it behind your ear or sweeping it out of your eyes. You didn’t even know you did it. But Joel did. He’d seen it. Noticed it. Memorized it like a fool.

He pictured you leaning over the table earlier that day, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of bare lower back. His gaze had lingered. Too long. He knew that. He hated that.

Your ass—round, perfect, smug in those tight jeans—had haunted him every time he closed his eyes since.

He shifted again, jaw clenched now, heat starting to pool somewhere low in his belly.

No. No, no, no.

But it was already too late. His body wasn’t asking for permission — it was responding. A twitch of pressure, a slow tightening beneath the waistband of his briefs. His breath caught as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish you from his brain.

Didn’t work.

You stayed, and now you were closer — the imagined warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice in his ear, teasing, smug. The tilt of your mouth. The curve of your hips as you stood with one hand on them, rolling your eyes at something he said.

His hand fisted the sheets.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, voice rough, hoarse with frustration — and something else.

He turned onto his side, dragging the blanket higher, willing his body to calm down. But it wouldn’t. Every time he shut his eyes, there you were — sometimes laughing, sometimes biting your lip, sometimes looking up at him with that fire in your gaze that made him feel like he was being dared to cross a line.

He groaned, low and miserable, rolling onto his back again.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were infuriating. You were stubborn, impulsive, mouthy. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you.

But your voice still echoed in his head, that quiet answer you’d given when you talked about love. It had knocked something loose in him. Something buried. Something he didn’t want to name.

Joel cursed under his breath again and threw an arm over his eyes, as if blocking out the light might also block you. His body was still betraying him — hard now, pulsing and persistent, refusing to let him pretend.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Why it was happening. Why it was happening, because of you.

He hated you. Every fiber of you. Every sound that came out of your mouth was insufferable, every sentence laced with that arrogant, sarcastic tone that made his blood boil. Your eyes, your posture, your voice, your goddamn presence—he hated it all.

So why the hell is he fucking hard right now? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

Why did the image of your lips slightly parted as you chewed on your bottom one haunt him? Why did the memory of the soft curve of your waist, revealed when your shirt lifted just a little too high the other day, replay in his mind like some sick punishment? Why did he remember the sway of your hips when you walked away from him in irritation, those tight pants hugging your ass so perfectly it should’ve been illegal?

And why did his cock throb every time he let the image linger? It was torture.

He shifted in his bed again, groaning under his breath. Sheets rustled around him, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

He closed his eyes. He opened them. He closed them again. You were still there—in his head. Laughing, glaring, rolling your eyes, teasing him with that attitude that made him want to pin you to a wall and shut you up with his mouth.

He threw an arm over his face. Growled.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Sleep definitely wasn’t coming tonight.

The next morning arrived like a slap in the face.

You were walking through Jackson, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, breathing in the chilled air. The sky was pale and clouded, the usual buzz of early activity around you—a couple of kids running down the path, dogs barking, someone hauling wood nearby.

You were just going to the store. That was it. Simple. In and out. Until your eyes landed on him - on Joel.

He was a little far off, working on a newly constructed cabin. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, sun-kissed forearms, and you watched, breath hitching as his muscles tensed with each swing of the hammer. The way his biceps bulged, like fucking granite, as he brought the tool down with precision and force.

You knew it was wrong, but… your eyes wandered lower. Watching the way his back flexed beneath his shirt, the curve of his ass in those damn jeans, the way his hair bounced slightly with the movement, sticking to his sweaty forehead. The veins in his hands, so prominent, so… masculine, wrapped around the handle of that hammer like it owed him something.

Your stomach twisted. You swallowed hard. Your thighs pressed together. Your panties were… wet. Unmistakably. You could feel it. You were pulsing. And it was because of Joel fucking Miller.

You stared for a moment too long, heart racing, body betraying you in every way it could. Then it hit you like a truck, the embarrassment, the fury.

You tore your gaze away, eyes wide, and stormed forward like your feet could carry you out of your own body.

What the hell was wrong with you? Why were you reacting like this to him? You hated him. He was rude. Cocky. Infuriating. Not even that attractive.

So why the hell was your body acting like it wanted him inside you?

You cursed under your breath. Not at Joel. At yourself.

By the time you entered the store, you were still flustered, heart thudding in your ears. You pushed a cart forward and moved through the aisles like you were on autopilot, scanning for what you needed. Your brain was still somewhere else entirely.

That’s when someone spoke behind you.

“Hey—uh, sorry, do you know which flour’s better for, like, sourdough bread? The brown bag or the white one?”

You blinked and turned around. There was a guy. Kinda cute. Probably around your age. Tall, lean, with soft features and warm eyes. His voice was kind, curious. Not annoying. Not Joel.

You glanced at the two bags in his hands, then pointed to one. “The brown bag’s whole grain. It’s heavier. Depends what you want, but for sourdough? White’s probably safer.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I’m Hank, by the way.”

You nodded, giving a small smile back. “Nice to meet you.”

And that was it. Just… nice.

You continued your shopping, finishing quickly, keeping the interaction in the back of your mind, but it was faint. Not because Hank wasn’t lovely, but because Joel was still in your system like venom.

You paid, stepped outside with your bag in hand, and started the walk home, your mind looping the same awful thought:

Why did your body want the one person your brain wanted to strangle? You had no answer. Just the echo of his name in your head and the heavy, traitorous thrum in your chest.

The sky had long since darkened into a deep navy, the stars peeking shyly through the scattered clouds above Jackson.

Inside your home, it was warm—quiet. A soft amber glow bathed the living room from the single lamp you’d turned on, casting long shadows against the walls.

You were curled up on the couch, wearing nothing but a loose oversized T-shirt that draped just over your hips and a pair of simple cotton panties. Your legs were bare, tucked under you as you sipped from a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm long ago, but the comfort it offered hadn’t worn off.

The silence was calming, the kind that followed an emotionally messy day. You breathed out softly, your body finally beginning to unwind—until a knock pulled you back into reality.

You didn’t flinch. You assumed, without question, that it was Kate. Probably coming to drop off something or chat about the wedding. So you padded lazily to the door, not thinking twice about how little you were wearing. Your shirt clung to your body slightly, the thin fabric doing little to hide the curve of your breasts or the faint outline of your nipples beneath it. You didn’t care. It was just Kate.

But it wasn’t Kate.

The second the door opened, and you locked eyes with the man standing there, your breath caught. Joel Miller. And he looked stunned.

His eyes scanned you—fast at first, like he knew he shouldn’t—but then slower, more deliberate. They flicked down your body, taking in the exposed skin of your legs, the hem of the shirt barely grazing your thighs. The hard peaks beneath the soft fabric. Your bare feet. Your collarbone. His mouth parted slightly, and for the briefest moment, he forgot whatever the hell he was doing there.

You noticed. You definitely noticed.

Your expression flattened into a scowl as you exhaled, annoyed. “The fuck do you want?”

That snapped him out of it. He blinked, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly trying to summon the familiar arrogance that always kept him armored around you.

“Trust me,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, “I’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

“Great,” you snapped, already pushing the door to shut in his face. But his large, calloused hand caught the wood with ease, pushing it back open like it was nothing.

You glared but didn’t resist. There was no point. You couldn’t overpower Joel Miller, and honestly, you were too tired to try.

“Tommy sent me,” he finally said, voice returning to its usual gruff cadence. “Said we need to go grab some shit from the woods. Decoration stuff. For the wedding.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why me?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Apparently, you’re a woman. Which means you’re supposed to be better at this crap than me.”

You scoffed dramatically, rolling your eyes, and turned to glance at the clock hanging in your living room. “It’s nine-fucking-p.m. Are you stupid?”

“I worked all day,” he bit back, voice edging toward exasperation, though his gaze never left your bare thighs.

You mumbled under your breath, “Yeah. I noticed.” Your eyes flicked down to the floor quickly.

Joel tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a fake sweet smile, lips curling with venom.

He sighed. “Are you coming or not?”

You knew damn well that if you said no, not only would he keep annoying you, but so would Kate and Tommy, and eventually, you’d cave. So you made the only rational choice—gave a dramatic sigh and stepped back into your house, leaving the door open behind you.

“Wait here,” you muttered over your shoulder.

Joel stepped inside, his boots heavy against your wooden floor. He didn’t say anything. Just took in your space with a kind of silent judgment that felt oddly intimate. It was homey. Clean. Warm. He liked it more than he should’ve.

When you returned a few minutes later, your body was dressed in a black button-up shirt that clung to your figure, paired with tight black jeans that hugged your hips and ass like they were tailor-made. You tossed your hair back and brushed your hand along the wall, grabbing your jacket.

Joel saw you. swallowing hard when he felt the blood in his body rush somewhere it really shouldn’t.

“Let’s go,” you said curtly, pushing past him and stepping out the door. He followed. Silently.

The truck rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the inky black night as Joel pulled out of your driveway. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the window.

Silence. Thick silence.

Not the peaceful kind from earlier. This one was charged, buzzing under your skin like static. The air between you crackled with unspoken things, heavy tension that neither of you dared to slice through. Questions, feelings, memories—none of them had names, but they were all there, pressing into the cab of the truck like ghosts refusing to stay dead.

You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you. But both of you felt it. Every second ticked by like a countdown to something inevitable. Something neither of you were ready to admit.

The road stretched out endlessly ahead, swallowed by the dark trees on either side. The only sound filling the truck was the steady hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. You sat with your arms crossed, your body angled slightly toward the window, your gaze locked on the shadows flashing by. The silence was thick. Claustrophobic. And entirely unbearable.

Finally, Joel broke it.

“What’d you do today?”

His voice was neutral. Uninterested, even. He didn’t look at you—kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other draped over the armrest. Just a casual question, thrown out into the air like it didn’t mean a damn thing.

You turned your head slowly toward him, an incredulous smirk pulling at your lips. “Really?”

Joel glanced at you once, then again, brows drawing slightly together. “What?”

A laugh burst out of you, short and bitter, as you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re seriously trying to ask me about my day?”

He didn’t respond immediately. You could tell he was debating it. Trying to find a retort that wouldn’t sound weak. But before he could even open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“You don’t even care.”

Your voice was quieter now, almost defeated. You turned your head back toward the window, watching the world blur past, soft shadows and moonlight playing tricks on your vision. For a moment, there was only silence again. Heavy. Tense.

“…I don’t,” Joel finally admitted, his tone dry, “but it’s better than this annoying-ass silence.”

You let the corner of your mouth twitch. The bastard had a point. You let a few seconds pass, then finally gave in.

“I went to the store.”

Joel gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, a slight nod that was barely perceptible.

“I met someone. Hank.”

Another grunt. Another nod. But this time… his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Just a little. Barely enough to notice. But you saw the way his forearm flexed, how his fingers wrapped more firmly around the leather. It was subtle. But there. A small flash of something ugly and hot in his chest. Jealousy? No. That couldn’t be. Why the hell would he be jealous?

“Is he cute?” he asked.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not bad. Might give him my address if I see him again.”

That did it. Joel’s knuckles went white on the wheel, his jaw tightening so hard it ticked. His whole body tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you liked the reaction a little more than you should have.

“What about you?” you asked, voice suddenly lighter, almost teasing. “Meet any girls today?”

“Huh?” Joel glanced over at you quickly before looking back at the road.

“Come on, you know… did you meet someone new? Maybe someone young and smiley and way too optimistic for her own good?”

Joel let out a huff of air—half a laugh, half a scoff. “Not into that crap.”

“Not into what? Dating?”

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Who the hell would date a grumpy old bastard like me?”

Your eyes met for a second too long. And something in your chest… shifted. He didn’t say it like a joke. He wasn’t fishing for pity. He was just being honest. And you saw it, really saw it, in his expression. That quiet loneliness that clung to him like a shadow he didn’t know how to shake.

“Don’t be stupid,” you muttered. “I’m sure someone would.”

You weren’t sure why you said it. It came out before you could stop it. Before you could build your usual wall of sarcasm and spite.

Joel’s mouth twitched bitterly. “Wish I was as naïve as you.”

And god, you hated how that made you feel. That burning in your throat. The aching behind your ribs. He was so frustrating, so guarded, so closed off—but in moments like this, you could almost feel how much it cost him to let anything through.

You wanted to hug him. You wouldn’t, of course. But you wanted to.

Joel pulled the truck to a slow stop, the gravel crunching under the tires as the headlights hit a clearing at the edge of the woods. “We’re here,” he muttered, already pushing open his door without a second glance.

You followed a few seconds later, slamming the passenger door a bit too hard and catching up with him.

“So,” you asked as you reached his side, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Shit for the wedding. Kate wants it to be all… nature-themed or whatever. So twigs, berries, moss, mushrooms. Forest crap.”

You arched a brow. “Romantic.”

Joel didn’t reply. He just handed you a small burlap sack and started heading deeper into the woods, boots crunching over fallen leaves. You walked with him in silence, collecting whatever looked remotely wedding-appropriate. The air was damp and smelled like earth. Leaves brushed against your ankles. Moonlight filtered through the branches in silvery streaks.

Then, suddenly—snap. The sharp crack of a stick breaking echoed nearby. Joel froze. His body went rigid, hand instinctively reaching for his pistol. In a second, the weapon was drawn, held steady, and aimed at the darkness beyond the trees.

You jumped, stumbling back a step and grabbing onto Joel’s arm without thinking. “Shit—what was that?”

“Do you have a gun?” he asked, eyes scanning the shadows.

“Do I look like I have a gun?!”

You moved closer to him, practically hiding behind his solid frame. Your heart was thudding like crazy, adrenaline crawling under your skin.

Joel didn’t move for a long beat, waiting. Watching. But nothing came. Just the wind brushing through the leaves and the chirp of a distant bird. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

“Probably just an animal,” he muttered, but you saw the way his shoulders remained tense. Still alert. Still ready. After a few more seconds, he glanced back at you. “You ever even held a gun?”

You raised a brow. “Do I look like I have?”

Joel sighed heavily and handed you his pistol. “Here.”

You stared at it like he’d just handed you a live snake. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Aim,” he said flatly, giving you the simplest instruction imaginable.

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just raised an eyebrow. His expression said don’t argue. So you tried. Kind of. You awkwardly lifted the gun with both hands, your arms stiff, elbows out, your grip all wrong.

Joel let out the most exhausted sigh you’d ever heard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

He took the pistol back, turned it in his hands, and then showed you how to hold it properly.

Feet apart. Elbows relaxed. Grip tight but not too tight. Then he placed the gun back into your hands and watched you. But even so, you were still holding the gun wrong.

Your hands were trembling. Not much, but enough that he noticed. Enough that you noticed. The gun felt heavy, unnatural. Like it didn’t belong in your hands. Joel sighed.

He stepped behind you. Closer than he ever had before. You could feel the heat of his body pressing along your back, his chest brushing against your shoulder blades, his breath — warm and unfiltered — ghosting across the curve of your neck.

Then came his hands.

Big. Rough. Calloused. They slid over yours like they’d been made to fit there — palms swallowing yours completely, fingers curling around the outside of your own to adjust your grip. His thumbs pressed down gently, firmly guiding you, correcting you. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t breathe.

His beard scraped softly against the edge of your cheek as he leaned in closer. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Like this. Keep your elbows down. You’re stiff as a damn board.”

You didn’t hear the words.

You just heard him. The low rumble in his chest. The scent of him — cedar, sweat, something smoky and old and undeniably male. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in the cold woods.

And something inside you snapped. Or maybe it awakened.

A pulse flickered deep in your lower belly. Then it dropped lower. Heat bloomed between your thighs, a slow, aching throb that made your breath hitch and your knees feel just a little weaker. You clenched without meaning to — your muscles tightening instinctively, reflexively — and you felt it in your underwear. The wetness. Already.

Fuck.

Your face was on fire. You were sure of it. Your cheeks burned, your ears burned, even the back of your neck was hot — but you didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because if you did, you’d have to step away from him. And you didn’t want to.

Your heart was hammering inside your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to get out. Your thoughts were chaotic, messy, breathless, spinning.

And when he adjusted your fingers again, his thumb grazing along the sensitive skin between your thumb and forefinger, you couldn’t help the tiny sound that escaped your throat — a breathy, almost inaudible gasp.

Your skin was soft. Warm. He could smell your shampoo, something faint and floral that made him want to bury his face in your neck. He tried to focus on your stance, on the gun, on anything except the way your ass pressed back slightly against his hips, or the tiny hitch in your breath, or the fact that he could feel your pulse through your wrist.

His cock twitched.

The heat spread through him fast — like gasoline catching flame. His hands were supposed to be steady, but they started to shake. Just a little. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cheek, the curve of your jaw, the way your lips were slightly parted. You looked flustered. Flushed. He saw your chest rising and falling faster than before.

And he felt it.

Your body stiffening. That subtle shift of your hips. That soft, barely audible sound that slipped from your throat.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were turned on. And now he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stare at the back of your neck and fight the overwhelming urge to bend his head down and press his mouth there. To see if you’d make that sound again, louder this time.

His cock was already hard. Thick and aching behind his jeans, pressing against the inside of his thigh. And all because of you. Because of the way your body felt under his hands. Because of the way you smelled. Because of that little gasp.

He had to pull away. Now. Before he did something really fucking stupid. But his hands didn’t move. They wouldn’t move.

Instead, he lowered his voice again, leaning closer, his lips grazing your ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re doin’ good.”

Your body shivered. And Joel knew, with complete, devastating certainty, that he was royally, irreversibly fucked.

You turned around slowly, pulse loud in your ears, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

His face was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Your noses almost brushed. The small space between you felt volatile, like a match hovering over gasoline.

His eyes met yours and you swore time folded in on itself. Everything narrowed down to that one unbearable moment of stillness, your shared breath, the roughness of his exhale fanning across your cheek, his scent laced with sweat and cedar and tension.

You weren’t breathing. You didn’t want to. You wanted to stay right there, suspended in the heaviness of that electric, untouchable almost.

And just when you swore he might tilt his head that tiny bit to close the distance, crack. A branch snapped not far from where you stood.

Joel moved instantly, instinctively. He stepped in front of you, arm extended protectively as his eyes scanned the trees.

Your chest rose and fell, rapidly now, the illusion shattered but the heat still simmering under your skin.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “We’re done here,” he said, his voice gravelly, low, but tight. “Let’s go. Ain’t smart to be out here after dark.”

You nodded, mute. There was nothing to say. You followed him through the trees, the pressure in your chest still coiled tight like a loaded spring.

The silence in the truck was worse than the previous drive into the woods. Neither of you said a word. You didn’t even try. The memory of his hands on yours haunted your skin. The way his body pressed behind you. The way he felt. The way your body had responded.

You shifted in your seat, thighs pressing together, breath shaky. From the corner of your eye, you saw his grip tighten on the wheel.

He was thinking about it too. You knew it. You felt it. Like the air between you still crackled with something unnamed and unbearable.

When he pulled up in front of your house, the engine idling, you turned your head to him.

“Thanks,” you said, voice barely audible. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.

You got out quickly, afraid your legs might give out if you didn’t move fast. Your fists were clenched as you stormed into your house and slammed the door behind you.

Joel watched until the porch light flicked on. Then he drove off. He had to.

Because if he didn’t leave right now, if he stayed even a second longer in that truck with the memory of your body pressed into his and your eyes looking at him like that, he wouldn’t be able to think. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

And he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to hide the growing ache in his jeans.

The next morning came like a slap. You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back to the woods. His breath. His voice. That moment.

You sat now on a little wooden stool, knees tucked under you, watching Kate twirl in front of the mirror in a champagne-colored dress.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding the fabric out by her sides like she was floating.

You smiled. Or at least you tried to.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

And it was—for her. It hugged her curves beautifully, made her look like a springtime goddess. She looked happy. Radiant.

You wanted to be happy with her. But you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his voice low in your ear. His hands gripping yours like they belonged there.

The way he pressed into your back, firm and controlled, but just barely. You swallowed hard, shifting on the stool. Your thighs pressed together and stayed there. Your fingers dug into your own knees.

God, what would it be like if he said things like that in a bed? His voice rough, that little growl he did in his throat when he was trying not to let something slip.

“That's it,” he’d say again, but slower this time, with your legs around his waist. His hand around your neck. His body heavy over yours. His—

“Hey?” Kate’s voice broke straight through your filthy mind like a cold slap of water. Your head snapped up. She was watching you in the mirror, a little frown on her face.

“You okay? You zoned out like… hard.”

You blinked. Forced a laugh. “I’m fine. Just tired, I think.”

Kate turned toward you, dress swishing with her. “You sure? You look kinda pale.”

You smiled again. “I’m good. Promise.”

She squinted for a second longer, then let it go. “Okay. Well, you better wake up before tonight. Everyone’s gonna be at the bar. You are coming, right?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Katie…”

“Don’t you dare bail on me,” she said, walking over and poking you square in the forehead. “It’s my last free Saturday before wedding chaos hits full force. You’re coming. No excuses.”

You sighed, lips pressed together. “Fine. I’ll go. For you.”

“Damn right it’s for me,” she grinned, turning back to the mirror, completely unaware of the storm behind your eyes.

Because she had no idea that the only thing keeping you from vibrating out of your skin was the image of her future brother-in-law. His voice, his hands, the pressure of him against your back, his body between your thighs, his cock filling you as he growled against your neck—

You clenched your fists again. You were not okay. And tonight, you were about to walk into a room full of people, awesome.

The bar buzzed with life. Music pulsed in waves from the overhead speakers, something upbeat and forgettable, and people swayed and shouted and laughed, glasses clinking against each other, beer sloshing onto tables and sticky wooden floors.

You were perched on a high stool at the edge of the chaos, your drink half full and your nerves stretched thin.

You’d let Kate drag you here. You hadn’t wanted to come. But the smile on her face as she danced in a small circle with her friends made it all worth it. You were here for her.

But even now, even under the dim golden lights and the noise, your mind flickered like static back to the woods. Joel’s hands. Joel’s breath. Joel’s words. Your thighs pressed together. You took a bigger sip of your drink.

“Thought that was you,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned and saw him, Hank. That cute guy from the store. You almost forget about him, because your mind is currently full of Miller.

“Hank,” you said, forcing a tight smile, trying to hide your overthinking and zoning out every five second.

He held a drink in each hand, his leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the collar of some aggressively loud shirt underneath.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to you without asking.

“Yeah… my sister dragged me out.”

“Ah,” Hank chuckled. “Lucky for me.” He slid one of the glasses toward you. Whiskey. Neat. You nodded politely. “Thanks.”

You didn’t ask for it, but you took a sip. Because refusing would be more exhausting than drinking.

Hank talked, mostly about himself. Occasionally he asked you a question, but he never waited for the answer before launching into another story. Still, it was noise. Noise was good. Noise kept you out of your head.

“You’re quiet,” Hank said, tilting his head. “You mad at me?”

You blinked back to the present.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just… tired.”

He smiled. “You need to loosen up.”

You tried to smile back. But then his hand landed on your thigh. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Heavy. You froze. Your pulse quickened.

You shifted, a small movement—polite, non-threatening, clear. But he didn’t move his hand.

Instead, he leaned in closer, the alcohol on his breath making your stomach twist.

“You look so fuckin’ good tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Bet you feel good too.”

You jerked back. “Hank, don’t—”

He grabbed your wrist, quick and tight, and leaned in.

“Relax, sweetheart. We’re just talkin’.”

“No,” you said, firmer now. “Let go.”

His expression changed. Gone was the charm. What replaced it was flat. Cold.

“You wanna cause a scene?” he whispered.

And then you felt it. Something cold and sharp pressing against your ribs. Your eyes snapped down.

A knife. Small, dirty, folded out from a pocket tool. But real. Panic bloomed in your chest like poison.

“Let’s go,” Hank whispered, teeth clenched in a smile. “Now.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

He guided you off the stool, the knife barely brushing your side as a constant reminder. No one noticed. No one cared. The music was too loud. The lights too low.

He steered you toward the back of the bar, toward the restrooms.

Your heart thundered. Your stomach churned. You were already running through what you’d say, what you’d do, how you’d get out—

“Let her go.”

The voice split through the air like a shotgun. You turned, Hank right after you.

And there he was, your savior. Joel.

Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes black with rage. His hand hovering near the holster on his hip. Not on his gun, at least, not yet.

Hank laughed. “C’mon, dude. We’re just talking.”

“I said let. her. go.”

He stepped closer. Each footfall was silent but devastating, like the pressure drop before a tornado hits. His voice had lowered now, dangerously calm.

Your breath caught. You didn’t even realize tears had formed in your eyes until you blinked and they fell.

Hank looked between you and Joel. He weighed his chances. And then, he shoved you.

You stumbled back—but before Hank could bolt, Joel moved. One hand slammed the knife out of Hank’s grip, sent it skittering across the floor.

The other grabbed the front of his jacket and shoved him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked behind him.

“You ever touch her again,” Joel growled, face inches from his, “I’ll break both your fuckin’ arms. And that’ll be merciful.”

Hank didn’t speak, didn't fight, didn't move. He was shaking, his eyes wide open like he just saw a ghost. He was so fucking scared.

Joel dropped him with a final shove and turned toward you, chest rising and falling fast. You stood there frozen, still shaking, tears streaking your cheeks now.

“Hey,” he said softly, all that rage melting into something gentler. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly. He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a scared animal. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

You followed him without thinking. Out into the night. Into the truck. The door shut behind you, and silence filled the cab.

But this silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Comforting. You let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the seat.

Joel didn’t speak. He just drove, his hand occasionally flexing on the wheel like he still hadn’t shaken off what he’d just done.

When the truck rolled to a stop in front of your house, you reached for the handle, but something in your chest seized. You looked over at him.

“Do you wanna come in?” you asked softly. “I… I could make some coffee. As a thank you.”

Joel hesitated. You saw it all over his face. His jaw flexed, his throat bobbed. He shouldn’t go. He knew he shouldn’t. But his eyes dropped to your lips. Just for a second, and that was enough for him to decide.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Alright.”

You unlock the door with slightly trembling fingers, the echo of the evening still buzzing in your bones. Joel follows close behind, silent but solid, like some kind of ghost who bled warmth instead of cold.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say softly, stepping inside and beginning to shrug off your jacket.

Joel doesn’t speak. He just nods and quietly peels off his own coat, hanging it neatly by the door. You move through the familiar space of your kitchen, the air oddly still. Behind you, you hear the chair scrape softly against the floor as he sits down at the small table.

Joel's eyes were glued on you, burning through your clothes, lingering on the curve of your spine, the swing of your hips. It’s not like before. It’s different. Hungrier.

You reach for the coffee tin without looking at him. You know exactly what kind of coffee he likes.

Which is stupid. Because this is Joel. The man you were supposed to despise. And yet here you are, pouring the water, adding just the right amount of grounds, without needing to ask a damn thing.

The silence wraps around the room, thick and buzzing with the unsaid. You can feel him watching your every move. When the coffee’s ready, you grab two mugs, pour them evenly, and walk over to him.

You set his mug down, sitting across from him, your fingers wrapping around the warmth of the ceramic. You both take the first sip in tandem. Then, quiet. The kind that presses in, like fog.

Finally, you speak. You felt like you have to, after being saved. After practically everything.

“Thanks for earlier,” you murmur, your voice a little raw. “That was… Hank.”

Joel’s jaw shifts slightly. His eyes darken. “Figured.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think he’d be that type.”

He leans back a little, cradling the mug in one hand. “A lot of men like him are out there. Even now. You give ‘em power, they use it to corner someone weaker.”

The words sit between you, bitter like the coffee on your tongue. You nod, slowly. “How’d you even see me? No one else noticed.”

You watch the flicker of hesitation pass behind his eyes, the clench in his jaw. “I just… saw you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In that whole crowd?”

He meets your gaze, lips twitching slightly. “What can I say? You kinda stand out.”

You smirk, mock-offended. “Was it my clothes or the way I awkwardly clung to the wall?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Bit of both.”

You both chuckle, and something shifts. The ice melts. The air gets warmer. It’s not like before. It’s lighter, easier, safer.

Joel finishes his coffee, setting the mug down gently. “I should get outta here. You’ve had one hell of a night.”

You nod, standing with him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

But as you turn to lead him out, your sock catches on the edge of the rug and your balance tips.

“Shit—!”

You stumble forward, instinctively reaching out, but Joel is already there—his arms snapping around you, pulling you tightly against him.

Your chest slams into his, and his hands steady you, one firm on your waist, the other wrapped just under your ribs.

You’re both laughing at first. A light, breathy kind of laugh, like the end of a good joke. But then you look up at him. And suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.

His face is so close. Again. Like in the woods.

Your noses almost touch. His breath brushes your cheek. One of his hands tightens slightly on your hip, grounding you. His other hand firm against your back, your palms flat against his chest.

You looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, nothing else in the world existed. Just the two of you, breathing the same charged air, close enough to feel the heat rolling off each other. You didn’t know if it was a good idea. Hell, it probably wasn’t. This would ruin everything. Complicate the wedding. Complicate Jackson. Complicate… him. You.

But you didn’t move. Neither did he.

His eyes kept dropping, from your eyes to your lips, back up again, then down. Every time he looked at your mouth, it felt like fire ran through your veins. His thumb brushed along your spine like he was grounding himself, and you swore your knees nearly gave out from just that.

Then, like something broke inside him, he kissed you.

It was sudden, deep, and full of something too big for either of you to name. It wasn’t soft, not really. It was controlled. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to remember how to be careful. But the second he felt you lean into it, tilt your head and let out that quiet, needful sound from the back of your throat, he was done.

He pulled back just a fraction, like he was afraid to have gone too far. Like he was waiting for you to push him away.

But instead, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back in like a wild thing that had been starving for this. Your lips crashed into his and there was no more hesitation, no more thinking.

Only need.

The kiss turned feverish — teeth, tongues, breathless groans swallowed between your mouths. His hands were everywhere — gripping your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize every inch.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Your body was reacting like it had waited a lifetime for this. You were pressed up against him, feeling the hardness straining against his jeans, the way his hips rolled into yours with unconscious desperation.

Somehow, you stumbled backwards through the hallway, bumping into walls, laughing through your gasps and moans as he kissed your neck, your jaw, your mouth again. His hands slid down your thighs and lifted you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His mouth never left yours, the kissing is harder now—urgent, uneven. The hallway dimly lit by the golden hue of a single lamp in your kitchen blurred behind you as he carried you toward your bedroom.

Your fingers twisted into the collar of his shirt, knuckles white, and his breath hitched when your teeth grazed his bottom lip. His hips pressed into you as you gasped softly into his mouth, your thighs squeezing around him. The friction made your body jolt with a pulse of heat that spread through your stomach like wildfire.

He kicked the door to your room open, then brought you down to the bed. Not gently. Not softly. There was no time for that.

Your bodies hit the mattress with a thud, your hair splaying out beneath you like a dark halo. He hovered above you for just a second, both of you panting, eyes locked, your chests rising and falling in unison. Then his hands were on you again—rough, wide palms pushing under your shirt, dragging it up. His touch was everywhere. Greedy. Desperate.

You sat up to help him, tearing the shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Joel’s gaze dropped to your chest, dark and feral, his breath catching hard as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. His hands, already trembling slightly, moved with surprising reverence as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra.

It slid down your arms slowly, and the moment your chest was bare, Joel exhaled shakily like he was in physical pain. Like he’d been imagining this for far too long. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. His expression was torn between reverence and hunger. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly.

Then, his hands came up to cup you.

They were big, calloused, and the contrast of his roughness against the softness of your skin made you shudder. He traced the curves with his thumbs, gentle at first, then firmer when he saw how your body arched into his touch. Your breath caught again, a small, sharp sound that broke the silence like a dropped glass.

Joel leaned in, lips parting as he pressed his mouth to the swell of one breast, then to your nipple, hot, wet, insistent. Your head fell back with a whimper as his mouth worked in slow, teasing circles. His hand kneaded the other breast, his thumb flicking expertly, rhythmically, and your legs began to shift restlessly beneath him.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging.

Not to stop him, to beg for more. The sensation was overwhelming, grounding and floating you at the same time. He groaned low into your skin, and you felt the sound vibrate through your ribs, down your spine. Your hips lifted off the bed involuntarily, searching for contact, for pressure, for anything.

Joel paused only to look up at you—his lips shiny, his expression undone. You couldn’t breathe. He looked like sin, and you wanted to drown in it. His hand slid down your side slowly, possessively, as if mapping you. Memorizing you.

With a firm but gentle hand, he urges you backward until your spine meets the mattress. You obey without protest, eyes locked on his, heart thundering in your chest. He follows you down, hovering above you, and then he’s on you again, his mouth returning to your chest, latching onto a sensitive nipple like he’s starving for it.

His tongue swirls, wet and deliberate, flicking over the peak until you whimper. Then he sucks, slow and deep, and your back arches as pleasure shoots through you like a live wire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, voice gravelly and full of reverence. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

Your thighs press together as heat pools between them. You can barely focus, your hands fisting into the sheets as he alternates between each breast—suckling, kissing, grazing them with the barest edge of his teeth. Every touch makes you writhe, your body hypersensitive, your breath short.

You moan his name, barely a whisper, and he growls softly in response. His lips are warm, skilled, knowing. There’s nothing rushed in his worship; he’s savoring every second, and it drives you wild.

Eventually, his mouth releases you, leaving your skin damp and flushed. But he doesn’t move far—only lower, lower still, lips grazing a path down your torso. He leaves a kiss beneath your ribs, then another just below your navel. Each one sets off sparks in your belly. Your breath hitches as he pauses, right above the hem of your panties.

He glances up, eyes catching yours. “You want this?”

Your nod is immediate, shaky. “Yes.”

He hooks his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness. As he slips them off, he holds your gaze, and then he brings the panties to his lips, kisses the damp center, and tucks them into his back pocket with a smug glint in his eye.

And then he lowers his head again.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on you—warm, wet, divine. His tongue dips between your folds, exploring you with devastating thoroughness. He licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning against you like he’s the one being pleasured.

His tongue is rough, textured, dragging deliciously across your most sensitive parts. Every flick, every swirl, every subtle change in rhythm makes your hips lift off the bed, your thighs trembling around his head.

He moans into you like you taste like salvation. One of his hands pins your hip down gently, the other resting on your thigh, keeping you open for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes between licks, “you’re drippin’. So damn perfect.”

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the strands, anchoring yourself as your body threatens to unravel. Every sound you make, every twitch and gasp, seems to fuel him. He buries his face deeper, devouring you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you tremble.

And god, you can’t stop moaning—his name, half-formed pleas, incoherent gasps. You can’t think. All you can do is feel.

You’re flushed, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He slides his tongue over your clit, slow and firm, circling it in ways that make your toes curl.

His mind is a mess of craving and possessiveness. He wants to make you come on his tongue, over and over, until you forget anyone but him has ever touched you. You can feel it in every movement, every low sound he makes against you—he’s not just giving you pleasure. He’s claiming you.

The pressure builds fast and fierce, and your thighs clamp tighter around his head. He doesn’t stop. He just groans into your heat, sending vibrations through you that make you cry out, teetering right on the edge.

And just before you fall, he pulls back slightly, eyes glazed with lust, lips glistening.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he whispers.

“Yes—Joel, please—”

He just smiled devilishly, before his mouth is on you again, relentless. And you break. Your orgasm slams into you like a wave crashing over your body. It’s not soft or sweet—it’s violent, intense, a full-body convulsion that steals your breath and bends your spine off the mattress.

Your mouth opens in a scream, but all that comes out is a strangled moan, broken and raw. Your thighs tighten around Joel’s head, trembling uncontrollably, and your fingers yank at his hair as if anchoring yourself to reality.

The pleasure rips through your core in sharp, overwhelming pulses. Each one sends another shock down your spine, through your arms, your legs, your fingertips. Your vision whitens at the edges. You can’t hear anything but the pounding of your own heart, your ragged gasps, and the obscene wet sounds of his mouth still working you through every last wave.

Joel groans like a man starved, like you are the only thing that’s ever mattered. He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from overstimulation, your whole body twitching beneath him. When he finally pulls back, his beard is damp, his lips swollen and slick, his chest heaving.

“Jesus,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glued to you. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful when you come.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your pulse thudding in your ears. The room tilts a little as you try to breathe through the aftershocks. Everything feels too much, your skin is flushed and hypersensitive, your muscles limp and tingling. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“Joel…” you whisper, dazed. You blink up at him just in time to see his hands at his belt. He unbuckles it slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time, like he’s daring you to look away.

You don’t.

The sound of the leather sliding free is sinful—low, threatening, full of promise. He lets it fall to the floor with a soft thud, then pops the button of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

You watch, helpless to do anything else. He’s broad, powerful, and glowing with heat—shoulders wide, stomach lined with a thick trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband he’s tugging down. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking, and your mouth waters just looking at him.

But he’s not done.

He shrugs off his shirt slowly, working each button free with frustrating patience. And when he peels the fabric off his shoulders and tosses it aside, you nearly forget how to breathe.

All muscle and scars and raw masculinity. His chest is dusted with dark hair, his abdomen hard and sculpted, veins visible on his forearms as he braces himself above you. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, making every dip and ridge of his body gleam under the soft light.

You stare, dazed and aching, lips parted as your eyes trace every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he asks, voice rough, almost teasing, but there’s a strain there. He’s barely holding it together. You nod, unable to speak.

And he smirks, just a little, before leaning down to kiss you again, the heat of his bare skin pressing against yours. Then, he crawled up your body, eyes dark, jaw clenched. His control is fraying, shredded to the edge. You can see it in the way his arms tremble slightly, in how fast he’s breathing.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

You nod frantically, legs already parting for him.

He doesn’t even bother with teasing. He just grabs himself. Thick, hard, flushed at the tip, and guides his cock between your thighs, rubbing the head slowly through your slick folds. He groans at the contact, voice shaking.

“Fuck… You’re so wet for me.”

And then, he pushes in. The stretch is unreal. You gasp, eyes flying open as he sinks into you inch by inch. He’s thick, hot, and pulsing with need. Your walls clench around him automatically, your nails digging into his back as he slowly pushes deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, every muscle in his body rigid. “You feel like heaven.”

The sensation is overwhelming. Your body tries to adjust, but he’s so big, so deep already. You bite your lip, crying out when he bottoms out, pelvis pressing flush against yours.

You’re full. Stuffed. You feel every vein, every twitch of him inside you.

Joel doesn’t move at first, just leans over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving as he fights to keep control. His forehead rests against yours, sweat starting to gather at his temples.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Please—Joel, move.”

That’s all he needs. He starts slow—long, deep thrusts that make your breath stutter, your nails dig into his skin. The sounds of your bodies fill the room: skin against skin, your wetness coating him with every stroke, the soft gasp and grunt of every movement.

But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

Joel groans low in his throat and suddenly snaps his hips forward—hard. You yelp, eyes rolling back. He does it again. And again. Then he loses the last of his restraint.

He fucks you hard, fast, mercilessly. The rhythm ruthless, pounding into you so deep your legs shake around his waist. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall, but you barely register it.

You can only feel him—his cock driving into you with unrelenting force, your pussy clenching with every thrust.

His grip on your hips tightens, bruising. He watches your face twist with pleasure, your mouth open in gasps and cries, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice hoarse. “Take it. Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You can barely form words. Your mind is gone, wrecked, your entire world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you—stretching, filling, owning every part of you.

He leans down, capturing your mouth again, and fucks you so hard you feel like you’re going to shatter around him.

Then, he pulls out slowly, just for a second, only to flip you onto your stomach.

You barely register the motion before his hands are on your hips, strong and commanding, dragging your ass up until you’re on your knees, chest still against the mattress.

You whimper at the loss of him, but then he’s there again—his cock thick and hot as he drags it through your slick folds from behind.

“Joel—” you breathe, barely able to form the word.

“I can't hold back,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “Need you. Need this.”

He thrusts back into you with no warning, making you scream into the sheets.

He’s so deep, so thick, the angle making it feel impossibly intense, like he’s splitting you open all over again.

Your arms give out, your face pressing into the mattress as he starts to move. And it’s brutal. No finesse, no patience. Just raw, driving thrusts that shake your whole body.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Like he’s trying to bury himself so deep you’ll never forget the shape of him. You won’t.

His grip on your hips is bruising, fingertips digging into your flesh as he slams into you again and again. Your skin stings, your scalp prickles—until suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair, yanks your head back, and you sob at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“You take it so fuckin’ well,” he growls behind you, breath hot against your ear. “You were made for me.”

Tears spill from your eyes, uncontrollably, shamelessly. From the intensity, from the feeling of being completely and utterly taken. Your body can’t keep up. You’re trembling, overwhelmed, moaning brokenly as every thrust punches another cry from your throat.

He leans over you, rutting into you deeper now, rougher. His chest presses against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you pinned in place while the other stays tangled in your hair.

You feel yourself spiraling again, your second orgasm rising so fast it almost hurts. Your vision blurs, the mattress soaked with your tears as you sob, “Joel, please, I’m—God—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he pants into your neck. “Come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart.”

It tears through you like lightning, your body locking up before shattering into trembling convulsions. You scream—loud, raw, broken—back arching hard against him. You’re gushing, pulsing around him, your slick flooding down your thighs as your body clenches around his cock.

You’re sobbing, half-coherent, and Joel curses—low and wrecked.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight—”

He’s close. You can feel it in the way he moves, the frantic pace, the desperation in every thrust.

Then his hips stutter. He growls your name like a curse and slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes.

It’s not soft—it’s violent. His entire body shudders behind you, his hands gripping you like you’re the only solid thing keeping him grounded. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, filling you up as he lets out a low, strangled moan against your skin.

You both collapse.

Joel slumps over your back, breathing hard, his body heavy and trembling with aftershocks. Your legs are jelly, your vision blurry with tears and sweat, your heart pounding against the mattress like it’s trying to break free.

Everything’s quiet, except for your breathing, your sobs slowly calming, and the soft curses Joel whispers as he presses his lips to your shoulder, over and over again. His body still draped over yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your back, can feel the way his arms tighten around your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Eventually, he shifts—pulls out of you gently, muttering something soft against your shoulder that you can’t quite make out. You’re too dazed, too shattered, your limbs heavy and slow like you’ve been drugged. He disappears for a moment.

You barely lift your head when he returns with a towel. Joel doesn’t say a word. He just nudges your legs apart, cleans you carefully, almost reverently.

His touch is gentle, surprisingly so. No roughness, no urgency. Just patient, quiet care. He wipes between your thighs, along your trembling skin, and when you flinch from sensitivity, he whispers, “Shh, I got you,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and pulls the blanket up over both of you. You barely notice him crawling in beside you until you feel the weight of his arm wrap around your waist, tugging you back into his chest.

Your eyelids are heavy.

Your body is sore, humming with satisfaction and confusion and something dangerously close to contentment. His warmth seeps into your spine, his breath soft at the nape of your neck. You think he might kiss your shoulder again, but he doesn’t. He just holds you, skin to skin, until you drift off to sleep in his arms.

It’s been three days.

Three days since you let Joel Miller into your home. Three days since you let him see you—all of you. Three days since he touched you like you were something sacred and ruined you all at once.

Tomorrow, your sister’s getting married. Tomorrow, she becomes a Miller. But tonight… tonight is the last night she’ll fall asleep with your name still matching hers.

And all you can think about is him.

Not the ceremony. Not the dress. Not the decorations you spent hours picking out.

Only him. Only that night.

The taste of his mouth. The feel of his body. The way he said your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

It should’ve been nothing. A mistake. A one-time moment of insanity. You could’ve stopped it. Should’ve. But you didn’t. You let him in. You invited the devil to your doorstep, and you didn’t slam the door in his face.

You let him fuck you like you meant something. And worse—you liked it. You hate yourself for that. Because now? Now you can’t even look at him.

He tries. You see it. A polite nod, a soft “hey,” a wave from across the street. You ignore it all. You keep your eyes down. Pretend not to hear him. Pretend he doesn’t exist—because if you don’t, if you let yourself remember even a second of what happened that night, your chest might split open.

He saw you. Really saw you. And he did things to you no one’s ever done before. Things you didn’t know you wanted, let alone needed.

And now… he’s just walking around Jackson like nothing happened. Like he’s fine.

But you’re not.

You’re a mess. A storm barely contained behind a polite smile. Because every time you shut your eyes, he’s there. That mouth. Those hands. That voice in your ear whispering “good girl” as you came around his tongue.

What the hell were you thinking?

Sleeping with your sister’s future brother-in-law? With your enemy? It sounds like a sick joke. A bad decision spun wildly out of control. And the worst part? You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

You should’ve said no.

When Kate looked at you with those sparkling eyes, veil clipped into her hair, all glowing and giddy and “Can you do me a favor?” You should’ve said it right there. No. But you didn’t.

Because tomorrow she gets married. Tomorrow she becomes someone’s wife, and you’d cut off your own arm to make sure her day is perfect. So now you’re stuck in Joel Miller’s truck. Alone. With him.

You sit curled up on the passenger side, arms crossed, body tense like a coiled spring. You haven’t spoken since you got in. Haven’t looked at him once. He tries though.

“Hey,” he said when you climbed in. “You look… nice.” You didn’t answer.

“You sleep alright last night?”

You made a noncommittal grunt and turned your face to the window.

He’s still trying, glancing over occasionally, fingers drumming on the steering wheel like he’s searching for the right rhythm to break the silence. But you give him nothing.

Because what the hell is there to say? That you still feel his hands on your body when you close your eyes? That your throat tightens when you hear his voice, because it reminds you of how it sounded whispering filth in your ear while he ruined you? That your entire body clenches at the thought of him inside you again?

No, there’s nothing to say. But the universe doesn’t give a fuck about timing. Because just as you pass the city limits, the sky cracks open. One fat drop hits the windshield. Then another. Then it’s a full-on storm.

Rain lashes at the glass, fast and blinding, and Joel slows down immediately. Thunder growls somewhere above, deep and low like the sound of something ancient waking up.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Gotta pull over.”

He steers the truck down an overgrown path and finds an old garage, half-collapsed, but enough to get out of the worst of the storm. The rain slams into the tin roof above you, loud and wild. You’re safe, but it feels suffocating.

Joel turns off the engine. Silence falls, except for the storm. He exhales slowly, then speaks.

“You gonna keep pretendin’ I don’t exist?” he asks quietly.

That’s it. You snap. You whip your head toward him, the heat in your chest rising like boiling water. “What do you want me to say, Joel?!”

He blinks. You’re already throwing the door open, going straight to the rain. You needed a fresh air, one that doesn't smell like Joel's car. His door slams right behind you.

“What are you—,”

“Hey, remember that time you fucked me senseless and now I can’t breathe without thinking about it?” You step out into the rain. “That I feel like a complete idiot because I invited you in and now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror?!”

The cold hits you like a slap, rain soaking your clothes instantly. You welcome it. He follows, his voice sharp through the downpour. “I didn’t plan it either! You think I woke up that morning hopin’ to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?!”

You spin on him. “You didn’t stop me!”

“I couldn’t!” he shouts back, eyes wild, hair already soaked. “You looked at me like you wanted it. Like no one ever looked at me before and I couldn’t—” He stops himself, jaw tight.

You stare at him. The rain pours around you, drumming on the roof, the truck, the gravel. Your chest heaves. Your teeth clench. Everything is raw, exposed, trembling.

“This was a mistake,” you say, but your voice breaks halfway through. He steps closer.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I have to,” you whisper.

Joel’s hands reach out slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His palms settle on your wet cheeks. “Look I get it…,” he says softly, “but I ain’t sorry for what we did, and I defenitely do not regret it.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you?” He asked, his brown chocolate eyes made your knees weak, and you knew the answer damn well, but it was just hard. Hard to admit that you have feelings for Joel fucking Miller. That you feel something more, and unfortunately, it's not hatress.

“I don't—” you start, but then he kisses you.

Hard. Desperate. Wet mouths clashing in the rain like something out of a dream you’d never admit to having. His hands hold your face like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. Your fingers dig into his shirt, nails catching fabric. There’s nothing gentle about it.

It’s all tongue and teeth and years of hate folding into hunger. You kiss him like you’re punishing him. He kisses you like he’s begging for mercy.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting.

Foreheads pressed together. Rain dripping from your lashes. His hands stay on your face. Yours clutch his jacket.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” you whisper.

Joel smiles. “Yeah. I know.”

The morning sun filters in through sheer curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in light that feels almost sacred.

Kate stands by the mirror, surrounded by laughter, perfume, and a blur of ivory fabric and flowers. Her wedding dress hugs her figure perfectly—delicate lace at the shoulders, tiny buttons running down the back, and a soft, flowing skirt that pools like clouds around her feet. Her hair is curled and pinned, a few loose strands framing her glowing face, and in her hands is a bouquet of wildflowers tied with satin.

She looks like something out of a dream. You watch her, heart pounding, throat tight with nerves. It’s now or never.

“Kate,” you say gently, stepping forward.

She turns to you, bright-eyed. “Yeah?”

Your hands are shaking. You swallow hard. “I need to tell you something. And I should’ve told you sooner, I just… I didn’t know how.”

She blinks. “What is it?”

You inhale slowly. “It’s about me and Joel.”

She was quiet, her eyes full of expectations and lips sucked nervously into a thin line.

“Me and Joel are… kinda together,” you sigh, heart hammering in your chest, fully expecting a meltdown. But instead, she squeals.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! This is—this is amazing!” She throws her arms around you, nearly knocking your breath out. “I knew there was something! You’ve been acting so weird! But this, this makes me so happy!”

You’re stunned. “Wait… you’re not mad?”

She pulls back and beams. “Mad? Are you kidding? I ship this. Hard.”

You burst into laughter, nearly crying from the relief.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, wiping your eyes.

“I’m your sister, it’s my job,” she grins.

The wedding ceremony is set beneath an arch of flowers, surrounded by rows of chairs filled with friends and family. The sun is just starting to dip lower, casting long shadows, the sky streaked with pink and lavender.

You stand at the altar as a bridesmaid, bouquet clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve never worn a dress like this before—it’s soft, elegant, pale lavender—and your hair is pinned back, a few curls brushing your cheek. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart’s full.

Across from you, Joel stands in a dark suit, tie slightly loosened, that damn rugged charm still impossible to ignore. And then, the music starts. Everyone rises. You turn your head, and there she is.

Kate walks slowly down the aisle, hand wrapped around your father’s arm, veil trailing behind her like a whisper. Her eyes are wide, lips trembling with a smile, and she looks so happy, like every fairytale in the world decided to make a cameo in her life today.

You feel it before you realize it, tears welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, but they fall anyway, slipping down your cheeks in quiet streaks.

Then you glance sideways. Joel isn’t looking at the bride. He’s looking at you.

His eyes are soft. Warm. His lips curve into the smallest smile—just for you. One corner up, the kind that says I’m here. I see you. I’m yours.

You smile back, heart blooming.

And in that moment, standing in the golden light of your sister’s wedding, mascara streaking your cheeks, hands still trembling from the weight of it all, you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With him. With all of it. And finally, finally, it feels like the chaos was worth it.

Hii! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

LOVE YA! 🥮🍂

367 notes · View notes

staytinyzen · 2 days ago

Text

Structural Testing

San x afab f!reader, plus-size/chubby!reader

friends to lovers, smut

MDNI, nsfw content ahead : oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, slight size kink ig?, riding, petname: baby

wc: ~3,2k

San shows up at your door just after 10pm, wearing that cocky half-smile that always means trouble.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Hi ?”

You arch a brow, tugging your oversized tee lower over your thighs. Even though he’s barged into your place like this more times than you can count, it still throws you off, especially on a Friday night, when he’s usually out with his group of friends. Which, of course, explains your glaring lack of pants and bra.

You close the door behind him with a thud. “Why aren’t you out? Don’t you usually spend Friday nights pretending you hate karaoke while singing your heart out to girl group songs?”

He shrugs, heading toward your couch like it’s his own too. “Took the night off. Needed a change of scenery.”

You squint at him, following him. “So you picked my place? Lucky me.”

He grins. “Don’t act like you’re not excited to see me.”

You scoff, “That depends. Are you here because you blew something up again?”

“Not this time, but can you help me with something?”

"This better not be about another one of your insane ramen recipes that had us on the toilet for hours. Or one of your genius ideas trying to make a sofa out of pool noodles."

He shrugs. “I mean… it’s an engineering project. If we can call it that.”

You snort, already suspicious. But you’re bored, and his stupid ideas are at least entertaining and clearly, you have nothing better to do.

"What's the plan this time, Bob the Builder? What do you need?”

“I need you to help me test the structure of my project.”

You frown. “How?”

“You just have to sit on it.”

You blink. “What, like, just sit? That’s it?”

“Yeah, I have to make sure it can handle a specific weight class.” He says it casually.

You cross your arms slowly. “Weight class.”

He clears his throat. “You know. Pressure. Load-bearing support.”

Your expression tightens, your voice a little flat. “So you want me to sit on your little model because I’m heavy?”

“No! I mean yes—I mean no, not like that! You’re just—you're curvy. Perfectly curvy. I need to see how it holds up under... real-world conditions.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are this close to getting kicked in the balls. Plus can’t you just ask one of your jacked friends? They’re probably as heavy as me.”

He laughs, too quick, too guilty. “No, I don’t want them. I want you to do it.”

He looks you up and down, just briefly, but not subtly. That gaze skims over your bare thighs and lingers a second too long. You feel it like static on your skin.

You roll your eyes and stare at him, “And if I don’t want to?”

Then you start walking to your room, thinking maybe putting on some more clothes wouldn’t be the worst idea. You don’t say anything, but you know he’s watching, you can feel it.

Behind you, you hear the couch creak as he gets up. “Wait! Where are you going?”

You don’t answer. Just keep walking. You step into your room, head straight for the closet.

Then you feel his hand, warm and familiar, settling on your hip. He leans in close, voice low and cocky at your ear.

“Come on, baby. Help me out. Just sit on it. For science.”

Against your better judgment, and maybe because the way he says “baby” makes your thighs clench, you turn around huffing and staring at him. “So where is your little project?”

“Right in front of you, actually,” he grins.

You glare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His grin shifts, slow, wicked. He steps closer, closing the space between you, and leans down. His voice drops, low and husky, the kind that slides right down your spine.

“The project…” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “…is my face.”

You freeze.

His hands brush over your hips with slow, deliberate pressure. “I need to know if I can take the weight. If I can breathe under it. If I can make you come apart while sitting on my tongue.”

Heat slams through you so fast it makes your head spin.

“San,” you hiss, but it comes out more breathless than scolding.

He tilts his head, lips ghosting your ear. “So? Are you gonna help me with my project… or leave it untested?”

"You're not serious." You whisper trying to look him in the eyes.

"I'm very serious," he says, voice deep and calm. "This is for research."

"Research," you echo flatly.

He nods. "Thorough, physical, real-time data collection. Hands-on testing. Mouth-on, if we're being technical." He doesn't laugh. He just looks at you with that same calm, unwavering expression that somehow makes your knees feel unsteady.

"I’m dead serious," he repeats, voice low and steady. "'Been thinking about it for a while."

You snort, half deflection, half disbelief. "Right. Okay. And out of all the girls you could think about, you landed on me?"

He frowns slightly, head tilting like he can't understand why you're questioning it. "Yeah. You."

"San." You shift your weight, eyes narrowing. "I'm not exactly your type."

His gaze sharpens, "What the hell does that mean?"

You shrug, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "You know what it means.”

He exhales sharply like you've said something ridiculous. "You really don't get it, do you?" You look up, startled by the edge in his voice.

"I want you," he says, each word deliberate, like he needs you to understand. "Not because I don’t have anyone else. Not because it’s convenient. Not because I'm bored. Because you're–" He falters for a second, "Because you're sexy. Because the way you move drives me crazy. Because I've imagined this more times than I'll admit."

Your lips part, breath caught in your throat. He leans in, his breath hot against your neck. "I know what I'm asking. I know exactly what I want. The question is..." His voice dips, husky. "Are you gonna let me show you how much?"

Your face is burning. "You actually want me to...?"

"I do," he says, eyes dark and steady. "I've been thinking about it. Dreaming about it, actually. You, on my face. All that gorgeous weight pressing down. You grinding on my tongue like you own me."

Your knees go weak, and you hate that he sees it. He smirks, but it's not the usual smugness. There's heat in it. Hunger. "Don't look at me like I'm crazy, baby. I want you. All of you. Every inch. Every curve."

Your heart thumps against your ribs. You cross your arms, uncertain. "You're just saying that because l'm-"

"Hot as fuck?" he interrupts.

“I want you. I want your thighs to suffocate me. Hips that could crush my jaw. I want to feel the weight of you losing control on top of me."

You swallow hard. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"I want to be smothered in your heat. I want to taste how worked up I make you. And I want you to use me for it."

He drops to his knees, eyes never leaving yours, and reaches for you, warm hands gliding up the backs of your thighs. "Let me show you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But if you want to..." he breathes in.

"I’ll worship you."

Your pulse pounds. Every nerve ending is screaming yes, even if your brain hasn't caught up yet.

You exhale shakily. "You better not be messing with me."

He kisses the inside of your thigh, and whispers, "Mess with you? Baby, I want to wreck you."

His fingers gently tugging at the elastic of your panties, his eyes bore into yours, "Can I?" He whispers.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat as you anticipate his next move.

“Use your words baby.” He smirks, his fingers stilling their ministrations as he waits for you to speak.

"Please," you manage to choke out between breaths, your body already trembling under his touch.

He grins, his eyes locked on yours as he whispers, "Please what, baby?". His finger tracing circles on your thigh as he waits patiently for you to speak.

"Use your words baby," he repeats, his voice low and sensual. "Tell me what you want."

You take a deep breath, “You” you manage to say your voice trembling, “I want you”.

He finally pulls your panties down gently and moves up your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as he makes his way up your thighs. He takes his time, savoring every inch of you as he moves higher and higher. His hands tracing gentle patterns on your hips, he whispers, "You're so beautiful," his voice low and rough. He looks up at you, his eyes roaming over your body appreciatively before his lips find your hip. He kisses first then bites gently, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin. He smirks as he feels you shiver, his fingers still tracing patterns on your hips.

"So responsive," he murmurs. "I love how you react to my touch."

Then he gets up and lies on your bed, "Come on. Sit. I told you I need to test the load-bearing capabilities of my face."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm desperate," he counters.

You start walking slowly towards him and he pulls you to bed so you straddle him carefully, knees on either side of his head, hovering just above his mouth. San looks up at you like you're a fucking goddess. "Come on," he murmurs, voice gravel thick. "Sit. Let me feel you."

You hesitate a beat longer, then lower yourself onto him. His hands grip your ass, pulling you down against his mouth,

“I'll crush you" you say, worried.

"Promise?" he grins. His breath fans against your core and your hips jerk at the sensation. The second your heat meets his mouth, everything else disappears. Every worry, every second guessing. His tongue parts you, slow and sure, and he groans. You gasp, instinctively grabbing a fistful of his hair as his tongue drags up your slit and circles your clit, deliberate and focused. You rock your hips, and he moans underneath you, gripping your thighs and pulling you down harder, his tongue reaching deeper.

"Fuck, San," you breathe, voice trembling.

He pulls back for a split second just enough to say, "That's it, baby. Use me. Ride it."

You move against his mouth, chasing the pleasure, grinding slow and deep, bracing yourself on your bed’s headboard as his tongue drags slow, wet circles over your clit, then dips down, teasing your entrance before coming back up to suck hard. Your thighs tremble, but his grip holds you steady, firm, worshipful. You continue rolling your hips, chasing the pressure, the friction, and San’s tongue flicking harder, faster, until your moans turn desperate, broken.

"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—"

He growls against your clit and you shatter, thighs trembling, cry catching in your throat as you come on his face. You don't even realize you're still grinding against him until he starts licking you through it, chasing every aftershock like he can't stop.

Finally, you collapse forward, chest heaving.

The afterglow is still clinging to your skin like sweat when you manage to crawl off of San entirely and flop beside him, both a mess and breathing hard. He looks wrecked. Wet mouth, flushed skin, eyes glassy and dazed.

"Holy shit," you breathe.

San just grins, voice ragged. "Still think I was joking?"

You’re still trying to catch your breath when— "Ready for the next testing phase?" he murmurs.

You blink, still a little wrecked. "Excuse me?" He props himself up on an elbow, that familiar troublemaker glint back in his eyes. "Next project has to do with... vertical load capacity."

You snort. "You're making this up."

"I'm adapting," he says, crawling on top of you with that stupidly hot, slow-motion roll of his hips. "We've established my face is fully weight-bearing. Now I need to check if my back and thighs can handle... a sustained, rhythmic load."

Your legs instinctively tighten around his waist. "You mean you want me to ride you."

"I want you to use me," he says, breath ghosting across your lips. "To see how long I can last. How deep you can take it. How hard you can work me."

He presses his hips forward just enough to make you feel that he's very ready for that kind of testing. Your brain short-circuits as you hold back a moan. "You're insane."

He kisses your neck. "I'm inspired."

He gets off of you and stands next to your bed and starts taking off his tank top, sweatpants, and boxer, and—fuck, he's hard and already leaking for you. "Geez," you mutter, not even hiding the way your thighs clench. "You were this worked up the whole time?"

He grins through gritted teeth. "Baby, you sat on my face. Of course, I was."

Then he sits against your headboard and pats his thighs “Come on baby and take that shirt off”.

You do as he says and crawl to him to straddle him, his hands splay wide on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin. "You comfortable?"

"Not yet," you whisper, and shift your hips, accidentally brushing over his dick, he shudders and groans.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, baby more than okay, go on” he whispers.

You line him up, still slick from his mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. You pause...

He looks up at you with dark, reverent eyes. "Go on."

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, feeling every stretch, every throb, every beautiful ache as he fills you. His head drops back, a guttural moan escaping his throat.

"Fucking hell," he groans. "You feel like a dream."

You start to move slowly at first, just rocking your hips, letting yourself adjust but San's grip tightens like he's trying not to thrust up into you like an animal. He looks up, flushed, sweat beading at his hairline. "You're so tight. So warm. I—shit, I'm trying to last, but you're squeezing me like—" You roll your hips hard and he gasps.

"Fuck! Okay okay. New test parameters: don't make me come in sixty seconds."

You smirk. "That doesn’t sound very engineering of you."

He laughs through a groan. "You're evil, goddess-level evil. And hot as fuck"

You start riding him slow but deep, each thrust pressing him all the way inside you. The angle, the tension, and the way he keeps praising you through clenched teeth all build too fast.

"You're doing so good," he pants, hands sliding up to your waist, your ribs, your breasts. "God, I love your body. I love how you feel. I love the way you ride."

You brace yourself against his shoulders and pick up the pace, bouncing on him now. His head tilts back, eyes rolling as he groans your name.

"Look at you," he moans. "Taking everything. Using me. Fuck—ruining me."

He's close. You're close. He wraps his arms around you and thrusts up into you once, hard, hitting that perfect spot, and you cry out, unraveling around him. You clench so hard he swears, biting into your shoulder as he spills into you with a groan. You collapse against him, panting, his arms holding you tight like you might disappear. After a long pause, “Projects structurally compromised by very sexy goddess," he murmurs against your neck and starts petting your hair.

You snort. “You and your crazy projects…”

“They’re driving you crazy huh?”

…

You're still curled on top of him minutes later, skin sticking slightly where sweat meets skin, but neither of you moves. San's heartbeat is still fast beneath your ear, his hands lazily stroking your back

"So," you mumble, eyes half-lidded, "what's your next fake engineering project?"

He hums. "Hm... Might do a deep dive into internal structural flexing. See how your body adjusts to different speeds, angles, and pressures." You groan into his chest. "That's not engineering. That's porn."

He grins. "Always was, call me a creative consultant for adult infrastructure."

You swat him lightly, but he catches your hand and kisses your knuckles.

Then, softer "No, seriously... I want to test every part of you. Every reaction. Every sound. Every place that makes you melt."

You look up and find him watching you.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmurs, voice a low rumble. "I love your body. Your curves. I love how you feel. And most importantly I love you.”

You bite your lip. Then open your mouth—

"I'm not just attracted to you, I crave you," he says, voice low but sure. "The softness of your thighs, the way your hips move when you're on top of me, it drives me insane. But it's more than that. It's the way you laugh when you're tired. The way you always know when something's off, even when I try to hide it. When you're with me, I feel seen, like I’m not just a man but your man. Being with you, it’s not just hot. It’s home.”

You blink fast, heart catching in your throat, not used to this kind of worship. "You're gonna make me cry," you whisper, voice shaky. Then, after a beat. "And not even in the hot way."

"I only want to make you cry in the hot way," he teases gently, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "That would be one of my projects too if you’d like."

You shake your head and hide your burning face in his neck. He chuckles, arms wrapping around you tighter.

"You okay?"

You nod. "Better than okay. I love you too”

He kisses you softly and gets up holding his hand out to you. “Let’s get us cleaned up now baby”

…

In the shower, while his fingers work gently through your hair, massaging in the shampoo, he leans down and murmurs, "What I said earlier about making you cry in a hot way... been thinking about that. Thoughts?"

You smirk, eyes still closed. "Oh, I mean... we can definitely try."

"Good," he says, his voice dropping. "Because I've been holding back."

Your eyes snap open, head tilting up toward him.

"You were holding back?"

"Oh yeah," he says, pure sin on his face. "You were still coherent. That's unacceptable."

You stare at him and he shrugs. "Next round, I want you drooling. Barely able to talk. Sobbing a little, maybe."

"San."

"I want to fuck you against a wall. On the kitchen counter. In the shower. Hell, on top of the washing machine during spin cycle, call it vibration analysis."

You laugh half turned on, half exasperated, and nudge him playfully under the stream of water.

"You're insane."

He grins and presses a kiss to your temple. "Only for you."

You finish rinsing off, the heat of the shower is nothing compared to the warmth between you. And later, clean and tangled in soft sheets, you fall asleep in his arms, still smiling, safe, fulfilled, and finally his.

a/n : that's so dumb but this is what inspired this fic plus this comment 🥴

+ the video says architecture project but I got so confused I was like isn’t it engineering so I went with it the whole fic but if that’s wrong I’ll change it I I’m just so confused and dumb

#ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #choi san smut #chubby reader #staytinyzenstories

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biggianteggplant · 2 days ago

Note

Reader getting asked by haikyuu guys to watch over their pets while running some errands ranting and confessing their whole life to the pet lol not knowing the guys heard her

HINATA SHOYO

The room was quiet. A little too quiet.

Y/n sat cross-legged on Hinata’s bed, gently poking at the hamster cage on his nightstand. Inside, a tiny cinnamon-colored fluffball waddled over to the bars, twitching his nose like he knew tea was about to be spilled.

She smiled softly. “Hey, little guy. You probably don’t understand me, but I gotta talk to someone before I explode and eat dry wall.”

The hamster blinked at her. Innocent. Judgement-free. The best kind of therapist.

She sighed, playing with the edge of her sleeve. “Your dad—or whatever Hinata is to you—is kind of… ugh. A lot. You know that, right?”

The hamster tilted his head. A single squeak.

“Exactly,” she said with a weak laugh. “He’s so—so loud. So bright. And he smiles like the sun and gets excited about everything, even vending machines. And it’s annoying. Like… painfully cute. Do you get it?”

Silence. Fluffball stared back.

Y/n leaned in closer, whispering like they were co-conspirators. “I think I’m in trouble. Like, real trouble. I like him. A lot.”

Her face warmed. She hid it behind her hands for a second before peeking at the hamster again. “He gave me strawberry milk the other day and said it reminded him of me because it’s ‘sweet and makes him hyper.’ Who says stuff like that?!”

A rustling sound downstairs made her freeze.

“…If you tell him I said any of this, I swear—”

“Tell me what?”

Y/n froze.

She turned slowly.

Hinata stood in the doorway, holding a snack tray and looking way too curious.

Y/n: “NOTHING I WAS JUST—I WAS TALKING TO THE HAMSTER.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Are you jealous of my pet? Or were you confessing to him?”

“Shoyo I will throw you out the window.”

He laughed—big and bright and so unfair—as he walked over and sat beside her.

The hamster squeaked again.

Hinata smirked. “I think he ships us.”

ASAHI AZUMANE

Y/n side-eyed the giant white bird chilling in its fancy cage like it paid rent. The cockatoo blinked back at her with the smugness of someone who knew all your secrets. Because, apparently, it did.

She leaned in closer, holding a sunflower seed like she was about to make a deal with the mafia. “You better behave today, feathered gremlin.”

The cockatoo took the seed and blinked innocently.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Y/n whispered. “Last week you screamed when I sneezed. You are not slick.”

The bird continued chewing.

Y/n settled onto Asahi’s couch with a sigh. He was out “foraging” a.k.a. getting the bird more organic trail mix from that overpriced pet store. Honestly, she didn’t mind. She got alone time with Mr. Feathers… and the living room that suspiciously always smelled like Asahi’s cologne.

She glanced around, then leaned toward the cage again, whispering like she was about to commit a federal crime.

“Okay, listen,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t know why I keep coming here. I mean, yes I do. It’s him. I��m not proud of it. But here I am. Babysitting a judgmental feathery narc just to hang out with a man who probably thinks I’m here for you.”

The cockatoo tilted its head.

“I mean, have you seen him?” she continued, eyes wide. “Tall. Gentle. Looks like a forest god. Carries groceries with one hand like it’s nothing. And when he ties his hair up—OH, don’t get me started on the man bun. I would marry that man bun. Like, officiate a ceremony right now, bird, I swear.”

The cockatoo gave a soft whistle.

Y/n sighed dramatically. “It’s just not fair. He probably sees me as this weird friend of a friend who’s always here mooching off his air conditioning and pretending not to stare at his arms. Arms, bird. Like—who gave him permission?!”

The cockatoo slowly began climbing up its perch.

“Also, for the record,” she added, pointing, “you’re evil. You look like a cute puffball but deep down you’re plotting my downfall. I can feel it in my soul.”

And that’s when it happened.

A pause.

A blink.

And then—

“SHE THINKS YOU’RE DADDYYYYY.”

Y/n froze.

“…Excuse me?”

The cockatoo strutted across its perch like it had just delivered the winning line of a roast battle.

“HOT MAN WITH JUICE ARMS,” it yelled.

Y/n screamed internally. “STOP—YOU’RE NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO TALK—”

“I WANNA BITE HIS FOREARMS.”

Y/n clutched the couch cushion like a lifeline. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”

The bird flared its crest, proud and majestic and also the devil.

And then—the door clicked.

Asahi, holding a bag of bird food and a reusable tote full of those coconut water drinks no one liked except him.

“Hey, sorry I took long, they were out of the—”

“I WANT TO SIT ON HIS LAP AND CRY.”

Asahi paused. Mid-step. Eyes wide. Brain buffering.

Y/n: buffering harder.

The bird was not done.

“WELCOME HOOOOOME, DELICIOUS TREE MAN.”

Asahi dropped the grocery bag.

Y/n dropped her soul.

She slowly turned toward him, face bright red, limbs stiff, voice high-pitched. “I—uh—I DIDN’T TEACH HIM THAT I PROMISE—”

Asahi blinked slowly. “...Delicious tree man?”

Y/n shrieked. “DON’T REPEAT IT—”

The bird screamed, “CRADLE ME LIKE A BABY—OH WAIT THAT’S HER—”

And that was the final straw.

Y/n tripped over the rug trying to run and slammed to the floor in front of Asahi like a fish trying to escape the tank. She lay there. Broken. Defeated. Possibly concussed.

Asahi rushed over, crouching beside her, flustered and awkward and absurdly hot. “Y/n?! Are you okay???”

She groaned into the carpet. “Do you have a bird-size jail cell. I need a moment with your snitch.”

The cockatoo cackled in the background like it was possessed.

Asahi gently helped her sit up, trying not to laugh. “You know… he only repeats things he hears a lot.”

Y/n blinked.

Realized.

And died internally all over again.

“Oh my god. I’m never showing my face here again,” she muttered.

But Asahi was smiling. Soft. Adoring. Flushed.

“You could,” he said quietly, brushing her hair out of her face, “just say it to me next time.”

Y/n gaped.

The bird chirped in the background, “NOW KISS.”

TIMESKIP! KOUSHI SUGAWARA

Let’s get one thing straight

You didn’t choose to fall in love with Sugawara Koushi.

No, no. That was an ambush.

A tactical, strategic, perfectly executed emotional ambush with bonus dimples.

And it wasn’t fair.

Not when he smiled like sunshine and smelled like safety and had that gentle but I will assign a pop quiz just to humble you energy that made your heart do cartwheels in a full-blown panic attack.

Also not fair?

His pet mous.

Yes, a mouse. In a classroom. Living rent-free in a tiny cage next to the window. Named cheese.

Personality: suspiciously nosy and loves chewing through secrets.

You’d been assigned clean-up duty in Suga’s homeroom all week — and by “assigned” you meant you had volunteered with the desperation of someone trying to inhale proximity like oxygen.

So there you were.

On your third consecutive day of "accidentally" staying late to sweep a room that didn’t need sweeping.

And for some reason, you were talking to the mouse again.

“…I’m just saying,” you whispered, gently sliding your fingers through the bars of the cage as cheese’s tiny pink nose twitched. “He should NOT be allowed to smile at students like that. It’s an emotional hazard.”

cheese blinked.

“And those sleeves?? Rolled up? What does he want me to do, DIE in this room?”

The mouse crawled onto the wheel and started spinning.

“Oh, don’t start with me. You live with him. I know you’ve seen it. He keeps adjusting his tie and looking all put-together and vaguely ethereal like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to my central nervous system—"

Rustle.

Something brushed your hand.

You looked down.

cheese was out of the cage.

You: “What the—how—??”

The little rodent scurried right into your sleeve, like a fuzzy lie detector, and parked itself near your shoulder like it was settling in for the next round of confessions.

You nearly screamed. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE—OH MY GOD, GET OUT—”

The door creaked.

You froze. Mouse in sleeve. Soul in shambles.

Sugawara peeked in, holding a warm drink and a bag of cheese crackers. “Hey, Y/n, you left your—why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

You smiled with the terror of someone harboring secrets and rodents. “Nope. Totally normal. Nothing’s happening. No crimes here.”

cheese, the demon, began moving.

You flinched. Suga noticed.

“…Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer with concern blooming on his face.

cheese, sensing your doom, POPPED OUT OF YOUR COLLAR LIKE A HORROR MOVIE JUMPSCARE.

You screamed.

Suga dropped the crackers.

cheese ran straight up his arm and into his hoodie, like this was just another Tuesday.

A moment of stunned silence passed.

“…So,” Sugawara said, still calm as ever, “Did cheese climb into your shirt while you were—what, pouring your soul out to her again?”

You choked. “YOU KNEW???”

He smiled. “You’ve been monologuing at her like a Shakespearean love-struck gremlin for three days. I thought it was cute.”

He picked up the mouse with practiced ease. “She likes you, you know.”

“Oh, I can tell,” you muttered, face fully on fire. “She cuddled my pancreas.”

Suga laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “She’s got good taste. Just like me.”

Pause.

Your brain: BUFFERING…

“…Wait, are you saying—?”

“I like you, dummy,” he said, grinning. “Why else do you think I keep assigning you mouse duty instead of actual cleaning?”

You gaped.

cheese squeaked like she was tired of carrying this ship alone.

Suga offered the crackers with a wink. “Stay for a snack?”

You nodded, dazed.

YAMAGUCHI TADASHI

You loved Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Not in a chill, “aw he’s sweet” kind of way.

No.

You loved him in a stupid, life-ruining, can’t-breathe-when-he-smiles-at-you kind of way. The kind of way that makes you text your friends “he said good morning i am deceased 💀” and then proceed to overanalyze his tone for four business days.

The problem?

Besides your terminal crush disorder?

His frog.

His beloved, sacred, unholy frog.

Sir Croak-A-Lot.

A slimy, smug-looking little demon that lived in a terrarium in Yamaguchi’s room like it paid rent.

Now, were you scared of frogs?

Terrified.

You once cried in 9th grade because a baby toad jumped near your foot.

You saw Kermit and felt genuine anxiety.

So when Yamaguchi asked if you could feed Sir Croak-A-Lot while he and Tsukki were at a training camp for three days?

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve lied.

You should’ve said you were allergic to amphibians. Or Catholic.

But alas. You said, “Sure! No problem :)” because your love was irrational and so was your judgment.

Cut to now.

You’re standing four feet from the terrarium with a pair of tongs, shaking like you’re disarming a bomb.

Inside, Sir Croak-A-Lot blinked once. Slowly. Menacingly.

“…Hi,” you whispered. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Let’s keep it that way.”

He licked his eyeball.

You gagged.

“Listen,” you said shakily. “I only agreed to this because I love your owner. Like. Deeply. He has pretty eyes and a nice laugh and says ‘thank you’ to vending machines. So if you could just not move while I drop this worm in, that’d be great.”

The frog didn’t respond.

You leaned closer, whispering like a therapist. “Do you think he knows? That I like him?”

Sir Croak-A-Lot launched halfway across the tank.

You shrieked.

Fell backward.

And somehow—somehow—knocked over a decorative lamp and landed with your foot stuck under Yamaguchi’s beanbag chair like you were in a live-action episode of FailArmy.

“OH MY GOD,” you gasped. “THIS IS IT. THIS IS HOW I DIE. DEATH BY FROG PANIC.”

And that’s exactly when the front door opened.

“Hey! I’m back early—Tsukki twisted his ankle and—wait, Y/N???”

Yamaguchi dropped his bag at the sight of you lying dramatically on the carpet, tangled in furniture and trauma.

You froze like a raccoon caught raiding the trash.

“…Hi,” you squeaked.

He blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” you wheezed. “Do I have frog-related emotional damage? Yes. Did your amphibious son try to murder me via eye lick and surprise launch? Also yes.”

Yamaguchi covered his mouth, but it was too late. He was laughing. Hard.

“You’re scared of him?”

“I’M SCARED OF ANYTHING THAT CAN JUMP WITHOUT WARNING AND LOOKS LIKE A WET THUMB.”

You tried to crawl backward. The frog stared at you. Probably plotting.

Yamaguchi, wiping tears from his eyes, finally helped you up.

“You know,” he said softly, “you could’ve just said no.”

You pouted. “I was trying to be brave. For you.”

He tilted his head. “Why for me?”

And there it was. The moment.

You took a deep breath. “Because I like you. Like. Capital-L Like. And I was trying to prove I could survive Frogageddon to be worthy.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

And then—

“…You like me?”

You nodded, ready to leap out the nearest window.

And then Yamaguchi smiled.

That sweet, surprised, glowing kind of smile that made you want to cry in the good way.

“I like you too,” he said. “Even if you’re scared of Sir Croak-A-Lot.”

You whispered, “Don’t say his name. He can hear you.”

Yamaguchi laughed again, bright and golden.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s go get ice cream. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “What about your frog?”

He smirked. “He’s already heard all your secrets. I think he approves.”

You glared at the terrarium.

Sir Croak-A-Lot blinked.

You swore he was smiling.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were house-sitting for Kita while he was at his grandmother’s for the weekend. Just two days. Easy.

Feed the plants. Water the dog.

Wait, no. Feed the dog. Water the plants. Right.

You sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, staring into the eyes of Maru, his perfectly polite, unbothered Shiba Inu, who sat like a loaf of judgment on the rug.

“So,” you began, cracking open a bag of dog treats like it was a therapy session, “you ever just… fall in love with your best friend and then try to play it cool but everything about them makes you spiral?”

Maru blinked.

Took a treat.

Did not judge.

“You know what I mean, right?” you continued. “Like, his hands? Always clean. Nails trimmed. Washes rice properly. Says ‘thank you’ to cashiers. Pet a cat once and the cat followed him for two blocks.”

You threw your hands up. “I am but a feral raccoon next to his divine, Shiba-like serenity.”

Maru gave a soft "boof" and placed a paw gently on your leg.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I feel seen.”

You sighed and fell dramatically backwards onto the floor. “He probably doesn’t even know I like him. He probably just thinks I like his dog. Which, like, yes, Maru, you’re perfect—but I would walk barefoot across a LEGO swamp for that man.”

Unbeknownst to you…

Kita Shinsuke was standing at the door.

He had come home early. With dog food. And mochi. And a quiet hope that maybe you’d still be there when he got back.

What he didn’t expect was to walk into a full-blown emotional TED Talk, starring you and his emotionally grounded dog.

He stood frozen for a second. Processing. Emotionally buffering.

And then Maru turned to him. Tail wagged once. Loudly.

You sat up and blinked. “Did—did your dog just betray me?”

Kita cleared his throat gently, holding up the bag of mochi like it could protect him. “I came home early.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Your soul flew out the window and knocked over three houseplants on the way.

“So,” he said, still calm as ever. “You’d walk across a LEGO swamp for me?”

You choked. “I was having a moment with your dog.”

Kita stepped forward, placed the mochi on the table, and gently sat next to you. Maru climbed into his lap like this was all very normal.

“I like you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes with his calm samurai energy. “I was hoping you'd say something. I just didn’t think it would be to Maru.”

“…Your dog is emotionally available,” you whispered, near tears.

Kita smiled softly. “He’s a good listener. But I’m here now.”

You nodded. “Okay. Cool. Casual. Normal.”

Then you fell backwards again.

Flat on the tatami mat.

Kita reached out a hand.

Maru boofed.

The rest was history.

SUNA RINTARO

You didn’t expect to become a ferret mom.

And yet… here you were.

At Suna Rintaro’s apartment. Again. Babysitting Tofu the demon noodle who loved you more than life itself.

“Tofu,” you said flatly, as you tried to pry him out of your hoodie. “Personal space is a concept. Have you considered learning it?”

Tofu squeaked.

And burrowed deeper.

Right between your boobs.

Like it was his God-given right.

You choked. “Tofu, PLEASE—”

He chirped again, did a little death roll (like a dolphin but pervier), and went limp. Fully. Asleep.

Dead center of your chest.

You sat there, frozen, like someone had just shoved a warm tube sock filled with judgment down your shirt.

“Why are you like this?” you whispered. “You don’t even know me like that.”

Except he did.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

Oh no.

The first time was three weeks ago, when Suna left you alone in his room for five minutes, and Tofu took it as a green light to commit chest-based crimes.

Now? It was a routine.

You: *exist*

Tofu: *insert ferret into boob crevice like USB into a port*

You had tried pushing him away.

He bit your pinky and squeaked in betrayal.

You had tried wearing tight shirts.

He dug through the neckhole like a horny mole.

You had tried explaining to Suna that this was technically harassment.

Suna? Had the nerve to smirk and go,

“Damn. Guess he has good taste.”

You wanted to scream.

And now here you were.

Tofu snoring.

You, boob-napped.

And Suna… Suna had just walked back in the room.

With a bag of chips.

And a shit-eating grin.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like a man in a shampoo commercial, “should I be jealous?”

You shot him a look. “Control your ferret.”

He snorted. “He’s his own man.”

“He’s IN MY CLEAVAGE.”

“And clearly thriving.”

You flailed, trying to scoop the gremlin out of your hoodie, but Tofu clung tighter, squeaking in protest like you were trying to rip him from his soulmate.

“Rin,” you groaned. “He’s making muffins on my sternum.”

Suna, now sitting beside you, casually popped open the chips and leaned over to look.

Tofu chirped softly in his sleep.

“…Yeah, he’s definitely in love with you,” Suna said, crunching loudly.

“I am NOT about to be second place to your emotionally needy lint roller.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replied, eyeing how red your face was. “You let him do that a *lot*.”

“I DIDN’T LET HIM—!!”

He held up a chip like a peace offering. “C’mon. Admit it. You like him.”

“…I like you.”

Silence.

You blinked.

OH NO.

Did you say that OUT LOUD?!

Tofu squeaked.

You squeaked harder.

Suna slowly turned his head, one brow raised.

“…Sorry?” he said, too calm.

You swallowed. “I said. I like you. Not just your ferret. Although he is—um—very warm.”

Tofu chose that moment to roll over and kick his leg out like he was dreaming of tax evasion.

Suna just looked at you.

And then—

“You know,” he muttered, voice lower, almost teasing, “I was gonna wait. Say something later.”

You stared.

“But watching you get dominated by a noodle rodent in HD kind of forced my hand.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Am I?” he smirked. “Or are you just embarrassed your cleavage is his new studio apartment?”

You punched him in the arm.

He laughed.

Then leaned in closer.

“…For the record,” he murmured, voice softer now, “I like you too.”

You smiled. Blushing.

Tofu squeaked again in his sleep.

You sighed. “This is gonna be such a weird love story to explain to our kids.”

MIYA ATSUMU

“HEY, SEXY!”

You screamed.

The bird screamed louder.

It flapped into the air like a flying megaphone, doing loop-de-loops and whistling the Jaws theme song, while you dodged for your life and yelled, “ATSUMU, WHY IS YOUR BIRD CATCALLING ME?!”

From the kitchen, he casually called back, “Oh, yeah, that’s just Cap’n. He likes ya.”

Cap’n, short for Captain Miya, had perched on the curtain rod now, head cocked like a sassy little pirate. He whistled again. Twice.

You narrowed your eyes. “…Did he just do the ‘two whistle flirt’ from TikTok?”

“Yup,” Atsumu grinned, walking in with snacks. “Taught him that m’self.”

You stared at the cockatiel. He winked. HE WINKED.

From then on, every time you came over, Cap’n Miya acted up.

He would land on your shoulder like he owned the place, try to nest in your hair, and once—once!—bit Atsumu on the nose when he tried to sit too close to you on the couch.

“Is your bird jealous of you?” you asked.

Atsumu blinked. “Honestly? I think he wants t’fight me for ya.”

Cap’n screeched from the top of the bookshelf and then proceeded to yell

“BACK OFF! BACK OFF! MINE!!”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?”

Atsumu laughed so hard he dropped his cup noodles.

The problem is… you started talking to Cap’n like he was your therapist.

Like—full sit-down sessions.

“Do you think Atsumu flirts with everyone or just me?”

Cap’n Miya, fluffing up dramatically and turning his head upside down:

“OOOH YOU LIKE HIM~!”

“NO I DON’T.”

STOMP STOMP “LIAR!”

You blinked. “Birds… birds can’t stomp.”

Cap’n literally stomped again.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.”

Cap’n

“You wanna KISS HIM~!”

You shrieked and ran into the bathroom.

From outside, muffled through the door, you heard:

“KISSY KISSY! MWAH MWAH~”

You clutched your head and whispered to yourself, “Why do I feel like I’m being bullied by a sentient feather duster.”

The final straw was when Atsumu came home early while you were babysitting the bird.

You didn’t know he was there. So you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, nose-to-beak with Captain Miya, whispering like a deranged villain in a Disney spin-off

“Listen here, you feathered narc. If you repeat one more thing about my feelings for your stupid hot owner, I will personally turn you into an overpriced pillow from Etsy.”

“Uhhhh…”

You froze.

That voice did not come from the bird.

You turned your head so slowly, it might’ve cracked your spine.

There stood Atsumu, gym bag half-zipped, one eyebrow raised, towel over his shoulder, hair damp from shower sweat and god probably—

“Did… did ya just threaten t’commit war crimes on my bird?”

You blinked.

Cap’n Miya, little devil that he was, launched himself from the couch, fluttered dramatically into the air like a WWE entrance, and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“SHE LOVES YOUUUU~!!!”

“YOU’RE HOT!!!”

“KISSY KISSY~!!! MWAH MWAH—”

Your soul left your body. Your brain short-circuited. Your dignity? Deceased.

You backed into the corner like a cornered raccoon, muttering, “Okay I can explain—”

But Atsumu didn’t laugh this time.

No. He grinned.

That dangerous, cocky grin that made you regret every time you told yourself he wasn’t your type.

He dropped the gym bag.

Took three steps forward.

You tried to speak— “I– okay– I– it’s not—” But he cut you off by gently moving your hand off the bird, brushing your cheek with his knuckles, and leaning in close enough that you could smell the orange Gatorade on his breath.

“Shoulda told me sooner,” he whispered. Then—

He kissed you.

Right there. Soft. Warm. Just a little bit smug.

Captain Miya exploded into a cacophony of squawks and whistles like a drunk DJ mashing buttons in excitement.

“WOOOOOOOOO~!!” “Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND! Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND!”

You groaned into Atsumu’s chest. “Can we put him in bird jail now.”

Atsumu laughed. “Nah, babe, I owe him one. He’s the best wingman I ever had.”

The bird fluffed up, preened himself proudly, and screamed:

“YOU’RE WELCOME, LOSERS!!!”

MIYA OSAMU

You didn’t think Osamu would leave you alone with his cat.

But he did.

Bold of him, honestly.

You’d dropped by to bring him lunch at his onigiri shop, only for him to shove his keys into your hand with a casual “Can ya check on Tuna? He gets cranky if he misses his 3PM nap snack.”

And now here you were.

Sprawled on Osamu’s couch.

With a large, judgmental, biscuit-making cat rhythmically kneading your chest like it owed him money.

“Dude,” you muttered, glancing down at the fluffy orange menace. “That is not sourdough. Chill.”

Tuna, the certified loaf, just stared up at you with his half-lidded judgmental eyes and kept kneading.

Right on your boobs. Unbothered. Unapologetic. Purring like a damn engine.

You were frozen. This was NOT what you signed up for when you agreed to babysit a “sleepy little guy.”

“I’m gonna start charging rent,” you warned, hand hovering above his head. “You’re getting way too comfy on my chest. That’s premium real estate.”

Tuna blinked slowly. Then—

Touched your lips.

One soft paw.

Boop.

You went still. He went still.

“Bro,” you whispered. “You did not just—”

Then the paw slipped.

Just a little.

Just enough that one single toe bean dipped into your mouth.

You GAGGED.

You sat straight up, flailing, almost throwing the cat off the couch in the chaos.

“WHY. WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR PAW IN MY MOUTH?! ARE YOU OKAY?? AM I OKAY?? ARE WE DATING NOW???”

Tuna just looked at you.

Still on your chest. Still purring. Like he knew.

Like he’d seen things.

Like he was about to ruin your life with one meow.

And that was when Osamu walked in.

Bag of groceries in one hand. Keys in the other. Stopped dead in the doorway.

Tuna blinked.

Then turned to Osamu and let out the longest meow you’d ever heard. Like he was filing a report.

“...What’s goin’ on here?” Osamu asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

You sat there, hand mid-air, cat still ON YOUR CHEST, guilty as hell, toe bean residue probably still on your tongue, and said:

“…This is not what it looks like.”

Osamu blinked once.

Twice.

Then he smirked—smirked.

“Y’let Tuna put his paw in yer mouth, and I’m the one who gets flirty accusations?”

You spluttered. “It was involuntary mouth-to-paw contact!”

“Oh, sure,” he said, setting the bag down, strolling toward you. “Next thing I know, ya tell me ya kissed him goodnight and shared a milkshake.”

“Tuna’s a menace,” you whispered, as Tuna began biscuit-making again on your chest like a smug fluffy dictator.

“Yeah, well,” Osamu said, now inches from you. “You’re the one lettin’ him feel you up.”

You glared. “That’s it. Both of you are getting neutered.”

Tuna yawned.

Osamu just laughed and leaned down, brushing your cheek with his lips. “You’re cute when you’re panicked.”

“Don’t. Encourage. The cat.”

Brrrrt, Tuna purred, snuggling deeper into your chest.

This was HIS spot now.

ARAN OJIRO

“Just a few hours,” Aran had said, tossing you Sunny’s leash with a lazy grin. “He’s super chill. Loves cuddles, snacks, and sunbathing on the floor. You’ll be fine.”

You believed him.

Because Aran always said things like that — smooth, casual, confident — with that deep voice and warm smile that made you want to believe everything was gonna be okay.

But everything was not okay.

You lasted exactly 3.5 minutes before you realized you were babysitting a golden retriever version of a frat boy.

Sunny — fluffy, golden, tail wagging at light speed — greeted you by jumping straight into your arms like a literal missile, smothering your face in wet, overly enthusiastic kisses. He then proceeded to run full-speed into a wall, bounce off, and happily bring you one of Aran’s used gym socks like it was the crown jewels.

“...You’re insane,” you told him.

He barked once. Proudly.

You tried to calm him down. You really tried.

You gave him treats. He swallowed them whole.

You played fetch. He brought back a shoe from someone else’s doorstep.

You gave him water. He drank it… then sneezed directly into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Sunny—can you please chill?!”

Sunny did not chill.

No. Instead, when you bent over to pick up the sock he left under the coffee table, you felt it.That terrible pressure.

That cursed THUMP-THUMP rhythm on your leg.

You froze. Time stopped. The room fell silent. Eye twitched.

“…No. No no no no—”

You turned your head.

AND HE WAS DOING IT.

Sunny. HUMPING. YOUR. LEG.

Like it was the love of his life and this was the final scene of The Notebook.

“OH MY GOD—STOPPPPPP!”

You shook your leg. He held on tighter.

You screamed. He wagged his tail *faster*.

“ARANNNNNNN!!!”

Aran strolled in with a plate of sliced mango like he was walking out of a damn cooking show. “Everything alri—HOLY SHIT—SUNNY!! DOWN”

Sunny paused… and let out the most sinful, unholy moan you've ever heard in your life.

“HE MOANED. ARAN, YOUR DOG JUST MOANED.”

“He’s… expressive,” Aran offered weakly.

“He is horny, Ojiro.”

“I—I didn’t think he’d do this to you.”

“Why?! Because I don’t have a leg worth humping?”

“NO—wait, what? Noooo, baby girl—your leg is prime—wait, no, shit, I didn’t mean it like that—”

While Aran was busy fumbling over his words and dying from secondhand embarrassment, Sunny had the audacity to plop his butt on the floor, tongue out, tail wagging, as if to say “Round 2?”

You glared at him. “You’re going to dog jail.”

---

Later, once you’d locked Sunny in the bathroom for some *alone time* and Aran had recovered enough to look you in the eye again, you sat beside him on the couch, both slightly traumatized.

“…He really likes you,” Aran mumbled.

You side-eyed him. “If your version of like involves my thigh being emotionally and physically violated, I’m good.”

Aran chuckled, rubbing his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. He’s never like this. I swear.”

You crossed your arms, fake-pouting. “And yet I’ve become the object of his lust.”

He bit back a grin, leaning a little closer. “He’s got good taste.”

You blinked. “…Are you flirting with me while your dog is humping the air behind the door?”

Aran glanced at the bathroom. “He’s just… excited for us. He ships it.”

You snorted. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he grinned.

You didn’t.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

You were babysitting **TonTon**, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s beloved pet tortoise, while he was out at volleyball practice.

Yes. A tortoise.

He had texted you instructions like "feed him at 4 PM" and "make sure he doesn’t try to climb the stairs." Which, okay, fair, but also why did TonTon have a vibe like he would climb the stairs out of pure spite?

So now you were sitting on Ushijima’s floor, mid-spiral, holding a leaf of lettuce like it was a mic and TonTon was your therapist.

“Okay, listen, TonTon,” you said solemnly, watching the tortoise blink in that ancient, judgmental way. “I know you probably don't care, but I have to say it somewhere or I’ll explode and end up in jail for stealing this man’s hoodie.”

TonTon chewed slowly. Menacingly.

“I have a crush on your dad.”

Pause.

You immediately winced. “Wait, no—not your dad. Your owner. Not that he’s a daddy—oh my god what am I saying?”

You laid flat on the floor. TonTon just kept chewing like the elderly soul he was, showing zero mercy.

“I mean, look at him, TonTon,” you sighed dramatically, lettuce still in hand. “He’s calm. Grounded. Looks like he could crush someone emotionally and physically. And that one time he said my name during roll call? I had to sit down. Sit. Down.”

You fed TonTon another piece of lettuce like you were bribing him to forget everything.

“I’m losing it,” you mumbled. “Your dad—I mean, Ushijima—touched my shoulder once and I accidentally said ‘thank you’ like he handed me money.”

TonTon moved exactly one inch closer.

You stared at him, horrified. “Are you approaching me with judgment?”

Just then.

The door opened.

There he was. Ushijima. Home early. Towering. Holding a bag of lettuce like some divine, stoic salad god.

You and TonTon locked eyes like two criminals caught red-handed in the middle of a crime scene.

“I forgot my water bottle,” Ushijima said calmly. Then.. “Did you just say you have a crush on me?”

You considered becoming a tortoise. Right then and there. Crawling into a shell and disappearing for eternity.

“I—uh—no?” you squeaked.

TonTon chose violence and let out a crunchy CHOMP of betrayal.

Ushijima blinked. “TonTon only eats when he’s calm. He seems very calm.”

You were dying. Dying inside. “He’s… uh… really emotionally stable.”

“I know,” Ushijima said, now kneeling down to give TonTon a little pat. “Just like you.”

Your brain blue-screened.

“…Me?” you squeaked.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “You’re calm. Like a warm day. Sometimes unpredictable. But grounded. I like that.”

TonTon looked smug.

You looked like a ghost.

“I have to go,” Ushijima said, rising. “But… we can talk later. If you want.”

You nodded. Speechless.

As the door shut behind him again, you turned to TonTon.

“Snitch.”

TonTon blinked. Took another bite of lettuce.

TENDO SATORI

You were once a self-respecting human being.

Then you met Monty.

Monty the albino corn snake. Monty the slither noodle. Monty, who lived in a bougie glass tank in Tendo Satori’s room, complete with heat lamps, fake leaves, and a decorative log that looked suspiciously judgmental.

You hadn’t planned on trauma-dumping your entire romantic dilemma to a reptile. But here you were. Again. Sitting cross-legged on Tendo’s floor, babysitting Monty while Tendo ran to get snacks. And Monty was just staring. Unblinking. All-knowing.

“You know,” you said casually, resting your chin in your palm. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Monty slithered halfway out of his log. A subtle movement. A threat.

“Don’t give me that look,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You’re not better than me just because you don’t pay taxes.”

Monty flicked his tongue.

You scoffed. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

There was silence. The kind of silence that made you self-reflect.

“…Fine. I might like Tendo. A little. Like, an appropriate amount. Maybe. It’s not like I doodled our initials on my math notes or anything—” You paused. “Okay, I did. But just once.”

Monty moved closer to the glass.

You glared at him. “Do you have something to say? Huh? You wanna fight me, snakeboy?”

Monty tilted his head.

“Oh my god, you’re judging me.”

Monty stared deeper.

You broke.

“FINE! I think he’s cool, okay?! With his stupid long legs and his weird laugh and the way he remembers everyone’s birthdays even though no one asked?? And he makes the best popcorn and he lets me pick the movies even though I always choose psychological thrillers that mess us both up emotionally???”

Monty flicked his tongue again. A soundless “uh-huh.”

You sighed, lying flat on the floor in defeat. “He has no idea. I am a vault. A secret-holding fortress. A professional actor.”

Monty slithered into his water bowl and just stared at you through the water like a ghost from a horror movie.

“…Okay, you know what? That’s fair.”

The door opened.

You flinched and sat up so fast your spine cracked like bubble wrap.

Tendo peeked in, holding two bags of chips and a bottle of soda. “You two bonding again?”

You panicked. “WHO’S BONDING? I DON’T EVEN KNOW THIS SNAKE.”

Tendo blinked. “You literally named him ‘Monty Python’ last week.”

You froze. “I—Right. Yeah. Sorry. Just… rehearsing.”

“…Rehearsing?”

“For a play. Called *‘Snake Secrets and Stupid Feelings.’* It’s experimental.”

Tendo chuckled and walked in, setting the snacks down beside you. “You’re weird.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Takes one to know one.”

He looked at you for a beat, and then… smiled. The soft kind. Not the chaotic grin. Not the teasing smirk. The kind that made your stomach do a full Olympic gymnastics routine.

“You know Monty likes you, right?” he said, sitting beside you.

You snorted. “What, did he text you or something?”

Tendo shrugged. “Sort of. He only comes out of his log when you talk. Usually he ignores people. Including me.”

You blinked. “Wait. He’s listening?!”

Tendo grinned. “Oh yeah. He knows everything.”

Monty slowly curled into a spiral. Very smug. Very I told you so.

You turned back to Tendou. “Does Monty also know I like you?”

Tendo’s eyes sparkled. “I did.”

“W-What?”

He leaned closer. “Monty’s been telling me everything.”

You pointed at the tank. “You’re telling me you’ve been using your snake as an emotional surveillance device?!”

Tendo laughed so hard he nearly dropped the chips. “You’re just mad he exposed you.”

You stood up dramatically. “I CAN’T BELIEVE I CONFESSED TO A COLD-BLOODED BETRAYER.”

Tendou grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you back down. “If it helps… Monty also told me I should make a move.”

You stared. “What kind of psychic snake is he?!”

Tendou leaned in. “The kind that gets you a date.”

Monty blinked. One. Slow. Judgy. Blink.

And honestly?

Respect.

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi said he’d only be gone ten minutes.

Ten minutes to grab new ink refills and a croissant. Totally harmless. Totally innocent.

Except for the part where he left you alone in his apartment.

With Shigure.

His floppy-eared menace of a rabbit. Who blinked like a disappointed grandma and stomped like an angry roommate whenever you dared to lie in his sacred presence.

You sat on the floor, legs criss-crossed, glaring at the bunny who was currently chewing hay like he knew your whole emotional backstory.

“Okay, so maybe I used to like Akaashi,” you whispered like it was a crime. “But that was, like, two crushes ago. Old news.”

THUMP.

Shigure’s foot hit the floor like a gavel. You flinched.

“I’m serious! It’s just—he’s too polite. Too soft-spoken. Like a sexy ghost librarian. I don’t even like that type anymore.”

THUMP.

“…Okay fine, maybe I still think about his hands when I can’t sleep—”

THUMP. THUMP.

“SHIGURE, I’M LITERALLY BEGGING YOU TO STOP JUDGING ME.”

The rabbit paused. Tilted his fluffy head. Judgmental silence.

You groaned and collapsed backward on the carpet.

“It’s not my fault, okay? He always smells like fresh paper and morally sound decisions. He writes poetry for fun. I found a haiku about tea in his notebook once and I haven’t known peace since.”

Shigure hopped over and sat on your chest like he was claiming your sins.

“You don’t understand,” you continued, eyes wild now. “Yesterday he adjusted his glasses and I blacked out. I looked up and suddenly I had seventeen wedding boards on Pinterest—”

“...Should I be concerned?”

You froze.

Your soul left your body.

Akaashi was standing in the doorway. Holding a small paper bag. And his wallet. And the knowledge that you were a walking, talking, simping disaster.

“I forgot my—” he paused, eyes scanning the scene: you on the floor, his rabbit pinning you down like a fluffy demon, and the look of spiritual regret on your face.

“…what did I walk in on?”

Shigure hopped off you with the grace of a betrayer. Akaashi raised one brow.

“I—I—was—” you sat up, brain buffering, “talking to your rabbit. Like a normal person.”

“Mm,” Akaashi nodded slowly. “Normal people confess how much they love my hands… to my rabbit.”

You slapped your hands over your face. “Please delete me.”

“Can’t,” he said, too calmly. “You’re my favorite file.”

THUMP.

Shigure stomped again. Probably in approval.

You considered throwing yourself out the window. But then Akaashi walked over and offered you a second croissant.

You blinked. “You brought me food?”

“Well,” he said, smiling ever-so-slightly, “it seemed you were having a dramatic meltdown in my absence. I thought carbs might help.”

The bunny sat between you two.

Like a chaperone. Or a smug wingman.

You both pretended not to be flustered. Shigure knew better.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

Bokuto was out buying mango slices.

Why? Because Mango, his actual lovebird, threw a tantrum when he ran out yesterday. Screamed bloody murder. Flung seed. Launched herself off the curtain rod in dramatic betrayal. Bokuto nearly cried from guilt.

So now he was out.

Which left you… Alone. In his room. With Mango.

Who was currently clinging to your shirt like her tiny bird life depended on it.

You poked her gently. “I know you can’t talk. But we need to have a conversation about boundaries.”

Mango squawked. Then shoved her beak under your chin like, Affection now, clown.

You sighed, carefully scratching the top of her head. “This is all your fault. You and your bird dad. With his ridiculous arms and his sparkly eyes and the fact that he smells like coconut and competence—like who let him DO that?”

Mango, uninterested in your emotional spiral, was now climbing up your sleeve like a parrot ninja.

You continued, helpless, “He’s always like, ‘Heeeeyyyy~ Y/N!’ like he doesn’t know that I need five to ten business days to recover. He complimented my shoelaces yesterday. Shoelaces. I thought about it for four hours.”

Mango screamed.

Not just any scream. A direct, judgmental shriek. Bird-language for: “OH MY GOD GET A GRIP.”

“DON’T JUDGE ME,” you hissed. “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.”

Mango took off. FLYING. Circling the room like a feathery drone of chaos, knocking over a water bottle, a sock, and what might have been a protein bar. She landed dramatically on Bokuto’s desk, fluffed up like a warlord, and made direct, soul-piercing eye contact.

Then she STOMPED.

Yes. STOMPED.

A tiny lovebird foot came down in what can only be described as pure condemnation.

“EXCUSE ME???” you shouted. “Did you just… JUDGE-STOMP?”

She stomped again. Then leapt into the air and did what can only be described as an aerial backflip, landed on your head, and BURIED HER WHOLE FACE IN YOUR HAIR.

You screamed.

She screamed.

It was a duet of horror and mutual betrayal.

“I AM NOT IN LOVE,” you shrieked at her. “YOU’RE JUST TOO CUTE AND YOUR DAD IS TOO LOUD AND HOT, THAT’S NOT THE SAME THING.”

Mango flopped over dramatically on your head like a Disney princess fainting on a balcony.

You were about to start a full-on debate with this bird when the door opened.

“Hey, I’m back! They had the good mangoes—” Bokuto stopped. Stared. At you. On the floor. Hair fluffed. Face red. With his lovebird currently nuzzling your cheek like she’d claimed you in a sacred mating ritual.

You froze. He blinked.

Then…

“…She likes you more than she likes me,” he said, grinning.

“I don’t know what happened,” you whispered, internally sobbing. “She screamed. I screamed. There was stomping.”

Bokuto crossed the room in two long strides and offered you his hand, eyes crinkled with amusement. “She only does that when she’s really comfortable. Or when she senses crush energy.”

You took his hand in defeat. “Crush energy isn’t real.”

Mango screeched from your shoulder.

Bokuto: “That was her saying ‘liar.’”

You: “I hate this household.”

Bokuto: “So when’s the wedding? I’ll let her be the ring bearer.”

You: considering becoming a nun

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

You were once a normal person.

That was before Iwaizumi Hajime’s bearded dragon entered your life like a scaly, sunlamp-worshipping therapist with side-eyes sharper than a knife set.

You didn’t intend to talk to the reptile. But here you were. Again. Sitting on Iwaizumi’s couch while he ran to the pet shop for “crickets and calcium powder,” whatever that meant, and you were left with Spike — his little dinosaur son who blinked once every two business days and looked at you like you weren’t good enough for his dad.

“Okay, look,” you muttered, leaning forward on the couch, staring into his soulless yellow lizard eyes. “I know we don’t talk often, but I need to get this off my chest.”

Spike just stood there, basking under his heat lamp like the sun god he thought he was.

You sighed. “Do you think he likes me?”

Nothing.

You scooted a little closer. “Because like… he lets me sit in his spot on the couch. You know the one. The little dent where his butt lives.”

Spike did a very slow blink.

“That’s boyfriend behavior, right?”

Silence.

“Okay, maybe not. But he also gave me one of his hoodies once. Said it smelled like ‘gym and regret’ but I didn’t mind. I wore it for three days straight. Is that love?”

Spike turned his head just slightly to the left.

You gasped. “So it’s NOT love?! Are you telling me I’m delusional?!”

Spike raised one claw and rested it on his rock.

“…Don’t you dare judge me, scaly god. You don’t even pay rent.”

At that, Spike opened his mouth. Not a hiss. Not a squeak. Just an empty void of judgment.

You stood up. “You know what? No. I’m tired of living in fear of you. You’re not better than me. You eat bugs for breakfast.”

Spike moved an inch.

You flinched.

“...Okay. I didn’t mean that. You’re a very respectable reptile. Please don’t curse me.”

Spike turned away like you were beneath him.

You sat back down, defeated. “Fine. Maybe I’m projecting. Maybe I do like Iwaizumi. Maybe I imagine what our kids would look like. They’d be ripped and have moral integrity. That’s terrifying but beautiful.”

Spike looked back at you.

“…You’ve known this whole time, haven’t you?”

The door opened.

You jumped like you got caught cheating on a math test.

Iwaizumi walked in, holding a bag of groceries and one suspiciously specific bouquet of your favorite flowers. “Hey,” he said, walking over. “You good? Look like you saw a ghost.”

You laughed nervously. “Haha, no, not at all, I was just talking to Spike about taxes.”

Iwaizumi paused. “You… were talking to my lizard about taxes.”

“Yup. GDP. Inflation. The whole shebang.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Spike. “You told her, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “Told me what?”

Iwaizumi walked over, leaned down… and pressed the flowers into your hands. “That I like you.”

Silence.

Spike crawled onto his basking rock and nodded.

YOU SAW HIM NOD.

“WHAT IN THE DISNEY PIXAR—” you screamed, nearly throwing the flowers and falling off the couch.

Iwaizumi caught you with one arm, totally casual. “Told you he liked you. He doesn’t nod for just anyone.”

You looked between Iwaizumi and his judgmental dragon. “So you’re telling me… I confessed my situationship brain rot to a magical, semi-psychic bearded lizard… and he’s been your wingman this whole time?”

Spike licked his own eyeball.

“…Okay that’s fair.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “So… dinner? I made yakisoba.”

“Also...you talk to Spike about me?!”

“Every Thursday.”

You blinked. “That’s unhinged.”

Iwaizumi smirked. “So are you.”

OIKAWA TOORU

You swore you weren’t scared of dogs.

But this—this was not a dog.

This was a 4-pound puff of chaos with beady eyes, trust issues, and an attitude worse than your ex.

Her name? Princess.

Her mission? Terrorize anyone who gets too close to Oikawa Tooru.

Her target? You. Always. Without mercy.

You were currently sitting on Oikawa’s couch, legs tucked neatly under you like someone preparing for a war crime, as Princess sat just one cushion away — staring you down like she knew your deepest sins.

She barked once.

Just one.

Loud. Piercing. Condescending.

“Stop judging me,” you muttered, glaring at her. “I haven’t even touched him.”

Princess growled softly, like she knew that was a lie.

You crossed your arms. “I mean—okay. Maybe I look at him. Occasionally. With longing. But like, who doesn’t?”

Princess blinked. You were pretty sure it was sarcastic.

You scooted an inch away. She scooted an inch closer.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “He trained you to hate me, didn’t he?”

She barked again, and you could feel the judgment radiating from her tiny, furry soul.

“Alright, fine! I like him, okay? Happy now? I like your stupid perfect owner with his stupid perfect face and his stupid little hair flips and his STUPID little wink when he wins at Mario Kart even though he’s CHEATING—”

“Is she threatening you again?” came a familiar voice from the hallway.

You froze.

Oikawa casually walked into the living room, holding a bowl of popcorn and two sodas. He raised an eyebrow as he caught the tail end of your emotional meltdown.

“Wait, back up,” he said slowly, placing the snacks down. “Did you just call me perfect?”

You blinked. “...No?”

Princess barked so violently she fell off the couch.

Oikawa laughed. “Wow, sold out by a dog. That’s rough.”

“She’s a traitor!” you yelled. “I’ve done nothing but feed her organic duck jerky and talk about how fluffy she is and she BETRAYED ME.”

He shrugged and plopped down beside you, grinning like a man who had just won an emotional lottery. “Well, I mean, Princess has high standards. She hates everyone. You should feel honored.”

You pointed at the tiny beast, now curled on your leg like she hadn’t just tried to destroy your life. “She literally growled at me when I complimented your volleyball highlight reel.”

“She has taste.”

“She BIT ME WHEN I SAID I LIKE YOUR SMILE.”

“She’s a wingdog,” Oikawa said smoothly. “And she’s working overtime.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but paused.

“…Wait. You knew?”

He smirked. “You confessed to my dog, Y/n. Loudly. For three separate visits in a row.”

“She doesn’t speak English!!”

He leaned closer. “But I do.”

You panicked. “Forget everything you just heard—”

“I like you too.”

Silence.

You and Princess both turned to him.

“…You do?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Duh. But I had to make sure *my daughter* approved.”

Princess barked once.

Oikawa scratched her chin. “She says yes. But also that you need to stop lying about my Mario Kart skills.”

You gasped. “YOU’RE STILL A CHEATER.”

He shrugged. “I cheat with style.”

Princess barked in agreement.

You stared at the two of them — a beautiful, chaotic man and his demon dog daughter.

And for some reason?

You felt home.

KYOTANI KENTARO

The first thing you noticed was the size.

Kyōtani’s rottweiler, Kiba, was less of a dog and more of a small horse. Muscles like a linebacker. A jaw like a bear trap. Eyes that said, “I’ve done some things. And I’d do them again.”

You stood at the door, holding the leash Kyōtani had just handed you, heart pounding.

“You sure he’s friendly?” you asked, eyeing Kiba, who was staring at you like you were either prey or his new mom.

Kyōtani blinked, utterly unbothered. “Yeah. He likes you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He’s growling.”

“That’s his love language.”

Kiba, beside him, let out a low rumbly *gruff*… and licked his lips.

You swallowed. “…Okay.”

---

To be fair, Kiba didn’t attack you.

Nope. What he did instead?

Stalk you.

Everywhere.

Like a tank-sized shadow with a possessive streak.

You went to the kitchen? Click-clack — he followed.

Sat on the couch? Whomp — his head was on your lap.

Went to the bathroom? Scratch-scratch-scratch — your personal bouncer was outside the door like, “You good in there, princess?”

It was cute, in an I’m-a-little-afraid-he’ll-eat-me kind of way.

You peeked out of the hallway. “Kentarō… your dog keeps watching me like he wants to marry me or maul me. Or both.”

Kyōtani, lounging shirtless on the floor doing pushups (because of course he was), just shrugged. “He’s protective.”

“…So is he gonna let me leave? Or nah?”

“Nope,” Kyōtani said without looking up. “You live here now.”

---

Later that night, you tried to chill on the couch and maybe binge some trash TV.

Kiba climbed up beside you like he paid rent.

Then, without warning, he planted his whole body on your lap, head under your chin, grumbling and nuzzling. Like, “Pet me. Praise me. I own you.”

You glanced at Kyōtani.

“He’s… affectionate,” you said slowly, patting Kiba awkwardly as he snorted against your chest.

Kyōtani looked up from his phone, watching the two of you with that unreadable face of his — and then… smirked. Just a tiny one. Dangerous.

“He doesn’t do that with anyone else.”

“…Oh.”

Then, Kiba did something terrible.

He made a noise — like a low, dramatic sigh — and gently shoved his entire snout between your thighs.

“KYŌTANI.”

“I saw nothing.”

“YOUR DOG JUST WENT FACE-FIRST INTO THE TRIANGLE OF SIN—”

“He’s just sniffin’.”

“SNIFFING WHAT—THE MEANING OF LIFE?!”

You tried to push Kiba back, but he just grumbled, adjusted, and fell asleep with his whole body weighing down your legs and his chin casually resting on your upper thigh like it was a goddamn pillow.

“Great,” you muttered. “He’s crushing my femurs. I’m never walking again.”

Kyōtani got up, walked over, leaned down—and gave your cheek a light kiss.

You blinked. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Kiba claimed you. So I’m claiming you back.”

You stared at him, brain rebooting.

Kiba let out a satisfied grunt in his sleep.

And from that moment on, you weren’t sure who was scarier

Kyōtani, his jealous rottweiler, or how much you liked both.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You were terrified the first time Sakusa introduced you to his cat.

No fur. All wrinkles. Piercing, judgy stare.

It was like meeting the ghost of a rich widow’s ex-husband who died under *mysterious circumstances*.

“This is Hairball, ironic, I know ” Sakusa had said, like the creature hadn’t just hissed at you from its silk blanket throne.

That was six months ago.

Now?

Now you were at Sakusa’s apartment, laid back on his couch in a hoodie and shorts, with a completely naked, wrinkled, and slightly moist sphynx cat draped across your chest like a dramatic scarf.

Hairball, the emotionally unstable hairless gremlin, was aggressively purring—because you were giving him little chin scratches and whispering sweet nothings like

“Don’t worry, baby. I’d never let Omi cut your nailbeds too short again. That was emotional damage.”

Hairball purred louder, his alien-looking body vibrating like an angry cell phone. You were his safe space now. His chosen.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you hate that lavender shampoo. It makes you smell like a haunted grandma. I said go for the cucumber melon one, but did Omi listen? Nooooo—”

“Excuse me?”

You yelped—literally yelped—and whipped around.

Sakusa stood in the hallway with two mugs of tea and a very flat expression.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

He looked at you.

Then at Hairball.

Then back at you, still pinned by a naked cat whose eyes were smug now.

“…Are you gossiping with my cat?” Sakusa asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You immediately panicked. “NO. No. I was just—ventilating. Verbally. It’s a self-soothing technique. Therapists recommend it.”

Hairball looked Sakusa dead in the eyes and let out a single, long hiss.

Then licked your cheek.

Sakusa blinked. “Did you just get kissed before me. By my cat.”

“I—I didn’t ask for it!” you squeaked.

“Is that why you’re stroking his little gremlin belly and calling him your precious wart baby?”

Your jaw dropped. “I didn’t call him—!!”

“Oh, you did,” Sakusa said flatly, walking over and setting the mugs down.

Hairball stretched across you like the most dramatic runway model alive, paw smacking your boob like he paid rent there.

Sakusa stared.

“You’ve officially become the only person he lets touch him,” he muttered, almost bitterly.

You blinked. “Wait. Really?”

He narrowed his eyes. “He bit my aunt. Twice. He refuses to sleep next to me unless I put a heated towel down first. But you—he lets you stick your face in his belly folds and call him ‘my little wrinkly ass wart.’”

You coughed, trying not to laugh. “You heard that?”

Sakusa just gave you a look.

“You’re jealous,” you accused, grinning.

“I am not jealous of a cat.”

Hairball sneezed in Sakusa’s direction.

“...Okay, maybe a little,” he muttered.

You patted the space beside you. “Come cuddle with us, Omi.”

“No.”

“You can be the big spoon.”

“No.”

“You can be the little spoon.”

“I’m going to burn that hoodie if it smells like cat.”

Hairball meowed sweetly and patted your cheek with a wrinkly paw.

You smirked. “You’re just mad he got to second base before you.”

Sakusa blinked slowly.

Then sighed.

“…You’re both annoying.”

But five minutes later, guess who joined you on the couch with a clean towel so hairball wouldn't touch him directly?

Damn right.

KUROO TETSURO

Being roommates with Kuroo Tetsuro wasn’t bad.

Sure, he left hair gel on the sink and his dirty socks migrated to places no socks should be — like the microwave. But otherwise? Chill dude. Paid bills on time. Didn’t hog the bathroom. Made bomb curry.

And he had a cat.

A sleek, smug black cat named Tetsu who was, quite literally, his twin in feline form: sharp eyes, mysterious vibes, and a talent for making people feel like they were the pet.

Y/n didn’t mind him. Until this day.

“Kuroo,” she called from the kitchen, already regretting everything. “Your little demon just knocked over the tampon box again. WHY is that his favorite toy?!”

From his room: “He respects your womanhood.”

“HE ATE A PANTY LINER.”

“Okay. Disrespectful.”

She groaned, then froze as she spotted something.

Oh no.

Laundry basket. Top layer. Lacy underwear.

Tetsu was staring at it.

“No. Nope. Don’t even think abou—HEY!”

Too late.

He lunged like a perverted shadow gremlin, grabbed a black lace thong like it was the last Horcrux, and bolted under the couch with a speed that could shame Olympic sprinters.

“TETSU. GIVE. IT. BACK!”

Cue Y/n on her knees, arm deep under the couch, bargaining with a feline underwear thief while waving a piece of rotisserie chicken like a hostage negotiator.

She got it back.

But at what cost?

Later, she collapsed dramatically on the couch, flinging an arm over her eyes. Tetsu, satisfied with the chaos he’d unleashed, hopped onto her chest like he owned the lease.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Sit on your throne, you fluffy war criminal,” she mumbled.

He purred. Innocently.

Then reached a paw up…

And touched her lips.

“…What.”

Another paw. Gentle. Testing. Then—boop. Toe bean to mouth.

“PPPFFFTTT—TETSU, YOU NASTY—”

She choked, flailing, as the little bastard slid deeper into her cleavage like it was a heated blanket, tucked in with the confidence of a man who paid rent.

“Oh my god—you’re not even subtle. This is harassment.”

Then, just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, she felt a tug.

She looked down.

His tiny claw had hooked her camisole strap and was gently trying to pull it down.

“Are you trying to undress me?! ARE YOU A PEEPING TOM IN A CAT COSTUME?!”

*Tug tug.*

“NO. STOP THAT. YOU CANNOT SEDUCE ME FOR FUNSIES.”

She was too stunned to fight. The camisole shifted slightly, and Tetsu nuzzled closer with a little sigh like this was just a Monday for him.

And that’s when Kuroo walked in.

The door opened mid-camisole-tug, mid-purr.

“Hey, I just got back from the groce—”

He froze.

Y/n. On the couch. Camisole half-yanked down, cheeks red, hair messy.

His cat? Kneading her chest like it was artisanal sourdough.

A long pause.

Kuroo: “...I leave you alone with my son for ten minutes and you let him motorboat you?”

Lea: “I DIDN’T LET HIM—HE TOUCHED MY MOUTH AND STARTED UNDRESSING ME—”

Kuroo: “...Was it mutual?”

“WHAT THE HELL—KUROO, GET YOUR PERVERT CAT OFF MY BOOBS!”

But Kuroo just set down the groceries and laughed so hard he had to lean on the counter.

“He likes you,” he said between wheezes. “He only gets freaky with people he trusts.”

“YOUR CAT VIOLATED ME.”

“That’s how I show trust too.”

“KUROO.”

He just grinned.

AONE TAKANOBU

When Aone said, “You can meet my pig,”

you did not think he meant a literal pig.

Not like…"Haha my dog eats like a pig!"

No.

This was a full-bodied, pink, snorting, cloven-hoofed, emotionally co-dependent mini pig named Yuki.

Mini, as in "not farm size," but absolutely not emotionally mini because this pig?

She loved you.

—

At first it was kind of cute.

Yuki trotted over, sniffed your leg, and immediately collapsed on your foot like,

"This is mine now. I’ve claimed you."

Aone just blinked and nodded.

“That means she trusts you,” he said.

You smiled, thinking,

“Aw. Sweet.”

WRONG.

Yuki was not here for a casual fling.

Yuki was in it for eternity.

You couldn’t sit without her flopping next to you.

You couldn’t walk without her trotting behind you like a shadow.

She screamed—squealed like a banshee—when you went into the kitchen without her.

And the real problem started when you tried to pee.

“Aone,” you whispered, trapped in the bathroom as Yuki oinked aggressively from the other side of the door, “She’s breathing under the crack. I can see her snout.”

You heard his deep, quiet voice from the hallway.

“She doesn’t like closed doors.”

“She’s THUMPING on the door.”

“She thinks you’re trapped.”

“She’s right.”

“I’ll… talk to her.”

But before Aone could come save you—the door opened.

Yuki headbutted her way in like a battering ram.

She trotted in, made DIRECT eye contact, then promptly sat on your foot again.

While you were still peeing.

You wept.

Yuki oinked with satisfaction.

From then on, you had no peace.

Yuki followed you around Aone’s house like a little judgmental ghost, occasionally making low snorting sounds like she was taking notes on your sins.

At one point, you caught her trying to climb onto Aone’s bed after you’d already sat on it.

She flopped between you both and let out a sound that somehow said

“You’re in MY spot.”

Aone just sighed and gave her a gentle pat.

“She’s never like this with anyone else.”

“I feel like I’m being held hostage by Peppa Pig.”

“She likes you.”

“She peed in my shoe.”

“She really likes you.”

But then—

The day came when you had to leave.

You were at the door, hugging Aone goodbye (the best 3-second hug of your life), when you heard a sound from behind:

Yuki.

Staring.

With wide, glistening, dramatic pig eyes.

She let out a long, slow, tragic oink.

You knelt down. “Yuki, I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise—”

And then she…

flopped over. Belly up. Arms out.

Like she had died of heartbreak.

You gasped. “Is she okay?!”

“She’s guilt-tripping you,” Aone said calmly, already holding her treat jar.

You blinked. “So she’s—”

He tossed her a banana chip. Yuki IMMEDIATELY sprang to life and snatched it from mid-air like nothing happened.

You stared at her.

Yuki stared back.

She knew what she was doing

You still came back the next day.

Because you were pretty sure this pig would hunt you down if you didn’t.

AHH GOOD LORD I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS DFNTLY ENJOYED ASAHI AND SUNA'S PART

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cosmowgyral · 3 days ago

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The Abstinent Beast Devours Love~

▪︎ Elbert Greetia

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

CW: Explicit sexual content/MDNI

(I need more of Elbert….)

Fighting back tears, I make my way to his room.

With me busy on missions and Elbert buried under a mountain of overdue estate paperwork, we hadn’t had any time together these past two weeks.

No moments to hold each other, not even a touch. And now, I was suffering from a serious lack of him.

(But that ends today.)

I knock on the door of his room.

Kate: Elbert, are you there?

As my heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of finally spending time together again starting today, I opened the door��

Kate: Huh?

For some reason, the room was filled with piles of sweets.

Elbert: …I was just about to come get you. Thank you for coming, Kate.

Elbert: Now everything’s finally in place…

Kate: What is all this, Elbert?

A wagon was laid out with delicious-looking dishes, but no matter how you looked at it, the portions were way too much.

Elbert: Come here, Kate.

After pouring the soup into a bowl, he pulled me onto his lap, scooped it up with a spoon, and brought it to my lips.

Kate: Mm, it’s delicious.

Smiling with satisfaction, Elbert set the bowl down on the bedside chest.

Kate: Mm

Without warning, he stole a kiss from my lips.

Elbert: Mmm... It’s been so hard, not being able to be with you for a while...

Between kisses, the words he uttered tightened my chest.

Kate: I feel the same way.

Elbert: That’s why I prepared three days’ worth of meals.

Kate: Mmh?

I pulled away from the kiss and tilted my head.

Elbert tilted his head in the same way, with a puzzled expression on his face.

Elbert: I prepared the meals for the next three days... to make sure we stay connected the entire time.

Elbert: I want to be alone, just the two of us, without any disturbances…

I glance at the large amount of sweets and the meal that's far too much for just the two of us.

Elbert: ...If it runs out, I'll ask Al for more, so don't worry...

Elbert: Right now... I want to be one with you.

Kate: E-Elbert... ah.

Elbert: Mm... hah, more...

Naked atop the bed, I straddle him, taking in all of his warmth.

As I narrowed my eyes at the long-awaited heat, he pulled me into a devouring kiss.

My relaxed body sank downward, and as his girth drove deep inside me, a numbing wave of pleasure surged through me.

Kate: Ha… nnngh…

Elbert: … more….

Kate: Ahh, no…!

He didn’t even give me a moment to catch my breath before grabbing my waist and thrusting into me with force.

It feels so good, I’m losing my mind.

Our eyes met, blazing with raw hunger.

We gasped, losing ourselves completely as we devoured each other like wild beasts.

It's more intense than usual, and it's making my head spin.

My insides were deeply penetrated with relentless force, and the sheets became soaked with sweat.

Kate: Wait————!

As I clung to his neck, my body trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of something breaking within me.

He cast a glance at me, still breathless from the experience, before grabbing a piece of chocolate nearby and pressing it against my lips.

Kate: Mmm... ghh…

The moment I tasted the chocolate, my lips were stolen once more, and his tongue entered my mouth.

Elbert: Hah… mm..

A single piece of chocolate moves through my mouth, slowly melting into a warm, sweet sensation.

Elbert: The chocolate from your mouth... tastes so good...

Kate: Mm... Would you like another one?

While still connected, Elbert pushed me down onto the bed and grabbed something in his hand.

Kate: Ohh! ….Is that honey?

Golden liquid trickled from my breasts to my stomach, and I barely had time to be surprised before his tongue traced along my skin, licking up the honey as he began to move again.

But then, he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

Elbert: It's not fair... whatever you eat gets to become a part of your body.

The rhythm grew more intense, and waves of pleasure crashed over me—so overwhelming I felt like I might just burst apart.

Kate: Elbert… I-I can’t take it any more—

I begged him to stop, desperate for even a moment of relief, but my plea never reached his ears. Instead, his fingers slid down to where our bodies were joined—

Elbert: So devour me right here... and let me become a part of you, let me be one with you.

In this endless sea of pleasure, I feel like I'm the one being devoured by him.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #ikevil #ikevil jp #cybird otome #ikemen villains elbert #ikevil elbert #elbert greetia #ikevil translations #elbert greetia translations #d: jiyascepter

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inthelibrarybtw · 2 days ago

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you want me to pretend? | ten

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, jealousy, jordan, rafe crash out, cursing

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.1k

authors note: ten? when did this happen? I'm really thankful for all the love that you guys have given to my blind children. Enjoy another flashback 😚 I intended to post yesterday but I got a fever and went to sleep it off.

09 | 10 | 11

Sophomore Year - October 2022

Sophomore Year - November 2022

Thanksgiving had been the perfect opportunity to finally get together with Angie and fully discuss the topic of Jordan. Ever since the day you two had met, you had been consistently talking to each other. While he had initially caught your attention, now it was a whole different story. You talked all day, every day—well, almost every day.

“So you really like him right now?” Angie asked as she sat down on your bed.

“I feel like we’re becoming really close; we talk almost all the time,” you said with a small smile.

“Almost is not always.”

“Yeah, on weekends he just disappears, but he’s with his family and doing a lot of schoolwork, so that’s why.”

“Wait, so he just doesn’t answer on weekends?”

“We talk, but it's very little on weekends. He reappears on Sunday afternoon, and we talk again. It’s a lot of voice notes, and I like that.”

“Oh, he’s a voice note guy… Huh, he didn’t give me those vibes.”

“Yeah, I like that because I feel it’s more real. You hear the actual tone in which he is speaking, and it’s just really nice to hear him.”

“Maybe at first I wasn’t really sure about him, but I guess he’s not that bad.”

“He is really sweet; we can talk about a lot of stuff,” you smile again.

“You think it’s going to get deeper? Like are you and him, and me and Ethan, going to be having double dates soon?” she teases, and you chuckle.

“Oh, we are already talking about that?”

“Yeah, why not? Ethan and I have been talking for two months, and I think he is going to be my boyfriend,” Angie says, smiling.

“I’m so happy for you; he better treat you right.”

“Same goes for Jordan; he better treat you right. But from the audio you have sent me, he does sound nice, and he was very unexpected, so…” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Yes, it could be something good. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. We have been talking for just a month, so I don’t know where this is really going.”

“So, Rafe…?” You shake your head softly, “like at all?”

“I…” you stutter for a second.

“Ha!” She pointed at you, “I knew it.”

“I don’t like Rafe; I never liked him.”

“Then why the hell is this on your bed?” She grabbed the jellycat he had given you for your birthday.

“It was a gift; what was I supposed to do? Throw it away? It’s cute; I like it.”

“So, no emotional attachment to that or the person who gave it to you?” You shook your head, not realizing your face was saying quite the opposite.

“Right, so really, really nothing for Rafe?”

“Yeah,” your voice faltered, “nothing at all.” You smiled, but Angie knew better than to believe you.

“Zero? Nada? Nothing? Not even physically?”

“Finding someone attractive doesn’t mean you like them; I told you.”

“Ah, right, yeah.”

“Angie, stop it; I don’t like Rafe.” She lifted her hands in defeat.

“Fine, fine, you don’t like him.”

Sophomore Year - December 2022

Rafe sat down on the living room couch. The house was anything but quiet, but at least the living room was now clean and free of a screaming Emily. His sister had gotten far too excited about her Christmas presents, and with every single one, she had screamed. He understood it, but he was also not in the mood. They all had helped her get her new toys into her playroom. Wheezie stayed with Emily, so that was why he had gone back to the living room. His loneliness didn’t last long.

“What’s that face for?” Sarah asked, sitting next to him.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“You look all annoyed. I have a wild guess as to why, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“The thing is, I feel like I shouldn’t feel this way. It's not like she’s my ex, you know.”

“Yeah, but you like her.”

“Yes, that much was obvious; thanks for stating it again.”

“I’m just saying it's normal to feel this way. She likes someone else, and you still like her.”

“Are you sure she likes him?”

“I haven’t talked about it much, but she has mentioned it sometimes; not a lot, though.” He sighed.

“Well, according to Kelce, he has gone MIA for weeks, then goes back to talk to her like nothing happened, and he claims it’s just because he’s busy, but no one can be that busy.”

“I feel like your jealousy is making everything way worse than it actually is.”

“Yeah, well.”

“It’s okay, though; I understand it, but I do have to say that you need to eventually move on.”

“I know. I decided that a few days ago, but Kelce told me he thought she liked me, and that threw me off. I just started thinking about that.”

“And you didn’t talk to him about this?”

“Why would I?”

“Right, you don’t talk about feelings with the boys,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“I have you for that; I don’t need them,” he nudged her with his elbow.

“Aw, look, you are nice,” she chuckled.

“Shut up,” he chuckled back.

“Back to the Y/N thing… I know this is not what you want to hear, but try to meet someone just for the fun of it.”

“If you think I’m gonna get over her by dating someone else, you’re wrong. Before I say this, I know how cheesy and stupid it sounds, but that's just how things are.”

“I’m gonna let you finish.”

“I promise, the second I saw her, it was like the rest of the girls were nothing. I have tried, BELIEVE ME, I have tried talking to other girls and flirting with them, but they are all so… uninteresting, or maybe it is just because I really, really like her. I don’t even know why I like her so much,” he exhales and groans, “I’m so messed up.”

“Wow,” Sarah said, looking at him. “Yeah… you are messed up, but hopefully you will eventually get over her, right?”

“I hope you are right because this is embarrassing. Not even Topper got this down bad for you, and that man did some questionable things when he was trying to date you,” Sarah chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it worked, so…”

“For him. I’m not gonna embarrass myself, even if I wanted to. This problem is so easy to fix.”

“Okay, now you lost me.”

“Jordan. He is my problem. I could literally just kiss her, and voilà, problem solved.”

“Oh geez…” Sarah sighed. “First things first, you would create more problems by doing that.”

“Yeah, but he would go bye-bye.”

“You spend too much time with Emily.”

“She’s the coolest 4-year-old I know.”

“Yeah, because she’s your sister.”

As they started talking about Emily, Jordan and you got forgotten in the conversation, but not from Rafe’s mind. Much to his dislike, he was going to keep being annoyed and jealous about that for a few more months until he eventually called it a day.

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midnghtprentiss · 7 hours ago

Note

Can I request for Jack Abbot x fem reader? Their child wanted pet(s) and Jack just wouldn't let him since he wasn't convinced that they would take care of it and he's busy with work and so does her. Their kid persuaded her and she tried to tempted Jack to give in. Doing everything just to let him say yes. Jack knew his answer but just wanted to mess you with them🫣. Kisses, fluff, suggestive. Thanks!! :))

a/n: this is my first request omg omg omg, i absolutely loved your request! i changed a few times but hope it matches what you wanted. have fun dear. sorry if there's some mistakes, english is not my first language. enjoyyyy :)

mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want - jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader warnings: jack as girls dad, suggestive content

Parenthood was amazing. You loved it more than you expected. You loved being a mom as much as Jack loved being a dad and he was really proud to be a girl's dad. Your twin girls were the reason for him to absolutely love the new version of him.

Evangeline and Cecilia were his sunshine, his everything. He would die and kill if meant to make them smile. Even before they came to the world he was excited about the idea of having two versions of himself with the person he loves. He spent nights imagining how life would be so much cooler and brighter, he even confessed to you that he always wanted to be a girl dad but never had the chance to make it right before you.

The whole pregnancy wasn’t easy, you had a lot of pain, restrictions and anxiety at the same time. Growing two girls at once was a hell of a full time job and apparently will be for a long time. You were eating more, sleeping more, feeling bigger than ever, you can’t even count how many clothes didn’t fit anymore. You started by doing less shifts and when you did, Jack made sure you didn’t work harder, which led you to a few fights.

“Jack, pregnancy is not a disease. I am more than capable of doing my job and still have two children inside of me.”

“I’m not letting you do everything you want so you can prove something to other people.” You laughed in his face.

“I am a doctor first and then a mother. So please, let me enjoy this moment before I’ll spend my days being known only as a mother.”

Everything changed when you got to hold your girls for the first time and actually be a better mom than the one you have. It was a full time job, the hardest job you’ve ever had, 24/7 of being alert and on the edge of your seat for the smallest things. You didn’t showered for almost a week after you got to bring them home, you cried when they cried and the worst part of it all was the excruciating feeling that you were already failing.

Jack was your number one supporter, your safe haven and he was happy to be there. He dealt with the sleepless nights like a champ, always holding the girls, giving them what they needed just for you to sleep for a while, he didn't even complain about being sleep deprived, he just accepted it. But he never told you how terrified he was of sucking at the only job he couldn’t fail. How he was afraid of sleeping and missing something important, or how anxious he was when they were out of his plain sight. He didn’t tell you he almost gave up being a doctor to stay with the girls.

As they grew up, you both understood how to be better parents and that brought you closer than ever, creating boundaries and rules to make this right. You agreed on coming back to work at your own pace, making cohesive schedules and trying your best not to go home during shifts. You worked the day shift so he stayed with them and he stayed with the girls all day and he worked at night shift for you to be home during bedtime.

Real teamwork.

Cecilia was like a mini version of Jack. She was bossy, talkative and had the same bad attitude as him, which sometimes made your life so difficult, but she was glued to you. Everywhere you went, she was there like a shadow. Evangeline was a whole version of you, she was sweet, calm and did her best to be nice to everyone and yet Jack was the only one who could calm her down when she wasn’t having a good day.

There were nights Ange cried non stop because she wanted daddy and as a consequence Cece cried because her sister was crying. You have to call him at two in the morning, knowing he was busy with a trauma, trying your best to not cry on the phone, asking him to talk to her. Or when Cece was giving him an attitude because he wanted her mama so bad that everyone else was an enemy, he had to call you just for her to feel better.

You decided to change your tactics again and put the girls to socialize in preschool. At first you hated the idea as much as Jack but eventually you decided to give it a try. They absolutely loved it. The first week was filled with tears and anxiety (from you, especially), the desire of bringing them home and putting the whole experiment behind. By the second week the girls begin to cry less and be more excited about going. It was a relief for your mind and both of you could focus more at work.

At six years old you could see these girls were smarter than you imagined. They talked about what they learned at kindergarten and included details about everything they knew and saw. There was no better feeling than watching your favorite human beings embracing their personality.

One day after school during a pick up, you noticed them speaking quietly and giggling with each other pointing at some drawings in their notebooks.

“What’s happening here? Am I missing something?” Ange and Cece looked at each other and giggled louder.

“Mama, we want a dog.” Cece screamed and lifted up her piece of paper.

“Oh really? Why do you want a dog?” You asked curious.

“Today Mrs. Sunny told us about responsibilities and she told us having a pet helped us with that.” Ange was so excited and her sister was agreeing on everything. “We are big girls now.” Big girls that made her father look under the bed every night for monsters.

“Girls, having a pet is a big thing. Me and daddy are really busy taking care of more things to have animals.” You tried to sound soft, knowing how emotional they can get. “Plus, I don’t if you’re ready for this kind of responsibility.”

“We can help!” Cece jumped in, “We can give them food, water, snuggles and we can take them to our walks with daddy.”

That would be fun, you think to yourself, Jack was going to have a stroke when you tell him that. Or better, you’ll let them speak to him.

The idea of a pet was something you and him already talked about. During your pregnancy you had long conversations with your husbands on the subject, you grew up with animals and in fact helped you with the responsibility of taking care of the people you loved. He wasn’t against it, but you’re both busy and now with two kids taking a lot of attention and time, an animal would make it worse and more chaotic.

“I agree with you, girls.” Of course you agreed with them, the smiles they gave you is more than enough. “We need to convince dad to let us have a pet, what do you think?” They squealed and laughed, starting to make some plans and creating some crazy scenarios where the pet was included. “I suggest you two work on something really good for him and we talk about this before dinner, alright?”

When you got home, Jack was already waiting outside. Crossed arms, polo shirt, faded jeans. What a view. The moment he opened the car door for them, they were already on him, talking about their day and showering him with hints about the conversation that would happen later.

He just looked at you confused and nodding with whatever sentence was coming out of their mouths. You walked behind them, contemplating the sweet view of your family.

While Cece and Angel were doing their homework, you were studying a few things for your lecture and Jack was making dinner. You approached him quietly and held his face to make him look directly at you.

“We have a problem, a big one.” His heart almost stopped at your words. “They want a dog.”

“Really?” He chuckled, going back to slicing the onions.

“Something about Mrs. Sunny teaching about responsibility.” You poured yourself some wine and leaned against the counter. “They are on a mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want. It’s gonna be tough on you, buddy.”

“What exactly did you say to them?” He put the knife down and stared at you.

“I said the truth. We’re busy and getting a pet would add more chaos into our lives but I said yes.” You said quietly and he raised his eyebrows. “I can’t resist them, you know that!”

Dinner was chaotic. Cecilia and Evangeline were on fire telling all the good reasons for having cats and dogs. They even called themselves ‘doctor daughters’ and their specialty is love and snuggles. You held your smile the whole time, while Jack was so hypnotized by them he didn’t even blink.

“Girl, I understand you really really really want that but we need to discuss it better.” Their eyes were full of water and while he talked about their busy life, their school time and the extracurricular they do, a dog was harder.

“But we are good girls, daddy.” You almost got up and went to the nearest shelter to get the damn dog.

“I know, bug.”

After bedtime you were laying next to Jack, tracing lines in his chest and you couldn’t stop thinking about their wish of having an animal. Jack knew this conversation was about to happen for the way you tucked them in bed and he heard you saying you would try to convince him using your ‘supermom powers’. Before the conversation started he was already laughing.

You smacked his chest and rolled your eyes, trying to focus on whatever you were about to say to him.

“You know why we can’t have a dog.” You looked at him.

“Why not? Are you afraid he will steal your prosthetic leg?” He burst out laughing holding your arm.

“You would like that, didn’t you?” He teased and your eyes studied his face.

“Jack, we are raising two girls. A dog can make our job easier.” You think about your next words. “It can teach them responsibility.”

“A dog can be dangerous.” He found it amusing how you rolled your eyes every time you disagreed.

“Men are dangerous, a dog is the sweetest thing they can have. Besides, we can use that to make them stop asking for another sibling.” You reminded him, getting more comfortable against his body.

“You have a very good point, love.”

“Of course I have.”

“A sibling?” You giggled, hiding your face between his chest. “They can have a dog and a sibling, then.”

“Easy there, tiger. It’s debatable since I’m the one who carries the children here.”

“Everybody wins something here, just saying.”

“You’re a trouble, Jack Abbot.”

“You married me.” He held your face, caressing your cheeks gently.

It took Jack three days to get a dog. He talked to an old army friend of his that had the contact of a guy that had retired dogs and just like that, you got a dog - Luke. He’s the nicest, trained and responded very well to the girls clinging on to him.

You’ve never seen them so excited and happy to have a furry friend and the best part is watching Jack pretending he’s not blusinh watching his girls run around the backyard. You were sitting next to him, listening to Angel and Cece squeal every time Luke licked their faces and screamed when he runs from them.

“About the sibling situation.” He smirked and watched your face with the same look that got you pregnant before.

“Not before bedtime, Abbot.” You pushed his shoulder.

“Can’t wait for our talk later.”

Maybe life is worth it for the moments like that where everybody is truly happy.

#the pitt #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine

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zepskies · 1 day ago

Text

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Omg yay!! Thank you so much, friend! I'm excited for you loll ❤️❤️

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

She's a real sweetheart, right? Writing someone who wants to work with little kids, I wanted to write a young woman who isn't without her flaws, but really embodied that kind, nurturing nature that makes for great elementary school teachers. 💗 (And the kind of inner goodness that I think Dean would find endearing too.)

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

Aww that was one of my favorite scenes for this doozy of a chapter lol. 🥹 But it kind of makes you wish that you could knock Dean's head in like a coconut and get him to see what's right in front of his face! 😂

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

Girl same! haha drawing on my own love of baking for this part. But omg I love you for referencing Midnight Espresso lol. She's definitely a kind of version of that reader who's a giver/nurturer. 💞

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

Again, he's being a big dummy!! 🙄

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

loll you may want to hang onto your potato for a while. Lisa is...complicated in this story. But you'll see why! loll

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Yes, Benny really stepped up, didn't he? He is being more straightforward than Dean, and the reader knows where she stands with Benny. But as the lovely Wayne (waynes-multiverse) pointed out, he also steps in where Dean really should be. We can see Benny's a good man with good intentions, and he so clearly likes the reader and wants to be there for her, right?

Buuuuut maybe he should've asked Dean if it was really ok if he pursued the reader before he stepped in. Maybe as his friend, he should've asked Dean what the hell he was doing with Lisa when the reader really needed him right now lol. Maybe that would've been the wake-up call Dean needed to get his shit together and realize he didn't really truly love Lisa. 🤔

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

ehehe yes! Reader and Benny are making strides forward, but mean while Dean did win the debate for the kid's name 🤣

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Ah, exactlyyy. It's good with Benny, sure, but it's not perfect. No relationship is, but at the same time, this is a key moment that you can see where reader/Benny might not be the best fit...

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖 But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

Ahaha yes!! I knew you would catch that! Oh yeah, but that's the kind of mistake a man not used to little kids would make, I feel like 🤣

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

lol oh yeah, she's starting to get the hint that Dean is in love with the reader, even if she doesn't want it to be true. 😅 (Hold your potato until further notice - it's about to get worse before it gets better with Lisa 😂)

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

Yep, her timing to discuss this might not have been great, but her points are totally valid. Dean should NOT have been stringing her along for this long. And yet, she's been willingly a part of this 5-year rollercoaster with Dean, so she's kind of at fault too 😅

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒 It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

BIG YEP. That's where we're at - Dean letting his anger spill into other things instead of talking about the thing he should get off his chest. 🥲🥲 He's just not ready to admit that the idea of her and Benny getting married means he's lost his chance forever, because that would mean actually acknowledging he has feelings for her when he's meant to be with Lisa.

And you make a really good point there with Dean and how he should've broken things off with Lisa sooner and talked to the reader about where each of them stands emotionally -- all of which will be explored in the epilogue too.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

I knowwww I'm sorry I almost killed Dean, but this is the first of many wake-up calls for both Dean and reader. 😭😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

Oh yeah, we're going full heartbreak in the future for poor Benny, but at the same time, he did peep the way the reader held Dean's hand. He might be shouldering some Lisa-like denial himself where the reader is concerned. 😅

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

LOL girl I told you! But thank you because I too thought both Lisa and reader had valid points in this argument, even if it was hard for both of them to hear. 😭💔

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

hahaaa yes the frying pan would come in handy right about now!! Communication (or lack thereof) is their biggest weakness in this story, but it just goes to show that no one means to do anyone wrong here.

I tried to do something different with this story and make it feel more realistic, with no real "villain," except that we can hurt the people we love the most unintentionally with our actions and inaction. What we say, and sometimes more importantly, what we don't say.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣 Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

Hahahaa right? Really seeing what might just hold the reader up from accepting this impending proposal. Dean did get one final warning on what he's about to lose, and it ain't Lisa 😭

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

Better late than never, right? 😅 She finally realized she had to let Dean go. 💔 And I love that you liked the "Go fight for it," line, because that was one of my favorites too. It's time for Dean to get off his ass!

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Ahh thank you! 🥹 Girl wants that Godfather Thunderbolt lol, and she has it with Dean, she's just afraid of being hurt again, or just being "sex and a good time" for Dean. But he of course makes it clear that she's the Thunderbolt for him too. 💗💗

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Ooh so you'll find out the answer to that question in the epilogue! There will be some key scenes that fill in the in between -- from this moment, to the engagement, to the wedding (and more). 😘❤️❤️

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

Oh it's sooo very bittersweet and messy, isn't it? Dean and reader certainly weren't perfect, and Benny really tried his best, but you'll see more of his side of the story in the epilogue, which a lot of what I wrote was to do just that for Benny. 🥲 He deserves his happy ending! (And there's closure for Lisa too. ❤️)

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Oh you saw that, huh? 😂 Yeah, I think you remember that turned into a fun "anonymous" ask in my inbox asking why I was so "defensive" when people criticized my work. I typically have thick skin and was ready to forget the comments entirely, but when that "ask" came in it really annoyed me, not gonna lie. lol

I probably should've just ignored the inbox message and deleted it, rather than spend more time and energy on replying to someone whose mind likely isn't going to be changed on how they talk to writers, regardless. 😂

I get that this AU story was "different," and messy with these relationships, but that was kind of the point.

Bless you though for your thoughtful and heartwarming feedback regarding the Lisa and Benny storylines! 💗💗💗

And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa.

Exactly! I never outright said Dean's age at the beginning of Part 1, though heavily implied that he was young (mid-20s) and the reader was even younger, fresh out of college. They made mistakes and had to figure out how to level up in their maturity to handle the situation of a surprise pregnancy, all while trying to build their careers.

For example, Dean tried to take Sam's advice to heart about trying to have "real relationships," but he didn't mean with just anyone, Dean. 😂

Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

Yes exactly! I really wanted to make people think on this one, and you got where I was going with this. 👌🏽

When you have so much going on around you and things you have to deal with (like a full on child you weren't prepared for), it can be hard to figure out what you really want, whether that's relationships, your career, or your own sense of identity. I'm so glad you enjoyed the angsty ride, even though it wasn't easy!! And again, I really appreciate your thoughts here. 🥹💕💕

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

Thank you so very much, Lee!! I felt all the things while writing this one lol, so I really hope you enjoy the epilogue too. It's going to answer some of those questions for you and give these characters even more closure. ❤️❤️❤️

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER...

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.”

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this.

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours.

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines.

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off.

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?”

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt.

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change.

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything.

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less.

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary.

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived.

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing.

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes.

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you.

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet.

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple.

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head.

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time.

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there.

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself.

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be.

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh.

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip.

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask.

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.”

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes.

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself.

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks.

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly.

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.”

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb.

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really.

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little.

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes.

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister.

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad.

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends.

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases.

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it.

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean.

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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babydoll372 · 1 day ago

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Babies Pt.2

Pairings: older!Emily Prentiss x reader

Word count: 1944

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, pregnancy, talks of marriage

“I’m home, I’m home! Don’t do it without me!” Emily called out as she barged through the entrance of your shared bedroom, dropping her things and removing her blazer jacket she wore to work while rushing into the master bathroom where you were washing your hands. You giggled at her mannerisms when her body was right beside you, her hand on your back rubbing softly as you could hear a slight uptake in her breathing.

“I only just peed on it, we have 5 more minutes.” She nodded, grateful you already took the instruction she gave you over text so she wouldn’t have to wait another second to find out the result.

“Did you pee on it like a minute ago or like forty-five seconds ago? Maybe two minutes ago?” You playfully rolled your eyes at her eagerness and wrapped your arms around her waist, a soft sigh coming from her as she rested her chin on your head, kissing the top of your scalp as she inhaled the smell of your shampoo.

“I missed you so much…” She quietly spoke, and you nodded in agreement, your arms squeezing just a bit tighter around her. After a moment you pulled back to look at her, your lips turning up in a grin as did hers.

“You’re so beautiful, Emily. I wish you could see yourself right now.” She glanced over at the mirror beside you two with a teasing smirk and you once again rolled your eyes.

“No, I mean- like, in my eyes. I wish you could see yourself from my point of view right now, zero imperfections, absolutely gorgeous eyes I could look at forever, and that hair - I’m never getting over your hair, Em.” She laughed quietly at your obsession while you reached out to feel her strands, humming softly under your breath as you placed them behind her ears with your pointer fingers.

“You’re too good to me, sweetheart, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Emily caught your hand as she spoke, kissing the back of it and leaving her lips lingering as she stared into your eyes, occasionally glancing down at your lips as if she was fifty again and you were breaching twenty-five, and she was so nervous to ask you out in case you rejected her. At the time, she was absolutely lovesick - her first ever true experience of that emotion, and now she can confirm it never disappears with the right person.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” You didn’t answer verbally but your short nod was good enough for her, and she captured your lips in a soft, soothing moment. The two of you gently swayed back and forth, almost not at all, your bodies touching closely. One of her hands was on your lower back closer to your hip with the other was interlaced with your hand in the air still, her peck still resigning with the skin of that limb. The only time you two pulled back was when your phone alarm went off, to which she originally tried to shut it off without looking to not disrupt the moment, only to remember what it was for. She pulled back with wide eyes, licking her lips to get her last taste of you before hopefully changing your relationship forever. It had now been a full month of trying for a baby, for a vessel of life shared between you two. She needed it, and she needed it to come sooner than later.

“You ready to look?” She didn’t tear her eyes away from you no matter how tempting, this moment needed to happen together.

“I’m ready if you are.” Emily quickly glanced at the test and grabbed it from the clean side, making sure to have not checked the result. You both closed your eyes and counted down from three, and once you hit the end of one, she flipped it over and you both looked.

“Positive…I-it’s positive, Y/N.” Her face was white in shock, but her heart beat with joy and excitement as she grabbed the second test and flipped it over on the count of three, not bothering to even close your eyes which were bulging with emotions. Another positive.

“W-we’re having a baby…? We’re actually having…a baby…” You spoke quietly, and Emily slowly looked at you to see how you reacted. She knew you agreed to this, but she also knew you were hesitant at first and she didn’t want you to take this back at the wrong moment. At the end of the day, it was entirely your choice and she respected it. If you didn’t want this baby, she wouldn’t be having one with you, and she would not get to witness you carrying her child.

“And you still want this, right? Please tell me you still want a baby with me…” You turned to face her with tears in your eyes and she placed the test down, immediately being engulfed in a large hug from your side. She sighed in relief and held you close, letting your tears soak her shoulder.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, it was just so- eye-opening! There’s a literal baby inside of me right now, even if small, there’s one in me! And the best part of all is that it’s yours and we get to raise this baby together, boy or girl, or both, we get to be mommies together.” You had a large smile spread across your face, the most beautiful she had ever seen, and she wished she could capture this moment in more than just her mind.

Throughout the pregnancy, Emily was very keen on being the best mother she could be to your growing fetus. You received multiple deliveries a week for new things - in the beginning, it was mainly books for her to study, and a bunch of massaging tools for me. However, once it got to the second trimester she immediately started building and getting everything in place. Her coworkers would come over to help work on the nursery, and you both decided on going for a neutral yellow on the walls just in case, and she would never let you even hand her a tool. You could watch and cheer them on from a distance, but she couldn’t let you or the baby accidentally get hurt. Every appointment was scheduled with a distant advance so she could either leave work early or head in late so that she would be there the entire time with you. She didn’t want you to think she would be absent because of her job, she had already wasted most of her life on work when she was meant to be starting one.

There was no coffee, no alcohol, no foreign and unhealthy habitual items in the house that could harm the child - that was what you found the morning after you found out about the pregnancy. Emily had a routine of picking up a cigarette every now and then which you urged her not to do, but the moment the baby came into play she couldn’t even look at them the same, she only imagined how disappointed she’d be if she found her child doing the same thing she did.

Every night she got home at a reasonable time, she had quite a lot of money saved up and realized she could step back on a few hours. Yes, it was hard to let go of her workaholic life, but once again she thought of the day she’d come home to her child barely recognizing her, not even wanting to speak to her and you tiredly trying to work the dispute out for them. Her hours became 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM, Monday through Friday, which was surprisingly a lot better than it used to be. She instantly requested to not travel for cases anymore which the BAU granted since she was allowed paternity advantages until the child was born.

After a long day, she’d come home and instantly start making dinner for you, she didn’t want you nor the baby to go hungry but she also didn’t want you to have to put in much effort to cook when you had other priorities, ensuring the baby and you were healthy. She had set meal plans for you throughout the day, reading up on every nutritional factor she must take into play and always accounting for it. She tracked your calories, yes, but not in a crazy psychotic way, in more so a concerned and anxious way. She needed to ensure there would be no problems with your health or the babies throughout the pregnancy or once they were born. And if you already reached your calorie goal for the day she would never restrict you from having more, she would in fact encourage a sweet treat after, “having such a long day taking care of my family.”

She didn’t tell her mother you were pregnant or that she was even dating someone until you were in your eight month and she hovered the letter over the mailbox before quickly throwing it in and sending it off. She assumed her mother was still alive, she hadn’t received any detail from the nursing home that she wasn’t. So she knew she would get the letter and most likely freak-out, but she didn’t want to care in the moment. She had the life she always wanted right here, right now, a beautiful girlfriend and soon a daughter between the two of you. She flipped when she found out it was a girl, she said she didn’t care about the gender and would love them either way but you knew deep down she was silently hoping for a girl. She had such a deep maternal love and while she’d never neglect her future son of that, she wanted to be able to express that through the excitement of proms and weddings, boyfriends or even girlfriends, and even the heartbreak that came with it - she wanted the whole package.

And when she stood with her daughter in her arms, the nurse behind her with a smile as she saw Emily’s tears and careful attention. You were asleep right now, and you deserved it after pushing out the 6-pound baby the night before.

“Am I holding her right?” Emily whispered out to the nurse. She had read every book and studied every move, and yet when the time came she felt like an untrained soldier battling war. The nurse chuckled and nodded, making Emily let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, little girl…you look so pretty, just like your mommy. It might get confusing from time to time but I’m your mama and your mommy is the one who you were inside for so long. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” She quietly spoke as the girl slept in a bundle of hospital blankets and a pink hat.

“I can’t wait to take you home…I hope you like yellow, your room is full of it. I used to look at that guest room every day hoping it’d someday be for a little baby like you, and now it is. I am so lucky to have you as my daughter, I am so lucky to have your mommy as my girlfriend, and just between us, I’m hoping to make her my wife soon.” She continued to talk to the child for a few more minutes before carefully resting her and returning to her chair while the nurse carefully rolled out the hospital crib to let her sleep with the rest of the babies. She glanced at your sleeping form as she grabbed the ring from her jacket pocket, smiling at the thought of what was to come. She wouldn’t sleep that night, and she was fine with that, because in the morning you’d officially become her fiancée, and your baby would officially come home.

#emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #Emily Prentiss x reader fluff #criminal minds

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robinminustherichard · 1 day ago

Note

♔ : Finding the other wearing their clothes

Haha ignore the fact that this took like 3 weeks. Have a kid!fic to make up for it :) thanks for the prompt pal :)))) @officialwaterchuck

Buck wakes to sunshine peaking through the curtains, the other side of the bed gone cold, and soft noises coming from the kitchen.

He smiles when he imagines what waits for him as he stretches and gets up, sliding the curtains open all the way and seeing Honey in the yard staring intently at a squirrel running along the fence, wagging her tail happily.

Buck takes a moment to feel the sun on his face, feel the slight ache in his lower back, sink into being well rested.

Forty, he thinks. I'm forty today.

Hearing a clang coming from the kitchen, Buck chuckles and figures it's time to go see what's been happening while he slept.

Making his way downstairs, he hears Honey duck through the doggy door, clanging and woofing quietly. She comes to a stop as he rounds the corner, licking at his hand in greeting.

"Hey, Honey," Buck says, crouching to rub his hands on either side of her face and getting rapid licks across his nose as thanks. He laughs, "Okay, okay girl. Good morning to you, too."

He gets up, steadfastly ignoring the way both his knees and at least one ankle crack, and finishes his trek to the kitchen. When he arrives, he sets a hip and leans his head against the doorway, struck by the sight in front of him. Tommy's back is to him, quietly talking and explaining what seems to be step-by-step instructions on how to make pancakes.

Graham is next to him, stood on a chair and leaned over the counter with both hands splayed out for balance, listening intently and asking if he can stir.

"Sure, sweetheart. You're the best stirrer in the house." Tommy says, sliding the bowl to Graham and reaching over to grab at his hips to steady him as he stirs.

"The best?" Graham asks, looking up at Tommy and not quite noticing when the bowl starts to slide away from his stirring. Tommy smoothly moves the bowl back with one hand and smiles at Graham.

"The absolute best. No contest."

After a moment, Buck blinks and realizes that Tommy's got one of Buck's shirts on, stretching across his shoulders. Graham is wrapped in a too-big practice jersey from Hershey high school. Both have "BUCKLEY" in cracked and peeling vinyl across the back.

In marriage and fatherhood, Buck has found, there are moments where love for his family fills him up so full that he doesn't know what to do with all of it. He pushes off the doorway and quietly stalks toward them, slipping his arms around Tommy when he arrives. Tommy doesn't even jump, because in all this time Buck hasn't once managed to surprise him, but when Buck speaks he does get a surprised shout out of Graham.

"Stretching the shoulders out in my shirts again, Mr. Buckley-Kinard?"

Graham looks excited enough to jump out of his skin, and Tommy chuckles. Before he can give Buck another huffy 'our shoulders are the same size, Evan' lecture, Buck gives him a kiss on the back of the neck and turns to their son.

"It's Daddy Evan Day!" Graham cries, "Are you suprised?"

Evan feels choked for a moment, floored by Daddy Evan. Up until now, Buck and Tommy had only been Evan and Tommy to Graham; only 8 months out from hid adoption. He looked at Tommy, who just had a soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, bud. I'm so surprised. I didn't know about D-daddy Evan Day." Buck says enthusiastically, happy that he only stumbles a bit over the word. He smiles at Graham and reaches over for a hug. Graham returns it happily.

"Daddy Tommy said that t-today is your birthday, and that makes it Daddy Evan Day! So we gotta dress like Daddy Evan and make pancakes and do what-whatever Daddy Evan wants to do that day!"

Buck picks Graham up and set him on his hip, grinning widely. He can't help but be hopelessly charmed by Graham's slight stutter; more so than he ever was by his own.

"Well, that sounds like a pretty good day to me. But I might need some help deciding what to do after pancakes. Maybe you could help me choose."

"Um..." Graham says, looking away and suddenly shy. Buck waits him out, encouraging him to think about it. "Um, one time on T-TV I saw someone go to the 'quarium for thier birthday."

Buck smiles, indulgent, and looks at Tommy.

"What do you think, Daddy Tommy?" Buck says, and he sees the way Tommy's eyes soften even more at the sight of them. "Pancakes then the aquarium?"

"I think that's a great idea," Tommy tells them, turning back to finish stirring the pancakes. Buck sees that he has the griddle out and pre-heating.

"Graham, want to help me set the table and get drinks?" Buck asks, setting Graham down on the floor. He gets and enthusiastic 'yeah!' and he guides Graham over to the cabinet, handing him down the lighter plastic plates to take to the table.

Graham looks up at him then, looking contemplative.

"Daddy Evan?"

"Yes, Graham?" Buck says, reaching over to grab three glasses and forks.

"How old are you?"

"Today I turn forty years old."

Graham's eyes go wide at that and Buck has to hold in a laugh.

"W-whoa!" Graham cries, "you're really old!"

Tommy cackles from the other side of the kitchen and Graham smiles shyly, pleased that he made Tommy laugh.

"Yeah, that's pretty old." Buck agrees, beginning to shepard them towards the dining room.

"Daddy Tommy must be like sev'ty then!" Graham cries as he marches toward the table. Buck finally cracks at that, the sound of his laugh clashing with Tommy's indignant sqwak.

"I'm only forty-eight!" Tommy says, shouting to be heard over Buck's continous laughter. "Just because Daddy Evan gave me all of these gray hairs does not mean I'm ancient, kid."

When Buck arrives to the table, the plates are already set out and Graham is hiding around the doorway, listening to Tommy talk and giggling with his hands over his mouth. Buck puts his own cargo down and crouches down to look at Graham, taking in his red cheeks and shining eyes. Honey has come in to see the commotion and is wagging her tail on the ground next to him. He's a far cry from the scared boy they fostered over a year ago.

"Daddy Evan I got a secret," he says between giggles. Buck is so thoroughly charmed he can't do anything but smile, "I knew you were, were forty. Ch-chimney told me yesterday to say Daddy Tommy was sev'ty!" He breaks into peels of high-pitched laughter and Buck doesn't even feel it when his smile grows impossibly wider.

"That's a pretty good one, Graham." Buck says, looking up when Tommy enters, hands on his hips and sighing dramatically at them.

"I think I'm just too ancient to cook these pancakes!" Tommy cries, flopping down into a chair and pretending to fall asleep. Buck smiles when Graham giggles and runs over to pull on Tommy's hand.

"No, Daddy T-Tommy! We gotta make pancakes f'r Daddy Evan Day!" Graham cries, yanking on Tommy's arm with all the strength of a five year old. Tommy peaks an eye open before letting out a yawn and reaching both arms around to grab Graham and pick him up, giggles following the movement as Graham ends up slung over one shoulder.

"Well, I think I need a young and strong assistant chef to help!" Tommy cries, taking long strides into the kitchen.

Buck stands as they go, and he's sure that he's going to have the sound of their laughter mixing together on repeat in his head for days to come.

Forty, he thinks, sitting down and watching Tommy plop Graham on the counter and safe distance from the griddle. His strong shoulders are gentle as they work to pour pancake batter, "BUCKLEY" flashing across them. Next to him, Graham twists on the counter and Buck sees the "BUC-" there too.

Honey comes over and sets her head on his knee, Buck gives her a smile and buries a hand in her fur.

Forty isn't so bad.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #bucktommy kid fic #rob writes #thank you for the prompt!!!

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gay-dorito-dust · 14 hours ago

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bob things because i keep seeing edits of him and joaquin torres.

Bob is very aware of how much stronger then everyone he is, so when he careful with you, making sure to not use more then he needs. He worries that he might accidently hurt you in the process, something he wouldn't forgive himself for nor ask for forgivness from you as he doesn't deserve it. He's so gentle with you that you thought he was handiling glass or porcelain with how he held your arm or holding your hand.

It wasn't in a way where he was under estimating you, but instead in a way where he was still firm with his grip yet was loose enough where you could easily break away from him. You were at the forefront of his mind whenever he does anything that required him in any aspect to touch you, he would much rather put your comfort first and above his own then ever do anything that would cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort.

Even if you did tell him that he didn't have to be so gentle with you, Bob was still going to be gentle with you even when he's on a mission and see you were in danger, quick to act as he moves you out of harms way as his hands anchor you to reality and to him when you looked into his worried eyes. His grip never tightens nor loosens, caressing your shoulders as though he was trying to memorise your warmth and existence into his mind, as though he was silently asking you if you were okay while his eyes scan your figure for harm.

Bob is the type of guy who would read books and get ideas for what he should do for you, things like little notes that he would leave scattered throughout your room within the Watchtower or places he knows you'll visit frequently, placing them in specific spots that only you would go to. These little notes would vary from time to time, some of them would be suggestions of where you two could do when you had the time, or notes where they would be filled with sugary sweet compliements that were enough to make your heart melt and internally swoon.

such examples like; 'i like it when we do our own things in silence, it calms me knowing that we're doing stuff that we love together, where we don't have to rely on words and instead just merely exist in tandem and are at peace with that.'

'you looked tired today, do you want to talk about it? or maybe a nap? you've done pulling your weight today and need rest.'

'thank you for being patient with me, thank you for being a dream come true for me and being such a safehaven where i can be vulnerable and let you in on my biggest worries, where i can lay it all out and you still look at me like that love you have for me never faded. thank you.'

'i didn't know i could fall more then i already have, then i look at you and find a new reason to love you, you make it as easy as breathing or writing a note for you to find later much like this one. :)'

'i wake excited to see you as if i haven't seen you in months, i even fall asleep in hopes of seeing you in my dreams, there's never a day where i don't stop thinking about you and i don't plan on stopping either becuase i never want to forget the best moment of my life; meeting you.'

However if you were to give him notes, he's smiling wide at your words and keeping every single last note in a box under his bed, so when he feels as though he needs a pick me up Bob will go to the box and re-read your notes and feel better by the time he gets to the lastest one you've written him. He treasures every last thign you've given him and isn't willing to let go of them either, for these were his reminders that there was someone for him who saw him in a way he hadn't think to see himself on.

If Bob saw that you were just out of it, or just more silent then usual the he would move over to you and just bring you to rest against against him, smooth his hand over your arm as you pratically cuddle yourself into him. Your head being burried into his neck as he allowed you to take a brief rest from everything, to latch your arms to his waist and keep him close to you while Bob kisses your head and reasuring you that he wasn't going anywhere, not when you were in need of him and holding onto him like he might dissapear.

He was your charging station until you felt better to continue the day ahead, though not before Bob would ask if you were okay in a soft hushed tone before he allowed you to eascape his arms.

Bob finds that his mind becomes clear when he was near you, no worries nor nightmares plauge this man when his head was on your chest with his ear listening to your heart and steady breathing, so he's often wandering off to your room just to silence his mind. He's come to your doorstep so much so that you kept stuff that he left from previous times he came, whether it was a sweater or a blanket, it didn't matter becuase your room had became his second home becuase you were there to comfort and console him.

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1d1195 · 5 hours ago

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Protection - Extra V

Read Protection here | ~4.7k words

Warnings: angsty--Harry's very protective. But very sweet.

Summary: He kissed the top of her head. “I trust you.”

She smiled and rested her head against his chest as they walked. “It’ll make me feel better if you do,” she assured him. It wouldn’t—well, it would. But she knew it would make him feel better and that was the best medicine she could buy for her anxious boyfriend.

“You got it, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head.

“What’s her favorite kind of flower?” Niall asked.

Harry dropped his head back on the sofa and exhaled deeply. He turned to his best friend and shook his head. What a ridiculous question Harry thought. Of course he was going to have her favorite flowers there. It was an integral part of their relationship. But Harry got her flowers all the time. Every week a vase on his kitchen counter was arranged by her to brighten the room. Flowers weren’t special, not really. They were a reminder that he adored her of course, but this was a special moment, and her regular flower order wasn’t going to cut it.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know,” Niall shrugged and scowled at him. He sipped his beer. She insisted that Harry leave her alone for guy-time. He hated it. Not that he didn’t enjoy his time with Niall, but he enjoyed having her around. It eased his mind of worry even if she was kind enough to wear his favorite scrunchie. “Why was that such a bad thing to ask?”

“M’not going t’propose with jus’ her favorite flowers,” he grumbled sipping his own beer and watched the TV for a few minutes. Niall smirked and shook his head. “What?”

“I’m glad you found her,” he shrugged one shoulder. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” he rolled his eyes. But he would thank Niall endlessly for finding the pretty girl, for recommending him to DSS. If it wasn’t for Niall, there would be no love for Harry. Now that he had it, he never wanted to let it go.

Niall sipped his drink again and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on his coffee table. “What’s she doing today?” He asked.

“She’s holding a few review sessions on campus,” he mumbled. The fall semester was coming to an end, and she was spending more time with office hours and making sure that her students felt comfortable with the material. Meanwhile, Harry was in the office, Niall a few rooms away, while he was filing paperwork mindlessly. He helped with training and the like but truthfully Harry missed his days of sitting on her couch and watching her study. He missed running errands with her and following her on her jogs in the park.

But really, he just missed her. Which was ridiculous. She pointed it out too and Harry couldn’t even deny it.

“And you haven’t been watching her location like a hawk?” Niall knew all about the little hair scrunchie. He was the only one that knew the extent of her failsafe and Harry’s forethought to track her when he almost lost her for good.

Harry glared at his lap. “M’not crazy, Niall. M’worried.”

“It can be both,” he shrugged again.

“I don’t even know why she thinks I want t’hang out with you,” he grumbled sipping his drink.

“Because your girlfriend soon-to-be fiancée is an excellent judge of character,” he smiled.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. He loved being her boyfriend, but he was extremely excited for an upgrade. He told his mum his plans, FaceTimed Gemma while selecting the ring. It was locked in his desk drawer at work because he didn’t want her to find it while putting laundry away. He knew she wouldn’t step foot in the DSS building for the rest of her life if she could help it.

All that was left to do was figure out how to ask her the most important question in the world. She didn’t really have friends to ask what her ideal scenario would be. He knew she wouldn’t want a big public to-do, but nothing seemed fitting for her. She needed a big to-do. She was his angel. His everything.

He didn’t want it to be a holiday. She deserved a special day all to herself, not overshadowed by a day no one else would remember. There wouldn’t be any family there because...well... and that was fine. Harry thought she would like a quiet private moment, but it didn’t seem like enough for how much he adored her. He wanted to scream it from the top of a building so everyone knew how special she was; his brilliant, beautiful girl.

“Harry,” Niall’s voice was gentle. Calm and kind, not an ounce of joking. It was like when he chatted with him about her attitude while he was on duty when they first started out. Harry could feel the smile on his face as he thought about her. But he was a bit sad too; worried that she wouldn’t feel the love he felt for her the way he wanted. He worried she would miss her mum—although he supposed that was going to happen regardless. How was he supposed to make it perfect for her? “She loves you,” he reminded him. “She’ll love whatever you do, and I know she’s going to say yes. You probably don’t even have to ask her.”

His heart felt a little less sad as he said it. He knew he was right. So, he would forgo the planning for the time being and just remind himself that she loved him as much as he loved her.

Harry relaxed a bit when his phone vibrated with a message from Miss Wildflower

I miss you 💕 Hope you’re having a nice time. Session 1 is done and went well. Onto session 2. Pizza for dinner? Watch a movie? Love you so, so much

Maybe she even loved him a little more.

Niall and Harry cheered and watched the game in near silence. Chatting mostly about the players and work every so often. When the game ended, Niall turned on his gaming console and all but threw a controller at Harry.

They were midway through their second game of play when his phone rang. Harry answered it before the second ring had finished. “Hey kitten,” he said trying not to sound like a psychopath and anxiously awaiting his phone to ring with her at the end.

“Hi,” she sounded fine, sweet, even. “How’s your night?” She asked politely.

“Good, Derby won, so Niall’s happy.”

“Wonderful,” she giggled. “I’m glad. Are you guys busy at the moment?”

“No, why?”

“Just wanted to say hi,” she had a smile in her voice. “But I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“You could never interrupt,” he murmured quietly. She laughed quietly into the phone.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he responded and waited until she hung up before putting the phone down.

“You’re welcome,” Niall repeated with a smirk.

She had gone to the dining hall with her coworker to catch up on a few things before her next class started. There was a mental to do list awaiting her when she returned to her office and when she got back to Harry’s apartment. Except now it was their apartment. It made her heart skip a beat to be in love with someone so lovely. Someone who adored her and all her flaws (although Harry would say she didn’t have any—which was excessively sweet too.)

She was looking at her phone as she approached her office checking on her email and dropped her bag on the floor beside her desk as she opened her laptop. Right inside the her computer was a medium-sized brown envelope. She took a deep breath and opened it. Inside was a standard white envelope with a return address label that she didn’t want.

Immediately, she understood why it was in her laptop. The letter should have just come through the university mail. But all that really meant was that someone went into her office without her permission. Dropping her head back against her chair she blew out the breath she realized she was holding. She tugged at the scrunchie on her wrist and opened her phone to her recent calls once more.

“Niall would be a lot calmer,” she mumbled to herself.

But Harry would be wrecked if she didn’t call him. Didn’t tell him immediately that she was... nervous. It was nothing. He was going to be in jail for a very long time and he couldn’t hurt her. But the thought of someone leaving the letter was enough to make her on edge. Perhaps she should have just left and joined boys’ night. Didn’t Harry deserve a night to himself? Especially without worrying about her.

There was no calling Niall without Harry reaching DEFCON one.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. She knew they would both be here in a heartbeat and they wouldn’t mind at all, but it should have to come to this.

“Ugh,” she groaned and rubbed her temples. “Alright, come on,” she grumbled to herself and dialed his phone once more.

“Hi kitten,” he cooed immediately.

“Hi,” she smiled. His voice was so sweet, his adoration for her so apparent in his voice it made her feel woozy. It was unreal someone as wonderful as Harry loved her so completely. Unlike anything she felt in her life.

“Y’okay?” He asked calmly. It was impressive for him. He seemed pretty relaxed considering he was probably bouncing his knee rapidly in anticipation of the worst.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I am one hundred percent fine,” she said assuredly.

“So... jus’ wanted t’hear m’voice?” He continued. She could hear the suspicion in his voice. There was no hiding from him. No surprising him.

“Ah,” she laughed quietly. “Yes, definitely. But... also... are you guys busy now?”

“No,” he hedged. It was like he knew. She knew he knew that she was the tiniest bit in duress. If you could call it that. She inspected her cuticles while she listened to the silence stretch between them. While Harry worked through every worst-case scenario possible for the short moment he filled in the blank of her open-ended question. “Why?”

“I just... thought you might be able to swing by... if you guys can spare the time, of course.” maybe being casual would work.

“Why?” He snapped.

“Oh, come on, baby. Please don’t freak out, I’ll even stay on the phone the whole time. I’m pretty sure this thing tracks to the—”

“Don’t say it out loud!” He almost shouted over her voice. “Niall. Keys. Now.”

She sighed. “Harry,” she felt defeated and slumped low in her chair. “It’s not—”

“M’on m’way, kitten, don’t move,” he ordered. “Lock your office, please.”

“Do you want me to stay put or do you want me to lock the door?” Maybe a joke would help reaffirm that she was fine, and it wasn’t that serious.

“Not the time, love. Not funny.”

Perhaps not a joke, then.

Harry sighed deeply and she could hear their footsteps hurrying down Niall’s apartment building halls and heading to the parking lot, the main door opening with a squeak that needed to be oiled due to the humidity. They were probably no more than eleven minutes from her including parking and walking to her building and office. She knew that her sarcastic comment wasn’t kind to his frazzled mind, and she knew she shouldn’t have said it but she just wanted him to relax. Poor Harry was going to be subject to a heart attack if she wasn’t careful.

“Can I talk to Niall?” She asked quietly while she locked her office door and immediately went back to her chair to sit still until her knight in shining armor arrived.

“No,” he grumbled. “Niall y’better run every red light.”

“Harry, that’s dangerous and unnecessary—”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered. “Please,” he added as an after fact, but it was hard and she knew he was mad.

“Nothing! It’s really nothing. Honestly, I think I’m just being a little cautious which I thought you would appreciate—”

“I would appreciate it more if y’told me what was wrong,” she could practically see him shaking with anxiety in Niall’s front seat. She wished she was a better negotiator because chatting with Niall would have been a lot easier to calm him.

“It’s just... someone left me a letter in my office and it wouldn’t be a bad thing normally... except... it’s from my dad. So... that means someone...” she took a deep breath. “I think someone broke into my office,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She knew he was going to freak out. But that was what happened. There was no way of explaining it otherwise.

“Niall,” he snapped again.

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Harry, I’m fine.”

But it was much too late, and Harry was going to start hyperventilating at any moment. She sighed and looked at the ceiling inspecting the paint for any disturbances. She couldn’t see any blinking lights like she was being recorded. She assumed it was just the letter and nothing more. Nothing appeared to be taken, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Everything was fine.

“Honey,” he said suddenly. Her body warmed all over. The way it did every time he called her the sweet name. Ever since he called her honey in her kitchen while he tended to the gash on her hand. She figured he was plenty aware of the effect it had on her because he used it sparingly, only saying it when he wanted her to remain serious and not her funny self.

“I’m fine, Harry. I promise, baby. I didn’t want to call and—”

“Don’t ever not call me.”

“—worry you on purpose. I’m whole and fine,” she pleaded quietly. Her voice felt softer as she tried to convince him things were okay. “You’re going to stress for nothing, I promise.”

He breathed out a shaky breath. “I jus’ need t’hold you,” he admitted, his voice grumbly. Almost like he was embarrassed to say it in front of Niall. But she knew that wasn’t the case. She knew Harry didn’t care at all that Niall knew how much he loved her.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces because it was the sweetest, most adorable thing he could have said. “I’m here waiting,” she smiled into the phone and counted down the moments until he would be rushing in. She tried to breathe a little louder, made more noises, tapped the keys on her laptop, scrunched a piece of paper to toss into the recycle bin across the room. All little pieces of evidence that she was fine, and everything was okay and hopefully Harry would recognize that.

Not long after, she heard the car door slam and Harry’s quiet breathing increased ever so slightly, indicating that he was running from the parking lot. “Do you want me to unlock—”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed standing up as she heard two sets of footsteps down the hall outside her door. The lock slid open using the key that she gave Harry with administration permission. There was a whole thing about it, but given he still worked at DSS at the time, they didn’t really question it. He was vetted and whatnot for protecting her.

Lord knew Harry loved to protect her.

With the door out of the way, he dropped his phone the moment he crossed the threshold. He didn’t stop moving even though she was sure the screen cracked, and his case fell off. Even once she was in his arms, he was still kind of moving, nearly pressing her into the windowsill behind her desk. He buried his face into the crook of her neck where he breathed in her hair and squeezed her tighter.

“Hi princess,” Niall smiled gently closing the door behind him as if this was a normal moment.

She grinned, rubbing Harry’s back only pausing briefly to wave from Harry’s embrace. “Hi, Niall. Did you guys have fun?” She asked.

He nodded with an eye roll at Harry. Niall made his way closer to the pair of them. “Loads.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said apologietically.

“Not at all, you could—”

“It’s not interrupting,” Harry grumbled.

She gave him another squeeze. “He was saying that, baby. Just relax, please,” she hummed softly.

“This the letter?” Niall asked, picking it up off her desk.

She nodded.

“A lot of people have the key to your office, no?” He asked breaking the seal of the envelope.

She nodded against Harry who seemed to be calming down ever so slightly—if the rise and fall of his shoulders was any indication. “But... I don’t think they would leave a letter, you know?”

“I’ll get the video from the security cameras,” he assured her. “See who came by.”

“I’m sorry, it’s your day off,” she frowned.

Harry scoffed. “That does—”

But Niall interrupted him before he could finish. “Oh, for you Princess? I love working overtime,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about that at all,” he grinned as he scanned the paper in front of him.

“Anything good?”

“He’s apologizing.” She didn’t say anything. Harry pulled away and kept hold of her hand while he moved toward Niall to read over his shoulder. “Do you want to read it?” Niall asked.

“No,” she shook her head.

Harry scanned the letter as well. “He said he wants you t’respond.”

“I’m sure,” she looked toward the window. Sighing, she realized she would have to come clean about one little truth she had neglected to tell Niall and Harry. “I guess... it kind of makes sense the letter is here. I haven’t answered any of his other ones. He usually sends them to the post office,” she explained.

“He does?” Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised. This was news to him, that was obvious.

“I don’t read them,” she shrugged. “I’m not really worried about the letter to be honest. I care more that someone came into my office without permission.”

Niall sighed. “Well, you know him better than I, Princess. He seems pretty remorseful—nothing suspicious.”

“He’s probably remorseful because he’s stuck in jail,” she grumbled. “Probably thinks my response of forgiveness, which he will never get, will make his chances better for a reduced sentence,” she released Harry’s hand and began packing up her items to head home. Harry would likely drive her car back to their place and he would get his car from Niall’s some other time.

It was silent for a moment and when she looked up she realized Harry and Niall were staring at one another. Eyes locked with a silent conversation. Harry turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips set in a frown. “One more month, kitten, please.”

She huffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“One week,” he bargained.

“No.”

“Harry, it’s just—” Niall started.

“Please, kitten, I’m begging.”

She shook her head defiantly. “No, he’s not winning, Harry. He’s in jail because he tried to kill me. He’s not going to control any more of my life, alright? I’m sorry you’re scared. I get it, I do. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through. I would have lost my mind,” she cupped his cheek.

Harry swallowed the emotion in his throat as his mind immediately started thinking about how lifeless she looked; how cold she felt, how her skin turned pale and her lips blue. He turned his face away from her because he could feel his eyes stinging with tears. He swallowed hard, the bob visible in his throat as she rubbed her thumb on his cheek. “But... I cannot let him win. He’s not going to scare me. He can’t kill me from in there.”

Niall was patient. Re-reading while Harry had his meltdown. All while she tried to comfort him. Maybe they would have her followed by an agent or two for a little while. She could see them doing that. She would know—they weren’t very subtle about it and had noticed the other few times they had.

“One day?” He pleaded. “Jus’ one day with a bodyguard t’make sure—”

“Harry, I will make you sleep on the couch,” she warned.

She knew he thought it would be worth it. He turned to Niall for help. “She’s not on our service anymore, Harry. I don’t mind, she’s one of my best friends and I love keeping her safe, but I can’t force an agent on her.”

“I also have free will?” She reminded him. “May I remind you that I do not like security. It’s not necessary. Especially now that he’s in jail. I know you’re both just going to have me followed again until you’re content and I—”

“I told you she knew,” Niall sighed and looked Harry with a shake of his head.

“—don’t want it nor do I—”

“Not now, honey,” he brought her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze even though she was ranting with bitterness. Gently, he tugged her toward him so she was closer to his side. He knew calling her honey would make her soften a bit. He wasn’t fully sure why, so he used the little nickname sparingly. For important moments when he wanted her to know he meant business.

It also helped ease the blow of Harry’s minor freak out because it sort of paused everything they were thinking. She took a deep breath. “Can we go home?” She asked.

“I’ll take this,” Niall smiled. “I’ll come pick you up for work Harry so you can get your car back tomorrow,” he offered. He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Night Princess, stay safe,” he winked and headed out the door.

She handed Harry her keys and let him wrap his arm around her waist (not that she didn’t enjoy it). “You can have Niall pick you up here tomorrow. You can come and sweep my office and classroom if it will make you feel better,” she offered kindly.

He kissed the top of her head. “I trust you.”

“You got it, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head.

She knew why she was visiting, but it seemed a little weird that Harry wanted to join her. There were a lot of things he didn’t like to let her do on her own, but this was definitely one he preferred to steer clear of most of the time.

Or so she thought.

“You hate coming here,” she said suspiciously as they exited the car.

He shrugged. “I know... I do... but... I come here t’talk t’your mom.”

She stopped walking, her hand went to her heart. “You what?”

Harry shrugged again. “Y’said this is where y’come to talk t’your mom... before everything that happened. That... y’feel close to her here,” he reminded her giving her hand a squeeze as they continued forward. Harry tried hard to forget the time he was last here with her. When he held her cradled in his arms. Her skin cold and blue, the raw red marks on her wrists from the zip ties, and the bandage on her leg falling apart from the seawater. “So, I thought I should come here to talk t’her too. Dr. Petra suggested it. Supposed t’help me cope... but also so I can be closer t’your mum,” he explained.

Her throat felt tight with the need to cry. How she always felt when she thought about her mom. But now it was exacerbated by how thoughtful it was that Harry cared enough to talk to her mom even when they couldn’t physically speak to her. “Why...?” She swallowed, shook her head to rid herself of the tears threatening to fill her eyes. “Why... do you talk to my mom?”

“Lots of reasons, kitten. Mostly though, m’trying t’see if she’s got any ideas on how t’make y’less cranky.”

She smacked him and pouted. “I’m not cranky.”

“I know, it’s working.”

She glared at him. “So, you just come out here to where I almost died to talk to my dead mother and tell her how much of a pain in the ass I am?”

“No, s’obviously not what I talk ‘bout, honey,” he rolled his eyes and smirked to himself. That little word made her heart soften just like always. Harry stopped walking and grabbed her hip to turn toward him. “I tell her how much I adore you and how special you are t’me,” he used his other hand to cup her cheek. He bent to kiss her briefly, making her lips tingle with warmth and love for the perfect, sweet man. “I tell her that she would be so proud of you and everything you do. I tell her that m’going t’make sure I make her proud too. That if she was alive, she would like me because I make your life a little better—a little easier because I love you more than anything.”

She was eerily silent. That did sound more reasonable than him making fun of her. She swallowed and took a deep breath trying to keep the tears at bay. “She would love you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he smiled and stepped out of the way and gestured for her to proceed forward. If she wasn’t so floored by his use of honey and his little declaration of telling her dead mother how much he loved her, she would have been a step ahead of him. She would have noticed that Harry never let her lead blindly.

But this was easily one of the worst places in existence for both of them.

There were hundreds of flowers lying on the ground in a circle. A bouquet pulled apart, so they were placed purposefully around the area. A gorgeous array of colors—like a rainbow. Every kind of flower that ever hung in her apartment. Every flower that was part of a bouquet that Harry got her for the length of their relationship. Every flower she ever mentioned and how beautiful it was.

Wildflowers. There were hundreds of wildflowers. “Harry?” She asked. “What—”

“Miss Wildflower,” he said from behind her. She turned, her eyes dropping instantly to meet his gaze. He was kneeling on one knee, his hands holding a small box in front of his chest. A gorgeous diamond glittering in the box. “You’re unbelievably beautiful, beyond intelligent, so stubborn, and my favorite person in the world. I love you more every day. Every minute. It was an honor to protect you, and I plan t’do it every day for the rest of our lives,” he promised. “I hate this place,” he told her. “But you, you Miss Wildflower, you make flowers grow in the worst and darkest of places. You brighten every moment of my life, and I want to spend forever being in love with you and trying to brighten your life half as much as you brighten mine.”

She smiled at him, tears filling her eyes as she nodded at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn’t ask yet.”

“So ask,” she sniffled. “Yes.”

“I had more. I wanted t’ask here, so your mum could—”

“Yes.”

“Niall’s over there taking pictures I think, kitten. I haven’t even—”

“Please ask, before I explode,” she begged, bouncing on her feet a bit as she watched him.

He chuckled, not breaking his gaze. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered and covered her mouth with her hand. Harry stood and wrapped his arms around her, letting the ring box close at the same time. He held her, lifting her gently off the ground. “You can let someone follow me for one week.”

He laughed. “Yeah? S’that m’engagement present?”

She nodded. “I love you, so, so much Harry.”

“I love you,” he kissed her sweetly. “Do y’think your mum would approve?”

“Yes,” she nodded and tucked her face into his shoulder. “Probably would convince you not to fall for someone grumpy like me.”

Harry cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb along her lip. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and smiled happily while Niall snapped pictures from between the trees nearby. “Honey, no one could ever keep me away from you.”

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@fangirl7060 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl @emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10 @tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269 @jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle @mypolicemanharryyy @harry2121 @inharryshelter @fandomxo

Protection taglist: @youcouldstartacult @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @luxiorchive @ameerakane20 @be-with-me-so-happily

@cherryshouse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @cherrystyle @kaiohnsa @snwells

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

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