#i shoveled snow after work one day

[wild-west-wind]

I'm in trouble at work :(

[in-death-we-fall]

Public service announcement: if you feel it necessary to put "please send someone with 4wd/awd" in your delivery instructions, you should not be ordering delivery ❄️

[star2fishmeg]

ғᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ

[25.3k] Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | summer houses and situationships. For three years straight everyone had to watch Quinn and y/n be more than friends but less than a couple until the curse of the lake house stirs the pot Warnings | 18+ smut, childhood friends to situationship to lovers, swearing, the Tkachuks-, underage drinking, insecurities (appearance, self-esteem), dry humping, protected p in v, suggested blowjob, jealousy, angst, making out, creepy behaviour towards y/n, pet names (princess, baby, pretty girl), fingering, fluff Authors Note | my canucks pint glass arrived and i really put my whole megussy into this. Based on this after hours! This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes ♫ objects in the mirror - mac miller  [small worlds masterlist]

The Hughes lake house had some sort of curse to it. One that turned hot summer days, even hotter and changed the trajectory of relationships. Quinn and y/n could go through the school term smoothly, balancing homework, hockey and hanging out without stress, distracted by their friend groups until the summer. But one foot on the lake house driveway and the atmosphere would shift. Hormones would surge, and suddenly, all that mattered was who liked who, how good they looked and if they were missing out on core experiences. Something about that lake house confining them just stirred the pot too well.

Y/n L/n had lived next to Quinn Hughes since she was a child in a quiet neighbourhood in the suburbs of Toronto, where surviving winters became second nature, where watching hockey became second nature due to her father’s unhinged passion for the sport that flowed through the genes. Her mother never really understood it, but her children did, resulting in the winter’s plans revolving around the hockey schedule, but bumping into Ellen Hughes next door, she came around. 

Ten-year-old y/n sat on her front porch step, huddled in her thick coat and hat while the cold bit her nose frozen. It had finally stopped snowing, the one day in January when it hadn’t snowed once, not that they needed any more, the houses constantly blanketed in white, driveways and roads shovelled and gritted clear every morning. She could’ve been building a snowman with her little brother and dad, watching TV with her mum in the warmth of the living room, or even sledging with her friends as she had originally planned. However, instead, she sat stiff, but happily, on the step and watched the Hughes boys play hockey on the road with their two beaten-up goals, sticks and a plastic ball (it used to be a puck but since Jack sent it straight into her dad’s car door last year, Jim sent the terrified boy over to apologise and told them to use hollow plastic balls while on the road). She smiled brightly the whole time, listening to the ball rattle and skid along the concrete, and Quinn scolded Jack for being too rough on Luke, who had no choice but to be the goalie, being the youngest of the three. Fortunately, she’d never had to have that experience, but Luke’s lip wobbling and Quinn pulling him into a hug was like looking into a mirror, reminding her that she had a six-year-old brother to take care of. 

She’d been too focused on watching her brother fuss around with her dad, both attempting to roll the snow into their snowman’s head to notice the first time Quinn approached her. His boots crunched into the grit along the path, two hockey sticks in his hockey-glove-clad hands and stopped a small distance opposite her sitting figure. She looked up at him, almost startled that he’d approached her after ten years of being neighbours, his chubby cheeks flushed pink and tufts of brown hair sticking out from under his Maple Leafs beanie. Many days, she’d watched him from afar, out the window or school, observing his comforting demeanour in nothing but adoration like a little puppy; whatever Quinn was up to, her curiosity was piqued. Now he’d seen her physical being and why her heart raced was confusing and nothing she’d felt before.

“Would you like to join us?” he asked politely, holding one of the sticks out. That’s what he was, the quiet and polite brother, she’d noticed that at the neighbourhood barbecues at least, compared to Jack, who, while Quinn softly offered her participation with heaven in his eyes, yelled at the top of his lungs for Quinn to hurry up. The middle child, the loudest child, but the one with the biggest smile and brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“Uh,” she pursed, “yeah, but I don’t know how to play.” She lied, of course; she knew how to play, but the boys were so much better than she was and looking stupid wasn’t part of her ego; she was the eldest daughter, and failure wasn’t an option.

“It’s okay, I’ll teach you.” he giggled and let her take the stick, patiently waiting for her to follow him. Stick in hand, she followed, gaze never leaving his face.

“I don’t have any gloves either.”

Quinn halted, spinning on his heel and tucking his stick under his arm. He took her free hand, gently pulled it towards him, and un-velcroed his glove, “Use mine, it’s better your hands protected from Jack.” He repeated for her other hand, flashing a smile before heading to his brothers.

“Y/n’s playing?” Jack piped up, she nodded, “Cool! Now we have a goalie so Luke can play!”

Quinn scowled at him, “No, we have even teams. Y/n’s the oldest so she can choose her teammate.” He wasn’t wrong, she was just about older than Quinn, not by much. 

“I pick Quinn. He’s gonna teach me how to play though.” The choice wasn’t much of a surprise to Jack, he may have been nine but the moment his brother stopped their game - a rare occurrence -  and laid eyes on her, he figured that Quinn’s priorities had shifted and all of a sudden their trio would develop to a quartet. 

Jack let out an elongated whine, “She doesn’t know how to play? Quiiiiinn!!”

“So? We didn’t at one point.” Quinn asserted in his stern tone. That was the last complaint Jack made. He watched his older brother teach her visually with patience; hand positioning on the stick, stance how low she needed to be, how to shoot and manoeuvre the ball, praising her passing to him. Luke and Jack watched quietly, the latter not too convinced she was a beginner at what he was watching but Quinn had never smiled that softly before, not even with Luke, and never had that level of patience with them. Seeing how encouraging Quinn was being, either way,  Jack knew exactly what kind of hockey player he wanted to be. 

Five years later Toronto still wrapped itself in its white blanket, pinching civilians with its cold hands and being a safety hazard to the roads for no real reason. Y/n had grown to hate it, not because she didn’t think it was beautiful, but because she missed the months when she didn’t have to spend five minutes just layering up before she could leave the house. What she didn’t hate was watching her brother be forced into shovelling the driveway. Her father and Jim seemed to have formed this alliance involving the youngest doing manual labour before school, and let Quinn, Jack and y/n watch and sit smug. Jack said it was because they skipped hockey practice to go to the arcade, which although no one would say aloud, she knew that it was her brother’s idea, that’s just eleven-year-old boys. She and Quinn neither confirmed nor denied the story, even if they had known about it the whole time, Quinn even heard them talking about it and y/n caught them at the arcade on their hands and knees scavenging for coins.

What had changed in those five years was life itself. Fifteen years old, the age when classmates' growth spurts became the bane of every parent’s existence, boy’s voices dropped and cracked and when everyone suddenly cared about everything about anyone. What they were wearing, how big their chests had grown, if it was normal for tummies to fold when they sat down, who was dating who, where the term ‘slut’ was thrown around casually, who was hot and who was not, what was cool and what was cringe - the whole ordeal that tore teenagers up inside.

Y/n hadn’t cared too much for what she wore, or how she looked until a couple of girls at school pointed out that wearing graphic t-shirts and cargo trousers made her a boy (which was absolute bullshit, but one person’s insecurities become someone else’s in adolescence), and that having a few spots on her skin meant she was ugly. And if it wasn’t girls tearing each other to shreds over minor things such as that, then it was the boys in constant competition with one another to be ‘the alpha male’, as Quinn described to her. The other thing about the situation was that someone had projected the idea that boys and girls simply can’t be just friends. And if by chance the two groups were, the belief was that one of them was secretly in love with the other, or they were using them to get to their friend or learn how to impress. Fifteen-year-olds really couldn’t decide if they wanted to kiss or kill each other on-site. Y/n knew what she wanted, but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to want it. Her friends asked her regularly; ‘do you prefer Jack or Quinn? Who’s cuter?’, to which she never replied, at least twice a month. 

Bang. Swipe. Bang. Swipe. Bang. Y/n and Jack shot pucks into the net consecutively like clockwork. With Luke and her brother at practice (this time) and Quinn out with friends, she and Jack were left to entertain each other. Usually, the eldest Hughes would’ve been the one shooting pucks with Jack, but the more y/n joined him, the more Jack preferred rallying with her. 

Jack took a firm shot, the puck darting but bouncing off the crossbar, thumping into the fence, and chipping the wood, “Oh come on! We had such a good thing goin’!”

She only giggled and watched him gather pucks to start rapid firing to make up for it. His eyes shined, a fire burning in them as he went on. She knew the girls fawned over him, worshipped him like some prince despite never speaking to him. She knew they thought he was pretty, she knew he was pretty with a charming smile and that Jack used to navigate his way around school. But on the ice that didn’t matter. At home that didn’t matter. Those girls would never know Jack, they’d never know that the moment something's wrong he’d run to Quinn, never know that he’d do anything for Luke and most importantly they’d never know that he and y/n spent more time together than either of them let on. 

“Are girls and guys your age allowed to be friends?” she blurted out, staring blankly at him. Jack lowered his stick and turned to face her.

“What?,” he said, dumbfounded at such a random question to ask on a Saturday afternoon, “Why wouldn’t they? Someone say somethin’ to you? Someone makin’ fun of you and Quinn? Did Quinn say anything?” 

He may be a little brother, but he was also, someone’s older brother. The way his boyish smile dropped and jaw tensed, the grip on his hockey stick tightened, how could anyone not think Jack Hughes was cute? 

“No, no- Quinn’s fine! Just that kids my age say that they can’t. That one of them always likes the other. But hearing what you said makes me realise it’s just dumb.” 

“Well, you’re a girl, I’m a guy and we’re friends, right?” his body relaxed, and he turned to shoot pucks again. Hockey mind, hockey heart. Y/n watched him momentarily before rejoining him, sweeping a puck from the pile between them and whacking it at the net. “You and Quinn are friends too, right?”

As she lined up her stick to take another shot, she paused, her mind draining, “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she took the shot, Jack following with a toothy grin, “Rowdy, do you think your girl friends are pretty?”

She’d thought about it regularly if it was acceptable to believe your friends were attractive or if you had to believe they weren’t. It was hard to deny that Hughes had strong genes, Ellen was beautiful after all. Luke still had the cuteness of youth, barely grown into his features, Jack owned the blue eyes and pretty smile of a prince but Quinn? The dark curls and quiet nature was his forte. 

“Some,” he shrugged, “Quinn thinks you’re pretty. He likes your t-shirts and laugh.”

Y/n froze and looked at him bug-eyed. He snitched on Quinn so casually, like the weight of his words wouldn’t unleash butterflies into her stomach. At the same time, she tried to process the information, she couldn’t help but be curious to know what kind of conversation went down for Quinn to admit that. 

“My friend, Trevor, thinks you’re pretty too, but I think he just likes your boobs. Oh, one of Quinny’s friends said he’d take you, whatever that means, but Quinn literally yelled at him. I have never seen him so close to hitting a guy.” 

Trust Jack to spill all his friend’s and brother’s secrets, she’d expected nothing less from him. Quinn getting so riled up over a comment wasn’t on her bingo card, he wasn’t the kind of guy to react aggressively let alone hit someone, he rarely fought in hockey let alone outside of it. The other two comments didn’t mean half as much as Quinn’s, teenage boys were immature and violently horny, but processing what Quinn’s friend had - allegedly - said did bring a nauseating feeling in her stomach, but she didn’t think any of his friends would ever say anything like that out loud ever again, not while Quinn was around at least. 

*

Thirty minutes. Quinn had gotten home from practice thirty minutes ago and her phone hadn’t flashed once. Thirty minutes of constant checking for his name on her screen, although nothing new. He always texted her after practice, letting her know he’d be home if she needed anything, but this evening he hadn’t. If it were anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she watched their car pull up on their drive, she watched Jack barrel out but hadn’t seen Quinn. While she waited, she completed her homework, milked Vine dry, and scrolled Instagram and YouTube wasn’t hitting. Y/n sighed, tossing her phone onto her bedsheets, grabbed her plaid pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt and concluded a shower should ease her mind.

It didn’t. She dropped him a text but to no surprise, it sat unread. Her stomach stirred, her gut feeling wailing sirens and adrenaline swirling through her body. Looking at the time, 19:48, and weighing out the decision that he was only next door, y/n slipped a hoodie over her head, threw her trainers on and crept out the front door to the Hughes. If he wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to him, prepared for whatever mood or situation he was in. 

She knocked gently twice, knowing she wouldn’t be waiting long since Jim was a prompt door-answerer. Even so, the breeze was nippy, her hoodie not doing much to hold her warm in the evening chill. The lock jolted from the other side, but Jim didn’t stand before her this time, it was Jack, who couldn’t have made it more obvious that his nerves struck him by his wide eyes and faltering jaw as if he were trying to get the words out.

“Is Quinn home?” 

Jack, stepped back hesitantly, letting her shuffle past him and into the hallway, “Uh, yeah but he’s pissed. Like, really pissed. Mum’s already tried to talk to him but…just be careful, remember that anything he says when mad, he doesn’t really mean.”  

She nodded, heart hammering in her chest as she carefully made her way up the stairs, tiptoeing around loose hockey gloves. The wall was covered in family photos and awards, y/n always noticed the photograph of all three boys standing outside last autumn, Quinn wearing the grey hoodie that was glued to him, Jack in full burgundy (hat and coat too) and Luke in a Michigan University fleece that looked a little big on him, all refusing to smile. The landing upstairs was fairly simple, the stairs being in the corner, and the corridor being a long strip. Luke’s room at the front of the house facing out into the street, Jack’s on the left side opposite Quinn’s, whose was on the right next to the stairs and Jim and Ellen’s at the back, facing into the garden. Considering they were neighbours, her house layout differed entirely, but after many years of running in and out, she memorised the rooms.

Standing outside his door, she knocked softly and waited for approval. She knocked again but also received no answer. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, she turned the handle and poked her head through the crack. He’d heard the door click, stuffing his navy sheets into his face as she padded in quietly, closing the door behind her. The pounding of her heart stayed, her palms becoming clammy seeing the state of his room. It was never tidy, but the laundry hamper being kicked over was new. His collection of hockey sticks that he was adamant to keep upright had toppled to the floor and going by the skewed photo frame on his wall indicated that he’d slammed the door harder than he meant to. Sending his sulking figure a glance, she repositioned the photo. One where the two of them sat in her living room, huddled together wearing - Quinn’s - Maple Leafs jerseys while watching the game. 

“Fuck off, Jack,” his voice barely audible, “If you’re here to chirp, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Quinn felt the mattress dip beside him, “Not gonna chirp you, Q.”

He shot up, the duvet whipping towards her to uncover a dishevelled Quinn, hair tousled and t-shirt crumpled from hiding under his covers for so long, “y/n? Shit, sorry. Are you okay?” 

Whatever sour mood that intoxicated him washed away and was replaced with concern strangling him. His eyes widened, he’d completely ghosted her, too wrapped up in his self-wallowing, stomach dropping at how close he was to taking his frustration out on her too. He ran his hands over his face, the giggle she let out soothing his mood like a warm embrace.

“I’m good. But a little bird told me you’re not,” taking his hands into her own, she pulled them into his lap, “You wanna talk about it?”

His gaze softened, shoulders slumping but heat rising in his neck as he kept their hands in his lap. She was so cold, although not far, she still came to him in thin pyjamas while the cold raged in a bitter attitude. Her thumb circled over his knuckles, attempting to calm him but instead of his heart finding a slow rhythm, it thundered in his chest unbearably. 

He shrugged, “Not much to say,” his jaw opened, fumbling to get the words out, “I don’t know, practice just went to shit. Felt like I could’ve done more, got screamed at by coach, alone, I was sloppy…but don’t pep-talk me, mum’s given me like, five.”

Y/n watched the light in his eyes fade, his voice becoming raspy the more he spoke about just a bad day. But a bad day was never a bad day with Quinn, it was the weight of the world crushing his shoulders as the oldest, and prodigy. If he slipped up once, it meant he would keep slipping up and let everyone down, let himself down until nobody believed in him anymore. She got it. She empathised, one of the only people in his life who could read his mind, dig into the crevices of his anxieties and ease them with just her existence alone. The more their skins held contact, the more fuzzy he felt inside, like a thousand flowers blooming in his chest at once.

“Wasn’t gonna. C’mere,” she held her arms out, letting him melt into her for a much-needed hug. Much needed indeed, Quinn’s arms hugged her waist tightly, burying his nose into the hollow of her neck while her fingers carefully threaded through his thick hair. Every insecurity that ate him up flushed away like the world had frozen and it was just the two of them, on his bed, wrapped up in each other with a confusing lightheadedness between them. Feeling his face nuzzle into her shoulder, her lips twitched into a smile and planted a chaste kiss on his hair. She realised she had done that seconds afterwards, as if she’d done it on autopilot but it was something she’d seen her parents do when seeking comfort, and she’d watched it on TV shows. Nerves choked her, hoping Quinn wouldn’t find it weird and shove her away, yelling all sorts of horrible things and never wanting to see her again. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled their bodies backwards into his mattress.

Unwrapping her arms from his shoulders, she propped herself up, hands either side of his head while his hands sat loosely on her waist. His throat dried and he gulped, y/n’s nose ghosting his, eyes meeting before darting away to each other's lips, only to scan features. Her ears burned, the butterflies in her stomach storming and in that moment she accepted that she did and could find Quinn Hughes attractive. His hands on her body, his captivating eyes, the brown curls, the mole on his right cheek, plump lips slightly parted. The way his awful mood was sidelined when he knew it was her in his bedroom. All in her grip, right in front of her.

“Come back,” he mumbled, arms snaking around her waist firmly. Y/n nodded, licking her lips with adrenaline surging through her veins. Did kisses mean anything? What did it feel like to taste another person? How did kisses work? There was only one way to find out, and she had the opportunity clawing for her, “Stay.” 

She lowered herself onto her elbows and tucked herself into his chest, her ear pressed against his pectoral, listening to his nerves pulse rapidly and laid her hand flat on his chest. They shimmied around, untucking the duvet from their bodies and pulling it over themselves. Quinn’s hand slipped into her pocket, sliding her phone out and placing it on his nightstand. She should’ve told her parents where she was, but with enough faith Ellen or Jack would say something. That was the last thing on her mind, the biggest crisis that set all alarms off inside her head was that she was cuddling a boy for the first time. She was sharing a bed with a boy. And she liked it. Perhaps more than she should have, this was her childhood best friend, a boy she’d grown up with, and although properly known for five years, had spent almost every day with him. 

Quinn’s eyes fluttered closed, a small smile creeping onto his lips yet he could never describe the mayhem that stormed in his stomach. He almost kissed his first and best female friend. In his bed. Alone. Where no one would know about it. He wasn’t ready to try and forget about it yet, move on and hope she wouldn’t think he was using her or thinking she was easy. His friends had said he was lucky to have a girl friend because it meant he could get whatever he wanted, not that he agreed with that stance. He held her close and firm, relishing in the company of another while it lasted, and before his parents would give him an earful about it.

*

Valentine’s Day was far too meaningful for teenagers, at least in y/n’s mind. You’re essentially celebrating a relationship that’s likely to end by the end of high school but acting like it’s the live-all and end-all. Or maybe she just didn’t understand the feeling or concept. No one had ever asked her out or asked her to be their Valentine before. She watched a couple of her friends go through it, one being over-the-top romantic with a bouquet, card and gift and the other being underwhelming, being nothing but a few words and a box of chocolates hand-me-down. He could have at least bought the chocolate himself instead of using one another girl gave him. 

With the final bell ringing a few minutes ago, the hallway was finally empty, only y/n and a few other students left at their lockers. She had time, her dad wouldn’t arrive for another seven minutes to pick her up since the Hughes boys left pronto for practice. She fished through her locker, checking for any love letters that could have been posted through the vents but to no surprise, nothing out of the ordinary. Did Quinn receive anything? Did other girls like his brooding demeanour like her? Did he accept any confessions? That hit her in the gut, hard. He wasn’t hers but why did thinking about sharing him make her blood boil so much? Exhaling sharply, she slammed her locker shut, only to come face to face with a guy who resembled Quinn, but instead of blue eyes his were brown, and his bone structure had chiselled out faster. He leaned against the lockers, arms folded and flashed her a smile. She thought she recognised him, he played on the same team as Quinn and Jack. His name wasn’t important (she couldn’t remember), but she’d be lying if she said he wasn’t attractive. 

“Hey y/n,” she smiled at him, “So uh, this ain’t easy but you’re hard to catch alone.”

“Can I help…you?” she bit her lip, the pit of her stomach becoming tight and tingly with his eyes never leaving hers.

“Just wondering if you’d wanna grab smoothies this weekend…like a date?” he didn’t speak softly like Quinn, he was loud and almost expectant. She wondered if he would pay, or if she had to. Quinn always paid, and always knew her order too. Even if she didn’t ask him to, he’d do it. Snapping back to the situation at hand, her breath hitched. She needed to stop thinking about Quinn. He wasn’t Quinn and the latter had nothing to do with him. Perhaps agreeing would get him out of her head. 

“Uh, sure but-” before she could finish, two of his friends burst out from around the corner, high-fiving and laughing like deranged hyenas. The guy in front of her also started laughing, looking down at her with a condescending glint in his stupid eyes.

“YO! That’s twenty bucks!” his friend yelled to the other, slapping his hand out, “Told you he’d do it!”

“Shut the fuck up, you got lucky! He caught her when Quinn wasn’t around.” The other grumbled, dropping the cash into his hand. 

The guy at her locker laughed, “As if anyone would ask you out, be real, y/n.” And all three left, karma soon hitting them at realising hockey practice started ten minutes ago. Y/n stood frozen, emotions swirling and nausea she could only describe as a whirlpool of humiliation and stupidity. She should’ve listened to her gut when it raised red flags.

As if anyone would ask you out, y/n.

He caught her when Quinn wasn’t around.

All she wanted was Quinn now, to run and squeeze him, but instead, she had a quiet car ride home with her dad to get to.

Quinn pulled his gear off aggressively, chucking his helmet into his stall, almost shoving the gear into his bag, disregarding how expensive the lot of it was. It was one of those days where he wished he could leave his stuff at the rink. He spoke to no one and no one dared talk to him, not even Jack, who’d warned his friends to lay off the chirping. When he’d overheard his teammates proudly laughing about what they’d done to y/n in the hall, his offensive-defensive playstyle switched to straight-up bloodlust with poison in his eyes. Now even in the locker room, his jaw clenched harshly and the other boys swore they could feel the rage radiate off his body. 

“Yooo, Hughes,” Locker Guy mused casually, a shit-eating grin smeared across his face, “why so worked up? S’just a game.”

Everyone eyed each other, although he was referencing hockey, Quinn was not in a hockey mood. He approached Quinn, throwing his arm around his shoulder while he packed the last of his stuff away.

“Silent treatment? Damn, didn’t know it meant that-”

Before he could finish, Quinn swung, right-hooking his cheek. Locker Guy stumbled back, cupping his cheek with wide eyes. He was stunned, the room was. Not even Jack had seen him hit a guy before, and Quinn didn’t think he would until then, but the adrenaline and aggravation just got the better of him and he’d seek revenge in any way if it would be for y/n.

“Take the twenty and shove it up your ass,” he slung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his stick, “y/n’s not just a game.” And he stormed out. Jack bid goodbye to his friends, sloppily grabbing his bag and stick before stumbling out after Quinn. 

When arriving home shortly after, Quinn dumped his bag in the hallway, ignoring Ellen’s voice calling for him, Jack did a good job at covering for him. He burst into his room, rummaging around his desk for a post-it note, scribbling his mind on it. Pulling a small box from his school bag, he stuck the note onto it and rushed out of his house as fast as he’d rushed in.

He rang the doorbell and pounded on the door but to no avail. Her parent’s cars were absent but he knew too well that she had nowhere to be on a Tuesday evening. Groaning, he jogged to the side gate, rattling the handle and pushing it open, listening to it creak and click behind him. He didn’t bother sneaking around, the security light bright enough to illuminate the entire garden for anyone to try. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, he would’ve taken more time to appreciate her mother’s handiwork: flowerbeds of pansies waiting for their time lining the fences, he remembered planting a few before the snow season. Quinn reached the back porch steps, walking up with a light foot and trying the back door. Locked. Of course. Spinning on his heel, he swore under his breath, completely jumping down the three steps and taking a short right to find the trellis on the wall.

“Mrs. l/n, I sincerely apologise for this, once again,” he mumbled, taking the box between his teeth and carefully placing his hands and foot on the wood, hoping that he hadn’t crushed any of the flowers weaved through. He slowly climbed until the porch roof came to his level. Thanking the heavens that the pitch was low, he used all his upper body strength to hoist himself on, ensuring his footing was secure, taking the box from his mouth and creeping up to her bedroom window. 

Y/n sat on her bed, cosied up in her pyjamas and laptop playing YouTube, anything that would redeem the afternoon she’d had, but nothing could prevent the tears from spilling out her eyes when the memory of it flushed over again. Her parents had gone out, and her brother went to his friend’s for dinner so she lucked out on being left alone for the evening, she didn’t feel like discussing how her day went. The quiet car ride home was enough, even though her dad knew something was wrong. 

The screen on her phone flashed, and she would’ve ignored it if it hadn’t flashed a second time immediately after.

Qutie At window pls open It’s cold

“The fuck?” she whispered, drawing her blind and sliding the window up, watching Quinn clamber his way into her room. She hastily wiped her eyes, “Q, you could’ve just knocked?”

He straightened out his clothes, closing her window, “I did. And tried the back. And here I am.”

“Oh…sorry,” she bit her cheek, “Q, I’ve had a bad day, I’m not really-”

“-I know. I know what happened, and he won’t think about it again,” he paused, peering down at the box in his hands, “actually he won’t talk to you again.”

“What did you do?” she asked, stepping closer with her arms folded, the sun breaking through her grey clouds after the storm.

“It doesn’t matter,” with a gentle smile and rosy cheeks, he held the box of chocolates out to her. Her gaze jumped from him to the gift in her hands and scanned the note stuck on top, the words written in red with little heart doodles. Her lips twitched upwards unstoppably and the blossoming warmth spread through her body and soul again.

Will you be my Valentine? - Q

“Sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier, I got swept up. I saw you looking at these the other day, it’s not much but I wanted to-” his speech was interrupted when she threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his torso tight and muffled ‘thank you’s just audible. 

Holding her close, he grinned, “-Anytime.”

*

That summer was the first year Quinn took y/n to the lake house in Michigan. If Jack was allowed to bring his friends, he refused to endure that alone, like Luke had to. Luke begged her brother to be his plus one, but he’d been swept up by his friends too soon. That was also the first time y/n met Cole and Trevor, the two Jack constantly talked about. They didn’t go to the same school as them, he’d met them through hockey camps and they didn’t sound too bad. Quinn always warned about Trevor, something about being a yapper but worse. 

Coming face to face with the lake house, y/n hadn’t expected it to be as large as it was, she didn’t really know what to expect when Jim described it as having a games room in the basement that had access to the garden, a first floor that had a beautiful view of the lake from the porch and a second floor with five bedrooms. Yet there she was, standing on the driveway admiring the blue and white home as she’d never seen a structure that big before while Quinn, Ellen and Jim unloaded the car. 

“Y/n!” Jack called. She turned towards his voice to be met with two other boys, “This is Trevor,” he gestured to the taller one with tanned skin, “and that’s Cole.” The shorter one.

“Ah, Trevor, the one who likes my boobs,” she recalled, raising her eyebrow at Trevor, who elbowed Jack in the ribs, muttering a ‘dude!’. Cole chuckled at the embarrassment creeping on Trevor’s face, “s’chill. Not the worst thing I’ve heard but definitely something best kept unsaid.”

She may have been okay with it, but a certain brother listening in was far from okay with it, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the suitcases and his brows knitted deep on his forehead. 

*

She tossed and turned, frustrated that her eyes refused to stay closed. Every time, she’d fallen asleep, the thunder outside clapped and jolted her awake again. If it wasn’t the weather hammering down keeping her awake, it was Trevor’s snoring from the bed. Herself, Trevor and Cole ended up sharing the spare room, the boys in the double bed and y/n opting to take the mattress on the floor (she refused to lay next to either of the boys, even if that meant sacrificing the space). 

As she lay facing the ceiling, she weighed out her options. She either stay there and have the thunder throw her into a wall and have Trevor’s snoring rattle through her bones or find somewhere else to sleep. The living room was one option, but Jim was an early riser and she didn’t enjoy the idea of being woken up by plates and pans crashing around. Then there were the boys’ rooms. Luke also snored, she knew that first-hand from the journey to the lake house, kid snored like a champ the whole time. Jack wiggled too much, a true duvet twister, waking up with pyjama bottoms to pantaloons. And Quinn, well she knew he was perfect, warm and an incredible cuddler. It wasn’t a hard decision.

She poked her head out the door, peeking left and right. The spare room was on the right-hand side, next to the staircase, while Quinn’s sat at the back left corner. Slipping through the gap, she shut the door silently behind her and tiptoed down the hall to Quinn’s room. 

His room looked identical to his Toronto room, blue-grey walls, dark oak furniture and navy sheets, but less hockey. Quinn was a peaceful sleeper, never appeared irritated but his hair was always messy somehow. Y/n slipped under the sheets with him, rolling onto her side to face him. He stirred, snuggling into his pillow and his eyes fanned open. His eyelashes were longer and thicker than she thought, why did boys get that gift but not girls? 

“Hi,” she whispered, sleepy gazes locking.

“Hi,” he rasped, voice deeper than usual from being riddled with sleep, “can’t sleep?”

She shook her head slightly. Quinn smiled, opening his arms, rolling onto his back and letting her slot herself into him like a puzzle piece, her head on his chest. She listened to his heart, the rhythm syncing with hers as it lulled her to sleep, Quinn’s arms loosely around her, but enough to confirm that he had her and was still there while the weather screamed and cried outside.

At sixteen, y/n obtained her first boyfriend, Leo, which surprised her and her friends. Not because they didn’t think she didn’t deserve him, but because he was the complete opposite of Quinn and because he wasn’t Quinn. Blond hair, green eyes, chatty and outgoing, always referred to her as ‘princess’ and could be a likeable guy. Except her friends never asked if he would like to hang with them. They never asked if he’d like to sit with them at lunch. Rarely had interest in him and he had no interest in them. They tried to talk to y/n, but her head was too far on cloud nine to hear them. Of course, she took it to heart. They loved Quinn, so why couldn’t they love Leo the same? 

The Hughes boys clarified their view on her relationship from the start. Not because they were haters or didn’t like seeing their friend happy, but because Quinn’s glares burned holes. Jack and Luke simply hated him because he spoke shit about hockey, almost on purpose the moment he found out the four of them were close, and because he seemed to irritate their big brother. Quinn refrained from gagging every time he saw the couple together at school, a pang in his chest stabbing him always. But she was happy, and that’s the part that stung the most.

Her brother ignored him on the rare occasion he came over. He was a huge Quinn guy, and having anyone but him in his house felt wrong. Like a parasite invasion trying to take his sister away, he wouldn’t let her ride home with the boys in his thirteen-year-old mind, Leo always insisted they hung out after school. The first time Leo came over for dinner, her brother ensured he displayed all the photographs of the Hughes family and his family together, especially the ones of y/n and Quinn. On another occasion he watched a movie with them, just to be annoying. Leo had tried to get y/n alone in the kitchen, hands on her hips and drawing her close, speaking sweet nothings into her lips and finding the panic in her face adorable. Their lips almost connecting, skin burning like wildfire until three, rubber pucks slammed into the targets that hung on the net in the garden, her brother standing proudly with his hockey stick in hand and side-eyeing the kitchen window, giving y/n time to catch her breath and gather her mind before the blond in front of her swore loudly.

What was everyone’s problem? Why wouldn’t they be happy for her? She was in love, a guy loved her for the first time in her life and she wasn’t even allowed to have that. Well, at least Quinn would be happy, and maybe she could convince him at least to let him join the lake house. Or she hoped. 

Quinn gathered the pucks out the back of the net, collecting them into a pile, the wrinkles between his eyebrows prominent. Y/n stood to the side, hands in her hoodie pocket, presenting her best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“No,” he said, shooting a puck into the net.

“Oh come on, Q!”, she whined, “It’s a chance to get to know him, he’s a good guy. Please, for meee?”

He stood straight, turning to face her, “Y/n, I love you and I’d do anything for you, but the answer is still no. There isn’t enough space and it’s my lake house, my summer too.” He hoped she’d give up and drop the subject. The idea of y/n and Leo sharing a bed soiled his mood as it was, he didn’t want the thoughts to develop further into what else they could do. If Leo joined, he’d be alone, he wouldn’t wake up with her at least once, she wouldn’t even look at him and his brothers would never forgive him. Everyone’s summer would be ruined.

She sighed in defeat, “He’s the first guy to ever love me, see me for who I am and everyone acts like he’s got the plague! Q, my dad gives him small talk, my dad!”

He stared, a burning stare that ignited goosebumps along her skin, the hairs on end. They’d looked into each other eyes before, but she’d never seen this kind of fire in him. His breathing deepened, chest rising and falling as trying to calm himself down, nostrils slightly flaring. 

“Is that so?” he cocked a brow, his tongue poking his cheek, “y/n, we’re happy for you, but we miss you. I miss you. I miss getting smoothies, I miss Star Wars marathons, shit, I miss watching you make a mess of my kitchen when Luke wants cookies.” He missed falling asleep with her, calling him at silly hours in the morning, organising his hockey cards together, seeing her wear his hoodies and jerseys, and hearing her laugh. 

Her face softened, absorbing his cries and guilt swirling in her stomach. She didn’t realise how his voice beat every song she’d ever listened to or how when he was hurting, his tone was soft-spoken. She forgot how much she loved that, and how no one - not even Leo - could replace it. 

“M’sorry, Q.” She hugged him, like usual. The tight embrace with her head in his chest, feeling his arms wind around her shoulders in return, nose finding solace in the crook of her neck and kissing her shoulder.

*

Leo never joined their summer. He was never part of it from the start. When y/n fell back into place with her friends and stopped bringing up Leo, so much relief washed over her daily. The mini-argument with Quinn had paid off because exactly a week before she and the Hughes planned to leave for Michigan Leo had bid his thank yous and goodbyes. She thanked him for nothing messy, but his last words (and reasoning) gripped her around the neck: ‘I don’t think I’m the one you love.’

The moment she stepped out of Ellen’s car, slightly delirious from sleeping on Quinn’s shoulder the whole way, her muscles relaxed. She barely got a chance to stretch before Trevor and Cole came bundling towards her, engulfing her into a group hug while Quinn took his usual duties of unloading the car. All the boys had grown over the winter, Luke grew taller far too quickly, Jack, Trevor and Cole’s voices had dropped and entered that awkward phase where it would break at random and Quinn’s shoulders broadened, his face chiselling out. Y/n felt like the only thing that had changed about herself was the growing number of insecurities. She was at a lake, meaning she had to wear the bikinis she’d spent hours picking out, completely forgetting that Quinn wasn’t the only guy around. What if they didn’t look as good as she thought? What if they were far from flattering? Things she shouldn’t let eat at her but always would linger at the back of her mind. 

*

She lay awake, facing the ceiling listening to Trevor’s snoring from the bed for the second year, but it was worse now his voice was deeper. How Cole slept so soundly was a mystery in itself. At least the weather was silent. Yet her mind could not quiet, the events of the week replaying like a tape, glitching on the last few moments and repeating Leo’s words. With a weight in her chest, tears welled in her eyes. She felt so alone and abandoned in a room with an overwhelming teenage presence. She threw the duvet off, shuffling off the mattress, padding out the door and sneaking down the hall.

Quinn’s door opened enough for her to slip into the room and tiptoed over to his bed, crawling under his covers next to him. His hair had gotten longer, messier and the more she looked at it the harder it was to keep her hands to herself. His cheeks weren’t so full anymore, but the back of her fingers still caressed his cheekbone with a feathery touch. Her smile faded, she hadn’t told him about the break-up, she was supposed to tell her best friend everything and she couldn’t even do that, no wonder Quinn hadn’t spoken much to her. He was in the dark and it was all her fault. But he didn’t ask about him. Maybe he was upset because she hadn’t told him? No, Quinn wasn’t like that, was he? Was he upset?

“Trevor’s snoring?” he mumbled, eyes remaining closed. He heard his door click and felt his mattress dip and nobody else would risk waking him. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, watching his eyes lazily open, “part of it.”

He rolled over, pulling her onto his chest and arms around her waist, “I got you.” 

Her tears soaked blotches into his t-shirt, little sobs slightly muffled by the fabric as his hand stroked her back slowly. He held her close, letting her cry whatever consumed her out of her system while reassuring her that everything was going to be okay in his gentle manner. He wasn’t entirely sure what was so troubling but he had a keen suspicion it had something to do with Leo, she hadn’t mentioned him for a while and a large part of him was fuelled with adrenaline and hope that he was out of the picture for good. It lit fireworks inside him, and he wasn’t ashamed about it. 

“He dumped me, Q,” she sobbed, fingers balling his shirt into fists, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

Those fireworks inside him burst an array of colours, “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he said softly, “did he give you a reason at least?”

Her lip quivered, “He…he said he thinks that he’s not the one I love. I don’t know what that means! This sucks, Q. Sucks going from spending a lot of time with someone, having their full attention to just…not. Makes me gag every time I see my friends with their partners. I feel so…isolated, what do I do now?” 

Quinn’s lips fell into a straight line, hand still soothing her back. He knew he shouldn’t have been over the moon at the news, but God did he want to dance around his room and punch the air, maybe click his heels for good measure, “You want my opinion?”

He felt her nod, “You still have friends, and you need them more than a boyfriend. Have you thought about him since?” she shook her head, “Then there’s your answer. You miss the feeling, not the person. There’s someone out there who’s gonna love you tirelessly, treat you right and always come when you call. We’re only sixteen, we’ve got time.”

She thought about Leo, properly. She thought about how he spoke to people, and looking back she kicked herself for how she was too swept up in the feeling to realise how his charm was too enticing. She remembered the time he met Quinn, Jack and Luke for the first time, well Jack and Luke. He’d found out about their passion for hockey and openly shared how he thought it was ridiculous and an overrated sport, that all the players were mediocre at most. He told Jack he’d never make it to the NHL because it’s the sort of dream that stays a dream. Leo off the bat despised Quinn, calling him an obsessive creep when he walked into her house to retrieve Jim’s lasagna dish from her dad. Quinn ignored it, but Leo had seen all the photographs her brother put out, and proceeded to rant about how Quinn was just trying to add her to his body count. Quinn heard that, of course, he was only in the kitchen and if he was honest, he was flattered that Leo assumed he even had a body count. Then the kitchen incident flooded back like the rapids ride at a theme park. If her brother hadn’t interrupted them, she would’ve been kissed, but she didn’t want to kiss him and she knew that he enjoyed the fear in her eyes when his grip tightened. 

“Can I ask you something…” she peered up at him.

“Anything.” he looked down at her, voice just above a whisper. Her eyes had a glossy shine to them, even if they were red and puffy from crying, he still got lost in them.

“Can you say ‘princess’, for me?” 

He raised his eyebrow, but smiled anyway, “Whatever you want, princess.”

“Fucking hell it sounds so much better when you say it,” she groaned, burying her face into his chest, earning a chuckle from Quinn. It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, too well like it was made for him. The worst part was the tingling sensation in her stomach which wound through her heartstrings. All despair was eliminated and, once again, Quinn had pulled her into his rip. They lay in silence for a little while, but neither drifted off to sleep, just lying in each other's company.

“He almost kissed me, Q.” she mumbled into the dark, Quinn’s green eye disturbing his peace, “but I didn’t want to kiss him, the vibe was off. And then my friends bugged me about it.”

She pushed herself onto her elbow, propping herself up and gazing into his sleepy eyes. His palms fell to the small of her back.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” an innocent question turned sultry by his brain, heat shooting to his neck.

“No,” his gaze fell to her lips, “have you?”

She denied it. One had cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her bottom lip. She melted into his touch, heart pulsing in her ears. Deja vu burst into the room from a year before, where the last time she hovered above him she wanted to kiss him more than she should have. He parted his lips, the teenage boy inside him begging to peek down her shirt and his desperate longing to taste her colliding and dizzying his mind. Their bodies gravitated closer like a magnetic force neither could control anymore until their lips touched and two souls intertwined sweetly. It was an innocent kiss, aside from the accidental bumping of teeth, it wasn’t quite a peck but they relished in each other for no more than five seconds before pulling away with ease again.

“Can we do that again?” she didn’t need to say anything. She kissed him again, harder, longer, her hand sliding from his chest to his jaw as their lips fell into a pattern of connecting and reconnecting, elation surging through them as they fumbled into giggles. Quinn’s problem with kissing her was that no matter how much he tried to push it down, the craving to kiss her again clawed at him. All it took was a pretty smile and he could kiss her the rest of the night. Y/n’s friends bragged about their first kisses, who they were with and where it happened, but she held the crown for the first kiss in a boy’s bed and a meaningful kiss as the cherry on top.

*

Michigan’s sun roasted hotter than in Toronto, but it was a pleasant change from freezing all the time. The kind of heat that the boat’s seats would cling onto, and give you the worst shock of your life when sitting down, so when you sat down on the leather, you stayed down with sizzling skin. Although he’d been to the lake his whole life, Jack’s soul still left his body every time he threw himself onto the seats, usually blaming Quinn for not warning him. She was introduced to their boat last year, expecting only a small, fishing boat-like thing but to say her eyes grew so wide they almost popped out her head would be an understatement. She had limited knowledge of boats but her dad fished a lot so she picked up odd things from his raving, but the only way she could describe it was a traditional bowrider, with u-shaped seats in the back deck and bow seating. 

Jack and Luke had shoved past everyone and B-lined for the docks as soon as breakfast was over, Trevor and Cole not far behind and bundled onto the back seats of the boat. The driver’s seat was always left empty for Quinn, and the seat on the left side of the aisle next to the driver’s was always for y/n, furthest from the splash zone so she could read in peace. Unfortunately for Quinn and y/n, that also meant they were the ones lugging the cooler of water bottles through the garden and to the docks, handing it to Jack and Trevor while Quinn hopped in, holding his hand out to her and letting her make her way to her seat. 

A couple of hours being anchored in the lake, Jack and Trevor had three backflip contests, teaching Luke ‘how it’s done’ and Cole had won himself one hell of a sunburn. Y/n hadn’t taken her shirt off once, occupying herself by applying suncream to Quinn’s face and judging the backflip rounds. She mindlessly watched the four boys tussle around, pulling and pushing each other off the boat and playing in the cool waters. Something about this summer brought a yearning for adventure, maybe due to her age, to make memories or to distract herself from the sinful thoughts of what Quinn now looked like underneath his t-shirt. 

“I know you want to,” her head snapped to face Quinn, his voice dragging her out of her head, “I can see it in your eyes.”

She hugged her torso tighter, diverting her gaze to their feet. Was the first time wearing a bikini this terrifying for everyone? Maybe she should’ve started wearing them sooner. She’d be used to it by now.

“I’m not saying you have to, but,” he gulped, taking a deep breath. His next words could either earn him a smile or a slap, “I think you’re beautiful just as you are. And whatever those fuckers think doesn’t matter. Remember that you’re like a sister to Jack and Luke, they’ve got your back too.” 

A wide smile broke onto her face. Anyone else could say that and she wouldn't have batted an eye, but when it fell from his mouth like a song, the pressure was exiled from her body. Her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Quinn’s view darted straight to her chest, the bikini top complimenting her nicely, but too well for anyone but him to see (or so he thought). He didn’t think twice about it, it felt pervy and wrong, but at the end of the day, he was just a teenage boy riddled with fluctuating hormones. At least he wasn’t as bad or proud as Trevor, that was the bar. The top was enough. She kept the little board shorts on. Maybe next year she’d be braver. 

“Your turn,” with a cheeky glint in her eyes, she leant forward, elbows on her knees and purposely pushing her breasts together. Caught red-handed, in the act, Quinn Hughes. His cheeks burned red, glancing at his brothers and friends (who were on backflip contest number four) and back at her, slipping his shirt off. She raised her eyebrows when he said he’d been working out more, he meant it. When their gazes met, they both knew that if they had been alone with all the pent-up thrill, they would’ve jumped for each other, let their hands dance, feeling every new curve and dip and melt into each other like wax, moulding to however they wanted. 

“Not too bad yourself-” Before she could finish, Jack rolled onto the boat from the back deck with a clumsy urgency, throwing his towel over himself and standing in a wide stance, panting as if throwing himself onto the boat took all his energy.

“Thanks dearest,” pant, “big brother of mine and,” pant, “his girlfriend. Wakeboard!”

Quinn and y/n burst into fits of giggles at the assistance but it fell on deaf ears, watching him clamber in was funnier anyway, especially since the other three people who could have helped decided to watch and laugh too. No one denied the second part of his sentence, it certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it had been taken two ways.

*

When the boys were little, Jim and Ellen had reformed the basement into a games room. It had originally been decked out into more of a guest house, with a kitchenette directly under the stairs and opposite were the large patio doors. But they found more use for it with the boys. On the left side of the doors was a c-shape sectional sofa and a TV and to the right a fireplace with a scoreboard for the pool table, which sat in the centre of the room. The bathroom remained in the back right corner. Most of the time, it was only used for video games and pool, as the distance from the bedrooms meant their screaming and arguing was pleasantly muffled but as more people joined their holiday, more friends were made either at the lake or with hockey people who owned a house on the lake, the room got its fair share of usage and everything was sound.

Until the Tkachuk brothers arrived.

Matthew and Brady were Quinn’s friends, Brady being one of his best and knowing Matthew by default. The Tkachuk’s had recently bought a house on the lake, within walking distance of the Hughes but you could hear them before you’d see them. Y/n had first met Brady when Quinn picked him up from his dock one afternoon, and she had no trouble getting to know him, especially when it came to him showing her photos of all of Quinn’s embarrassing moments from before her era at the lake house, and ones during hockey camps. She understood why Quinn got shy when Brady doxxed him like that, but she found it cute either way and he just enjoyed his two best friends getting along.

The seven of them - Y/n, Quinn, Brady, Cole, Trevor, Jack and Luke - sat in a circle, in that order, on the floor, leaning against the sofa, a bottle of vodka and red solo cups between them. The four youngest sat with stars in their eyes, like Brady had bought a mythical creature over, y/n and Quinn exchanged quizzing looks, shrugging.

“Yeah, how did you get this?” y/n asked, picking the bottle up and inspecting the alcohol percentage. 

“Matt,” Brady smirked, pride smeared across his face, “one of his friends has a fake ID, and said he’d get me a bottle if I helped him get this chick’s number.”

“And it worked?” Quinn mocked, Jack, Cole and Trevor did their best to hide their giggles.

“Nobody can resist a Tkachuk,” he peered past Quinn to look at y/n, “it’s the pretty eyes and dashing looks, right y/n?” 

Jack and Luke side-eyed each other, holding back their laughter at Quinn’s pout. Y/n shrugged, giving boys satisfaction wasn’t something she enjoyed, and seeing Brady dramatically hold his hand to his heart and act offended seemed to lighten Quinn’s mood. 

“Can we crack this baby open now? I wanna get drunk!” Trevor cheered, Jack and Cole joining him. Something like that would be exciting for fifteen-year-olds, but (not so) little Luke stayed quiet, shrinking into himself next to y/n. She placed an arm around his shoulder, presenting him with a warm, reassuring smile.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, no one’s gonna force you,” she murmured.

“Come on, Lukey! Don’t be a pussy!” Jack taunted as Brady poured him, Cole and Trevor a small amount. Cole took his sip first, his face screwing up immediately and coughing at the burning down his throat. Trevor cackled, tapping his cup with Jack’s and they both swallowed theirs together. Like karma, Trevor wheezed and held his chest, face scrunching amusingly at the kick. Jack didn’t get off lightly either, his throat feeling like fire and he shook his head, putting his cup on the floor. The rest laughed, hard. The three musketeers were so confident just to have it backfire. 

Brady poured vodka into his, Quinn’s and her cups, grinning from ear to ear and placing the bottle back between them all.

Cup in hand, she nudged Luke, “Do you want a small sip?” 

He hesitantly nodded, taking the cup gently and letting a tiny drop cover his tastebuds. That was enough for him to jolt back and shake his head. The three eldest bumped cups and swallowed the alcohol in one go, Brady cheering like he’d won the Stanley Cup, Quinn doing his best to suppress the sour expression on his face and y/n exhaled at the flare descending her throat. She and Quinn side-eyed each other, stifling giggles. The rush brought back the rendezvous of her sixteenth birthday where her parents had treated her to a bottle of vodka, specifically instructing she only drink it around them. Hours later when her close friends arrived, and Quinn of course, that bottle and a carton of orange juice was shared between them and drank dry, her bedroom swarming with drunk teenagers hiding hangovers in the morning.  

“Wow, my first ever drink turned out to be…actually not as pleasant as I imagined.” Brady’s eyebrows raised, watching the three musketeers urgently agree with him. Quinn and y/n’s grins widened, and they fist-bumped. They’d finally discovered something they had done before Brady. He’d relentlessly teased Quinn with his experiences as he was older, but it was due to Matthew being older. Now, it was Quinn’s turn, he was finally the cool, older brother. 

“That was your first?” Quinn teased. Brady blinked twice, opening his mouth to speak but closing it, holding his fist out to Quinn instead. 

“You didn’t add a mixer, it’s more bearable with juice,”  she stood up and grabbed an orange juice from the fridge. Sitting back in her spot, she took Brady’s cup, poured a little vodka and topped it with the juice, stirring it with her finger, “now try.”

He took a sip, the orange juice slightly outweighing the alcohol and it didn’t tear through him this time, “Okay, you’re invited to every party from now on. Dudes, you gotta try this.” 

One empty bottle later the group found themselves slumped back and blurry-eyed. Luke had gone to bed, terrified of the consequences if he were still there in the morning. Quinn and y/n leant into each other, Jack’s head resting on her lap. Brady’s ass went numb from sitting on the floor, but he feared that if he stood up, he’d just meet the floor again but with a bruise when he woke up. 

At some point in that hour, Trevor suggested truth or dare, and being too tipsy to argue, they’d all been roped into it. The dares hadn’t been too bad, but as Brady slowly gathered his senses, previous conversations and events flooded back to his active memory. With his sights landing on Quinn and y/n, it was like his and Trevor’s minds intertwined. Calm and collected Quinn had been giggling at others too much throughout the night. Calm and collected Quinn who never seemed to be fazed by embarrassment for too long. 

“Jack, truth or dare?” Trevor asked absently. 

“Truth.”

“Ass or tits?” 

Y/n ran her fingers through Jack’s hair and rolled her eyes. Boys. 

“Easy. Tits. Next. Brady, truth or dare?” Jack’s eyes closed, body relaxing when her nails scratched his scalp.

Brady snorted, “Hah, dare!”

Jack paused, thinking about what kind of dare Brady would come up with, “skinny dip in the lake.”

“Dude, if I stand up, I’ll fall. I’ll do it next time we’re on the boat, swear it.” They chuckled, watching his head shake desperately. Nobody would have to dare Brady to do something like that, you could just suggest the idea and he’d be down for the sake of a story. Matthew had shared many stories of his adventures when he was his age, and Brady was determined to be as cool as him and live a wild life like every day was his last day on Earth. “Y/n, truth or dare?”

“Dare, fuck it. Be nice.” Her heart raced, the words falling out before she could think.

“I dare you to sit on Quinn’s lap for the rest of the game.” 

Quinn’s muscles tensed, cheeks flushing when Jack sat up. He uncrossed his legs and let her manoeuvre herself onto his thigh, curling up comfortably. Without much thought, his arms winded around her waist, holding her close. Even though he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, a small part of him sobered up enough to appreciate the buzz of openly holding her.

“Cole, truth or dare?” she watched Cole perk up, his eyes absent like he’d just woken up. 

“Show us a pic from your ‘my eyes only’ on Snap.”

“Favourite porn category?”

“Who was the better kisser, Jess or Sarah?”

“Okay Quinner,” Brady’s turn circled back, rubbing his, nonexistent, beard as he spoke, “Who do you currently have a crush on?”

Quinn’s stomach dropped. If he didn’t like Brady so much, he would’ve taken the question as a betrayal. When he told Brady about his and y/n’s bedtime kiss, it was out of confidence, with his full chest, at his most vulnerable. Never did he expect him to reference it in public, in front of her and his brother’s friends. He then realised that Matthew also, most likely, knew. 

“Gone shy?” the youngest Tkachuk smirked, the other boys suddenly sparking back to life and leaning in.

“No, just never thought you’d be into gossip,” he mumbled, giving the blond a cold glare. If his situation couldn’t have gotten any worse, y/n shifted dangerously close to his crotch and all he could do was keep her encased into him and pray his shorts wouldn’t betray him like his best friend had. 

“If you’re into gossip now, what about you? Tell us which girl at your school has your eye, describe her, what’s she like?” y/n blurted. It was like she read Quinn’s mind. Or the stress in his face. 

Cole, Trevor and Jack’s heads whipped between the three bicker, smiles dopey and rubbing their hands together.

“Deflecting? Didn’t think you’d get so defensive-”

“-Not getting defensive, I have nothing to defend, but if Quinn doesn’t wanna answer, he doesn’t have to.” 

It was a relief that it was just bickering and not a deep argument, God help them all if y/n and Brady ever fell out properly, his ability to chirp and her intelligent stubbornness would not be a tornado to interrupt. But her protectiveness squeezed his heart, making the situation he was always in dreadful. 

“Oh really?” Brady laughed, “What about you since you have nothing to defend? Who juices your lemons? Or is Quinner gonna grow a pair and admi-”

What an uncomfortable phrase to start with, and if she took too long to answer he’d just taunt her more. She wanted him to drop the subject overall, it didn’t matter, but humbling him would, at least, cheer Quinn up slightly, even if what she was about to say required a conversation afterwards.

“-Matthew Tkachuk.” The name shot out like a bullet through Brady. His jaw dropped and a smirk wiped off his face. He knew his brother was popular, but never had he met someone his age admit it to his face. He sat back, speechless. Her heart thundered, Quinn could feel it, see the panic in her eyes while Brady saw a threat. Jack, Trevor and Cole sat like deers in headlights in the silence which engulfed the room. Quinn’s grip around her waist tightened, his brows creasing but Brady watched the light in his eyes sink and his hold on her become desperate like she would slip away if he let go. 

The thick atmosphere collapsed when Jack shot up and bolted for the bathroom, Cole hot on his tail, “I think I’m gonna puke.” 

Quinn’s limbs sank deep into the sofa cushions, but his eyes stared at the plant next to the TV.  Jack’s stomach giving up surprisingly saved their friendships and shortly they’d decided it was time to call it a day, himself, y/n and Trevor taking the sofa, Jack crashing closest to the bathroom and Brady and Cole sprawled out on the floor. Even after the drunken result of a stupid truth game, y/n’s back was still pressed against his chest. Not Matthew’s. His arm was around her middle, his face was in her hair, and he was the one cuddling her. No one else, but the thoughts still spiralled. If she did like Matthew and not him, could he be that angry? Matthew was older, taller, better looking (Brady had mentioned how Tkachuk’s had ‘dashing good looks’ so what could he expect) and far more experience. Had she even met Matthew? When? Was she seeing him secretly? What if she was trying all these new experiences with him just to impress Matthew, getting in practice so, when she was to kiss him she wouldn’t embarrass herself, cuddling him so she knew what to do? The possibility that she was as affectionate with a guy other than himself made him sick to his stomach, it was like Leo all over again but worse. They were older now, progressed more and feelings devoured instead of nibbled, whirlpools instead of ripples. There were plenty of other boys besides himself, and maybe having a guy best friend became convenient for her. 

With a tear slithering down his cheek, he buried his face into her shoulder and planted a sweet, but sad, chaste kiss on her jaw, fighting off the urge to sob until he fell asleep. 

Seventeen was a big age for prime-time adolescents, not quite an adult but not a little kid anymore. Risk and rebellion went hand in hand and doing everything you were told not to do was in fashion, so when you went to college you didn’t look like a complete bore. It also meant relationships started getting serious, people considering college and the survival rate of long distance, who had broken up and who was still together. 

After last summer, Quinn and y/n breathed Toronto air and they fell back into place, as if the Vodka Incident, as they called it, had never happened. Quinn had all her attention again and spent the autumn and winter doing his best to keep it that way. It didn’t take a lot, she loved everything they did together, her new favourite memory being when Quinn took her to her first Maple Leafs game once he’d passed his driver’s license. He also kissed her in the car afterwards, slow with his hand on her thigh, thumb rubbing the denim on her jeans. When they got back to her house, he had her pushed down into her bed, lips smothering her neck in timid, wet kisses while her cold hands snuck under his shirt, sending chills up his spine in the most pleasurable sense. He hadn’t thought about what he was doing, but his secure grip on her hips had her writhing beneath him when he’d found her sweet spot on her neck, experimenting with a nip to the flesh and almost cumming his boxers at the mewl that slipped past her lips. Their hips rolled and ground into each other with hands tugging on shirts, exposed collarbones and sloppy kisses to sensitive spots. They hadn’t even properly made out yet and there they were, exploring each other like territory and right before any clothes could be removed, Ellen rang him. It was an evening neither would forget.

*

“I’m tellin’ you, dude, they are not ‘just friends’, look at ‘em.” Trevor gestured in front of him, raising his voice over the music. 

“Trev, I’ve known them my whole life, they’ve always been like this.” Jack groaned, taking a sip from his Coke. 

Under the strings of fairy lights hung over the audience and the weather warm and clear, Quinn twirled y/n, hugging her from behind as they sang the lyrics to the country song coming from the stage. When Luke saw the ad in the supermarket one afternoon, he practically begged his parents to take them all, and being unable to say ‘no’ to their youngest child, they agreed. 

Luke and Cole had a blast, trying every food stall they saw, rocking the cowboy hats and singing their hearts out. It was safe to say that Luke still had a lot of personality, and Cole revealed his love for karaoke. Y/n hadn’t been to many concerts before, the overwhelming crowds caging and the fear that she’d get split up was astronomical. As they’d made their way around, wrangling up Luke and Cole, hurling Trevor and Jack away from groups of girls way older than them, she had her arm looped around Quinn’s. Ellen ran around as their paparazzi, no doubt planning to print all the photos off and stick them in an album. 

“Are you hearing yourself, Jizzy?” Trevor deadpanned, as much as the god-awful nickname amused him, Jack’s slow-functioning brain at the moment matched the stupidity of it. 

Quinn’s arms around her waist, chin resting on her head and they swayed to the tune of the song, bright smiles and oblivion to the world around them. It was just them, imagining the lyrics were for and about them, speaking to each other so they didn’t have to muster up the courage themselves. 

“Yeah. Look, man, think whatever you want, the Tkachuks get here next week, and if I remember correctly, Matthew was a pretty hot topic last summer.” Jack couldn’t lie, he didn’t remember a lot from the Vodka Incident. He only remembered Brady’s brutal truths, y/n admitting Matthew was hot and waking up with a sore head with the taste of vomit and vodka in his mouth. He also remembered watching the tears fall on his brother’s cheek. 

*

She didn’t want to believe that she was the person looking back at her in the mirror. She pulled at the straps and readjusted the ties and bikini bottoms, to see if they would flatter her better in a new position. She spun slightly, viewing the back and chewed her cheek. Did her ass look good? The top wasn’t too slutty…was it? Too much cleavage? Not enough? Why was trying to feel hot such hard work? She threw her head back and sighed, circling her thoughts back to last summer.

I think you’re beautiful just as you are.

Shaking her shoulders, she slipped her tank top and shorts on, grabbed her towel and left out the porch doors. 

Beads of sweat rolled down the back of Quinn’s neck. He didn’t need to look behind him to know Jack had invited neighbouring girls onto the boat, he could hear them giggling. He zoned out, staring at next door’s deck deaf to the world around him. Was shaving the right choice that morning? What if y/n liked his growing, patchy beard? But what if she preferred clean-shaven? He watched the girls in the windshield’s reflection squeeze the boy’s biceps, complimenting their abs. They adored Luke’s cute face and charming smile. It sucked being thirteen and enchanted. Quinn kept his shirt on, he wasn’t built like the others, and his confidence surely didn’t need dismantling. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, lips pursing until he caught y/n running out the corner of his eyes, his lips perking into a smile as she sat in her seat next to him.

“Who are they?” she whispered, leaning over, his New York Yankees hat perched on her head. He only shrugged, starting the engine and pulling away from the docks. “Well, I guess it means we get peace, at least.”

So much for peace.

Mila, the brunette in the pink bikini, saw exactly what y/n saw. The way Quinn’s hand held the wheel, casually yet so controlled, imagining them grabbing and moulding her like putty. The veins that popped on his arms, perhaps even his thighs, but y/n refused to believe that anyone else was looking at his thighs the way she did; unapologetically hungrily. She leaned against the back of his seat, pushing her breasts up as much as she could into the top of his shoulders, taking a longer strand of his hair and curling it around her finger. 

“It’s so cool how you can drive this thing without an adult, when did you get your licence?” she asked. Quinn kept his eyes on the waters, lips falling into a deep frown.

“Fourteen, y/n also has one.” 

“Oh,” she tilted her head, “cute. So, do you live here or is this a one-time thing?”

Y/n squinted. She knew she shouldn’t have let it get under her skin. She knew she couldn’t control everything but was seething would be an understatement. Some random chick, putting her tits up against Quinn, touching him the way she does. If she could just trip and accidentally knock her overboard she would. 

“Live here in the summer.” His tone was flat, not anywhere near interested and his t-shirt clung to his back. A smile spread across Mila’s cheeks, she and her friends were only at the lake for the week and proudly admitted they were on the prowl for some fun. She arched her back, popping her ass out, hoping he could feel her skin on the back of his neck. Y/n huffed, letting her demons get the better of her and she tugged her tank top over her head and wiggled out the denim shorts. This summer the board shorts stayed at the house. 

He choked when he saw. His first time seeing her in almost nothing. He was used to tank tops hugging her tits and little shorts, but seeing so much bare skin now changed a lot. The benchmark was removing her shirt, and now he got the full thing, in front of his face, within his reach and confidently like she wanted his attention and his only. She’d spent years worrying about what others thought about her, and with a little threat, the only thing she now cared about was making Quinn fumble over his words and remind him whom he pinned against her bed before summer. 

“Mila, you look a little squished there,” y/n stood up, “take my seat, Jack doesn’t bite, promise.”

“But then where will you sit?” 

Y/n stepped over to Quinn and gave him a wink. He leant back, heart exploding when she sat on his lap, bare skins touching for the first time and the pit of his stomach surging hot, the fireworks re-lighting and tingling over his skin and to his muscles, lips immediately spreading into a grin. He tucked his arm around her waist, settling his hand on her hip, fingers hooking the waistband in the leg hole of her bikini bottoms. Mila’s eyes scanned her, receiving her message clearly before plonking herself next to Jack, who happily gave her the attention she wanted. Y/n wrapped her arm around his neck.

“No shorts?” he murmured into her ear, voice low and rumbly.

“Remembered what you said a year ago, and I think you’re also beautiful just the way you are.” She toyed with the collar of his t-shirt.

“You should sit here more often.”

“Maybe I will, Captain Q.”

They giggled quietly, foreheads touching lightly and he kissed her hairline playfully while the backseat passengers caused havoc with the wakeboard, begging Quinn to let them show off their ‘skills’.  

In four days the Tkachuks would arrive. That’s what kept Quinn up at night. He had four days to muster up his courage before she’d slip through his fingers to the better man.

*

They watched the ball fly far, Jim standing proud with his arms folded in a wide stance, as dads do. Trevor high-fived Cole, throwing up an ‘L’ shape with his fingers at Jack. The middle Hughes puffed his chest out, placed his ball on the tee and positioned himself, re-gripping the club. He drew back and swung, watching his golf ball fly out into the distance. Y/n watched from the side, recording their turns for them like they’d asked, a smile on her face. Jim took them to the driving range after Jack complained that video games were becoming boring, and neither Trevor nor Cole had been to one before, and when four boys were bursting with energy, how could Jim say turn down such an opportunity? 

Y/n hadn’t played properly before either. Quinn had only taken her to crazy golf, and that was as far as her experience went. None of this correct positioning and firm swings. Though it was comforting watching Cole and Trevor not have a clue either, Trevor was a fast and eager learner, and Cole was just bad but there for a good time.

“I can show you how to do it if you want.” Quinn stood next to her, leaning down slightly with a low voice. When did he get so tall? She tilted her head up, the club in his hand sent her back to her childhood, the exact day she sat on the step with Quinn holding a hockey stick out to her. “It's your summer too.” 

She nodded and Quinn hooked his little finger with hers, leading her to the grass and placed a ball on the tee. She copied Jack’s stance, letting Quinn stand behind her, chest to her back as his arms engulfed her, hands over hers on the club.

“Draw back like this,” his breath hot on her neck as he drove the club back, “and then you swing. Just like we do. Yeah?” 

Her stomach fluttered, concentration droning in more on his voice vibrating through his chest. She nodded, licking her lips and the caged animal inside her chewing at its bars.

“Good girl.” He stepped back, letting her go. With his eyes glued to her figure, he watched her body take a breath, drawing back and taking a decent swing. For a first go, it wasn't a bad swing, not perfect but good enough that Trevor groaned about how unfair it was (he missed the ball the first time). 

“This is literally the first day we met all over again,” Luke said to his dad, who raised his eyebrows, more shocked that he remembered that day since he couldn't even remember his birthday half the year. 

The group next to them left, but the gap was soon replaced by a new one, a louder one consisting of late teens. One of them didn't stop walking, the blond one with curls and a mullet, and pretty eyes on par with Jack's. 

“Quinner! Jim! Fancy seeing you here.” Matthew Tkachuk, Brady's suave, crazy older brother and his posse who stood just as awkward as the Hughes and co.

Y/n shuffled to stand with Quinn, pressing into his side ever so gently. He placed his hand on the small of her back, smile fading into a frown while his dad chatted and brothers and friends continued their practice.

“Is that Matthew?” Quinn couldn't begin to describe the electricity that flowed through his veins upon hearing that she didn’t know who he was. However while part of him jumped with joy, the other part spiralled further and pressure added to his shoulders. There was absolutely nothing to stop Matthew, or his cooler, older friends from snatching her, and him, weak, little Quinn, trying to keep her in his rip was laughable. If it wasn’t Matthew (unknowingly) getting daggers, it was his friend in the back. The athletic one eyeing y/n shamelessly, nudging the blond in a cap next to him. 

“Anyway, nice bumping into you. See you fellas, Quinner,” He shot her a wink, “y/n.” 

Her face flushed warm, and she gave him a flirty wave before they disappeared into the office. Jim ushered his boys and friends out, Quinn remaining silent when he drove himself and y/n to the house, not even her hand on his thigh could cut through the thick atmosphere. 

The rest of that afternoon Quinn shut himself in his room, undisturbed. His family huddled around the campfire, making s'mores and the boys sharing their day with Ellen. Y/n prodded at the fire, adding more wood and sat back in her chair, glancing up at Quinn’s bedroom window. The light was out, blind and curtains drawn, fiddling with the drawstrings of her shorts. She didn't feel like eating any more s’mores, she lost her appetite with the empty seat next to her and overbearing twisting in her gut. The Tkachuk’s voices echoed from houses away, and she never thought she’d dread hearing their laughter until then. 

She didn't knock on Quinn’s door. She just let herself in, joining him in the sheets and laying on her back. His breathing was heavy, he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back.

“What’s up? You haven't said anything since we left the driving range.” She mumbled.

“Nothing.” Her head turned to look at him, unimpressed. Feeling the shift, he peered over his shoulder before rolling his eyes, “Didn't like how he looked at you.” 

He faced her, scowl softening, noses painfully close. His eyes fell to her lips, hand cupping her jaw and glazing his thumb over her soft skin. The twisting in her gut dissolved into heat pooling in her stomach, desire rising with every stroke of his thumb. 

“And how did he look at me, Q?” She rolled onto her side, rubbing her foot along his leg.

His breath shuddered, and his voice dropped to a rasp, “Like he wanted to devour you.” 

Shimmying closer, her hand pushed against his shoulder to lay flat on his back again. His hand never left her jaw, their lips closed in, ghosting each other as she propped herself up on her elbow. Getting jealous over a look, the way Quinn himself looked at her when she pranced around in her bikinis, hooded eyes and a lazy smile. 

“So, the way you look at me, Quinn?” Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” His voice above a whisper, laced with nothing but provocation for someone to do something, for he couldn't take the aching in his cock forever. “I won't do anything you don't want me to…what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to devour me.” She whispered into his mouth, his lips hitting hers with force, pulling her body on top of his and another hand, slipping up her shirt and exploring the curve of her spine. A low moan emitted from her throat, his tongue running along her bottom lip and impatiently tasting the sweet melted marshmallows from the s'mores when she granted him access. It was embarrassing how lost she was; taking a backseat wasn’t in her system, but something about Quinn's tongue dominating and lapping at hers just made her seams burst and soak her panties then and there. It didn't matter how he knew what to do, or if he was just going with his instincts, the way his hands kneaded her flesh like dough drew whimpers from her throat and with a carnal desire racking her bones, she rolled her hips into his, paying extra attention to his cock stiffening in his shorts as it bumped her cunt.

“Don't stop,” he groaned, hands gripping the globes of her ass, “feels s'good.” 

He kissed her again, bucking his hips up into her. Her hands slid to the hem of his shirt, tugging the bottom up. Quinn hesitated but sat up, keeping her settled on his lap but hastily pulling the clothing over his head. It was like all the insecurity of not being hot enough washed away with the way she was dry humping, aching for his dick, finally alone for them to misbehave. 

She smoothed her hands over his chest, solid and defined, her fingers tracing over his collarbones and stomach as if he were a sculpture in a museum. Sure she'd seen him shirtless on the boat, but this was different. This was for her eyes only, she was allowed to touch and feel his skin and muscles contract and relax as she savoured every last drop of him. 

“Wow…” She muttered, the pad of her fingers joining his moles with an invisible line like a constellation.

“Don't say that, I'm not like Jack…or Trevor.” His gaze couldn’t meet hers. He didn't have a six-pack, a tiny waist or any sort of boyish charm to him. “Nothin’ special.”

She gripped his cheeks between her fingers, forcing him to stare into her eyes, “And yet here you are, in bed, with a girl who wants you to do disgusting things to her. You're special to me, shouldn't that be all that matters?”

Y/n let his face go, pulling her shirt over her head and discarding it somewhere across the room. She ran her hands down her chest, his eyes following as they travelled over her curves and to his hands. Taking them, she cupped his palms over her breasts.

“Take it off, Q,” She batted her eyelashes at him, his cheeks flushing, “I want you to touch me. What do you want?”

He slid his hands to her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra and watching with an intense and desperate stare as the underwear fell from her arms, tits bare and in his face and the clothing launched into the dark. They felt so soft in his palms, squishy and so soft. He rolled her nipples with his thumbs, watching her eyes shut and mouth part through his eyelashes. He couldn't wait to feel them against his chest finally. 

“I wanna be the first guy to know how you feel around his cock, how you taste. I wanna be the guy you see when you're all alone, fucking yourself. I wanna hear you scream my name.” He pulled her in again, kissing her rough and messy, his hands leaving no place on her skin untouched and groping at her tits until he had her whimpering for more. With a groan rumbling from his throat, he flipped them over, hovering over her face of lust. Her pussy throbbed, and when his fingers pulled the bow on her shorts loose, she swore she would have cum right there.

“Can I?

“Yes, please.”

“Please what? I need words, pretty girl.” A flash of confidence washed over him, and he wasn't sure where it came from but his best guess was his core.

“Please fuck me, Quinn,” She gasped, rubbing her thighs together, “Please be the first to fuck me. I need you.” 

Diving into the column of her neck, he trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her collarbones and the valley of her breasts, taking one into his mouth and rolling his tongue over the nub. His other hand groped and squeezed, pinching between his fingers while she mewled like a song to his ears. 

Releasing her with a ‘pop’, his kisses graced her hot flesh down her stomach and finished just above the waistband of her shorts. He gazed through his lashes, and sat on his heels, wiggling the shorts down and off her legs. He couldn't help but stare, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” his voice airy and in awe, tugging his shorts off and tossing them aside. “All mine.

“All yours,” she repeated, propping herself up on her elbows. “Have you ever fingered a girl?”

He shook his head, hooking his fingers around her panties and pulling them off, taking in the privilege of being the only one to see such a pretty sight before him.

“Only seen it in porn, the basics.” He positioned his fingers, middle and ring, just to prove it. She smiled, taking his wrist and guiding him to her folds, gliding his fingers between them until he got the hang of it. 

“That's it, now rub my clit, firm but gentle.” He followed, taking her advice and circling her clit, peering up at her for reassurance. He got it, he knew he was doing it right when she collapsed back into his mattress, whimpering. Moving to hover over her, fingers gliding through her slick to the correct hole (he only knew from various conversations about the anatomy of a vagina she'd given, so he wouldn't look all that bad) and sliding one finger into her.

“You're so fucking wet,” He smirked. A quick learner, indeed and much too indulged in her spongy walls as he pumped his finger, “Princess, do I do this to you?”

“Yeah,” She moaned. His fingers felt so much better, more filling. “More, please.”

He added a second finger, drawing them in and out, curling, and he knew he was doing it right; she was writhing and whimpering beneath him, one hand fisting his sheets and the other locked on his bicep. His thumb nudged her clit on accident, but the way she arched and moaned had him circling it. She couldn't formulate a coherent sentence with the way he thrust his fingers into her, moving faster as she’d cried. Quinn still couldn't believe the position he was in. His naked best friend, underneath his almost naked body, with his fingers inside her pussy, hoping to make her cum and lose his virginity. All while his family sat outside without a clue. 

“Shit, like that-” she bucked her hips to match his pace, “So good, just like I dreamt, Quinn.”

“Oh yeah? You dream about…me?” He grumbled, his voice low.

“Yes!”

The knot inside her stomach tightened, her cunt clenching and swallowing his fingers like they were made for him. It had her wondering what else Quinn could do to her, how else he could make her cum, because the way his fingers curled as if he was summoning her climax was dizzying. Who knew that out of everyone, it would be Quinn making her squirm, Quinn's name slipping from her lips as his fingers stroked her walls and had her begging for more, Quinn causing her eyes to become half-lidded with a lazy and coquettish smile, plaguing her thoughts with dirty desires on how many other ways she could clench around him. 

“Gonna cum, Quinn,” She panted, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Anything you want, princess. Anything.” He pumped faster, her core relaxing and his fingers blessed with warmth leaking from her. He pulled his fingers out slowly, eyes locking with hers as he placed them on his tongue, tasting her flavour.

“You taste amazing,” He licked his fingers clean, a small spark of hope for the future inside him. “How was it? You okay?”

“I’m great,” She giggled, catching her breath, “With more practice, you’ll be a pro.”

He kissed her, y/n's tasting herself on his tongue, her hands in his hair, tugging at the curls on the nape of his neck. Something inside him screamed to stop before he became addicted, he needed her. He needed her in high dosages all the time, to feel her, to taste her, to have his tongue lap and suck hers and let their saliva intertwine like their bodies. He wanted to mark her up and call her a work of art. 

He pulled his boxers off and left kisses over her collarbones.

“Do you have a condom?” He did, actually. Only two that Brady had slipped him the day he told him about the first time they kissed. Quinn leant over and rummaged around his nightstand, y/n running her hands over his body, specifically grasping at his hips. Something about men's hips was so…sexy. She couldn't explain it and didn't need to because Quinn kneeled over her, erect cock on display and y/n, without thinking, gently took it into her palm. His hands trembled when she gave him a couple of strokes, in awe at what she was seeing. 

“You're so pretty, Q,” She kissed his tip, “all mine.” 

“Yeah,” He rolled the condom on, “all yours, baby.” 

Hand latching on the back of his neck, she pulled him on top of her, giving him time to line himself up cautiously before pushing himself in. Her jaw dropped wide, a gasp leaving her body and his head snapped to her.

“Shit, I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, it's just…new, keep going.”

He slid in until bottoming out completely, her head tilting back as her walls adjusted to his size. She had no judgment, but he felt good and maybe, just maybe he'd grow to feel amazing. There was only one way to find out. 

“Fuck, you feel like heaven.” He fell to his elbows, face hiding in her shoulder.

“Move, Q, please move,” She whimpered, “feels good!”

Quinn rocked his hips in a languid motion, back and forth, back and forth, his lovesick euphoria fuelling his stamina. With her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and whined in his ear, all he wanted to do was keep driving into her just to hear her ecstasy flourish. To feel her pulling him into an embrace of wet dopamine walls. Hooked on the feeling, he thrusted faster, groaning at the way she whimpered every time he pushed back in and his body surged with heat when her tits bounced against his chest. That was it. Just their bodies together. Together doing what nobody they knew had done before. Fucked their best friend, their person. Her Quinn and his y/n. In his bed, at the lake house, his cock plunging into her cunt with a luscious desperation serving the two teens a paradise of stimulation.

“Fuck!” He groaned, planting kisses on her jaw and her lips, “Say my name, pretty girl.” 

“Quinn,” if she could scream his name she would have, but hearing the low moan in his ear was enough for his hips to pound faster, “gonna cum, Quinn.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips, cock reaching deeper and the shockwaves of the angle feeding into his excitement. She was latching onto him like he was her lifeline, moans and grunts blending like a chorus the harder and more his hips rutted into her pussy with crude greed. No, it wasn't perfect, it was sloppy and beginner, as expected. But for the first time, y/n's cunt swallowed every inch of Quinn possible. Skins slapping and his cock hitting her cervix as she'd dreamed of, his voice in her ears, eyes steady on hers with a primal yet loving gaze as they worked through it together, tits bouncing with every rut and smiles bright with adoration at the reality.

“Cum with me,” he took her lips into his, tongues finding their rhythm as his thrusts lost theirs. “Taking me so well, princess.”

The pool of heat in her core was scorching, her seams of lust on the brink of bursting, Quinn's last few drags of his cock hitting the sweet spot right and a carnal, airy moan rang through his ears, her legs almost shaking. He took her through her orgasm, sticky cum filling the condom, his energy depleting, his hair sticking to his forehead but a fire still burning through his body. He wished he could have seen the display, seen the way she coated his cock creamy. 

He collapsed onto her, not pulling out just yet, he'd do that when his energy regenerated. For now, he lay chest to chest with his head tucked in the crook of her neck, her fingers running over his back muscles delicately as they caught their breaths. She could have stayed like that forever, his voice chanting shameless grunts and sweet nothings like a mantra replaying through her head, refusing to forget the image of him over her body in the most despicable way. What else could they do now? What more? She couldn't resist the temptation of thinking about his kinks, what got him going? What did she do that riled him up? Did he know that his arms were delectable? That she loved when his shirts got tight around his chest? 

“Did I hurt you?” His voice broke the silence.

“It hurt at first slightly but it's okay. You didn’t hurt me.” She smiled, one hand moving to stroke the back of his hair. “Are you good?”

She felt his grin against her neck, “I feel fucking amazing. You feel fucking incredible. You look so pretty, y/n. Always.” 

He was babbling, the comedown still holding onto him. While she did believe every word he said, was it in the moment or forever? She couldn't tell. She wouldn't know. But what she did know was that she didn't regret a single second, and wouldn't change it for the world. And that having him nestled inside her was comfortable, in the most filthy way. 

Quinn pushed himself onto his elbows, giving her a chaste kiss on her lips, “As much as I love this, I gotta clean us up and put clothes on before someone ruins it.” 

*

No one did ruin it. No one even questioned why they were in the same room, y/n waking up to his lips on her neck, leaving butterfly kisses until she'd grab him by the cheeks and kiss his face all over. That was the perk of sneaking into bedrooms for so long, people expected to see her emerge with Quinn, frothy toothbrushes hanging out of mouths and wearing a t-shirt that definitely wasn't hers (and he loved that). Back when they were fifteen, Jim had scolded Quinn for falling asleep with her, even if they did nothing. He received the uncomfortable teen pregnancy lecture that ruined the moment. It was the moment he realised that he would give anything to wake up next to her all the time, her face to be the first thing he saw and to start his day tangled up with her. Ellen wasn't as harsh on him, she knew her eldest wasn't irresponsible like that. Y/n hadn’t received a lecture at all. Her mother asked brutal questions on what they were up to, but her father just said ‘As long as you're not preggers’. He knew his daughter wasn't a fan of children so why would she be irresponsible? But now at seventeen, they’d really done it. And no one would know about it. And the sacrifices they'd make just to wake up next to each other every day. She'd love to see him in his disoriented, brooding state when she woke up, and if you asked Quinn or his family, she'd be the only one brave enough. 

With a dopey grin, Quinn's arms caged y/n into the kitchen counter, pressing himself into her, lips attached to her neck. Since that night, the urge for action became unbearable. The next week was pure sneaking around, making out in empty rooms, subtle touches under tables, hands travelling up clothes indecently far and bedtime shenanigans kept at a low volume. Like now, in the empty kitchen, rolling hips into each other and lips connecting and reconnecting with needy tongues tasting whatever their last drink was. What originally started as grabbing plates and fruit for the neighbourhood barbecue quickly melded into hips being shoved into the counter and being kissed breathless. 

“We can't do this here.” She lightly pushed him off her mouth, hands placing themselves on his pectorals, flat and copping a feel. His hands fell to the small of her back, eyes shifting to the blue bikini top he knew she'd worn just for him.

“Then let's go somewhere we can, pretty girl.” He said playfully, pulling her back to him. 

“Q, the barbecue. The Tkachuks will be here soon and Jim wants you to grill, he won't let Trevor near it again.” She slipped from his hold, taking the bowl of fruits off the counter and leaving through the porch doors, swaying her hips. He clicked his tongue. Matthew and Co would be there soon, but at least she hadn’t swept him under the rug.

When the Tkachuks did arrive, it was more like the Tkachuks and friends as Matthew’s posse also turned up. Not that anyone made a fuss, the Hughes were all for parties, especially ones that brought their kids together. 

One of the girls from Matthew's group, Layla, joined y/n at the garden table, which was arranged beautifully with snacks and plates. Y/n had barely heard the girl approach her until she saw her hand move the bowl of pretzels out of the way for the fruit bowl, and when she looked up she just blinked. Layla was gorgeous, with large, cat-like eyes lined with mascara and pin-straight blonde hair thrown into a bun. 

“Must be rough being in a house of guys all summer, eh?” She smiled softly. 

“Sometimes, s'not always bad. We have fun but the snoring is awful.” Y/n returned the smile, fiddling with her fingers. 

Layla held her arm out, “Come, have some girl time today. Boys are exhausting.” 

She wasn't sure if it was because she agreed with Layla, or if it was because an older and much cooler girl was inviting her willingly to hang out with her, but she looped her arm with Layla’s and was led to Matthew’s group. They were spread out on the outdoor sofa, drinks perched on the table and in their hands, laughing obnoxiously at assumably an inside joke. Y/n skin crawled a little, only a small smile across her lips as the nerves swarmed like a storm. Layla led her to the sofa, and she sat between her and the athletic guy from the driving range. He now wore a backwards cap and plain t-shirt. Nothing special but his name was Colton, going by the name tag that stuck out the collar of his shirt. Although in new territory, the other two girls wearing bikini tops and shorts brought a small dose of solidarity and comfort. At least she didn't stick out like a sore thumb. 

“Y/n! Glad you could join us!” Matthew's proud voice called from the other end of the L-shaped sofa. Her smile widened. Brady was right, Tkachuks did have dashing good looks but up close, Matthew was pretty. Very pretty, too pretty. “Colt, Zack, Ashley, this is y/n, y/n, Colt, Zack and Ashley.” He pointed to each of them.

Matthew was Matthew, pack leader and had a determined glint in his eye. Zack seemed too laid back for his own good, his blond hair still hidden under his cap, Ashley just waved quietly, knees tucked to her chest and Colton? Colton had the same brooding look as Quinn, but his eyes wandered a lot. And his facial hair was patchy. 

“Yo, you’re Quinn's girl, right? From the range?” Colton’s grin wasn't as charming as he thought it was, but his voice was. Gravelly, nice on the ears, not too loud but not mumbled. 

“I mean, kinda but we’re not together-” y/n began, nails scratching her collarbone.

“-nice, thought I recognised you.” 

“You guys will love y/n, Brady talks about her all the time. Did you know they almost fought?” Matthew mused like an excited puppy, even though the fight he was referencing was barely a fight at all. His friends raised their eyebrows, surprised that someone other than Matthew had raised their voice at a Tkachuk. 

“Matt, it was over vodka, it was barely a fight. He’s such a dramatic ass.” Not entirely true, again but rather that than the truth of what it was really about and how it ended. 

Matthew raised his hands in defeat, and Zack laughed. “Surprised Quinn even joined in. Usually, he’s the one huffing off.” 

She rolled her eyes, “He’s alright, fuck off. And it wasn't his first time either, he handled it a lot better than Brady.”

Quinn and Brady stood at the grill, flipping the burgers; Brady in his usual playful manner but Quinn with aggravation, like he wanted to hurt the burgers, charcoal them. They stood in silence, watching y/n with the older Tkachuk and his friends treat y/n like royalty across the garden. Quinn's grip on the tongs so tight his knuckles turned white, his glare sharp as she giggled. Her laugh echoed out through the garden, her real laugh that came from her stomach, the laugh he only heard when it was just the two of them. He flipped the burgers, his brows knitted and lips in a stone-cold frown. How she got so comfortable so soon was beyond his brain, but then again, perhaps the presence of other girls made it better, did she find being cooped up with guys awkward? 

“Quinner, you're staring. It's creepy.” Brady said.

“Am not staring, looking out for her.” He flipped the sausages.

Brady glanced over at his brother, with an almost worried look on his face. Y/n seemed…happy. She was chatting with the girls, poking fun at the boys but she was fitting into their summer nicely. Quinn looked over once again, his skin becoming hot and jaw clenching.

“I know what you're thinking. Matthew wouldn’t do something stupid like that. He may be an asshole sometimes but he's got morals. Besides, he's got the NHL, he wouldn't do something that could ruin that for him.” 

“Sorry…I just,” Quinn sighed, “I'm not used to not having her attention. We've spent almost all of our time together, and it's just…weird. Wanted our little group to hang out and shit. I dunno what's wrong with me dude. I hate when she looks at them like they're the best thing ever. I hate when someone else's name comes out of her mouth, I can't stand the thought of seeing her with someone else.”

“Then why not ask her out already? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like jealousy to me, Quinner.” 

“Why would I be jealous of them? It's complicated.” Quinn grumbled. Truth be told, he didn’t know how she felt. If he got rejected, he'd have to see her every day and act like nothing ever happened. He wouldn't kiss her again, touch her again, hug her again or wake up with her again. He'd be on his own, pining over the girl who didn't want him.

“Whatever, bro. You miss all the shots you don't take. But don't worry about Matt, believe me.” Brady shrugged, and they both watched the group from afar.

“It's not Matthew I'm worried about anymore.” Quinn gritted his teeth and made a mental note that he wasn’t the violent sibling and that punching people wasn't the solution anymore. He watched Colton throw his arm around the back of the sofa behind y/n, leaning in close. And when he thought his worst fears couldn't get worse, they definitely did.

Y/n retracted her shoulders like a frightened tortoise. She really was stuck between Layla and Colton, getting up and suddenly scuttling away just caused a scene. There was only so much fake laughter she could take before it became a chore, Colton had zero humour to his looks, but boy could he sweet talk. Throwing his arm behind her, thumb rubbing over her shoulder while compliments spilt from his mouth and into her ego. Quinn called her pretty all the time, but having a boy other than him call her flowery names released a new batch of butterflies. 

Colton's lips in her ear, mumbling with his husky tone, “Blue's your colour, y/n, anyone ever tell you that?” 

She shook her head. Such a liar, she was such a shameless liar.

“I hardly believe that, like how I don’t believe you when you say you've only had one boyfriend. Pretty girls don't just have one.” His eyes relaxed and became half-lidded, but her tummy flipped and hands clasped together in her lap. He was right. Pretty girls don't have just one boyfriend. They have a guy who calls her pretty girl but she doesn't know if she's just the token female or something meaningful. 

“Only the one. Not a lot of guys think I'm pretty, Colton, not any relevant ones at least.” Her eyes darted to the girls, but they were too caught up in conversation, not even Matthew or Zack could catch her message.

“I think you're pretty.” Colton's finger hooked around the strap of her bikini top, running it up and down the string, “Am I relevant?” 

The attention ignited fires along her skin, jolts of electricity throughout her nerves. An older guy thought she was attractive, that was new. And exciting. But also wrong. And felt like a betrayal, cheating, even if she and Quinn weren't together. But the attention and thrill, guys her age never begged for her, never looked at her the way he did. Even Zack agreed with Colton, proven at the driving range. For the first time in her life, she felt desired, hot. If she could get Colton, who else could she get? 

Before she could make her move, Brady's voice bellowed, informing her that food was ready. Better luck next time.

It's called late-night shenanigans for a reason. And this time as soon as the adults had retreated to bed, Matthew and friends plus Hughes and friends had red solo cups lined in a triangular formation on the garden table, music softly playing in the background while the porchlight gave them enough visibility. Their favourite game, beer pong. With cups full to the brim with cheap beer. The teams split as anyone would have expected them to, and no one made a fuss. 

Team 1: Matthew, Quinn, Brady, Zack, Trevor, Cole Team 2: Colton, Layla, y/n, Ashley, Jack, Luke

Forty-five minutes into the game Team Two (Colton's Canines) were leading. Team One (Matthew’s Hotshots) weren't far behind but Cole and Brady had a terrible aim for hockey players. Y/n's aim was almost too good, but her best-kept secret was that it wasn't her first beer pong game. This was why she was one of the least drunk people standing (Jack and Trevor barely able to stand, Jack doing his best to keep the beer down) aside from Luke, who was only allowed one cup given he was thirteen. 

Brady stumbled to the table, ping pong ball loosely held in his fingers as he lined up his shot, his stance wide to stabilise himself as the world pulsed around him. He would've been alright if the cups contained just beer, but he was the first to discover that it was beer in some cups and vodka orange in others. How it went unnoticed was a mystery, but you're only young once. Brady made his shot, the ball bouncing once skimming the rim of the cup, and missing. Colton's Canines cheered, y/n laughed manically at him, throwing up her middle finger jokingly. Layla retrieved the ball, lining up her shot, releasing but also missing, the other team cheering in return. 

Jack and Trevor's turn rolled around. Colton's Canines with four cups left and Matthew's Hotshots with two. Trevor poked his tongue through his lips, eyes trying to concentrate on the cups in front of him. He hadn’t been this drunk since The Vodka Incident. 

He winked at the girls in front, “Watch this ladies, a kiss if I get it.” He threw too long and missed. 

“Nice one, Trev. That first kiss isn't coming any time soon.” Y/n jested, shaking her head. The other girls giggled.

“Hey, I’ve kissed girls!” 

“Mhm, first time I’m hearing about this, what about you Jack?” 

Jack nodded, “Sure, sure. Anyway, my turn!”

Jack cracked his knuckles, positioned himself and took the shot, the ball bouncing once and landing directly into the cup. The Canines cheered, y/n and Jack throwing their arms around each other and jumping in a circle. Layla and Ashley gave the middle Hughes pecks on his cheeks as he watched Trevor down the cup of beer. One cup to four cups.

Y/n stood opposite Quinn, a bright smile on her face and his lips couldn't resist returning it. They couldn't help it. He didn't think, nor did he hype himself up. If there was one thing Quinn had learnt, it was that Brady was right. You miss every shot you don't take. And so he threw the ball and watched it bounce into a cup with a smug grin, the Tkachuk brothers hooting and hollering. Yet, his eyes remained on hers, gently. She chugged the drink and wiped the remnants from her lips with the back of her hand. 

“When did you get so good at beer pong?” She laughed.

“I had a great teacher.” He shrugged, y/n acted shocked even though they'd been beer pong buddies at every party. When they were split this time, it pained them a little. Being pitted against each other was frankly like the end of the world, never in their lives did they enjoy being out of sync. 

Y/n held the ball between her fingers, closed one eye and lined her shot. Large hands inviting themselves on her hips, Colton's voice in her ears and his breath unpleasant on her neck. If she weren't the centre of attention she would have jolted away, but the win was so close and Quinn’s arms were not so far. The ball bounced into the Hotshots final cup, Matthew and Brady both throwing themselves dramatically into Quinn, Cole and Trevor falling to their knees in despair. But Quinn's eyes pricked tears as he stood still and a rock. The Canines jumped for joy in each other's arms, hugging and laughing. Except y/n. She never got the chance. Before she had any time to even step away from the table, Colton's mouth latched onto hers, her hands moving to his chest. Quinn wiggled his way out of the Tkachuks, mumbling something about breaking the seal. 

The bathroom door swung open and slammed behind Quinn. His hands gripped the basin as he did his best to choke back his tears. Why did it hurt? Y/n was supposed to run into his arms like she always did and they’d hug longer than friends would, until eternity. But no one would question that because they were long-time friends. They were friends. So why did it tear his heart to shreds when the lips he devoured earlier that day melted into the lips of another? What was so fucking great about Matthew? Or Colton? And why was he such a coward?

Y/n pushed Colton off her, startled and heart-yearning for comfort. But he was gone. 

“Quite a shot you have,” Colton smirked, “C'mon, princess, I can give you my address and we can see what other party tricks you got.” 

“Pass.” Gross. Only Quinn got to call her that, but he was nowhere to be seen after she knew he'd disappeared, like he always did when upset. 

“Sure? Because it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, think about it. You could be losing your virginity to someone who knows what they're doing-” he never finished his speech. Zack called him over, letting him know that they were heading out for the clubs and with that Colton was gone. As if y/n never existed. Little did he know, though, that his offer was pointless. Little did he know.

Even after agreeing that The Vodka Incident would not happen again, the usual suspects (even Quinn had returned, but with a face of thunder), mostly drunk, sat around the fire pit, with cups of leftover beer and vodka orange. Luke joined in this time, though Jack wouldn't let him drink any alcohol. A small sense of deja vu washed over, memories of the last fire pit night bringing a small smile to her lips as she sloshed the beer in her cup around. 

“I'm gonna be really real here, and you guys should too,” Brady pointed around the circle with his cup in hand, “I had my first kiss last year. Horrible.”

“Oh yeah? Explain.” Cole asked, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his drink.

“Neither of us knew what the fuck we were doing and we'd both just eaten tacos so yeah. Didn't taste nor feel great at all.” 

“Nasty. Bro, at least pop a mint beforehand. I kissed two girls a couple of years ago, it was okay. Nothin’ special, but we did crash teeth for one of them. That was awkward.” Jack chuckled, almost cringing at the memory. 

“Poor girl, the kiss probably meant something special to her, Rowdy.” Y/n absently pitched in, feeling Quinn's eyes on her, as if to say ‘What happens in my room, stays in my room.’ Was he ashamed of it? What was so bad about the kiss? Or kisses? 

“Of course, you'd say that,” Jack rolled his eyes, adjusting the backward hat on his head.

“What about you Trev? I know we joke about it but have you actually kissed anyone?” She sipped her drink.

“Doesn't matter. What about you, huh? Bet you haven't. Anyway, Cole hasn't either, or Luke. So I'm not the only loser.” Defensive Trevor was an amusing Trevor, he huffed his cheeks and flushed red. 

“I have. Fifteen. It was good, actually. One of the most memorable.” She crossed her leg over the other and leaned back in her chair, ignoring the shit-eating grin on Brady's face. Quinn said nothing, and nor did he want to say anything. He just sank further into his seat and finished his vodka orange, stuffing the cup into the chair's cup holder. “Brady, you ever made out with someone? You said that no one could resist a Tkachuk.”

“Ah, well- almost okay? Her dad turned up and we had to stop. Can't believe the guy, honestly.” The group laughed at his stammering, except Quinn, who'd probably heard the story a thousand times. “You think it's funny, y/n? What about you, huh?”

She leant forwards, hands gripping the armrests and the same shit-eating grin smeared on her lips, “Yeah, and it was hot. Would do it all over again.”

“Brady, you're forgetting Colton literally shoved his tongue in her mouth over an hour ago,” Trevor exclaimed, the musketeers giggling over the crackling of the flames.

Quinn's glare thickened, and Brady caught sight of it. Luke did too as he watched his brother abruptly stand up and head for the kitchen, his feet heavy on the porch steps. Her eyes softened and followed him, watching him slide the doors open with an aggravation alien for him. 

“I'll be right back.” She spoke over Jack.

Jogging in her flip flops up the stairs and into the kitchen, closing the door gently. Cautiously, she followed Quinn to the fridge, watching him yank a Fanta from the shelf and close the door harshly.

“Hey Q, are you okay?” She asked with a small voice, picking the skin on her thumb.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” He pulled the can's tab, the fizz echoing through the empty room. It was always ‘I'm good’, never ‘I'm fine’. She'd known him long enough to know something like that, like how he always removed himself when he was in a bad mood, scared to hurt someone's feelings. “Shouldn't you be with your new boyfriends?” 

He grumbled, barely looking her in the eye as he moved to leave out the porch doors, but she blocked his path, standing almost chest to chest with him, looking up. She hated that she found it attractive when he was mad, his voice always dropped. “No. We haven't talked properly all day.”

“So now you wanna talk?” He spun on his heel, slamming the can into the marble counter and pacing in the kitchen with one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. It wasn't the time for the conversation, but a monster inside him taunted him with the idea that they may never have another opportunity.

“Yes. So, what? And who are you-” She folded her arms, but he interrupted.

“-Oh don't play this game! I saw the way you were looking at Matthew, everyone saw. And Colton? You let him have a field day. How'd he taste? Like cheap beer and cigarettes? Or an adolescence of putting you before himself?” He snapped, staring as if waiting for an answer. She'd never seen or heard him yell like that. Fuck, Quinn had never properly yelled at her. Jack and Luke had relayed stories about what Quinn did to his teammates when they humiliated her, or what a pissed-off Quinn sounded like. But they were his brothers, he was supposed to get annoyed at them, he wasn't supposed to get annoyed with his best friend. He hadn’t even yelled at Trevor like that, and that was saying something. 

Putting you before himself. Her stomach emptied, just a pit of guilt spiralling yet her heartstrings yanked and toyed with. She couldn't bear to see him like that, his jealousy manipulated him in ways he had no idea could happen. She learned he was possessive, and she thought it was sweet. She liked it. But she wasn't his so why should she like it so much? There. She wasn't his. Not officially. Their attraction was obvious, lustful. But did he feel the same as her? Did his heart slow when tangled in each other's arms? Did he find her utterly intoxicating, wanting to kiss and fuck with love not just because they can and because it's easy to? Maybe her hints were too subtle, maybe she was too nice to Mila that one time. Maybe her glares in the hallways weren't threatening enough. Words left unsaid, they were convenient for each other, just like the kids at school said. Friends with benefits. Yeah, that's what they were. And it used to keep the peace.

She never answered his question, but it did eat at her. “Quinn, what the fuck? Look, I'm sorry I upset you, I really am, you know I am. You know I never want to hurt you but can you blame a girl for wanting to hang out with other girls? I had no idea where Layla was leading me, and I don't know what came over me. Just, having guys call you pretty does things, emotional things and it's different when you do it because we're friends. And I know you're pissed about beer pong, if I could have been with you I would have 'cause I did not ask nor want to be kissed like that,” She pleaded, watching his eyes gloss over as he sniffed. The last thing she wanted to do was make him cry. Then she remembered that all of whatever was going on between them was nothing but fun, and Quinn was the one who showed her that. “But why do you care so much about a fucking kiss? We're not even together.”

He turned away and sighed, face buried in his hands. He didn’t mean to shout. He didn't want to cry but the tears welled and rolled down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with his palms, heart pulsing in his ears and with the little energy he had left, he turned again to face her. 

“I care because I thought we were something, y/n. I thought this,” he gestured between them, voice trembling, “meant something real. Friends don't do the shit we do. I hated the way he touched you, you're supposed to be mine.” 

Her eyes watered, bottom lip quivering, hearing confession so raw. The confession of a confused and broken young man. They were only seventeen but the level of emotion in their argument made them sound like they were going through a horrendous break-up after a long-term relationship. “Am I? That didn't matter when you were shoving your tongue down Chloe's throat. I thought we were something too, Quinn.” 

The night she needed him the most, the night Leo dumped her, she found him in cahoots with some girl in their cohort. That was the moment she realised that perhaps she was just a placeholder. 

Quinn groaned in frustration, not at y/n, but at himself but there was no excuse left for him to make as he spat venom at her, “Like you, she took me by surprise. We were drunk. But didn't think you'd hold onto that since Matthew is soooo dreamy and tall and pretty, probably hoped it was him trying to rip your clothes off, hoped Colton would make him jealous. That's why you've been using me as practice, for someone better, huh?”

“Fuck you, Quintin!” she screamed, “the fuck are you talking about? Using you? Is that how little you think of me?” 

He pointed at her, firmly, “You and I both know it wasn't supposed to go this far!”

The silence that fell on them was thick and uncomfortable. Their gazes locked into each other as chests panted. Tears streamed from red, sore eyes as arms fell to their sides. Neither party felt victorious, deep down they really wished they hadn't said a word at all but the lake house makes emotions surge and disturb the serenity. It always had, with and without y/n, Cole and Trevor. He just wished he’d said something sooner, then he wouldn't have lost her like that. Once again, he was a coward and let her slip through his fingers. 

Y/n exhaled deeply, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, “Maybe. But part of me was glad it did,” her voice calmest as she stepped backwards and started heading out the patio doors, “Oh, and for what it's worth, I shoved him off. He didn't taste like hot chocolate and popcorn on a winter's evening. I’d choose that over anything.”  

And she left for the boys. Quinn's heart dropped and shattered, the tears falling like waterfalls and he didn't even want the drink anymore. He left it on the counter and shuffled upstairs. Hot chocolate and popcorn on a winter's evening. Their hockey game combo they share, just the two of them and they had been doing that since they'd met at ten years old. 

*

Y/n didn't sleep in Quinn's room after that. She didn't speak to him for the next passing week, occupying herself with Luke or Cole. She played video games with Luke, baked cookies with him, took him and Cole out on the boat (just to spite Quinn), and played pool in the basement. Quinn watched, unable to exit the proximity of them. He wasn't seething. He was deflated. Like a sad, wet, cat. Most of all, he was lonely. And he hated sleeping alone. 

Jack placed his plate next to the sink, watching Quinn's shoulders slump at yet another dish to clean. Sunday's were his day to clean dinner dishes, and usually, y/n helped him dry and put them away, but since he'd bitten her head off a week ago, he struggled alone. Jack hated seeing his brother dejected, it was the same hollow eyes that a lost hockey game caused. One where you tried so hard just to fuck it up. He grabbed the tea towel off the oven’s handle and started drying the dripping dishes from the draining board.

The middle Hughes. Rowdy with ambition in his blood, but also a brother. Jack took a plate, “Sooo, y/n's been spoiling Luke a lot this week. Why'd you get demoted?” 

Quinn glared from the corner of his eye. He knew Jack just wanted to lighten the mood, but he also knew he wasn't tuned in with comfort at his age. “I fucked up. Said something I shouldn't have said, an in-the-moment thing.”

“Like?” Jack placed a plate down, taking another like a system in a machine, Quinn washed, he dried, plate added to the pile.

“I- It's-,” Quinn stammered, remembering that no one had a clue what they were up to, “We just had a misunderstanding and instead of being mature about it, I said some stupid things.”

Jack thought hard, barely looking at him and set his gaze out the window into the garden, watching his dad put the covering over the boat. “You're my big brother, and if you think for a second that I'm gonna take that as an answer, you're wrong. At least tell me the root cause of it.” 

Quinn paused, his tone coming across as more irritated than intended, “I was jealous, Jack...sorry. And I walked off instead of apologising and here we are.”

“You're a real idiot, you know that, right?” 

*

Sunday night, a whole week of sleepless nights due to Trevor. And even Cole had started getting irritated. How could one guy snore so badly? And he was only sixteen. She lay wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Had she been too harsh on Quinn? Was silent treatment really necessary? She wouldn't have been surprised if Quinn was miserable too, they had been each other's pillars for years. 

Her trance of thoughts was broken by a ‘thud’ from the bed. She shot up, only to see Cole's pillow over Trevor's face, a disgruntled Cole still gripping it.

“Smothering crosses my mind.” He deadpanned.

Trevor sat up with urgency, letting the pillow fall into his lap, tank top crumpled to his stomach, “What the fuck? Why are you two awake? You should sleep.”

“Dude, your snoring is so bad, you gotta do something about it,” Cole said, taking back his pillow.

“I literally have to move rooms because of it.” She added, laying back down.

“Then why are you here?” Trevor lay back down, pulling the duvet to his chest. “Actually, why haven't you been with Quinn this week?”

She hesitated, “Q and I had an argument. We're not on speaking terms. And honestly, I don't think he wants to see me.”

All three of them lay facing the ceiling, listening to the whirr of the fan fill the void. The boys knew something was wrong, Quinn and y/n's separation wasn't hard to miss but keeping normality was best. Nobody wanted a ruined summer. 

“I think all he wants is to see you. You're his world and he just mopes without you. What was it about?” Cole's voice was soft and quiet so Jim or Ellen wouldn't come barging in again. That happened once when they were younger, all three had the giggles and Jim had to threaten to separate them. 

“Just a stupid misunderstanding. He said shit, I said shit and we both just hurt each other in the end…” she sighed, “I don't know what to do, guys.” 

They didn't pry, they weren't sure if they wanted to know what was said. After so many years of watching Quinn and y/n hopelessly pine over each other, an argument couldn't ruin that. 

“Well, as a start you could apologise. Make up, make out, whatever you two do. And for fucks sake, just talk. Like, really talk about whatever's going on.” Trevor replied, not really knowing what he was saying but he tried to be helpful when he could. 

She kicked the sheets off and opened the guest room door and whispered, ‘Thanks’ before slipping out. He didn’t mean right then and there but he shrugged, letting Cole fall asleep first before his snoring continued. 

Like a creep, she stood with her back against his door, mustering up the courage to talk and pushing her pride aside. She sighed and tiptoed over to his bed, and lay on her back next to him. His sheets were warm and cosy but heat radiated off his body. Neither said anything, but he felt her presence and it took everything he had to not engulf her in a hug and spill his apologies, he was still an insecure young man deep down. But hearing her breathing, he was also weak. 

“Hi,” she greeted into the silence, voice above a whisper. Quinn slowly turned over, threw his arm over her torso and buried his face into her neck. She didn't respond for a few seconds, but when she wrapped her arms around him, his chest fell weightless. “I'm so sorry, Q.” She mumbled into his shoulder, fingers finding themselves in his hair.

“No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come at you like that or said any of those things,” he pushed himself onto to elbows, eyes glassy but red, “I was jealous and I took it out on you. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I shouldn't have brought things up either, seeing you with a girl just…yeah, makes me jealous too, especially because neither of us communicated well. I take back everything I said, except the last bit.” She smiled slightly, her palm on his cheek. 

“I missed you,” his lips fell into a sad smile, his head falling onto her chest. 

“I missed you too.” She held him tight, “Why did you think I was using you?”

“Some kid at school brought the idea of just being convenient. And then when Brady came over with the vodka, you said Matthew was attractive. And I stupidly put the two together. Regretted it when you mentioned hot chocolate. I should've helped you, but instead, I got jealous and ran away.” His voice was hoarse, hand slipping under her shirt and thumb rubbing the skin on her stomach.

“It's okay. I should've helped you at the party instead of crying like a bitch. Guess we're both stupid.” She chuckled.

Minutes passed and neither dozed off, but neither spoke. His thumb caressed her skin, while her fingers played with his hair, their breathing pattern slowly falling into a synchronised rhythm. Once again, they lay in his bed, tangled in each other's limbs and once again they both rendered the same question. If they hadn't been afraid of all the possible answers, they could be happily skipping through meadows or sleeping alone again. 

She took a deep breath, and he felt her chest rise and fall. With enough courage, she muttered, “Q? What are we?”

He didn't answer immediately, but he pulled his hand from her shirt and hovered over her body, his eyes following hers: lips to eyes, lips to eyes.

“More than friends.” He licked his lips, but he couldn't read her expression, “I don't wanna be friends with benefits, and I don't wanna just be your best friend anymore.”

“Quinn…” 

He clambered off her and sat against the headboard on his side of the bed. Giving her no chance to react, he pulled her onto his lap, her thighs straddling his. Quinn's hands cupped the globes of her ass, and the soft flesh reminded him of how much he missed kneading and pawing at them. 

“Please, let me get this off my chest, I've been a coward.” He started, the fire inside him igniting when her palms slid down his chest and sat comfortably on his pectorals. Where they belonged, if you asked him. Quinn wasn't good with words, or feelings, it was something all the brothers had in common, and y/n eyebrow raised at how choked up he suddenly became when admitting to trying to not be a coward. “Shit, this is harder than I thought. Fuck- Uh, okay. When I said I spent my adolescence putting you before myself, I meant it. Valentine's Day, when we were fifteen, I meant to give you those chocolates after the second period, but my friends roped me into helping someone ask this girl out. That evening when you came to see if I was okay, and we fell asleep for the first time, my heart went crazy, I was sweating so much ‘cause I wanted you to be comfortable and I hoped you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

She took his face into her hands, feeling the heat rise in his skin and spill his mind. He pulled her closer to him, her stomach tingling at the way he massaged the flesh like his personal stress toy.

“Remember the concert? You clung onto me like I was your lifeline, I wanted to kiss you right then and there. And the Maple Leafs game, God after the Maple Leafs game. I'll never forget the way you looked at me like I was fucking treasure. Like I was your everything.” He stopped his babbling, hands giving her ass a rest and holding onto her hips, a small part of him kicking himself for sitting her too close to his crotch. 

“I never wanna hear you say that you're not good with words again.” Y/n felt her heart pound in her throat, stars in her eyes at every word of his laced with a sweet desire for redemption. “Every second I've ever shared with you was the highlight of my life. Since the day we met, you've been everything. I just wanted to be your everything too.”

“I feel like the luckiest man alive. Every day, all the time.” A glint of carnal passion glazed over his eyes as they steadied on hers. Her thumbs rubbed his cheekbones, his hands holding onto her for dear life. She couldn't stop her lip from quivering, the emotions that swirled had to be released. The butterflies had to be set free, the fluttering raging and heat in her core inappropriately bubbling. Quinn's room was silent, just the hum of his fan filling the crumbs of awkwardness as they refrained from pouncing on each other. He took a deep breath, puffed his chest out and took a risk bigger than any he'd taken in hockey, a risk with worse consequences. He could get over hockey but he couldn't get over her smile, or laugh, or existence. “Y/n, I have been in love with you since we were fifteen. You're the only person who makes me feel this way.”

“Q,” She breathed, pushing herself into him, closing the painful gap between them and connecting their lips into a long kiss, “Can we be real? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend real?”

He nodded, planting kisses over her face and down her neck, “Yes. Yes, please. You're mine and I wanna be yours. God, you have no idea how happy I was when you told me you didn't kiss Leo, you were still all mine.”

She giggled, his breath on her neck tickling her skin and the arousal pooling in her stomach dripping into her underwear, “Come here, I wanna kiss my boyfriend. Maybe show him how much he means to me.” 

She kissed him softly, hands sliding from his cheeks to the back of his neck, where her fingers tangled between the curls on the nape of his neck, tugging gently to tease a grunt or groan from him. His grip on her hips loosened, and his hands ran along her thighs until they groped at her ass again, encouraging her to roll her hips into his. They'd kissed before, but this time it was meaningful. It was something clear, not a bundle of questions of ‘what ifs’. When her teeth gently bit his lower lip, to refuse would have made him a criminal. The bliss that cradled him when their tongues met once again was different too, it was just his to taste. No one else's, he could lap at hers until they dribbled down their chins, delirium rushing to their heads when they moaned and whimpered when someone pulled away to breathe. 

The best part was the peace of mind. She didn't have to think about anyone touching him the way she did as she slipped their shirts over their heads again, hands roaming each other's curves and dips like it was their first time all over again. Before Quinn knew it, his hand was rummaging through his nightstand again, her clothes would be on his bedroom floor, his skin would be pressed against hers, and they would be under his sheets, rasping and whining as quietly as possible as his cock hit new angles, or as her throat took more than either had thought. The difference this time was that having sex came with a meaning, a feeling other than lust. It wasn’t a fun game, it was intimate and exclusive. It was with the red thread of fate, tied around their pinkie fingers, and it had finally led them into a sublime vicinity.

The usual suspects sat where the best times of their lives began. The night was young, the sun only just falling into slumber as the crickets chirped. Wrapped up in hoodies and lounging in lawn chairs, summer evenings nearly ended the same every day. Brady, y/n and Quinn with a box of beer between them, Trevor, Jack, Cole and Luke with non-alcoholic equivalents y/n had found, even though she’d seen them grab a real bottle when they thought they were slick, around the fire pit at the lake house. 

The harrowing thing about good times is that they fly too fast, and you're left wondering why you didn't have enough time. There are two kinds of people. People like Quinn who prepared to open a new chapter in his story, a new door in his life. And people like y/n who clawed at the door to keep it open, screaming for more time. Not more time with Quinn, they both got into the University of Michigan and after a year of dating, they still had many in their journey. But Brady was off to Boston University, and Jack, Cole, Trevor and Luke still had high school and their lives together would carry on. 

Brady broke the silence first, “Do you guys have any regrets?”

He didn't expect Luke to answer, given his life had only just begun.

“I regret not talking more to new people,” Cole replied, listening to the crackling of the burning wood. “Feel like I would have friends like Jack and Trevor, be remembered as me not known as ‘Jack and Trevor's friend’, yunno?“

“Dude, no! People know you as Cole! You're not just a third wheel!” Jack protested, hurt in his tone. 

“Cole, you're not our third wheel! We love you, buddy!” Trevor added, his guilt creeping up on him. 

“I don't have any, yet. Aside from being born so far apart from you losers.” Luke smirked, all smug like fourteen-year-olds were. Y/n grinned and shook her head at him. If there was one person who had a soft spot in her heart, it would always be Luke. 

“And it better stay that way,” she laughed, “Luke, I just wanna put you in my pocket and take you everywhere.” 

“Ahem, what about us?” Jack gasped dramatically, pointing at himself and his two musketeers. 

“Ew, you're annoying and Trevor’s snoring can only get fucking worse. Cole and I actually considered smothering him once!” y/n joked, looking around the group to see smiles. 

The laughter died down, and they went back to sipping drinks and watching the fire, minds wandering in separate directions.

“You guys will come visit, right?” Trevor asked, his voice the quietest it had ever been. 

“Of course. We'll be back during the summer, and we can hang out again.” y/n's voice was the softest it could have been with Trevor, usually she nagged as if she were his older sister. 

*

All good things must come to an end, and carefree days slowly dissipated for Quinn, y/n and Brady. The three stood out the front of the Hughes lake house, waiting for Matthew to pick Brady up on his way through. Not one of them dared to say much. They'd had their sappy talks earlier and if they started again late at night, tears were guaranteed. Especially since both boys were due in the upcoming NHL draft, that was one of the scariest parts. 

But she did say something. She wasn't sure if she'd ever see Brady again, and while she hadn’t known him long, she kept him close. 

She held her fist out to the middle Tkachuk with soft eyes, “Good luck, Brady. At Boston and in the draft.”

Brady breathed and pulled her by her wrist into a sudden bear hug, “Thanks, y/n. Good luck at Michigan. And if Quinner ever hurts you, you tell me, okay?”

She giggled as they pulled away, “Got it. Hear that Q?” 

Quinn playfully rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. God, as if I'd want to do that…or have Brady rock up at my door ready to hit me.”

“I've done it before and I'll do it again!” 

Shortly after, Matthew's truck pulled up. The three bid their final goodbyes of the summer before Quinn and y/n watched the Tkachuks disappear down the road. 

“He'll go far, Q. So fucking far.” She uttered, her eyes wide with a childlike admiration. 

Quinn snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side, “Too far for his own good.”

“And I expect to see you both on TV, okay? Don't hit each other though, leave Brady and Matthew to brawl.” 

“I'll do my best.” He paused, his smile fading, “What happens if I get drafted? What happens next?”

“You'll get drafted, and you'll either jump straight in or play at UMich for a bit. I'll finish university and who knows? We'll call and text, we'll figure it out and we'll see each other in the summer. Right here. I'll go wherever you go.”

“But what do you want to do? Like after you graduate? I don't wanna hold you back.” 

She cupped his cheek, “I don’t know. I don't know yet. I'll probably do something media or hockey-based, you know that.”

He nodded, giving her a slow and warm kiss on her lips, as if he were to never kiss them again, savouring the flowers that bloomed inside, all the fireworks exploding at once and the reassurance that in the end, he got his girl. The future was scary, and no one could know what would come next. But y/n finally stopped clawing at the closing door that she desperately tried to keep open, and hand in hand followed Quinn into the next chapter of their story. 

“I love you, Q.” 

“I love you too, y/n.”

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

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[retiredteabag]

soft!Toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5 - pt. 6 - pt. 7 - pt. 8

Synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji grows more comfortable around you despite his past.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Why is it, that just when things feel as though they are looking up, life starts to throw new challenges your way?

You had felt like a free bird coming home from work, the slimy bastard you used to have as a superior was not only fired for misconduct, but likely facing a court hearing.

The air was crisp as you pulled into your driveway. You felt flushed, you heart had been thumping wildly ever since you pulled onto your neighborhoods street. You would say you didn't know why, but deep down, you knew the truth.

You were excited to see Toji.

In the past, you would feel anxious and worried before interacting with people, but this erratic beating of your heart was not panic, no, you were elated.

You had begun to look forward to seeing your dog-sitter every day. On your lunch break, you would share texts back and forth. It was hard to believe that at one point you had been so nervous in conversing. And that he had been so dry.

| [attachment: 1 image]

| little twerp

| got mud all over me.

The photo showed a very flattering photo of a very muddy man. You stared just a moment too long at how his jeans gripped his thighs before responding.

You two must have been playing pretty hard out there.

He certainly looks like he's having fun

Behind Toji in the photo was your dog, panting with a smile on his face, ears flopped in a windswept way, staring at the man kneeling in front of him.

| that makes one of us ig

You giggle in your office chair, swiveling slightly as you scroll back up and save the photo.

Oh please, you know you love him.

This playful back and forth would have never happened months ago, but the two of you had grown closer, and you no longer felt the need to tip-toe around the man. A friend to your dog was a friend to you. He had very good judgment.

| that's what you think.

He leaves a "thumbs down" on your message. You smile, checking the time, and swiveling back to your desk. You could hardly wait to go home. But this time, not to get away from work, but to come back to a friend.

You reply with a quick,

Boooo

And set your phone down to get back to your documents, a warm feeling had spread throughout your chest and you couldn't keep from grinning. If anyone saw, they would probably think you quite strange.

--

The drive way had patches of wind-blown snow clumped up, it was clear that Toji had shoveled your driveway. You would have to scold him for that.

The sweetheart.

A spring in your step, you pull into your garage, locked up, and entered to the greeting of your favorite little man.

"Hi, baby!!" You smile, as the large dog wiggled excitedly at your arrival.

Toji came around from the kitchen, it appeared that he had cleaned the mud from his jeans and was comfortably in a pair of sweats that he probably brought to work out in. His hair was messily tossed.

"Warm welcome for the little vandal." He leaned up against the doorframe, grinning, and you knew he couldn't care less about the jeans.

You stand up straight, "He means well...." Your hands go to arrange your hair, looking for something to do.

"Suuuure he does." Rolling his eyes, he makes his way close to the dog, who circles him mischievously. The man smirks, scratching the dogs back end. "You look happy." He meets your eye.

"Yes." Your shoulders come up and you sigh heartily. Despite the cold infiltrating your nose, ears, and fingertips, your heart was warm. "I got some very good news today."

"That so?" He has a teasing tone, but you know he couldn't expect what's coming so you just grin.

"Mhmm." You spin to remove your coat. "Somebody I particularly dislike has been taken from my team at the office." You chuckle, trying to extract your arm from the sleeve, "Permanently!"

Toji comes around and gently lays a hand on your shoulder. He grabs the waist of your coat and lifts the weight of it off you, tugging the sleeve free from you. "Well, that certainly is some good news."

The man never made any great show of expression but you could tell he was happy for you. Honestly, he was grinning from ear to ear at the news. He had a small sense of pride that his action brought about that smile you wore and even more, that you had no idea it was him. Yet, here you are, sharing it because you wanted him to know.

As Toji removed your coat, he had a warm feeling spread throughout his body from the furnace of his heart. He felt sure of himself. He felt content.

There was once a time when he lived to serve others at the expense of himself. It had damaged him to a point he never thought he would recover from. He never knew he could go back, to feel normal again. It was strange, to crave you in this way, to crave serving you. He could close his eyes and imagine tying your shoes, opening your doors, carrying you up flights of stairs.

And you wouldn't expect it of him.

You saw him as a person. He knew you did.

So why is it, that when things begin to look up, a new challenge pops its ugly head? Rears him into questioning every little surety he had been feeling.

--

You were at work when the man rung the doorbell of your home.

It hadn't even been a week since you had been freed. Coming home glowing from the news that had spread throughout your office. It had barely been any time at all where Toji could feel that he fit with you, before an issue arose.

It was mid-afternoon, and you wouldn't be home for a couple hours, Toji had just come from walking the dog when there was an expensive car pulled into your driveway.

Not your car. A fierce-looking man stepped out.

He was wearing a pristine three-piece suit, his hair was pulled back in a way that showed confidence in his own face, and he walked with distinction, stomping up the front steps before ringing the doorbell.

Your dog always took great interest in delivery workers or landscapers at the house. Especially if they were men, Toji knew this so he wasn't surprised when the big guy wasn't too happy at this man's arrival.

The dogs nose was going into overdrive to try and smell the man through the cracks in the door, Toji pulled him back and stepped out into the chilly air.

"Anything I can help you with?"

The man just stared at him. Speaking no words. Just a mock up and down.

"Do you need something?"

Toji knew he didn't look much like the typical demographic in this neighborhood, he had gotten some looks from the neighbors, he had walked to the opposite sidewalk when he spotted a women, he had avoided walking the dog passed sundown.

It was still unappreciated to be appraised in this way.

Toji was just about to turn back inside when the man spoke. "Are you the owner of this house?" His tone was full of disbelief.

Even the way he said it sounded hostile. Of course, he was right, this was not his house, but tone and intentionality were everything.

"No, the owner isn't home right now, would you like me to take a note?" He grinned at himself, feeling like an assistant answering the phone. The man before him did not laugh.

"No." He took a step closer, "Is that your dog in there?"

Toji turned to where the man pointed through the tall windows beside the front door. The dog often disliked strangers lingering around the house, but only then did Toji notice how he growled and snarled at the window.

He had only once heard those noises from the dog.

Toji stepped toward the man, closing the distance.

"He's not. Do you need something?" He repeats.

"Are you the cleaner or something?" The man looked Toji up and down once more, he had a disgusted scrunch in his nose.

Toji felt dirty.

He did clean, he never minded either, though this man clearly thought it a laughable job.

"I watch the dog. What business do you have here?" Fed up. The finality in his voice came more clearly. He was accustomed to disrespect but with the dog panicking like this, he would very much like to send this classist bastard on his way.

"Are you aware that the beast in there attacked my dog?"

"...What?"

--

When you received the call from Toji you were just entering your office after finishing a meeting. He sounded shaky and weird. He had called you home, saying there was someone at the door who demanded to speak with you in person.

You had insisted he tell you what was wrong. You swapped out your shoes for a pair of flats, snatched up your laptop and notebook, and left the office early.

For very likely the first time ever.

Despite the cold and snow, Toji was determined to not allow the man into the house. He would wait for your return. And when your car pulled into the driveway, you got out, slammed your door, and passed the stranger on your property to check on the man who had sounded so different over the phone.

"Toji, what is happening? Are you okay?"

"You own this house?" Came the man from behind you.

"I'm fine-" Toji started to respond, before being interrupted. You turned around, the wind blew its way beneath your clothing and chilled you.

"Excuse me. I have waited very patiently for the owner of this property. If that title belongs to you I would ask you to put your maid inside so we can discuss this as civilized people."

It was not even the use of the word "maid" but the absolute vitriol within the way he spat it at Toji. You were furious.

"Yes. The house belongs to me. What exactly did you need to speak with me about?"

The man before you was quite a bit larger than you, you felt angry at his representation of your dog-sitter, implying he was not 'civilized' enough to be included. You wanted to send Toji inside so he wouldn't see you upset like this, but he remained close to your side.

Completely ignoring you. The man turns to Toji. "This business is not yours."

Toji put a hand on your shoulder and was about to step in front of you, but your hand covered the back of his. "It's alright, Toji, go inside, try to calm the dog."

"Why are you here?" You looked the man up and down. It was difficult to find anyone intimidating in the cold, the body's natural instinct causing us to curl in on ourselves. This man did not curl, no he stood tall, saying nothing. He held up his head until Toji had turned and left to comfort the howling animal inside.

"Many months ago, that beast you have in there-" He points through the window where Toji stood watching. "Mauled my dog." Your brows raised at this. "His veterinary bill was very high. He also happens to be a working mutt and due to the injuries your pet caused to his body, he no longer can fulfill his duties."

Your eyes narrow. Trying to recall. He couldn't be speaking about all that time ago. Back then, it had been your dog as well as Toji who had been attacked while out on a walk. Even so, that was the only explanation that made sense.

"That isn't the account I heard." You explain. "In fact, what I heard was that the attack that happened to my dog, if that was your pet that was involved, it was in no way instigated by him." You point back to the window that was fogged up but still showed a visible outline of who you were talking about.

The man scoffs. But you continue, "My dog had been on a leash at the time of the attack, it wouldn't make sense for him to have started anything. If, in self defense, your dog sustained injuries, I would be willing to cover the cost of the bill-"

You were being generous. The attack had been a devastation to you. Back then, you recall Toji explaining that a Tosa Inu had run up on them. He had explained that not only was that breed a common fighting dog, but often raised to be particularly violent and vicious.

The man bursts into laugher. It sounds cruel. "Oh no no, you have the wrong idea, sweetheart." At his use of the affectionate term, you make a face as if you tasted something sour. "I'll tell you what's going to happen." His tone lowers and his lip twitches, "I'm going to take you to court." He steps near to you and you back away. "I've been talking with animal control for weeks now. Your mutt is gonna be put down."

What?

Words fail you. Your throat goes dry. Your nails dig into your palms and when you open your mouth to try and speak, only a cloud of warm air escapes.

"Dangerous dogs are on the rise, you know. It's only taken this long for any court hearings to arise because no human was involved."

At this, your voice suddenly finds you.

"But there was someone involved!" You exclaim, "Toji was involved and your dog bit him! Y-you can't do this-".

The man grins and nearly doubles over with cackles. "That bum?! Who cares," He spits, waving a hand nonsensically, "You really think his word would hold in a court of law against mine?" He grins, all teeth, and for some reason, a chill crawls up your spine. And it wasn't due to the wind.

Your fury flared, lowering your voice you speak, "Don't you call him that." You step his way.

"Tch." He rolls his eyes, "Listen, that beast in there put my work horse out of commission. Fairs fair." The man began to take meticulous steps toward you. The closer he came, the more you felt the need to back away. Suddenly his hand was gripping your shoulder and you tried to pull back but his grip was painfully latched to you. Leaning in to whisper, his hot breath juxtaposed the wind in a nauseating way, his words only made the panic worse. "Better say goodbye to your pooch, he won't be around much longer. I'll make sure of tha-"

You had lost all other auditory senses, all too focused on this man's spitting words. His hand gripping your shoulder, and the implications of what he was saying were too consuming. You hadn't even heard the front door slam, or the hurried steps of Toji as he yanked you back by the torso, grabbing the man's hand and crunching his fingers.

The cracking of his bones pulled you from your dazed state, bringing you back, feeling Toji pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy hands off her!" He growled.

The man made a pathetic "Nngh-!" groan in his throat, attempting to pull his hand away from Toji. Bending his knees even to draw away. Toji did not let up, however. "Y-you-you scum!" Eventually, he let the man's hand go and watched as he fell to the ground with a loud thump. His expensive dress shoes slipped under him a few times before he found his footing again and shouted, "You won't be so smug when you see me in court."

Toji only had to take a step in his direction before he was fumbling back, tripping toward his car. Covering himself in icy white snow.

"What was that?" Toji bent down to look at you properly. You were still trying to understand what had happened. Toji put his hands on your cheeks, looking in your eyes. "God, you're freezing. Come inside, come here."

He pulled you along gently into the house. When you entered the door, your dog leaned his whole weight on you, whimpering.

You collapse to the floor.

"He's gonna kill him Toji, h-hes gonna k-kill him..." You wrap your arms around your dog, the animal seemed unsure of what was happening but distressed all the same by your behavior.

Toji rounded on you, wrapping you in one of the blankets you kept in a basket by the foyer. He holds your shoulders, feeling them shake. "That won't happen. It won't." He called out to you, sensing your despair, "I need you to tell me exactly what he said. Can you do that for me?"

--

Just when you had started to feel the weight of everything a little less. Just when you had begun to allow pretenses of excitement. Just when you had begun to crave the charm of someone in your life. It all came crashing down.

That had been three days ago. You had taken off work to be able to focus on building a defense against the prosecutor attempting to prove your dog as dangerous. Toji had insisted on pulling in help.

Never before had you allowed someone to sit on the other side of your desk, to work with you. This, however, was appreciated. Toji even made efforts to get help from some "friend" of his.

These days you couldn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You felt as though everything was crumbling beneath you. One thing was certain to you and that was that you couldn't allow this to happen.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji was more determined than ever. He had heard you that day, he had heard you stand up against that man twice your size. He had heard you come to his defense as well. It had caused something to become very clear in his mind. Something he had been intentionally clouding.

Toji was not the type to hide what he was feeling, but in that moment he knew. He would do anything to prove himself worthy. He would give anything to win your affection. And right now, that meant handling this situation.

Possibly unearthing a part of him he had thought he had put to sleep, but if thats what it took? He would do it happily. The craziest part is, he wasn't doing this to keep his job, he wasn't going to do it to be in your good graces, he wasn't even going to do it because seeing you cry caused him physical pain.

No, he knew that he had grown to care for you and your puppy these past months, as much as he wanted to hide it, he hadn't felt like he belonged in a "family" in ages. He wouldn't let it be ruined by some filthy underground businessman.

He would fix this. He would help those who had come to his defense. He would make this right.

And when he spent that night together with you at your house for the first time, looking over court filings with the dog he had come to adore snoring in his lap, he felt that determination only grow.

Looking up at you, wresting an elbow on your office desk, he saw that you were nodding off while writing. As much as it pained him to wake the animal so comfortable in his lap, he forced himself up slowly. Tucking his hands under your documents to gently request you go to bed.

Unwilling to hear any negations, he simply held a hand up and told you that you would work better well rested.

You ran a hand down your face, finally deciding he was right.

Before you went to bed, standing, the two of you in the dark of your living room, without any waking creature to see but you three, he ran a silent knuckle over a tense spot in your neck.

"Sleep well." He whispered.

A shiver passed through you. You nodded.

He was just about to make his way to one of your guest rooms when a stitch ached at his heart. With your tired expression being the last thing he saw, he decided to turn suddenly and call your name.

You hummed and he gave you one more fixed look.

"It's gonna be okay."

And you could only pray that he was right.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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[hhughes]

៹࣪ ៸៸ ALL OF THE SMALL THINGS THAT YOU DO . . . ꒱꒱

ᥫ 𝘩𝑒𝘢𝑑𝘤𝑎𝘯𝑜𝘯𝑠 small things they do that make you feel loved . . .

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. quinn hughes ; jack hughes ; luke hughes ; nico hischier. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. domesticity. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

യ QUINN HUGHES

boyfriend quinn who stays over at your place more often than not. it’s easier for you to get ready for work since all your stuff is there, so whenever quinn gets a few days off he’ll always spend them at your place.

he started getting up earlier , sneaking out of bed before your alarm even goes off and for a while you were just wondering where he went before you caught him one day.

looking outside your kitchen window you saw quinn brushing the last bit of snow off your windshield and shovel it away from your car.

“ hey angel , you’re awake earlier than usual, ” quinn greets, shrugging off his jacket and taking off his boots as you start the coffee pot

“ yeah I was investigating where my boyfriend has been sneaking off to these last few weeks, “ you say, as shuffles his way over to you and wraps his arms around your waist; burrowing his cold nose into your neck

“ just getting last night’s snow out of your way, “ he mumbles against your skin, pressing kisses against your neck

“ you didn’t have to do that baby, but thank you. you’re spoiling me, i’m gonna get used to it and then miss it when you’re not here, “ you tease, and he uses his hands on your hips to spin you around, pushing you back against the counter

“ I was actually hoping you’d let me hire someone to do it for you, “ quinn suggests with a hopeful tone, knowing exactly how you were gonna respond to this.

“ quinn, don’t start, ” you absolutely hated when he spent unnecessary money on you.

“ I know I know, but it’s more for my peace of mind than it is for yours really. I hate the idea of you having to go out there the morning after a storm and move all that snow by yourself. not even just the snow, what about all the freezing rain we get? what if you slip and fall? hit your head? break your wrist, again? “ he emphasizes the last part and your send him a little glare in return. you slipped and broke your wrist one time and now the guy couldn’t let it go.

" everyone can slip and fall quinn, " you argue and he brings his hands up to cup your jaw on either side, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks gently

" yeah , honey , but I don't care and worry about everyone, I care and worry about you. “ he retorts and you almost cave seeing the pure adoration he has for you reflected in those green eyes

“ I’ve lived in Vancouver my entire life. the weather is nothing new to me, I can handle it. but i’m guessing if I don’t agree to this you’re gonna keep sneaking out and doing it for me anyway?” you ask and release a little sigh when he nods in confirmation

the last thing you wanted to do was make your boyfriend get up at the crack of dawn, especially on days like today, his off days, just to clean the snow off your driveway and you knew he would if you didn’t agree to this.

“fine, but not all the time. only when we get really heavy snow okay? and no more sneaking out of bed. I miss my personal little furnace when you’re not there,” you pout and he smiles before pecking your lips softly, his hands moving to your lower back

“ that’s all i’m good for huh? shovelling your snow and warming you up? ” quinn teases, hands moving down even further and squeezing your butt as your hands make their way to his hair

“ you’re pretty good at washing my hair too. wanna join me in the shower? “ you mumble against quinn’s lips and he keeps the kiss going for a few seconds before pulling away and responding

“ you know I can never say no to that, “

യ NICO HISCHIER

bf!nico who shows you love by packing you lunch in the morning cause you’re always running late and you never grab something before you go.

he noticed it one night when the two of you were doing your nightly routine that consisted of him laying with his head on your stomach, your hands going through his hair as whatever movie you decided on was playing on the screen.

“sorry” you say sheepishly, your hand freezing in his hair when your stomach suddenly growled loudly and he glances up at you with an amused little grin

“you hungry baby?” he asks, pressing a few soft kisses to your stomach

“yeah , I haven’t eaten all day.” you accidentally let the words slip, and immediately wince after, knowing how your mother-hen boyfriend was going to react.

“you haven’t eaten all day?” nico asks exasperated , sitting up as he looks at you with a frown between his eyes, one of his hands finding its way to your stomach and rubbing soft circles as if he could sooth the hunger away

" that's not healthy schatz, " your boyfriend chastised softly, when you answer his question with a nod.

" I know, I was just running late this morning so I didn't have time to pack lunch. and I had a busy day so I couldn't run out and get something, but I'm gonna eat the entire day's worth of pasta when our dinner gets here. promise, " you respond, moving closer and kissing that frown away

" you gotta take better care of my girl, ya hear me? " nico says, pulling you onto his lap and pressing a kiss to your temple

" aye aye captain, " you answer teasingly and a giggle escapes as gently nips at your shoulder in retaliation.

but ever since then nico wakes up a little earlier and packs you lunch. of course he writes you little notes and tucks them into the bag.

and whenever he's on roadies he'll always make sure to doordash it to you along with some flowers and a note that tells you how much he misses you <3

യ JACK HUGHES

bf!jack who really does all the little things that many people may overlook but since you know from experience what it’s like to be in relationships with people who don’t even do the little things, you appreciate it so much.

he always goes out of his way to clean up the apartment your share, so that it doesn’t feel like you have to take care of him 24/7. in fact it’s the other way around. he’s the one who will load and unload the dishwasher. do your laundry when he’s doing his. clean up your car when he’s cleaning up his.

and yes the occasional mix up of white clothing and coloured clothing does happen, which results in a few your white tops, being a variety of different colours. mix ups that jack repeatedly apologized for and promised to replace when luke pointed it out to him one day.

“ you should’ve said something earlier, “ jack pouts when he examines the seven tops laying on the bed that you got out when he asked you to show him all the shirts he’s ruined

“ you were doing something nice, I didn’t wanna make you feel bad by pointing it out, besides you didn’t ruin them, just gave them a little make over, ” you tease and laugh when jack glares at you as his cheeks turn red

“ m’sorry baby. we can go shopping this weekend I’ll buy you new ones yeah? ” he says, pressing a sloppy kiss to jaw as he collects your tops off the bed and puts them on the chair in the corner. a place he’ll see them and remember to check the brands later.

speaking of shopping, jack loves getting you things. it was something you had to get used to at the start of your relationship as he’d often come home from roadies with a little gift for you.

it’s just sweet knowing that he’s thinking of you even when he’s far away and he’s focused on something else.

is 100% the type of boyfriend to send you money and with a text that reads “go get yourself something nice, you deserve it x ”

he makes sure to leave you a pair of his sweats and a hoodie whenever he goes on the road because he knows how much it helps you when he’s gone.

even buys you the same cologne he uses so you can spray it on the hoodie and it’ll smell like him even if he’s not here.

can’t convince me he doesn’t do a ton of these cute little things for his girl

യ LUKE HUGHES

boyfriend luke hughes who is a bit of a nerd and collects a bunch of random trinkets and collectables.

and once he starts dating you, he just starts collecting a bunch of random things that you might need at any given moment.

need a hair tie? luke has one around his wrist, waiting with anticipation for your hair to start annoying you so he can offer it to you.

getting a random tension headache? luke has some painkillers in the glove compartment. heat pack for your cramps are also in there. along with an eyelash curler.

he even buys mini versions of your essentials (lip gloss, hand sanitizer, etc) and keeps them with him in case you forget yours.

luke’s ass jean pocket? your miniature handbag. he literally has anything and everything you’d need in one of those back pockets. a bobby pin cause a strand of hair has been annoying you? just stick your hand in one of those back pockets and grab one.

and he loves sitting with you at your vanity while you do your makeup. and over time he learns your routine and starts handing you your products🥺

“ going a bit fancier today bub, can you hand me my bronzer? “ you mumble while applying your concealer as luke holds out your mascara

“ um — “ he mutters, retracting his hand and spins your little product cabinet around, looking for a little bottle with the word “bronzer” on it

“ it’s this one, “ you say, reaching and grabbing it yourself and luke’s cheeks redden a bit in response

“ sorry, ” he says sheepishly and you giggle as you lean over to press a kiss against his cheek

“ don’t worry about it baby, “

[phantomrose96]

My dodgeball friends which are my tennis friends which are my biking friends which are my skiing friends took me skiing again yesterday.

It was only my third time skiing after 10+ years of not doing it, and surreptitiously ("surreptitiously") yesterday was a pure powder day, which we couldn't have predicted when we booked the tickets. Given the absolute zoo of the parking lot, I figured "powder" would be like skiing on a dream.

I was wrong. By god I was wrong. Powder makes you work 10x as hard to turn and control. Powder turns the ski slopes into checkboard patterns of mounds and valleys which, if taken at high enough speed, must generate some kind of musical note. Like a marimba of bad decisions.

I was making noises I wasn't proud of. I was watching my life flash before my eyes. I was voluntarily faceplanting in the snow one time, because my options were voluntary faceplant now or involuntary faceplant later at a speed I could only reach against my own will.

My one validation was reconvening with my friends at lunch and seeing that half of them also looked like they lost a long argument against God at the peak of that mountain, shoveling fries into their mouths and buying $5 powerade because it's that or death.

I got better like I got a feel for it as the day went on. But the fatigue stays with you. More than once I tried to tell my leg muscles to do something and they informed me the sodium-potassium channels were out to lunch. Informed me they were on their union-mandated break, but Good Luck to me and my own. I stopped on the slopes more than once to catch my breath. I flopped right over in the snow at the end of a run. And in the middle of it. And in the middle of the part before the middle.

I escaped the previous two ski sessions without being sore the next day but I knew this time I was done in. Did things to my legs that go against the Geneva convention. Would reap my consequences when the sun returned.

Woke up this morning. Legs were fine. Not just "not bad" but completely, 100% fine. As fine as if I'd done absolutely nothing the previous day.

My UPPER ARMS are killing me though. From, as best I can gather, the gargantuan, mammoth effort of... like pushing myself up from the snow like 5 times.

I should stop skipping arm day.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Are You Sure?! - Episode 8 Observations

10/10 ☆

"If you just watch my trip with Jungkook here, you'll know exactly what I do every day at home."

Jimin - Are You Sure?!, episode 8

Something had shifted that last night in Sapporo. The tongues were looser, the flirting was back in full force, the laughter out of nothing and everything could be heard throughout the house. After two days of activities and always on the move from one place to another, this was now a time to just be. Like they usually are when they hang out together. And it was a peek into how easy it would be for things to escalate. It was like I could finally see how Jungkook could spin Jimin around and then receive a bite/hickey because of it.

A lack of actual objective and purpose cracked the facade that somehow they both tried to maintain and succeded more or less. Especially Jimin. But even in that context, this trip was Jimin and Jungkook stripping away the filters. Add some alcohol in the mix, together with tiredness and soreness and it almost strips them bare. So much so that it leaves enough room to blatantly check the other one up from head to toe while being almost naked. It leaves room to use words like "baby" and "honey" without the other one finding any of it remotely weird.

Going back to that quote from the beginning, despite Jimin referring to how he simply does nothing and lays around the house when he's not out working or on trips around the world, I think it also applies to the cooking session/impromptu show they had that evening. It also takes me back to their second night in Connecticut when Jungkook made pasta and both of them were in sync and knew exactly what to do and how to do it because it was a habit. The difference in Sapporo was that it had the humor twist on top. But even then, it all fell into place immediately. They laugh at the same things and they probably must have put on similar acts in similar situations before. Jungkook is good at making Jimin laugh and how can he not try his best at succeeding that when Jimin is almost falling over because of it?

Which is why the next morning is such a blatant contrast to their good spirits the night before. Reality came crashing down. Impossible to hide. The mood was down, some tears and snifling even before they left the place. Not even shared jokes about puppy Jimin could work anymore. Not even the feast they have each time they go to a resturant. Not even Jungkook opening up all the windows in the car to distract Jimin. And how could it possibly work?

The lack of filter was there that next day, but in very different circumstances. There was no point to put on a brave face and end it with a classic "it was fun, hope we'll do it again, bye". These were the last three days of spending significant time together before 18 months in which most of the closeness probably had to be contained in just being in each other's presence. They didn't hide the sadness. It was not only palpable, but vocalized. Wanting to go back to the first day, feeling down because it's the last one. And ultimately, for someone in his position that has travelled countless times for business and pleasure, the time he spent with Jimin filming this show remains as the most significant for Jungkook. That's a big statetement, but no words were minced.

The memories made during AYS?! will hopefully make their lives easier during their military service. And even though another winter is getting closer and snow is something to be shoveled there, I hope they'll remember running around the streets of Sapporo and only feeling pain in their knees from skiing.

[keikikait]

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.6k

summary: you always wanted to be a teacher, even after discovering the jujutsu world. after graduating from kyoto jujutsu high, you decided to make your dreams a reality and teach at the sister school, tokyo jujutsu high. the only downside (and secret upside), is your teaching mentor, satoru gojo. what started as a few flirtatious glances turned into a full-blown relationship situationship. you were his, and he was yours, until he goes on a date.

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) angst?, plot with basically no porn (i’m sorry), gojo is kind of an asshole & a tease, implied dom!gojo and sub!reader, nickname use [baby, pretty girl], no use of y/n  

a note: been sitting on this bad boy for a while and decided to finish it. more parts to come (eventually). also, the comment about flirty baristas is just for fluff, baristas don’t flirt with customers (source: i am one). also also, they say tokyo jujutsu high is on the outskirts of tokyo, but i wanted everything to be inside of tokyo so i just kinda guessed, whoops.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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You were just his teaching assistant. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what everyone else thinks.

Secretly, you were his. After long hours, he would find solace in your arms as you lay in bed together. 

You weren’t dating by any means, although you wanted to. You understood why, it wouldn’t be a good look for you or Gojo if the higher-ups found out about you, but you both had an understanding. You were exclusive, just not publicly. You followed his rules, turning down dates and avoiding the flirtatious gazes of baristas or waiters.

You thought he would follow his own rules, too.

It was supposed to be a fun trip; a peaceful eight days of relaxing in Nikko before returning to school after the winter break ended. In reality, it was a week and some change stuck in a log cabin hunched over a desk grading papers, freezing from the cold. The gender-segregated cabins didn’t help. It was too cold to venture into Nikko during the day, a thick layer of snow covering the ground at all times no matter how much was shoveled. It was also, as Gojo had pointed out the day before making the trip, suspicious for the two of you to venture into the city alone. It was twice as hard to be away from him at night, you had gotten so accustomed to sleeping in his arms and hearing his soft snores in your ear. You were lonely.

You could see him, though. The men’s cabin was bigger and had a massive irori in the middle that heated the entire place. You sat with him as you graded and planned lessons, and his teasing touches left you aching. You were going on 8 days without his dick, and you were dying.

As you sit hunched over the desk, trying to make out what Yuji had written on his worksheet, Shoko bounds up to the table, sliding into a chair opposite Gojo. 

“Hey, Gojo,” she says. “Are you going to the winter festival when we get back?”

You tried not to react. You had begged him to go with you, but he always gave you the same excuse; it was suspicious.

He stretches his legs out a bit and smirks. “I was planning on stopping by. Why?”

Shoko smiles. “I have this friend, Himiko. She’s new to the city and was looking for a date for the festival. I’ve been telling her all about you, I honestly think you would be an amazing match. What do you say?”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Although you and Gojo had agreed to stay exclusive, you couldn’t ignore that he was Satoru Gojo. Everyone wanted him.

Gojo chuckles a little, adjusting his mask. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Is she cute?”

Shoko leans over the table and shows him Himiko’s social media while you keep your head down, staring at the pile of worksheets in front of you.

You keep grading, trying to focus on your work and not the feeling of your heart tearing in two. Gojo continues laughing and talking to Shoko, their conversation drowned out by your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You wish you could ignore your jealousy, but it’s hard to ignore the anxiety creeping up your spine at the thought of Gojo finding someone else, especially if he could go public with them.

You know his reputation; the ladies' man, the bachelor. The guy no one can catch. But you know the real Gojo, the one that stays over at your small apartment even though he has his own, bigger place. The one that cuddles you every morning and whines when you try to get up and get ready.

You don’t know this Gojo. You felt like strangers.

For the rest of the day, you kept to yourself, grading papers and reading books to try to drown out the thoughts. He isn’t even looking at you when you leave the men’s cabin and head back to your own. You and the rest of the staff leave Nikko tonight, and you have one more day of freedom back in Tokyo before the new term begins.

You pack up your stuff and wait outside the bus, shoving your suitcase into the undercarriage. A headcount is done before you all start piling onto the bus. You sit in the back, pressed up against the frost-covered window. Headphones in and music blaring, you only look up from your phone when you feel someone warm sit next to you.

You’re a little surprised when you look up to see Gojo getting comfortable next to you. He didn’t sit next to you on the ride to Nikko, he sat up at the front with Shoko and Akari, claiming it would be suspicious if you sat together. He leans closer, so close that you can almost feel his breath on your neck. Then he grabs your arm, moving your headphones out of your ear.

“Don’t wear these in public,” he says in a low voice, “Someone might grab you from behind and pull you into the crowd.” He leans into you and whispers, “I almost missed you sitting back here.”

You should be mad, but you can’t be. His smell fills your nostrils and you feel yourself succumbing to him. You smile softly. “You didn’t, though.”

"I didn't." He leans back and sighs, resting his hands behind his head and stretching his arms out. You enjoy the warmth coming from him, the way it spreads through you. "What do you want to do when we get back home? We can head out to a bar and grab a drink. Or we could go get some ramen from that place you like. Or we can just go back to your place and we can spend some…quality time together.”

You bite your lip a little. You’re normally a little feral when it comes to Gojo, but going without his touch for eight days has almost sent you into a frenzy. “I like the sound of that last one…”

Gojo laughs and squeezes your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles. "And how bad do you want it?" He leans in closer until his face is inches away from yours. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in the air. "How badly do you miss me, baby?"

You can hardly think straight. Your mind is telling you to push him off, to stay upset with him for accepting that date with Shoko’s friend, whatever her name was. But your heart, and more importantly your pussy, is telling you differently.

Your mouth feels like cotton, but you manage to say, “So badly, Gojo. I’ve been aching without you. These past eight days have been driving me crazy.”

Gojo chuckles and traces your chin with his fingers, leaning even closer as his face towers over yours. "You missed me, huh? My pretty girl didn’t do so good without me, did she?" He strokes your cheek gently, smiling as you lean into his touch, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. "Say it. Tell me what you've been wanting to tell me for the last eight days, what you didn't want to say in front of everyone."

The bus suddenly lurches and you remember where you are, on a cramped bus surrounded by your coworkers. You look around, nervous, hoping nobody caught you guys.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Gojo asks. He grabs your chin and turns you to face him. “Look at me.”

You do, nodding softly. You can’t see his eyes, but you can still feel him staring into your soul. “I am looking.”

“Then answer my question.” He says, dragging his thumb across your lips. You can hardly think straight already being this close to him, but the feeling of his thumb on your mouth is mind-numbing. 

“I missed you,” you whimper. It’s been a long eight days since you last felt his touch, since you last felt his breath on your skin. As he continues to stroke your lip with his thumb, you feel your mind melt away into a puddle. His touch is like a drug, and you’re desperate to not end this feeling.

“I know you have.” He coos, moving his hand down as someone up by the front gets up from their seat to change positions. He waits until they sit down before speaking again, “I’ve missed you too.”

You sink further into the seat, hoping no one looks towards the back. The bus ride isn’t super long, only about two and a half hours. Maybe no one would think to check on you two until you made it back to Tokyo.

He reaches over and turns your face towards him again. “But that’s not all, is it?” His thumb glides across your neck, his eyes under his mask flicking between your own and your lips. You can’t look away. You don’t want to. “What else have you been thinking about?”

You gulp, your mouth dry. "It's been so hard without you. It's hard to fall asleep...and I've barely gotten any sleep here because I stay up all night thinking about you."

"You have?" His eyes search your face as his thumb strokes the length of your neck. "I haven't had the best sleep either. I kept thinking about you, about how much I missed you. Thinking about all of the things I wanted to do to you when I got back." He takes a deep breath, his eyes flicking to your lips, his breath coming out in hot puffs of air. "You make it so hard for me to have self-control. Do you know how hard it is to jerk off with Masamichi and Kiyotaka nearby?"

You nod, understanding him completely. You had tried to touch yourself, too, hoping that your fingers would feel the same but it felt weird to do it with Shoko and Akari in the same cabin. “I know. I haven’t cum since we left Tokyo.”

He hears the soft whine in your voice and grins. "You’re so tempting," His breath washes over you as he whispers those words in your ear. His hands trail from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jawline. "Do you know what I want to do with you when we get to your place? What I'm thinking about doing to you right now?"

The bus takes a sharp turn going down the mountain and it snaps both of you back to reality for a second. 

You notice his hands still on you. Gojo notices too and grins, removing his hands with a sigh. He leans back into the seat. "Sorry," he says, running his hands through his hair. "I was a little carried away there." He chuckles. "We have a while before the bus arrives. I think maybe I should go to the front before I do anything stupid."

You go to protest but he’s already gone, striding to the front of the bus effortlessly as it rocks side to side, plopping himself next to Akari. You sit there, your body still feeling the heat of his hands, his words still ringing in your ears. You sink deeper into the seat as you try to calm down. You watch him for a while, seeing how he talks and laughs with Akari and Shoko and the way he never glances back toward you. 

You feel like a stranger to him, yet he’s the one who’s supposed to be yours. You were supposed to be together, even though your situation is less than ideal. The bus rocks back and forth, its engines humming quietly. You lean your head back against the seat, letting out a deep sigh. Your mind races, wondering how Gojo acts when you're not around. Did he only accept this date with Himiko to make Shoko happy? Why wasn't it ever you that made him happy?

You sniffle, blinking away the tears as you pull down the food tray and prop your phone up. You put on your favourite movie, hoping the familiar faces of the characters will distract you until you reach Tokyo. Occasionally you look up at him, hoping you’ll catch his eye before he goes back to his conversation but you don’t. He doesn’t look at you once.

The movie sucks you in like it has many times before. You don’t notice how fast time is moving, silver-tipped mountains giving way to serene towns and stretched farmland. It’s late, almost 1 am, and as soon as you feel yourself starting to fall asleep you feel the bus stop and hear the driver announce your arrival, right in front of Tokyo Jujutsu High.

You look over to see him already heading off of the bus with Shoko and Akari, heading in the direction of Kabukicho, laughing about an inside joke you’ll never be a part of. You grab your bag from the undercarriage and head to the train to head back to your apartment in Taito-Ku.

The train is packed full of tired salarymen and high school students, none of whom bother you. Your thoughts drift to Gojo as the train shakes and shudders its way back home. When the train finally reaches Taito-Ku’s station, you exit the train and head down the stairs, stepping out into the frozen city. You walk to your apartment and head inside, shutting the door to your small, solitary room.

You lie awake, hoping he’ll call you, or even show up at your front door drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time. The minutes turn into hours, your eyes shifting rapidly as you glance between your phone and the door. You start to wonder if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him right now. And what he’s thinking. You glance at your clock. 2:57 AM.

You shouldn’t feel disappointed, but you do. He could’ve at least texted you and told you he would be out with his friends for the night instead of being curled up with you watching a cooking show. You’re his, but you’re not his girlfriend. He has no obligation to do anything with you, really, but you wish he would. You wish he cared enough to want to.

Your eyes glance back toward your phone and you hesitate. You mumble a curt fuck before picking it up and calling him. The phone is ice cold against your cheek as it rings. You wonder what your contact name is on his phone. Your name? Your name and a heart? Or is it just your number, unsaved?

He answers and you can hear faint music in the background. “Hey, baby.”

You smile a little, biting your lip. “Hi. I just wanted to see if you were coming over tonight.”

You hear him groan a little, but you don’t know if it’s out of annoyance with you or how late it is. “Yeah, I was planning on it. But uh, Shoko brought her friend tonight, Himiko. The one I’m going to the festival with.”

You nearly choke on your spit. The way he was so casual about his date with Himiko made you feel sick. “Oh, did she?”

“Yeah, baby. How are you though-” His words are interrupted by a female voice in the background begging for him to come back inside. “Uh, listen, I gotta go. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay, I-” The call ends, your phone beeping at you as he hangs up. You set your phone aside, face down, as you lay back on your bed. 

You feel ashamed as you cry. Gojo isn’t your boyfriend, and he has a reputation to uphold with his colleagues. You should be fine with it, but you aren’t, and it kills you. You bury your face in your pillow as you sob, hoping one day you and Gojo can stop being strangers.

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part two is here

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

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The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Country, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.

[ericsprincess]

wanna take a look inside you

nc-17, stalker!Jaemin, Jaemin/female reader, cunnilingus, crack

~~~

Your stalker really cares about you.

~~~

Why the fuck is it snowing again? Just why? you groan, as soon as you open your eyes and see all the fluffy snowflakes falling behind your window. 

You reluctantly roll out of your warm bed and start getting ready for the day. You should be rushing through your morning routine, since you have to get to work, but you’re almost deliberately slow. You’re just trying to delay the inevitable, which is having to shovel half a meter of snow out of your driveway and your car, and scrape off the ice from your car windows. You’re seriously considering calling in sick, just to not have to deal with standing outside in snow and fighting your flimsy plastic shovel and tiny ice scraper. 

You’re pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you stop at the sudden glimpse out of your kitchen window. What the hell. 

Your driveway is already nicely and precisely shoveled, with all the snow neatly piled up on one side. Not only that, your car is completely cleaned, covered with only a small layer of freshly fallen snow, indicating that whoever took mercy on you did it only a while ago. 

You sit down behind the table and absentmindedly scratch behind your dog's ears while chewing on toast. 

Maybe one of the neighbors did it? Or maybe there is some kind of a community service? Which is weird. You just moved into this area and by the looks of it you would expect to get your car stolen rather than cleaned. 

Hmm, you think. Maybe the neighborhood here isn’t that bad. 

(Narrator voice: It is actually that bad.)

~~~

Ironically, a few days later you do end up calling in sick. The cold winter weather got to you and after an evening of feeling like shit you woke up with fever, sore throat, and no will to live. 

You blindly feel around your bed to search for your phone, eventually finding it under your dog (Oof, move, you fat fuck), and call Jaemin from HR, in your office also known as Hot Jaemin from HR, to inform him that you’re taking a sick day. 

He picks up immediately after the first ring and with his completely pleasant, friendly, and only slightly creepy deep voice, he takes your note and wishes you to get well soon. He even asks if there are some work related heads up to pass to your coworkers, just like the nice and considerate guy he always is. If only every coworker was like Jaemin (nice, competent and hot), work would be much more bearable, you sigh. Sometimes he even sits down with you for lunch in the breakroom and offers you some home baked pastry while he talks about his cats. Really, just an overall nice guy. 

You finally hang up and burrow yourself back under the covers, when you notice the time on your phone. 6:58. Huh? I must be delirious, you think hazily, already drifting back to sleep. He’s not even supposed to be at work yet.  

~~~

When you finally emerge from your supposed delirium (also known as common flu) two days later, both of which you spent almost entirely just sleeping, you take a gloriously good hot shower and head to the kitchen, wondering what you will be able to scavenge from the fridge. 

Thankfully, it seems well stocked. So you quickly make a sandwich with some fresh ham and vegetables, scarf it down like a madwoman, after barely eating for two days and put the plate into the sink.

The dishes are also done. 

The house is actually pretty spotless, you squint as you look around. Even more than usual - no socks anywhere, no cups with forgotten tea. Dog looks fed and happy. 

The laundry machine beeps to announce that it’s finished. 

Wow, it must have been really bad, because I don’t remember doing any of that. Good job, sick me, you mentally pat yourself on your shoulder. 

~~~

You open the door to get out of your house for a nice walk and you stop dead in your tracks.

What the actual everloving fuck. 

Right in front of your doorstep there is a line of six mice, nicely ordered and completely dead, and you barely manage to prevent your dog from taking a good sniff. 

You retreat back to your house, pulling the dog with you and you lock all the locks on the door. 

You don’t even own a cat? 

~~~

You would swear the oil change light in your car was blinking for the past two months. Like, it had been mocking you and your procrastination. You felt bad about it, but ignored it, because who would want to deal with it unless you really have to? 

Well, it’s not blinking today. 

Which must mean only one thing - the light is broken now too. Which might also mean some electronic failure.

You frown. Karma for being lazy found you and there goes your free Saturday. 

And then it finds you again 2 hours later for being an idiot, when it turns out the oil does not need to be changed and the whole electronic system in your car is working alright. You made the mechanic check twice because you could swear you’re not making it all up, just to end up looking like a dumbass in front of the whole shop. 

You go home in shame and then you dig out the car manual you once threw into a cupboard and never read. 

~~~

Ugh, this guy again. You fight the urge to run, but he has already noticed you and you don’t want to look weak. Or afraid. But you are, a little. 

Walking on the same street, your creepy neighbor is approaching you from the opposite direction and you’re already bracing yourself. 

He never lets you go just with “Hello,” he always tries to flirt creepily and invite you for coffee, last time he even tried to grab your hand. You shudder at the memory. You hate these kinds of slimebags and their audacity. But you’re afraid he might snap if you really tell him off. 

So, you’re not sure what to do, you’re always just distantly polite and doing your best to not give him any signal that he might interpret as his attention being welcome. 

But you did start bringing pepper spray with you and going everywhere with your dog. Not like this fat fuck could ever protect your from anything, but still. For mental support. (But seriously, why is it getting so fat? You make a mental note to take him on longer walks, despite the shitty neighborhood.)

He’s getting closer and you’re already feeling the anxiety, when he swiftly crosses the road to get to the opposite side of the street. He walks faster. It’s like he’s avoiding you. Not only that, but he’s limping and his nose is bandaged as if it were broken. 

What could have happened to him? you wonder. Maybe he bothered the wrong girl and her boyfriend went to teach him to leave women alone, you chuckle. Who knows. 

~~~

You suddenly startle out of your sleep to the sound of breaking glass. It's a deep night but you are barely gathering your wits from being so crudely woken up, but you can hear a strange commotion from downstairs. 

Burglars, is your first thought. You’re shaking hard but you slowly and silently tiptoe to your closet to get a broom, the only weapon you can think of right now. A broom in one hand and your phone in the other, with the police dialed up, just waiting to press a call, you pad down the stairs to your living room where the sound came from. 

The lights are already on. And in there there is-

“Jaemin??? What are you doing here?” you scream. 

Right in the middle of your living room is Hot Jaemin from HR, disheveled and slightly out of breath, and just about to finish hog-tying a masked man. He pulls the rope tightly and kicks the man into the ribs for good measure. He stands up and turns to you with a bright and wide smile. 

“Y/N! Go to sleep, I got it!” he says happily and throws you a thumbs up. He ignores the question.

“B-But-” you take a step forward but Jaemin stops you. 

“Be careful, Y/N, there is glass. I threw a vase at him, that fucker really thought he can mess with me like that,” he snorts. “Just go back to sleep, I’ll clean it up and deal with this bag of dicks.” he urges you gently. 

“H-How are you going to deal with him?” you’re confused. Jaemin’s smile gets even wider. 

“I’ll deal with him, I have tools in my car. Don’t worry about it.” he brushes you off. 

“You know what, I’ll just call the police,” you wave your phone, barely out of shock from what just happened. 

“Okay,” Jaemin sighs with dramatic exasperation. “But it will take forever while you could have just left it to me and gone to sleep.”

You squint at him suspiciously and press the dial. 

~~~

“So, that would be all, Mrs. Y/L/N. We will contact you about the further proceedings,” the police officer clicks his pen off and gathers his papers. Your kitchen is still flashing red and blue from police cars parked outside. 

“Thank you, officer, I really appreciate it,” you beep back at him. This police thing turned out to be a lot more serious and lengthy than you expected.

“Don’t thank me, miss, you should thank your..uhhh…” he looks up at Jaemin, who is standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“Husband,” Jaemin offers, with his signature bright smile and you fight the urge to step on his foot. 

“Yeah, that. Anyways, if you have any questions, call us. Good night!” he salutes you with two fingers and brusquely walks out of your house. The cars leave one by one and then you’re alone. With Jaemin. 

You turn back to him. 

“I am not sure what to think about all of this, but thank you, I guess. But I have a lot of questions and I want answers to all of them,” you stick a finger right in the middle of his chest. 

“Okay, of course. Whatever you want, Y/N,” Jaemin offers. It’s the first time you see him look anything else but bright and cheerful. He looks almost unsure. 

“I’m now going to sleep and if I find out you’re still in this house, I’ll call the police again. On you.” you threaten. “You have 2 minutes to leave,” you add and pointedly look at the clock on your kitchen wall. 

“Oh, okay, let me just…” he gathers his rope that the cops left behind and his jacket and hurriedly slips on his shoes. He’s in the door in thirty seconds, waving at you. 

“See you at work!” he squeezes your hand briefly and runs out of your house. 

Why do I always attract these weirdos, you sigh and drag yourself upstairs to your bedroom. You fling yourself on the bed and you suddenly really feel how tired and exhausted you are from all the adrenaline. It would be really for the best to just sleep, you decide and crawl under the covers. 

But the sleep is not coming, you’re just thinking about everything that happened. You keep tossing and turning, ending up staring out into your bedroom window. 

Suddenly, a phone display lights up in the crown of a nearby tree. You decide to pointedly ignore it and you flip to the other side, turning your back to the window. You grab your dog, who’s been snoozing peacefully throughout the whole night and snuggle into his white fluffy fur to sleep. 

~~~

The next day at work you don’t waste any time. After throwing your bag at your desk you change direction right into the HR office. 

You don’t knock, just let yourself in, meeting Jaemin who is currently sitting behind his desk, unpacking his things for a day. He looks up at you, smiling. 

You cross your arms and point at the nametag on his desk that says “Na Jaemin, Head of HR” with your chin. 

“Ironic, huh?” 

“What’s ironic?” he straightens up, smile unwavering. 

“I can’t even report you, you asshole.” you frown. “And I don’t really want to go to the police because you did save my life.”

“Well that’s bad.“ he nods solemnly.

“It really is. So… Care to explain what you were doing at my house?” 

“Guarding you?” he answers like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wh-guarding?? From what?” you ask incredulously. Oh. “Okay don’t answer.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “You know that as a head of HR I have access to aaaaaaaaaalllll of your records, right?” he spins his pen between his fingers. “So I really couldn’t help but notice you moved into a really shitty location, Y/N. Really, there? I know how much you make, you don’t need to live there at all.”

“I’m saving money for my own house, okay?” you answer defensively. You couldn’t have possibly known it would be that bad. You thought that everyone was just exaggerating. “Why were you even keeping tabs on my address?” you ask him accusingly. 

Jaemin just keeps looking at you, smiling. It’s unnerving. Like a shark about to eat you, but with joy.

“...so you’re not gonna answer?” you frown. Of course. 

“I mean, isn’t that obvious?” he drawls, tilting his head as if he were mocking you. And you think it should be obvious, but at the same time, you never know what’s going on in Jaemin’s head. 

You sigh. “You know, next time JUST ASK ME OUT YOU MORON!” 

“Oh, yeah, I could have done that…” he startles with realization. “I guess I was too preoccupied.”

“With what? Figuring out my daily patterns? Putting a GPS tracker on my car?”

“How did you find that?” he asks surprisingly, pulling up his phone to check. 

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. Come on, you have dealt with worse. And he’s really hot *and* whipped, even though he has a particular way about it. And he saved your life. You could have a use for him. 

“Drive me home.”

“Sure,” he gets up immediately, picking up his jacket. 

“You’re not even gonna question me wanting to leave work just like that?” 

“Who do you think is processing your attendance records?” he winks at you and leads you out of his office to the parking lot with a hand on your waist 

~~~

“By the way, you didn’t answer.” you say while fighting with the seatbelt while Jaemin starts the car. “What were you doing at my house?”

“Uh. Is this now the time to tell you I’ve been sleeping in front of your bedroom door for the past few weeks?”

You can literally taste the headache coming. 

“I don’t think there is ever a good time for that.”

~~~

You open the door to your house and let both you and Jaemin in. Your dog comes running to welcome you and you’re not even surprised that it actually ignores you in favor of running into Jaemin,  who doesn’t wait to start playing with him, laughing and telling him what a good boy he is. 

More like a traitor. You frown at Jaemin pulling out a treat out of his jeans pocket and your dog chasing it hungrily as Jaemin teases him. Sold me for a piece of snack. 

“Let’s go upstairs before I change my mind.”

“Sure,” smiles Jaemin and stands up, suddenly taking a hold of you and picking you up over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. 

“Hey! Put me down!” you yell at him, grabbing his ass and squeezing it. “I will fucking bite you!”

“Leave that for later…” he drawls in his creepy flirty voice as he walks up the stairs. He takes you to your bedroom and gently lowers you down on your bed. 

You really like the view from under him. He leans down to kiss your neck.

“Hey Jaemin..” you begin. 

“Hmmm?” he mumbles, continuing to kiss and lick your neck while his hands are working on taking your clothes off. 

“While you were sleeping outside my bedroom…Heards anything weird?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Pretty sure I heard my name at least once,” he bites into your collarbone. He takes off your shirt and pinches off the hooks of your bra in a second and you help take it off you. 

“And you still didn’t think of asking me out?” you ask disbelievingly. He pulls back a little and you get distracted by his shoulders. You start unbuttoning his shirt, just to reveal his beautiful full chest and muscular arms. Nice.

“You said Doyoung’s name once too.” he shrugs. He doesn't really meet your eyes.

“Oh yeah, Doyoungie from accounting…Haven’t seen him in a while, I wonder how he's doing…”

“He asked for a transfer. Doesn’t matter. Let’s not talk about him,” says Jaemin once again back to his bright smile and leans down to you, now fully committed to undressing you as soon as possible. He pulls off your pants together with your panties and lets his shirt slide off his body as well. 

“What are you gonna do?” you ask, while he shifts down your body. You instinctively spread your legs.

“Apologize,” he says while looking into your eyes and straight up dives into your pussy. 

You can tell he’s really sorry. He’s putting all the enthusiasm into eating you out, trying really hard to figure out what makes you tick and then applying it tenfold. You can feel him smile the moment you start making sounds.

You can feel yourself being close to coming and you try to tell him by pulling his hair, but in the end it doesn’t matter. He knows it already and he continues to flick his tongue over your clit even as you come, holding you by your thighs firmly so you don’t move too much to slip out of his hold. Once your orgasm starts to fade, he eases up a little, switching to slower, gentle licks with flat tongue, while you catch your breath, but in a minute, he’s back at it, relentlessly stimulating you as if you didn’t even have a choice about whether you want another round or not. 

You can only applaud his skill and stamina and let him make you come, with absolutely no guidance, for the second time, barely a couple minutes after the first one. 

While you’re coming down from your orgasm, feeling all liquid and brainless, Jaemin disentangles himself from your legs and crawls up the bed to drag you into his arms.

You turn to kiss him when you realize he hasn’t even taken off his jeans yet. You slide your hand to rub over his hard cock a little and he sighs and nuzzles into your neck. “Do you want…” you start.

“No. I haven’t deserved it yet,” he breathes out. “I’m already close though…” He looks like he’s fighting himself on that.

“Oh really?” you grin, and rise up to look better at his flushed face. “Well then get back to work?” you pull him by his (insanely attractive) sex hair. He whines, you don’t know if it's from pain or arousal, but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m going to sit on your face now, okay?” you whisper to him. 

“Uhhhh uhhh,” he closes his eyes. 

“Great. If you come, this one doesn’t count,” you laugh, and swing one leg over his leg to kneel over him.

~~~

You’re lying in your bed, sweaty and tired and almost falling asleep in Jaemin arms, when you suddenly remember. 

“Hey, actually...what about the mice?” 

He turns and smiles at you with a full Cheshire cat smile. Way too many teeth.

"Well..."

[elliespeach]

play nice | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"i'm not incompetent, despite what you may think." ´ˎ˗

pairing: ellie x afab reader synopsis: ellie and you hated one another more than anything and you had successfully avoided each other for nearly two years before being forced to patrol together. the day you two endured happened to be a lot more than just patrol and despite hating your guts, ellie is determined to keep you safe. warnings: lowkey mean!ellie, scary men, ellie n reader defend themselves w guns (animal death), lots of swearing, being chased, being stranded in remote location wordcount: 6k+ author note: guysssss i love the fuck out of this trope i hope i did it justice, got a bit carried away w the wordcount but i like it that way cus i dont think this will be a series!

the early morning of the jackson crowd woke you yet again, groggy and hungover you squirmed out of bed. you were supposed to be off today, taking the day to rest and recover from last night but maria had other plans for you. she had asked if you could pick up a patrol shift, a route no one likes taking, for a guy no one really likes anyway. you said yeah because you owe maria a favor, hating yourself for allowing your one day off to be tarnished. 

grumpy, you threw on your usual patrol outfit. a heavy jacket, a sweater underneath, jeans and a trusty pair of boots. the clock read only thirty minutes before you were to be posted and figured you would stop on the way to grab breakfast. 

you gave sleepy hellos to your neighbors as you passed. a lot of them shoveling their sidewalks from the snow that blanketed the earth the night before, they would be doing it all day and suddenly you were that upset about patrol duty. it beats shoveling snow. 

entering the restaurant the smell of bacon and eggs filled your nose, making your stomach lurch in your body. the hangover really settling in, you almost opted to not get food. but you saw maria at the end of the counter, leaning over and chatting with the line cook. 

“mornin’ maria,” you plastered on the best smile you could muster at the moment. “who am i with today? i didn’t check the schedule.” 

maria’s face faltered, “so that’s why you said yes,” you looked at her confused. “you can’t back out on me now.” 

“maria, what’re you talking about?” you questioned, but with the expression on her face, you came to a realization that your day was about to get a whole lot worse. “i’m not going if she is.” 

she sighed your name, “you girls were friendly once, you can’t play nice for one day?” 

“ellie can’t play nice.” you stated as a fact. and it was. 

ellie and you had a complicated history, arriving in jackson only a few days after she did, you two had become an inseparable pair. what wasn’t obvious to everyone else at the time was that you both had feelings for one another despite being young teenagers. 

one day, in her garage, ellie and you had been listening to music together while she drew in her sketchbook. you had been watching her the whole time, admiring how talented she was. at this point in time, you knew she liked you as much as you did her–or at least you thought you did. when you tried to kiss her that day, she freaked out on you and pushed you off her bed in a hurry. 

you had felt betrayed by the only person in jackson you truly trusted with anything. you never spoke of it again, in fact you never really spoke to her again about anything. you two became distant, avoiding each other at all costs because when you were in close proximity you’d fight like cats and dogs. you couldn’t hold in your snide remarks and neither could she, but when she spoke her mind it was always more cruel than you could ever imagine. 

you hated ellie williams and now you are expected to be on a full-day patrol with her. you couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of day you were about to have, regretting any and all decisions that led to this moment. 

“so you play nice. i won’t ask you to work with her again after today, promise.” maria begged and you rolled your eyes accepting her offer. 

you said your goodbyes and maria handed you two sandwiches to go, hoping that a sandwich will fix the multiple years of hatred burning inside of ellie for you. knowing it wouldn’t work but not wanting to waste food, you obliged by taking the food and going on your way. 

your walk was slow to the stables, wanting to prolong the long day ahead of you. when you reached your destination you saw ellie at the end of the barn. she was patting her horse, shimmer, and readying her for the trip. “fuck,” you whispered to yourself before making your way over. 

as you approached her, ellie went stiff and turned her back. not you.

“maria got us these sandwiches,” you said plainly, holding out one of them to her. her eyes were dull, along with her expression and it made your blood boil. “well?” you asked, already impatient with her. 

“ate already.” ellie responded quickly before grabbing the reins on shimmer and leading her out of the barn.

you silently mouthed, “wow.” to yourself before packing the food in your backpack for later. taking your horse from his pen, you lead him in the same direction as ellie. you came upon the gate and mounted your horse before pulling beside ellie, stealing a quick look at her. 

ellie darted her eyes away from you quickly as she saw your head turn towards her, feeling a hatred burning in her chest and she thought she saw you roll your eyes in her peripheral vision. you’d never admit this, barely admitting it to yourself, but despite all the loathing you felt for her you still found yourself attracted to her all these years later. it sucks that she is a bitch, otherwise maybe you two would have been something. 

the usual spiel of being safe, record keeping and more was being announced but ellie’s voice carried its way over to you. “do you even know where we’re going?” 

you scoffed, “i’m not incompetent, despite what you may think.” 

she turned her head towards you, a fake smile splayed across her face. “i don’t think, i know.” 

“oh, fuck you, williams.” you spat at her, looking back towards the gate, not wanting to remember she’s right next to you. 

but she was, in all her rudeness. “don’t you wish,” she said casually in a mocking tone. you had to stop your mouth from dropping open at her comment. she knew exactly what she was saying to you, and it just confirmed that there is no fixing this relationship if she could make a comment that low. 

the alarms went off and the horses started to ride out of jackson. you followed suit, leading your horse out of the gate and turning right down the snow covered path. ellie followed behind you at a distance and you liked it that way. 

ellie was watching you from behind, steering your horse through the pathway. for some reason, she couldn’t pull her eyes off of you the entire trip to the first look-out. her mind plagued her with thoughts of you and she dared not to trespass into that territory again. coming up on the familiar look-out, she pushed the thoughts away and replaced them with the hurtful things you’ve said to her over the years which did little to comfort her either. 

“just wait, i’ll mark the book.” you said, dismounting your horse and heading into the small building. you had always figured it was a radio tower as a giant broken satellite was perched on the roof, slamming open the garage door you made your way inside. 

“i’ll come with, don’t need you fuckin’ up the book.” ellie remarked behind you and you rolled your eyes as she passed you, just having to be the first one to the log book and she was. she beat you to the pen and began writing that there was no infected in the area. 

as ellie finished writing, she searched around the room for you. you were standing by the window, eyes peeking into the binoculars overlooking the route you two were going to be taking. 

“lemme look,” she insisted, reaching up to snatch them from your hand. you pulled it away quickly, swatting her hand. 

“i’m fucking capable of looking through these things.” you nearly yelled. 

“you’re not even wearing your glasses, give it to me.” she growled beside you, again reaching for the binoculars as you held them away from her. 

“how kind of you to notice,” you said sarcastically, gently pushing her away from you. 

“you look better with them on, princess.” she hissed using the nickname she had given you years ago. it felt strange to hear it again, especially in such a negative way. ellie eventually gives up on taking the binoculars from you. you started to peer through them again, making out your path as she huffed beside you. she was acting bored, fake kicking the debris that littered the floor, leaning her back against the window staring into the room behind you. 

looking away from the view for a split second, catching her eyes you retorted, “you look better without them on, figured i’d at least try and have a good day.” a devilish smile washed over your face and ellie didn’t respond. you brought the binoculars back up to your eyes and they widened with fright. 

from your viewpoint you were able to see multiple men all on horseback and guns at their side, they weren’t jackson men as you would have recognized them immediately. they had blood stained clothes and looked like they haven’t showered in weeks. but the most disturbing thing you saw was a person, naked and shaking in the cold tied by their neck to one of the horses, being pulled along. this wasn’t a group to be stumbled upon by and they were right smack in the middle of your route about two miles from you both, getting closer to jackson with every step. “oh, fuck me..” you trailed off and ellie chuckled beside you. 

“like i said, you wis–” 

“ellie, look!” you hissed, shoving the binoculars in her hand but she wouldn’t take them. 

“no, apparently i can’t handle it or something!” she shoved them back in your hands. 

“ellie, would you just look while i radio the other patrols?” you basically begged and ellie heard the fear in your voice. knowing you would never let her see you this way, she sat up straight taking the binoculars from you. she watched as you ran to the table with the log book, getting your radio ready. 

she peered through them and saw what you did and ellie’s demeanor changed swiftly. she turned back to look at you, panicking because the radio wasn’t transmitting. “fuck, this stupid thing!” you yelled, banging it against your hands so hard you thought you might leave a bruise. 

ellie acted fast, throwing the log book into a damaged closet to leave no trace and picking up her backpack. “if we can’t get a signal here, we gotta move to where we can get one. the closest patrol is ten miles in the other direction, we can beat them there, they aren’t going fast.” 

she glanced at you, ready to move and you were frozen still trying to get the radio to work. she rounded on you and stopped yourself from breaking your own hand with the radio. “we have to move, okay? they won’t touch you, i promise.” 

her promise seemed sincere and in the moment you didn’t question it. you nodded your head and took a deep breath before she handed you her bag. you both sprinted to your horses, but not before ellie closed the garage with a loud thud. getting on horseback, ellie led the way, weaving in and out of trees staying off the path so as to not cause suspicion with the tracks in the snow. 

you followed suit, not letting her gain more than a few yards on you at a time. after about ten minutes of what seemed like endless trees you came upon an opening to a road. you didn’t recognize it, and as you came up beside ellie it looked like she didn’t either. you looked around desperately, fearing the men you had seen and what would happen to you both if they found you. 

“nothing on the radio?” she asked you, pulling her horse near you. 

“no, nothing.” you stated shakily, fiddling with the small radio. 

“shit,” she cursed aloud, but not loud enough for anyone else but you to hear. “c’mon, this way.” she led you down the road and as you came over a small hill a building came into the picture, a large building that looked like an old grocery store. 

as you were about to pull the radio from your back pocket, ellie and you both snapped your necks in the direction you had just come from. there was the distant sound of hooves, even in the snow and laughing that wasn’t the good kind. “they found our trail, in the building, now!” she snapped at you quietly and not seeing any other idea, you followed her. leading your horses into an empty window in the building and securing them in a locked office. 

the building was ransacked, absolutely nothing in sight but garbage and dead infected bodies. “if there is dead infected, this area must get patrolled,” ellie thought out loud, looking at the mangled bodies. 

“or they found it before we did,” you did the same, stepping over a dead infected woman. horses neighing outside brought you to a halt and ellie didn’t think twice about grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of view. shuffling past large empty boxes and even more dead infected there was a door labeled exit and ellie busted it open, shoving you inside before her. as she closed the door behind her, she heard glass breaking and men’s voices. 

you looked around in the small hallway, it was dark but you were able to see a small dim light peeking through a knocked over bookcase at the end. “ellie,” you whispered, pointing to the bookcase. quietly moving towards it, you started to lift up the bookcase revealing a large storage room with loading docks. placing the bookcase back down to block the entrance as quiet as you could. 

she nodded her head towards the loading doors, they were closed but not locked. you were about to lift them up for an escape when the exit door burst open and all that stood in between them and you two was the bookcase. you snapped your head in that direction and ellie grasped your arm, pulling you behind a large shipping crate. 

in good timing because as soon as you were secure the bookcase fell over with a loud bang that made you jump. you looked to ellie, who was trying to peek around the crate to catch a look. ellie saw three men stumble into the large room, guns and various other weapons on their belts. “come on out now!” one bellowed, causing you to grab ellie’s arm instinctively and she let you, not pulling it away in the slightest. 

ellie saw them looking around corners when one approached the loading doors, seeing it unlocked. “must’ve slipped out,” the brute snarled, fiddling with the door handle.”grab their horses, let’s go get their trail!” they triumphed, slowly leaving through the door they came in. the rest of their crew must be waiting out front, ellie knew this was your only chance. 

once the cost was clear ellie turned to you, “they’ll expect us to go through the back, let’s go back the way we came.” she whispered, taking her arm back. you nodded and followed her, she quickly moved past the bookcase and towards the door they had left wide open. seeing no one, and not hearing your horses she waved you on, exiting the grocery store through the broken window in which you had entered. 

coming back into the daylight their horse tracks went to the back of the building and you both took this opportunity to run into the trees on the opposite side of the deserted road. as you jumped into the snowy landscape, a horse neighed furiously. “hey! i see ‘em!” a grunty voice shouted and you and ellie took off running through the woods. you were following ellie, who was hoping this was the correct way back. but back where? where could she take you on foot they wouldn’t be able to catch up? the nearest patrol is miles out, but when you two didn’t show up for check in they would come looking. that could be hours before they find you, stumbling through the cold woods and ellie worried that you two wouldn’t make it through the night if you could get away from these guys. 

she pushed all of that away, focusing on the task at hand which was to get you away from them. you ran for a while, the woods came to life with sound, the horses behind you trying to bob and weave through the harsh trees, the heavy breathing of you and ellie crashing into the soft snow below you and the sinister sound of the men laughing as they narrowed down on you two. 

“keep running!” ellie shouted back to you as you passed her, she stopped reaching for her rifle and cocking it back. you didn’t listen, instead taking your pistol out at the same time. ellie was able to shoot down one of the men who had tried to flank them, his body tumbling down to the ground and his blood desecrating the pure white snow. 

focusing your vision as ellie reloaded her gun, you shot quickly. the bullet grazing one of the brutes in the cheek and he clutched his cheek as he barreled down on ellie–whose gun was jammed. you shot again, this time aiming for the horse’s legs and it went down before you could blink, hurdling the giant into a tree. he laid on the ground motionless as his buddies grew more angry, you grabbed ellie’s arm and she looked up to you with panicked eyes, slinging her forward in front of you she began running but not before checking that you were right behind her. 

hoping that the bodies of their friends would slow them down, you both sprinted away from the grizzly scene. ellie was in front of you, the tussle with them discombobulated her and she wasn’t sure what direction she was going in. everything was happening too fast for her to be able to stop and figure it out, and as she looked back to check on you and the proximity of her attackers she saw your eyes widen and as you screamed her name, she fell down an embankment. 

you didn’t think twice, knowing this would be a good barrier between you and your pursuers. ellie was already halfway down as you threw yourself down the steep hill, the trees spun around you and you couldn’t see anything. you could make out ellie as you tumbled, rolling uncontrollably and it seemed even faster than you were. it felt like years before you came to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

you groaned, lifting your head up and not seeing anyone following you. you put all your effort into sitting up and you clutched your side as you did. you cursed, your bag was missing, probably buried in snow somewhere and as you looked around you saw ellie. she was laying next to a tree, limp and moaning in pain. in a panic you tried to stand up but the pain in your side prevented you from moving even two steps so you crawled to her. “ellie!” you shouted, coming to her side. “ellie, are you okay?” you yelled again, shaking her lightly. looking back up the embankment, you didn’t see the men anymore and hoped they went to clean up their friends. 

as your eyes came back to ellie, she rolled over and in between big breaths she was able to get out, “hit.. the fuckin…tree.” she groaned, grasping at her limp arm. “fuck..my arm!” 

“c’mon, williams we gotta go,” you stated, looking around for her backpack since yours was nowhere in sight. you noticed it a few feet away and you used the tree to force yourself up, ellie saw you struggling and tried to get up on her own so you wouldn’t have to help her in your condition. taking her pack and slinging it on your shoulders you went back to her, she was leaning against the tree now, facing the embankment. 

you reached out your hand to her and you couldn’t read her face as she took it with her good arm, pulling herself up with a huff. your side screamed in pain as you trudged on, taking in short breaths even though you could barely breathe to begin with. ellie limped behind you, her limp arm at her side and every step she winced in pain. fully realizing you two were lost in the woods, you kept going in hopes of seeing jackson at some point. 

the men didn’t make any appearances and the further you walked the more you felt safe. the fresh snowfall that started was covering your tracks in the deep snow. walking in silence felt like the right thing to do, the adrenaline wearing off would mean bickering again and you liked the quiet sounds of the forest, and the occasional grunt from ellie behind you. the sun was nearly behind the mountains before ellie spotted a small hunting cabin to the left of your makeshift path. 

it was dainty, and probably only one room but as you both approached it, it was looking more and more inviting than the harshness of the cold you two had been enduring the last couple of hours. knocking on the door roughly and not hearing anything inside, you opened the wooden front door. it was small. the abandoned shelter was illuminated by the setting sun through the windows, you saw a fireplace that had more spider-webs than you’d ever seen. the “kitchen” immediately next to it consisted of a broken and ransacked fridge, a sink and only two cabinets. 

you smacked ellie’s pack down on the counter, and finally felt a smidge of peace. looking up and noticing there was no living room area in the single room, just a creaky wooden bed that ellie had sat down on still clutching her arm. you looked around and saw a wooden chair, smashed to pieces you shuffled over, taking as many as you could carry before tossing them into the empty fireplace. ellie watched as you did, wishing she could be more help but her arm was killing her and she worried it was more than just a break. 

she saw you wince as you bent down to pick up more wood and she had to look away, not being able to see you hurt for some reason. “we should splint your arm,” you suggested, tossing more wood into the fireplace but keeping a smaller, thicker stick in your hands. ellie just nodded and let you approach her and as you went to unzip her jacket she flinched back. “i can’t do it with your jacket on.” you snapped, your shitty mood pouring out onto her. 

she softened her face and unzipped her own jacket but needed your help taking it off completely. as you were slowly pulling it off her bad arm, she sighed deeply. her arm was revealed, having only worn a short sleeve under her jacket and you wondered how she wasn’t frozen solid by now. “jesus, els.” you breathed out as you looked upon her arm. it was black and blue all over, some spots were a bright yellow and you held back from gagging. the redness from being cold didn’t help make it look better either. 

“i’m fine,” she lied, not liking you taking care of her. “just make the fire first, would you?” 

not surprised with her attitude, you obliged because you were even still freezing. the sun was barely shining in the windows anymore and you knelt beside the wood and picked a few of the smaller pieces of wood. taking your knife, you whittled off sections, leaving them attached at the bottom to the main piece of wood to work as tinder. and as you worked, ellie watched. she admired your survival skills, remembering that this is what kept you alive before jackson. 

ellie and you knew more about each other than you’d ever admit. being as close as you two were for months, you often had long talks in her garage to distract yourselves from the mutual lingering feeling of longing for one another. but as she observed you working, she remained silent and you did too, feeling her eyes burning into your back. 

the fire bursted to life with flames and you backed away, feeding it more kindling from the broken chair. ellie felt the warmth from the bed and now that she wasn’t numb from being cold, her arm was feeling worse. she didn’t dare look down at it, you turned to see her struggling to find comfort. you took off your jacket, the cozy cabin becoming warmer with every second that passed. tearing at the bottom of your shirt got her attention, you ripped until you had a long enough strip to work with. 

taking the wooden piece that you are using as a splint you kneeled in front of her. “give me your arm,” you said, your hand hovering in front of her. she shuffled her body forward, inches from you and you gently stretched her arm out straight. her moans in pain were loud over the crackling fire, “i know, i know,” you comforted her and her groans stopped but were replaced with quick and short breaths. 

you aligned the wood with her arm, taking your ripped shirt fabric and started to wrap it around her arm. moans escaped her mouth, not being able to conceal how badly this hurt. “almost done…” you trailed as you tied a knot in the fabric to keep it in place. 

once you were finished, and ellie was about as bandaged up as she could be, you sat with your back against the bed. wincing as you did, your side still burning in pain that seemed to spread throughout your body. “lemme see,” ellie murmured, shifting off of the bed to sit next to you on the floor. you grumbled a small i’m fine like she had but she didn’t accept it. “let me see.” she said more sternly. 

you rolled your eyes, lifting up the side of your shirt where the pain is erupting from. she examined it, the bruising on your stomach was prominent and she grazed her fingers over your hot skin. you winced from her touch, her fingers cold on the burning black and blue. “told you, i’m fine.” you reinforced, pulling your shirt back down. 

“i promised you they wouldn’t touch you,” she whispered beside you, you heard the familiar aggression in her voice as it’s usually directed at you but this time it didn’t feel like it was. 

“they technically didn’t.” you recalled, staring into the fire. but ellie was gazing at you, her green eyes scanning the side of your blank face. 

“i should’ve seen the hill,” she shook her head, focusing her eyes on the fire like you were. “i told you they wouldn’t hurt you and now look. i swear to god if they ever show their face around jackson i’ll–” her voice turned sour and she stopped herself from revealing what she would do to them for causing you pain, and although you didn’t blame her for anything that happened today, you couldn’t help but feel angry with her and her sudden caring attitude. 

scoffing, you spoke, “i’ve been hurt worse than this.” ellie understood what you were implying and snapped her head back to you, hurt swimming in her eyes. 

“what is that supposed to mean?” she hissed back at you, her voice rising slightly. she knew exactly what it meant but couldn’t stop herself from getting defensive. 

you laughed in disbelief, “the way you’ve been treating me for years? does that not ring a fuckin’ bell?” your voice rising to meet hers. 

“you’ve been doing the same thing to me, so don’t act innocent.” her tone was sharp but calm and you hated her for her ability to keep her composure. 

“i never said i was innocent!” your blood boiling over, you looked at her, her eyes meeting yours before she darted them away. “if you hate me, hate me. don’t confuse me by acting like you fuckin’ care.” 

“i don’t fuckin’ care,” she spat, using her good arm to lift herself off of the ground. she did care. and it was obvious to you, but instead of arguing about it further you let her walk to the kitchen as she dug in her pack.

you remained silent in front of the fire and despite the pain you brought your knees to your chest for extra warmth, the cold disposition of your patrol partner sucking out any warmth the fire was giving to you. ellie tossed over a small ration pack of food harshly, and you reached to take it. not caring that she threw it at you because now that you were looking at it, you were starving. realizing you hadn’t eaten this morning like you intended to. 

ellie moved back near the fire, sitting in front of you but staring into the wall. it was quiet while you both ate, or better inhaled the food in front of you. “i was supposed to have the day off today,” you remarked, chuckling at the circumstances though not finding it entirely funny. “i shoulda just told maria to fuck off.” 

ellie turned to you looking confused. “wait, maria asked you to do this?” you nodded in response and she shook her head smirking, “she asked me last night if i could cover for–” 

“manny,” you both said at the same time. realizing maria had set you both up, and you both couldn’t help but not laugh about it. 

“she’s gonna feel so bad!” you laughed, and somehow it was the funniest thing in the world to the both of you in that moment. ellie was laughing harder than you had ever seen her and you realized how deeply you missed this side of her, and how long it had been since you did. was it shock? maybe, probably. but even ellie couldn’t help but enjoy the small moment after the day you two had. 

“she probably thinks we killed each other!” ellie added mid laughing, causing you two to remain that way for a little while longer. it really wasn’t funny, but in some fucked up way it was. after you both calmed down from the singular good moment you had had in years, ellie added, “i missed that.” 

“missed what?” you questioned, not wanting the moment to end. 

“your laugh,” she uttered, boring her green eyes into yours. “i know that’s not fair of me to say.” 

this was the ellie you remembered, before all the fighting she was always kind to you. she was thoughtful. and she cared about you more than anyone you met in jackson. she patiently waited for your response, trying to judge if you were still angry. “i think we’ve both said things to each other we shouldn’t have, els.”  she hid a smile at your response, forcing her eyes to the fire that illuminated the small room. after a small beat of comfortable silence, she turned back to you.

“i really am sorry,” she spoke again and you cut her off before she could continue. 

“it’s okay, really–” 

“no i mean– i shouldn’t have– we almost died today. you almost died and i just…” she trailed off, gathering her thoughts. “i wanted to kiss you that day too.” 

you looked at her perplexed, and as you opened your mouth to respond she talked again. “it’s complicated and i was just scared–” 

“scared of what, ellie?” you questioned her again. 

she lifted up her good arm, revealing her tattoo. bringing your eyes back to hers and she took note of your confusion. she shuffled over and sat beside you showing you her arm up close. “just look,” 

at first, all you noticed was the tattoo. the ink perfectly etched into her skin, but as you really looked at it you noticed small indents buried in an intricate part of the linework. you took her arm in your hands to examine it further. bite marks. they were old, but they were there beneath the tattoo, permanently altering her skin with a nasty scar. “what the fuck…” you whispered skeptically, tracing it over with your fingers. 

“i was fourteen, so don’t worry i think i would have been dead by now.” she joked, hoping to alleviate any negative feelings you had about this. she sat nervously next to you and if you weren’t holding her arm she feared she would be shaking. 

“what does this have to do with me?” you asked innocently, taking your eyes away from her arm but not letting go. 

“i thought if we had kissed that i’d infect you somehow,” she laughed thinking of the memory. “i really shoved you off the bed hard, huh?” 

“my ass was bruised for weeks, so yeah you did.” you laughed with her back and it felt like the last couple of years hadn’t happened. 

“awww, poor princess,” she mocked you playfully. it almost threw you off, being as she hasn’t been playful in forever but you rejoiced in it. 

“shut up!” you played back, throwing her arm out of your hands and back into her lap. ellie noticed how close you two were, closer than when you splinted her arm, and it made her feel safe. she brought her hand back up to your face slowly and you let her, she swept strands of hair behind your ear. “you’re not scared now, though?” you pressed on, catching onto her intentions. 

“oh, i’m terrified.” ellie spoke softly, inches from your face. she cupped your cheek in her hand and gazed at you lovingly, her eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. she felt her stomach doing flips as she leaned in to close the final stretch that separated you two, as she did, hard knocks pounding at the door pulled you apart from each other. 

the door opened, revealing a disheveled joel and tommy. “thank god!” joel exclaimed, entering the cabin. “we saw the smoke, you guys are five miles off the normal route. what the hell happened?”

they helped you both home and to see the medics and it was nearly a day later when you saw ellie again. you endured what felt like thousands of visits from friends and neighbors that wanted to wish you a good recovery, and they were sorry to hear what happened. you were put on bed rest for a few broken ribs and they all hurt severely anytime you moved. 

but when ellie came through your bedroom door, you shot up in bed ignoring the pain that was plaguing you. she filled you in on what’s been going on, rangers are out looking for the group of men that attacked you both and they think they have a good lead on the group. this comforted you, but not nearly as much as ellie’s presence. she had a fresh cast on her arm, and ellie pointed out that it was really itchy, making you laugh. 

“maria feels really bad,” she smirked, a small laugh escaping her lips. “but she’s gloating about her plan working.” 

“course she is,” you answered. she moved across your room and sat down on the side of your bed to face you, looking down to your hands and took them in hers. “we might have to put on a show for her, can’t have her head gettin’ too big.” 

“anything you wanna do princess,” she leaned down and kissed your forehead. “but first, rest.” 

you groaned, “i hate you.” 

“i hate you more, now c’mon lay down.” she gently pushed you back down into the bed and you scooted over leaving room for her. she snuggled up next to you as you laid your head on her chest, hearing her soothing heartbeat as she played with your hair and you both fell asleep peacefully. feeling nothing but safe with one another. 

[splatteringyandere]

Days of the Week as Yanderes

Monday is your cold coworker. He hardly ever talks to you outside of dumping work on your desk. Honestly, you think he has some sort of problem with you. He certainly doesn’t treat any of your other coworkers this way. Demanding and unfriendly, like he owns you. It doesn’t matter if you complain to HR, he’s such a model employee they couldn’t afford to let him go.

“Y/N, I have another stack of paperwork for you. I know it’s late, but these have to be done tonight. You have plans? Well, I guess you’ll have to cancel them.”

Tuesday is your best friend. You grew up next door to each other, playing and wrestling in the yard until your mothers called you home for the night. As you both grew older, his obsession with you grew as well. However, when you’re an adult, life isn’t as simple as “having one best friend” and you having more friends means him having more competition.

“Y/N, are you free tonight? You don’t usually have anything going on this day of the week. You should come over to my place! We can watch a movie. You pick.”

Wednesday is a creep. Somehow, he’s always there. It doesn’t matter where you go, the grocery store, work, your friend’s house, somehow you’ll always bump into him. You suspect he’s taking photos of you, but you have absolutely no proof. You try to be more careful, not go out at night or be alone, just in case. It doesn’t matter though, eventually you’ll end up in his basement anyway.

“Camera? What camera? I was just taking a walk, just like you. If I did have one though, I bet you would make a great model.”

Thursday is your quiet classmate. You don’t even know she exists, really. The kind of girl that blends into the background. You think you gave her a pen once, maybe? Nothing that really sticks out in your head. It makes it all the more confusing when you start receiving threatening notes. Who on earth would send these? You certainly couldn’t remember doing anything in particular to deserve them.

“Thank you for the tissue, I really really appreciate it. Am I new? I’ve been in your class since we were kids…”

Friday is a playboy. He’s the kind of guy that spots you across the bar and makes his move. Your immediate disinterest shatters his massive ego, sending his head into a whirl. He always gets what he wants, how could this have happened? It’s not long until he’s trying to win your affection every night, buying you drinks and hitting you with his funniest jokes. There’s nothing he wants more than what he can’t have. If all his charm still doesn’t work, well, maybe it’s time he takes what he wants.

“Funny running into you here again, haha. Can I buy you a drink to make up for last time? I promise, no games this time, but only if you promise not to throw it in my face again.”

Saturday is your boyfriend. He’s the full package, strong, kind, intelligent. Sure, he’s a little possessive, but that’s normal, right? After all, he’s the basically the perfect man, showering you in gifts at every opportunity and leaping to do things for you. Before you know it, you’ll depend on him for almost everything. Exactly how he wanted it.

“I think you should quit your job, Y/N, all it does is cause you stress. It’s such a long commute, I hate waiting for you to come home. Plus, I make plenty enough money. Let me take care of you!”

Sunday is your neighbor. You smile warmly at each other in passing, sometimes he even shovels your driveway for you after a heavy snow or takes in your garbage can so you don’t have to walk it all the way up the driveway. In exchange, you’ll make him cookies or gift him vegetables from your garden, which he always appreciates. When he sets up his new security cameras, you can’t help but notice how a few of them are angled directly at your windows.

“Hey, Y/N! I picked up your mail for you. I hope you don’t mind, but I threw out all the junk. Oh, some hot chocolate as thanks? Well, I couldn’t say no to that.”

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐫

1.3k | just for fun since it’s blizzarding here rn

The wind blustered against the cracked windshield. Sending waves of sleet and snow against the van, hitting like gravel against the tin body. 

He silently curses himself for not getting the windshield fixed before winter came. A huffed breath drags from him, little puffs of frigid air in the cold interior of the van, as he attempts to blow warmth to his chilled to the bone fingers. Aching from the repetitive motions from work. 

Eddie’s life didn’t end up how he had planned. The rockstar gig was nothing more than that— a gig.  One show maybe two a month at the hideout, a small little escape into the world he once was determined to get to. 

But life had other plans for him. Things he never saw coming. 

The sharp right turn into Forest Hills was blanketed by thick drifts of snow, covering the usual pot holes. Still he avoided them anyway— the last thing he needed was a blown tire in this weather. 

Forecast called for  “1-3 inches” but what the stuck up weather man didn’t predict was the wind.  

The wind brought with it freezing temperatures, a high of barely four degrees. He called Wayne on his break, telling him he’d stop by after work and shovel his pickup out so he could make his shift tonight, but Wayne only grunted and told Eddie he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, just to get home safe. 

The ill maintained roads were horrible, his tires slid and skid anytime he tapped the brakes or eased on the gas pedal, making the usual ten minute drive home turn into twenty, then thirty. 

He was crabby, hungry and itching for a cigarette, but the gas stations were closed for the upcoming storm, leaving an itch in his jaw that drove him mad. 

Anything and everything that could go wrong in one day had. Equipment broke, most of the shift hadn’t shown up due to the storm causing him to work in place of two other jobs on top of his own. The lunch he brought was left in the van by mistake after hurrying to get punched in when his alarm hadn’t gone off. 

And now throwing the van in park he realized he never turned the lights off in his rushed attempt to make it to work on time. 

Punching the steering wheel he curses again, the light bill would be outrageous next month. 

The van door was stuck, probably frozen from the outside, and he shoved his shoulder into the frame to try to loosen it enough so he could get out. The wind hit him like a freight train, stealing his breath and pelting his face, chapping his cheeks red and ruddy. 

Rage filled his lungs as his sweat soaked bandana started to feel like a frozen sheet of ice on his head. Crunching his curls into icicles. 

The cold air seeped through his jeans, and he shivered when his boots sunk into the snow. Dropping his keys three separate times into the snow, Eddie yelled into the night. 

 And if he weren’t so mad he might have noticed a set of footprints leading from your trailer to his. 

He might have heard the radio buzzing about the incoming bad weather. 

He might have smelled a delicious slurry of cooked meat, beans and tomatoes boiling on the stove. 

The front door was frozen too, and when he finally jimmied the handle and flung the door open, he nearly burst into tears. 

The place is spotless. 

Ashtrays were emptied and sparkling like the countertops, the heap of clothes on top of his washer were folded and put away. A candle is lit on the table. You must have brought your own vacuum over because his hasn’t worked since the 70s. 

The small patch of linoleum under his feet was swept, his other pair of work boots and shoes were lined up neatly against the wall. A new rag thread utility rug was also underfoot. 

His eyes brimmed hot with tears at the sight of his clean house, and you, standing at the stove with a wooden spoon to your lips.

“Hi! Made a cobbler with that jar of peaches from Joyce Byers,” you chirp, pulling the oven door open and placing the dessert dish onto the potholders, “I know it’s not the season for it but it just sounded so good.”

It wasn’t your mess and you shouldn’t have to clean up after a grown man. But you do, and Eddie is more than grateful for your caring heart, for how sweet you are to him even on days he wants nothing more than to rot on the couch and feel sorry for himself. 

His eyes soften, and before you can ask him how his day was, he’s grabbing your cheeks with ice cold hands, bringing his frigid mouth to the warmth of your temple before kissing the tomatoey stain from your lips. 

He sighs into you, his body releasing all the pent up anger and pain from the day. Solace of your arms melted away the glacial cold from within him. 

The kisses don’t stop, and you have to lean back to turn the stove off in hopes that the chili doesn’t burn before you can eat it. 

His cold nose nudges down your neck, kissing the chain he placed there a year ago, one you never took off. He mumbles into your skin and his stomach groans with emptiness. 

“Let’s get you fed big boy,” you mouth against his sweaty curls, and he happily obliges.

After he places the last bite of chili from his bowl into your mouth, you drag him to the shower. 

Rinsing the shampoo from his curls and warming his still cold skin with your body. The heat from his tongue lapping at your skin, and something else prominently making itself known on the cheek of your ass. 

“Didn’t have to do all of that, baby,” he murmurs into your ear, fingers slowing working soap into your skin. 

“Wanted to, I love you Eds.” 

You’ve said it many times before, never once pressuring him into saying it back if he wasn’t ready. A life full of shitty people, it was hard for him to open up, but you opened something up in him that he hadn’t felt before, and he couldn’t get enough of you. 

Tangled limbs climb from the shower, skin barely rinsed and wet tendrils of hair hang down each of your necks. Your lips still taste like chili, and he still smells like work, but neither of you care. 

Lips smack together and skin is left hickied and sweaty. Elbows and knees are rubbed raw from the itchy sheets on his bed, his hair is drying into a mess from your fingers lacing through it, your breath making the curls go frizzy when he pulls you into him and rocks your body against his sat cock.  

Pulling sugary noises from you again, and again, he finally says it there. Chin between your legs, your orgasm dripping wet from his lips.

You sit up to see him, not sure if you heard. 

He says it again, liking the way it sounds, something he had been scared of saying for a long time, but he always knew he did.

A single tear slips down his cheek and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, the cobbler would sit untouched until tomorrow, Eddie having found a sweeter dessert to indulge in, love.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 44

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 44 all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

44. the god of death

As you savor the last days of early fall before bitter cold sets in, John seems way more interested in teaching you how to ride, than planning a wedding. You are perfectly fine with that. You studied up and took the permit test online the very next day. Most of it was common sense–or at least, you’d like to think so. A trip to the DMV in Clear Forks rendered you legal for the road. 

You go for rides together almost every afternoon, through the winding mountain roads, and down in town in higher traffic as well. You’ll be good and ready for your test come spring. You feel as though he has gifted you a set of wings, when you are flying down the highway together, the mountains looming majestically in the distance. Once you get the hang of it, it’s not hard to work the bike, it just takes focus–or you might die. 

Oddly–the risk seems totally worth it. Not just for your own enjoyment, but his too. You can tell that being on the bike soothes something in this man’s battered soul, and you’re rather honored that he’d share this hobby with you.

When the days get short and winter sets in, it’s too cold for the bikes, even with battery heated jackets, you fall into a new routine. John is usually the first one out of bed. Sometimes he wakes you with kisses and his beautiful cock before wandering down to the kitchen to make a simple breakfast for the two of you, usually eggs and sliced fruit with coffee. John disappears into his workshop repairing a set of first edition Beatrix Potter books, and you go to your studio, though true inspiration continues to escape you. You feel as though something is hovering just beyond your grasp; inspiration waits behind a curtain, if you could just find the right trigger to sweep it aside. 

After lunch you often sit together and read in the den with the fireplace burning. When the first snow falls it feels like magic, in that house with him. You make love on the couch and then watch the fat flakes fall through the window from under a soft blanket, John’s arms wrapped around you. Later you make dinner together, feeding each other tidbits while chopping up vegetables, bumping into each other on purpose just to steal a kiss. You close the evening with a glass of wine and sometimes a movie or a show, and sometimes you read some more. 

Sometimes, John looks at you with that smoldering warmth in his dark eyes, and you go to bed early.    

Life is so damn near perfect that it almost scares you. It really seems like the Camorra have convinced the idiotic young Dante to leave you alone, and a part of you deep down wonders if you could truly be so lucky? You know that John has not forgotten about him completely. He does not let you go to town by yourself, not even to the grocery store. This doesn’t particularly bother you–even something so mundane as pottering up and down the isles with your trolley is fun with this man at your side. You crack jokes in the wine aisle, and exchange kisses in the produce, and you’re sure everyone around you is rolling their eyes at your expense–you’re so in love you simply do not care. 

One morning John cuts up a pomegranate for breakfast, the juicy little seeds glowing brilliant magenta in the sunlight, and as he holds out one for you to try from his fingertips inspiration hits you like a shovel to the head. You accept the morsel between your lips, laving his digit clean with your tongue as you gaze up at this man in black towering over you: your lover, your protector, your captor turned your intended. Sensing the change in you, John tilts his head slightly, raven hair swinging into his midnight-dark eyes. You reach up to brush it behind his ear carefully, almost as though you are seeing him anew. 

“You like it?” he asks, and there is something fragile in his tone. Neither of you are sure he’s talking about the pomegranate. 

“I love it,” you assure him, putting him at ease. You tangle your legs with his under the breakfast table, further affirming your affection. But for the first time in a while, you cannot wait to get up to your studio.

You start with sketches, working manically to make a sort of storyboard, plotting out a whole series. You incorporate the symbols of the pomegranate and the narcissus, telling the tale of a girl who is snatched up from beside a Venetian canal by a God of Death–and how she falls in love with him. 

Though you work with your door closed, needing the privacy to create, you know John looks over what you’re making later. Sometimes he’ll place a pen or a sketchbook not quite where you left them, as though signaling that he’s been there. His most blatant admission comes in the form of a sticky note pasted like a caption below one of your gouache illustrations on thick paper, of a glowing girl clutching a bright white narcissus flower, gazing up at a man in shadow sitting upon a throne of skulls, “And the God of Death fell hopelessly in love.”     

Later, while you’re snuggled together on the couch with dog at your feet, he tells you, “If you make them on longer pieces of paper, I can bind them for you.” This quiet offer of collaboration on an art project fills your heart with a sneaking warmth that starts in your chest, and spreads all the way to your toes. 

“I would like that,” you admit, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

His next question comes quieter still; you see the worry written in those soulful dark eyes: “Are you still angry?”

You realize that the answer to that is complex. The truth is: you were, deep down, despite how good things have been. But putting all of it down on paper with ink and pigment has exorcized something toxic from you. Something that might have acted as a slow-leaching poison in your relationship, had you not administered these therapeutic paintings as your antidote. Something about reclaiming your story in the images drawn from your hand, and telling it the exact way you please, (with some stylistic embellishments borrowed from Hades and Persephone) acts as a healing balm. 

“Not anymore,” you tell him, and you mean what you say. 

John’s relief is a palpable thing; you feel the tension release from his body pressed against yours. It still has not ceased to amaze you, the power you seem to hold over this formidable man. But it goes both ways, and somehow, through blood, sweat, tears, and all the love in your hearts, you have managed to strike a balance together that makes both of you happy. 

Maybe you are young, but you are smart enough to know that is a rare and precious thing indeed. 

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Shovel Love

Snow tickled the tip of his nose as Jason fumbled with his keys. His gloves were too thick for his pockets, and his grocery bags made any maneuvering unnecessarily complicated. He was not dropping the cereals on the sidewalk. Half of it was covered in melted slush that would instantly destroy the package. He’d never live it down. 

So, he might have had to bite on his gloves, ignore the taste of leather and keep an arm elevated to balance his bags, but he did get his keys out without accident. 

The triumph was short-lived though, as the hair on the back of his neck suddenly tingled. 

“What do you want?” Jason asked, not looking away from the door. 

There was the faintest sound of snow crunching behind him. 

“I came to give a warning,” Nightwing hissed, his voice low and dark, as threatening as anything Jason had ever heard. 

And he had heard a lot of threats from his big brother. The perils of tugging Batman’s cape. 

“You’re a bit late for that,” Jason scoffed, a corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. “Already had the Arrows and most of the Titans give me their speech weeks ago. What took you so long?”

The scowl on his brother’s face deepened. 

Nightwing was the type of man that worked three superhero shifts and still tried to hold a day job. He was always in movement, always everywhere he needed to be. It made him reliable and popular with multiple generations of heroes at this point. But it also meant he had no roots anywhere. He got gossip later than most, and he was not always in a position to make good on that intel right away. Multiple crises owing.  

This was probably the first free moment he had gotten since he had learned that Jason was in a relationship with Roy Harper. 

Understandable. But Jason didn’t really care for that excuse. 

“I was busy. Others told me they’d already seen you, but I still wanted to show up for Roy.”

This time, Jason did snort. Sure. Everyone wanted to be there for Roy. And he had not ended up friendless in rehab either. God, he hated them sometimes. 

A gloved fist struck the door right next to his head. 

Jason turned around. Nightwing boxed him against the door. He was shorter, sure, but that did nothing to lessen the actual threat in his stance. Jason had seen him take down behemoths like Bane or Croc without a scratch after all.  

“Enough,” Dick growled. 

It was also hard to ignore the fact that Dick had shown up in armor while Jason only wore a winter coat for protection. And a bag of groceries hardly compared to escrima sticks with the power of cattle prods. 

“I don’t care what game you think you’re playing-”

“Not a game,” Jason bit out, irritated despite his best efforts. 

“When you break Roy’s heart, I will make you regret toying with my friend for another one of your fucked up taunts.”

“Not everything is about you.”

It took skills to convey an eye roll behind a domino mask. Nightwing managed effortlessly. 

“Of course not.” His voice turned snide. “When is it never not about Jason Todd with you?”

“Not even gonna dignify that one. So, you gonna break me in half if I hurt Roy. Cool. Message received. Are you done?”

Wrong thing to say. His dismissive tone was obviously interpreted wrong, because Nightwing bristled. 

“If you think I won’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, ten out of ten, Dick. But like I said, you ain’t the first one to give that speech. I’ve already been threatened to be skewered, deafened, decapitated, frozen in the speedforce, drowned, pulverized, thrown to a hell dimension, etc. etc. with the promise that it would make what the Joker did to me seem tame.”

Nightwing did twitch then, but it was a small thing, and quickly buried away if it was ever there. Jason didn’t bother putting stock in it.

“I guess no one really threatened lobotomy if you want to go there. Wait, no, one of his psychic teammates did. Look, at this point, just say you’re gonna beat me to death with your bare hands and save us both the time.”

Nightwing’s fists clenched, and his skin paled another shade. 

It could be anger, horror, any number of things. Jason had no intention to decipher it. 

The scar on his neck was throbbing, like it wanted Jason to remember. Funny how that always happened around heroes. 

“I really don’t care what a bunch of hypocrites like you think of me, Dick. If you wanna break your moral codes on me, go for it, you wouldn’t be the first. Hell, it wouldn’t even be your first time either.”

The frown slipped for a second, replaced by surprise, by outrage. God, Nightwing was winding himself up again, and Jason just really wanted to go put this fucking carton of milk in the fridge before it went bad. 

“Night, Dick. Glare at me through the windows if you still want to be intimidating, but I’m done talking. You’ll kill me, message received. Now, fuck off.”

And he twisted his keys in, pushing the door open and slipping inside in an instant. 

He slammed the door closed behind himself, and he snorted when the doorknob immediately rattled. Didn’t open without a key to the building. Obviously, Nightwing could break in. He probably wouldn’t though. He’d said what he wanted to, and Dick had never wanted to speak to Jason longer than necessary. 

He would definitely be doing some surveillance tonight though. He would be on high alert, probably under the impression that now that the main player had shown up, Jason would be putting his diabolical plans into action. Damn. He should close the curtains first thing as he enters, but that would be just inviting Dick to bring in every friend he had to mount a ‘rescue’. 

Jason liked this apartment. They had picked it together. It had enough space for them, was in the right part of town to be close to action when they went out as vigilantes, didn’t cost both their arms to buy…  

It was in Star City, but nothing could be perfect. 

Jason climbed out the last of the stairs and played with the keys for a second before he entered his home. 

Roy dropped the arrowhead he’d been working on, and stood up from the dinner table.

“Jaybird!”

Roy had a tendency to light up whenever he saw someone he cared about. It didn’t matter if Jason was leaving for a black out ops that would take a week or two or if he was going on a walk, the second he was back, Roy’s smile went wide and the knots of tension in his body all went slack at the same time. 

It didn’t matter how many times Jason came back, Roy exuded relief every time. 

(Not a lot of people stayed for Roy.)

The grocery bags found their way to the kitchen counter. The carton of milk could wait. 

“Hey,” Jason said as he grabbed onto his partner’s hips, “missed me?” 

“Yup,” Roy chirped, right before he leaned forward and met Jason with a gentle kiss. 

For a second, all was right in the world. And because he was Jason Todd, that feeling truly only lasted a second. He wanted to abandon himself in his lover’s arms, those beautiful biceps that pulled incredibly powerful bows to nail insane targets from equally insane distances. Even if he did not deserve that kind of peace, Jason was too greedy not to want it. But he could already feel someone’s eyes on them. Huh. That really did fuck up the mood, didn’t it?

They parted. 

“Who was it this time?” Roy asked after a moment, his shoulders dropping in exhaustion. 

Jason offered the smallest smile. “Dear old Dickiebird. He’s probably watching us as we speak.”

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. He briefly closed his eyes, and muttered some absolutely filthy curses that would have made a sailor blush. Then, with a determined stride, he marched right up to their living room’s window. He made a show of scanning the night, then flipped off the figure perched on the rooftop opposite to theirs. 

Jason devolved into giggles. Giggles! Him! And in front of a witness too. It was a good thing no one would ever believe Roy that Jason was capable of anything other than snarls and sneers. 

The funniest part of all these threats was that all these paragons somehow thought Jason would still be alive after he lost the last person to ever care about him. Was he supposed to care if they chose to spit on his corpse or reduce it to ash? It’d only help make sure Jason would not come back again.

***

Nightwing’s visit was nothing out of the ordinary, besides the tardiness. Jason had a reputation. It pissed Roy off to no end how so many people would parade around their place now and offer him unconditional support in kicking Jason to the curb if needed. Jason honestly would have thought it was kind of sweet, if it was not disgustingly hypocritical. 

Roy had once been the black sheep of the hero community. 

But the blackest sheep of them all wore a Red Hood. 

Also, on occasion, an apron to cook. A cheesy, horny one that said ‘Kiss the cock’ with a cartoony rooster on the front. Roy always waggled his eyebrows at Jason when he wore it. What was he supposed to do? A man was weak. 

At least, the horny promises in those eyes usually waited after they had eaten whatever Jason had slaved over in his pots and pans. 

Tonight’s menu was a honey glazed salmon that had been priced just in that sweet spot of affordable on sale they always looked for. It did look good, if Jason said so himself. He poked at it with his knife, his mind on other things. He should not wait any longer. It was almost the twenty-fourth. Any later and it would hurt worse. 

He hated himself a bit more for it though. 

“Hey, Roy?” Jason said softly. 

Roy hummed lazily, blowing over the steaming piece of fish. “Jaybird? What is it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to Queen’s for Christmas Dinner. ”

Roy froze. He stared, uncomprehending, his fork still suspended in the air with a piece of salmon, held in a tightly clenched hand. He stopped breathing. His eyes filled with an emotion that was so rare in him. 

Fear, in a way no army of mimes or evil robots or space dragons could ever evoke. 

“I got a lead on the trafficking ring,” Jason said. 

The shift was immediate. Whiplash even. Roy nodded, mind set. 

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Jason made a show of hesitating. The last thing he wanted was to pull his partner away from the people he loved. Especially when things had been so rough between them before. It would do no one any favor if Roy bailed on them now.  

“You should go see your family.”

“Jason,” Roy scoffed. 

“They wouldn’t be happy if I pulled you away from the holidays for work.”

A flash of fiery emotion burned through Roy’s voice. “So what? I should let you do this without backup because Ollie wouldn’t get into the Christmas Spirit otherwise?”

“We already scouted things. We don’t need to both be there to crash the operation. I’ll be on frequency. If I need the backup, I can call the rest of the birds. They’ll show up.”

They wouldn’t, because Jason would not tell them anything. But there was a slight possibility that they would have shown up if they knew the trafficking ring was legit and not a trap. 

“I don’t like this, Jaybird. We’re a team…”

“I’ll be fine. Nothing will happen to me. And it’s better this way. Do you really think the arrows wanted me polluting their dinner table? I can see Queen’s glare from here.”

“So you should be alone on Christmas instead,” Roy whispered miserably. “Jaybird… ”

Guilt started to gnaw at Jason’s bone, but he held firm. He wrapped his arms around his man and placed a light kiss on his cheek. 

“I’ll be okay, Roy. Not my first time. Trust me, you won’t miss anything busting up scum’s kneecaps. Okay, except maybe some catharsis, but we can do that any other time. Just go spend the time with your family. I’ll be there when you come back. What will you do with the gifts you’ve bought otherwise? Come on, Roy. You’ve been looking forward to that dinner for months.”

Which was exactly why Jason had timed everything to be unavailable at the last minute. He had taken the hints a while ago. He was not going to ruin things for Roy to impose on people that hated him. 

***

Jason did not react to the sound of their bedroom door slowly opening. 

He pretended not to hear Roy’s sharp intake of air, or his sigh of relief. They did not poke at each other’s open wounds. They’d never survive if they started acting like their families. For all Jason was the biggest stain on superhero society, that spot had once belonged to Roy. Blame was an insidious game. It snuck up on you. It made fathers throw their kids out in the street. So, they just didn’t. 

Jason pretended to stir only when the bed dipped, because it would be completely nonsensical for a bat not to notice. 

(Roy, of course, knew.)

(They knew a lot of things about each other that they never put into words.)

“Had fun?” he mumbled into his pillow. 

Roy pressed himself against Jason’s back, warm, almost feverish. His arms circled Jason’s waist, his nose tickled the middle of Jason’s back. Like he didn’t want to risk Jason seeing his face. 

“Yeah. You? Wiped out the whole operation?”

“Purged the whole thing. Got a bunch of kids to their parents, or the cops for those who lived out of town. ”

A faint tension seemed to fall into the room. 

Jason should not have said that. 

Roy’s body was trembling. 

“They put up a plate for Lian… ”

Oh, Roy. 

“Dinah gave a speech. It was…” Roy sniffed. “It was really pretty. Lian would have loved it. Everyone ended up crying. Fuck, I… I really would have given up everything for her to be there with us then. I… I would have wanted you there, Jaybird.”

Jason bit his lips, staring ahead at their bedroom wall. Anywhere but back.

“Sorry, Roy.”

Should he have gone anyway? In his guts, he knew it would have been a disaster. Everyone else would have been so pissed if he had witnessed their moment. He was well aware of what Queen thought of him. He’d hissed it to him once. 

Why in the name of all that was good was he the one that came back to life? 

Jokes on Queen, Jason had been having those thoughts long before he and Roy ever became an item. Before the whole of the hero community seemingly rallied behind Roy for once in their goddamned lives. 

As Robin, he had died under the impression that he had been loved. That he had been a good hero, and that he had had a better run than most kids in his circumstances would have. 

And then he had woken up in his own coffin. 

How many of them had told him he had wasted every opportunity to be welcomed back? 

To what? He’d thought about asking them again and again. To a father who had disowned him in death, turned him into a cautionary tale for the other sidekicks? To a community that had forgotten him? To a battle that featured all the same monsters, only bolstered by even more abominations like Professor Pyg? 

Jason had died thinking he had been loved, and some cruel cosmic force had decided to show him how wrong he had been. 

Batman had told him, between even more lectures, that it was natural that a father would be filled with righteous fury at the death of his son. That it was expected he’d try to retaliate. To kill his son’s killers. 

Funny that, right? But Jason had also forgotten how Bruce had claimed not to be Jason’s father. His fucking fault for getting it wrong. For letting himself believe. For giving Batman a second chance, one desperate chance to show Jason had not been just a fool to believe three years of partnership meant something. 

He had long stopped being annoyed whenever someone got his motives wrong. He had been screaming everything he wanted and needed and was trying to accomplish, and not one of them got it right. Half the bats thought he had tried to force Batman to kill the Joker, for fuck’s sake. 

(The irony of them thinking Bruce needed to be forced to kill someone made Jason’s scar ache.)

(The irony of them thinking he had only come back from the dead once .)

“Do you want to go see her tomorrow?” Jason asked. 

Roy nodded against his back, stifling another bout of sobbing. Tightening his grip as if he would drown without that touch. 

“We’ll buy her a bouquet of daffodils and white lilies.”

“And red carnations.”

“Yes. Those too.”

The keening sound Roy made threatened to rip Jason’s heart in two. He felt himself shudder, his insides growing cold as he placed his hands over Roy’s, as he leaned into his partner’s touch. 

“Roy, I’m here,” he whispered urgently.  

“Don’t leave me, Jaybird. Please, don’t leave me. I can’t lose anyone else. I’m sorry. I know they hate you, I keep telling them to knock it off, but they never listen. They told me again tonight. They keep saying it’s Jade all over again. It’s not. I know it’s not. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.”

“I’m here,” he repeated. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he managed to twist himself inside Roy’s dead grip, managed to turn around to face his partner in crime and in life.

“Everyone leaves. Even Kori,” Roy whispered, despair choking him.

“I’m not leaving you. I’m here. Roy, I’m here. I won’t leave and I won’t die. I love you.”

Roy gave him a kiss mixed with tears. “I love you.”

Jason was certain that more heroes would come out of the woodwork and posture at him eventually. They would threaten and reason and bargain and every other thing they could think of to protect Roy from Jason. 

But when he held Roy in his arms after another nightmare, another beautiful dream where Lian was alive, another listless night when his arms itched with cravings , Jason knew he would be there until the day Roy got sick of him.

Like everyone else. 

But not a moment sooner. 

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 09

Kinktober Masterlist aurum potestas est - "gold is power" Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader Kinks > prostitution, coercion, corruption Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk. Warning: NONCON

You are hired by the FSB to plant a bug in Gaz’s coat pocket when he runs into you on the street. But he catches you in the act and drags you to his safehouse. As you realize that he plans to keep you as his prize, you wonder if this job was worth the money after all. 

I think @cod-z left a comment about how much they enjoyed mean Gaz, so I took that idea a little too far.

They had known you were just hungry enough to say yes. You had seen them, those fucking Red wolves, lurking around Building D in your bloc apartments. They were bullying the kids who ran through the outdoor balconies, trying to climb on the roof to throw snowballs or to piss off the side onto unsuspecting pedestrians. And yes, they were little shits, but when you started to see them with black eyes and busted lips, you wondered if the FSB knew that they were twelve year olds and not fully grown men. 

You wanted to scream at them to pick on someone their own size. To at least help the babushkas with their shopping trolleys. To maybe pick up a shovel and clear the path of ice and snow for a change. Maybe contribute to the community that they were policing so harshly? But, no. They didn’t give a fuck about the community. They were looking for those British spies. 

Four Brits had moved into Building E, the shadiest bloc of them all, and they’d stuck out like a whole hand of sore thumbs. Everyone knew they were there. Their Russian accents left a lot to be desired. And yet, no one ratted them out. The Landlord, Danila Kosteyv, made sure the entire neighborhood knew that the Brits were off-limits. They’d obviously done well to line his pockets with enough rubles to last through the winter. It was the way of things: layer upon layer of corruption like a fetid little medovik, each cruel slice more putrid than the last. 

So, when you were walking home from your job cleaning offices down Tverskaya street, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a menacing hand darted out from the shadows next to your apartment’s mailbox bank and curled around your arm. 

“Idi syuda, devochka.” Come here, girl. Your assailant snapped at you, trying to drag you into the elevator next to the boxes.    

You rolled your eyes at him, and put on your best Tajik accent, mimicking the women who worked with you on your floor, 

“Sorry, no Russian.”

“Zatknis', suka. Zaydite v lift.” Shut up, bitch. Get in the lift. He shoved you with all of his force, and it was enough to fling you against the wall, spilling the meager contents of your purse. 

“Fuck you, silovik. Tell your boss that the fucking chuzhaky are in the other apar–” A hard slap cut across your face without warning. One of the other brutes had raked his knuckles across your mouth, and now you could taste blood on your tongue. 

You fought the urge to cry, and instead, you channeled your mother and rolled your eyes at him again, daring him to just shoot you already. You were nobody, just a cleaner. What they wanted, you couldn’t give them. 

They boxed you in inside the lift, and their stale smell of cigarettes and sweat filled the tiny space, burning in your nose and throat. Once the doors shuddered open, they decided to walk you the rest of the way with each of your arms pinned in their big hands, bruising your skin carelessly. 

You didn’t need to tell them which flat was yours; they already knew. The man who had spoken to you snatched your keys out of your hand and let himself in. You were pushed inside your own house, suddenly a prisoner in a place that you paid for. Even though you should’ve been scared, all you really felt was indignant. 

The FSB bastards oozed into your dingy little flat like black tar, making everything that they touched dirty with their presence. They made themselves at home, eating your leftovers and drinking the dregs of the wine you’d been saving for your birthday. 

“Chto ty khochesh'?” What do you want? You said in your normal Russian accent, dropping the ruse. 

The leader, a fat, balding man with eyebrows like furry caterpillars and pock marks across his cheeks grabbed your hand and placed a device in your palm. 

“Polozhite eto v karman odnogo iz shpionov. Zatem zazhgite svechu i postav'te yeye v okno.” Put this in one of those spies' pockets. Then light a candle and put it in the window. He told you, pointing to your one and only window that overlooked another bloc of apartments. 

“Zaplati mne.” Pay me. You said, holding out your other, empty hand. 

You waited for another slap, but instead, the man with the eyebrows rooted around in his pants for a moment and pulled out a money clip. He placed it in your palm and closed your fist around it, making your bones ache from his grip. You winced, trying to pull away, but he held fast, forcing you to meet his eyes,

“Desyat' tysyach rubley seychas i yeshche desyat' tysyach, kogda zazhzhete svechu.” Ten thousand rubles now and another ten thousand when you light the candle. 

You looked down at the cash in your hand. This was more than you made in a whole week of cleaning offices, and you balked at the sum. These FSB men really wanted this job done. Eyebrows shoved his way past you, stealing your cigarettes from your countertop and pocketing them for himself. Just when he was about to close your door behind him, you rushed to it, holding it ajar. 

“Zhdat'!” Wait! You called out, “Pochemu ya?” Why me?

Eyebrows wore a sinister smile across his mouth, bending close enough for you to smell his rancid breath, and you felt his hand trace his way up and over the shell of your ear, swiping down your braid gently with his finger, letting it rest in his palm.  

“Ty dostatochno urodliv, chtoby ne vyzyvat' podozreniy.” You’re ugly enough to not arouse any suspicions. He sneered, “I ty deshevle shlyukhi.” And you’re cheaper than a whore.

He shrugged, slamming your own door shut behind him, leaving you to stew in your anger at his mean words. 

The next day, you called in sick and headed over to Building E. You were bundled, smoking a brand new pack of cigarettes, your belly full for the first time in weeks thanks to the silovik’s money. This was not an area for foreigners, nothing like the shops and rental properties near your job on Tverskaya. But, when you saw the Brits emerge from their ground-floor flat, they were looking more and more like they belonged. 

They’d taken to dressing in cheap but warm clothing, sporting hats and shoes and jackets they’d seen other men wearing around the bloc, and whomever had trained them in looking unapproachable had done a damn good job. Alas, they were still too noticeable to get away with much. Their nails were too clean, they were too well-fed, and the stain of an oppressive cycle of gray winters had not hardened their expressions quite enough. 

You lingered closer to their apartment, pretending to pass out pamphlets you’d found around the bus station, giving yourself a reason to get near their entryway. One of them, the tall, handsome one with dark skin, walked by you, ignoring your pamphlet, letting the folded brochure graze his shoulder as he walked. 

You chased after him, 

“Gospodin, podozhdite! Razve vy ne khotite uznat' o –” Sir, wait! Don't you want to know about –

“No Russian. Izvini, ya ne govoryu po-russki.” His voice was warm like a fire, even when he was trying to give you a cold shoulder.

“Here, sir. Please, take it,” you moved closer, slipping the bug into his coat pocket, pretending to stumble over the cracked sidewalk a bit, keeping your eyes pinned on his and praying that he would take the bait. 

He stopped walking, and for a moment, you thought you’d gotten away with it. He took one of your pamphlets, and you noticed just how much bigger he was than any of the FSB assholes who had come into your house. But, the pair of big, brown eyes that stared into yours were too bright, they held too much knowledge, too much experience. Behind his gaze lurked a smart, calculating beast, and when he let your pamphlet flutter onto the slick, icy path, you knew you had been caught. His full lips curled up into a smile, not unlike the one Eyebrows had given you when he degraded you in your own home, and he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out the device you’d planted. 

“Drop somethin’, love?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at the bug between his fingers. With very little effort, he smashed it in his hand, reducing it to platicky bits and letting them fall to the concrete, grinding them under his black, leather boot, crushing it to dust. 

You turned, bolting back to your building, but he caught you by the wrist, gripping you even harder than the FSB men, nearly breaking your small bones just like he had destroyed the bug. 

“No, please. They made me!” You protested, stumbling as he dragged you through the dimly-lit hall of his building, scraping your shoulder along the rough wall as he stomped off towards his flat. 

You fought him, knowing that once he pulled you over the threshold of his door, you were as good as dead. 

“They made you, huh? Did they threaten you? They holdin’ your mum hostage at the Kremlin, innit that right?” He rolled his eyes, showing the same disdain for you as you had for the FSB agents, sarcasm dripping from his sharp teeth. 

“No… No! But they –”

He shouldered the door open, letting it bang into the wall, landing in the same spot where dents already existed from years of other men doing the same exact thing. 

“They what? They said they’d come back and kill you, is that it?”

He sat you on the bed, your wrist still stuck to his closed fist, and he stood between your legs, towering over you like a giant. 

“No…” You sniffled, fearful tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“No. Then what are you doin’ this for, babydoll? Don’t you fuckin’ know better?”

“I needed the money!” You screamed up at him, shame flooding your voice. 

He paused, looking down at you for a moment, his eyes glaring but a fake smile warping his visage. He looked like a hyena when it laughs, hungry and ready to taste blood. 

“You needed the money? So, you risked your fuckin’ life. My fuckin’ life. All for what?”

He wanted a number. You stuttered, suddenly regretting telling him the truth,

“Ten th-thousand…”

“My life, all for ten thousand filthy fuckin’ rubles? Bloody hell…” He was laughing in disbelief, now. His hand wasn’t even holding onto you anymore. He was just shaking his head in disbelief, bitter and cruel in his appraisal of you and your morals.

“We come all the way out to this bloody fuckin’ shithole, tryin’ to stop a goddamn terrorist, tryin’ to save you bastards from fuckin’ war. And you’d sell me out for a goddamn hundred quid?”

His eyes peered down at you, and he seemed like he was full of thoughts. His energy was electric, and you could almost feel the edges of the room bending and warping as his mind raced, controlling you and this nasty little predicament like a magician, every movement was sleight of hand, every word was a riddle. 

“What else would you do, huh? I got the bleedin’ bills right here,” he ripped a stack of rubles from his back pocket, flipping them in front of your nose like he was counting them out for you, letting the corners slap against your skin, “How much do you want? I don’t have any fuckin’ bugs for you to plant. So, what else are you gonna give me, huh?”

He bent his body down to look you right in the eyes, too close and yet his breath didn’t make you recoil like Eyebrows’ had. You imagined, in another place, in another time, this man could be good. He could be kind. But, what motivation had you given him to be kind to you?

“I… I don’t know… What do you want?” You asked him, sniffling and pitiful, holding your arms to your chest like you were shivering from the cold. 

“How much for a kiss, hm?” He smiled, pretending to be sweet, and doing a poor enough acting job to know that he was still a threat.

He held up a red, crisp five thousand note, holding it in front of your eyes. Slowly, right in front of your face, he folded it in half and brushed the paper across your lips, watching with satisfaction as your mouth fell open in shock and terror.

“Yeah? One kiss. I think it’s a good bargain, love. What do you think?” His voice was low, like a lover’s, and yet you knew you were anything but. 

You didn’t know another way out of this situation, so you leaned forward, pressing your mouth to his, kissing him as if you were in a school play, performing the act and yet feeling only embarrassment and shame. 

“Mm,” he pulled back, his brow furrowing, “Let’s try again, yeah?” He pulled another note out, just as clean and crisp as the first, holding it up to your mouth this time, “Go on, then. Kiss me like you mean it.”

He kept the paper in place, moving his mouth over it, kissing you with the barrier between your lips, his other hand gripping you at the nape of your neck and forcing your head to move where he wanted it to. Then, as he kissed you deeper, the paper fell, wet and crumpled on the floor. His tongue invaded your mouth, and he sucked on your lips, making you forget that you were not supposed to be enjoying this. 

“You’ve such a soft little mouth, love. Bet you can do all kinds of things with it, huh? Or does it only know how to lie to me?” 

He glared, and you didn’t know what to say. So, you waited, watching as he counted out ten of the five thousand notes. It was twice what you’d made last month. 

Then, he raised himself up to his full height, holding out the cash in his hand like a fan, showing it to you like it was proof of your crimes against him,

“C’mon, baby. It’s all yours. Every goddamn cent,” his hand tightened in your hair making you cry out from the pain of his fist on your scalp, “What’re you gonna do for it?”

You stared up at him and then your eyes settled on the crotch of his pants, bulging and tight right in front of you. You looked up at him again, and he looked like he was holding back his laughter, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from cackling at your helplessness. 

You looked back at his obvious erection, and you gingerly began to unbutton his jeans, the only sound in the room was the whir of his zipper and the breaths that were hitching in your chest. He was hidden behind black boxer briefs, so you peeled them away, freeing his heavy cock and watching it sway in front of your face. 

Then, you hesitated, wondering if he would truly force you to suck him off just for planting a bug on him. You looked up at his face, searching for the gentleness that you knew could be there. But, it wasn’t. He’d put that away, saving it for another, a prettier one, someone more deserving. You were just another problem for him that he needed to solve. 

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy on me, now,” he purred, using his fan of cash to brush down your face and mouth, petting you with it, over and over, creating a deceptively silky softness on your cheek, lulling you into thinking you were choosing to do this on your own. 

You leaned forward, taking just the head into your mouth, looking up at him for his approval. He grinned at you, smiling wide, winking at you audaciously,

“Tha’s it, baby. I knew you could put that mouth to work. Anythin’ for the cash, right?”

He was teasing you, watching you struggle to take even half of his length, rubbing your cash all over your face and nose, using it to grab you around the jaw and move you back and forth as you attempted to suck him off. 

“How much for me to see those heavy fuckin’ tits, huh?” He let each bill fall across your face one by one as you jerked his shaft and suckled from his drooling tip, working him like a pump, expecting him to flood your throat,  unfeeling and uncaring. 

 You pulled away from him and looked up in the same shocked way, not understanding how you could get yourself out of this. He had you under his spell, threatening in tone and stature alone, but it was enough. 

You shucked off your jacket, and you began to unbutton your sweater, wearing nothing underneath. Bras were expensive, and you couldn’t justify wearing them out on your days off. Button by button, his cock twitched, shining with your spit, still beading up at the slit with his precome, eager for more. 

Finally, your sweater fell open, and you removed it, laying it with your jacket, and looking up at him for another round of approval. 

“Wow,” he praised you sarcastically, “Such a good girl, aren’t you? If someone holds out a bill in front of you, you’d fuckin’ stab your own mum in the back, huh?”

“No! I was only –”

His cock was back in your mouth, and you choked on it, struggling to take it so deeply and upset by how much of the shaft was still left to go. He pushed himself forward again, forcing himself down into your throat, making you take him in such a way that you didn’t know was physically possible. 

“You just needed the money, I know, I know. You fuckin’ told me that. Short memory, me.” He laughed, watching you struggle to breathe as he held you in place, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got it right here.”

He reached back and grabbed another stack of bills, spreading some over your nose and face, using the other notes to tease and fondle your breasts, his hands neither holding them nor placing them deliberately. He was just smearing them across your flesh like it was paint, covering you in the notes, desperate to make you feel them against your nipples and your breasts and your sensitive neck, wrapping the paper over your body and squeezing it to you, groping you behind the money until it fell to the floor. Then, he could fondle you properly, pinching your hanging peaks, teasing them until they were taut, and rolling their nubs between his thumb and forefinger as you tried to bob your head up and down on his length. 

Then, once he was pleased with your body, he turned his attention back to your mouth, holding both sides of your head in his huge hands, guiding your head all the way down to his black, curly root, burying your nose it his pubes maliciously, his cock throbbing when you gagged and gasped around him.

He began to thrust into you, humping his cock down your throat, not bothering to stop to allow you to take a breath. 

“Tha’s it, baby. I knew you could fuckin’ do it. Just had to pay you the right amount, huh? A few rubles and this tight little throat opens right on up for me.”

Suddenly, with a show of strength you had never experienced, he held your face down to this body and jerked up into you, hard. He began to fill your belly with his hot come, cutting off your airway as he held your mouth in place. With each pump, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming. It was a natural reaction, and you had no say in it. 

Unfortunately, he noticed. 

“Look at you,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth, “You fuckin’ love it, don’t you? Swallowin’ my knob for money like a bloody hooker and comin’ in your knickers like a slag.”

The door to the flat opened up, and he ignored it, his fury and lustful rage focusing solely on you. You tried to get away, writhing and wriggling with desperation, trying your best to take a breath in whichever way you could. 

“Gaz,” a man’s voice purred through the room like a warning, “Who’s this, then?”

“I dunno, Captain. Said she’d do anythin’ for a few quid. She even tried to plant a fuckin’ bug in my pocket for those Kremlin bastards, but we found something else she’s good at, didn’t we, baby?”

Gaz ripped himself out of your throat, strings of drool and come connecting his gleaming head to your wet lips, open, choking, and panting for breath. He dragged his dark, ebon head across your soft cheek, just like he’d dragged the money, and he wiped himself on your face with abandon. 

“Don’t worry, love,” he grinned down at you, admiring the way he’d made a mess on your skin, “I’m sure there’s all sorts of talents you’ve got. Now, how much for me to fill up that pussy?”

“I don’t think I should… I can’t…” You whispered, unable to use the full power of your voice. 

But, Gaz was already shoving you down onto the bed, rolling off your pants, and staring longingly down at your shining cunt. He turned to the captain and smiled,

“Think she’ll give us a two-for-one deal?”

Their laughter turned your stomach, but when you saw them reach into their wallets to shower you with more and more cash, you spread your legs wide, admitting to yourself that you were nothing more than a filthy whore for them, letting them take you as many times as they wanted, the red paper notes sticking to your sweaty flesh as your body rocked back and forth across the mattress.