#i'm not super happy with this but it's done and behind me now

[cowboy-robooty]

This is the 5th time im trying to post this damn masterlist. fuck my baka life. It straight up deleted your ask last time my apologies.

i didnt respond for 10 days because it made me so happy to get an ask like this that my little heart ceased to beat so i flopped over and died grandpa on the lazy-boy with a bucket of chicken on his lap style. im ok now tho dont worry. anyways, heres a current compilation of my exceptional itager doujin comics and such (not singular fanarts), although this list hasn't updated in forever since... idk... people don't really scanlate itager comics from pixiv much anymore (>3<) at least not on tumblr since the R-18 ban! I'll put this all under the cut since it'll be a bit long

FULL DOUJINSHI:

Hiraite Musunde Ishuukan! - R (corolla)

This is the best itager doujinshi ever. Hands down. I've never read anything that has topped this it is literally perfect. It's created by overlord R who's only critical fault is that she ships gerita.. but ngl i think she was just born in the wrong time. You'll see a lot more work by her here and i genuinely think that if she was born in an era that didn't push for uke italy she would've been an itager warrior. shes like how a lot of people who aren't racist in this day and age (thank god) would've TOTALLY been super racist 50 years ago (you know what i mean? sometimes you just can tell when you know somebody). Poor R was born in the wrong generation.

Her other doujins are also excellent (found below)

Lettera d’amore - R (corolla)

Very close second to her best one

Gattiino Nante Iwasenai - R (corolla)

This one is also great but I'd say it's only a tinyyy bit more behind the other two because of the knowledge she is a Gerita believer (it spoils the taste of some bits when you think about it). If you ignore her beliefs though this is a just as high quality of Itager doujin as the other two

Temperatur - PB (Neri)

What's this?! A doujin that's improperly sorted on [MANGA SCANLATION SITE] under gerita?! This is Itager LOL you can literally see it on the title and on Otaku Republic its labled as itager as well. Although it has fully proper intentions behind it, it's still not nearly as good as R's above doujinshis or my favorite Itager fanartist (who will come up later in the pixiv comic section). This isn't because it's itager of course (im going to fucking kill you if you go "durhhh its worse because its itager since gerita is supreme") NO. It's because this author isn't willing to keep "it" in their pants! This is a shounen ai but there's still too much eroticism for the sake of sexiness rather than humor which takes away from the critical broship aspect of itager! I have nothing against ero (if you know me im SUPER pro-ero) but yaoi is a science! Erotic scenes are like chilli crisp in a doujinshi... YOU MUST USE THEM PROPERLY OR ELSE IT'LL RUIN THE YAOI INSTEAD OF ENHANCING IT! Also there is pruaus jumpscare which ranks it down for me too.

HONORABLE MENTION

I have two Itager doujinshis I bought off Otaku Republic that have never been scanlated before. They are the last of their kind on the website, so I'm too afraid to tear them open for scanlation. I also don't know how to translate Japanese and it probably would be a nightmare to contact the original authors of these doujins since they're so old... but the art looks so good... especially for strawberry sex. I will make a point to put an effort in this over the summer (if I cannot get permission, then I will translate it for myself and you will need to personally contact me to see the translation, out of respect for the original author).

TRANSLATED PIXIV COMICS:

Before we begin, everybody, please say thank you to yumekotan. I have no clue where you have gone and I think you probably shipped gerita (another case of being born in the wrong generation perhaps), but you have done an incredible service for our world with your scanlations. I will be providing links to yumekotan's tumblr post scanlations for your easy enjoyment and grouping the links by author.

モツ (MY FAVORITE):

this motherfucker is my goat. my on god goat. i think they hate hetalia now or are just average japanese embarassed of their past bc they deleted all their hetalia work and i would literally do anything to put them in a time machine and make them go back to when they liked this shit so i could commission them to make a whole doujinshi with my entire year of part time job pay. Perhaps I'm wrong, since this is all we have left of motsu's legacy in the itager wars, but this is SO freaking itager i think my eyes would start rolling to the back of my skull if i found out they're another gerita victim of the era. because almost everybody else on this motherfucking post is a victim to being born in the wrong generation, but they do have comics and fanarts that show symptoms of their gerita truth aids (and the comic gets really weird or bad suddenly when it kicks in like you can pinpoint it). Motsu has never faltered. And whats even more impressive is that this is absolutely canon. The best itager doujinshi by R is incredible and perfect because it's exactly canon, but I think that motsu takes it a step further by being able to create mundane comics that still have the same level of canon atmosphere. I'll admit that R's best Itager doujin relies on sticking close to things himaruya has already written to keep it standing strong. Motsu doesnt give a single fuck. bro said no pads no helmet no condom we whip out dick out in the wind raw and see who gets pregnent. and it turned out himaruya did because these comics are absolutely perfect they are a true extension of the real webcomic itager which i think i have a SUPER SUPER long way to go until i can get there. (at this point I kind of embrace that my itager is colored in the way my way of writing and humor is, but that is because i draw itager for fun too much these days due to heavy school and work. my career is studying classical #true webcomic himaruya style itager which requires actual skill).

R (corolla):

These above three are very good quality R pixiv comics (going from best (top) to great (bottom))

^ Good tier comic. nothing excellent but nothing bad in its flavor

The below four are itager comics I would consider OK, but they have some form of gerita AIDS that causes it to be a bit unpleasant to eat (to varying degrees, going from OK (top) to what is this gay shit <- derogetory (bottom)). R was born in the wrong generation... and it really starts showing how the environment influenced them to add some really bad components to their version of the ship

^[This comic seems to have problems, so click this LINK to see it]

To clarify, none of these are absolutely terrible awful "killed my grandma" kind of things. All of these comics compared to the average gerita comic are WONDERFUL. But if we are looking at it alone without the context of the gerita invasion our world is suffering from, these OK-bad tier comics do have key components wrong with them. If anyone is interested I suppose I can make another post annotating what is wrong with these comics, but I feel like that is unnecessary and a bit cruel considering R doesn't seem interested in the ship anymore. Sometimes people live and die in the wrong era, and you must acknowledge their faults, but still be understanding of the situation they were in.

Hakoniwa:

^[This comic also seems to have problems, so click this LINK to see it]

If you've read all the English translated doujins for this ship floating around online, you probably recognize this author and are surprised this is here! Yes, they have a billion jillion gerita doujins and i hate all of them LOL. But this one pixiv comic is the one time they got something right. Hakoniwa seems to have this problem that (aside from gerita... although I think this is a symptom of having gerita aids) they make this ship way too emotional in an angsty sadness manner! I understand that their focus is that they prefer exploring the emotional depth of ships rather than making humorous situations, but they're doing it all wrong! (this isn't even to mention how I think that humor and emotional depth are things that can exist side by side; even complimenting each other if executed properly....) I feel like people get the idea with ships that sadness/angst = depth, which is untrue. emotional components that twist your heart around and bring you to tears can come from sad AND happy things, it just seems to be that it's much harder to execute with happiness. People think angst and fluff are opposite things when really, they're two sides of the same coin, with both of them being done terribly most often LOL. I don't consider myself someone who likes fluff or angst at all actually, because it seems that when people describe something as either of those things, neither of them provoke the feeling im supposed to have. I think that with itager, it has lots of depth in its emotional components, but these components are made of things that make you feel so heartwarmed that you could cry. This comic does not reach that level, but it is for once an emotional comic that Hakoniwa gets RIGHT. This is canon compliant. This is something that would happen. This is ITAGER!

FANFICTION:

There is no good itager fanfiction. There is very few mid ones. maybe one or two OK/almost good ones. but no solid good ones. and this is coming from a guy who spent the last 6 years scouring ao3 and fanfiction dot net. In my opinion, hetalia fandom has this wretched curse that it will uniquely be the only fandom with so much fanfiction with none of it being good. Good hetalia fanfiction does not exist for Itager and Romapru. For other ships maybe, but at least for the two I'm into hell No. Everytime I come back to ao3 it just leaves me upset and unsatisfied like that stripper that i KNOW doesn't actually love me and just wants my money, but I keep coming back hoping shell change her mind. NEWS FLASH! SHE WONT!! SHE JUST NEEDS TO PAY HER BILLS THIS MONTH!

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Hidekaz Himaruya:

Webcomic Kitayume era. Basically anything before the World Stars serialization. I often reread this era whenever I'm feeling like I want to consume some itager

Hetalia (anime - Studio Deen):

Seasons 1-4 (APH to World Series... in other words before the artstyle changed.) + bits and pieces of beautiful world are good (but some are BAD... LOOKS AT THAT ONE SCENE THEY ADDED THAT I FUCKING HATE).

Bloody Moimoi:

I'm not a bloody moimoi expert, but of course I've read their doujins how could i not. They have pieces of real goodness in them, but basically all of their work is R-18, so of course the gerita aids is too much for my palate to handle. I'll take a closer examination at them if somebody asks me to, but for now I'd say if you haven't read their work yet you should, since during their non R-18 scenes I remember theres some good parts, but the R-18 totally kills my boner *cries*

IN CONCLUSION:

I hope this was helpful!! I'm SO HAPPY I GOT THIS ASK WWWWW IM SOOOO HAPPY EEEEK EEEK EEEEEEK SQUEE IM SO HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT ITAGER THANK YOU GUYS. I LOVE ITAGER I LOVE TALKING ABOUT IT I LOVE IT I LOVEEEE IT AUGHAKSDJF *BLEEDS FROM EYES*. This isn't itager connected at all, but you should read Killer Crush (manhwa) if you like Itager. To me Killer Crush is as close as an independent completely unrelated manhwa can get to being an Itager AU. Seriously. To me it's an itager au ngl and in the ranks of my absolute favorite comics. 10/10 read it. it's a nicotine patch.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite DAY 24 - SUIT PT. 2 (EXTRA-CREDIT)

Find part 1 here!

(Please be kind to me I don't know how to write romance or historical fiction or characters who have chemistry but i tried my hardest, dammit!)

Rating: General Characters: Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light Word Count: 2,000 Content Warnings: None

The full moon lit the courtyard in blue and silver, lending it an enchanting, spectral quality. The loud thrum of activity that permeated the dance floor was muffled by the stone walls and paned windows, leaving the exterior pleasantly quiet. He idly wondered if there were any other ne’er-do-wells who had snuck away from the tasteful entertainment to enjoy a bit more privacy. If there were, they had already secreted themselves away among the hedges.

He had made his way unhurriedly across the ballroom and had lingered for a short time at the door before slipping through it, ensuring that no curious stares followed him outside. In that time, he had lost sight of her, and he wandered aimlessly through the grounds. He had no doubt that his path would eventually wind its way towards her. He ambled to and fro for a short time, enjoying the sights and smells of the labyrinthine garden before he found himself following the sound of running water down a familiar footpath. Sure enough, there she was, perched on the edge of a stone fountain, legs crossed in a manner most un-ladylike, dangling one hand carelessly into the cool water. The fountain was not quite as grand or as expensive as the one that stood at the center of the courtyard, but he knew that it was her favorite. She liked all of its carvings of mythical beasts from the world over; manticores, unicorns, gryphons, sea serpents, and more he couldn’t even name. Her gaze was turned skyward when he approached, towards the glittering stars that sprawled overhead, far beyond the reach of the yellow light that poured from the manor house. He took a moment to admire her like that: staring dreamily at the stars as her hand drew small patterns in the water.

The picture lasted only a minute, however, as she soon brought her eyes back down to smile impishly at him. He smiled back at her fondly; the only child of the Irhi family, and the scourge of not only her own house but noble houses everywhere. She was loud, crass, and openly flirtatious in a social strata where so much as sharing more than two dances with the same partner was enough to label one “promiscuous.” She invited men and women alike to dance, though more and more her invitations were politely declined. She wore whatever she felt suited her at any given time, be it lavish dresses or men’s coats, to great protestation. She rode astride horses and challenged men to races. She was overly familiar with servants. She snuck out of her parents’ house to visit raucous taverns, where she sang and danced and even climbed onstage. She indulged liberally in good food and alcohol, played childish pranks, and told scandalous jokes. She was a blight on her parents’ reputation and polite society at large, and he couldn’t help but find himself quite taken with her.

“You know,” He mused, coming to stand before her. “Some might find it highly improper for a young lady such as yourself to be strolling the gardens at night, unattended. Especially in the company of a man. What would your parents think?”

“Nothing they haven’t thought before, surely,” She replied flippantly. That was probably true. It was hardly the worst thing she had done, and her parents hadn’t disowned her yet, to the consternation of many. “And if you’re so concerned about my good name, you didn’t have to follow me. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” she denied, though they both knew that the invitation had been intentional, if unspoken. She knew he couldn’t say no to her. She didn’t even have to ask the question.

“Though, she continued, “I can’t pretend I’m disappointed with the company.” She flashed him a grin.

He smiled back, somehow feeling at ease even as his heart fluttered. “Weren’t you enjoying the party?” He asked.

She snorted, something he was sure would have been deemed “unbecoming” back inside. “I was enjoying the party plenty. It’s other people who weren’t enjoying me enjoying the party. I came out here to give them a reprieve.”

Haurchefant chuckled at her dramatic tone. “How very magnanimous of you,”

“Isn’t it just?” He only noticed that there had been a mostly full glass of wine sitting on the lip of the fountain when she raised it to her lips to quaff some.

“You look lovely tonight,” He managed to find his manners again as he looked at her. The dress she was wearing certainly stood out – looking nothing like what he knew to be the fashion of the time. It was fitted much lower, rather than cinched just under her bust, and lacked the distinctive square neckline. Instead of the pastels that were favored for summer occasions, it was a dark, rich color, somewhere between blue and violet, with a diaphanous overlay dotted with glittering beads that reminded him of the stars above.

“Do I? Thank you. I rather like this dress.” She looked down at herself, and her smile looked almost sad. “My mother hated it. She didn’t say anything – she was probably thankful I managed to bring home a dress at all this time – but I could tell. I don’t think many people inside like it either. I’m sure it’s too showy or too immodest or too fanciful or too something. I just don’t like the kind that are in style now. They make me look like a child playing dress-up with my mother’s things. Something like this just suits me better, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Haurchefant said warmly. It did suit her – beautiful and completely out of place, like a flower whose seed had been blown in by a foreign wind, blooming amidst the primroses and daffodils. “Though, I confess, I’m surprised you don’t find that your mother’s opinion adds to its charms.”

She bit her bottom lip and frowned. The toe of her boot worried the cobblestones at her feet. “I don’t do things specifically to upset my parents, you know.” She pointed out. “I just… do what I like and more often than not they find it upsetting. Even if I wanted to make them happy, they make it so damnably impossible.”

She sounded genuinely frustrated, and he raised his eyebrows in muted bemusement. It often seemed as if she had not a care in the world for what others thought of her, and he had never seen past the defiant mask she donned in the face of criticism. He supposed it wasn’t too shocking. The constant disapproval and social ostracism was bound to erode even the strongest will. Having suffered his own fair share of scorn, he was not without sympathy.

Cautiously, he lowered himself to sit next to her at the edge of the fountain, making sure they were still a few ilms apart, and set his hands on either side of himself. “Do you want to make your parents happy?” he asked gently.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, keeping her gaze low. “But it’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it? Besides, it seems like the only thing that will make them happy is me being miserable.”

Haurchefant could certainly see how it might seem that way, though he doubted that was truly the case. “I’m sure your parents view it as trying to secure your future happiness. If they cared not at all for you they could have disinherited you long ago.” It was a harsh reality, but not an altogether uncommon one He had seen it happen a handful of times, though in at least half of such cases reconciliations were eventually made. He doubted that would be the outcome for her, though – be it by gods or devils she had been imbued with a fearsome stubbornness.

A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “They probably should have sent me to a convent while they still had the chance.”

He considered her, imagining her unruly laughter and boundless energy. Even the city itself seemed like a cage for her, so he could only imagine how much more she would chafe in a nunnery. “While I’m personally glad that they did not, I’m certain it was also for the best for all involved. You… don’t seem well-suited to life in a convent.”

This made her laugh with more sincerity. “I suppose you’re right. I would have set the place ablaze and gone running screaming and naked through the streets before the year was out.”

He almost choked on whatever he had been about to say next and was sent into a fit of coughing and laughter. “That would… certainly be a sight to see.” He managed when he recovered. Her grin returned.

“Wouldn't it? Now if I really wanted to drive my mother out of her wits, I’d commission a painting of just that. Fortunately, I’m a benevolent daughter and would never do such a thing.”

“Fortunately indeed,” He agreed. He cleared his throat. “Though, I suppose I should point out that if you truly wish to please your parents, you certainly won’t accomplish it by sitting out here with me, of all people.”

He felt as much as saw her eyes slide over him, thoughtfully. Her lips quirked. “Well, sod it then! They’ll just have to find some way to cope. As I said, I do what I please, with who I please, and if it doesn’t please them, its due to their own poor tastes.”

Suddenly, she fixed him with a curious stare. “And here we’ve spent all of this time talking about me.  But what of your good name? You’re not worried that you’ll tarnish it by associating with a scoundrel like me? And one to whom you’ve not even been formally introduced, at that!”

“What good name?” Haurchefant returned in jest. “I’m the bastard son of a nobleman. Even ‘twere I a saint, I’d rank just above the kitchen staff. And the lives of saints seem so very dull.”

“Well, up until the martyrdom, anyway,” she mused. “Honestly, between the two of us it’s impossible to tell which of us is the bad influence upon which.”

 “It would seem you are right once again, my lady,” he agreed amiably. “I suppose we’re both damned.”

“That we are.” She tossed back the rest of her glass of wine and abruptly stood up. She turned to him and extended a hand. “So, in that spirit, would you care to dance? That’s what we came here for, isn’t it? If you listen, you can still hear the music from inside…”

He marveled at her for a moment. She possessed all of the traits that books and common wisdom declared unattractive in a woman, and yet, looking up at her from this angle, her face framed by the starry sky, he couldn’t help but think she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

“I believe it’s considered highly improper for a lady to invite a man to dance,” He said, though his hand was already in hers.

“Well, if we’re both to be cast into the fiery hells anyway, I don’t see that it matters. A dance of the damned, then!”

She pulled him to his feet and one of his hands found her waist, while the other remained wrapped in hers. He tugged her closer, just a little too close to be proper, and his ears strained to hear the faint melody that drifted out to the garden so that his feet could find a rhythm. Soon their bodies fell into time, and she began to hum along with the tune, slightly off-key and adding her own little flourishes where she felt appropriate. As they danced in that secluded corner of the garden, so close together they could feel the warmth of each other’s bodies, moving to the sound of her voice, he thought if they could dance like this in hell, being damned might not be so bad after all.

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

[alchemistc]

in three, two, one (anxiety)

The door swings on its hinges to reveal the crossed arms and unimpressed expression on Henrietta Wilson's face.

"Okay," Tommy says, with no idea what he's about to experience.

Hen doesn't move, but she does lift an incredibly judgmental brow. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well. No sugarcoating it, then. "Several things," is not an answer that's gonna make her happy, however it is the one he has available to him at the moment.

Hen rolls her jaw the same time she purses her lips, and Tommy remembers that for a while there he'd stopped having an expressive face around her because he was afraid she'd somehow know.

She had known, but not because his eyebrows did half his talking for him.

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what answer you wanted from me."

"Not that one."

And then suddenly Hen is in his house.

He doesn't really have people over. He's certainly never had Hen over.

He took a sledgehammer to a side wall three days ago and he hasn't had more time to work on it than sweeping away the debris.

It's very noticeable.

Hen stops in her tracks halfway down the main hall to stare at it. "Several things," she repeats mockingly, under her breath, and makes a beeline for the kitchen that's now clearly visible behind the skeleton of a non-load-bearing wall.

He hasn't seen the 118 since the funeral. Not unexpected. Definitely not on purpose. He's always been just a hair outside of that group.

"So, my best firefighter is moping because the man he's been obsessed with for more than a year now hasn't called, and you're... knocking out walls."

"I've been meaning to knock out that wall for three years."

Her eyes roll around in her skull for a while before they catch his gaze. It's not an easy gaze to ignore. "Sure, nothing to do with the fact that the one conversation I know you two had in recent memory has to do with how annoyingly small and closed in the kitchen in his rental is."

A single moment of levity in a horribly sad day. But Evan hadn't asked to talk. Evan just lost the man he considered a father. So Tommy made small talk, and bit back the envious beast inside him when Eddie and Evan devolved into a squabble about the general layout of the house.

It had just reminded him of his plan, is all. The plan he's had for years, now. Nothing to do with Evan at all.

"You want some coffee? Orange juice? Maybe my drill so you can just lobotomize me instead of giving me cryptic, judgy eyes?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tommy shoots her an exasperated look. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here against my own nature, to tell you to grow a pair and reach out to the man you stole government property and committed multiple felonies for."

"I've texted Howie," Tommy shoots back, just to avoid the inevitable for a few more moments. Out of all of them, he definitely never would have expected Hen to be the one staging an intervention. Or whatever this is meant to be.

The glib response was a mistake. The cheese Danish she tosses at his head looks delicious even as it bounces off his cheek and sails to the floor.

Tommy sighs. "Evan is fully capable of picking up the phone."

His daring rescue had ended in a loss. A major one. Tommy still doesn't fully understand what Athena had been thinking, asking him to help the 118 carry Bobby to his final destination. Something about firsts and lasts, although he'd been a little too wired to catch more than the gist, when she'd called.

"And what, exactly, is your issue with picking it up?"

The million dollar question. He'd dropped everything the moment he heard I need your help and it's weird and probably super illegal. A little breathless, like he was running. Like Tommy has heard him countless times in much more pleasant scenarios. But then there'd been Bobby. The funeral. Evan's stoicism leaking from his pores, three weeks on.

They'd both done a great job of making it not Tommy's place to do anything about that. And grief - grief changes the whole world. Entire personalities. The loss hasn't even had time to fully bruise over, even for Tommy. He doesn't know how he could have a place in that. Doesn't know if he'd even be wanted if he tried.

"So you're both idiots, is what you're telling me."

"Where'd you get those danishes?" Tommy asks, because avoidance is his bread and butter.

Hen's got a big ass Tupperware full of them he hadn't noticed until she cracked it open to commit assault with a pastry.

Hen groans. "These are Buck's Missing Tommy But Still Not Calling Him For Some Reason Danishes. Pretty sure he hasn't slept in three days. Half the station woke up to some sort of baked good on their doorstep this morning."

The fact that Tommy wasn't in the rotation probably means something. His house is a lot closer to Evan's than Hen's, Maddie's, likely Ravi's too.

"Eat a danish and call him, idiot," Hen says, and shoves the Tupperware at his chest.

---

The danish is to die for. Perfect flaky crust. Cream cheese mixture to die for. Three blueberries on top, a perfect little dusting of powdered sugar.

Tommy eats three in the husk of his kitchen and decides he hates the subway tiles he installed after he hooked up with Evan and immediately blew up any chance at reconciliation.

He's got the oven pulled out and a crowbar in hand to yank them out before he manages to take another full breath.

Hen seems to think he's got another shot at this. At the life he'd dipped his toes into, constantly darting away from that first chill of the water, never allowing his body to get comfortable. Never allowing his mind enough time to adjust to the temperature of it.

And yet somewhere along the way Evan had baked himself into Tommy's life - his routines, his itineraries, the day to day mundanity of Tommy's life. He'd made the world momentarily brighter, exponentially more terrifying.

Tommy'd been looking for ways to bail out even as he was giving Evan glimpses of his life.

He'd waited too long. Given himself too many allowances. Let Evan settle under his skin, in his bones.

Tommy lays the crowbar out on the counter. Wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans.

Reaches over the back of the oven to grab his phone.

Bangs his head on the overhang of the microwave as he tries to slip out from behind his panic project.

Well.

This is gonna go well.

[vrystalius]

Hi. I know you're super busy and stuff with school and the events and all so no rush or anything (and we did kinda pm about it), but you recently did "Injured, but hiding" with Giyu and I was wonder if (when you have the time) you would be up for doing a Sanemi or Muzan version of that. I just find the concept intriguing. (I'm so not nice to these boys.) Anyway, it really isn't pressing but just if/when you have the time. Hope all is well and you are taking care of yourself. *hugs from afar*

Hiding an injury

You’re injured greatly after being foolishly attacked by some lower rank demon. In order to not appear like a helpless and weak human in front of your husband, you decided to hide it.

Pairing: Muzan x gn!reader

(Muzan sewing your wound)

Muzan knew the moment you stepped into his laboratory that you were injured. He needed just a small glance to know everything that needed to be known. You looked clean but your posture was hunched over, a small speck of blood on your shirt just right next to your collar. The sweet smell of blood surrounded you like a veil, urging and seducing Muzan to move closer and just ravage you all over. Despite being wounded. He smirked to himself and turned back to his experiments, waiting for you whine and tell him about your wound to please treat it for you. Since he was across the room, the severity of your wound wasn’t known to him yet.

Yet, you didn’t come to him. Instead, you dragged yourself to the bathroom and locked the door behind you. Curious, he thinks. Why not come to him first? Muzan’ll happily clean your wound and maybe take some blood samples to check on your general health as well while he’s at it. But no, you’re seemingly content taking care of yourself. Fine then. Already, his brows furrowed and a scowl tool over his face.

Meanwhile, you removed your shirt and inspected yourself in the mirror. The wound was done by a recently turned lower rank aggressively pouncing you. Its master’s smell was all over you but it attacked anyway, causing a rather large and still bleeding wound on your right shoulder. You hissed as you tried to disinfect it, but given its location it proved rather difficult. You didn’t want to go to your husband and whine about your little human pains. You knew that he hates the weak and you’re not sure if he’ll be too happy seeing the spouse he chose being so defenceless against a demon like that. Also, he’a probably busy.

But you are really struggling here, your wound refused to stop bleeding and the amount of towels you were using to try and stop it is already suspicious enough. Who knows if you’re ever going to get the colour and smell out of them? Your reflection in the mirror stared back in disappointment as you threw the bloody towels and shirt aside, opening the bathroom door. You stared at Muzan’s back and how neatly he is dressed, just like always; a black, beautifully patterned west, white button-up shirt, a black tie, his neatly ironed dress pants and shiny leather shoes. You slowly stepped forward, awkwardly fighting with your fingers behind him to wait until he’s finished with whatever he’s doing.

“You smell awfully bloody, darling. What happened?”

He never moved his gaze away from his vials, checking how the colour changed from red to a dark brown. You saw his neck tense by your silence wich made you quickly speak up.

“I-I need your help. Can you help me.. patch.. up?”

The last few words almost sounded forced as your words grew quieter and quieter. Muzan slowly turned to you, standing there, upper body bare. He saw some dried patches of blood reaching over your shoulder and simply raised an eyebrow. His hands slipped the vials back into their holders before turning around and paying his full attention to you now. His finger lifted and made a small spin, silently ordering you to turn around. You lowered your eyes in shame and spun your body slowly, exposing your wound to him. You heard his hands start to go through his desk and a lid of a vial popping off.

Muzan didn’t warn you before applying clean alcohol onto your wound. You suddenly reached behind you to grip onto his dress pangs so you can hold onto something while tanking the pain. You felt his anger brooding inside his body while cleansing your flesh-wound.

“I smell some lowly demon on you. Were you attacked?”

You nodded silently. He hummed before removing the alcohol-drenched cloth and placed it aside, now preparing a needle and a thread. Again, he didn’t warn you before sticking the needle into your skin, sewing your wound together. You cringed at the feeling. One of his hand was stretching the skin a little to make the puncturing of your skin easier. His thumb was softly caressing your shoulder, trying to comfort you silently.

“I’ll deal with whoever injured you, do not worry. Your wound is taken care off, I’ll just need to put some bandages in place.”

You knew his pride was hurt for not telling him sooner, but yet you’re thankful for his help. You nodded your head silently before being turned around by Muzan again. The bloody sewing needle was placed down onto the desk again, his hands resting on your shoulders. His face was awfully close to yours, wich would be romantic or comforting in other moments, but not in this one. In this moment, you felt his eyes ready to burn holes through you. You sensed his hurt pride and anger.

“Tell me in the future right away. I do not wish to see my wife perish so soon. Understood?”

Muzan’s eyes did not leave yours as his hands moved from your collarbone to your cheeks, giving them a small squish.

“I love you.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little.

“Love you too. Sorry for not coming to you right away, I didn’t want to bother you.”

He scoffed and placed a kiss on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. His voice was much more hushed and affectionate now.

“Nonsense, you are no disturbance. Come to me whenever, dear. I’ll always welcome you. Now, be a good wife for me, will you? A kiss, on my lips. Please.”

Even if that magic word “please” was practically pressed out by forcing himself to say it, you happily obliged. One kiss on his lips, one kiss on his nose and one on both of his cheeks will do for now.

🎃

Whumptober prompt: Injured, but hiding

Hello hello! I was planning on writing this anyway since you asked for it while were messaging (or at least expressed the wish to see a version of Injured but hiding with Sanemi or Muzan). I hoped you like it! I’m always super happy seeing you around so I really hope this made your request justice. Big, large bear hugs from afar! You’re one of the first people who began following my blog, so again, thank you for everything!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

My October event masterlist 🎃

[lee-laurent]

It's Hard to Keep Secrets -- Luke Hughes

Summary: sadie and luke get the shock of their lives

content: situationship, make out session, pregnancy, birth (not graphic), angst, fluff

wc: 8.4k

notes: hi guys! i hope you like this one, it took me a bit cause i didn't like the way it was going at first. lemme know what you wanna see in the future! i think a quinn fic is coming up!!

Sadie cracked open the door just wide enough for Luke to slip inside, the hallway light catching on the bright red of his Devils hoodie. His hair was messy under his backwards cap, cheeks pink from the cool air outside, and he was grinning like he was on some sort of super secret mission.

Technically, he was.

She stepped back to let him in, quickly locking the door behind him. Luke kicked off his sneakers with a soft thud, his movements the same as the hundred other times he'd done it before. He shrugged out of his hoodie, leaving it in a pile on the floor like he lived there, like it wasn't just another stolen night between them.

"You're late," Sadie whispered, voice low even though Sophia's room was at the other end of the apartment.

Luke shrugged, looking entirely unbothered as he padded after her toward her bedroom. "Blame Jack. He wouldn't stop talking about his NHL 25 win. Full play-by-play, for like an hour."

Sadie smiled without realizing, shaking her head as she pushed open her door. The moment it clicked shut behind them, Luke was on her, hands sliding under the hem of her sweatshirt, mouth finding hers with a heat more intense than that of the cheap radiator buzzing in the corner.

She kissed him back instinctively, fingers threading through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Luke kissed the same way he played hockey--all energy and drive, but with a passion that made her chest ache if she thought about it too hard.

Which she didn't.

Thinking was dangerous.

Luke backed her toward the bed without breaking the kiss, both of them laughing quietly when Sadie's legs hit the mattress and she toppled backward. He followed her down easily, bracing himself with his elbow next to her head, hovering just enough to look at her face.

"Miss me?" he teased, voice rough and low.

Sadie rolled her eyes and yanked him down by the collar of his t-shirt. "Shut up."

Later, much later, Luke lay tangled in the sheets, one arm thrown across Sadie's waist, his breathing deep and even. His body was heavy in his sleep, anchoring her to the mattress.

Sadie stared at the ceiling in the dark, her heart still beating harder than it should've been.

This was normal now. Sneaking him in after games, stealing a few hours together, pretending in public like they only interacted at work. No labels. No promises.

Sophia's muffled sigh of annoyance drifted through the thin wall between their bedrooms, followed by the unmistakable creak of Sadie's bed as Luke shifted in his sleep.

Sadie clamped a hand over her mouth to smother her laugh. She was definitely getting an earful in the morning.

~~

Sunlight filtred weakly through the kitchen blinds, making the linoleum floor look even more pathetic than it usually did. Sadie shuffled in wearing Luke's abandoned hoodie, it hung halfway down her thighs, and found Sophia already at the counter, aggressively pressing buttons on the Keurig.

"Morning," Sadie croaked, dragging her hand through her hair until it caught on a knot.

Sophia didn't look up. "You and your boyfriend kept me up half the night," she said, voice flat. "I hope you're happy."

Sadie blinked blearily. "He's not my boyfriend."

Sophia turned slowly, holding out a coffee mug like it was a peace offering, or maybe a weapon. "Tell that to the three-hour amateur porn soundtrack I was forced to listen to."

The blonde wrapped her hands around the warm cermaic and bit back a grin. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I?" Sophia leaned against the counter, an eyebrow cocked. "Because if I have to hear Luke Hughes groaning your name through the wall one more time, I'm gonna start charging you for the therapy I'll have to attend."

Sadie blew on the coffee, not meeting her best friend's eyes. "We're... you know it's not serious."

Sophia snorted. "Could've fooled me. Guy's here more than Uber Eats."

She didn't bother defending herself. What was the point? Luke tended not to correct Sophia when she called him her boyfriend. He didn't act like it was just sex when he lingered after, tracing patterns on her hip or scratching her head until they both drifted off.

But they'd never said it out loud. That was the rule, unspoken but ironclad.

Sadie drained her coffee in a few gulps and headed back to her room to get ready for work. Another day of pretending everything was normal. Simple enough.

~~

The Hockey House at the Prudential Center was buzzing when she arrived, players and staff moving between morning practices and meetings. She tucked herself in the flow, camera bag over one shoulder, work badge clipped to her quarter-zip.

She found a spot near the boards and pulled out her work phone, tapping through the dozens of pictures she'd taken at the game the night before. Quick edit, capation, post. Repeat.

On the ice, Luke skated backward, head on a swivel, sticking handling the puck with an ease that would've made her week in the knees if she weren't already used to him by now.

Jack skated up behind him, jabbing at him with the knob of his stick. Luke whipped around, laughing and pushing him in retaliation, and the two of them chirped each other loud enough for everyone to hear.

Sadie caught the moment out the corner of her eye, Luke's quick glance toward her, the smirk he tried (and failed miserably) to conceal.

She ducked her head quickly, pretending to fiddle with the settings on her camera.

Jack, of course, wasn't about to let it go.

"Rusty, stop trying trying to look cool for Sadie!" he called out, voice carrying across the ice.

A couple guys laughed. Luke shoved Jack hard enough to send him sliding. Sadie kept her expression neutral, but her fingers twitched around her phone, itching to text Sophia about it.

Business as usual.

Except for the part where Sadie's stomach twisted painfully, a low ache blooming deep in her gut. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, frowning slightly.

Cramps. Nothing new. Her period had been weird lately--lighter, shorter, but not enough to make her think anything of it.

Her phone buzzed. Sophia.

Soph: just got one of those posts that was like the first person in your share button is pregnant. if you're knocked up i'm suing you for even more emotional damages.

Sadie laughed under her breath and fired back a middle finger emoji, rolling her eyes.

Pregnant? Funny. She'd just had her period. Kind of. Mostly.

Everything was fine.

Totally, completely fine.

~~

Sadie woke up to a sharp twist of pain low in her abdomen. She groaned, curling tighter into herself under the blankets. Her room was still dark, the cheap digital clock on her nightstand blinking 7:12AM in angry red numbers.

She'd been dealing with cramps for days now, but this was worse. Deeper. Heavier.

Still. It was nothing a hot shower and an extra-strength Advil couldn't fix.

She hauled herself out of bed, wincing as she stood, and dragged on a pair of sweatpants and the first hoodie she could find, one of Luke's (of course) because half of her closet was unofficially his at this point.

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and cinnamon cereal when she shuffled in. Sophia was perched on the counter, bare feet swinging, eating Froot Loops straight out of the box.

"You look like shit," she said through a mouthful of cereal.

Sadie grunted in response and headed straight for the coffee pot.

Sophia crunched loudly and gave her a once-over. "You're glowing, though. Remember what I texted you about. Pregnant women glow, right?"

Sadie flipped her off without turning around.

"I'm just saying. You're either pregnant or dying."

"Probably dying," Sadie muttered, pouring herself a cup of coffee and leaning heavily against the counter.

Sophia watched her for a long beat, the teasing fading from her eyes. "You good, though? Like for real?"

"Just cramps. Nothing new."

Sophia didn't look convinced, but she let it go, hopping off the counter and shoving the cereal box at Sadie. "Eat something before you pass out, idiot."

She rolled her eyes but grabbed a handful of cereal anyway, crunching absently as she scrolled through her notifications. Devils practice at 10AM. A TikTok scheduled to post at 9. A team meeting she wasn't invited to but would probably show up at anyway since her coworkers sucked at taking notes.

Busy day. No time to feel like shit.

~~

Sadie quickly tucked herself into the controlled chaos of the arena, phone in hand, camera on her shoulder, and her second coffee of the morning in the other.

Same as always. Smile, nod, get good content, stay mostly invisible.

Except she wasn't invisible, not really. Luke's eyes found her almost immediately when she stepped onto the edge of the practice rink. He didn't smile or wave--he never did when they were in public--but there was a flicker of something there. A caringness in his gaze.

Sadie lifted her phone and started recording as practice kicked off. Jack was being his usual self, cracking jokes at everyone within a fifty-food radius. Nice was focused, laser-locked on the drills. Luke looked good, fast, confident, but somewhat distracted compared to most days.

Or maybe that was just Sadie projecting. Because five minutes later, her stomach twisted so hard she nearly doubled over behind the bench.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing shallowly through her nose. Jesus. It felt like someone was wringing her insides out with their bare hands.

As soon as practice ended, her phone buzzed.

Lu: You okay? You look kinda pale today

Sadie swallowed hard, texting back:

Sadie: fine. just tired

She forced herself to focus on her work, wiping the sweat from her forehead. It was just cramps. Bad ones, sure. But she wasn't going to make a scene at work over something stupid.

~~

By the time she got home, she was ready to collapse.

Sadie tossed her bag down and immediately sank onto the couch, grabbing her heating pad from the basket of blanket, then curling into the corner like a wounded animal. She fumbled with the remote and flipped through channels until she landed on some trashy reality dating show, the noise comforting in it stupidity.

She barely registered Sophia's footsteps until the other girl flopped onto the couch beside her, a bag of chips in her lap.

"You look worse," she said bluntly.

Sadie didn't even argue. She hugged a heating pad tighter to her stomach and closed her eyes. "Still dying."

Sophia muted the TV, brows drawn together. "You seriously don't think something's wrong?"

Sadie cracked one eye open. "It's cramps. I'm not gonna waste three hundred dollars at urgent care to be told to take some Midol."

Sophia hesitated, then reached out and touched Sadie's forehead like a worried mom. "You're sweating."

Sadie batted her hand away, embarassed.

But a sharp bolt of pain made her whole body jolt a second later, and she gasped without meaning to, folding over herself.

"Okay, nope, we're done," Sophia said, standing up so fast the chip bag toppled onto the floor. "Get up. We're going to the clinic."

Sadie shook her head, stubborn. "Sophia--"

"No. I'm not gonna sit here and watch you pass out on the couch. Get. Up."

Sadie tried to protest again, but the wave of pain nearly knocked the wind out of her. Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden.

She didn't even remember standing. One minute she was hunched over, and the next Sophia was hauling her toward the door, shoving sneakers onto her feet and grabbing her car keys with a muttered, "If you die in my passenger seat I swear to god..."

The drive to the walk-in clinic was a blur. Sadie sat curled into herself, forehead pressed to the cold window, breathing shallowly as Sophia broke every speed limit on the way there.

Luckily, the clinc was half-empty.

Sophia bullied the receptionist into fast-tracking Sadie, and within minutes, she was in a freezing exam room, trying not to throw up from the pain.

The nurse was kind but brisk. Asked her a million questions Sadie barely registered. When was your last period? Any chance you could be pregnant? Any nausea? Fainting? Or bleeding?

Sadie answered automatically: Last week. No chance. Just cramps.

The nurse frowned but nodded, handing Sadie a plastic cup for a urine sample and promising the doctor would be in soon.

So she sat on the edge of the paper-covered exam table, shivering, arms wrapped around her middle.

Sophia paced the tiny room, muttering under her breath about worst-case scenarios.

Sadie tuned her out, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing, the way the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the way her whole body felt like it was floating and anchored down all at once.

She was fine.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

~~

She had moved her focus to the sterile white walls of the exam room when the door opened again.

The doctor was young, maybe mid-thirties, with kind eyes and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He didn't smile. Didn't joke. Just stepped inside and shut the door careufully behind him, like he was containing something dangerous.

Oh my god, maybe she was contagious.

Sadie sat hunched on the table, one hand pressed to the deep cramp in her lower abdomen, the other gripping the edge so hard her knuckles were white. Sophia stood off to the side, arms crossed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Hi, Sadie. I just got the results from your urine catch. I was going to order a bedside ultrasound, but I've decided against it here."

Sadie blinked at him, confused as ever. "Okay...?"

The doctor pulled a stool over and sat, his voice low and even. "I know this is going to sound impossible, but you're not just cramping. You're in active labour."

Sadie stared at him.

And then, out of reflex, she laughed, although it was completely humourless. "No, I'm not. I had my period. I have my period. Last week... it's been lighter, but... I would know."

Sophia stiffened like she'd been struck, eyes wide as saucers.

The doctor nodded patiently, like this was the reaction he had been expecting. "I believe you. It's rare, but cryptic pregnancies happen more often than people realize. Sometimes hormone levels stay low enough that you don't stop bleeding. Sometimes symptoms are mild enough that they're mistaken for normal cycle changes."

Sadie shook her head, trying to physically shake off his words. "No. No way. I'd know. I'd feel different."

"You didn't," the doctor said gently. "But it's happening. Would you mind if I did a quick exam to see how far dialated you are? We need to transfer you to a hospital as soon as possible."

Sadie nodded, opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. The room was tilting sideways. She tasted acid at the back of her throat.

"You're about five centimetres dialated."

Sophia finally moved, stepping forward. "Is it... I mean... is the baby okay?"

"We won't know until we get to labour and delivery," the doctor said, standing. He opened the door, calling down the hall for an ambulance.

Sadie sat frozen on the table, heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

A baby. A baby. Inside her. Right now.

Tears blurred her vision. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Sophia was suddenly in front of her, crouching to meet her eye level. "Hey. Hey. Sadie, listen to me. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're not alone."

Sadie let out a hysterical little laugh. "Soph, there's a fucking baby."

"I know," Sophia said, her voice wobbling just a little. "We're gonna handle it."

The EMTs arrived in a blur of noise and flashing lights. They helped Sadie onto a gurney, strapping her down carefully. The pain was coming in faster now, like waves hitting too hard against a crumbling bridge.

Someone was talking to Sophia--paperwork, hospital forms-- but Sadie couldn't focus. She was being wheeled through the clinic, the cold air hitting her sweat-damp skin like a slap.

"Is there someone you want us to call?" one of the EMTs asked kindly as they loaded her into the ambulance.

Sadie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted her mom. She wanted Sophia. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was hours before.

Another contraction hit, sharp and vicious, and she gasped.

Sophia appeared in the doorway of the ambulance, holding Sadie's phone.

"Who should I call?" Sophia asked, voice urgent.

Sadie clutched at the stretcher rails, breathing hard. Her mind went blank, then filled with one image:

Luke.

Luke's stupid, soft curls. Luke's steady hands. Luke's smile when he thought she wasn't looking.

"Luke," she croaked. "Call Luke."

Sophia didn't argue. She turned and bolted toward her car, fumbling with the phone as the ambulance doors slammed shut and the siren wailed to life.

~~

Luke was sprawled across his bed, half-watching a movie, when his phone buzzed.

Sadie.

A weird pit opened in his stomach. She never called him during the day, especially when she had work to get done at home.

He answered immediately. "Hey's, what's--"

"LUKE," Sophia's voice exploded through the speaker, shrill with panic. He shot upright, his heart slamming into his ribs.

"What's--what's wrong?"

"You need to get to University Hospital right now," Sophie said breathless, near tears. "Sadie's in labour."

Luke's brain flatlined for a full two seconds.

"Labour?!" he repeated stupidly.

"YES. LABOUR. BABY. NOW. MOVE YOUR ASS." Sophia hung up without waiting for a response.

Luke sat frozen for half a second longer, then the adrenaline kicked in.

He grabbed the first hoodie he could find and bolted into the hall, sprinting to Jack's room.

Jack opened the door, hair sticking up in every direction, looking like he'd just been woken up.

"Dude--?"

"I gotta go," Luke gasped, already halfway down the hall. "Sadie's--Sadie's having a baby."

Jack's face went through about six stages of confusion before Luke disappeared out the front door.

~~

Sadie felt like she was floating above her own body by the time they wheeled her into the labour and delivery unit.

The pain was constant now, rolling through her like a freight train. She could hear monitors beeping, nurses shouting orders, the bright clinical lights in her eyes again.

"Almost there, Sadie," a nurse soothed, adjusting something on her IV. "You're doing so good."

Sadie didn't feel good. She felt like she was dying.

And then--

A flash of movement at the door.

Luke.

He stumbled into the room, hair wild, hoodie half-zipped, sneakers untied, eyes huge and horrified.

He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world.

"I'm here," he said, voice cracking. He crossed to her bedside in two strides and grabbed her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sadie didn't even think--she clutched at him like a lifeline, squeezing his hand until her fingers ached.

The doctor glanced at the monitors and nodded. "Okay, Sadie. It's time to push."

Sadie turned her head, met Luke's wide, terrified eyes. Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.

The world had already split wide open.

~~

Sadie didn't even realize she was screaming until her throat was raw.

Everything blurred, the bright lights, voices shouting encouragements, Luke's hand crushing hers. Sweat dripped down her temples. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only push because her body had taken over.

"You're almost there!" the nurse was saying, way too cheerfully.

Luke was leaning in close, forehead nearly touching Sadie's. His voice was low and frantic. "You're doing so good, Sadie. You're so strong. I'm right here."

Tears stung her eyes from the pain, the fear, from the sharp reality of it all.

This was happening.

There was no way of stopping it now.

Another contraction ripped through her and she bore down, every muscle straining, vision going white around the edges. Luke squeezed her hand harder.. or maybe she squeezed his. She couldn't tell anymore.

One final push and--

A sharp, wet cry filled the air. Tiny, raw, and very real.

Sadie gasped, her whole body sagging back against the bed. The pain ebbed instantly, replaced by something heavier, something dizzying.

There was a baby crying.

Her baby.

Their baby.

She blinked through tears and saw the nurses moving fast, bustling around the tiny, squirming form. Sadie caught a glimpse, wrinkled skin, wild flailing arms, before they whisked the baby over to a warming table.

She tried to sit up but her body was boneless, trembling.

Luke stayed rooted by her side, looking completely wrecked. His face was pale as hers, his eyes leaking tears.

A nurse touched his arm, smiling kindly. "Dad? You want to come meet her?"

Luke looked at Sadie, silently asking for permission.

She gave a tiny nod, throat too tight to speak.

He stumbled forward like he wasn't sure how his legs worked anymore, hovering awkwardly by the table where their daughter was being cleaned and checked.

Sadie watched through blurred eyes as Luke bent over the baby. She saw him reach out a shaking finger, saw the way his whole body jerked when the baby's tiny, hand curled around it instinctively.

Luke made a choked-off sound, half-laugh, half-sob, and wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie like he could pretend he wasn't crying.

Sadie bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Something inside her cracked.

Luke turned back toward her, cradling a tiny pink bundle in his arms like she was made of spun sugar.

He crossed the room in careful steps and sat down gently on the edge of her bed, holding out their daughter.

She automatically reached for her, hands trembling so badly Luke had to help her adjust her grip.

The second her baby was in her arms, Sadie felt it-- The click. The one everyone always talked about. The way her whole world shifted and snapped into place around this tiny, squirming perfect thing.

"Oh my God," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Hi, baby. Hi."

The baby blinked up at her, mouth puckered.

"She's... she's so small," Sadie said hoarsely, like the words couldn't possibly hold enough weight.

Luke laughed weakly, wiping his eyes. "She's perfect."

Sadie couldn't argue.

~~

They let her rest for a while--as much as anyone could with nurses checking her vitals every ten minutes and monitors beeping constantly.

Luke never moved more than a few feet away.

Sophia finally made it to the hospital after the adrenaline had worn off enough for her to drive safely. She peeked into the room with red-rimmed eyes and mouthed holy shit when she saw the baby curled up on Sadie's chest.

Sadie gave her a shaky thumbs-up.

An hour later, a nurse came in with a clipboard and huge grin.

"We need to fill out the birth certificate before we can start even thinking about discharging you," she said, flipping to the appropriate page.

Sadie's stomach twisted. She clutched her baby tighter, heart speeding up again.

The nurse smiled again. "Name for the baby?"

Sadie swallowed hard. She hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't had any time to think, but the name slipped out, soft and sure.

"Elisabeth," she said. "Elisabeth Jeanne Howard."

The nurse scribbled it down. "Beautiful name? And what's your name, Dad?"

Sadie's whole body locked up.

Luke was sitting in the chair next to the bed, Elisabeth's tiny hat clutched loosely in his big hands. He looked up at her then, not demanding or pleading, just waiting.

Waiting to see if she was going to let him be part of this.

Sadie's throat closed up. Her mind raced: It would be easier if it was just her name. Cleaner. Simpler. Safer.

Luke could walk away. He should walk away. He wasn't supposed to stay. They weren't supposed to be like this.

But when she looked at him, his hoodie rumpled, his hair a mess, his eyes still red, she knew.

She couldn't erase him from this. Not when he showed up. Not when he stayed.

Sadie nodded, voice barely a whisper.

"Luke Hughes. He's the father."

Luke exhaled a shaky breath, nodding back like she'd just given him the universe.

The nurse beamed and filled in the rest of the form, humming under her breath.

Sadie leaned back against the pillows, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. She stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard against the fresh wave of tears that had hit her.

Beside her, Luke shifted closer. Sadie turned her head just enough to see him lift Elisabeth from her chest, whispering nonsense under his breath like she was the most important thing he'd ever seen.

Sadie let her eyes flutter shut.

The world outside the hospital room was still turning. But inside, for one perfect moment, everything else had faded away.

It was just them.

Sadie. Luke. Elisabeth.

And a future she hadn't planned for, but could maybe, just maybe, survive.

~~

Sadie thought that leaving the hospital would make things feel normal. Like maybe once they were back in the apartment, she could pretend this was just another weird, bad dream she could wake up from.

It didn't work.

Sophia helped balance the ridiculous number of bags and folders the nurses had given them while Sadie clutched Elisabeth like she was made of glass. Luke hovered so close it was a wonder he didn't physically carry both of them to the car.

Loading Elisabeth into the car seat (one they'd sent Sophia to get) was an absolute disaster.

Sadie fumbled with the straps, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't figure out which clip went where. Elisabeth let out a wail that sliced right through Sadie's already fraying nerves.

"I'm hurting her," she panicked, blinking back tears. "I'm already fucking this up."

"Hey, no, you're not," Luke said quickly, scooching in to help. His hands weren't much steadier. "We'll figure it out. She's okay."

"Barely," Sophia muttered as she elbowed Luke out of the way and buckled the car seat in two quick moves.

Sadie sagged into the passenger seat, still physically and emotionally drained, listening to Elisabeth's tiny cries of discomfort in the backseat.

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

The apartment felt different when they got back even though nothing had physically changed.

Sadie set the carrier down in the middle of the living room, not sure what the hell to do next.

Sophia grabbed their stack of takeout menus from the junk drawer and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering about needing to eat or she was gonna pass out. Luke stood awkwardly beside Sadie, shifting from foot to foot, looking just as lost.

Then Elisabeth started crying again, the sound instantly making Sadie's chest ache.

She tried to pick her up, tried to rock her like the nurse had shown her how to do at the hospital, but Elisabeth's face screwed up even tighter, her little fists waving angrily.

"Uh... maybe she's hungry?"

Sadie stared at him. "Cool. So you breastfeed her."

Sophia barked out a laugh from the kitchen.

Luke flushed but didn't back down. "Didn't they give you some bottles? Formula?"

Sadie almost cried from relief when she remembered the little starter packs the hospital had shoved into her bag. Luke ripped one open and started reading the instructions out loud while Sadie stumbled through mixing the powder and water with her shaky hands.

The first eating out of the hospital was a disaster, half the bottle ended up on Sadie's shirt, but Elisabeth drank it down, making little coos as she enjoyed her meal.

By late afternoon, Sadie was fading fast. Her whole body felt like it was aching. Elisabeth was sleeping, again, swaddled awkwardly but securely thanks to some frantic googling. Sophia was passed out in the armchair, one hand still clutching her half-eaten granola bar.

Sadie couldn't blame her.

Luke stood up, stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to flash a strip of his toned stomach. Sadie quickly looked away.

"I'm gonna go shower and grab some stuff," he said quietly. "You'll be okay?"

She nodded, even though the thought of him not being there made her even more anxious. She pulled the laundry basket that had turned into a makeshift bassinet closer, breathing in that new baby smell.

Luke hesitated. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something important but he just leaned down and ran his thumb over Elisabeth's cheek before slipping out the door.

~~

Jack was waiting.

The second Luke opened the apartment door, Jack was standing there in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, eyebrows practically up to his hairline.

"Okay," Jack said, voice tight. "Start talking."

Luke kicked the door shut behind him and ran a hand through his hair, feeling ten years older than he had the day before.

"It's... a lot."

Jack snorted. "You think?"

Luke flopped onto the couch, head in his hands.

There was no easy way to say it, so he just ripped the plaster right off.

"Me and Sadie... we've been, uh, seeing each other."

Jack blinked. "You mean fucking?"

Luke groaned. "For two years... a few weeks after I got here."

"TWO YEARS?!" Jack choked.

"Yeah."

The older boy paced in front of him like a caged animal. "And you didn't tell me? Your own brother? I thought we were cool, man."

"We are! I just... it wasn't--it wasn't supposed to be serious."

"You said she was in labour?" Jack stared at him. "You just had a baby with her?"

Luke scrubbed his hands over his face. "I KNOW."

"So what, you're together now? You're dating? You're what?"

Luke swallowed audibly.

"We're not focused on figuring that out right now," he said finally, voice rough. "But yeah. She's, uh, she's not doing this alone. I'm not bailing."

"Good. Cause if you bailed, I'd kick your ass."

"You'd try," Luke laughed weakly.

There was a heavy silence between them as they both took the time to process what was happening.

Then Jack perked up.

"So... can I tell the guys?"

Luke gave him a look.

"Absolutely not. Nobody can know yet. Not until Sadie and I figure it out. Promise me, Jack."

Jack sighed dramatically, but reached his hand out to shake his brother's. "Fine. I swear. Not a word."

Luke didn't feel relaxed.

He knew Jack. Secrets never stayed secret for long.

~~

The first couple days after Sadie disappeared, nobody thought much of it. Social media was always chaotic, schedules changed last minute, people missed games for personal stuff, it wasn't weird.

But by day four, the whispers started.

Sadie's absence wasn't just a day or an emergency doctor appointment. She was just gone. No warning, no cover posts, no subtitute lined up to watch over the Instagram and TikTok.

Someone from ticketing mentioned it first, standing around the coffee machine in the break room.

"Anybody heard from Sadie?" she asked, casually, like it was nothing.

A guy from PR shrugged. "Maybe she quit."

Another assistant chimed in, lowering her voice like she was afraid Sadie might appear out of thin air. "I heard she had a baby."

The room went silent.

Someone snorted. "Sadie? A baby? No way?"

"No, seriously," the assistant insisted. "My roommate's friend works at the hospital. She said Sadie came in last week in labour. Like... didn't even know she was pregnant."

Another beat of stunned silence.

"Bullshit," someone said finally.

"Swear to god," the assistant said, crossing her heart. "Arrived in an ambulance, labour and delivery, boom. Baby."

Nobody knew what to do with that information.

It didn't take long for the rumour to hit the locker room.

Players trickled into the locker room, sweaty from morning skate. Luke sat in his usual spot, untying his laces, heart pounding harder than normal.

"Yo, you hear about Sadie?" Dawson called across the room, towel slung around his neck.

"What about her?" Timo asked.

Dawson grinned. "Supposedly she had a baby."

Half the room laughed like he'd just told a bad joke.

"Sadie? Nah," Nico said, shaking his head. "There's no way. I saw her like, last week. She looked fine."

"She's always wearing sweatshirts, man," Dawson said. "Maybe you just didn't notice."

"Still," Timo said, frowning. "Was she even dating anyone?"

That sent another ripple through the group. Nobody could remember her even mentioning a boyfriend, let alone looking pregnant.

"She always kept to herself," someone muttered.

Luke kept his head down, taking off his pads with more focus than necessary, pretending he didn't hear a word of it.

Beside him, Jack was weirdly quiet.

Too quiet.

And when Dawson made a joke about how maybe Sadie had a secret life, Jack visibly flinched.

Luke glanced sideways to see Jack muttering under his breath, almost too low to catch.

"If anyone knew her secret life, it was Luke."

His stomach dropped.

Nobody reacted, too much noise, too much movement. But a young intern standing near the doorway raised an eyebrow. He didn't say anything. Just slipped out of the locker room a few seconds later, phone already out in hand.

Jack realized what he'd done half a second later, eyes wide, mouth opening to apologize.

Luke shook his head tightly. Too late. He knew with a sick certainty that it wouldn't take long now.

~~

Upstairs, in the offices behind the glass walls of the Prudential Center, the gears were already starting to turn.

The staff who needed to know already knew: Sadie was out on emergency leave. She had a healthy baby girl. It was a private matter. No need for an official announcement, social media posts, or a team statement. Yet.

But Sadie wasn't just anyone. She was on the content team. She was constantly around players. And now there were rumours swirling that one of those players, maybe several, had known a lot more than they were supposed to.

It wasn't hard for the whispers to make their way up the chain.

When HR got the tip that Luke Hughes and Sadie Howard might have crossed professional lines?

They flagged it immediately.

Luke knew something was wrong the second he stepped off the ice the next day. The way the coaching staff looked at him. The way one of the HR reps was standing just inside the tunnel, arms folded.

He didn't get pulled... not yet. Not today at least.

But the look on their faces told him everything he needed to know.

Time was up.

~~

Luke had just finished his first warm-up lap when he saw them.

Two HR reps, black blazers and stiff expressions, standing behind the bench like they had a death warrant in their hands.

His stomach dropped to his feet.

Coach Keefe skated over to Luke mid-drill, murmured something low and tight. Luke's chest squeezed when he heard the words: "You need to come with us."

The entire team was watching. Not a full stop, but enough that the mood shifted. Eyes followed him as he skated off, taking off his gloves with jerky movements. Jack caught his gaze briefly, brows pinched together in worry.

Luke kept his head down as he stepped off the ice, tugging a hoodie over his damp hair, suddenly feeling very exposed.

The HR reps said nothing as they led him down the hall, the click of their shoes echoing off the concrete walls.

Luke already knew what was coming. He just didn't know how bad it would be.

The conference room felt colder than the rink. Sleek, glass table. Leather chairs. A pitcher of untouched water in the centre. HR, legal, two guys from upper management, all sitting there like a jury.

Luke swallowed hard and sat when they motioned.

The lead HR rep, a woman with sharp eyes and a crisp file folder in front of her, started immediately.

"We've received a report regarding a potential violation of the organization's Code of Conduct."

Luke's palms went sweaty.

She continued, voice even, almost mechanical. "We have reason to believe that you've engaged in a romantic or sexual relationship with a member of the Devils' social media staff. Namely, Sadie Howard."

Luke's throat felt tight enough to cut off air. He forced himself to nod. "Yes. I have."

"How long has this relationship been ongoing?"

He could lie. He could say it was new, recent, barely started. But his gut twisted at the thought.

He didn't want to start this with a lie. Not about her. Not about Elisabeth.

"Two years," he said quietly. "Since my rookie season."

One of the legal guys whistled low under his breath before catching himself.

The HR woman kept her expression blank. "And you confirm the relationship was fully consensual?"

Luke lifted his chin. "Yes. Always."

More notes scratched onto legal pads.

"And you acknowledge that at no point was this relationship disclosed to management or HR as required by organizational policy?"

"No. It wasn't disclosed."

He could see it in their faces, the weight of that admission.

The HR rep closed her folder with a soft snap.

"We're evaluating next steps. There could be disciplinary action, including but not limited to suspension from team activities. Ms. Howard's employment status is also under review."

Luke's heart dropped even more. Sadie. She could lose her job. Because of him. Because of them.

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn't her fault, that she hadn't meant for any of this to happen. But the HR woman stood and smoothed down her jacket.

"You'll be informed of the organization's decision within the next twenty-four hours," she said crisply. "You're dismissed for the day. No media appearances. No contact with staff."

Meanwhile, across town, Sadie was fighting her own battle.

Elisabeth was wailing in her arms, tiny face scrunched and bright red. Sadie bounced her gently, humming nonsense under her breath, but it barely made a dent.

She was exhausted. Bone-deep.

The ring of her phone made her jump. She almost let it go to voicemail, but something in her gut told her to answer.

"Hello?" she cleared her throat.

"Ms. Howard?" The woman's voice was smooth and polite. "This is HR from the New Jersey Devils organization. We'd like to request you come in for a meeting regarding your employment status. Today, if possible."

Sadie's blood went cold. "I... I just had a baby," she stammered. "I'm on leave."

The woman didn't miss a beat. "We understand. This is a time-sensitive matter."

Time-sensitive. Employment status.

Someone knew. They knew about her and Luke.

Sophia came barreling into the room, took one look at Sadie's face and grabbed Elisabeth out of her arms.

"Go," Sophia said fiercely. "I've got her. Go do what you need to do."

~~

Luke was sitting outside the HR office when she got there. He stood the second he saw her. Sadie stopped short, heart cracking at the sight of him. Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.

It was written all over Luke's face: I'm scared. I'm sorry. I'm here.

Sadie opened her mouth to ask what happened, to ask how bad it was, but a woman in a blazer stepped into the hall.

"Ms. Howard? We're ready for you."

Sadie forced herself to move, to walk into the conference room like she was a dead man on trial.

She sat down in the stiff leather chair, her back straight, her hands flat against the cool glass tabletop.

Across from her sat the same people Luke had met with, three faces she'd worked alongside for years, now looking at her like she was a liability they didn't know how to handle.

"Ms. Howard, we're here to discuss a violation of the organization's professional conduct policy. Specifically, the nondisclosure of a romantic relationship with a player currently on the New Jersey Devils roster."

Sadie swallowed hard but said nothing.

The HR woman flipped through a file. Sadie caught glimpses--notes on notes about her and Luke. It felt invasive.

"You admit to being involved with Luke Hughes for the past two years?" she asked, pen poised.

Sadie forced a nod. "Yes."

"And you understand that under organizational policy, you were obligated to disclose any personal relationship with players to HR at the outset?"

Sadie clenched her hands in her lap. "It wasn't--" She cut herself off, took a breath. "It isn't a relationship. Not officially. We weren't... aren't dating. It's private. We kept it separate from work."

One of the men leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "No one is accusing you of unprofessional behaviour in your job, Sadie. But perception matters. Risk matters. If the public were to find out and perceive bias, favortism, or worse, it damages the organization's credibility."

Sadie stared down the table at them.

They weren't wrong. Intent didn't erase risk.

The HR rep continued. "Effective immediately, you'll be placed on administrative leave pending an internal investigation. You'll retain your benefits, but you are not permitted to perform work duties or access any Devils facilities."

Sadie nodded numbly.

"Termination is a possibility, depending on the outcome of the review," the other man added, almost as an afterthought.

They dismissed her after that, politely, formally, like it made it easier. Like manners softened the blow of your entire life falling apart.

Luke was pacing the hallway when she walked out, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Sadie brushed past him, head down, throat burning.

"Sadie--" he started, reaching out.

"Don't," she snapped, whipping around. Her voice cracked from how hard she was trying not to cry. "Don't you dare."

Luke's face crumpled, but he didn't move, didn't argue.

"This is my life, Luke," Sadie hissed, keeping her voice low because God forbid someone else overhear. "My career! The thing I worked my fucking ass off for. It's all I had."

Her chest heaved, watching Luke open and close his mouth. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to scream.

Instead, she said, bitter and broken, "I can't do this right now. I need to get home."

"I'll drive you."

The ride home was thick with silence. Sadie stared out the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, blinking back furious tears. Luke gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

Halfway home, the words started to spill from her mouth before she could stop them.

"I never planned this. Not the baby. Not sleeping with a guy from work. I had it all figured out. Graduate. Work for a sports team. Build a career. Be independent. Never have to rely on anyone but myself and Sophia from time to time."

She laughed, wiping her nose.

"And now I'm twenty-one, possible jobless, a single mom, and completely screwed."

Luke put the car in park as they rolled up to her building, turning to look at her.

"You're not alone," he said. "I know it feels like it, but you're not. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, Sadie."

She didn't answer.

Sophia was waiting when they walked in, Elisabeth in her arms.

She took one look at Sadie's face and immediately handed the baby to Luke without a word, disappearing into her bedroom to give them space.

Luke shifted Elisabeth in his arms, moving carefully, like he was afraid to break her and Sadie.

Sadie sank down onto the couch, staring blankly at the TV that was playing a cooking show on mute. Her vision blurred and before she could stop herself, she turned into him, pressed her face into the fabric of his sweatshirt and sobbed. Big, ugly, shuddering sobs she hadn't even known were inside her.

Luke didn't say a word. He just stroked her hair until she cried herself to sleep, cuddled into his side.

~~

Back in the conference room, back in the stiff leather chair.

But this time, there was no waiting, no buildup.

The HR rep looked at him over a thin stack of papers.

"Mr. Hughes, we've concluded our investigation."

Luke nodded, trying not to bounce his knee under the table.

"Given the circumstances, the absence of workplace misconduct or complaints, we're opting for a formal reprimand. You will need to disclose any future relationships immediately. And be aware, any further incidents could lead to suspension or more severe consequences."

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly.

She slid a paper across the table. "Sign here acknowledging receipt."

Luke signed without hesitation.

"And Mr. Hughes," she added, softer yet still professional, "congratulations on the birth of your daughter."

He blinked, completely caught off guard. He mumbled a "thank you" and practically bolted before they could change their minds.

~~

Sadie's meeting had been shorter, but no easier.

They'd told her she'd remain on leave for now. No termination. Not yet.

When--if-- she returned, she'd be placed on a three-month probation, monitored closely for any sign of unprofessional behaviour. One wrong move and she was out.

She had nodded, signed, agreed to everything without really hearing the words. She was focused on surviving. One hour, one day at a time. At least she still had a job.

~~

Luke braced himself as he walked into the locker room. Morning skate had just ended, but he'd been in his meeting.

Guys were half-dressed, laughing about something when they spotted him.

The room went dead silent. Every head turned.

Luke froze in the doorway, pocketing his phone.

Jack broke first. He grinned so wide it was almost blinding. Dawson followed, smirking like he was having the time of his life.

"HEY," he said loudly, standing up and pointing at Luke. "YOU HAD A WHOLE SECRET GIRLFRIEND AND A BABY?!"

The room erupted.

"What the fuck, Rusty?"

"No warning? No gender reveal party? Weak."

"Dude, you pulled Sadie? Respect."

"Was it your TikTok skills? Is that how you got her?"

Luke flushed red up to his ears, but he couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. He shook his head, knocking Jack with his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Jack was practically vibrating with glee, clapping Luke so hard on the back that he stumbled.

Nico, ever the team dad, gave Luke a nod. "Congratulations, Rusty. Seriously."

"Yeah," Siegs chimed in, grinning. "You're officially a hockey dad. Better start working on your minivan budget."

Laughter broke out around the room, guys elbowing each other, tossing chirps back and forth like it was any other day-- like Luke hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb onto their normal lives.

But under all the jokes, Luke could feel the acceptance. No anger. No resentment. Just a weird, clumsy love. The only way hockey guys knew how to show it.

It was going to be okay. They had his back.

~~

Back at the apartment, Sadie was curled up on the couch, Elisabeth dozing in a bassinet beside her, Sophia scrolling through baby clothes online.

Lu: They know. They're not mad. They're actually being kinda annoying abt it lol

Sadie stared at the screen, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Sophia looked over, saw the look on her best friend's face, and smirked.

"Told you," she said, nudging Sadie with her socked foot. "He's not going anywhere."

~~

Sadie was curled up on the couch, one of Luke's hoodies swallowing her whole, bare legs tucked underneath her. Luke sat on the other end, close enough that their knees touched, hands fidgeting in his lap.

Elisabeth was finally asleep, bundled so tightly in her swaddle that she looked more like a burrito than a baby.

Sophia had left earlier, giving Sadie a pointed look and a mumbled excuse about "spending the night at Travis's place."

Sadie knew she was trying to give them space. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or terrified. Maybe a bit of both.

Luke cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "She's... cute when she's not screaming."

Sadie laughed. "Yeah. When she's quiet, I almost think I know what I'm doing."

He smiled, nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck the way he always did when he was anxious.

Sadie bit her lip, staring down at the worn throw blanket bunched up in her hands. She knew they couldn't avoid it any longer.

The conversation. The where do we go from here.

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice low.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words rough. "For everything. For not protecting you better. For putting your job at risk. For... everything I guess."

Sadie opened her mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but he shook his head before she could.

"No. Just let me say it," Luke said. "You didn't ask for this. You didn't plan any of this. And you still handled it better than I ever could've."

Sadie blinked hard, tears burning behind her eyes.

Luke kept going, voice cracking at the edges.

"I don't expect anything, Sadie. I don't want to trap you into something you don't want. I just... I want to be here. For you. For her. Whatever you need."

Sadie stared at him.

At this boy, who was still so young but somehow had already given her more than most people twice his age ever would.

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

"I'm scared, Luke," she whispered. "Like really scared, all the time."

He didn't flinch. He carefully shifted closer, like if he moved too fast, she'd run away.

"I'm scared too."

Sadie opened her eyes. Met his.

She saw it in his eyes, the fear. But also hope.

Stupid, stubborn hope.

She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely audible.

"I don't know what the future looks like. But I want you in it."

Luke's face crumpled for a second, before he reached out and pulled her into him.

The kiss wasn't frantic or desperate. It was slow, taking their time to show their love for each other. It was a promise. A beginning.

~~

Later, they lay tangled on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. Elisabeth snuffled in her sleep, her tiny fists twisting inside the swaddle.

Luke's hand found Sadie's, tracing slow patterns along her knuckles. He murmured nonsense about baby clothes and daycare options and future trips they could take together.

Sadie just listened, her heart so full it ached.

For the first time in forever, she let herself believe it. Believe in him, them, their future.

She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to Luke's shoulder, feeling the beat of his heart against her cheek. It wasn't the life she had planned. But it was one she was starting to see work out for her.

[moonstruckme]

Oh! Oh! I’m not the anon who asked about Jily x reader but your response made something spark in my brain. So picture a super cosy, soft scene where one of them comes home from a long and draining day of work to one of their loves in the kitchen baking, and then the third comes home with dinner and it’s all just soft and domestic. My heart! I think I can see the Jily x reader appeal

Thank you for requesting lovely! I feel like I'm still getting my sea legs under me with them but so far I'm really enjoying writing for them :)

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The front door opens, and you say “Hi,” with a question in your voice, unsure who’s made it home first. 

The answer comes in the quiet scrape of a chair being pulled out. Only one of your partners is given to actually sitting down to take their shoes off, rather than toeing them off and being shocked when the backs get scuffed. “Hi, love,” Lily replies. 

“Hi,” you say again, warmer now. “Hey, could you help me with something when you’re done?” 

“Yeah, with what?” 

“My hair won’t stop getting in my face.” You blow a strand away from your eye. It comes right back. “And my hands have dough on them.”

“Just a second.” You hear the chair being pushed back under your table, the quiet padding of socked feet as your girlfriend comes up behind you. As usual, she’s come prepared, a hair tie already on her wrist. Gentle fingers sweep strands away from your face and draw it all back into a loose ponytail. Lily presses a kiss to your nape once she’s done. 

“Thank you,” you say, and she hums, settling her arms around your waist. “How was your day?” 

Lily sighs and rests her chin on your shoulder. “Long.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, lovely. Anything in particular?” 

“Not really. Just one thing after another, you know.” She toys with the loose knit of your sweater, sticking her finger through a hole. “I’m happy to be home.” 

The fondness that bleeds through you feels warm and sticky. “I’m happy you’re home, too,” you say with a smile.

You feel her lips curve in kind as she kisses your shoulder. “What’re you making?” 

“Cinnamon roll cookies. They’re more complicated than I thought, but I figure even if I mess them up they’ll at least smell nice when they’re baking.” 

“Good thinking. You won’t mess them up, though.” 

You both hear a key being fitted into the lock outside, and Lily calls out, “It’s open!”

“What?” The voice is muffled through the door. The key retracts, the handle twists. “Why is it open?” James asks as he comes inside. “I could be a murderer.” 

“Because I knew you’d be right on my tail,” says Lily, at the same time as you say, “What makes you think someone would want to murder us?” 

“Well, I’d rather you not find out,” James replies. He toes off his shoes and sets a large paper bag on the table. “Especially when I’m not home.” 

“Oh, because surely we need a man to protect us? We could do just as well in a fight whether you were here or not.” 

Looking at your tall, muscled boyfriend, you have to admit privately that this may be factually untrue. By the look Lily gives you as she goes to give him a kiss, she also disagrees with your argument even if she respects it. 

“Let’s just keep the door locked and that way none of us ever have to fight,” James says as she steps into his arms. He smiles. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Lily pecks him on the lips. “What’s in the bag?” 

“Dinner. I know I was meant to cook tonight, but I decided on the way home to pick up instead.” 

“Oh no,” you say mournfully. “Did you have a bad day, too?” 

“No.” James looks at you, confused. “Who had a bad day?” 

“Lily did.” 

“It wasn’t bad, it was just draining,” your girlfriend qualifies, though this doesn’t stop James from cooing and folding her into a hug. “I’m really fine.” Her voice is muffled against his chest. 

“I must’ve had a sixth sense, then.” James kisses her hair. “I got your favorite.” 

“No, did you really?” You can hear Lily perk up. She doesn’t completely remove herself from his embrace but frees one arm and cranes her neck to look inside the bag. “Thank you, love.” 

“Don’t thank me, thank my telepathy,” he says, letting her go so she can start grabbing forks and napkins for you all to eat with. 

James makes his way over to you, leaning against the counter so he can see your face while you work. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his hair fluffy like he’s been running his fingers through it or he rolled down the window on the drive home.

“And how was your day?” he asks you. 

“My day was good.” You grin at him. He returns it with twice the enthusiasm. “I finished my book, and I found this recipe for cinnamon roll cookies.” 

James’ gaze doesn’t dip to where you’re folding the cinnamon mixture into your dough. He nods as he keeps looking at your face, eyes warm. He’s still smiling. 

“What?” 

“Did you know you have a little bit of flour on your cheek?” 

“Oh, why’d you ruin it?” Lily asks, bustling through the kitchen to get you water for dinner. “I wasn’t going to tell her.” 

“What?” You look over your shoulder in betrayal. “Is it a lot? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

Lily turns off the tap, giving you a sheepish smile and a lift of her shoulders as she passes by you again. “It’s cute.” 

“It’s very cute,” James agrees. “Want me to get it for you?” 

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at your girlfriend. “Please.” 

James uses his thumb to brush off your cheek, holding your face in his hand while he does. His smile is still firmly in place, soft around the edges with a sweet fondness. He keeps rubbing until you’re sure the flour has to be long gone, until warmth kisses your cheeks and it’s just touching.

“Love you,” you say softly. 

James’ cheeks dimple. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“Will you turn the tap on for me?” 

He does, and you wash your hands in the sink, leaving the rest of the baking for after dinner. 

“Oh, good.” Lily comes back into the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat? I’m worried it’s going to get cold.” 

“We’re ready,” James answers for you. “Just washing up.” 

“Jamie.” Lily smiles at you as you step away from the sink to let him have his turn. “You didn’t get it all.” 

“I got distracted,” says James. “Anyway, I thought you liked it there.” 

She beckons you closer. “I do, but if you’re going to get it, you may as well finish the job.” She brushes a fingertip over your cheek, pretty eyes crinkling. “There. Perfect.” 

“She’s always perfect.” James dries his hands on a towel. He kisses you when you smile bashfully. 

“The food’s getting cold,” you remind them. 

“Excuses, excuses.” 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

[supercap2319]

Clark Kent and his childhood best friend, a wizard, Clark has a bisexual awakening and gives up Lana for the reader, something cute, I'm kind of needy

Best Friends

Y/N watched with an amused grin as his best friend fell down at the dainty feet of Lana Lang? Again? He couldn't help enjoying the entertainment value of Clark Kent making a fool of himself for a girl who was too needy and popular. Clark could have his pick of dozens older, and more importantly, legal girls. They all fell for that farm boy sweetness and Boy Scout charm.

Clark had been crushing on Lana since the third grade and while it had been cute in elementary school, now, it was just sad. Like a bad Netflix rom-com, where the nerdy guy gets the very pretty, and very unattainable popular girl. It just wasn't fair in Y/N's opinion. Lana wouldn't give Clark the time of day, no matter how hard the farm boy tried. He just wasn't what Lana was looking for. Probably a gay best friend or even a friend, but not a lover.

It didn't matter anyways. Clark always got sick and pale around Lana, and they both knew the reason for it. It was that damn meteorite necklace that she always wore around her neck. It was a green diamond, tied by a silver cord. Lana started wearing it after the meteor shower hit Smallville. It was around the same time that Clark came into their lives.

Clark was an alien from another planet, who arrived in Kansas in a spaceship. Mr. and Mrs. Kent adopted him as their son, and the rest was history. At least until Y/N found out Clark's secret. It was third grade, and Clark had accidentally hovered in front of Y/N. It had shocked him, but he understood what it was like to keep a secret. 

Y/N was from a long line of wizards with wands, spells, and magic. The whole nine yards, if you will. That's where their friend became stronger than anyone else in their friend group. Stronger than Pete's. Stronger than Chloe's. Y/N and Clark were an unstoppable duo, until it came to Lana.

“Hey, Clark. Hi, Lana.” Y/N said. He picked up a few of the books Clark had dropped when he was trying to act cool in front of Lana. He didn't hate but, man, he really wished he could portal her into another dimension. Clark would not be happy with him if he did that, but it was a comforting thought.

“Sorry, I didn't pick you up, man. I was up late last night finishing an article for the Torch, and Chloe will kill me if I don't have it in her snarky, dainty hands by the time the bell rings.”

“That's okay. I managed.” Clark gave Y/N a secret smile. An inside joke between them. They both knew Clark was referring to his super-speed. He must have used it to catch—beat the school bus to school.

Lana, was momentarily forgotten about. At least she was, until she cleared her throat, gaining both boy's attention. “Glad you weren't hurt, Clark. That was a pretty nasty fall.” Lana said, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Made her look so innocent and pretty, that Y/N wanted to gag.

Apparently, it worked on innocent farm boys, because Clark was grinning ear to ear, a slight blush on his handsome face. “Thanks, Lana. I'm fine.” Of course he was. He was Indestructible, until he got near that green meteor rock, and suddenly all Clark's powers and abilities were replaced by pain and nausea.

“I'm glad. See you guys around.” She turned on her heel and left, joining her friends in the social patriarchy that was high school. 

……

That night, at the Kent farmhouse, Y/N and Clark were up in the loft (Fortress of Solitude as Clark likes to call it) working on an assignment for school. After this morning's disaster of America's Funny Home Videos, Clark had begged Y/N to sign up with him and Pete for the football team. Football was Y/N's style, but he did it for Clark. True, Mr. Kent was gonna be upset when he found out what Clark had done, but hey, it was worth it, right?

Clark had been wanting to join the football team since 6th grade peewee league, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent was afraid he might accidentally hurt someone with his powers, so they forbade him from competing in any sports. It was kind of sad, really. Clark never get to experience the highs and lows of being on a team of meathead jockstraps, as Chloe affectionately references to them.

“This is boring. Let’s take a break and order a pizza. I'm starving.” Y/N tossed his math book on Clark's desk. The taller boy shot him a pointed look. “And who says you're in charge? It's my fortress, I decide what we do.” Clark grinned.

“I've been making the decisions since we were in diapers, Kent. You can't be insubordinate now.” Y/N grins back. It was nothing serious between them. Just two super-powered teenagers looking to unwind after boring algebra. 

“Oh, yeah? And who's gonna stop me? I have the phone right here.” Clark held up Y/N's phone with a grin on his face. Y/N waved a hand, and the phone came flying into his hands. “Checkmate, Clark. The guy with the wizard powers always wins. Just ask Harry Potter.”

In a blur, Clark had Y/N’s phone in his hands once again, waving it around in a teasing way. “I got the phone. Gonna order pineapple and anchovies.” He turns to walk down the steps of the loft, towards the ground floor barn. Y/N lifts Clark into the air using his powers and grunts. He's heavier than he looks. He turns Clark to face him. "You do realize there are about 6 different ways I can break free of this."

Y/N smiled interested. "Take your best shot, Kent.”

Clark smiles as he just starts spinning around in mid air thanks to Y/N keeping him up. At a human speed at first,  but eventually it picks up momentum until he becomes a red and blue tornado. Y/n stumbles and loses his grip on him, and Clark lands feet first on the floor.

“You cheat!” Y/N accuses.

“Nah, I didn't cheat. You just suck at magic, dude. Or just plain suck, if you know what I mean.” Clark's eyes wiggled in a teasing way. Y/N growls and charges before feeling his back on the plush couch. Clark was on top of him, pinning him down. He grins and leans downward. “You're all mine, tough guy.”

“And just what do you plan on doing?” Y/N asked.

“This.”

Clark leans downward and kisses Y/N. It was soft and sweet, like taffy. Clark tasted like the powerade and peanut butter sandwich he had for lunch today. It was a strangely appealing taste. The kiss was something and everything that Y/N imagined with Clark. He had a crush on his best friend! He was so screwed.

A few moments later, Clark pulled back with a blush on his cheeks, replacing the cocky guy, who was just pinning him down a second ago. “Y/N? I think I'm bisexual, and I have a crush on you. Please don't hate me.”

“Hate you? Clark, you're my best friend. I could never hate you, but I will admit that I've been crushing on you too.” Y/N blushed.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, but what about Lana?” Y/N asked. This was definitely not the way to win her affections. Not by kissing boys, who are your best friend in a barn loft.

“Who cares about her? I got someone even better.” Clark leans down once again, placing a chaste kiss on Y/N's lips.

[midastouch013]

Scars and All

Based on this request

Summary: You and Natasha have been dating for almost a year, and so what happens when you finally find out why things never get steamy

Warnings: Insecurity, Scars, Flashbacks of Redroom. Super soft Nat.

---

You and Natasha had been dating for close to a year now, having moved in a month ago to the floor Tony had given the both of you happy to see his, and you quote ' favourite spider' so in love, and though your relationship was incredible in so many ways, there was one aspect that sometimes caused a bit of frustration. Every time things got a little bit steamy, Natasha would freeze up. And every time it left you confused, more than before with every occurrence.

It happened again tonight. You were tangled up in each other, lips locked in a passionate kiss, hands exploring, when Natasha suddenly pulled back, her breath uneven.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You froze, your heart pounding. You were frustrated, sure, but you respected Natasha enough to honor her wishes. With a heavy sigh, you pulled away, trying to hide your disappointment.

"Are you okay?" you asked softly, concern evident in your voice.

She nodded, avoiding your gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… not feeling it right now."

You couldn't help but feel disappointed, but you didn't want to show it. Instead, you forced a small smile and said, "Okay. I'm just gonna… take a cold shower then."

Without waiting for a response, you got up and made your way to the bathroom, leaving Natasha alone on the bed.

The cold water did little to wash away your disappointment. You couldn't shake the feeling of frustration, unable to understand why Natasha kept pulling away.

After what felt like an eternity under the icy spray, you finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. As you dried off and got dressed, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

When you emerged from the bathroom, you found Natasha lost in her own world, her eyes unfocused as she begged someone she had only told you about once, Madame B, not to hit her.

Your heart broke at the sight. You knew Natasha was reliving a moment from her past, a nightmare from her time in the Red Room. Without a second thought, you crossed the room and enveloped her in a tight hug, hoping to ground her in the present, having it done many times previously.

"Nat, it's me," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing. "You're safe now. You're with me."

Slowly, Natasha's breathing began to steady, and the tension in her body started to ease. She clung to you, burying her face in the crook of your neck as she struggled to break free from the memories that haunted her.

You held her close, whispering words of comfort and reassurance until she finally began to relax in your arms.

After Natasha falls asleep in your arms, you gently tuck her under the covers, making sure she's comfortable. With a lingering glance, you quietly slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

You make your way downstairs and pull out your phone, dialing Yelena's number. She picks up after a couple of rings.

"Hey," she says, her voice filled with concern. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitate for a moment, not sure how to explain what just happened with Natasha.

"Not really," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Nat had a flashback… to the Red Room, I think."

There's a pause on the other end of the line before Yelena speaks again. "Is she okay now?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping," you reply. "But… I don't know what to do, Yelena. Every time things start to get… intimate, she freezes up. I can't shake the feeling that it's connected somehow."

There's a thoughtful silence before Yelena speaks again. "Does my sestra shower with the door closed?"

You frown, confused by the seemingly random question. "Uh, yeah, she does. Why?"

Yelena hums thoughtfully. "And does she ever… mention anything about about her post-missions "

Your heart skips a beat as the pieces start to click into place. "No, she doesn't even let me see her till she's in pajamas. Why?"

Yelena lets out a heavy sigh. "Look, I think… Y/n, you're pretty smart, so I'm surprised I have to be telling you this, but my sister is insecure about something. And maybe, just maybe, that's why she keeps pulling away."

"But what insecurity?" you question," She-"

Before you can say anything else, Yelena interrupts you. "Sorry, I have to go. Kate's calling me. Just… be there for her, okay? She needs you."

After Yelena hangs up, more incidents with Natasha flash through your mind. Little moments that, when looked at together, begin to form a pattern. And suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Natasha's insecurity is about her scars.

Just as you're connecting the dots, Natasha comes downstairs to grab something to eat. Wordlessly, you grab her by the hips and lift her up.

"Hey, what are you doing?" she squeals, trying to wriggle out of your grasp.

Ignoring her protests, you carry her back upstairs to your room. Once there, you gently set her down on the edge of the bed, ignoring her playful protests.

"Okay, seriously, what's going on?" she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

You don't answer right away. Instead, you kneel down on the floor in front of her, taking her hands in yours.

"Tasha, I love you," you begin, your voice steady. "And I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I know… I know that something happened tonight, something that triggered a flashback. And I think… I think I know what it is."

Natasha's eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, she looks like she might bolt. But then she takes a deep breath and meets your gaze.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, squeezing her hands gently while taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say. "Natasha, do you not like your scars?" you ask gently.

Natasha's defenses go up immediately, and she tries to deflect the situation with humor. "What, these old things?" she says, gesturing to her scars with a forced smirk. "Just battle wounds, nothing to worry about."

But you're firm in your resolve. You don't let her deflect this time. "Nat, please," you say, your voice pleading. "I need you to be honest with me."

She sighs, the forced smile slipping from her face. "Fine," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Fine, you want the truth? I hate them, okay? I hate the way they look. I hate what they remind me of."

Your heart breaks at her words, but you keep your voice steady. "Why, Nat? Why do you hate them so much?"

And then she confesses, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Because I'm afraid, okay? I'm afraid that when you see them, you'll finally realize that you're dating a monster. A cold-blooded murderer. I'm afraid that you'll look at me and see nothing but a killer. And I love you so much, and I don't want to lose you. But I'm afraid that these scars will scare you away. That I don't look… sexy with my scars and all."

Tears fill her eyes as she speaks, and you feel your heart breaking all over again.

You feel a surge of anger and hurt at Natasha's admission. How could she think of herself like that? And how could she think that you would ever see her that way?

"You really think that?" you say, your voice coming out a bit harsher than you intended. "That I would see you like that? That I would ever think of you as a monster? God, Natasha, how could you even think that?"

Natasha flinches at your words, and for a moment, you regret the harshness of your tone. But then you take a deep breath and soften your voice.

"I'm sorry, It wasn't supposed to sound so rude, but… I get it, Nat," you continue, your voice gentle now. "I get that you're scared. And I understand why you feel that way. Even if I've not been through what you've been through, I'd like to think that I get it. But you need to know that I love you, scars and all. And I would never, ever think of you as anything less than amazing."

You feel Natasha's arms tighten around you, and you know that she's listening, really listening, to what you're saying.

"And another thing," you add, your voice firm now. "You need to stop calling yourself those hateful things. You are not a monster, Natasha. You are not a cold-blooded murderer. You are a hero, you are the role model to millions of kids out there, and you're my girlfriend. There's no way in hell could you be what you claim to be. Don't you ever forget that."

Natasha doesn't say anything in response, and for a moment, you worry that you've pushed her too far. But then she pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for… for loving me, scars and all."

You shush her with a gentle finger to her lips. " What have I told you about that?" you ask in a tutting tone.

She chuckled breathily, a faint smile on her face " Never thank you unless I don't want dinner that night"

You look into Natasha's eyes, your heart overflowing with love and reassurance. Without saying a word, you lift her (Well yours, but anything that was yours was hers) t-shirt and leant in to press a gentle kiss to one of her scars, then another, and another, until you'd kissed each one.

Each kiss is an act of reassurance, a silent declaration of how beautiful and attractive you find her scars. And with each kiss, you feel Natasha's tension slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of peace and acceptance.

When you finally pull back, Natasha is looking at you with tear-filled eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"I love you" she whispers, her voice filled with emotion.

" I love you more"

"Willing to bet on it?"

--

[luveline]

kisses before dinner —the harrington family gets ready for a dinner party. mom!reader, 3k

"...and I told mommy she needed my help but your mom doesn't like listening to me anymore," Steve says, eyebrows pulled together, "because of that one time I told her the side of the refrigerator was supposed to feel warm and it broke. But I'm usually right."

Wren blinks at him dopily where she lies in the dip of his thighs. Steve has his knees up, back flat on the couch and head propped by a pink fluffy heart pillow from Bethie's bed to speak to her face to face. 

"I promise you'll understand when you're older. I'm a genius." He strokes her little forehead. Steve's youngest daughter is too baby to look like anybody, but he's starting to think she looks like him anyway. "And now mom has to run the washing machine again when we were already super duper busy." 

"Shut up!" you yell from the kitchen. 

Bethie giggles from the same place, seemingly, raising her voice to join in, "Yeah, daddy! Shut up!" 

"That's so not nice." Steve shakes his head at Wren in dramatic disbelief. She smiles at him. "Isn't that mean? Don't you think that's sick?" 

"You're being a know-it-all again!" you continue. "And we'd be less busy if you were helping me!" 

"I'm sick of helping," Steve says conversationally. "I help all day long." 

Wren gurgles and lifts one of her hands toward him. Steve holds it in his, rubbing at her palm with a gentle thumb. She totally gets what he's saying, agrees with him no doubt, breathing out heavily as Steve gives her hand a wave up and down. 

"Steve," you say, dropping the angry act to pull him in, "please, sweetheart, I really do need your help."

"How am I supposed to say no to that?" Steve whispers. "Does she guilt trip you that way?" 

Wren doesn't giggle, but the breathy, happy sound she makes as he crunches forward to kiss her forehead is close enough to make Steve laugh himself. He moves her carefully into the curve of his arm and stands, wishing he could stretch, exhausted by another long week but undeniably happy. "Let's go see what they want," he murmurs to Wren. 

You and Bethie are in the kitchen by the stove. She's wearing oven mitts too big for her, and you're crouched behind her offering steady instructions. "Don't touch the sides, my love. Only the baking tray. If it feels warm and you're not happy, tell me, and I'll take it straight away." You wear your own oven gloves.

"I can do it," Beth insists, squaring her features. 

Beth takes the baking tray and its cookies into her hands, walking with short steps to the counter, where she slides the tray up high. You lean over her to make sure it's settled before closing the oven and dashing a kiss into her cheek. "Well done, gorgeous girl," you say, scratching lightly at her shoulder as she preens under the praise. "One day you'll be making cookies all by yourself."

"But not for a while?" she asks, startled. 

You kiss her again. "Not for a long, long time." 

"Did you need my help or my approval?" Steve asks, his hand making a small thump with each pat he taps into Wren's back. "A taste tester, right?" 

"I need you to find your other daughters. I have no idea where they are," you say with a rueful smile. 

"Okay." Steve has carried babies. He's carried them for years, tiny ones and ones too big to need it, carried nonetheless. But something about Wren in all her newness makes him nervous. He hates carrying her up and down the stairs, too aware of the times he's missed a step or tripped up. "Can you take her?" 

"Yes!" Bethie says, running to her unofficial chair at the dining table and holding out her mitted arms as she sits. 

You nod at him and take the seat next to her. Steve hands Wren over into her sister's waiting hold, more than confident you're still there to take over if things get overwhelming. Wren looks comically large in Bethie's lap. 

"I have her, dad." Beth leans down to touch her nose to Wren's. "Hi, Wren. Hello, hello," she says softly.

Steve gives your cheek a swift but loving stroke and leaves in search of the other kids. He can hear Dove in her room talking to herself in make believe, but Avery, the oldest, isn't with her, nor is she in her bedroom. Steve knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Are you in there, Ave?" 

No answer. Steve raises his voice. "I'm coming in." 

He peeks inside slowly but she's not there. Eyebrows raised, Steve asks, "Avery, where are you?" Nothing. "Avery Harrington, don't make me worry! Please." 

He lets his head drift to one side, listening for an answer. Avery rarely gets told off and she hates it; she'd jump to tell him where she was if she were up here. 

Or so he thinks. Just as he's taking the stairs again to look for her someplace he must have missed, he hears sniffling coming from the master bedroom. 

Idiot, he thinks, relief taking tight hold. He doesn't like not knowing where the girls are. He should've checked your room to begin with. 

"Ave?" he says, opening his bedroom door. "You in here?" 

"I'm here, dad," she says, peering up from the space between the top of the bed and his nightstand, kneeling on the carpeted floor. 

"What are you doing down there? We gotta get ready for Aunt Robin's party." 

Her cheeks shine in the slice of light from the open door. Steve closes it behind him and flicks on the big light, rounding the end of the bed to help her up. He hooks his hands under her arms and pulls her into his chest, bed springs creaking as their joined weight lands. 

"Why are you crying?" he asks, cuddling her to his front. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come and find me? You can't stay here crying all by yourself, that's not cool. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know what's wrong?" 

"Dove bit me." 

Steve gasps. "Again?" 

"On my hand, dad." She holds up her wrist. "It hurts." 

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking her arm tenderly to analyse the bite. It's a nasty thing, not bleeding but cruel and stark. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"You said I can't be mean–" 

"No, you can't–" 

"But it was really mean." 

"I know," he murmurs, "but I just don't… we can't be mean to Dove when she bites because she doesn't know it's wrong, okay? She doesn't remember. She knows it's the wrong thing to do, but by the time I tell her she doesn't know what she did." What Steve means is that the first time Dove bit Avery, Avery reacted on impulse and slapped her sister in the stomach. There isn't a bridge yet to connect to Dove why she might have received such a thing (though Steve teaches all the girls that hitting is never okay no matter what), so Dove just thought she was being hit. It was a very tense half hour of tears. 

Steve rubs Avery's back as she starts to cry in earnest. "I will tell her not to bite you, honey. I swear, I won't let her be mean to you. I'll tell her until she understands." 

He's been trying to teach Dove not to bite, but saying 'no' doesn't seem to do anything. Positive incentives don't last, and taking her toys wouldn't make much sense, because again, she doesn't get it. 

"You know," Steve says, wiping her cheeks tenderly, "I'll tell her again and again and again until she stops, and it'll work, because it worked with you." 

"What?" 

"You used to bite me sometimes, but you used to bite mom all the time." 

Avery looks at him in horror. "I did?" 

He puts her down onto her feet and takes her hand. He'd like to tell her this story while sitting down, but Robin's house beckons and time is running short. "Mom would come home from work and you'd be very happy to see her, but she would ask you what you did today and where we went and you'd bite her." 

He peeks into Dove's room and finds her missing. Downstairs, you say, "No! No, no, babe!" and he assumes she's been found. 

"Why would I do that?" 

Steve holds her hand buoyed between them as he descends the stairs. "We decided it was because you missed her. When your Dove's age you don't know how to say that. You don't even know what that is. I'm a thousand years old and I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. So mom stopped hugging you after work for a bit until you calmed down." 

"But I don't go to work, dad. Why did Dove bite me?" 

"What were you doing?" 

"We were playing with Mr Scruffles and the care bears and she just bit me for no reason!" 

Steve stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Were you being a bossy boots?" 

Avery glares at him. "I just told her to stop taking Funshine bear." 

"Well," Steve says, smiling at her in apology, "maybe, next time, you can come and tell me, and then I'll tell her to stop taking Funshine bear, and then when she wants to bite someone she bites me instead of you. That could work, yeah?" He would much prefer it. 

Steve takes Avery to the kitchen, where you've transferred Wren into her bassinet while Bethie eats a cookie, her cheeks messy with chocolate, and Dove languishes in your arms, small hands touching your hair curiously. 

"Dove, will you look at this?" he asks, showing her Avery's bite mark. "You see that, honey? That's what you did when you bit your sister. We don't bite."

You gasp. "No!" you say, stern but far from cruel. "We don't bite. We only bite when we want to eat something." 

Dove frowns. 

"When you bite," Steve says, trying to appeal to her smarts. It'll stick eventually. "You give Avery an owie. That's why we can't bite, okay?" 

Dove can tell she's being chided even if she doesn't totally get why. "No," she says unhappily. 

"Can you say sorry to Avery?" you ask, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "Say, I'm sorry, Avery." 

"Sorry, Ave'y," she mumbles. 

Avery can't glare for long. She doesn't hold a grudge, not like her dad. "It's okay. You didn't mean to." 

You beam at Avery like she's hung the moon. "You're so nice, my big girl. Can I have a look at your wrist? Did that hurt?" 

Her mother's concern draws fresh tears. You swap children, and Dove quickly forgets what happened as Avery cries in little sniffles on the countertop. Steve brims with a familiar brand of pride as you comfort her, kissing and offering treats to help her feel better. I picked the right one might be applicable, only Steve didn't choose you so much as he happened upon you one day like a miracle, and then begged to keep you. Luckily for him, you've always been very agreeable on that front. 

(As in, you love him more than can be said in any one language.) 

"What are you upto?" Steve asks Bethie.

She shows him her food-covered hands. He nods like this is awesome, but in reality chocolate stains her t-shirt and she's going to have to change before they leave. Dove rams herself against his leg and looks up with her eyes widened. 

"What?" he asks. 

"Um…" 

"What do you want?" he asks, softer. She starts to frown again. Steve bends. "Drink? Crackers?" No dice. "What about some pear slices?" 

Dove loves pears more than anything, the sticky, sugary sliced kind from the can. Her frown disappears and she walks off, thankful to be understood. Steve's just grateful he wasn't bitten.

"What else did you need?" Steve asks, winding around you where you're cleaning Avery's cheeks. A damp washcloth drips down your arm.

"More time. Have any?" 

"Wren's bag is done, bottles done, Bethie's dinner." He whispers the last part. Bethie is a picky eater and she grows pickier with time, and Robin knows this, but she's not a parent (as sweet and caring as she might be for the girls). Only something you or Steve have made is something Bethie will deign to eat, and she's insecure about it despite having no reason to be. "Beth needs a new top. Your blouse needs to go in the dryer, and I can't find my nice pants. Avery?" 

"I don't need anything." 

"You sure? You have Mr Scruffles?" 

She wraps her arms around your neck. "Just want a hug." 

"Then I guess I'm busy while daddy does all my chores," you tease Steve lightly, your touch similarly soft where it tracks up and down Avery's arm. "I'm sorry Dove bit you again. It's not fair. Not fair at all. Maybe we should only have you playing downstairs until me and dad figure it out, okay? I don't want her to keep taking bits of you." 

Steve clears the checklist. Not to brag or anything, but he's a pro. You both are. Life is hectic as always and you knew getting out the door would be a process, so you planned accordingly, and you arrive at Robin's with time to spare, though Dove smells strongly of sugary pears and Bethie's new shirt has fingerprints on the back. 

"Hi, crew!" Robin greets. "It's my favourite Harringtons!" 

"We're your only Harringtons." 

"That's not true, I went to college with a Harrington." Robin ushers the girls inside. They want one thing and one thing alone —hugs. Dove is the most insistent, dropping your hand to offer Robin her arms. She picks the small girl up and smiles at her with a monumental amount of love. Robin doesn't have favourites but Dove demands it, sometimes. Avery says, "Hello, Aunt Robin," and hugs her stomach, while Bethie puts her arm behind Avery and hugs them both. 

Steve's arm shakes. "Any chance I can get through? This is a really heavy baby." 

"Hi," Robin says, ignoring him without guilt. "You guys are the best part about having a best friend." 

Steve logs that one for later revenge and eases around the mass of bodies to take Wren into the living room. "Holy fuck," he says, "I thought you weren't coming?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I wanted to see the girls. It has nothing to do with you." 

They hug and pat each other on the back, and then Eddie drops to his knees in front of Wren's car seat to smile at her. "I love her so much. Can I have this one? Y'already have so many." 

"No you absolutely cannot. Where's Dustin?" 

"They're all in the backyard. Mora's teaching them how to make grass flutes, or something." 

"How'd you get out of that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "She doesn't like me. Doesn't make any sense, goth and metal are like brothers." 

"Is she goth? I thought we settled on hippie who wears dark clothing." 

"You guys are such losers!" Robin says, like a tree adorned in girl-shaped ornaments. "Don't bitch about Mora." 

"Don't swear in front of my kids!" 

You, having taken off your shoes and coat, unlike Steve, shimmy around the table. "He said 'fucking bitch' in front of Bethie the other day," you gossip, sitting by your friend's side. Eddie gives you a quick hug. You're undoubtedly his favourite Harrington. 

"He's a disgusting man who shouldn't have kids." 

You gasp and elbow him. "How dare you." 

"Can we go play with Stinky?" Avery asks Robin. 

Robin puts Dove down, short hair flying every which way, "If you can find him. But be nice, okay? He's agitated today. Mora says it's something about the supermoon." 

Avery laughs and Dove races to follow her sister up the stairs. "Ave, remember what I said, okay?" Steve calls after her. "Come and tell me if she's being bad! And no going in the bathroom!" 

Bethie remains, oddly. Though it's obvious why she's stayed the longer she lingers, her gaze flickering between you and Eddie. 

He holds his arms out. "Hello, Beth. You want a bro hug?" 

Bethie laughs and meanders into his waiting arms, where he pat-pat-pats her back like he did to Steve, eliciting a wave of happy giggles. "You've gotten so big again!" Eddie says, moving her away kindly. "Woah!" 

"I'm glad people have stopped saying that to me," you joke. 

Steve's delighted, laughing loud and sudden, and you're always pleased to have made him laugh, practically collapsing in his direction. He pulls at you until you're arm's reach. 

"What does that mean, Eddie?" Bethie whispers. 

Eddie pulls her into his lap. "It means your mom is happy about baby Wren being born." 

"I'm really happy too." 

"I bet you are! Your dad told me you're like his little helper, is that true?" 

Steve turns into your cheek. A quick stolen moment before he kisses under your ear and pulls away. "Wow," he says, smiling at you, "could we, like, actually have a conversation right now? A full one?" 

You beam. "What do you wanna talk about?" 

Steve could happily talk about everything and nothing with you. Before bed you guys are usually tired but excited enough to be alone together that you'll talk about the colour of the new dish soap or Avery's broken pinky nail. "Seen any good movies lately?" 

You give him the look. He practically invented it, that sticky, gooey eyed love as you murmur, "Mm, no. Don't think so. How about you?" 

He leans in for a kiss. 

"Yikes," Eddie says, covering a giggling Bethie's eyes with his hands. "Robin, house rules, please!" 

Steve drops his arms heavily over your shoulders for a warm hug. "He's just jealous," he whispers. 

[squiddyfics]

get gone

namgyu x f!reader

description: namgyu’s long hours spent at the club, wasting his life away, have gotten to you. you finally decide to leave him, but it doesn’t hurt to say goodbye first.

18+ minors dni

warnings: nsfw, angst, drugs mentioned, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation

a/n: happy valentine's day hehe

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

He broke his promise.

Namgyu's shift at the club always ends at two in the morning, but he's never home when he's supposed to be. Whenever he does finally return, his eyes are bloodshot and his mood is sour.

You couldn't stand by and watch him ruin his life, destroying his physical and mental health each weekend as he delves into a world of illicit substances and people who don't give a fuck about whether he lives or dies.

That's why you made him swear to stop staying at the club past his shift. You respect that he has a job to do, but beyond that, there's no reason for him to stay out and slowly kill himself.

Last week, he actually stuck to his word, which was a pleasant surprise. It made you hopeful that he was finally turning things around, for once prioritizing his life with you over cheap thrills.

But now it's three a.m., and he's nowhere to be seen. You run your hands over your face, attempting to stay awake. You won't be set at ease until you see him walk through the door. Each night he doesn't come home on time is a night you spend worrying that he's finally succumbed to the consequences of his actions, leaving you alone in the world.

He never texts you back on these nights, either. You open your phone and click on your text thread with him, fruitlessly hoping that things might be different tonight. Of course not; your messages remain unanswered.

You can't keep doing this anymore, can't keep caring about a man who doesn't care about himself. Up until now, you've stuck by his side, scared that if you left him he'd spiral even further. Enough is enough, though. You have a life to live, and without spending so much of your time stressing about Namgyu's well-being, you'd be much freer.

These are your last thoughts before you pass out on the couch, unable to force yourself to stay awake any longer.

The sound of keys in the door wakes you back up. When you open your eyes, it's lighter in the apartment; the sun is beginning to rise. You check the time on your phone.

6:09.

Namgyu opens the door and looks surprised to see you in the living room. You meet his eyes with a glare.

"Thanks for finally gracing me with your presence," you snap.

"Chill," he says, and the word sends a surge of anger coursing through you. "I just spent a few extra hours networking."

"Networking?" you scoff. "Is that what you call getting fucked up and partying with junkies?"

"I made hella tips," he says. "This group of super-rich dudes said they'd keep giving me money as long as I could convince the bottle-service girl to sit with them."

"Oh, okay, so now you're pimping out your coworkers. That makes me feel so much better."

He throws his keys down on the table much harder than necessary. "Are you seriously mad that I'm making money? Would you rather we get fucking evicted?"

"I'm mad that you broke my trust!" you shout back. "You were supposed to leave at two, Namgyu. You promised."

He kicks off his shoes and storms toward you. "You think I want to be out for twelve hours straight? I'm doing this for us. I would've thought you'd be grateful, but I guess that's expecting too much of you."

"Oh, fuck you." You laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "Don't try to spin this as if doing lines in the club bathroom is somehow for my sake."

"I'm playing the game," he says. "This is the world I work in; this is what you signed up for when you started dating me."

"Well, I'm done now. I'm done."

He pulls the sleeves of his slightly oversized dress shirt over his hands. Normally you'd find this cute, but right now it's just pissing you off.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you I can't do this anymore," you say. "This isn't how I want to live."

"You don't mean that." He shakes his head. "You haven't slept. Let's go to bed and talk about this in the morning."

"Motherfucker, it is the morning," you spit, gesturing to the sunrise outside your window. "And I mean every word of what I'm saying to you right now. I can't stay with you; not when this is the path you're choosing for yourself."

Suddenly Namgyu's apathetic expression morphs into one of concern, and he's on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands. "No, baby. You don't need to leave. This was the last time, I swear."

"You swore the same thing the other week, but that didn't seem to mean much to you."

"It's different this time," he says, rubbing his thumbs over your hands as if that will fix anything. "I understand now. I know you don't really want to go, so let's just talk this through, yeah?"

"You didn't even have the decency to send me a text." Your voice is smaller now. "I can't spend my nights wondering if you'll make it home in one piece. It's killing me."

"I'll change."

"It's too late," you say. "I've made up my mind."

Still kneeling in front of you, Namgyu hugs your waist, pressing his cheek against your stomach. "You can't leave me. You can't."

God, he's so fucking pathetic.

“Get off of me,” you say, but he only squeezes you tighter.

“You’re not leaving. You’re not leaving.” He says it like a prayer.

“Get the fuck up,” you tell him. “This is just sad.”

He does get up, but instead of walking away, he leans over you, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. Despite how angry you are, you kiss him back.

He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you up so you're standing too. Your own hands find his face, fingers tracing over the features you've come to know so well, the features you'll be saying goodbye to.

As he guides you to the bedroom, still kissing you, you break apart just enough to say, "This doesn't change anything."

Namgyu throws you down on the bed and climbs on top of you, his lips and hands laying claim to every part of your body. He’s always been physically affectionate, but he’s touching you even more now, with the ravenous passion of someone who knows this could be the last time.

He kisses your neck in just the right spot, and grips your breasts with just the right amount of pressure, perfectly riding the line between pain and pleasure. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he makes you feel, but you can't help the moan that escapes your lips.

"How could you give this up?" he mutters against your skin. "No one knows your body like I do. It'll never be this good with anyone else."

You know it's true, but you don't want to think about that right now. Instead, you decide to show him what he'll be missing out on, everything he lost due to the consequences of his own reckless actions. You reach down and wrap your hand around the bulge in his pants, squeezing lightly.

He reacts to your touch instantly, rocking into you as curses fall from his lips. He grasps at the hem of your shirt, urging it off of you. "I need you."

One by one, each piece of clothing separating you and Namgyu from one another is tossed aside, until there's no barrier between you. He grinds against you, sliding his shaft along your wet slit. His cock twitches at the moan he elicits from you.

Given his obvious desperation, you expect him to fuck you without hesitation. You're surprised when he lowers his face between your legs, kissing your inner thighs.

You tangle your fingers in his hair as he licks up your slit, taunting you. You attempt to push his head to the right spot, but he's taking his sweet time. By the time his lips encircle your clit, you're already bucking and moaning like a madwoman.

"Fuck, Namgyu," you breathe.

Your reaction spurs him on, and he pushes two fingers inside you, fucking you with his hand while he continues to suck on your clit. There's no warning; you're climaxing in record time, falling apart beneath him as your high racks your body in violent waves.

Namgyu doesn't give you even a second to recover. You're still panting, your walls still clenching as he pulls his fingers out of you, licking them clean before raising himself back up and slamming into you.

You cry out, but he silences you with a kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, all your senses in overdrive as he fucks you mercilessly.

"Oh god, Namgyu, hold on, I'm—" but you're cut short as another orgasm rips through your body.

You grip his hips, attempting to still him, to ease the pressure on your sensitive core, but he's relentless. He pounds into you at a shocking pace, and the overstimulation causes tears to well up in your eyes.

"Who else is gonna do this for you?" he asks through gritted teeth. "Who else is gonna fuck you until you can't think straight?"

You shake your head, unable to respond; the pleasure is overwhelming.

"Fucking answer me."

Between moans, you manage to gasp out, "No one."

Your words send him over the edge, and he finishes deep inside you with a guttural growl.

A moment later, he’s collapsing on the bed beside you. He drapes an arm and leg over you in one final weary effort to keep you by his side.

After taking a minute to catch your breath, you slip out from under his grasp and stand up. You clean yourself up quickly, then start getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” Namgyu asks, pulling on his boxers.

“I told you, I’m leaving.”

You grab a suitcase and open up the drawers of your wardrobe, stuffing clothes inside. Namgyu shoots up and rushes to your side frantically. Each time you move to grab a handful of clothes, he takes a pile of them back out of your suitcase, shoving them haphazardly back into the drawer.

“Stop it!” you shout, but he continues to unpack your suitcase, trapping you in an endless cycle. “You’re acting like a child. Let me leave or I’m calling the fucking police.”

He ceases for a moment to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

He steps back then, finally seeming to understand the gravity of the situation. He sits down on the bed, watching as you gather up your belongings.

You grab a smaller bag and take it to the bathroom, throwing your toiletries inside. Once you’ve gotten all the necessities together, you take what’s left of your life and head down the hallway.

You hear his quick footsteps on the floor behind you, but you don’t turn around.

“Wait,” he says, his voice cracking. “Wait, please. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

You swallow hard, but you still don’t look at him. Seeing his face will only make it harder to go, and you know this is what you need to do. Without another word, you open the door and shut it behind you.

Maybe one day Namgyu will pull himself together, and maybe then a life with him will be possible. Until then, you can’t keep putting yourself through the torture of loving him.

[determunition]

new fandom, new addition to the blorbo café!

it's been over two years since i updated my tumblr banner, and i'm glad i waited until ggg jumped me in an alleyway to do so haha; i'm very happy with this piece, really shows how much less afraid i've gotten of using saturated colors

hope you all like! i don't do multifandom stuff like this nearly enough it's always super fun; close-ups and commentary under the cut!

on the left we have spamton and doze homestuck, now off having their own little convo by the window; i'm not nearly as active in these two fandoms anymore but i love em and wouldn't dream of leaving them out! also with the new chapters of deltarune set to come out this year i'm sure spamton isn't going anywhere just yet

we've also got p03 at the table! smug as he is wont to be and preparing to block tinker knight in connect 4; yes he has a drink, i like to imagine it's grease and he pours it all over himself like in robots (2005)

speaking of tinker knight, here he is distracted from his connect 4 game by the storytelling god! click clack has come to the café to get some work done and is more than happy to explain their process to a curious tinker knight

we also have a lil itchy homestuck cameo in the background (with a spooky inscryption portrait right above), as well as magnificus being nearly mike wazowski'd by click clack's beautiful hair

and finally we have propeller knight, striking up a friendly conversation in line with magnificus behind him, and a wild capochin appears! presently placing a massive order for inspekta and the bizzyboys with kris, who i imagine has been promoted to shift lead or something considering they've been working at this café for two years lmao

this has been deter's goofy banner commentary, thank you for viewing

[seongwars]

bitter

Word Count: 1087 Warnings: none, just one suggestive line, not proofread Summary: you didn't think it'd be the last time you'd see him.

a/n: another drabble from my non-canon WW2 au based on this other drabble. I'm a DAA wife. it's not super angsty, I just had to get it out of my system

“Do you have to go?”

You fiddled with the lapel of Caleb’s uniform, trying to keep your hands steady as he stood tall in his uniform, the determination in his eyes dimmed only by the shadow of leaving you behind. 

Loved ones crowded the airfield, exchanging tearful goodbyes but all that mattered in that moment was your fiance leaving for war. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

The words felt rehearsed, the same ones he had said the night before during dinner with your family at the estate. That night, a telegram had arrived, announcing that Linkon had received its conscription orders. As a captain, Caleb was to depart immediately, tasked with leading a new squadron into the war.

You knew how much being a pilot meant to him. For as long as you could remember, it had been the dream he held onto tightly, rambling on about each aircraft that passed, trimming the hedges with his grandmother, Josephine. 

It was more than a dream though. It was a promise.

A promise he had made not just to himself but to your father, the man he so admired and whose approval he sought above all else. Caleb had vowed that he would become a pilot, rise through the ranks, and then, once he’d proven himself worthy, he would marry you.

And now, he had done it. All of it.

“I’ll write you everyday,” you laughed softly, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

“You’ll probably get a whole sack of mail by the end of the week. The post office will hate me.”

Caleb’s hand found yours, holding on to it tightly, reluctant to let go. His lips brushed against the simple, diamond band he had given you when he asked you to marry him, symbolizing every promise you made to each other. He lingered, as though he were grounding himself in this moment, committing to memory the feel of your skin and the warmth of your touch. 

His gaze lingered on the curve of your lips, the way they trembled ever so slightly as you fought back the tears. And then, his eyes flickered to your lashes, the way they fluttered each time you blinked—his favorite thing about you, especially when he had you pinned beneath him.

“Then I’ll write you twice a day,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Every single day.”

“You better,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Or else I’ll have Father send a strongly worded letter to the base and the governor, and—”

“—And the president,” Caleb concluded.

“Who, your father happened to be college roommates with.”

You let out a watery laugh, your voice trembling as you sniffled. Caleb’s hand reached up to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear

“I love you, darling,” he said quietly, just enough for you to hear.

It wasn’t the kind of love declared loudly, for the world to witness. It was the kind that held decades of happiness in its foundation, a promise of the life you were meant to share. 

Tears spilled over despite your best efforts to hold them back, slipping silently down your cheeks as he leaned in, cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and full of everything you didn’t have time to say. It tasted like the faintest trace of hope, like a lifeline cut too short. 

“I love you more,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to trace the curve of his cheek.

“Come back to me.” 

Before he could answer, you leaned in, pressing another kiss to his lips. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though he, too, couldn’t bear to let go. It was tender and frantic all at once, the kind of kiss that spoke of beginnings and endings, of hope and heartbreak.

“Promise me,” you begged, the words tumbling out between kisses, each one more desperate than the last. 

Caleb’s lips parted from yours, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, brushing away the tears that continued to fall unchecked. It was just the two of you, clinging to this last bit of time together.

“I promise,” Caleb said, struggling to maintain his composure. His cheek gently found the crown of your head, and he held you there for a moment longer, as if savoring every precious second, unwilling to let it go. 

For the briefest moment, you leaned into him, inhaling his scent–something that smelled like summer, the garden, and the orchards behind the house. This was the man you loved, the man who had promised to come back to you, and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him walk away.

“Captain Xia! We’re ready to board!”

But you both knew the moment had come. Caleb’s eyes closed briefly, as if to steady himself, and then, with a deep breath, he slowly pulled away from you.

“I’ll come back,” he said, as though saying it again could make it true. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, memorizing every detail of your face.

"I love you."

Then, with one last squeeze of your hand, and kiss to your forehead, he turned and walked toward the waiting plane.

You watched as he walked across the tarmac, each step pulling him further from you, from the life you had hoped to build together. Then, without another word, he climbed aboard.

And just like that, he was gone.

“Y/N.”

Your gaze snapped to the man sitting across from you, the one your father had highly regarded—Dr. Zayne Li. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed since your father’s announcement that you and the doctor would be married.

“I hope the tea is to your liking,” he said.

You forced yourself to lift the cup, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the porcelain. For a brief moment, you wondered how everything had spiraled so quickly, how you had gone from the man you loved to the man now sitting across from you, who would soon be your husband.

You swallowed hard, the taste of tea feeling bitter against your tongue.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 8: The Rugged Pop Star

Anonymous asked:

Hello, Love your stories and I love the merge thing. Now, you see, I've got a huge crush on Charlie Puth and I was wondering if you could merge me with him? That would be awesome to be able to live that. I'm a pretty tall guy, kinda hairy on the chest, black hair and dark brown eyes. I wonder what I would look like after.

Can you help me? Your price will be mine!

Another successful show for the mega successful pop star:

Life is good, life is perfect, it would be.

Charlie found out about prowlers: celebrities born from jealous people forcibly assimilating the target of their ire & living the dream they worked so hard to obtain. He himself was almost a victim to this after a typical LA party. Some preppy kid wanted his fame for himself. Charlie knew that something had to be done. He needed a defense against this phenomenon.

With his money & connections, he able to find out how others are doing it. His heart sank. He would only need to do it once, but he would need to assimilate another. This would give him a natural defense against predation attempts on him, like a vaccine. But who? He would be taking away someone's right to live their life independently & of their own free will.

He heard of stories of celebrities losing it all, after choosing a member of their management team, it meant duties as a star in their field & the behind the scenes work load. He didn't want a super fan, the result could be extreme levels of narcissism, and that has ended the careers of many or destroyed their ability to form relationships.

"Here's your coffee sir," the intern chimed. He was tall, had black hair; lots of facial hair. His clothing choices hid his build, but he seemed a little skinnier than Charlie. Charlie had his choice. He would scope him out first.

The intern was a fan of his, but never confronted Charlie or tried to get an autograph. He was able to separate his own desires from his work. A strong work ethic. He didn't have any outwardly noticeable social media either, no mention that he works for a mega star. A strong work ethic, mature, and not using him for clout. Charlie could dig further and find a more perfect candidate, but he was shaken up. If it were not for the taser gun, someone else would be living his life, and Charlie would be stuck in them forever.

He called this intern to his dressing room. He didn't know what Charlie wanted, maybe to complain about the coffee, but he was happy nonetheless. After he came to the room, he was sat down by Charlie.

The intern was nervous at first, but Charlie explained the situation. He couldn't believe it, Charlie Puth wants me to be a part of him! The intern looked back at his life, university graduated, aside from his job as a part of Charlie Puth's crew, a new addition mind you, he had nothing remarkable going on. That is why he never blasted his job online: he wanted to keep this one. So he worked his hardest & kept his head down. And now he might be mixing his body & mind with his idol.

The intern agreed when Charlie was done. Charlie sighed that this was necessary & thanked him. He informed him that he wanted to do this now. The intern was shocked, now? He blushed. Ok, so be it. Promotion to Charlie Puth.

Charlie went and locked the door. The last thing he needed was for someone to walk in and get grabbed by his transforming self & adding to the result.

Charlie pulled out a flask with red liquid and drank it. He sat down in another chair. He hesitated. He apologized again and with his right hand bid the intern to come.

The intern, overjoyed, took off his shirt and jeans, revealing boxer briefs. He was about to go commando, but Charlie stopped him from doing that.

All they needed to do was touch skin and then press hard into Charlie. Let the process handle the rest. The intern was taller, and had a build similar to Charlie, only more cut. He was hairy too. Like all over. It was intimidating, no going back. Time to invest in better razors.

The intern got on his knees and then pressed his head against Charlie's chest. His head started to go in.

Charlie felt pressure, and a wave of liquid flow into him. Then pleasurable sensations. He didn't let out any moans or groans except from heavy breathing through his mouth. He didn't want to express the pleasures from assimilating others. Even if they consented. His face showed discomfort, like he was going to cry. And then it hit him.

As the intern entered, he liquidized. Within a few minutes his entire being was a slurry of liquid masses swimming throughout Charlie's body. The underwear fell the to ground. The intern entered Puth's brain, his mind. Charlie felt everything the intern was feeling, and so did the intern. As their minds merged, they reconciled their differences. Charlie's apprehension went away, he was at peace. His face changed to calm. He looked as if he was sleeping in the chair.

The mental traits that didn't become a dominate part of Charlie's mind went into his subconsciousness. From the intern's prospective, he was floating in an peaceful abyss. He would hear Charlie's thoughts, feel what he felt emotionally & physically, see what Charlie sees, and on occasion push Charlie's decisions in one direction or another; just a little. He was Charlie Puth now, small part of the whole.

Charlie's body was rife with activity. The liquid mass of the intern moved through out, looking like big lumps under beneath his skin. Pulsating fast and randomly.

The intern's dna latched on to Charlie's. Puth's new dna then fired off. The mass began to settle and in act new changes. Charlie could feel each one, but all he could do was open his mouth wide open & clutch his hands to the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in, and crunch his toes.

He could feel muscles pop, and in other places, his skin constrict. His bones stretch. His hair darken. And then his face morphed. As if a layer of skin toned smooth clay was covering his face, the intern's facial traits settled in. It was if the intern was a sculptor, and with care & precision molded his new face, dyed his hair.

The intern was a hairy man, and when the merger was focusing on his face, hair started to erupt all over. But as if Charlie was standing next to his new body, as if with a pair of scissors, began to cut away the hair. The body & facial hair began to shrink. Finding a happy medium between Charlie's original bare skin & the intern's wall of hair.

The process was over. Charlie let out a deep exhale and closed his mouth. He opened his eyes.

He was a new man.

But what has he become? Can he still sing?

He looked at the dressing room mirror.

He was taller, and more muscular. He wasn't fat or overweight beforehand, but the intern gave him that push. A six pack was more visible, but he kept his mass. His arms were more vascular. Was he a pop star or a bodybuilder?

His arms and shoulders grew too, a thicker neck. Did he really merge with someone, it felt like he just went to the gym more or dieted better. His brushed his hand against his chest.

Body hair?

He had hair on his forearms, on his chest and abs, and in the face. Sideburns that connected to his new beard & mustache. His hair was darker too, & more voluminous.

His mouth was smaller, and his nose moved more upright, but the lower mouth generally followed his original shape. His ears & skull were longer. But his eyes? A mix of his and the intern. More the interns. The signature cut above his right eye was gone.

He wiped his face, scrupled his hair.

The intern's personal history. It was melded to his. He knew partly why he was big now, his was practicing judo beforehand.

He wanted to feel the fresh air now with his new body. He changed into the underwear & shorts of his fusee and then went outside for a jog:

It was exhilarating. He was stronger, faster, had more stamina. He could see why people get assimilated. But this is it. No more. Too many, and the original me will be gone & buried. A monster hunger for more power.

He went back to the dressing room and used the secret shower within. He changed his clothes. Everyone addressed him as Charlie. No one knew the difference. When he asked for the intern & described him, no one knew what he was talking about. Scary.

He went to his vocal coach and tested out his singing voice. He sounded more mature, but kept his perfect pitch abilities. And now he could kick butt too.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Home For Christmas – Glen Powell

I walked through the beautifully decorated stores for Christmas, but I didn't feel it. Usually, I love this time of year. This year was different. About six months ago, Glen and I decided to move in together. Glen had to go to Australia just after Halloween to film a new Netflix movie. He wasn't able to come home for Thanksgiving, but he had promised me that they would be done before Christmas.

He called me three days ago saying that they were behind filming and now he wasn't even sure they'd be done by New Year's. Ever since the phone call, this season has been miserable.

I got a few last-minute things for my friends and Glen's parents. After shopping, I went home and started wrapping. I put them under the tree and sat on the couch.

I numbly grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. My heart sank when a cute Hallmark Christmas lovey-dovey movie came on. I used to love these. Christmas was different when the man you loved wasn't around to celebrate it with you.

I gave my parents a Caribbean Cruise for Christmas and they left yesterday. Today was the first day this season that I was truly alone. I jumped out of my pity party when my phone started to ring. My heart jumped out of my stomach and into my throat when I looked at the caller ID on my phone.

"Glen?"

"Hey, baby," he chuckled.

"Hi," I said, my voice breaking.

"Everything okay?" He asked gently.

"Yeah," I said, not at all convincingly. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, gorgeous," he sighed. "You have Angela's party tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged, leaning back into the cushions. "I don't really want to but it's better than sitting at home on Christmas Eve, all by myself."

"I'm glad you're going," Glen said, sounding strange. "I feel bad that I'm not going with you."

"I wish you were," I mumbled.

"We will celebrate when I get home," he said. "I promise, baby. We will have our first Christmas together."

"I know," I sighed. I cleared my throat before deciding to change the subject. "How's filming?"

Glen and I spent almost two hours on the phone talking. After saying a long goodbye filled with lots of promises of making it up to me, I got ready for bed and went to sleep alone.

* * * * * *

"You're coming tonight, right?"

I held my breath as I debated. To be honest, I didn't want to go to a party with all my friends and spend the night acting like I wasn't miserable.

"I don't know," I stuttered.

"Sweetie," she sighed. "I know it sucks that Glen is stuck in Australia, but he wouldn't want you moping around at home. Have you gone out and done anything Christmassy?"

"I bought his mom an adorable sweater and his dad a new electric drill," I shrugged. I heard her let out a deep sigh.

"Please come tonight," she practically begged. "It'll be a good distraction from Glen being at work. Please? We'll get super drunk and you can send him pictures that will put you on the Naughty List."

After a lot of pestering from Angela and loving pushing from Glen's mom, I decided to go tonight. I changed into my Christmas dress and took time doing my makeup and curling my hair. I walked into Angela's house, instantly hit with Christmas music, voices, and the smell of fresh gingerbread.

"You're here!" She squealed as she ran over to me. I laughed as she wrapped her arms around me. "I am so happy you're here!"

"I can tell considering the fact that I can't breathe."

"Sorry," she giggled as she let me go. "I just. . . I wasn't sure you'd come since Glen is in Australia."

"I'm fine," I brushed off. "Sure, I miss him like crazy. And I can barely sleep. And I rarely feel like eating. And I don't even feel like celebrating without him."

"Which is why you're here," she said, grabbing my hand. "And which is why we are getting you a drink. Lots of drinks."

I rolled my eyes as she dragged me into the kitchen. As hard as I tried to enjoy myself, I couldn't. I just kept picturing my empty apartment and Glen halfway across the world.

Everywhere I looked, I saw couples dancing, laughing, or kissing under the mistletoe. When the pain got too much, I left. I walked into our apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. I hung up my keys, kicked off my shoes, and started to take off my jacket.

"If you're gonna start undressing, at least let me catch up."

I gasped when the lights flicked on to reveal Glen standing by the Christmas tree.

"Glen!"

He laughed as I ran over to him. He instantly caught me when I jumped into his arms. I grabbed his face and pressed my lips to his. Our lips moved in sync as he held me tightly. As we slowly broke the kiss, Glen gently put me down.

"You're home," I said, my voice breaking as I looked at him through happy tears. "I can't believe you're home."

"I hoped on a plane as early as I could," he explained as he pulled me into his chest. "I couldn't stand the idea of you being all alone on Christmas."

"I love you, Glen."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

He was about to say something else, but I grabbed his face again and pulled him toward me. Glen chuckled as he kissed me back. Our lips moved roughly in sync as we collapsed onto the couch. Once we were sitting, I moved so I was straddling his hips.

"I missed you so much," I moaned between kisses.

"I missed you too, baby."

I broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. "Show me," I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. I started to get off his lap, but he grabbed my waist, pulling me back.

"Before we do that," he said, his voice dropping. "There's something I want to give you."

"Christmas is tomorrow," I giggled as I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. "The only thing I want right now is you."

"And I want you," he smirked. "But, believe me, you're not going to want to wait for this present."

He stood up with me in his arms. He walked over to the Christmas tree and gently put me down. He paused as he took a step back. My breath got caught in my throat as he knelt down on one knee. "Y/N, you are the love of my life. Nothing I do has meaning if you're not there with me. So, will you be with me for the rest of my career and my life? Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. Glen smiled up at me as he slipped the ring on my finger. He tossed the ring box onto the couch before standing up and pulling me into his chest. He leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss to my lips.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Glen."