#it's been stuck in my head for over an hour

[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part eight

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: fluff, vulnerability, shimmer mention!, brief mentions of past verbal abuse, angst, mentions of pregnancy (reader’s sister), extremely inaccurate descriptions of how insurance / payout works (just go with it, it’s fiction lol), smut (fingering, m!oral receiving, masturbation, phone sex), no use of y/n. if there’s anything i missed, please lmk.

word count: 10.6k

synopsis: joel and tommy are sent on a dangerous work trip.

a/n: fuck. thanks for being so patient with me. there’s hints of foreshadowing in this unrevised (sry) monster of a chapter, and the next chapter will be angsty. i hope you enjoy tho. thx for sticking around and reading my silly little story <3

Getting back into the swing of things after the holidays has always deemed itself to be arduous. You’re lucky you work from home, but you’d taken on the responsibility of getting Sarah out of the house in time to drive her to school. It’s not that you mind at all, you just hate getting up out of a warm bed, especially when you have Joel as your own personal furnace now. 

Having two weeks off of said responsibility was nice because you and Sarah got to sleep in and you made her breakfast with hot cocoa nearly every morning before you had to clock in for work. She’d spend most of her break over at her friend’s house or reading a book either in the living room or her room, anyway. 

She has since gone back to school, and having the house to yourself again is still a bit unnerving, which is why it’s nice on days like this where Joel has off from work and can spend some time with you. Even if you’re stuck in your home office on days like today, he checks in on you once in a while to make sure you’re doing okay. 

Today has been particularly hard, only because the client you’re working with is demanding as hell and your boss is jumping down your throat to make sure you appease said client. Your face is buried in your hands as you sit and decompress for a minute, and that’s when Joel decides to check in on you. It’s like the man has spidey senses for when you’re going through it or something. 

“Hey baby, I brought you some—” He stops short when he sees the state you’re currently in. 

“You okay, honeybee?” His voice is gentle and honestly concerned, and your heart melts yet again at how sweet he is. 

“Work’s just stressing me out a bit,” you answer truthfully. You look up at him from your seat as he stands beside you, setting down a small bowl of fruit for you to snack on next to you on the desk. You softly smile at the fruit before looking back up at him. “Thank you, handsome.” 

“Ain’t a thing, baby. ‘M sorry you’re so stressed. Anythin’ I can do to help?” 

He steps behind you now and his large, warm hands land on your shoulders before he begins to massage them. You groan softly and loll your head to the side, rolling your lips into your mouth before shaking your head. 

“Nah. Luckily this is my last day dealing with this client, so it’ll only be for a few more hours. Thank you though, baby. It means a lot.”

You reach up and grab one of his hands, giving it a thoughtful squeeze before you let go to reply to an email your boss sent you.��

“Well what if I told you that I have a date planned for us this weekend?” 

You look up at him with furrowed brows. “Where?” You ask, excitement taking over your body. 

“Well, I know everythin’s been kinda hectic with my accident and me healing, your sister’s news, you movin’ in, the holidays, and Tommy and Maria’s engagement. We’ve been so busy n’ we’ve barely had any time to ourselves outside of the house in a while, so I wanna take you somewhere kinda peaceful.” 

He doesn’t give away too much, but you’re already on board.  

“You’ve got me intrigued. Can’t wait to see what you have up that sleeve of yours.” 

“Good, ‘cus I also bought you a couple ‘a things to go along with this weekend’s date.” 

“Oh?” You give him an incredulous look, but his boyish shit-eating grin is all you need to see to not ask any further questions, no matter how piqued your curiosity is. 

You smile up at him and shake your head, focusing back on your work. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes as he continues to massage your shoulders while you type away. 

“I’m gonna go on a run. I’ll be back in time to fix you up some lunch.” He kisses the top of your head before you look up at him with a small smile. 

“If I wasn’t glued to this desk right now I’d join you,” you laugh. “Be careful out there, baby.” 

“Always am. Maybe I can exercise you in another way later on,” he says, smirking down at you with mischief written all over his face. 

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Miller.” But the idea doesn’t sound half bad. 

He holds his hands up defensively. “Can’t blame a guy for wantin’ to love his lady right, can you?” 

You roll your eyes with a laugh and tug him down gently by his shirt before giving him a lengthy kiss. You release him and pat his abdomen twice. “Have fun on your run, cowboy.” 

-

After a long week, the weekend finally rolled around and Joel still wouldn’t tell you exactly what you two were going to do on your date. 

He just kept reassuring you that you’d love it, and you’ve slowly learned to just go with the flow and not ask anymore questions. 

He insisted you wear a blindfold this time, and made you get into his truck as he took the next few minutes to put whatever it was in the back seat before you both took off. 

You ride passenger for about thirty minutes or so with soft tunes of George Strait playing in the background before you hear gravel crunch under the tires of the truck as Joel turns left. 

“You aren’t exploring a new kink right now, are you?” You snort, turning your head in his general direction. “Blindfolding me like this just to take me in the middle of nowhere and have deliciously rough sex with me and make me fall in love with you even more, hm? Is this your diabolical plan?” You can’t help but wiggle your eyebrows at your own absolute absurdness. 

He chuckles deeply and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you as the brakes squeak slightly and the truck comes to a slow stop. It’s silent for a moment before you hear him move, and you feel the heat of his body right next to you. 

“Not today, sweet girl.” The deep raspiness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He huffs a laugh before kissing your cheek and taking off your blindfold. 

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the light, the sun shining brilliantly on land—lots of it. Something shimmers in the distance, and you realize it’s a creek that runs along a trail that looks like it’s meant for horseback riding. 

Then it clicks. You look at him with pure excitement in your eyes. 

“Are we going horseback riding?” 

He can’t help but grin at the giddiness in your tone. “Yeah baby, we are. Figured we’d eat first, though. Packed us some of our favorites and thought we could make a picnic of it as we sit by the creek.” 

Your heart absolutely flutters and grows ten times fonder for the man in front of you, if that’s even possible. You try to hold back your tears of gratitude, but one can’t help it and slips down your cheek. 

Joel wipes the tear with his thumb as he leans in to kiss your forehead. 

You grab his face gently in your hands before admiring his beautiful brown irises. 

“Oh, Joel,” you choke out, leaning in for a loving kiss. You rest your forehead against his as you sniffle once. “This is so thoughtful. This place is beautiful. Thank you.” 

“‘Course, my honeybee. Life has been too hectic lately n’ I wanted to treat my woman to somethin’ a little more… relaxing.” 

“What a lucky lady she is,” you giggle, smiling against his lips and giving them one more peck before you pull away. He opens his door and hops out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open your door before offering his hand to you. You take his hand and he helps you out, feet hitting the ground with a thud. 

You both gather the stuff for the picnic before making your way over to the creek that was no more than a hundred yards away. 

You set up the blanket on some soft grass as Joel puts the cooler down beside you both, and you sit down across from each other. You admire the atmosphere, with the sun beaming enough to warm you up some and the song of birds chirping in the trees. The sound of water flowing up the creek adds to the blissful ambience, and you sigh in content before noticing a house off in the distance. 

“Does someone live over here?” You ask, stretching your legs in front of you as you lean back on your palms to hold yourself upright. 

“This is actually my uncle’s land. Tommy n’ I grew up playin’ in these fields and this creek. We’d used to help him on the ranch to earn some extra allowance durin’ the summertime when we got older.” 

You imagine a little Joel and Tommy running around in these fields whose grass sways with the gentle breeze—and then you’re picturing kids of your own. Kids that you’d eventually have with Joel. Hearing their little squeals of joy, chasing them around in the soft grass, making new memories for years to come. You imagine Sarah would be the best big sister, despite any age difference they might have. 

“This place is beautiful, Joel. Does your uncle still own the land?” You ask, eyes shifting back to him. 

He nods. “He does, but he’s had to hire help since he’s a bit too old to take care of the place himself. I know for a while he’d been thinkin’ about sellin’ it, but he says there’s just too many fond memories tied to this place.” 

“That’s understandable. I can just imagine a young you and Tommy causing a ruckus around here,” you laugh, and he nudges your leg with his own. 

“Don’t mean our mama and pops didn’t talk some sense into us,” he chuckles, face tilting toward the bright blue sky. 

“Looks like it did you two some good. They’d be proud of you both, I’m sure. Wish I could’ve met them.” You give him a sympathetic smile, and he gives you a small sad one in return. 

“They would’ve absolutely loved you, baby. I can just hear my mama now: ‘Bout damn time you wanna get settled down with someone nice,’” he sighs and reaches for you, and you maneuver yourself onto his lap. You rest your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, giving you a small squeeze while kissing your hair. 

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you say, nuzzling into his strong chest. 

“She was. I’m very lucky to have had parents that gave my brother n’ I a great example of what true love really looks like, whether it was through their relationship with each other or the love they showered us with. I knew even back then that what Sarah’s mom n’ I had wasn’t true love. It was staying together out of convenience because she’d gotten pregnant. I really tried with her, but nothing made her happy. She became verbally abusive toward me after a while, too. It got even worse after Sarah was born. She didn’t want to be a mother. After everythin’ her and I went through, even after she left us, I’m grateful for her bringin’ my daughter into this world. I love my baby girl more than life itself,” he sighs, taking a breath for a minute as he recounts his past. 

“Raisin’ Sarah as a single dad truly was full of trials and tribulations. I did have help from my family, which I’ll always be grateful for, but I was doin’ it all on my own for the most part. Havin’ the odd schedule I have now and makin’ it work around Sarah’s took a long while, but we finally got it down. Nobody had ever wanted to stick around after a night together because they thought that me havin’ a kid was too… complicated. I can understand it from their perspective, but truthfully, nobody ever gave me a chance to get to show them the real me. They just saw me as someone they can check off their bucket list and mess around with because of my job and the uniform I wear. And then you come along, unexpected, knockin’ me off my feet in the best way possible and showin’ me that love is still in the cards for me. You’re it for me, baby. I don’t think I can ever express my gratitude to you for showin’ me what it feels like to be seen and—god—to be loved the way you love me.” 

You soak his words in before wrapping your arms around his torso. You press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, letting him silently know that you’re here for him. 

“Thank you for opening up to me,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over his back in a soothing motion. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.” Your voice holds a gratefulness and sadness that isn’t missed, and he shakes his head. 

“Thank you for allowin’ me to be my true self, emotions and all,” he says, and you hug him tighter. You recall him telling you that his ex would tell him ‘real men don’t cry’, and your heart hurts for him even more. How could somebody be so cruel to such a loving man? 

He sighs and lays down, sun glistening against his beautiful golden skin. You admire his handsome features and softly smile as you bring a hand down to run through his curls. 

He pops one eye open before giving your wrist a tug, and you land on him with an oof. 

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, trailing his fingers down so he can put both of his hands in the back pockets of your Wranglers. 

“I love you so much, baby.” His voice is thick and low, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. 

“I love you too.” 

The easiness of which the phrase rolls off your tongue is a beautiful thing, you think. You’ve come so far with opening up your heart to Joel, and he, you. You look down at him and savor the way his eyes look like a smooth whiskey in the sunlight, the way the skin around them crinkles when he smiles at you. 

You lean down and finally seal your lips to his, and you feel him fully relax as he moves his hands from your back pockets up to the middle of your back and back down again. You stay like this for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of each other as the soft breeze causes the grass to rustle and the sound of water and lips smacking is a harmony lost in the wind. 

It isn’t until you hear his stomach rumble that you pull apart from him with a laugh, maneuvering yourself off of him to sit up. 

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you tease, reaching for the cooler. 

“I’m hungry alright,” he says, leaning over to capture your lips in yet another searing kiss. 

“I’m serious Joel,” you laugh against his lips. “You gotta eat.” 

He sighs and puts his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

You nudge him with a grin before opening the cooler, revealing sandwiches, grapes, chips, waters, two soda cans, and… chocolate covered strawberries. You raise an eyebrow at him as he smiles sheepishly at you. 

“Chocolate covered strawberries?” You parrot your thoughts, moving to sit criss-crossed. 

“I know how much you like them so… I made ‘em for you special.” 

If your heart could burst anymore, this man would probably be the end of you with his unconditional love. You don’t know how much more you can possibly handle, even though you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s the little things like this that he goes out of his way to do for you that has never been done by anyone, so getting used to his kind gestures has been a rewarding challenge. 

“Thank you, honey. This is so kind of you.” You lean over to kiss his cheek before handing his food to him, and you both dive into your meals as you enjoy the serenity surrounding you. Then a pressing thought pops into your head. It takes you a few minutes to conjure up the courage to ask Joel the burning question on your mind, but you eventually find the words. 

“Are you serious about wanting kids with me, Joel?” Your voice is soft as you look around again, then meet his gaze. 

He swallows his food before nodding. “I’m one hundred percent serious.” 

Your heart flutters. “You don’t think the age gap between Sarah and her future siblings would be weird?” 

Joel thinks about it for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say weird. Might just take some time t’get used to. Ever since she was a toddler she’d been beggin’ me to give her a sibling, but I obviously couldn’t do that considerin’ I didn’t have anyone to… procreate with,” he chuckles at the last part. You laugh with him and nod, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich. 

“I couldn’t imagine growing up without my siblings. Even when there were times we all fought, we all still laughed about it later on and got over it quickly. Bless my mom and dad’s hearts, ‘cus I know we were all a handful.” 

You smile as you reminisce growing up with your brothers and sister. You’d want your future kids to have that type of sibling bond, too. 

“I know what you mean. I remember when my mama and pops told me they were havin’ another baby. I was over the moon about it, ‘cus it meant I’d have someone by my side for life. Tommy might be a grade A pain in my ass, but I’m grateful that he and I grew up so close together and stayed that way throughout adulthood.” 

“I think Sarah would be a great big sister,” you say, and Joel sports a proud smile that makes your heart melt. 

“I think so too, baby.” 

“I never thought I’d be talking about having kids with a partner ever again, you know. I’m happy we’re on the same page about this. I think it’s important to discuss this even before we eventually decide to take the next step in our relationship.” 

He nods in agreement as he opens the tupperware that has the chocolate covered strawberries, taking one out before bringing his other hand to coax your mouth open. He offers you a bite of the strawberry, and he finishes off the rest of it after you take your bite. 

“I’m happy too, baby. ‘S good that we can clarify things now. I’ve never been with someone who can communicate with me so easily, so I thank you for that. I really am just a lucky bastard who got hit on at a coffee shop,” he chuckles, shooting you a wink as you laugh. 

“Thanks for taking a chance on me, Miller. Glad I didn’t disappoint.” And with that, you lean in for one last searing kiss before you both finish off the strawberries and dust yourselves off as you take the cooler and blanket back to his truck. 

You’re about to head for the stables in the distance, but Joel stops you. 

“Wait, I have somethin’ for you,” he says, reaching further into his back seat. He pops his Stetson on and you bite your lip before shooting him a look. 

“Haven’t we already established that you in your cowboy hat drives me absolutely wild?” You cross your arms over your chest as you continue to stare at him incredulously.

“Yeah, baby,” he laughs. “But now you get to match me.” 

He pulls out another hat and spins around, plopping it onto your head. Your eyes also drift down as he hands you a shoebox. 

“Joel, oh my– is this–?” You’re at a loss for words, and he sports a smirk on his face. 

“Open the box, sweet girl.” 

You do as you’re told, carefully opening the box to reveal a beautiful pair of brown leather cowgirl boots with white floral stitching across the front. 

“Joel, these are beautiful. Thank you so much.” 

“Ain’t a thing, baby. Try ‘em on.” 

You slip off your sneakers and try on the boots, which fit perfectly. Joel adjusts the hat on your head before giving you his million dollar smile. 

“Beautiful.”

“You think so, cowboy?” 

“Absolutely. And y’know,” he pauses as he slides his hands comfortably on your hips, pulling you flush against his body. “Every cowboy needs his cowgirl.” 

He gives you a twirl before dipping you, leaning down to kiss you before standing you upright. 

You’re all smiles and giggles as you walk hand-in-hand to the stables, where one of the ranch workers greets you both with a smile. 

“Hey Joel, you’ll be ridin’ Stella and Shimmer today,” the man says. Joel gives him a curt nod as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile. 

“Thank you, Drew.” 

Drew tips his hat to you both before walking off to tend to the other animals near the stables, and you turn toward Shimmer as you begin to gently pet her. 

“Hi beautiful girl,” you coo, stroking her snout. She nudges you gently and you grin before glancing at Joel. 

“She likes you,” he says. 

You beam at him before he chuckles and comes behind you, boosting you by your waist as you situate yourself on the saddle on Shimmer’s back. You continue to stroke her mane as you place your feet in the stirrups, grabbing a firm hold of the reins. 

Joel follows suit as he mounts himself onto Stella, and clicks his teeth twice to lead the way out of the stables. Shimmer follows suit, and soon enough, you’re both riding side-by-side on the trail by the creek. 

“Thank you for all of this,” you gesture your hand around you both before grabbing back onto the reins. “It means a lot to me. I had a lot of fun.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice hopeful. 

“Yeah. It’s been absolutely perfect.” 

You take a moment to admire him and how the sun’s golden rays shine on him as it slowly starts to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink glow in lieu of bright blue. He gazes at you with such a softness you’ve never witnessed before, and you think it’s a thing beyond love. Devotion, compassion, protection—all in a single look. 

A look that has taken care of your heart when it was tender and aching, a look that has pumped it full of love again. It’s a look that flips your world around in the best way possible.

It’s a look that could make you cry. It’s funny, because you never used to be so in-tune with your emotions before. Before Joel, a majority of your life with and after Christian had you feeling so numb and devoid of any feelings or emotions. It was draining, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to feel so lively ever again. 

Well, never say never. 

There are no words to describe the love and gratefulness you feel for this man riding beside you, but you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life proving it to him, even if it’s wordlessly done so. 

-

A few months down the line, the ranch ends up becoming a small escape for you and Joel. When you both had free time, you’d slip away and drive to the open fields to enjoy the calmness of the water under the starry nights, laid up in the bed of his truck on top of a bunch of blankets. 

It’s the only house around for miles, so it’s super private and quiet. It’s like your own little secret with him as you’d lay there, talking about anything and everything—and sometimes leading to more. 

You’re in the middle of more, trying to muffle your moans with Joel’s mouth on yours as his fingers curl inside of you. You’re aching and needy, rocking your hips against his palm so your swollen clit rubs against his flesh. It’s intoxicating, the way his fingers move so perfectly inside of you. 

You gasp against his lips as a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. 

“Thas’ it. Atta girl, jus’ like that,” he murmurs his praise as you rock your hips so willingly and meet every thrust of his fingers, so close to your release that your whines start to mesh with your panting. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You fist his hair between your fingers and smash your lips to his in urgency, crying against him as a wave of toe-curling bliss surges through your veins.

”Oh, fuck!” 

You gush around his fingers and down his wrist, and he lowly hums as your body convulses a few more times, stomach drawing taut as you come down from your high. 

“Make such pretty messes, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He kisses your forehead as he withdraws his fingers slowly, sweeping them over your sensitive clit to spread your arousal before bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. You clench around nothing at the sight as your head falls back against the makeshift pillows, gaze bleary as you try and slow your breathing and heart rate by staring at the stars twinkling so brilliantly. 

Joel dips his head down to kiss you, and you tangle your fingers through his curls once more before dragging a hand down his neck, to his chest, and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm him through the material, arousal blooming in your core once more as you feel how hard he is for you. Feel how much he wants you.

You stop your ministrations for a beat, separating yourself from his lips as you lick the palm of your hand, only to dip it into his sweats and boxers to wrap it around his length. You give him a small squeeze and he groans, eyes fluttering shut as his head tilts back. 

You huff a laugh and lean up to kiss at his thick, warm neck, licking a stripe from his earlobe down to his pulse point. You suck a little on the skin there, loving the way he twitches in your hand. He feels so heavy and warm, and all you want to do in this moment is take care of him the way he deserves—so you do just that. You slide your body down after giving him a kiss, and the dazzling look in his eye is all you need to keep this going. 

You settle your shoulders between his thighs, now face-to-face with his weeping cock. You hum before giving the silky flesh a few more tugs before leaning forward, licking the salty bead of pre cum from his slit. 

“Such a pretty cock,” you praise, rolling your lips into your mouth before you look up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the flush that has taken over his neck and face in the pale moonlight. His lips are parted and his breathing is a bit ragged, and he’s just waiting for you to pounce. 

Usually, you love to tease him just to see how worked up you can get him, but you’re too impatient and want to hear those delicious moans only reserved for you. 

You lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock before sucking his balls into your mouth, pumping his length as you gently massage him with your tongue. 

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, hand shooting out to cradle the back of your head. You hum appreciatively around him, pumping him at a steady pace now before moving your mouth up onto his shaft again. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times before taking him all, feeling his head hit the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as you try to swallow around him and refrain from gagging. 

“Holy fuck, baby, you like doin’ this don’t you?” His voice is a deep, raspy mess, and you clench your thighs together at the sound. 

He pulls your mouth off of him, the tip of his cock coating your lips in saliva. 

“Answer me. You like this, huh?” 

Fuck. The possessiveness in his tone makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your skull as you moan, but you opt for a nod as you rasp out a yes. 

“Look so pretty with my cock down your throat. Can fuckin’ see it when you take all of me.” 

You suck in a sharp breath before your dazed, fucked out mind conjures up the words before you even realize it. “Like this?” 

You lower your mouth back onto him, and he’s spewing a string of groans and curses together, and he eventually moans your name like a prayer on Sunday when you keep deepthroating him like this. You don’t let up, either. You know your throat is going to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the time you’re done, but it doesn’t matter. 

Not when you get to see him like this. 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as you let up on his length and just focus your tongue and lips on his tip, making his hips buck up involuntarily. His fiery gaze meets yours and you can tell he’s nearly a goner. 

“So…fuckin’...sexy,” he grunts. You grin as you kiss his tip and flutter your eyelashes up at him, taking him in your mouth and down your throat one more time before slowly coming back up, tightening your lips around him. 

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna–” 

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s coming undone, coating your tongue and throat with his cum. His body shudders as you slide your tongue up from his length. You swallow and wipe the saliva off of your chin with the back of your hand. 

“You really are somethin’ fierce, woman,” he praises. You’re too dazed to respond, so you offer him a grin and a kiss to his thigh. 

Joel tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his sweats up, pulling your body up to his so you’re cuddled into his side. He pulls a blanket over both your bodies and kisses you, and you nuzzle your head onto his chest. His steady breathing and strong heartbeat is what does you in before you even know it. 

You wake up in a bit of confusion, amidst hearing a constant buzzing noise. You’re still in the back of the truck with Joel, who’s passed out beside you. His breathing is steady and he looks so at peace, so you try not to move around so much before you finally realize that Joel’s phone is ringing. 

You have to dig around a bit to find it before you lift it up and squint against the bright light, only to see he has three missed calls from Tommy. Your heart drops, because Tommy is a huge texter. He only ever calls if something’s really wrong. 

“Joel,” you rasp, throat sore from your earlier escapades. His brow furrows and he softly groans, and you softly tap his shoulder. “Baby, wake up. Tommy keeps calling you.” 

His eyes crack open and he sits up, grabbing the phone from you. He dials Tommy back and presses the phone to his ear, still clearly trying to wake his mind up. 

You can’t ignore the anxious thrum of your heart. You have no idea what it could be about, and Joel’s face reads worry clear as day. You wrap your arm around him and kiss his shoulder in reassurance. 

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Joel asks, and you can faintly hear Tommy’s voice on the other end of the line, but can’t make out the words. 

“Shit, okay. I’ll be back at the house in 30 minutes.” 

Joel hangs up the phone and scrubs his hands over his face before looking down at you. He gives you an apologetic smile before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“Sorry honeybee, we have to go back home. Our captain wants everyone at the fire station in an hour. Somethin’ important he needs to tell us all.” 

You furrow your brows and sit up, starting to fold the blankets and pack them away in the cab of the truck. You ride in silence for about fifteen minutes, your hand on Joel’s as his sits comfortably on your thigh. His thumb brushes back and forth in reassurance, but your mind is reeling with possibilities of what could be so important for all of them to know. 

“Do you have any idea what your captain might say?” 

Your voice is soft with a sleepy lull to it, and Joel looks at you for a couple of seconds with a small smile on his lips. 

“No idea, baby. It has to be somethin’ big ‘cus he only calls us in like this if it’s super urgent.” 

You nod in understanding, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. You arrive home fifteen minutes later, and Tommy greets you both at the front door. You give Tommy a hi/bye hug and Joel a kiss before they’re out the door and driving down the street. 

You decide to stay in the living room. Watch a movie or something, and wait for them to come back. You settle onto the leather couch, wrapping a blanket around you as you turn the TV on and keep it at a low volume. Exhaustion sweeps through your bones as you lay still. Your eyelids get heavy, and before you even realize it, you’re out cold once again. 

-

The front door unlocking stirs you from your sleep, and the familiar tread of boots is heard walking into the living room. 

“Baby, I’m back,” Joel says. 

You open your eyes and yawn, gaze landing on the clock. Eleven p.m. 

“Hey,” you say, voice timid. “How’d the meeting go? Is everything okay?” 

You sit up, allowing room for Joel to plop down next to you. He spreads his legs and leans his head back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I have to leave. Well, Tommy and I have to go. There’s a huge fire that broke out in San Angelo earlier today and it’s spreading fast. They need all hands on deck.”

You take in the information and furrow your brows, pausing for a beat before speaking. “How long will you be gone for?” 

He moves his hand from the bridge of his nose and looks at you with a sad expression. 

“‘M not sure, sweet girl. Could be for a few days or a few weeks. It really just depends on the conditions of the fire and the surrounding areas.” 

You nod in understanding before grabbing his hand, once again squeezing it in reassurance. 

“When do you and Tommy leave?” 

“Tomorrow morning. Captain told us to rest up as much as possible before we head out. It doesn’t look pretty, and it’s a four hour drive for us.” 

“I think you should go wake Sarah up and tell her,” you say. He nods and kisses your head before he trudges up the stairs. You turn off the TV and follow suit, settling into your side of the bed after you wash up and change into your pajamas. 

Joel comes into the room a few minutes later, closing the door behind him. 

“How is she?” You ask, opening the covers for him. He strips down into just his boxers before climbing into bed with you.

He nods. “She’s okay. Sad that I have to leave, but I told her you’d take real good care of her.” 

You huff a laugh and nod in agreement. “That I will, Mr. Miller.” 

Then realization hits you—since Tommy is leaving, that means Maria will be alone. 

“Are you okay if I invite Maria to stay over here while you guys are gone? I know she can take care of herself, but I’d rather her not be alone for however long.” 

“‘Course, baby. ‘S your home, too.” 

And, it is, which is an aspect you’re still getting used to. 

He settles into you, nuzzling his face into your chest as he inhales deeply. He kisses the skin there once before wrapping his arms around you. You rest your head on top of his, running your fingers through his hair. He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, but you remain wide awake, plagued with the thought of him going out to do his very dangerous job.  

You sigh and scold yourself for even thinking about that, because even just the prospect of telling him to stay is so unbelievably selfish. You’d never actually tell him, of course, but you think it and the thought is all-consuming. 

You just worry, like any partner would, but you worry even more especially after the nasty accident he had. You know he’s been doing this for a long time, but you’ve learned that fires can be unpredictable and life doesn’t deal in absolutes. 

A couple of hours pass and Joel is still sound asleep, meanwhile you haven’t gotten a wink of rest. Your eyes roam to the bedside alarm clock—four fifty in the morning. You sigh softly and get up as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb Joel. 

Since you can’t go to sleep, you decide to use your energy to make Joel and Tommy some lunches and a few batches of your cookies that everyone at the firehouse loves so they have something to snack on while they’re on the road. 

You start with the cookies and make enough dough for at least three batches, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You hand mix everything and put the three baking sheets in the oven, setting a timer on your phone. While the cookies bake, you make both of their lunches and pack them away. 

You can’t stand still and need to keep your hands busy to distract yourself from your looming thoughts, so you go ahead and make a fresh pot of coffee, too. 

You pour yourself a cup and put a dash of creamer in it, taking a sip as you lean over the counter and sigh. You close your eyes and rub your temples in an attempt to ease your mind. 

You hear a door open upstairs and some shuffling down the steps soon after, and a sleepy Sarah emerges. 

She rubs her eyes as she gives you a small smile, making her way to the barstool that’s on the other side of the counter from you. 

“You’re up early,” you muse. 

“Couldn’t stay asleep,” she says, and she looks at the oven as she sees cookies baking. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you couldn’t sleep at all.” 

“You’ve got that right,” you huff a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee. 

“I don’t want him to go.” 

Her blunt confession takes you aback, but it gives you a bit of comfort knowing you and her are in the same boat. 

“I know, sweetheart.” You reach your hand out to cup hers, running your thumb back and forth over her knuckles. 

“I know he’s doing this for good. I just… I don't want to see him hurt again.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a catch twenty-two.” 

She sighs, and you round the counter to bring her into a hug. 

“I know it’s not much of a distraction, but how about we go get a pedicure later on? Just to relax a little.” 

She nods against you before leaning back to meet your gaze. “I’d love that.” 

“Great. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can make you some waffles.” 

“Thank you, but I’m not super hungry right now…” she pauses, eyeing the oven. “I’d love one of your cookies, though.” 

You laugh and nod, your phone timer going off at the perfect moment. You take all three sheets out of the oven and set them down on racks, letting them cool down. You serve her one before starting to clean up, and that’s when you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps make their way downstairs. 

“Morning cowboy,” you tease, pouring his cup of coffee as he stares at you two in confusion. 

“Mornin’…you’re both up early.” He makes his way to Sarah and kisses her hair before moving to you, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. You hand him his cup of coffee and he wraps his arm around you and gives you a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a sip. 

“What time do you and Uncle Tommy need to be at the station?” Sarah asks, biting into her cookie. 

Joel’s eyes glance at the clock on the stove. “Around nine.” 

It’s silent for a moment, and Joel looks back and forth between you both. 

“Y’all still haven’t told me why you’re both up so early.” He raises an eyebrow, looking to you for an answer. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“At all?” 

“No. I laid there for a couple of hours before I got up to make you and Tommy some lunch and a few batches of cookies for the crew while you’re on the road.” 

Joel’s eyebrows tug together. He sets his cup of coffee down, circling his arms around your waist. He holds his arm out, silently coaxing Sarah to join in. She hops down from the stool and hugs you both, and you nuzzle into them both. You all stand there for a good minute before Joel is giving you both a squeeze and kisses your heads. 

It’s like the sense of dread and anxiety hung in the air, and he clocked in almost immediately. 

Not much gets past him—you’ll give him that.

“I love you both very much. I’ll be alright,” he says. “I promise to check in every day when I can, okay?” 

His comforting embrace and reassuring words warm your heart. 

You all untangle yourselves from the embrace, and you give him a soft smile. 

“We love you too, Joel. We just worry for your safety.” 

“I know baby, I know. Believe me when I say there’s nothin’ I’d rather do than stay at home with you both, but this is an all hands on deck situation.” 

“We’d never ask you to stay, dad. We know this is part of your job and it’s important that you’re there,” Sarah says, pausing as a tremble overtakes her bottom lip. She wraps her arms around him, voice broken and soft when she speaks next. “Just be careful, okay?” 

You can see a flash of emotion in Joel’s eyes as he hugs her back, leaning his cheek on top of her head. 

“I will, babygirl. I swear to you.” 

-

You’re standing in a small group in the fire station, getting ready to send Joel and Tommy off with the rest of their crew. You’re having a conversation with them two, Maria and Sarah when one of their coworkers—Mark, you think—walks up to you, holding up the bag of cookies. 

“I just have to say thank you for these. They’re the firehouse favorite.” 

You grin and shrug. “Not a problem. Just a small thank you for everything you guys do.” 

He smiles at you and looks at Joel. “She’s a keeper, Miller.” 

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses your temple. “I know. I’m a lucky, lucky man.” 

“Alright, it’s time to head out,” their Captain calls. 

You sigh and turn toward Joel. You offer him a small smile as your heart clenches with anxiety, but your expression never wavers. 

Sarah gives Joel a tight hug, expression still a bit sullen. You can tell she’s trying her best to hide it, but it slips through and it’s a look you recognize all too well. You give her shoulders a squeeze of reassurance 

He has that look in his eyes. The one where it’s filled with worry, with anxiousness. The same look that’s probably in yours, too.

You want to lighten the mood, so you tug him flush against your body by pulling the leather strap of his radio holster that sits across his chest. He laughs as his hands land on your waist, and you push your lips to his. 

You separate from him after a few seconds, smiling softly against his lips before you pull apart just enough to see those beautiful, worried brown eyes. 

“Be careful out there, cowboy. I love you.” 

He squeezes your hips. “I will, baby. I love you too.” 

He leans down to give you one more peck on the lips before he moves to say goodbye to Maria. You do the same to Tommy, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a soft little peck on the cheek. 

“Take care of each other, yeah? Life’s a lot more fun when you’re both here with us, unharmed.” You look between Joel and Tommy with a sternness they’ve never seen before. 

Tommy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, his dimple showing up along with a flash of white teeth. 

“You got it, boss.”

He salutes you, and you sidle up beside Sarah and Maria as you wave them both goodbye. They climb into the same truck, and they’re on their way to San Angelo. 

-

Two weeks have passed, and Joel still isn’t home. He keeps his promise on checking in every day when he can, sometimes shorter conversations than others, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

Today, your siblings all agreed that a lunch was much needed between you four so you could all catch up. It was the perfect distraction, and with Sarah at school and Maria at work, you agree immediately. It’s so odd being in an empty house when you’re not on the clock, and since you’d finished with your clients early, you had the rest of the day to yourself. 

You meet up with them at a local diner, slipping into the booth next to Emily. She has a small belly now, and you lean down to air kiss it before greeting her, Andy and Cole. 

“I’m so glad we got to do this,” Emily says, and you all nod in agreement. 

“I know. It’s been awhile since I’ve harassed you guys,” Andy jokes. You roll your eyes and throw your crumbled up straw wrapper at him. 

“So how goes it?” Cole asks, leaning back in the booth. The young waitress stops by your table to take your orders before collecting the menus, and Emily starts. 

“Things have been great, actually. Baby boy is healthy and Josh got promoted at work.” She runs a hand over her belly, and your eyes light up. 

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. How does Josh like the promotion?” 

“It’s great, really. He gets more time off now, especially to come with me to my appointments, and he got a pretty significant increase in his salary.” 

“That’s so good. I still can’t believe you’re having a kid. My nephew is gonna be a little stud with the coolest uncles,” Andy says. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” You laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re only semi-cool. You’re with a cool guy, though, so I guess that raises your points.” 

“God, you men are so fucking weird with your logic sometimes.”

“Yeah yeah,” Andy waves your words away, before his expression gets a bit more serious. “How is he though? How’s Tommy?” 

“They’re okay. They’re exhausted, though. The fire had spread rapidly because of the winds, and they’re still in the process of containment, but I think it’s almost at one hundred percent.” 

“Fuck. I can’t even imagine. We had a pretty dry winter too, which probably didn’t help much,” Cole says. You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, deciding to change the subject for your own sanity. Emily senses it, because your sister knows you like the back of her hand, and she finds your hand folded in your lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze. You squeeze right back.

“So what’s been going on with you two? Anything new?” You look between your brothers, and the waitress drops off your food before they can say anything. 

Cole’s eyes avert to the basket of fries in front of him, and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him carefully. He finally opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when Andy starts to talk. 

“Not much. Work is good. Can’t complain.” Andy shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his burger, and you nod before looking back to Cole. You nudge his foot under the table and his gaze snaps up to yours, and you give him an encouraging smile. 

“That’s good, Andy,” Emily says. 

“I, uh, I met someone,” Cole starts. Everyone’s eyes shift to him, and he sports a small smile. “It’s still pretty new, though, so that’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.” 

“Hell yeah, brother. Happy for you,” Andy claps Cole’s shoulder and he smiles. 

“Where did you meet?” You ask, popping a fry into your mouth. 

“Met her at the bar we went to a few months back. Finally bucked up and asked her on a date a couple of weeks ago, and it’s been going good ever since.” 

Although Cole seems to exude confidence, you know he’s more on the shy side when it comes to romance. You and him have always been the shy kids, while Andrew and Emily were outgoing and bubbly. When Emily first told you to put yourself out there with Joel, the shy shell of a woman you used to be went into fight or flight mode—but she ultimately ended up being right. 

You can hear it now: That’s what big sisters are for.

You’re grateful you and your siblings are all close in age. Although you’ve all fought over stupid, miniscule things that seemed like the whole world when you were younger, you all ended up being very close, which is something you’ll never take for granted. 

“That’s great, Cole. I hope we can meet her when you’re comfortable enough to bring her around our crazy family,” Emily laughs, and you all chime in and chuckle along. 

“I think Josh and Joel can attest to that,” you say. “I told him he could’ve run for the hills before Emi’s wedding, but that man stuck by my side and told me he wanted to meet all of you.” 

“Now that—” Cole swallows his bite of food, “—Is a real man.” 

“And look at how happy he’s made you. I love seeing you together, especially after everything you’ve been through,” Emily says. 

Andy’s face turns sour, frowning at the vague mention of your ex. “If I ever see him in person again I won’t hesitate to deck him in the face.” 

You didn’t have to question who he was. You already knew. “Get in line, Andy. Joel has first dibs.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement before he reaches out to you, palm upward, making a ‘give me’ motion with his fingers.

“Give me my ticket.” 

You laugh and push his hand away, and lighter conversation ensues the rest of lunch. 

The waitress drops the check off at the table, and you mumble that you’ll Zelle whoever pays as the other three fight over the check. Your phone rings and you pull it out of your pocket to see who it is.

Your eyebrows furrow as you see your attorney’s name across the screen of your phone. You slide the answer button over and cover your other ear so you can hear him better. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! Long time no talk. I have some good news,” he says. 

“Hey, yeah, how are you? What’s the news?” 

“I’m good, but even better now—apparently whoever hit you in your accident was some big wig’s kid, and the parents want to pay you out a big amount for your car and, as they said, ‘any emotional damage caused by this accident’.” 

“Oh fuck,” you say. You rub your forehead with your thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, sorry. Uh—how much?” 

In all honesty, you’d sort of forgotten about your accident because so much has happened in your life since that day. You smile fondly at the memory of Joel kissing you in the back of that ambulance, within only hours of knowing each other at that point. 

You had no idea that it would’ve led to this. A good life with an even greater man. 

“They sent out a check to your house, but I think it’s in the hundred thousands range.” 

Your eyes bug out of your head and your jaw drops. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Your siblings all look at you in confusion, but you still can’t wipe the look of shock off of your face. 

Your attorney laughs at your initial reaction, but you’re still in utter disbelief. 

You can’t even fathom that kind of money, but you’re sure your attorney is used to those kinds of numbers. 

“Yeah, so keep a lookout for a check in the mail,” he says. 

“Um, yeah, will do. Thanks for giving me a call.” 

“Of course. I’ll touch base with you if anything else comes up.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and you meet your siblings’ gazes. 

And, with a small smile, you pluck the bill from Andy’s hands. “Actually, lunch is on me today.”

-

You almost fall over when you open the envelope with your check in it. 

Half a million dollars. You don’t know who the hell this kid’s parents are, but writing a check for five hundred thousand is fucking insane. 

You stare at the numbers in disbelief as you sit at the edge of the bed, sun casting its brilliant golden glow across the paper in your hands. The paper that reads half a million fucking dollars. It’s like a jackpot lighting up in Vegas or something.

You don’t know how long you stare, but if you did any longer, your eyes would burn holes in the paper. You slide the check back in the envelope and put it in your underwear drawer underneath your sports bras, because you honestly just can’t believe that it’s real. 

And later that night, when Joel FaceTimes everyone to say hi and check in, you don’t say a word about it. 

It’s not that you want to keep it from him, but you have an idea of what you’d like to do with a portion of the money, and you’d rather keep that idea a surprise for the time being. 

You trudge upstairs once more after Maria and Sarah say goodnight to Joel and Tommy, but Joel tells you to stay on the phone. He watches you do your night routine before you slip into an old oversized Texas A&M sweatshirt of his, sliding into bed. 

“I miss my woman somethin’ awful,” his deep voice rings through the phone. You look at the screen and sigh, a small smile settling onto your lips. He looks so exhausted, and all you want is for him to be safe at home again. By your side in bed. 

“I miss you too, handsome. How’s it looking out there?” 

He groans as he settles onto a bed himself folding an arm to lay his hand behind his head. 

“‘S kickin’ our asses. Embers from the original fire sparked a new one. It’s smaller, but these winds ain’t helping a damn thing.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you say, gnawing on your lip as your eyebrows furrow in worry. “I feel awful that I can’t do anything to help.” 

“There is one thing,” he says. You recognize the tone in his voice—want. 

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Miller?”  

“You wearin’ my old sweatshirt?” He asks. 

You purse your lips and nod, watching how his expression turns lustful and determined in the confines of his temporary bedroom. 

“Wearing it ‘cus it smells like you,” you confess. 

A groan rips from his throat and scrapes low in your belly, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel slick already beginning to pool from the heat between your legs. 

“Are we really gonna do this?” You huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I was a touch-starved man before I met you, baby. Then you go n’ spoil me with your pretty hands that can’t seem to keep to themselves.” 

“You could always tell me to stop, you know,” you purr. There’s some shuffling on the other end, and you see his heavy lidded eyes gaze at you. 

“I’d be insane to do so, darlin’.” 

“Would you?” 

He moans softly, and you realize he’s probably rubbing himself up. God, you wish that was your hand. 

“Mhm. Love when your hands are all over me, especially wrapped around my dick.” 

You can’t help but giggle, and a ghost of a smile curls at the corner of his lips. 

“Love that sound, too,” he adds. 

“You know what I love?” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a seductive whisper. 

“Hm?” 

“I love when my big, strong hunk of a man makes me feel so loved and protected. Allows me to delve into my femininity. Uses his strong hands and thick fingers to make me see stars.” 

You realize you’re probably babbling at this point, but your words seem to do the job just fine. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together and that all-too familiar muscle in his jaw ticks wildly. 

“Turn the camera around, Joel. Show me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate to flip the camera around to face the impressive outline of his cock in the gray sweats he’s wearing. Your thighs clench together at the sight, imagining what it’d be like to grind on him until he came undone. Hear his moans and strings of curses as he reaches his peak. 

“Fuck, honey,” you whine. 

“This is what you do t’me, baby.”

His voice almost sounds pained, but you know it’s because he’s held in so much tension the past couple of weeks with no way to release it. You’d do anything to distract his mind from the exhaustion he feels and fires at hand, even if it’s for a brief few moments. 

You decide to be a little raunchy, because fuck, you’re already in this position, and you want to be a good distraction—again—even if it’s brief. 

You make a show of yourself sliding your fingers down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, wasting no time to reach your desired destination. You swipe your middle and ring finger through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before you bring your fingers up to show the camera—to show Joel—how much he turns you on. 

You separate your fingers, and a string of your slick connects between the two. 

“This is what you do to me.” 

Joel all but growls at the sight, slipping his hand into his sweatpants to grab his aching cock. You can just imagine how warm and heavy it feels in his big palm, and you sigh at the thought. 

“Fuck, baby. Be a good girl n’ touch yourself for me.”

He’s breathless, but the sound sends shockwaves through your body as more slick gushes eagerly from your aching, needy center. 

You slip your two fingers in your mouth, humming around them as you taste the tangy-sweet flavor of yourself. 

“Shit,” he says, a moan scraping from his throat. You grin like the Cheshire Cat before slipping your fingers down again, alternating between rubbing your clit slowly and dipping your fingertips into your cunt. 

You flip the camera around to show him, and it sounds like he nearly whines from the sight. You suck in a breath as you stop teasing yourself, slipping the two fingers fully into yourself. You pump them languidly, and hearing Joel’s ragged breath and gasps on the other end of the line has you writhing. 

“You don’t know how bad I wish these were your fingers and not mine,” you gasp out, grinding your hips up into your palm. 

“Oh don’t worry baby,” he pants, “‘M gonna give you everythin’ you need n’ more when I come back.” 

“That a promise?” 

“Mmm—mhm.” 

He matches the stroke of his cock with the pump of your fingers then. 

“Can’t wait to be buried in that pretty little pussy. Take me so well. Fuckin’ made for me, baby. So fuckin’ tight n’ warm. ‘S like a dream,” he babbles, and you have to bite down on the collar of the sweatshirt to keep a moan ripping from your throat.

”Need your mouth all over me too, Joel,” you cry, “Love it when you let me cum by your tongue.” 

“Yeah? Next time I’ll have you usin’ my face as a fuckin’ seat. Hold you down so you have no choice but to cum in my mouth over n’ over again.” 

“Oh, god.” 

“You like that, huh? The thought of fuckin’ my face to get you off?” 

The words die on your tongue as you try to speak, but the pleasure that was once a low burn in your belly is now its own full-fledged sun. It’s so white hot and you’re on the edge, gripping the phone in your hand for dear life. 

“Answer me,” he growls. 

“Fuck, yes! Yes yes yes,” you whisper-cry, and you’re unraveling before him on camera. You soak your hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath you, but that’s a tomorrow problem. Your body convulses a few times and you moan as you see the white spurts of cum land on his stomach. He moans your name like a prayer on Sunday, and it makes you shiver with seemingly untamable arousal. 

He breathes heavily before grabbing a tissue to clean himself up, tucking himself back into his sweats before he flips the camera back around to his face. 

His cheeks and neck are flushed, and you can see the sweat on his forehead as he tries to steady out his breathing. You stretch and roll over on your side, laying your head on his pillow to inhale his scent. 

“I love you, my honeybee.”

You smile at the nickname and yawn, stretching your limbs one more time before curling in on yourself. 

“I love you too, cowboy. I can’t wait ‘til you’re next to me in bed again.” 

“I can’t wait either, darlin’. I hope this is all over with soon n’ I can love on you the way you deserve.” 

You grin sleepily at his words, post-coital drowsiness wrapping around your body like a weighted blanket. 

“Stay safe out there.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

And you’re fast asleep soon after you hang up. You dream blissfully of life with Joel in the fields by the ranch, of your future with him, of the memories you’ve yet to create. 

You dream of Joel happy and safe, not an ounce of the beautiful man troubled. 

But this is real life. This isn’t a fantasy where you can wish good things for people and it just magically happens at the snap of a finger, a rub of a lamp. 

His resolve was slowly crumbling. The weight of the world was sitting steady on his shoulders, breaking him down piece by piece. 

Each broken fragment of him, scattered and fragile, lay in your hands—

and this time, it was up to you to put him back together.

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[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Regret |4|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | A Legacies Secret Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Tara let her head fall back, opting to just glare at the ceiling. After Ghostface attacked, an officer had taken their statements then ordered Tara herself, you, and Sam into the back of a police cruiser. The cop brought all of you to the station and then stuck all three of you in the same interrogation room. Tara wasn’t sure why they needed to be interrogated; they were the ones attacked after all. That was beside the point though because they had been there for hours without anyone coming to check on them, let alone question them.

Tara was sitting in the middle with you on one side of her and Sam on the other side. Sam was in a similar position as her, rolling her head back and forth, trying to not lose her mind as the three of you waited for some cop to come in and tell you how they intend to catch this guy, even though Tara was sure they would fail, no matter what plan they came up with. You on the other hand had your head down your chin resting on your chest with your eyes closed. You had a long night at work, then Tara got herself in trouble and made you come out to search for her, you got barely a few hours of sleep on an uncomfortable couch, then you got attacked by Ghostface, and now you were sitting in a police station.

Tara glanced down at your bandaged arm, you had worse, so much worse, but Tara couldn’t peel her eyes away from the blood already soaking through. The paramedic had offered, strongly encouraged really, that you go to the hospital, but you had denied them. Ghostface hadn’t even been back a full day and you were already hurt. You didn’t even hesitate to knock the shelf over, just to buy Tara and Sam more time to escape, even though your knee was already causing you so much pain.

Tara furrowed her brow as she watched a pained expression cross your face right before you began shifting in your seat. You opened your eyes and readjusted yourself with a grimace. “Are you okay?” Tara asked. She was sure it was a stupid question; Sam said your knee bothered you regularly and you just put a ton of strain on it trying to protect them.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, though it wasn’t very convincing. “Just need rest,” you closed your eyes again. “And ice.” Tara nodded, though she was still unsure. Still, if you said all you needed was rest and ice, then she would make sure to get that for you, as soon as they could get back to the apartment, she would make sure you were comfortable in bed, prop your knee up with all the pillows, and get all the ice, making sure to change it as soon as it seemed like it was melting.

“This Ghostface-” Sam started.

“Don’t,” you instantly cut her off. “Not here,” you flicked your eyes to a corner of the room.

Tara followed your line of sight and saw a camera in the top corner of the room with a little blinking red light. Tara slumped back in her chair, they were already being recorded, not to mention the giant mirror, which was as probably actually two-way glass like in all the movies. She wondered if whoever was in charge was standing behind the mirror, just watching them this whole time. Sam seemed to agree with you because she just nodded and crossed her arms as she slumped back against her own chair.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” a man said, finally entering the room. All three of you looked up and Tara couldn’t help but furrow her brow, the man was Quinn’s father.

“So, our roommates dad just happened to pull our case?” Sam questioned. Tara raised her brow and saw you narrow your eyes at Bailey. It would be one hell of a coincidence if that were the case.

“No, my buddy did,” Bailey explained with a smile, but it did nothing to ease Tara’s suspicion. “But he offered it to me when it involved my daughters’ roommates.”

“Don’t you think that’s a conflict of interest?” You asked. You tilted; you had that look in your eye, the one you got when you were suspicious of someone’s motives.

“I could give it back to him if you want,” Bailey offered, giving another slightly awkward smile.

Tara watched you and Sam share a look. Tara didn’t know whether Bailey being on the case would be helpful or harmful, she knew why the two of you were suspicious, so she’d follow your lead in whatever the two of you decided. If Bailey was involved somehow then part of Tara wanted him nowhere near you and her friends, but another part of her knew the saying of keep your friend close and your enemies closer.

“It’s fine,” Sam finally decided.

“Great,” Bailey said. “Let’s start off with where you were last night?”

“I was at work most of the night,” you answered.

“And I was in therapy,” Sam said.

“Frat party,” Tara added.

“Then Sam and I got home about the same time,” you continued. “And quickly left to find Tara.”

“Which they did,” Tara couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the memory.

“And can others corroborate that?” Bailey asked.

“Yeah, we were with our friends Chad, Mindy, Ethan and Anika,” Sam said.

“I’m sure we made quite the impression to everyone at the party as well,” you added. Tara flicked a glare at you as you silently smiled to yourself, even though she herself also wanted to laugh.

Bailey furrowed his brow and looked at you questioningly. “I might have tased someone,” Sam said. Bailey opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he were surprised by this. Tara wasn’t sure why, he’d met Sam plenty of times, he knew how she was. “Completely warranted,” Sam crossed her arms, clearly feeling no sympathy for tasing Frankie, not that Tara cared about him either.

“Right,” Bailey said slowly. “Moving on, is there anyone you can think of who would want to kill you? Any of you have any enemies you can think of?”

“None who are alive,” Tara said with a shrug.

Bailey’s eyes widened at that. “And enemies?” you asked. “Half the internet,” you gestured with your hand. “Someone started some bullshit about what happened last year and how Sam was secretly behind it,” you rolled your eyes.

Tara couldn’t help but smile when she looked at you. You and Sam might not have been best friends, but you had been sticking up for her since all the Reddit posts came out. You were there and obviously knew the truth about what happened but you were also always one of the first to defend Sam if everyone was out and some stranger tried to say something to her.

“You were the prime suspect last year,” Bailey said, directing his attention to you. “Isn’t that, right?”

“And she was innocent,” Tara snapped, she wouldn’t let someone accuse you again. She never listened to any of the accusations last year and she always defended you, but she could have done more, she wouldn’t let anyone try and think the worst of you.

“Of course,” Bailey smiled; it was clear he was just trying to diffuse the tension though. “Just want to go over all the facts.”

“The facts are, some psycho is trying to kill us for some reason that only makes sense to their fucked-up mind.” Tara crossed her arms and glared across the table at Bailey. She went through this last year, and she wasn’t about to entertain this as anything less this time around.

Bailey opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “The FBI is here,” an officer said, poking his head in.

“What?” Bailey asked. “Why are they here?”

Bailey grumbled and quickly ran out of the room. Tara looked from her sister to you, and it seemed all of you agreed not to wait around. Tara wasn’t an expert, but she was well aware the police couldn’t hold any of you unless they were charging you and they had nothing to charge you with.

“Let’s go,” Sam mumbled.

Everyone got up and made their way out of the interrogation room. Tara glanced back to make sure you were still there as the three of you made your way through the police station. “Kirby?” Sam asked, stopping as she passed by one of the rooms.

“Sam?” someone asked. When they came out of the room Tara saw it was Kirby Reed, she used to go to school with Sam and was part of the 2011 Ghostface attacks. “Tara,” Kirby nodded at her. Her eyes paused on you, and she tilted her head as she took you in. “You must be Y/N,” she held out her hand. “Kirby Reed.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled but shook Kirby’s hand. “You’re with the FBI?”

Kirby nodded. “I’ve been investigating any and all things related to Ghostface.” You let out a curious hum. “Was already tracking your classmates,” she pointed at Tara. “When I got notified of their murder, then of the attack last night.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “That’s why we’re getting the hell out of town.” Sam turned to walk away without even a goodbye.

“Wait,” Kirby jogged to catch up with Sam. “You can’t leave town.” Sam rolled her eyes and gave Kirby a disbelieving look. Tara still wasn’t fully okay with just abandoning her education and running away but even she couldn’t believe Kirby was telling them to stick around. “This is still an active investigation.” Tara rolled her eyes, even though none of them were being charged they were still being treated like suspects.

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled. She pulled out her phone and Tara held her breath as she waited to see who had messaged Sam. “It’s Mindy.” Tara released the breath, she was sure Chad and Mindy were freaking out, no one had talked to them since they called to warn Sam about Ghostface being back. “She wants us to meet them at the school to go over suspects.”

“Great,” you mumbled. Tara looked back at you and her gaze softened, she knew everyone ganged up on you last year when they were going over suspects. Tara still felt bad at the fact that she insisted on you going to the meet up and then you not only got accused of being a murderer but also got attacked.

Tara wrapped her arms around your waist to try and bring you a little comfort while Sam continued to talk to Kirby. Once Sam agreed that none of you would leave town Kirby allowed all of you to leave. The three of you made your way to the front doors and Tara could already hear the crowd on the others side and see the flashing lights of cameras. She subconsciously curled into your side, and you put your arm around her shoulder in a protective embrace, almost like it was a reflex, before the three of you opened the doors and stepped outside.

Tara was tucked under your arm as the three of you pushed your way out of the police station. It seemed word had definitely gotten out about Ghostface being behind the attacks and now reporters were surrounding the station, screaming questions at the three of you. Tara thought last year was bad, with the amount of people calling every day, all of them trying to get a quote and ask for her side of the story.

Tara could hear her name being called from all directions, but she did as Sam told her and kept her head down and her eyes forward. Despite whatever was going on with you and her she knew you’d always protect her. You were probably still mad at her and yet your grip around her only tightened as the three of you pushed through the crowd.

Tara couldn’t help but release a breath when the three of you finally broke free of the crowd. “Gale Weathers,” a familiar voice from behind said. Even if Tara didn’t know Gale’s voice, she would have known it was her based on the way your entire body froze. “Channel Four.”

Sam was the first to whip around, Tara could hear the scoff, confirming it was in fact Gale behind them. Tara turned around in your arm, making your arm fall from her shoulder down to her waist, you still had yet to turn around though. Tara gently brushed her fingers across your hand and felt you physical relax. You turned your head first, meeting her gaze and she offered you a soft smile and a squeeze of your hand, it’s the only thing she could do to show she was there for you in that moment.

“Ladies,” Gale said with her typical reporter smile. “Do you think you’re the reason Ghostface is here?” she held the mic out for them to answer.

Sam scoffed and threw a punch. Tara didn’t see it coming but clearly Gale did as she easily dodged it and just came back with a chuckle. “Nice try sweety, but I’ve done this dance before.”

Tara didn’t know what got into her because as soon as those words left Gale’s mouth Tara clenched her fist and swung, clocking Gale right in the jaw, she didn’t see that one coming it seemed. “Stay the hell away from us,” Tara said, glaring at the woman.

Tara intertwined her hand with yours and pulled you away. You hadn’t spoken to Gale since Woodsboro, at least you had not truly spoken to her. You didn’t want a relationship with her and Gale didn’t seem interested in trying. Tara followed after Sam, making sure to not let you go, you still hadn’t said anything since getting out of the interrogation room.

Sam hailed a cab and the three of you piled into the taxi, with you getting in first, then Tara, and finally Sam. Sam slammed the door shut and told the man to take them to Blackmore University. Sam rested her arm against the door and propped up her head on her hand. It seemed like Sam was a little in her head at the moment so to try and give her space Tara directed her attention back to you.

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered. You looked over at her, your eyebrows pinched together in a silent question. “For the punch.”

Your mouth twitched up into a smile and you lifted your intertwined hands and brought them to your mouth, giving her fingers a soft kiss. Tara couldn’t help but smile, she was sure she was blushing at the action. It was something you had done a thousand times but doing it now, when she clearly didn’t deserve your softness, it almost felt like how the two of you used to be.

“That was a good punch,” you said. “Guess you really don’t need my protection.”

Tara frowned at your sad smile. “I’ll always need you,” she whispered back. She gave your hand another squeeze and your smiled brightened a little. Tara knew she there was still a lot the two of you needed to talk about, a lot she needed to apologize for, but she was going to start by being there for you now and reassuring you whenever she had to.

Taglist: @mamas-evil-hag @thatshyboy1998 @btay3115 @idontliketoread2137 @nwestra

@honorarysimp @canyonyodeler @chxrry-lov3 @aceofspades190 @worstendingever

[oldsoul007]

7 summers

joel miller x reader

summary: After seven years apart, you see Joel Miller again, and what once felt like a fleeting teenage fling comes rushing back, forcing you to confront the love you never truly let go.

a/n: suggestive scenes, kissing, angstyish, fluff

joel miller masterlist

The summer I was eighteen, I fell in love with Joel Miller.

Not that I ever admitted it—not to him, not to myself, and certainly not to Tommy. Joel was Tommy’s older brother, and Tommy was my best friend. He was the one person in my life who knew everything about me, who’d always been there when I needed him. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that. So, when Joel and I started sneaking off together that summer, I convinced myself it was just a fling, a secret I could lock away and never think about again.

But it wasn’t.

That summer was everything. Stolen kisses by the lake, his rough hands trailing down my arms, the way his voice turned soft when he called me “darlin’.” He wasn’t just my first love; he was my whole world, even if I couldn’t say it out loud. I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth, the fear of what would happen—the fallout with Tommy—kept the words stuck in my throat.

By the end of the summer, I was gone. Off to work, off to whatever life waited for me outside of our small Texas town. I swore to myself I’d move on, forget him, and never let myself feel that way again.

But some loves don’t fade.

Seven summers later, I was doing just fine—at least, that’s what I told myself. Then I ran into Tommy at a bar. Same grin, same easy laugh. For a second, it felt like we were kids again, back when everything was simple.

“y/n l/n,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Where the hell have you been hiding?”

We talked for hours, catching up, reminiscing about all the trouble we used to get into. By the end of the night, he’d convinced me to come over for dinner. “It’s been too damn long,” he said. “You gotta come by. I’ll cook, just like old times.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I should have.

When I walked into Tommy’s house two nights later, I saw him. Joel.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a beer in his hand, looking exactly like I remembered—but somehow more. Broader, older, rougher around the edges in a way that made my stomach twist. The second he saw me, he froze, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Y/n,” he said, my name soft on his lips.

“Joel,” I whispered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, waltzed into the room and clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “You two know each other, right? Y/n used to hang out all the time when we were kids.”

Joel glanced at me, waiting, and I knew he was asking me to hold the line. To keep the secret we’d buried all those years ago. Somehow, I found my voice. “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’ve met.”

seven summers ago

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon streaming through the thin curtains. It painted faint shadows across the walls, moving slightly with the breeze that didn’t quite reach us. The night was warm and heavy, the air clinging to my skin, and the constant chirp of crickets outside filled the silence. I lay flat on my back, my head sinking into the flat pillow of the old, creaky bed in my family’s lakehouse.

Joel was beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His shoulder brushed against mine every time one of us moved, a gentle reminder of how little space there was between us. We hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Dense with the weight of things neither of us wanted to say.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, his jawline sharp and his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to untangle some thought that wouldn’t let him go. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fidgeted with the frayed edge of the blanket resting around our waists, trying to quiet the thoughts spinning in my head.

“What do you think you’ll be doing in ten years?” I asked, my voice soft. It felt like the kind of question that belonged in a moment like this, one that could break the silence without shattering it.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, like I’d caught him off guard. He turned his head to look at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that small, shy smile he did so well. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and easy. “Probably still workin’ construction, maybe startin’ my own business if I’m lucky.”

I smiled at the thought of it—of Joel running his own business. It felt so… right. “You’d be good at that,” I said, meaning it. “You’re good with your hands.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head like he didn’t believe me, but his gaze lingered. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “What’s y/n gonna be doing in ten years?”

I bit my lip, my smile faltering as I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” I said after a pause. “Just something far away from here.”

I felt Joel shift beside me, his voice hesitant when he repeated my words. “Far away?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. “I just… I’ve always felt like there’s something out there, you know? Something bigger. I don’t want to stay stuck in one place forever.”

There was a long pause, and I could feel his gaze on me even though I didn’t look at him. Then, slowly, I felt his hand brush against mine. My breath caught as his fingers tentatively laced with mine, his palm warm and a little rough.

“You won’t be stuck,” he said softly, his voice sure but carrying something else—something deeper.

I turned my head to look at him, our hands still tangled between us. “How do you know?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

His eyes didn’t waver as they held mine, dark and steady. “’Cause you’re different, y/n. You’ve got somethin’—a spark or somethin’. You’re meant for more than this little town.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, filling me with equal parts hope and fear. I wanted to believe him—to believe that I was different, that I was meant for something more. But the thought of leaving, of leaving him, made my chest ache.

“What if I don’t want to leave everything behind?” I asked, my voice so soft I wasn’t sure he’d hear it.

Joel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “But don’t let anyone hold you back, either. Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

His words settled over me, heavy and full of meaning. He was giving me permission, I realized—not that I needed it, but it still felt like he was handing me something. Something I wasn’t sure I could take.

I turned my gaze back to the ceiling, my throat tight and my heart pounding. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to him, things I couldn’t untangle from the knot of feelings twisting inside me. I didn’t want to leave him. He was the one thing that made staying feel worth it.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I squeezed his hand, letting the silence take over again. It stretched between us, thick with everything we weren’t saying, everything we might never say.

Joel didn’t pull away, and neither did I. We just lay there, our hands still tangled together, the weight of the moment pressing down on us as the warm summer night carried on.

The smell of grilled steak and warm buttered rolls filled Tommy’s kitchen, a scent so familiar it made my chest ache. It was the kind of meal I’d had a hundred times at the Miller house, back when summer nights were spent on their back porch, laughing over cold beers and fireflies.

I hadn’t expected to feel so at home here after all these years. But I also hadn’t expected Joel to be sitting across the table from me, looking at me like I was some kind of ghost from his past.

It had been seven summers since I last saw him—since I left. Seven years of growing up, of moving on, or at least trying to. But sitting here now, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. “Y/n, what the hell have you been up to? Feels like forever since we’ve seen you.”

I smiled, shrugging slightly. “Oh, you know. Work, life. Moved around a little, but I’m back now.”

Joel, who had been quiet most of the night, finally spoke up. His voice was lower, rougher than I remembered, like time had left its mark on him. “Didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

His words weren’t harsh, but there was something underneath them—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Neither did I,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “Guess life doesn’t always go the way you think it will.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he cut into his steak. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Tommy grinned, oblivious to the tension thickening between us. “Well, now that you’re back, maybe we can finally convince you to stick around for good this time.”

I gave a small laugh, but before I could answer, Joel spoke again. “Surprised you ain’t married yet.”

I blinked, caught off guard. His tone wasn’t teasing—if anything, he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Tommy chimed in, smirking. “I figured some poor guy would’ve snatched you up by now.”

I rolled my eyes at Tommy’s comment, but it was Joel’s reaction I was focused on. His fork was still in his hand, his knuckles just a little too tight around it, his eyes steady on me like he was waiting for an answer.

“Guess I just haven’t found the right guy,” I said finally, keeping my voice light.

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded, his gaze flickering away as he took a slow sip of his beer.

I felt my stomach twist. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask him, a hundred things I wanted to say, but none of them felt safe—not here, not with Tommy sitting between us, completely unaware of the unspoken history filling the room.

“So what about you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Married yet?”

Joel let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Nope”

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, Tommy rambling about something from work, and I forced myself to laugh along, to pretend like my heart wasn’t pounding, like Joel’s words—and the look in his eyes—hadn’t completely thrown me off balance.

But I could feel it.

That pull. That thing between us that had never really gone away.

And by the way Joel kept sneaking glances at me across the table, I knew he felt it too.

Dinner stretched on, filled with Tommy’s easy conversation and the occasional laugh, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on Joel—on the way he kept glancing at me, on the weight behind his words, on the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.

It felt like the past was pressing in on us, slipping through the cracks of time as if the last seven years had been nothing more than a breath between moments.

When the plates were cleared and Tommy started rambling about a game he wanted to watch, Joel stood, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He hesitated for a second, then looked over at me.

“Come out back with me?” His voice was casual, but his eyes told a different story.

I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve made an excuse, said my goodbyes, and walked out that door before I let myself slip any further into something I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But I nodded anyway.

I followed him through the screen door onto the back porch, the night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and warm summer air. The old wooden planks creaked under our weight as we stepped out, the sound familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

Joel leaned against the railing, taking a slow sip of his beer as he looked out at the yard. I stood beside him, hands gripping the edge of the wood, waiting for him to speak.

After a long pause, he exhaled and said, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you sittin’ at our dinner table again.”

His voice was softer now, quieter—just for me.

I swallowed, staring down at my hands. “Didn’t think I would be, either.”

He was quiet again, then he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

I let out a slow breath, watching the way the fireflies blinked lazily across the yard. “Needed a reset,” I admitted. “Life didn’t exactly turn out how I thought it would.”

Joel hummed, like he understood that better than he wanted to admit. “You runnin’ from somethin’?”

I hesitated before answering, because maybe, deep down, I was. But not in the way he thought.

“Not running,” I said carefully. “Just… trying to figure things out.”

Joel nodded like he got it, his fingers tapping absently against the neck of his beer bottle. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark under the dim glow of the porch light. “Seven years, y/n. That’s a long fucking time.”

I met his gaze, my throat tightening. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”

Another pause stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, Joel said, “I missed you.”

The words knocked the breath right out of me.

I turned to fully face him, my heart hammering in my chest. “Joel…”

He shook his head, setting his beer down on the railing before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You don’t gotta say anything. Just—” He exhaled sharply, like he was fighting some internal battle. “Hell… It’s just… weird, you know? Havin’ you here again.”

I nodded, because it was weird. It was terrifying. It was everything I hadn’t let myself feel in years rushing back all at once.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s eyes flickered with something—something deep and unreadable. His fingers curled around the railing, his knuckles flexing like he was holding something back.

I should’ve walked away then. I should’ve let the moment pass before it became something bigger, something neither of us could take back.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to.

And judging by the way Joel was looking at me, like he was seconds away from breaking, neither did he.

The night stretched thick between us, heavy with words we weren’t saying, with memories pressing in like ghosts we couldn’t shake. Joel was still gripping the railing, his fingers tightening and loosening like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” he finally murmured, eyes still locked on me. “You and me. Sneakin’ around, swearin’ we weren’t—” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “—feelin’ things we both knew damn well we were.”

His words hit deep, settling somewhere behind my ribs. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? We had never admitted what we were, never spoken those words out loud, and yet, we both had known.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We were just kids.”

Joel turned toward me then, slow and deliberate. “That what you tell yourself?”

I didn’t answer, because we both knew the truth. We hadn’t been just kids. Maybe we were young, maybe we didn’t know how to say it back then, but it had been real. As real as anything I’d ever felt.

Joel took a step closer, not enough to touch me, but enough that I could feel the warmth of him, could smell the mix of beer and cedarwood that clung to his skin.

“You happy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more careful.

The question caught me off guard, not because it was unexpected, but because I wasn’t sure how to answer it.

I looked up at him, at the way the years had settled into him—lines at the corners of his eyes, a little more weight in his stance, a quiet kind of tiredness in his gaze. But underneath it all, he was still Joel. Still the boy who once laid beside me on a summer night, our fingers laced together, talking about the future like it was something we had all the time in the world to figure out.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Are you?”

Joel exhaled, his jaw clenching just slightly before he shook his head. “No”

The word settled between us, bare and unguarded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the night filled the silence—distant laughter from inside, the low hum of crickets, the creak of the porch as Joel shifted closer.

Then, softly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask, he said, “You ever think about it?”

I knew exactly what he meant.

I wet my lips, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Think about what?”

Joel’s gaze dipped down to my mouth for half a second before coming back up. His voice was lower now, rougher.

“Us.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Joel took another step, and this time, he was close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could see the way his breathing had slowed like he was holding something back.

“I think about it all the damn time,” he admitted. “What it would’ve been like if you stayed. If I—” He stopped himself, his hand flexing at his side before he finally met my gaze again. “If I hadn’t let you leave without sayin’ somethin’ real.”

I felt my breath hitch.

seven summers ago

The morning air was crisp for late August, the kind of cool that hinted at the coming fall. The sun hadn’t quite broken through the haze yet, and the lake behind Tommy’s house was still and gray, like it was holding its breath. My car was packed, the trunk stuffed to the brim with clothes, books, and the small reminders of home I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Tommy leaned against the side of my car, his arms crossed and his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him look this serious. His dark hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it, and his shirt was wrinkled from where he’d probably pulled it off the floor.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and unusually hesitant.

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice wavered. “I think so.”

He shook his head, a small smile breaking through. “You’ve been talking about leaving since we were ten. If anyone’s ready, it’s you.”

I tried to smile back, but my chest ached too much to manage it. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” I admitted.

Tommy’s grin softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that was tighter than I expected. He smelled like summer—grass, lake water, and a hint of the cheap cologne he always overused.

“Don’t forget about us little people when you’re out there changing the world, alright?” he said, his voice muffled against my hair.

I laughed, but it came out watery. “I could never forget you, Tommy. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn right,” he said, pulling back. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he blinked fast and didn’t let it show. “Call me, okay? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I wanna hear about everything—college parties, classes, annoying roommates, all of it.”

“Promise,” I said, my voice thick.

He stepped back, giving me a mock salute before wandering toward the house. And that’s when I saw Joel.

He was standing on the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams like he’d been there the whole time. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t moving, just watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. His dark eyes locked on mine, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had gone still.

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I took a shaky breath and forced myself to walk toward him. The porch creaked under my weight, and when I stopped in front of him, he straightened, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d come say goodbye,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring out at the lake like it held the answer to whatever he was struggling with. “’Course I’d come,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you leave without it.”

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for him. “I’ll miss you,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.

His gaze snapped back to mine, and for a second, I thought he might say something—something I’d been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. His mouth opened, but then he closed it, his shoulders stiffening as if he’d talked himself out of it.

“Don’t let anyone hold you back,” he said instead, his voice steady but distant. “Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. They were the same ones he’d said to me that night at the lake house, the same ones that had stayed with me long after the summer ended.

I wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to tell him that he wasn’t holding me back—he was the only thing making it hard to leave. But I couldn’t. The words stuck in my throat, too tangled up in everything I felt for him to come out right.

Instead, I nodded, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Take care of Tommy for me,” I said, my voice trembling.

Joel’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it felt unbearable. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

For a moment, he didn’t move, and I thought he might pull away. But then his arms came around me, strong and steady, holding me tighter than I’d expected. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in—sawdust, sweat, and the faint trace of cologne he only wore when he had to.

I wanted to stay there forever, to let the rest of the world disappear, but I couldn’t. I pulled back, my hands lingering on his arms for just a moment before I let them fall to my sides.

“Goodbye, Joel,” I said, my voice barely steady.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, his dark eyes heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I turned and walked to my car, my chest aching with every step. As I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Joel was still standing on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching me drive away.

I didn’t look back again. If I had, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.

“You think it would’ve changed anything?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was fighting with himself. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

He lifted his hand, hesitant at first, then finally brushed his fingers along my arm, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“I ain’t ever felt nothin’ like I felt with you,” he murmured. “Not before. Not after.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, my body swaying toward his before I could stop it.

“Joel…”

He shook his head, his hand trailing down my arm until his fingers barely skimmed mine. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, voice rough and strained. “Tell me you don’t feel like we lost somethin’ we weren’t supposed to.”

I wanted to lie. Wanted to say that I had moved on, that whatever we had back then was just young and reckless, something that wasn't meant to last.

But I couldn't.

Because I did feel it.

I felt it in the way my chest ached just looking at him, in the way his touch still sent a shiver down my spine, in the way every moment we spent apart felt like time wasted.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling slightly under his. "I can't tell you that," | whispered.

Joel's breath caught, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around mine, like he was holding onto something he wasn't ready to let go of.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, humming with something too strong to ignore, too real to pretend wasn't there.

The air between Joel and I crackled with so much unspoken tension, it was almost unbearable. My heart pounded against my chest, every nerve alight with the pull between us, but neither of us moved. We were so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his hands lingering on my waist as if he were just waiting for me to make the next move. And I almost did.

But before I could, the sound of the screen door creaked behind us.

“Hey, you guys coming back in?” Tommy called out from the doorway, his voice loud and clueless as ever. “I got that game on, and I’m not drinking alone out here.”

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, and for a split second, it felt like the world had just stopped. Joel pulled back, almost imperceptibly, his hands still resting on my waist but no longer holding me so tightly. We both turned toward the door, where Tommy was standing with a grin, completely unaware of what had almost happened.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he took a half step back. “Yeah, we’ll be right in,” he called back to Tommy, his voice rough, like he was trying to hide the tension that had just exploded between us.

Tommy, oblivious to everything that had just passed between us, gave a lazy wave and turned back inside. “Don’t take too long, man! You know I need company for the game.”

I watched him disappear into the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. A long, silent moment passed between Joel and me, and I could almost hear the words that neither of us was willing to say. But we both knew it—what had just happened. What had almost happened. It hung between us like a heavy fog, and yet, neither of us moved to bridge the gap.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and rough. “Guess that’s our cue.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to process everything. The heat between us hadn’t gone away, not even with Tommy’s interruption. If anything, it only made it stronger. But now, standing here with Joel so close, with everything hanging in the air, I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Yeah,” I managed to say, my voice shaky. “Guess it is.”

Joel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture that always made him look like the same guy from years ago. He didn’t seem as certain as he had just moments before. There was hesitation now, uncertainty.

He gave a short nod, turning toward the door. “Come on. Let’s not keep Tommy waiting.”

I followed him back inside, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. The door swung shut behind us, and we both slipped back into the routine of being around Tommy, pretending like nothing had changed.

But it had.

I could feel it in the way Joel’s eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, in the way my chest tightened every time he spoke, like I was trying to hold myself together while something deeper, something real, threatened to spill out.

I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle this. How we were supposed to go back to the way things were. But for now, we were both content to pretend. Pretend that everything was fine, that Tommy hadn’t just unknowingly interrupted something that could change everything.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air brushing against my skin, but my body still felt warm from the tension that lingered between us. I hadn’t expected things to go the way they had tonight—especially not after so much time had passed. But there was no denying it. The pull I felt toward Joel had never truly gone away.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he stepped up beside me. His voice was low, a little gravelly, and there was something in his eyes—something that made my heart race.

I hesitated for a moment, looking back toward the door, knowing I should just leave and get some space to clear my head. But the desire to be close to him again, even just for a little longer, was stronger than any of the reasons I told myself I should go.

“Yeah,” I said, finally giving in, “okay.”

We walked to his truck, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us. The night felt different now, charged with something neither of us wanted to acknowledge—at least, not yet. When we got to the truck, Joel opened the door for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I climbed in. The truck door shut with a soft thud, and I settled in, trying to steady my breathing.

The drive was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. But the air between us was thick with everything unsaid—the years apart, the memories we couldn’t forget.

When we finally pulled up to my place, I felt a lump form in my throat. I didn’t want to say goodbye—not yet, not like this. But what else was there to say?

Joel’s truck rumbled to a stop outside my house, but neither of us moved immediately. The air felt thicker now, heavier, charged with all the things we hadn’t said. My heart was racing in my chest, the silence between us louder than any words could’ve been.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said quietly, trying to force some kind of normalcy into the situation. But my voice trembled, betraying everything I was trying to hide.

Joel didn’t answer at first, just stared at me for a moment. His brow furrowed, his jaw tense, like he was struggling to keep control. Without another word, he climbed out of the truck and walked around to my side, his movements slow but purposeful.

I froze for a second, wondering what he was doing. But when he reached the passenger door, he opened it, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. “Let me walk you to your door,” he said softly, as though it was a question, though neither of us needed permission.

I nodded, my throat tight, and stepped out of the truck, trying to steady myself as I moved toward him. His presence was magnetic, pulling me in as we walked together, side by side, toward the porch.

The night was quiet around us, but everything felt loud—our footsteps echoing, the rush of my pulse in my ears, the space between us that felt far too small for both of us to be standing in. My mind raced, but my body seemed to know exactly what it wanted, gravitating toward him with every step.

When we reached the front door, Joel stopped, turning to face me. There was something in his eyes, something raw and desperate, like he couldn’t stand to let go of this moment. The weight of the unspoken hung between us, and for a split second, I almost thought he would say something, but he didn’t. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, a quiet, gentle touch that sent a shock through my body.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand lifted to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he took another step closer. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked up at him, barely able to hold his gaze.

The moment felt too fragile, and I couldn’t make myself say anything else. Slowly, I turned toward the door, my hand reaching for the handle. “Goodnight, Joel,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t speak as I opened the door, stepping back just enough to let me through. I kept my gaze focused ahead, not trusting myself to look back at him, afraid of what I might see, afraid of what I might feel.

The door clicked shut behind me as I walked into my house, the weight of the night settling around me. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd told myself I wasn't going to give in, that I was going to walk away and let things be, but Joel's words, his touch, had made it impossible to ignore the truth l'd buried for so long.

I slipped out of my shoes and made my way into the living room, my heart still racing from everything that had happened. As I sank into the couch, the silence in the house felt suffocating. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Joel-his face, his hands on me, his kiss.

I was trying to talk myself down, to convince myself that I could move on. That I should. But just as I was about to stand, I heard a knock on the door.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

I walked slowly to the door, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding my chest. When I opened it, there he was— Joel. Standing in the dark, his posture tense, but his eyes searching mine like he had to say something, like he couldn't leave without it.

“I can’t walk away from you again,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Before I could even respond, his hand reached out to gently tug me closer, and his lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was fierce, urgent, as if he was trying to make up for the years apart, as if he couldn't stand the space between us anymore. I gasped, my hands coming up to clutch at his shirt as I kissed him back, my body pressed against his, needing him as much as he needed me.

He pulled me fully into the doorway, his hands moving to my waist, guiding me backward into the house. The door closed behind us with a soft thud, but neither of us paid attention to it.

All that mattered was the way his lips moved against mine, the way his touch made me feel like I was finally coming home.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us.

I felt the heat of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he held me, the way his breath caught when I tugged him.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. His forehead rested against mine, both of us struggling to catch our breath, to make sense of what had just happened.

My fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him back to me, not wanting to let go, not wanting to fight this anymore. Neither of us was ready to say goodbye—not yet, not when the night was still young and the truth was finally out in the open.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only us in this moment, the only sound the rush of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts in sync.

He pulled away briefly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shaky.

"I can't pretend anymore," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never stopped wanting you, y/n. Not for a second."

My heart twisted in my chest, and I didn't care anymore about what we had to lose. "Neither did I," I whispered, before closing the space between us again, kissing him with everything I had left to give.

This time, there was no holding back. We were finally done running from the truth.

[itendtothinkalot]

report heist!

summary: frustrated with your boss, you vent in a report, typing out everything you really wanted to say: how stupid, annoying, and foul he is. only problem? you forget to delete it before handing it in. now, you're stuck asking the office golden boy, soobin, for help. and of course... he's also the guy who loves to tease you. perfect timing, huh?

genre: fluff!!! a little suggestive!

characters: soobin x f!reader

words: 8k

warnings: suggestive!! kissing! soobin is a huge tease!!!!!!!!! very big tease!!!

Soobin had always been annoyingly perfect. The golden boy of the office—trusted by management, respected by colleagues, and somehow never making mistakes. If there was ever a crisis, people turned to him. If there was ever a project in chaos, he magically pulled it together.

You, on the other hand, were… not like that.

It wasn’t that you were bad at your job. You were just real about it. You got things done, but you also weren’t above rolling your eyes at pointless meetings or sighing dramatically when given extra work at 6 PM. And while everyone else treated Soobin like some workplace messiah, you saw him for what he really was—a smug, infuriating know-it-all.

Not that you two hated each other.

But you didn’t exactly get along either.

Your dynamic mostly consisted of him making some dry, borderline condescending comment, and you firing back with an exaggerated eye-roll or a sarcastic comeback. He’d smirk, you’d groan, and that was just how things worked. A never-ending cycle of teasing and bickering, neither of you willing to let the other win.

Soobin was predictable. Reliable. Annoyingly competent.

It was late, and the office was quieter than usual. You were at your desk, trying to focus on the report that had somehow become your life’s work for the past hour, when you heard his aggravating voice.

“Are you done, pretty?”

You froze for a moment, glancing up to see Soobin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his trademark smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The nickname was nothing new.

Pretty. He’d been calling you that ever since you two had crossed paths at the office, and at first, you weren’t sure how to feel about it. It wasn’t exactly a compliment—it didn’t carry the sweetness of an endearment or the weight of a genuine compliment. It was like a tease, a little jab, almost like he was testing you. But at the same time, it wasn’t insulting. It was just... Soobin.

You hated how he knew exactly how to catch your attention with it, how it always made your heart flutter for a fraction of a second, before you could remind yourself that it was just his thing. It wasn’t real. But, in a weird way, you’d gotten used to it

You glanced up to see Soobin leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Are you ever not done with your work?” you shot back, tapping your pen on the desk. 

He chuckled, unfazed. “It’s called doing it right the first time, but I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

You rolled your eyes so dramatically it almost hurt. Oh right, I forgot you’re perfect,” You emphasized the sarcasm with a dramatic bow of your head. “Please, Soobin, tell me more about how you manage to single-handedly solve every crisis known to mankind.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “If only you’d be a little more grateful, maybe I wouldn’t have to save you every time you get in over your head.”

“Save me?” You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Please. I’m fine on my own.”

He chuckled again, but this time, the glint in his eyes shifted, the playful edge softening. “Right. But if you need help with that report, you know where to find me.”

“No thanks. I’ll take my chances,” you said, tapping away at your keyboard with a smile of your own.

“I’ll make a note of that,” Soobin said, straightening up. “You sure you’re not just stalling because you know you’re about to hand in something that’s... less than perfect?”

You shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “Says the guy who’s never even had a typo in his life. Oh, look at me, I’m Mr. Perfect. Do you never get tired of being that person?”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth curving slightly in that way that always seemed to get under your skin. “It’s not my fault I’m good at what I do.”

“Oh, I know,” you muttered, trying to focus on the screen and not the smugness practically oozing from him. “You’re perfect, and I’m not.”

“You…so get me.” He grinned.

With that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last teasing glance over his shoulder.

You watched him go, shaking your head. “Asshole,” you muttered, but there was no real malice in the words.

This was just the way things were between you and Soobin. A game of teasing, one-upmanship, and never admitting you might actually enjoy the banter. 

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad.

Which is why, when your entire career was suddenly hanging by a thread, he was the first person you turned to. Not like you had a choice.

It was simple, really.

You had been furiously typing out your report, but somewhere along the way, frustration got the better of you. What started as a formal document quickly turned into a vent session filled with complaints about your workload, a few choice words about your boss, and some deeply unprofessional thoughts you wished had never been typed out.

Honestly, you blamed your boss. Five new assignments dumped on you when you were barely staying afloat with the ones you already had? Ridiculous. Typing out your grievances directly into the report might not have been the smartest move, but in the heat of the moment, it felt oddly therapeutic.

Of course, that moment of catharsis didn’t last long.

"Meeting. Five minutes," someone called out, snapping you from your thoughts.

You barely had time to process before you were being pulled away.

“What’s this meeting even about? As if we don’t already have a million things to do,” you groaned, slumping into your chair beside Taehyun, your work bestie and unofficial partner in suffering.

He let out an equally exhausted sigh. “Probably something about Yeonjun kicking the copier. Did you hear? It’s broken.”

You scoffed. “That fiend.”

The meeting dragged on longer than expected. And Taehyun was right. After about 10 minutes of actual work, your boss had rambled on endlessly about how, as staff, we should be more responsible for the equipment. By the time you were finally free, you were drained, restless, and already counting down the minutes until the workday ended.

"Any last reports for the boss?" Taehyun asked, stretching as he stood. "I'm heading up there now, so you can pass them to me."

You perked up. “Oh shit! Yeah, hold on—I’ll just quickly print this.”

Without a second thought, you grabbed the freshly printed report and handed it to him.

Taehyun gave you a skeptical look. “You sure you don’t wanna double-check?”

“I already did before the meeting. Have a little faith in me,” you grinned, nudging his arm.

He shrugged. “Alright~ but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And you wished—desperately wished—you had listened to him.

An hour later, as you finally settled back at your desk and absentmindedly scrolled through your digital files, your heart stopped.

There it was.

A horror story in the form of a report.

Every single frustrated thought, every unfiltered complaint, every passive-aggressive remark you swore you had deleted—all of it had made it into the document you had just handed in.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your stomach plummeting.

You had just submitted a disaster.

Panic surged through you like a tidal wave, your mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. If your boss read this, you were done. Fired. Blacklisted. Never to be employed again.

And worst of all, it was already in his office.

Your eyes darted around the now-empty office space. It was nearly 7 PM. Most employees had already left.

Except for one person.

Soobin.

Standing near his desk, the company’s golden boy was tidying up, getting ready to leave. He looked up when he caught you staring, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you still here?” Soobin asked, shoving a folder into his bag as he glanced at you curiously.

You stood frozen a few feet away, your heart pounding.

There was only one way out of this.

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and willed yourself to move toward the one person who might—just might—be able to help you.

Even if he was the last person you ever wanted to owe a favor to.

Soobin, the golden boy of the office. The boss’s most trusted manager. The one person who never did anything wrong, who always followed protocol, and who somehow managed to stay in everyone’s good graces. You weren’t sure if you respected him or just found him insufferable.

Actually, scratch that. You definitely found him insufferable. Most of the time.

You weren’t going to ask him for help. Not if it was the last thing you did. You hated asking for help—especially from a marketing kiss-up like him.

God, you really wished Taehyun was still here.

But you had no choice.

You inhaled sharply. “Could you—nevermind.”

Soobin narrowed his eyes. “Could you—just tell me already?” he repeated mockingly, his voice an exaggerated version of your own.

Your nose scrunched in irritation. “I… I need your help.”

That got his attention. He shut his bag, crossing his arms as he leaned slightly against his desk, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You? Asking me for help? That’s new.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t make this worse.”

“Oh, I absolutely will, pretty,” he grinned. “Go on, what’s so bad that I,the person you claim to ‘barely tolerate’, am your only hope?”

You gritted your teeth. He was enjoying this way too much.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot before lowering your voice. “I submitted the wrong report.”

Soobin blinked. “Okay… and?”

“And it wasn’t just the wrong report,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “It had… things in it.”

His brows furrowed. “Things?”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. “Things that… should never reach the boss’s eyes.”

For a moment, Soobin just stared at you, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face. His lips parted slightly before curving into an infuriatingly amused smirk.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, his tone practically dripping with amusement. “You trashed the boss in your report, didn’t you?”

You let out a strangled noise of frustration. “Soobin.”

He barked out a laugh. “No way. No way. This is gold. Absolute gold!”

You wanted to die. Right then and there.

“Are you going to help me or not?” you snapped, crossing your arms.

Still grinning, he rocked back on his heels, considering. “Hmm. What’s in it for me?”

You gawked at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head. “You want me to commit office theft for you? I’d say that’s a huge risk. So…” He leaned in slightly. “What do I get in return?”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he mused, unfazed. “But I’m also your only option, pretty.”

Your eye twitched. You wracked your brain for something—anything—to hold over him. And then, like a gift from the heavens, it hit you.

A slow smirk spread across your face. “Actually… I do have something.”

Soobin’s confident expression faltered for just a second. “…What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You feigned nonchalance, inspecting your nails. “Just a little something I may have overheard in the break room last week.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh? Like what?”

You shrugged, drawing out the suspense. “Well, I certainly found out that the break room’s c–”

Before you could finish, Soobin lunged forward, clamping a hand over your mouth. His gaze was sharp, his voice low. “Who else did you tell?”

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “No one. I promise.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” You grinned, tilting your head. “I mean… I could always accidentally mention it in the team group chat…”

His eyes darkened slightly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You raised a brow.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, with a sigh, Soobin dragged a hand down his face. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly defeated. “I’ll help you.”

Victory.

“Great,” you chirped, already grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the elevators. “Let’s go.”

“You’re the worst,” he grumbled.

“And yet, here you are,” you teased.

Soobin groaned as you dragged him along, but you could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

The two of you had a long night ahead.

The elevator ride to the top floor was agonizingly slow. You kept fidgeting, glancing at the glowing numbers as they ticked upward, while Soobin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” he remarked.

“I might.”

“Well, aim it away from me.”

You shot him a glare, but before you could retort, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. The two of you cautiously stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. The floor was eerily quiet. Maybe everything was scarier because you were about to commit a crime. Ish.

Soobin moved ahead, peeking around the corner toward your boss’s office. You followed closely behind, your heart pounding.

“Okay,” Soobin whispered. “If the coast is clear, we—”

He suddenly froze, and you nearly bumped into him.

“What? What is it?” you whispered back, but he just nodded toward the office.

You slowly peeked over his shoulder, and your stomach dropped.

The office light was still on.

And through the glass panel, you could see your boss sitting at his desk, deep in conversation with a colleague.

“Shit,” you exhaled.

Soobin turned to you, lips twitching. “Well, this is fantastic news.”

“We wait,” you whispered, pressing yourself against the wall. “He’s bound to leave eventually.”

Soobin sighed, rubbing his temples. “You owe me for this.”

“I know,” you muttered.

And so, the two of you stood in the shadows, eavesdropping and waiting for the moment your boss would finally leave.

The hushed voices from inside the office were clearer than you expected. You had meant to eavesdrop just enough to know when your boss would leave, but instead, you and Soobin were now unintentionally listening in on something way more confidential than either of you had bargained for.

“…Are you sure the data’s accurate?” your boss's voice was low and serious.

“I double-checked the calculations. The margin of error is within acceptable range, but we can’t be hasty about the decisions we’re making next week at the meeting,” your colleague responded.

A silence stretched between them before your boss sighed. “If this gets out, it’s both our heads.”

Your eyes widened. What the hell are they talking about? You turned to Soobin, only to see he looked equally alarmed.

“We should not be listening to this,” you mouthed, but before he could respond–

The door to the janitor’s closet beside you suddenly swung open.

You barely had a second to react before Soobin grabbed you and pushed you aside, his body pressing flush against yours as he shielded you from view. The janitor stepped out, wheeling a mop bucket past the two of you, completely oblivious.

Your breath hitched. Soobin’s chest was solid against you, the warmth of his body seeping through your clothes. His head was angled slightly downward, close, a little too close. He was still focused on the office door, unaware of just how fast your heart was now racing.

But you weren’t looking at the office anymore.

You were looking at him.

Your pulse pounded as you took in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he exhaled. He was so close that you could see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes.

And then—almost as if he sensed it—Soobin finally looked down.

Your breath hitched.

The space between you was nearly nonexistent, your lips just inches apart. You could feel his breath on your skin, warm and steady, and suddenly, the air felt unbearably thick.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Your mind screamed at you to look away, to break the tension, to remind yourself that this was Soobin, the insufferable tease who took far too much joy in teasing you.

But at that moment, he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smirking.

He was just looking at you.

You cleared your throat, quickly turning away, “It’s hot, isn’t it?” you said, fanning yourself with your hand. “Is the AC off or something?”

“Well, we are the only ones left in the building,” Soobin said, his voice still close enough that you could feel the words brush against your skin.

You were doing everything you could to ignore how his proximity was affecting you. But it was hard. Way too hard. And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Soobin’s fingers brushed over your jaw. His touch was so light, so teasing, and then—without warning—he pinched your chin, gently forcing you to look up at him.

“Are you scared?” he whispered, his voice low, almost too soft.

“N-no,” you stammered, trying to turn your head away, but his grip tightened, not allowing you to look anywhere but at him.

“Don’t look away,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“S-Soobin,” you managed to get out, breath catching in your throat.

Then, in a move that made your heart stop, Soobin leaned in even closer, so close that your lips were nearly touching. Time seemed to slow, and you felt your breath hitch in your chest. What was happening? Was he going to kiss you?

Your eyes fluttered closed, ready for something you weren’t sure you were prepared for. But just as suddenly as it had started, Soobin pushed you away.

“God, that janitor... was not leaving...” His attention shifted abruptly to the janitor, who had finally wandered into another room.

You blinked rapidly, trying to steady your breath, your heart still racing. 

“Right…the janitor.” You mumbled under your breath.

Soobin turned to you, his gaze mischievous, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Wait. Did you think I was going to kiss you?"

You shook your head defensively, voice rising as you tried to put distance between your racing heart and his teasing words. "No!"

But instead of backing off, Soobin took a step closer, closing the space even more. His arms caged you in, pressing you gently against the cool wall, and your breath caught in your throat. He leaned in, his face now dangerously close, his eyes glinting with something that was half amusement, half something darker.

"You’re gonna have to lower your volume there, pretty," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. “Unless, of course, you don’t mind them finding out we’re here.”

Your heart racing as he hovered just a breath away, his words lingering like smoke in the quiet room. You were sure you were going to lose your mind if he kept up with this—teasing, so close, his words sinking under your skin. He always knew how to get to you, and right now, it was unbearable.

His lips quirked up again, a playful glint in his eye. “What? You really thought I was gonna kiss you, didn’t you?” he teased, his voice low, mocking. “It’s okay, pretty, I get it. I can be hard to resist.”

Your chest tightened in irritation. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as your patience finally snapped.

“Move,” you spat, spinning on your heel and storming off. “You’re being annoying.”

He was right on your heels, his footsteps quick and light as he followed you through the hallway, but you didn’t care. Your mind was racing, anger bubbling up and threatening to spill over. You were done with this ridiculous back-and-forth, this constant teasing.

"Hey, hey, hold up," Soobin called out, his voice a little more serious now, but the usual smirk didn’t leave his face. "Where are you going? Come on, you’re not really upset, are you? I was just kidding."

You didn’t answer him, focusing on your stride as you headed for the elevator. You didn’t need to be around him any longer than necessary tonight. You could just wait downstairs. You could do it alone.

Then, as if on cue, the sound of a door opening caught your attention, and you froze. You caught sight of your boss walking out of his office, followed by your colleague.

And then, without missing a beat, Soobin shoved you back slightly, just enough to send you stumbling into him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he whispered, “Stay calm.”

Your breath caught as his voice dropped, turning smooth and calm. “I promise, I’ll get you anything you want, baby,” he said, the words coming out in a fake, but believable, tone. You couldn’t help but look up at him, your heart racing from both the sudden closeness and his complete shift in demeanor.

You tried to push him away but found yourself unable to do so, too flustered and caught off guard. Soobin had that effect on you more often than you liked to admit.

He continued, his voice dripping with faux sweetness as your boss and colleague walked past, oblivious to the scene unfolding. “Are you okay, pretty? You look like you’re about to faint,” he said a little louder, the corners of his mouth twitching as he kept up the act.

Your face heated, embarrassment stirring within you. Soobin’s hands were still on your waist, and you could feel his warmth pressing into you as if it were real.

You tried to muster a response, but nothing came out. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your eyes darting away. This was the last thing you wanted to deal with tonight. But Soobin wasn’t making it easy.

“Relax,” he murmured again, his lips barely brushing your ear. “We’ve got this. You’ve got this.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of relief in his words, even if it was all just a part of the act.

“I just..” You began. “I can’t believe you did that.” You said, acting aloof and distant from your “boyfriend”.

Your boss’s voice echoed through the hallway as he cleared his throat, causing you to freeze in your tracks. You looked up just in time to see Soobin's fake shock as he stepped back, putting himself between you and the oncoming threat that was Mr. Choi.

“Oh, Mr. Choi!” Soobin said, his eyes wide as though he'd been caught in some act of high treason. You, however, were already in full panic mode, ducking behind Soobin's towering figure, hoping the giant wall of him would conceal you.

You were never going to live this down.

Mr. Choi peered over Soobin’s shoulder with a raised brow. “I didn’t think the two of you would still be here,” he said, a casual tone in his voice. 

“I’m sorry, we thought everyone went home.” Soobin grinned, offering a “genuine” apology.

You were practically squished behind Soobin now, your heart racing as you pressed your face into the back of his jacket, praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

But your boss was persistent, leaning forward slightly as he caught sight of you behind Soobin’s broad frame. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and a knowing grin spread across his face. “Well, duty calls,” Mr. Choi joked, his eyes shifting between the two of you before he pointed at the both of you, “I didn’t realize the two of you were together.”

You felt the blood drain from your face, and before you could even open your mouth to protest, Soobin smoothly cut you off.

“It’s a recent thing,” Soobin said, his voice smooth like butter, and you could hear the grin in his tone as he glanced back at you with a wink. “Unfortunately, I might have made my beautiful girlfriend a little upset.” He shot you an exaggerated apologetic look, like the world's biggest puppy dog. “I’m sorry for bringing her here. It was the first place I thought of…”

You opened your mouth to object, about to shout, No! This is not happening!, but Soobin held up a hand, cutting you off again.

“I mean,” Soobin continued, pointing to the garden just outside Mr. Choi's office, “Look at this beautiful, romantic garden. Where else would a guy bring his upset girlfriend after a long day at work?”

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered through gritted teeth, trying to shrink even more into Soobin’s shadow.

Mr. Choi chuckled, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. “Well, if you two really want to be alone,” he said with a mischievous grin, “the eleventh and fourteenth floors are usually... well, uh, pretty free,” he added, his tone playful as he glanced between the two of you. “Guess I’ll just leave you to it. I’ll—uh—see you both on Monday.”

With that, he winked and walked away, leaving you and Soobin standing there, both still in shock from the unexpected turn of events.

“See you Monday, Mr. Choi,” Soobin said, practically glowing now that he had made you the center of attention.

As Mr. Choi walked away, you peeked out from behind Soobin’s back, trying to recover from the embarrassment. “I’m going to kill you,” you muttered under your breath.

Soobin flashed you that smug, knowing grin of his. “Well, if you’re going to be mad at me, pretty, I might as well make it worth your while.”

You rolled your eyes and walked into the office, making sure Mr. Choi had left. The two of you immediately started rummaging through his things, hoping to find the damn report that had put you in this situation.

After all, it was the report’s fault, not yours.

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Soobin muttered under his breath, his hands moving through the papers with increasing frustration. “I didn’t think this would be how we’d be spending our Friday night.”

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when the sound of the door clicking open reached your ears. Panic set in as you froze, and you and Soobin shared a quick glance. Without thinking, you both dove under the desk, hiding just in time as Mr. Choi walked into the room, still chatting on the phone.

"Yeah, I’ll just be another minute, I just forgot my damn car keys," he said casually, pacing across the room as he continued his conversation. You could hear the faint click of his shoes against the floor, and every move felt exaggerated in the suffocating quiet.

You and Soobin were practically inches apart now, hiding under the desk in such tight quarters that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. You tried to keep your breathing quiet, but it felt impossible with your heart pounding in your chest.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Soobin whispered, his voice too loud for your liking in the silent room.

“Shut up,” you hissed, covering his mouth with your hand. “Just… don’t make a sound.”

Mr. Choi continued his phone conversation, oblivious to the fact that two people were currently hiding under his desk, just a few feet away. He was talking about his weekend plans, completely unaware of the chaos brewing underneath him.

"Yeah, I think I’ll check out that new restaurant we talked about," Mr. Choi said, pausing to listen to whoever was on the phone. "I’ll just wrap things up here and be out in a bit."

You held your breath as Soobin shifted slightly, and you had to resist the urge to make a sound when his knee brushed against yours. The confined space was doing strange things to your awareness of his presence, and your heartbeat wasn’t exactly making the situation any better.

“We need to get out of here,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Soobin, but you couldn't stop the awkward tension from mounting.

“I’m not the one who got us stuck under a desk,” Soobin replied, his voice dripping with amusement.

You both remained frozen under the desk, holding your breath as Mr. Choi’s footsteps drew nearer. The air felt thick with tension. Just as you thought you might explode from the anxiety, Mr. Choi's voice rang out, “Ahhh, there they are.”

He was dangerously close now, and Soobin pushed you further into the corner, his arm brushing against your side. You felt his breath against your face, the proximity sending a wave of flustered panic through you.

You didn’t dare move, barely breathing as Soobin’s hands gently rested above yours, trying to steady your racing heart. Time seemed to freeze as Mr. Choi lingered, completely unaware of the two of you hiding under his desk. When he finally left, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling like you had just run a marathon without moving an inch.

“I was going to shit my pants,” you muttered, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Well, you’re going to love me extra for this but,” Soobin teased, his voice still low with the lingering tension. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I found it.” His voice held a sense of triumph as he reached behind you, pulling the report from the folder.

You grinned widely, throwing your arms around him in a spontaneous embrace. “Oh my god. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The two of you stayed there for a moment, still under the desk, the space between you shrinking with each passing second. It was so quiet, so close. Neither of you moved to leave. It felt...comfortable, despite everything. Until the initial warmth of the hug lingered for just a bit too long.

Soobin cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

“Oh, right,” you stammered, quickly trying to pull away, but the movement was a bit too sudden.

“Uh, sorry, I–uh– my watch is caught in your hair,” Soobin said, voice tinged with embarrassment.

You froze, his fingers brushing your hair as he gently untangled his watch. The proximity felt electrifying, too close for comfort, but somehow, you didn’t mind. Your eyes met, just inches away, both of you frozen in the charged air, breathing the same air.

Then, almost instinctively, Soobin’s hand brushed against your cheek as he worked to free his watch. The slight touch sent a shiver down your spine, making your heart race again. You could feel the pull between you, a heartbeat away from something more, something that felt almost inevitable.

But just as his hand finally slipped free from your hair, you both pulled back quickly, the tension thick in the air. Neither of you spoke at first, but the silence carried a weight of what just almost happened.

You both finally crawled out from under the desk, your heart still pounding in your chest. Soobin cleared his throat again, trying to ease the tension. His voice was much lighter now, almost teasing.

“So,” he began, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Let me see what this report you’re so afraid our boss will see says.”

Your eyes widened in panic, and you bolted toward Soobin, practically diving for the report. But of course, Soobin, being annoyingly tall and fast, immediately pulled it out of the folder, holding it just out of your reach.

You tried to grab it again, but he was way too quick for you, effortlessly keeping the report away from your grasp. “Soobin, give it back!” you protested, your voice tinged with desperation.

But he just laughed, scanning through the pages with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Let’s see what we have here…” He began reading aloud, his voice slowly growing more playful.

“‘Mr. Choi is a pain in the ass… He looks like he belongs in the cast of Glee with how theatrical his ass is…He smells like piss and is a fucking–hold on…” Soobin grinned. 

“And what do we have here?’” He snickered, clearly enjoying this a little too much.

You groaned in embarrassment, still trying to grab the folder from him, but Soobin seemed to be enjoying every second of your discomfort. “Soobin, big, stupid idiot? He’s annoying and distracting..Mr and Mrs Choi.” His eyebrows raised in amusement.

Your face flushed crimson, and you quickly covered your face with your hands, cringing at the very real words you’d written. But Soobin wasn’t stopping. His voice softened as he continued to read aloud, now clearly savoring the moment.

“‘The more I think about him… the more I li–’” He paused, his voice growing quieter, a soft smile forming on his lips. Realizing how much he was teasing you, Soobin stopped reading aloud, his gaze flicking to you with a knowing look. But he didn’t finish the sentence out loud. Instead, he silently read the rest in his head, his smile turning a little more sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat. You felt your breath catch in your throat, realizing that you’d just given him a very honest glimpse into your thoughts. You didn't know how to respond at first. He was staring at you with that calm, almost knowing look, his eyes gentle but full of something that made your insides turn to mush.

“Give me that, you… idiot,” you muttered, trying to break the tension. On your tiptoes, you reached up, swiping the folder from his hands. “You shouldn’t go around reading things that don’t belong to you.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, my name is in the report,” he teased, still clearly amused by your flustered reaction.

You glared up at him, but your cheeks were burning, betraying your attempt at being serious. “It wasn’t meant for you to see,” you shot back, though the words felt a little weaker than intended. You could feel the heat of his gaze still lingering on you as you clutched the report to your chest, not sure whether to laugh or groan.

You stood there, holding the report tightly to your chest, trying your best to ignore the heat spreading across your face. You could feel the weight of Soobin’s teasing eyes on you, his smirk never faltering. Every time you tried to focus on something else, he’d nudge you, inching closer with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know,” Soobin said, his voice low and teasing, “you’re really cute when you’re embarrassed. I’m almost starting to think you like me or something.” He nudged you again, his shoulder brushing against yours, sending a jolt through your body.

“Shut up,” you muttered, too embarrassed to look at him directly. But the teasing in his voice made it impossible to ignore him. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you desperately tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

But Soobin wasn’t done. He took another step closer, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush against your ear. “I didn’t say I didn’t feel the same way,” he murmured, the words a little softer now but no less teasing.

You blinked, your heart thumping louder in your chest as the situation suddenly shifted. The warmth of Soobin’s body was all around you, the space between you now a mere breath. Before you could process what was happening, he gently but firmly pushed you against the wall, his arms caging you in, trapping you in a way that left you feeling both flustered and exhilarated.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse. “Look, it’s getting late, we should—” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupted, his voice smooth, teasing, and oh-so-close.

“We should?” He tilted his head just slightly, his lips curling up into that knowing smirk. There was a challenge in his eyes, but it wasn’t the usual playful one. This one felt different.

Your breath hitched, a wave of warmth rushing to your cheeks as you suddenly realized how close he was. You had never been this close to him before (well other than 20 minutes ago when he had pushed you aside to hide), and the way he was looking at you made your insides feel like they were melting. His cologne was intoxicating, and it left you momentarily lost for words. 

“W-we should head home,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to avoid meeting his eyes.

But Soobin wasn’t backing down. His gaze softened just slightly as he leaned in a little closer, the distance between you two closing with each passing second. “But I finally got to find out how you feel,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. “Shouldn’t we celebrate a little?”

Your heart skipped a beat. His words hung in the air like a fragile promise, and for a moment, you felt like you were floating. You had to look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I—I didn’t mean for you to read that,” you stuttered, words tumbling out in a jumble of confusion and embarrassment.

But Soobin wasn’t letting you escape that easily. His voice dropped lower, just a touch playful but with an undeniable hint of something more. “You sure do enjoy looking away from me, huh, pretty?”

The nickname—the one you hadn’t really known how to feel about before—suddenly felt different now. It wasn’t just a teasing remark anymore. It was like a subtle confession, like he was reminding you of the very thing you were trying to ignore. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and all you could do was stand there, breathless, your pulse racing as his presence enveloped you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. Soobin’s teasing tone, combined with the way he held you in place, made it almost impossible to think straight. But before you could even begin to process it, you felt his fingers gently brush against your cheek, guiding your face back toward his.

“Don’t avoid me now,” he whispered, his voice soft but filled with an unspoken desire. His eyes were fixed on yours, intense, searching, waiting for something—a response, a confirmation.

And for once, you didn’t look away.

Soobin's voice broke through the tension between you two, a teasing, yet somehow vulnerable edge to it. “So, pretty, it says here, specifically, that you have feelings for me. Are you going to attest to that?” His eyes glinted with something dangerous.

You froze, unsure of how to respond. The words you’d written, the confession that had slipped out without you even realizing it, were impossible to ignore. 

Your breath hitched as your heart raced, and all you could do was stammer out the question that was on your mind.

“How?” The single word escaped your lips, softer than you intended.

A slow smile spread across Soobin’s face, and the space between you two seemed to shrink even further. His eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. “I can think of a few ways.” His tone was low, smooth, and he took a subtle step closer, his breath just a whisper away from your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible.

Your pulse quickened as you felt the weight of his words. Ways? Was he really going there? But before you could react, you found yourself reminded that you were completely trapped, both by the closeness of your bodies and the raw intensity in his gaze.

His hand brushed against your arm, a touch so light it sent shivers down your spine. His fingers lingered there for just a moment, the sensation burning through the fabric of your shirt, drawing you closer into the orbit of his presence. Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in slightly, his lips brushing just past your ear as he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to force you into anything, but… if you’re going to admit it,” he murmured, “I’m definitely open to… exploring what comes next.”

The words made your head spin, and despite every ounce of your pride telling you to keep your composure, you felt yourself falter. Soobin’s teasing tone, combined with his unrelenting closeness, left you breathless, caught somewhere between feeling flustered and finally giving in to what you’d been holding back for so long.

You swallowed hard, the words lodged in your throat, unable to escape. “Or we could just go home,” Soobin suggested, his hands slowly leaving the walls as he turned, his voice a little softer, almost reluctant but mainly teasing.

But something shifted inside you—a sudden burst of courage, or maybe it was just the overwhelming feeling of him so close, that you couldn’t ignore any longer. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his arms, pulling him back toward you. It might have been the most reckless move you'd ever made—or maybe the best—but in that moment, you didn’t care.

You pulled him in, your lips crashing against his with a sudden urgency. His breath hitched for a second before he kissed you back, just as urgently, as though he'd been waiting for this as much as you had. The kiss was soft, tender at first, and then it deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the moment. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against him, the heat between you rising with every second.

You were acutely aware of how his lips felt, the gentle pressure and the way they moved against yours, teasing, but also claiming you in the same breath. Your pulse raced, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. His presence was overwhelming, every inch of him invading your senses. You felt his warmth, the strong beat of his heart against yours, and the way he held you close as if he couldn’t get enough.

You ran your hands along the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. Your breaths became shallow, struggling to catch air, but you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Reluctantly, you pulled your hands back, but before you could react, he gently pinned them above your head. His fingers pried open your clenched fists, slowly intertwining your fingers with his, holding you in place.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he pressed you against the wall. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, straddling his waist. His strength was overwhelming, the heat between you both palpable as your bodies aligned, your breath shallow and quick. You could feel every inch of him, his chest rising and falling with his breaths, his hands steady against your skin.

He gently shifted, guiding you with ease, and before you knew it, he had you placed on top of the desk. His hands slid down to rest against your waist as he intertwined your fingers together, holding you in place.

You didn’t want it to end, but just as the kiss grew more intense, you heard the door click open.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the reality of the situation sank in. The kiss had been abruptly interrupted, and your eyes shot open in panic. Soobin didn't react right away, almost as if he wasn’t as startled as you were.

But then, your gaze flickered to the door, and that’s when you saw him—Mr. Choi, walking in with a slow, amused stride. His eyes widened for a split second, taking in the scene before him.

There you were, straddling Soobin’s waist, your hands still gripping the desk for balance as you both had been caught in a moment that could only be described as far more intimate than either of you had anticipated. Your face flushed with embarrassment as you instinctively pushed yourself off Soobin, your legs unsteady as you dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

Mr. Choi leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk widening as he observed the scene with amusement plastered across his face, “Well, well,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the mess you’d found yourselves in. “Looks like I’ve walked in on something... interesting.”

Soobin's face flushed with irritation. He straightened up, helping you up from the floor. His glare was sharp as he shot a look at Mr. Choi. 

"For fuck's sake, Beomgyu," he groaned, his voice thick with frustration. "Aren’t you supposed to be on your way home?"

Beomgyu, unfazed, leaned back into the doorframe with a nonchalant grin. "Well, I didn't think there would be two people making out in my office," he teased, clearly enjoying the discomfort in the air.

"Didn't you say you were going home after you got your keys?" Soobin groaned again, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, "Were you eavesdropping?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are you forgetting I'm still your boss, you idiot?"

You stood there, utterly confused by the back-and-forth between them. Soobin and Mr. Choi were friends? The whole situation felt surreal.

“Are you two–”

"Oh right. I—" Soobin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're close friends, but I just don’t exactly announce it to the world. I don’t really need the drama."

Beomgyu chuckled, "God, Soobin. I gave you options, the fourteenth and eleventh floor for a reason."

"We had no time," Soobin grumbled, clearly embarrassed.

"Clearly," Beomgyu quipped, gesturing to Soobin's pants, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Your cheeks burned as you quickly glanced down, realizing the situation. You hastily handed Soobin the folder, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. Soobin caught your gaze for a split second, his face flushed with both annoyance and embarrassment, before he used the folder to discreetly cover his “situation”.

Without missing a beat, he whisked you away from the office. "You owe me," he muttered, leaning into Beomgyu’s ear before pulling you toward the door.

"Dude, you’re lucky I’m not firing you," Beomgyu yelled after them, his voice fading as Soobin hurriedly guided you down the hall.

Soobin groaned, still frustrated but trying to keep his composure. "Next time, we’re going somewhere private," he muttered under his breath as he led you to a quieter part of the building.

“Hey, if Mr. Choi was your friend—” you started.

“Beomgyu,” he corrected with a grin, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Right, Beomgyu…” you trailed off, still processing everything. “Then doesn’t that mean he probably wouldn’t have cared if you were the one who broke the copier?”

Here you were, thinking the leverage you had against him would’ve been enough to get him into trouble. Instead, he was effortlessly getting away with it all because of his close friendship with Beomgyu.

“Yeah,” Soobin nodded nonchalantly, his expression casual as if this was no big deal.

“Then why’d you help me?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Soobin let out a soft laugh, eyes twinkling as he leaned back in his seat. “I thought it was obvious.”

You frowned, still not understanding. “What’s obvious?”

“The fact that I like you,” he said, his voice steady, and his gaze unwavering, holding an almost affectionate warmth. His eyes locked with yours as if it should’ve been obvious all along. “How’re you not getting it?”

“Right.” You nodded, your cheeks heating up, flustered by the realization that had just settled in.

“So naive,” he teased lightly, his tone playful yet sincere. “C’mon, you can’t really believe I’d help you with all that and not have feelings for you.”

“You’d be surprised at how dense I can be,” you mumbled, still trying to piece everything together in your head, unsure if you were fully grasping the situation yet.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he laughed, leaning in just slightly, his gaze now intense, studying your face with a little more curiosity.

You rolled your eyes, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you gave his arm a gentle punch.

Feigning an exaggerated wince, he groaned dramatically, clutching his arm with over-the-top flair. “Ouch, ouch, ouch. I’m seriously hurt.”

“Stop being dramatic,” you said, fighting to hold back a smile, knowing full well he was faking it.

“It really does hurt,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, turning the theatrics up as he leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, really?” You decided to hit his arm again, this time harder, feeling the sting of your own strike as you noticed how close you were now, the tension building between the two of you.

“Ow!” Soobin yelped, his expression shifting to one of mock pain, but the seriousness in his voice was enough to make you pause. 

You panicked, jumping to your feet and immediately hovering over him, your heart racing. “Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry!” You looked down at him, your hands unsure of where to go as you knelt by his side, your voice full of concern.

“It just… it hurts…” Soobin sighed dramatically, his voice dripping with mock sorrow, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that you hadn't noticed before. His hand rested on his chest as though he were genuinely wounded, but you could tell by the way his lips curved up that he was enjoying every second of it.

“I’m so, so sorry—” you stammered, flustered by the moment and how close you were to him now. 

“Kiss it better?” Soobin looked up at you, his lips curling into a playful pout, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. His eyes held yours, the playful challenge in them unmistakable, daring you to play along.

That’s when it clicked, and you realized he was faking the whole thing. You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress your laughter, ready to nudge him again for his over-the-top act, but before you could, he suddenly grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist with surprising strength.

He pulled you gently but firmly closer, the space between you shrinking in an instant. His eyes never left yours, and there was an intensity in his gaze now that had shifted from playful to something else—something much more meaningful. You could feel the warmth of his hand against yours.

“Kiss it better?” He repeated, his voice much softer now, and his fingers tightening gently around yours. Without warning, he pulled you down so that you were sitting on his lap.

You froze for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “Shouldn’t I be kissing the part that hurts?” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Soobin smiled knowingly, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you in closer. “Right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, “I’m hurting that we didn’t get to finish what we started just now.”

Your heart raced, and you felt the heat rising to your face. “Y-you’re insane if you think I’m going to do anything with you on the rooftop of our workplace,” you stammered, trying to break the intensity of the moment.

You could feel Soobin’s breath against your ear, warm and tantalizing, as his words whispered to you, his voice low and full of playful teasing.

“Then let’s go home right now.”

[sturnslutz]

Smut with CEO matt?

this has been rotting in my inbox and drafts because i genuinely don’t know what to write for ceo matt…

matt had invited you over again to babysit amelia. this has been kind of a weekly thing where he just goes to the bar or wherever he needs to on the weekends and you’re stuck at his house watching bluey for 4 hours.

the thing is, he’s basically forgetting about the plans you have. you’re a college student and don’t want to be just at work or babysitting all the time. you actually do have to study, or just hangout with friends.

this is where you’re at, at his house basically arguing.

“matt cmon! i can’t always be at work or babysitting lia! i have an actual life!”

matt scoffs, looking to the side where the staircase is. “i understand that, but you can at least try.” “try to what? try to be sane? no, matt.”

he’s tired of this attitude from you, as his face softens a bit. he knew you were stressed, and he wanted to take that stress away. he walks over, wrapping his arms around your hips and pulling you closer to him softly.

“i know you’re stressed, baby. i’m sorry.” he ducks his head down into your neck, peppering soft kisses across your skin, occasionally biting a bit. “lemme make you feel good, yeah? how’s that sound?”

you can’t miss the growing wet patch in your panties. it’s been a while since you and matt have actually done anything, and you’ve been aching. it doesn’t take long for matt to break your stubbornness, eliciting a small nod and whine from you.

he smirks, grabbing your hand and bringing the two of you upstairs to his room. he pushes you to the bed, closing and locking the door. “lia is watching one of her shows so she should be occupied for a bit, but make sure to watch your volume, bee.” you nod softly as you watch him take his shirt and sweatpants off, you doing the same.

the two of you are left in your underwear, matt grabbing your ankles and bringing you closer to the edge. he kisses your stomach and chest softly, whispering “i’m so sorry” “you deserve better” but those words quickly fade out of your head at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

he can feel your aching, and slips his arms under your chest to unhook your bra, letting your boobs pool out. he leans down and kisses all over them, some open-mouthed. he lets his fingers come to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers through them while looking up at you for your approval.

that’s one thing about him, he’s a slut for consent. no matter how many times you two could hookup, he’s always asking. you nod softly, your patience running out. “needa hear words, kid. y’know that.” “yes, matt. you can.” he doesn’t waste another second, tugging down your panties, causing a slight chill to run through you.

he kisses your clit softly, giving it a kitten lick. “matt stop teasing!” a choked sob releases from your mouth as he just nods and chuckles softly. he leans up, taking off his boxers and patting your clit with his tip a couple times.

he slides his tip inside before taking it out in the same second, continuing to tease, earning a small whine from you. he pats your cheek before tugging on it gently. “i know, baby. y’wanna be stuffed, huh? yeah, i know. you’ve been so good taking care of my house.” he coos.

he finally slides himself in, being a bit careful as this was only the second time you guys have actually had sex. he waits for your approval to start moving, and when you finally nod and say, “move”, he does.

he goes in and out slowly before going a bit faster, his eyes stuck on your tits moving and your face twisting in pleasure. a choked moan is released from you as he angles himself a bit differently in you, hitting a certain spot you would never be able to reach.

he smirks at this, continuing to hit it repeatedly, the pleasure almost becoming too much for you. “matt- fuck!” he chuckles softly, patting your cheek once again. “cmon, bee. use your words, smart girl.”

he goes faster, and your thoughts are immediately erased. the pleasure is so good and you can’t believe you’re even able to feel this good.

you cover your mouth tightly as he goes even faster, the sounds the two of you making thankfully covered by the increased volume of bluey matt had turned up before.

the knot in your stomach started tightening by each thrust matt was taking and he noticed this. “gonna cum?” you nod repeatedly, moaning as his thumb makes way to your clit, rubbing softly before pressing slightly harder, and rubbing faster, but not to the point it wasn’t pleasurable.

with a final moan, you release all over him and his eyes make their way to his now even more soaked dick and he groaned a bit at the sight. “m’ almost there, baby. think you can last a bit longer?”

“mmph- yes! yes, i can!” you get out barely and he chuckles at your attempt. he grips his hands on your hips, hitting a certain spot inside you that feels amazing for the both of you.

“wan’ me to fill you up, bee?” he looks up at you as you nod and whine out a small “yes” and he nods, finally stopping his movements, filling you up. he also got another orgasm out of you, so you finished all over him once again.

the mixed fluids of the two of you sat at the base of his dick as he pulled out carefully, earning a small whine out of you. “i’m sorry, bee.” he says softly as he picks up the liquids, pushing them back into you with his middle finger.

he stands up and walks to the bathroom that was thankfully in his room, and grabs a now wet towel and a water bottle.

he comes over to the bed, spreading you apart once again as he pats you softly, cleaning you. once he was finished with you, he used the towel to clean himself up too.

once he was finished, he tossed the towel and cracked open the water for you, holding it up to your lips. “drink, bee.” his hand makes way to the back of your head, lifting it up carefully so you wouldn’t choke.

once you were finished, he drank some of it himself before closing it.

he walked over to his dresser, grabbing you both some clothes, helping you put them on. he tucked you in before finishing dressing himself before kissing your forehead. “i’ll be right back, baby. i’m gonna go check on lia.” you nod softly as he smiles a bit before walking out.

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

Bad decisions // Quinn Hughes

No god, no religion … just bad, bad decisions

Summary: Quinn gets dragged to his girlfriends favourite bands concert despite it not being his favourite genre, but all it took was one song to change his mind.

Warnings: drinking, swearing, light fluff, pda (18+)

── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this.”

“Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into dating me.” I commented as I applied my lipstick, looking back at Quinn in my mirror.

I wasn’t wrong, but I also never expected him to pursue someone like me either. I wouldn’t really consider myself an “alternative” or “goth” girl though. I had black hair, tattoos and listened to heavier music but I preferred wearing aritzia sweat suits, doing Pilates and swapped wing liner out for clean girl make up. Still, I wasn’t the stereotypical girl that most hockey players go for. I remember the first time I met Quinn and how terrified I was to take my sweater off and expose my full sleeve. But much to my surprise, he couldn’t keep his hands off me. Actually, any time I went to get a new tattoo he came with me and held my hand the entire time. It was a kind of intimacy I never thought I would find.


“I know, I’ve just never been to a concert like this. What if I get stuck in the middle of a mosh pit? Also how loud is it gonna be?”

I chuckled, zipping my boots up, “we’ll stay along the side, and yes, bring earplugs.”

“Oh god.” He groaned, throwing his head back on the couch. “You are so lucky I love you.”

“Well…” I trailed off, standing between his legs, leaning over and gripping onto his thighs. “If you’re on your best behaviour, I’ll reward you for it.”

Quinns head popped up as I peaked his interest. “What kind of reward?”


“Whatever you want.” I replied, hovering over his face. His lips ever so slightly brushing against mine, “but you need to be a good boy.”

“I’m about to become the biggest Bad Omens fan you’ve ever seen.”

About an hour later we arrived at the venue, my stomach was filled with butterflies from excitement. I’ve been a huge Bad Omens fan since 2016 and this was my first time seeing them post-covid. Their new album had been out for over a year and I played it so much I think Quinn was getting sick of it, but I would catch him mouthing the lyrics when he thought I wasn’t looking. This man tried to convince me he only listened to rap and country, but I firmly believe he didn’t want to admit he likes my music. I think he was paranoid his brothers or his teammates would tease him for it.

“I think you’d look really hot in that shirt.” 

Quinn and I waited in line at the merch booth before the concert, which was incredibly long. I saw a hoodie on display that I really liked so I wanted to see if they had it in my size. Another shirt caught my attention and I fully envisioned Quinn wearing it with his black Levis, a backwards hat and his white nikes. Just the thought of it made my knees buckle. 

“You think so?” Quinn leaned his head down to take a better look at the shirt in question. His cheek brushed against me, making his cologne hit my nose. It was the perfect mix of sage and cedar. I gently kissed his cheek, a bashful smile appeared on his face before he pressed his lips to my temple.


“Absolutely. I mean, you make everything look good.” I breathed, still reeling from his lips, “but I’d love to see you in that.”


“If you say so.” He smirked as it was our turn. He bought my hoodie for me along with a signed vinyl, and the shirt I told him to get. He sent me the most devilish grin as he tapped his credit card, knowing he just made me incredibly happy.

We made our way towards the stage, it was already pretty packed so I suggested we stood at the back near the sound booth. That way we would be out of the way of any crowd surfers or mosh pits because no one was dumb enough to fuck around expensive sound equipment. The concert was everything I hoped it would’ve been and more. The openers, I see stars and Erra put on incredible sets. Quinn looked like he seen a ghost when Erra came out, considering they were a little heavier than I see stars were, which made him look so adorable. Towards the end of their set, he was more impressed than scared which was a relief. Small smirks kept showing up on his face that he desperately tried to bite back but he couldn’t.

“You surviving?”

“Yeah, thank you for bringing me.” Quinn replied taking a sip of his drink, “I’m actually having a lot of fun.”

“Good, I’m glad.” I mused, “we haven’t even got to the best part yet.”

Before he could say anything, the lights went dark again and Bad Omens slowly made their way to the stage. My heart was rapidly racing in my chest as the boys opened up with Artificial Suicide. I immediately started jumping up and down, screaming the lyrics, completely forgetting about the world around me. Every now and then I would look up at Quinn, who just had the biggest smile on his face watching me enjoy myself.

Halfway through the concert, the band slowed the pace down, which came at the perfect time. My drinks were starting to hit me, making my head feel lighter than normal. The melody for Bad Decisions started and I immediately fell back into Quinn, becoming enamoured with how his breath crept along my neck.

Her skin feels unholy, but I'm still drawn

The morals I'm holding, you know they're gone…

His arms wrapped around my stomach as he slowly swayed us back and forth to the beat, slow and reverberating. His skin felt warm to the touch as his chin rested gently on my shoulder. The low vibrations from the song along with the siren red lighting was stirring something up in me. My hips instinctively rolled into him, feeling overstimulated by every single sensation that took over my body. I knew Quinn wasn’t complaining, considering I felt him twitch through his jeans.

You can be all I got, what's the difference?

Hennessy and a lot of bad decisions

All I know is bad, bad decisions

Quinn brushed my hair away from my shoulder, slowly planting kisses on my exposed shoulder. Each kiss nonchalantly making their way up to my neck, then my jaw, causing goosebumps as his week old stubble grazed my skin. My eyes stayed shut, as his lips dragged all over me. An audible gasp left my mouth as he lightly nipped at my skin, gently sucking, leaving his mark on me.

“Turn around.”

I turned around, his arms found me again and bringing me closer to him. My hands found their home in his hair, enveloping his curls between my fingers. The soft aura of the red lights made his green eyes the perfect muse in this dark room. I was so lost in him that I forget where we were, the crowd completely melted away from us and it was almost as if we were the only ones here. He had that effect on me, he knew how to make me feel like I was his, and only his. His forehead pressed lightly against mine, lips hovering so close I could taste the whiskey on his breath. The gap was finally closed, his mouth enveloping mine as I turned into putty in his hands. Our tongues danced together as the song was getting close to the end, but Quinn didn’t seem to care. He pressed me harder against his body, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and kissing me with such desperation. He never gave me any chances to come up for air, his lips stayed glued to mine as if my mouth gave him a new breath of life.

Bitter ends to the night, I'm along for the ride

Out of breath, out of time, everything has a price

We broke apart and the smallest smile curved at the side of his mouth as he trailed his thumb along my mouth. Neither of us realized the band started to play What do you want from me? shifting the energy in the venue. The music slowly filled my ears like I was underwater and coming up for air finally. I smiled back at him, I was in a complete state of euphoria.

“Okay you win.” Quinn said into my ear as I gripped onto his shirt to keep my composure. “I definitely just found my new favourite song.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” I mused as I had a lightbulb moment, “we need to get you into the pit.”

“Babe, no -“

I grabbed his hand and drug him into the crowd. Everyone was moving around and having the best time. I had to admit this was one of their better songs and it’s physically impossible to stay still during it. Quinn stood there frozen before giving in and started to jump around with me, not daring to let me out of his grasp. He sung the lyrics he was embarrassed to admit he knew with me, caught a guitar pick for me and held me as I cried during Just Pretend.

“Holy fucking shit, this guy is an animal.” Quinn gasped as the lead singer, Noah let out the most primal, gluttonous screams during the encore of dethrone. He wasn’t wrong though, I could feel those screams in my bones.

The concert finally ended, tears prickling my eyes as black and red confetti stuck to us and covered the entire floor. I didn’t want to leave but we had to. That was the best concert I’ve never witnessed and it felt so bittersweet that it was over.

“So, have I been a good boyfriend or what?”

I just chuckled as we made our way outside. The cold air hit my face and it felt like heaven after being a sweaty mess for three hours. We got into the car and Quinn leaned over to help me with my seat belt. I never once questioned why he started doing it, but I wasn’t about to complain about my boyfriend being this close to me at any given moment. His eyes were a perfect shade of green, the kind of green you wanted your morning matcha to be. They peered so deeply into mine I didn’t realize he asked me a question.

“So what’s my prize?”

“You’ll find out when we get home.”

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 6 - you look good

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: lanuguage

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you headed out of bed and made your way downstairs to where everyone was having breakfast, a rush of nerves taking over you entered the room, searching for the group.

you could feel rafe's gaze on you before you even looked in his direction, and when you did, you could see his eyes narrow, his look unreadable.

"there you are!" sarah spoke, "thought we were gonna have to leave without you." she laughed.

"don't be silly i just needed my beauty sleep." you laughed back. "what's the plan for today?"

"thought we could have a walk around a bit before we had to drive back?" cleo asked.

"sounds good" you said as you grabbed some pastries. "you gonna come rafe?" you asked him directly as he was yet to address you.

"i will if you are" he said quietly, making your heart skip a beat, his remark not going unoticed by the rest of the group.

jj cleared his throat, and a small smile played on sarah's lips, enjoying the small interaction between the two of you. "alright lets get going then, you guys ready?" she said.

"yeah lets go" topper said bluntly, a shift in his usual upbeat demeanour, but he quickly bounced back as you all made your way outside.

after a few hours walking around, you all made your way back to the hotel to pack up your things and get ready for the drive home. the boys had a flight to san francisco for their show before they were headed to LA for their last nights on tour there.

you had all made a rough plan to fly out to LA for the last show, making sure the whole group was there to celebrate the end of tour.

as everyone made their ways to their rooms, you hung behind with rafe, walking slower than the rest of the group, intenitally from you, and hoping it was for rafe also.

"how are you feeling to be finishing the tour?" you asked him, breaking the silence.

"sad, but ready for a long break and to spend some time at home" he replied leaning against the door as everyone got into their rooms.

you nodded understandingly, "LA will be good though. it'll be my first time there."

"no way? i'm gonna have to show you around then." he responded smugly.

"yeah?" you pushed.

"yeah." he smiled, "can't have you lost in the streets of LA now can we?" his height meaning he had to lean closer to you to get his words across.

"i guess we can't."

"i'm happy you're gonna be there." he added

"you are?'

"course." he responded quickly. "always nice to know there's a pretty girl in the crowd cheering me on." and with that, he turned away from you and made his way to his own room, leaving you flustered and stuck in your stance, taking in his words. pretty girl?

as you went to open the door, it flung open and sarah dragged you in.

"oh my god not to be a CREEP but i heard that all" she said excitedly. "y/n he likes you. i knew it i knew it!" she shut the door with an exagerated slam, not even giving you time to process what just happened.

"lord sarah what just happened." your voice barely above a whisper.

"he literally just called you pretty. i KNEW he was acting different around you, he's been so nervous." she squealed.

"are you sure it wasn't just rafe being rafe?"

"stop right there. look i'm not blind. it all makes sense now, the way he's always looking at you. i just thought he was trying to figure out his opinion on you, but he likes you. rafe isn't the type to throw out compliments like that, he's always playing it cool, he doesn't care about anything. but the way he just spoke to you? that was different"

"you don't mind?" you asked nervously.

"i would if i hadn't got to know you like i do now. i'm so protective of him and his whack ass fans, but i love you y/n, you've become my best friend in such a short time, i want you happy, and i want my brother happy. do you like him?"

"fuck, maybe. what does this mean?"

"i don't know, but i know LA is about to get a whole lot more interesting." she grinned. "come on let's hit the road and chat with the girls. we need to come up with a plan."

and with that, you finished packing and headed out the door, making your way to the car for the long drive home, where you were sure a lot would be unpacked.

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a/n: feeding you all today, felt the slowburn needed to be RESOLVED. anyway just wanted to clarify you can tell who's ig story it is by the profile pic as i'm not sure if that was clear or not my bad

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it. 

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

 Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again. 

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important. 

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-” 

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging. 

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks. 

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours. 

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence. 

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls 

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.” 

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging. 

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can. 

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him. 

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins. 

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand. 

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.” 

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp. 

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him. 

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore. 

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same. 

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear. 

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here. 

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow. 

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder. 

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time. 

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway. 

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading. 

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot. 

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.  

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer. 

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits. 

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp. 

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied. 

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge. 

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment  hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely. 

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about. 

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that. 

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been. 

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men. 

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed. 

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about. 

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud. 

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him. 

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death. 

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day. 

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver. 

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet. 

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless. 

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him. 

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face. 

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth. 

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns. 

And runs. 

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips. 

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out. 

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder. 

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him. 

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger. 

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face. 

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy. 

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die. 

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back. 

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies. 

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together. 

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse. 

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace. 

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable. 

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him. 

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again. 

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man. 

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be. 

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches. 

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun. 

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile. 

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment. 

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you. 

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man. 

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose. 

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly. 

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world. 

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time. 

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent. 

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing. 

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much. 

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you. 

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit. 

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more. 

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening. 

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him. 

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it. 

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day. 

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try. 

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin. 

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk. 

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you. 

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you. 

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man. 

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him. 

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his. 

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation. 

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his. 

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench. 

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt. 

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you. 

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would. 

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone. 

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly. 

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off. 

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks. 

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face. 

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going. 

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls. 

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of. 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!” 

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell. 

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.” 

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast. 

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door. 

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them. 

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming. 

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this. 

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground. 

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares. 

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers. 

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him. 

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business. 

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness. 

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone. 

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night. 

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back. 

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long. 

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him. 

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind. 

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is. 

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them. 

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur… 

Arthur has to see this through. 

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world. 

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to. 

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs. 

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim. 

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest. 

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers. 

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn. 

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side. 

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. “I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots. 

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand. 

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first. 

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running. 

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in. 

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand. 

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again. 

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore. 

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest. 

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego. 

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does. 

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot. 

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free. 

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting. 

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him. 

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you. 

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply. 

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face. 

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up. 

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own. 

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 1

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Next chapter

“Come on kids, let’s go!” Y/N shouted, filling up lunch boxes and plating breakfasts.

The pounding of feet on the stairs and the ever-present sound of raised, upset voices filled the kitchen as they all thundered in.

“Just leave me alone!” the oldest, Becca, yelled at the second, Winnie.

“All I asked was to borrow your cardigan,” Winnie scoffed, then turned to Y/N.  “Mama, why can’t I borrow her cardigan?”

“‘Cause it’s not yours,” Y/N huffed, putting down the plates on the table then turning to grab glasses for their orange juice.  “Respect the no.”

“Yeah, respect he no, butthead,” Becca smirked.

“Don’t call your sister a butthead,” Y/N said loudly, bringing over the glasses and filling them up.  

“Mama, I don’t want eggs and toast,” the youngest, James, whined as he sat at the table, scowling at the plate of food.

“Well then get up earlier to make your own breakfast next time,” Y/N sighed, turning away from the table to load their lunch boxes into their backpacks.  “Hurry up and eat, the bus will be here soon.”

“But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!” James said incredulously.  Y/N looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and he quickly started eating.  “I’ll eat fast and go do it,” he said quickly to appease her.

She shook her head as she started cleaning the kitchen, the girls continuing to fight as another set of footsteps echoed down the stairs.  “Good morning my spawn,” Bucky called out to the kids as he swept through the kitchen.

“Morning Dad!” they all chimed in unison, before going back to their previous fighting.

He rounded the island and hesitantly walked up to Y/N, who barely glanced at him as she held out a lunch box and his usual breakfast in a bag to him, his regular coffee in a canister sitting on the island.  “Thanks,” he said quietly, taking them from her.  She didn’t say anything, continuing to clean the island of the crumbs and mess from breakfast.  “Uh, I’ll be back close to six today,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation.  “Got a big presentation that might take a while.  I’ll text you if anything changes.”

“Okay, good luck,” Y/N responded, still not looking at him.  

Bucky sighed quietly, then reached a hand out to touch her arm.  Y/N stopped, slowly looking up at him.  They stared at each other for a moment, their children’s voices interrupting the tense atmosphere as Bucky gave her a small smile.  He didn’t say anything further and leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly before pulling away.  “Alright, I’m out,” he announced, walking over to the kids, kissing each of them on top of their heads quickly before heading for the door to the garage.  “Love you!”

“Love you!” they all said back.  

Bucky glanced at Y/N one more time.  She didn’t look back at him, so he left.  On the drive to work he pondered over their relationship for what felt like the millionth time.  The first few years had been perfect.  They were each other’s ride or die, always in each other’s corner as ultimate support through the finishing school-early marriage-settling down in their jobs phase.  Then Y/N got pregnant with their first, and as excited as they were, it changed the dynamics quickly.  She had to cut back hours at work, which she wasn’t happy about since she loved her job, but did it with a smile to support their growing family.  

Then came the second child, then the third.  And they made the difficult decision for her to quit her job and be a stay at home parent.  Bucky was extremely appreciative of Y/N and all she had done for him and the kids through those years.  She was a great mother, and he helped as much as he could when he was home, but having the financial load put on his shoulders was a lot of pressure, and he had worked hard at his job over the years to get to where he was at now to provide them a comfortable living.  At some point along the way they’d gotten into a routine, and life was a little boring for a while.  Bucky expected this, after years of new beginnings and survival.  But what he didn’t expect was how the boredom and monotony would distance them from each other.  Once all the kids entered the adolescent years, suddenly it felt like they were strangers sleeping in the same bed.

Their sex life came to a screeching halt with how busy they were, the kids’ schedules getting jam packed with activities and events and Bucky’s job requiring more hours with the responsibilities he took on being a lead on his team.  Y/N was withdrawing, he could see and feel it.  But he didn’t know how to fix it.  He had tried scheduling dates more often, taking on more things at home to lighten her load, initiating sex even when he was exhausted.  But she had rebuffed his efforts, getting frustrated with him rather than engaging.  He was contemplating marriage counseling, but didn’t know how to bring it up to her, instead doing some research into their insurance options and the marriage counselors available in their area.

The worst part about it all was how much he missed her, and yet she was right there.  How could you miss someone when they’re literally still in your life within arm’s reach?  He shook his head, fighting off the rush of emotions as he pulled in to work.  He couldn’t stress over it now.  This presentation, if successful, could give him a big bonus that he was hoping to use to give Y/N a redo on their honeymoon for their anniversary, since they’d been a couple of poor college kids when they got married.  Maybe some time away for the two of them would rekindle some romance.  Nineteen years was a long time to be with someone, almost twenty with their anniversary coming up in a few months.  He wasn’t willing to give up.  But was she?

“Hey punk,” Steve greeted him.  

“‘Morning, jerk,” Bucky smirked at him, giving him a quick hug.  “Are we all ready?”

“I think so,” Steve said, glancing at the materials for the presentation on the table in front of them.  “I’ve been triple checking everything.  We should be ready to go.”  He looked at Bucky for a second before a small frown darkened his features.  “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning back at him.  “Why?”

“Nothing, you just look…tired,” Steve observed, his eyes narrowing.  He looked around for any prying ears then leaned in closer.  “You and Y/N still having a hard time?”

Bucky sighed and looked away from his knowing gaze.  “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, Steve.  Let’s just focus on this, then we can talk about my marriage problems.”

“Who has marriage problems?” Peter asked.

“Jesus!  Parker, how do you just pop up out of nowhere?” Steve griped.

“I don’t,” Peter frowned.  “You just didn’t hear me come in.”

“Quit being snoopy,” Bucky chastised him.  “And it’s none of your business.”

Peter shrugged and walked around the table, looking over everything.  Steve looked back at Bucky and gave him a small, reassuring smile, then clapped his shoulder.  “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, before turning back to the table and focusing on the presentation with Peter.

Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to relax.  It would be alright.  They’d figure it out and come back together…somehow.

[cheynovak]

Blurred Lines

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Y/N Female co-star     

Summary: Y/N is a friend and co-star of Jensen, they are friends, but what happens when one night, the lines of friendship seem to be blurry?

Warnings: Not much yet.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

---

The convention had gone well—plenty of laughs, nostalgia, and a few embarrassing stories shared on stage. But it was that one moment, the fan’s question about *The Boys*, that had stuck in Jensen’s head all day.

Danneel, ever the sharp-witted one, had laughed it off. “Pretty sure Jensen sees Y/N as a fourth child rather than a sexy co-star. He calls her kid all the time.”

The audience had roared with laughter, and Jensen had played along, nodding and keeping his mouth shut. He’d thought that was the end of it.

But now, hours later, his phone was buzzing at nearly midnight. Y/N’s name flashed on the screen.

Jensen frowned and answered. “Hey, kid—”

“Jensen,” Y/N cut him off, her voice breathless, panicked. “We have a problem.”

His stomach clenched. “What happened?”

There was a pause. Then she said, barely above a whisper, “Someone dropped a picture of us.” Jensen sat up in bed. “What kind of picture?”

“A bad one,” she said. “I—I don’t know where it came from, but someone got a shot of us… kissing.”

Silence.

Jensen felt the air shift, his mind racing through every possible scenario. It wasn’t like there were actually romantic feelings between them—right? Y/N was his friend. A good friend. He’d known her since she was just starting out. She’d played his lost adult daughter on a tv show, for crying out loud.

But things had changed when she’d been cast in 'The Boys'. Their characters had a… different relationship now. One that involved late-night shoots, a few too many teasing comments from the crew, and, of course, those damn scenes.

Scenes that had felt a little too natural at times.

Jensen exhaled. “Okay. First—where did you see this?”

“Twitter. Someone posted it, but it’s spreading. Fast.”

Jensen scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shit.”

“I don’t even remember this picture being taken,” she continued, voice rising with stress. “I mean, yeah, we’ve—” She cut herself off.

Jensen closed his eyes. Yeah. They’d kissed before. But off-screen? Only once.

A wrap party, after too many drinks, when they’d both been buzzing from the high of finishing a particularly grueling season. It hadn’t meant anything. At least, that’s what they’d agreed. They never talked about it after that night.

But apparently, someone had caught it.

“Okay,” Jensen said, keeping his voice calm. “We’ll get ahead of it. I’ll talk to my team, you talk to yours. Worst case, we chalk it up to method acting bullshit.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, because that won’t sound suspicious at all.”

Jensen smirked despite himself. “We’ll figure it out, kid.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, softer, she asked, “Jensen… are you freaking out?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Are you?”

“…Maybe.” Another pause. Then Y/N sighed. “Guess we should’ve seen this coming, huh?” Jensen leaned back against his pillows, staring at the ceiling. Yeah. Maybe they should have.

Because maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a PR crisis.

Maybe it was something more.

---

*To be continued…?*

--

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[peachiejeongin]

ink and thorns, part 1 | hyunjin

part 2

synopsis: hwang hyunjin is the tattoo artist you cannot stand for the life of you, always acting so smug, so horrendous, and always attempting to flirt with you. you hate him, but what happens when you end up in his arms after a traumatic night?

pairing: tattoo artist!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mature & sexually explicit content (18+ recommended), lower case letters intended, swearing, pet names (sweetheart, princess, etc.), mentions of anxiety, cheating (not hyunjin or reader), mentions of losing a parent.

wc: 15.4k

notice: hello, my darlings! tattoo artist hyunjin has been on my mind for a while with the revelation of hyunjin's buzzcut and after being inspired to write a longer hyunjin fan fiction. thank you jeonginsleftcheek for the latter (please go read hate your guts, it is such an amazing read!). i hope you all like this story! i started working on it the minute hyunjin's buzzcut was revealed, and i have continued it between writing the other fictions on my account, so it has been a while in the making. thank you in advance for reading and enjoy :)

divider by: @cafekitsune

the door to prism ink studio creaked open as you clutched your printed design like a lifeline. a scent mixed of antiseptic and ink filled the air, the smell surprisingly soothing your rampant nerves.

this was going to be an exciting day for you; today was the day you were getting your first tattoo—a delicate flower you had carefully crafted to celebrate the milestone. after hours of sketching, you had perfected it; each thorn and petal was drawn to represent your personality, your story even—a girl who, although tested and tried at times, stood strong and beautiful like a rose.

you were enthusiastic, over the moon even, to get your first tattoo; however, the moment your eyes landed on the man behind the counter, your stomach twisted.

hyunjin.

of course, it had to be him—the sharp-featured tattoo artist with a permanent smirk and a blonde buzz cut that somehow made him even more insufferable. he was leaning casually against the counter, tattooed fingers idly tapping on his phone and occasionally making the cool silver of his rings clink. as soon as he noticed you, his dark eyes sparked with recognition, and a grin curved across his lips.

you had to resist the urge to turn around and leave.

hyunjin was not just some run of the mill tattoo artist; he was the reason your best friend, nari, had spent weeks crying over her half-finished sleeve. he had worked on her design for months, only to ditch her for a "better-paying client" before finishing the job, as nari had told you. sure, nari eventually found another artist, who notably completed the work better than hyunjin could have ever, but the drama left a bitter taste in your mouth. now, seeing him here, smug and unbothered, made your blood boil.

"well, hello there, sweetheart," he said smoothly, tucking his phone into his pocket. "you lost, or are you here for a tat?"

you swallowed your irritation and forced a smile, although it was visibly faux.

"i have an appointment with changbin."

'ah," hyunjin drawled, leaning forward and perching himself on his elbows as he tsked. "sorry to break it to you, but binnie's out today. got the flu."

"oh." your heart sank. "should i just reschedule then?"

"well you could." hyunjin tilted his head, feigning his thoughts. "that would mean waiting at least two months, though. changbin's pretty booked these days."

you hesitated, the urge to leave growing stronger with every second you had to look at hyunjin's stupid face; however, you had planned this appointment for weeks and felt as if you had waited long enough.

"fine," you eventually bit out. "who else is available?"

"let's see," hyunjin trailed off as he looked to the sky in fake ponderation. "chan's booked all day, felix is on break...looks like you're stuck with me." his shit-eating grin widened.

"you're kidding." you froze, your eyes narrowing. of course this would be just your luck.

"afraid not." he pushed himself off of the counter, tattoos shifting along his forearms as he crossed them. "unless you're cool with waiting an eternity for changbin, i'm your guy."

every nerve in your body screamed at you to say no, but practicality won out.

"whatever." you sighed in a resigned manner. "if i have to, i have to. let's just get this over with."

"love the enthusiasm!" hyunjin teased, motioning for you to follow him. as you stepped into the back, the smell of ink grew stronger, and you swore you saw him smirking over his shoulder.

this was going to be a long session.

the station hyunjin led you to was annoyingly perfect. black leather chairs sat gleaming under the warm glow of hanging edison bulbs, and his setup was meticulous, with ink bottles lined up like soldiers and glinting under the light; his sketch pad rested to the side, flipped open and allowing you to glance at some of his work, from skulls to portraits. Despite your feelings on the artist, you had to admit that the space screamed professionalism.

"you can sit," hyunjin told you, pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves with a sharp snap. "or are you going to glare at me all session?"

"i'm not glaring," you shot back, giving him a look full of annoyance and impatience.

"sure you aren't." he smirked, motioning to the chair.

reluctantly, you sat down, clutching your design. he took it from your hand, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second but just long enough to send a spark of irritation through you.

"a flower," he mused, holding up the design to the light in order to inspect it. his dark brows lifted, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "how original."

"i like it," you snarled through a clenched jaw.

"good thing that's all that matters." he tossed the paper onto the counter and grabbed a fresh sheet to sketch. "but this could use some life. where you want it?"

"my wrist."

“risky,” he warned. “one of the most painful places for a tattoo.”

“i like taking risks. what can i say?”

hyunjin did not respond; instead, his gaze lasered in on the design as his hand glided over the paper with practiced ease. you hated how skilled he looked, hated the way his lips pursed in concentration and his lashes cast shadows against his chiseled cheekbones. he had no right to be so ethereal while being such an insufferable person.

"i’m making the petals softer," he explained, spinning the sketch around to show you. the design had more depth now, with delicate shading and a subtle curve that made the flower look like it was swaying in the wind. "see? it looks better."

"it's fine, i guess," you muttered, refusing to compliment him. you hated to admit it, but he was right. his artistry complimented the design much better than yours ever could have the potential to, and it looked absolutely gorgeous.

"wow, try to hold back your excitement," he chuckled. "you'll hurt my ego."

you ignored him as he prepped the station, the buzz of the tattoo machine igniting a fresh wave of nerves.

"first tattoo?" he asked, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts.

"yeah," you responded shortly.

"though so." he crouched beside you, his face annoyingly close as he adjusted your wrist with a light grip. "relax, alright? it's not that bad. besides, you can't be scared of needles and be a bitch. pick one."

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "can you just do the tattoo without the comments?"

"where's the fun in that, sweetheart?" hyunjin laughed, the sound low and rich.

hyunjin grabbed a cleaning cloth and quickly dabbed it over your wrist. he then carefully, yet firmly, applied the stencil he had drawn out on the sterilized area.

“look good?” he asked, holding up a mirror so you could see the outline. you nodded, watching as he grabbed the tattoo needle after your response. he dipped it in a fresh bottle of black ink and aligned it carefully over the stencil; its first touch against your skin made you wince, causing hyunjin to pause. 

"you good?"

"fine," you replied, albeit through clenched teeth.

"alright. just breathe for me, princess."

"stop with the pet names."

hyunjin tuned out your last comment, already focused on the work at hand. his teasing demeanor slipped away as he worked. the machine's hum filled the silence as you watched hyunjin constantly wiping the tattoo needle clean, dipping it in different colored inks to complete the intricate shading he had added to the tattoo. for the first time, you saw a different side of hyunjin; he was calm, focused, and precise, completely contradicting his normal cockiness. after what felt like hours, he wiped the tattoo clean and leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"there. not bad for your first time, especially not for a wrist tattoo."

you glanced down at the flower blooming across your wrist, the details soft and intricate, exactly as you had hoped they would be.

"it's nice," you admitted begrudgingly.

"nice?" he raised a brow. "i'll take it. come back when you want another one. maybe get something less basic next time."

“doubt it,” you remarked, shooting him a glare. you swiftly strided to the door, preparing to exit; you did not get too far before hyunjin yelled after you.

“leaving without paying, sweetheart?” he inquired, stepping back behind the counter as he propped his chin up on his palm. you snapped your head in his direction, rolling your eyes as you let out an aggravated sigh. you pulled out your wallet, digging out three twenty-dollar bills and throwing them on the counter before turning to leave again.

“not so fast.” you stopped in your tracks, throwing your hands up in vexation.

“what now, fuckass?”

“only sixty bucks?” hyunjin counted the bills as if to accentuate his words. 

“yeah,” you obliviously responded. “that’s what the price estimate was when i talked to changbin.”

“i’m not changbin, princess,” hyunjin retorted, setting the bills down to the side. “for a two hour appointment, especially with that much detail, you’re looking at about a hundred and twenty for me.”

“a hundred and twenty?!” you repeated, your voice raising out of anger. “i don’t have that much on me!”

“well, you’re in luck,” hyunjin replied with a fakely sweet tone. “there’s an atm right behind you.” he pointed to the grey banking machine right behind you, making you groan in frustration. you stomped the couple of steps it took to get to the atm and infuriatingly inserted your card, extracting another set of three twenty-dollar bills and slamming them in front of hyunjin. the smug, amused smile he had on his face made you want to slap him.

“there. a hundred and twenty bucks. can i go now?”

“what? no tip?” hyunjin quirked an eyebrow, his lips curving as he watched your stature further enrage.

“assholes don’t get tips,” you retorted.

“makes sense as to why you’re so uptight,” hyunjin scoffed.

“oh, fuck off,” you turned towards the door, finally making your leave as hyunjin yelled out a comment about how you did not say he was wrong.

you swore you would never go back.

you convinced yourself that hyunjin’s smug remarks and relentless teasing were not worth the trouble. sure, his artistry was undeniably stunning, but facing him again? absolutely not.

yet, here you were, standing outside prism ink studio for your second appointment; thankfully, changbin was finally back, and he had some free time in his schedule. thus, he offered you what he called a “make-up appointment” to apologize for missing your first one. to make matters even better, you had specifically asked if hyunjin would be working that day, to which changbin assured you he was not. your optimism of avoiding hyunjin was high as the bell above the door chimed. stepping inside, you were greeted by the now familiar whiff of the shop.

"welcome back, princess."

you have got to be kidding.

hyunjin was behind the counter again, leaning casually like he owned the place. his buzzed hair was freshly cut, accentuating his chiseled features even more, and his colorful tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his black shirt. he looked up from his phone, his smirk spreading when he saw you.

"what are you doing here?" you snapped, stepping forward. "where’s changbin?"

"number one, i work here,” hyunjin shot back sharply. “number two, he’s out sick again. i’m covering for him today."

you stared at hyunjin, disbelief and frustration warring in your gaze.

"seriously? he promised he would be here today! does he ever show up for work?"

hyunjin shrugged, clearly enjoying your annoyed stature. "he can’t help getting sick. no use in whining about it."

"whatever. when's his next appointment?" you clenched your fists tightly as you asked, digging your nails into your palms as a way to hold yourself back from unleashing all of your bottled wrath.

"let's see." hyunjin tilted his head, pretending to think. "a couple of months, give or take, but  you're in luck; i just so happen to have an opening right now. if you’re desperate enough, that is."

desperate was not the word, but the idea of pushing your design back another two months made you want to scream. it had taken you weeks after your first appointment to muster up the courage to get another tattoo, and the thought of waiting again was unbearable.

"you're really the only one available right now?” you questioned, sighing sharply.

"yup. seems like fate to me," he remarked, a wolfish grin prominent on his face. you thought fate seemed more like a cruel joke.

"fine," you snarled. "but this is the last time i’ll ever come to you for a tattoo."

"sure it is," he drawled, leading you to the back room.

the session started much the same as last time, with hyunjin throwing in a steady stream of comments designed to test your patience.

"another flower, huh? you're growing an entire garden," he teased, sketching out your new design.

"so what?" you muttered. "sure, flower tats are unoriginal, but they’re pretty."

"that's because i made them look pretty," he shot back. before you could retaliate, hyunjin spun his sketch pad around to show you his newly-crafted drawing. the design, which was a cluster of wildflowers trailing along your forearm, was breathtaking. It had depth, movement, and the same soft elegance as your first piece.

you hated how good hyunjin was at his job.

"it's alright," you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. hyunjin chuckled as he prepared his station.

"you are a terrible liar, you know that?"

hyunjin cleaned the area of your forearm the tattoo would be placed upon before placing the stencil on top of it. once you had confirmed the placement, he dipped the tattoo needle in an ink cartridge ; it touched your skin for a second round, a much more bearable and familiar sensation now. for the next hour, your focus was on any and every thing except the steady hum of the machine. your gaze kept trailing to hyunjin’s hands, which were warm and steady. you noticed how his concentration was absolute, fully devoted to his artwork. you could not stand how professional he could be when he was not preoccupied with driving you insane.

as he worked, your phone buzzed on the counter. hyunjin glanced at it, smirking as he read the notification.

"boyfriend checking in?"

"none of your business," you dismissed quickly, sitting up slowly and swiping your phone away with your free hand, careful not to make hyunjin jerk the needle.

"that's a yes, then," he remarked, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "wonder if he knows how much time you've been spending with me lately."

your heart undeniably skipped a beat, but you covered it with a glare of faux annoyance.

"i have spent two tattoo appointments with you, and you act like it’s been two weeks or some shit," you growled. "focus on the tattoo and not my personal life, please?"

"only because you said please, sweetheart."

when the session ended, you analyzed the tattoo; as with the first one, it was absolutely gorgeous, but you would never admit that to hyunjin. 

“looks nice,” you commented, though hyunjin caught the admirable glimmer in your eyes.

“yeah, yeah, i know you love it.”

“love is a strong word, fuckass,” you chuckled, knowing full well he was right. instead of responding, however, hyunjin handed you a business card with his number on it. 

"here. for appointments," he explained. “because i know after two flakes, you’re not gonna want to try changbin again.” despite his words, the gleam in his eye suggested he had other intentions. 

you took the card reluctantly, fully intending to never use it; however, as soon as you had paid and got to your car, you saved the number in your phone, giving hyunjin a contact name that you felt was fitting.

"fuckass."

the days after your second tattoo were quiet.

you could not stop staring at your phone, where hyunjin's number sat in your contacts under the hilarious nickname; at first, you had told yourself you would delete his number. having it felt unnecessary, especially considering his flirtatious manner paired with your relationship status. not to mention, you did not see the point in keeping the number of someone you could not stand.

but every time your thumb hovered over the delete button, something stopped you. maybe it was the nagging curiosity about his ulterior motives aside from “appointments.” maybe it was the urge to blow up his phone, bombarding him with a million questions about his work or about why he dipped out on nari. whatever it was, yet you refrained, keeping to yourself in an uncomfortable, deafening silence.

the last thing you were expecting that wednesday afternoon was a text notification, his contact name bolded above the messages icon.

fuckass: 'bet you're still admiring my work. don't forget to moisturize btw. wouldn't want the flowers to fade.'

you stared at your screen, incredulous.

you: 'how did you get my number? and do you text all your clients, or am i just lucky?'

his reply was instant.

fuckass: 'you put your phone number down on the information sheet before every session, dumbass. and i just text the ones who talk to me like i ruined their lives. it's cute.'

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him and firing back. against your better judgment, you chose the latter. against your better judgment, you chose the latter.

you: 'wow. professionalism really is dead.' fuckass: 'professionalism is boring. you would hate me more if I was boring.

you rolled your eyes at his response, tossing your phone aside and hoping that this conversation would be the end of your interactions with him.

spoiler alert: it was not.

over the next few days, hyunjin made it a point to text you almost every morning; sometimes, it was about your tattoos, and sometimes it was just to talk to you.

fuckass: 'favorite flower?' you: 'why?' fuckass: 'research for your next tattoo.' you: 'who says i'm coming back to you?' fuckass: 'you will.'

his confidence was maddening, but what was worse? he was not entirely incorrect.

you: 'daisies.'

one particularly bad day, you found yourself staring at his contact again, debating on whether or not to block him. the day was a disaster from the start: work was a mess, your boyfriend had not messaged you all day, and your anxiety was spiraling out of control.

to distract yourself, you scrolled through your messages, finding yourself rereading hyunjin's texts. against all logic, they made you feel...happier. his cocky attitude was infuriating, sure, but it was also humorous, almost grounding in a sense.

before you could stop yourself, your fingers were moving.

you: 'why do you always message me? you have to have a bunch of other clients you could be texting.'

his reply came within seconds.

fuckass: ‘yeah, but none of them are as fun to talk to.' fuckass: ‘don't get a big head about that btw. i can picture your smirk from here.'

despite what hyunjin thought via message, you were not smirking; you were smiling, the tension in your chest easing tremendously.

it was weird how the asshole always knew how to unintentionally make you feel better.

the weeks blurred together, each day filled with an irritating mix of responsibilities, and, somehow, more messages from hyunjin. he had worked his way under your skin in the most obnoxious way possible, texting you things at the most inconvenient times.

the weirdest part? it felt like hyunjin was texting you more than your boyfriend was. here recently, your boyfriend had gotten into a habit of going days, sometimes a week without responding to your messages; he always passed it off as you “overthinking” considering you lived together. yet, as the weeks went on like this, your gut began to unsettle at the feeling. you had thought about asking hyunjin for advice, if this was how guys normally acted; however, you subsided, letting the matter play out for itself. in fact, you were in the middle of staring at your phone, waiting for a message to pop up from your boyfriend explaining where he was at the hour. when your phone dinged, you became hopeful.

the wrong contact name popped  up, however.

fuckass: 'if you had to pick a tattoo right now without thinking, what would it be?' you: 'a stop sign.' fuckass: 'ha. ha. you're sooooo funny.' fuckass: 'seriously tho. what are you getting next?' you: 'don't you have actual clients to bother?' fuckass: 'i’ve already told you, sweetheart. you’re funner to talk to.' you: ‘funner isn’t a word.’ fuckass: ‘i’m a tattoo artist, not an english teacher.’

you did not understand how he had such a flaring ere to him. he had a sense of self-pride that was unmatched, and he talked to you as if it was a natural, flowing thing to do, despite the prior tension to your "professional" relationship. no matter how much you told yourself to ignore him, you never did. there was something infuriatingly safe about hyunjin. he was consistent, yet annoying in the same way every time you spoke, and he was oddly insightful when he was not messing with you.

if only his thoughtfulness could save you from the heartbreak about to ensue.

it was a saturday afternoon when the first red flag appeared. 

you were out with friends, sipping coffee at a small cafe, when your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen, expecting it to be a social media notification or an annoying reminder to turn your volume down on your phone.

instead, it was a text message; a photo, to be precise.

fuckass: 'this your guy?'

the image was grainy, clearly taken from across the street. no matter the quality, however, you could recognize the face anywhere. 

it was unmistakably your boyfriend; he was smiling as he leaned in far too close to a girl who was not you.

you: 'what are you doing?' fuckass: 'saw him on my way back to the parlor after my lunch break. thought you should know.'

you stared at the screen, your vision blurring. part of you wanted to accuse hyunjin of lying, of stirring up drama just so he could get under your skin; however, you knew that the picture did not lie, that it could not lie.

your fingers shook as you typed out a reply, anger clouding your judgment against all odds.

you: 'stay out of my personal life.' fuckass: 'k. suit yourself.

as soon as you got home, your boyfriend called, acting as if everything was normal. his voice grated on your nerves, every word sounding like a lie. you wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation for the photo hyunjin had sent you, but the thought of it made your stomach churn.

instead, you found yourself rushedly hanging up the phone, claiming to be tired. you did not take a nap, though; you typed out a message to hyunjin.

you: 'do you have any proof that he's cheating on me? like hardcore evidence?' fuckass: 'thought i was supposed to stay out of your personal life?' you: 'i wouldn't ask if i didn't want answers.' fuckass: ‘why is the photo not “hardcore” enough?’ you: ‘idk, what if the girl’s like his cousin or something?’ fuckass: ‘why would he be that close to a cousin?’ you: ‘idk. i just need something else to prove it.’ fuckass: ‘you think i would lie to you about something like this?’ you: ‘hyunjin, please.’

it took a few minutes, but another photo came through. this one was clearer, sharper; your boyfriend was holding hands with the same woman from the previous picture. 

fuckass: ‘there. i ended up walking past them and snapped that.” fuckass: ‘i was trying to send you the one that would break your heart the least, but you’re fucking stubborn so there you go.’ fuckass: ‘there’s one of them kissing, too, but i’m not making you see that one.’

you stared at the picture for what felt like hours, your chest tightening with every passing moment. how could this be? how could the man who claimed to love you, who claimed he would give everything for you ruin your relationship in an instant? you felt your face go hot, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed to yourself.

you were broken out of your thoughts by another text from hyunjin.

fuckass: 'you okay?'

you did not reply. you did not know how to.

a week passed before you found the courage to do anything.

the photo sat on your phone screen like a tragedy you could not take your eyes off of. it was late, midnight to be precise, and well past the hour confrontations should happen; however you did not care. you had spent the past few days trying to ignore it, hoping it was not true, that hyunjin had misunderstood the circumstance. yet, the weight of the photo was overbearing, suffocating you each time you looked at it.

you paced your apartment as you waited for your boyfriend to return home; he had been out all day, doing only the good heavens knew what. every second ticked by like it was a warning. the image burned into your mind: your boyfriend's hand clasped around hers, his thumb just barely over her knuckles in a way he always did with you.

when his key finally turned the lock, your heart dropped to your stomach.

he walked in casually, kicking off his shoes without a second glance in your direction. 

"hey," he greeted, his voice neutral. "why are you still up?"

"where were you?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. "your schedule said you got off at 5:00. it's 12:00."

he froze for a split second before recovering, tossing his bag onto the counter.

"out with friends. why?"

"you didn't think to call?" you gripped your phone tightly, the corners of it pressing into your palm. "which friends were you with?"

he frowned, clearly caught off guard.

"why does it matter?"

"because i want to know who she is," you snapped, holding up your phone to show him the photo hyunjin had sent you. his expression shifted in an instant, his confident mask crumbling. he stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"the hell is this?"

"you tell me," you retaliated, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "who the fuck is she? and don't you dare lie to me."

he stepped forward, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"baby, i promise you it isn't what it looks like."

"oh really? because it looks like you're holding her hand," you shot back bitterly. "and it also looks like you've been lying to me for only god knows how long."

"it's not-" he began, but you cut him off.

"don't," you warned, your voice breaking with each syllable. "don't you stand there and insult me with excuses. tell me the truth. are you cheating on me?"

the silence that followed the question was deafening. he looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"it's... complicated."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet; your head spun as you formulated a response.

"complicated?" you repeated, your voice hollow. "how is it complicated? you either cheated on me or you didn't."

he did not answer, but his silence was louder than any confession. your chest tightened, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"i trusted you," you told him quietly, your barely-audible voice quivering as you spoke. "i gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

"it wasn't supposed to happen," he tried to claim, his voice nearing the octave of a whisper.

his response was all it took to break you. the tears spilled over, smearing your mascara down your cheeks; you laughed bitterly through the pain, almost sounding psychotic.

"i don’t know how being romantic with someone who is not your girlfriend isn’t supposed to happen, but congratu-fucking-lations. it happened." he stepped closer, but you backed away. "don't. get the fuck away from me, and get out."

"y/n, please-"

"i'm not going to say it again," you apprised, your tone crackling with rage. "get the fuck out of my house. we are over."

for a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded, grabbing his bag and his shoes and heading for the door. when it shut harshly behind him, the apartment felt unbearably empty, the quiet pressing in on you from all sides.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, trying to breathe through the asphyxiating pressure in your chest. everything felt raw, like the air itself was too sharp against your skin.

disregarding how you felt in the moment, disregarding every ounce of pain coursing through you, your mind wandered to one thing: the only person who had warned you of what was coming, and the only person you knew could take away your sorrow in the moment.

hyunjin.

you found yourself self-consciously reaching for your phone; this time, there was no hesitation as you scrolled to his contact.

you: 'do you by chance have an opening?' fuckass: 'for you? always.' fuckass: 'everything alright?' you: 'just need a tattoo.'

you did not offer an explanation, and to your bewilderment, hyunjin did not push for one.

fuckass: 'come to the studio in a couple of hours. i’ll be here.'

the studio was quiet when you arrived; quiet was an understatement, as a matter of fact. there were no cars in the parking lot, and there seemed to be no one inside. you walked towards the entrance, your steps hesitant but purposeful. hyunjin was waiting for you at the door, the only semblance of life within the colorful building. his smirk was replaced with a look you did not recognize as he unlocked the door.

"you look terrible," he commented bluntly as you stepped inside; however, his tone seemed uncharacteristically soft rather than demeaning or teasing even.

"thanks. just what i needed to hear tonight," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "can i just get my tattoo?" hyunjin nodded, not arguing and leading you to his station without another word.

"i thought the studio would still be...y'know, open," you remarked, attempting to mask the quiver in your voice with the smug comment. "why did you tell me to come here after hours?"

"i always bring the prettiest clients here," hyunjin replied, his voice seeming more genuine and sweeter than teasing. "no, i just thought you could use the quiet. we were pretty busy today, and i didn’t want the noise to overstimulate you."

his care surprised you, and you found yourself nodding as you kept your gaze glued to the ground; however, your heart warmed at the gesture, at the smallest semblance that he did have some form of a heart.

"thanks."

"no problem. what's the design?" he inquired once you were seated. you handed him a rough sketch you had made a couple days prior as a way to distract yourself from what was happening with your boyfriend; it was a cluster of forget-me-nots, delicate and intricate.

"pretty," hyunjin remarked after a moment, his voice retaining its gentle demeanor. "why forget-me-nots in particular?"

"doesn't matter," you replied, your voice angrier than intended. hyunjin's lips twitched as if there was some sort of sarcastic comment waiting to spill out; however, he just nodded.

"alright. where do you want it?"

"here," you responded, gesturing to the inside of your forearm.

hyunjin studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. instead of pressing, he nodded once again and got to work sketching a stencil.

placing the outline onto your skin, hyunjin flipped on his tattoo gun, its hum filling the silence. for once, he did not try to distract you with his jokes or relentless teasing. his focus was unwavering, more so than usual, and his hands steadied as they moved over your skin.

when the needle paused, you looked up to find him watching you.

"what?" you questioned in a defensive manner.

"nothing." he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're just...quieter than usual. it’s weird."

"maybe i'm just sick of arguing with you." you swallowed hard, forcing the accumulated lump in your throat to stay down.

"i highly doubt that," he replied lightly, but the concern in his eyes lingered.

the machine's faint whir filled the tense quietude again as hyunjin resumed his work. you focused on the sensation, the rhythmic buzz and sharp prick of the needle pulling you back into the present.

hyunjin did not speak again until he wiped away the ink and inspected his progress.

"almost done," he commented, his tone calm. "how are you holding up?"

his question seemed to have a double meaning, and you pondered for a moment, wondering if he was referring to your tattoo or your personal life.

"fine," you lied, no matter what circumstance he was referring to. your voice was tight, and hyunjin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

"cool."

the final moments of the session passed quietly. when he finished, he leaned back and set the machine aside, turning your arm to show you the tattoo.

"there," he said softly, his tone almost proud. "whatcha think?"

you blinked down at the design, the intricate cluster of forget-me-nots etched delicately into your skin. they looked fragile but strong simultaneously, their soft edges balanced by the clean precision of hyunjin's linework.

they mirrored your current situation to a tee; you were vulnerable because of what had happened, yet you kept standing strong, refusing to blow over.

"it's beautiful," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last syllable. hyunjin did not respond, his eyes locked on yours as if they were searching for something.

that is when it happened.

the dam inside of you broke, the tears spilling over before you could stop them. you pressed your hands to your face, trying to conceal your sadness in order to keep the same strength the forget-me-nots were supposed to represent, but it was no use. the sobs came in waves, years of trust, love, and betrayal crashing down on you all at once.

hyunjin froze, his eyes widening into golf-balls. then, slowly, he leaned forward, his hands hovering just above your back as if he was not sure you would let him comfort you.

"hey," he called softly. "it's okay. let it all out, sweetheart."

"i...i don't even know why i'm crying. it's so stupid." you shook your head, the words tumbling out in broken stutters.

"it's definitely not stupid," he countered firmly, his demeanor low and grounding. "you're allowed to be angry, y/n."

"i feel so pathetic." you dropped your hand, meeting his gaze through the tears.

"well, you're not," he retaliated, his brows furrowing together. "you're human. and a human who has been through hell, at that."

the tenderness in his voice hit you harder than anything else, and before you knew it, you were leaning forward, burying your face in his chest as your arms snaked tightly around his waist.

hyunjin stiffened for a moment, then his arms came around you, strong and steady. he did not say anything; he just held you as you cried, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

minutes passed, feeling more like hours, before the racing panic inside of you quieted. when you pulled back, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, wiping at your face as your gaze quickly flickered away from hyunjin's. "i didn't mean to-"

"don't apologize," he interrupted softly but firmly. "seriously. you needed that hug." you nodded, unsure of what to say.

"you have a lot of people who care about you, y'know," he spoke after a moment, leaning back in order to give you space; although, his eyes never left you. "you don't have to go through this alone."

"funny." a small, humorless laugh escaped you. "that's exactly how it feels."

"i mean it," hyunjin responded quietly, his tone unwavering. "you are not alone. i don’t care how that douchebag made you feel. you are worth being cared about. you’ve got this, okay?"

for a moment, the weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you expected.

"thank you," you finally stated, your tone barely rising above a whisper. "you know, you aren't the asshole i thought you were."

hyunjin gave a small, genuine smile in response.

"i try not to be. i’m always here for you, princess."

the ride home from the tattoo shop felt heavier than usual, your arm wrapped protectively in the thin plastic film that hyunjin had meticulously applied. the air outside was crisp, the kind that made every breath sting just a little, yet, it did not distract from the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

it was not just your breakup, though the trauma of that alone was enough to leave you reeling. it was hyunjin; his words, his steady presence, the way he held you as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

for someone you had spent so much time resenting, he felt alarmingly like a safe space for you.

when you got home, the silence of your apartment felt suffocating. you dropped your bag by the door, staring at the faint outline of the couch where you had just laid hours earlier, crying your poor heart out from sheer betrayal. the memories lingered in the walls, in the spaces between the furniture, and it was all too much.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts.

fuckass: 'make it home okay?'

the question was simple, but it hit harder than you had expected it to.

you: 'mhm, i got here alright.'

you hesitated before typing the next part.

you: 'thank you. for earlier.' fuckass: 'anytime.'

you stared at the screen for a moment, longer than you had intended to, before setting your phone down and heading to the bathroom. the forget-me-nots on your arm stared back at you in the mirror, their ethereal petals a sharp contrast to the rawness you felt inside of you.

but they were beautiful, and they were yours.

and for the first time that week, you felt the smallest flicker of hope.

the next few days passed in a blur. you threw yourself into work, hobbies, and anything else that would keep your mind from spiraling too far into its own mental traps. hyunjin had not been messaging, and you did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at that fact.

but you could not stop thinking about him.

you could not stop thinking about the tattoo or the way he had comforted you. you could not shake off the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way his teasing had softened into something resembling protectivity that night. you had spent years building walls around yourself, and somehow, without even trying to, hyunjin had started to tear them down.

you were not ready to face that music. not yet.

not until a week later, when you found yourself back at the shop. you had not planned the visit; your feet had carried you to the parlor before your brain could catch up with your actions.

the door jingled as you stepped inside, and hyunjin's head snapped up from the counter where he had been sketching. his eyes widened, and his lips quirked into a soft smirk.

"well, well, well," he smirked, a hint of surprise present in his voice. "trouble's back."

"don't sound so shocked," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual sass.

"what? you miss me already?" there he was. there was the teasing guy you had grown to know, standing there as he crossed his arms over his chest. you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards despite yourself.

"actually, i need to talk to you."

"about what?"

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

"the flowers you did. the forget-me-nots. they're absolutely perfect."

"yeah?" hyunjins smirk softened into something warmer, something legitimate. “looks like they’re healing nicely, too.”

"yeah," you agreed, meeting his gaze. "i just wanted to say thank you, but properly this time."

"don't mention it, sweetheart." he shrugged, but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed his nonchalance. "it was nothing."

"but it was," you insisted. “it meant a lot to me.”

for a moment, the air between the two of you shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

"so," hyunjin started. "you want another one?"

"another tattoo?" you blinked at him.

"duh. unless you came here just to flirt with me," he replied, his playful smirk returning. you felt your cheeks heat up, and you cursed yourself for letting him get to you so easily.

"don't flatter yourself."

"too late," he responded with a grin, gesturing for you to follow him to his station. "you're in luck; i've got an opening, so let's see what you've got."

as you sat down, you could not help but notice how his demeanor had shifted. the cocky bravado was still there, but underneath it was something softer, something almost gentle.

something from that night was still lingering.

you pulled out your sketchbook, handing him the simple sheet of paper; the design you had chosen for this occasion was a simple daisy, its petals unfurling in soft, graceful lines.

"your favorite," he remembered, his voice seeming almost reminiscent; the way he had recalled the information made your heart jump, your body becoming overcome by a heat that was previously absent.

"any reason you chose this other than it being that?" his question fixed you back into reality; his eyes fixed on you, the orbs seeming as if they were searching your physicality for an answer.

"it's..." you hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the drawing pad. "it's for me. for everything i've been through these last few weeks. i get a lot of flower tattoos, yeah, but they all represent my strength. this one is a reminder that i’m still me." hyunjin nodded, his gaze softening.

"i get that."

there was something in his tone, something that made you glance up at him. for the first time, you realized how much you did not know about him, like who he was, where he came from, or what had shaped him into the person standing in front of you.

"have you ever gotten a tattoo for that?" you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

"maybe." hyunjin tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint beam. "but you would have to figure out which one."

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity grew.

“hm…that one.” you pointed to his forearm, where a dragon wrapped itself around his skin; the detail was intricate, almost as if the dragon was breathing fire in real time.

“very good, princess,” hyunjin smirked. “how’d you know?”

“lucky guess, i suppose,” you shrugged, smiling. “what’s it mean?”

“well, dragons are fierce animals,” hyunjin began. “i got this done after going through a breakup to remind me that i was tougher than i thought.”

"how ironic,” you responded with a dry laugh, to which hyunjin’s eyes brightened. “what's your favorite tat?"

"what's with the questions, sweetheart?" he questioned, his gaze turning cheeky once more. "finally warming up to me?"

"don't get ahead of yourself," you warned. "and i don't know. just curious i guess."

his expression shifted then, turning from bright to thoughtful as he turned his other arm over to reveal a small, delicate design on the inside of his wrist; it was a crescent moon, cradled by wisps of clouds.

"this one's my favorite," he told you softly. "did it on myself, actually."

"what's it mean?" you repeated the question, tracing the shape with your eyes, your heart tugging in a way you did not expect it to. hyunjin hesitated, his stare dropping longingly to the tattoo.

"i got it for my mom," he explained after a few brief moments of silence. "she used to say that the moon was watching over us both, no matter how far apart we were." the vulnerability in his demeanor caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless.

"that's beautiful," you responded quietly. hyunjin shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the inked design.

"she passed a few years ago. i guess this was my way of keeping her with me."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly atop his wrist.

"i'm really sorry, hyunjin. i didn't know."

he looked up then, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that felt almost unbearable.

"it's okay," he replied. "it's nothing i really go about parading." the moment stretched between the two of you, silent and fragile, until he cleared his throat and pointed to his station. "i should probably get started on your sketch."

you nodded, sinking into the seat as he began to prepare.

the session went as the others with him had gone, adorned with teasing comments but finishing with a beautiful daisy coming to life on your right shoulder. the only difference is, when the tattoo was finished, you found yourself reluctant to leave. the shop felt warmer than the cold, biting air outside, and hyunjin's presence had a way of anchoring you in a way you had not expected.

nevertheless, you reached hesitantly for the door handle of the parlor, only stopping when hyunjin called for you; the door jingled a little as you opened it slightly before closing it once more, and you slowly turned your head in his direction.

"you gotta be hungry after that session, right princess?" he asked, snapping off his gloves and discarding them in a nearby trash can. you blinked in reply, a tad surprised by his question.

"i mean a little," you reluctantly answered. "why?"

hyunjin grinned, grabbing a ripped jean jacket out of the space behind the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.

"come on," he commanded. "there's a place around the corner that has killer ramen."

you hesitated; the idea of spending time with him outside of the shop felt both thrilling and dangerous. not to mention, you were incredibly skeptical of anyone's attempts to be nice after the revelation of your boyfriend's faux love.

"look, if this is just you trying to act on some sort of feeling because i'm single now-"

"it's not," hyunjin quickly interjected, correcting you as he scoffed. "just think of it as my treat to you. you've been through fuck knows what and i wanna give you something nice. is that so wrong?"

"when we're supposed to keep this relationship professional, just a little," you unintentionally snarled out.

"like i said," hyunjin started, leaning down to meet your height, "professionalism is boring. now, are we getting food or not? my break starts in a minute." you thought about it for a few moments, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded.

"sure. why the hell not?"

hyunjin moved his arm down in a victorious motion, holding the door open and giving an 'after you' gesture as you joined him in the chilling wind.

the ramen shop was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its glowing LED sign swaying gently in the cold breeze. inside, the space was small and slightly closed-in, with warm lighting that bathed everything in a golden glow. the hum of soft jazz music mixed with the quiet clatter of chopsticks against bowls, creating a lively yet comforting atmosphere.

hyunjin led you to a booth near the window, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat across from you. you hesitated before sitting, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in such a cozy, unfamiliar setting.

"order whatever you want," hyunjin told you, gesturing to the laminated menu.

you picked it up, scanning the options, though your focus kept shifting back to him. in the warm light, his features looked softer, less guarded. your eyes drifted from the contours of his jawline, to the tattoos decorating his arms and collarbones, back up to the strange beauty of his buzz cut. there was something disarming about seeing him out of his usual sharp surroundings; it was almost like seeing a different side of him.

"you're staring," hyunjin interrupted your thoughts, his eyes still fixated on the menu.

"i am not," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at his teasing smirk.

"sure, sweetheart. and i'm a model." you rolled your eyes, setting down your menu to look at the artist; his eyes were now on you, boring an unfamiliar look into you. there was a certain...sincerity to his cheeky manner, and the realization made your cheeks heat up.

he certainly could be a model.

"whatever," you mumbled. "i'm ready to order." upon your words, hyunjin waved over the waitress and gave her both of your orders with an ease that suggested he was a regular here.

when the food arrived, steam billowed from the bowls, carrying the rich aroma of miso and chili. hyunjin handed you a pair of chopsticks, and you both dug in, the first few bites melting away the lingering awkwardness.

"so, does the parlor know you bring your clients out to lunch, or are we keeping that secret?" you asked, breaking the silence with daring look at him.

"what do you mean clients?" hyunjin raised an eyebrow, adding extra emphasis on the plurality of the word. "i told you: this is just a pick-me-up for you. seeing you quiet is...weird. do you really think i'd go out of my way for everyone that comes to me for a tattoo?"

"i'm sure the charm works on everyone," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"awe, you think i have charm?" he tilted his head innocently, laying a hand over his heart.

"don't push it, hyunjin," you warned, holding up your chopsticks to punctuate your words. to your shock, he laughed; the sound was low and genuine, and it made your chest tighten in a way you did not expect it to. you shook your head, attempting to brush the matter off, but the small smile on your lips gave you away.

halfway through the meal, the conversation shifted, the teasing giving way to something that had been nagging at your mind since you began your appointments with hyunjin.

"nari came by the other day," you said, carefully testing the waters. hyunjin's chopsticks paused midair, and his expression flickered before he schooled it into something neutral.

"she did, did she?"

"yeah," you responded, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. "whatever happened with that? y'know, her tattoo?" he sighed, leaning back in his seat and running a colorful hand over his buzzed head.

"i'm assuming she told you i bailed on it."

you halted for a moment, unsure whether or not to push on the matter.

"did you?" you questioned, finally looking up to make eye-contact with hyunjin.

"it's...complicated," he answered, his voice quiet.

"i am tired of hearing that from men," you scoffed, unintentionally directing your internalized anger from the week onto hyunjin. "that's not an answer."

hyunjin's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he did not say anything. when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, an edge of vulnerability beneath it.

"nari wanted something really intricate added onto her sleeve. she wanted a phoenix stretching across her entire arm, but halfway through, she changed her mind about the placement and the design."

"so you stopped?"

"i didn't have a choice," he explained, meeting your eyes. "i tried to explain how difficult it would be to start over after we had already done the outline, but she got upset. I told her we could redo it another day, but i guess she didn't take it too well."

"so, you didn't quit on her," you frowned, piecing the story together. "you just tried to be honest with her?"

"yeah," he answered softly. "i don't think she saw it that way though. she said i didn't care enough to finish it, and... i don't know. maybe she was right."

"that doesn't sound like you," you retorted before you could stop yourself.

hyunjin looked at you, his eyes searching your face for something; he was not exactly sure what it was, however.

"you don't even know me."

"maybe i don't know you," you admitted. "but i have interacted with you more than enough to know that you wouldn't give someone a half-finished tattoo without a reason." hyunjin's shoulders relaxed upon your reassurance, which told you that he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"looks like i was right: you are finally warming up to me, princess" he teased, his attention going back to his food.

by the time you left the ramen shop, the sky had morphed into a blanket of stars, the chill in the air biting at your skin.

"c'mon, I'll walk you to your car," hyunjin suddenly insisted, his voice casual but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. you nodded in reply, clasping your jacket tighter around you.

the walk was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward. when you reached your vehicle, you paused before opening the driver-side door. you turned to face him, a small but appreciative smile on your face.

"thanks for tonight," you said gently. "i really needed that pick me up."

"anytime." hyunjin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes; instead, his already dark brown eyes had noticeably darkened, carrying a familiar, intense emotion within them.

the weight of his gaze made your breath hitch, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer, looking up at him with pure admiration in your gaze. his eyes flickered to your lips, his body tensing like he was holding himself back.

"don't," he muttered, his voice thick with something you could not exactly determine.

"don't what?" you whispered, a hand unconsciously placing itself on hyunjin's chest.

"don't look at me like that," he responded, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

the air between you felt electric, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. then, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force, your lips met his in a kiss that was slow, passionate, and filled with everything you could not put into words.

for a moment, the world stopped spinning. the only thing that existed was the warmth of his mouth against yours and the way his hand cupped the back of your neck like he never wanted to let go. every emotion you had felt was spilling over into the kiss; hyunjin was an absolute asshole at times, sure, but it was not in the way you had initially envisioned. he never had bad intentions, and his nature only came from the fact that he was an absolute tease with a difficult past.

you were falling in love with the enemy.

"look who's acting on feeling now," hyunjin smirked against your lips, going back in a second after saying it; however, his words contained a different sort of weight. the snapped you back into reality, and you pulled away from hyunjin, your heart racing from a blend of passion and anxiety.

you were falling in love with the enemy…and you were not ready to.

"i...i'm so sorry," you mumbled, your gaze going down to the ground.

"for what, sweetheart," hyunjin questioned, his tone breathy. "don't say for doing that without asking, because you have no idea-"

"i can't do this, hyunjin," you stammered, stepping back until your back was pressed against your car. "I shouldn't have kissed you. i’m not ready for something new."

“sweetheart-”

“no! this was a mistake!”

hyunjin's expression fell, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before he masked it.

"if that's what you think," he shrugged, his demeanor clearly painful. 

you did not know what to say, so you thanked him for the meal once more, your heart pounding as you disappeared into your car. hyunjin watched dejectedly as you drove off, his heart aching with the thought of what could have been.

or what could still be, as a matter of fact.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 8: Unfinished Business

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: none.

A/N: Alright, here we are—Chapter 8. The one I’ve been lowkey (okay, highkey) dreading. If you’ve made it this far, first of all, I love you. Second, please remember that I write with love, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

This chapter is a lot. It shifts things, breaks things, and maybe hurts a little more than it should. Just know that every word was intentional, and no, I don’t take joy in your suffering (okay, maybe a little, but only in a writerly way).

So, deep breaths. Read when you’re ready. And if you need to yell at me afterward, my inbox is open.

Word count: 8.5k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The cottage was filled with the quiet sounds of preparation—the faint click of a cassette case, the rustle of fabric as Evelyn folded clothes into her suitcase. Outside, the wind carried a bite that seeped into the wooden frame of the house, but inside, the warmth of the fire kept the chill at bay.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, silently watching her. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned over a plain henley, the leather jacket hanging from the back of a chair. His gaze was steady but soft, like he was taking in every detail to tuck it away for later.

“You really think all that’s gonna fit in one bag?” he asked, his voice low and carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’d be amazed at what I can cram into a suitcase.”

Logan raised a brow, pushing off the frame to walk closer. “Not sure I’d call it a skill worth braggin’ about.”

She rolled her eyes, returning to folding her clothes. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Minimalist. Not all of us can live out of a duffle bag.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands slipping into his jeans’ pockets as he glanced at the mixtapes stacked neatly beside her bag. “You takin’ all those with you, or you just makin’ it harder to close that thing?”

“They’re essentials,” she said, mock-serious as she tucked a couple into the suitcase. “I’m not about to risk getting stuck with my mom’s radio choices for a whole week.”

Logan smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Can’t blame you for that.”

The playful rhythm of their banter quieted as Evelyn zipped up the suitcase, the moment settling into something softer. Logan reached over to grab something from the arm of the couch—a thick, worn sweater—and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said, his voice lower now. “This’ll keep you warmer than whatever you got packed.”

Evelyn blinked, caught off guard by the simple gesture. She took the sweater, her fingers brushing his as their eyes met. “Logan, I can’t take this. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, and I’m tellin’ you to take it,” he replied, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Don’t argue. Just don’t forget to bring it back.”

Her chest tightened at the unspoken care in his voice. “Alright,” she said softly, folding the sweater and placing it on top of her suitcase.

When everything was packed, they walked out to her truck together, the cold air biting at their faces. Logan stayed close, his hand brushing against her lower back as they crossed the gravel.

As she opened the truck door, Logan lingered, leaning a shoulder against the frame. “You sure you’re good drivin’ this long on your own?”

Evelyn laughed softly, turning to face him. “Logan, it’s a few hours.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta like it,” he muttered, his tone quiet but firm. His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the words he didn’t say filled the space between them.

She smiled, stepping closer. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll call when I get there, okay?”

Logan’s hand came up, brushing against her arm before moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly along her skin. “You better,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was slow and steady, as though he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

When they finally broke apart, she exhaled softly, her forehead resting against his. “You’re making it really hard to leave, you know that?”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his smirk returning. “Good. Might make you think twice about goin’ next time.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping back with a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he replied, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

Climbing into the truck, Evelyn started the engine, the rumble breaking the stillness of the moment. As she pulled away, Logan tapped the roof lightly, his hand lingering there for a second longer than necessary. He watched her until the taillights disappeared down the winding road, the cold air biting at his skin as he stood there, alone but somehow content.

The road stretched out before Evelyn, the winter sun casting long shadows across the frost-dusted trees. The faint hum of the cassette player filled the cab, a mixtape she’d thrown together for the drive keeping her company. But even with her favorite songs spinning through the speakers, her mind drifted back to Logan—the warmth in his gaze, the rough gentleness in his touch, and the way his smirk softened into something almost shy when she kissed him goodbye.

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. He had a way of sticking with her, even when he wasn’t around.

The familiar sight of her parents’ house came into view, a two-story colonial tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. The front lawn was adorned with Christmas lights and a plastic Santa that had seen better days, its red suit faded by years of winter storms. Pulling into the driveway, Evelyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Home.

Stepping inside, Evelyn was immediately wrapped in the warm embrace of home. The living room smelled of pine and cinnamon, the Christmas tree shimmering with mismatched ornaments that had been collected over decades. Her dad sat cross-legged in front of the TV, muttering under his breath as he fiddled with the VCR. Meanwhile, her mom moved between the kitchen and the dining room, her apron streaked with flour and her hair pinned up in the way she always wore it when things got hectic.

“There she is!” her dad called out, looking up with a wide grin as Evelyn stepped into the room. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way back.”

“Or decided not to come at all,” her mom added, bustling into the living room with a tray of cookies. Her eyes softened as she set the tray down on the coffee table. “How was the drive, sweetheart?”

“Long,” Evelyn admitted, shrugging off her coat. “But it’s good to be home.”

Her dad stood, dusting his hands off and pulling her into a brief but tight hug. “Glad you made it safe. Car still holding up?”

“Barely,” she joked, earning a laugh from him.

Her mom was next, wrapping Evelyn in a flour-scented embrace before stepping back to study her. “You look good,” she said, her tone both approving and surprised. “The fresh air out there must be doing wonders.”

“It helps,” Evelyn replied with a small smile. “How’s everything been here?”

“Oh, you know,” her dad said, gesturing to the VCR. “Just trying to keep up with the latest technology. This thing refuses to cooperate.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “He’s been saying that about every gadget we’ve had since the coffee maker broke in ‘68.”

The light-hearted conversation drifted into updates on family friends, neighborhood gossip, and holiday plans. Her mom filled her in on the latest drama from the church choir, while her dad complained about the new neighbors who always parked too close to his driveway.

The comforting aroma of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and freshly baked rolls filled the kitchen as Evelyn tied an apron around her waist. Her mom stood at the counter, chopping carrots with precise movements, while her dad rummaged through a cabinet, muttering under his breath about the missing gravy boat.

“You sure you’re up for peeling these?” her mom asked, nodding toward the bowl of potatoes on the table.

“I think I can handle it,” Evelyn replied with a teasing smile as she picked up the peeler. “It’s not rocket science, mom.”

Her dad turned from the cabinet, holding up the gravy boat triumphantly. “Found it! Knew it wasn’t lost.”

Her mom shook her head with a fond smile. “You always say that, dear.”

“Because I’m always right,” he shot back, winking at Evelyn as he set the boat on the counter. “How’s that cottage of yours holding up? Pipes not freezing, I hope.”

“Not yet,” Evelyn replied, focusing on the potato in her hand. “Logan’s been helping me keep it in shape. Fixed the roof, patched up some leaks...”

“So,” she began casually, though her tone betrayed her eagerness. “How’s life been out there? Are you settling in okay?”

Evelyn nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of her sweater. “Yeah, it’s been good. Quiet, but... good.”

“And the town?” her dad asked, leaning against the armrest. “People treating you alright?”

“They are,” Evelyn said with a faint smile. “It’s a nice place. Small, but the kind of small where everyone knows everyone.”

Her mom’s eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of teasing in her expression. “And Logan? How’s he treating you?”

“Mom,” Evelyn said, her cheeks warming.

“What?” her mom replied innocently, her hands spreading wide. “We’ve heard all about this Logan—well, from Martha mostly—but we haven’t met him yet. We’re allowed to be curious.”

Before Evelyn could reply, a familiar voice chimed in from the couch. “Good point, Mrs. Bennette,” Martha teased, leaning back with a knowing smirk. “I’m starting to think you made him up just to keep us guessing.”

“Martha!” Evelyn exclaimed, her face lighting up as she turned to see her best friend leaning against the doorframe with a mischievous grin.

“I mean, is he a man or a myth? Because I’m starting to think she made him up.” said Martha playfully.

Rolling her eyes, Evelyn set the peeler down. “He’s real. He’s just busy this time of year.”

“Busy chopping wood?!?” Martha teased, earning a laugh from her dad.

Her dad laughed. “Now that’s a proper job.”

“Actually, yes,” Evelyn replied, pulling off her apron. “Now, if you’re done making jokes...”

“Not a chance,” Martha said, leaning against the counter, a smile tugging at her lips. “Speaking of Logan, I thought he’d have come with you. But hey, do you have a picture of him? We’ve heard so much about him, but we need the proof before I can say he’s real.”

Evelyn hesitated for a moment before reaching into her bag. She pulled out the polaroid she had taken of Logan and handed it over. 

Martha let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. You weren’t exaggerating. He looks like he stepped out of a western.”

Her dad leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the photo. “Looks like he knows his way around an ax.”

“Oh, he does,” Evelyn said, her smile softening.

Her mom took the photo, studying it closely before handing it back. “Alright. He passes the first test. But we still want to meet him.”

“You will,” Evelyn promised, tucking the photo back into her bag.

“Good,” her mom replied. “Because we just want to make sure he’s the real deal. Especially after... you know.”

Martha nudged her. “When’s the wedding?”

“Oh, stop,” Evelyn said, laughing.

The laughter and teasing flowed effortlessly as dinner approached. The dining room was warm and inviting, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off garlands draped along the edges of the table. Plates of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and cranberry sauce were passed around as conversations overlapped in the way only family meals could.

“Alright, so what’s new with the neighbors?” Evelyn asked, spearing a bite of turkey.

Her dad rolled his eyes dramatically. “New folks moved in last month, parked their moving truck right across our driveway for two hours. Two. Hours.”

Her mom sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, leave them alone, Frank. They’re nice kids.”

“Kids who don’t know how to park,” her dad muttered, earning a chuckle from Evelyn.

Across the table, Martha chimed in. “Still better than the guy who let his dog dig up your flowerbeds last year.”

“Don’t remind me,” her mom said, groaning. “That man owes me an apology—and a hydrangea.”

The lighthearted banter carried on, giving Evelyn a moment to soak it all in. It wasn’t just the conversation or the food—it was the feeling of being surrounded by people who knew her so deeply, even the parts she tried to keep hidden.

The fire in the living room crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was late, the kind of quiet that only settled after a long day. Evelyn and Martha were cocooned under a heavy knit blanket, their mugs of cocoa sending curls of steam into the cool air. Bing Crosby crooned softly from the record player, a fitting backdrop for the cozy scene.

Martha took a sip of her cocoa, her mischievous grin already in place. “Alright, enough stalling. You and Logan. Speak.”

Evelyn groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. “Why did I know this was coming?”

“Because I’m me, and you knew I wouldn’t let you off the hook.” Martha set her mug down on the coffee table, turning to face her with an expectant look. “So, what’s the deal? I need details. Is he as rugged and mysterious as the picture made him look?”

A smile tugged at Evelyn’s lips as she swirled the cocoa in her mug. “He’s... everything I didn’t know I needed. He’s steady, patient, and...”

“And?” Martha arched a brow, leaning closer. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

Evelyn exhaled, her voice softening. “And he makes me feel safe.”

The teasing faded from Martha’s expression, replaced by something warmer, more sincere. “That’s good, babe. That’s really good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of those words settling between them. Martha reached for her mug again, taking a slow sip before breaking the stillness. “So... have things gotten serious yet? You know, serious?”

Evelyn nearly choked on her cocoa, setting the mug down hastily. “Martha!”

“What? It’s a fair question!” Martha held up her hands, feigning innocence. “I mean, you’ve been seeing this guy for months now, and from what I can tell, he’s the real deal. So, have you...?”

Evelyn shook her head, her cheeks warming. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow as in...?”

“Slow as in I want to be sure.” Evelyn picked at the edge of the blanket, her voice quiet but firm. “After everything with... you know who, I can’t just rush into something like this. I need to know it’s real.”

Martha nodded, her teasing replaced by understanding. “And he’s okay with that?”

“He is.” A small smile crept across Evelyn’s face. “He’s patient. He doesn’t push. He just... gets it.”

“Sounds like a keeper to me.” Martha leaned back, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “But don’t let your nerves mess this up. The guy sounds like he’s crazy about you.”

Evelyn let out a soft laugh, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug. “I think I’m falling for him.”

“You think?” Martha shot her a look. “Babe, you’re head over heels, and everyone but you can see it.”

“That’s what scares me,” Evelyn admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What if I get it wrong again?”

Martha reached over, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not getting it wrong. Not this time. This Logan guy? He sounds like he’s in it for the long haul. And from what you’ve told me, he’s exactly what you deserve.”

Evelyn blinked back the sting of tears, nodding slowly. “Thanks, Martha.”

“Always.” Martha leaned back with a content sigh. “Now, do me a favor and bring him around next time, okay? I need to see if he lives up to the hype in person.”

Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.” Martha shot her a wink, pulling the blanket tighter around them.

As the fire burned low and the record spun to its final song, Evelyn felt the tentative stirrings of hope. Maybe this Christmas wasn’t just about coming home. Maybe it was about finding a new one, too.

The bedroom was dim, the moonlight spilling through the curtains casting faint silver streaks across the walls. Evelyn shifted restlessly under the covers, her thoughts chasing themselves in endless circles. She missed Logan—his steady presence, his warm touch, the way his voice had a way of grounding her when her mind wandered too far.

Her gaze drifted to the rotary phone on the nightstand. The pull to hear his voice was stronger than her hesitation, and before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the receiver and dialed the number.

The line rang a few times before a familiar gruff voice answered, tinged with sleep but still unmistakably him.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” she whispered, feeling her cheeks warm even though he couldn’t see her. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

A soft huff of amusement came through the line. “No. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitated for a moment, twisting the cord around her fingers. “I just... couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe talking to you might help.”

There was a pause on the other end, and she could almost picture him sitting up in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did. “Missin’ me already?” he teased lightly, though the warmth in his voice sent a soothing ache through her chest.

“Maybe,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How about you?”

“Wouldn’t be answering the phone at this hour if I wasn’t,” Logan replied, the hint of a smirk audible in his tone.

She laughed softly, the tension in her chest loosening slightly. “My parents and Martha have been asking about you, you know. You’re kind of a big deal around here now.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice carried a lazy curiosity. “What’re they sayin’?”

“Well, my mom wants to know when you’re coming to meet them,” she said, her smile widening. “And Martha... she was pretty convinced I made you up until I showed them the Polaroid.”

“The Polaroid?” Logan’s voice shifted, a touch of playful exasperation creeping in. 

“Yes, that one,” she replied, grinning. 

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Didn’t know I was on display.”

“You weren’t,” she teased. “It’s just... they’re curious. My mom said you pass the first test, by the way. But they still want to meet you.”

“Figured as much,” he said, his voice softer now. “How’d you handle all the questions?”

“I survived,” she said, letting out a small laugh. “But I think they’re just worried. After everything that happened... they just want to make sure I’m okay. And that I’m not making a mistake.”

Logan was quiet for a moment before speaking, his tone steady but filled with quiet conviction. “You’re not makin’ a mistake, darlin’. Not with me.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all the noise in her mind faded, leaving only the sound of his voice. “I know,” she said softly. “But hearing you say it helps.”

“Good,” he replied. “’Cause I mean it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the line connecting them across the miles. Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice tinged with amusement. “Anything else you wanna tell me? Or you just callin’ to butter me up?”

“Actually,” she said, smiling, “I just missed you. And the sound of your voice.”

“Yeah, well,” Logan said, his voice low and warm, “you keep talkin’ like that, you’ll have me drivin’ out there tonight.”

She laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “I’d better let you get some sleep, then.”

“You sure?” he asked, his tone softening.

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, Evelyn,” he murmured. “Call if you need me. Anytime.”

As the call ended, she set the receiver back on the cradle, her heart feeling lighter. Pulling the blankets up to her chin, she closed her eyes, the memory of his voice lingering in the stillness.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace and the occasional clatter of dishes as Evelyn moved through the kitchen. She’d been trying to keep herself busy, but her thoughts kept drifting—to Logan, to the cottage, and to how strange it felt to be back in her childhood home for so long.  

Her mother’s soft cough echoed from the living room, pulling her from her thoughts. Peeking around the corner, Evelyn saw her mom bundled under a quilt, her head resting against the arm of the couch. Her dad was in his armchair, snoring lightly, the TV playing a muted rerun of a Christmas movie.  

Evelyn smiled faintly before stepping back into the kitchen. She was just about to start chopping the rest of the carrots when the phone rang, startling her. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked up the receiver, the old rotary clicking slightly as she adjusted her grip.  

“Hello?”  

“Hey,” Logan’s voice rumbled on the other end, warm and steady. “Caught you at a bad time?”  

The tension in her shoulders eased immediately, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not at all. How are you?”  

“Still in one piece,” he replied, his tone light but tinged with something softer. Figured I’d check in, see how Christmas went.”

Evelyn glanced toward the living room, where her dad sat fiddling with the knobs on the TV, and her mom rested on the couch with a blanket draped over her lap. “It was nice. Quiet. A little different, though, being back here for so long.”

“Different good or different bad?” Logan asked.

“Good,” she said quickly, then hesitated. “Mostly good. Just... takes some getting used to.”

Logan hummed in understanding. “Glad you made it through, anyway.”

“What about you?” she asked, her voice softening. “How was yours?”

“Spent it with Pete and his family,” he said, the faintest hesitation in his voice. “His wife insisted I stay for dinner. Kids roped me into playin’ some board game. Don’t ask me what it was—I’m pretty sure they made up half the rules as they went.”

She laughed softly, picturing Logan sitting awkwardly at a cluttered table, kids climbing over him while he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Sounds like you were the life of the party.”

“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was a faint chuckle beneath his words. “Pete’s wife sent me home with leftovers, though. Guess I didn’t screw up her kitchen too bad when I was helpin’ her cook.”

“You cooked?” Evelyn asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Mostly peelin’ potatoes,” Logan admitted. “But she didn’t throw me out, so I’ll call it a win.”

Evelyn shook her head, grinning. “Sounds like you had a better time than you’re letting on.”

“Maybe,” he said, and for a moment, there was a quiet warmth in his voice that made her chest tighten.  

Evelyn’s smile softened, her heart giving a small, unsteady thud. “And the cottage? Holding up without me?”  

“It’s lonely,” Logan teased, though there was a hint of truth in his words. “Roof’s still got that damn leak, but I’ll take care of it.”  

“Maybe it’s waiting for me to come back,” she quipped, though her voice faltered slightly at the end.  

“Could be,” Logan said, and for a moment, his tone shifted—deeper, more certain.  

She hesitated, her fingers twisting the phone cord as she tried to put her feelings into words. “I miss it,” she admitted softly. “Miss you.”  

There was a beat of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. When Logan spoke again, his voice was quieter, rougher. “Same here.”  

Evelyn exhaled slowly, glancing toward the doorway to make sure no one was listening. “How’s everything else? Are the guys at the site keeping you in line?”  

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “As much as they can. They’ve been askin’ about you, though. Wonderin’ when you’re comin’ back.”  

“Tell them I’ll be back in a couple of days,” she teased, her smile widening.  

“They’ll like that,” Logan said, a faint smirk in his tone.  

The conversation drifted for a while—Logan asking about her parents, Evelyn filling him in on her mom’s slow recovery and the small, familiar chaos of being back home. But as the minutes ticked by, the weight of her absence grew heavier.  

“If it gets too much,” Logan said suddenly, his voice low and steady, “you call me. Don’t care what time it is.”  

Her breath caught at the quiet conviction in his words. “Logan...”  

“Just sayin’,” he added, his tone softening. “You don’t gotta do all this on your own.”  

The lump in her throat grew tighter, but she swallowed it down, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”  

“Don’t gotta thank me,” Logan replied. “Just come back when you’re ready.”  

“I will,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I promise.”  

“Good,” he said simply. “Take care of yourself, alright?”  

“You too,” she whispered.  

When the call ended, she stood there for a moment, the receiver still warm in her hand. Setting it down gently, she pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the ache blooming there.  

Logan’s voice lingered in her mind long after the dial tone faded, his quiet reassurance wrapping around her like a blanket.  

The morning was brisk, the kind of winter chill that clung to your skin and settled in your bones. Logan, Pete, and Rick were on the roof of Evelyn’s cottage, bundled in thick flannels and jackets. The sound of hammers and scraping metal filled the air as they worked in a steady rhythm, shingles and nails in hand.

Logan paused for a moment, scanning the roofline for any weak spots. His expression was focused, but there was a tension in his movements that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his coworkers.

“This place is coming together,” Pete said, wiping his brow and glancing at Logan. “She’s gonna love it when she gets back.”

Logan grunted in response, driving another nail into the shingle in front of him.

Rick climbed up the ladder, carrying another bundle of shingles. “You’ve been awfully quiet today, Howlett. Something on your mind?”

“Nope,” Logan replied, though the sharpness in his tone suggested otherwise.

Pete smirked, leaning on his hammer. “Come on, man. We’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Let me guess—it’s her.”

Logan shot him a look, but Pete just grinned. “Thought so,” he said. “What’s the problem? Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, then softened. “She’s just... not here. Staying with her parents for a while.”

Rick leaned against the truck, crossing his arms. “And you’re what? Pining?”

Pete laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut it,” Logan muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Rick raised an eyebrow, studying Logan for a moment before smirking. “You miss her.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the slight tension in his shoulders was answer enough.

Pete clapped him on the back. “So, go see her.”

“It’s not that simple,” Logan said, his voice low.

“Why not?” Rick asked, genuinely curious. “You’re over here fixing up her cottage like it’s your full-time job. Might as well check in on her while you’re at it.”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She’s with her family. It’s not my place to just show up unannounced.”

Rick snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the guy she calls when there’s a busted pipe or a leaky roof. If anyone’s got a place, it’s you.”

“Besides,” Pete added, grinning, “you’re not exactly the flowers-and-candy type. Showing up’s probably the most romantic thing you could do.”

Rick sat down on the edge of the roof, pulling off his gloves. “Seems to me like you’re overthinking it. If she’s been talking about you to her folks—and let’s be honest, she has—they’d probably be happy to meet you.”

Logan’s grip on the hammer tightened, but he kept working.

Pete chuckled, crossing his arms. “You don’t even know where she is, do you?”

Logan shot him a warning look, but Pete just laughed harder.

“All this time, you’re patching up her place, missing her like crazy, and you don’t even know how to find her.”.Pete said.

Logan didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the roofline.

“Bet there’s something in the house with her parents’ address on it,” Rick said casually, glancing toward the open window below. “Mail, a note—anything.”

Logan finally set down his hammer, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re here to fix the roof, not go digging through her stuff.”

“Relax, no one’s saying snoop,” Pete said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if it were me, I’d want to know where to find her. Just in case.”

Logan exhaled sharply, standing and stretching his shoulders. “Roof’s almost done. Let’s finish it up.”

But as he climbed down the ladder to grab more supplies, his eyes drifted toward the kitchen window. The thought of finding her address lingered in his mind, a quiet pull he couldn’t quite shake.

The late morning sun cast long shadows across the cottage as Logan stepped inside for a moment to grab more supplies.He brushed his hands on his flannel, his boots clunking softly against the floor as he moved toward the kitchen.

The countertop was cluttered with the usual—mugs, an old notebook, a pair of gloves Evelyn had left behind. As Logan reached for the tool bucket by the sink, his eyes caught sight of an envelope tucked partially under the corner of a cookbook.

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he pulled it free. The envelope had her family’s last name neatly written on it, along with an address.

He turned it over in his hands, his thumb brushing against the edge. His gaze lingered on the handwriting for a moment before he exhaled, setting it back down on the counter.

But something about it stuck with him.

“You find the shingles?” Pete called from outside, his voice muffled through the walls.

Logan grabbed the bucket and headed back out, the cold air hitting him like a wall.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, setting the tools down near the ladder.

Pete and Rick were leaning against the side of the truck, sharing a thermos of coffee. Pete raised an eyebrow when Logan approached. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Logan shot him a pointed look but didn’t respond.

Rick, ever the observer, glanced between them. “Let me guess. You found something?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, but Pete wasn’t buying it.

“What was it? A love letter?” Pete teased, smirking.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he muttered under his breath as he grabbed another bundle of shingles.

“Come on, man,” Pete said, chuckling. “If it’s something that’ll get you closer to her, maybe you oughta take the chance.”

Logan paused, one hand on the ladder. He didn’t look at either of them as he said, “It’s her parents’ address.”

Rick let out a low whistle. “Well, there’s your answer.”

Logan climbed back up to the roof without another word, his mind racing even as his hands worked mechanically. The idea of showing up unannounced wasn’t sitting right with him, but the thought of seeing her—making sure she was okay—was something he couldn’t shake.

The workday wrapped up with the sun dipping low, casting a golden glow over the yard. Logan stood by the truck, rolling up his sleeves as Pete and Rick packed up the last of the tools.

“So, you gonna do it?” Pete asked, leaning against the tailgate with a grin.

Logan glanced at him, his brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Go see her,” Rick said, smirking. 

Logan exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, showing up unannounced.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “It’s Christmas, Howlett. If now’s not the time for grand gestures, when is?”

Rick nodded in agreement. “Worst-case scenario, her dad hates you. Best case? You get to spend a few days with the woman you’re crazy about.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You two don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when we’re right,” Pete said, grinning.

Logan climbed into the truck, his thoughts swirling as he started the engine. As the truck rumbled to life, Pete leaned in through the open window. “You’ll thank us later.”

Logan didn’t reply, but as he pulled out of the driveway, a faint smirk tugged at his lips. The idea of seeing her—of finally meeting her family—wasn’t as impossible as it had seemed just hours ago.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the bare trees, casting long shadows across the snow-covered lawn of her parents’ house. Evelyn had just finished stacking firewood along the side of the house when the low hum of a car engine broke the quiet. Wiping her hands on her coat, she turned to see a sleek, black sedan pulling into the driveway.

Her stomach dropped as the car door opened, and a figure she never thought she’d see again stepped out. William.

“Are you kidding me?” she muttered under her breath, yanking off her gloves and storming toward him.

He flashed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Evie.”

“Don’t call me that. What are you doing here?” she snapped, keeping her voice low but firm.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his breath puffing in the cold air. “Heard your mom was under the weather. Thought I’d stop by and see how she’s doing.”

She glared at him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You ‘heard’? From who?”

“It’s a small town,” he replied smoothly, leaning casually against his car. “People talk.”

“You have no right to be here,” she said, her voice sharper now. “My family doesn’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone softening as he took a small step closer. “Because the last time I checked, we had years together, Evelyn. I know I messed up, but does that really mean you want to erase all of it?”

She flinched, his words landing like a slap. “You didn’t just mess up. You humiliated me in front of everyone I cared about, and then disappeared like a coward. There’s no fixing that.”

His expression wavered, and for a moment, she thought she saw something genuine in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But then he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more calculated tone.

“I’ve been trying to move on,” he said quietly. “But every time I think I’m getting there, I think of you. I miss us, Evelyn.”

Her throat tightened, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, to push him further away, but the words got stuck.

He took the hesitation as an opening, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “I’m sorry for what I did. If I could take it back, I would.I’m here now.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “You can’t just show up here and expect me to forget everything you put me through. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said, stepping even closer. “I’m asking for a second chance.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them and leaned in. His lips brushed against hers softly, tentatively, and for a split second, she didn’t move.

Her mind raced, a chaotic storm of emotions swirling in her chest. The shock of the moment rooted her to the spot, but just as quickly as it started, she shoved him back, her voice trembling with anger.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the snow made her whirl around. Rounding the corner of the house, Logan came into view, his broad frame taut with tension as he took in the scene before him.

His gaze locked on hers for a brief moment before flicking to her ex-fiancé. His expression was unreadable—stone-faced, his jaw set tightly—but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made her stomach drop.

“Logan,” she breathed, panic surging through her chest.

Her ex-fiancé’s voice broke through the haze, dripping with false charm. “Well, well,” he said, his smirk cutting like a knife. “Is this the infamous boyfriend? Saw you at the fair. Figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

“Logan,” Evelyn said softly, her voice shaking as she took a step toward him. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, torn between relief at his presence and terror at what he must think. “This isn’t—”

Logan’s gaze moved from her ex to her, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those eyes she had come to trust so deeply—were shadowed with something raw. Hurt. Disbelief.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice calm but cold. He stayed where he was, his boots crunching on the snow-covered driveway. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said, her voice rising, almost desperate. “Logan, this isn’t what it looks like. He just showed up, and—”

“Seems like bad timing,” her ex interrupted with a smirk, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He glanced at Logan, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s a little funny. You showing up right now.”

“Shut up!” she snapped, spinning on him. “You’ve done enough damage.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but the way his jaw tightened was like a hammer to her chest. He was standing so still, so composed, but she could feel the weight of his silence.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it felt like a blade slicing through the cold. “I shouldn’t have come unannounced.”

“Logan, no,” she pleaded, stepping closer to him. Tears burned her eyes, but she forced herself to keep looking at him. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.”

But Logan just shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Take care of yourself, Evelyn,” he said, turning back toward his truck.

“Logan!” she cried, reaching for him, her voice breaking. “Please, I—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. The door slammed shut behind him, and the truck roared to life. She stood frozen, helpless, as he drove off.

As the taillights disappeared down the road, the silence left behind was suffocating.

Her ex let out a low chuckle, his voice grating against her frayed nerves. “Well, that went about as expected. I guess he wasn’t—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, the words ripping from her throat as she turned on him. Her hands shoved him hard, her fury exploding like a dam breaking.

He stumbled back, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time. “Whoa, hey—”

“Get out!” she yelled, her voice raw and trembling. Tears streamed down her face as she shoved him again, harder this time. “Get out of here! You’ve ruined enough!”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his eyes hardened as he straightened. “Jesus you’re overreacting.”

Her chest heaved as she glared at him, her voice shaking with fury. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to show up here and ruin my life again!”

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her with something akin to surprise. Then, without another word, he climbed into his car and drove off, the headlights casting long, mocking shadows across the driveway as he disappeared into the night.

And then it hit her. The weight of it all crashed down on her shoulders, and she collapsed to her knees in the snow, her sobs tearing through the stillness.

“Logan,” she whispered brokenly, the word slipping from her lips like a prayer. But the night swallowed her voice, leaving her alone in the icy darkness.

The sound of the front door opening was muffled by her cries, but the warmth of her father’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to the moment.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling beside her in the snow. His voice was steady, calm, but there was a deep concern in his tone that only a father could carry. “Come here.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her into a tight hug, his strong arms wrapping around her as if to shield her from the world. The warmth of his embrace broke something loose inside her, and she clung to him, her tears soaking into the fabric of his coat.

“I ruined everything,” she choked out, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “He’s gone. He—he thinks I...” Her words dissolved into sobs, her body shaking in his hold.

Her father held her tighter, his hand smoothing over her hair in a soothing rhythm. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured firmly. “This isn’t the end. Not by a long shot.”

“But, Dad,” she cried, her voice breaking, “he saw... he saw that, and I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently, leaning back just enough to look her in the eyes. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “Listen to me, okay? Whatever happened, it’s not the end of the world. You care about him, right?”

She nodded, her breath hitching.

“Then you’ll fix this,” he said simply, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Logan’s a good man, from everything you’ve told us. He’s not going to walk away from you over a misunderstanding. You’ll explain it to him, and he’ll see what we see.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill over. “What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not too late,” he said firmly, his grip on her steadying her as she wavered. “Sometimes things get messy, but if this man cares for you even half as much as you care for him, he’ll listen. He’ll come back. You just need to give it time.”

The certainty in his words was a balm to her frayed nerves, and though her heart still ached, she felt a small flicker of hope light up in the darkness.

Her father pulled her into another hug, his chin resting on top of her head. “You’re strong, kiddo,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been through worse than this, and you’ve always come out the other side. This time won’t be any different.”

She clung to him, her tears beginning to slow as the weight of his words settled in her chest. His presence, solid and unwavering, reminded her that she wasn’t alone in this.

Finally, he pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Now, come inside,” he said gently. “You’re freezing, and I’m not about to let you catch your death out here.”

She managed a shaky nod, her legs unsteady as he helped her to her feet. Together, they walked back toward the house, her father keeping a steadying arm around her as they stepped into the warmth of home.

The pain was still there, raw and unyielding, but her father’s words gave her something to hold onto—a promise that things could, and would, get better.

As the door closed behind them, the warmth of the house wrapped around Evelyn, but it did little to soothe the icy ache in her chest. Her father guided her to the couch, his arm still firmly around her shoulders. She sank into the cushions, her head bowed, and fresh tears threatened to spill again.

Her dad watched her for a moment, his expression torn. Then, with a deep sigh, he patted her hand. “Stay here,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Evelyn barely registered his words, her mind a storm of regret and panic. She buried her face in her hands, the memory of Logan’s face as he walked away replaying in her mind like a cruel loop.

In the kitchen, her father picked up the phone, his fingers pausing over the rotary dial before dialing a familiar number. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

“Hello?” Martha’s voice was bright, but it quickly shifted to concern when she heard who it was. “Mr. Bennette? Is everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “It’s about Evelyn. She’s... she’s not doing too well.”

“What happened?” Martha’s voice was sharp now, all traces of levity gone.

Her father explained in brief, measured tones—how her ex-fiancé had shown up, how things had spiraled, and how Logan had seen what he wasn’t supposed to see.

“She’s a mess, Martha,” he said finally, his voice heavy with worry. “I don’t think she’s in any shape to sort this out on her own, and she’s worried about leaving her mom.”

There was a pause on the line before Martha spoke again, her voice resolute. “I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Mr. Bennette,” Martha interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You know as well as I do that she’s not going to fix this while she’s here, stewing in her guilt. I’ll come and look after Mrs. Bennette. You just make sure she goes after Logan.”

He let out a slow, relieved breath. “Thank you, Martha. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Well, she owes me big for this,” Martha said, her tone softening just a bit. “I’ll be there in a couple of days. Make sure she’s packed and ready by then.”

When her dad returned to the living room, Evelyn hadn’t moved, still curled into herself on the couch. He crouched down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.

“Martha’s coming,” he said gently.

Evelyn blinked at him, confusion flickering across her tear-streaked face. “Why? What for?”

“She’s going to help with your mom,” he explained, his voice steady but kind. “So you can go take care of something more important.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“Logan,” he replied simply.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You need to go to him, sweetheart,” he continued. “He doesn’t deserve to be left hanging, thinking the worst. If what you told me about him is true, he’ll understand. But you’ve got to tell him the truth. In person.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she shook her head. “What if it’s too late? What if... what if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

Her dad reached up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. But something tells me that man cares about you too much to walk away that easily. You just have to let him know you feel the same.”

The storm of emotions in her chest finally stilled as she stared at him. His words settled something deep within her, and after a moment, she nodded, determination flickering in her tear-filled eyes.

“I’ll go,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

Her dad gave her a small, proud smile. “That’s my girl.”

The following morning, Evelyn sat at the foot of her mother’s bed, a tray of tea and toast balanced on her lap. Her mother’s cheeks had regained some color, but her sharp gaze hadn’t dulled despite the fever.

“You look tired,” her mom said softly, taking a sip of tea.

“I’m fine,” Evelyn replied, offering a small smile. “Just worried about you.”

Her mother set the cup down on the tray, studying her daughter intently. “That’s not all, is it?”

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “It’s nothing important.”

“It’s about him, isn’t it? Logan.”

The sound of his name sent a pang through her chest. She nodded slowly. “He... he saw something, something that wasn’t what it looked like. But he left before I could explain.”

Her mother reached out, her frail hand covering Evelyn’s. “Men like that don’t come around often. Don’t let fear stop you from making things right.”

Tears blurred Evelyn’s vision. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. “Then you hold your head high and know you did your best. But from the way you’ve spoken about him, I don’t think he’ll turn his back on you so easily.”

Two days later, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway stirred Evelyn from her restless thoughts. She peeked out the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she spotted Martha stepping out of her car, bundled in a thick coat and balancing a casserole dish in her gloved hands.

“Hope you’re ready for reinforcements!” Martha called out, her voice bright despite the chill in the air.

Evelyn opened the door, the cold wind brushing past her as she stepped outside. “Thanks for coming,” she said, managing a faint smile as she stepped aside to let Martha in.

Martha kicked off her boots and set the casserole dish on the kitchen counter, pulling off her gloves with an exaggerated flourish. “First order of business,” she announced, “this is my famous ‘everything but the kitchen sink’ casserole. Guaranteed to keep everyone alive while you’re gone.”

Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound was tinged with exhaustion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Martha waved her off. “Please, your parents love me. I’ll have your mom eating out of my hand by tomorrow morning.” Her expression softened as she turned to face Evelyn. “Your dad filled me in. You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn admitted, her voice cracking slightly. She wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well,” Martha said firmly, stepping closer and placing her hands on Evelyn’s shoulders, “first things first: you’re going to go find Logan. And while you do that, I’ll take care of everything here. Your mom, your dad, the casserole consumption. Deal?”

Evelyn hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the living room where her father was stoking the fire. “It feels selfish, leaving like this.”

“It’s not selfish,” Martha said, her voice resolute. “You’ve been here, taking care of everything and everyone. Now it’s time to take care of yourself.”

As if on cue, her father entered the kitchen, dusting his hands off as he closed the fireplace screen. His expression was warm, a quiet pride shining in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. “She’s right, sweetheart. We’ve got everything handled here. You’ve done more than enough.”

Evelyn felt her chest tighten, the weight of her guilt and hesitation threatening to crush her. But as she looked between her father and Martha—two of the people who knew her best—she felt a flicker of determination spark within her.

“Okay,” she said softly, nodding as the resolve began to take hold. “I’ll go.”

Her father smiled, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl.”

Martha clapped her hands together, her grin returning. “Alright! Let’s get you packed. No time to waste.”

As Evelyn headed toward her room to grab her things, her heart still felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty. But for the first time in days, she also felt a glimmer of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could make things right.

Chapter 7

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Passing By

| in honor of tom turning 30, here’s coryo turning 30 :)) |

“Do you like it? Is it good?”

Coriolanus continues chewing the cake in his mouth, letting the flavors melt all over his tongue. It’s vanilla, a simple flavor but he’s a simple man.

Besides, he loves vanilla because she smells like vanilla.

He looks up from his plate and finds his girlfriend staring at him with such an intensity in her eyes. She wants this to be perfect for him, from the cake to the entire day even though it’s almost over.

Coriolanus has two hours left to enjoy his birthday.

It’s not really that special to him, never has been, never will be. Thirty is a basic number, it just means that he’s on track, nothing to celebrate. Forty is when he’ll start taking things more seriously.

But Soarynn cares. She cares about everything including his birthday. It’s a shame he had to work today. The office has been making him work longer hours and with rent going up, it’s not like he has a choice.

The bitter part of him mind wishes he were younger only so he could have more time to make a better life for himself, for her.

They should be living on the Corso, not in this tiny, cramped one bedroom apartment. The heat doesn’t always work, the water is always frigid and sometimes rats chew through the walls.

She still bought him cake though.

Only once slice since that’s all the bakery had left when she got off her own shift at work. Soarynn works as a seamstress, it’s hard on her hands but it brings home some money so she stays there and works hard.

He wishes she didn’t have to work at all.

“It’s very good,” he tells her, still chewing but Coriolanus knows the longer he takes the answer, the more anxious she’ll get. Soarynn sighs, sitting on her knees, “Good, I couldn’t find any candles, sorry.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, placing a hand on her knee, “No need to be sorry darling, the cake is more than enough.”

Soarynn gives him a soft but tired smile. He knows she’s as exhausted as he is when it comes to living this life.

He came home exhausted, ready to go straight to bed when he found Soarynn in their small bedroom, with the slice of cake and a card. He already read the card, it’s sweet, she’s so sweet to him.

“Still,” she mumbles, brushing her hair behind her ears, “wish I could’ve gotten you something else. Some new shoes maybe.”

His shoes started getting holes in them about a month ago. Coriolanus didn’t mention it to Soarynn, didn’t want to worry her. Looks like she still noticed.

“For your birthday we’ll go out for dinner,” he tells her, setting the plate down. Soarynn’s lips twitch into a frown, “No we won’t.”

Now they’re both frowning.

Coriolanus wishes more than anything that they could afford the smallest of luxuries. New shoes, a night out on the town, new clothes for Soarynn, fresh groceries.

He always liked to think that Snow landed on top but he seems to be stuck at the very bottom.

At least he has Soarynn. With her, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Yes we will,” he says gently, giving her knee a squeeze, “I know I’ve been working longer hours but that means a little extra spending money. Might even be able to get you some new dresses hmm?”

Soarynn shakes her head, “Coryo we won’t celebrate my birthday.”

“Yes we will darling, twenty-nine is a big thing to celebrate.”

“Coryo, I never got to turn twenty-eight.”

Coriolanus closes his eyes but it doesn’t help. Doesn’t help him forget that she’s not even here right now. That Soarynn died almost a year ago in a car accident when she was crossing the street to get to work one morning.

He didn’t even find out until he got off of work and realized that she never made it home.

And he never got to say goodbye.

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone in his room, in his tiny, crappy apartment with no Soarynn. No warmth. No laughter. No kisses.

Just him and the slice of cake he bought himself on the way home from work because he knew she’d want him to celebrate.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

There is nothing to celebrate now that she’s gone.

“We’ll still celebrate,” he decides, ignoring her.

He doesn’t talk to Soarynn often, it’s too painful. And she only comes to visit him every so often, like on days like this.

Just like time, she’s only passing by.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @kickmybark @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @evilmenarehot @erensrealgf @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead |

[lucysarah-c]

I'll just say, I may be here posting about Mounting Spring, asks etc... But I'm cooking... I'm cooking something everyone asked me for lol

“I like this! This 3D flower pattern is so on trend right now.”

Levi’s eyes were glued to the screen as a freshly painted nail was shown up close.

“Oh, hi! Thank you,” her voice popped up again, and like an animal in pure confusion, he tilted his head to the side.

What are those things popping up? He was completely lost.

“Isn’t it too late for coffee?” she read aloud before grabbing her cup and taking a sip from the straw. “There’s no such thing as too much black or too late for coffee. Plus, it’s girls’ night! What’s a girls’ night without iced coffee or a glass of wine?”

This feels wrong now, Levi thought, taking a sip of his own drink, lazily sprawled on his bed. But when she started showing off her pajamas, that’s when he lost it.

Holy shit... it’s the little shorts doing it for me.

“This is why kids these days have their eyes glued to this shit,” he muttered, almost offended— as if his own mouth wasn’t slightly open and his eyes weren’t stuck to the screen as she vibed to the song playing in the background.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” She winked at the camera, arm in the air, hips moving in a way that Levi quickly guessed was meant to simulate riding. Over the kitchen island.

…I’m definitely not better than a 12-year-old boy.

The chat flooded with messages about how much they loved the song.

Whose song is this?

“Oh! I love that! Ugh, my heart is divided, I want all of them to win! Birds of a Feather is so good, but Hot to Go?” she gushed, listing more names Levi didn’t recognize.

Who are those?

“And the dance?”

What trend? What song? What dance?

Levi felt lost. Completely lost.

“Oh, thank you for the donation! Here, a heart for you!”

She pressed two fingers together in the shape of a heart. Levi tilted his head again, frowning.

How the hell is that a heart?

But before he could keep questioning his entire existence—or, perhaps, his age—her expression shifted. The usual bright smile faded as she read something from the chat.

“Look, if you’ve got a problem with me, just keep scrolling, buddy. Can an admin ban him from the stream, please?”

That made Levi do the exact opposite. He scrolled up through the rapidly moving chat until he found the comment in question. Some idiot had said she owed it to him if something happened because of what she was wearing and doing on screen.

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” Levi whispered, clicking his tongue. “If a woman has never even touched you, don’t say it so loudly.”

His fingers moved on their own, pressing the guy’s username, looking for a way to reply—until he suddenly let the phone drop onto his chest and stared at the ceiling.

“I need to calm down,” he muttered. Being in this live stream was already too much for him. Getting into an online argument was not the way to go.

How long had he been watching? He wasn’t sure. But in that time, he’d learned that ASMR meant tapping on objects with freshly done nails and whispering, that people voted on live which designs she should do next, and… a whole lot more.

“Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s me, espresso…”

She sang along to the music, and he felt hypnotized.

“…Did I just spend two hours of my life on this?”

The “Love ya!” came through the speakers as she blew a final kiss before ending the live.

“For fuck’s sake…” Levi muttered, almost offended. “You can’t be that stupidly cute.”

Maybe pop songs were popular for a reason. Maybe that’s why Levi never downloaded any apps on his phone or used it for anything beyond strictly necessary texts. Because explain to him why the hell he was humming at work.

“Since when do you know Sabrina Carpenter?”

Hange appeared out of nowhere, catching him off guard.

Levi had to come up with an excuse. Fast.

“What? Is it illegal for me to know new songs?”

“No…” Hange dragged the word out, squinting at him in suspicion. “But since when do you?”

“Give me a break. I’m not that old. I can get to know new artists,” he brushed it off while brewing himself a tea.

Hange let it slide, but their mind was already working, scheming. They kept talking, mostly about work. But as Levi finished his tea and was ready to leave, Hange casually dropped:

“Espresso?”

Levi frowned. “What?”

Hange repeated the question immediately, as if he hadn’t heard them the first time. But of course, he had.

“Fuck no. You know I hate coffee. Black tea,” he grumbled.

To his shock, Hange chuckled, shaking their head, biting their lip as they held back a knowing smile.

“Aww, Shortie… don’t give yourself away.”

“Huh?”

“Espresso. That’s the song you were humming.” Their grin widened. “I’m starting to think you’re not just listening to new artists—you’re watching new people.”

Levi stiffened.

And for the first time, he couldn’t hide the subtle embarrassed blush creeping up his face.

“Get off my ass,” he muttered, already walking away.

But Hange wasn’t done.

“And I think it might be Erwin’s cute little influencer friend!”

I won't say anything else, let the readers figure it out.

[totallyanopossum]

Monster secretary part 3

Art by me

Link to master post

Part 3, 18+ art below

Art by me

R/totallyanopossum for uncensored art

Part 3, smutty smut smut

The feelings are just getting strong and stronger, she desperately needs some friction, something to clench around. She can't be stuck with this feeling for hours and not do something, it feels like if she doesn't get pleasure she'll explode. She hasn't even touched herself and she's fully soaked, she needs to do something. But she can't, not here in her bosses home, surely not with her boss, right?

It's been a few minutes of awkward silence after he dropped that new knowledge. There's a strong tension In the air, both awkward and sexual.

He didn't mean for it to happen, it's the last thing this situation needs. But her scent is getting stronger and stronger, it's affecting him, and the feel of wet arousal on his arm, he's getting the awkwardest boner of his life.

She didn't realize her feet were resting in his lap until she felt something harden beneath the balls of her feet. She glances down and can't help the cartoon look of shock that's plastered on her face as she realizes her feet are resting on his extremely large boner.

Is he affected by me? Wait, do we have mutual feelings, mutual attraction? Fuck, just how big is he? Oh I know I shouldn't but I wanna press down, feel how firm he is. Maybe he'll moan, or whimper, oh the sinful sounds we could make. Fuck, no, stop it, bad horny self.

Oh this silence is stupid, we are both turned on, both horny, both adults. My scent wouldn't have effected her like this if she didn't already have feelings for me.Even if there is a bit of a power difference here between boss and secretary, but fuck that it doesn't bother me and if it bothers her well the she can dominate me.

They both had that same thought at the same time.

D- “ Y/N”

Y/N-“ Draven"

They both said each other's names at the same time, catching them both off guard, adding another moment of hesitation.

She can't wait any longer, it's become too hard to think straight and focus, forming coherent words is beyond her at this point. She doesn't know what he was gonna say, but she's gonna go based on what his body is telling her.

Fuck it she can find another job, but getting another chance at this, to fuck a monster like him, she can't pass this up, her body is desperate for him and her lusfull mind is winning over her self control.

She grabs the hem of her shirt and throws it off, declaring her intentions loudly as her titties bounce from the recoil of her movements. Now she's like an animal in heat, she leans forward, grabs onto his hand for support as she maneuvers to straddle his arm. She's impressed all it takes is just one arm to hold her up, and how good it feels to grind on his arm. Her mind is so foggy all she knows is to keep bucking her hips and grinding on him, giving in feels so good, feels like a pressure has been released, but that's probably because she just released on him without realizing. Now his arm and pants are soaked with her arousal but she's unaware as she pants, chest raising with each ragged breath, her head hung back.

Whoa. She let loose, looks like she couldn't hold back anymore. Oh she's even more perfect then I imagined, smooth creamy skin, large pendulous breasts, oh those thighs, and perfect round ass. I wanna grab, fuck i wanna grab her but this is all her and she looks so good doing it. Using me for her pleasure. Oh, did she just? She did, all over me. Fuck I didn't get to taste, I'll have to make her do that again over my mouth next time, a few more times actually.

The ach in his pants is now painful, his slacks allowing no room to stretch against his growing length and the stain of leaking precum growing. It's time to say something now, he wants to touch her, to feel her.

D- “ y/n, darling?”

At the sound of his voice, she turns eyes locking with him immediately. Her eyes burning with a desperate hungry look.

Y/N-“ more”

D- “ p..pardon”

She shifts her gaze, eyes darting between him and the obvious bulge straining his pants. He's glad to see her interest in him, glad she wants more, and who is he to deny her that.

Y/N-“ more please”

D- “ of course darling”

He sets her down on the couch, she pouts, looking very upset about her new position and lack of contact. She won't be pouting long though it's his turn to undress. He starts by casting off his shirt and unbuckling his belt. He likes the way her eyes are glued to his every movement, just waiting to get sight of his impressive length. He hopes the size doesn't scare her off, but doubts that will happen with the way she smells, and how she licks her lips as his pants drop. This makes his hunger spike, cock grow to its full length, and his tentacles unfurl. They reach around for something to grab onto, something to squeeze, something to hold down.

Y/N-“ Whoa”

D- “ are you pleased darling?”

She doesn't have the words to convey her reaction, so she acts. She settles on her knees on the couch and reaches out with a grabbing motion, beckoning him over. She wants a closer look, she's never seen anything like it before, so big, both in length and girth.

He can't deny her and steps closer, making her level with his cock. His tentacles have a mind of their own, one pulling the tie from her hair making it fall cascading over her shoulders, the other fondling her swollen breasts making her moan with just the slightest squeeze.

His leaking cock bobs infont of her face as she admires it. The way it's girthiest at the base, how the tip is slightly flared with barbs just underneath, all the textured ridges, the way it's alright glistening with precum, and those tentacles already grabbing her.

Oh fuck this is going to break me, split me in two. That's if it will even fit, but oh I really want it to fit even if he breaks me this will be worth it. I need this, I need to be stretched, I need to be stuffed, I need to be broken.

She reaches out grabbing at the base with both hands, her fingertips don't even have a chance of reaching around him. She looks up at him while she licks and sucks on the tip, just the tip fills her mouth, stretching her jaw wide open, but it's so worth it. She's never tasted anything like this, the flavor delicious and indescribable and she wants more, needs more, she's gonna milk him for everything he's got.

He didn't expect her to be so bold, or for her touch to feel this exceptionally good. It's been so long since he's been with someone, he's embarrassed that just with a minute of her mouth on him he already feels his climax quickly approaching.

He lets out a deep growl and carefully fists her hair, his claws accidentally brush against her scalp eliciting a breathy moan muffled by his cock in her mouth.

D- “ im.. I'm gonna”

This makes her suck and flick her tongue more vigorous, like she wants him to cum quickly. But that's because she does, she's being driven by greedy hungry intentions of milking her boss.

He's about to cum, his tentacles squeeze her breasts hard, he bucks his hips and uses his hold on her hair to drive himself further in her mouth, making her let out choked sounds and the huff of heavy breathing coming from her nose. He hasn't released in so long, this load is very large, seeming endless, wave after wave hitting the back of her throat.

Delicious. Thank fuck he didn't pull out, can't waste a drop of it. Oh this is addicting.

Once he comes back to reality, he looks down admiring the way her lips are stretching around him, the tears rolling down her reddened cheeks, and that hungry devious look.

Oh she wants more, good so do I. She's gotten to have a taste of me but I haven't gotten a taste of her yet, how unfair, time to change that.

He pulls out of her mouth, making a lewd pop sound. He wrangles his tentacles, getting them off of her. It's time to take this to the bedroom so he can properly enjoy her.

He leans down and picks her up, placing her over his shoulder, grabbing her ass and squeezing as he takes her to his bedroom. Her plush soft body against his feels amazing, his fingers digging into her ass and thighs, her large breasts pressed against his shoulder and back, heavenly.

He playfully throws her down onto the bed, loving the way her body jiggles from the impact.

Oh he's perfect. Ravish me.

He goes to his knees at the foot of bed, reaches out grabbing hold of her thighs and drags his meal to the edge of the bed. He slips a claw under the soaked fabric of her underwear and cuts them off of her. Now she's fully bare to him.

She's perfect. What a pretty leaking pussy. A delicious meal all for me. Oh my dreams never came close to this.

He inhales her scent right from the source, the pheromones are intoxicating. Large hands pinning her legs open to the bed, he knows this will make her wriggle and writhe but she's not gonna escape his grasp. He glides his tongue between her slick folds getting his first taste of her delicious arousal, he immediately dives in sinking his tongue deep within her making her gasp and fist the blankets.

His tongue, fuck I already feel a stretch and it's just his tongue, his massive cock is gonna break me. Break me please. OH SHIT THATS MY CERVIX. DID HE JUST? HES TONGUE FUCKING MY CERVIX!

Good girl, yes gimme more sinful lewd moans. Try all you want, you're not going anywhere. That's it let me open you up, good girl take it.

Her back is arching off the bed, she's writhing under his expert tongue. He changes his hold, using his forearms to pin her thighs and his hands on her chest to keep her down. She looks so small and helpless trapped beneath his hold, so beautiful the way she struggles uselessly.

She clenched down around him hard, her legs shaking, body trembling, eyes rolling back as she cum harder than she ever has before.

Mouth open pressed against her pussy he waits for his treat, his delicious meal. He drinks up every drop, savoring everything she gives him. He slowly pulls his tongue out, leaving her empty clenching around nothing, feelings so empty. He releases his hold on her and just gazes at his beautiful little human as she slowly comes back to reality.

Eventually she opens her eyes, sits up a bit and looks at him, she's amazed and hungry for more. She never thought she’d be in a position to beg her boss for sexual acts but here she is. He said orgasming would ease the horny hunger but now it just feels stronger and unimaginably desperate, like if she doesn't get impaled on his cock soon she'll die.

She manages to sit up and grabs onto the horns coming from his collar bones for stability, not trusting herself to stay upright.

Y/N-“ more please”

He stays silent, he wants to see if she'll beg for more, for him.

Y/N-“ Mister Draven Please fuck me, use me, fill me. Please Boss I need you to fill me up, I'll do anything”

D- “ anything?”

Y/N-“ Yes!”

D- “ good girl, your gonna take everything I give you, your body is mine, we're not done until I say so, understood”

Y/N-“ yes, yes, please”

She's perfect and all mine. She'll get everything she begged for and more. I didn't know my scent hormone was this strong, poor Lil thing needs more pleasure, needs my cock.

He scoops her up, feeling her grip on his horns tighten as she's lifted off the bed, her legs over his shoulder, wet cunt dripping against his chest.

He climbs in bed, lays her down, and straddles her body hovers over her, loving how tiny she is beneath him, he's gonna have to be careful not to hurt her. 1 set of tentacles bind her breath together so he can titty fuck her while the other set trace along her neck and face. He lines up and thrusts, with each thrust her whole body gets jiggled. He's never felt something so soft or smooth before as he slides between her around breasts, he lets his head tilts back and enjoy the heavenly softness.

His tentacles really do have a mind of their own, the free set not binding her have taken interest with her mouth. They goes for her mouth, it's already open, panting,so they slip in, feeling around her cheeks and tongue, then exploring further back into her throat. She starts to choke, making Draven check to see what's happening, for a moment he's concerned but knows she can handle this.

D- “ swallow darling, let them in…. Good girl just like that, don't resist”

He's not in control of his tentacles but he can feel them and the feelings of her swallow around them is pushing him over the edge. A few more gulps and his thrusts become erratic and desperate. He lets out a loud growl as he releases all over her chest and face.

The tentacles release her breasts and come out of her throat, each tentacles scooping up cum and taking it to her mouth. She sucks off every bit of his delicious cum, noticing the whines that escape Draven as she sucks.

She needs to cum again, the feeling so urgent it's her only focus. Breathing, surviving, all secondary concerns tossed aside, there's only one goal and she needs it NOW.

She turns and gets In doggy position, presenting her ass and dripping cunt to him. She even wiggles her ass back and forth trying anything to get him inside her.

Wow she's presenting her ass to me, I have made her wait but she'll get her prize now.

He repositions herself, resting her on the balls of her feet, while his tentacles wrap around her thighs and waist to hold her in place. He slides his tips back and forth between her wet folds getting himself lubed up while teasing her overly sensitive clit. He's a bit worried about making it fit, he might break her, but she did beg to be filled, and how can he deny her, his cute little needy secretary.

He lighs up with her entrance and slowly starts to push in, it's slow going at first, not much progress he'll have to be more forceful.

Y/N-“ please please fill me Draven”

D- “ I don't want to hurt you darling”

Y/N-“ i don't care, fill me, fuck me, I need you inside me… Please”

Her voice is heavy with desperation, she sounds on the verge of tears with her last ‘please’. That sound of her distress triggers his instincts he now feels a strong deep drive to give her what she's begging for.

He pushes hard forcing his way in, she whines, moans, and claws at the bed while the pain mixes with pleasure. She cries out loudy as she finally opens up and he sinks in half way. The girthiest portion is still unable to fill her, but half is good progress. His tentacles increase their grip on her as she starts to lose her balance.

He had the intention to start slowly but instincts and hunger have taken over. The room filled with the lewd sounds of her wet cunt getting abused, his growls, and her sinful crying moans. As he drills into her she starts to open up more and more, he's almost balls deep.

Nothing will ever compare to this, my pussy belongs to him now. I didn't think I could stretch this much, I feel like I'm gonna break, I'm stretched to the limit, it stings so good.

No pussy will ever compare to hers, I've never been inside anything so tight before, so wet. I'm never letting her go.

Her body has gone weak, only being held up by him as he drills into her. She's come so many times she's lost count, her body in a constant state of over-sensitisation, twitching and squinting making a mess. Each powerful thrust pushes her tear stained face into the bed, as her walls stretch to their limits, cervix being slammed with every ball deep thrust.

The fog clouding her mind is taking over, her vision going dark, her limbs completely weak, she blacks out her mind and body have reached their limit.

Did she pass out? She did, oh little darling got more than she bargained for but I'm not done and she did agree her body is mine and we're not done till I say so, so more of her swollen little cunt for me.

He's getting close, and his tentacles are a bit upset to have missed out on the fun when the game is almost over. They don't need to restrain her fully anymore so the set holding her waist releases to explore her ass. Her cheeks are already spread apart, her unsuspecting ass just waiting to be filled. Her body unconscious and relaxed, the tentacles twist together forming one and they begin pushing into her empty hole quickly.

This new sensation startles her awake, she lets out a yelp, very disoriented trying to figure out the new sensation. She felt impossibly full before but now she's just amazed at her body's capacity to handle so much. This stretch though isn't that good sting, this pain would be unbearable if there wasn't the pleasure of Draven drilling into her pussy. Another way of orgasms hit her, bringing her tired body back to the brink of consciousness again.

Her wave of orgasms has her clenching down hard, tipping him over the edge instantly and he spills a huge load deep inside her, filling her up. His seed adds to the lewd puddle of their arousal pooling on the bed, her little cunt just couldn't handle all of his load.

He pulls out, gets his tentacles to retract fully, and carefully lays her down on the lounge chair so he can clean up the bed. His poor little secretary isn't a match for his stamina, maybe with time she'll be able to go a few more rounds.

Once the beds changed, it was time to clean her up. When she wakes they can take a proper shower but for now a quick wipe will have to do. He gives them both a washcloth bath, taking care to be gentle with his little darling she did so good today. He lays her in bed making sure she's tucks under the covers, all safe and settled. He's not wiped out tired like she is, so he dressed, grabs a book and sits next to her bed, he doesn't want her to wake up alone.

[supernovafics]

bestfriend!steve comforting you after a break up

wc: 875

a/n: this short thing was born because "walking in the rain" by we all together has been stuck on repeat for me currently. enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“hey, what are you doing out here?” 

you were somehow able to hear steve’s voice over the heavy sound of the rain. 

seeing his maroon bmw was unexpected, and if it was any other moment it would’ve been a pleasant surprise, but in this one it wasn’t because you had really just wanted to be alone. 

“i’m just walking,” you answered, not stopping to walk over to his car and instead continuing your path down the sidewalk; you weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t really mind that right then. 

“walking?” steve asked, his tone incredulous and slightly amused. “it’s pouring out.”

all you could do was shrug in response because you didn’t want to say anything right then; not even to your best friend. 

you hoped that would be the end of it. that steve would understand that your shrug meant that you wanted to be left alone and he’d drive away, leaving you out here walking in the rain on this random tuesday afternoon. but of course, he didn’t drive off. 

instead, he pulled over and parked his car on the random street and then ran to catch up with you; his scoops ahoy uniform immediately getting soaked in the process along with his hair.  

“what’s wrong?” he asked, falling into step with you. 

you shook your head instead of verbally answering him because you knew that it would be too hard to outwardly lie to him. 

steve looked at you, confusion and worry written so clearly across his features because he didn’t know what was up with you in this moment. 

the rain hid your tears well, but it didn’t hide how puffy and red your eyes were. 

“are you crying?” he asked. “what happened?”

you wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing, and it did absolutely nothing to help, but the action still felt slightly soothing. “i don’t really want to talk about it right now.” 

“okay,” steve responded, matching your quiet tone and not pushing you further. “we can keep walking.”

and so you did. continued walking down the random sidewalk and letting the rain fill the silence lingering between you two. 

until you finally did say something. 

“nate and i broke up. well, actually, he, um, he broke up with me… he ended things,” you said and then you quickly continued before steve could respond. “and i didn’t want to talk about this right now. i wanted to wait until i was at least a little less sad about it to tell you, but...” you trailed off with a halfhearted shrug. 

“i’m sorry,” steve told you, voice soft and hand finding yours, giving it a light reassuring squeeze. 

“it’s okay.” 

it was obvious that your words were a lie— there was nothing about how affected you felt by the abrupt end of this six month relationship that felt okay— but steve decided against calling you out on it. 

he gave your hand another squeeze. “can we go to my car now before we end up getting sick out here?”

“okay,” you whispered and for a second, you thought that he wasn’t able to hear you over the sound of the rain, but then he was leading the way back to his car. 

“i just don’t get it, y’know,” you said, voice still quiet, once you were sitting in steve’s passenger seat. your rain-soaked clothes were starting to stick to you in an uncomfortable kind of way, but you weren't really focused on that right then. “what i did wrong.”

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” the certainty in his voice surprised you as much as it managed to comfort you.  

you turned to look at him, the smallest frown on your face. “how could you possibly know that?”

“because i know you and you’re great.”

his words made you smile, just a little bit, which was a nice contrast from how shitty you’d been feeling for the last hour. it was typical steve behavior, him doing anything and everything to make you feel better.  

you’d been used to it from the moment you two met in third grade when you tripped while playing on the playground and he cracked jokes during the entire walk to the nurses office to take your mind off of the pain of your scraped knees. 

“i never liked nate, by the way,” he continued. 

“i know you didn’t,” you responded. “which is what makes this a thousand times more embarrassing.”

you knew that if you had just avoided nate like steve had suggested from the beginning none of this would be happening. you wouldn’t have been walking around aimlessly in the rain and you wouldn’t have needed your best friend to save you from your own sadness. 

 “do you want me to take you to your place or mine?” steve asked softly, breaking the growing quiet. 

“yours,” you answered immediately. you couldn’t imagine not being with him right now— in his house, in whatever t-shirt and sweatpants he’d offer you to change into, on his couch watching bad movies until it got late and you dragged yourselves to his bed to sleep like you’d done a million times before. “please.”

steve nodded. “of course. anything for you.”