#maybe he’s already got someone lined up

[all-with-angel]

"You're such a softie." You whisper, tracing the lines on his face with a gentle finger, occasionally brushing soft pink locks out of his face. Soft, courtesy of your hair care routine on Sukuna.

"Hm." Your voice reaches his ears, but it doesn't seem like your words registered in his mind. Because if he really did hear your words, he'd complain. Huff and puff, maybe even throw you off his lap.

(Throw is codeword for picking you up and putting you aside. Gently.)

Sukuna is leaned back on his throne, skulls and bone framing the two of you, and yet the atmosphere felt uncharacteristically soft. Quiet. Rare.

You smile, a mischievous glint in your eye. Fine, you'll get a reaction out of him either way.

Withdrawing your hands from his face and hair, you wait for the inevitable reaction.

One of Sukuna's eyes peak open, unimpressed. You innocently smile back. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what?'" He growled, previous relaxation bleeding away quicker than you could blink. All of his crimson eyes snap open, all of them effectively glaring at you.

"Whaaaat?" You repeat, giggling and leaning backwards when Sukuna's hands grip your waist in impatience.

He squints suspiciously at you. "You know what you did."

"Nuh-uh. You gotta tell me."

He scowls.

"Why do I have to tell you something you already know? Brat."

"But I don't know!" You were grinning, the face of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

Sukuna glares impossibly harder at you, hands tightening on your waist in a silent threat. Unfortunately, you were not threatened. If anything, it simply egged you on.

"You gotta tell me what you want me to do, yknow." You huff in between giggles.

His face is contorted into a deep frown, although it looked like such a cute pout to you that you were half-tempted to just give in. No, no, you'll be strong. For a little bit.

"Your hands." He murmurs in between gritted teeth.

"what was that?"

"Your hands." He repeats. "Put them on my face. Do that thing you insist on doing." His voice comes out strained, held back by his ego. "Lest you start complaining."

"Me?" You raised an amused brow. "I'm the one that complains?"

"Yes, you." Sukuna concluded.

You roll your eyes, bring your hands to his face and squishing his cheeks, earning you a grumble from the pink-haired curse. "Whatever you say, 'Kuna."

A.N. I got so many requests to do but this man. This MANNN i cant get rid of him im sorry

[solrburst]

the nanny — joel miller

pairing: joel miller x nanny!reader

summary: Joel is desperate for a nanny for Ellie, and you're his last hope.

tags/warnings: dad!joel, age gap, mention of death, alternative universe/no cordyceps, unprotected sex, oral sex (f! receiving), joel is a flirt, dirty talk

author's note: i love seeing flirty!joel almost as i love dad!joel

word count: 12k

The sun beat down heavy on Austin's cracked pavement when you pulled out the taxi. You could hear the cicadas buzzing like some lazy warning in the trees. The house wasn’t anything special—single-story, flat-roofed, a tired porch with an ashtray full of cigarette butts and a half-drunk beer sweating on the railing.

Joel Miller opened the door before you even knocked.

He stood there, filling the doorway with the kind of broad-shouldered presence that made people pause without knowing why. Dark hair just starting to go silver at the temples, thick lines drawn deep around his eyes. He looked like someone who'd seen too much too young and learned to say very little about it.

“You’re the nanny?” he asked, one brow raised, voice low and sandpaper-rough.

You blinked once. “Unless you’re about to offer me a better job.”

A beat passed.

Then—something flickered in his eyes. Not quite a smile, but not not one either. He stepped aside and nodded. “Come on in.”

The house smelled like wood, sweat, and something faintly sweet—maybe cereal. You caught the faint rumble of a TV from down the hall, something animated and overly loud.

Joel shut the door behind you and scratched the back of his neck. “Look, just to get this out of the way... she’s a lot. Talks back. Doesn’t listen half the time. Last one didn’t even make it to lunch.”

You let your bag drop to the floor by the door and glanced up at him, your voice easy. “So she’s seven?”

He exhaled through his nose, maybe a chuckle buried in there somewhere. “Somethin’ like that. Sometimes she talks like she’s twenty.”

Just then, a blur of limbs and tangled hair skidded into the hallway.

“Is this another one?” Ellie stood with her arms crossed, surveying you like a bouncer outside a bar. “You look like you smell like soap and Pinterest boards.”

You raised a brow. “You look like you snuck a Sharpie snack and tried to hide it with your hair.”

She blinked. Then snorted. “Okay, that was pretty good.”

Joel glanced between the two of you. His hand landed on his hip like he was bracing himself for another trainwreck—but Ellie wasn’t running off. Wasn’t screaming. In fact, she was smirking.

He muttered to himself, “I’ll be damned.”

Tommy’s voice floated in from the front porch. “You ready or what?”

Joel grabbed his keys from the hook and looked at you one last time, almost reluctant.

“You sure you’re good with her?”

You shrugged. “I’ve babysat worse. One kid tried to throw a waffle iron at me.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Did you throw it back?”

You gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Only metaphorically.”

Joel exhaled slow. Then nodded once.

“I’ll be back around five. If anything goes sideways... call me.”

You saluted lazily. “Got it, Captain.”

And then he was gone, the screen door clattering behind him as his boots disappeared down the porch steps. You turned back toward Ellie.

“So, what’s your plan, boss?”

She cocked her head. “I was gonna trap you in the laundry room, but now I kinda wanna see if you can beat me at Mario Kart.”

You grinned. “Loser makes the winner a snack.”

“You're on.”

And just like that, Ellie Miller had met her match.

The living room was dark except for the soft blue glow of the TV, set to some old cartoon playing on mute. Joel pushed the door open slow, bracing himself for the worst: broken dishes, yelling, or silence—that kind of silence. The kind that meant another nanny had packed up and left without saying goodbye.

His boots creaked against the floor as he stepped inside. "Ellie?"

No response. Not even the usual clatter of her throwing something across the room in rebellion.

He moved further in, already unhooking his keys from his belt loop, mentally rehearsing the apology he’d have to send to Tommy for wasting another referral.

But then he saw you.

You were curled up on the edge of the worn couch, feet tucked beneath you, the glow of the TV playing across your face. Calm. Like this was just a Tuesday. No blood. No chaos. No broken spirits.

Joel blinked, mouth parting slightly.

You turned when you heard him and offered a low, casual, “Hey.”

He squinted. “Hey? That’s it?”

You nodded, stretching your arms with a small yawn. “Kid’s knocked out cold. Upstairs. Brushed teeth, bedtime story, everything.”

He looked at you like you'd just told him aliens landed in the backyard.

"Wait—asleep? It's not even eight."

“Early start tomorrow. School.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Joel stepped into the kitchen without a word and opened the fridge just to give his hands something to do. The beer he’d left from the morning was still in there. He cracked it open, trying not to stare too hard at you over the rim of the bottle.

“I figured I’d walk into a war zone,” he muttered. “You didn’t run. Didn’t call. Didn’t leave a note taped to the fridge sayin’ you were done.”

You shrugged, leaning back a little. “Why would I? She’s a smart kid. Sharp. Just needs someone who doesn’t treat her like she’s stupid or fragile.”

Joel tilted his head at you, unreadable. “She usually eats nannies alive.”

“She tried,” you said with a smirk. “Came at me full sass by 3 p.m. I hit back harder.”

He let out a small grunt—maybe a laugh, maybe surprise. He took another sip of beer and looked toward the dark hallway like he still couldn’t believe Ellie hadn’t set something on fire.

“She was real quiet,” he said slowly. “When her mom left. Wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t eat. Now she don’t shut up.”

“She talks a lot,” you agreed, smiling. “But she listens, too. If you speak her language.”

Joel leaned against the counter, arms folded. His voice softened a little, the tension loosening just enough to show through. “What, and you speak ‘ellie’ now?”

You shrugged. “I speak ‘chaos.’ Comes in handy with kids.”

For a few long seconds, he just looked at you. That quiet, heavy stare he had—like he was trying to see ten layers deeper than your skin.

Then, finally:

“You’re comin’ back tomorrow?”

You raised a brow. “Wasn’t planning on quitting. Unless you were gonna.”

A corner of his mouth twitched.

“No,” he said. “I think we’ll survive.”

You pushed up off the couch, grabbing your bag as you headed for the door. “Good. 'Cause she already asked if we could build a pillow fort after school.”

Joel walked you to the porch. The cicadas were still out. The street was still quiet.

You paused at the top step and turned back to him, eyes catching his in the porchlight.

“You’ve got a good kid,” you said.

He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded, slow. “She’s got a good shot now.”

And then you were gone.

But for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller didn’t feel like things were falling apart.

They might just be starting to fall into place.

The door swung open just as Ellie was kicking off her scuffed sneakers in the entryway, her backpack half-zipped and already sliding off her shoulder.

“Is she here yet?” she shouted toward the kitchen, her voice bouncing off the walls. “Dad! Is she here yet?”

Joel, standing at the stove with a dish towel over one shoulder, didn’t bother looking up. “Does it look like she’s here? Use your eyes, not your mouth.”

“But my mouth is faster!”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

Ellie dropped her bag with a thud, already heading toward the front windows to check the driveway—just as your car pulled up.

“There!” she yelled, triumphant, sprinting back through the house like a tornado in fast-forward. “She’s here she’s here she’s here—!”

Joel had just turned down the burner on the skillet when the door opened, and you stepped in with the same relaxed confidence you carried like armor.

“Hey,” you greeted, a touch winded from dodging Ellie, who’d practically launched herself at you before you were through the door. “Did I miss the homecoming parade?”

“She’s been askin’ about you since the bell rang,” Joel said, nodding toward the hyper blur bouncing in your shadow. “Didn’t even want her snack. Which is how I know the apocalypse is near.”

“I saved my appetite,” Ellie declared proudly. “Dad made grilled cheese with bacon. He never makes grilled cheese with bacon.”

You raised a brow. “Is this a bribe, Miller?”

Joel shot you a look over his shoulder. “She’s been unbearable. Figure I earned the right to butter her up before I hand her over.”

“Smart,” you said, dropping your bag on the same hook as yesterday. “She’s got that post-school chaos energy. You should see what she did to the car ride playlist yesterday. Ruined Stevie Nicks forever.”

“I did not!” Ellie cried, whirling on you with wide, offended eyes.

“She put it on 1.25 speed,” you deadpanned. “Stevie Nicks sounded like a chipmunk with anxiety.”

Joel snorted, smothering the sound with a fake cough as he plated up the sandwiches. “You want one?” he asked you. “I made extra.”

You blinked, surprised. “You cook for the nanny now?”

“I cook for people who save me from losin’ my damn mind.”

You grinned. “Flattering.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be.”

You pulled out a chair at the table while Ellie dropped into hers, legs swinging under the seat. She was already talking a mile a minute about her day—some story about her science teacher and a broken Bunsen burner, a joke she told in front of the whole class, how everyone laughed (even the mean kids). She spoke with that spark in her voice again, the one Joel hadn’t heard in years. Not since before.

And you just listened. Asked questions. Teased her right back. Like it was easy. Natural.

Joel set the plate in front of you, still watching from the kitchen with a strange look in his eyes. Half guarded, half... something else.

“Thanks,” you said, catching his gaze briefly before biting into the sandwich. “Damn. This is actually good.”

He raised a brow. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m used to burnt toast and expired yogurts when I nanny for dads. This is, like, actual food.”

Joel just grunted and took his seat, digging in with a quiet shake of his head.

Ellie beamed between the two of you like she’d planned this entire lunch herself.

“So,” she said through a mouthful of bread and bacon, “after we eat, can we finish the pillow fort? I brought extra blankets from my room.”

“Only if we build defenses this time,” you warned, chewing thoughtfully. “Last night’s fort couldn’t have survived a sneeze.”

“That was a test run!”

Joel sighed, but he didn’t sound tired—more like resigned. A man accepting his fate. “You break anything, you fix it. That includes her,” he added, nodding toward Ellie.

“I’m unbreakable,” she declared proudly.

You caught Joel’s eye across the table.

“Yeah,” you said. “She is.”

And for a few quiet seconds, the three of you just sat there—sharing grilled cheese, half-smiles, and the smallest taste of something like peace.

The sun hadn’t even dipped below the horizon when Joel’s truck rumbled into the driveway, tires crunching over gravel. He was early—rare. The job site shut down sooner than expected, and Tommy had waved him off with a smirk that said, go home, see what you’ve been missing.

He stepped inside, boots already loosening, and heard it before he saw it.

Laughter.

Ellie’s, loud and unfiltered, practically vibrating through the walls. And yours, tangled with it, low and warm like the hum of a fire.

The house smelled like popcorn and something vaguely fruity—maybe bubblegum shampoo?—and as Joel rounded the corner into the living room, he paused.

Ellie was wrapped in a blanket on the floor, holding a flashlight under her chin like a horror movie cliché, while you crouched beside her, waving a sock puppet dramatically through the air.

“So then,” you were saying, voice low and ominous, “the terrifying Sockzilla sniffed the room and said... ‘someone forgot to flush.’”

Ellie howled with laughter, collapsing backward onto a pile of pillows, kicking her feet.

Joel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slow smile creeping up without permission. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Neither of you had.

This wasn’t babysitting. Wasn’t even a job.

This was joy—something Ellie had stopped having for a long damn time.

“Sockzilla’s not wrong,” Joel said finally, his voice cutting through the laughter like gravel.

You looked up with a start, then grinned. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed,” he said, stepping in. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the apocalypse.”

“You’re just jealous you missed chapter three: The Underwear Revolt.”

Ellie popped her head up from behind a pillow fort wall. “Dad, you’re early! Why?”

Joel shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Got lucky. Figured I’d beat the dinner rush.”

“You did,” you said, brushing popcorn off your knees. “I was just about to order pizza.”

Joel hesitated. For a half-second. Like the question had been sitting in his chest for a while now.

“You hungry?” he asked. “If you don’t got plans, I mean.”

You raised a brow. “You inviting me to stay?”

He shrugged, all rough edges and nonchalance. “Be a shame to kick you out before dinner. 'Specially after all the... sock trauma.”

Ellie was already nodding. “Yes, stay. Please. We’ll get the stuffed crust and everything.”

You looked between the two of them—the wide-eyed kid and the guarded man who, despite himself, was starting to open the door a little wider every day.

“Alright,” you said, settling back into the cushions. “But only if I get to pick the movie.”

Joel gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Long as it ain’t animated.”

Ellie gasped. “You love animated movies. Don’t lie.”

“That was one time—”

“You cried during Wall-E!”

“Everyone cries during Wall-E,” Joel muttered.

You just laughed. “Good to know I’m in excellent company.”

Joel shook his head, but the smile on his face lingered longer than it used to. He disappeared into the kitchen to grab plates, muttering something about “stuffed crust being a scam,” and Ellie launched into a detailed argument in its defense.

The sound of the tap running low and steady filled the space between you. The kitchen light hummed overhead, casting a soft golden glow across the sink. Joel leaned against the counter nearby, drying a plate with a towel he clearly didn’t intend to use efficiently.

Ellie had crashed hard—half-asleep on your shoulder during the last twenty minutes of the movie, mumbling something about “marrying a pizza slice” before you carried her upstairs with Joel trailing close behind, just in case.

Now the house was quiet again. The good kind.

You scrubbed at a stubborn streak of marinara on a plate, and he watched—hands busy, mouth quieter than usual.

Then, finally, his voice broke the silence.

“You ever think about teachin’?”

You blinked. “Teaching?”

Joel shrugged, rolling the dish towel and tossing it onto the counter. “You’re good with kids. Natural at it. Like you got this... translator chip in your head that turns all their nonsense into actual words.”

You laughed, rinsing the plate. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a rare one,” he said, voice dry. “Don’t waste it.”

You set the dish in the rack. “Honestly? I never planned on working with kids. Didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a nanny, that’s for sure.”

He watched you, brows slightly lifted. “Then how?”

You paused, thinking about how to phrase it. Your voice came softer now. “I had a little brother. Just a few years younger than me. Our mom was... not around much. And our dad was even less.”

Joel’s face didn’t shift, but something in his eyes tightened—quiet understanding. Shared terrain.

“So it was just the two of us most days,” you continued. “I’d cook, help with homework, break up tantrums... eventually you figure out what works. What doesn't. You learn when to joke and when to just sit next to 'em and let the storm pass.”

“Still sounds like teachin’,” he said quietly.

You smiled faintly. “Maybe. But I don’t like classrooms. I like people. One-on-one. The mess of it.”

Joel nodded, slowly. He reached past you to set a mug in the drying rack, his arm brushing yours—barely there, but it lingered just long enough to be noticed.

You didn’t move away.

He cleared his throat, voice lower now. “That brother of yours... where’s he now?”

Your hands stilled for just a second under the warm water. Then you shook your head, barely.

“Gone. Car accident. Years ago.”

Joel didn’t say sorry. He didn’t need to.

Just stood a little closer, like he was there instead. Holding the silence steady for you.

You glanced up at him—caught his eyes. Tired, thoughtful, always heavier than they let on. And for a moment, you saw it again—that thing underneath all his quiet. The grief. The grit. The fierce way he clung to the pieces that were left.

“You lost someone, too?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded. Once.

Then: “Yeah. My other girl. Long time ago.”

Something settled between you—unsaid, but understood. Like a door had opened without either of you realizing it.

You reached for another plate.

“So,” you said softly, “two experts in surviving chaos walk into a kitchen…”

Joel gave a tired huff. “Sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

You grinned. “Might be. But so far, the punchline’s not half-bad.”

The last dish clinked into the drying rack, and you wiped your damp hands on a kitchen towel. The quiet had deepened into something different now—later, slower. Crickets outside the window. The kind of stillness that makes you notice things. Like how close Joel was standing. How neither of you had moved to say goodbye yet.

You glanced at the clock on the stove. “I should probably get going. It’s late.”

Joel shifted, like he’d been waiting for you to say it but didn’t love hearing it. His gaze flicked toward the hallway upstairs, then back to you.

“I’ll drive you,” he said simply.

You gave him a look. “I’m fine to wait for a taxi.”

“It’s late,” he repeated, like that settled it. “And Tommy’s swingin’ by in ten. I already texted him—he can keep an eye on Ellie till I’m back.”

You tilted your head. “So you planned this, huh?”

Joel just gave a small shrug. “Figured you might not argue.”

You didn’t.

The truck was warm from the afternoon heat, even with the windows cracked. The road stretched out in front of you in slow-moving darkness, the kind that hummed in your bones. Joel kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped loosely over the top of it, knuckles relaxed, thumb idly tapping against the worn leather.

Neither of you talked for the first few minutes.

Not because there was nothing to say—more like everything was sitting close to the surface, waiting to be picked at.

“You know,” you said finally, staring out the windshield, “this is the part where you usually find a way to ask more questions. Get to know me more. The classic ‘drive home’ move.”

Joel’s mouth pulled into a faint smirk. “That so?”

You nodded. “Yep. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

He glanced at you sideways. “And you think I’m pullin’ tricks?”

You shrugged. “I think you don’t do anything without a reason.”

He didn’t respond to that right away. Just tapped his fingers against the wheel again, thoughtful.

Then: “Alright. What’s the book say I should ask?”

You grinned. “Favorite color. Deep childhood trauma. Last show you binge-watched. That kind of thing.”

Joel huffed under his breath. “Let’s skip the color.”

“Too intimate?”

He shot you a look. “You’re pushy.”

“And you’re avoiding.”

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t argue.

A beat passed. Then another.

“You really love her, don’t you?” he asked quietly, eyes still on the road.

You blinked. “Ellie?”

Joel nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “She’s a good kid. Even when she’s being a pain in the ass.”

“She loves you, too. A lot.” His voice was soft now. Honest. “Didn’t think I’d see that again.”

You glanced over at him—at the weight behind that simple statement. He wasn’t just talking about Ellie.

“She needed someone,” you said. “Not a babysitter. Not a therapist.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just drove, the silence stretching and tightening like thread.

Then, as he pulled up in front of your place, he threw the truck in park but didn’t kill the engine.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, but didn’t move to open the door yet.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said.

“Yeah.” He looked at you for a second longer than he should’ve.

Then, low, a little hesitant: “You wantin’ to do dinner again sometime? When it’s not about Ellie?”

You paused, a beat of surprise flickering across your face.

He rubbed his thumb along the leather wheel, suddenly more focused on it than anything else. “Just figured... you already know where I live.”

You smiled. “Are you asking me out, Joel Miller?”

“Not if you’re gonna say no.”

You laughed under your breath. “I’ll think about it.”

Joel looked at you then—really looked. Quiet, steady, like he was filing away every part of your expression.

“I can wait.”

You opened the door, stepping out into the warm night air. But before you shut it, you leaned down again, one hand on the frame.

“Same time tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Same time.”

You closed the door gently and walked up the path to your front door without looking back.

But Joel stayed parked for another minute longer than he had to.

Just in case you did.

You were halfway through a lazy Tuesday—hair still damp from a late shower, curled up on the couch with a book you’d been trying to finish for months—when your phone buzzed.

[Joel Miller: You free today?]

Three dots hovered. Disappeared. Hovered again.

Then:

[Joel Miller: I know I said take the week, but this kid’s gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind.]

You grinned, already picturing him rubbing a hand down his face, sitting at the edge of the couch while Ellie bounced off the walls behind him like a Red Bull-fueled goblin.

Another message popped up:

[Joel Miller: I’ll pay you, obviously. Just for a few hours. I owe you double if you get her to eat something green.]

You laughed and quickly typed back:

YouHow desperate are we talking?

[Joel Miller: She built a catapult in the backyard. From my rake, a lawn chair, and duct tape. I think she’s trying to launch the neighbor’s dog.]

A beat passed. Then:

[Joel Miller: Please.]

You shook your head, already grabbing your bag.

When you pulled up, the front door was wide open, and Joel was standing just inside it, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Hey,” you called as you walked up the porch. “Still got all your limbs?”

He stepped aside to let you in, exhaling like someone who’d just been handed a lifeline. “Barely. I had to confiscate a slingshot made outta a bra and a curtain rod.”

You smirked. “Ellie’s going through her ‘evil genius’ phase. It’s healthy.”

“Healthy for who?”

Then, from upstairs: “Is that her?! Did you bring snacks?! I’m starving and Dad tried to feed me something called ‘quinoa’!”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was a salad, for the record.”

“I’m suing!”

You covered your mouth to hide a laugh. “You really thought you didn’t need me for a whole week?”

Joel gave you a long, dry look. “I was cocky.”

You tossed your bag on the usual hook. “You were delusional.”

Ellie came thundering down the stairs, socked feet sliding on the hardwood as she nearly collided with the bannister. She saw you and lit up like a goddamn firework.

“THANK GOD. I’ve been stuck with the grumpiest man on earth for three days.”

“I heard that,” Joel muttered.

She ignored him, grabbing your hand like she hadn’t seen you in a month. “We have so much to catch up on. Did you see the finale of the space show? I cried for like an hour. Also I have a new joke. Also I drew something that looks exactlylike Joel if he were a potato.”

You raised a brow. “Sounds like we’ve got a full schedule.”

Joel watched the two of you move toward the couch like you’d never left, like this was just another day in your rhythm. You and Ellie falling into step, heads bent together, conspiratorial and effortless.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure you don’t mind?”

You looked back at him over your shoulder.

“I do mind. But I like the paycheck. And the chaos.”

Joel’s lips twitched. “I’ll make you dinner again.”

“Deal,” you said without missing a beat.

And just like that, you were back—right where you were supposed to be.

The kitchen lights were dimmed low, just the warm underglow from the stove left on. You sat on one of the bar stools, elbows resting on the counter, a half-empty glass of water in front of you while Joel rinsed off the cutting board.

Ellie was upstairs with her headphones in, supposedly working on some drawing, but judging by how quiet it had gotten, you were 90% sure she’d passed out halfway through.

Joel reached for a towel and dried his hands slowly, glancing over at you.

“You always this patient with kids?” he asked, voice low and a little rough from the day.

You leaned your chin in your hand. “Only the weird ones.”

A smirk ghosted across his face. “So... all of ‘em?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Weird kids are the best kind. Smart enough to keep you on your toes. Emotional enough to make you question your sanity.”

Joel nodded, leaning his weight into the counter across from you, arms folded. “You ever get tired of it? Having to be the grown-up?”

You looked at him for a beat, something unreadable in your expression. Then:

“Sure. But then I hang out with Ellie and realize being a grown-up just means knowing when to pick your battles... and when to steal the last slice of pizza before a kid does.”

Joel gave a soft chuckle under his breath. He didn’t laugh often—not fully—but he was doing it more around you. You noticed. He knew you noticed.

“You took the last slice,” he said.

You raised an innocent brow. “I earned the last slice.”

“Could’ve split it.”

“That’s not how survival works, Miller.”

He looked at you then—really looked. Leaned just a little closer, elbows on the counter now, eyes darker in the low light.

“You always this mouthy after dinner?” he asked, a thread of something unmistakably flirtatious winding through the words.

You didn’t break eye contact. “You always this charming when you’re not pretending to be grumpy?”

His smirk deepened—but just slightly. Like he didn’t want to give too much away, not all at once.

“I’m not pretendin’.”

“Mm.” You took a slow sip from your glass. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Joel watched you for a moment longer, like he was weighing something behind his eyes. Something quiet and careful. You could feel it in the space between you, close but not crossing—yet.

“You got a ride home tonight?” he asked suddenly, casual but not really.

You gave him a slow smile. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said, pushing off the counter. “I don’t mind driving you.”

“I figured,” you said, your voice lighter now, teasing. “Since you texted me please earlier today.”

Joel paused mid-step, turning back with a dry laugh. “I was desperate.”

“You were cute.”

He shot you a look. “Don’t push it.”

You stood, grabbing your bag off the hook by the door. “No promises.”

As you stepped out into the night together, the space between you was quiet—but it buzzed with something new now. Something unspoken. And as Joel opened the truck door for you without saying a word, your fingers brushed his.

Neither of you pulled away.

The truck rumbled low beneath you as the tires rolled over the quiet neighborhood roads, streetlights blinking by in amber streaks. The windows were down just enough to let the night breeze in—soft and warm, thick with the smell of cut grass and sunburned pavement.

Joel’s left hand sat loose on the wheel, fingers tapping faintly to the beat of whatever old country song murmured low from the radio. His right hand rested near the gear shift, relaxed, steady.

You watched him from the passenger seat for a long moment, then turned back to the windshield.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, voice quieter than before. Less teasing. More... curious.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw the way his jaw tensed slightly. “You just did.”

You huffed. “Smartass.”

That earned you the faintest smirk.

A few more seconds passed before you asked it.

“Have you ever… tried to date anyone? Since Ellie, I mean.”

The question landed soft, but heavy. Not invasive. Just honest.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His hand flexed once on the wheel. Then he exhaled slow, eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “A couple times.”

You didn’t rush him. Just waited.

“They didn’t stick,” he added, a little tighter now. “One of ‘em didn’t want a kid around. The other tried too hard to act like Ellie’s mom.”

You nodded slowly. “And Ellie?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the road. “She didn’t like ‘em. She never said it outright, but I could tell.”

You tilted your head. “How?”

“She got quiet. Moody. Didn’t talk to me for a few days after I had someone over once.” He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Think that was her way of votin’ someone off the island.”

You smiled faintly. “Smart kid.”

“Too smart,” Joel muttered, shaking his head. “She doesn’t trust easy. Doesn’t let people in quick. And when she does…”

He trailed off, his voice dropping quieter.

“When she does, she holds on tight. Doesn’t like change.”

You looked out the window, the dark sliding past like water. Then you spoke, soft but certain.

“She wouldn’t push me out.”

Joel’s hand paused mid-tap on the wheel.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m not trying to be her mom. I’m not trying to be anything, really. Except someone who actually sees her.”

Silence stretched between you—charged, thick, but not uncomfortable.

Then Joel said, “She does see you. More than you know.”

You turned your head. This time you caught him looking. Just a glance—but it lingered. A little too long.

“I think that’s what scares me,” he said.

You let that sit for a moment. Then, gently:

“You ever wonder if maybe... it doesn’t have to?”

Joel pulled into your driveway slowly, headlights washing over the front steps. The truck idled in the quiet, engine ticking softly.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

Just sat there, fingers resting still on the wheel, like he was turning something over and over in his mind. Something fragile. Something real.

Then, low:

“Yeah. I wonder.”

Your hand brushed the door handle.

You didn’t move to open it yet.

Neither did he.

You watched him in the quiet.

His profile in the half-light—worn, strong, tired in the way only someone who’s carried too much can be. That little line between his brows when he was thinking too hard. The way his fingers stayed resting on the wheel like he hadn’t decided if he wanted to drive off yet—or stay.

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

Don’t say it, you told yourself.

You reached for the door handle, your voice low and a little softer than it had been in the truck all night.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Joel glanced over, eyes steady, unreadable. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

You hesitated a beat longer. Let the silence hold its breath.

Then you added, quieter—almost a whisper, but not timid.

“Before I say anything stupid.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened just a little. But he didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Just let you have your exit, same way he always did when you needed space.

You pushed the door open and stepped out, the warm night brushing your skin like a second thought. You didn’t look back, but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the steps.

You reached the door, paused with your key in hand.

Then—just before you went inside—you turned back.

Joel was still sitting there in the truck. Still watching. Not driving off. Not letting go.

Then you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you, leaving the night quiet and the truck idling in your driveway—engine low, heart loud.

The bar wasn’t crowded, but it was loud enough to blur out the week behind you. Low music, dim lighting, the smell of cheap whiskey and warm bodies pressed too close to tables too small.

You were at the corner of the bar with a half-empty glass in front of you, one leg crossed over the other, the slow curve of a smile on your lips from some half-drunk joke your friend had just told. You weren’t really buzzed yet—but you were warm. Comfortable. Not thinking about work or tantrums or bedtime routines.

Which is exactly why the last voice you expected to hear behind you was his.

“Well, look at that,” Joel murmured, slow drawl just low enough to scrape across your skin. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You turned, a flicker of something sharp and amused flashing through your eyes.

Joel stood there, casual as ever—but different. Not in a T-shirt stained with oil or dirt from the backyard. Not with a dish towel over his shoulder. No, tonight he was clean-shaven, sleeves rolled up, one hand tucked in his jeans pocket and the other resting on the edge of the bar.

Beside him was Tommy, already halfway through a beer, offering you a crooked, familiar grin.

“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t mean to crash the party.”

You shook your head slowly, eyes still on Joel. “Not crashing. Just unexpected.”

Joel raised a brow. “That good or bad?”

You leaned on your elbow, smirking faintly. “Guess I’ll let you know.”

Tommy snorted into his bottle and stepped away to give someone else a hug across the bar—leaving you and Joel standing just a little too close in the noise.

You tilted your head. “Where’s Ellie?”

“With Maria,” Joel said, sliding onto the stool beside you. “They’re doin’ some kind of sleepover thing. Face masks. Painted nails. That whole routine.”

You laughed. “Bet you’re relieved.”

Joel took a slow sip from the beer the bartender slid in front of him. “I am. She tried to paint my nails last weekend.”

“Should’ve let her.”

He looked at you then, over the rim of his glass, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “She said I’d look good in lavender.”

Your eyes narrowed just slightly, lips curling. “She’s not wrong.”

The music thumped low behind you, the chatter of the bar a comfortable hum around the edges. For a few seconds, it was quiet between you. Then:

“You look different,” he said.

You arched a brow. “Different how?”

Joel’s gaze dipped—just for a second. Over your bare shoulders. The dress you wouldn’t wear around Ellie. The slow confidence in your posture. The way you weren’t his nanny tonight.

“Just... different,” he said. Voice rough. Honest.

You leaned a little closer. “And you showed up to a bar instead of passing out in front of the TV with a beer and ESPN reruns. That’s new for a father.”

Joel chuckled, low. “Maria told us we needed a night out. She basically pushed us out the door.”

“Remind me to thank her.”

He looked at you again, longer this time. Like he was seeing the version of you that wasn’t just Ellie’s babysitter. Not just the calm in the storm.

The silence stretched—slow, charged.

You lifted your glass. “So what happens now? Do we pretend we don’t know each other that well, or do you ask me to dance and surprise the hell out of me?”

Joel didn’t smile—but he didn’t look away either.

“I don’t dance,” he said quietly.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you did.”

“But,” he added, tipping his beer toward yours, “I can buy you another drink.”

Your glasses clinked, quiet and deliberate.

And just like that, the rules shifted.

Tonight, you weren’t working.

The night was warm even inside the bar, and the music had shifted—something slow with a little twang, something with a beat that settled in your chest. You took another sip of your drink, then turned your body toward Joel, your legs crossed in his direction.

He was still watching the room like he didn’t quite trust it. Or like he was looking for an excuse to bolt before he said something he couldn’t take back.

So you leaned in closer, voice just loud enough to cut through the low thrum of the music.

“I think you’re lying.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, confused. “About what?”

“You do dance,” you said, grinning now. “You’re just too proud to admit it.”

He let out a small scoff. “I don’t.”

“You do,” you said, already sliding off the barstool. You held your hand out to him. “C’mon. It’s not a wedding. It’s not even a good song. Nobody’s watching.”

“I’m watchin’,” he muttered.

“Great,” you said, tugging him lightly. “Then you’ll have a front-row seat when I show everyone your two-step.”

Joel gave you that look—that tired, half-exasperated, half-amused look he usually reserved for Ellie when she roped him into something absurd.

But your hand was still out.

And his eyes lingered on it.

A beat passed.

Then he muttered something under his breath about peer pressure and stood, downing the last of his beer before sliding his hand into yours.

“Don’t expect twirls,” he warned.

“No promises,” you said, and led him out to the floor.

The bar wasn’t crowded, just a few couples swaying, the occasional off-beat shuffle. Nothing fancy. No one watching. Just you and Joel, the slow drawl of the guitar wrapping around the room.

He moved like he hadn’t done this in a long time—stiff at first, cautious—but his hand was steady at your waist, and the way he looked at you? Like there was no one else in the damn building.

You grinned up at him. “See? Not so bad.”

“Feels like middle school,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t have danced with you in middle school,” you teased. “You would’ve been the kid standing against the wall with your arms crossed.”

He smirked. “I was that kid.”

“Exactly,” you said. “And now look at you. Livin’ the dream.”

The music played on, something slow and easy, and after a while his hand settled more naturally at your hip. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t need to.

Your chest nearly brushed his with every movement. Your fingers laced lightly with his. You felt his thumb draw the smallest circle over your side once. Just once. Like he didn’t mean to. Like maybe he did.

When the song ended, you didn’t move away right away. Neither did he.

You looked up at him, your voice softer now. “Told you I’d surprise you.”

Joel met your eyes—and for a moment, he didn’t say a damn thing.

Then, low:

“You always do.”

You left the dance floor still warm from the touch of his hand.

Joel trailed behind you, his fingers brushing the small of your back once before falling away. You made your way to the bar, ordered another drink—something colder this time, easier—and turned toward the front doors without a word.

He followed.

Outside, the air had dropped a few degrees. Still warm, but edged with something cooler. The kind of summer night that hinted at fall creeping closer. The street was quiet except for the neon bar sign buzzing above, and the distant hum of tires down the road.

You leaned against the brick wall just outside the door, drink in hand, eyes on the night sky. Joel came to a stop beside you, arms crossed loosely, his shoulder not quite touching yours.

“You do that often?” he asked after a few seconds.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Dance with strange men in bars.”

You smirked. “You’re not a stranger.”

He looked away, toward the parking lot. “Still.”

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the quiet sit there for a moment.

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “It’s not really my thing.”

Joel glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “But you did tonight.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I did.”

His gaze didn’t leave yours this time.

“Why?”

You didn’t look away. Not now.

“Because you looked like you needed someone to pull you out of your own damn head.”

Joel huffed under his breath. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Won’t be the last,” you said, softer now.

Another pause. He shifted his weight, arms still folded, but his stance had softened. Less closed off.

You tilted your head slightly. “You ever think about what’s next?”

Joel looked over at you. “For what?”

“For you,” you said. “Ellie’s not a baby. She’s got school, friends. One day she won’t need a sitter.”

He gave a low grunt. “She’ll always need someone.”

“She has someone,” you said gently. “She has you. But you? I’m not sure you let yourself need anyone.”

His jaw worked at that, like the words caught somewhere between his chest and throat. “Don’t think I got the luxury of needin’ much.”

You stared at him for a beat.

Then, voice quiet but firm: “You do.”

He turned his head toward you, slow. His eyes found yours again, darker now, more focused.

The silence between you was loud. Louder than the bar, louder than the music. And when he spoke again, his voice was low, rough:

“You scare the shit outta me, y’know that?”

You blinked. “Because I speak the truth?”

He shook his head slightly. “Because I don’t know what the hell to do with it.”

Your hand slid down the side of your drink, the condensation damp on your skin. You looked at him—really looked.

“I’m not askin’ you to do anything,” you said. “I just... want you to stop pretending like this is nothing.”

Joel didn’t respond. Not with words.

But he looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. And maybe now, for the first time, he finally let a little bit of it go.

Joel still hadn’t looked away.

That silence between you had sharpened—not awkward, not empty, just full. Too full. The kind that vibrated between two people standing a little too close, not touching but thinking about it, both of them feeling the heat and pretending it wasn’t there.

You exhaled slowly and set your drink on the little ledge behind you. The words sat heavy on your tongue, but they came out smooth, low, like you’d been holding them in your mouth for days.

“But...” you started, and Joel’s eyes flicked up from your mouth to your eyes in an instant. Alert. Waiting.

“If I could ask you to do something…” You let the space between each word linger.

His jaw tensed.

You tilted your head just slightly. Your voice dropped to barely more than a whisper.

“…it’d be to kiss me.”

The moment cracked wide open.

Joel didn’t speak. Didn’t ask if you were sure. Didn't smirk or joke to cover it.

He just moved.

A slow step forward—then another. And then his hand was at your jaw, calloused thumb brushing the side of your face with aching care. His other hand came to rest at your hip, grounding you like he thought you might vanish.

Your breath caught—but you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he said, voice rough, eyes searching yours like this was some kind of line he couldn’t uncross.

You whispered back, steady and certain:

“Then finish it.”

Joel didn’t hesitate after that.

He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks—slow, deliberate, no rush, no panic. Just the weight of it. The truth of it. His mouth warm, the scrape of his stubble against your skin, his body pulling just slightly closer like he couldn’t help it anymore.

And when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His hand didn’t leave your waist.

Neither of you spoke.

Because whatever this was—it wasn’t nothing.

And now, neither of you were pretending otherwise.

His forehead still rested against yours.

His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and warm.

And your heart? Your heart was making a damn scene in your chest.

You cleared your throat softly. “So... I guess that’s a yes, huh?”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again—close, still too close—and gave the smallest smirk. “You asked.”

You nodded. “Right. Yeah. Technically. I’m very persuasive. It’s a gift.”

He raised an eyebrow, silent.

You tried to hold his gaze. Really, you did.

But your brain was suddenly short-circuiting, and before you could stop yourself, you were rambling—

“I mean, it’s good that you finally kissed me. I was worried I’d have to start making PowerPoints. Slide one: reasons Joel Miller is scared of his own feelings.”

He huffed a laugh. “You done?”

“Nope,” you said, suddenly aware your hands were still resting on his chest. “I’ve got a whole bit about emotional repression and denim.”

Joel blinked, caught halfway between a groan and a grin. “Jesus.”

“It’s not mean,” you insisted, your smile crooked and too wide now. “It’s... lovingly observational.”

Joel stepped in again, closer—too close—and the way he looked at you then, it shut your mouth right up.

“You always talk this much when you're nervous?”

You blinked.

“I’m not—” You stopped. Glanced away. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Joel tilted his head. “That’s cute.”

You raised a brow, mock-offended. “Cute? Don’t patronize me. I’m dangerously charming. Irresistible, even.”

He leaned in, his voice barely brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re somethin’, alright.”

Your breath hitched.

He pulled back, looking way too pleased with himself now.

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to hide your grin as you stepped away, just enough to breathe again.

Joel smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m yours already.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you—quiet, steady.

And didn’t deny it.

Joel lingered by the bar long enough to finish his drink and pretend like he hadn’t just kissed you outside like it was something he’d been aching for. Which, well—he had.

Tommy leaned an elbow on the counter beside him, grinning like a man who knew something.

“You look like you just saw God,” he said.

Joel didn’t look over. “You drunk?”

“Not drunk enough to miss the fact that you disappeared for fifteen minutes and came back lookin’ like someone pressed ‘reset’ on your mood.”

Joel sighed into his glass. “Drop it.”

Tommy leaned in, low and smug. “You finally kissed her, huh?”

Joel shot him a glare. “Don’t.”

“Didn’t deny it,” Tommy sing-songed under his breath, grabbing his coat off the back of a chair. “Go ahead. Drive her home. I’ll pick up Ellie in the morning. Maria’s probably already got her tucked in with a facemask and a mug of hot cocoa.”

Joel stared at him. “You're enjoying this way too much.”

Tommy patted his shoulder as he passed. “Yeah. I am.”

The ride to your place was quieter this time—but not the awkward kind. It was weighted. Full of those glances that lasted a little too long. That barely-there smile at the corner of Joel’s mouth whenever you said something under your breath just to fill the air.

He parked outside your place, engine idling low.

You didn’t move right away.

You looked at him. “Wanna come in?”

He hesitated—just for a moment. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel once.

Then he turned off the ignition.

Your place was small—modest, lived-in. It smelled like coffee and linen and something faintly sweet, like citrus. There were books stacked in odd places. A few records on a shelf. One lamp in the corner of the living room casting soft amber light over everything.

Joel stepped in slowly, his boots quiet on the worn rug.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and shrugged off your jacket, voice easy. “It’s not much, but the roof doesn’t leak and the heat works, so I’m basically royalty.”

Joel gave a quiet chuckle, eyes roaming the room. “It’s nice.”

“You want water? Tea? Whiskey that tastes like regret?”

“Whiskey,” he said without missing a beat.

You poured two glasses—no ice, no hesitation—and handed him one. Your fingers brushed his again. This time, neither of you played it off.

You both sat down on the couch, a little too close, knees nearly brushing.

He looked around once more. “This feels like you.”

You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”

“Comfortable,” he said. “Warm. Kinda messy in a good way.”

You smirked. “So I’m a throw blanket with trust issues.”

Joel’s grin was subtle, but it stayed. He sipped the whiskey. “Maybe.”

For a long moment, you just sat like that. Close. Easy. Quiet.

Then you looked over at him, eyes a little softer.

“You could’ve said no, you know. To coming in.”

Joel met your gaze. Steady.

“I didn’t want to.”

Your place had gone quiet.

The whiskey sat mostly untouched now, the glasses forgotten on the coffee table. You were curled sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under you, facing him. Joel hadn’t moved much, but you could feel the shift—the way his attention had settled entirely on you, like the rest of the world had faded into background noise.

He hadn’t said anything in a while.

He didn’t need to.

Your voice came out soft, somewhere between playful and a whisper.

“You’re thinking too hard.”

Joel looked up, eyes catching yours. “No, I’m not.”

“Liar,” you said, smiling.

“I’m thinkin’ about how easy this feels,” he murmured. “And how that probably means it’s a bad idea.”

Your smile faded into something softer. “Feels easy because it is. Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

He watched you for a beat—longer than he should’ve. The quiet between you changed again. Tighter. Warmer.

Then Joel said, low, like it was pulling itself out of his chest:

“C’mere.”

He didn’t reach for you first. Just waited.

So you moved.

Slowly, like a tide pushing forward—your legs uncrossing, your hand finding his shoulder for balance as you leaned into him, heart loud but steady.

And this time, when you kissed him, it was different.

No nervous laughter. No questions hanging in the air.

Just mouths meeting like they’d been circling the same answer for weeks.

Joel’s hand found the side of your face, rough and careful, the way someone might hold something precious without knowing how. His other slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your knees brushed his thigh and your chest pressed to his. You felt the low rumble in his throat when you deepened the kiss—part surprise, part surrender.

You shifted in his lap slightly, one hand finding the back of his neck, the other pressing against his chest, steadying yourself against the solid weight of him.

Joel kissed you like he’d forgotten how not to want you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a few inches—his breath warm on your lips, his hand still cradling the back of your neck like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You stayed like that, foreheads brushing, breaths mingling.

You whispered, “Told you you’d like lavender.”

Joel laughed under his breath—barely—but the sound was rougher now, lower.

And he kissed you again.

Slower.

Deeper.

Just want. And the start of something neither of you were going to keep pretending wasn’t there anymore.

The second kiss wasn’t shy.

Joel leaned in like he couldn’t wait anymore—like holding back had become unbearable. His hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you into him as his mouth met yours again, this time with no careful edges, no guarded tension.

Just need.

The taste of whiskey still lingered faint on his tongue, but it was overrun by something deeper—something that hummed in your chest when his mouth moved with yours, slow and sure. You let yourself melt into it, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, your knees brushing his thigh as you leaned in, chasing the warmth of him.

This wasn’t the kind of kiss that lived in hesitation. It was heat and breath and silence breaking open between you. His hand slid to your waist again, tugging you just a little closer, grounding himself in the feel of your body against his. You felt it in every inch of contact—how long he’d been holding this in.

You made a soft sound against his mouth without meaning to, and that was it—that was the moment something in him shifted.

Joel deepened the kiss, one hand tightening at your hip, the other threading into your hair as he tilted his head, breath catching as you moved with him. He kissed like a man who didn't get chances like this often—and wasn’t about to waste one now.

You pulled back only when the breathless ache hit your lungs, but even then, you didn’t move far. Your lips hovered over his, your forehead resting lightly against his.

“Joel,” you whispered, and his name in your voice sounded more like please than anything else.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he could still feel the kiss there.

“You alright?” he murmured.

You smiled, flushed and bright-eyed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. Just… checking reality still exists.”

Joel huffed, his voice low and worn. “Still here.”

You touched your fingers to the collar of his shirt, idly brushing the fabric. “That felt like something we don’t walk away from.”

His hand stayed at your waist, thumb moving slow against your side. “I wasn’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere.”

And without a word, you leaned in and kissed him again—slower this time, less desperate. Like it was yours now.

Like he was.

And this time?

He didn’t stop.

You were still pressed close, bodies tangled on the couch in the low light of your living room, mouths only barely apart. Joel hadn’t let go of your waist—his thumb still stroking slow circles against your side like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

And you, trying to find somewhere to put all that heat swelling in your chest, fell back on instinct: the joke. Your voice came out soft, a little breathless, still smiling. “Y’know, I think this means I’m officially sleeping with my boss.”

Joel’s breath hitched—just the smallest pause in his exhale—and you watched his face shift, something flickering behind his eyes.

Then he huffed a laugh, low and rough.

“Is that what this is?” he murmured, voice thick.

You grinned. “Well, technically, you hired me.”

He leaned in again, forehead almost brushing yours.

“And technically,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, “you’re not on the clock.”

“Mm.” You smirked, heart hammering. “Guess this is off-the-record intimacy, then.”

Joel made a sound in his throat—something between a laugh and a groan—and then?

He kissed you again.

Deeper this time. More sure. More greedy.

Like that dumb joke had snapped the last thread holding back the part of him that just wanted. His mouth met yours with no hesitation now, open and warm and intentional, and he kissed you like he couldn’t help it—like you being smart-mouthed and flushed and half-laughing under him was the most irresistible thing in the goddamn world.

You gasped softly against his lips, and he took that sound like an invitation, kissing you harder, one hand in your hair, the other guiding you closer until your body was all but in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself in like the space between you had never existed at all.

He finally pulled back, just an inch, chest rising slow, his forehead against yours again.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna stop.”

You smiled against his mouth, barely whispering, “That a threat or a promise?”

His mouth twitched.

And then he kissed you again.

Because of course he did.

He liked the way you teased him. Liked the way you said the wrong thing at the perfect time. Liked the way you didn’t try to make it smaller or simpler than it was.

And you?

You kissed him back like maybe, just maybe, you’d found someone who wanted all of you—bad jokes and all.

Your bodies moved through the small apartment like you’d been here a hundred times together, even though this was the first. Every touch was new and familiar all at once—slow kisses deepening with every breath, fingers finding skin like instinct.

Joel’s jacket hit the floor. Then yours.

He kissed you against the wall, hands bracing beside your head, your mouth parted under his as you laughed softly into it—nervous, breathless.

“Just so you know,” you murmured against his jaw, “I’m probably not some mind-blowing sex goddess. I mean, I could be, but there’s been very little peer review.”

Joel chuckled—low and warm, like gravel in his chest—and nipped gently at the corner of your mouth. “That right?”

You nodded, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt. “You, on the other hand, probably have war stories. Scars. Like... some kind of outlaw legend of Texas orgasms.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him. One that shook in his chest before he buried it against your neck.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice rough, low, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Sweetheart,” he said, hands now at the hem of your shirt, sliding it up with slow, sure fingers, “you’re lucky if I last two seconds with you.”

Your breath caught, surprised—but your grin stayed.

He continued, words a little quieter now. Honest. Unapologetic.

“Truth is, I haven’t... gone this far with someone in a long time. Never let it get here. Not since Ellie came into the picture.”

Your voice softened. “Because of her?”

Joel nodded. “Because she didn’t like any of ‘em. Could feel it. Even when she didn’t say it. Also you can’t fuck someone in a house where a seven-year-old could walk in and ask why there's groaning on the couch.”

You snorted. “The ultimate mood killer.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, then leaned in, kissing you again—deeper this time, more urgent.

Your shirt came off. His followed.

Skin on skin now.

His hands were rough and reverent, moving slow over your sides like he was trying to memorize you. His lips trailed down your neck, his voice breaking a little as he added:

“Never gave myself the space to want like this. Not really.”

You stilled slightly, just for a breath. Your hands at his belt now, fingers fumbling—not from lack of skill but from wanting too much at once.

You looked up at him, eyes soft but steady.

“Then take it,” you whispered. “We’ve got time.”

Joel exhaled, voice low and tight.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I might still embarrass myself.”

You grinned, pulling him back down to your mouth. “It’s okay. I’ll write a glowing review anyway.”

He laughed against your lips.

And then there were no more jokes for a while—just heat, hands, and the sound of something breaking open between two people who had waited too long to let themselves want like this.

Joel’s mouth was on you again, breath hot against your neck as he backed you toward the bedroom—each step slow but heavy, weighted with the kind of want that’s been building too long to be gentle.

You were already bare from the waist up, his palms dragging over your skin like he needed to feel every inch or he’d lose his mind. The door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you stopped.

You tugged at his belt, breath ragged, but he caught your wrist before you could finish. Not to stop you—just to slow it.

“Not yet,” he said, voice hoarse.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

Your back hit the bedroom wall as he pressed his mouth against your stomach, kissing lower—messy, open-mouthed, no restraint left. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down slow.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

He looked up once, eyes dark and focused. “Hold onto me.”

You barely had time to respond—his mouth was already on you.

Hot, open, hungry.

His tongue slid between your folds without hesitation, slow at first—like he was learning you by taste alone—then deeper, rougher, wet sounds filling the room as he buried his mouth between your thighs.

You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, gripping hard. Joel groaned at that—deep, from his chest—and pressed in harder, like your reaction lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years.

His tongue circled your clit, lips sucking just enough to make your thighs tremble, then flattened against it in long, firm strokes. He devoured you like a man starving, like he didn’t give a fuck about finesse—just making you come.

And then his fingers joined in.

Two—thick, rough, his—sliding into you with a practiced curl, pressing right into that spot that made your back arch off the wall.

“F-fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah,” he growled, voice muffled by your skin. “That’s it. Give it to me, baby.”

You whimpered, hips rocking against his mouth, your hand still tangled in his hair as he fucked you with his fingers—fast, deep—his tongue never letting up on your clit, his other hand pinning your hip so you couldn’t escape.

Not that you wanted to.

You felt your body tightening too fast—an ache that had been simmering for weeks boiling over all at once, and he felt it. Pulled you tighter against his mouth, groaned again when you gasped his name.

“Come on,” he growled, lips slick.

You shattered.

It ripped through you hard and fast, hips jerking against his mouth, your whole body seizing around his fingers, pulse thundering in your ears. Joel held you through it—never easing up, never looking away. Just taking it.

And when you finally slumped forward, gasping, he pulled back slowly, fingers still inside you, watching your body twitch around them.

“You okay?” he rasped, mouth wet, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it.

You stared down at him, fucked-out and trembling, then managed a breathless smile.

“You... really weren’t kidding about the two seconds thing, huh?”

He grinned, slow and dangerous.

“Didn’t even fuckin’ start yet.”

And then he stood—tall, hard, eyes burning—and started undoing his belt.

Joel's pants hit the floor with a heavy thud, his hands already back on you—gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, guiding you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You dropped onto the mattress, legs open, body still pulsing from the aftershocks of his mouth and fingers.

He moved over you like a storm—pressing your legs open wider, dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds, hissing through his teeth at how wet you still were for him.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

You moaned under him, fingers gripping the sheets.

“Joel—”

“I got you,” he breathed, one hand sliding up your thigh, his other fist wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he lined himself up.

Then he pushed in.

Not fast. Not all at once. Just the thick head breaching you, then the slow stretch of him sliding deeper.

You gasped—hips twitching, breath catching sharp in your throat.

“Wait,” you whispered, voice a little cracked. “Just—just a second.”

Joel stilled immediately.

You felt the tension in his arms, the way his muscles locked down like he was holding himself back with everything he had.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice tight. “You’re… tight as hell.”

You were full—so full—and not even all of him yet. He stayed buried halfway, his chest rising and falling hard as he leaned down over you, pressing soft kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw.

“I’m not movin’,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and shaky. “Take your time. I’ll fuckin’ wait all night if I have to.”

His mouth dragged along your throat again—slow and hot—and he whispered between kisses, “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Gonna lose my mind.”

You breathed him in—sweat and salt and something rawer—and let your hands slide up his back, nails grazing the hard lines of his shoulders. He held himself perfectly still inside you, but his lips never stopped—mouth on your pulse, then your jaw, your collarbone, whispering every filthy, reverent thing you never knew you wanted to hear.

You clenched around him, involuntarily, and he grunted—low and wrecked.

You smiled faintly, gasping, “You’re doing great for a guy who’s supposedly gonna last two seconds.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, forehead pressed to yours.

“Say that again and I will come,” he growled.

You pulled his face back down to yours.

“Okay,” you whispered, voice hot against his mouth. “I’m ready now.”

And Joel pushed all the way in.

He bottomed out with a deep, shuddering groan—the sound ripped from his chest as your body took every thick inch of him, heat clenching tight around him.

“Fuck,” Joel hissed, voice ragged. “You feel—Jesus, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

You choked out a moan, legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back like you wanted him even deeper.

“God, Joel—fuck me,” you gasped. “Hard. Don’t hold back.”

That was all it took.

His restraint snapped.

He gripped your hips with bruising force and pulled back—then slammed into you, rough and deep, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing through the small room.

You cried out, high and wrecked, arching up into him as his cock drove into you again and again, hard and unforgiving. He fucked you like he meant it—like it wasn’t just want, but need, years of it, buried under silence and control finally breaking loose.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, mouth dragging against your ear. “You want it rough, baby? That what you’ve been thinkin’ about all night?”

You gasped out a laugh between moans, nails scraping down his back.

���I’ve been thinking about this every damn night,” you spat, eyes rolling. “That thick fuckin’ cock—stretching me open—you owning me.”

Joel let out a deep groan at that, hips slamming into you faster now, the rhythm brutal.

“You like gettin’ ruined, huh?” he muttered, breath hot on your throat. “Filthy little mouth but takin’ it so goddamn well. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck—yes, Joel, fuck me. Make me come. Don’t you dare stop—”

He reached down between your bodies, fingers slipping over your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles, already knowing how to break you apart again.

“I’ll give you what you fuckin’ asked for,” he growled. “Gonna make you scream my name.”

And you did.

Your orgasm hit like fire—white-hot, sudden, unstoppable. You screamed for him as your body locked up around his cock, every nerve on fire, vision blinking out for a second like your brain couldn’t keep up.

Joel didn’t let up. If anything, the sound of your climax just pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck—gonna come,” he choked, fucking you through it, harder, faster, mouth open against your throat. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, I can’t—shit—baby—fuck—”

He slammed in deep one last time, his hips jerking against you as he came hard, spilling into you with a guttural growl, body shaking above yours.

It was raw—sweaty, breathless, every nerve buzzing.

He didn’t pull out right away.

He just stayed there—buried deep, panting, his weight braced on trembling arms, forehead against yours. His chest rose and fell against your breasts, hot skin slick with sweat.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, laughing, wrecked. “Joel.”

He huffed, his voice a low rasp. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want round two.”

You smiled, wild and breathless.

“I do want round two.”

Joel kissed you—messy and hard—then whispered:

“Next time, I’m takin’ you apart slow. And you’re gonna beg.”

You’d let him.

Joel was still inside you, still breathing hard, still trying to recover—but you weren’t done. Not even close.

He was braced over you, chest against yours, lips brushing your jaw as he whispered some broken, half-lost Jesus Christ,like he couldn’t believe how good that had been. But your legs were still wrapped around his waist. Still holding him in. Tight.

You shifted under him, hips rolling up just slightly.

Joel groaned deep in his throat, already twitching inside you.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

Your mouth brushed his ear, your voice low, hot, electric.

“Taking what I want.”

Then—you moved.

With one fast, strong shift of your thighs, you flipped him, using the leverage of his dazed body and your locked legs to roll him onto his back. He let out a grunt of surprise, arms falling open beside him as he hit the mattress.

You were already sitting up, straddling his hips, hands pressed to his chest, sweat-slick and flushed with that fucked-out glow. His cock was still inside you, already hardening again as you ground down, slow and deliberate.

Joel’s head fell back against the pillow with a growl, one hand dragging down his face.

“Fuck, woman—gonna kill me.”

You smirked, rocking your hips with dangerous purpose. “That’s the idea.”

His hands flew to your hips like instinct, trying to ground you—but you caught his wrists and pushed them back down to the mattress.

“No,” you said, breath hot. “I’m in control this time.”

Joel looked up at you—sweat-damp curls, lips parted, eyes blown wide with want—and nodded once, jaw tight.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ take it, then.”

And you did.

You started to ride him—slow at first, teasing, letting your body take him inch by inch again, grinding down in smooth, wet rolls that made his fingers twitch against the sheets.

“Look at you,” you murmured, rolling your hips deeper, nails dragging down his chest. “Big, bad Joel Miller—ruined underneath me.”

“Keep talkin’,” he growled, hips jerking up into you. “You know how fuckin’ filthy that mouth is?”

“I could stop,” you teased, breath heavy, leaning forward until your lips brushed his.

“You stop,” he hissed, “and I flip this fuckin’ bed.”

You moaned, loud, loving the way his voice cracked. The way he twitched inside you every time you clenched around him, teasing just enough to keep him right there—almost at the edge, but not quite.

You bounced harder, pace slamming down now, his cock thick and perfect, stretching you all over again, even better the second time.

Joel groaned, deep and wrecked. “Ride me, baby—fuck, that’s it. Take all of it.”

You leaned back, hands on his thighs, giving him the full view—your body slick with sweat, tits bouncing with every grind, lips parted, hair wild. His eyes were locked to the way you moved on him. The way you owned it.

“You love watching me fuck you like this,” you gasped.

“Yeah,” he snarled. “I do. Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You slammed down harder, faster—no rhythm now, just desperate, chasing that edge again.

Joel’s voice broke. “You gonna come again on my cock? Gonna soak me while you fuckin’ own me?”

“Yes,” you cried, hand flying to your clit, rubbing fast as you rode him, your body screaming for release.

Joel sat up at the last second, arms locking around your waist, slamming into you from beneath.

“Then come,” he snarled into your mouth. “Now.”

You screamed—his name, something filthy, something helpless—as your orgasm ripped through you again, harder this time, shaking, collapsing against his chest while your cunt milked him, spasming tight.

Joel swore loud, hands grabbing your ass, his hips jerking up into you as he came again—deep, hot, full—growling into your neck as you both clung to each other like the world might break if either of you let go.

You stayed like that. A tangled, gasping mess.

Until Joel leaned back, voice wrecked and satisfied and a little in awe.

“Well,” he rasped. “Remind me to piss you off more often.”

You grinned against his neck, body still trembling, utterly wrecked—and completely in control.

“Careful,” you whispered. “I’m just getting started.”

The room is still heavy with heat and breath when the silence cracks again—this time, your voice, a little raspy, a little smug, cutting through the aftermath like a blade laced with teasing.

You shift lazily on top of him, still straddling Joel’s lap, still warm and full of him. His chest is rising and falling beneath you, arms relaxed behind his head like a man utterly destroyed.

And you grin.

“Gotta say,” you murmur, dragging your fingers lightly over his chest, “you’re setting a dangerous precedent for how you treat your nanny.”

Joel huffs a laugh—dry and low, eyes still half-lidded, but that smirk returns. Slow. Dangerous.

“You know damn well this ain’t part of the job description.”

You lean down, your hair brushing his face, lips grazing his jaw.

“Really?” you murmur. “Because I’m feeling pretty compensated.”

Joel grabs your hips again, firm, but lazy. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna add another round to your fuckin’ workload.”

You laugh into his neck, breathless. “Overtime?”

“Hell yeah,” he says, voice gravel. “But next time, I’m the one in charge again.”

You bite his shoulder, just enough to make him grunt.

“We’ll negotiate.”

He rolls you under him in one quick move, still grinning like a man who hasn’t smiled this much in years.

“You’re lucky I don’t put that in writing,” he mutters, kissing you again, slow now. “You’re the worst fuckin’ nanny I ever hired.”

You sigh dramatically against his mouth. “Well. You’re the best dad I’ve ever fucked.”

Joel chokes on a laugh and drops his forehead against your shoulder.

“Jesus Christ.”

And neither of you stop smiling.

[dixonsdarkelf]

I'M SO HAPPY YOU FINISHED THIS 😭🖤

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?” “That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

It's already stinging. I can't wait for more.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

Okay Reader. Call the man out, why don't you?

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

I'm in fucking agony 😭

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke. It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it. Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

💔💔💔

You sank to your knees. Not for him, and not like that.

You really had me for a second there lol I was like damn.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

I think this might be the most I've ever heard Joel talk lmao

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

When I tell you I'm fucking losing it right now...

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest. “I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

WHOA GODDAMN. I felt like I knew it was coming at some point & it still got me.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies. You closed your eyes and let it all soak in. Because this time, you believed him.

Oh my heart 😭

This was so sweet, painful, and hot all at the same time. Thank you for this 🖤

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t  blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted. 

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation. 

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again. 

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him. 

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–” 

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you. 

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight. 

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you. 

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you. 

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

[lazysoulwriter]

define this feeling ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: casual-to-something-more, soft angst, established situationship, Pedro catches feelings first, gentle reassurance, lots of quiet intimacy & tender humor.

---

Rain rattles against the kitchen window like a drummer who won’t quit, steady and insistent, turning the downtown lights outside into watercolor streaks. You’re propped on Pedro’s counter, sock-clad feet swinging while he searches his fridge for something resembling dinner. It’s the kind of easy, half-dressed weeknight you two have perfected over the last couple of months—just close enough to feel like home, just distant enough to keep anyone from labeling it.

Or so you thought.

Pedro clears his throat. “Okay, hypothetical.” He pulls out a carton of eggs, sets it down, then meets your eyes. They’re too warm for hypotheticals. “Let’s say two people… spend an embarrassing amount of time together. They cook, they kiss, they do other things—” You grin. “Extremely hypothetical so far.” He chuckles, but his knuckles drum the countertop. “And this has been going on for, what, seven… eight weeks?” “Ten,” you correct without thinking. Something flickers behind his smile—satisfaction, maybe hope. “Ten. Right. So at what point—” he breaks an eggshell with more force than necessary, yolk slipping into the bowl— “do they talk about what they actually are?”

Your heartbeat stutters. You’ve dreaded this conversation, convinced it would come from you first and break whatever fragile magic you’d been enjoying. Seeing the question in his eyes instead knocks the breath from your lungs.

“What we are?” you echo, stalling for time.

He nods, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Yeah. Because I keep trying to file us under ‘casual,’ but it doesn’t feel like a file big enough anymore.”

You hop down from the counter, suddenly restless, and start lining up two mugs—his chipped Star Wars one and your stolen diner mug. A silly ritual that shouldn’t feel intimate but does. “I like… the way things are,” you offer carefully.

“I do too,” he says, voice low. “But I like you more.” When you glance over, he’s leaning against the stove, hair a little mussed, earnest brown eyes locked on yours. “And I’m starting to think—I don’t know—recipes probably need name labels, but people shouldn’t.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “That’s not how labels work, Pascal.”

He sighs, tipping his head back toward the ceiling like he’s searching for a script up there. “Look, I’m not asking for an essay or matching tattoos. I just…” He steps closer, fingers brushing your wrist as if he can’t help himself. “Sometimes I want to introduce you as my something, and the words get stuck.”

There’s the thrum of rain, the tick of the wall clock, the wild fluttering of your pulse. You’ve protected this almost-relationship because you’ve seen titles ruin things—turning soft colors harsh, casual laughter into expectation. But you’ve also never seen someone tiptoe around your fears so gently.

You lift one shoulder. “What would you want to call me?”

“Depends.” He chews his lip. “Can I audition a few?”

“Audition away.”

He holds up an invisible cue card. “My girlfriend—too high school?” Your cheeks warm. “A bit.” “Partner?” he tries. “Grown-up but sounds like we started a law firm.” You snort. He brightens, encouraged. “Ooh, how about favorite person? Too sappy?” “It’s… adorable,” you admit, heart loosening. He tosses the imaginary card. “Okay, okay. Unpopular opinion: I sorta love girlfriend. I like that it sounds like you got promoted from friend to something secret and cool.”

You stare at him, this man who already knows your coffee order, your allergy to mango, the silly way you hum theme-park tunes when you’re nervous. The word girlfriend used to feel like a cage; now it sounds a little like belonging.

He laces his fingers with yours. “I’m not pushing you,” he murmurs. “I just need to know if we’re going in the same direction, or if I’m the only one who keeps picturing you borrowing my sweats five years from now and yelling at me for forgetting to record whatever prestige series you love.”

“That’s a very specific future,” you tease, voice wobbly.

“I’m a very specific man.” His forehead rests against yours. “So… what are we?”

Your answer tumbles out soft, certain, surprising even you. “I think… we’re two people who made something casual and then kinda accidentally fell into something real.”

He pulls back just enough to search your face. “Accidentally, huh?”

“An unplanned road trip,” you clarify, “where neither of us wants to turn around.”

His grin blooms, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “So… girlfriend?”

You inhale rain-scented air, feel his thumb tracing lazy circles on your wrist, and let the word settle on your tongue like sugar. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Girlfriend.”

Pedro kisses you before the final consonant finishes vibrating in the air—slow, deliberate, like he’s sealing an envelope. His hands cup your jaw; yours fist in the hem of his faded T-shirt, anchoring yourself to this new certainty.

When you finally break apart, he whispers, “Can we celebrate by making ridiculously buttery scrambled eggs and dancing to ‘Sway’ in the living room?”

You laugh, giddy. “That’s how you celebrate?”

“It’s the only way.” He taps your nose. “Stay over tonight?”

“Girlfriend privilege?” you ask, eyebrow arching.

“Exactly. Comes with free coffee in the morning and an illegally comfortable hoodie.”

“Then it’s a deal.” You squeeze his hand. “But tomorrow, I’m auditioning a label for you.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll wear whatever name you pick, mi corazón. As long as it’s tethered to yours.”

Rain keeps drumming, eggs sizzle, and somewhere between the first bite and the last spin across the living-room floor, the word casual vanishes for good—replaced by the quiet certainty of something worth naming, worth keeping, worth growing.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

---

[hatethysinner]

I had a cute idea for a fic! It would be really cute if the main character would be taking a stroll around at night and come across Remmick as he’s busking with his banjo and she gets him to sing an old Irish folk song 👀

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰʟʏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

ᴡᴄ: 2.8k

ᴀ/ɴ: title taken directly from this song. please see maybe happy ending and all the other musicals on broadway this season if you can, truly an unmatched year! have y'all clocked me as an obnoxious theater kid yet 😭? dare i say it's the reason i have a speck of writing talent. anyways, i adored this idea because serenades have my heart and it'd be my first time writing one (it was so hard omg), so here she is! not too long relative to my other works because it really didn't need to be, but i hope y'all enjoy it all the same. i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: nauseatingly sweet pathetic remmick fluff, serenading, excessive mention and meaning placed on fireflies

The fireflies were out again.

They drifted low across the tall grass like they had nowhere else to be, blinking in slow, rhythmless patterns. Like stars that had come down to earth, curious and aimless. The night held them close and cared for, letting them hang in the humid air with nothing but time on their wings.

You’d seen them before, of course. All your life. But some nights, like tonight, they moved differently. Slower. Softer. Like they knew they were being watched. Like they were dancing just for you.

The Delta always felt quieter at night.

It was a quiet no one really trusted. Folks whispered about it, said the dark down here wasn’t like the dark in other places. Said the trees listened. Said the water could keep a secret. You weren’t sure if you believed all that, but you knew one thing for certain: the stillness didn’t scare you.

Not the way it should’ve.

You’d made a habit of it, these late walks. When the air got too thick with thoughts, or the day clung too heavy to your skin, you’d slip outside and let your feet wander. Down past the back fields, across the brush-lined path, until the water showed its silver face and the frogs started to hum. Sometimes you’d bring a jar and catch a few fireflies, just to watch them flicker in your palm. Sometimes you’d sit and count how long you could go without hearing a single manmade sound.

It calmed you. Cleared your head. Gave you something to hold onto when the world felt too loud.

They told you not to.

Warned you, gently but often, that a girl out here at night wasn’t safe. That anything could happen. That there were things in the trees older than time and twice as hungry.

But the quiet had never hurt you.

And the moon, hanging full and watchful above the cypress branches, had never turned its face.

So you kept walking.

Your boots crunched gently in the grass, damp from where the dew was already beginning to gather. You brushed aside a low-hanging branch and stepped over the uneven bend in the path, the one you always forgot was there until it nearly caught your ankle. The creek whispered up ahead, a soft, steady hush, like someone trying to soothe a restless child.

And then,

A sound you didn’t expect.

Music.

You stopped.

Not bugs. Not frogs. Not the wind through the reeds.

Something else. Faint and careful. The pluck of strings, soft but clear. A banjo, you realized, but played low and slow, like whoever held it was afraid of being heard. It had no clear tune yet. Just gentle wandering notes, testing the air.

You tilted your head.

The fireflies blinked around you, catching in your eyelashes and drifting past your cheeks. One landed on the fabric of your shoulder, pulsing like a heartbeat.

You took a step toward the sound.

Then another.

The grass parted beneath your feet, damp and forgiving. The trees thinned out just enough to let the moon through in ribbons. You kept your breath even, your pace light. Didn’t want to scare off whatever strange magic had found its way here tonight.

And still, the music played. Threading through the dark like it belonged.

Like it’d been there all along.

And then you saw him.

Closer than you expected.

Much closer.

You’d followed the sound as if it were drifting from far across the creek, notes carrying on the wind like feathers. But when you stepped past the last veil of tall grass and turned just slightly toward the right, there he was.

Not even ten feet ahead.

Seated with his back to you on a split log bench, angled just enough for the moon to catch on the curve of his shoulder. The banjo lay loose in his lap, not cradled so much as resting there like it belonged. His fingers moved slow across the strings, too gentle to make real music now. Just small sounds. Ghost notes.

He was lean. Pale. His shirt sleeves rolled up past the elbows. Collar loose and open, the dip of his neck catching the moonlight in a sharp, wet gleam. Sweat, maybe. Or something older.

Your breath hitched.

You hadn’t meant to spy on anyone. Didn’t want to. But when you realized how close you were, when you caught the slope of his shoulders and saw the way he rocked just slightly with each flick of the strings, something in your chest went tight.

There was no business for a man, any man, but especially one like him to be out so late. It didn’t sit right. There was no law in the woods, and even if there was, it wasn’t made for you.

You shifted your weight back slowly, trying to step away before he saw you. No sound, no sudden movement. Just a soft, silent retreat.

And then, snap.

A branch underfoot.

Loud enough to crack the night in half.

The man turned so fast it stole the air from your lungs.

You froze.

His head whipped toward you like he’d been yanked by a thread, and suddenly you were caught in the full force of his gaze.

He wasn’t just pale.

His skin carried a strange, ageless warmth. Undertones like honey diluted with cream. Touched by moonlight but not drained by it. Like the sun hadn’t reached him in a long while, but hadn’t quite forgotten him either.

Sharp cheekbones. A strong jaw. A mouth that didn’t always know what to do with itself when it settled closed. Soft one moment, tense the next.

And his eyes. Lord.

Blue. Not light, not sky. Deeper than that. Like river water just before it turns black. Old. Tired.

Too large.

Too deep.

Too lonely.

With that faint, impossible pulse of red flickering behind the color, beating slow as a second heart. Like the fireflies floating between you.

And his teeth,

You wouldn’t have noticed, maybe, if the moon hadn’t hit just right. But it did. And there, under the gentle curve of his lips, two fangs caught the light. Not long. Not alien. Just... unmistakable.

He stood.

Not quickly. Not with menace.

But slow. Measured. Careful.

Hands half-raised like he meant to calm. To motion that he existed in peace.

You caught the glint of something at his throat. A simple gold chain, sitting warm against his chest, right in the hollow where his shirt gaped open.

Neither of you spoke.

Not at first.

The music was gone now. The banjo left where it sat on the log, strings still reverberating faintly. The wind had gone still. Even the cicadas hushed.

Just your breathing. Just his.

Just fireflies blinking all around you, slow and golden, their pulses barely out of sync with the red behind his eyes.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Ain’t know anyone else walked this stretch,” he said, voice breathy and rough, like it had been a while since he used it. Southern, but not quite. Something twisted at the end of each word. Something careful that he was trying and failing to mask. “Apologies if I startled ya, miss.”

His gaze didn’t shift.

Didn’t dart away.

But he looked almost… nervous. Like you’d caught him with something private. Something delicate.

You should’ve turned.

Should’ve run.

But you didn’t.

You looked back at him, heart still thudding, breath still short, and said:

“You didn’t startle me.”

A pause.

“You play real nice.”

His mouth parted.

Just slightly.

Like he hadn’t expected kindness.

“Oh,” he said. “Well. Thank ya kindly. That's very sweet of ya.”

He cleared his throat, glancing away from you for just a moment. Tried to stand a little straighter too, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now that they weren’t holding the banjo. Or being watched by another human being.

“I- uh- I'm Remmick,” he said softly. “I like the quiet.”

His voice sounded careful. Like every word had to be weighed before it left his mouth. You caught the way his fingers twitched, half-reaching for the banjo again like it might steady him.

You nodded, finding your own voice beneath the pulse in your throat. “Me too.”

You told him your name.

He repeated it, soft, almost reverent, like he was tasting it. Like he wanted to make sure he got it right, to hear how it sounded in his own mouth.

He seemed to breathe easier at that. But then his eyes darted back toward the creek, then down at the ground, like maybe he’d overstayed already. His voice lowered, small and unsure.

“If ya’d rather be alone, I can go. Wasn’t meanin’ to trouble anyone.”

The words were earnest, almost clumsy. Like he meant them, but didn’t want to mean them. Like leaving was the last thing he wanted.

You glanced down at the fireflies drifting lazy circles around your boots, blinking like they were eavesdropping on the conversation. The moon made the water shine with silver streaks behind him. His banjo sat quiet at his side, one thin string still vibrating softly from where his hand had left it.

You didn’t know why the words came so easily, but they did.

“You don’t have to leave.”

His head lifted a little too fast, as if he hadn't expected that answer.

“Y’sure?” he asked, voice catching just slightly.

You smiled, small. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

The muscles at the corner of his jaw relaxed. He looked down, then back at you, the corners of his mouth tugging into something tentative. Not quite a smile. Something gentler.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The fireflies blinked between you, soft and patient.

Then his hand slid over the banjo again, almost hesitant. “Don’t usually have much of an audience.”

You tipped your head, voice light. “That’s a shame. You sound like someone with stories to tell.”

He let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the sound almost surprised. Ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently at the strands near the back of his neck.

“I got one or two,” he murmured. “Old ones.”

The quiet stretched again. Comfortable this time. The kind of quiet that felt like the Delta itself breathing around you.

Softly, you asked, “You know any songs with words?”

He hesitated. You saw it ripple across his face. The nervous flicker behind his eyes, the way his fingers hovered just above the strings.

After a moment: “...One or two.”

You didn’t push. Just stood there, letting the space between you settle.

Another firefly landed on the edge of the banjo’s frame, its glow reflecting faintly in his dark blue eyes. He watched it for a moment like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

And then, finally, his voice broke the stillness again. Faint. Shy.

“I can play you one… if you’d like.”

You nodded, breath light. “I’d like that.”

His eyes met yours again. Misty, uncertain, but grateful. You could've sworn a ghost of a smile had appeared on his lips, before it quickly flew away.

His fingers hovered over the strings for a moment longer as he sat back down, like he had to coax himself forward.

And then, soft and low, he began.

“Oh, the summer time has come…”

The words slipped out like a secret. Barely above a whisper. Unsteady at first. You saw the nerves tighten his throat as he sang, as if even speaking the melody was some kind of quiet confession.

The fireflies blinked in rhythm, their lights pulsing soft as the notes floated into the air. You held your breath without meaning to. Something about his voice, so painfully gentle and kind, wrapped around you like warm cloth.

“And the trees are sweetly bloomin’…”

His gaze kept falling to you between the lines, unsure whether to meet your eyes or drop his own. And each time his eyes caught yours, he seemed to find a bit more footing. Like your presence steadied him, grounded him.

“The wild mountain thyme Grows around the bloomin’ heather…”

You wondered, suddenly, how long it had been since he sang for anyone. Or if he ever had at all. The intimacy of it left your chest tight. Not romantic, not quite. But full. Like standing in a room too small for all the quiet things neither of you could say.

“Will ye go, Lassie, go?”

The chorus came softer, steadier. His fingers strummed with more confidence now, like the melody was finally guiding him instead of the other way around.

“Will ye go, Lassie, go? And we’ll all go together…”

You watched his lips form each word, how his jaw tensed just slightly with the shape of every vowel. The moonlight caught faint on his chain. The gold glimmered like a second pulse beneath his throat.

“To pull wild mountain thyme All around the bloomin’ heather…”

The breeze stirred between you, lifting the humid air off your skin. And still, he played. Like this space, this moment, belonged to both of you and no one else.

“Will ye go, Lassie, go?”

His voice dipped even lower as the next verse began. His eyes didn’t stray this time. They stayed locked on yours, as though the rest of the world had slipped away.

“I will build my love a bower By yon cool crystal fountain…”

The words stirred something in your ribs. Quiet, curious. A fragile ache you didn’t dare name. He sang them like a promise not meant for you, but falling in your lap anyway.

“And round it I will pile All the wild flowers o’ the mountain…”

The fireflies blinked again, drifting closer between you both, like they too wanted to listen.

You didn’t dare look away.

Not when his voice, his fingers, his eyes had all softened into something so painfully vulnerable it made your breath catch.

“Will ye go, Lassie, go? And we’ll all go together…”

The melody carried through the night, through the hush of the trees and the slow lap of the water. Even the frogs seemed to quiet, as though giving him room to finish.

“To pull wild mountain thyme All around the bloomin’ heather…”

His hands slowed on the strings as the final chorus slipped from his mouth.

“Will ye go, Lassie, go?”

The last note lingered, floating light as a feather before dissolving into the warm night.

Neither of you moved.

The space between you was still there. The gap. But it no longer felt like distance.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came. Nothing fit.

So you just smiled, small and warm.

His breath hitched like that smile was worth more than any words you could have given.

And around you, the fireflies kept on blinking.

The silence stretched for a long moment after his final note. The soft night held it gently, like neither of you dared break it too soon.

Then, without a word, you stepped forward.

The grass whispered beneath your feet. The fireflies parted for you like little floating lanterns, blinking gold as you crossed the space between you.

Remmick didn’t move. Only watched. Quiet, careful. As if the smallest shift might startle you back.

You lowered yourself onto the edge of the log beside him. Not close enough to touch, but closer. Much closer than before.

The distance between you narrowed to a small breath of air, shared under the wide Mississippi moon. His eyes flickered toward you once. And then back to the strings. Like even that one glance was almost too much.

He swallowed softly, throat working. You caught it out of the corner of your eye.

His voice, when it came again, was even gentler than before.

Another song.

No introduction. No hesitation. Just music.

And you listened.

Song after song, old ones you half-knew, others that sounded older than the land itself. His voice was steadier now. Richer, somehow. The nerves had melted away. He wasn’t singing to fill the air anymore. He was singing to you. Or maybe with you.

And when your lips finally, softly, quietly joined his on a chorus, neither of you spoke of it.

Your voices braided together like threads of silk.

For a while, you simply sang. As if the night had always been meant for this, for the two of you trading melodies under the low hum of cicadas and the blinking dance of the fireflies.

Hours passed unnoticed.

At some point, the moon shifted higher. The breeze cooled. But neither of you made any move to leave.

Remmick’s eyes, every time they lifted to meet yours, were full of something so profound, so reverent, it made your stomach tighten. Not desire. Not hunger. But something deeper. Something that looked like worship.

He never reached for you.

Never brushed your hand.

But you felt him there, anchoring himself to you with nothing but the weight of his gaze, the softness of his song.

Eventually, as the stars began to pull pale against the hint of coming dawn, his fingers stilled on the strings.

Neither of you said a word.

Instead, you both simply sat there as the fireflies blinked their slow farewell.

And for the first time that night, Remmick spoke again.

His voice was barely a whisper, but full of something that made your chest ache.

“Thank ya for stayin’.”

You smiled.

And in that quiet, you both simply stayed.

Together.

[jo-com]

──★ ｡𖦹°‧⭑ Love Triangle, Monaco Edition

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Arthur Leclerc

୨ৎ Summary: Two brothers. One girl. And a chaotic comment section

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU

୨ৎ Notes: Some grammatical error and google translated french, hope you enjoy guys!

୨ৎ Fc: Beabadoobee & Random Pinterest Girlies

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Missgirl_

❤️ 105k 💬 15k

Liked by Charles_Leclerc, Lilymhe, Arthur_Leclerc and others

Missgirl_ Tea anyone?

View all comments

Username What’s 4 + 4?

Username ATEE🔥 ❤️ by the Author

Username the only tea i need is of you and the brothers👀

Username no cuz same😔🤚🏻

Charles_Leclerc belle comme toujours🥰

Missgirl_ tu es plutôt beau toi-même😉 ❤️ by Charles_Leclerc

Username SOMEONE PLEASE TRANSALE THIS!!

Iamrebeccad on my knees rn as we speak

Missgirl_ I DO ALREADY🤭

Carlossainz55 ???

Lando what no drama?

Username SAME GIRL SAME

Username “I am just a girl” vibes

Username he’s a girls girls fr😮‍💨

Username girl you’re not giving. you’re snatching lives.

Username this is the kind of energy you get after emotionally destroying two leclercs and sleeping fine after 💅

…

…

Arthur_Leclerc and Charles Leclerc Posted a story!

Replies:

Y/N → Charles

Always second?? you woke up and chose violence huh 💀

Only because he had to hear it 😌
But for you? I’ll always be first in line.

Lando → Charles

Bro. It’s always the poetic ones you come for 😭 Let him have his sunset, damn.

George → Arthur

I support emotional vulnerability. But maybe next time, sunset without the subtext?

Alex → Charles

Bro. He posted vibes. You posted a hit.

Oscar → Arthur

Next time just post the sun and log off man 😭 Charles came in SWINGING.

Yuki → Arthur

You should’ve just captioned it ‘nice view’ and walked away 💀

Y/N → Arthur

Very poetic of you, Arthur. Is this a sunset or a love confession? 👀

Depends. Did it work? 👀😏
If not, I’ve got more metaphors and all night.

…

Username someone get them a ref before it turns into WWE.

Lando this is better than the Netflix series tbh

Username WHY R U EVEN HERE MAN😭

Lando For the drama duh🙄🍿

Username Charles waking up and choosing violence before breakfast✊🏻✊🏻

Username Arthur blink twice if your ego’s okay rn 😭

Username this whole exchange was not FIA sanctioned

Username and here I was just tryna enjoy a sunset 🫠

Username Y/N checking her phone like it’s Hunger Games out here.

Username Y’all, it was just a sunset. A SUNSET 😭😭😭

…

Missgirl_

❤️ 1.5M 💬 178k

Missgirl_ Sibling peace treaty signed under my supervision 🕊️✨

Tagged; @Charles_Leclerc and @Arthur_Leclerc

View all comments

lando What did it cost you… mentally?

Missgirl_ sanity, patience, and 2 espresso shots before 9am 😩

Username this is what F1 Drive to Survive WISHES it could capture

Username they’re literally just waiting for you to turn around so they can start again 💀

Username Fr giving those vibes😭

Username THE WAY SHES ON THE MIDDLE PIC IS WILD

Carlossainz55 Please tell me there was a team principal supervising

Missgirl_ you’re looking at her. it’s me. hi.

Carlossainz55 🤦🏻🤦🏻🤦🏻

Pierregasly They look like they’re planning who gets to post you on IG next

Missgirl_ joke’s on them — I’m posting me ✨

Username Ferrari garage turning into family therapy

Username The real Ferrari team principal: Y/N L/N

Missgirl_ I don’t get paid enough for this sht🙄

Username the fact that you had to fix Leclerc family affairs is wild

[mylovesstuffs]

Okay GIRL... okay 🫠

You really gave me Joshua Hong, childhood best friends, yearning, religious angst, pining, and unresolved and expected me to just??? STAY NORMAL??? I tried to be serious. I wanted to be analytical. I truly did. But then this fic grabbed me by my collar and absolutely wrecked my soul. I didn't think I'll ever read this. I saw it in my dash but I'm not good with reading angst that has potentially sad ending. I'm good as long as a happy, or bittersweet or acceptable ending. But ig, it was my sign to actually read this—and I'm glad I did. I contemplated if I should skip but I decided to read and hurt myself 🥰 Though, I'll say, the ending was better than expected. My heart clenched, but I accepted it 🥹 this was just that beautiful.

Joshua’s devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god. This alone is biblical. This is Cain and Abel. This is forbidden apple in Eden level pain.

The way this is written is not just prose, it’s scripture. Like genuinely, I feel like I need to kneel after reading this because you’ve made grief sound so holy and faith sound like a love triangle between her, Joshua and God [maybe a square if we take in Soonyoung] Btw, the emotional pacing is CHEF’S KISS. And it's exactly how Joshua would carry it.

Love the end is short and uneventful./the end is long and beautiful./the end is long and beautiful, and it’s simultaneously the best and the most devastating night of your life, phases [sorry, idk what to call it other timestamps or phase...]

The way Joshua is written as someone whose every step is guided by his belief but whose heart still veers off course toward you— perfection. The tension between “What would God want?” and “What do I want?” is palpable. You made me feel like I was reading fanfic and a lit class essay on spiritual duality at the same time. How dare you.

Reader thanking him for everything he gave up, is genuinely, actually, the kind of line that haunts you at 3am.

“You didn’t have to, you know.” / “I think I did.” STOP. I CAN’T DO THIS.

That final dance with Soonyoung… the slow acceptance… the prayer that Joshua finds peace someday... I'm telling you, that’s grief therapy.

This isn’t just “the one that got away.” This is “the one that taught you what love is supposed to feel like… and what it costs when the universe says no.” YES. I said what I said.

A love story where God was the antagonist and still made it feel fair. And that’s kind of genius??? So yeah. I’m ruined. I’m emotionally compromised. And if Joshua ever so much as looks at me again, I’m throwing myself into the nearest confessional and crying into a candle. Thank you for this experience of a fic. I need to go lie down in a field now. Or maybe limp around the block.

Would read again just to feel sad.

Under the cut is my live yapping while reading. Major spoilers!

“i wouldn’t do anything,” she begins carefully. “you’re a grown man, after all."— 🥹 STOP IT IMMEDIATELY. Tbh, for a good second it felt like, “I love you, so I’ll let you walk into the fire yourself if that’s what you choose” energy?? This woman is WISE. She’s not manipulative or guilting him.

"but i would worry that marrying a partner who didn’t believe in god—any god at all—would make you stray from your own faith.”— OH??? This is so accurately written from the pov of a, let's say it together, WISE WOMAN. She’s not saying “don’t marry her” but saying “don’t lose yourself.”

it’s a diplomatic answer and he expected it; his mom has always been supportive of him, always allowing him the space and freedom to make his own mistakes and learn from them—or not.—THIS IS ELITE WRITING.

and each time you answered his question, instead of accepting that maybe there was a major incompatibility between the two of you, joshua would find himself thinking of the things he could compromise on. — this part and the next paragraph [I'll break that paragraph after this], is I think my favourite part of this fic? Haven't read much but it's already hurting. I avoided this fic for a reason 😭 Personally, this did not feel like a healthy mindset, even though it may look noble or romantic on the surface. He’s avoiding reality, it’s self-erasing; compromise isn’t the same as compatibility. Joshua is emotionally generous to a fault. Literally absorbing discomfort and slowly contorting himself in the name of love.

Okay, sure, he doesn’t need you to convert or participate — omg my love is rationalizing 😭 Not wanting conversion is healthy!! But this is the beginning of a pattern ‘what else will he silence in himself to avoid conflict?’ my heart breaks.

he’s already been going to church his entire adult life so far without anyone accompanying him.— another justification 😭 But is this just about logistics? 😢 Shouldnt this be more about the emotional support? If something is sacred to him, doesn’t he want to share it?

adults go through catholic confirmation later in life all the time— literally feeling like I'm doing a character study but really, these two paragraphs hit hard. He’s now making long-term mental concessions for a person who may not even be on the same page... that’s love trying to pre-fix a misalignment.

so what if you thought that the idea of a “big guy” controlling everyone’s lives was weird?— Oof. This line cuts 💔 Pure dismissiveness toward something he holds seriously and instead of engaging, he internalizes and avoids.

…he could just refrain from talking about that around you…—Translation: he’ll suppress his beliefs around her to make her more comfortable. This is something even I do. If I know someone has a different believe, whether or not they verbally say something... I'll avoid talking about beliefs at all cost. Just because I'm comfortable talking and listening about others beliefs, I find it uncomfortable to be talking about mine with others, scared of making them uncomfortable [even if they say they're comfortable].

or correcting your line of thinking because it’s a bit of a gross oversimplification of catholicism.— AH he’s trying not to rock the boat but that boat is slowly sinking anyway 😢 This line is so devastating omg. It probably means he’s prioritizing your comfort over his own integrity.

This two paragraphs set the tone for a slow heartbreak in progress 😭 My man is trying so hard to make it work that he’s gradually vanishing without even realising. Is he even realising?? It’s also a bit bittersweet because it still reflects real-life relationships: those are sometimes not not toxic or villainous, just yk mismatched or misaligned? And of one person trying too hard to fill the gap with his own silence and compromise 😔 His faith is central to who he is and he’s gradually relegating it to the background to preserve the relationship... he’s swallowing micro-hurts [ like yk e.g. like your simplification of his belief system] instead of confronting them; a classic sign of someone trying too hard to ‘keep the peace’ rather than facing the misalignment.

he realizes his faith isn’t strong enough to survive you.— 💀🔥 THIS. THIS IS THE DAGGER. It’s NOT “he lost his faith because of you,” but like it’s “his love for you was a tidal wave his faith couldn’t stand against.” ARE YOU SEEING THE TRAGEDY??????

because his love for you has become somewhat of its own religion to him,—🥹🙏🏻 GIRL—STOP. STOP. You LITERALLY just canonized romantic devotion. You just made him your own little martyr. Also: the phrasing?? somewhat of its own religion?? LIKE????? bye i’m crying.

and if it came down to a question of his faith to you or his faith to god,— The setup. The stakes. The unbearable weight of the OR. Oh you KNOW what’s coming—

he would put it all on the line if it meant being with you.—THAT’S THE DROP. THAT’S THE DAMN DROP.

he can’t lose himself to you.— Joshua... 😞 He's feeling so many things at the same time.

joshua leaves his mother’s house knowing one thing is for sure: it’s time to let this dream of having you go.— oh please 😭😭😭 it's starting... My heart 😭

so when joshua told you he thought it was better to stay best friends, you took it like a champ and agreed,—... ???what??? 😀

you were right there. he had a whole life with you in his palm, and he let it go.—thats why I'm so... confused??? I mean... what happened?

he saw hands intertwined together, late nights, car rides with his hand on your thigh, hugs from behind while he cooked for you, a suit and a white dress, a small, innocent face that looked like the both of you—your smile, his eyes.— if it was a different fic, I'd feel giddy about this paragraph, but now my heart is aching.

maybe you saw it too. and now he’s the reason it’ll stay a dream.— 😭😭 😭 😭 😭

and even though he’s secretly and unfairly relieved every time you throw someone else to the curb— THE WORD CHOICE!!??:'5"4#+;'!!!???!! Secretly and unfairly??? You are dragging him !! He knows he’s wrong for it, but he can’t help it. He just… wins a war he didn’t ask to fight. This is called, oh I forgot what it's called... OH a guilt-laced joy. The most human kind of selfishness.

he takes it well.— This. Sentence. Is. So. Ruthless 💀

he even thinks one or two of them could give you a good life; he can live thinking of you with these ones forever.— This is so much worse than jealousy. BECAUSE this is real love. Yk there's this sort of saying that, you want them happy even if it’s not with you? He’s not delusional. He sees their potential and acknowledges them. He thinks, “I could survive this if it means they’re good to you.” OH. OH.

STOP. STOP THIS RIGHT NOW 😭😭 you're giving me slow emotional death via pining.

but then, you meet kwon soonyoung.— hold on. What's Soonyoung doing here??? I'm pathetically soft and down bad for this man. Don't do me dirty. I know you'll do me dirty. I should stop reading before I hurt myself. I love both men. Oh I love them. Please. Please. Don't do this.

he knows soonyoung is different from the jump.— The dread is instant 🥲 Because Joshua is not stupid. He’s probably had known there would come a day like this and now he’s watching it happen. Soonyoung isn’t a guy he can “stomach.” This is hopefully the one who could take you away for good 😭 idk why I'm saying this

and you don’t reach out.— 🫥 Just. Pain.

the way his eyes disappear from how fondly he smiles at you.— tje description of soonyoung smiling with his whole soul while Joshua sits there, quietly combusting… It’s actually illegal 😵‍💫 why am I still reading???

a year later, you’re engaged.— oh please, respectfully, stfu! That’s it 😭 The nail in the coffin.

the week before joshua is due at your wedding as a guest— THIS IS SPIRALLING TOO FAST!! I'M SPIRALLING TOO FAST. WDYM HE'S GOING TO THE WEDDING AS GUEST. HE'S A GUEST? HE'S GOING? [I mean, sure]. IT'S ALREADY WEDDING TIME?? I was hoping for something to happen after the engagement that somehow won't hurt Joshua or Soonyoung.

not your 'man-of-honor' the way you’ve always planned your entire life— This one line is a whole lifetime lost. Okay okay, let me write down my thoughts ob this too. He wasn’t her boyfriend, maybe. But he was supposed to be her person. The one who zips her dress, holds her bouquet, makes the speech that has the room crying, ride or die. But now he's just another name on the guest list 😭

he gets completely shit-faced drunk.— He’s obliterated.

he doesn’t know why you’re there. he doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating. he smiles anyway.— This is the final shot of the indie film version of your story 🥲

“hey, shua,” you whisper, smiling at him sadly. “what are you doing?”— okay okay, don't hurt me again by making him confess now or say something that'll end up hurting me again. Actually... Don't do/say anything that'll hurt

“i just wanted to see you,” you answer. “i wanted to see my best friend.”— BRO IS HE REALLY YOUR BEST FRIEND??? why is he not the man of honour? Why is he so absent in your life? 💀💔😭🤨

"do you believe in god yet?"— I don't think it was out of nowhere. Okay, maybe out of nowhere, but not really. Because what he’s asking is: do we still have a shot? Was everything I gave up for my faith... a misunderstanding?

He wakes up in his childhood room.—NOTHING screams regression more than being back in the bed where it all started.

"there isn't a single universe where that girl would've led you away from your faith."— ah... 🙂 Oh.This is the climax of everything. He built an entire future on a false fear.

So, kind of clears up. Oh, btw, before I forget—i love mama Hong <3 Okay, back to business. He didn’t lose her because of religion. He lost her because he projected a wedge where there was none. He made the decision for both of thrm, never giving her the chance to prove that her path could walk side by side...

"you would've thought i was god the way that girl wailed,"— whoa, That’s reverence. That’s love, reverence and godliness. I love how this scene is mostly his mom seeing it now, and sees where she failed to point it out.

“i should've shown you that god exists in all the little acts of love...”— wow. I love this 😭 this sentence alone can change lives. Because this is the core of faith, isn’t it?

"maybe then you wouldn’t be so hurt now." — She says it so plainly, so motherly. So full of guilt and love 🥺

"you haven’t, mom," he says quietly. "i failed me."— this gutted me...

"i think i could be open to believing something, though," you admitted honestly. "i just don't want to get to a place where i would blame this... thing or person for the things going wrong in my life. but that's just me. i still love that people believe so strongly in it. faith is a beautiful thing." — It is a beautiful line/dialogue.

you sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers carded through your hair. "that's so hard to answer without knowing who it is. it depends on the person. i can't make a decision based solely on how religious they are." — that's a so me thing to do/say. Everything for me, depends on the person. I relate to her here.

you groaned, again having no idea. if you took all these questions and made them about joshua, they would be a million times easier to answer. but he wasn't asking about himself, he was asking about some faceless, nameless nobody, and you weren't invested enough to answer accurately.— oh Ikr, it would've been much easier lol.

"most of all, i guess i just want to thank you for everything you gave up so we could be here,”—okay I lied. This is the line/dialogue that's breaking me. I mean it's the truth. She knows it, he knows it. Very bittersweet 💔

you’re not dumb. you knew what joshua had to give up so you could be here, happy, in love, and with the man perfect for you.— yes, this is what I was talking about [tho he could be the perfect man too after all that background history...]

Also, I love the, there might have been a younger version of you that... parts!

all you can do is thank joshua hong for all the choices he made without asking you first— AHHAHAHBHGBYGGBGBYGBYG!!ANHANH!!!!

ironically, because of him, you can see god now.— YES.

you can see god in the way soonyoung holds you like you're the most precious person in his life— We love a king who uplifts like divinity. Soonyoung's love is probably the kind of reverence that Joshua once feared she lacked. But now we see it. She lives it.

she looked at you for several, long seconds… she always did.— the mother-in-law who never was… but somehow still always will be. Hear me out! the unspoken knowing between women who loved the same man in different ways. They feel!

“you'll always have him.” / “and he'll always have me.” — Soulmate energy but in a parallel universe.

you and joshua both find what keeps you warm at night, and you hold onto it for as long as you can— love the reference to a similar line that you wrote earlier ✨

and you're okay with that. you hope he is too.— oh well... What do I do with my life now...

Just so you know, my throat hurts to the point I can't drink. I hope you're happy.

‘til god breaks this spell

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

♫ spell by niki pairing: joshua x fem!reader word count: 4.6k cw: a lot of religious reflection (catholicism) tags: childhood best friends, angst, not the happy ending you probably want sorry, the one that got away, joshua is a good catholic boy, reader is atheist a/n: the very first fic i wrote was a bts jinkook fic that was inspired by la la lost you by niki. seems fitting that i start my svt writing journey with another niki inspired song hehe. other than that, idk what compelled me to torture myself (and now you) like this. also, this was written in one, flustered go so it's barely edited oops!

“mom, what would you do if i married someone who didn’t believe in god?”

joshua’s mother immediately set her novel down, glasses slipping down her nose as she frowned at her one and only son. he didn’t look up at her, choosing to stare down at his hands instead while he twirled the friendship ring he shared with you around his pinkie finger.

“married?” she repeated. “i wasn’t even aware you had someone in your life.”

he shook his head quickly, frowning down at his open palm as he began to massage it nervously. “i don’t. i’m just… curious, i guess.”

it might be silly to be as worried about this as he is, seeing as things haven’t progressed into a relationship yet, but he’d rather figure this out now and say nothing than risk it, go all in, and then cause unnecessary pain later on.

his mother stays silent long enough that he forces himself to look at her. her eyes are no longer on him, instead seemingly zoning out on the space straight ahead. he follows her gaze and grimaces when he realizes she’s staring at the wooden carving of the last supper hung on the wall.

“i wouldn’t do anything,” she begins carefully. “you’re a grown man, after all. but i would worry that marrying a partner who didn’t believe in god—any god at all—would make you stray from your own faith.”

it’s a diplomatic answer and he expected it; his mom has always been supportive of him, always allowing him the space and freedom to make his own mistakes and learn from them—or not.

“so you’d prefer i marry catholic?”

“i mean, of course, but that’s not what i said, was it?” his mom retorts, giving him a pointed look. she knew joshua had a way of misunderstanding a lot of the things she told him. “i would prefer you marry catholic the way i would prefer you marry at all—nice to have but if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world.”

joshua nods, feeling a little bit of the tightness in his chest dissipate.

“i would just hope you think about it long and hard enough to know that you won’t compromise any of your own beliefs for someone who lives without a god,” she emphasizes.

joshua mulls that idea over. is his faith strong enough to withstand a lifelong partner who didn’t share his belief and love for god?

he wants to say yes. it’s you—of course he wants to say yes. you’ve been friends your whole lives, and he’s been in love with you for most of that time. of course he wants his answer to be: yes, my faith will survive a relationship with an atheist.

but he thinks about the conversations you’ve already had years ago, and the tightness in his chest returns tenfold.

is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?

probably not. it just seems too convenient that there’s someone out there in charge of everyone’s lives.

would you marry someone religious?

i don’t know. i guess it depends on the person. i don’t think i’d participate or convert or anything if i did, though.

what about kids? would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?

dude, what’s with the interrogation? i don’t know! if it’s important to my partner, maybe? but i’d be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves. can we watch a movie now?

and each time you answered his question, instead of accepting that maybe there was a major incompatibility between the two of you, joshua would find himself thinking of the things he could compromise on.

okay, sure, he doesn’t need you to convert or participate; he’s already been going to church his entire adult life so far without anyone accompanying him. and if you didn’t want children baptized, that’s fine too! adults go through catholic confirmation later in life all the time! so what if you thought that the idea of a “big guy” controlling everyone’s lives was weird? he could just refrain from talking about that around you… or correcting your line of thinking because it’s a bit of a gross oversimplification of catholicism.

and as he sits there, his mother already back to her novel, he realizes his faith isn’t strong enough to survive you. because his love for you has become somewhat of its own religion to him, and if it came down to a question of his faith to you or his faith to god, he has to be honest with himself and admit that his mother’s fears are valid. he would put it all on the line if it meant being with you.

and he can’t do that.

he’s committed all kinds of sins by now. he’s been flexible in his beliefs—supportive and progressive in areas where other catholics have been unforgiving and in his opinion, outdated and bigoted. he’s compromised a lot at no cost to him or his god. but he can’t completely lose everything he’s known and loved for you. he can’t lose himself to you.

he can't forget that it isn't fair to you either—to have to try and appease him and his religion. he'd be doing you both a mercy, letting this spark die before it ever really takes flame.

joshua leaves his mother’s house knowing one thing is for sure: it’s time to let this dream of having you go.

the end is short and uneventful.

you two had only kissed once, and things hadn’t gone far enough for either of you to confess your feelings—whatever they were. so when joshua told you he thought it was better to stay best friends, you took it like a champ and agreed, smiling and hugging him tightly, promising him that nothing would change.

the end was short and uneventful, yet somehow the most devastating thing joshua has experienced. he had you. you were right there. he had a whole life with you in his palm, and he let it go.

he hates himself for it, but he saw it all. the moment his lips met yours, he saw hands intertwined together, late nights, car rides with his hand on your thigh, hugs from behind while he cooked for you, a suit and a white dress, a small, innocent face that looked like the both of you—your smile, his eyes.

and he feels like maybe you saw it too.

because when you both pulled away, you looked up at him like this was it—like you had just run a marathon and you had reached the finish line. like you’d grabbed his hand and crossed it with him. you smiled widely, wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, and caressed the skin there as your foreheads met. and you fell asleep wrapped up in each other like it was where you were both meant to be.

maybe you saw it too. and now he’s the reason it’ll stay a dream.

you stay true to your promise. joshua is almost saddened by how easy it seems for you to revert back to being only friends. every time he sees you, hears you, brushes up against you, he feels like his heart is cracking wide open and the world might just end at that very moment. it’s dramatic but he can’t wrap his mind around any other way to exist.

it hurts for a while, but the years pass a little easier.

he watches you date, and even though he’s secretly and unfairly relieved every time you throw someone else to the curb, he takes it well. he meets some of them and welcomes them warmly, agreeing to hang out with you and whoever you’re dating any time you ask him to. he even thinks one or two of them could give you a good life; he can live thinking of you with these ones forever. but you inevitably leave them behind and he hates that it makes him happy to watch you shake off a good guy that isn’t him.

just as he planned, joshua’s faith remains strong. he goes to church. he volunteers with his mom and her bible study friends. he sings and plays guitar on the praise and worship team from time to time. he meets a a catholic woman he thinks could be a match for him. he never asks her out. he politely declines when she musters up the courage to do it herself.

he thinks this could be fine. maybe he’ll be single forever and maybe you’ll find some average guy he can stomach, and his love for his god and for your happiness will keep him warm enough at night.

but then, you meet kwon soonyoung.

you’ve never been one to fall and tell; most of the time, joshua doesn’t know you’re dating someone until you decide it’s time to get his stamp of approval. he knows soonyoung is different from the jump.

your time starts to get tied up. it starts with only seeing him sporadically throughout the month instead of almost every day. it becomes rescheduling all your hangouts until you’re only seeing each other briefly at mutual friends’ events. it ends with missed calls and ignored texts.

he’s driving himself crazy wondering what’s going on, and when you post a photo on your story of a dinner date with a faceless man, he understands what’s happening. you’re falling in love. and he knows it because you never have—not truly—and this is what it must look like.

you don’t fall and tell, but joshua knows you too well to pretend it’s anything but this. he doesn’t try to take up any more of your time out of respect, and you don’t reach out.

you prove him right when a few months later, you bring soonyoung to a friend’s dinner party, and you introduce him as your boyfriend. it hits joshua like a truck. you’ve never introduced someone to him as a boyfriend. he’s always met the people you’ve dated before it progressed that far. he also had the privilege of meeting them privately, not with the rest of the friend group, none of who are privy to the way his heart collapses in on itself when he watches the way you lean into soonyoung all night. the way you laugh with him. the way his eyes disappear from how fondly he smiles at you. the way he seems to fit right into your life so perfectly.

you hug joshua tightly that night before leaving, and you tell him you miss him so much and you two need to catch up soon. neither of you follow up, though, and a year later, you’re engaged.

the week before joshua is due at your wedding as a guest—not your “man-of-honor” the way you’ve always planned your entire life—he gets completely shit-faced drunk.

he’s sitting on the sidewalk in front of a puddle of his own vomit when you quietly sit beside him, slipping your arm around his shoulders. he doesn’t know why you’re there. he doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating. he smiles anyway.

“hey, you.”

“hey, shua,” you whisper, smiling at him sadly. “what are you doing?”

“oh, y’know,” he shrugs, grinning at himself pathetically. “just hanging out.”

you hum, nodding.

“what are you doing here?” he asks.

you look at him with an inscrutable expression. “i just wanted to see you,” you answer. “i wanted to see my best friend.”

“am i?” he asks, looking up at the sky. the moon is covered by clouds tonight. “your best friend?”

“of course. you always will be.”

he smiles at the thought. he’s too drunk to realize there’s no possible way that’s true, not since soonyoung came into your life. he’s too drunk to remember there’s no room in your life for another man who’s just as hopelessly in love with you as your fiance is.

“say, do you believe in god yet?” he asks suddenly.

you raise an eyebrow at the suddenness of the question. “um, i haven’t thought about it lately.”

he nods. “okay.”

“joshua, what are you doing here?” you ask again. “what are you really doing here?”

he doesn’t remember what he tells you. what he does remember is waking up in the room he grew up in instead of his apartment, with his mother at the foot of his childhood bed, tears welling in her eyes.

“was it y/n?” she asks.

he frowns. “what?”

“when you asked what i would do if you married someone who didn’t believe in god all those years ago,” she explains, sniffling a little as she does. “were you talking about y/n?”

he doesn’t answer.

the events of the previous night catch up to him, and he remembers where he is—where his life is. he’s a handful of days from watching you marry someone else. he’s a handful of days from losing the one person he’s ever fallen in love with to someone else.

and all joshua has to show for it is his goddamn faith, and suddenly, for the first time since he asked his mother that question, he’s not sure it was worth it. because either way, he knows he’ll be devoted to you until the day he dies; he might as well have had you by his side all this time.

he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. when he fails, he can’t help the sobs that begin to rack his body.

he buries the heel of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars.

“she’s marrying him,” he groans through his sobs. “she’s marrying him, mom.”

“oh, joshua. i know.” he feels his mom’s hand squeeze his leg. “oh, baby, i’m so sorry.”

“i can’t do this. i can’t do it,” he wheezes, feeling like his lungs are collapsing under the weight of his ribs. “why did i do this? i can’t do this.”

she doesn’t try to convince him he can do this. she doesn’t try to argue that he didn’t do anything wrong. she doesn’t tell him to calm down. she collects him in her arms and she holds him, comforting him the way only a mother knows how to.

when he starts to calm down, she kisses the crown of his head.

“the pain you must’ve endured all this time. i’m so sorry, joshua. if i had known who you were talking about, i would’ve said something entirely different.”

he untangles himself from her embrace to look at his mother. “what do you mean?”

she wipes at her own tear-stained cheeks before cupping her son’s face. “oh, sweetheart. it’s y/n. you grew up with her. i know her like i would my own daughter.”

his mother shakes her head and joshua feels like he sees all his regret mirrored in her face. she pulls him to sit against the wall his bed is pushed up against, joining him as they both stare out the opposite window.

“there are some people who lead godly lives without even knowing it,” she informs him. “you say she doesn’t believe in god, but i don’t believe you.” his stomach lurches. “that girl has lived as godly a life as you and i have. she doesn’t need to be catholic to do that, baby. you know her. there isn’t a single universe where that girl would’ve led you away from your faith.”

joshua stammers now. “but… i…”

“all the sundays she tagged along for mass with us because she just wanted to be with her best friend when she could’ve been out on the playgrounds,” his mother begins listing. “she always respectfully bowed her head when we prayed before meals even though we both knew she wasn’t praying.”

his head is reeling now. is it possible he rewrote his own memories? could he have created his own narrative of what life with you would look like?

“remember when you were both 14 and she learned what lent was? she tried giving up soda and ended up crying, begging me for forgiveness when she forgot and accidentally had coke with her school lunch.”

his mother’s shoulders shake with nostalgic laughter.

“you would’ve thought i was god the way that girl wailed,” she reminisces. she sighs in the silence that follows. “joshua, my son. some people… they show you they love god in a way different than we do, and it’s my fault i never properly taught you that.”

he turns his head to look at her but her gaze remains trained on the window. he sees now that it’s not his regret she mirrors but her own.

“i think i was too preoccupied with ensuring i raised you to be a good, catholic man—too preoccupied with making sure you didn’t become anything like your father.”

he breathes in deeply and returns his focus to the window.

“but i should’ve made it clear. i should’ve shown you that god exists in all the little acts of love we give and receive. i should’ve shown you that organized religion isn’t the only marker of faith.” she pauses, taking a shaky breath. “maybe then you would’ve recognized y/n as a woman of god. maybe then you wouldn’t be so hurt now.”

the words are enough to make joshua even more nauseous than his hangover is already making him.

“y/n… she shows godliness in the way she respects you and your beliefs. she shows it in the way she supports and loves you through every season of your life. it’s unfair to say she isn’t good enough for you because her faith lies in a different place.”

“i never thought she wasn’t good enough for me,” he interjects quickly. his mom doesn’t argue that, simply nodding. “she’s perfect. i just… i thought we were incompatible.”

“and maybe you are,” she agrees.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud; they both know what comes next. but now you’ll never know.

“i just wanted to apologize,” his mom tells him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. “i feel like i’ve failed you.”

“you haven’t, mom,” he says quietly. “i failed me.”

“we’ll agree to disagree,” she announces, making him smile a little. “but i’m sorry anyway. there are a lot of things i’d change now if i could.”

he feels the familiar tightness in his chest. it’s his companion at this point, the heartbreak. “me too, mom. me too.”

joshua played with your hair from where he was laying on your couch. you were sitting criss-cross in front of him on the floor, clicking through netflix and trying to find a movie you both wanted to watch.

"is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?" he suddenly asked you. you frowned at the abrupt question, setting the remote down on the floor.

"that's random."

"just curious," he murmured softly, like he was so relaxed he was about to fall asleep.

"hmm," you hummed in thought, resting your head back so you could stare at the ceiling. he adjusted your hair so it fell over his lap. "like what, some kind of miracle that can only be explained by god?"

he shrugged. "sure. whatever."

"probably not..." you answered with hesitation. "i can't really think of a kind of miracle that would have me questioning god, though."

"like, if someone you loved were given a terminal diagnosis—three months to live. and suddenly, their illness clears up with no explanation. even doctors are astounded. what would you think?"

you shrugged. "i would be too happy they're not dying to question how it happened." he blew out a breath of exasperation. "okay, okay," you laughed, trying to figure out a more definite answer for him. "no, i don't think there's anything that could happen. it just seems too convenient that there's someone out there in charge of everyone's lives."

he nodded along but said nothing. you fidgeted in the silence. the quiet wasn't something the two of you ever shied from; it was always comfortable with joshua. for some reason, you felt awkward. so you kept talking to fill the silence.

"i think i could be open to believing something, though," you admitted honestly. "i just don't want to get to a place where i would blame this... thing or person for the things going wrong in my life. but that's just me. i still love that people believe so strongly in it. faith is a beautiful thing."

joshua taught you that. faith withstood a lot of things, and your best friend was the prime example. nothing was quite as beautiful as his love for his religion, his god, his spirituality. even if it scared you sometimes—even if it unintentionally made you feel too small to be someone lucky enough to have joshua's heart—you knew it was still precious.

"would you marry someone religious?"

you snorted. "where are these questions coming from?"

"indulge me."

you sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers carded through your hair. "that's so hard to answer without knowing who it is. it depends on the person. i can't make a decision based solely on how religious they are."

"okay, i guess that's fair." he paused. "would you ever convert for someone?"

"i don't think so?" you said, hating how unsure you sounded answering all of these questions. "but who knows? i really can't say for sure without knowing who it is, shua. how about you? would you marry someone who wasn't religious?"

your heart pounded at the silence that followed.

"it depends on the person," he finally said with a playful tone.

you rolled your eyes. "exactly."

"alright, what about kids?"

"shua, why are you interrogating me right now?"

he snickered. "i'm having a conversation with my best friend. is that not allowed?"

you lifted your head and turned to glare at him, your hair slipping between his fingers. he dropped his hand now that he had nothing to play with. he raised his eyebrows at you slightly.

"of course it's allowed," you scoffed. "it's just... so out of nowhere."

"well?" he prodded, ignoring your comments.

"okay, what about kids?" you relented.

"would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?"

you laughed. "so much religion talk tonight."

he didn't dignify that with a response.

you groaned, again having no idea. if you took all these questions and made them about joshua, they would be a million times easier to answer. but he wasn't asking about himself, he was asking about some faceless, nameless nobody, and you weren't invested enough to answer accurately.

"i don't know... if it's important to my partner, then of course i would consider it," you finally said. "but i guess i'd be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves."

"that's wise," he remarked.

"mhm, sure" you hummed. "can we watch a movie now? i'll even let you choose an anime if you stop asking questions that make me sweaty."

he smirked and nodded. "okay, come up here, though."

you joined him on the couch and you spent the rest of the night binging anime episodes. you wouldn't be able to say what you watched, though, because the entire time, your mind was stuck on what the answers would've been if they were about joshua.

the end is long and beautiful.

you marry kwon soonyoung in front of all your loved ones, and you do it knowing full well this man will give you the happiest life. you spend the night eating the food you both painstakingly chose together, dancing to songs recommended by your guests on their RSVPs, and laughing so hard, tears stream down both of your faces.

and when you sidle up to your best friend as he leans on the bar, waiting for his drink, he has the strength to look happy for you. you’re sure he isn’t. at least not quite all the way.

“i’m happy you’re happy, y/n.”

you smile. “thank you, shua.” you pause, tilting your head a little in thought. you add: “for everything.”

“what’s everything?” he asks, smiling in confusion.

“for everything... for being my best friend all this time. loving me like you did. letting me love you," you list, ignoring the way his eyes widen at you. "most of all, i guess i just want to thank you for everything you gave up so we could be here,” you finish before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. you pull away, cupping his face, and smiling. “i’ll never forget it. thank you.”

you’re swept back onto the dance floor by your bridesmaids. it was a short exchange, but you know it was enough.

you’re not dumb. you knew what joshua had to give up so you could be here, happy, in love, and with the man perfect for you.

everything. he had to give up everything. he chose his devotion to god over his devotion to you, and you never faulted him for that because you knew it was a decision that would destroy him, and maybe it did at one point, having to bury his love as deep as he did.

you didn’t believe heaven was real, and still, he chose to love you until it hurt like hell and you knew it. there might have been a younger version of you that was heartbroken he couldn’t possibly imagine a life with you where you were capable of supporting his beliefs wholeheartedly regardless of yours. because you would have. you would have done everything in your power to make him feel loved while keeping his door to his god wide open.

there might have been a younger version of you that would’ve hated him for this.

but tonight, as you slow dance with your husband, feeling the safest you’ve felt in your entire life, all you can do is thank joshua hong for all the choices he made without asking you first.

ironically, because of him, you can see god now. you can see god in the way soonyoung holds you like you’re the most precious person in his life. you can see god in his patience and care. in his kindness. in his dedication to making you smile and laugh.

you’ve never seen god in a clearer light.

you think back to your last, honest night with joshua, on that deserted street, when he drunkenly called you.

“what are you really doing here?”

“i’m mourning,” he answered. “i’m mourning the life we could’ve had.” he frowned as tears began to fall down your face. “don’t cry. i don’t want to make you sad. i’m okay, i promise. i’ll be okay. i’m just letting you go now... for real this time.” he hiccuped. "for real, for real."

“you didn’t have to, you know,” you whispered.

“i think i did.”

you got him to his mother’s home that night, not wanting him to wake up alone with the weight of his sadness. you didn’t exchange many words, but you knew she knew. she hugged you, told you she was happy for you and soonyoung, and she looked at you for several, long seconds. you felt like she could see right through you because she probably could—she always did.

“you’ll always have him.”

“and he’ll always have me.”

“i know.”

the end is long and beautiful, and it’s simultaneously the best and the most devastating night of your life.

but your lives go on, and you and joshua both find what keeps you warm at night, and you hold onto it for as long as you can.

and you’re okay with that. you hope he is too.

[heesngirl]

Synopsis : Heeseung in abstinence, given his appearance in Lee Hye-ri's show. Also, they are on a trip with the ENHYPEN members, plus Jake, Jay and Sunghoon's girlfriends respectively. And after a water war with everyone, we move on to this.

— Heeseung x MC reader : established relationship, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking (just one), power dynamics, vers! Heeseung, vers! reader, cum filling, p in v, size kink (discreet), jealousy, possessiveness, biting/marking, a little toxic this time. MDNI.

Count : 8k

With the chaos settled, and plans for later already agreed upon amidst jokes and laughter, everyone began to retreat to their respective spaces in the villa and go about their own business. Given this, Heeseung knew that for the next few hours he'd be completely alone with you in the room. It seemed like a cruel form of punishment, knowing full well there would be no interruptions, and maybe, just maybe, this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for to redirect everything he'd been holding back for weeks.

Because if it hadn't been for Jungwon's sudden appearance moments before, just as he was about to make you succumb to him, the end of that recent chaos would have been very different for you. If you'd had a little more time, right now you wouldn't be riding out the adrenaline rush of the group dynamic, but moaning his name until you were speechless. But at least all that playfulness had served to distract him.

And now, making your way to the room you shared. Heeseung, now somewhat calmer but still feeling raw, opened the door and let you in first. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you casually took off your wet shorts, letting them fall at your feet while grumbling in an amused tone.

— These people really have no control — you complained with a laugh, shaking your wet hair and checking your body for any bruises. — And Jay's girlfriend... damn, she never loses track of them. She looked like a war leader, shouting orders to everyone like she was a combat squadron.

Heeseung let out a short laugh, closing the door behind him while his eyes never left you. He approached with measured steps, like someone restraining himself from acting impulsively, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, still damp from the pool water.

— Don’t deny it, you had more fun than you want to admit — he murmured near your ear, sliding a hand around your waist. — I saw you when you grabbed Jake by the hair. You had that mischievous, cheerful smile I love so much.

You laughed hard at the memory, leaning your forehead against his chest.

— Of course I got even. What did you expect? They disturbed my peace when all I wanted was to rest and be with you. But then Jungwon showed up first, and then that stupid Sim shot me straight in the face to get me out of the room. — you protested, with valid reasons that justified your outburst against Jake.

As you spoke, Heeseung listened to you with a half-smile on his lips, but his gaze had already changed. Something in his tone grew thicker, more charged with intent as he allowed himself to get even closer, lowering his voice until it sounded like a whisper full of insinuation.

— What a shame. If none of that had happened, you and I would be in a different place right now. — He spoke, and his hands, which until then had been merely affectionate, began to run with deliberate slowness along the line of your back.

His fingers deftly found the clasp of your bikini top and calmly undid it, letting it loosen without any resistance from you. His words grew thicker, almost like a caress on your skin.

— We were so close… — he murmured, lowering his head to brush his lips against your neck as he removed your top. — So fucking close… And you, gorgeous were vulnerable, ready for me. Needing me as much as I’ve been needing you this whole damn time.

You felt each word sink deep into your being, the warmth of his breath washing over you, and your body responding on its own. Your lips parted, and all you could manage, barely a gasp, was his name.

— Heeseung~ — That sound was enough for him to lose what little self-control he had left.

His voice, even lower, rough with accumulated tension, slid straight into your ear with an emotional charge impossible to ignore.

— You don't know how much I'm suffering without you... — he confessed, his fingers sliding down your hips until they found the damp waistband of your bikini. — I long for you so much. Stop punishing me like this, please. I'll do anything to make it up to you, anything you want. But I need you to stop pushing me away.

Deftly, he removed your soaked bottom garment, which slid down your legs, making a soft, heavy sound as it fell to the floor. Now you stood completely naked before him, drops of water still running down your skin, but you weren't shivering from the cold. It was the tension, the unfulfilled promise, the urgency of what they both knew could happen if no one interrupted them again.

Suddenly, without warning, Heeseung captured your lips with an almost desperate urgency. Their kiss was hell unleashed: hot, wet, needy. Their tongues met, explored, devoured each other without restraint, licking and sucking with a voracity that seemed to want to devour it all out. Heeseung's hand held your hips firmly, pressing you against him, forcing you to feel the hardening of his penis pressing against the fabric of his shorts.

You began to moan into his mouth, those low, broken sounds that only he knew, that only he could elicit. He wanted to go further, his hands trembling, eager to explore more brazenly, to invade your body. But just before he could, you turned your face away with a smile radiant with mockery, with that power that only you have when you decide to set the pace.

— The moment is over — you declared matter-of-factly, with that firm, playful voice that disarmed him. — I'm not going to let you catch me so vulnerable and unprepared again. You're in abstinence, and you'll stay that way, until I decide.

Heeseung froze, his dark eyes shining with frustration and unspent desire. He watched you calmly take the wet clothes he'd ripped from you, while you walked naked around the room, with that self-confidence of yours, searching through your luggage for a clean, dry change of clothes. It was as if time had moved forward again as, without giving much thought to his obvious tension, you...

— I'm going to take a quick shower. After I get out, you shower and then we can take a nap together. — you announced matter-of-factly. Your tone was so calm, so lacking in concern for his suffering, that he looked at you in disbelief, almost indignant, feeling that the punishment was crueler than anything else.

For someone with a high libido and obsessed with every part of you, the fact that you were putting him into abstinence as punishment was, without exaggeration, a hellish sentence. Even worse because he was used to always having you. Because you were as addicted to doing it with him as he was to you. Always hungry, intense, and ready to devour each other. Now, having gone weeks without touching you, without hearing you moan, without sinking inside you; it was torture. And to top it all off, you didn't play fair. He had to deal with the provocations you dropped like subtle blades. All the times you got too close only to then act indifferent. You knew what you were doing; it was all part of a twisted game of yours that he was willing to endure just because he loved you. Also because, deep down, he knew you were protecting yourself. Even if you didn't say so.

By the time he finished removing his soaked shorts and adjusting the towel around his waist, you appeared in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a white robe and with a smaller towel in your hands, drying your hair. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, pumping hard as he swallowed, seeing you so perfect, so naturally and effortlessly beautiful.

— Baby, would you do me a favor and dry my hair, please? — you requested in a sweet, sincere voice, not fake or lacking in games or ulterior motives.

— With pleasure, my darling. — He couldn't refuse, not even in his mind; the answer came out without thinking, full of tenderness.

He watched as you installed the dryer, then sat you down in a chair, and he approached from behind. His hands were so careful yet firm, gently undoing your wet strands. When he finished, he made sure to apply a moisturizing product that you always use, gently massaging your scalp while you closed your eyes with a comfortable smile on your lips.

— Thanks for taking care of me, Hee. You're so nice to me. — you whispered, turning your face slightly to look at him from below with a serene, grateful expression, without a trace of irony.

He instantly leaned down, cradled your cheek in his hand, pressed his lips against yours, and kissed you once more. But it wasn't like before; now it was gentle, slow, intimate. Filled with that devotion he always reserves only for you.

— You have nothing to thank me for, precious, taking care of you is the greatest of my pleasures. — he declared in a low, reverent voice, his eyes lost in the depth and brilliance of yours, so entranced by your charm. To which you smiled, moved.

— You can go shower now. I'll wait for you to dry your hair, too. — you murmured with a mischievous smile, gently removing his hand from your face, your fingers delicately brushing his while your eyes sparkled mischievously.

He smiled, resignation and desire still intact in his eyes, and disappeared into the bathroom. The air between you remained charged, intense, and although the momentary distance lingered, you knew this had all only just begun.

After what seemed like hours in the bathroom, he finally appeared. With the towel tied tightly around his waist, leaving his torso bare, still damp, with drops slowly running down his skin, while his dark, soaked hair fell in messy strands, plastered to his forehead. His gaze immediately fell on you.

— What are you doing, babe? — he asked, his voice calm, without a trace of reproach or jealousy, more like an invitation to come closer and share this moment with you.

You were sitting up in bed, still wrapped in that bathrobe that barely contained the beautiful silhouette of your body he loved to watch. You were absorbed in your phone screen, your eyes shining with concentration, your fingers nimbly scrolling through messages and notifications. He noticed the brightness reflected on your face and peeked out to look sideways, not hiding his curiosity.

Without stopping typing on the screen, you barely raised your gaze and answered him, still concentrating on what you were doing.

— I'm looking at something about work — you said, lightly biting the inside of your cheek. — With the show's anniversary approaching, they gave me the option of choosing some special guests to host the special with me.

— And who did you think of inviting? — he asked, careful with his tone so that he didn't sound too inquisitive, but simply interested in knowing what your plans were. Although he was.

Then you stood up gracefully, and as you began preparing everything to dry his hair, you answered:

— I decided to invite Yeonjun and Soobin. I've already extended the invitation and I'm waiting for them to confirm. — You commented as you adjusted the dryer with precise movements, though your gaze slid sideways toward him, hoping to catch a reaction on his face.

Heeseung just watched you with a mixture of surprise and something that could have been called bewilderment, though he maintained his composure.

— Why invite Yeonjun and Soobin? — he asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, though his tone wasn't accusatory, merely requesting an explanation. — You could have invited Jungwon and me, or even just Jungwon."

Your smile was sweet, though there was a quiet firmness to it. Still adjusting the heat settings on the hairdryer, you looked up at him, responding calmly:

— I thought about it, Hee, I really did. But I prefer to be cautious. I don’t know if I’ll be as lucky this time as I was a few months ago, when your agency allowed ENHYPEN to attend. I didn’t want to risk a refusal — Your words held no reproach, only careful sincerity. You returned your attention to your phone screen just as a new batch of notifications lit up the device. — They’ve confirmed! They’ve agreed to be my special guests for the anniversary. — you announced, turning to him with shining eyes.

Heeseung approached without saying anything at first. His steps were slow, almost silent, and when he stood in front of you, he leaned down slightly to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

— I’m so happy for you, sweetheart. — His voice, soft and sincere, brushed your ears like a caress. He really couldn’t be upset with you for something like that. Afterward, he just sat in the chair, waiting for you to put your phone aside and start drying his hair.

The warmth of your hands caressing each strand made his body relax a little, although inside the fire was still there, burning strong. When he finished, he smiled his thanks and stood up to head toward his luggage, while you immersed yourself once again in the incoming notifications. He watched you silently, admiring every detail of your face, the way your hair fell in strands over your forehead from your messy bun, how your skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. It was impossible not to be attracted to you.

In that instant, an idea crossed his mind, and with a determination that made his heart race even faster, he removed the towel with a slow, defiant movement, revealing his damp skin, his defined chest, and that hard cock that screamed for your attention. He approached you with clear intentions, hugging you from behind, pressing his body against yours with an urgency and need that made you shudder. The hardness of his penis against your buttocks was a clear warning of how long he'd waited for this moment.

— What are you up to now, Hee? — you asked with a playful smile. You put your phone aside and looked at him over your shoulder.

You let out a soft laugh and shook your head, knowing full well what was coming. However, he didn't wait for an answer before asking permission. His displays of respect despite his arousal were what had always made you love him so much.

— Isn't it obvious? I'm trying to seduce my girl, applying the same methods she uses with me. — he whispered, his voice husky and heavy with intent.

— Can I kiss you? — His words spilled out softly, but with an unmistakable edge, like a plea. — And... Can I rub myself against you while I do it?"

Your response—a silence accompanied by a slight arch of your neck—was enough for him to understand that yes, he could do it. And he didn't hesitate a moment longer. He leaned in slowly, with the precision of someone who knows that every second counts. His breath mingled with yours as his lips captured yours.

They kissed with a contained, yet deep and intense urgency. That first contact was an electric shock, a fire that ignited in your gut and began to spread throughout your body, making you shudder.

His hands didn't just hold you; they moved with determination, lifting the bathrobe, challenging the barrier that protected your body. And when the soft fabric gave way, his warm skin met yours, exposing your ass, and he couldn't help but grip it tightly, rubbing that perfect flesh against his member aching with need.

The kiss turned voracious, messy, with tongues seeking and exploring each other as if they were the only source of life they had left. Your body responded without inhibition, arching against him, seeking more, desperate to feel him complete. A breathy moan escaped your throat as he lowered his mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of wet sucks and soft bites that made you tremble. Each one was a small punishment and at the same time a caress, a play of pain and pleasure that slowly broke down your defenses. You felt his tongue explore your sensitive skin, moistening every inch with a somewhat obscene devotion, drawing a string of sighs from you, while he also continued to rub himself insistently against your buttocks.

His large, firm hands squeezed your breasts tightly, making you arch even further toward him, while his fingers pressed through the fabric of your bathrobe. The sensation of his touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but feel that shiver run down your spine.

From one second to the next, you decided to give in to the provocation and with trembling fingers, you undid the knot of your bathrobe, letting the garment slide slowly off, falling to hang from your bent elbows. Heeseung gasped for a second when your back was exposed, and with it, that new tattoo of yours. The intricate pattern of red and black ink contrasted with your soft, fair skin, enhancing your beauty in a way that completely enchanted him.

— You're fucking torture, babygirl. You're killing me slowly, and I can't stop wanting more. — The touch of his breath and the pressure of his body against yours made your legs tremble and your heart pound.

You pulled away slightly, turning around to get rid of your robe and also to face him, with a haughty smile and a spark of perversion in your eyes that immediately disarmed him. Your eyes shone with that familiar fire that drove him wild, and then you blurted out those words that both hurt and excited him.

— I've never enjoyed anything in my life so much as making you suffer like this, seeing you so needy, begging for a bit of my attention. — you stated, in that tone that left no doubt you were challenging him, mocking him.

He swallowed, frustration and desire burning inside him. It was too much, an unbearable torture, and he couldn't hold back anymore. Without giving you time to react, he lifted you up in his arms with the same ease as always and slammed you against the nearest wall. He felt your body tremble at the contact, your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, seeking support and resistance. His hands slid under your legs, opening you shamelessly. His hard, imposing cock insistently rubbed against your wet, taut pussy. The glans rubbed against your clitoris with every movement, and that exact touch made you moan.

— Baby, please, end this punishment. Break this damn abstinence and let me take it all, make love to you, fill you like you love so much. — He begged in a broken voice, pleading more than commanding.

You looked at him, with eyes that reflected a mixture of power and tenderness that only you could show, and you responded with a sigh that seemed both a caress and a warning.

— Keep rubbing yourself like that, and maybe I'll think about whether to let you put it in me or not. However, if you put it in without my permission, I swear I'll increase the abstinence time. — you whispered, a sly smile appearing on your lips.

He growled in frustration, but obeyed, sliding his tireless cock against your wet pussy lips. The wet, obscene sound that formed filled the room, mingling with the deep, clipped moans escaping both of you. This felt even worse than not being able to touch you at all. However, by the time the pace became frantic, and his hips rocked wildly, pressing against you relentlessly, he couldn't hold back and begged again, almost desperately.

— Please, let me in. I can't take it anymore. I swear I'm dying without you. Don't torture me anymore. — His voice had a whiny tone, and his dilated, glittering pupils accompanied his words.

To which you also broke away, and soon, before you could stop yourself, a heartfelt confession escaped your lips.

— I’m suffering too, Lee Heeseung — you began, raising your voice a little more than expected. But it was your emotions finally surfacing and exposing what you were truly feeling. — Do you think this isn’t a fucking hell for me too? My insides ache with need to have you inside, throbbing incessantly. But even though I’m dying for you, I need to maintain control. My jealousy and possessiveness are getting the better of me.

He looked away for a moment, touched by your vulnerability and the rawness of your words. You were finally being honest with him, and he felt so different. He looked back at you and, with a sigh filled with love and regret, replied.

— I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I never meant to force you to punish me to make it clear that you were hurt or that you were in charge in this relationship. I love you. You know you mean everything to me, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you. I know why you're like this. I know you didn't like what I did, and seeing me act that way with someone who isn't you. I know I let you down in some way. It was just an appearance on a talk show; I was drunk, I know. But please, remember what I told you back then, in the middle of our conversation, and I repeat it now… To me, you're only you, and it always will be. —his words were a promise, a balm for both of us.

Both pairs of lips sought each other again, and found each other just like before, melting into a kiss filled with need, desperation, and love all at the same time. While his hips continued pressing against you, rubbing relentlessly, marking every inch of skin. He returned to his frenetic rhythm as a moment ago, making you moan into his mouth. He swallowed your sounds, drinking in the pure ecstasy unleashed between you. His hands tightened around your lower legs, pushing them sideways, opening you even further.

It wasn't until they were gasping for air that they released each other's lips, both panting and staring at each other heatedly. Then, in the midst of that moment, you were the first to say something.

— Put it all in now, okay? — you begged hoarsely, arousal tightening your throat. — Break this damn abstinence and give me what we both need so much.

He didn't hesitate. His firm hand gripped the base of his hard, hot cock, guiding himself straight into you. The tip pressed against your wet entrance and slowly began to slide in, parting your inner folds, stretching you with intense heat, inch by inch, until his entire length was inside, tight and burning, filling you completely. You felt him nestle deep inside, sending shock waves through every nerve in your body.

Your walls clung to him with a natural suction, engulfing him, embracing him with a sticky heat that made him gasp. His fingers dug into your hips for support, while his eyes met yours, shameless and unconfined. Your gaze was lost in his, your pupils dilated, your breath ragged.

— Do it hard. I want you to make me take it all without hesitation. — you murmured, your voice cracking and panting, your hands gripping his neck tightly.

A crooked, malicious smile spread across his moist, parted lips. His eyes shone with unbridled passion, as if every word you just said rekindled the fire inside him.

— This is just how I planned to do it to you, baby. — he affirmed, pressing your body more firmly against the wall, to reassure you.

He withdrew until only the tip remained inside, and then, with a sharp thrust that made your insides vibrate, he penetrated deep, driving himself inside you forcefully. The action was repeated a couple more times, making you almost scream. Then he thrust in and out without pause, with a hungry rhythm, punishing your body, seeking to fill every corner of your interior.

Every vein, every ridge of his cock rubbed and massaged your inner walls with a fierce intensity that made you whimper with pleasure and desperation. The wet, sticky sound of his member sliding into your moist heat was accompanied by moans and gasps, creating an obscene and delicious chant.

He was so intensely passionate about your carnal connection, unbridled and unrestrained.

The oozing of your fluids flowed between you, a dense, fiery river that soaked your bodies, sealing that raw and necessary union. He had you pinned against the wall, your legs raised and open, held tightly beneath your thighs. Each thrust was abrupt, a blow that split you in two, that shook you from the depths. You felt his cock fill you to the limit, entering you hard, grazing spots that made you see stars. He held you like this, completely his, elevated, trapped between his warm body and the cold wall, as if he wanted to devour you from the inside.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin, clinging to him as if he were the only real thing in the midst of the whirlwind. Your moans were now stifled screams, and his breath crashed against your neck, laden with fire, wetness, and pure instinct. The rhythm was brutal, constant, as if it wanted to break and rebuild you with each thrust.

You couldn't stop touching yourself; lowering one of your hands until your fingers insisted on rubbing your clit, making you even wetter, searching for that spark that was already burning in your belly and about to explode. You felt each thrust pushing you closer to the abyss, and when you opened your lips to beg, you could barely get it out.

— Hee, please... don't stop. I'm so close... give me more... please. — you moaned, your voice cracking, your chest heaving with every breath.

He grunted, and that guttural sound was all you needed. He didn't stop. Quite the opposite. He fucked you harder, with precision that was all too accurate, as if his body knew exactly what you needed and wouldn't stop until he'd given you everything.

And then it happened…

You felt him tense even further inside you, the pressure increasing, the intensity becoming unbearable. A second later, your orgasm shook you from the very center of your belly to your fingertips, making you tremble violently. Your walls squeezed him in a suffocating manner, and he came at the same time, erupting in deep waves that filled you completely. He stayed inside you for a moment, trembling too, his muscles tense, his face hidden in your neck, panting heavily.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you and, still breathing heavily, lowered you to the floor, supporting you as your legs gave way. He caressed your face lovingly and then took your hand, slowly guiding you to the nearby table. Along the way, he murmured, his voice still raspy from exertion:

—Lean against the table. I want to feast on you while I fuck you with my eyes on that tattoo. — he ordered, leaving no room for argument.

You shuddered, but obeyed. You leaned your elbows on the cold surface, arching your back deliberately, offering yourself again. You knew what was coming and you were eagerly awaiting it. He positioned himself behind you, aligning his still-hard length with your hot, wet entrance. Without warning, he entered you again with a single thrust, drawing a high-pitched moan from you. The rhythm he resumed was merciless from the start, and each crash of his pelvis against your buttocks resonated like a direct blow. His hands gripped your waist as his gaze lowered, devouring the tattoo adorning your skin.

— Fuck... You have no idea how incredibly sexy you look like this. — he murmured in a raspy voice, lost between gasps. His hand came down and gave you a firm, resounding spank, making you whimper audibly.

The spank left a burning heat that spread like liquid fire beneath your skin. It hurt, yes, but it was the kind of pain that merges with pleasure, sending you straight to the brink of delirium. Heeseung didn't let up for a second; he kept pounding into you mercilessly, each thrust a shock that shakes your insides, a raw affirmation that you are his. You feel it in every inch he enters, claiming you with that explicit intensity that knows no bounds.

His fingers dig into your waist, he grips you as if he could melt into you, as if his only goal was to remain inside you. Your moans are no longer coherent; they've become clumsy, interrupted by the breathing you can't regulate. You could only let yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure that takes control away from you. The sweat mingling on your bodies; skin against skin, heavy panting, breaths that clashed in a sick echo of desire and need. He lowered his mouth to your neck, licking with hunger, biting with fury. You felt his teeth sink in, leaving a raw signature that would burn for days.

— You're mine, and only mine, babygirl. Only I can have you like this — he growls against your skin, his voice raspy, filled with that primal instinct that consumes him. Every word entered you like every thrust of his. — Are you going to hold out any longer? Because I won't stop until I leave you shaking.

You couldn't respond; you had no voice left, no breath, no will other than to surrender to his possession. Each time he thrust into you, he pushed harder, Deeper, the pleasure ached. Your muscles trembled, your nails scraped the tabletop, and then you felt it, that hot pressure building, overflowing, that you could no longer stop. The orgasm spilled over once more, your walls squeezing him with overwhelming intensity, and that brought him his own release. He let out a deep moan, and you felt his cum gush out in waves, filling you without pause, hot, thick, claiming every inch of you.

Still trembling, he slid out of you with a wet sound. The cum trickled slowly down your thighs, mixed with your own juices, and it was so obscenely delicious that you felt a new shudder run down your spine.

Heeseung watched you with blazing eyes, between gasps, and a crooked smile that held no arrogance, only boundless adoration. He leaned closer, caressing your back, his voice turning soft as he spoke.

— You're amazing. You always take it so well. A real good girl to me. — he murmurs, his voice husky, still breathless, as his fingers grip your waist in a more affectionate gesture.

Without giving you time to process anything, he firmly lowers himself into a nearby chair. His thighs are still tense, his cock still hard, glistening with the mixture of both of you. You carefully move away from the table, your legs still trembling and your body vibrating with the echoes of the recent frenzy. As soon as you take a step back, you feel Heeseung's hand intertwine with yours, firm but gentle, pulling you with a delicacy that contrasts with the roughness of a moment ago.

Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings your hand to his lips and places a warm kiss on your knuckles, as if he adores every inch of you, that simple gesture reminding you that despite the intensity, his love is no less present. His hot breath brushes your skin, and the depth of his gaze leaves you speechless for a second.

— Come here, sweetheart. Now it's your turn to take control. — he whispers, his raspy voice vibrating low in his chest, heavy with what seems to be lust and reverence.

His smile curves slightly, that gesture he only gives you when he's completely surrendered and vulnerable. Even sitting, legs spread and his hard cock resting against his abdomen, he seems more than ready to give himself over to whatever comes. His gaze isn't a request, it's an invitation for you to claim him as yours.

Your body moves without thinking. You approach with steps filled with pure desire. You climb astride him, feeling the heat of his thighs against yours. His cock throbs in your hand as you take it, thick, throbbing. You line it up without taking your eyes off him, and you sink in slowly, every inch a delicious tear that fills you completely. Once inside, the world disappears again. You rest your feet on the low sides of the chair and your hands grip his shoulders. You feel the heat of his body, the subtle tremor of his muscles as he gazes at you as if you're the most fucking perfect thing he's ever touched.

Then you move...

You start slowly, setting the pace with your hips, letting him feel every contraction, every movement of your hungry pussy around his hot member. He gasps, his fingers digging into your waist, and his head falls back for a second, overwhelmed.

— Like that... move like that. Look at you, you're driving me crazy. — he growls, his raspy voice ripping through his throat as his eyes bore into you as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

You respond with a dark smile, thick with arrogance. You grip his shoulders tightly and ride him mercilessly. You go up and down on his cock in a relentless rhythm, feeling it push itself all the way in with each plunge. The wet sound of your pussy taking him mingles with the dry slap of your skin against his, forming a filthy symphony that fills the room. Your insides clench around him, squeezing him hard, and he felt it. You know it from the way his abdomen tensed, from the gasp that escaped between his teeth as his fingers dug into your buttocks, holding you desperately, as if he needed more of you and didn't know how to ask for it.

His mouth soon found your neck. Licking, sucking, and biting without delicacy. The heat of his tongue sliding over your collarbone and his teeth leaving new marks over existing ones. His need overflows with every movement.

— Fuck, you're so wet... so damn tight... — he moaned against your skin, and you didn't stop. You ride him harder, bouncing on him, making his cock sink in with a loud pop with each thrust.

Your hips punish him, dominate him, consume him. Your breasts heave with each movement, sweat mingles between your bodies, and he moans through gritted teeth, almost on the verge of another imminent orgasm.

— Don't stop, you'll make me cum inside you again. — he whimpers desperately, his fingers digging insistently into the skin of your ass cheeks.

You look down on him, feel him tremble, vulnerable, surrendered, and that only turns you on more. You slide your fingers down the back of his neck, pull his hair back, and tilt his head, forcing him to look into your eyes.

— Then cum and fill me again. — you command in a raspy voice, drenched in lust, as you kiss him fiercely, sucking on his tongue as if you couldn't get enough of him, as if you wanted to melt him into yours.

He breaks with a moan that comes from deep within his chest, hoarse, panting, primal. You feel him explode inside you, hot and overflowing, his cum filling you relentlessly. But you don't stop for a second. You continue riding him relentlessly, your movements intense, uncontrolled, as if you were trying to drag him to a breaking point from which he could never return.

His body trembles beneath yours, completely subservient to you, the overstimulation visible in every spasm that shakes him. His cock throbs inside you, still hard, still yours, even as you exhaust him mercilessly.

— Release yourself for me — he whispers against your lips, his voice shattered, a stifled moan creeping into every word. — Come on, you need to do this too. Soak me again, beautiful.

He reaches a hand between your bodies, and his fingers find your clit, rubbing it with that perfect rhythm, as if his sole purpose in life is to make you squirt all over him. You cling to his arms, fingers marking his skin, and you let go. You break. Your muscles tense, your insides squeeze him with devastating strength, and you come undone with a cry that cuts through the air, soaking him everywhere, trembling over him as your orgasm consumes you until you are breathless.

And still, you don't let go.

Heeseung is completely at your mercy, and in that position, his submission is so palpable it drives you crazy. His hands grip your waist tightly. His breathing is erratic, his gasps becoming increasingly sharp and ragged, filled with suppressed tension, and his gaze rises to you, pleading and surrendered.

— Darling, you're a goddess, you play against my sanity every time I see you like this... so fucking good, so perfect... — His voice breaks in a shaky breath, and when his jaw trembles, he adds with heartbreaking sincerity. — I love you so much, I'm so obsessed with you, definitely."

Your pupils dilate at the sound of it, and although those words thrill you, what truly sets you on fire inside is how shamelessly he gives himself to you. Then, without warning, his head falls back, exposing his tense and vulnerable neck, like an open invitation, like a silent plea.

— Mark me. I can't stand it anymore because you always hold back, avoiding leaving traces of your wonderful presence on my body. — He says, his voice almost breaking, a plea that digs into your chest and reaches the spot between your legs.

And you don't hesitate. You let your body lean forward a little, without losing control of your hips, which continue to rise and fall with a firm, overwhelming rhythm, and you bring your lips to his throat. Your tongue runs over his Adam's apple and you feel him shudder. He moans in a higher pitch, while your teeth dig into his skin. You mark him on his collarbone, in the curve of his neck and shoulder, leaving small bites and bruises.

— All of this is mine, do you understand? — you whisper in a deep voice, between gasps, as you run a hand down his sweaty torso, marking each line with your nails as if you were claiming territory. — Every part of you belongs to me."

Your words upset him. He moans your name, clinging even tighter to you, his fingers desperately marking your skin. He comes again, convulsing beneath you, consumed by the intensity of the moment, filling you with another wave of heat, thick and deep. But you don't stop. You can't. Not yet.

Your body keeps moving, relentless, driven by an almost cruel frenzy. You purposefully overstimulate him, wanting to take him to that limit where he no longer knows if he's feeling pain or ecstasy. Your hips slam into him with wet force, and his cock throbs inside you with hypersensitivity, trembling, trying to resist.

— Please... stop... I can't take it anymore... — he whispers between loud gasps and sobs of pure pleasure, his hands trembling at your sides, his body curling as if it might break.

But you lean down toward his face, and with disturbing sweetness, you brush away his damp hair.

— Just one more, baby boy. One more for me, okay? — you whisper against his lips, your voice clouded with lust but also with perverse tenderness. — Be my good boy and let yourself go again."

You cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you, your hips never stopping for a second. Your movements become deeper, more demanding. His body shakes, his eyes flash between submission and imminent climax, and you just smile, knowing he's completely surrendered. His moans turn into desperate whimpers, his voice almost inaudible, lost between the devastating pleasure and the absolute love he has for you.

Finally, the climax comes like a storm for both of you. His body convulses violently, his legs tremble, his hands grip your thighs, and you too let yourself go, cumming on him once more. Sweat runs down your bodies, fluids trickle between your legs, your reddened skin burns at every point of contact.

And then, just when you think there's nothing left to untie, when your body vibrates at the height of pleasure and everything seems to fade away in a breath, you hear his trembling voice, barely a murmur between gasps.

— Baby, it's too much... it's starting to hurt...

The blow was immediate. Those words hit you like a bucket of ice water, instantly breaking the fog of desire. Your body freezes, and your breath abruptly stops. You bolt upright, eyes wide open, searching for his face, and the euphoria that had gripped you a second ago is replaced by a burning anguish.

— Love, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Did I hurt you? Tell me, please tell me if I hurt you. I didn't mean to, I... — the words tumble from your mouth, barely a whisper that begins to tremble. Your heart pounds, no longer from sex, but from fear.

You feel breathless as you look at him, scanning every gesture on his face as if waiting for an alarm signal, something to tell you how bad things are. Your hands tremble slightly as you clumsily touch him, trying to reassure yourself that he's okay, that he's still with you, that you didn't accidentally break him.

But Heeseung, even with his skin still burning and his body exhausted, reacts in seconds. He gently cups your face, his palms firm but soft against your sweat-damp cheeks. Without saying a word, he pulls you towards him and kisses you. It's a different kiss, without urgency, without tension; a warm balm that aims to soothe more than words could. His mouth melts into yours in a serene caress, as if he wants to restore your peace of mind through contact.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and in a deep but loving voice, he whispers:

— Hey, calm down. I'm fine. You don't have to get so worked up, okay? I just need a moment to calm down, that's all — He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, with infinite tenderness, and gives a soft, almost amused smile, adding with a sigh heavy with surrender. — You definitely took everything from me, gorgeous.

His arms wrap around you then, surrounding you with that warmth of his that has always been your refuge, and you can only release the breath you'd been holding. Without saying a word, you let your chin rest on his shoulder, snuggling against him, your heart still racing. You look across the room, trying to sort out the turmoil swirling in your head.

Both of your bodies remain entwined on the chair, still damp, trembling, marked by the intensity of the act. The air is still hot, thick, impregnated with sweat and shallow breaths. But now the silence is different; It's no longer just stillness, but a pause that seems to contain something unspoken, a tenuous tension that floats between the two of you.

Heeseung senses it immediately. His body moves subtly, and he carefully separates you just a few inches so he can look at you. He holds you with an almost reverential delicacy, and seeing your lost expression, he tilts his head tenderly.

— What's going on in that little head of yours? — he asks with a soft smile, seeking to sweetly break the density of the moment.

Your eyes cloud over for a second before the words come out, almost in a guilty whisper.

— I'm sorry, I really am, Hee. I didn't think I could let myself go like this. I'd never felt something so intense and not realized it. I could have hurt you, all because I was letting my emotions get the better of me. — Your voice cracks a little at the end, and you look at him with genuine fear, waiting for his response as if your ability to breathe depended on it.

— You don't have to apologize to me, babe — he murmurs, his warm voice sounding warm and enveloping. — I couldn't explain myself well either. It wasn't that it hurt exactly, it was just that I was starting to lose my erection, and that made him feel strange, even uncomfortable. I guess it was easier to say it hurt. — he lets out a small, dry laugh, embarrassed, but sincere.

You stare at him, trying to read beyond his words, and although the explanation sounds logical, there's something in you that still isn't entirely convinced. Without saying anything, you carefully lift your hips, gently pulling him out of you. You both watch in silence as a thick mixture of fluids spills from your pussy, but in reality, none of that matters anymore. The only thing that matters now is him. His well-being. His peace of mind.

The atmosphere settles with a strange, almost solemn peace. The room still smells of sex, of warm bodies, of sweat slowly cooling on the skin, but a gentle silence settles between you, filled with connection more than words. You press yourself against his chest again and rest your head on his shoulder, seeking the warmth of his closeness. Heeseung circles your back with his large hand, drawing slow, deliberate caresses, as if he wanted to memorize every millimeter that made you up.

— I love you, darling... — he began, speaking lightly and genuinely. — So much so that sometimes it's scary. Every day it becomes more impossible for me to imagine myself without this, without you, without us. Without everything we are and everything we're building. Fuck, how am I supposed to live without this connection?"

The lump in your throat prevents you from speaking at first, but you manage to nod, and then your voice joins his, soft, soothing, full of tenderness:

— I love you too, Hee. More than I ever thought I could love. — Although it was something you often declared, the words didn't lose their charm.

You brought your hand to his face, and he didn't need you to say anything else. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as your palm caressed his cheek. He let the warmth of your skin envelop him and sighed at the cool contrast of the promise ring against his face. That simple detail brings a faint smile, filled with suppressed emotion.

After a few seconds, he helps you get off his lap and slowly stands up. You react instantly.

— Are you okay? Aren't you sore? — you ask, frowning, unable to help but worry.

— That's my question to ask, not the other way around — he replies, simultaneously letting out a soft laugh, laced with playful irony. And without giving you a chance to respond, he leans down and takes you in his arms bridal-style. He surrounds you with the warmth of his embrace, and with an exaggeratedly solemn gesture, he declares : —Time for a shower, and then a post-coital nap. We've earned it.

After the bath, already clean, dressed in light clothes, and their hair still damp from the shower, they fall onto the bed. Outside, the sun barely filters through the window, gilding the room with the last warm tones of the sunset. The air smells of soap and warm skin. There are no traces of all the chaos they'd previously experienced, only the calm that comes after having given it their all.

Under the sheets, their bodies intertwine naturally. There's no need to find a particular position; they simply fit together. And amid the settling of rest, their lips meet in soft, slow, and lazy kisses. They're not trying to provoke, just to linger. Kisses of reassurance, of gratitude. Of quiet love.

You snuggle closer against him, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. You look at him tenderly, and a whisper escapes from your lips that seems to come straight from your soul.

— I love you so much, Hee.

Heeseung smiles without opening his eyes. He caresses your arm with his fingertips and responds with a murmur that sinks sweetly and deeply into your heart:

— I love you even more, my baby.

He leans down slightly and places one last kiss on your forehead, warm, tender, like an invisible seal. And there, in that corner where everything is safe, where only the two of you exist, sleep slowly envelops you. Between the folds of the sheets, between your crossed arms, everything is at peace. You fell asleep, cuddled, in silence, your bodies still beating to the same rhythm. And so, without noise, without further words, the session ends with what is most abundant between both of you : love.

[twola]

Firewater - Chapter 1

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

A heist does not go as planned, and you and Arthur are at each other's throats. A/N: A bit of a different direction with this one - expect short chapters, awkward situations, and hilarity out of this one. And updates, more regularly :) taglist: @v3lv3tf0x

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

ARIZONA, MAY 1897

“Y’know, if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

A large plume of smoke is your response—thick, lazy, and defiant as it floats skyward. Arthur leans back against a rough-hewn boulder like he’s got all the time in the world, even with the sting of failure hanging heavy in the heat. His hat is pushed low, casting a shadow across the narrowed set of his eyes. The desert sun hangs heavy in the sky, not a cloud to give a modicum of shade, not a single bit of respite. It's hot, hot and dusty, and a lizard scutters past his boot to hide under the red rock boulder he leans against. 

“Considerin’ half the time you opened your mouth you ain’t doin’ nothin’ but naggin’ me, ain’t worth it,” he retorts, voice cool as a mountain stream but just as cutting.

You don’t even think before you chuck a stale piece of bread at his damn head. It was all the food you salvaged after the botched heist, and even that’s been half-crushed in your saddlebag. He knocks it away with a practiced flick of his wrist, but his cigarette falls from between his lips and drops into the dirt.

Arthur scowls, jaw tightening as he crouches to pick it up. It’s dead, ruined. His hand stays near his boot for a second longer than necessary, like he’s weighing whether he should throw something right back.

“You are worse than a goddamn child,” he growls.

As if to prove his point, your boot stomps against the cracked earth with a sharp slap. Dust kicks up around your feet, and the sun— that merciless bastard that it is—beats down on your neck, sweat already drying into a salted layer.

“Oh, I’m the child? You were the one who ran in there like some hero outta one of those dime novels, guns blazin’ with no damn plan!”

“I had a plan,” he snaps.

“Your plan got us chased out by six bounty hunters, two guard dogs, and a woman swingin’ a broom like she meant it.”

“She did mean it.” He pauses, mouth twitching at the memory. “Caught me right in the jaw.”

“Good. Maybe she knocked some sense into you.”

Arthur pushes off the boulder, looming now, brushing his hands on his pants like he’s trying to scrub the conversation clean. “You didn’t exactly pull your weight neither. Hid behind them crates like a scared cat.”

You step forward, the distance between you shrinks to something dangerous. “I was covering your dumb ass, Morgan. I told you to wait for my signal.”

“And I told you I don’t take orders from—” he cuts off, teeth grinding.

“From me?” Your laugh is sharp, brittle. “Right, God forbid you take direction from someone with a brain between her ears.”

Arthur gets closer still. “You think you’re so much smarter than everybody else, huh? All them fancy words and smug looks, like you’re above it all. But you’re just like the rest of us. Mean and stupid.”

His breath is hot and whiskey-laced, as he leans in, brushing your cheek. “And reckless,” he adds with a sneer. “Don’t forget that.”

“Better reckless than cowardly.” You spit back at him, standing as firm and tall as you can when all six feet of him towers over your petite frame.

There’s a pause. His blue eyes go cold, a line drawn in the sand with your words.

You don’t mean it. Not really. But it’s out there now, and neither of you are ready to back down.

His voice drops low, warning. “You wanna say that again?”

“Why?” you scoff. “You gonna shoot me? Or just sulk at me until I drop dead?”

“I don’t shoot women,” he growls.

“That’s funny,” you snap. “You sure as hell don’t seem to have any problem talking to me like one of the boys.”

“You wish you were one of the boys.”

“No, I don't want to be treated like an idiot. Most of them boys are idiots. Like that would have gone any better with Marion.” You hiss Bill’s birth name with ridicule. Deservingly so.

Another step forward. Your chest brushes his now, breath and heartbeat tangled into something hot and furious and entirely unsustainable.

“You get treated how you act,” he says, quieter now. “You wanna act all tough? Fine, I’ll treat you like that.”

“Good,” you whisper, eyes blazing. “Then we understand each other.”

Silence. Except it isn’t really silence. It’s heavy with the cicadas screaming in the grass. With the crackle of heat in the rocks. With the sound of your breaths coming fast, too close together.

He looks at your mouth. You look at his. 

There is a danger in the air, a stillness that settles in before a rattlesnake bites. That’s all he is - poison and bluster. You want to slap him, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting that much of a rise out of you.

You scowl and turn on your heel, striding over toward your horse. Your boots angrily kick up dust under your skirts as you mount that spry little roan gelding. You pat his black mane and coo gently in his ear as you settle yourself in the saddle. 

You scowl when you get yourself situated and look back at Arthur, who remains exactly where you left him.

“You get to explain to Dutch why we ain’t got nothin’ outta this.” You snipe, eyes narrowing before your spurs dig into your gelding’s side, and he rears before bolting across the hard desert ground.

[its-your-queen-liyah]

Unbearable Heat | Bo Chow x Reader

A/N: hey bookie wookies, so I never write x reader ff but I decided to try.. I’m still trying to get into the groove of writing smut so please be patient. I wrote it with a black reader in mind but all can read.

1.4 k words

It was October 15, 1932. The Sun’s rays were beating against the dirt road that split downtown Clarksdale in half. It was fall, but it didn’t feel like it with the only breeze sweeping through Bo Chow’s Grocery coming from a customer opening the door because someone before them accidentally kicked the door stopper, closing it.

It was the type of heat that only came from cloudless skies. Where every breath felt like it squeezed your diaphragm because of all the humidity.

You were so hot you could spit.

“That’ll be 95 cents Mrs. Shirley.” You say politely, pushing her bagged eggs and collard greens toward her.

“Thanks dear, you tell your mama and them I said hey now.”

“Yes ma’am,” You reply, following behind her as she walked towards the door. You opened it for her, propping the door open again. “You have a nice day now.”

You shake your blouse to feel some semblance of air, wiping the sweat from your brow. You gaze across the street to the whites only store, hoping to see your fourteen year old daughter, Lisa, behind the register.

She sees you, smiles, but then fans herself, pouting.

I guess it doesn’t feel much better over there either.

You had to talk to Bo. It seemed that every year it just got hotter and hotter. Maybe he could install another window by the register?

The paperboy, a brown skinned child it’s scuffed overalls and no shoes nicknamed Frankie, walked his bike up to the entrance of the store, tipping his hat to greet you.

“Hey Little Frankie,” You greet him. “What you got for me today?”

He passes you the day’s newspaper and a magazine wrapped in plastic. He turns to walk away and you’re immediately confused.

“Oh, Little Frankie, I didn't order any magazines.”

It’s a copy of Life Magazine. You’d always wanted one but would never justify paying the 15 cents. When you’d look longingly at Bo, you’d somehow manage to talk yourself out of it.

“Who’s paying 15 cents for a couple of pieces of paper?”

Never mind that the paper was in color and had stories and reviews and articles about all types of things beyond the Mississippi state line.

You rub your hands across the label, reading it. And sure enough it said your name.

“Never mind Frankie.”

You wave, seeing him off, and close the door to the shop and lock the door.

“See you tomorrow Mrs. Chow.” He waves as he bids you farewell.

You unwrap the magazine like a kid on Christmas day. You flip through the pages as you walk to the storage room in the back. It’s where the meats and cheeses were stored.

You hold it carefully, not wishing to crease the pages, just buzzing with happiness. When he wasn’t so busy bothering you with checkbooks he could be so thoughtful. You couldn’t wait to thank him.

Right before you can tug the metal handle, Bo’s already opening the door, while wiping his hands.

You jump into his arms, wrapping your hands around his neck. He catches you, albeit a little disgruntled by your sudden display of affection. You kiss all over his face, before moving to his neck, nipping and biting and licking. He groans deep and low in his throat. The type of groan that makes you wet between the thighs.

“Bo Chow you are the best husband this part of the Delta!” You exclaim in between kisses.

He walks with you straddling his hips before placing you behind the counter near the cash register.

“Well ain’t I lucky to have a wife that loves me so much, huh?” He grabs your chin gently before titling it up so you can look at him. “You love me, baby?

You grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss, but deeper this time. You want to taste every part of him. To consume him.

“I love you so much.” You say, pulling his shirt down to unbutton it.

You hook your legs around his waist before leaning back onto your forearms, staring up at him biting your lip.

“I can show you how much.”

If your legs weren’t hooked around his waist, Bo was sure he could’ve fell dead.

He moans into your neck, reaching to grip your hips. Bo raises your lips again. A little needier this time, not half as slow as before. He kisses the corner of your mouth, trailing his lips down the line of your neck, suckling just a little. It’s not enough to leave a mark, just enough to let anyone who entered your personal space that your husband was there.

You gaze into his eyes again and all you see is his eyes darkened by lust. You nod, giving him your silent approval and he resumes his trail of kisses before ghosting his lips against your collarbone, moving to undo the buttons of your dress.

He goes to undo your bra, not having to look as he unclasps it. You help him pull it off, not breaking eye contact. Your breath hitches as he stares you down. Like it’s the first time he’s seen you. He reacts the same way every time y’all make love. He treats every time like it’s the first and last time he’s ever touched you.

He’s kissing down your neck again, ghosting his lips across your collarbone before licking a stripe down your breasts sucking one into his mouth. You arch your head back, moaning.

He grins against the counter at your reaction. You gently pull him off you, trailing your hands down his white button down before grabbing his belt and the waistband of his work slacks. You expertly undo the buckle of his belt.

You look up to kiss him again and he chuckles teasingly.

“It must be my birthday or somethin’?” He kisses you, savoring the taste of you. He moans as you stroke his bulge through his underwear. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

You laugh with him lightly. “Stop playing coy with me.” You say, going to kiss his neck again.

“I’m a lot of things right now darling, but coy sure as hell ain’t one of ‘em.” He looks at you in a way that lets you know he’s not joking.

Immediately you stop your minstrations, tension dissipating.

“Do you genuinely not know what I’m talkin’ about Bo Chow?”

Bo Chow was many things. He was steadfast, determined, kind, turned on. But right now he was so fucking confused. He shrugs his shoulders at you before trying to dive in for another kiss.

“Get off me.” You push him away from you, leaving Bo stunned.

You’ve never dressed yourself so fast, but you were on a mission to find the discarded mail. You find it by the fruit.

“So you’re telling me you didn’t buy this magazine for me?” You ask, holding it out for him to see.

“Is that what all this is about?” He asks, wiping his hair away from his face.

Your face twists up like you just tasted something sour and you scoff. You glance down at your clothes, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in your dress.

You see through the blinds on the front door that Lisa is headed towards the store.

“Get yourself together, Lisa’s coming this way.”

He mutters under his breath. “So much for best husband.”

You scowl at him so hard he might’ve shivered if he wasn’t so bewildered. He quickly ducks behind the counter to fix his clothes and you open the door before Lisa can raise her hands to knock.

She looks at the up magazine in your hands and smiles.

“It finally came,” She says observantly. “Have you looked through it yet?”

You tug her into a hug and she pretends to be disgusted. But she doesn’t push you away.

“Thank you so much Lisa baby,” you kiss the top of her head and sway with her in your arms. She fixes her arms around you, patting your back twice before moving to let go. “This was mighty thoughtful of you.”

She starts walking back to the other store, but stops to look toward the register.

“See you Daddy.” She says deadpan as she looks toward the register.

Bo rises from behind the counter sheepishly.

“See you Lisa.” He replies.

Lisa narrows her eyes at the both of you. Her eyes say “y’all are nasty” and starts her trek across the street.

You go to prop the door open, almost embarrassed. Even though he had pissed you right off, you would never be ashamed of loving your husband.

A customer walking up to the register snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Y’all still open?” Mrs. Henderson, a woman in her 60s who was 3rd cousins with your mama, asked skeptically.

“Yes ma’am.” You nod sheepishly, ushering her inside.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“You weren’t part of the plan, little one. But you sure as hell ain’t a mistake.”

🥰🥰🥰

“Still quiet?” “Only when I don’t know what to say.” You raised your brows. “You always knew what to say back in school.” “No,” he said, and this time it came out slower. Truer. “I just knew how to listen.”

Being good at listening well is a special and untervalued skill!

“You always dance this quiet?” you murmured. “Only with people I don’t wanna let go of.” You smiled against his shirt. “That a line?” “No,” he said softly. “It’s the truth.”

He is so sweet 🥹🥰

You kissed him like maybe it was a mistake. He kissed you like maybe it wasn’t.

I love how sure he is about this

And you swore — just for a second — you saw something in his face that had nothing to do with lust. Something like hope.

🥺🥺🥺

“You don’t look fine.” Royal leaned back in his chair. “Got that half-glazed look like a man thinkin’ too hard about somethin’ that ain’t his to think about.” That landed. Harder than Rhett expected.

Uff

Not to Royal. Not to Perry. Not to Amy, who asked why he was quieter than usual and got a headshake in return.

Of course Amy notices

“I wasn’t—I didn’t expect to see you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t expect to see this either.” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up. “You should’ve told me.” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how.” “You could’ve called.” You shook your head. “And said what? That I left in the morning and came back months later with a bump?” Rhett didn’t flinch. “Would’ve been better than this.” You hugged your arms across your chest, suddenly very small in the wide-open aisle. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t know me at all if you thought that.”

This conversation between them is so tense, but I think it says a lot about them and what is between them

Finally, you said it. “It’s yours.” He nodded once. No surprise. He’d already known.

🥺🥺🥺

“Boy or girl?” “I don’t know yet. I didn’t want to find out alone.” That stopped him. Softened him. “You don’t gotta do this alone,” he said, voice lower now. Steadier. “I know you think this was nothin’. That I was just some night you regret. But you’re carryin’ my kid. And I ain’t about to be some ghost in her life.”

He truly cares and wants to step up, truly wants to not because he is asked too and that's so beautiful🥹🥰

“Well, too bad,” he said simply. “Because I’m here anyway.”

And he's here to stay

He didn’t look like the boy you’d stole glance at school. Didn’t look like he needed convincing. He looked solid. Real. Like someone who’d already decided he wasn’t leaving again.

He is very sure in his decision

“I don’t know when it started. Back in school, maybe. Maybe the night at the bar. Hell, maybe before that. But it wasn’t just about the night. You gotta believe me on that.” Your lips parted, but no words came. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna scare you,” he added. “Didn’t wanna break it before it even started.”

Oh he is so sweet 😭🥰😍

“And now there’s a baby in the middle of this, and I know you didn’t ask for me to be around. I know you’re strong enough to do this alone.” You were quiet. Breathing shallow. “But I don’t want you to,” he said. “Not just because of her—him—whoever they turn out to be. But because of you.”

I am obsessed!!! How he acknowledged that he very well knows she can do it alone but he really really wants to do this together with HER 😍🥹😭

He kept going. “You don’t gotta decide today. But I need you to know—I’m not runnin’. Not from this. Not from you.”

😭🥰😭🥰😭

He looked like he hadn’t rehearsed this part. Like the grocery aisle had been raw instinct, but this—showing up again—this was commitment.

Yes! And he is doing good 👏🏻

“I brought you dinner,” he said finally. You stared. “You’re serious?” He held up the bag like it was proof of intent. “You need help. And I didn’t think ‘I like you’ was gonna be enough if I didn’t show up again.”

He is putting in the work!

He really WANTS to work for it👏🏻

You folded your arms. “You can’t just show up with groceries and expect that to make this easier.” “I don’t,” he said. Quiet. Steady. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Or fall into my arms. I’m not that stupid.”

🥹🥹🥹

“I just want you to know that I’m here,” he said. “That I meant what I said. I want to be part of this. I don’t wanna watch you do it alone when I can stand beside you.” You blinked, throat tightening. “You make it sound simple.” “It’s not,” he said. “It’s hard as hell. But hard things are worth stayin’ for.”

He truly is along gor the ride and whatever the outcome is 🥹

“I never stopped thinkin’ about you after that night. You disappeared, and I told myself I’d imagined it all — that it was just one of those things. But now... now I know better. And I’m not walkin’ away from that twice.” Your voice cracked before you even meant to speak. “And if I don’t know what I want yet?” His eyes didn’t falter. “Then I wait. I show up. I do the dishes. I fix the porch. I buy groceries. I wait.” You laughed once — a shaky, wet sound. “That sounds stupid.” “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

Fair haha

Halfway through dinner, you said, “You always eat this quiet?” He looked up, eyes warm with the smallest flicker of something — relief, maybe. “Only when I’m nervous.” You paused mid-bite. “You’re nervous?” “‘Course I’m nervous,” he said, nudging his tray with his fork. “You’re smart. And strong. And pissed off. And pregnant. And sittin’ across from me after months of not speakin’. I’d be an idiot not to be nervous.”

🥰🥰🥰

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, watching him from the table. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But I want to keep showin’ up. However you’ll let me.”

"However you'll let me" 😭🥰

“I can do one step,” he said. “I’m good at steady.” You bumped his arm with your shoulder. “You’re also good at falling off bulls.” He smirked. “Falling for difficult things is kind of my brand.”

“Because no one’s waitin’ for me to mess it up.”

Smooth 🤭

🥺🥺🥺

“I’m not here just ‘cause there’s a baby involved.” You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Still guarded. “I mean it,” he said. “I’m here because I wanna be. With you. The baby’s just…” He hesitated. Then gave a lopsided shrug. “The baby’s a happy accident. You’re the part I was already wantin’. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Because he wants it all or nothing, as long it's with her 🥰

I totally get her side too!

“I went home. Put the test in the trash. Took another one the next morning. Same result. And I just… kept going. Like it hadn’t happened.” You paused, trying to shape it right. Then: “I wasn’t scared of being a mom. I was scared of telling you.” Rhett’s voice came out low. “Why?” “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to blow up your life.” “You didn’t.” “I didn’t want it to feel like some trap. Like you owed me something just because I kept it.”

He didn’t speak. Just set the catalog aside and slowly stood — not rushed, not dramatic. Walked the two steps over. Then he sat down beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, knees bent like he was settling into something he didn’t want to leave. He rested his arms on his thighs, voice steady. “I don’t feel owed. I feel lucky.” So he added, softer: “I’m not here to fix it. I’m here to stay. Even when it’s ugly. Especially then.”

You looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, you believed it. “Tried what?” “This,” you said. “You and me. Not just because of the baby. But... because we want to.” Silence. But not the bad kind.

I love that tery share these quiet moments of just comfort between them

It's like a confession he's been carrying with him for years

Rhett didn’t blink. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat still like the moment was sacred. “I’ve wanted that since school,” he said finally. “You were always...” He trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Untouchable. Too smart. Too pretty. Too far outta my league to even look my way.” You blinked, stunned. “I barely knew you liked me.” “I barely knew how to act on it,” he admitted. “But I never forgot you.”

That's just so beautiful 🥰

And for the first time in a long, long while — it didn’t feel like you were gambling your heart. It felt like coming home to someone who’d been waiting for you to find the door.

“She’s really here,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “She’s ours.” He nodded, eyes still on her. “Whole world in one tiny thing.”

🥰🥰🥰

The sun shone bright on the silver band on his ring finger. He hadn’t taken it off since the day you slipped it onto him, quiet and teary-eyed at the courthouse, both of you too choked up to make a big deal of it. He’d kissed your knuckles and whispered, This don’t change us. It just makes it official.

Ahhh I love that for them 🥰

🥹🥹🥹

Now it caught the light every time he held her. And God, he hoped she’d see it one day and know it meant safe.

“Your mama... she gave me a real chance. Took a risk lettin’ me back in. And I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ sure she never regrets it.”

And he already showed that he is willing to put in the hard work for that

“I used to think a win meant stayin’ on the bull,” he murmured. “Now I think it looks more like this.”

I LOVED this story! It was so beautiful 🥰👏🏻

Rhett Abbott one night stand vibes with accidental pregnancy? Surprise me with how the ending turns out please 🙏🏻✨

Right Here

A/N: I definitely went overboard with this one 😭 scrapped three drafts before landing here — so this version? she’s the chosen one. Warnings: soft, protective Rhett coming your way. you're not ready and neither am I. i melt for this Rhett — like full-on puddle.  Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The baby was asleep when he started talking.

Not that she’d understand a word of it — all curled up in her cotton wrap, her fingers twitching against his shirt, her breath warm and even where it ghosted over his collarbone. But Rhett liked to think she’d remember the sound of his voice. The shape of it. The safety.

He shifted in the old rocking chair, boots planted firm on the creaky wooden floor — though the nursery didn’t look quite finished. Shelves only half-installed. A mobile still waiting to be hung. There was a paint roller in the corner and a small pile of unopened baby books someone had dropped off weeks ago. Maybe him. Maybe you.

He looked down at her — all six pounds of her — and smiled without teeth.

“You wanna know how you got here?”

The room stayed quiet. A cricket chirped somewhere near the baseboard heater.

“Well,” Rhett said softly, adjusting her weight in his arms, “That’s a long story. And not the kind I ever thought I’d be tellin’.”

His thumb brushed over the soft edge of her ear. So small.

“So small,” he whispered. “Didn’t think somethin’ so tiny could turn my whole life upside down.” He smiled, barely. “Just like your mama did.”

He leaned his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling fan that never worked quite right.

“She wasn’t supposed to stay, you know. Not that night. Wasn’t even supposed to look at me, let alone... God.” He let out a breath “I don’t even remember what song was playin’. Just remember her laugh. It was like drinkin’ somethin’ too fast — made my head spin.”

The baby sighed in her sleep.

“I didn’t mean to let her go, kid. I just didn’t know how to make her stay.”

The memory tightened in his chest like a rope.

One night. That’s what it had been. One stupid, beautiful night. And in the morning — she’d left. Quiet as sunrise.

No note. No number.

Just the smell of her on his shirt and the shape of her still carved into the sheets.

He blinked. Swallowed hard.

“I told myself not to chase her. Thought if I kept busy, if I stuck to riding and kept my head down, I’d forget.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“But I didn’t. Not once.”

He looked down again — at her tiny fists, her sleep-pink mouth.

“You’ve got her eyes,” he whispered. “Big and soft. Like you see more than you should.”

He kissed her forehead.

“You weren’t part of the plan, little one. But you sure as hell ain’t a mistake.”

The chair creaked as it rocked. Outside, the sky was turning bright over the ridge.

“And if she won’t tell you how it happened,” he said, brushing a thumb over the baby’s cheek, “I will.”

—

The music was loud. Too loud for the size of the room, too loud for how late it was, but no one seemed to care — not the old jukebox wheezing out another George Strait hit, not the drunk couple trying to two-step on scuffed wood floors, not the college kids tossing back shots they couldn’t afford. The Wabang bar hadn’t changed. Not in years. Probably never would.

Rhett didn’t come here much anymore.

He was nursing a beer in the farthest corner of the room, half in the shadows, half pretending to care about the pool game in front of him. Someone was shouting about a scratch, someone else laughing too loud. He felt the thud of bass more than he heard it. His boots tapped once. Twice. Then stilled.

And then he saw you.

Across the room. Laughing at something a friend said. Hair tied up, strands falling loose, cheeks warm with heat and liquor and the kind of confidence that made his throat tighten. You were wearing a denim jacket and a black tank top, and for a second — just a second — you looked right at him.

And smiled.

Rhett blinked.

That smile hadn’t been meant for him. Couldn’t’ve been. He hadn’t seen you in years. Not since school. Not since that awkward period where he’d liked you a little too much and you’d barely known his name. You ran with a different crowd. The smart ones. The ones who didn’t stay.

But you were here now. And walking toward him.

Shit.

“Rhett Abbott,” you said, dropping into the seat across from him without asking. Your voice was soft and surprised, like you weren’t entirely sure you were doing this. “I thought that was you.” He stared for half a beat too long. “Hey.”

That was all he could get out. Hey.

You laughed again. “Don’t sound too excited.” “No—I mean. Yeah. I just—didn’t expect…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you doin’ here?” “Visiting. Friend’s birthday. Thought I’d stop by the old haunts.” You gestured to the room. “Didn’t think I’d see you. You look… the same.” “That good or bad?” You tilted your head. “That depends. You still ride?” His mouth quirked. “Sometimes.” “Still quiet?” “Only when I don’t know what to say.” You raised your brows. “You always knew what to say back in school.” “No,” he said, and this time it came out slower. Truer. “I just knew how to listen.”

You looked at him differently then. Like the game had changed. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a mistake.

“I always thought you didn’t like me much,” you admitted, nursing your drink now. “You were kind of… intense.” “That mean I scared you?” You laughed. “A little.” He smirked, eyes drifting down and back up. “Still do?”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him — like you were trying to decide if this was dangerous, or if you wanted it to be.

The jukebox whirred into a slower song. Something mournful. Something sweet.

You held out your hand. “Wanna dance?”

Rhett looked down at it, then back at you.

And for once, he didn’t think. Didn’t second guess. Didn’t play it safe.

He stood and took your hand.

—

The floor was sticky. The music was old. But the way you fit against him, the way your head dipped toward his chest — it felt brand new.

“You always dance this quiet?” you murmured. “Only with people I don’t wanna let go of.” You smiled against his shirt. “That a line?” “No,” he said softly. “It’s the truth.”

The dance slowed, the music fading into something else. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Outside, the air had cooled. You walked together, neither of you saying much. The kind of silence that buzzed between skin and breath. When you got to your car, you paused. Unlocked it. Didn’t open the door.

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” you said. Rhett leaned against the passenger side. “You wanna ride?” You looked up at him. “Where?” He met your eyes. “Anywhere you want.”

—

The truck smelled like pine and leather. You didn’t turn on the radio. Just let the wind and gravel speak for you.

He didn’t ask where you wanted to go. Just drove.

And you didn’t stop him.

The motel was just outside of Wabang. Old sign flickering, vending machine humming near the front desk. Rhett didn’t even flinch when the clerk handed him a key — Room 6 — didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer explanations. Just nodded, paid in cash, and led you up the crooked concrete steps.

The room smelled like stale AC and cheap soap.

One lamp. One bed. One heartbeat between yes and no.

You stood there for a second, keys still in your hand. “I don’t usually do this,” you said.

Rhett didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“Me neither.”

You turned to face him.

The light hit him just right — tired, tan, a little older than you remembered. The kind of man who looked like he’d seen too much and still chose softness anyway.

He didn’t touch you first. You did.

You kissed him like maybe it was a mistake. He kissed you like maybe it wasn’t.

There were no loud declarations. No fumbling urgency.

Just a quiet look.

A question in your eyes.

An answer in his touch.

When he undressed you, it was careful. Slow. Like he didn’t want to spook the moment.

When you pulled his shirt off, he didn’t say a word. Just looked at you.

And you swore — just for a second — you saw something in his face that had nothing to do with lust.

Something like hope.

—

The morning light hit too hard through the cheap motel curtains.

You were already dressed when Rhett stirred, still tangled in the sheets. He watched you pull your jacket on like you couldn’t get it done fast enough. Like if you moved quickly enough, you could leave the night behind entirely.

“I wasn’t gonna wake you,” you said softly, eyes on the floor. “You leavin’?” You hesitated. Then nodded, “This doesn’t need to be anything.”

He sat up slower than he meant to, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress like it might hold him up.

“Right,” he said, even though it didn’t feel right. Not at all.

You gave him the kind of smile people give at airports or funerals — polite, distant, already halfway gone.

“Take care, Rhett.”

You left without looking back.

—

He didn’t go home. Not right away.

Drove for a while. Long enough to burn through a quarter tank. The day felt dull around the edges, like sound underwater. By the time he pulled into the ranch yard, the sun had barely cleared the ridge.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and something burning. Royal sat at the table, flipping through paperwork. Cecilia moved silently at the stove, frying eggs she wouldn’t eat.

Rhett stood in the doorway, unsure why he’d even come in.

“You’re late,” Royal said without looking up.

Rhett didn’t answer.

Royal glanced up, eyes sharp. “You hungover or just stupid?” “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” Royal leaned back in his chair. “Got that half-glazed look like a man thinkin’ too hard about somethin’ that ain’t his to think about.”

That landed. Harder than Rhett expected.

Royal kept going. “Whatever it is, drop it. You’ve got a ride next week and I don’t need your head three counties away.”

Rhett didn’t answer. Just nodded, slow.

Cecilia set a plate down in front of him. Toast. Eggs. The kind of comfort she never named.

She didn’t say a word — just looked at him, once, with something like knowing in her eyes.

Then she walked away.

—

He didn’t talk about it again.

Not to Royal. Not to Perry. Not to Amy, who asked why he was quieter than usual and got a headshake in return.

Instead, he trained harder. Rode more.

Got thrown off a bull in Sheridan and got back on like it didn’t matter.

Told himself it didn’t. Told himself it was better this way.

He hadn’t seen her since. Didn’t expect to.

—

It was the kind of day that didn’t ask much. Overcast sky, wind low and steady, that late-autumn chill sliding down the back of your neck like a warning. Rhett wasn’t even supposed to be in town — just running an errand for Perry, picking up horse feed and a new belt buckle he didn’t need.

He didn’t plan on seeing her.

Didn’t plan on freezing in the middle of the grocery aisle, one hand around a can of coffee he wasn’t sure he’d even grabbed.

But there she was. By the end cap near the bakery. Reaching for something on a high shelf.

She looked the same, but softer. Hair pulled back in a low knot. Jacket zipped halfway. She turned slightly as she adjusted her footing and—

His breath caught.

There it was.

Not obvious, not dramatic. But there. A soft curve beneath her coat.

A bump.

She didn’t see him at first. He should’ve walked away. Turned around. Left it alone.

But he didn’t.

He took a step forward. Then another. And then—

“You gonna tell me?”

She froze.

Didn’t turn right away. Just let the sound of his voice sink in like a stone.

When she did face him, her eyes flickered — surprise, guilt, something else he couldn’t name.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t expect to see you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t expect to see this either.” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up. “You should’ve told me.” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how.” “You could’ve called.” You shook your head. “And said what? That I left in the morning and came back months later with a bump?” Rhett didn’t flinch. “Would’ve been better than this.” You hugged your arms across your chest, suddenly very small in the wide-open aisle. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t know me at all if you thought that.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, you said it. “It’s yours.”

He nodded once. No surprise. He’d already known.

“Boy or girl?” “I don’t know yet. I didn’t want to find out alone.”

That stopped him. Softened him.

“You don’t gotta do this alone,” he said, voice lower now. Steadier. “I know you think this was nothin’. That I was just some night you regret. But you’re carryin’ my kid. And I ain’t about to be some ghost in her life.” You flinched. “Her?” He shrugged, eyes never leaving yours. “Guessin’.” You blinked fast. “I wasn’t asking for anything, Rhett.” “Well, too bad,” he said simply. “Because I’m here anyway.”

You stared at him — not sure if you were angry, relieved, or just stunned.

He didn’t look like the boy you’d stole glance at school. Didn’t look like he needed convincing.

He looked solid. Real. Like someone who’d already decided he wasn’t leaving again.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. Rhett took a breath like it hurt to let it out. “I like you.”

You blinked.

“I don’t know when it started. Back in school, maybe. Maybe the night at the bar. Hell, maybe before that. But it wasn’t just about the night. You gotta believe me on that.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna scare you,” he added. “Didn’t wanna break it before it even started.”

He looked down, then back up — eyes steady.

“And now there’s a baby in the middle of this, and I know you didn’t ask for me to be around. I know you’re strong enough to do this alone.”

You were quiet. Breathing shallow.

“But I don’t want you to,” he said. “Not just because of her—him—whoever they turn out to be. But because of you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

“I’m not gonna break you,” he said softly. “Even if I already cracked something that night.”

Then, lower now. Barely above a whisper, but it landed like thunder:

“I want to be responsible for this. For you. For them. I know it’s not simple. I know I messed up by not sayin’ it sooner. But I’m sayin’ it now.”

You swallowed hard, something in your chest twisting sharp and sudden.

He kept going. “You don’t gotta decide today. But I need you to know—I’m not runnin’. Not from this. Not from you.”

—

The knock came just before dusk.

Not loud. Not urgent. Just... there. Like he didn’t want to scare you off.

You stood at the window for a good ten seconds before opening the door.

Rhett stood on your porch, holding a brown paper bag and a half-flustered expression.

He looked like he hadn’t rehearsed this part. Like the grocery aisle had been raw instinct, but this—showing up again—this was commitment.

“I brought you dinner,” he said finally. You stared. “You’re serious?” He held up the bag like it was proof of intent. “You need help. And I didn’t think ‘I like you’ was gonna be enough if I didn’t show up again.”

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

The kitchen was small, warm. Lived-in, but tired. Dishes drying by the sink. A plant you weren’t sure was dying. Mail on the table you hadn’t opened.

Rhett unpacked without asking where things went. Two frozen meals. A loaf of bread. Oranges. Ginger tea.

“You researched what pregnant people eat?” you asked dryly. He paused. Scratched the back of his neck. “Nah. Asked that lady at the checkout. The one with grandkids. Real loud voice.” You snorted. “Mrs. Henley?” “That’s the one,” he said, almost sheepish. “She said oranges help with heartburn. Scared the hell outta me, honestly.”

That earned the smallest smile from you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping the edge of your counter. “You got anything that needs fixin’? Leaky faucet? Broken hinge? Lights out?” “Why?” “Because I’m standin’ here and I wanna do somethin’ more than just breathe the same air as you.” You folded your arms. “You can’t just show up with groceries and expect that to make this easier.” “I don’t,” he said. Quiet. Steady. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Or fall into my arms. I’m not that stupid.”

You swallowed.

He took a step closer, but not too close.

“I just want you to know that I’m here,” he said. “That I meant what I said. I want to be part of this. I don’t wanna watch you do it alone when I can stand beside you.” You blinked, throat tightening. “You make it sound simple.” “It’s not,” he said. “It’s hard as hell. But hard things are worth stayin’ for.”

The silence sat thick between you.

Then he said it. Soft. Unapologetic.

“I never stopped thinkin’ about you after that night. You disappeared, and I told myself I’d imagined it all — that it was just one of those things. But now... now I know better. And I’m not walkin’ away from that twice.” Your voice cracked before you even meant to speak. “And if I don’t know what I want yet?” His eyes didn’t falter. “Then I wait. I show up. I do the dishes. I fix the porch. I buy groceries. I wait.” You laughed once — a shaky, wet sound. “That sounds stupid.” “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

—

You didn’t ask him to stay.

But you didn’t ask him to leave either.

The sun dipped low outside, turning the kitchen gold. Rhett stood awkwardly by the counter, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that the groceries were unpacked and the speech was over.

You broke the silence first. “You hungry?” He blinked. “What?” “You brought food,” you said, softer this time. “Might as well eat it.” He nodded once, slow and cautious, like the offer might disappear if he moved too fast. “Yeah. Alright.”

You microwaved the meals he brought — chicken something for you, beef stew for him. He stood by the sink the whole time, watching the timer count down like it mattered. When it beeped, he jumped a little. You pretended not to notice.

You both sat at the table like strangers trying not to be.

Halfway through dinner, you said, “You always eat this quiet?” He looked up, eyes warm with the smallest flicker of something — relief, maybe. “Only when I’m nervous.” You paused mid-bite. “You’re nervous?” “‘Course I’m nervous,” he said, nudging his tray with his fork. “You’re smart. And strong. And pissed off. And pregnant. And sittin’ across from me after months of not speakin’. I’d be an idiot not to be nervous.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t. But your lips curled, just slightly. Just enough.

After you both finished, Rhett grabbed a paper towel and wiped down the counter. Like it was his house. Like he belonged there.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, watching him from the table. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

He threw the towel away. Then turned to face you again. Hands at his sides. Shoulders square. Still unsure.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But I want to keep showin’ up. However you’ll let me.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you stood. Crossed the room. And leaned back against the counter next to him.

“Okay,” you said. Just that. No fanfare. His head turned, eyes searching yours. “Okay?” You nodded. “Okay. One step at a time.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“I can do one step,” he said. “I’m good at steady.” You bumped his arm with your shoulder. “You’re also good at falling off bulls.” He smirked. “Falling for difficult things is kind of my brand.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh.

And it felt like the first true thing between you since that night.

—

It started with the screen door.

You’d mentioned, offhand, that it creaked every time the wind hit it. Not as a complaint. Not even really expecting anything. Just one of those things people say when they’re tired and trying to ignore the things that bother them.

Two days later, it was fixed.

No note. No fuss. Just... fixed.

And then came the squeaky bathroom faucet. Then the broken fence post near the back gate. Then the step on the porch that’d always slanted left until suddenly, quietly, it didn’t.

You never asked him to do any of it.

But he did.

He stopped by every few days now. Always with a reason.

Brought extra milk once. Said he “accidentally bought two.” Dropped off a hammer the second time. Claimed he “forgot it last time,” even though you were pretty sure it hadn’t been there at all.

And once — just once — he showed up with a tupperware of stew and mumbled something about “Cecilia made too much.” You didn’t question it.

You started leaving the porch light on without thinking about it.

—

One night, you found him sitting on your steps, your dog curled up next to his boot, watching the wind move through the trees like it was a story worth hearing.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t call. Just sat there with the kind of quiet you didn’t mind.

You opened the door and leaned against the frame. “You’re just gonna sit there all night?” He looked up, sheepish. “Didn’t wanna bug you.” You gestured toward the couch. “You wanna come in or not?”

He smiled — small, crooked — and followed you inside.

—

The living room felt warmer with him in it. He didn’t say much. Just took off his boots, set his hat on the counter without thinking, and leaned back into your secondhand couch like it remembered him.

You brought two mugs of tea and sat beside him, knees almost touching.

“I didn’t think you’d keep coming,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d be able to stop,” he replied, just as soft.

You looked at him — really looked.

At the faint scrape on his knuckles. At the way his shirt pulled at the shoulders from work. At the way he exhaled like he hadn’t had a quiet place to land in a while.

He caught you looking. Didn’t flinch.

“You always stare this much?” he asked, voice low. “Only when I’m trying to figure someone out.”

He leaned back on the couch, one arm stretched over the cushion, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric.

“I’m not that complicated.” You raised a brow. “That’s what complicated people say.”

He smiled at that. Small. But real.

“I just like bein’ here,” he said. “That’s all.” You tilted your head. “Why?”

He looked around the room — at the dim lamp, the mismatched throw pillows, the chipped mug on the table still holding yesterday’s tea bag. Then back at you.

“Because no one’s waitin’ for me to mess it up.”

That quiet landed deeper than you expected.

But before you could say anything, he added, softer:

“I’m not here just ‘cause there’s a baby involved.”

You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Still guarded.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’m here because I wanna be. With you. The baby’s just…” He hesitated. Then gave a lopsided shrug. “The baby’s a happy accident. You’re the part I was already wantin’. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your chest. He looked nervous now, like he’d gone too far.

But you didn’t pull away. Didn’t run. You just let your foot rest against his, and this time, you didn’t move it.

And he stayed.

—

It came out quiet.

Like most true things do.

You were sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through the week’s mail, legs folded under you. Rhett was on the couch behind you, flipping through a hardware catalog he had no intention of ordering from. It was just background noise. Just a way to fill the silence between what had already been said and whatever was next.

You set an envelope down and said, “I found out on a Wednesday.” Rhett looked up. “Yeah?” You nodded, eyes still on your hands. “I didn’t feel right. Thought maybe I was just tired, maybe stress, maybe—hell, I don’t know. But something told me to go pick up a test.”

He didn’t say anything. Just sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees.

“I didn’t even wait until I got home. I used the gas station bathroom down by that old diner. Locked the door. Waited. Shook the whole damn time.” You let out a quiet breath. “Didn’t need to wait the full three minutes. It showed up quick.”

Rhett stayed quiet.

You looked down at your fingers. “I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile either. I just... sat there. For a long time.”

Still nothing from him. Just presence. Just patience.

“I went home. Put the test in the trash. Took another one the next morning. Same result. And I just… kept going. Like it hadn’t happened.” You paused, trying to shape it right. Then: “I wasn’t scared of being a mom. I was scared of telling you.” Rhett’s voice came out low. “Why?” “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to blow up your life.” “You didn’t.” “I didn’t want it to feel like some trap. Like you owed me something just because I kept it.”

He didn’t speak. Just set the catalog aside and slowly stood — not rushed, not dramatic. Walked the two steps over.

Then he sat down beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, knees bent like he was settling into something he didn’t want to leave.

He rested his arms on his thighs, voice steady. “I don’t feel owed. I feel lucky.”

That stopped you. Fully stopped you.

He glanced over. “If you hadn’t told me? If I’d never known? I’d be walking around not even realizing I had this chance. You.” You swallowed, throat tight. “It didn’t feel like a chance. It felt like a mess. And I was already halfway drowning in it.” Rhett nodded. Quiet. “I’m not afraid of mess.” “I am,” you said. He didn’t look away. “Then let me be the part that’s steady.”

You didn’t answer right away.

So he added, softer: “I’m not here to fix it. I’m here to stay. Even when it’s ugly. Especially then.”

You looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, you believed it.

—

You turned to him, slow. Careful.

“What if we tried?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right.

“Tried what?” “This,” you said. “You and me. Not just because of the baby. But... because we want to.”

Silence. But not the bad kind.

Rhett didn’t blink. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat still like the moment was sacred.

“I’ve wanted that since school,” he said finally. “You were always...” He trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Untouchable. Too smart. Too pretty. Too far outta my league to even look my way.” You blinked, stunned. “I barely knew you liked me.” “I barely knew how to act on it,” he admitted. “But I never forgot you.”

You swallowed, suddenly breathless.

“And now you’re here,” he added, voice dropping. “Asking me what if. After everything. After the mess. After the one night I never stopped thinkin’ about.” He smiled — slow, soft, disbelieving. “This don’t feel real. It feels like a dream I’m afraid to wake up from.” You shifted closer. “Well… what if it’s real?” He reached for your hand then. Fully, deliberately. “Then I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.”

Your fingers curled around his. Steady. Sure.

And for the first time in a long, long while — it didn’t feel like you were gambling your heart. It felt like coming home to someone who’d been waiting for you to find the door.

—

The house was quiet except for the sound of her breath.

Tiny, rhythmic. Almost like wind through cotton.

She was asleep against your chest, her body curled up like a comma, one hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt. You hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Across the room, Rhett sat cross-legged on the floor, still in his work shirt, still dusted in hay and dirt from a day he didn’t complain about. His eyes were locked on her — your daughter — like she was the sun coming up over the ridge.

“She’s got your mouth,” he said softly. You looked down. “You think?” “Yeah,” he nodded. “That stubborn little pout? That’s you.” You smiled, exhausted but full. “She’s got your frown when she sleeps.” He chuckled. “Poor thing.”

The lamp threw soft amber light across the floorboards. Everything felt warm, lived-in, quiet in a way neither of you had known before.

Rhett shifted up onto the couch beside you, careful not to jostle her. One arm draped behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck like a whisper.

“She’s really here,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “She’s ours.” He nodded, eyes still on her. “Whole world in one tiny thing.”

You looked down at her — at her sleep-heavy face, the rise and fall of her breath. You still couldn’t believe something so new could feel so right.

“She changed everything,” you said. Rhett let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. And somehow made it all make sense.”

The baby shifted, sighing softly, and you both stilled — protective without speaking, already moving in tandem without having to try.

—

The baby in his arms stirred, bringing Rhett back to the now.

She was heavier these days. A little bigger. A little louder when she wanted something. But in that moment, cradled against his chest in the quiet, she was still. Warm. Safe.

The house around them was hushed — not the tense kind of silence he used to know, but the good kind. Familiar. A hum of peace under the floorboards.

The late morning light spilled through the window. Golden, soft-edged. It lit up the room in streaks — caught the dust in the air, glinted off the framed photo on the mantel, and landed square on his left hand where it curled around her tiny back.

The sun shone bright on the silver band on his ring finger.

He hadn’t taken it off since the day you slipped it onto him, quiet and teary-eyed at the courthouse, both of you too choked up to make a big deal of it. He’d kissed your knuckles and whispered, This don’t change us. It just makes it official.

Now it caught the light every time he held her. And God, he hoped she’d see it one day and know it meant safe.

Steady.

Staying.

Rhett rocked slowly in the old chair, voice low and careful.

“And that,” he whispered, brushing his lips to her forehead, “is how you came to be.”

He looked down at her — same stubborn pout, same tiny fists — and smiled to himself.

“Wasn’t part of the plan, sweetheart,” he said. “But you’re the best thing I never saw comin’.”

She shifted, one arm flopping up against his chest like she knew she was being talked about.

“I didn’t know how to be a dad,” he went on. “Didn’t even know if I was gonna be good at any of this. I still don’t, some days. But then you cry, or smile, or fall asleep on me like this, and I figure... maybe I don’t have to know everything. Maybe just bein’ here is enough.”

A beat.

“Your mama... she gave me a real chance. Took a risk lettin’ me back in. And I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ sure she never regrets it.”

His thumb brushed gently over her back. She sighed in her sleep. Like she already believed him.

Rhett leaned back a little further, gaze catching again on the wedding band. It felt heavier in the sunlight. Not in a burdensome way — just real. Earned.

“I used to think a win meant stayin’ on the bull,” he murmured. “Now I think it looks more like this.”

Another pause. No rush.

“You were a happy accident, darlin’,” he said. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

His voice dipped even lower, almost a promise.

“You’re ours. All the way.”

And outside, the wind moved through the trees, steady and light — as the sun kept shining.

[maybankslover]

saw it coming- drew starkey

drew starkey x ex!girlfriend

drew starkey x singer!reader

warnings: kinda angst, mentions of infidelity but it doesn't actually happen, drew not being a good partner with someone else. fluff. this is all fiction.

summary: she knew she wasn't the one for him, they all saw it coming.

she knew she had known for years she wasn't the one he'd marry. maybe it was because she tries so hard to be cool, to fit in his life and family, to get along with his mom even when they both know the older woman didn't really like her.

maybe she should've been less cool, less chill maybe if she had drawn the line. if she had asked to be displayed in public not as a company, not as someone he wouldn't hug for a picture but exposed for once and for all as his girlfriend. if she asked him to not keep everyone guessing.

it was funny at the start being "secretive" and all, it was funny to read the theories but it wasn't funny anymore and the lamp was being turned off.she was quite young when they started dating, freshly twenty and he was already pushing into his late twenties.

maybe she should've known, there were all so many songs about it but he was so tall and handsome as hell. everyone and their mother would've ignored the age difference too.

almost three and a half years together when she started to ask for more.

"so i was thinking about posting this picture, can i?" she showed him a picture that showed her resting against his chest with a small bouquet of flowers in hand.

"isn't it too intimate to show? like I love it but for us." he replied and she nodded.

"no yeah you're right." he hummed and kissed her cheek. she didn't include anything about him in that photodump.

"i have a netflix event next week, want you to come with me." she watched him as he prepared to leave her house. "you free on friday?"

"is there a dress code?" he laughed.

"as if you'll ever follow them baby." she smiled at him and welcomed the kiss he pressed to her lips.

when friday came along she already knew the drill.

"what's up?" one of his cast mates hugged her. "it's been a long time since i last saw you."

"finished filming last month." the one's beside her nodded as they remembered what drew had told them.

"heard it's quite a big project." she felt so comfortable with them, they included her in pictures and gatherings.

"it's pretty cool. one of the things i've enjoyed the most to make if i'm being honest." the conversation didn't last long as the cast was called to go on stage.

the pictures the next day looked the same as always, his hands inside his pockets never touching her waist, shoulders or any part of her body.

"why can't you just hug me for a picture? everyone already knows we're together." she had every right to be as angry as she was right now.

"don't want anyone going on and about on our relationship." he shrugged his shoulders, they both knew that was a lie.

"everyone knows about us, everyone talks about us." she ironically laughed. "are you ashamed of me?"

"god no baby no." he rushed to her side and placed his hands on her cheeks. "i love you alright?"

"i love you too but sometimes you make me feel awful drew." he sighed.

"i'm sorry for that but i'm not ashamed of you." she believed the lie he told her.

he did love her in his own weird way but she sometimes made him feel embarrassed of how she acted in public.

maybe it was on his thirty-first birthday when he realised, without actually letting the thought come through, it was probably time to start settling down as if having a girlfriend for the past three years wasn't serious enough. she didn't feel the shift on him.

she should've.

she saw it coming but not in the way it unfolded. schedules, as usual, got busy this time of the year, she was doing promo and he was filming another movie and a music video.

that music video was the shift, not for her but for him. when he met the singer he would be working with it was like a light ignited inside him that said 'this is the one'.

she was so pretty, nice and genuine. there wasn't a show around her when the cameras weren't on, down to earth and extremely similar to him.

both born and raised in a big family, tons of siblings and extended family. she had just received her degree as a kinder-garden teacher when her career blew up.

that was the one for him, he knew it. such a particular thing doesn't really has an explanation on how he felt.

and she hadn't said anything because she knew he had a girlfriend of some kind but she felt it in her gut. he was the one for her too.

"hope to catch up sometime." she said, giving him a hug. "thank you for being part of this."

"it was a pleasure to work with you. maybe we'll coincide in the same city." he smiled back before they said their goodbyes.

he went back to his apartment in los angeles with a clear thought in his head. it was moment to end his three year long relationship, the girl he had been stringing along all this time and he knew he was an awful person for not releasing her sooner but she was never the one for him.

for the plans of a family he wanted to have someday. she wasn't the one he saw as the mother of his kids.

so when two days after she came back from the promo of her movie three weeks from the last time they had seen each other, he sat her down.

"what i'm going to say isn't easy and i don't expect you to be alright with it but this is how i've been feeling for a while now, this isn't working for me anymore." he sighed as he looked her eyes lose the sparkle they'd whenever she looked at him.

"what do you mean?" it was obvious what he meant.

"i want us to break up. this isn't what i want for myself anymore." he knew the conversation wouldn't end in her agreeing just because even if he wanted it to be that way.

"is there someone else or what happened in the past three weeks?" he denied with his head.

"there isn't anyone else. it's about me and what i want for my future." she scoffed.

"three years drew. three and now you realise that i'm not the future you want?" she stood up. "you can actually go fuck yourself."

"hey i'm not being mean to you." but he was being mean to her. "i know it's fucked up but it's what i feel and i'm sorry i'm hurting you because i love you even if this isn't what i want anymore."

“drew shut up.” her voice raised a bit.

he tried to say something else but she didn’t let him.

"don’t say my name. i j-just go, please leave." he sighed but followed her orders.

“I’m sorry.” he wasn’t.

they met a week later at her place to give eachother their things back.

"was there someone else?" she sighed. "at any point, was there someone else?"

"no, there wasn't. i can promise you there wasn't." at least he was honest in what he was telling her.

five months later she was still mourning what they had been. what they could've been if she hadn't been so permissive from the very start.

five months later he was having dinner with the singer from that music video, he had taken his time before going out again. didn't want to rush it, to fuck it up by starting something with someone else fresh out of his relationship.

they were playing some game that ended with them asking random questions and losing the train of how it had started.

"so old man" it made drew laugh. "you were in a relationship last time we saw each other. six months ago?"

"yeah."

"what happened?" it was normal for her to be curious, she was interested in him but wasn't interested to get herself into a threeway kind of mess.

"wasn't what i wanted for me anymore, couldn't see the future i want with her." he sighed. "she's a great woman but not the one i wanted to have a family with." he looked at his glass of wine.

"I get it." his sight shifted towards her this time. "ended my last relationship for the same reason."

"how long ago?"

"a year, we were together for two and a half i think." he nodded signaling for her to continue. "realised a bit late that he didn't really had a brain in his head and only wanted me for the ibiza nights i could get him into" her shoulders bump up for a second. "so i decided i won't ruin my life with some lowlife who would in the long run."

"different goals" he said and she agreed.

"already have my career, my success and i want more in my private life someday too, he wasn't the one to create that with."

they locked eyes without saying anything, there was like a secret moment of understatement there weren't any words to be said. their night continued, laughing and chattering as if they had known each other their whole lives. 

“so drew listen i had a great time but i don’t want to dive into anything if you aren’t over your last girl.” they stood on the front door of her house. “because i’ve been there, hung over a guy that used me to get over someone else.” 

“I get it and you don’t have to trust me because you don’t really know me but i know i’m over her.” she gave him a small smile. “I would like to keep seeing you if that’s alright with you.”

“yeah i’m alright with that.” he didn’t expect the kiss on the cheek she gave him, lingering there for a moment. “ ‘night starkey.”

“goodnight sweetheart.” he walked back towards his truck. “see you soon.”

many coffee dates in deserted places. late night drives by the beach, secret kisses in the privacy of her home and oh if it didn’t feel like love. 

‘he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown’ taylor swift’s lyrics as the background of their lazy sunday morning. drew still in bed while she stood in his kitchen making breakfast wearing the shirt he discarded on the floor when they came back from dinner last night. 

“hey pretty girl.” a sleepy smile on his face as he saw her walk inside the bedroom. 

“the toasts are a bit burned.” he chuckled. “but the rest it’s alright, I think.”

they ate in silence, the birds could be heard outside the window.

“I’m going home next friday for my mom’s birthday.” drew said placing his plate on the bedside table. 

“are you gonna drive or you’ll be taking a flight?” she didn’t think much about it they’ve been dating for almost five months only and they didn’t met the other one’s friends yet. 

“I’m gonna drive but i wanted to ask you something.” she gave him a nod. “I want you to come with me, only if you want of course.”

“isn’t really a question.” she smiled at his soft laugh. “you want me to meet your family? like for real?”

“yeah for real.” he smiled back. “I want them to meet you.” 

“I want to meet them too.”

right there they knew what it was, love, true love. 

the days before the upcoming trip she wrote three whole songs. 

“do you think i’m going too fast?” she asked her best friend on the phone. 

“nah honey i think he loves you so good it was inevitable for you to fall in love so quickly.” vic saw the glimmer in her friend’s eyes, the smile in the pictures she sent her. the look in his eyes when he looked at her in some silly video.

she was nervous to meet his family, one of his sisters was still close with his ex-girlfriend, what if they didn’t like her and they missed the girl from before?

back in new york city a brunette received a message which content broke her heart. from his younger sister.

text 

b ‘i wanted to tell you before you found out via instagram or somewhere else.”

b ‘he brought a girl home. It’s pretty serious, i’m sorry’

he took a girl home when he said he preferred to spend time alone with his family most of the times he went back home, an excuse to not bring her along. now she knew what she should’ve realised all those years back, she didn’t know how to get clean even after more than ten months later. 

his family adored her, their interaction seemed straight out of a christmas movie. 

“I hadn’t seen him so happy in ages.” his mom said in a moment they were left alone right before everyone would say their good night to go to bed. “thank you, he’s my boy again.”

“you’ve done an amazing job with drew, i’ve never had a boyfriend as amazing as he is.” the older woman involved her in a tight hug. 

“he’s never had a girlfriend as genuine as you.” it felt so real, the possibility of a future together. 

two weeks later when her family found out she had gone to north carolina to meet his family, they insisted of having a reunion to meet him. the man on the screen who was making her come back straight home to him.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” his friend madelyn said, the group of outer banks castmates watched as the couple who had reached their year anniversary, they had met her a small number of times but she had grown in all of them. 

“It’s like a light is around him everytime you see him with her.” jd added. “I’m happy for him.” 

they had managed to keep it as lowkey as possible, people were already talking about them running in the same circles but nothing about them actually being together had come out. 

“I want to play you something. I’m writing the new album.”  her music room was a big representation of who she was. the things adorning the walls, the little details on her guitars.

he loved everything about her. so he sat down on the floor, right in front of her. 

‘you are everything to me and I, I would die for you’ 

she tilted her face up a flicker of light on her cheeks. 

‘I'd give up all I have, in exchange for who I love more than anything’ 

he was trying so hard to not let a tear fall.

‘how could I never let you know? I would die for you’ 

and he failed terribly.

“Baby?” she said softly in the same way she always talked to him. 

“I love you so fucking much.” she laughed at his words. 

“I love you so fucking much more.” he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. 

maybe he had been a shitty boyfriend to someone else but she couldn’t say the same. he was the best man she had been with, he felt as a forever kind of love. 

“I want to stop hiding.” she didn’t expect him to say those words. “just want to hold your hand in public and all that romantic shit people do.” 

“I’d like that.” a fight of kisses unfolded in the instruments filled room. 

but a walk wasn’t their ‘hard lunch’ it was him posting a photo dump, the first one of them both on the backstage of his new movie. 

drewstarkey 

liked by ynln, madelyncline, danielgraig and 2.236.002 more

drewstarkey ‘life lately. pretty girl spotted’

comments have been restricted 

ynln ‘love you pretty boy’

shit blew up on twitter real fast and a girl who he had now forgotten still wondered what it was that she was missing, what the beloved singer had for him to choose her. 

“it doesn’t matter anymore, we told you for ages he didn’t love you in the same way.” one of her friends said and she knew he was right, it had only taken him a year and a half to post his new girl. 

It only took him two years to marry her. It’s true when they say a man always knows, he knew from the start she was the one for him and the forgotten girl knew from the start she was never the one. 

drewstarkey & ynln 

song beauty and the beast by celine dion and peabo bryson

liked by sabrinacarpenter, brookestarkey, taylor swift and 4.569.023 more

drewstarkey & ynln something happened… two and a half from our very first day with the very first movie we ever watched.

tale as old as time

comments have been restricted. 

If you see it coming baby, just run. It’ll never be you.

It’ll be the one who fits he’ll actually love, don’t settle for someone who won’t settle for you.

the singer and the actor had found eachother, fate working in their favor even when they felt bad karma would be coming for them it never did.

fate and soulmates can't be stopped from finding the other.

please if you liked it reblog! it helps me a lot

taglist: @droppedyourhnd @congratsloserr @rafesbabygirlx @gillybear17 @theoraekenslover @silkylovey @frankoceanluvr11 @ethanthequeefqueen

[lazysoulwriter]

define this feeling ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: casual-to-something-more, soft angst, established situationship, Pedro catches feelings first, gentle reassurance, lots of quiet intimacy & tender humor.

---

Rain rattles against the kitchen window like a drummer who won’t quit, steady and insistent, turning the downtown lights outside into watercolor streaks. You’re propped on Pedro’s counter, sock-clad feet swinging while he searches his fridge for something resembling dinner. It’s the kind of easy, half-dressed weeknight you two have perfected over the last couple of months—just close enough to feel like home, just distant enough to keep anyone from labeling it.

Or so you thought.

Pedro clears his throat. “Okay, hypothetical.” He pulls out a carton of eggs, sets it down, then meets your eyes. They’re too warm for hypotheticals. “Let’s say two people… spend an embarrassing amount of time together. They cook, they kiss, they do other things—” You grin. “Extremely hypothetical so far.” He chuckles, but his knuckles drum the countertop. “And this has been going on for, what, seven… eight weeks?” “Ten,” you correct without thinking. Something flickers behind his smile—satisfaction, maybe hope. “Ten. Right. So at what point—” he breaks an eggshell with more force than necessary, yolk slipping into the bowl— “do they talk about what they actually are?”

Your heartbeat stutters. You’ve dreaded this conversation, convinced it would come from you first and break whatever fragile magic you’d been enjoying. Seeing the question in his eyes instead knocks the breath from your lungs.

“What we are?” you echo, stalling for time.

He nods, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Yeah. Because I keep trying to file us under ‘casual,’ but it doesn’t feel like a file big enough anymore.”

You hop down from the counter, suddenly restless, and start lining up two mugs—his chipped Star Wars one and your stolen diner mug. A silly ritual that shouldn’t feel intimate but does. “I like… the way things are,” you offer carefully.

“I do too,” he says, voice low. “But I like you more.” When you glance over, he’s leaning against the stove, hair a little mussed, earnest brown eyes locked on yours. “And I’m starting to think—I don’t know—recipes probably need name labels, but people shouldn’t.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “That’s not how labels work, Pascal.”

He sighs, tipping his head back toward the ceiling like he’s searching for a script up there. “Look, I’m not asking for an essay or matching tattoos. I just…” He steps closer, fingers brushing your wrist as if he can’t help himself. “Sometimes I want to introduce you as my something, and the words get stuck.”

There’s the thrum of rain, the tick of the wall clock, the wild fluttering of your pulse. You’ve protected this almost-relationship because you’ve seen titles ruin things—turning soft colors harsh, casual laughter into expectation. But you’ve also never seen someone tiptoe around your fears so gently.

You lift one shoulder. “What would you want to call me?”

“Depends.” He chews his lip. “Can I audition a few?”

“Audition away.”

He holds up an invisible cue card. “My girlfriend—too high school?” Your cheeks warm. “A bit.” “Partner?” he tries. “Grown-up but sounds like we started a law firm.” You snort. He brightens, encouraged. “Ooh, how about favorite person? Too sappy?” “It’s… adorable,” you admit, heart loosening. He tosses the imaginary card. “Okay, okay. Unpopular opinion: I sorta love girlfriend. I like that it sounds like you got promoted from friend to something secret and cool.”

You stare at him, this man who already knows your coffee order, your allergy to mango, the silly way you hum theme-park tunes when you’re nervous. The word girlfriend used to feel like a cage; now it sounds a little like belonging.

He laces his fingers with yours. “I’m not pushing you,” he murmurs. “I just need to know if we’re going in the same direction, or if I’m the only one who keeps picturing you borrowing my sweats five years from now and yelling at me for forgetting to record whatever prestige series you love.”

“That’s a very specific future,” you tease, voice wobbly.

“I’m a very specific man.” His forehead rests against yours. “So… what are we?”

Your answer tumbles out soft, certain, surprising even you. “I think… we’re two people who made something casual and then kinda accidentally fell into something real.”

He pulls back just enough to search your face. “Accidentally, huh?”

“An unplanned road trip,” you clarify, “where neither of us wants to turn around.”

His grin blooms, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “So… girlfriend?”

You inhale rain-scented air, feel his thumb tracing lazy circles on your wrist, and let the word settle on your tongue like sugar. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Girlfriend.”

Pedro kisses you before the final consonant finishes vibrating in the air—slow, deliberate, like he’s sealing an envelope. His hands cup your jaw; yours fist in the hem of his faded T-shirt, anchoring yourself to this new certainty.

When you finally break apart, he whispers, “Can we celebrate by making ridiculously buttery scrambled eggs and dancing to ‘Sway’ in the living room?”

You laugh, giddy. “That’s how you celebrate?”

“It’s the only way.” He taps your nose. “Stay over tonight?”

“Girlfriend privilege?” you ask, eyebrow arching.

“Exactly. Comes with free coffee in the morning and an illegally comfortable hoodie.”

“Then it’s a deal.” You squeeze his hand. “But tomorrow, I’m auditioning a label for you.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll wear whatever name you pick, mi corazón. As long as it’s tethered to yours.”

Rain keeps drumming, eggs sizzle, and somewhere between the first bite and the last spin across the living-room floor, the word casual vanishes for good—replaced by the quiet certainty of something worth naming, worth keeping, worth growing.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

---

[smutmind]

Shuhua when it doesn't fit if you'd be so kind

When it Doesn't Fit ft Shuhua

Shuhua X BBC The science wing was empty after five. Most students had rushed home. But not Shuhua.

She stayed late, as usual—glasses perched on her nose, her tight white lab coat hugging a petite, curvy frame. She scrawled formulas on her clipboard with purpose. Her black skirt was regulation-short, socks pulled to her knees, and her ponytail bounced with every step.

Marcus was already at the workstation, leaning on the counter, muscles tensed under his rolled-up sleeves.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“You love it when I make an entrance.”

She clicked her pen shut. “We’re supposed to be testing pH levels.”

He glanced at the untouched beakers. “Looks like you had something else in mind.”

Shuhua walked over, heels tapping softly, eyes sharp behind the frames. “You’re stronger than me. Taller. Maybe smarter in some subjects,” she said. “But you don’t know how to handle someone like me.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘someone’ are you?”

“The kind who experiments first,” she said, tossing her clipboard aside. “And takes notes later.”

Her fingers slipped under the hem of his T-shirt, trailing up. “I want to measure something.”

He didn’t resist. Just watched, breath slowing, as she pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Her hands trailed down the planes of his chest, brushing his waistband.

“You okay with this?” she asked.

“Shuhua,” he said quietly, “I want whatever you want.”

She smirked. “Good answer.”

With a practiced flick, she unclasped her own coat, letting it fall open. Her black bra cupped her breasts just right, and when she reached behind and unhooked it, they bounced free, soft and flushed from heat.

Marcus stared, reverent.

“Eyes on the subject,” she said, sliding to her knees in front of him.

She undid his jeans, dragging them down, revealing thick, dark length already pulsing against the fabric of his boxers. Her eyes widened, amused.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “You call this a control sample?”

She pulled him free—long, heavy, thick with heat. She wrapped both hands around the shaft and tilted her head. “I should log this into the system.”

Marcus groaned as her lips parted and she dragged her tongue along the underside.

“I want to see what you taste like when I do this slow,” she said, stroking the base.

She sucked the head into her mouth, teasing him with flicks of her tongue, cheeks hollowing just enough to make it messy. Her glasses slid down her nose as she bobbed deeper, taking her time, letting him throb against her tongue.

His hands stayed back—respectful. But his breathing grew heavier, hips twitching forward as she picked up pace.

“You’re holding back,” she said, breathless. “Don’t. I want the full reaction.”

He grabbed the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as she sucked harder, spit trailing down her chin. She pumped what her mouth couldn’t take, faster now, sloppier.

His body tensed.

“Shuhua—I’m gonna—”

She pulled off just in time, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a wicked smile.

“Not yet,” she said. “Lab work’s not done.”

She stood, pulling off her skirt, revealing black panties soaked through. She turned, bent over the counter, and peeled them down slow.

“You gonna help me test if this thing fits?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Marcus moved behind her, hand sliding along her bare thigh, tracing the curve of her ass. He lined himself up, tip brushing her entrance.

“You sure?” he asked.

She arched, breath hot. “You’ve got permission. Do your worst.”

He pushed in slow—too thick at first. She gasped, bracing herself against the counter as her pussy stretched, inch by inch.

“Holy shit,” she whimpered. “You’re gonna split me in half.”

“You okay?”

“More than okay. Don’t stop.”

He sank deeper, groaning at how tight she felt. Her body clenched around him, walls fluttering. She cried out, one hand flying to grip his forearm.

“You’re so big,” she gasped. “God—it’s too good—”

He rocked into her slow, then faster, hips slapping her ass, the wet sounds echoing off tile and steel.

Shuhua’s moans filled the lab, sharp and gasping. Her glasses fogged. Sweat dripped between her breasts. “Harder, Marcus—fuck—make me forget my name.”

He thrust harder, deeper, until her legs shook and she collapsed over the counter. She came hard, pulsing around him, body locking down as her orgasm slammed through her.

Marcus grunted. “Gonna cum—inside—”

She reached back, pulling him tighter. “Do it,” she cried. “Give me everything.”

He let go.

Hot spurts filled her—pulse after pulse, thick and deep. Shuhua moaned as she felt it paint her walls, dripping down her thighs, pooling inside.

They stood there, panting, skin sticky and flushed.

Best chemical reaction she’d ever seen.

[cxvii666]

“PRETTY VISITORS”

orrrrr a cousin!bakugou!reader x hanta sero college au

“what came first, the chicken or the dickhead?”

.......

“is blasty… laughing?”

they're at their usual place—the shitty student bar downtown. it's too warm, crowded in that way that feels a little sticky—sweaty shoulders brushing yours, music bleeding through the floorboards, every surface just a bit grimy. the air smells like tequila and floor cleaner, and there's a low red glow coming from the shitty neon beer sign above the bar, blinking like it’s tired of existing.

"who, the hell, is that?"

the words leave hanta’s mouth before he can stop them, quiet and suspicious, as he leans forward slightly, squinting across the crowded bar like maybe he’s hallucinating. maybe they all are.

because bakugou is laughing.

not scoffing. not snorting. not giving one of his usual mean little chuckles like he’s already halfway through insulting your bloodline. no. this is different. this is full-blown, chest-shaking, head-thrown-back laughter. obnoxious. loud. bright-eyed. the kind of laugh that says something has actually made him happy, which. obviously. is fucking terrifying.

denki looks like he’s about to faint. his eyes are wide and glassy, clinging to his drink like it’s a lifeline. his hair’s a little sweaty at the roots, sticking to his forehead in little lightning bolts. kirishima’s frozen halfway through sipping his beer, hand hovering in the air like his brain stopped sending signals to his muscles. lips still pressed to the glass. not blinking.

mina’s leaned up against the high-top beside them, one elbow propped on the high-top, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, pink acrylic nails tapping rhythmically against the sticky surface. she’s staring across the bar with the expression of someone watching a plane crash in slow motion—too fascinated to look away, too horrified to speak. her lipgloss catches the neon like a warning sign.

“nah,” denki laughs in disbelief, clutching his beer like a rosary, “nah, i'm done. this ain’t real. we’re in, like, a weird timeline. multiverse type shit, like the batman that smiles thing, i don't like that.”

“he’s laughing with people,” mina adds, voice flat like she’s reporting a crime.

“strangers,” denki breathes.

“one of whom is…” hanta pauses and squints, makes the mistake of looking again. “…really hot.”

silence.

denki's mouth falls open. kirishima blinks, then glances at mina, who’s already raising one eyebrow like she’s clocked something important. the corner of her mouth twitches. she looks like she’s about to start taking bets. hanta immediately regrets all of his life choices.

“i mean—” he stammers trying to salvage it, hands up, half-laughing like maybe he can charm his way out of it, “not like—i didn’t mean it like that—”

“bro,” denki whispers, dead serious, “start writing your will.”

“you don’t know who that is?” kirishima says slowly, like he already knows the answer but is giving him a final chance to save himself.

“should i?”

“you’re joking.” from mina, the words roll off her tongue slowly, sarcastically.

“oooohhh, you’re so dead,” denki snorts, shaking his head as he picks his drink back up already resigning hanta to his fate. “super dead. we’ll use a hot photo as your memorial post, don't worry.”

and that’s when bakugou finally turns.

just a glance. a lazy wave, barely more than a lift of two fingers. casual, like he doesn’t care who’s watching. but the girl next to him—you—you follow his line of sight. turn your head, easy grin still lingering on your lips like you know exactly what just happened and you think it’s so hilarious. you’ve got this kind of light in your eyes that doesn’t match the low bar lighting, this way of standing like the room’s yours even though nobody gave it to you. your hand is still resting on bakugou’s shoulders.

he lets it stay there.

hants’s stomach does something horrible and fluttery. like a bug in a microwave.

“that’s his cousin,” kirishima says, and suddenly it all clicks. “she moved back from osaka a few weeks ago. they're real tight, apparently.”

“tight?” hanta echoes, disbelieving. “how tight? like—tight enough to make him laugh?”

“she’s the only person who’s allowed to talk to him like he’s not a landmine,” kirishima shrugs. “she’s kinda like him. but funnier.”

hanta can't stop staring. at the tilt of your smile, at the way you roll your eyes at something bakugou says and bump your shoulder into his like it’s instinct. like you’ve been doing it your whole life.

“okay,” he mutters. “but like… she is hot, right?”

denki and mina immediately burst into peels of laughter. hanta just groans, rubbing a hand down his face. the two of them together are always like this. loud, stupid, uncaring of social graces or volume control, they feed off of each others chaotic energy like hyaenas.

"someone wanna clue me in on what's so fuckin' funny?" hanta grumbles, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left.

kirishima takes pity and explains, "“y'know that summer you went home for a couple weeks and we went to bakugou's for that barbeque?”

"yeah..."

“well she was there. midoriya too. and she—oh, i don't remember what she said, but it was something like ‘don't get mad at izuku just because he's thriving and you're probably gonna go bald in the next three years.’”

“no, no,” mina cuts in, still giggling, “it was more like, ‘you’re mad because izuku is still young and pretty and i can literally see your bald spot.’”

“either way,” denki says, grinning, “she’s fucking brutal. i thought blasty was gonna cry.”

“ok. so she’s mean. i can handle mean.” hanta nods, slowly, like he’s trying to convince himself that he's got more confidence then he actually has.

“no, she’s not mean,” mina says, thoughtful. “she’s just…”

“—a bitch?” from denki.

“dude…” kirishima winces.

“denki!!!” mina snaps, rolling her eyes. “what have i told you? you can't say that about girls. oh my god.”

“sorry, sorry,” denki says, hands up. “i meant like... she’s just waaay harsh. definitely too much for our boy sero to handle.”

“ok, that is true.” mina and kiri both nod at the same time, traitors to the cause.

“hey, wait a minute,” hanta frowns. “what’s with this sero hate train? you guys think i can’t pull?”

he says it light, like a throwaway comment. like of course his long-time best friends will disagree.

but it’s quiet for a second.

“you guys want another drink?” mina says eventually, looking pointedly at her glass.

“yeah, if you’re buying.” denki perks up instantly.

“yes please,” from kirishima, too chipper.

“seriously??” hanta gapes. “you guys really think i can’t talk to girls?”

“it’s not that you can’t,” kirishima begins carefully, tone gentle. like he’s trying not to step on a landmine. “because, we’ve seen you. don’t worry.”

“slut,” denki coughs into his drink.

“it’s just—well—you’re a bit—” kirishima tries.

“—you’re a massive dickhead,” mina finishes sweetly, not even looking up from the drinks menu.

“oh fuck off.”

that gets a chorus of fake gasps and offended noises from denki and kirishima.

“you’re gonna swear at a lady? really, sero?” mina doesn’t even blink, just raises one brow.

“well,” he says, mock-dramatic, scanning the table, “i don’t see any ladies here.”

mina jabs a sharp fingernail in his direction. “take that back.”

“all we’re saying is,” denki cuts in, trying to ease the tension, “you’re way too smug about it. girls can smell that.”

hanta raises a brow. “and what do they smell on you, sparky? desperation?”

“electromagnetic sex appeal,” denki deadpans, then flashes a shit-eating grin. “google it.”

“google told me you fried your phone charger by trying to flirt with a vending machine,” hanta shoots back.

mina chokes on laughter. kiri wheezes.

“ok, ok,” denki’s already sliding out of the booth, trying to make a break for it. “shut up. let’s go for a smoke before bakugou comes back and ruins the vibe. hanta, i know you’ve got some zaza in that back pocket.”

"fuck you," hanta grumbles.

"promise?" denki smirks.

hanta throws a crumpled napkin at him. they’re still laughing when they push through the crowd, already forgetting what they were arguing about in the first place.

to be continued.....

sorry y'all this came to me in a post shift nap and i had to write and post it out quick before the inspiration left lol

[jessesluvr]

hi, i absolutely love your writing - we need more jesse writers he's so underappreciated! could i please request a jesse x miller! reader, where since getting to jackson she has had quite a strained relationship with joel (maybe she feels pushed out by ellie), but is super close to tommy and maria and has a great relationship with jesse. she unexpectedly falls pregnant, and they decide to keep the baby, but she is super anxious to tell people, and joel doesn't take it well at first. thank you!!

the quiet kind of love | jesse x reader

author's note : hiii ! i hope i did okay ! tysm for requesting ! <3 jesse is so cute and handsome and i just love him sooo much !

summary : you never planned to let jesse in — not when you first arrived in jackson, bruised and guarded, and especially not when he kept showing up with his easy smile and steady presence. but somewhere between quiet patrols, shared silences, and the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours, he became the only place you felt safe — and now, with a secret growing inside you and the weight of telling the people you love, he’s the one holding you together.

word count : 3.1k

you never planned to be close to jesse.

when you first got to jackson — bruised, half-feral, and starving for peace — you’d kept everyone at arm’s length. jesse included. especially jesse.

he was too easy with people. too quick to smile, to joke, to help someone carry their basket from the greenhouse or fix a roof before anyone asked. people like him didn’t make it in the world you grew up in. people like him got killed.

and yet, he made it.

and somehow, you started letting him in.

it started with patrols. you were good — fast, sharp-eyed, smart with a blade. but jesse was reliable. steady. someone who could read your mood with a glance and adjust his pace to match yours. he didn’t talk to fill silences. he didn’t make you explain when you needed quiet.

he just walked beside you. always beside you.

eventually, you found yourself walking beside him when it wasn’t assigned. volunteering to take his shift. checking on his horse in the stables when he couldn’t. bringing him a clean rag for his busted knuckles after a fistfight that wasn’t his fault.

somewhere along the line, people started to notice. tommy. maria. even ellie, who raised her eyebrows every time she caught you handing jesse something and muttering “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

jesse never made a big deal of it.

that’s what made it worse. or better.

or… something.

he let you orbit. let you get close and pull back and close again. no pressure. no expectations.

just — jesse.

and now, standing in the stables while the snow spits against the roof, you try not to admit how much you look forward to these mornings.

you’ve been up since before dawn, already halfway through brushing the saddles when he walks in.

“i was starting to think you’d fallen asleep in there,” you say, not looking up.

jesse leans on the stall wall like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. “you beat me here again.”

“you’re slippin’, jesse.”

he grins. “nah, you’re just trying to make me look bad in front of tommy.”

“i don’t have to try.”

that earns you a low chuckle. he picks up a brush and joins you, like he always does. comfortable. easy.

you both work in silence for a minute. the kind of silence that only exists between people who get each other.

then, casually, “you good?”

your hand stills on the saddle for a second too long.

he notices. of course he does.

“i’m fine,” you say.

“you always say that when you’re not.”

you glance over. he’s not looking at you, just brushing in slow, even strokes.

“it’s joel,” you mutter. “he’s been...distant. worse than usual.”

jesse finally looks up.

“he say something?”

you shake your head. “no. that’s the thing. he doesn’t say anything at all.”

you grab another rag and scrub harder than necessary. “it’s like...since ellie came around, i don’t know. i’m not mad at her. she’s great. i just feel like i got replaced. like there’s no space left for me.”

jesse sets his brush down. he steps closer, nudging your shoulder gently with his.

“joel’s not good at this kind of thing.”

you scoff. “he’s not good at any kind of thing.”

jesse laughs ,full and warm , and your chest loosens just a little.

“he does love you,” jesse says more seriously. “in his own way. you just… you’re too similar. stubborn. guarded. he doesn’t know how to meet you halfway.”

you nod. then shrug.

“i’m tired of trying to reach him first.”

“you shouldn’t have to.”

you look up at jesse. he’s closer than he was a minute ago. that quiet, steady gaze fixed on you.

“you’ve always been enough,” he says, soft. “with or without him.”

it hits deeper than you expect.

so you clear your throat and mutter something about checking feed levels. because if you let him keep looking at you like that, you’ll do something stupid.

like kiss him.

again.

tommy and maria’s place is loud with conversation and quiet music. jesse sits beside you on the couch with his arm over the backrest — casual, but his fingers brush your shoulder every time he shifts. your skin burns under your jacket.

maria’s telling some story about the early days of jackson, and jesse’s laughing along, nodding at all the right places. he fits here.

you want to believe you do, too.

but when joel walks in — late, cold-eyed, shoulders stiff — the warmth in your chest flickers.

he greets ellie with a quiet word, nods at tommy. you? he glances right past.

you set your plate down and excuse yourself.

jesse follows five minutes later.

you’re leaning against the back railing, hands wrapped around a chipped mug. the air bites, but you don’t feel it much.

“he didn’t mean it,” jesse says softly, stepping up beside you.

“i know,” you whisper. “it just still sucks.”

he doesn’t offer advice. just stands next to you, close enough to lean on if you needed it.

you want to tell him that this — he — is the only thing that’s felt right lately. but the words catch in your throat.

so you just bump your shoulder against his.

he bumps back.

two weeks later…

the mornings are colder now. the chill seems to live under your skin.

you haven’t been sleeping well. haven’t been eating right, either. you keep telling yourself it’s the stress.

until the nausea starts.

until your hands shake.

until you miss your second period.

the first time, you didn’t panic. cycles were always irregular, especially under stress. you chalked it up to long patrol shifts and poor nutrition.

the second time, though?

you knew.

you steal a test from the clinic one night after guard shift. walk it out past the main fence, into the greenhouse where no one ever goes unless something needs repairing. you sit on a pile of old crates, hands shaking so badly you almost drop the box.

five minutes later, you’re staring at a thin pink line.

your stomach drops.

you’ve been through a lot in this life — enough that nothing should surprise you anymore.

but this?

this does.

your hand curls protectively around your belly even though nothing’s there to feel yet. just possibility. just everything.

you whisper it like it might not be real.

“i’m pregnant.”

then you breathe out—

“fuck.”

you spend two days rehearsing the words.

each version falls apart in your mouth. jesse, i have something to tell you. jesse, something happened. jesse, you’re going to be a dad.

every attempt sounds wrong. hollow.

because how do you say something like this? how do you break a moment so quiet and safe — this precious little friendship that’s been slowly warming into more — with a truth that might tear it apart?

you’re not scared of jesse.

you’re scared of losing him.

that’s the difference.

you find jesse behind the stables at dusk, repairing one of the loose gates with a hammer and nails that look too big for the job. he’s whistling quietly to himself, something slow and sweet. it’s a sound that usually comforts you.

but tonight, your stomach’s twisted into knots.

he glances up as you approach. his face brightens immediately.

“hey,” he says, wiping his hands on his jacket. “didn’t think i’d see you tonight.”

you open your mouth.

close it.

your heart’s hammering so loudly you can barely hear yourself think.

“i need to talk to you,” you say. “it’s… kind of big.”

jesse straightens up. his smile fades a little, replaced by something more alert. concerned.

“okay. what is it?”

you hesitate.

then, with a breath so sharp it hurts:

“i’m pregnant.”

the words fall into the air like they don’t belong to you.

you brace for silence.

instead, jesse blinks.

then — slowly — his lips part in something that almost looks like awe.

“you’re serious?”

you nod.

and he doesn’t back away. doesn’t freeze. he steps forward, hands gentle, like he’s afraid touching you too fast might break the moment.

“you’re pregnant,” he repeats, softer this time. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — stunned joy, quiet disbelief.

you press your lips together, fighting the panic rising in your chest. “i didn’t plan it. i didn’t know for a while. i didn’t even— i wasn’t sure i should tell you.”

his brows furrow at that. “why wouldn’t you?”

“because it might ruin this. us. and because i know the world’s already hard enough. and i didn’t want you to feel stuck or—”

he cuts you off by reaching out, cupping your face with both hands so gently it makes you ache.

“hey,” he whispers. “hey.”

you stop talking. stop breathing.

his thumbs brush against your cheekbones.

“you’re not ruining anything. you hear me? not even close.”

your eyes burn. he leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“are you okay?” he asks, voice raw with care. “have you been feeling sick? have you been scared, doing this alone?”

a sob claws its way up your throat. you nod helplessly.

“i didn’t want to be,” you whisper. “but i didn’t know how to tell you.”

he presses his lips to your forehead and holds them there. his voice shakes.

“you’re not alone in this. not for one damn second.”

you press your hands against his chest — just to feel something steady. his heartbeat. his warmth.

“i don’t know what to do,” you whisper again. “i don’t even know if i’ll be good at this.”

“you will,” he says, without hesitation. “you’ll be fucking amazing.”

you look up at him — and that’s when you see it:

his eyes are wet.

he’s smiling through it.

“i didn’t expect this,” he says, “but… i think i already love them. and i love you.”

you suck in a breath.

it’s the first time he’s said it.

you open your mouth to speak — but he’s already pulling you into his chest, burying his face in your neck, holding you like you’re both breakable and the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

“i’m scared too,” he murmurs. “but i want this. i want you. i want us.”

you close your eyes.

and for the first time in weeks, you feel something settle in your chest.

hope.

you’ve had nightmares that felt easier than this.

even now, even with jesse’s arms around you the night before — even after he kissed your forehead and promised, “whatever happens, we’re in it together” — the panic still simmers just beneath your ribs.

you sit outside joel’s house on the bench beside the woodpile, staring at your hands like they hold a map you can’t read.

you’re not sure how long you sit there.

the door creaks open.

you don’t look up until his boots are on the stairs.

joel pauses, brow furrowed. he’s holding a mug of coffee. his eyes sweep over you in that quiet, unreadable way he always has.

“you waitin’ for me?”

your voice is a whisper. “yeah.”

he nods once, sets the mug down on the porch rail. doesn’t sit.

just looks at you, hands in his coat pockets, stiff and wary.

it’s already hard.

“i need to talk to you,” you say.

“you alright?”

you shake your head.

“not really.”

he tenses. “did something happen?”

you draw in a slow, trembling breath.

“there’s no easy way to say this. so i’m just going to.”

a pause.

“i’m pregnant.”

joel stares at you.

still. silent.

then he looks away.

you see it happen — not anger, not sadness, but something darker, colder. something shuttering.

“is it jesse’s?”

you swallow. “yeah.”

his jaw tightens. he turns away from you completely, facing the road, hands clenched.

and it’s worse than you imagined. because he doesn’t shout. he doesn’t argue. he just shuts down.

you speak again, desperate to fill the space.

“i didn’t plan this. i didn’t want to hide it. i just— i was scared. i know we haven’t—” you stop yourself. “things between us haven’t been easy.”

joel doesn’t move.

you rise to your feet. you’re shaking.

“i didn’t want to disappoint you.”

he finally turns — and when he looks at you, his expression is sharp.

“you think that’s what this is about?”

“i think you’ve barely looked at me since we got to jackson,” you snap, voice cracking. “i think you’ve been trying so hard to be ellie’s dad you forgot you already had a kid.”

the second the words leave your mouth, you regret them.

joel flinches like he’s been struck.

and then the mask cracks.

“you think that was easy?” he growls, stepping forward. “you think it was simple? i was tryin’ to protect all of you—her, you—”

“you left me behind,” you say. “over and over.”

silence.

he stares at you.

and for the first time, you see it: guilt. raw and unfiltered.

“i didn’t know how to do both,” he says finally. “didn’t know how to fix what i broke with you. wasn’t sure you wanted me to try.”

you wipe at your eyes, furious.

“i wanted you to care.”

“i do.”

you laugh — short and bitter.

“now? or because i’m pregnant?”

joel’s expression flickers again — pain, this time. real.

and you finally hear what he doesn’t say. that he’s scared. that he thinks he’s already lost you.

“i’m not asking for you to be happy,” you say, quieter. “i just want you to understand. jesse and i… we’re doing this together. we’re keeping it. and you can either be in their life or not. but i’m not apologizing for it.”

he breathes out — slow, shaky.

and then, quietly:

“does he love you?”

you blink.

“yes.”

joel nods once. slowly. like it hurts to do it.

“then you’ll be okay.”

you don’t cry until you’re in jesse’s arms.

he finds you just outside the dining hall, ducked into the alley, hands gripping your knees. he doesn’t say a word. just crouches, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you against his chest.

you sob into his shirt.

“i told him,” you whisper.

he presses a kiss to your temple.

“how’d it go?”

“i don’t know,” you choke. “he didn’t yell. just looked… like i’d ripped something open.”

jesse holds you tighter.

“maybe you did,” he says softly. “but maybe it needed to be.”

you breathe against him, trembling.

“do you think he’ll come around?”

“i think he loves you more than he knows how to show. and i think that kind of love’s hard to kill.”

you don’t say anything.

but you believe him.

you do.

the next day…

joel shows up at your door at dawn.

you open it bleary-eyed, wearing jesse’s shirt.

he clears his throat awkwardly.

“don’t mean to wake you.”

you step aside. “you didn’t.”

he hands you something.

you blink down at it — a small wooden carving, rough around the edges. a rabbit. the kind dad used to make for you when you were little.

your throat tightens.

joel shrugs.

“thought maybe they’d want one.”

you look up at him, heart thudding.

and for the first time in what feels like years, he looks at you — really looks at you — and says:

“i’m gonna try harder. if you’ll let me.”

you nod.

and something broken finally starts to mend.

the first person who officially finds out — without accidentally overhearing or figuring it out by vibe — is maria.

you’re not even the one to tell her.

you walk into the stables mid-morning and she’s there already, arms crossed, talking with a patrol lead about broken stirrups. when she sees you and jesse walk in together — your hand in his, his hoodie draped over your shoulders — her eyes narrow like she’s solving a murder.

then her gaze drifts ever so subtly to your stomach.

you swear under her breath, she murmurs: “oh for fuck’s sake. i knew it.”

jesse grins. “hey, maria.”

“you couldn’t have waited a month before glowing like that?” she mutters. then, without missing a beat: “congratulations. you’re both insane.”

you open your mouth — no idea what to say.

but then she walks over, squeezes your arm with surprising gentleness, and adds, “if you need extra rations, you come to me. no questions.”

you blink. “you’re not mad?”

“i was fifteen when i got pregnant the first time,” she says. “this place was a hell of a lot less safe back then. if i can do it, you sure as hell can.” then, more quietly: “and jesse’s not tommy, but he’s close enough.”

you blink at her.

she smirks. “that’s a compliment.”

jesse beams. “i’ll take it.”

you find yourself walking hand in hand with jesse along the main street, warm tea in one hand and his fingers threaded through the other. the gossip’s already spreading. you’ve seen the looks. heard the whispers.

but surprisingly, they’re not cruel. just... excited. curious.

“did you hear jesse knocked her up?”

“honestly, they’re kinda perfect. i mean, annoying. but perfect.”

“i thought she hated him.”

“no, that was foreplay.”

everything shifts a little.

tommy insists you and jesse move into a cabin on the south side of town — something “quieter, with real insulation,” he says. you can tell it’s his version of being protective. he’s the only one who calls you “kid” still, even as he hauls lumber for the crib jesse is trying (and failing) to build by hand.

you catch joel standing on your porch once, just staring down at the wood.

you don’t ask what he’s thinking.

but when he sees you through the window, he just gives a nod — slow, almost respectful — and walks away.

later, jesse wraps his arms around your waist from behind and murmurs, “he’s trying.”

and you nod. because he is.

and for now, that’s enough.

he reads books now.

actual books — found in the old school library, dusty and yellowing, titles like the pregnancy guide for expectant dads and what to expect when you’re completely freaking out.

he reads out loud sometimes. especially the ridiculous parts.

“‘in the second trimester, your partner may experience increased mood swings, cravings, and emotional sensitivity—’ oh. so nothing’s changed.”

you hit him with a pillow. “asshole.”

but he just laughs and kisses your cheek.

he’s built shelves. painted the crib. brought back tiny booties from a trade run like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

you catch him talking to your stomach once when he thinks you’re asleep.

“i don’t know what kinda world you’re coming into,” he whispers. “but i promise, we’re gonna make it better. for you. for her.”