#of course she is! she's been living her life for thirty years! she lost a husband! she raised a child! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 10 months ago

Text

I know what they call you.

You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you. shy!reader

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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lisired · 7 months ago

Text

supermodel

pairing: photographer!haechan x (f) model!reader

genre/warnings: smut, angst, hollywood!au, photographer!haechan, model!reader, descriptions of vomiting, fluff, unsolicited comments, mentions of alcohol use (not while expectant)

summary: Five years ago, you left your hometown and ex to recreate your identity in California. Now, you're a staple of the fashion industry and on the front cover of magazines everywhere. Your hard work has paid off, but when you realize that you might be pregnant, you have to decide whether you want to be a full-time model or a full-time mother.

word count: 23k

a/n: at last, here she is! thank you for your patience, i know it was a long wait. this is a sequel to love jones. as always, feedback is appreciated!

Smiling from ear to ear, the giddy butterflies in the pit of your stomach just wouldn’t leave. Given that they’d been there for five years, it was safe to assume they never would.

Five years of romance. To celebrate, you and your boyfriend decided on cooking your own dinner at home. Your boyfriend was not an attentive cook (a couple of distracted incidents and he was strictly prohibited and sidelined from food preparation duties) which made the night both fun and a nightmare.

When Haechan asked you for dinner suggestions, you were very adamant that you wanted lobster. Which surprised him, given that you’d been to a handful of seafood restaurants and you never expressed a taste for lobster, though he reckoned you wanted to be fancy for your five-year anniversary.

“Baby,” you whined. “Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?”

“It’s hot because you’re here,” Haechan flirted in a heartbeat. Some things never changed.

You rolled your eyes, whining, “Seriously. Aren’t you about to burn up? I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Only thing I feel like I might die of is hypothermia. If anything, it’s kinda cold to me, baby.”

You frowned, finding that questionably odd. You had already taken off his insulating leather jacket, left in nothing but a tank top, and you didn’t want to remove any other layers in fear of getting lobster juice all over yourself. Maybe it was a metabolism thing.

Haechan pointed to your wine glass with his own. “Aren’t you going to drink that? You always want wine.”

Glancing down, you noticed your filled wine glass that you had hardly touched. Even when you were out celebrating with your agent and a couple of other staff, you declined the offer for wine. Your agent was shocked. She knew you loved to get wine drunk. “Not really in the mood.”

If your boyfriend thought that something was out of the ordinary, he didn’t say anything.

After a while, you started to forget about your suspicious behavior. Time quickly lost its meaning as you chatted with Haechan, running your mouths like the two people who never shut up that you were. To this day you still perfectly matched each other’s energy. Five years down, a lifetime left to go.

You were twenty-six now, Haechan twenty-eight. Though your grandmother liked to joke that you were catching up to her, sometimes you didn’t feel like you were pushing thirty. Notably when you were with Haechan. His ability to make you feel like a teenager in love needed to be studied.

In those five years, not only had you developed your relationship with the love of your life, but you also made your name known within the industry. Of course, your success wasn’t without a couple of setbacks and near career-ending allegations, but you somehow came out on top in the end.

Haechan also had a lucrative career. From being hired to take pictures of lowkey performers on tour to becoming a chief photographer with his own studio that worked with wealthy media moguls, he had obviously come extremely far. And he was only getting more popular amongst affluent patrons.

All in the span of five years. You never would have guessed. Five years ago, you lived in a condo downtown. Now, you lived in a comfortable house with Haechan and you couldn’t be happier.

Out of nowhere, you started to feel as if you were going to be sick. You stood from the table, muttering “bathroom” when your boyfriend tossed you a baffled look.

Haechan let you be. He figured you just had to pee. You were doing that more often for whatever reason.

Though you tried to be indifferent about the sudden involuntary motions in your stomach, you were quick to make a beeline for the bathroom in fear of vomiting all over the floor.

You headed straight for the toilet and kneeled on the floor, bracing your hands on the seat while you retched and dry-heaved into the bowl. Your mouth felt almost painfully dry afterwards and all you could taste was the scorching feeling of bile.

This was absolutely ridiculous and you didn’t understand what was happening to you. Though you weren’t particularly a fan of lobster, you could usually handle seafood. Maybe having Haechan help you cook wasn’t the smartest idea.

Speak of the devil, he called from the other side of the door, “Baby, you good in there?”

“Uh, no,” you muttered just loud enough for his ears.

Haechan’s voice sounded alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Wincing at the sight of greenish-yellow vomit, you flushed the toilet and stood to vigorously wash your hands. “I kinda threw up.”

“What? Was it something you ate? Baby, I love your cooking, but I’ve been trying to tell you that all that butter is not good for your stomach.”

“I really don’t think that’s the problem,” you droned irritably.

Haechan joked, “What - are you pregnant or something?”

Something about those words made you freeze right in the middle of drying your hands with paper towels. Pregnant, you realized. It was all coming back to you. Haechan fucked you raw not too long ago. And you couldn’t remember the last time you had a period.

Silence was never a good thing for either of you and the worry was evident in Haechan’s voice. “Baby, you’re not actually pregnant. Right?”

Your eyes were wide as you exclaimed, “I don’t know!”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you said shakily.

The door opened, Haechan revealing himself. He was quick to notice the panic on your face and grabbed your hand in his, crooning, “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You inhaled a deep breath through your nose, exhaling one large puff of air. “Okay, remember I had my IUD removed?”

Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Uh huh.”

“And then I went off the pill because they were giving me migraines,” you added frantically.

“Yeah, so we started using condoms.”

“Right,” you said, nodding your head. “But that one time we ran out…”

Haechan continued, “And you begged me to fuck you anyway?”

“That’s not the point,” you hissed. “The point is we had sex without a condom, I don’t remember having a period, and now I’m puking everywhere.”

“Well, if two plus two equals four…,” Haechan trailed.

You snapped, “Can you be serious for once?”

Haechan grabbed your wrist, kissing the back of your hand tenderly to console you. “I am being serious. I think we should buy a pregnancy test or ten. Just to be certain.”

You reminded, “It’s late. All the pharmacies are closed.”

“Then, we go first thing tomorrow,” was Haechan’s solution.

His touches were enough to ease your mind for a little. You nodded in acceptance, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. This was a frightening moment and you were glad that you weren’t alone.

As soon as the following day, you and Haechan were on your way to a local pharmacy on his motorbike. His red motorbike, might you add. Though the sleek black one was directly involved in a number of good memories, one too many stunts had maimed her. You surprised him with another one for his birthday last year and he fell in love without a second thought.

The pharmacy was busy at this hour. Though Haechan’s suggestion of getting ten pregnancy tests was somewhat dramatic, you did make sure to grab a couple packs of two. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

You rushed to the bathroom the second you were back home, telling Haechan you would be back after a moment to tell him the results. You were clear that he waited outside the door. Your brain amassed hectic thought after hectic thought and it was driving you crazy.

Over the next couple of minutes, you sat antsily on the toilet lid and waited. According to the instructions on the box, your fate would be decided in as little as a few minutes. If you waited too long, your results could display inaccuracies.

You were just so scared. If you were pregnant, that could change everything. Your nerves were worked and you could feel the stress in your shoulders as much as you tried to feign a semblance of order.

When the three minutes were up, you braced yourself with one big breath and found the courage to check the lines.

You sucked in a breath. Not a single one was negative.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Haechan asked frantically, leaning against the door. This was just as nerve-racking for him as it was for you.

“They’re positive,” you exclaimed. “All four of them!”

That was Haechan’s cue to open the door, immediately grabbing a hold of you. You looked like your weight would drop to the floor any second now. “Okay, babe. Breathe,” he whispered.

You braced your hands on the counter. “I can’t. This is too much.”

“Sit,” Haechan said, holding you steadily in his arms. Like hell he would let you go in a time like this.

You sat on the fluffy toilet lid again, your head spinning. Nothing could describe how light your limbs felt in that moment. Or your head.

“There’s a one percent chance they’re wrong,” Haechan told you in reminder.

You shook your head. “Really? You think all four of them are wrong?”

Haechan took your tone in stride. “That’s not what I said. What I meant is I think you should contact your doctor. We can’t be too sure.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that logic. It was the obvious thing to do. The second you calmed down enough to speak without shaky breath you called your health care provider and scheduled an appointment with your physician.

In a couple of days, you met with your primary physician, Haechan insisting that he wanted to be there. You made no argument. This baby was his just as much as it was yours and he made it a point to remind you that he wanted to be a part of every second.

For half an hour, the nurse's kind words in between constant beeps as she asked you for medical information was all you heard while your thoughts waged war. Even the faint chatter from the small TV mounted in the corner of the room didn’t register.

Footsteps jolted you out of your thoughts for a moment and you were a little more at ease when your doctor finally entered the patient room. There was a fleeting, kind greeting and she recounted your concerns as you’d briefed them over the phone just to be sure she was correct.

It was the most tense moment of your life. Had you not been holding Haechan’s fingers with one hand and bracing the chair with the other, you would have been chewing your nails.

After a couple of non-invasive tests, a suspenseful few minutes, and a transvaginal prenatal ultrasound, it was concluded that you were seven weeks pregnant. The whole room was reeling. Your doctor told you that she would have to run a few scans to ensure that you weren’t exposed to a high-risk pregnancy, but you could decide within two weeks if you wanted to terminate through medication.

Not only were you seven weeks pregnant, but seven weeks pregnant with dizygotic twins. Non-identical, your doctor explained. If you preferred, you could come back in three weeks to determine the sex.

“Twins,” you rasped. “Two babies. Wow.”

Sitting in your car, you gripped the seatbelt with your life. Haechan insisted that you take your car instead of his bike considering that you were more than likely pregnant, and since he didn’t know the risks associated with pregnant mothers on a motorbike, he decided it was better to play it safe.

Though your doctor revealed that minimum travel within the first few months of your pregnancy was generally not a threat unless you were going a lengthy distance. Much to your boyfriend’s happiness.

It was quiet while you two sat in the parking lot, save for the Mark Lee song playing faintly on the radio. He was grammy-nominated now.

There was a long pause before you could speak. Haechan was the same, looking paler than usual. You almost couldn’t breathe. Your head was still stuck in that neutral-toned hospital room and the scent of antiseptics still wafted through your nostrils.

The whole parking lot was upside down as you fretted, “I’m pregnant. Oh my god. Wow. I’m pregnant!”

“Hey,” Haechan started, reaching over the center console and grabbing your hands in his. There was another pause before he continued speaking. “We’re pregnant.”

Your eyes flickered. Then, you burst into laughter. That was the last thing you expected him to say.

Haechan was grinning, glad that he could make you laugh even if it was just for a moment. Your doctor was clear that stress was very harmful for the kids. “I’m serious!”

“Okay,” you replied. Though you were still giggling. “We’re pregnant.”

“You better know.”

You sighed, leaning against the door window. The ultrasound displayed not one, but two tiny embryos currently sharing your uterus. And they were only growing.

Handing the ultrasound to Haechan, you let it all sink in, starting, “When I was twenty-one, pregnancy was the last thing on my agenda. Jae wanted to slow down, but I didn’t want to stop. I was just getting started. I mean, I still am, it’s only been five years.”

Haechan flinched at the mention of your ex. It was rare that you brought him up in conversation. For good reason. “And you’ve still accomplished so much.”

“Yeah, but I wanna accomplish more. If I have a baby, I have to take a break from the grind to be a mother. And god forbid I let somebody else raise my kids,” you grumbled.

Haechan quickly saw what the problem was. “Okay, baby, stop. This isn’t the end. You’re pregnant, but that doesn’t mean you become my housewife and die. I wouldn’t ever try to put the brakes on you.”

“I know, but…”

“Listen,” he said. “We can always make more babies another time. Your life isn’t over.”

You huffed, “I have, like, four years before that ship sails and it’s in god’s hands.”

“Anything could happen in four years.”

You heaved another breath. “True,” you replied. Even two years from now you could decide that you wanted to settle down.

It just felt like there was so much at stake. You were a model, for fuck’s sake. Very much a celebrity. Not only did you love your job and having two babies mean you would have less time to devote to yourself, but everyone would be watching them the same way they watched you.

When you went out, there was guaranteed to be a camera not far behind. You couldn’t even get lunch with a friend without being borderline stalked wherever you went. Masks and disguises barely helped.

Anybody that was a friend of yours was a friend of the media. Your whole life was on the internet and there was always a magnifying glass being held close to your face. Every second of your life you were being examined and judged by people who didn’t even know you. Expectations were a constant weight on your shoulders.

“If I have these kids, I don’t want them to grow up in the eyes of the media,” you started sternly. “I subject myself to judgment and scrutiny every day I step out of my house. Babies don’t deserve that.”

Haechan bobbed his head in agreement. “Then, I watch them. And if I’m busy, then we get a babysitter.”

You huffed, “And trust a stranger with our child?”

The look of horror on Haechan’s face immediately declined that offer. “I’ve got family here. We can pay my cousin or something. Look, baby, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

You squeezed his hand, stifling tears. There was so much weight on your heart. It was almost suffocating until you remembered that you weren’t alone.

For the next couple of weeks, you mulled the decision over. You didn’t tell anyone that you were pregnant - not even your grandmother or Haechan’s parents, who referred to themselves as your in-laws, even though you and Haechan weren’t married.

That thought tickled something in your brain. Marriage, you hypothesized. And a family. Deep down inside, it was something you always wanted, but you never knew when. You always figured the day would come where you would just know.

That day had come.

It isn’t the end of the world, you consoled, having had time to be reasonable with yourself. You were far enough in your career where it wouldn’t weaken your income if you took some time to be lowkey. Haechan, the brainiac that he was, even suggested you endorse baby products.

Everything felt so earth-shattering to you that you’d been confused into thinking weighing your options meant you only had one choice. Your mind was quick to wander, wondering if that was a symptom of carrying a developing baby.

You breathed easier when it finally hit you that you didn’t have to choose between the career you loved and starting a family with the man you loved. Because you wanted both and you would have both. Even if it was in moderate amounts.

At ten weeks, you were back in the doctor’s office to determine the sex of your babies. Haechan was hoping for boys while you were hoping for girls. Imagine your shock when Doctor Stakes congratulated you on carrying a boy and girl.

By the end of the first trimester, you decided that you would be keeping the babies and your career. Haechan was both over the moon and a little anxious knowing that he would be a first-time father. Neither of you knew what you were doing and that made it as scary as it was exciting.

Still, nobody knew. Outside of your symptoms, it wasn’t too obvious. Your baby bump wasn’t very big yet.

“No smoking, no drinking, no hot tubs or saunas, moderate caffeine intake, no raw seafood,” you grumbled, recalling Doctor Stakes’ very detailed explanations of what was and was not healthy during your pregnancy.

“Well,” Haechan started, plopping down on your shared mattress. “She did say we could still have lots of sex.”

You immediately rolled your eyes. “I believe her exact words were sex will not hurt our babies as long as my pregnancy is without health complications and I don’t start to experience bleeding, high blood pressure, and premature contractions.”

Haechan gently grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap, retorting, “You look fine to me. How do you feel?”

“Good,” you sighed, getting comfortable on his thighs. “Different, but not bad different. Good.”

Haechan leaned into your ear and purred, “Which translates into good for lots of sex.”

You playfully hit him, pretending to be irritated. You knew he was only kidding. Kind of.

Doctor Stakes was straightforward but thorough in her explanations, walking you through the route of pregnancy with more than a couple of recommendations prioritizing the best potential health of you and your unborn babies. She said that sex was perfectly fine during the first five through six months. Something about your babies being cushioned by your abdomen and amniotic sac fluid.

Whatever the hell that is, you remembered thinking. She also suggested you enroll in a parenting class just so that you knew what to expect. It was not rare for first-time parents to take them and they were apparently super helpful.

It seemed strict, but you knew it was best for your children’s development, especially in the early stages. Though you would miss the freedom of your old life. “I kind of miss alcohol just because I can’t have it.”

“I’m not giving you any,” Haechan said, voice stern.

You snorted. “I wasn’t asking. I’m not an idiot. It’s just… this is my life now. It’s gonna be hard.”

Kissing your cheek tenderly, Haechan replied, “Well, if you can’t drink, I won’t drink either.”

That surprised you and you wanted to know if he was joking or not. “Seriously?”

“Duh,” Haechan said. “Like I said, we’re pregnant. Anything you can’t have, shit, I can’t have it either. I guess we’re both abstaining.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, though you liked the idea of him doing it anyway. It made your heart flutter.

Haechan shrugged. “Yeah, but I would feel like a dickhead for enjoying things that I know you can’t have right in your face. Besides, my liver is probably screaming ‘thank god.’”

You snickered, bringing your lips to his. That turned you on. You couldn’t even explain it. There was just something so hot and attractive about the words leaving his mouth and you decided you wanted him.

Letting your eyes flutter closed, you quickly tangled yourself in thoughts of him and him only; like a stimulant that only got more lethal with every hit. Sometimes it did feel that way. Like pleasure of this magnitude was too mind-numbing to be free.

Innocent touches became gestures of desperation. Haechan kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, hands zipping to your tender breasts while you looped your arms around his neck. He somehow only got better at kissing. You didn’t even know how that could happen.

Almost like you brought out the best in each other.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes snapping open.

Haechan instantly noticed and was quick to halt his actions in case he was causing you discomfort. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just my boobs… They’re a little sore.”

Haechan chirped, “Nothing I can’t take care of.”

You giggled when he carefully lowered your weight onto the bed, lifting your shirt above your head and quickly getting rid of your bra. A moan left you when he caught a nipple in his mouth, gently kneading the other one in his hand.

There was something so addictive about the feeling of your boyfriend’s warm mouth on your body. You couldn’t help but exhale and moan, just comforted by the fact that he was supplying you warmth. His hands wandered, too, always soft and tender. Whatever moisturizer he was using was doing god’s work.

“Babe,” you sighed out. Both your mind and body were relaxed and that was exactly what you needed, all things considered.

His tongue passed over your erect nipples, feeling them harden at his touch. Your boyfriend’s goal was to make you feel completely worshiped and he was doing a great job, for lack of a better word. Given that you were the one responsible for carrying and birthing two babies, he concluded that god could only be a woman.

But you were getting way too worked up and it was driving you to the edge. “Baby,” you called. “I want more.”

There was an erotic wet sound when Haechan pulled away from your boobs. “Are you sure? I was just kidding about the whole sex thing earlier.”

“No you weren’t.”

“No I wasn’t.”

You snorted. Classic Haechan.

Haechan quickly sobered again, whispering, “But I still wanna make sure this is what you want.”

You appreciated his concern, but the longer you waited, the quicker the heat pulsed between your legs and you couldn’t shake it anymore. “Haechan, I literally could not be more sure when I say I need your cock inside me.”

King of playing it cool that he was, Haechan pretended that those words weren’t like throwing gasoline on a field of already blazing thoughts. At least until he got inside you. Then, he had no thoughts. Brain empty. And he couldn’t help but bare his soul to you.

Pussy made him talk. There was absolutely nothing that he could hide when he was balls deep inside you.

Haechan shifted between your thighs, thanking god that you decided to wear a skirt today. His patience was wearing thin by the second and knowing how much you wanted him only strengthened his need.

You could only feel your heart thumping and his body heat wafting over you. Other things seemed so much smaller and irrelevant than they were.

Your panties came off with a yank and your glistening folds had Haechan’s undivided attention. “Shit, you’re so wet. I didn’t even do anything,” he said marvelously.

“Shut up,” you huffed, though it wasn’t sincere. Little things about him being committed to being a father turned you on. He didn’t understand how scary it was to be alone.

Haechan chuckled. “As you wish.”

You knew it wouldn’t be too long before he opened his mouth again and you weren’t complaining.

Overcome with want and the need to do something, you lifted yourself up and crawled towards Haechan to help him undress his pants down his legs. Haechan let you do as much, but the second his bare cock was out, he was gently pushing you back down.

You pouted, lips tucking out. “I wanna do something.”

When you were comfortably on your back, Haechan started to rub his cock. “No,” he said, borderline teasing. “You can lay here and let me take care of you.”

His cock had your attention, your eyes fixed to how hard he was. “Okay.”

Haechan parted your legs again, gentler than typical. “On the plus side,” he started, holding his dick between your thighs. “I can’t get you pregnant if you’re already pregnant.”

You quipped, “That’s actually not impossible. Something called superfetation. I heard about it a couple of months ago after searching on Google for too long. It’s super rare, though. Don’t worry.”

“I am about to superfetate this pussy,” Haechan groaned, obnoxious.

“You’re turning me off.”

Haechan laughed.

After a moment of coating himself in your wetness and hearing your soft moans, Haechan decided he couldn’t take it anymore and slowly penetrated you. His jaw unhitched, more than a couple of sounds escaping him.

You weren’t any better. He just made you feel so full. You liked when he made it seem like it was only the two of you and you existed for each other.

Haechan was painfully hard inside you and desperate to move, though not before he said without room for argument, “Tell me if you want me to stop or if it hurts.”

You simply just nodded. There was nothing you wouldn’t do if it got him to fuck your brains out.

Then, Haechan started to move. His hands were on your hips, serving as an anchor so that he wouldn’t lose himself completely as he drowned in your wet pussy. In a similar manner, you braced your hands on his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life.

You were gazing at Haechan with one fatal combination of love and lust. They couldn’t be separated. Not after all the things that had been done and all the words that had been said. All you knew was that you had bared your body to him in the same way you’d bared your heart.

“Baby, don’t stop,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop.” There was a pressure building inside the walls wedged between your legs and it only came out when he was steadily rocking his hips into you.

The whole room suddenly seemed a thousand degrees hotter and Haechan couldn’t breathe, exhaling loudly with labored breath. He couldn’t take that your pussy was so warm and tight, grumbling, “Fuck,” in between moans, smacking his hips into yours uncontrollably.

For a half second, you made eye contact with Haechan, just before he was sucking at the pulse on your collarbone and you couldn’t help but cry out his name, his chest creating friction against yours just enough to not be uncomfortable.

Haechan willed himself not to tighten his grip at the arc of your hips for the sheer reason that he didn’t want to hurt you. Not only did he not want to hurt you any more than you asked for, but the reminder that his children were growing inside your belly made him treat you like you were fragile.

He wanted to ask you to marry him, but he was terrified that it was way too soon. This pregnancy wasn’t even planned. You would probably have a heart attack if he asked for your hand in marriage. He was no stranger to being chided for moving too quickly, though it was just his nature.

Little did he know, you loved that about him. He could come off too strong sometimes, but beneath his fast jumps to get started was a zealous boy with big hopes for the future.

“I love you,” Haechan whispered, lips brushing against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his again. “I love you. You’re my everything.”

“You’re my everything and then some,” Haechan flirted.

“You’re my everything and everything in between.”

Haechan started, “You’re my everything and…”

All it took was a kiss to the lips to effectively shut him up, grabbing his head and steering him closer to you. Like you weren’t already skin to skin. You sucked his tongue in your mouth, moaning at how his cock hit your sweet spot.

You were just so consumed by him - entirely. Though you knew that there was no closer the two of you could be, you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

Haechan’s hands wandered up to grab a handful of your breasts, gently squeezing the soft skin in his palms. He couldn’t get enough of the way you panted and sighed at his touch. There was no need for oxygen when he had you and he kissed you breathlessly until he thought he was going to die.

Haechan exhaled with his mouth hanging open, “You cheated.” His lips were perfectly swollen, the sight winning a smile out of you.

You giggled.

With how your walls were kneading and gushing around his cock, Haechan knew that he wouldn’t last. His mouth watered at the thought of coming inside you since it had been so long ago. That one time just short of two months ago excluded, obviously. Though he hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But first and foremost Haechan wanted to get you off and he steered a hand between your legs, thumbing your clit. You squirmed instantly, sensitive.

Little moans of his name kept escaping from your lips. “Haechan, I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” you warned, though rocked your hips into his to match his pace. The pleasure was different from before and the intimacy was even more intense.

Haechan chuckled breathlessly, staving off his orgasm for as long as he could. “That’s the point, baby.”

There was a resoundingly wet squelch as Haechan continued to bulldoze his cock into your cunt, breezing through the air. Your hands flew to your face as you covered yourself, embarrassed, but he pulled them away just as quick. “Don’t hide.”

“Don’t you hear that? I’m embarrassed,” you blurted.

Haechan shook his head, peering down at you with misty eyes, and growled, “Sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You were breathless. Haechan silenced you by capturing your lips in one incapacitating kiss and you swore your heart stopped beating for a second.

He made it too easy to forget. Forget the all-consuming worries of eventual childbirth. The threat of kissing everything you’d ever known and wanted goodbye. And the fear of raising a child that might end up making the same mistakes as you.

No words left your mouth as you parted your lips in a silent scream, trembling with the pressure of orgasm. You were a total disaster - you couldn’t stop moving, shaking and grinding yourself onto him even as your orgasm aggressively passed.

Your orgasm ripped the soul out of you without leaving anything behind in a merciless act of overkill and you only slacked onto the mattress when it felt completely over. You heaved for breath, almost like you would never breathe again. You had never felt anything so vigorously. Every thought vacated your brain.

Haechan was obviously not far behind - if the frequent pitched moans you were milking out of him were any indication - and you were borderline begging him to fill you again. This was a different strain of desperation than the kind that got you pregnant. This was more lethal.

Your walls were pulsing around him and Haechan couldn’t take it, hissing your name when he came with a sharp cry. His hips didn’t still until he rode out his high, both of you moaning in a delighted sync when his cum dripped.

“Fuck,” Haechan sighed, finally noticing how fast his heart was pounding against his chest.

You started, “That was…”

“Intense,” Haechan finished.

You nodded in agreement. Though it was enjoyable nonetheless.

The two of you just sat there and wallowed in the afterhighs of sex for a bit. You were too exhausted to move and Haechan didn’t want to leave you alone. He spooned you in his arms for a total of fifteen minutes while the two of you chatted incessantly until you decided you finally had mustered enough strength.

Time was a blur when Haechan helped you to your feet - not that you needed it yet - and led you to the bathroom where he proceeded to run the shower for both of you. After playfully washing each other’s backs, you went back to the bedroom clad in nothing but towels.

For once, it was comfortably silent when you slipped back into bed. Then, to your surprise, Haechan started to cry. You gasped, “You’re crying!”

Hot tears stung Haechan’s eyes. Few things brought him to literal tears. He was just so over-thrilled to be the father of your babies. “Yeah.”

You cradled his face in your hands, kissing his lips. “We’re making two babies. We’re going to be parents. For the next eighteen years, they’re going to be our most paramount priority.”

Haechan knew that. You weren’t the only one that was going to be taking a step back from the grind, at least until you both grew a little more familiar with the parenting life. His decreased hours were non-negotiable and it helped that he was one of the co-owners.

Not only was he going to be a father, but he needed to take time to be an even more devoted partner to you. Both of you were responsible for these children and the very last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were carrying the weight by yourself.

Wiping the tears out of his blurry eyes, Haechan said, “I can’t believe you let a guy like me get you pregnant.”

You furrowed your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m not exactly the type of dude people look at and go ‘he’s going to make an incredible father.’”

You liked that Haechan was being vulnerable with you. He started doing it more often ever since he realized that his indifference could drive you away. His feelings were deeper than he tended to lead on. When it came to you, he was an open book.

“You’re going to make an incredible father. There. I said it,” you whispered.

Haechan smiled, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. That was all he needed to hear.

At sixteen weeks, your baby bump still wasn’t protruding even though you were definitely carrying twins. Doctor Stakes reassured you that everybody’s journey was different and your pregnant belly very well might not pop up until the end of the second trimester.

And since you hadn’t announced that you were pregnant (you were conflicted), you working was still fully expected. Nobody asked questions. You considered yourself pretty damn slick.

That was, until your agent knocked on your trailer while the crew were breaking. She was a down-to-earth, middle-aged woman named Patricia.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting her inside. “Something wrong?”

Shutting the trailer door with a thud (this particular company tended to have faulty trailer doors), Mrs. Patricia shook her head gently. “Not particularly. I was curious about something and I wanted to speak with you woman to woman.”

That had your undivided attention. You set down the water bottle you’d been gulping back and prompted, “Yes?”

Mrs. Patricia started, “Excuse me if I’m overstepping, but… are you expecting?”

You blinked. “Is it obvious?”

“It’s in your nose.”

Your hand went up to your nose and you exclaimed, “What’s wrong with my nose?”

She gave you a look that sternly told you to lower your voice and replied levelly, “There is nothing wrong with your nose, but it is swollen.”

You had no idea what she was talking about and it was evident on your face.

Mrs. Patricia explained, “Fluid retention. I had a swollen nose and hands during my pregnancy with my twenty-year-old, but it went away after my postpartum period.”

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

“Congratulations, by the way. I think you would benefit from following up on the symptoms of pregnancy, just so that you know what to expect,” she suggested. “Again, I don’t mean to overstep.”

Though your mind was at a billion different places, you forced a smile and said, “No, it’s okay - thank you!”

But the second you came home, you were a different person.

“Babe,” you called out, setting your keys in the tray near the door. Haechan told you that he would be home by now and you saw his motorbike parked in the garage. “Babe!”

Given the distance, his voice was faint, but you heard a faraway, “I’m coming!”

You stood there and patiently removed your shoes while you waited. There were now a handful of other things weighing on your mind and you didn’t know how to handle it by yourself.

Haechan zipped downstairs, pleased to see you at the end of a long day. His hair was a beautiful mess at the top of his head and you could only guess he had been playing video games with Jaemin and Mark.

Not that you were concerned about any of that right now.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Haechan asked, coming up to you to trap you in a bear hug. Like he did everyday.

But you weren’t at all in the mood for any of it, ignoring his question completely. “Is my nose swollen?”

That obviously wasn’t what Haechan thought you were going to say. “Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Haechan drew back, realizing you were in one of your moods again. Doctor Stakes mentioned that you were prone to mood swings and he would just have to deal with it in the gentlest way he could. “I mean, I didn’t wanna say anything, but it’s a little...”

“Oh my fucking god,” you exclaimed, stepping around him and bolting for the kitchen.

Haechan was hot on your heels. “Babe, wait up!”

You threw open the snack pantry door, scanning them for your favorite chips, before remembering that you finished the bag last night. “Fuck, I forgot to order from the store!”

The words were right on his tongue, though Haechan knew better than to tell you to calm down. He was no stranger to your temper. His voice was level, calm. “We can always order more.”

Fresh tears dampened your face, burning while they blurred your vision. Reality was a mean little bitch with a hard punch. “Damn the chips! I can’t believe this.”

Haechan assumed it was a model thing. They were strict about your appearance and you always had to look a certain way. It was part of the reason why he never saw your career as an option for himself, though he wasn’t going to snitch about your junk food indulgence.

Tentatively reaching out for you, Haechan kissed your face and cooed, “Hey, baby, listen to my voice. Your body is going to change. The doc said that’s completely normal. It’s nothing to lose your shit over.”

“It’s everything to lose my shit over!” you wailed. “I’m not mad about my fucking nose - I’m mad because I know nothing about bringing a baby into this world and I’m going to be a shit mother!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Haechan told you, stern but still tranquil. You wholeheartedly envied it.

“It’s true,” you huffed, sinking against the refrigerator. “My nose is swollen. I literally didn’t even know that was a thing! If I don’t know minor fucking details, how am I going to know how to parent?”

While you knew your agent had no foul intentions by commenting about your nose and there wasn’t a single mean bone in her body, you wished she would have kept it to herself. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you didn’t have this under control. This baby-making shit was not your strong suit.

Other than the sex itself, although that was the last thing on your mind right now.

It was completely unexpected for Haechan’s voice to drop the way it did. You had never seen him so serious. “We can take classes. Doctor Stakes recommended them, you know.”

You grumbled, “Why didn’t Doctor Stakes tell me that I was going to get a new nose?”

“She did, actually. Something about…”

“Fluid retention, I know. My agent told me,” you replied snappily. You were finally calming down, though hardly. Pregnancy came with its fair share of frustrations. Though it was also accompanied by the lack of energy to express them all.

Haechan helped you off the ground, clearing your face of any tears with his thumb. “Is she the one that commented on your nose?”

You shrugged your shoulders but answered, “Yeah.”

“I think your agent should mind her bitter, decrepit business,” Haechan spat, though his tone was completely noncommittal.

You snorted. “She’s not bad, Haechan.”

“I don’t care. It’s bad manners.”

You couldn’t argue with that. But it was nothing worth getting a new manager over and if anything you would just talk to her about boundaries. The only reason she was even on set was because you wanted her there.

“The point is,” Haechan started, grabbing your hands and locking your fingers in his. “Every problem has a fix. I don’t know shit about this, either. You think I’ve been a father before? Must I remind you that you’re the only girl I’ve ever came inside of?”

You folded your arms. “And the only one you ever will.”

Haechan snickered, bobbing his head. You were lightening up and he could breathe a little easier. “Yes. And the only one I ever will.”

You let out a shaky breath. Though you still felt like ripping your hair out, you no longer felt the need to scream. Your lungs had had enough for one night. “Fine.”

“We’ll take classes together. I already managed my hours, so I’ve got time. You should tell the people you work for that you’re pregnant,” Haechan suggested.

You nodded. His constant touches killed your doubts again. Ultimately, they were no match against the love of your life. “How are you so nonchalant about this?”

Haechan shrugged like he had absolutely zero clue. “Old habits die hard, I guess?” He was internally panicking, but excellent at hiding it. Always had been.

You hummed. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing ever.

“And by the way, you’re beautiful. Swollen nose or not,” Haechan said. “I think it’s cute.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Cute?”

“Yeah. Fits your face.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to put up with a hysterical pregnant lady,” you droned.

Haechan didn’t try to deny it. Instead, he decided to lighten the mood, chirping, “Well, that’s what I get for being silly and not wrapping my willy.”

You forced your lips into a line, fighting a laugh. “That’s so stupid.”

“No glove, no love,” Haechan persisted, eager to get a laugh out of you. He wanted to see your shoulders shake and your nose do that cute thing it always did when you laughed at his jokes.

You playfully exclaimed, “Quit it!”

“You can’t go wrong if you shield your dong.”

That was the last blow your self-restraint could take and you finally burst out laughing like he wanted you to.

Haechan was sporting a triumphant smile. He was always glad to put a smile on your face. Even (especially) for the most idioticly absurd of reasons.

Your outburst eventually fizzled out and you thought back on something he said a couple of minutes ago, musing aloud, “Speaking of telling people that I’m pregnant, we haven’t told the clique.”

Haechan nodded. “I haven’t even told my parents. They’re gonna be so mad we waited almost twenty weeks. My mom’s been nagging me about when she can expect grandkids.”

“We should have a party. Get the gang in town and host a gathering at your parents’ house or something,” you proposed.

Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Like a gender reveal party?”

You winced. “Goodness, no. Just, like, I don’t know. A pregnancy reveal party. But they can guess if they want.”

That wasn’t the best idea. Mark and Ryujin would probably have opposite guesses and flip the table over. Grabbing your wrist to press a kiss to the back of your hand, Haechan said, “Well, you know Mark’s been in Canada for the past two months and Winter is everywhere, but I’ll see what we can do.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up - nowadays it was rare for all of you to be in town at the same time - but that had you excited. You couldn’t wait to share the good news. “I had another idea, too,” you whispered softly.

Haechan led you to the living room so that you could sit down and asked, “What’s that?”

Once you were off your feet, you played coy and confessed, “We should have a photoshoot at your studio when my bump gets big. Just me, you, and the two babies in my belly. A grand reveal to the entire world that I’m officially a mother.”

“Sold,” Haechan hummed in approval.

You couldn’t stop smiling. A part of you couldn’t wait for it to happen. Doctor Stakes mentioned that it could feel like your stomach grew out of nowhere.

Within the next couple of days, you communicated with your consultants and the management at your agency and notified them of your pregnancy. You divulged that you were sixteen weeks along and fully intended to be a mother to your children.

And in no uncertain terms. Given the flexibility of your schedules and hectic hours, they agreed that it was only fair you took off as much as you took on. You were offered six months, which you accepted thankfully, and were told to inform them when you would be starting two weeks in advance.

When you delivered the news to Haechan, he couldn’t contain his excitement. Everyday the ongoing reminder of your looming childbirth settled in. His kids were developing inside your womb. He was going to be a father. You were going to raise two kids together in your shared home and every time he realized, he fell more and more in love with the thought.

Only a few weeks later you were at his parents’ house watching Haechan and his father set up from the kitchen. Though you wanted to at least help with the baking, his mother was unshakeable in her ways and rigidly told you to sit and not move.

She wanted her grandkids delivered in the best possible health. His parents were enthusiastic to discover that you were pregnant, though not without slight scolding. But they weren’t against a celebration.

“I knew it. You know, a mother always knows,” his mother had told you while her son and his father were in the living room.

You heard a knock at the front door a couple of hours later and separated from Haechan who was making out with you while his parents weren’t looking to greet your friends. The first person you heard was Mark.

“What up,” Mark exclaimed when he strolled inside like he owned the place.

Ryujin wasn’t far behind, obviously, but behind her was her boyfriend, Sunwoo. Every now and then, you were reminded that the guy actually existed, although he had come home from Chicago years ago.

You gave them each kind hugs. “Hi, guys. Long time, no see.”

Ryujin spat, “Mark gets a Grammy nom that he didn’t even win and acts like he’s too cool for us now.”

“God forbid a man gets busy and goes to his home country,” Mark droned in stride. “Besides, I’ll get it next year.”

You nodded in approval. That was the spirit.

“It’s good to see you, man,” Haechan said, pulling Mark in for a brief hug after doing the same with Sunwoo and Ryujin.

Mark patted him on the back. “Same, dude. It’s good to have all of us together again.”

Sunwoo picked up some candies that were collecting dust in a bowl on the coffee table. “Are these peanut butter?”

“Yup,” you retorted.

He quickly sat it back down.

Ryujin explained dryly, “He’s allergic.”

Pinching Haechan’s arm, you gave him a stern look, knowing he was on the verge of a snicker.

You remembered something and mentioned to Mark, “Oh, by the way, I’ve been hearing your new single on the radio. It’s really good.”

There was a faint blush across Mark’s cheeks. “Thanks,” he chirped.

“I did the cover art,” Ryujin added.

Mark whined, “Why can’t you ever let me have my moment?”

You chuckled. It was good to have them all back. Other than Sunwoo, you were pretty updated on what they all had going on and though it drove them out of the city sometimes, you were endlessly happy for them. Mark was obviously the next big thing and was busy making global hits, touring the seven seas.

On the other hand, Ryujin worked from home more often than not, typically only leaving California to go on vacation. She did art commissions notably for wealthy patrons and pitched in with Mark’s creative team whenever needed.

Chaewon was also frequently home, owning a hair and nail salon here and all. You and Winter definitely took pictures and credited her in your Instagrams stories. Speaking of Winter, she was everywhere, much like you. More than once, you collaborated in a photoshoot or went to Paris Fashion Week together.

Which left Jaemin. He was much more lowkey. After giving his master's degree last year, he finally started to work as a mechanical engineer. You couldn’t believe how smart he was, having skipped a grade and all.

The others showed up a little later. Your stomach was turning with a mixture of nerves and excitement. You couldn’t wait to get the news off of your chest. You smiled when Haechan looped an arm around your waist, almost like he could sense your whirlwind of feelings.

Some dancing and singing at the top of your lungs later and your worries were promptly forgotten. Chaewon, Winter, and Ryujin danced with you while the boys were laughing in their own circle. The whole room was entirely too chaotic and Haechan’s parents escorted themselves out minutes ago.

Now it was time for the kids to really party.

Mark, under the impression that this party was just a small get-together for friends who didn’t get to see each other often, glanced at you and asked, “Okay, rum, tequila, or vodka?”

You winced. “Oh, no. I can’t.”

Mark gaped. “What? I’m on tour for a few months and now you don’t drink?”

“Yeah, um, about that,” you said, gesturing for Haechan to cut down the music. “I have something to tell you guys.”

“You’re taking care of your acne? You’re breaking out more than usual,” Mark blurted without malice.

Haechan cocked him a glare, deadpanning, “You know, Mark, it amazes me how you can always be so close yet so far away.”

Everyone was gazing at you with baffled looks. Then, you set your hand on your stomach, and it clicked. Mark gasped, “Don’t tell me…”

“I’m pregnant,” you announced, giggling when Haechan curled his arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

He was quick to correct, “We’re pregnant.”

“Yes,” you said with a chuckle. “We’re pregnant.”

The nerves were back with a vengeance. You knew they were all going to have distinct reactions and the anticipation was killing you. You thought they might have chided you for being stupid.

As it turned out, there was a chorus of excited noises and “congratulations” that you could hardly make out. Everybody was trying to speak over each other and you had to add, “Okay, one at a time. Please.”

Chaewon wasn’t shocked, almost like she expected it to happen, but had her hands on her hips in her typical fashion. “I’m your best friend and you didn’t tell me you were pregnant?”

You winced. “Sorry.” Expected backlash, you thought.

“It’s okay,” she said, shoving Haechan out of the way to pull you in for a hug. Much to his annoyance. “I’m so happy for you.”

You chuckled at the sound of Haechan huffing from beside you. “Thanks.”

Mark was next. There were literal twinkles in his eyes. “I’m going to be an uncle?”

“Absolutely. Your niece and nephew are going to love you,” you retorted happily.

Winter gasped, “You’re having twins?”

You bobbed your head. “Yes. One girl, one boy. We both wanted different things so I guess that was the universe’s way of being a diplomat.”

Winter snorted in amusement. She could already guess what your preferences were. “Oh, wow. Congratulations. Jaemin and I definitely aren’t having kids, so I’m cool with being the rich auntie.”

“Mm, three rich aunties. They’re going to be so lucky,” you dragged.

Haechan droned, “And extremely spoiled.”

You giggled.

Sunwoo and Ryujin walked up to you. Ryujin was staring at you in adoration. “Have you painted the nursery? If not, can I please help?”

That was an absolute no-brainer. “We haven’t done a lot of things. We need as much help as we can get.”

Sunwoo glanced between you and Haechan and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, man,” Haechan said, holding out his hand.

Sunwoo firmly shook your boyfriend’s hand. Then, he looked to Ryujin, parting his lips to speak, and she snapped with a shake of her head, “Nope. Never.”

Sunwoo frowned.

You giggled. It didn’t take a genius to understand he was about to ask her about having kids someday.

Jaemin looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. Though, he had to admit it made sense. You and Haechan just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. “You’re pregnant?”

“Very.”

“Wow,” he replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “And I thought we had enough Haechan walking around.”

“Dude, I’ll kick your ass,” Haechan hissed.

Jaemin threw up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Kick my ass after the party’s over.”

Winter wandered over again, a drink in her hand, and quipped, “You know, this whole time I thought you were going to get Haechan pregnant.”

That got a giggle out of you. “No worries. I’m gonna peg him tonight.”

Haechan was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

While you went to go find Chaewon and whisper something in her that made a smile crawl its way onto her lips, Haechan and Jaemin excused themselves from the room for a minute.

The garage was hot and stuffy, a stark contrast from the ventilated and free energy of the party, but it was the perfect place to have a private conversation ideally without any unwanted listeners.

Haechan mounted one of his dad’s old bikes (his father was still an avid bike fan no matter how long it had been since he rode one). He wasn’t going anywhere, but he needed a distraction.

Holding a beer, Jaemin nudged his best friend and asked, “You don’t want a drink?”

“No, I can’t,” Haechan replied, voice distant.

Suit yourself, Jaemin thought. Then, thinking back to something you said, he teased, “Guess she was serious about that pegging shit, huh?”

Haechan snapped, “Do I ask you how you’re fucking Winter?”

Jaemin made a face before downing what was left of his beer. “Good point, my friend.”

Haechan was obviously in his head, which meant nothing good. As always. He wasn’t unhappy - the opposite, rather - but this was one of those days where everything felt unreal.

If there was anything he knew, it was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. His little voice in his head snapped, Damn eighteen fucking years. You were his until he died.

The silence was getting off-putting, thus Jaemin started, “So, a baby.”

“Yeah,” Haechan answered blankly. It was almost like he wasn’t ever there. His surroundings be damned.

Jaemin was officially miffed. “You wanted to come out here to talk to me about something, man. Open up, brother. What’s on your mind?”

Haechan shook his head. He was in desperate need of direction. He huffed, “I don’t know, bro. I’ve never felt shit like this before.”

That piqued Jaemin’s attention. All he could think of was how badly his brother in everything but blood needed a drink or a cigarette, though he correctly assumed he was abstaining for your sake. “Like what?”

“That’s the thing. I can’t explain it. I mean, I put a baby in her,” Haechan started, conflicted. “Two babies. You know that we wavered a long time before she decided that she wanted to keep them?”

“Well, I do now.”

Haechan’s features were tensed in his typical pensive gaze. “I support her regardless of what her decision would have been, and I made sure she knew that, but I was secretly hoping that she wanted to keep it. Because I realized what I wanted.”

Jaemin prompted, “What do you want?”

“Everything. I wanna do the whole nine. I wanna start a family with her. I wanna pick up the kids after school. Make the three of them breakfast in the morning. I wanna spend every second of my life next to her. When I die, I want to be buried next to her grave.”

Jaemin tilted his head with suspicion. “Haechan, do you wanna marry her?”

“Yeah. I wanna marry her,” Haechan answered. He was finally confirming it - aloud. “Is it too soon?”

“That’s not for me to decide,” Jaemin said kindly.

Haechan sighed.

Jaemin gave him a pat to the shoulder and added, “Hey, bro. The worst she can say is ‘no.’”

There was a war-waging storm inside of Haechan. He was prepared to kiss the ground that you walked on. “She’s the mother of my babies…,” he trailed.

Though Haechan tried to blink his tears away, his emotions and love for his family was too goddamn strong. His heart beated for the three of you. This paternal responsibility added a brand new meaning to his life. A different purpose.

Jaemin noticed his best friend’s tears and immediately opened his arms. “Dude, come here.”

Haechan marched over and let Jaemin sweep him into a borderline aggressive hug. There was thunder in his heart and he could feel it shaking everything he’d ever known. This kind of euphoria was foreign to him, but he never wanted it to stop.

When he pulled back, Haechan wiped his face and muttered, “Don’t tell them I cried.”

Jaemin snickered, patting his friend on the back. “Don’t worry, man. I got you for life. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Haechan blew out a shaky breath. “By the way, my girlfriend and I talked, and we decided that we want you to be the godfather.”

Jaemin pointed to himself with his finger. “Me? Why not Mark? What do I know about god?”

Haechan snickered. “Think of it as being the highest ranking uncle.”

“I like that. Uncle Jaemin. It’s got a nice ring to it,” Jaemin replied, nodding with approval.

“What about Dad?”

Jaemin grimaced. “That’s not funny. I have nightmares about that.”

Haechan laughed.

As soon as that was over, Haechan and Jaemin slipped back into the party so naturally it was almost as if nothing ever happened. He found you sipping on an iced tea in an attempt to quench your thirst.

You cocked a brow at him. “Everything okay?”

Haechan bobbed his head. Then, he stole your glass out of your hands and took a sip, much to your annoyance. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just asking,” you replied, snatching your drink back.

Tempted to giggle, Haechan held it back when a thought crossed his mind. “I’m not having second thoughts.”

“I know.” You also knew his secret, familiarized with the little gleam in his stare, though you decided against mentioning it.

Haechan grinned, taking your available hand in his, and asked, “Wanna dance?”

“I was wondering when you would ask,” you retorted, setting down your glass and leading him to the center of the floor.

Heat fluttered in your chest when you felt Haechan get closer to you. With his hands at your hips and yours at his shoulders the two of you started to sway around the floor, earning a number of exhilarated noises from your friends in the room.

But it still felt like it was just you two, like it did all those years ago when you realized for the first time that there was something so different about him. For lack of a better word, he was just so mesmerizing. You remembered wanting to know everything there was about him.

Bliss made you close your eyes and make a wish to the stars, hoping for an eternity with the man you loved and the life you made together as partners.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sunwoo excuse himself from this fascinatingly beautiful moment to accept a phone call. Not that you minded. You were entranced in that moment and everything else had little consequence. Your heart was dancing inside your chest and on the floor.

Haechan pressed a kiss to your brow, looking at you with total undeniable affection. His eyes were sparkling again though not with tears - with adoration. This man would steal the moon for you and then proceed to wish on every star for a thousand more moons to gift you.

Only if he knew that there was an impending danger he should’ve wished away.

Sunwoo entered the room again and walked towards the two of you, which made you both stop and curiously gaze at him before he said, “It’s for you.”

You were baffled. “Who is it?”

“Jeno.”

Haechan’s face paled.

Without thinking, you took the phone and pressed it to your ear, then said less than amicably, “Hello?”

Jeno’s voice was quick to fill your ears, an air of surprise to his tone when he spoke your name. “Hey. Don’t hang up, please.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” you hissed.

The room was silent while you talked. The music was cut again and everybody’s eyes were fixed to you, watching this phone call unfold with interest. Nobody dared to say a word, but the disdainful feelings were pretty much obvious. The anger in Haechan’s eyes almost matched the ire in yours.

“Because I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” you repeated. “That’s all you have to say?”

Jeno sighed from wherever the hell he was. “Listen, I want to talk, but I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone. I was thinking maybe we could meet up somewhere.”

“Just a second,” you replied, handing Sunwoo back his phone while you dragged Haechan over to a corner.

Judging from the mere force of your actions, you were clearly upset and it didn’t take a genius to point that out. Haechan was ready to pummel this guy to the ground for your sake. “What happened? What did he say?”

“He wants to meet up. I guess he wants to apologize,” you whispered.

Haechan exclaimed, “What?”

You put your finger to his lip. “He said that he was sorry.”

Frustration made Haechan cross his arms with a mean-looking scowl on his lips as he huffed, “And you want to entertain this fool?”

You shrugged. You were obviously angry and feigning indifference, covered head to toe in unadulterated rage, but there was something in you that wanted to give Jeno the benefit of the doubt. “Call it curiosity. But I’m not going out pregnant. I’m not ready for the world to know yet.”

“Okay, so I go.”

You had already thought of that, pondering all your options in a five-minute time span, but quickly responded, “Yeah, but I kind of wanna be there when shit goes down. How about we invite him over?”

Haechan was seething. “You want to invite him over to the house where we’re going to raise our son and daughter?”

“We need a bigger house anyways,” you answered flatly, exhaling a breath.

“Bigger than ours?”

“Bigger than ours.”

Haechan frowned for a moment, though after a moment or two of contemplation, he relented. “Fine. But I want to do all the negotiating.”

You bobbed your head. “Fair.”

Haechan politely asked Sunwoo for his phone again, then switched on a dime when he spoke sharply, “Hello?”

Neither of you could see the way Jeno’s eyes flickered with shock. “Haechan.”

Haechan snapped, “Don’t give me that shit, man. Did you change your number?”

Jeno faltered with confusion. “No?”

“Good. I’m going to text you our address. You’re going to be at our front door step tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock sharp or else you’ll be turned away at the door. And you better tell me something I want to hear or I’m kicking your ass.”

There was a lull of silence as Jeno processed those words.

Haechan immediately added, “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Goodbye,” Haechan said, promptly hanging up the phone and returning it to its owner.

Mark was not shockingly the first to speak. “That was… intense.”

You shrugged. “I thought it was hot.”

“Of course, you did,” Mark teased.

Haechan shook his head. It felt like the more the days passed, the more there was on his mind.

Regardless of unfortunate events, you refused to allow them to ruin the celebration. Assertively, you demanded that somebody put the music back on and encouraged your boyfriend to bust a move. Socializing and having fun was the quickest way to make him forget the unforgettable.

Even though you were less expressive in your contempt, it obviously put you at unease as well and you were also in fine need of an effective distraction. A drink would have been nice for knocking back inhibition, but you’d resigned yourself to the fact that you had months before that was a viable solution.

Plus something that you learned as you bordered closer onto your thirties was the significance of letting loose without the need for recreational use. There was something more special about bonding sober.

Priorities shifted. Like how you were steadily beginning to value your personal life over your career and image. When you were in your early twenties, everything felt more life-and-death than it was. Now, the most pivotal moment of your life would be successfully giving birth.

Later that night, those were the thoughts battling in your mind until noon that day. It seemed like every day you were making changes in your day-to-day routines to accommodate your new life. Changes that you were so certain at one point would feel like the end.

You knew now it wasn’t anywhere close to the end. If anything, it was a new beginning and a transition to a new stage of your life. You were standing at the threshold of parenthood.

That wasn’t to say you were going to remain indoors for the rest of your life until you wilted and succumbed to eventual fate. Or become a housewife and die, as Haechan had humorously put it. Granted, you realized how vital it was to be a little more laid-back and would undoubtedly shelter your children, but you were already fantasizing about sending the kids to the grandparents for a fun night out.

You wondered if Jeno had changed. All things considered. He was older, too, and closer to Haechan’s age than he was yours. Though five years didn’t seem like too long ago, you had seen a quantity of things occur in that time.

And you weren’t just talking career-wise, though that technically helped your case. You were in no way a stranger to the upward spiral of Jeno’s career. Like you, he had a successful career in the fashion industry, walking down runways and posing for big shot photographers.

On more than one occasion, you’d been invited to events at the same time, though you had considered yourself lucky to not have any face-to-face encounters with him and simultaneously practiced your professional skills if it inevitably were to happen.

Maybe it was for the better. A way to prepare you for the hell that was today. Still, you couldn’t deny being anxious as you lounged on your couch.

Checking your watch and noting that it was a minute before two, you exhaled, “What if he just doesn’t show up?”

Not a moment later, the doorbell rang. Oh, you thought to yourself. He’s always been punctual.

“You have your answer,” Haechan droned.

You took three stabilizing breaths when you watched Haechan leave the room to answer the front door. Maybe you should have let him take care of this. No, chided the voice in your head. This is both of your history. He shouldn’t go through this alone.

Especially not when he was evidently opposed to it and only agreed because it was what you wanted.

There was a disturbance in your brain when you saw Haechan round the corner and return with Jeno. This guy had essentially been off of your radar for so long that it was jarring to be confronted with the fact that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

Jeno spoke your name. “Hi.”

You waved. As of this second, you didn’t have anything to say to him.

“You can sit,” Haechan said when he sat next to you on the loveseat. He sounded bored.

Jeno perched on the chair across from you, fumbling with his hands. You didn’t know Jeno for as long as Haechan had, but you still had never seen him anxious.

You scanned your memory for any recollection of him being anything other than cocky and confident and ultimately turned up empty. His raging ego and dilated pride was his vice and had cost him more than you’d ever known.

Impatiently, Haechan prompted, “Well, are you here to twiddle your thumbs or…”

Normally, you would pinch his thigh for rude comments, but today he had a free pass.

Jeno lifted his head to meet both of your eyes when he finally started, “I’ve spent six months trying to practice what I would say if I ever got the chance to apologize.”

Both you and Haechan had your arms folded, stubborn. Save for the unignorable vexation, your faces were borderline inscrutable. He picked the wrong duo to fuck over. The two of you were unrelenting.

Jeno let out a little sigh and promptly continued, “I say six months, because it took me four years and a half to understand just how badly I fucked up. At first, it didn’t bother me that I lost seven friends on the same day. I was arrogant. I thought I didn’t need friends.”

You almost laughed. Almost. That much was obvious.

“And I had that mindset for a long, long time. There’s just something about when you’re super young and you feel like you have the whole world at your feet. Obviously, the popularity didn’t help. When I started to become famous, people wanted to hang out with me.”

“Yeah, that tends to happen,” you quipped smartly. “They see you’re the next big thing and they hold onto you because that’s what you’re there for. To be their one-way ticket to stardom. Then, when they get what they wanted, you’ve exhausted your purpose.”

“Yeah.” Jeno bobbed his head in agreement.

Haechan was not here to have a conversation about the brutal reality of being a superstar in the industry and his jaw clenched. “What made you realize that you fucked up?”

“What she said,” Jeno replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a shallow job. Nobody was really my friend. I was either just their ride to fame or an accessory to make them look good. I realized how much I missed not only you two, but the whole gang, because you were the only people who cared about me beyond the surface.”

Haechan sighed.

Jeno’s voice got quieter. Not emotional, but dangerously close. “In our clique, it didn’t matter if you were on track to being a celebrity or just some guy. You know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

You frowned.

Haechan added, “So, you get lonely and decide you need us?”

“I know how that sounds, but…,” Jeno trailed. “But I’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I’m sorry for competing with you instead of being your friend.”

Haechan’s lips were in a hard line.

Jeno flitted his gaze towards you. “I’m sorry for using you. It was beyond fucked up.”

“To be fair, I was using you, too.”

Jeno bounced his leg against the ground, attempting to thwart his nerves. At the back of his mind, there were many unspoken thoughts. “Yeah, but you didn’t leave a woman in the street by herself. I still haven’t forgiven myself for that. If something happened to you, it would have been all my fault.”

Just the thought triggered something spiteful inside you. “I’m glad you realize that.”

Knowing you better than anybody, Haechan could sense the fire smoldering inside of you, slipping his fingers through yours and squeezing. “This has been… whatever, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re stressing my baby mother out.”

Jeno spluttered, “Baby?”

“Yeah. A baby.”

Jeno’s eyes flickered in shock. “Wow, um. That’s amazing. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you replied, tone completely noncommittal. “We’ll think about it.”

You watched Jeno bob his head and reply with a quiet “thank you” as your boyfriend stood to see him out. With how your brain was practically like a wildfire, it felt like the epitome of madness.

Haechan came back only a couple of moments later sporting a sour glower.

You relaxed when he sat next to you. You didn’t realize that you’d been so stiff. “Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan lied without realizing, because his skepticism wouldn’t allow him to admit his true feelings.

Well, you knew exactly what you were thinking. “He seems genuine. I don’t think he has an ulterior motive. I mean, he’s doing great, he doesn’t need us.”

Haechan prompted, “But?”

You heaved a breath. Sometimes you hated that Haechan knew you so well. Better yet, he understood you perfectly.

“But I don’t forget as easily as I forgive,” you said quietly, drifting endlessly in your thoughts like spacetime.

Haechan huffed, “Me, neither.”

Without many uncomfortable amounts of stressful thoughts, your life went on. The world kept spinning no matter what you were going through and it did you no good to subject yourself to strain while you were carrying twins. Your doctor was clear that the risks associated with pregnancy grew with more than one child.

Your body was undergoing so much change that you didn’t even step outside because you didn’t want the world to know that you were pregnant until you announced it yourself. Given that it was your first pregnancy, you wanted it to be unforgettable.

The baby bump felt like it happened overnight. You couldn’t stop gawking at yourself in the mirror, in disbelief that there was something coming to life inside of you. They were starting to move around, too. You cried when you noticed the fluttering in your belly, almost like butterflies.

Every day you were counting down the seconds until the photoshoot until in a blink, the day had finally come. Haechan, the gentleman that you had fallen in love with, had everything set up at his studio and was rigid with the staff, though nonetheless polite. You were beaming. Not many opportunities arose for you to see him work behind the scenes and it was heartwarming to see him be so attuned to your needs.

It was one of the most fun and rewarding shoots you’d ever done in your life. And it would be the most noteworthy. The vibe was nothing less than ethereal and it was full of kisses and laughter. Haechan’s hands and lips on your belly. Holding your hand while you looked into each other’s eyes with the utmost adoration.

Holding the physical pictures between your own fingers, you sobbed. You were very emotional these days and half expected Haechan to poke fun at you, but he never did. He was the same way, passionate about the undying love he had for you and your unborn children.

There were a couple of pictures that you didn’t release to the public. Those were just for you and your loved ones. They were more vulnerable, sentimental pictures where you and Haechan couldn’t but stare at each other with a tearful gaze.

The moment of truth, came the little voice in the back of your head while your finger wavered over the share button. Half of you wanted to hand your phone over to your PR team, but it was important to you that you were the one to disclose.

You took a shaky breath just before pressing the button and tossed your phone to the side. What was said online wasn’t any of your concern. You didn’t want to know.

Outlets rushed to cough up the news. Your social media accounts were bursting with likes from people all over the globe. People you were friends with in the industry didn’t hesitate to call and congratulate you on the pleasant surprise. This wasn’t a secret anymore. Now that it was out there, it was everybody’s business.

When the deed was done, you chose to focus on yourself and the life surrounding you in every capacity rather than what was out of your hands, and made peace with the fact that public opinion was inevitable. What you could control, on the other hand, was how exposed you were to stranger’s thoughts.

The next few weeks were filled with yoga and child development textbooks. Haechan was taking pictures weekly to document your belly growth. He had already decided that he was going to start a photo album specifically for your children while they grew older.

You told him that you couldn’t think of a more beautiful idea.

One Friday came and brought a handful of errands along with itself. You were undoubtedly pregnant now, but not so much that you couldn’t complete tasks by yourself, though Haechan thought that that was debatable. He thought it was ridiculous that anyone expected you to do anything and upheld that you deserved princess treatment.

But you had a medical opinion that said staying active during pregnancy was beneficial for you and the babies, and Haechan resigned himself to defeat.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t in your favor, because your car started to have complications. First, the sunroof vehemently refused to open. Then, like a total drama queen, your car decided that she didn’t want to start.

The most exasperated breath escaped your mouth. You didn’t know the first thing about getting a stubborn vehicle to start and you knew Haechan didn’t either. Besides, not only did you not want to disturb him while he was working, but you were equally stubborn and wanted to prove that you were capable of handling yourself.

Out of options, you had a really, really bad idea.

Something unfamiliar stirred in your gut when you pressed your phone to ear, hearing it ring. Anxiety. Or maybe it was something else. Something unidentifiable.

Jeno sounded a little startled when he spoke, as if he thought you called him by accident. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jeno,” you said less than enthusiastically, rubbing your forearm. “I’ve got a serious favor to ask.”

Though you couldn’t see, Jeno perked up at those words. He was completely desperate. “Yeah, sure. Anything. What’s up?”

Providing a little humor, you replied, “Assuming that you actually know how to work on cars and that wasn’t a lie to impress me, my car kind of won’t start and trying to guilt trip her into functioning doesn’t seem to be effective.”

Jeno snorted. “Did you check the battery?”

You almost started to panic. “No. Was I supposed to?”

“Uh, how about this. If you want, I can come check it out,” Jeno suggested, then immediately regretted the decision. He didn’t want to try and insert himself into your lives too quickly. “But only if you want me to.”

That wasn’t the best idea, considering your boyfriend was intent to hate Jeno’s guts and would not approve of him standing in his garage alone with his baby mother, but your options were already few, so you replied, “That’s fine. You know where I am.”

“I’m on the way,” Jeno said. You could hear him shuffling around in the background.

“Okay. See you soon.”

You hung up without giving him a chance to respond and released an uncertain breath. Don’t make me regret this.

Waiting with bated breath and folded arms, your gaze upturned some thirty minutes later when you heard a blue Mercedes Benz turning into your driveway.

And then Jeno started to walk over to you.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t make it sooner. Traffic is crazy today,” Jeno said when he stopped just shy of your toes.

You waved him off. “You’re good. Thirty minutes isn’t bad for California traffic. Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem,” Jeno replied. He didn’t waste much time on small talk, getting straight to what you called him over for. “Let’s see what’s wrong with this bad boy.”

“Her name is Mariposa,” you corrected, but your tone wasn’t malicious.

Jeno threw his hands up. “Where’s my manners? I should’ve asked. Sorry if I offended you, Mariposa.”

You snickered. “Don’t apologize to her. She’s caused enough trouble today.”

Jeno chuckled.

While you kept yourself occupied in the corner, not wanting to disturb Jeno as he tried to figure out why your car was acting like a bitch, his brain was totally divided. Half was focused on thoroughly examining your car, while the other was hooked on the fact you remembered something he told you five years ago at dinner.

Jeno was pondering, hoping. Maybe you just had a good memory, especially when it was convenient, but he hoped that someday, there would be room for him again in your lives.

Even if he had to spend years proving that he was worthy.

Jeno separated himself from the lifted hood of your car, dusting his hands off. Your eyes were stuck on him with gut-eating anticipation. “Looks like your alternator is weakening. Smells like burned wires and the serpentine belt smells like smoke. Your engine’s probably leaking.”

“English, please.”

“Your alternator’s not alternating and your shit’s fucked,” Jeno replied, blunt.

“Oh.” That certainly wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

“Don’t worry. The good news is that it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” Jeno reassured, pushing the lid back down. “The bad news is that I don’t have the tools to work on it for you.”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Guess I should call a mechanic.”

Jeno bobbed his head. “That would be a good start.”

You were anxious to ask, but did it anyway, “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind hanging around? One look at my neighborhood and the obvious fact that I don’t know a damn thing about cars, and anyone would try to scam me out of more money than I need to spend.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jeno replied, dipping his hands in his pockets. “But, uh… won’t Haechan mind?”

You snorted. That was an understatement. “Oh, definitely, but his vehicle knowledge starts with one wheel and rides with two. I don’t think he has a say in this.”

Jeno snickered.

The mechanic came half an hour later and you let Jeno handle the bulk of the talking, only chiming in when the guy asked specific questions like how long you’d been experiencing complications with your car.

Between the mechanic peeking under the hood and Jeno pointing out to him your car’s tenaciousness, you understood enough of their exchange to know that fixing her would take a solid two hours. Unfortunately, this guy was stretched thin, meaning he would have to tow it back to his shop and have you pick it up tomorrow.

“This day cannot get any worse,” you grumbled underneath your breath.

Jeno was frustrated for you and it wasn’t even his car acting a damn fool. After he seemed to hesitate a little, he asked, “Will Haechan be back soon?”

“Nope. He had most of his hours cut, but apparently there was a really huge crisis at his job. It’s going to be another hour or two.”

“Dammit,” Jeno groaned. “Well, if you want me to, I wouldn’t mind driving. You seem really stressed and that’s not healthy for the babies. I mean, obviously you know that, but...”

His nervousness was not lost on you and you resisted a chuckle, interjecting, “Jeno, I would really appreciate the help.”

“Okay, cool,” Jeno said, whipping his keys out of his pockets and tossing them in the air. “Where to?”

Gently helping you get into his car, Jeno made sure that you were safe and comfortable before he took the driver’s seat and braced his hands on the wheel. He was certain that your lover would have his head on a stick for driving you around without his knowledge, but he had a moral obligation not to leave pregnant ladies under tension.

Besides, he had to prove his loyalty somehow. It didn’t matter how much Jeno insisted that he’d changed. Neither you or Haechan would be convinced until there were no doubts.

Your head was against the door, temporarily appreciating the air conditioning until you just couldn’t take the silence, asking, “So, how’s life? Last time we spoke, you were talking about people being shallow.”

Jeno nodded his head quietly. “I’ve been scared of meeting new people. I have a few friends. Other than that, I have my family and girlfriend.”

Your brows furrowed. That was new. “Girlfriend? Congratulations. I didn’t know.”

“Thank you,” Jeno replied, heat rapidly flushing his cheeks. “She’s the one that encouraged me to apologize. Even if you guys still hated me in the end, she said it would be good to get it off my chest.”

That was interesting. Nobody saw the day coming where Jeno of all people would choose commitment. “Is she in the industry?”

“No, she’s actually a banker,” Jeno replied, chuckling.

“Really? How did your paths cross?”

“It’s a long story,” Jeno said, but you could see his eyes sparkling with happiness. He must’ve really liked her.

Pointing to the road in front of you, staring at the red light glaring back at you both, you shrugged your shoulders. “We’ve got a long day.”

For the duration of the total ride, in between stops, you chatted with Jeno to pass the time. It wasn’t the easiest thing to relax around each other, each for your own reasons, but you managed. And truth be told, it wasn’t all too bad.

Your chronic cynicism was the only thing standing in the way of your forgiveness. But Jeno had no apparent reason to drive you around and assist you with errands if it wasn’t simply out of the kindness of his heart. There was nothing that you could give him that he didn’t already have. Except maybe loyal companionship, but he’d already made it clear that he wasn’t lonely.

Only hours later did Jeno finally pull back into your driveway. Most of your errands just required having to speak with people, but noting that you were probably out of your favorite snacks again, you opted to head to a couple of stores. You also figured you would need some chocolate when it was time to placate Haechan after he realized you’d been with his worst enemy all day.

When you were home, Jeno refused to let you carry a single item. With your bags in his hand, he opened your front door and dropped your bags off in the kitchen.

The sound of his front door opening was all too familiar and it was no surprise that Haechan rushed downstairs, having returned only maybe half an hour before you, and chirped, “Baby, you’re home!”

You wrapped your arms around him. Haechan gently hugged you back, careful not to harm you. His warmth was appreciated, but remembering you had a little surprise, you pulled back. “Don’t get mad.”

Haechan gave you a look. “Why would I get mad?”

Surprisingly on cue, Jeno returned from the kitchen, trailing, “I put the food in the...”

Jeno and Haechan locked glances as it was like a deer crossing paths with a mountain lion. Though you could feel Haechan tense, rather than his hold slackening, it tightened. You could see the anger flickering onto his face within a blink. “What is he doing in our house?”

“I just said don’t get mad,” you groaned, winding a hand through your hair. You cocked your head towards Jeno and said to him, “Jeno, thank you for helping me out today. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. I’m endlessly indebted to you,” Jeno quipped, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Damn right,” Haechan murmured under his breath.

Nudging him in the side, you ignored Haechan’s whine of pain. “Well, get home safe. Thank you again.”

“No problem. Have a good night,” Jeno said, seeing himself out.

“Get home safe?” Haechan repeated when Jeno disappeared.

You heaved a little breath and asked, “Do you want him to die or something?”

“Well…”

“Stop,” you hissed, breaking out of his arms and moving to a chair. “He really helped me out today. My car broke down and he came to check it out. Then, when the mechanic took my car, he volunteered to help me with my errands.”

Haechan followed behind you, confused. “What? Why is this my first time hearing about this?”

“Because you had a work emergency and it wasn’t worth interrupting you over. I can handle stuff by myself, you know.”

“I know you can, but…,”

“But you’d rather me call you than the guy that fucked you over, yeah, I know,” you huffed.

“You just finished my sentence.”

Your brows furrowed, wondering how that was in any way significant. “So?”

“So, this is going in the completely wrong direction,” Haechan said, cooling off for your sake. The last thing you needed was stress or a petulant baby daddy. “Let’s calm down and go upstairs.”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything to oppose him, but closed them when you realized you’d fallen short of things to say. “Fine.”

Haechan helped you to the bedroom. The stairs were definitely a problem lately, courtesy of the additional pressure on your uterus. You had to be extra careful coming up them now.

When you were sitting on your bed, Haechan quietly came beside you. You released a tiny breath, not pleased or disgruntled, but of the will to leave whatever just happened downstairs. It was to be expected.

After a minute of silence, Haechan finally said, “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be.”

“No, I should be. You know I never want to make you feel like I think that you can’t do anything yourself. But I need you to know that I’m still there for you to lean on when you need me.”

Thankful that he was lying down, you lowered yourself to rest your head on his chest. Your lips were tugged into a faint smile. “Do you remember our first date?”

Haechan cocked brow. “The real one, or the unofficial first date?”

I still think the unofficial date was the real one, but whatever. Obviously, you would never say that aloud, because then it would spark the debate over what your actual first date was. You ignored his question and continued, “You said that you would never try to control me, because you’re a grown man and I’m a grown woman.”

“Have I?”

You answered bluntly, “No, you haven’t. That was five years ago, you know. I’m pregnant with our baby and even if I hate this next part, I have to depend on you a little more now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I should make a sign-in sheet for everybody that enters your life,” Haechan said.

“Two things can be true at once.”

Haechan said nothing, because there was nothing that needed to be said. You were so similar. That was why your relationship worked. Both of you needed time to yourselves, but the fact you were having a baby together forced you to readjust.

It wasn’t just about what you or Haechan needed anymore. Your two babies would be entering the world any day now and they took precedence in your lives now. There would be difficult choices and there would be compromises. For both of you.

You found his fingers, blindly lacing your fingers through them. “I don’t forgive him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Oh.”

You continued, “I think I probably will, eventually, but not yet. Not right now.”

“You said that I would rather you call me than the guy that fucked me over,” Haechan rewinded, squeezing your hand.

You made a face. “Yeah, I did, but I was irritated and I cut you off. It’s a bad habit that I still haven’t let go of. And it will probably happen again.”

Haechan snorted. “You weren’t wrong, but at the same time, I think I might forgive him too. Not right now, obviously, but eventually. Like you said.”

“Why?” You were confused. You saw how Haechan’s demeanor switched on a dime when he noticed Jeno was in his house.

“Because he helped you. And anyone that treats you respectfully without an ulterior motive is alright in my book.”

There was movement in your belly and it wasn’t the babies for once. It was the butterflies.

Haechan draped his other arm over you, smiling gently as his hand touched your belly. “By the way, is this a good time to mention that I have something to tell you?”

Your face tensed with curiosity. “You’ve already put it out there. Might as well cough it up.”

“Okay, well…,” Haechan started. His confidence seemed to be dissipating. “I was thinking that we should go on a babymoon before the kids get here.”

A single brow lifted from your face. “What?”

“Like a honeymoon, but it’s not a honeymoon. It’s a babymoon,” Haechan explained vaguely, sitting up in a way that meant he was serious.

“Okay, but wouldn’t we go on a babymoon after we had the baby?”

Haechan gave you a look. “Baby, do you really think that we're going to have that kind of time after the babies are born?”

When he put it like that, the concept made a little more sense. “Fair point. Where would we go though?”

Haechan shrugged. “I was thinking Florida, but of course I’m open to suggestions. This is an us thing.”

“Florida’s good with me,” you said without complaint.

“Then, Florida it is.”

Only two days later, you were on a plane to Florida with ample snacks and water. Haechan didn’t like to waste any time and you didn’t understand the point in waiting either. The clock was ticking and you were already in the third trimester.

Sure, it was a last-minute vacation, but you checked in with your doctors and after a few evaluations, they had little problem with you traveling through air for a couple of weeks.

Florida, specifically Miami, was ripe with obnoxiously hot weather in spite of the faded summer. December was similar in California, cheerful and sunny with occasional rain showers. Given that you were raised in the north, it was an exciting change of pace.

Which was why you were glaring at Haechan in disappointment when you watched him pull three sets of familiar black leather from his suitcase. Your arms were crossed. “Did you really need to pack three different leather jackets?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he said without hesitating. “Come on, babe, you love seeing me in black leather. It’s what made you fall for me.”

You mercilessly quipped, “Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s what made me turn you away.”

“Whatever,” Haechan retorted, pulling another leather jacket from his suitcase.

All you could do was shake your head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear the same leather jacket twice.”

Haechan chuckled. “Now that’s an exaggeration. Besides, I need to have plenty to pass down to our kids. They’re gonna have to look extra cool when we go biking together. I can’t be seen with anything less.”

Your heart draped over your racing heart. “Haechan, you cannot take our kids on a motorcycle.”

“Of course not. Not with you knowing about it.”

Your heart was skipping. You were absolutely going to need to have a conversation with his mother. He’s definitely his father’s son.

“I was kidding. It was a joke,” Haechan said playfully, but the mischievousness in his countenance was obvious.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure it was.”

Whether it was or wasn’t, Haechan would never tell you. You would just have to cling to hope that he wouldn’t do something like that without your knowledge. Though you trusted him endlessly, the little snicker coming from his parted lips made you a little unsure.

Then, the vacation started, and you tried to keep your mind from drifting towards the aftermath of pregnancy. Well, as much as you could with the added pressure weighing down your every footstep. Haechan didn’t want to leave you out of his sight for the next two weeks lest something happened to you.

Though you weren’t due for another five weeks, he wasn’t taking any chances. He waited close by when he surprised you with a prenatal massage and always kept your phones charged in case of emergencies.

He’s going to be a wonderful father, spoke the smitten voice in your head in rhythm with your soaring heartbeat. He was vigilant, careful. You knew with total confidence that your children would be in the greatest of hands.

Still, in spite of your mutual worries, neither of you would allow them to stand in the way of your fun. He wandered around the beach with you, sticking your toes in hot sand and taking a dip in the water.

Sporting a two piece swimsuit, you felt somewhat self-conscious meandering just shy of the shore in front of so many people. Though you’d convinced yourself that you were doing a good job at hiding the truth, Haechan grabbed your hand and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It was an obvious lie, because you replied way too quickly.

Haechan’s steps slowed, cocking his head to look at you. “That’s a lie. You answered too fast. And you didn’t ask me why I asked.”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s just… that I feel a little exposed.”

Even though that was vague as hell, Haechan knew exactly what you meant and he wouldn’t stand for it for even just a second. “Babe, you’re beautiful. That’ll never change, even if your body wil,” he said, stopping dead in his tracks.

Your eyes stung with tears. You’d been outside lately, but never this exposed. Never this far into your pregnancy. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t feel like this.”

Haechan shook his head. “Don’t you dare apologize to me. You can feel however the fuck you want. Just remember that I love you regardless of what you look like. And your body’s only changing to cater to the life we’re about to bring into the world.”

That reminder was all you needed. As long as you had Haechan’s love and enough of your own to supply your children, everything else ceased to matter.

For half a second, you thought about how tired he must’ve been of having to provide you reassurance, but you shooed the thought away. Everything Haechan did for you was because he cared. There were more than a handful of times where Haechan would randomly confess how gorgeous he thought you were and how much he loved you.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Haechan set his arm at your backside. “You have nothing to thank me for. It’s the truth.”

“I know, but I don’t know how I would do any of this without you. You make everything easier. I feel like I can breathe as long as you’re with me.”

Haechan’s heart was unstill. He couldn’t imagine his life any other way. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he confessed, the sound of his voice featherlight.

You wanted to test that theory. Mischievous, you squeezed his hand and leaned onto his shoulder, asking, “Would you rather go back to the room?”

What that meant was obvious to Haechan, but it still surprised him. Your sex drive wasn’t as active lately. And not only that, but he was too busy becoming a father to focus on his libido. “Would you be there?”

“I would do a lot more than that,” you retorted.

Haechan pressed, “But would you want to?”

“Babe, if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Haechan nodded. It’s not like you were ever afraid to tell him what you wanted. Or what you didn’t want, for that matter. Plus it had been a lifetime since the two of you had sex, and he couldn’t blame you for wanting to get it in before exhaustion became the only thing that drew you to bed. “Say less.”

The walk back to those canopy chairs was eager. Haechan wanted to return to the room as quickly as he could, but patiently remained at your side.

After collecting your beach towels and rinsing off loose sand (as much as you could in public), you and Haechan walked side-to-side back to the hotel. The sight of your suite coming into view five minutes later made you release a shaky breath of relief.

You and Haechan locked lips almost the second you stood behind the door. Haechan couldn’t wait any longer; he was bursting. Ever since you introduced the idea some twenty minutes ago, all he could think about was putting his hands on you.

His hands were quick, loosening the string behind your back. Some weeks had passed since he touched you like this. Maybe a month. Now he was remembering what it was like to be caught in your path.

You separated yourself from him, exhaling, “Bed.”

Haechan grabbed you by the waist and guided you to the bed. When you were there, you climbed your own way up the mattress, with him following closely after. A hand crept into your bare chest and the other behind you, gently craning you onto your back.

Your lips connected again. Fire ascended over you, starting in your heart and stretching elsewhere. His lips were so pretty and kissable. Throwing your mouth against his and sucking on his tongue was something you simply never got bored of. You just couldn’t explain it.

Haechan pulled back again a couple of moments later, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Better?” he asked, eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Mm-hm,” you sighed contentedly, lacing your fingers through his beautiful head of hair.

Haechan extended an arm down your calf, teasing the skin before cycling your legs into the air and ripping your panties almost right from underneath you. He so badly wanted to touch you everywhere, gnawing at his lip with an insatiable hunger. “I’ll never get tired of this,” Haechan said wantonly. “Tired of you.”

That was without question. You could feel his half-hard cock growing at the edge of your swollen thigh. Arousal shot through him like a firework and it would take little to nothing to get him excited.

Your heart throbbed in sync with your pussy and your leg, still in Haechan’s itching palms, tensed insatiably. There was nothing that turned you on like being wanted.

Wishing he would take off those stupid swim trunks, a dangerous thought wrecked through your brain and you asked, “Can I do something this time?”

“Not a chance.”

You snapped, “And why not?”

“Because it’s my responsibility to take care of you. And right now, I just wanna make sure you get wet enough to take my dick,” Haechan replied.

Your next best option was begging. “Please? I’ll get wet just from seeing your pretty face scrunch. Killing two birds with one stone.”

Haechan’s lips parted to turn you down, but he started to mull over your suggestion. Hope nipped at your heart, twinkling in your eyes. Blowjobs shouldn't've hurt the babies. And he knew you wouldn’t be able to lie on your back for very long anyway. “Fine. How do you wanna do this?”

You were beaming. With Haechan’s help, you kneeled on the mattress before crawling over to the edge of the bed. “I read something online. Let’s try you standing here while I lay on my side.”

Per your request, Haechan shifted to the edge of the bed, stepping out of his swim trunks where his dick was desperately poking around for attention.

You leaned onto your left side, excitement making your heart beat quicker. And your pussy throb, but you were happily focused on someone else right now. “Feel free to use my mouth.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Haechan said, though he would try not to.

Pressing your lips against his inner thighs, you brushed them over his skin, feeling his legs tense at your touch. So, so sensitive. You could only imagine what would happen when you sucked his cock into your mouth.

You reached out to grab a fistful of his cock, just after spitting into the palm of your hand, and started to pump him slowly. More often than not, you started off tentatively; you liked to tease him. There was no point in getting him off if you couldn’t see the irritability and desperation on his handsome face.

Haechan’s breath hitched. His cock was twitching. You seemed to always know what to do with your hands, in spite of the fact that you never let his cum too quickly. But you knew exactly how to wreck him.

“You don’t have to tease, you know,” he said, voice a little distant like he wasn’t even there.

“I know,” you replied offhandedly. “But I want to.” And I know you pretend not to like it.

Haechan huffed, but he was only half upset. Part of him liked when you had total, unmitigated control of his pleasure.

You didn’t release your grip on his stiffened cock when you’d had your fill of teasing him until you sucked the tip into your warm mouth. There was a breath on Haechan’s end, light and shaky, and you couldn’t wait to replicate it.

Your cheeks were hollowed. You were eager to take most of him down your throat, but were cautious about your pacing, given that it had been a minute since you sucked the soul out of Haechan. Even you were reluctant to give him head during the first trimester because of the morning sickness.

“Fuck,” Haechan whined shakily. He was remembering what you said about using your mouth even though he hated that the idea appealed to him.

Haechan’s fingers gripped the sheets, opting not to touch you in case he went too far. His face was tense with pleasure and those featherlight moans were like music to your ears. You took more of him, hopeful to throat every inch, and looked into his hazy eyes to watch as it broke him just the way you knew it would.

The heat was getting to be too much. His thoughts were racing by quicker than he could articulate them, all coming from his mouth being gentle sounds. But his head was saying, She’s going to be the death of me. And I’m okay with that.

Then, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and started to thrust into your mouth. Though there wasn’t any warning and you only half expected it, you somehow willed yourself to relax. It was so goddamn hot. Pretending that it was your cunt his stiff cock was fucking got you even wetter.

Even you were moaning and the vibrations shooting through his cock made the room whirl a little. And as if it couldn’t get any better, you pinched the skin of his thigh between your nails, plucking a lethal whine out of him. “That’s making me crazy, baby,” he exhaled, another groan escaping him when he met your stare.

You pressed your tongue flat against his shaft and Haechan swore he saw Michael Jackson looking down at him for a second. Please, was at the back of his throat, but he didn’t want to cum. Not right now. He wanted to cum when he was deep inside of you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Stop,” he panted, blinking as if to clear the haze from his eyes.

You grinded to a halt when you heard those words and noticed him no longer fucking your mouth, wiping saliva from your lips with the back of your hand. Your cheeks hurt, but it was worth it. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna cum,” Haechan said, gravel. “Not unless I’m inside you. And even then, I might nut too quick.”

You waved off his concern and replied, “It’s okay if you do. I might tap out soon.”

“Duly noted. What’s the plan?”

You beckoned Haechan forward with your hand, watching him creep closer. When he bent down to your level, you whispered something in his ear.

A few moments later, Haechan was behind you in the bed, your naked back flush against his bare chest. Your breaths were thick and rough while you became entrapped in his body’s warmth. Bending your knees, you counted down the seconds until he would be inside, holding your breath when he entered from behind you.

And you released it when Haechan grunted at the squeeze of your vice-like cunt upon the first couple of thrusts. You were soaked, just like you said. Getting him off must’ve really done a number.

His voice was so close to your ear, closer than you thought. “You know the drill, baby. Tell me if you can’t take it.”

You nodded. It was all you could do not to splinter then and there.

Haechan was tentatively prodding, slow. He was careful not to do you any harm, because if he did, he’d never forgive himself. Luckily enough, what you were feeling was far from painful. With every inch he reluctantly pushed into you, your head was deeper into the clouds.

There was nothing like being skin to skin with your lover, heart to heart. That was the better half of the appeal when it came to sex nowadays. Pleasure was seeked by the togetherness of intimacy, less than the emphasis of orgasm.

But he certainly still knew how to get you there.

“You always feel so good,” you moaned, stretching your hand to reach his forearm. This whole trip had been nothing short of romantic thus far.

Something about your praise made all of the blood flow to Haechan’s dick, heavy and quick. “You ready for me?”

“Mm-hm. Move, baby,” you whispered, knowing he was testing the waters. “Just relax. You’re not going to break me, I promise.”

Haechan acknowledged your consent with the quietest of sounds, starting to pace himself in and out. His rhythm was steady, but none too rough. It was loving.

It tickled when his lips grazed the back of your throat in a litter of kisses, breathless giggles escaping you. Wheeling your head, you turned to give him a peck on the mouth, watching the smile coax its way onto Haechan’s face. He has the prettiest smile ever. And I’ll do anything to protect it.

Anything and everything. It was no secret that Haechan doubted himself sometimes. He rarely spoke to you about it, not wanting to lump his feelings on top of yours because he thought yours were more significant, given that you were the one bringing these children to life. But you wish he knew how incredible he was to you.

Though you never failed to remind him. Even now, just looking into his eyes with total adoration, Haechan couldn’t understand. He wanted to see himself the way that you saw him. Thanks to your relentlessness, he was getting a little closer.

Reaching out to touch his cheek, you whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

“Fuck,” Haechan groaned, like those words alone would be the death of him. Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

You playfully teased, “You always say the most romantic things.”

Haechan’s face flushed, but those explicatives were at the tip of his tongue. When he was deep inside you like this, his hands cupping your hips, it couldn’t be helped. “That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing,” he lied, losing himself with every sweet thrust.

Your lips parted in a laugh, but it was cut off by a moan. Between the sight and sound, Haechan couldn’t tell which was better. Watching you burst with rapture turned him on. Listening to you burst with rapture turned him on. You turned him on.

All you could feel was ecstasy. It had been said, but the whole world stopped when you were alone with Haechan and it didn’t affect you. When he was fucking all the stress out of your body, in spite of the heat scorching down your skin, you could somehow breathe.

You faced away from him again, eyes fluttered closed. You were imagining him, even though he was right behind you. There was no space between your bodies and sometimes it was as if you were one person. Like you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Which was ironic. Your first encounter wasn’t so long ago, even if it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. You still vividly recalled wanting nothing to do with him.

Yet here you were. Carrying his baby, his offspring. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Haechan extended his hand over your lower stomach, reaching out to touch your clit. Your reaction was instant. You gasped, elevating to highs you never knew were in reach. Sex hit different knowing the extremes you were capable of when Haechan was giving himself to you completely.

“I’m so close, baby,” Haechan warned. He could feel it approaching, but it didn’t matter to him if he didn’t cum either.

That excited you. Your core throbbed and you purred, “Give it to me, baby boy. Cum inside of me.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Haechan told you, coming up on the edge. He rocked into you harder, wincing his eyes closed.

You didn’t skip a beat. “Why? Too afraid you’re gonna bust a nut?”

When Haechan said nothing, you grinned to yourself. Then, his other hand came to your boobs, gently touching your nipples. You sighed out, breathless.

Now it was you unraveling. Like clockwork, your back started to arch away from him, your body too stimulated from his hands on your nipple and clit. It just felt so good - the whole room started to spin.

Moving your hair out of the way, Haechan leaned even closer to you. If possible. You were obsessed with his mouth nipping at the shell of your ear. Voice at the back of your neck. “You’re gonna be a great mother. I can feel that you are,” he said, breath tickling your neck.

You whimpered, listening to his gentle tone factored with the hot sound of sex thumping throughout the room.

“Our kids are going to love you from the moment that they lie on your chest and get to see you. They’ll grow up lucky that they get to call you their mother, because even before they were born, you’ve done nothing but your best to care for and nurture them.”

“Haechan…,” you trailed. Your eyes watered.

Haechan added, “And I’ll be there, proud as ever. Because if there’s any woman that’s fit to raise a baby, it’s you.”

Only seconds ago you didn’t think you would be able to go any longer, sensing yourself on the brink of tapping out, but that spiral ripped it out of you. You shuddered with climax, shifting away from his touch. The sweetest cry escaped you and you found his hand to anchor yourself through your orgasm.

That did it for Haechan in the end. He came just at a glimpse of you finishing on his cock, moaning your name darkly. Stifling his sounds into your shoulder. You milked his load out of him and Haechan swore it was mind-numbing to its core.

A moment passed before you each stilled. Sticky sweat connected your gleaming skin as you released open-mouthed exhales in an attempt to stabilize your breath. For a second, eyes fluttering, your brain was peacefully empty.

Minutes later, you cocked your head and squeaked, “I’m going to the bathroom. Just rest. You don’t need to follow me.”

Haechan nodded, finally pulling out of you. Something about times like this made his heart swell and his skin swelter. Those moments of silence after.

Wobbling inside the bathroom attached to your suite, you shut the door behind yourself, in spite of knowing Haechan would probably come in a minute or two. There was a gigantic smile on your face. Finding somebody that cared about you so much was a blessing.

You meandered over to the toilet so that you could pee. Then, when you finished, you came to the sink to wash your hands of germs. The mirror in front of you was wide and tall. You stared at your reflection, letting out a contented little breath, and set your palms on your tummy.

As to be expected, Haechan’s voice sounded from behind the door when you didn’t return a couple of moments after he heard you flush. “Baby, are you good? Can I come in?”

You quipped, “Haven’t you come inside of enough things?”

Haechan snickered, twisting the knob. Very funny. He was pleasantly surprised to see you slowly rubbing a hand over your pregnant belly, softly smiling even if you didn’t realize that you were.

Haechan came up to you. Your heart quickened when you sensed his warmth behind you, kissing your shoulder. “Was I too much?”

You shook your head. “It was amazing. I didn’t think I would make it that far.”

“What can I say? I’ve never not blown a woman’s mind,” Haechan joked, lips brushing the back of your neck. A litter of love bruises were there.

You rolled your eyes. Then, you giggled.

It was silent for a little while. Both of you were too in awe to speak. With your focus drawn entirely to your children, it was all too easy to become paralyzed with adoration. And they weren’t even born yet.

Haechan’s hand came around your hip, dropping below your ribs. You could feel him hesitating - his body tensed against your skin - but he ultimately said, “Not to be that guy, but I’m kind of glad you’re taking a step back.”

“Really?” You knew that. His happiness was never not clear to you.

“Yeah, baby, I mean…,” he trailed, thinking. Longing. “Spending more time with you, bonding as a family has really changed me for the better, I think.”

I know what you mean, came your thoughts, but you just hummed. Haechan knew that you were listening. And you knew that he wanted to talk. Your fingers crept up his arm, reassuring.

Haechan’s mind was racing. Blaring. “Becoming a father hasn’t just changed my life. It’s changed the way I look at life. Life is short, baby. The most beautiful moments of life are short, but they’re meaningful, because I have you. And I’ve got to make that count.”

You shook your head. “We’ve got to make that count.”

Haechan nodded, chuckling. “Yes, you’re exactly right. This is a group effort.”

Your eyes lifted to look at him in the mirror, and you finally realized your lips were curled. “You’re gonna be a good father, you know,” you said levelly.

Haechan let his hands wander over your belly, running them gently over the flesh. There was a twinkle in his gaze and a beaming smile at his lips. “I can believe that now. And I owe all of the credit to you. I know what I want and who I am. You’ve made me see things from a different point of view.”

“Ironically, I feel the same way,” you said, finding some amusement in this moment of clarity. “It seems like only yesterday I was terrified of having a baby. I didn’t want things to change. The future was so scary.”

“And it’s not anymore?” Haechan asked.

“A little,” you confessed. “But knowing that I have you makes it easier. And knowing that our kids have someone like you, I can relax.”

“You know what they say. The best matches are people who bring out the best in each other.”

You bobbed your head. “Sometimes, I can’t tell if I grew because of you, or if I grew with you. But I think it’s both now. And now we get to do that for a lifetime.”

Yeah, I get that, Haechan thought. You don’t have a single clue, do you? Just how badly I wanna seal the deal, tie the knot. But I’ll take it one step at a time, because I know how you are. You’re slow and steady, baby. And I’m reckless and quick, but we make it work, because you know what you want. And so do I.

“Yes,” Haechan sighed happily. “Yes, we do.”

A quick tear escaped your eye, but you wiped it away. You were overwhelmed in the best way.

Haechan kissed your cheek, knowing all of your pleasures and your pains. And he kept them inside his heart in a vault. “I hope they have your eyes.”

Your brows furrowed in wonder. “I think our genes might be evenly distributed.”

“That is not how it works, baby.”

I know, but I want to have hope. It’s wishful thinking,” you replied, sighing.

Haechan chuckled. “Either way, they’ll be beautiful. And they have a handsome father and breathtaking mother to thank.”

“That’s so vain,” you retorted. But you didn’t disagree.

Haechan kneeled to the floor, sitting just shy of your stomach. His hands were still lovingly touching you. “Hi, son and daughter. It’s Daddy. I’m sure you’re sick of my voice by now, but that’s too bad. You have to deal with it for eighteen years.”

You shook your head, a stupid smile on your face. Your cheeks hurt. Somehow, you just couldn’t get enough of this boy.

“Mommy says that Daddy is vain. Can you believe that? Me, of all people, vain. I mean, if you look as good as me one day, you will be, too,” Haechan said exaggeratedly.

“Babe, be careful what you tell our kids,” you chastised.

“She’s scolding me now. Mommy can get scary when she’s angry, you know. You better not wind up on the receiving end of her wrath.”

You snorted.

“Anyways, all I really wanted to say is that Mommy and Daddy love you very much. We can’t wait to see you,” Haechan whispered. Your heart burst when he pressed his lips to your belly.

You just knew that he was the one for you.

The rest of the vacation - or babymoon as your babies’ daddy enthusiastically dubbed it - was a breeze. Before you knew it, you were on a flight back home. Beach air and rushing water was over. And California had never been more foreign.

Back in your own home, you spent your hours reminiscing in between yoga sessions. You were grateful that Jaehyun suggested the babymoon. It was a much needed period of relaxation to distract you from the looming disaster of childbirth.

And you were sitting just at its door. Because your pregnancy was considered high-risk and you were not inclined to have a c-section delivery, your doctor recommended labor induction. When you didn’t go into labor after twenty four hours, you started to feel unnerved.

You had nightmares about what would happen if things went wrong sometimes. Your doctor and childbirth educator made sure that the risks were outlined and clear. One wrong move and you could lose your kids, not to mention that anything could happen to you.

That was why Doctor Stakes wasn’t willing to risk natural birth. Having twins alone constituted a high-risk pregnancy and they were actively monitoring your babies positions to make sure they weren’t breech.

Haechan was restless, but he tried to keep it together for your sake. He called your name, hand in yours. “Baby, I can feel you tensing. Breathe,” he told you calmly.

Your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

“I know. I am, too, but I’m right here with you. We can overcome anything as long as we’re together.”

You bobbed your head and sucked in a breath. Had he not been there with you, it would’ve been a hell of a lot scarier.

An eternity and a half seemed to pass before you finally went into labor. The contractions started at a distance and you likened them to the preparation trials you endured during the second trimester. Then, they were shorter apart, and the pain intensified so much it felt as if there was no air.

At the first nick of pain, you immediately pressed for an epidural. Your childbirth already wasn’t natural. And if they thought you would be able to do this without medication, they completely overestimated you.

It took fifteen minutes for a nurse to administer the epidural and another fifteen for the effects to settle in. Haechan never let go of your hand unless he absolutely needed to and he was staring at you with a newfound respect. And his respect for you was already in the heavens.

“This is crazy,” you wheezed, pulse quickened.

“It is,” Haechan agreed. “But you can do this. You’re stronger than I ever have been.”

You tugged your lips into a smile. “I’ve been thinking about us. Instead of the risks and stuff.”

That was a pretty good idea. Haechan said, “Talk to me. Tell me about it.”

“We got a new house, like I said. The kids are roughly five years old. They’re helping you make omelets because you know that I like them. There’s a cat. We let them name it. And I’m completely oblivious to what’s going on.”

Haechan snickered. That sounded like his offspring and he hadn’t even met them yet.

You added, “I thought about something else. There’s a private photoshoot. You’re the photographer, of course. The kids are in your leather jackets, but they’re oversized on them. The whole thing is so cute.”

Haechan kissed your cheek. His heart was thumping in his chest like a hammer and there was a sudden gush of warmth shooting through him. “I bet it is. I can see it playing out in my head right now. We should have a shoot like that one day. With all of us in black leather.”

You chuckled. It was tempting.

There was so much action in the room. People were moving from place to place to ensure that your babies were delivered safely. Your midwife assured you that the process was moving smoothly.

With that out in the open, you could breathe a little easier. Though you and Haechan still had no intention of separating from each other. The nurses would have to forcibly pry him away from you.

“It’s time to push,” came your midwife’s level voice.

The nurses were helping you realize when you needed to push. The movements felt like a distant pressure in your lower back, courtesy of the epidural. None of what was happening to you seemed real and all left to ground you in reality was the knowledge that it was really happening.

“This is happening,” you said shakily. “Oh my god. This is actually happening.”

Haechan uttered the dreaded words, “Babe, relax.”

“No! I’m never doing this again!” you snapped dramatically, overwhelmed with all the motion. “You need to get a vasectomy!”

Haechan took your outburst in stride. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Fuck,” you exhaled, an invisible cool shiver running down your spine.

The first push alone was exhausting. You started to feel lightheaded and as if you would faint from the pressure. There was a lull of relief when the nurse permitted you to take a break to regain strength.

Tears stung your eyes. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Haechan told you in a heartbeat.

Your confidence in yourself started to dissipate, but with your faithful partner and a dedicated team of medical staff reassuring you through the process, you forced the negativity out of your head and focused on your children.

“Another push,” your midwife urged.

You took one big, stabilizing breath before it was ripped out of your lungs again. Your legs had gone completely numb. There was still a slight degree of discomfort in your back that heightened a little with every push, but you winced your eyes closed and rid the thoughts.

“Breathe with me, baby,” Haechan said during the next break.

With what little strength you had, you nodded your head and followed his breathing patterns. Your heart seemed more tired than the rest of you as you physically shook. The blood was rushing through you to a painful degree.

You squeezed Haechan’s hand, which was what you had already been doing. His metacarpals were brave soldiers. “Tell me something.”

In typical Haechan fashion, he was cool as a cucumber. You would never guess that he was terrified for your life, but he pulled himself together. “Anything?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“When I was eleven, I wanted a leather jacket exactly like the black and red one Michael Jackson wore in Thriller,” he confessed. “Then, my mom got me one. And I hated it.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“It was black and orange.”

You snickered. Now you were thinking about an angry little Haechan being a sulky and petulant mess.

When it was time for the final shoves, you had just enough energy to will yourself to keep pushing. Your body was being put through the most gruesome test ever. But you kept the negativity to a minimum and thought only of your family for your own sanity.

And then it was done. There were loud whimpers. Your baby girl was given to you first, followed by your son. You couldn’t remember a time when you were more occupied with emotion.

Haechan gawked in awe. For a moment he couldn’t even believe that this wasn’t just a dream and fought off tears the best he could. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tears blurring your vision. Your kids were here at last and they were the light of your life.

The first hour was spent making plenty of skin-to-skin contact and bonding with your babies. Haechan was smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. He was already obsessed with the tiny little humans he’d helped make and all of your mutual sacrifice seemed so worth it.

There were many things that had to happen before you could leave the hospital, but two days later, you were at home resting. Sleep was all you wanted (even though your vocal children had other plans). Which, after the exhausting process you endured only days before, was well-deserved.

One week passed since you were discarded from the hospital. After a period spent catching up on rest to the best of your ability, you started to accept visitors. Chaewon and Jaemin, the wonderful godparents that they were, assisted with fielding phone calls and text messages from curious loved ones.

The mood in your home was different the day you and Haechan allowed visitors. Your bedroom was like a club and Haechan was serving as a bouncer, letting them in one-by-one in case you got overwhelmed.

Chaewon had seen the babies a little earlier than the others. She was your best friend, after all. “They’re so cute,” she’d gushed.

The babies in question were nested comfortably on your chest. They were also resting. There was a smile tugging at your lips, irresistible. Your heart was at peace.

Ironically, Mark was the first to show up. Again. “Yo, yo, yo. Where’s my niece and nephew?”

“Shh. They’re sleeping,” Haechan scolded from the door.

Mark’s eyes were wide, lips parted. “They must be sleepy, huh?”

You quipped, “Yeah. Apparently, wailing all night long is exhausting.”

“I was thinking they’d be tired of Haechan’s shit, but yeah, that checks out too,” Mark retorted.

Haechan cursed under his breath. Then, he said aloud, “If I wasn’t a better man, I would pummel you to the ground.”

“A better man, my ass,” Mark taunted. His words were promptly followed by a gasp and he put his hands over his mouth. “I meant… my butt.”

You giggled.

Mark switched on a dime. Concern washed over his face, tenderness in his eyes. “Dude, are you okay, though? Like, pregnancy is huge. It had to be eventful.”

“It was a lot of things,” you murmured, briefly bringing yourself back to that moment. You weren’t going to miss it too much, but it was beautiful. “I went through so many emotions. But I’m happy we’re all here.”

Mark bobbed his head. “Yeah, I am, too.”

When he exited the room, Winter promptly entered. And she gasped at the first sight of your babies, eyes dampening. “Oh my god!”

Her reaction made you snicker. “Yes, I know. They’re adorable.”

“Understatement of the year,” she drawled. “These are by far the cutest kids I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

Jaemin poked around the corner. Much like Chaewon, he had already seen your babies and spoken to them, cooing and babbling. “Somebody’s sleepy,” he retorted.

You bobbed your head. “They should be.”

Jaemin didn’t miss a beat, “Guess they got sick of putting up with this guy.”

Haechan’s eyes narrowed and he hissed, “You’re late. Mark already made that joke.”

Winter giggled. You stifled one on your boyfriend’s behalf.

There was a gap in between the next visits large enough for you to take a nap and you didn’t rouse until shortly before your fifth visitor.

As if it wasn’t obvious, you ignored Jeno’s nervousness. He looked a little surprised, lips parted when he caught a glimpse of your kids from the door. After he made small talk with Haechan, he entered and said, “Wow.”

Your babies were awake now. And surprisingly calm. For now. “I know.”

Jeno cleared his throat. “They’re beautiful. Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, staring adoringly at your kids.

Jeno searched tirelessly for things to say. He didn’t want the wrong words to come out of his mouth, but you personally inviting him over shocked him. He asked, “How was labor?”

“Laborious,” you replied dryly.

Jeno snorted.

Haechan wasn’t shy to brag, “She was a champ. I’ve never been more proud.”

Your face was warm. And so was your heart.

“I’m sure she was,” Jeno said, gleaming.

You tilted your head. “Would you like to hold one of them?”

Jeno gawked. “Can I?”

You nodded.

“Okay. Yeah, sure,” Jeno stammered out.

Glancing down at your son, you cooed, “You wanna go to Uncle Jeno? Yeah?”

Shock flickered over Jeno’s face, as if he couldn’t believe the words leaving your mouth. With maternal cautiousness, you handed him your closest child, which happened to be your son. Jeno watched for his head without having to be instructed, holding your baby as if he would shatter.

These babies were a part of you and Haechan, and Jeno swore that if there was anything you ever needed him to do for them, he wouldn’t hesitate to come running.

“Hi,” Jeno greeted, smiling at your son. “You’re really lucky, you know. You have the best mom and dad on the whole planet.”

You smiled softly.

“Am I…,” Ryujin trailed, strolling down the hallway. Imagine her shock when she noticed Jeno standing there. “Late?”

Jeno cleared his throat. “Ryujin.”

Ryujin’s arms folded. “Jeno.”

“You look good,” Jeno said, mouth suddenly dry.

Ryujin was eyeing him, skeptical, as if she still didn’t trust him. But you could see the sadness in her stare. “You, too,” she replied quietly.

Jeno gently placed your son back in your arms, making sure he was secure before he released his grip.

“We forgive him, Ryujin,” Haechan said, even if it took months.

Ryujin’s eyes flickered. Jeno stepped in front of her and glanced at the floor. If there was something he wanted to tell her, he lacked the courage.

“Look me in the eyes.”

Jeno did it. He would do anything to make his mistakes up to the people he owed to.

Ryujin wrapped her arms around him. Jeno stiffened for a second, not expecting that of all reactions, but gently hugged her back. While they were reconciling, you and Haechan glanced at each other. There was a telepathic exchange of thought between the two of you.

Then, Ryujin pulled back, and whined, “Ugh, I just realized something. We’re uneven again.”

Haechan snorted in disbelief. Of course that was what she was worried about.

“Not if you include the kids plus Haechan and I’s future cat,” you quipped smartly.

Ryujin beamed in amusement. “I think I can work with that.”

Glancing down at your two lovely kids, the cutest of hats on their tiny little heads, you grinned and said, “Yeah, so do I.”

#lee haechan smut #haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct

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transvampireboyfriend · 11 months ago

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Teacher AU

Eddie who studied to be a music teacher but right before graduation Corroded Coffin takes off. It's fast, they have to mail him his diploma to avoid a crowd of fans at his classmates' ceremony.

But it goes as fast as it comes, a few years of touring and then popularity wanes. Eddie is not bothered by it, neither are the guys, they enjoyed it while it lasted, yet they all knew they couldn't live like that for the rest of their lives, so it's all for the best.

Eddie lives off of album and merch sales and writing songs for other bands and artists now. This is when his best friend, Chrissy, tells him she heard the music teacher was retiring at her old pre-school.

Eddie applies for the vacant position, fearing they won't like his former star status but ultimately, after a good interview, he gets the job.

Steve who became a pre-school teacher and started teaching as soon as he could. He lives with his best friend, Robin, and coaches the town's junior basketball teams (both boys and girls) on his off time.

Steve who's nearing his thirties and getting a little frustrated with his love life. No matter how many dates, no matter how many 6 month relationships, no matter how many 1 year and a half and moving in together debacles, he still just never quite fits his partners, he never feels that thing, that excitement everyone talks about. No matter how amazing the person. Robin calls him an idealist, says he's being naïve. Steve sticks by his instinct to hope for more.

Steve who stares (a little slack-jawed) at the new music teacher for a good minute when he comes pick up his kids. Trying to take in the wild hair pinned up by a pencil, the glasses around big cow eyes, the tattoos peeking out of his long sleeves, the dimples.

He was aware Mrs. Wallace retired and a new teacher was brought on, he just hadn't expected his heart to race at the mere sight of him.

Steve completely misses his name, has to ask him to come again when those beautiful brown eyes get a mischievous sparkle and look expectant, like he got stood up waiting for an answer.

"I said it's nice meeting you" the new teacher repeats

"Oh! Of course! You're very nice. I mean it's very- It's nice meeting you too" Steve says and forcefully shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line.

The new teacher's smile just gets bigger and he nods and leads the kids to his class.

Robin thinks it's beyond funny that Steve doesn't know the new teacher's name, but she refuses to explain, refuses to tell him what it is and encourages him to find out on his own.

Steve approaches the guy in the teacher's lounge at lunch.

Beyond whatever the hell makes Steve's brain functions jump ship when he's around him, Steve does think it was rude of him to stare and not even introduce himself when they first met.

His mother may have been real shitty, but she didn't raise someone impolite.

"Hi," Steve starts, making the other man look up at him from underneath his glasses. Steve looks away for a second to avoid getting lost in those eyes.

"I think I owe you an apology," Steve starts, the other teacher raises his eyebrows and lowers the book in his hands.

"I'm sorry?"

"That's my line," Steve points out, he's rewarded by a small laugh and dimples, "I was rude," Steve explains, "I was staring and I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Steve." he smiles and extends his hands to the other man.

"I know." the guy says, smiling big enough to show his teeth, but gently taking Steve's hand in his own "I told you, they were nice enough to put all the names in my schedule, remember?" he says,

Steve freezes.

How come he didn't think of that? His schedule is the same, all schedules for teachers have everybodys' names. They even distributed new schedules for everyone when the hiring decision was made, Steve just hadn't bother to look at it yet, knowing the important bits hadn't changed.

Steve would facepalm if his dominant hand wasn't otherwise occupied.

"Uh-" Steve starts, thankfully the other man cuts him off,

"Hey," he says, with the kindest eyes Steve has ever seen, and still gently holding Steve's hand, "It's cool. I get it." he tells Steve,

Then he asks, "Are you a fan?"

Steve stares again.

Excuse him?

Judging by Robin's smirk accross the room, Steve's face must be as red as a ripe tomato.

Steve yanks his hand back.

Well, that's presumptuous. Just because Steve isn't very good at thinking whe he's around him, doesn't mean that- Sure, Steve came prepared to flirt with him, but he does not appreciate beaing treated like he's easy.

Steve frowns at him before turning around and promptly walking away. He guesses he'll have to go check his schedule if he wants to know the name of this jerk.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #steve x eddie #steveddie #steddie headcanon #.#bonus when robin meets Chrissy shes like oooooh. oh wow. love does exist #steve is that vine of the lady on the bus yanking her hand away agagshsjsksjs #sorry if this isn't at all legible. I don't know if the confusion is clear here idk idk im sleeby

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recuira · 1 year ago

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after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two chapter three

chapter four | suede. stalking. silly.

his pov;

"Your wanted poster."

Those three words settled in my mind as I stared at the distraught girl in front of me, watching as she fumbled with her hands, a nervous exterior brushing over her. She seemed to be so horrified with the fact that I was once a pirate sought after by thousands- wanted dead or alive, though much preferred dead. Many still wanted me dead but due to my brilliant idea of hiding out here, the chance of anyone getting my bounty was thin. I, however, didn't see it being as much of a big deal as she deemed it so. The real issue I found was tucked away in one of the books within the nightstand which I was so fucking thankful she didn't find. I'd rather her not have been looking around but if she were to find one of the two? I was glad she found the poster.

I tossed another slice of apple into my mouth then set the knife down on the cutting board. I approached Y/N but instantly halted when I noticed how nervous and uneasy she was. "What's wrong?"

"H-How many people did you kill?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"Does that really matter?" I asked, waving my hands up in the air to hopefully exaggerate my point. "It was almost a year ago."

"That doesn't change the fact that it happened!"

"I know, I know." Despite her discomfort, I took a seat next to her anyway. She tightened her arms around herself, almost to make sure there was as much distance between us without her actually moving. Clenching my jaw, I patted my hands upon my thighs. "I know it's a terrible thing, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It's in the past and if I could go back and alter things, I would. Being a pirate was all I knew. My old friend was one, too. Then we separated onto different things and-"

"Did he kill people?"

"Lots of pirates kill people. It's part of the hype, ya know? It's very unlikely to raid another ship without there being any casualties. But I stopped because I got tired of it. I wanted something more."

"It's a pretty big bounty. I mean- come on, fifteen million berries?"

"Don't think about turning me in now," I chuckled, wanting to add a bit of lightheartedness to this unfortunate predicament.

"I'm not like that. I know I'm in need of money but-"

"I didn't mean it like that, Y/N, come on. Give me some slack."

"Well, why exactly did you stop? Did you lose the thrill of stealing from others? O-Or did you get bored of killing innocent people?"

I rolled my eyes, scoffing. "We've all done some shit we're ashamed of. We're humans. I did a lot of fucked up shit," I said as I pointed at myself. "But I changed that. I moved and let all that go. I left my crew, made someone else the captain, and abandoned ship. I left all of that shit behind and came here."

"But why?"

"If I say this, I'll probably make things worse but I don't want to lie anymore," I said as I laid back, folding my hands over my chest. I stared up at the ceiling. "You've obviously heard of the One Piece, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, I was one of those pirates absolutely obsessed with finding it. Fuck, I even dreamt about it. It was the only thing I truly desired in life. It was the only thing I thought about. Not riches, women, alcohol- just the One Piece. I was making somewhat decent progress but then I heard that a group of Straw Hats-" I grimaced at the thought. "-made off with the map which they stole from one of the Marine bases. I happened to track them down and I managed to steal the map from some kid named Monkey D. Luffy. But all good things must come to an end and I lost it. I was back to square one. And then I discovered his bounty was thirty million berries." I frowned then sat up, turning to face Y/N. "Can you believe that? Some newby pirate-wannabe received a bounty double my own! Seeing that brought me back to reality. So I dropped everything then came here."

"All because of him?"

I nodded my head. Just the thought of that kid irked me. There was no one, other than Shanks, who I despised more than my own self.

"So, yeah, I know what I did was fucked up. But there's a reason I'm here now. There's a reason I've given you so much. It's because I want to be a better person, maybe redeem myself for what I've done. And I can do that by helping you, by making your life a little less miserable."

"Do you pity me?" The girl asked, finally meeting my gaze.

"What?" I laughed, almost obnoxiously. "Of course not. If anything, I envy you."

"Me?" Y/N pointed at herself. "You envy me?"

"You have no bad conscience. You've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to make up for. You have a clean slate."

She shrugged, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Thank you."

"So, uh, do you hate me now?" I asked, forcing a frown to mimic a pouting child. She giggled at this and shook her head. I sighed in relief, wiping 'sweat' from my forehead. "Thank god. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you hated me."

"I knew you were a pirate but it's still shocking to learn about your past. It'll take me a bit to get used to it but I don't hate you."

"So, we're good?" I extended my hand.

"We're good." She shook it.

I felt as if a huge relief was lifted off my shoulders. And as long as she stayed out of the nightstand, there would be no more issues. But if I hid the book, then I would be even more safe. I pondered the possibilities before I watched as she rose from the confines of the bed and approached the counter. My eyes trailed down. The backs of her thighs were exposed and the shorts clung to her ass so divinely. I bit my lip and crossed my leg over my lap.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," She mumbled as she started to chew on an apple, then began to cut into an orange. "I do have a question for you, though."

"Go ahead, shoot." As soon as she turned around, my eyes met hers and I smiled.

"Are devil fruits real? Or is that just an old tale? I've never seen one up close and I heard they cost a fortune, even for just one alone."

"They're real," I said with a small laugh. "I would know, I've eaten one."

Y/N nearly jumped before she darted over toward me, her hands grabbing at my shoulders. She still had a slice of half-chewed apple in her mouth which made her struggle to properly speak. "WHAT? You- NO! You didn't?!" She let go of my arms and instead planted her hands on my chest, shoving me back. I collapsed back against the bed, laughing. "You ate one?!"

"Years ago, when I was fifteen."

"You're lying!"

"I'm not. It was a mistake actually."

"What happened?"

I chuckled and pushed myself back up. "Give me an orange and I'll tell you."

If my reflexes weren't so quick, the fruit would've hit me in the face with how quick she threw it. But I caught it and began to pick apart the peel. "Easy, next time," I smirked and took a bite from it. "Well, when I was younger and was a pirate-in-training, the crew I was in raided this ginormous ship and hit the motherload. Not only gold and jewels and anything you could think of, but there was also a devil fruit. I found out how much they were worth and tried to steal it but I was caught in a predicament and I tried to hide it in my mouth."

"And?"

"I swallowed it whole."

She gasped, "And you're alive?"

"It doesn't kill you. It just takes your ability to swim when you're in the ocean, in salt water. It's like the sea turned its back on you."

"Did you get a power from it?"

I shrugged and winked at her, taking another bite. I licked the juices from my hand. "Guess."

"You can fly?"

"Ha! Nope."

"Read minds?"

"It's body-altering."

"Wait," The lovely maiden smirked, taking a seat on the bed. "Did it give you that red nose?" She snickered.

"Guess again," I said flatly, my expression turning cold as I stared at her. She gulped, clenching her jaw. I laughed and looked down at my lap, now using one hand to hold the orange. I continued to chew on it. But while she was distracted with her numerous attempts to guess what kind of body-altering power I had, I detached my left hand at the wrist. It floated behind the both of us and tapped on her right shoulder. Y/N jumped up, her head shooting to look at her side. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed together before she spotted my floating hand waving at her. She gasped and slapped it away. I broke out into a fit of laughter, my hand reconnecting to my wrist. "Impressive, huh?"

"You- what?" She was still flabbergasted.

"I ate the chop-chop fruit. It allows me to pretty much chop any part of my body. Like I can-" To avoid grossing her out, I chopped my left leg from my thigh instead of my head from my neck. She watched in amazement. I smiled at this. "I can disconnect anything from my body from my toes to my ears to my-"

"Even... ya know?"

I winked. "Oh, yeah. That, too."

"That's so cool. How come you haven't done it before around me?"

"I don't know. I just never found a reason to." Shrugging my shoulders, I allowed my leg to snap back. I continued to chew on the orange before finishing it and tossing the peel into a small bin to the left of the bedside table. Y/N finished hers as well. She wiped her hands down on her shirt.

"So, uh," I chewed on my bottom lip. "Do you think you and your mother will be okay?"

"Yeah. We fight all the time. Her drinking doesn't help."

I cringed. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's one of the reasons I hate it so much."

I pursed my lips and nodded my head. I knew I needed to cut back on it but it was something I've done for well over more than half my life. Though, I was destined to do it. Not only for myself, but for her, too. I'd do anything for Y/N. "So," I began, "what do you want to do today?"

"I need to go make up with my mother. That's a big to-do. I can't stand her ever being upset with me." The girl said as she stood up, slipping her shoes back onto her feet. "We can have dinner tonight if you want. Maybe you could meet her."

"Meet your mom?"

"Yeah, why not? She was wondering where all that money came from. She thought I stole it."

"Hell, I don't know. I'm not good with meeting new people."

"Will you, at least, consider it?"

"Sure," I smirked.

"Thank you." Y/N reached for the doorknob, giving it a strong and firm tug before it yanked open. A gush of cold wind washed over her, almost knocking her back. I tossed her my coat to which she whispered another 'thank you' then slipped it on. "I'll see you, Buggy."

"Bye," I murmured with a smile.

As soon as the door shut, I jumped down from the bed and pulled the drawer out from the nightstand, dropping it on the stone floor. I sorted through the numerous books and grabbed the novel I was so fucking thankful she didn't look through. As I opened the cover, the hollowed book had contents that almost spilled out. Papers among papers, among sketches fell out, wafting along the floor. Several notes about Y/N puddled on the floor. One, which was my favorite, was a letter I wrote to her- well, I refused to send it. If I sent it, any last fiber of my confidence would be crushed like a scrambled egg. My fingers lined the rigid edges as I unfolded it.

Messy paragraphs lined both the front and back of the page.

I smiled. How long ago did I write this? I haven't looked at it in so long. I usually added a sentence to it each time I saw Y/N, which is why it was so long. But I stopped pouring my thoughts and desires into it when I actually had the pleasure of speaking to her.

If she saw this, I would kill myself.

I'd purposely jump into the ocean with two anchors attached to my feet.

I looked over the first paragraph,

'I've never wanted something so badly in my life. To say I yearned for her would be a complete understatement. I longed for her, I yearned, I desired- In simple terms, I wanted her. I mean, how could I not? She was an angel. She was a siren. I would purposely listen to her enchanting song, allowing my boat to crash, just if it meant I could be graced by her presence, by her beauty. I was obsessed with her. If she found out my thoughts, my desires, she would never let herself be seen with me. I wouldn't blame her, though. I was obsessive. It was unhealthy, I knew that. But I didn't care. I wouldn't say I loved her because I didn't know what that felt like. I've never experienced it. But perhaps I did love her. I didn't know, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that she was the only treasure I wanted. Not the One Piece, no. Not even that could match up to her alluring person. If I had to travel every sea in order to find her, battle every sea snake in order to touch her, I would. I would in a heartbeat.'

I grimaced, cringing at what I was reading. Thank god, she didn't see this. I didn't even want to see this.

I tucked the papers back into the hollowed-out book, closing it. I slipped the other novels into the drawer then slid it into the nightstand. With the book of secrets, I needed to hide it somewhere she could never find it- where even I struggled to find it. I didn't want to throw it out for I would be completely discarding all of those moments we had together, although she couldn't reconcile them with me because at that time, I was nonexistent to her.

Maybe I could follow my own idea and form my own message in a bottle. I never mentioned her name, nor my own. To an outsider's perspective, it was anonymous.

I shook my head and slipped the book back into the bedside table. She wouldn't be back anytime soon so I had enough time to properly execute a fool-proof plan.

But right now?

I needed to go get another coat.

-=-

her pov;

My mother and I resolved things, just like always. And when she caught wind of a pirate suddenly becoming very fond of me, she begged me to invite him over for dinner. I didn’t think that was the best of ideas. Going out to dinner? Sure! But to have him over? At our house? I cringed at the idea.

She fell ill months ago. Nothing too major, but ever since she’s gotten better, she despises leaving the house and even made me bring her bed downstairs so she could sleep next to the kitchen just in case she had a hankering for something to eat. It was ridiculous, I knew that. But I couldn’t just tell her no. She was my own mother. While I was old enough, I definitely wasn't going to willingly disobey her.

She persisted that I go and grab Buggy so we could have him over for dinner, while I insisted we all go out to eat. She hated the idea and told me that it was her house, her rules.

I grimaced at the thought.

Now, I was just outside Buggy's home, knocking on the stone door. I hoped he was home, though there was no possibility of me being able to ask him prior to my arrival. I knew he was busy. He was a very busy man. I was surprised he made time for me.

With another knock, another silence fell. I groaned and backed up.

My eyes trailing down, I stared at the doorknob and chewed on my bottom lip. He wouldn't care if I waited inside, right? We trusted each other. He knew where I lived and I knew where he lived. As far as I knew, he never crossed any of my boundaries and I definitely didn't cross any of his- well, except for maybe 'snooping' through his nightstand.

Without thinking too much more about it, I grabbed the rusted doorknob, gave it a firm twist, then shoved it open. I almost fell through the doorway.

I caught my balance and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Without the lantern being lit, it was rather dark, but the bright blue sky helped to illuminate the small room. He must've not been home since I left.

I looked around, admiring everything.

As I took a seat on the edge of the bed, I noticed a piece of paper laying on the floor. It wasn't there before.

I raised an eyebrow and reached to grab it but before I could, the door flung open, a certain blue-haired pirate standing in the entrance. When he noticed me, he smirked. I gulped.

"So, we're breaking and entering, are we?" The man grinned as he took a few paces forward.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, scratching the back of my neck. "I came over to ask you about dinner but you weren't here so I figured I would wait."

"No worries, I'm only teasing."

"So?" I folded my arms, leaning forwards.

"So what?" Buggy questioned as he slipped his coat off. Since when did he get a new coat? And why? I was only borrowing the one he lent me. I didn't plan on keeping it. But I guess now it was okay if I did.

"Dinner? Are you available?"

"Hmm, it depends. What time?"

"I don't know, sometime tonight? Only for two hours or so. My mother wanted to meet you. I told her about you."

"What did you tell her?"

"That you've been a friend of mine for a few weeks now and you've been fortunate enough to treat me and help me out," I said with a smile. "She thought you were my boyfriend." I chuckled.

"Heh, that's rich," Buggy said as he turned around to close the door.

"So? Can you?"

"I guess so. Just don't leave me alone with her. I really don't want to be bombarded with questions." The man said as he folded the jacket over his arm then slung it on the countertop. "Did you tell her about my nose?"

I laughed, confused. "No? Why would I?"

"It's my defining feature. It's hard not to notice it when you see me."

"I didn't tell her. I didn't think it was important. I even forget it's there."

The clown burst out in laughter, his eyes closing as he clutched his stomach and nearly fell back with his fit of giggles. I pursed my lips. "What's so funny?" I asked as I crossed my arms.

"It's cute how you're trying to be nice to me. With a nose like mine, how can you forget it's there?" He replied while wiping a tear from his eye.

I felt flustered with the first part of his monologue but I ignored it and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, I just do. It's not all I see whenever I look at you, ya know. It's not my main focus point when we speak. I look at your eyes, not your nose."

"And yet again, you prove to me that you're different than others."

I smiled. "Hope that's a good thing."

Buggy smirked, winking his left eye. "Of course it is."

The pirated approached me before he knelt down and picked up the piece of paper. He examined it for a moment then laughed to himself. "Grocery list," He explained as he shoved the paper into his pocket.

I paid no attention to the paper. It wasn't any of my business. "Speaking of groceries, want to go help me get food for dinner?"

"What's on the menu?"

"No idea, but let's just grab something so she won't be bitching later."

"Guess I'll be needing this again," The blue-haired man said as he reached to grab his jacket. He slipped his arms through and adjusted the collar. "We match now."

"Mine's more vintage than yours." I winked.

"Oh, so it's yours now?"

"No?" I gulped.

Buggy giggled. "It is. I got my own now so no worries about giving it back. Unless you'd like to trade from time to time."

"No, I like this one."

The man looked at me, an eyebrow cocked upward.

I paid his look no attention and instead looked down at the tattered suede coat I wore. I inhaled softly. It smelled like him.

A soft odor mixed with whiskey, coconut, and cinnamon. And while I hated the stench of alcohol, it worked for him.

I couldn't imagine him without it.

#buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy x reader #captain buggy #one piece live action #buggy smut #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy #x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece buggy #buggy opla

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galatially · 10 months ago

Text

❝𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 "𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧" 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, exes, angst, smut, soft boi™ logan, exes to tentative lovers

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it is time to spread the agenda of logan howlett and his influence on my brain rot for most of my nerdy life. shout out to lizzy mcalpine for making "ceilings" and having me spiral over it for a year!

also also, y'all, i know. i'm horrible at deadlines. but it's what y'all love about me lol

also also first post of 2024!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into his skin, your fingers both light and firm.

“You have so many scars.” He grunted in response. “When you tell me, am I going to have to set a house on fire?”

Logan laughed. “And why would you do that, bubba?”

“To defend your honor, of course.” You laid across his back to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath making the hairs on his body erect. “Can’t have you being the hero all the time. My shoulders are strong, too.”

“…listening? Logan? Logan!”

He blinked, his vision focusing on Ororo’s concerned gaze.

“What’d you say?”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I asked where you were going.”

Logan hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Ororo hummed. “Would this have to do with a certain someone that lives in the Canadian mountainside?” He didn’t answer as he threw the bag in the back of his truck. “Do you think that’s the best thing for her right now?”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay, Munroe.”

“And then what?” Ororo crossed her arms. “What are you going to do when you see that she’s fine?”

He threw her a hard glare. “I just want to see her. Is that so fuckin’ wrong?”

Her features softened. “You had another dream about her.”

Logan turned back towards the garage. “What does it matter? I just need to see her, Munroe.”

She held her hands up. “I can’t stop you. I just worry that you’re about to uproot this woman’s life because you can’t let her go.”

He took in a sharp breath. She wasn’t wrong; he’d spent the better part of six years raking himself over the coals at how he ended things. If he allowed them, the memories of you screaming and your brown eyes red and puffy from crying haunted him more than any battle he’d ever been in.

“Look, if you’re so hellbent on going to see her, then go. You’re an adult and you have to live with your decisions.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Tell our fearless leader that I’m goin’ out of town and I’ll be back when I can.”

Ororo nodded and waved, a sad smile on her lips.

He shouldn’t fucking be here.

The second Logan crossed the border, he could think of nothing else but to get to you. Thirty-eight hours and he didn’t sleep for any of them. No, his mind’s eyes played memories of you: how soft your skin was, that fig and jasmine perfume you loved. The silken warmth of your cunt. He fucked his fist like a horny fourteen year old in that dingy hotel in BC. If he focused hard enough, he could get the tone of your voice just right — those breathy, pleading moans that you let out only for him. He could get lost in the memories, pretend that he was beside you in your bed, other people be damned.

But that was thirty-eight hours ago.

Now, here he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck until his knuckles went white, silently cursing himself for even showing up. He hadn’t seen you in, what? Six years? Who the hell was he to appear on your doorstep after the shit he pulled?

His eyes scanned the forest surrounding your home. He hated that you lived so far away from immediate civilization. It took you thirty minutes to get into the nearest town for work and you essentially lived off the grid. When he’d happened upon your home that fateful October evening, he was amazed that you had a working phone, let alone Wi-Fi. Whenever you crossed his mind, he thought the worst. He used to beg you to get an apartment in the city, but you always refused.

“I’m not ready to let get of this place just yet.” You looked up at him from drawing circles on his bare bicep. “Unless you want to give up city life and live out here with me?”

He didn’t answer; even back then, Logan knew that he was bound to hurt you. His refusal to give you more than idle pleasure was a point of contention for you both. Jean always said that he could be hard to talk to because if he wasn’t picking a fight, he was evading questions. But unlike Jean, you weren’t one to back down. When he’d divert or blatantly ignore your questions, you stood your ground. You didn’t give him the chance to distract you with sudden affection. You wanted to resolve issues as soon as they were made present.

It’s something Logan both loved and hated about you.

“Fuck this.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blew out a determined breath and opened his car door, his feet moving before he changed his mind. As he got closer to the house, he noticed the red “SOLD” sign on the lawn. His chest thrummed with…pain? Remorse? Fear?

What would he do if you left?

He was on your porch now, his heart hammering against his ribcage, fighting to get to you. He raised his hand to knock on the door as it was opening, being met with the face he’d been dreaming about for half a decade.

Your brows were furrowed in confusion. “James.”

His hazy memory didn’t do you justice; your eyes seemed more intense than the last time he’d seen you. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt — eerily familiar to an old Pink Floyd shirt he thought he’d lost years ago — and shorts barely peeking out from under the hem of the shirt. Your skin smooth and begging to be touched. Your dark coils were thrown into a bun, pieces falling out in various places. You weren’t outwardly upset but you could school your features better than anyone he knew. Your body was half-facing him and half-facing the tiny hall that led to the inside of the house. There was a solemnity to your face that he didn’t recognize.

A voice in the furthest part of his mind whispered that it was because of him.

“Y’know you’re the only person that still calls me James?”

Your features flattened. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just passin’ through Edmonton and ended up here .”

“You drove for three days on a whim?”

“I was on my way back from handlin’ somethin’,” he said, the familiar finality in his tone. His gaze went past your shoulders and into the darkness of your home. “Have you eaten yet?”

You blinked. “Not yet.”

He nodded, his blue eyes back on you. “Can I come in? I’ll make you somethin’.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve slammed the door in his face and went back to packing up the rest of your bedroom. But instead, you moved to the side and let Logan inside. He thanked you and walked inside, toeing off his shoes, and heading back towards the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever.

You looked out at his old, rusted truck one last time before closing the door and going to the kitchen. From the tiny hallway, you could hear him humming to himself; an old song his mother used to sing to him, he’d told you once. He’d put his hair up into a bun at the top of his head, a few strands falling to frame his face. His tan skin, the same skin that had scars that even his mutation couldn’t heal, glowed under the dull glow of your kitchen light. You used to always tell him beautiful he was, but he’d wave you off in that Logan way, telling you that no one was as beautiful as you.

You leaned up against the doorjamb. “Last I heard, you were living in New York. You teach at some fancy school?”

Logan chuckled, mincing up onions and garlic. “I wouldn’t say teach.”

“So, what, you get paid to hang out with fourteen year olds in upstate New York? Sounds kind of sketchy.”

“I teach hand to hand combat,” he glanced over at you, “the kids that I teach it to are like me. Mutants.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I never liked that word; mutants. They make you all sound like failed experiments.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “Far from it.”

Logan nodded, more to himself than your declaration, and moved to face the stove. He dumped his vegetables in a small pan to cook. He reached to the left of him — muscle memory, you reasoned — and grabbed a jar of maize. “You’d like it. New York.”

“You think?”

Logan lifted a shoulder. “Be better than livin’ all alone in the mountains.”

You let out a hum. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t know yet,” your eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t think that I’d be able to sell the house, actually.”

“Why did you? Sell?”

“You know why,” you said, your voice lowered to a whisper. “I held onto it for her and when she died, I didn’t want to stay.”

“‘M sorry I didn’t reach out. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

You made a bitter sound. “Yeah, well, you’re good at leaving when the wind blows.”

He pursed his lips, turning around to turn off the stove. “You got any plates or bowls left out?”

“James, I —”

“’S fine, Y/N. Bowls?”

You blew out a breath and walked over to the cupboard beside the stove and grabbed two plates, handing them over to Logan. Your knuckles brushed up against his but you kept your eyes on the oak wood of the cupboard.

“Thanks.”

You rushed out a hushed “you’re welcome” and moved back to stand in front of the sink. The air was tense and you had to fight the impulse to pull Logan to you and let him consume you, if only for tonight. You tightened your hands into fists, feeling the bite of your nails as they embossed your skin.

Logan handed you a plate and walked to your tiny kitchen table in the far corner of the room. He sat in his chair: close enough to the back door and facing towards you. Where before it was to smile and regard you with tenderness, now there was unease in his eyes.

You’d forgotten that you didn’t ask what he was making, so the spread in front of you gave you pause: it was your mother’s polenta recipe. “You remembered.” The words came out airy, surprised.

“You’re the last thing that I’d ever forget, bubba.”

“Don’t do this, Logan.” You set your spoon down. “Just…don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. You pushed your plate away and looked away from your former lover.

What were you doing? He showed up, out of the blue, making you dinner…to do what? The question had been clawing at you the entire visit. Why now? What could Logan possibly want from you after all of these years?

Logan leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking in protest against his broad frame. You kept wanting to speak, break the tense silence, but you couldn’t find the words. Looking at him, he seemed too still. Like a marble statue molded to the chair, anchoring him to this room with you.

“I fucked up, bubba.”

Your brows canted. “What do you mean?”

“That night…the last night that I was here, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. Made promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.” One of his large hands scrubbed down his face, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I told you that I’d leave everythin’ behind to stay.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You remembered; he’d come here that night more impassioned than usual. His hair wind-swept, his cheeks wind-whipped and red, he pulled you in for one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever had in your life. A clash of tongue and teeth against fleshy lips and curves of skin that left you a shaking mess beneath the thin sheets of your bed. You laid in his arms, running your fingers along the lines of his collarbone, when you’d asked if he’d stay. You weren’t begging, didn’t even lower your voice to a low hush to persuade him. You were as direct as you always were, determined to know where you stood in the universe that was Logan Howlett.

“You lied.”

His eyes, darkened with sorrow, finally found yours. “I lied.”

You blinked back tears. “Why? If you knew that you weren’t going to make space for me in your life, why make me believe you would? I uprooted my life for you, Logan! I was going to sell my mother’s house and ride off with you into the sunset! And for what? For you to leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t take you with me then, Y/N. Somethin’…came up.”

“I know, Ororo told me.” Logan shot forward, his eyes wide. “She came and found me two years ago. She said that there was an incident and that you almost died. Said that you kept murmuring my name, telling them to make sure that I was safe.”

He scoffed. “Always meddlin’, that woman.”

“At least she cared enough about you to come find me.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re walkin’ a thin line, bubba.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore, Logan.” You stood up from the table and opened the back door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out,” you hissed. “Thank you for making me dinner, but I want you to go.”

Logan crossed his arms, throwing you a hard look. “No.”

Your nostrils flared. “James, get —”

You’d forgotten how fast he was. He was out of the chair and in front of you in an instant, your next retort dying on your tongue. One of his large hands cupped your chin and the other slammed the door shut. His blue eyes roamed your face, searching for something.

Though he towered over you, hell, he overpowered you, you didn’t back down. “I want you to leave.”

“I’m not leavin’. Not until I say what I have to say.”

Your eyes brush along the seams of his lips, lingering, before meeting his smoldering gaze again. “Then say what you need to say and go. I’m done with this.”

Logan’s fingers gripped your chin harder, his gaze hard. “We’re not done talkin’, bubba.” There was an intensity to the nickname as it left his mouth that made your thighs clench together. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing up against yours.

You gripped the sleeve of his flannel, your pulse fluttering in your ears. The hand that had closed the door moved to the small of your back and pushed you into his pelvis. You gasped at his hardened erection against your thigh.

“You can yell at me, you can fuckin’ hit me if you need to.” He rested his forehead against yours. “But don’t tell me to leave. I don’t know where to go if I’m not with you.”

“You haven’t had me in years, James,” you said, roughly. You knew that he caught the desperation in your tone, your words. You tipped your head back and lifted up on tiptoe to press your lips to his. When you finally noticed that he hadn’t returned the kiss, you started to pull back, a pit growing in your stomach.

“I’m —”

His arm tightened around your middle to keep you still. His mouth molded against yours, hungry and desperate.

You pawed at his flannel, helping him shrug out of it. Logan cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sucked a bruise along the curve where his neck and collarbone meet, relishing in the hiss he let out.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He pulled back, his gaze intense. “I need to say this before anythin’ else happens between us.” Your brows creased. “I hurt you. I hurt you and it fuckin’ killed me, Y/N, and I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know Logan enough to know his favorite color or his mother’s name, but you knew enough about him to know that he didn’t apologize. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or right, he just didn’t. But the man before you wasn’t the man you knew six years ago. Now that you were looking at him, you could see it all: the dark circles, the stiffness of his body that only came from being nervous.

Despite your assertive nature, you didn’t hold grudges. Those types of feelings need to constantly be fed into and that was energy you couldn’t spare. Not even for men that you fell in love with too quickly.

You put your lips to his again. He mirrored your movements and carried you to your bedroom. He sucked a bruise onto the skin between your ear and shoulder, making you let out a whimper. You ground your hips against his hardened erection.

“Fuck, honey,” he hissed.

“I need you inside of me, James.” You nipped at his earlobe. “Please.”

He kissed you, long and hard, before helping you out of your thin shorts. His thick fingers glided through your puffy folds, a guttural groan leaving his throat.

“You this wet for me, Y/N?”

You mewled in response, your hips moving against his digits, begging for pressure on your swollen pearl.

He gulped, his eyes hungrily tracing over your lust-drunken expression. His cock was straining almost painfully against the denim of his jeans but he couldn’t stop staring at you. He drew the pad of his thumb along the curves of your parted lips, sucking a breath when the tip of your tongue barely swept against the skin.

He dipped the digit between your lips, watching with rapt pleasure as you suckled and moaned around it. He groaned and curved his free hand around the base of your throat. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You shuddered. “I can be.”

“Oh, yeah?” He suckled a love bite onto your skin. “You think you can be mine tonight?”

You nodded eagerly.

Logan chuckled and threw you over his shoulder, taking what seemed like three large steps into your bedroom and tossed you lightly onto the bed. He took hold of your face and slotted his lips over yours, licking deeply into your mouth.

You pawed and pulled at his flannel, clumsily helping him out of it while trying to keep kissing him. He hummed against your lips and worked your thin shorts down your thighs before ripping them down the middle. The cool air against your bare cunt gave you gooseflesh. Your hands moved to work at his belt buckle as his own pulled at the shirt you wore.

“Was wonderin’ where this went.”

You chuckled. “You barely wore it.” You made a triumphant noise upon getting his pants undone and to the floor, looking up at him from beneath your thick, dark lashes.

He wanted to devour you. One of his big paws cupped your face and he ground out, “Are you sure, bubba?”

You took his heavy cock in one of your hands, moving up and down the length of it. You smirked at his sharp breath as you eased down to your knees. Without breaking eye contact, you took him into your mouth, a low groan vibrating against your tongue.

“Jesus,” he gripped your curls into one fist and threw his head back, “just like that, sugar.”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the tip of your nose pressing against his pubic mound. The hand that wasn’t giving gentle squeezes to his thigh when to massage his heavy balls.

A low groan, bordering a growl, tumbled past Logan’s lips. “You have to move, baby. ‘M dyin’.”

You moved your hand from his balls to curl around the base of him, slowly working in tandem with your mouth. You moaned around his cock, spit dribbling down the sides of your mouth. You lightly scraped your teeth along the length of him. Logan hissed and gripped the sides of your face and started fucking your face. Your eyes were rimmed red, tears streaming down your face, and yet he looked at you with the reverence reserved for altars and gods.

“‘M cummin’…’m —”

He came in thick ropes into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he was coming down. His hands fell from the sides of your face to rest them on the tops of his thighs.

You pushed off of Logan with a faint “pop” and sat back against your calves. Your eyes trailed up and down Logan’s frame; you’d forgotten how big he was. Broad shoulders and back, large hands, thick, corded muscles. He could sometimes be as foreboding as he looked.

Then, post nut clarity smacked the shit out of you.

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too.”

“No. I mean, shit like we shouldn’t have done that.” You pushed yourself onto your feet. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You mean my shirt?”

You ignored his jibe and scanned the room for the garment. One of his hands shot out and pulled you onto his lap.

“I can smell ya, sweetheart.”

Your brows creased for a few seconds before you understood what he’d meant. You gulped, your chest rising and falling in hard pants. “Doesn’t matter, James. This was a mistake.”

His eyes — those intelligent, ever-searching eyes — darkened, a hunger in them that you hated that you missed. “Was it? What’s so wrong about two people findin’ each other again?” His thumb swept along your bottom lip. “‘M all yours to do whatever you need, baby.”

Your tongue darted out, barely pressing against his skin before his mouth claimed yours. He eased you onto your back as his hand traversed the expanse of your torso. His hands pawed and kneaded at your breasts, rubbing and twisting your nipples into stiff peaks. Your back canted towards his touch. His mouth suckled at your right nipple, his other hand still playing at the other.

“James,” you pleaded.

“What, bubba?” He chuckled darkly. “Use your words.”

Every word that flashed in your mind died in your throat. Only incoherent pants and groans left you. Logan switched to your left breast and one of his free hands cupped your mound. Your eyes screwed shut. The rough pad of his thumb brushed up against your clit, sticky with your slick.

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hips bucked and he rubbed the bundle of nerves again. Slow, tortuous swipes that sent shocks to your system and tightened your belly with need. Just before the coil snapped, his cock drove into you. Tears fell from your eyes and a choked gasp ballooned in your chest.

“Fuck, honey, s’good.” Logan’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He fucked into you like a man possessed; his big hands gripped your hips, surely leaving bruises behind. He moved one hand to curl at the base of your throat. Vignettes of memories past played in your mind’s eye and you let out a ragged keen, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. His name passed your lips. “Yeah, baby?”

You gripped one of his forearms. “‘M close.”

Rough skin swept across your clit. “Let go for me, bubba. C’mon.”

Your back canted as a guttural moan ripped from your throat. Logan pulled you into his chest, whispering my good girl and I’m here in your ear as you came down. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He’d never left you behind six years ago and this was just another evening for the two of you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you buried your face into his chest.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this,” your voice quivered, “I hate that you came back. I hate that I still — ” You shook your head. “We shouldn’t have done that, James.”

Logan cupped your face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anythin’ you ask me to, Y/N, you have to know that.”

“Do I?”

He pulled out of you and gathered you in his arms as he tucked you both into bed. His deep, even breaths reverberated up your spine. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I never meant to hurt you. Hurtin’ you was the last thing that I wanted to do and there’s nothin’ I could do to fix that.” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck. “Just…talk to me. Please.”

“You broke me, Logan, do you know that? I broke all of my rules for you and it broke me. I was already grieving my mother and you made me grieve you when I never had you to begin with.”

“I know,” he rasped.

“Do you?”

“When Storm came to visit you, she wasn’t jokin’. I almost fuckin’ died.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down your spine, his tone faraway. “I was slippin’ away, could barely focus on anythin’ in front of me for too long. Then suddenly, your face was the only thing I saw. I could picture you so clearly, down to the micro expressions that I didn’t even realize I’d paid attention to.” He rested his chin atop your head. “I’d made sure that I never thought of you too often or I’d leave everythin’ behind to come back to you.”

“And yet, here you are.” Your voice wobbled at the end. “You broke the one rule you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken. I don’t regret showing up. Even if this is the only thing I could get, I’d fuckin’ do it all over again just to see you, bubba.”

You turned over to face him, your brown eyes hard. “Yeah, but bodies weren’t, James. You shouldn’t have to nearly die to decide that I’m worth seeing again.”

“You really love half-listenin’, don’t you?” He held your chin between his fingers, lifting your eyes to his. “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left, Y/N. The only reason that I didn’t keep in touch was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me. Like you said, bodies weren’t meant to broken.”

“Neither were hearts,” you murmured.

He nodded. “And would yours consider lettin’ me back in? It’s selfish to ask, I know, but I don’t want to let you go again, bubba.”

You threaded your fingers between his. “I want to. But how will I know if you’ll stay this time, James? What’s changed in the last six years?”

Logan brought the back of your hand up to his lips. The warmth in his eyes, while not unfamiliar, made your breath catch. For a split second, you remembered that he could hear your heartbeat fluttering madly in your chest, your pulse against his forearm.

“When do you leave for New York?”

Your brows knitted together. “I should be done packing in a few days. Why?”

He pulled one of your legs over his hip, laughing when you sucked in a breath. “We’ll go into town tomorrow, pawn all the stuff you’re not usin’ anymore, and pack up the rest in the truck. We’ll make a trip out of it.”

“And where would we go after that? I’m not living in a boarding school.”

“I have a place of my own, thank you very much,” he said, smirking, “it’s not much but it’s mine. It could use a…softer touch, I think.”

You sat up on your elbow. “Yeah?”

“‘M gettin’ old, bubba. Like, obviously not so much physically, but mentally? I’ve seen wars, watched people that I care about die. Walked away when I should’ve stayed.” He threaded his fingers through your free hand. “I’m sayin’ all this to say that, if you’ll have me, I want to stay.”

You hummed, looking down at your joined hands. If tonight proved nothing else, you and Logan were tethered each other for better or worse. There would never be a moment where you wouldn’t think of each other and that scared you. But if you knew nothing else, you knew that you loved him. You loved James Howlett.

“Will you want to stay? I’m not about to uproot my life just for you to leave me again.”

He pulled you close, putting his forehead to yours. “The worst mistake I’ve ever done is leave you behind Y/N Y/L/N. I should’ve told you that I loved you five years ago.” You gasped. “I love you, bubba, and I regret everyday not that I never told you.”

“Say it again.”

He took your face in his hands and smiled, the peach hue of the sun warming his face. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve loved you for the past six years and I will never stop lovin’ you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. You wanted him to say these words, waited for them for over half a decade. But they were…heavier than you anticipated. Though your own confession sat on your tongue, too much clung to them; the last fight you had, your mother dying shortly after and how you resented him even more for leaving you alone at a time like that. More than anything you hated that you cared about him so quickly just for him to leave.

“You don’t have to say it back yet.” Logan smiled some. “Five years is a long time to grieve something.”

You put a hand to his cheek. “You know that I want to, though, don’t you?”

“I know,” he kissed you again, “and we’ll get you there. One day at a time.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — given the fact that i haven't written in literal months, y'all have no idea how happy i am to have churned this out. happy 2024!

#galatially #Annie's1KKittiesWritingChallenge #touch me like nobody else does #logan howlett #logan howlett x black!reader #wolverine #wolverine x black!reader

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fushiguwu · 3 months ago

Text

who is he? getou suguru

CHAPTER 1 from the Summer Fever's serie!

ft. dilf!getou and gojo’s stepdaughter!reader

warnings: use of alcohol, making out, slight smut, reader's drunk but conscious, age gap, breath play, soft dom!getou, use of the names princess, lady, pretty girl.

words: 1.9k

MINORS DNI!

A couple years ago, your mom got married again. A nice, handsome and funny man. She really loved him, and he seemed to be a nice guy; not too young nor old, at his late thirties, a highschool teacher, Gojo looked way younger than he actually was — physically and mentally. They met on a dating app and a few months later got married. You thought that, maybe, people their age are afraid to never find someone again, and just get married as soon as they get into a relationship. Their wedding party was beautiful, for as long as you can remember: lots of friends and family members, some people you’ve never seen in your life, some people you wish you’d never seen in your life, but beautiful. Your mom looked happy, Gojo looked happy, so that’s all that matters. Some days after that, you’ve left the country to go to a fancy French university, thanks to your exchange scholarship — and your mom’s money. That was good to her too, she deserved to live a nice married life, you thought.

You’ve lost some holidays, but sometimes, like this one, you could finally get home, after two years. God bless summer breaks. You spent the most time sleeping, the uber driving home too. You missed your mom and her dog — not Gojo, an actual dog. But, yeah, a little bit of him too. It was good to be home, to breathe the motherland’s air and to relax by the huge pool in your childhood’s backyard.

While taking your sunbath, Gojo had told you that tonight a few friends would come by, and you didn’t have to feel uncomfortable, they were just going to drink some wine and talk about sports; apparently, that’s something that happens monthly, and for your lucky, it had to be at the day you got home and wished for some peace of mind.

So, for the time you got off the pool and they came, by six in the afternoon,you didn’t leave your room. Not until an angel sends you a message:

“Hey, I’ve heard u in town, wanna hang out?”

So you text your angel —Nobara, back, saying you’d be there in an hour. You and Nobara have known each other since high school, even with the loss of most of your friends due to distance, you two kept in contact as much as you could. You’ve forgotten to talk about your arrival, what a bad friend. Lucky for you, your mom absolutely loves Kugisaki and probably texted her about your comeback one week before.

After getting ready, you go downstairs to call an uber. Gojo’s friends were all over the living room, laughing and drinking. Just some old men doing old men stuff. You pass through them as unnoticed as you could possibly be. Until Gojo saw you and screamed out your name, just when you approached the exit. He then goes to you, with the open smile he always keeps on face, “Hey, guys, this is my stepdaughter, she came from France today!” you couldn’t be more ashamed. You say a shy “hi” and they were all smiling at you like you were a baby or something.

“Gojo, she’s at the age of Getou’s girls, they could’ve been friends! So sad, Getou ain’t here today.” a man with blonde hair says so, and you give him a little smile.

“Yeah, yeah of course! We should talk about it with him, right? Isn’t their birthday soon?” Gojo says, electric with the possibility of you being friends with his friend’s daughters.

“Hum, yeah, it would be nice, I guess”, you slowly get away from Gojo, “but, hum, I really gotta go now. Thanks, Satoru! Nice to meet you guys!” and like a flash you disappear out the door, leaving your stepdad with a huge question mark above his head. “These young girls… Always in a hurry…” Gojo says, more to himself than to the other men in the room.

When you got to the bar, Nobara was already there, waiting for you. “Why did you take so long?” She looked upset. You try to tell her about Satoru’s drunkenness, the men in your house, the shame you’ve got yourself into, but she’s bringing you inside, and the music was so loud you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. She, then, waves to someone, and lets go of your hand. How she found someone through that crowd, you would never know. “Wait here for a minute, imma get us some free drinks, ‘kay? Stay here!” and just like that she disappeared through the sea of people, leaving you by yourself. You literally just arrived and Nobara’s already gone, goddamnit.

So you waited for her for what seemed like hours —ten minutes, but every minute you kept asking if that’s what you came for: to stay still in the middle of the dance floor, like a souvenir. If you knew it’d be like this, would've stayed at home with those drunk dudes watching football. After a couple more minutes, you give up on your friend and head up to the bar.

You ask the bartender for a beer, but it just didn't feel enough. and then another one, which you found tastier than the last. And another one, the beer started tasting funny. And when you were about to ask for more, a little bit dizzy, you felt a huge silhouette approaching you.

“I’d like to pay for your drink, if you don’t mind” you hear a low male voice say, just behind your body as he puts his wallet on the counter, in front of your bottle. You look up at him through your shoulders, his face a few inches from yours, his smell-like-expensive wood perfume flooding your thoughts and even by the lowlights you could say he looks way too good — or maybe you were just drunk and under the effect of his cologne.

“Shouldn’t you ask me if I’d like a drink first? How inelegant.” You were clearly affected by the alcohol, and he could tell. He, then, smirks down at you with his whole teeths.

“Well, it seems that you enjoy a drink way more than pretty ladies like you usually do” and you flushed, as for him to think you’re pretty, and for seeing that you are a bit drunk. But you wouldn't give in so easily like that. You frowned and pouted up at him.

“And what do you know about me, huh? What if I am no lady?” you sit now facing him from down, with a weird feeling on your stomach, you didn't know if wanted to throw up or if he was just making you nervous. He gets closer, turning your swivel bar chair around for him, opening your legs a little so his body could be in the middle. Go up your body with his hands gently and slowly from your side thighs till your waist. The weird feeling now manifests through all your body, like a hundred butterflies were inside you, trying to come out. It just grows stronger as his face approaches your ear, you couldn't move a single finger under his spell.

“Yes, I don’t know anything about you, princess. Please, forgive my anti-chivalry”. his hands tightened but it still felt so dearing you could melt by it only. He held your chin, looking deep into your dizzy eyes. You looked so helpless, so given in his arms, even with all those people around, you could only see him and him only. “But, if you ain’t no lady, it leaves only the pretty, then”. You bite your lip, unknowing what to say to him after that. Anyone else saying that and you would have absolutely cringed, but from his mouth it just sounded so right. Everything he said sounded so intrinsically right that you felt like agreeing blindly even if he called you for a bank robbery. You felt a bit more dizzy every time he’d speak with his such charming deep voice close to your neck.

“Would you like to know, then?” A few seconds passed by for your courage to appear, and you couldn’t help noticing his lips forming a nasty smile. His eyes travel yours, going from one to another, not sure if he should do the next move. You looked so helpless under him, he thought. Your eyes wander through his lips, and eyes, and nose, and every single detail you could get within the low beam — close to none. Without a word being said therefore, like the permission was implicit, he puts his fingers on your chin and kisses you, sweetly, slowly, just like you deeply craved for. And, just like that, all those butterflies disappeared. You enlace your hands on his neck—feeling his silky long hair made you gasp into his mouth. It all seemed so right, just like a fever dream your drunk and feverish head was making up to you.

His tongue touches yours in a sinful yet heavenly dance, leaving the sweetness behind gradually. You feel his hands getting down from your chin to your throat, squeezing it softly, almost like testing your bondages. The fire within your mouth runs down your body as his hands tighten around your neck. You moan lowly as he does so, and it just makes him squeeze more. You could feel him smiling through the kiss. All you thought of was him. Him… Him… But, who was him?

“Wait, wait!” you suddenly break the kiss, breathing heavily “I-I don’t even know your name yet!” He laughs at your nervousness, how adorable you are.

“I’m Suguru”. Suguru. Such a pretty name, you think. And then you say your name to him, taking on some breath still. He runs his hand through his long raven hair, and just so you feel that his touch has left your body. “So, princess, can I take y-“

He couldn’t even finish his sentence as you jumped off your seat. Nobara screams your name from behind him, absolutely mad —as if you weren’t the one who should be pissed off with her. “Where have you been? Didn’t I ask u to stay there? I’ve been looking for you the whole night!” Her face was red. You wanted to say a lot of things to her, but at the same time you were still processing her sudden appearance and the thought of someone else in your mind absolutely clouded by Suguru’s face—not even remembering you came with her after all that happened in this silly little bar chair. After a few seconds Nobara realized what was happening, swallowed dry and cleaned her throat. She kept looking up at Suguru as talked to you, kind of mesmerized, perhaps. He, on the other hand, seemed very much confused.: “hum, anyways… I think we should get going, though. Things didn’t go as planned and there’s a mad vip security’s man coming after me. I got an uber for us, explain it later”.

You couldn’t protest nor say anything as Kugisaki took your arms and got you up. “Calm down, Nobara, I was…!” Was what? She couldn’t hear you. And if she did, wouldn’t care now. You seek Suguru, looking like a puppy as gets carried to the veterinary. You try to take his hand and he goes after you for a few seconds, but the crowd makes it hard to follow.

“See ya, pretty girl”. You could read his lips say, and felt his body getting far from yours so fast. You tried to slow Nobara down, but when you look back at him again, he was already gone, like he never really existed and it was all just in your delusional head.

#getou smut #geto smut #geto x reader #suguru smut #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu smut #getou fanfic #jujutsu fanfic

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lokisprettygirl · 6 months ago

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Rain to his Fire (Modern! Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon 80s Au) (18+)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Summary: In 1985, you were assigned as a custodian in the King's Landing Psychiatric inpatient and wellness center after your mother's passing. Your job was mundane and boring, but that was until a new patient arrived, a young man with a wild and eccentric personality, harbouring a secret that will change your life forever.

Warning: 18+, discussion of mental health (it's a fic based in a mental health facility), the fic would contain several mentions of several disorders like mpd, did etc, if something triggers you don't read, smoking.

“Room 393 needs cleaning up, new guy is coming” you heard your supervisor Mona so you sighed and quickly nodded. Working as a custodian in a mental health facility wasn't ever really a dream job for you but you didn't have any option at the moment. Your mother had worked all her life for the center and when she passed, as per her request beforehand, the job was immediately offered to you, and you had debts to pay so you couldn't really deny that offer.

At thirty you didn't really see your life heading towards anything better anyways and you didn't really despise working here. Helping people feel good at times. Your job wasn't limited to cleaning services, you would often get assigned to patients who needed a caregiver for physical and emotional needs.

King's landing psychiatric inpatient and wellness center was a six floor building at the outskirts of London, it was established in 1955 and your mother had started her job the same year, it's been thirty years now and two years since she had passed, she was living nearby because she was married and had a child, you on other hand didn't want to travel back n forth so you chose to live here itself as a permanent live in staff of the wellness center.

You were accustomed to seeing patients coming in for various disorders, most were delusional at worst or suffered from some sort of dysphoria. However, the patients at the King's Landing Wellness Center were not usually considered dangerous and you had never felt threatened by any one of them except a few women who lashed out at you and pushed you around last year. But with time, you had learned to provide them with the care and attention they needed instead of judging them for the outburst.

“Are you listening y/n?” You snapped back to reality as Mona called your name and gathered your cleaning cart to go fix room 393, there was this girl that had just gotten released from the facility, Tanya, she was a shy, quiet girl in her mid twenties with a debilitating case of multiple personality disorder.

You mostly kept to yourself at the facility as you didn't want to get involved or too overly attached with the patients.

The moment you took the mattress off to deep clean the bed, you discovered a piece of paper underneath. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to open it. Once you saw the writing on the paper, a feeling of unease coursed through your body, the words seemed almost ominous

“They are going to hurt me. I know, I'll never get out of here, if you find this please make sure to check up on me please”

You sighed before you folded the paper and placed it inside your apron quickly before it would get lost. What did she mean you wondered? The centre was under the supervision of three doctors. Doctor Vis was a man in his early forties and he was the most feared of all three because of his unorthodox methods of treatment but the other two doctors, Lisa and Darren seemed more approachable.

As you made your way out of room 393, you saw Doctor Vis standing in the hallway, having a conversation with another man. The other man stood with his back against the wall while Doctor Vis stood uncomfortably close to him, he was handcuffed so you assumed that he was being aggressive in his therapy session, as you walked past them you looked at the man briefly and normally you'd have looked away but this time you couldn't for some reason, he had a shiny silver hair that you had never really seen on a man before and it caught your eye immediately. The uniform he had on wasn't a surprise as it was a dress code for the patients, a white shirt and same coloured trousers.

His eyes met yours briefly and he smirked so you looked away immediately ,

“You didn't tell me you hired such beautiful chicks around here to be your servant-” Daemon had barely finished his sentence before Vis grabbed his collar to warn him. Vis looked as you walked past them and turned to make left into the hallway, disappearing out of their sight.

“Don't make this more difficult than it already is you moron”

Dr. Vis escorted Daemon into the room where he was immediately uncuffed. With the doctor now gone, Daemon let out an angry roar before throwing the chair into the room's window, shattering it into pieces.

“New guy is here” you mumbled as you reached the canteen. The rest of the staff members, including those from the pantry and cleaning services, were already gathered at the table. Shyla, who was the same age as you approached you. But in contrast to you, Shyla appeared to have a backup plan in mind after her tenure here.

“Oh god have you guys seen him, he's really hotttt in a really weird way”

You gulped as she said that, she always lived on the edge, it was unprofessional and unethical to talk about patients this way. Besides, he wasn't hot at all.

“Cut out with the heart eyes girl he must be a cuckoo to be here”

Another woman, Dina , intervened as she whispered very quietly, you didn't appreciate her language but then she wasn't wrong, sane people didn't come here.

“Hey y/n, new patient broke the window in 393, clean it up”

Mona suddenly entered the canteen so you sighed but then you were left feeling confused.

“How did he break it? Those windows are supposed to be unbreakable” you asked her curiously as the windows in the patient's room were specifically designed to withstand extreme conditions and were built to be unbreakable for security reasons.

“Don't question what's and how's, do your job girl” she glared at you so you picked up your cleaning cart again.

As you entered room 393, you spotted the new patient on the bed, seemingly engrossed in a book. Your brow furrowed as you took in the sight of the debris of shattered glass scattered around the room. Quickly, you grabbed a broom and began the cleaning process, starting from the corners to ensure that you picked up every last shard. As you swept, you couldn't help but feel puzzled as to how the window was broken in the first place,

“You shouldn't be doing such things, they are not afraid of sending violent patients to the lone ward” you mumbled so he looked up from his book and then glanced at you from top to bottom before he let out a snicker.

“Awnnn do you get paid to offer advice around here or cleaning is your only area of expertise?”

You glared at him as he said that but you remained calm, you couldn't raise your voice with patients even though you had been wanting to do it for a long while now.

“Sir im just-” you cringed internally as you addressed him as sir, it wasn't a norm but then you didn't really know his name yet. He had changed out of his uniform so you couldn't even read the name tag.

“Do your fucking job girl and get out”

You cut back on your words as he spoke rudely to you, perhaps he was admitted for extreme anger issues, whatever it was you just wanted to get out and not see him at least for a day.

You missed Tanya, she was a sweet girl, and you hadn't forgotten the note you had found under her bed this morning but then she wasn't exactly stable in her mind, people often scribbled down their most intrusive thoughts in their free time, and there was abundance of that around here. Besides you had bid her goodbye, she had hugged you warmly and she seemed happier for once.

During the lunch service you saw his smug face again as he sat down in the corner of the cafeteria, his eyes met with yours and he gave you a small smile but you didn't return it. Though you didn't want to take his words personally, he was dealing with something and that's why he was here.

“Mrs Rodriguez, are you finished with your food?” You asked the elderly lady so she snapped out of her thoughts and nodded but as you raised your hand forward to pick up her plate she grabbed your hand,

“Simon thinks i should eat less” she mumbled almost fearfully and your heart clenched for her, Simon was merely a figment of her imagination.

“Well he's wrong because you are eating as much as you should” she let go of your hand and smiled as you said that to her. When you reached around his table you noticed that he hadn't even touched his food,

“Are you going to eat sir? Your half an hour is almost over” you asked him so he chuckled. New patients in the center had strict rules and regulations to follow during the beginning of their treatment.

“Who should I be asking around here for a smoke?” He asked you and your brows furrowed.

“That's not allowed, i will help you with a nicotine patch if you're feeling restless -” he rolled his eyes as you said that.

“I don't need that shit” he grumbled under his breath so you looked at the time. Looking at him you couldn't really tell what actually was wrong with him, well besides the anger issues obviously, he seemed almost normal, almost self aware which really wasn't usual around this place.

“Please finish your food, dinner service is around 8 and a man of your size won't get any nutrition from the snacks we offer during tea time” you spoke a bit sternly and the corner of his mouth curved into a small smile.

“What's your name y/n?” He asked you so you looked at him baffled, he clearly read your name on the badge and he said it as well.

“I don't know your name either” you mumbled politely so he gave you a smile

“Daemon”

“Have an easy day Mr. Daemon, first few days are always difficult” you ultimately grabbed his plate as you left because he didn't seem to be in any mood to eat at the time.

Around evening as you finished your shift you made your way to your room at the fourth floor to take a shower and relax a bit. You took out the note you had found under Tanya's bed and placed it inside your cupboard safely, a part of you continued to feel uneasy about this thing, another was thinking about Daemon.

Why was he there? What had he done? You were not allowed to enquire about these things unless or until you were told the information by the authorities.

Daemon couldn't really sleep at night, how could he? He was locked up in here and was being treated as if he was crazy but he knew what he was and he wasn't delusional about it either. Even as sleep came for him he had a horrible nightmare that had him tossing and turning in his bed again so he woke up and stepped out of his room quietly as the room was starting to suffocate him. That's when he found the window at the end of the corridor and that was all he needed.

Around 2 at night, you were enjoying a peaceful moment to yourself on the terrace of the building, taking a break with a cigarette. As you were absorbed in your own thoughts, you heard a loud thud sound from behind you. Startled, you jumped and quickly turned around, only to find the new patient, Daemon, standing there. You couldn't believe how he had gotten there, he didn't have the key to the door and you clearly remembered locking it when you had gotten in. The terrace was strictly off-limits to patients for obvious reasons.

“What..are you doing here, you can't be here mister” you almost sounded frantic and kind of scared to be honest. And why didn't he have a shirt on? It was freaking cold out here. And why was he so freaking ripped?

“Hooking me up with a bloody nicotine patch when you got this sweet thing right here?” he asked you as he approached you so you took a few steps behind you until you had hit the ledge. You quickly threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it under your flip flops before he could attempt to steal it from you.

“Now that's a waste of a good cigarette” he almost seemed offended with his brows furrowed and scowl on his face.

“Look, don't come near me alright?” You warned him so he crossed his arms and stepped closer to you despite your warning.

“I'm not going to harm you, I can, don't get me wrong.. but I won't”

Was that supposed to make you feel better?

“Please come with me, let me take you to your room .. please”

As he heard your gentle voice his teeth gritted together. “Please just listen to me ..it's only best for you” You brought your arm forward to grab his forearm but you flinched away as soon as you had touched his skin.

“Are you sick? You're burning like a furnace” You asked him worriedly so he scratched his scalp before he looked around and took a deep breath “And how did you get here?”

“I'm not sick, do I look sick to you?” He asked you so you shook your head but that was pointless, if he was a regular smoker, perhaps he was feeling the withdrawal.

“Just one puff, I'll be indebted to you forever darling, please, what do you want me to do beg? I can beg on my knees .You want that?..”

“Ohhh shut up for god's sake -” You cut him off mid sentence as he started to ramble but the stupid smirk on his face was still there. “I'll lose my job Daemon -”

“Nobody will know”

“I can't do it.. please understand please..”

He sighed and the pleading look on your face made him willing to listen to you ultimately.

How did he even come up here? You had come via the main entrance and it was locked from inside. As you escorted him back to his room, you mumbled a quick good night but he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you against the door, your heart was right into your mouth at the moment for several different reasons, you had been pushed over by several women at the facility but never a man, especially not a man like him who seemed so strong and so unstable. If worse comes to worse you knew you wouldn't be able to defend yourself.

“Daemon let go of me” you mumbled sternly but his hands were on your upper arms, holding you tightly still. He wasn't hurting you, not yet at least.

“Shhhhh shhh shhhh” as he whispered in your ear you were going to scream but nothing came out of your throat, not even a squeak, you feared that he was going to touch you inappropriately, if this wasn't inappropriate as it was, but then he placed his nose on the crook of your neck and took a sniff. Like a wild animal he sniffed you, literally.

One sniff, two sniff, and then one two three at once, you couldn't help but wonder why you weren't feeling as uncomfortable as you should have in a similar situation.

“What are you doing?” You asked him gently to not aggregate him so he looked you right in the eyes before he cupped your cheeks and stared at your lips, his nose rubbed slightly against yours before he closed his eyes, grunted a little and finally stepped away from you. His chest was heaving from breathlessness, same as yours as you both stared at each other for a moment. What the hell was that?

“Get out lady”

He mumbled so you immediately got the fuck out of there, you were looking behind every step of the way to see if he was following you but he wasn't. At the end of the corridor you stopped as suddenly, your feet came in contact with a piece of fabric on the floor, and when you bent down to investigate, you realized it was Daemon's shirt but it was completely shredded in several pieces - the same shirt he had worn this evening.

The realization left you feeling even more puzzled and disoriented. How had he managed to enter the terrace when it was locked from the outside. It seemed impossible. It was impossible. Or perhaps there was another way? Or maybe you were going crazy yourself? Now that was possible.

As your head hit your pillow you ran your fingers over your neck, right where he was sniffing, he seemed so...so primal in that moment, so animalistic, if that was the right choice of word. Did you atleast smell good? God you hoped so. Or not. He was a patient, you had to keep that in mind, he had issues.

The next morning while Daemon was away for his therapy session with the doctors you decided to clean up his room, he had left you feeling a bit unnerved last night with his strange behavior but you weren't really scared of him and then you wondered why you weren't scared of him after what he had done.

The iron bars on his window were the first thing you had noticed as you had entered the room. As you heard loud footsteps approaching the room you quickly collected your stuff to prepare to leave.

As Dr. Vis entered with Daemon he looked at you and spoke politely “Will you please step out ?” Vis asked you so you nodded immediately.

“Yes doctor, I'm almost done” you grabbed your cart and walked past them, your eyes met with Daemon and he seemed angry, but also really sad? His eyes were read and teary, such a contrast from his snarky demeanor yesterday.

As the door slammed shut, you found yourself in a state of morbid curiosity. So instead of minding your own business as you should have, you pressed your ear against the door instead, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. Why did he look so sad?

“You had promised you wouldn't start with the absurdity right off the bat” Dr. Vis yelled at Daemon and that bothered you. Why was he yelling at a patient like this on his second day?

“Absurdity? You think me speaking of my true self is absurd?” Daemon asked the doctor and you didn't understand what was happening, what was he suffering from?

Dazed and confused as you reached the staff area Shyla walked around the table with a smirk on her face so you finally gave in.

“What?”

As you asked her she slammed her hands on the table in a dramatic manner.

“I found out why the new guy is here”

You weren't the one to gossip but you really wanted to know why Daemon was there? Why was he here? What was hurting him?

“How did you find out?” You asked her to seem disinterested as you didn't want to make your interest apparent.

“I have my source girl” she patted herself on shoulders so you crossed your arms together.

“Uhuh and what did your source tell you?”

“Well you're not ready for this-"

“Just spill it already” you chuckled as you spoke but the way she was stalling had only gotten you more curious.

“He thinks..now listen to this..he thinks he's a dragon” she mumbled excitedly so you stared at her all perplexed.

“What?”

“The new guy believes that he's a human dragon hybrid or something like that.. unbelievable right?”

Oh well!! That was a big problem huh.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

#daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen x reader angst #modern day au #non canon au

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lisbeth-kk · 6 months ago

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May Prompts (30) Journey

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 30)

Summary: Rosie struggles a bit during her pregnancy. Thinking about her own mother only makes her nauseous, and not because of morning sickness. A solution is found and nature does the rest.

Thirty Years Old

Of course, we were at Baker Street the first time the baby kicked. Not surprising since we lived there, it was the occasion rather, Timothy’s birthday. Dad and Papa came up from Sussex to celebrate with us, and the moment I hugged Dad, a violent kick made me wince.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Dad asked worried.

“The baby,” I whispered. “It kicked. For the first time.”

Dad beamed at me, as if it was his presence that elicited this action. Papa looked proudly at him, and I just knew that this baby would be spoiled beyond belief. My parents were already besotted. Not that Marie and Daniel were less excited, but they’d been through this four times already.

***

The evidence of my pregnancy with my growing belly, didn’t stop me from marvelling in the craziness of it all. Every now and again the thought hit me: you’re having a baby!

Another thing that haunted me occasionally was the thought of my mother. How had she felt about being pregnant with a man that abandoned her? Not that I blamed Dad one bit. She had almost killed Papa, which still made me nauseous, and it stung my heart. Sometimes I was filled with rage aimed at the woman who I’d been inside for nine months. Other times, I pondered if she’d planned it all to end like it did. To save Papa’s life, sacrificing herself. The thoughts were fruitless of course, and for my own sanity, I managed to stop before I was overwhelmed with the need to know.

There was no secret that both my parents had gone to therapy before and after the Eurus business, and Dad suggested that I try it too, to get some tools to cope when the emotions got the better of me. I did, and it helped.

***

Nature is a wonderful thing. After months of discomfort and hours of agony in labour, all was forgotten once our little girl was laid on my chest. She was perfect, obviously. Brown strands of hair and dark eyes, the colour not yet established. The midwife took at photo of the three of us to send to our families in due course.

“Best not wait too long, or Sherlock might talk Greg into giving him access, the hour be damned,” Timothy quipped.

I sighed and kissed the wonder who slept peacefully, wrapped in soft blankets.

Once the nurse had cleaned me up and I got a room, I fed my daughter, which was an overwhelming experience, and I cried through the whole event. Timothy was a calming presence and burped her when she made it clear that she was full, thank you very much.

“Call them,” Timothy urged.

***

I was anxiously waiting for my first visitors the next day. The day before, or night actually, Papa had insisted on asking uncle Myc to send a car down to Sussex to pick them up and bring them to London asap since the last train had departed hours earlier. Both me and Dad called him childish, and he finally settled on visiting after breakfast the following day.

Papa was almost lost for words when he realised that we’d named our daughter after them. It took Dad a bit longer to grasp it, and they were both teary-eyed and quite soppy when they greeted Joanna Shirley for the first time. She clearly had a thing for Papa’s voice, just like I’d always had, because when she started to wail, he talked her through it, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

Seeing Dad holding my daughter, while Papa encircled Dad’s shoulders, made me tear up again. I was so happy for that little person who had such wonderful people in her life, to spoil her rotten, but also to teach her obscure things, comfort her and support her for as long as they could. It was like seeing my own childhood unfold in front of me. The first years I didn’t remember, and I couldn’t wait to experience that, not to mention adding my uncles into the equation.

Speaking of…

***

The day I was released from the hospital, Timothy was oddly jittery when I asked if he’d made the last preparations for my return home with an infant.

“Of course,” he assured me.

He was a terrible liar, just like Dad.

It turned out that the forces of nature, which was The Fab Four, had taken matters into their own hands. Timothy had been in charge of making tea and ordering takeaway, while two men, I think you can guess who, did the physical work, while the brothers directed and supervised the remaking of my old room into an extraordinary nursery.

The white walls had been painted sunny yellow; the cot was the one we’d already received from my uncles, a pale green armchair stood in the corner, a bee plushie and Ted were placed on top of the duvet, and a white rug lay on the floor. Bee-patterned curtains, and my own bee-blanket, an oak bookshelf filled with my old books and some new ones, made the room feel welcoming.

“You’re all insane!” I scolded the proud foursome.

“Indeed,” uncle Myc agreed. “Nothing but the best is good enough for my grandniece.”

“And our granddaughter,” Dad and Papa said in unison.

Uncle Greg rolled his eyes at them, but he was unable to hide his pride and the love he felt for his abnormal family.

Also available on AO3

This whole chapter is a journey of its own, but also part of a bigger one, which has been a joy to share with you all.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 30: journey #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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definegodliness · 8 months ago

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Chasing magic

Maybe she Remembered my Birthday and had Thought of me; That would explain the dream. Nothing special, save for the fact I hadn't harbored such feelings in, Say, twenty years.

A nigh divine gratitude lingered within me. Nigh divine and all that for merely a dream, I had forgotten the feeling.

She was my first Big love, Far exceeding the concept of 'crush'; I ate and drank that girl, Which is why I couldn't eat or drink at all, And when I lay myself to bed I only closed my eyes To dream of her.

... but that was twenty years ago.

More present, I favored reminiscence; Letting ancient feelings wash over me, Trying to recall As much as I could from Just a dream, As once I would, and, so, in gratitude; A strange regression.

One vision Kept reinstating itself Within my mind's eye, Which was or would be The place where we met, or would meet, And, so, Hauntingly.

Compelled, I was, As if I had just dusted off an old compass And lived by the rule of a needle full of rust, Inexplicably spinning when it Should be locked. I gave in.

This ancient feeling Rejuvenated; once more orchestrating My every step, as every step would mean One step closer toward her.

I used to breathe That girl.

Wherever she would go, I would find her Just by following the direction Which eased my chest as a flow of oxygen. That feeling. Again.

I went.

Nothing in my hands But that compass; an educated guess, And the leash of my canine companion That I brought as an alibi of common sense. Pretense, of course, In reality I gave myself fully To a magic, lost.

I went.

I walked.

I almost raced, treading forth To the beat of a heart at chase; to a place I had seen, which might not even exist, but… Had to be real. That, I could feel.

Half an hour in, at a crossing, I stalled, gazing down a neighborhood street Which could be 'it', But the pup wanted to take a right-hand turn. I pondered whether I should let him lead a bit, But as I did my breathing stifled; My heart cramped Like a fist.

"No, that street… that neighbourhood; there!"

I knew for sure, then.

Yet, so, I peered, awaiting my heart to sink, For I gazed upon a still life street, Emptier than all I had seen; No humans, no birds, No bees.

Just me, and my sigh, abandoning a dream. Another crossing; the pup wanted to go right Again, and this time I let him.

His nose Had lead him To a park I had never seen, And I decided we would return there one day When I would not want to go home So eagerly.

We entered south, and exited east Via a winding dirt path that, Coincidentally, Connected back onto my dreamed up street.

I saw her.

I saw her where she should be.

Where I should have been, but wasn't, Nor wanted to be.

Not anymore, really.

The first sensation of a missed chance, soon Made place for the realization I would probably not have liked re-acquainting Under reality's circumstances.

She did not see me.

From a distance, I watched her walk Arm in arm with her boyfriend, Or, more probably, Husband.

And, just like that, I was thirty-seven again. Not really attuned to anything, Yet not so jaded to not be grateful For giving in.

In fact, I hadn't felt so young in ages.

The chase's dedication; the doubtlessness Of the entire universe conspiring To aid in a soul's achieving Deepest wishes.

A rejuvenation in lost magic.

What a gift.

I smiled.

It did work, didn't it?

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #romanticism #love poem #love poetry #romantic poem #romantic poetry #tumblr poetry #poets on tumblr #creative writing #spilled thoughts #poem #words #soul connection #soul #esoteric #dreams #magic

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typicalopposite · 4 months ago

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Soooooo this story has been kicking my BUTT mainly this first chapter and the build up to the actual story 👀 but i finally finished so does manyone wanna read chapter one of angsty break up/helicopter crash fic?

PLZ READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | Chapter 1/? | 6713 words

Link to Prologue | ao3

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗𝚎: 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙… 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

In all of Buck’s thirty three years there has never been another time that he recalls feeling so secure and at peace with his life. So at ease with not just himself, but with the happenings around him. Which is saying a lot given everything going on around him.

Gerard makes work miserable with his constant passive aggressiveness, and his snide comments… Buck knew to expect racism and sexism. He also knew to prepare himself for the blatant homophobia. It still wasn’t enough to prepare him for the first time Gerrard called him princess.

They have all filed complaint after complaint. Bobby is working tirelessly with the fire chief (whose head was gone over in bringing Gerrard back to the 118) to get him reinstated and back home. The team is rallying around each other to lessen the blows made at each of them by the person who is supposed to lead them, but only cares to bully and berate them.

But… at the end of his shift, Buck has Tommy to run home to. Not that they are actually living together— they do spend almost every night they have off together, though. He is the light at the end of a long dark tunnel. The calm after Buck’s 12, 24, or 48 hour storm. He is the breath of fresh air after inhaling far too much smoke. He is… just perfect.

Buck can’t believe how happy he is, how in love he is. The true meaning of happiness? Well Buck thinks it might just be tucked away safe in that soft loving smile Tommy is always giving him. Buck sees their whole lives flash before his eyes when he’s gifted that smile. Years and years, and years of living with this happiness? He definitely could get used to that. He is so lucky.

Or so he thought….

Their shift is (finally) almost over. Buck is laid out on the couch, staring at his phone. He isn’t even aware he’s smiling at his text thread with Tommy until Chimney comes up and knocks his feet off so he can sit down. “There’s only one person I know that could have Buckaroo smiling like that,” he says, his own cheesy grin taking over his face. “You heading over there after work?”

“Reverse,” Buck answers, hoping if he’s nonchalant enough the ridiculous blush he still gets talking about Tommy won’t show up. “He’s at my place—he’s uh… getting dinner started.” And there’s the damn blush anyway, running up his neck.

“I thought you said Tommy was a terrible cook,” Hen says, joining them and sitting on the arm of the couch behind Buck’s head. She tries to sneak a peek at the conversation but Buck drops the phone to his chest.

He sits up and looks at her offended. “Okay, one… eye’s to yourself, thank you very much.” She rolls her own eyes and picks up the throw pillow to hit him with. “Two… I would never say that!”

“And yet you’re not saying he’s not,” Chimney says with a smirk.

“He’s— he’s improving.”

The bell goes off. They all groan. “Better tell the wife you’re gonna be late Buckley,” Gerrard calls from the foot of the stairs.

The ride to the fire is quiet.

No one can ever say anything without Gerrard chiming in with his unwanted two cents. So they sit in silence unwilling to give him anything to use as fuel for another of his hate-filled remarks. Except today, Gerrard decides to initiate the conversation. “So Buckley,” he says; his lips curl up into the beginnings of one of his snarky smirks. “Have you ever lost someone on the job?”

His eyes zero in on his target; the bait to what Buck is certain will be some kind of trap dangling in front of him. “Haven’t we all? Kind of par for the course with this line of work,” Buck answers.

“Yeah, well, you have your typical run of the mill losses on the job; then you have the ones that tend to be a little more—” he pauses to lick his lips, like he’s savoring what he’s about to say. “—personal.” He continues to stare at Buck, whose skin feels like it's crawling under the intensity of it. He waits a beat and then: “Kinard ever tell you about his?”

There it is… the other shoe, heavy as it drops.

Buck doesn’t respond. He has heard a couple of Tommy’s work related horror stories; Buck has shared some of his own. Mostly they just leave work at their respective stations and spend the limited amount of time they get together not dwelling on the bad aspects of being a first responder. “Yeah I’ve heard them,” Buck says, hoping it will be dropped at that; or maybe they will get to the fire… He doesn’t think it’s ever taken this long to arrive on scene before.

“So he’s told you about Jay, then?”

Buck feels his face drop. He feels his brows furrow in confusion and his mouth pulls down before he can stop it. Everyone in the engine looks confused.

Gerrard, on the other hand, looks overly amused. “Ohh, guess he still doesn’t like to talk about him,” he says, and the engine screeches to a stop.

The fire is pretty intense, and everyone is drained afterwards. Thankfully, Gerrard doesn’t mention Tommy—or this Jay person—when they load up for the ride back to the station.

“Get out of your head, Buck…” Hen says quietly. He stops fumbling with the things in his locker, and looks back over his shoulder at her. “You’re letting him get to you. You can’t do that.”

“Yeah, kid, he’s a leech, he feeds on your emotions,” Chimney adds from beside him.

“B- but neither of you know who he’s talking about?”

Hen shakes her head, Chimney shrugs. “Tommy was here before either of us, maybe it was from back then.”

“He’s never mentioned this guy to you?” Eddie asks Buck.

“Never.”

“Then it’s probably no one important,” he continues. “Come on, it’s Tommy! Why would he keep something supposedly big from you?”

Buck’s tongue feels heavy. He wants to say: Maybe because I’m the one who’s not important enough to share it with. He knows that will not go over well with them, so he tucks it away with his other negative thoughts. “You’re probably right…” he does say.

“Of course I’m right,” Eddie smirks.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Ravi calls out to them as he walks backwards out of the station. “But I’m ready to get out of here! I love you all, but I need my two days of not seeing you.”

“I’ll see you boys later,” Hen says to Buck and Eddie. She is going to meet up with Karen and Denny so they can spend the day with Mara at the Buckley-Han household. It’s all she has talked about almost the entire shift.

Once Hen and Chimney are gone Eddie walks over and leans on the locker next to Buck’s. “Hen’s right, you know,” he says. “You gotta get out of your head about this, man. Before you start overthinking it.”

Buck sighs. He hangs his uniform up, and closes the locker. “Yeah,” he finally replies. “Yeah, I know—I will. It’s fine… I’m fine.”

~~~

A shift passes, then another. Soon it’s been a couple weeks. If Gerrard has plans to follow up his questioning about Tommy, and the accident, and Jay… and Buck not knowing about any of it, he hasn’t acted on them yet.

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was just something to get under Buck's skin; plant the seeds of doubt that had never once been present before and set in motion the derailment of the most stable relationship Buck knows he’s ever had. He decides to remove it from the bin of thoughts that he randomly goes through and obsesses over, and fully let it go…

Or, that was the plan, anyway.

By mid September—following a lengthy investigation into exactly how Gerrard was put back in charge of the 118; that ended with multiple people losing their jobs, Gerrard included—Bobby was finally reinstated as their captain. It should be a joyous day. Gerrard is cleaning out his—well it’s no longer his—office. The whole team is gathered outside, ready to give him a great big good riddance for the final time.

Gerrard walks out, passing by each firefighter as if they weren’t even there, head still held high. He stops just as he is about to step out of the station, turns and locks his sight on Buck. “You ever ask Kinard about that accident?” He asks, narrowing his eyes menacingly. “Or are you too scared you might learn Prince Charming isn’t quite as Charming as he seems.”

Buck tenses his jaw, holding it firmly in place, fully prepared to not indulge in his taunting. He’s about to be gone for good; he only has to deal with him for a little bit longer.

Gerrard raises his brows, his smirk bordering on becoming manic. “Don’t believe me? Just ask your buddies. Han and Wilson have plenty of stories of their days as probies working with the real Tommy… before he went sweet.” Again Buck can feel his face furrowing in confusion before he can stop it.

“Don’t listen to him, Buck,” Hen says, putting herself between him and Gerrard. Chimney joins her, their backs to Gerrard who has made no more effort to just get lost (like Buck, and everyone else, wishes he would). “I told you he is just trying to get—”

“Oh, come now Henrietta,” Gerrard scoffs. “Don’t act like he didn’t put you down, and treat you like the maid, and less than him… just like everyone else—well, save for Han of course.” Gerrard turns his attention to Chimney, who is still not looking at him. “You haven’t told him about how Tommy treated you when you started… and only let up once you saved his life.”

“Alright that’s enough,” Bobby says, making his way to the front of the group, right up to Gerrard. “I don’t know what your motive is here, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

There’s a short lived, but still intense, staring battle between the two men, with the entire team watching and holding their breath. Gerrard flicks his eyes from Bobby to Buck and his damned smirk returns. He doesn’t say another word, just turns and walks away. Ravi lets out a ‘whoop whoop’ causing an uproar of cheers and laughter from the entire 118.

It was a summer of hell under Gerrard, but now it’s over. Life can finally get back to normal… except— except now a can of worms has been opened. “What was he talking about,” Buck asks once the crowd disperses, and it’s just their little group standing by the engine.

Hen groans. “Buck, you’re letting him get to you.”

“But you’re not denying it—”

“Because it’s not important,” Chimney interrupts. “By the time I started Tommy had already been under Gerrard for a while; that man had his hooks so deep in him—in all of them. Besides, he has more than apologized for how he acted back then.”

“You do know he’s part of the reason Gerrard had to leave the 118 in the first place,” Hen adds. “He reported his behavior towards me. That’s the story you should care about, Buck. Or how he helped us with that neighborhood fire; saved Eddie and that kid's lives. Or how he risked his job to help us find Cap and ‘Thena… Not the things he has done that he has long been forgiven for.”

Buck knows it’s a losing argument; he doesn’t think he really wants to argue with them about it anyway. They’re right. Why let all this stuff an old bigot tried to resurface from Tommy’s past dictate their happy present. It shouldn’t matter; it doesn’t matter… if Chimney and Hen forgive him, that’s all that matters.

Except…

Except he knows himself well enough to know he isn’t going to be at ease until he at least figures out what the deal with this accident is all about, and who exactly Jay is.

~~~

“Babe, can I ask you kind of a personal question?”

Tommy leans out around the opened hood of his truck to look at him. “Of course,” he says, furrowing his brows slightly. Buck knows he has probably turned a shade of green from how sick to his stomach he feels about actually approaching this. Especially after being told repeatedly that he shouldn’t. Tommy sets his wrench down and grabs a rag to clean off his hands, walking out of the garage to Buck. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh—yeah, well, that’s just it… I don’t—” Buck pauses, takes a deep breath and just spits it out: “Tommy, who’s Jay?”

Tommy blinks. His face shifts from concerned to confused to something somewhere between anger and annoyance. “Where did you— How did you…” he sighs. “Let me guess. Gerrard?”

“Mhmm,” Buck hums with a small nod.

“That’s just—” Tommy starts, huffing out a sarcastic laugh as he roughly wipes the oil and grease from his hands. “That’s just great,” he finishes, angrily tossing the cloth at the floor. Buck waits patiently; he thinks he owes Tommy that much seeing as whatever—whoever—this is, it’s clearly something Tommy isn’t happy about Gerrard sharing. “I–” Tommy looks at Buck, his eyes suddenly turning red and he quickly wipes at them. “I’m sorry, Evan. I can’t…”

“You can’t?”

Tommy shakes his head hard. “I can’t talk about this–about him, not now… not yet. I–” He inhales sharp and it comes back out a broken sob. Buck is so taken aback, because Tommy rarely ever cries; Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him shed more than a few tears, and those were over happy moments.

One time was during some sappy—but with the saddest ending—romcom. Once when he found a dead cat in his backyard. And maybe the most emotional was when Buck slipped up during a particularly passionate kiss and told him that he loved him. Tommy’s face went so red, and Buck began to panic and then profusely apologize until Tommy took his face in his hands and said it back a single tear falling from his eye. Buck wiped it away and leaned back in to continue kissing him.

“Hey,” Buck says, feet quickly moving him across the cement toward Tommy. He slips his arms under Tommy’s, wrapping them around his back and pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay… you don’t have to.”

“I’m—I’m sorry… It’s just… it’s too—”

Buck can feel the tears soaking through his shirt where Tommy has pressed his face to Buck’s shoulder. He feels like such a jerk. “No,” he says, rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s back. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked. I was letting Gerrard get in my head—I was being stupid…”

“You’re not being stupid, Evan,” Tommy says, muffled against the fabric of Buck’s shirt. “You were curious. I understand… It’s just–” Tommy pulls away, taking a step back. He wraps his own arms around himself, and it shocks Buck how small he seems right now. He slowly lifts his eyes to Buck’s, he looks broken (Buck hates himself for it) but mostly he looks worried. “This is—it’s really personal…” he says. “And I’m just not ready to share it yet.”

“That’s okay,” Buck quickly responds. “I understand, and I won’t bring it up again. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

A wave of relief visibly washes over Tommy’s face. The worried frown turns back into that familiar soft smile, and Buck tells himself he is one hundred percent fine with how this whole conversation turned out.

He is fine not knowing.

He is fine.

~~~

Time passes and it feels like the universe is playing the ultimate prank on one Evan Buckley.

On the outside everything has returned to normal. Everyone’s lives seem to have fallen back in line. Bobby is once again leading them, Hen and Karen get Mara back, Eddie convinces Christopher to come home (and they are both regularly going to therapy about the whole Kim/Shannon of it all), Chimney’s latest appointment shows no lingering effects of the encephalitis… but Buck— Buck is… struggling. He is struggling, and he feels so guilty about it, but he can’t get past it.

If it’s not seeing the name Jay in—damn near constant—passing, it’s hearing random stories about the people Tommy has saved (and knowing somewhere out there is a story of someone significant he didn’t). It’s the little signs, and the messages, and the ads he keeps seeing; an online quiz on ‘how well do you know your partner’, a billboard about getting out of an untrustworthy relationship, a commercial about not keeping secrets.

They mean nothing, he knows that. He’s self-sabotaging, he knows that.

It doesn’t stop him from collecting each one like trading cards and adding them to his bin of thoughts until it’s full and he has to do something or it’s going to overflow and drown him.

“You planning on spending your day off here, Buckaroo?”

“Hmm…” Buck blinks, breaking from his thoughts and looking up from his phone—more specifically from the text that just came in. Chimney is standing in front of him, arms crossed, brows pulled together. “Oh, hey Chim—I was just watching—” but the TV is now off. “Huh? I was watching TV.”

Chimney hums, tucking his hands further under his arms. “Is everything okay,” he asks. “You and Tommy… you good?”

“What? Yeah. We’re— Why— why would you think we weren’t? Has he—”

“Whoa now; calm down,” Chimney laughs, putting his hands up in defense. “Tommy hasn’t said anything. You just seem… distracted. Ever since—” He pauses. “I just want to make sure you’re not still dwelling on the crap Gerrard said.”

“Oh, I—” His phone feels extremely heavy in his hand now. He gets the reminder of the unread text. He should probably say something before Chimney gets suspicious. “I’m fine,” he lies, and it makes his stomach sour instantly.

Chimney doesn’t move—doesn’t look away. “You sure about that?” Buck nods, thinking he might be sick if he tries to say another word. “Okay,” Chimney sighs. “You know, Buck… we all have done things we aren’t proud of. I know I have…” Buck is reminded of an angry fist, and a swollen black eye Chimney apologized for everytime they were alone for almost a year.

He is reminded of a lawsuit he still regrets, and a tipsy kiss that unintentionally spiraled him into his second serious relationship. He is reminded of sudden nerves burying him deep into a closet he hadn’t even realized he had been in all along. He is reminded of reaching out for help spying on his boyfriend because he can’t get out of his own head about something that could very much be nothing.

His phone vibrates; another reminder he has an unread text.

He waits until Chimney disappears down the stairs to look back at his phone.

I’ll be home at 8… see you then

~~~

Buck parks his jeep outside the apartment complex, takes the stairs up to the third floor, and stands awkwardly outside apartment 3C contemplating turning around and running back down before he is spotted. He doesn’t, and instead lifts his hand to knock.

A couple days ago his thought’s overfilled the bin … a couple days ago he could no longer ignore his curiosity … a couple days ago Buck came to one of the only people who doesn’t know Tommy enough to be emotionally invested in this … investigation … Buck decided he needed to go on.

A moment later the door is pulled open, and May is in front of him. “Hey,” she says, her smile mirroring Athena’s. “Come in!”

“Uh— Hey,” Buck says back, subconsciously wiping the sweat forming on his hands, off. “So did— did you find anything?” Her smile fades, she shifts on her feet. “You did… Is it — is it that bad…” he asks, wondering if he will even be able to hear her response over the sudden pounding of his heart.

“It’s not necessarily good,” she replies. He wishes he actually hadn’t been able to hear her. He feels himself start to deflate.

May walks to her room, comes back with her laptop, stalls just as she’s about to hand it to him. “Wait,” she says, pulling the laptop back to her chest and holding it there. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean… why make trouble in paradise when there isn’t any?”

“Is it really paradise if he’s hiding stuff from me?”

May sighs, and opens her laptop. “I guess not,” she says once her password is entered and everything she found is pulled up.

The first thing she shows him is the article released the day of the accident.

Tragedy on the Vincent Thomas Bridge

Unidentified man jumps from bridge into LA Harbor late Tuesday afternoon.

LAFD station 118 responded to calls that a man had climbed over the bridge railing. Witnesses say Thomas Kinard (Pictured above) a firefighter with the 118 was on scene trying to talk the man off the edge before he let go, falling 186 feet into the Harbor below.

Buck looks at the picture of a much younger Tommy, dazed and disheveled, one hand running through his hair. He thinks, I know that look… I’ve had that look. He thinks of Devon falling to the ground from the roller coaster. Suddenly he is regretting everything about this. He clicks to the next article anyway.

LGBTQ+ Community Speak Out On Bridge Suicide

Following the death of Jay Pridgen, a member of the LGBT community, rumors began of prejudices within LAFD Station 118, who were present at the scene of the accident. The rumors are calling the stations Captain, Vincent Gerrard, out for repeatedly exhibiting biased behaviors when dealing with minority groups. When asked, Gerrard had no comment. Also under fire is the first responder who was on the bridge with Pridgen. Kinard is being accused of stalling rather than actually trying to get Pridgen off the edge.

Fire Chief Releases A Statement on Alleged Homophobia Within Station 118

Bridge Tragedy Officially Ruled An Accident

While it’s unclear what Pridgen’s original intentions were when he climbed over the railing of the Vincent Thomas Bridge, Firefighter Thomas Kinard went on record Friday insisting Pridgen did not jump but instead fell to his death. Kinard states he was trying to get to him but was unable to before he slipped from the edge. While there are some who still are hoping for an investigation into LAFD, specifically station 118, Captain Vincent Gerrard says he hopes this new cause of death will allow everyone to move on from this clear and complete accident so his team can get back to their jobs without having to deal with the torches and pitchforks coming for them daily.

“Wow…” Buck says softly. “That’s— That’s a lot.”

“That’s… not all,” May admits, clicking on yet another link. “So even though the accident itself is really terrible, it felt weird that he would hide it from you. I mean Tommy’s part of the community, it’s not like he really let this guy fall because he’s gay… right? So I kept digging and I found… this.” Buck holds his breath, May pulls up a picture. It’s an army Platoon, and upon closer inspection it’s Tommy’s platoon.

“I don’t understand,” Buck says.

“Once I had Jay’s full name I searched it together with Tommy’s… just to see if there were any more articles on the accident, but I found this picture instead.” She scrolls up to reveal the names of the soldier’s; the man in the middle next to Tommy, arm draped over his shoulder holding Tommy tight to his side… is Jay Pridgen.

“Oh my god… they— they knew each other?” And well that definitely adds a whole new layer to how traumatic Jay's death must have been. Buck sighs and closes May’s laptop. He thanks her for going through all the articles and everything for him, even if it feels wrong to thank someone for invading Tommy’s privacy.

He rides home in silence, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He feels crappy, and insensitive… he collapses onto his bed the second he reaches it. Maybe he can sleep on it and his head will be clearer in the morning. Honestly he thinks he would like to just forget about this whole thing; that sounds like a very good idea.

His phone dings.

A notification that Tommy tagged him in a photo. He opens it and is met with himself and Tommy, standing in front of a gorgeous sunset on the beach; bodies pressed against each other, noses touching and their lips just a breath away from a kiss. Yeah, he’s all mine <3 Buck feels the smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he double taps the image watching the red heart bloom out from his thumb.

He is so happy. Why is he trying to ruin that for himself? He clicks on Tommy’s account, looking through all the pictures Tommy has posted of him, and of them together. A visual confirmation of the true meaning of happiness that Buck has finally found. Buck has liked them all already, so he just scrolls through them.

Next thing he knows he has gone back to before they met. Tommy didn't use social media that much, at least not in the recent years before they got together. He only has a handful of images from each year and some years there’s gaps where he didn’t post anything.

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever gone so deep into Tommy’s account before. He decides to go all the way back to the beginning and scroll up. He can’t help but laugh at how tiny Tommy looks in the very first pictures he posted; horrible quality shots of him showing off his baby muscles (compared to the ones he has now anyway), giving his best smolder for the camera. As he starts scrolling through them it’s so reminiscent of his own earlier days on the app, just thirst trap after thirst trap and Buck is kind of loving the experience.

He goes through them, liking each one, before he notices something that has him sitting up in his bed.

It’s a picture taken up in the snow; a picture taken in NorCal. Tommy's mom lives in NorCal so that’s not surprising… what is surprising is the top name on the list of likes. It’s Jay. Buck blinks at the name thinking the letters might shift and he’ll realize he’s just reading the username wrong; it’s JPridge82, he’s definitely not reading it wrong. He scrolls up to the next picture. Tommy with his mom; liked by JPridge82. Tommy in his 118 turnouts; liked by JPridge82. Tommy in bed clearly wrapped around another body, his eyes are half-lidded and tired, the caption reads wake me up before you go go; liked by JPridge82, and a comment… but you're so cute when you sleep, baby! Tommy replies: oh shut up! XD

It easily could be read as banter; he and Eddie play flirt like that all the time. Next picture: a restaurant table Buck recognizes oh too intimately. Think I found my new favorite Italian restaurant; liked by JPridge82 and replies: sameee

A picture of two shadows holding hands. Take my hand, take my whole life too. It’s askew enough you only see part of the bodies and then their hands (enough you can’t see their heights are the same, Buck thinks. That would have raised questions for sure.) Liked by JPridge82; aww baby look at us xoxo. Tommy replies: my god you are ridiculous

The inside of Tommy’s old truck, two coffee cups in the holders. Let’s get out of this town <3. Liked by JPridge82.

The next picture is a new thirst trap, of sorts. Tommy standing in the mirror shirtless. He isn’t flexing, or posing. Just standing there. No caption. No like by JPridge82, but there is a comment from Sal. Not the mopey instagram posts! She wasn’t for you, man! Let it go, you’ll find new ass in no time. Tommy didn’t respond.

The pictures slowly turn from selfies, to work related, to memes. Some of which are extremely questionable; putting down women, or minorities. Some are downright hateful. They are so unlike the Tommy he knows now. They are definitely giving Buck a look at this person Gerrard was referring to when he made the comment about Buck not knowing the “real” Tommy. He thinks of what Chimney and Hen said; that he has profusely apologized for how he was back when they started. Why hasn’t he taken them down then.

He sets his jaw, trying to not let the annoyance building set him off, and goes back to the last picture Jay liked. He clicks on the username. “Dammit,” he mumbles out loud. His account is private.

He gets an idea.

It’s one that on a typical day he would be annoyed with himself for having… but it’s almost three in the morning he is running off pure adrenaline now and he isn’t thinking like he typically would… he logs out of his own Instagram and logs into Tommy’s.

It’s not that he was being sneaky and eavesdropped on Tommy entering his password, Tommy literally typed it out right in front of him. He had taken a picture of them and needed to log in to post it. He is always saying he has nothing to hide from Buck… Seems like he had one thing to hide.

Buck’s heart is pounding into his ears as he opens Tommy’s followers list. Maybe they weren’t even following each other anymore, Buck thinks, his thumb lingering over the search bar. Maybe he should just back out of this while he’s still somewhat in the dark, before he brings to light something he doesn’t want to know.

JPridge82.

Buck feels his heart completely stop beating. He shouldn’t do this. Hell, he shouldn’t be on Tommy’s instagram in the first place. He clicks on the name anyway. Immediately his suspensions are answered. Private accounts come with freedom; freedom to share whatever you want because you control who can see it. And Jay didn’t have that many followers, so they likely all knew the truth.

Jay’s photo bin looks eerily similar to how Tommy’s account looks now, except its picture after picture of Tommy and Jay together.

One in bed, Tommy’s head resting on Jay’s chest. One from what must have been a hike, far from any peeping eyes; a kiss in front of a waterfall. Their hands clasped together over the center console of one of their cars. A movie date; Buck and Tommy have still never made up their missed movie date, never had the time. He doesn’t mean for the jealousy that starts to bloom deep in his chest, but it’s there and he is too drained to even attempt to push it away.

He wonders why Tommy wouldn’t tell him about such a pivotal time of his life.

My Forever <3 Jay captions a picture of Tommy staring out at the ocean, his hair wet and tousled like he just came out of the water.

Buck looks through the pictures, each one feeling like a stab to the chest—this was not meant for him to see. This was something beautiful Tommy had… and lost… and he wanted to keep it to himself. But Buck can never leave well enough alone, and he took that decision from Tommy.

He is about to close his phone when he sees Jay’s last post isn’t a picture but text.

I wish I had been enough of a reason for you to stop lying about who you are. Posted — August 8, 2010. A week before the accident.

Buck closes his phone, but he doesn’t—he can’t—go to sleep.

~~~

There’s a knock on his door.

Buck wishes he could just hide under his covers and pretend he doesn’t hear it; he knows exactly who it is.

He spent his first day off avoiding Tommy. He had hoped Tommy hadn’t caught on; he was working a 24 and from the already scarcity of his calls and texts, it seemed the shift was a busy one. Usually as soon as Tommy is suspicious of Buck’s behavior he will go hide somewhere so he can call—and will repeatedly call—to figure out what’s wrong. He hasn’t pressed once as Buck went through literally every excuse in the book as to why he wasn’t able to talk, and he has seemed just as unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm in all of Buck’s texts.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Another knock. He could continue to ignore it, but Tommy has a key.

Buck groans and pushes off his bed, taking the steps one at a time for once; no reason other than to prolong reaching the door. “Hey baby,” Tommy says, cheery and bright, the second Buck opens it. “Were you sleeping?”

I wish, Buck thinks. “I… was,” Buck lies. “What’s all this…”

In Tommy’s hands there’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, and a card. He hands Buck the card first. “Uh— let’s call it an… it seems like I’ve done something and haven’t realized what it is yet… surprise.” Buck can’t help the laugh that escapes him. What does he say to that… yeah you have, I just haven’t rationalized whether I truly deserve to be mad at you about it or not. “So… go on, read it.”

Buck sighs, finally looking down at the card in his hands. My forever is written in Tommy’s small ridiculously neat handwriting with a heart at the end. He stares at the card, his mind going right back to a private account and a picture captioned My Forever <3.

“I— I know… cheesy right?”

Buck breaks his eyes away from the words, bringing them up to Tommy’s. “Why— why would you put that…”

“Uhm—” Tommy looks at him confused, if not a little hurt. “I mean… I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be so on the nose… but that is what I see with you… if you don’t—”

“Is that what you saw with Jay too?” Buck asks before he can stop himself.

Tommy’s eyes widen, he steps back. “What…”

Buck has been here before. Putting himself in an awkward situation and so yet his mouth still starts moving against his better judgment. “I mean… that’s what he saw with you… but maybe it was only one-sided.” Tommy doesn’t speak, continuing to stare at Buck like he has grown a second head. Might as well rip the bandaid off, he thinks; shrugs. “You didn’t want to talk about him… so I just found out myself. It’s not like it’s hard to pull up an old news article.”

“You— but how did you get on his—” Tommy blinks, a new look crossing his face; he knows what Buck did. It should make Buck feel bad; it does make him feel bad… but it also makes him feel defensive. He deserved to know—if only he truly believed that.

“I’ve told you everything, Tommy!” He snaps. “I’ve told you all about my past, all my relationships, Daniel. Every sad, and hard, and embarrassing, and traumatic experience… I told you. But you... You’re this big mystery. You don’t talk about anything. The only thing you’ve told me about your past is that it makes you jealous of mine…” The tension in Tommy’s face has gone slack, and he’s just taking the lecture with calmness; meanwhile Buck’s heart is about to pound out of his chest and his skin has gone hot and numb. “But did you ever think that maybe the reason we’re like a family is because we treat each other like equals. Instead of like some of them are beneath us...”

That gets him a reaction; finally, he thinks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act like you and Chimney and Hen always got along… like you didn’t follow Gerrard’s lead when they first started…” Tommy looks at him like a kicked puppy; Buck internally screams at himself that it’s enough. It’s not enough, he adds: “Not to mention all the crap you used to share. That you probably got a good laugh about with all your buddies at the expense of others.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Tommy cries.

Buck sees red, throwing the unopened card down on the table and storming up to his phone. He doesn’t even log out of Tommy’s account, just finds the memes and shoves them in his face. “This is what you think is funny?”

“Evan, these are— do you even realize how long ago this was?!”

“What difference does that make!?” Buck screams back.

Tommy sighs, and hands Buck back his phone. “No… you’re— you’re right. It doesn’t make a difference… it doesn’t make it okay.”

Buck thinks he’s said enough. He has revealed what he knows. “So is that what happened with you and Jay…” he says instead… the words sliding their way out of his mouth and he can’t stop them. “He couldn’t live a lie any more… couldn’t live your lie anymore.” It’s rolling off his tongue so easily, it actually disgusts him. But the words pass his lips and he watches the exact moment they slap Tommy across the face and the man gasps like he’d actually just been assaulted. His eyes instantly fill with tears and he has to break his eyes from Buck in an attempt to blink them away.

“You— you have no idea what you're talking about, Evan. You had no right to…”

“To what? Question if I really know the man I was considering spending the rest of my life with? I’ve been through this, Tommy, too many times. You think you know someone… and it turns out you don’t.”

“How can you even say that?!” Tommy all but screams, rubbing the back of his hand—still holding on to the bottle of wine—over his eyes and nose. “Okay yeah, I didn’t tell you about a really hard time in my life… and maybe given everything surrounding it I should have. Maybe I should have even told you about how it was when Howie and Hen first started. And yes, I should have gone through and deleted all those posts a long time ago… But to say you don’t really know me? Those things don’t define me!”

“They sure say a lot though…”

Tommy goes silent. He takes a few calming breaths, fresh tears in his eyes and trails running down both cheeks. “So— so what is this— what are we— what does this mean, then… for us?”

Buck shrugs. “That maybe I'm not your forever,” he says, tightening his jaw so it won’t betray the stone cold persona he is trying to uphold by trembling.

Tommy freezes, the bottle of wine and roses he’s still holding suddenly seem so out of place. “You don’t mean—” he starts; he searches Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to find a different answer. He doesn’t seem to find one. “Really?” Buck doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t take it back either. He just swallows around the lump forming in his throat and manages to hold his composure. “Okay… if that’s—” he shifts on his feet, breaking away from Buck’s eyes; Buck is grateful for it. “O- Okay.”

He sits the roses and wine on the table by the card and turns for the door. “You— you don’t need to leave those…” Buck manages to say; it sounds so petty, it disgusts him.

Tommy opens the door and turns back to the roses. “Think of it as… a goodbye gift,” he says, quietly, giving a halfhearted laugh. He turns his head farther, so he is again looking at Buck, giving him one more chance to take it back. He doesn’t. “Good-bye, Buck,” Tommy says and pulls the door closed behind him.

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