#old masterlist is broken please use this one

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop.  It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

 You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it. 

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good.  That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought.  “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

 "I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

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[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Four members of a sales team working for a large insurance company receive an unexpected Christmas bonus - an individual with powers of precognition, or foresight. They are tasked with making their company's purchase a lucrative one. But what exactly are precognitives? Is there a human cost?

Prologue / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine /Ten / Eleven / Twelve / Thirteen / Fourteen / Fifteen / Sixteen

Status: complete

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

[harryslittlefreakk]

the one

summary: y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

warnings: light angst, made up town, CHEESY writing, smut that’s more making love than fucking

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: hi guys 💘 long time no see!!! GO EASY on me im rusty!!!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door creaked as it swung shut behind you, sealing out the bitter November wind with a low groan. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights bathed the room, casting long shadows over the oak bar and a few worn leather stools scattered around it. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and a faint hint of wood smoke. A couple of locals sat quietly at a table near the back, their low voices blending with the soft hum of an old jukebox playing a slow, bluesy tune.

“Thank God,” you muttered, the day’s tension melting from your face as the warm air settled around you. You let your head roll back, savoring the first reprieve from the cold. The chill that had reddened your cheeks and numbed your fingers slowly eased, the warmth brushing over your skin.

Winter was settling into Windermere, and you’d never gotten used to it. Your parents found a strange charm in the grey skies and biting winds, bundling up and going about their routines. But for you, it felt suffocating. Each year, November swept in like an unwelcome guest, forcing the town to become even smaller, with people huddled indoors, glancing suspiciously at anyone passing by.

The town seemed cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of fires and the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot. It was a season that left no room for secrets, not when every movement was magnified in the stillness. With everyone tucked away, the chances of slipping by unnoticed were slim, forcing your teenage rebellion to thrive in only the rarest pockets of solitude, under the cover of long, dark nights.

“Please, just something hot,” you said, voice weary as you rubbed your hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them.

The bartender eyed you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he planted his hands on the bar.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you,” he mused, reaching down to grab another glass.

Your head snapped up so quickly that your neck clicked, and you rubbed the sore spot as a frown knit your brow. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He was older, scruffier, and somehow more devastatingly handsome than the last time you’d seen him. You blinked a few times, half-expecting him to be some kind of apparition conjured by the cold. But he was real. Your Harry was really standing in front of you, in the last place you’d ever thought you’d find him.

“I didn’t- I tried to find you,” you stammered, your voice catching as your gaze drifted over him.

He was taller now, his once-wild curls a little more tamed. Those same green eyes that seemed to cut straight through into your soul. His sweater clung just enough to his arms to hint at the strength beneath, and tattoos traced up both arms in intricate, dark patterns, curling from his wrists to disappear under the fabric, each one telling a story of the years he'd spent without you.

The decade you’d missed was written across him in lines and ink, yet somehow, seeing him now made you feel like that eighteen-year-old again, waiting for her best friend to realize he loved her too.

“If you’d looked hard enough, you would have,” Harry muttered, his eyes trailing over your face, taking in the flush of cold still lingering on your cheeks. Your lips pressed into a tight line as you dropped your gaze to the worn wood of the bar. You couldn’t tell him that you hadn’t found him because you hadn’t wanted to.

He was a reminder of a version of yourself you’d left behind - a girl who thought she had to earn love instead of knowing she deserved it.

He stood there, still holding the empty glass, his gaze traveling over every inch of you he could see. His eyes lingered on your hands for a moment, his expression hardening before he turned away.

Even through his sweater, you could see his back muscles tense, a reminder of just how much had changed. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting glass sent an involuntary chill down your spine, though you blamed it on the cold draft from the door. But deep down, you knew it was Harry’s presence that stirred something old and haunting within you.

He turned back to you after a few minutes, setting a mug of hot cocoa down in front of you. His hand was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders as he slid the glass toward you.

"Exactly how we used to have it. On the house," he said, voice low, eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to a spot just over your shoulder. You hesitated, your fingers wrapping around the glass, the warmth dancing across your skin.

“Christ. Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The burn of whiskey flooded your throat, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in your bones.

He still didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you’d been doing all these years. Didn’t ask why you’d come back. There was a time when you were sure he’d have asked, a time when he would have read every expression, every flicker in your eyes as easily as a page in a book. But now, the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, woven from years of things left unsaid.

"Heard you were getting married,” Harry said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. The words were hesitant, almost vulnerable, but his eyes had a guarded edge, as if they were holding back an ocean of questions. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if to steady himself.

“Not anymore,” you told him with a soft shake of your head, your voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the jukebox. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over him, noting the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet weight he seemed to carry now, like shadows that hadn’t been there before. He was still Harry - but this version of him was one you didn’t know. Or maybe it was you who didn’t know herself anymore.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you stayed here, Harry.”

It was true. You didn’t know anything about him. You’d never asked your parents, though they would definitely be privy to what was going on in his life. They knew that whatever had or hadn’t happened between the two of you had contributed to the way you left, so they had made no attempt to keep you updated.

“I didn’t. Came back for my grandma’s funeral and the pub was about to be sold to a chain but no one could afford to take it on. So I did,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to his feet as he spoke.

You sat back a little, memories of afternoons spent at this very pub flooding your mind. Trying to sneak notes out of the tip jar, Harry coercing his grandma to pass you both shots. “She loved it here,” you whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you traced a finger along the bar. “I had no idea she passed Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Forty years of her life behind this bar,” Harry nodded solemnly, his jaw tense. “I couldn’t let it go.”

There was a glimmer of the Harry you knew when he said that. It was the part of him that first drew you in. He was cheeky, stubborn, but his loyalty to his family was unmatched. Beneath the external rebellion, he was sentimental and kind, the first to fiercely defend any of his loved ones, the last to leave one behind.

You had no idea how you’d ended up so disconnected from him. You’d only spent five minutes in his presence, but it felt like the first five minutes you’d ever spent with him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was loaded, more meaningful than any small talk you could have tried to fill it with. It felt as though one wrong word would break whatever fragile truce had settled between you.

Finally, Harry sighed, leaning his forearms against the bar, hands fidgeting with a bottle cap, rolling it over and over between his fingers.

“You left,” he said softly, as if the words themselves had been weighing him down. “And I waited, you know? For a while. I thought you’d come back. And then, when you didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a long pause, each word sinking heavily in the quiet room, reverberating through you. You felt a pang of guilt - maybe shame - at hearing his side of it laid bare, the rawness in his voice making it hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know how to exist here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt flimsy, inadequate, but they were all you had. “I needed to figure out how to do it on my own.”

“And did you?” he asked, something sharp and almost accusing in his tone.

You hesitated, because you weren’t sure how to answer that. Had you? The years had passed, but you weren’t sure you’d changed as much as you thought you would. You’d found your independence, learned to stand on your own - but there was still a part of you that had never let him go, that had held onto the version of Harry you’d left behind.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter. “I thought being back here would answer that for me.”

You turned away from him, your heart pounding as you glanced around the pub, taking it in. “It’s changed a lot in here,” you mumbled, never feeling less at home than you did in that moment.

“The whole town has changed.” Harry shrugged, his jaw tense as his eyes followed yours.

The atmosphere had shifted when you turned back to face him, an unmistakable tension settling between you. Harry’s gaze was hard, guarded and defensive, like he was bracing himself against something.

“That’s not a good reason to leave.”

“What?”

“That’s not a good reason to leave,” he repeated, arms folding over his chest. “Are you staying?”

“For now.”

“You hurt a lot of people,” he continued, his tone harsh, bitterness dripping from each word.

“I spent my entire teenage years thinking about everyone else. Selfishness isn’t a crime,” you shot back, pushing your empty mug towards him.

“It’s not. But that doesn’t stop it hurting people.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning your forearms against the bar. “People, or you?”

Harry looked past you at the last patrons filing out, circling around the bar to see them out and lock the door behind them. The silence was thick, stretching through the distance between you.

“People,” he answered finally, those green eyes not quite meeting yours. How had it gotten to a point where you openly lied to each other? A tiny part of you thought that if you ever crossed paths again, you’d fall into your old routine, Harry with the cheeky grin and bad ideas, you with the doe eyes and willingness to follow his every move.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you mumbled, pushing yourself off the stool.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry stalked back to the bar, a heavy hand slamming a bottle of whiskey down in front of you. “Have a drink with me, and tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

You swallowed hard, your body tensing as he sat down next to you. “The truth?”

“Whatever was so bad that you had to leave without even saying goodbye.” His eyes were dark as you looked up at him, his fingers drumming against the bar.

“It’s not even important anymore,” you sighed, feeling the lie settle heavy in your chest. You took a swig of the whiskey, shivering as the heat slipped down your throat, trying to steady yourself. But he was watching you too closely, reading you like an open book. Before you could react, he tugged the bottle from your hands, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Pull the other one," he said, voice low. "Whatever happened kept you away for a decade. Did someone hurt you?"

You almost laughed, bitter and tired. He was looking at you now, his gaze sharp and searching, like he was ready to drag the truth out of you no matter what it cost. But you were lost in your own head, your eyes tracing the tattoos winding down his forearms, lingering on the familiar lines and symbols. He was exactly the man you had always imagined he’d become - steady, solid, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But you had never expected to see it like this, up close, with your own eyes.

You reached for the whiskey, snatching it back from him and knocking it back with a grimace. “It was you, Harry.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unguarded. “Fuck. I realized I’d put my whole life on hold, waiting for you to notice me.”

He froze, his hand suspended in the air, and for a second, there was no sound but the creak of the barstool as he shifted, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. He scratched his head, his eyes falling shut as your words sank in. You could see him wrestling with it, with everything that had been left unsaid all these years.

“And running away was better than just telling me?” His voice was softer now, hurt creeping into the edges, and it made something twist painfully in your chest.

You shook your head, feeling a thousand things you could never say. “How was I supposed to tell you? Hi, Harry, my good friend, I love you, and I’m about to devote my life to you.”

“Something like that,” he muttered, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he finally met your eyes. The silence stretched again, thick with years of missed chances and the weight of what could’ve been.

You both sat there, lost in the quiet. It felt fragile, this moment, like the whole world could split open with one wrong word.

“It wasn’t just that,” you muttered, watching your feet swinging under the stool. “I couldn’t exist here anymore. It gets to a point where it’s suffocating.”

“But you really couldn’t just tell me?”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, your face hot with the blush that spread across your skin. His dark eyes held you, unblinking, and the weight of everything unspoken made your heart pound. He leaned forward, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, as if he was bracing himself for something he’d waited too long to hear. You tried to look away, tried to hide the vulnerability in your expression, but his gaze was unrelenting, drawing the words out of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you said, voice tight with restraint. You tried to keep your tone casual, but you could feel the way it trembled, betraying you.

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his face serious. His jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration in his eyes that he tried to temper. It was like he already knew what you were going to say, yet he needed to hear it from you, needed confirmation for the ache that had been buried under years of silence.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “It’s embarrassing, H.” Your eyes darted away, unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “I changed my whole life because of a crush. I moved somewhere where no one knew me because I was scared of everyone here knowing me too well. I got engaged to the first man I properly loved, and he still didn’t match up to you.”

Harry’s face softened, but he looked pained, his lips parting as though to speak. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, his shoulders stiffened with all the things he had wanted to say, to ask. But when he reached for you, you placed a hand over his, silencing him for a little while longer.

“I thought about you every day for ten years,” you said, feeling the words tear from your throat, your eyes bright with unspilled tears. “And now we’re just sitting here like strangers. Do you get that?”

He let out a bitter laugh, a rough, quiet sound that cut through the stillness. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar as if he needed the support to hold himself together. “Do I get it?” he repeated, his voice low and raw, his brows drawn in with years of buried pain. “I’ve lived the same ten years as you, except I didn’t get the privilege of knowing where the fuck you went or why.”

He looked down at your hand over his, and his fingers slowly closed around yours, his grip warm and strong. He was still, tension held tight in the curve of his shoulders, in the soft way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, as if afraid the moment might slip away. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking, and his other hand rose slowly to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. You could feel your pulse quicken, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, with the intensity in his eyes, softening into something tender, something hesitant and aching.

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours until the last second, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him. But you didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and gentle, as though he were savoring every second, every taste. You could feel him melt into the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The moment you kissed him back, he exhaled against you, letting go of some tightly held breath, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent. His hands moved down to your waist, strong and steady, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the heat between you, the years of longing pouring into this single kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his breaths came rough and shallow. Without a word, he tugged his sweater over his head, baring his skin, the tattoos winding over his chest and arms like stories you’d never gotten to read. Your fingers traced along them, the tip of your nail gliding over the ink, and you could feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew serious again as he leaned down, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, his hands sliding down to your hips, lifting you up onto the bar with ease. You gasped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugged your skirt up, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

In that moment, you were no longer strangers. His face softened, his eyes warm and almost reverent as he looked at you, a quiet promise in his touch that maybe, finally, there was nothing left between you but the truth.

Harry’s mouth found your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive skin. “That’s for leaving me behind,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sting. He moved to the other one, his teeth nipping at you for a second time. “And that’s for making me wait a fucking decade.”

Your breath comes out in shallow moans, your hands planted on his shoulders. That damn butterfly tattoo, the one he’d always told you he would get, almost taking flight as he pants against you, his eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned in closer to your core as you widened your legs, his nose nudging against the wet spot on your panties.

“Ten fucking years,” he repeated, his voice husky. He looked up at you with a plea in his eyes, waiting for you to allow or deny his next move.

“Please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against him as he reached out, pulling your panties aside with a quick hand.

Your gaze landed on the window, the dim lights practically inviting passers-by to peep inside and catch you in the act. But when Harry’s mouth found your slick, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, for the first time in your life - whether you became the town gossip or not.

His movements were rough and unrelenting, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue flicked against your clit, appreciative murmurs vibrating against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his thumb took over the pressure on your clit, rubbing circles against the nerves as you writhed. His tongue licked at your slick with an intensity you’d never know before, his free hand slipping under your jumper to grip at the curve of your waist. Tingles spread from his touch, the lust taking over your body as pressure built in your core.

Without warning, Harry pulled away, pulling your legs around his waist as he stood up. A needy whine fell from your lips as your high dissipated, the soft skin of his abs rubbing against your entrance.

“You made me wait. You can’t handle it now?” he murmured, his lips warm against your neck, the whiskey still hot on his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time, the ancient wood creaking under his feet. You looked around the apartment as Harry weaved through the dark, brushing against tables and knocking over a stray glass, too focused to care. The room smelled faintly of him - whiskey, smoke, and that earthy, familiar scent you couldn’t place. It was messy, cluttered with books and clothes, but your heart warmed with an odd sense of belonging the moment you crossed the threshold. Your clothes came off at some point during the journey, a trail of knits and underwear reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s, but one that would only lead you to the person you were before you knew how it felt to be fucked by Harry Styles.

He stumbled slightly, caught himself, and half-laughed, his hands steady on you as he dropped you onto the bed. You landed with a gentle bounce, your heart racing, heat building in your chest. You needed to pinch yourself in case it was all a sick dream. All those days of stolen glances and lingering touches that meant nothing and everything, all those years wondering where he was and what lucky woman hadn’t run away from him.

For all those years, you’d told yourself he was stuck in your head because of the what ifs. What if you stayed, what if you’d forged a life together, what if you hadn’t acted on hormone-driven impulses.

Harry was intense, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to look away, but the idea of actually being with him had always felt like a distant dream. And yet, there he was, breathing ragged and close, his weight settling beside you, hands resting on either side of your head as he held you in place with a gaze that felt as if it could unravel you.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and edged with that same maddening confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. His tone was challenging, almost taunting, but there was something vulnerable lurking in his eyes.

You took a breath, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always have.”

His smirk softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, and you could sense the weight of all the things he’d never said hanging thick in the air. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was nothing held back - no restraint, no hesitation. Just an undeniable pull between you, finally given permission to break free.

“One condition,” Harry rasped, leaning down to press kisses across your bare chest. “When you leave, you keep in contact this time.”

“I will, Harry. I swear. If I leave,” you grinned up at him, your nails scratching at the base of his head.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he traced a path down to your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “If?” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He pulled back slightly, catching your gaze with a look that was both playful and deadly serious. “I’m not planning on giving you a reason to run.”

You felt the weight of his words, the lost time between you settling heavy in the air. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I won’t this time, I promise,” you whispered, fingers tightening around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, praying your kiss would convey how deeply sure you were.

Harry looked at you for a long moment when he pulled away, studying your face as if trying to memorize every detail, as though he wasn’t sure you’d really stay.

His eyes dropped to your tits as he reached down to stroke his cock, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb grazed over the wet slit.

You pawed at him impatiently, biting back the whimpers that threatened to spill out of you as he lined himself up at your entrance with one last look into your eyes.

You felt your life altering in front of you, your trajectory changing to what it could’ve been a decade before, fate pulling you and Harry back onto the same path, the one your should’ve always been on.

But when he pushed himself into you, that familiar pressure tinged with pain, the feeling of being filled like his cock was the missing fucking piece - your mind was clear. You wrapped yourself around him, your body fighting to be as close to him as possible, your moans syncing to his thrusts.

“Harry,” you whimpered, mouth falling open as his free hand found your clit again, drawing your body back to how close it had been to climax.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fucked into you, his thumb unrelenting as it worked at your bud, his strong body overpowering yours.

Your hips bucked into him, your legs starting to quiver around his waist as you writhed and jerked, your moans mixing with the deafening slaps of skin-on-skin contact.

“It’s mine, this is mine,” Harry growled, his possession tipping you over the edge. His. That was all you’d ever wanted to be.

Your orgasm came on strong, your body tingling and tensing from your head to your toes, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your back arched into his chest.

Your walls were fluttering around him, your pussy desperate to milk him for all he had.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as he stared down at you, committing the image of your high to memory, the first thing he’d want his mind to see when he woke, the last thing he’d see before sleeping. His hand slipped under you to the curve of your ass, angling your hips to allow him deeper, his cock hitting spaces you didn’t even know you had.

“This is just the warm up,” he grunted, pulling his cock from you at the last minute, his come spilling onto your chest, your lips curling into a smirk.

“I think there’ll be plenty more of that,” you whispered, pulling his lips back onto yours, barely unable to kiss him with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

mehhh i don’t know about this one … but ive been itching to post something 👉🏼👈🏼🥹

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[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. masterlist ao3 next

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x single mom!reader

Summary: When you go to steal a silver case from the Twins, they quickly realize you're under duress.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: protective!tangerine, mentions of coercion and kidnapping, cursing, crying

~ @kpopgirlbtssvt hi lovie!! here it is! hope you like it xx ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

* ~ *

April, your almost one-year-old, is currently tucked in your arms as you try to console her.

She won't calm down and you've been assuming the train's lights are too shiny for her small eyes since she's been inconsolable for the last hour. "Honey, shh," you try again, caressing her round cheeks.

"Hello." Your thoughts are interrupted by a calm voice as a young girl sits in front of you. Her short brown hair is cut neatly into a bob and she's wearing a pink shirt and skirt. She looks well-groomed. "Your baby is adorable," she comments, glancing at April. 

"Thank you," you say, smiling as you bounce April on your lap now—the movement calming her a little as her cries turn into small breathy babbling sounds.

After a moment, the girl continues. "I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but have you seen a silver case somewhere around here? My Uncle seems to have misplaced it," the girl's smile falters as if looking for sympathy, "It's very important to me," she finishes, her eyebrows creasing as her lips downturn into a pout.

You shake your head.

She urges you, "Could you perhaps help me look then?" She leans in closer as she runs her hand under April's chin, her demeanor more insistent now. 

Your smile falters and you turn April away, your hand on her back, as your motherly instincts kick in. Something is wrong. "I'm so sorry. I would help only," you begin, holding April closer. 

Your answer is interrupted as the girl scowls, "I'll pay you," she says.

Pay you? Your mind races as you wonder why this girl would pay you for your help. What's in this case that warrants such attention? Once you shake your head again, the girl's calm energy vanishes. 

"Well, this is a shame, hmm?" her tone suddenly shifts and she smiles cruelly as she crosses her legs. The table that's separating you and her comes in handy as it hides the weapon she produces and presses against your knee.

She angles the gun upwards and you tense your arms around April, holding her even closer. April squirms, sensing your worry. 

"Please," you whisper, looking around the train. None of the other passengers seem preoccupied by your predicament. They aren't even looking in your direction.

You want to scream, but you have a feeling if you do so, this girl wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. "Please don't hurt my baby," you say, fear settling inside you.

The girl tilts her head and chuckles. She taps the gun on your knee, making you flinch. "Hmm, you see, you're just the girl for this. Men underestimate girls like us—

They'll never see you coming—a vulnerable little thing like you, with something so precious to lose—you would do anything for your baby, would you?" She smiles at April. 

"Please," you sound like a broken record, "what do you want from me?"

"Is your baby's daddy around?"

You want to lie but you're too scared so you shake your head. 

"Pff, men—bastards, hmm?" The girl laughs and then she turns serious. "Now listen closely, if you don't want me to blow you and your baby to bits, you'll do exactly as I say," she pauses and her smirk turns sinister,

"Understand?" 

* * *

You feel like you're in a trance as your shaky hands hold the gun behind you. You walk into the train car, looking for the men the girl had insisted took her case from her.

You feel a little exposed as the buttons from your chemise have been slightly unbuttoned to reveal your bra and the girl had made you let down your hair. 

Go for the sex appeal and you'll have men at your feet, she'd promised.

However, you don't care how stupid you look. All you care about is April. April, who the girl has promised you she wouldn't harm if you did as you were told. April, who had started to scream again when you'd placed her in the seat next to the cruel stranger and who had continued to cry as you disappeared from her view.

Your poor baby.

You try not to cry now. You don't want your mascara to run and ruin your cover. You hold your head up, glancing at all the passengers as you walk by. 

Twins. You were looking for Twins—that should be easy enough. 

You walk slower, only catching fragments of conversations, until suddenly you walk by two men.

One is adjusting his stripped blue vest, his brown hair messy and his face smeared in bruises and blood.

The other, who looks nothing like the first, is holding onto a silver case. Your breath hitches when you hear the man exclaim, "Some fucker had this in his arms when I bumped into 'im—what are the odds, huh? Maybe it is our lucky day, bruv!"

You pause. They don't look like Twins, but in all honesty that means nothing—they have the case.

You take a breath and shut your eyes, turning around and hiding the gun in the flow of your skirt. You walk up to them, your eyes landing on your target as you 'accidentally' trip and fall onto the man in blue's lap.

"What the fuck?!" The man exclaims. It's an honest reaction to some random girl falling onto you. His British accent is thick and your cheeks burn as you stare into his blue eyes. Suddenly, your entire ruse threatens to crumble as your hands shake. You try to shift and press the gun to the man's stomach—like you'd been told.

April, think of April.

"She has a gun," the other man whisper-shouts and this sets the man you'd landed on into action as he hastily grabs your wrists, his other hand gripping at your waist as he shoves you off of him and corners you in the other seat, you back pressed to the wall as he twists your hand.

You yelp in pain, dropping the gun as your tears now fall freely. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a blow or a hit of some kind as your chest heaves.

None come.

"Her hand is trembling, Lemon." You hear and hesitantly open your eyes. The man holding your wrist has turned to his friend, Lemon, and is showing him the shake in your hand.

Lemon looks you over and settles in his seat again. "Poor bird's shakin' in general," he points out, confusion evident in his voice.

The first man tugs on your arm to pull your eyes to him. You look up, body still pressed up against the window as one of your legs dangles from the seat and off his thighs.

You don't dare move as the man looks like he wants to kill you. "What are ya doin' with this," he snarls, shaking the gun to scare you but then he hands it to his friend. "Who the fuck are ya? Some fuckin' hooker tryin' to play assassin?" He looks you up and down in your little outfit and you feel humiliated.

You shake your head. Assassin. The word rings in your ear. "I'm sorry," you cry breathlessly, "Please. I'm so sorry, please—she has my baby,"

You're a sobbing mess at this point, your voice trembling and hoarse. "She has my baby-"

Lemon speaks up when the man doesn't loosen his grip on your wrist. "Tangerine," he hisses, "she's sobbing. Something's wrong, mate."

Tangerine looks at Lemon sternly and then turns his attention back to you. You feel the tears spill down your cheeks as he stares and then he drops your wrist.

In an instant, you scramble to press yourself further against the wall and sit normally. You hastily button up your shirt, sex appeal be damned. 

"Someone put ya up to this, didn't they?" Tangerine asks, his eyes softening just a little as he calms himself down. "Does someone have your baby?" he is trying to make sense of the word vomit that had just happened. 

"Yes, s-she took my baby. I- I don't know what to do anymore. Please don't hurt me," you plead. Tangerine's eyebrows furrow. He looks at Lemon and they seem to have a conversation—or perhaps an argument—with their eyes. 

"Lemon, my brother," Tangerine says after a moment, Lemon's lips curving as he clearly won whatever had just happened between them,

"And I'm Tangerine," he looks you up and down again. "We aren't gonna hurt ya, darlin'. Promise," he says as he runs a hand in his hair and then down his jaw, "And we're gonna help you find your baby, okay? No need to worry." 

You stare at him, you have no desire to question their weird names as you are still a little afraid of them, but you nod anyway. They're your only chance of saving April from the hands of the cruel girl. You tell them your name. You have to trust them.

So, you find yourself in the train bathroom, Tangerine hooking something to your ear. His hands work through your hair as he connects the earpiece to the one in his ear. He looks so concentrated and you can't help but stare at him. 

He's handsome.

"I'll be able to hear ya through this, ok?" Tangerine's voice cuts your thoughts and you nod at him. You must still look scared because he adds, "Lemon and I will be around the corner, all ya need is to distract her so she doesn't see us coming, understand?"

You nod again and Tangerine's eyebrow raises. He wants to hear you.

"I understand—thank you," you say, voice still trembling. This earns you a smirk and one last check to your earpiece as his fingertips skim the skin around your ear. He looks into your eyes as he hides the device behind your hair.  

"Good girl," he whispers and the words roll off his tongue naturally. They take you by surprise as your heart leaps in your chest. Tangerine clears his throat, not giving you the chance to dwell on them as he opens the bathroom door and sends Lemon a nod to follow you. 

You try to keep up the appearance of confidence as you walk back to your original seat, the case in your hand. You've been playing the story in your head; They'd left it unattended. I took it from their seats. You don't know if that sounds convincing.

You check behind you subtly and see that the Twins have stayed in the room between the compartments and are waiting for you to distract the girl. You let out a scared breath that Tangerine must hear because his voice echoes in your ear. 

You'll be fine. We're right behind you. 

When you see the girl, her back is turned to you, and you see April's small legs hanging from the seat as she sits in the girl's lap. Your heart is pounding as you make your way to them.

April seems overjoyed to see you and your heart breaks when you see the tears-stains on your baby's face. Your expression hardens as you put the case on the table and sit in front of the girl. 

"Ah, you found it," the girl smiles, caressing April's hair. "You know, we don't compliment mothers enough. Your baby would not stop screaming—it was becoming annoying. The little rascal did tired himself out eventually because he almost fell asleep."  

"She. Her name is April," you say without thinking, jaw clenched. "I did what you asked, can I have my daughter back now?"

The girl looks down at the case but shakes her head, "Mm, no. You may not. I still need your help. Come with me," the girl smirks and stands. She is still holding April in her arms and your breathing has become heavy. You try not to make any expression at all when you see Tangerine and Lemon stealthily approach the girl from behind. 

You hear her surprised gasp as Tangerine grips her arm and you assume he presses his gun to her lower back because she suddenly tenses.

"Hand her the baby, now," he says in a throaty whisper. He isn't asking. The girl frowns and her hand clenches around April for a moment.

With the commotion, April wails and without hesitation—and the security that Tangerine won't let this girl harm you—you swoop in and cradle April in your arms. 

"Shh, shh, it's okay. Mommy's here, my love," you whisper into April's head as tears freely escape your eyes once again. Tangerine's gun is still pressed to the girl's back as Lemon swoops in and takes the case once more.

You're too busy with April to hear their conversation and eventually, Lemon grabs the girl and ushers her away. 

Tangerine remains, his eyes unusually soft as he observes you and April. He walks closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to scare April—he tends to scare babies, especially when he's as disheveled as he is now. 

You see him and instantly you walk to him and, holding April with one arm, you wrap the other one around his shoulder as you lean up to kiss his cheek. You seem less terrified now that you have your baby and Tangerine's cheeks flush as he feels your lips against his skin.

He doesn't pull away from you. 

"Thank you," you say, your hand sliding down his cheek, lingering there for a moment too long, and then you back away. "I can't ever thank you and Lemon enough," you bounce April on your hip and she giggles. She stares at Tangerine and suddenly reaches out to him with her small hand. 

Tangerine's eyes widen and he looks at you for permission. You nod.

He reaches out and April holds out her small hand to wrap around his finger. She makes a small giggling sound again as she babbles—"She's saying thank you too," you beam in amusement, kissing April's temple. 

"She's absolutely beautiful," Tangerine says, smiling fondly. You grin, your attention fully on your daughter, that you haven't noticed the way Tangerine's blue eyes stay locked onto yours as he says the words. 

April drops Tangerine's hand and you hold her tightly. "Can Lemon and I help ya find your way off this train, luv? Ya do have somewhere safe to go, right?" Tangerine asks plainly, feeling weirdly protective over you and the little baby in your arms. 

You think for a moment, still breathless from what had happened. This train doesn't feel safe anymore. You feel so out of your depth. You were supposed to visit some friends, but you'd missed your stop, and anyways none of that matters anymore.

You'd almost lost April and if you hadn't met them—you gaze at Tangerine—you don't know what you would have done to save her. 

You shake your head and Tangerine's eyes narrow. "Well, that's a problem, innit?" he says and runs a hand in his hair. He stands tall, glancing over his shoulder to see if Lemon's finished taking care of the girl who'd threatened you and April. 

"You wanna stay with us?" Tangerine asks calmly, looking into your eyes. "Lem and I are gettin' off now. We have what we wanted, and we ain't gonna stick around this train to find out what happens if we do. Come with us. We'll keep you and April safe. Promise." 

Although his words feel like a pretty, empty, shiny promise, you accept them anyway. You don't have many choices at the moment and Lemon and Tangerine tell you they have what they call a safe house in the area, which sounds better than a cheap motel.  

* * *

However, a week later, you still haven't left said safe house. 

Lemon had explained that it wasn't safe to travel yet, that he and Tangerine needed more time to settle their affairs before they could easily travel again—especially with April around now. You don't know what that means, only that Lemon and Tangerine often come back from their "affairs" bloodied and bruised. 

You'd just finished cleaning Lemon's head wound when you hear April giggling from her play mat in the middle of the living room.

Lemon stands from the couch, his grin widening as he exclaims, "My turn to watch the lil' angel! Tan needs his abdomen wound checked anyway," Lemon wastes no time in sitting next to April and showing her the Thomas The Tank Engine figurine he'd gotten her. 

You smile and move towards where Tangerine sits in the armchair in the corner. You turn to him and your eyes widen a little. You're thankful for all the months you spent in medical school before you became pregnant with April because Tangerine looks awful.

His left eye is swollen shut, he has blood dripping from his lip, and he's lifting his shirt for you to look at the deep—while still not deep enough to need stitches—gash near his ribs (which is also black and blue from bruising). He isn't looking at you, a faint tint of pink adorning his cheeks. 

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, crouching down and rummaging in the first aid kit on the ground. 

"Hmm," Tangerine hums, still refusing to look at you. 

It must hurt him because he flinches when you apply some alcohol to the wound and bandage him up. You try to ignore that you're touching his chest, or how his skin feels under your hands. It feels entirely inappropriate to ogle your wounded patient. 

Again, good thing you never actually became a nurse.

"So, you're a nurse?" Tangerine suddenly grunts, looking at you with lidded eyes as you move up to inspect how badly his eye is hurt. 

You shake your head, smiling. "No. April came around in the middle of medical school and I had to drop out," you smile and prod at his cheek, earning a wince and you mumble a small "sorry."

"Ya still know what you're doin', yeah?" Tangerine raises his eyebrow in question and winces again, which makes you chuckle. You apply some ointment to his eye. 

"I paid attention in class, yes. I probably couldn't operate on you, but I can mend your black eye," you tease. Tangerine stares at you and he smirks. 

"Good," he looks behind you and after a moment, "Lemon stole your baby," he deadpans.

You turn and see that Lemon must have taken April to the room the Twins had designated as hers. On the first night of your arrival, the Twins had gone all out and purchased all sorts of essentials for children and women. It was unexpected and sweet of them—so incredibly sweet. 

"She'll be fine," you laugh and then turn to Tangerine again. He's giving you that look; the one he's been giving you for the last day or two.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. "You know, don't tell Lemon, but you're April's favorite," you say as you clean up the materials you had used on his wounds. 

"I am?" Tangerine asks, looking genuinely surprised. 

"Yeah," you nod, "she's starting to babble something that sounds awfully similar to 'Tan'." 

"Ah," Tangerine seems happy by this development and you smile. There is a moment of silence as you watch him. You're still kneeling next to him and his shirt is still half-bunched up around his torso. Your chest tightens and you hear Tangerine swallow. 

"Is April's dad—" he starts and you finish for him, 

"In the picture?" 

A pause. Tangerine nods and you shake your head. "Nah," you shrug, "Left as soon as he heard I was pregnant. He wanted to continue medical school without any complications. He's probably some fancy doctor or some shit by now, I wouldn't know. I don't talk to him anymore."

"Dickhead," you hear Tangerine suddenly grumble, and then his hand finds your chin. He lifts your head and his eyes lock with yours. "He's a fool for leavin' ya. He doesn' know what he's missing," he says as his thumb caresses your lower lip. "Ya understand? He's a fool."

You nod, entranced as your heart continues to panic in your chest. When Tangerine finally drops your chin, you clear your throat and stand.

He stands too and walks closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls you closer and whispers in your ear, "Ya don't need to worry anymore, darlin'. Lem and I won't let anyone harm you or April. I won't let 'em touch a single hair on your pretty head," he breathes, his voice stern, and you feel his lips against your cheek for a fleeting moment until he moves and disappear upstairs. 

You're left standing in the living room, your heart pounding as you replay every word he'd said. Your skin feels warm and clammy. 

What have you gotten yourself into now?

[msgexymunson]

Dr E. Munson, D.D.S

Description: praise from your dentist is the last thing you thought would stoke your passions. During another meeting, intoxicated after surgery, you accidently tell him how he makes you feel. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst and smut, my favourite trio. NSFW Minors DNI, reader mid 20s and Eddie mid to late 30s but not explicitly stated, no real time given implied 90s but written as open, reader is AFAB, no use of Y/N, tooth extraction (don’t worry it's not gory), little to no knowledge of the dental industry (please don't come for me I tried my best), fem oral receiving, overstimulation, massive praise kink, p in v protected sex.

A/N: Well, the tale of my praise kink being activated at the dentist appears to have struck a chord with you all, so as unbelievable as this is, just go with it. Eddie's a dentist. Not just a dentist, but a soft pleasure dom dentist ;) I tried to make it believable!! Also, I can't write short fics anymore. I gotta get elaborate before I get into the good ole porn. 

🖤 Comments and reblogs are my lifeblood, please reblog if you want me to keep writing, it really makes my day sweethearts. 🖤

8.8K words

Masterlist

Fidgeting restlessly with your rings, your leg shakes compulsively as you sit in the sterile waiting room. You really wish you didn't have to go through this alone, but your best friend Alex is working and you are far too old to be going to the dentist with your mom. 

Needs must, though. Yesterday, whilst you were eating one of your nieces candy suckers of all things, you bit down and shattered a wisdom tooth. Just thinking about it you can see Dr Burke's stern face, with his ridiculously bushy eyebrows and wrinkled frown, telling you off for eating too much sugar. 

When the perky receptionist calls your name and instructs you to go to room 2, you're a wobbling bubble of nerves. Walking over the cheap linoleum on click clack heels, you pause for a moment outside the door in confusion. 

The little plaque on the wooden door is different. It used to hold old Dr Burke's name on it, but it's changed. 

Dr E. Munson, D.D.S.

Swinging the door open, you see a much younger man sitting on a swivel stool looking over some notes. His hair is long and wavy, so long he's scraped it into a low ponytail, and there's a sprinkle of stubble over his face. As he looks up, you're met with the deepest, most soulful brown eyes you've ever seen. And is that, an eyebrow piercing? He flashes a grin, one filled with such mischief that for a second you forget why you're here. 

“Well hello! You must be my next patient. Take a seat right here.” 

He pats the treatment chair but you still stand gormlessly by the door. 

“You're not Dr Burke.”

Well done idiot, state the obvious.

“Seems your eyesights OK.” 

He shoots a wink at you which immediately turns your insides to jello. 

“Dr Burke retired actually. I'm Dr Munson, I just moved to the city. You can call me Eddie.” 

He extends a hand out to you. Shuffling forward in your pencil skirt you click your way over to him and take his hand. It's huge, enveloping your own, but he holds your hand with care and shakes it very gently. 

He lets go to wash his hands and put a pair of latex gloves on. 

“You know you don't have to dress up to go to the dentist, but it's appreciated.” 

Is he flirting with me? 

“I-I was at work this morning.” 

You perch on the seat and pull your legs up, sliding your handbag to the floor. 

“So, what seems to be the problem?” 

“I was, well…” 

“It's OK sweetheart, I ain't gonna tell you off.” 

Sweetheart? Oh Holy Shit. 

You found yourself clenching your toes in your heels. This guy is far too hot to be a dentist.

“I was eating a sucker and I, well, I bit down, broke my back right wisdom tooth. It shattered.”

He scoots his stool towards you and instructs you to open your mouth. As he examines you he hums, feeling inside your mouth with a gloved hand. 

“Yup, that's broken up alright. I'm sorry, that must be painful. Don't worry, I'll do my best to help. I'm gonna do an x-ray, that OK?” 

“Yeah.” 

Pulling a little plastic T instrument from his desk, he wheels back over.

“Now, this is going to be uncomfortable, and I'm real sorry. Open your mouth and I'll slide it in gently.” 

Face flickering a violent shade of red, you nod. Surely he's aware of how this sounds?

“OK, open wide, that's it.” 

He puts the little contraption in your mouth.

“OK, now bite down. I know, it's uncomfortable. It'll just take a second. That's it, just breathe for me.” 

It's not intolerable but it's not exactly nice. A moment before it would have been too much he takes it out. 

“That's it, did so good for me. Well done sweetheart.” 

Now, this is not the fucking time to have these sorts of feelings. A heat had started  spreading between your legs that you haven't felt for quite some time. 

“Hmm,” Eddie said as he looked at the x-ray, “I definitely need to remove those pieces. I'm a bit concerned about the tooth above it. That's got a cavity, it'll need to be removed, but it'll need surgery I'm sorry to say.” 

“Surgery? Oh God.” 

“Hey, it'll be alright. I'd do it now but it's too risky. Never had to go into surgery before?” 

Laughing nervously, you fiddle with your fingers. 

“I've never had a tooth removed! I'm a tooth removal virgin.” 

The words just flew out and there was nothing you could do to pull them back. Eddie leaned in a little, a cheeky glint in his eye. 

“Well, then I'll be extra gentle.” 

A stare that's a fraction too long, and he scoots back over to his desk. Not long after he's got a needle in his hand.

“Now, I'm gonna need to numb the area, and this is going to be painful. But once this is done, that's the worst of it. If you need me to stop at any point, you just raise your hand. That OK?” 

“Sure, do what you need to.”

“Atta girl, so brave for me. Open your mouth wide.” 

My good God this man and his words; you can picture yourself on your knees in front of him as he says the same things.

Atta girl, take it a little deeper, that's it, so good for me… 

Squirming hotly in your seat, you do as instructed and his gloved fingers invade your mouth once more. 

“OK, you're gonna feel a sharp scratch, it'll go on for a few seconds, doing it now… good girl.” 

As he says ‘good girl’ two things happen. He injects your gum, and you flood your panties. The pain is inconsequential at this point, you just want him to keep talking to you like that.

“OK, one more sweetheart… that's it, so brave, look at you, taking it so well.” 

He stares at you with those soft brown eyes and once again you forget entirely why you're here. 

“Now, you should start to feel your lips tingle, it'll mean it's working.” 

Your dirty mind can't help but think; which lips? 

As a numbness invades your mouth, you let him know. 

“Yeah, it's definitely working.”

“Good stuff. Now, I'm gonna feel in your mouth again, OK?”

You nod, beyond words, and he puts his fingers in your mouth. 

“Now, if you need me to stop, what do you do?” 

Sheepishly you hold your hand up.

“That's it, atta girl. Such a good listener.” 

Nothing you can do but beam inwardly at the praise.

“Now, you can feel me right here, but there should be no pain, yeah?” 

Resisting the urge to moan around his fingers, you make a sound akin to a muffled ‘uhuh’.

“Awesome, now just hold still, you'll hear some crunching and feel pressure, and then it'll be done.” 

As he pulls a shiny implement from a tray and starts working the tooth shards from your mouth, you focus on his forehead, at the look of total concentration. How the lines on his forehead furrow. How his beautiful eyes harden slightly. How his perfect pink tongue dips out… 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He laughs, a rich, bubbling thing, and nods.

“Yup. You're good. Need to make an appointment at the desk for the other tooth though.”

“Will you be doing that?” 

It rushes out in a blather which you can't control. 

“Sure thing sweetheart. Just ask at the desk for me.” 

“OK. Thanks.” 

“Not a problem. Got to be there for my favourite patient.” 

He flashes another wink at you which seems to rush straight to your knees as you get up and leave on newborn foal legs. Reaching the door, you hear his voice ring out behind you. 

“And what should we do with suckers next time?” 

Turning to face him, he raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response with the most serious expression he's given you so far. 

“I should… suck?” 

“Yeah you should.” 

A mind altering grin later and he's turning back to his desk. 

I should suck? What the hell is wrong with you! You need to get laid like, yesterday.

********************

It's a couple of weeks later and you're laying in the most unflattering hospital gown known to man with your best friend Alex who is trying to distract you. 

“Honey, you'll be fine, they're putting you under! It's like, free drugs!” 

You laugh at his antics, smiling with nerves. 

“It's not the surgery, its-” 

You hear mumbling in the doorway, two nurses gossiping in what they must think is out of earshot. 

“Did you hear? Dr Munsons performing the surgery?” 

“Yeah, he's not even supposed to be here. I hear Dr Stevens is pissed.” 

As they walk away, continuing their whispering, you look over to Alex who is smirking at you. 

“Oh, so he's not even supposed to be here? Ooh he likes you!” 

You blush, thinking about the other day. 

“No! I… I asked for him, that's all. You know I don't like this sort of shit.”

“Ah, so you thought Dr Dreamy would make it bearable huh?” 

“Shut up!” 

Dr Munson walks in then, smiling that smile that held a firm grip on your panties. Alex's eyes widen as he mouths the word ‘hot’ to you. You subtly nod your agreement and then smile at Eddie.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.” 

“Couldn't stay away,” you respond, rolling your eyes. He chuckles back and looks you up and down. 

“I told you sweetheart, no need to get dressed up for me.” 

“What, this old thing?”

You share a laugh whilst Alex's eyebrows raise practically through the roof. This is clearly crossing some line, this banter between you, but he's the doctor and he started it. 

Soon, the procedure has been explained and they're wheeling you out of there and putting you under anaesthesia. 

“OK, good job, such a brave girl. Now, countdown from ten for me.”

“Ten, nine, eight…” 

********************

Blinking bleary-eyed, you look around and catch the eye of your friend. 

“She's awake! You OK?” 

You are OK. In fact, you're fantastic. 

“I'm great! M'I goin’ in surgery now?” 

“You've been, it's done! It's all fine.”

“Huh?” 

A fantastically handsome man walks in, entirely distracting you. Long hair, sparkling eyes, a gorgeous smile, and a slender tall frame. He's so hot. Wait, you can just say he's hot, right? 

“Wow, wh'ryou? You're suuuper hot.” 

He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. 

“I'm Dr Munson, remember? Eddie. The er, drugs will wear off soon.” 

“Eddie!” 

You sit up immediately, despite the hands that shoot out to keep you still. 

“Now, take it easy, the ketamine makes people act a little funny. How are you feeling?”

“M’great! All… floaty like. S’good shit.” 

Eddie laughs as Alex holds his head in his hands. 

“Good to hear. It'll wear off soon, I'm sure your boyfriend will take good care of you.” 

“Nooo he's n’my’boyfrien’. He's suuuper gay. Ya’single? I no’had- not had any for nine months!” 

Alex pipes up. 

“Honey, you know I love you, so much, but you need to shut your mouth.” 

Eddie laughs, flashing his perfect teeth. 

“He's got a point. Glad you're doing good, the surgery went smoothly, so you'll be good to go in a few minutes.”

“Thank's'much Eddie. God, you're s’gorgeous. Did I do good?” 

Eddie looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. 

“Course you did. The best. That's why you're my favourite patient.”

Holding your hand up to your mouth and doing the worst stage whisper known to man, you look at Alex. 

“See? Tol’ ya, his wors’ make me wet.” 

“...aaaand that's the line. Thanks for taking care of her Dr Munson, I'll get her home safe.” 

With protests from you, Eddie shuffles awkwardly out of the room. After a little while you're discharged, with Alex promising to look after you until you're back to normal.

********************

The strong coffee aroma assaults your nostrils; you take a massive inhale of your cup as if the caffeine could be absorbed by smell alone. The coffee shop was busy this Saturday morning but you'd managed to carve out your little comfy seat and tiny table so you can work on your writing. It was a relief after the busy week you've had to actually focus on something you love. 

The noises and chatter of the place wash over you as you zone out, thinking of how to handle the plot twist coming up. It needed to be thoughtful, but unforced, as if the characters… 

“Well, if it isn't my favourite patient.” 

“Huh?” 

You look up and see a very familiar pair of eyes. Eddie. The rest of him however, looks very different. 

Eddie's in an old Iron Maiden t-shirt, worn with age, and tight black jeans. A chain hangs low at his hip, and his large hands are adorned with silver rings. His hair is loose and unkept around his shoulders, but his signature smile still beams at you. His forearms are on display, covered in tattoos. It's certainly not what you were expecting. How did he just get even hotter? 

Remembering what Alex told you about how you made an utter fool of yourself brings you out of your revelry. The stuff you said to him after surgery makes you visibly cringe. You were torn between wanting to ask him out and wanting the ground to swallow you whole. 

Cheeks blazing with heat, you find your voice.

“Eddie! Er, hi.” 

“You mind if I sit here? It's pretty packed.”

Gesturing at him to make himself comfortable, he swings his leg over the stool opposite and sits down, mug of steaming coffee in his hands. 

“What brings you here?” 

“Well, I write. As a hobby, you know? Needed to get out of the house and get some done. And you?” 

He points a thick finger across the street and you gulp in your throat, remembering the feel of those fingers in your mouth. 

“There's a record store across the way, I was scouting for anything I've missed. Unlucky today it seems.” 

It was weird seeing him here. Like when you see a teacher in the wild. Except you're not a kid, and the teacher is fucking fine. 

You nod and share a very uncomfortable silence. 

“Listen, I'm sorry for anything I said-” 

“Hey, don't worry about it sweetheart, it was the drugs. Trust me I've heard some weird shit!”

He seems to shrug it off and you breathe a sigh of relief. The last few weeks all you've managed to think about is how much of a fool you've made of yourself. Hopefully he's chalked it all up to the drugs. No need for him to know you were speaking the truth.

“I gotta say, you don't look like a dentist.” 

Eddie laughs, a perfect deep laugh that has you squirming in your seat. 

“Yeah, I get that alot. I er, used to get beat up when I was a kid. I got punched real hard once, broke my jaw. It was wired shut for like six weeks. After that, well, you find some respect for dentistry. Thought I'd give it a shot, went to school. Seems I have a knack for it. I have an impeccable bedside manner, apparently. Or so I'm told.” 

I'll say. 

“I can- I can see that.” 

He blazes a grin at you that damn near combusts your insides. And that's what you blame for the thing that's about to fall out of your big mouth.

“Listen, I know this is crazy but can I have your number?” 

What the fuck are you doing?? Hitting on your dentist?

It seems your word vomit was indeed something that happened in real life and not just in your head. Eddie looks pained as he warms his hands on his coffee mug. 

“Listen, sweetheart, you're a very pretty girl but… I can't. It'd be wrong of me, you're my patient and-” 

“No, I get it, it was dumb, ignore me.” 

You grab your belongings at the speed of lightning and stuff everything into your bag. 

“Hey, sweetheart, wait, I literally ca-” 

Hell no. 

You've made more of an idiot of yourself than you're prepared to be comfortable with. Now, cheeks burning hotly you shoulder your heavy bag and bustle out of the store, leaving an open mouthed Eddie sitting there with his arm outstretched.

********************

Today was the cherry on top of the icing on top of the cake of embarrassment. You've never asked a guy for his number before and the first time you do you're shot down? Confidence well and truly knocked, you called around and found a new dentist, and then called your old dentist's office to let them know. There was no way you could face Eddie again after you'd made a fool of yourself three times. 

In an effort to cheer yourself up after that disastrous rendezvous, you'd dressed up, put on your highest heels paired with your shortest skirt and a red silk blouse, and went out for a night on the town. 

Now, you don't make a habit of sitting at the bar on your own. You've dealt with enough creeps in your time to know that it was a bad idea. However, when it comes to your friends, you can give a little leeway. 

Hence why you sat in your very short black skirt, heels tapping on the little rail on the bottom of the bar as you sip your Manhattan, watching your friend Alex out the corner of your eye have a make-out session with his new boyfriend. They were sitting at a table just to the right; you were on a barstool giving them a couple feet of privacy. 

It was getting a little old though. In the past half an hour three men had approached you. You can't lie to yourself, it was the reason you'd agreed to be a third wheel in the first place. Trying to manifest the right kind of man clearly wasn't working however. 

The first guy looked around twelve, with the wispiest facial hair you've ever seen. As he'd nervously bumbled a line at you, you told him you've never seen a theoretical moustache before. That saw the back of him. Contestant number two was the sleaziest douchebag in the whole bar, perhaps the entire city. He was the hardest to deal with; you'd ended up just turning away and ignoring him until he'd left. Number three was some balding, middle aged man with a pot belly and a stained tie. Exhausted by the previous two, you interrupted his practised line with one clear and concise ‘No’.

Almost certain that your date tonight would involve you with your vibrator, you order another cocktail. On your left directly next to you a guy starts leaning on the bar and calls to the bartender. 

“Hey Jack, can I get a beer please, and whatever this lovely girl is drinking.” 

Rolling your eyes and turning to look at contestant number four, ready to tell them to fuck right off, you realise its Eddie. Of course it fucking is. The universe seems to have a horrible sense of humour today. He's still in his jeans and boots, but now sporting a burgundy shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Stupid dentist and his stupid hot tattooed forearms. 

“Are you following me? I don't need a pity drink thanks, I'm good.” 

You reach into your purse to pay for the drink you ordered but Eddie already has cash in his hand. He pays for it anyway and leans on the bar facing you. 

“It's not pity, it's an apology for earlier. And I think you're the one following me, I live two floors up.” 

Lips pressed into a firm line, you stir your drink with its cocktail stick and pretend that dentists don't exist.

“You can't just ignore me, you know.” 

Taking a sip of your drink you continue to stare resolutely forward. 

“OK, you can just ignore me, but I'd like it if you didn't.” 

Another sip, and you pull the little cherry off its stick and chew it. 

“So, you got a thing for dentists or is it just me, sweetheart?” 

That's it, you turn angrily to face him and scowl. 

“That's totally unfair you can't just-”

“Ha, got ya talking.” 

He's grinning at his little victory, laughter lines creasing near his eyes. If your eyes could shoot daggers you're sure he would have died from blood loss at this point. 

“Listen, I'm sorry, OK? I would have said yes in a fucking heartbeat, but I could lose my license.” 

Your eyes soften; he's clearly telling the truth and it does make sense. His licence hadn't even entered your mind. 

“I understand. Sorry for being rough on you.” 

“Don't worry about it. I just thought I better clear the air if I'm gonna be your dentist.” 

“Oh, don't worry about it. You're not.” 

“Huh?”

Looking down at the bar and drawing circles in the condensation from your drink with a finger, you explain. 

“I couldn't face seeing you again, so I, ha, ran off to a different dentist. It's a half hour out of my way, but never mind.” 

Eddie's posture changes immediately, standing fully to attention. 

“You're not my patient anymore?” 

“Nope,” you reply, and knock back the last of your drink, “I'm not.” 

“You're not my patient anymore.” 

You risk looking back at him; he's wide eyed, nodding in your direction, as if he's just told a joke that you didn't get. Face scrunched with confusion, you blink it away as a light bulb pings on inside your head. 

“Oh. I'm not your patient anymore.” 

The grin that slowly unfolds across Eddie's face is damn right sinful. 

“You wanna come upstairs?” 

“Hell yes.” 

Leaping lightly off of the bar stool, you turn to dislodge your coat from the back of Alex's chair and wave at him frantically to tell him you're leaving. He turns to you, then Eddie, then back to you with what can only be described as A Look. If you weren't so excited you would have admonished him, but who the fuck cares. 

Eddie grabs your hand firmly and pushes through the thronging crowd with you in tow. The cold night air hits you like a blow to the chest when you escape, as does your rash decision. 

Eddie seems to sense your hesitation. Pulling you into a doorway he grabs your other hand and looks at you. 

“Sweetheart, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can just go upstairs, have a drink, or not, and chat. Really.” 

“Really?” You cock your head with the question as he licks his bottom lip with a pink tongue, dragging it to his perfect teeth to bite. He looks nervous, and for some reason, that is doing it for you right now. 

“Really. I'm just saying we don't have to rush-” 

The rest of his sentence is swallowed whole by your kiss as you tip your head up and push your lips against his firmly. Eddie grabs your waist with one hand, the other snaking into your hair to cradle your head. 

For a moment you forget about the cold, about the fact that anyone can see you like this right now. All that matters is the pounding heat of his body smashing against yours and the passion pouring from his tongue as it swipes and rolls and fills your mouth with unexpected moans.

Nails digging into his back, as if attempting to claw under his clothes, you force his body against the wall in the wanton desire to be closer. His hand massages the silk of your blouse at your waist, warmth spreading from his palm into your very flesh and seeping down between your legs. 

You'd have him, right here, against this wall, right now, if he hadn't pulled your head back softly to break the kiss. The tips of your noses rub together as you both gasp for the same air. He's smiling and biting his lip again, but this time it looks like a distraction to stop himself from devouring you. Eddie breaks the feral spell first.

“So, just a chat, yeah?” 

You both laugh, a giddy silly thing reserved for the two of you. 

“Yeah, you're probably right. Don't want to rush these things.” 

Nodding sagely, you take his proffered hand and let him lead you inside and up the stairs. 

You're not sure what you expect his place to look like, but you're pleasantly surprised at how open and spacious it is. Hardwood floors, big windows, a big black sofa, and an open kitchen area with a little breakfast bar. There's a wall of shelves with what must be hundreds of records, CDs and tapes on it, all neatly organised and displayed, and an expensive looking sound system. Two guitars sit by the couch as if they'd been played recently, along with an amp that seems to be doubling as a side table. There's a small pile of boxes over by one wall that have yet to be unpacked. And that's it.

No wonder it looks so spacious, there's nothing in it. 

“Eddie, it's a great place, but er, where's all your stuff?” 

He looks a little sheepish as he flicks a standing lamp on and shuts the curtains. 

“Yeah. Got the basics sorted; kitchen, bedroom, music. Honestly, never lived anywhere this big before, and my last place came furnished.” 

He gestures widely at the sofa with a swing of his arm and you perch on it, ankles crossed, fully aware of how short your skirt is. 

“So, you wanna drink? Unfortunately I can't make a Manhattan but I’ve got rum, some vodka, sodas, maybe a beer?” 

“What do you mean you can't make a Manhattan? What sort of establishment is this?” 

You huff dramatically, folding your arms. 

“I'm terribly sorry Ma’am, I shall have a word with the management.” 

Eddie falls to one knee in a low bow, a mock plea for your forgiveness and the sheer goofiness makes your heart do a little hop inside your chest. 

“What can I possibly do to make it up to you?” 

His eyes are open, honest and sincere. But the grin fighting to crawl over his face is naughtiness personified.

“Well I shall have a beer now, and maybe you can make it up to me later?” 

Smirking, he presses a soft kiss to your knee, then another, to the side of it. Letting his teeth drag further he playfully nips at the outside of your thigh and smooths the area with a lick. 

Breathe. Remember, you need oxygen to live. 

You take a harsh, ragged breath in as if inhaling for the first time and try to concentrate on slowing your heart rate. This is madness, you feel wrecked from a sprinkling of kisses. 

Feeling Eddie's soft chuckle as the air from it dances on your thigh, he gets back up looking far too pleased with himself. 

“You know, you shouldn't be that forward with a lady.” 

Throwing his head back and laughing loudly he walks around the back of the couch. Directly behind you, he begins talking again. 

“I don't see a lady here.” 

Whipping your head around to reprimand him, he bends to your level and whispers in your exposed ear. 

“I see a very good girl.” 

Words die in your throat having never reached your tongue. There's no witty repartee, just an odd noise that blurts out of you, halfway between a whimper and a squeak. 

Eddie walks away towards the fridge to grab your drink, no doubt with a very smug look on his face. In his absence you fan yourself to try to quench some of the raging heat within, but at this point it's like throwing a water bomb at a house fire. Undoing one button on your blouse, you let the girls have a little air at least. 

He returns, drinks in hand, and offers one to you with a bow of his head. 

“Milady.” 

You take it and sip as Eddie sits next to you. 

“I thought I wasn't a lady?”

“You are right, absolutely right,” he responds, shuffling closer to put an arm around you, and nuzzles your neck teasingly, “and I am not a gentleman.” 

You reach out to the side, and realise there's nowhere to put your beer. 

“Eddie, you need a coffee table or something.” 

“Just, put it on the floor.” 

Placing it gently on the floor, wincing as you do so, you mumble half to yourself, “if my mother could see me now…” 

“I'm sure she'd have more important things to say than about the lack of coasters, sweetheart.” 

“You have a very good point.” 

Eddie holds your jaw, softly turning your face to his own, and presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and finally to your lips. It's more gentle than the searing heat of the last one; a languid spell of tongues finding their way against each other. 

As you both break away, Eddie strokes your bare thigh, whispering in your ear as he does so. 

“God, when you walked in my office, I thought I might have to switch professions. I just wanted to hike that tight skirt up and bury my face right here.” 

His hand moves up your leg, a finger ghosting over the top of your panties that makes a shiver work all its way to the tips of your toes. It's a bold move, and one you wouldn't stand for usually, but this is Eddie. You've been fantasising about this for the last two months. Hell, this scene has played in your brain so long it was almost like it didn't feel like the first time.

So, if he's going to be that bold, then bold it is.

“Well, I gotta confess, it took a lot for me to not moan around your fingers in my mouth.” 

Eddie groans loud, throwing his head against the back of the couch. 

“Fuck that's so hot. C'mere.” 

He's coaxing you into his lap and you follow his lead, swinging your leg across him and most likely giving him a choice view of your lacy underwear. His large hands wander over your frame, mapping out your curves with his eyes as well as his fingers. 

“Eddie.” 

You breathe it out, your hands resting on his shoulders. He's getting hard beneath you, you can feel it as your hips start to move back and forth of their own accord. 

“Hmm?” 

He doesn't look up, busy stroking your sides, thumb brushing your breasts with each pass. Every nerve feels like a live wire, feeling more needy than you think you've ever been. 

“Eddie, please, just kiss me.” 

“No.” 

“No?”

He does look at you then, giving you a cheeky smile.

“I think I've got the hottest girl in the city on my lap right now, let me savour it a little.” 

Rolling your eyes, you reach to the front of your blouse and start unbuttoning it slowly, letting the silky fabric fall off your shoulders and away. The fates seem to be in your favour for once; this is your best bra, adorned in satin and black lace.

“Well, someone's eager. Were you looking to get lucky tonight?” 

Eddie says as he smirks at you, a hand stroking up, over your laced covered chest, coming to rest on the side of your throat. 

“It's been a while Eddie, forgive me for being keen.” 

“Oh yeah, what was it? Nine months, right?” 

Cringing at his words whilst he chuckles, you rest your forehead on his shoulder to hide your face. 

“Technically no.” It's muffled into the fabric of his shirt.

“No?”

Still unwilling to look at him, you reply, “that was a few weeks ago. It's ten now.” 

Pulling you upright again, he playfully pouts, a little mocking face that's making your insides pulse. 

“Aw, poor, poor baby. Guess I shouldn't tease so much. Why don't you take this ridiculous skirt off and sit for me sweetheart.” 

It's comical how quickly you follow his directions, shuffling your skirt off and laying back on the sofa, ass near the edge, as he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. 

“That's it, right there. Such a good listener.”

As he runs his hands up the inside of your thighs, you spread your legs to make room for him, breath quickening in anticipation. 

“I suppose I better check,” he says as he looks up at you with a serious expression, pierced eyebrow arching. 

“Check what?” 

“How wet my words made you.” 

‘Oh God!” you squeak, hiding in your hands, “I can't believe you remembered that!” 

“Remembered it? I can't think of anything else.” 

His thick rough fingertips reach higher and higher; he slips two under your panties, hooking them to one side as his digits glide through your wetness. 

“Oh sweetheart, you're soaked. That must be uncomfortable. Don't worry I'm gonna do something about that.” 

You're thinking of something clever to say back but your mind empties entirely as his touch moves to your clit and rubs slow, deliberate circles. 

The relief of him finally stroking just where you need it has you near tears, breathy gasps pulling from your chest and rushing out your mouth. 

His fingers leave you suddenly and you resist the urge to stamp your foot like an impatient toddler, fists tight at your sides. Eddie raises up on his knees, leaning toward your chest. 

“I'm gonna take this off first, that OK sweetheart?” 

He runs a finger between the valley of your breasts as he speaks, making your back arch into the hint of a touch. 

“Y-yes.” 

“Atta girl.” 

He reaches behind you and flicks your bra clasp, opening it with such ease that it makes you question internally how many times he's done that before. Then, he pulls the straps down slowly and with such reverence that you forget your thoughts. 

“Jesus Christ, you are just perfect aren't you.” 

Solid knuckles rub gently over a pebbled nipple making you whimper and bite your lip. Leaning in, his mouth is wet and warm, almost leisurely massaging your nipple, then giving the same amount of care and attention to the other. 

When his teeth graze you an unfiltered moan shoots out from you, entirely unbidden. 

“Wow, you're really sensitive,” he says when he unlatches his mouth. He pinches one abruptly and you cry out, hand grasping at his bicep in pleasurable shock. Licking his lips, he grins at you. 

“Oh we are gonna have a lot of fun sweetheart.” 

Running a finger just under the hem of your panties, he pulls them down as you assist him, lifting your ass to give him room. He shakes his head, biting his lip as he takes all of you in with his eyes now that you're entirely exposed, as if he can’t believe his luck. 

Kissing down your quivering form, he finally slips that overbold tongue of his between your folds, running it back and forth over your sensitive nub. His tongue searches you, taking care to leave no spot untouched. It's deliberate; a slow and intense exploration of your sex, as if mapping out every sweet spot, spurred on by the moans spilling from your lips with ever increasing frequency. 

Each sound you make is echoed, mirrored by Eddie, as if he was taking as much enjoyment in eating you out as you were in receiving it. The build up is as slow as his movements, but that certainly isn't a bad thing. Far from it. The feeling fizzing in your very blood is deep and profound, and it keeps building. 

Until Eddie does this twirling thing with his tongue that makes your eyes cross, that sets each one of your nerves on fire, fingers desperately grasping at his soft waves as you moan even louder. 

“Fuck, Eddie! Right there!” 

His words are muffled, a hint of amusement in them, but you're sure he says “yes ma'am.”

Then he does it again, and again, tongue twisting like it's independent from his body, swirling you into a deep pool of overwashing ecstasy. Back leaving the soft confines of the couch you clutch at his hair as your hoarse moans pound out of you, until you flop back down, a glistening panting mess. 

Eddie's still kissing your delicate parts, leaving soft, almost innocent kisses. He presses his lips to your clit again and you squirm, trying to get out of his gentle, grasping hands. It's a soft touch, but his hands are immovable, like velvet wrapped around a steel bar. 

“Eddie, fuck, I-I'm really sensitive-” 

“Oh I know sweetheart,” he says, pressing his mouth against you over and over, “but we're not done.” 

Staring at him wide eyed, he lifts one hand, ring and middle finger outstretched, and brushes the tips of them to your kiss bitten bottom lip. 

“Can you get these nice and wet for me sweetheart?”

Parting your lips slightly, he slips the fingers inside and you do as instructed, licking and suckling on them, surprised by how fiercely you wanted to. They felt rough and heavy on your tongue. Eddie's staring at you with a burning admiration in his eyes, still pushing his lips to you. He suckles softly at your clit making you writhe and moan around him. As he pulls his fingers out you call to him. 

“Eddie, I can't it's too much-” 

“Shhh, princess, do you really want me to stop?” 

A little drop of shame trickles down your throat at the thought. 

“No,” you whisper. 

“That's what I thought,” he says as his fingers circle your silken entrance, “be good for me sweetheart, good girls come twice.” 

You're not sure if the heady moan that you release is due to his fingers slipping inside you, or his words. It could be a combination of both. Stroking at you incessantly, his fingers drive into you, perpetually caressing that soft spot inside that makes your toes curl. 

Your release creeps up unsurprisingly fast. It's all force and pressure, a tightening, full feeling that's gripping your insides in its strong claws. One minute you're holding on to reality and the next, you're gone, floating away as the pressure melts and cascades from you like stardust. 

Your vision unblurring, you realise what's happened when the sound of it reaches your ears. That squelching, soaking noise of Eddie's fingers working you through the last throes of your pleasure. 

As you look down Eddie's staring at your dripping pussy with awe, having to pull his fingers out of you with a bit of force since you don't seem to want to let go. He sits back on his heels with a smile that could rival the Cheshire cats, absolutely coated in your juices. It's covering his face, his hand, and it's even darkened the front and sleeve of his shirt. 

An apology nestles on the tip of your tongue, but it stays there when Eddie speaks. 

“Atta girl, did so good for me. Fuck, I kinda want to see if you can do that again.” 

Opening your mouth for a witty remark, it escapes you. Your usually sharp mind is now the consistency of spray cheese. All that comes out is a soft little noise, a cross between a hum and a thank you. 

“Stay right there, I'll be back.” 

You giggle a little as he runs off. Where on earth does he think you'll go? And more importantly, how? 

When he returns his face and hands are clean, and crucially, he's shirtless. Lean muscle gleams in the low light, decorated with a dozen or so tattoos. He's got a cloth in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. 

“Here, drink up sweetheart, you need it.” 

You search for a hint of playfulness or smugness in his face and come up empty. In fact, he's staring, waiting for you to take a sip. When you do, he smiles, and goes about wiping the tops of your thighs. The cloth is even warm. You've never been given a warm cloth before, the closest being a handful of scrunched up tissues. 

“Eddie, where have you been all my life?” 

Laughing loudly, he sits next to you, stealing a sip of your water. 

“I came as quickly as I could.” 

It was a cheesy line, but you're beyond caring, a goofy grin smeared all over your face. 

“Can I take you to the bedroom?” 

You nod and before you can get up he's scooping you into his arms. 

“Eddie, I can walk you know,” you say as you drape your arms around his neck. 

“Oh I know, I just want to take care of you.” 

Fuck. You could move in tomorrow. 

The only things you notice about the bedroom are the soft blue of the duvet as he places you gently on top of it and the bedside lamps he flicks on that bathe the room in a warm glow. The rest doesn't matter, not right now. Your eyes are on him as he stands at the edge of the bed, looking at you as if you were a beautiful sculpture carved from the finest marble. 

Getting up on your knees, you smile cheekily up at him as you hook your fingers into the worn denim and pop the top button. 

“And what do you think you're doing?” He asks, hand moving up to cradle your face. 

“I was going to return the favour.” 

You unzip the fly and pull them down, eyes widening at the swollen bulge in his trunks. They're tight, leaving little room for the imagination, but anything you may have imagined couldn't possibly compare to the real thing. 

“Not tonight sweetheart. Like I said, I want to take care of you.” 

He turns to the nightstand and rummages around, pulling out a packet of condoms. It's new, you notice, as he unwraps the film and takes one out, placing it on the side whilst he rolls his underwear off.

As he's putting it on you gawp shamelessly, truly wondering if it's actually going to fit. No wonder he's so confident. 

“Did you actually just turn down a blow job?” 

He smiles, crawling between your legs and caging your head between his arms. 

“What can I say, I'm a giver.” 

He stops for a moment, knuckles stroking your cheek. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” 

Smiling gently, you reach down and grasp his solid member making him jolt, and rub the tip through your slick. 

“Yes.” 

You line him up and his smile turns into an open mouthed groan, eyebrows knitting together as he starts slipping inside of you. 

“Eddie, holy- fuck.” 

“You're OK sweetheart, doing such a good job for me.” 

He pushes in further and you realise why all the foreplay was necessary. Clearly, he enjoyed it too, but you're not sure you could have taken him without it. When he's finally sitting flush inside you wince a little, hands tight on his shoulders. 

“You feel incredible, so tight for me.” 

Whimpering, you can feel your cheeks heat with the praise. 

“God you really do like my words don't you?” 

Grinning mischievously, he plants a soft kiss to your lips. It weirdly feels more intimate than him being inside you. 

“Y-yeah, it's really sexy Eddie.” 

His cock kicks up inside you, making you gasp a little. 

“You're really sexy. The little sounds you make, your moans.”

As if demonstrating that, he pulls out a little and thrusts in gently, forcing a quivering sigh from you. 

“See? Fucking perfect sweetheart.” 

He begins rolling his hips into you, never pulling out too much, as if he couldn't stand to be any further apart. 

One of his sinewy arms snakes its way underneath you, holding you close as he playfully nips your earlobe and breathing whispers into your ear. 

“How many times?” 

“Huh?” You respond, utterly lost in the feel of him dragging against your gripping walls. 

“How many times do you want to come?” 

You giggle, despite the situation, or maybe because of it.

“I don't usually, oh, get t-to choose, is there a- oh fuck- there a menu or something?” 

He chuckles and slows down just slightly, pushing into you devastatingly deep. 

“What's the most you've managed?” 

He's so thick, and the feel of him is otherworldly; it had you wondering how it'd feel without the layer of latex between you. 

“I can't- fuck- I can't think- like two?”

He stops, looking at you incredulously  with a furrowed brow.

“Two? We can do better than that.” 

He speeds up, leaning on one arm as his other hand finds its way down your torso and begins to rub your clit. That pulse inside you is sent into overdrive, mouth open and panting as you cling to his back, nails digging into his skin. 

Your release swells inside, growing, and intensifying, until it suddenly pops, showering you in pleasure. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes as you moan out your release an inch from his face.

“Atta girl,” Eddie says as he nudges you with his nose, “do that again.” 

Your clit feels a little sore, swollen and sensitive after so much pleasure. His touch is gentle, but it's still overwhelming. 

“Eddie, I-I can't, please-” 

“You want me to stop? I'll stop if you want that sweetheart.” 

The sharp feeling begins to dull, making way for another wave of euphoria that washes over your whole body. Legs twitching uncontrollably, you whine long and low, a flood of noises bursting from you that no damn could ever stop. 

“That a no, sweetheart?” 

“Don't stop don't stop don’t stop - oh!” 

You'd be embarrassed by the crazy noise you made as you come again, if you were even aware of it. A screeching loud moan, eyes scrunched as your body leaves the bed and your nails drag across his bare back. 

“That's it, knew you could, so good for me. Fuck, nearly lost it.” 

He does stop then, biting his lip to stop himself from unleashing his own orgasm as his breath comes in short huffs. 

“Eddie, you don't have to- ohmygod!”

The last of your sentence evaporates on your tongue as he hooks his arms under your legs and pushes your thighs flush to your chest. It seems even Eddie has lost the power of speech, dirty moans pouring from his mouth that rival your own. 

He's so deep, impossibly deep; as if he were in your guts at this point. You've never felt so full in all your life. Your third release is almost there, a tightening string wound around you, pulling and twisting and contorting your body into a writhing sweaty shambles. 

You're clenching and convulsing around his pumping length as he twitches inside you, his groans and grunts spurring you on. It's faster now, his thrusts becoming more erratic. Sweat clings to the very air, the heat in the room creating this cloying humidity that dampens each breath out, making hair stick to skin and creating loud slapping sounds of your conjunction. 

Eddie's face is red with effort, teeth gritted and lips tight. 

“Are you gonna come again? I can feel you. Please, sweetheart, please- fuck- I need it, I need it, come with me!” 

You let go. The tight string breaks and your orgasm spreads through your very soul; it's so profound and savage that tears spill out and down your cheeks with its intensity. Eddie joins you, coming as one with a drawn out groan that borders on feral. 

For a moment, you both revel in it, just panting, feeling sticky skin against skin, heartbeats slowing, muscles unwinding and relaxing. 

He finally unhooks his arms from your legs and you lay them shakily on the down as he clambers off, collapsing next to you on the bed. 

“You OK sweetheart?” 

“Hmm.”

It's all you can reply with, a little satisfied noise. Scooting closer to him, you place your hand hesitantly on his chest. 

“Hang on a sec.” 

He gets up and disposes of the condom, slowly padding out the room. Returning again with another glass of water for you, he hands it over with a raise of an eyebrow. This time you take it gratefully, chugging half of it before passing it back. 

A moment of panic grips your chest, followed by shame. You barely know him, yet you'd gone to his place with hardly any hesitation. 

As he lays back down next to you, scooping his arm around your back, you clear your throat. 

“I just, er, wanted you to know I don't usually do this.” 

“Hey, it's alright. Neither do I.”

Feeling slightly less trampy, you stroke his chest with delicate fingers, wishing for the moment to last but knowing it can't. 

“I don't think my legs work anymore, I think you'll have to call me a taxi.”

Eddie sits up suddenly, looking at you with anguish written all over his face. 

“You're not leaving, are you?” 

“Well, I don't fancy doing the walk of shame tomorrow in that outfit.” 

He pouts, looking much younger than he is. 

“Oh. Well, you can always borrow something to wear?” 

“That's even worse!” You laugh, hitting his chest softly. 

“Fine, then I'll go out in the morning and buy you something to wear.” 

Staring at him wide eyed, you realise he's not joking. 

“Really?” 

“Sweetheart, I'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if it meant you’d stay.” 

Heart beating just that little bit faster in your chest, you fight the tears that want to build up. 

“I just thought, you know, well, we don't know each other that well and that you might think this was just, a thing.” 

“You mean a one night thing?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. 

“C'mere.” 

Melting into his open arms, he kisses the top of your head.

“I want you to stay. I'll take you home Monday and-” 

“Eddie, tomorrow's Sunday.” 

“I know.” 

“Eddie, I have to work Monday. So do you!” 

You laugh, trying to break free of his arms but he doesn't let up. 

“Fine, I'll take you home tomorrow. Late. Then see you Monday night.” 

Face hurting from smiling, you settle into the cuddle, the swell of feeling in your chest almost too much for you right now. 

“Eddie I can't stay. I don't have a toothbrush.” 

You say it jokingly, and he squeezes you. 

“It's fine, I've got like 20 of them from work.” 

“Thief.” 

“I prefer to think of it as resourceful.” 

Suddenly he pulls you on top of him making you squeal. 

“So you gonna stay?” 

“Yeah, fine I'll stay.” You try to say it in a mocking manner but your silly grin belies your rolling eyes. 

“Good.” 

Holding you close, Eddie breathes such a sigh of relief; a deep one, one that sounds like he's been holding in for some time. A sigh that makes you feel special. 

Permanent Taglist (couple of these are assumed, if you want off let me know! Same if you want to be added sweethearts)

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n

[reidmania]

I MISS YOU IM SORRY | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series masterlist!!

summary; Spencer calls after being broken up for a month.

warnings ; fem reader, hopeful/happy ending, angst, exes to lovers, mentions of arguments, breakups, miscommunication, avoidant reader, loving spencer, break up bc reader pushed him away bc of self doubt, pretty tame. i love this i think

an ; RAHH fic twoooooo ehehehe. risk is coming soon i just had to pump out the angst really quick ok bare w me!!

You said, "Forever, " in the end I fought it Please be honest, are we better for it? Thought you'd hate me, but instead you called And said, "I miss you", I caught it. You said, "Forever, " and I almost bought it I miss fightin' in your old apartment. Breakin' dishes when you're disappointed. I still love you, I promise. Nothin' happened in the way I wanted. Every corner of this house is haunted And I know you said that we're not talkin' But I miss you, I'm sorry

The call came as a shock. When you were holding onto the doors of your pantry, leaning back slightly as your eyes skimmed over the contents of it — Which was not a lot. You we’re thinking about that fact you needed to go grocery shopping.

How long could you avoid that?

It started right after you and Spencer broke up, where you refused to go because of the chance that you might see Spencer there. It was right between yours and his apartment so the chances weren’t completely low — and normally you and Spencer did the grocery shopping together.

It would normally consist of you dancing around the store picking up random things and Spencer watching you fondly as he pushed the cart. He would mutter something about what was healthiest and you would hum approvingly then grab the opposite of whatever he suggest because it ‘tasted better’ He would chuckle and press his lips to the top of your head.

You wanted to relive that so bad that the idea of being inside the shops without him seemed so wrong. It felt like doing something behind his back. Like watching an episode of the show you two were watching together without him. It just felt wrong.

So you decided you would go to a different shop, an hour drive away. Just to be safe, but who just had time for that?

Which was how your pantry had gotten near empty.

You still had the big bag of his coffee beans that he left here. The ones you weren’t a fan of buy it didn’t matter because Spencer would compromise and just buy both, or just yours. You had use all of yours and started using the ones he left here.

They left a bitter taste on your tongue and a sweet sensation down the back of your throat, they were strong and kept you awake for hours longer than your normal ones did — but weirdly enough; they felt like home.

The bag was brand-less, and you should’ve memorised what it was you were sure you knew. You just couldn’t remember.

How were you suppose to ask? Call him? Message him? Pop by his house and ask. You were sure if he got any soft of contact from you— about anything, you would be blocked in milliseconds. The feeling that thought provided made your stomach tighten more than you’d like to admit.

You almost stumbled over your own feet when you closed the pantry as your phone started to ring, you saw it light up with a contact but your mind paid little attention as you answered, not even actually looking at your phone, your attention elsewhere.

“Hello?” You muttered as you walked towards the coffee machine you and Spencer had decided to get as an anniversary present. To fuel both your coffee addictions. You shoulder held your phone against your ear as you grabbed the bag of coffee beans — Spencers coffee beans.

You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone, “Hey.” The voice. His voice. Tired and groggy as if he had just woken up but you knew him well enough to know he didn’t. You pulled your phone away from your ear as your mind clouded foggy. Your eyes danced over his contact for a moment. He was calling you — He called you. it sent familiar butterflies to your ribcage.

“Spencer?” You exhaled, despite already knowing it was him. You wondered if maybe this was some prank, if he was just calling because he needed something or maybe to call you and degrade you over every mistake you made in the ending of your relationship — you deserved that.

He had every right to hate you for how things ended, he had every right to hate you, period. You had assumed that was how he felt towards you. Hatred. You knew he loved you throughout your relationship, that wasn’t something you had to question but the idea of that still being the case after everything unfolded the way it did.. It didn’t even seem fathomable.

“Hi” He repeated. His voice was low and quiet, you didn’t know what that meant and it was driving you insane. Your feet pattered around the house suddenly feeling cold in the kitchen. Nothing but memories fogging your mind every corner you looked — that didn’t go away as you moved around the house. It was filled by him and it was consuming you whole. 

You let out a heavy breath. “Do you need something?” It didn’t come out how you wanted it to. It wasn’t harsh or anything but your voice weakened half way through your words making embarrassment creep up the back of your neck.

The other side of the phone was silent for a minute, making anxiety pool in your stomach. Your head tilted as you sat on the corner of the couch, wrapping yourself in the blanket on the couch — the one you used more often than you’d like to admit, since some night sleeping in the bed that was suppose to be shared with Spencer felt all too consuming, the way his scent lingered faintly over the sheets and his little nothings covered the window sill, his jacket still hung up in the closet.

“Spence are you okay?” The nickname fell from your lips before you could try to stop it. You heard a muffled sound on the other end of the phone making your stomach twist. Slight worry and confusion filled the wrinkles by your eyes as you squinted slightly.

“Ye- Im.. Im okay” He breathed out his voice heavy and filled with something you couldn’t place if you tried. You were sure it was an emotion you had felt since you felt a sick feeling of familiarity in your abdomen. “I just- Can we talk?” He asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your knees pulled to your chest. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” You asked, in your mind there was a point to this conversation, there was something specific he needed to talk to you about or why else would he call. He wouldn’t, you thought.

“No-Not like that, i just- I just want to talk to you, about anything. Whatever you want I just—” There was a pause, his voice got quiet, almost a whisper, “I miss you.” The words that left his lips buried themselves deep inside your chest, building themselves a home there.

Your head span. He said it so quietly you were scared you might’ve missed it if he said it any quieter. But you didn’t, you caught it. A deep breath left your chest as your hand came to your forehead, your mind was so focused on the fact that, he missed you. He called because he missed you. You almost forgot to answer him. You figured if he said the comment so quietly, maybe he didn’t want a reply on it, so you continued on with the conversation as the words interfered with the rhythmic beating of your heart.

“What coffee beans to do you buy?” You settled on. You heard him chuckle on the other side of the phone before passing a comment asking ‘why? You hated them’ It made your heart flutter uncomfortablely. The two of you continued talking about coffee beans for ten minutes before he muttered about how he had to go, you knew it was probably work related. But god he sounded so sad saying it.

“Spencer?” You asked softly, your voice coming out quieter than what you expected. You heard his soft hum on the other side of the phone. You didn’t want to admit how much you missed him, how your entire being craved him every minute of everyday regardless of what you did — nothing in the world could fill the him-shaped- hole that took up the space of your gut.

“I’m sorry” You apologised and you hoped it was clear you were apologising for everything, for the arguments, for the breakup, for pushing him away for no real good reason beside your own self doubt. It was the sorry you were too proud to mutter out a month ago.

There was a moment on the other side of the phone where you were almost convinced he was going to hang up — you worried you brought up what he didn’t want to talk about.

But instead, “I miss you.” He said louder this time, as if he believed you didn’t hear it the first time. The words made your stomach clench tightly and your muscles both tighten and relax at the same time.

You sigh, you should have shut up. He had to go, you know that but the words came out honestly as “I still love you” You said. You wanted to slap yourself in the face, now you really weren’t gonna be surprised if he hung up and blocked you.

There was a heavy breath, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. “Well-“ He huffed, “If you still love me, and- I still love you..” He muttered out intentionally, hoping you caught on to what he was insinuating. Your mind however was captivated by the fact that, he still loved you.

“We should probably talk” He finished when you didn’t, “Please?” It was thrown in there both to use manners and to show how badly he wanted this. You weren’t ever gonna say no in the first place.

“We should. Do you need to go grocery shopping?” You asked, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you almost smiled. You could almost imagine his confusion.

“Um— I guess that depends —Do you?” He asked. You huffed out a small laugh, nodding your head absentmindedly as you realised he couldn’t see you. “Do you still go to-“

He cut you off, “No. No i started going to the one across town, about an hour away” He said, honestly. You head tilted slightly as you realised he started going to the one you were going to. The conversation continued as you both ignored — or forgot the fact he needed to go.

“Why?”

“So you didn’t feel uncomfortable if I was there when you were” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It made your stomach scrunch up and your chest to bruise your ribcage as the beating of your heart only increased.

“Let’s go grocery shopping, at our shop. Then um— you can come here and I can make you coffee?” You suggested slightly awkwardly, as you worried about the chance of rejection and the embarrassment you would feel.

“It’s a date.” He smiled, you could hear it in his voice.

“Okay.” You exhaled out.

[megalony]

I'm Her Doctor

Okay, so this is my first time writing an AU fic for 911, Eddie Diaz, as requested by a lovely anon. I utterly loved writing this and I hope to do more like this soon.

(If anybody would be interested in a Doctor AU series for any of the 911 boys please let me know)

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: When a tsunami strikes LA, Eddie pulls overtime at the hospital to care for as many patients as he can. Little does he realise that his wife will be one of his patients, and he won't let anyone else look after her but him. (AU, Eddie is a Doctor)

Enjoy.

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Eddie's nose crinkled at the smell of the coffee. Too strong. A splash of milk he didn't intend. A hint of tea curdling the mix. No amount of sugar in the world could make this bearable, but Eddie couldn't be bothered to buy another three cups from the decades old machine to get the perfect blend.

He didn't have time to run down to the cafeteria for a proper cup and all the machines on each ward were either old, broken or used the cheap blend Eddie would never touch outside of work.

He only drank the coffee from the machines when he was desperate and right now, with a twelve hour shift that was probably going to be extended, Eddie needed something to keep himself awake.

His lips curled down at the corners when he took a sip and a shudder rocked his body at the curdling taste.

With a sigh, he turned on his heels, dragged his free hand down his face and took a step away from the machine. His break would be over in a few minutes, he had to get back to his office.

His head snapped back and his shoulders barged into the machine, pushing the decrepit coffee maker into the beige wall loud enough to create an echo surging down the corridor. Eddie lifted his arms and hissed when the coffee spilled over his hands and dribbled through his fingers while he pushed himself back enough to be out the way of the gurney speeding down the corridor.

"Dios, Marcy, where's the fire?" Eddie's voice lowered a few tones and he rose a brow when he locked eyes with the familiar nurse who almost ran him over.

The gurney was empty- well, it was empty of a patient, at least.

There were over ten IV bags wobbling about on the mattress like bags of jelly that looked rather weak and ready to pop. Rolls of bandages, gauze, bottles of anticeptic, cotton swabs and packaged needles were littering the gurney that looked like it had robbed the supply cupboard.

The young nurse paused in her speeding attempt down the corridor. Sweat trickled across her forehead and down the side of her neck, causing a few loose strands of hair to stick to her skin. She puffed and leaned against the end of the gurney, letting her shoulders sag.

When she relaxed, Eddie realised how panicked and worn out she looked. She hadn't been on shift for more than five hours, she turned up way after Eddie clocked in for his shift.

"You mean the flood."

"Pardon?"

"Didn't you hear? The ER's been taken over, we're swamped down there. Everyone's being redirected."

"Why?"

Eddie hadn't heard anything, he had been in theatre for the last six hours of his shift. He had been removing an appendix, sorting out internal bleeding and stitching up a ten year old. He hadn't had time to bustle about and find out the latest gossip in the hospital. Before he went into surgery, everything had been as normal as ever.

Now though, he had encountered at least four nurses running around like headless chickens. Another two of his colleagues had been called to the ER over the tanoid and Eddie had barely seen anyone on the upper floors here. He thought it odd, but he had no idea something big was happening.

Marcy tilted her head at an angle and let out a shallow breath. She took a moment to swipe her hand across her temple before she looked back at the doctor stood beside her.

"There's- there's been a tsunami, high level. It took out the pier and all the coast, at least four miles inland."

"Jesus," Eddie dumped his cup in the bin beside him, shaking his hand free of coffee remnants before he dragged his hand down his chin.

A tsunami? In LA?

There had been no warnings or signs about this. No one had been on red alert or suspected anything. Usually they got a small warning, maybe an hour or less before the disasters happened, like with hurricanes or thunderstorms. The hospital had preparations and plans in place, they could usually get set up ready for a natural disaster if one were to occur.

"We've got people coming from all over, brought in on trucks, walk-ins, even the LAFD are out driving people to us. The ER is overspilling… I gotta get these supplies down there."

"Go, go." Eddie patted her shoulder and watched her give him a sympathetic smile before she resumed her high-speed charge towards the lift at the end.

Eddie's shift wasn't going to finish anytime soon.

How could he go home when they were getting people being brought in from all across the state? People were dying. People were crawling and dragging their families down to the nearest hospitals, wading through water and grime and busted cars and broken telephone wires. They were trying to get themselves to safety and thousands of people could be injured.

There was no way he could go home when people were being brought in on trucks, needing medical help.

He was a doctor. It was his duty to help people and save as many lives as possible. Eddie couldn't go home until the hospital had people on wards and they had helped every person that came in through their doors.

Rummaging his hand in his pocket, Eddie fished out his phone. He was surprised to find he still had some signal, a tsunami usually brought down the phone lines. They had to be far in land here to be unharmed.

He had to call (Y/n). If he wasn't going to be getting out of here anytime soon, he had to let (Y/n) know and make sure she and Chris didn't venture out far with this mess going on. The last thing he needed was his family getting stuck in a traffic jam or being caught up or swamped somewhere with the waves still lashing out and coming inland.

She didn't answer.

"Hey mi amor, I don't know when I'm gonna be home, there's some sort of tsunami happening and we're getting casualties left right and centre. I'll call you when I know more. I hope you and Chris are having a better time, amor. Stay safe."

With his phone in his pocket and his pager in his hand, Eddie looked through the two messages he got. They wanted him down in the ER. He was on standby for any emergency operations if any casualties came through.

Into the chaos.

The tails of his pristine white overcoat flapped behind his thighs as he jostled down the stairs towards the emergency room. There was no point waiting for the lift when others needed it more and Eddie could use the stairs.

He didn't like what he saw. People sat on the floor in the stairwell and the adjoining corridors. Sat on blankets. Holding gauze to major cuts, empty water bottles sat beside them. Water trickling down the stairs causing a major hazard. Two, three and four people sharing one oxygen tank between them, taking turns with the mask to try and keep each other from gasping like fish.

Were these people all walk-ins from the disaster? Were these patients that had been moved out of their rooms and wards to make way for more dire emergencies?

How many more people were going to be coming into the hospital? How many more people could they help before they were overflowing and had no space left?

Could they even turn people away? Eddie had never known them to turn anyone away, especially not in a disaster. But they were clearly reaching maximum capacity if people were sitting in stairwells and lying in corridors. They might have to turn people away, how could they help people if they had no space and were using up their extra resources?

The doors swung open when Eddie barged into the emergency room. He clipped his ID badge onto his waistband for easy access in case he had to go and grab more supplies. All the corridors were locked for safety, if the patients wanted through they had to be buzzed in and all staff had keycards.

"Darren, what have we got?"

"What haven't we got?" The nurse deadpanned, dropping his shoulders as he spun to face Eddie. He rose a brow when he realised what Eddie was wearing. He wasn't in his usual button up shirt or trousers. He was in pale turquoise scrubs and his usual bleached white overcoat. That was a giveaway that he had been in surgery.

"Alright, smart arse, who's shift lead down here?" Eddie's hands moved to his hips and he took a look around.

The emergency room had never been so compact.

Most of the curtains were pulled back with little privacy so they could push the beds closer together and squeeze more patients in. People were sitting on blankets on the floor. Others were lining the walls, sat, crouching and stood waiting to be seen by anyone available.

Some were wearing wristbands of different colours, red meant someone was in dire need of help, green were those who could wait and amber meant they would need attention soon.

Black was reserved for those who were either dead or not going to make it. It had been a long time since Eddie had seen the wristband system come into play.

"Jameston was pulled up to theatre, Macabee's been pulled somewhere else, we're just helping who we can."

"Fuck." Eddie's fingers scratched through his scrubs until he was sure he would have red indents in his skin and blood wheels bubbling up beneath his skin. If no one was on shift lead then people didn't have anyone to report to, that meant people would just help whoever they wanted or whoever was closest. They needed a system.

If no one was going to take charge then Eddie would take that role himself. People could listen to him or get out the emergency room.

"Alright, listen up." He made his way over to the circular reception desk in the middle of the room. "If you don't have a wristband, come get one. Green bands in that corner, amber over here. If you have red then someone will come and move you towards the back."

Coloured bands were there for a reason, people were meant to be segregated into their groups, not compiled together like this. Eddie pointed for where he wanted them to go and waved his hands towards the back for all the red patients to be escorted over. The back was closest to the equipment and near the lifts for easy transfer.

"You three, go to red I want four nurses in the red corner at all times, do not leave those patients. Johnson, you're in charge or those three, deal with amber and get them onto a different floor. The rest of you sort out the greens, anyone who can be stitched up and sent out needs to go. We aren't a cafe we are here for serious injuries."

Eddie could see the funny looks he was getting, but no one dared argue with him. He was putting himself in charge and they needed to agree or go to a different ward for different orders.

This was a hospital. Anyone who had minor injuries needed to be given paracetamol, checked for cuts and sent home. They could get antibiotics from their GP and they could get seen by a pharmacist for any minor complications. They had no room, no space and no time to deal with anyone who wasn't in critical condition.

"We've been separated, w-we need to find out families-"

"Ma'am, I completely understand that, but you can't do that here."

"We need to see if our families have been admitted!" An angry father, or, Eddie presumed he was a father by his stance and his panicked temper, stomped his foot on the floor.

He wanted to find his loved ones. He had a few injuries that weren't life-threatening. He wanted to find his family and he couldn't leave the hospital if he wanted to do that.

He looked Eddie up and down when the doctor advanced over to him with a calm expression and his hands at his sides.

"Look around," Eddie's voice was gentle but his words were oddly firm. "We aren't taking names at the moment, we treat people, we get them onto a ward or on their way. We don't get names until they are safely in a bed or about to leave. In here, we have no way of knowing if your family have arrived, have been transferred or are in theatre."

They couldn't take names straight away. Some people weren't in any fit state to give their names or ask about their families. Their job as doctors was to patch people up and get them safely into theatre or onto a ward.

"If you go out into the gardens, the emergency services will set up tents and take names. They will help you find your family, but I can't have you taking up time and resources in here if you are fit and able to wait outside. Please."

It sounded harsh, but this was an emergency like no other. Eddie had no space for people to sit here and people-watch, waiting for their families to come in or to hear any news they were desperately seeking.

The emergency services and some of the hospital reception staff would already be setting up tents outside. They took names and cross-referenced against those who had been able to give their names on arrival. They checked for people on wards, people in the morgue and those who were dead but yet to be identified.

Once the man nodded, Eddie pointed at someone to check them over and guide the group of people out who had green wristbands.

He turned to face the reception desk, taking deep breaths to try and calm down the tremors that were rattling through him. But his brows furrowed and he sighed when he looked at the desk. Papers were scattered everywhere. Some were drenched in water from the patients who came in, scrambling for help at the desk. Others were scribbled so hastily that Eddie couldn't make head nor tail of the words.

"Janice, what is going on here?" His hands fumbled around, motioning to all the paperwork.

"I've had over two hundred people to sign in and send upstairs-"

"How do you know which ones are which?"

Her lack of reply had Eddie running his hands over his face with a deep, grumble that racked his chest and had his jaw locking in place. Could no one organise in this mess? Had they all forgotten how to cope in a disaster? It had only been a year since the Earthquake and Eddie had worked three days straight during that period.

They had a great system during that disaster, did everyone just forget how to cope and how to function in times like these?

"Dios, we can't work like this-"

"What do you want me to do? Doctor?" She added on quietly at the end, looking down to her hands when she realised she might just be speaking a bit out of term to a senior doctor.

"I want you to organise this desk. Forget about filing the paperwork, okay? Blank paper is what you need. Get people to write their names down if they can, one page for green, one for amber, one for red. Keep them in piles, then we know where people are when we have to log into the system after everyone's sorted. Get rid of this shit, start over."

Eddie's abdomen dug into the desk while he grabbed a large stack of paperwork and tossed it behind the desk onto the floor.

Forms were no good in an emergency, things needed to be plain and simple. Names, where they were being sent, that was all they needed right now. No insurance forms, no past discharge notes, just the main details. Names, dates of birth, allergies, that was it.

When Janice nodded, Eddie spun on his heels and looked around. Everyone was listening to him, people were more organised and it meant the nurses fluttering around here were helping the right people and they weren't stuck like headless chickens.

"If you just sit down here-"

"If he's amber sit on the left, if he's red move to the right but not in front of the bloody doors please." Eddie snapped, pointing across at the young nurse who was just about to sit an elderly man in front of the back doors that led off to the X-ray corridor.

Did people not use their brains? Where they all shutting down and waiting for Eddie to take charge? Was he going to have to order them all around and do their jobs for them? They couldn't sit someone in front of the doors because if they swung open that poor man would be knocked flying and he would be in a worse shape than when he arrived.

He could see the nurse bite down on her lip as if she might start crying and it made Eddie's heart spasm. But she held herself together. She put on a shallow smile and helped shuffle the man to the left and sit him down next to a cot bed with a young woman on.

"Doctor Diaz?" A timid voice broke Eddie out of his thoughts and had him spinning on his heels.

A young nurse. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, maybe younger, he wasn't sure. Both her hands were clasped together in front of her and her fingers were scratching at the back of her hands. Her arms were shaking, elbows were pinned into her waist and her shoulders were hunched and pulled forwards.

She looked like she needed medical help with how anxious she was and Eddie wasn't sure if she was about to be sick or not. Tears were in her eyes and she was breathing shallow.

"Yes?" His tone was softer than before and he tried to smile to calm her down but it didn't seem to work.

"What- um, what do we do with the bodies?"

Her words stunned Eddie and he took a cautious look around. He had seen people looking like they were on Death's door, but no one seemed to have passed away yet. But when the nurse shakily pointed over her shoulder, Eddie saw.

He saw the body of a teenager, just a few years older than his own son. Not breathing. Not moving. Laid languidly on a cot bed as if he was passed out.

Eddie ran a hand across his face and took a strangled breath through his fingers.

He could feel his hands about to tremble with the adrenaline shooting through his system. He reached out, tensing his fingers to keep his hand from shaking and he gave her shoulder a squeeze before he spun to face the reception desk.

His nimble fingers scoured through the paperwork behind the desk until he found what he was looking for.

A black lanyard. A rectangle piece of paper, as black as night and as scratchy as hay. There were white lines for a name to be written across and a time, date and cause of death.

"Johnston! Gurney." Eddie waved the nurse over and walked the younger nurse back towards the patient. He handed her the lanyard. "Do we have a name?"

She shook her head.

"Then take him towards X-ray, out the side doors and into the foyer… he needs to be laid with the unidentified and recorded."

Eddie didn't want her taking the teen out through the ER doors. People were still coming in. No one deserved or needed to see a dead body being wheeled out, it would cause panic and it wasn't respectful. If they had a name then he could have been taken to the morgue. Without a name, he had to be laid in the tent with the other unidentified and the easiest way to get there without alarming people was through the X-ray corridor.

This was going to be a long day, and it had only just begun.

***

"We're nearly there, you just hang on for me, okay?" Tremors rattled through Buck's voice and gave away the sheer desperation welling up inside of him.

He continued to push the gurney with his right hand while his left hand deadlocked around his sister's palm. He could feel her hand, a mixture of sweat and salt water dribbling between their fingers, squeezing his tightly. And her nails that were split and had layers of mud stuck beneath them were scratching into the back of his hand. Holding tightly to let him know she was still hanging on, just like he asked.

The emergency room doors parted easily and allowed the 118 to glide straight through, but Buck's voice boomed over the rest of the sounds like a siren, demanding to be heard.

"Diaz! Where's Doctor Diaz?"

"Sir, we're very-"

"Get me Doctor Diaz now!" Buck all but slammed his foot down on the glistening tiled floor that was littered with smudges of blood, dirt and puddles of salt water that was as brown as milk chocolate.

He needed his brother in law. He needed Eddie. (Y/n) needed a doctor and the only one she needed right now was her husband.

Eddie spun on his heels, pen light clasped between his teeth and stethoscope hung around his neck. He looked over his shoulder, hands paused in mid air as he crouched in front of a young boy he was trying to assess.

It wasn't enough to direct people in the ER and try to create a system, Eddie was still a doctor and until he was called up to surgery, he had to assess people down here. He had to do his fair share, or more than his fair share when no one here seemed to be able to do their jobs properly. Eddie had assessed patients, sent them to X-ray, sent others to an MRI.

He had done CPR on an elderly woman, a tracheotomy on a middle-aged man choking on what he had inhaled during the floods. And he had the harsh job of sending another three people to the unidentified tent out in the foyer when they passed away.

But he knew that voice.

He knew that loud, sometimes obnoxious, but mostly caring voice that had risen an octave and sounded as distressed as Eddie had ever heard him.

Buck. His brother in law. Eddie thought his brother in law would be working today, this was an emergency and he knew Buck was all for helping anyone he could. But Eddie hadn't thought he would see Buck today, he thought their jobs would keep them separate and he would see him in a few days to talk and go over what had gone on today.

"Buck?" Paranoia flooded Eddie's voice as he narrowed his eyes and looked around the emergency room.

He found Buck easily. That sandy blond hair, damp and curled to the max. Those broad shoulders, towering over everyone else within reach. Those ocean blue eyes that held so much pain and panic within them that it physically made Eddie feel sick.

"Buck, what are you…"

(Y/n).

His wife. There she was. Not safely tucked up at home. Not at home snuggled up with Chris watching a movie or listening intently to the news.

She was laid on the gurney, looking worse for wear and clinging to her brother's hand.

What had happened?

"No, no no!" The pen light dropped to his feet, his hands began to shake and his shoes clicked against the floor as he skidded over towards his wife.

He didn't know the other people gathered round the gurney, but it didn't take much to work out that they had to be Buck's team who he worked with. There were three of them, to be exact, all gathered round the gurney like they were waiting for a premonition to take place.

The moment he reached the gurney, Eddie was stooping over. His trembling hands cupped (Y/n)'s face that was damp, although he couldn't tell whether it was sweat or sea water. His thumbs glided over her cheeks that were a mix of hot and cold all together, all at once. He creased his abdomen to double over the gurney and his elbows pinned into (Y/n)'s arms.

She shakily let go of her brother's hand and tried to open her eyes. They were still burning like the fires of Hell from all the water. She could barely breathe. She couldn't see properly. Eddie's figure looming over her was almost as if she was seeing an angel, guiding her to the afterlife.

A halo of light surrounded Eddie's frame, but (Y/n) just managed to make out the creases around his eyes, the bridge of his nose and those ruby red lips that were barely touching her own.

"Mi amor," Eddie didn't trust himself to speak properly and he couldn't drag his eyes away from his wife.

He pecked her lips, feeling just how frozen cold they felt against his own and it made him cringe. His thumbs continued to glide across her cheeks while he tilted his head to the right and looked up at his brother in law.

"Eddie," (Y/n)'s voice was quiet and each breath she took hitched higher than the last, but the look in her eyes had Eddie's heart breaking. She was relieved. She was staring at him like she had taken a long pilgrimage and had finally found safety and sanctuary with him.

She knew she was safe now.

"What happened- w-where's Chris?"

"We found them clinging on top of a swamped fire truck. Chris is in our truck, h-he's fine I swear. But you need to help her."

A small ounce of relief dwelled in Eddie's stomach. His son was safe. Chris was patched up and clearly didn't need any medical attention like (Y/n) did. They had found both of them and managed to get them out of the wreckage. (Y/n) had been saved by her brother and his team. She had managed to stay with Chris and not get separated, at least, not for very long. They had both been found.

"Let me look at you, mi amor." He hushed quietly and pecked her lips again before he reeled up enough to assess her.

His hands wandered up and down, checking for any deep abrasions or broken bones or anything that didn't seem right.

Both (Y/n)'s arms were pinned to her chest, but she deadlocked her hands around Eddie's arm. Tears flushed her face, sniffles and gasps left her split lips and she was trembling back and forth. Her knees were lifted up like she was trying to curl up and get into the fetal position to make herself feel better.

Eddie could see hundreds of cuts littering her arms and her exposed chest. Her shirt had been cut down the middle, presumably so they could assess her chest and there was a cut just under her fifth rib. It didn't look extensive, but it would need stitches.

When he tried to press down on her abdomen, (Y/n)'s knees jolted up and a mewling sob left her lips. Her head tilted back into the gurney, pushing her throat out and she gurgled through each breath.

"Hurts!"

"Shh, sorry baby, I'm sorry. Let me see, please." He gently moved her arms away so he could assess again but when he pressed down on the right side of her abdomen just above her hip, she coiled inwards again. "Intestine's ruptured. Shit."

"I'll go sit with Chris." Chimney patted Buck's shoulder before he jogged out, they didn't want to leave Chris sat on his own for too long.

"Her breathing's very laboured and mismatched." Hen had tried to assess (Y/n)'s chest, but she was still breathing. Every now and then she would cough or take five sharp, thin breaths all at once. She couldn't hear any water in her lungs and she was still breathing so that couldn't be the case.

Eddie swiped the stethoscope from his neck and pressed them to his ears. He let (Y/n) smother her face against his right arm while he leaned over her and pressed the stethoscope against her back to listen to her lungs.

But he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s forehead slamming into his arm and her fingers scraped through his jacket sleeves, digging into his arm so tightly she was cutting off his circulation.

He dropped the stethoscope and reached forward, taking the small torch light from Hen's top pocket before she could ask what he was doing.

He twisted (Y/n) so she was laying on her left side, facing him as he crouched down in front of the gurney.

"Open. Open up."

Eddie shone the light in her mouth and squinted to try and see if there was any obstruction.

(Y/n) clasped her fingers around his wrist, closing her eyes tightly as she started to shake. Something didn't feel right. Her chest felt constricted, her lungs weren't opening up and taking proper breaths anymore. She felt like she was going to be sick.

She could feel someone's hand at the back of her neck and when she started to cough, her body shuddered and she jerked her legs out when Eddie's hand moved to her mouth.

"I'm sorry- baby just keep breathing it's okay." Eddie grimaced as water spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips and dripped down onto the floor. He pushed his fingers past her lips towards the back of her throat, hating the way she squirmed and tried to push him away, but he could see she was choking on something.

Buck wrapped an arm around his front and gagged, turning his head away when he watched Eddie slowly pull a long stream of either seaweed or some sort of tangled up plant from (Y/n)'s lips. She must have inhaled it during the struggle when the first wave hit. She didn't even know she had inhaled that into her lungs.

Eddie tossed the seaweed onto the floor by his feet, shaking his hand, relieved he was wearing gloves for doing that.

"Janice!" He tossed his head to look over his shoulder at the receptionist who was dumbstruck, unsure what to do. "Find me an OR and a surgical team. Ruptured intestine, I need to operate now."

"Um… theatre four, floor two should be free."

"Someone bring Chris."

Eddie reeled up back to his full height, grabbed the edge of the stretcher and began steering them towards the back corridor through the middle of the ER. Chris could come up, he could wait in Eddie's office where Buck could wait with him once (Y/n) was in theatre and being looked after.

This was his worst nightmare. This was something Eddie had always been fearful of. Having his wife and son caught up in something horrid like this. He had been extremely lucky last year that Chris had been safe at school and (Y/n) had been at home when the Earthquake hit. Both of them had been out the way and in no danger.

Not like today. They had been caught up in this natural disaster and now Eddie had to operate on his wife. He had never done this before. He had stitched (Y/n) up at home a few times, but he had never had to operate on her or have her need any type of hospitalisation like this.

He wasn't supposed to operate on family members. It was too dangerous in case something happened or she died or Eddie made a mistake. But this was an emergency. All their staff had been redirected, no one was where they were supposed to be. Any doctor was being diverted to any theatre, operating room, ward and scan that they could to observe and help and intervene.

Eddie didn't have time to wait around for another colleague to come over and operate on (Y/n). He had done this procedure hundreds of times before and he wasn't going to trust anyone else to look after his wife the way he would.

"E-Eddie," (Y/n) gave a soft tug on Eddie's hand that she had confiscated and pinned against her chest. She could barely open her eyes to look up at him, but she was relieved when he leaned down and kissed her temple.

She managed to focus enough to watch him scan his badge against the doors and guide them out of the emergency room and into a more secluded corridor with less casualties around ever corner.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Don't l…leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere without you, mi amor." He kissed the back of her hand before the three of them crammed into the lift.

Bobby was hanging back with Hen, waiting for Chimney to come out with Chris so they could catch them up. The team weren't leaving, they would wait and stay with Buck so they could comfort him and wait on any news of his little sister. It had been a stroke of luck that they had found (Y/n) rather than any other team. Buck had made it his mission to look after his sister and he told them exactly which hospital to go to, although none of them had known why Buck was fixated on this hospital. Until they saw Eddie.

Once they were up on the second floor, Eddie flagged down a passing nurse before he turned to face Buck.

"My office is around that corner, second door on the left. I'll find you as soon as it's done." He unclipped his keycard from his scrubs and handed it over. Buck was welcome to wait in his office, Chris had been in there hundreds of times before so he would know where to go and he would be okay there. Chris had a few of his books in the office to occupy him.

Once Buck headed back into the lift so he could go find the rest of the team, Eddie began his descent down the corridor, pushing the gurney single-handed.

"Okay, reception said we have an emergency?" Cranston placed his hands on his hips and stood outside the empty operating room he had been told to get scrubbed up for another surgery.

But once his eyes landed on the girl on the stretcher, his hands fell at his sides and he shook his head. (Y/n). He had seen her here many times when she came to visit Eddie or when she brought Chris down for a visit. Eddie couldn't be here for this. He couldn't be the leading surgeon, he wasn't allowed.

"No, Diaz you can't-"

"No one else is touching my wife. I'm her doctor now, got it?"

[cupidbedsy]

𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 | 𝘫𝘩86 ୨୧

➪ summary: jack struggles after their breakup, and after a little talk with his mom, he's on his way to get his girl back

➪ warnings: fights, sad jack, broken glass, breakup

➪ word count: 2.8k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: this was the first ever jack fic i wrote and i went back and read it and forget how in love with it i was. i hope you guys are enjoying the reposts, i am hoping to be done with them in the next couple of weeks and then i can start working on new fics! anyway, i decided to use the old taglist one more time because i haven't gotten the chance to sort out everyone that has filled out the form so far. so..... if you haven't already, please fill out the taglist form if you want to be added to the new one! i love you guys so much, and i appreciate each and everyone of you

© cupidbedsy (sunflower-lilac42) ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

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“Mom I think I really fucked up.”

Jack was in tears as he sat with his back against the door to his bedroom. His room was messy, with pieces of clothing scattered everywhere, suit jackets flung across his bed, and take-out containers on his nightstand, but the only thing he was focused on was the cardboard box that was set less than a foot in front of him. It had a card resting on top of it, his name written in the tiniest of letters. He could faintly smell her perfume on the sweatshirts and shirts that were left inside.

When he walked out of his room, the box was something he wasn’t expecting to see. It was resting in Luke’s hands when he walked out, proceeding to ask what it was. When Luke said it was from her, he grabbed it and ran back into his room, shutting and closing the door behind him. He had only managed to get one flap of the box open before he started crying uncontrollably. 

He had seen the gray material, the logo of his team branded on it. He had backed himself up against the door and tried to collect himself and failed. Deep in his mind, he knew he shouldn’t have the right to be acting like this, he had been the one to end it. Yet, seeing the aftermath without her made him realize what he had truly lost. 

The nights when he came home from a game that they won, she wasn’t there to congratulate him, to celebrate with him, to let him hold her. The nights when he came home from a game that they lost, she wasn’t there to console him, to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, to run her fingers through his hair. The mornings that he woke up and felt lonely and cold because she wasn’t in his arms, she wasn’t there to pepper his face with little kisses. She wasn’t there to wake him up in the middle of the night because she was hungry or because she had this genius idea. She wasn’t there to cook dinner for him and Luke when that was all they needed after a long day. She wasn’t there to help him pack and unpack for a road trip. She wasn’t there to help him pick out what suit to wear for the game. She wasn’t there at all anymore.

The thoughts plagued him, angered him, saddened him, hurt him. For some reason, these thoughts never came up before, never this strong. Seeing the things that had been hers, became hers, and weren’t his hurt him. It made him realize what he had done, and what he had done was real. He couldn’t help the new thoughts that came to his mind, the ones that called him stupid, the ones who called him an idiot, the ones that were dark enough that he hated himself for those too. 

When he found himself finding it hard to breathe he reached for his phone, calling Ellen. Ellen was not expecting those words when she picked up the phone. No one had known about their breakup, no one had known about Jack’s words that he said to her that night, no one had known about the way she tried to fight but he refused to even listen to her. 

Everyone knew that the two were off, however. Jack hadn’t been performing well, barely even getting a couple of shots on goal during games. He had gotten into a few fights, mostly because he was stressed and every little thing someone did set him off. He didn’t go out to celebrate with the team after a win, he distanced himself from everyone including his brother. 

She, on the other hand, hadn’t talked to anyone in the past two weeks. She never went to the apartment anymore, she didn’t reach out to Luke or the team at all, and she never drove Jack and Luke to games anymore, it was like she disappeared. In reality, she had been huddled up in her apartment, tears ending up on every piece of clothing she wore, they ended up on the sheets too. There was an abundance of tissues in a plastic bag that rested on the left side of her bed. Her TV had been playing nothing but sad romance movies; The Notebook, Irreplaceable You, All the Bright Places, The Fault in Our Stars, and Five Feet Apart were a few. She hadn’t moved from her spot unless she had to go to the bathroom.

Her main source of food was the snacks that she brought into her bedroom almost every other day. Sometimes if she was feeling up for it, she would order something and wait for it in the living room. She hadn’t attempted to cook, reminding her too much of when she did it for him. She hadn’t understood why he did it, what prompted him to do it, what prompted the thoughts, what she had done wrong to make him feel differently about him. She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t allow her to talk, allow them to talk it through. It was a messy night, his voice was doing the abundance of the talking. 

He had yelled at her for no reason. They had been sitting in the living room peacefully and she had commented on going out for dinner. It wasn’t the comment that set him off, he had been in his mind for the majority of the night prior to that moment. He didn’t know what brought these feelings on but he had to get them out. He had screamed for about ten minutes while she sat in silence tearing up. She had attempted to fight for them, saying she was sorry for god knows what. She had attempted to get an answer out of him but was met with silence. She had stormed out after 5 minutes of pleading, leaving Jack as alone as she felt. 

Jack receiving the package was the first form of communication they had had in two weeks. And that had really put things into perspective for him. He had babbled all of this to Ellen, having to take breaks a lot to control his sobs and breathing. Ellen felt absolutely heartbroken as she listened to her son cry. She knew what he had done wrong, it was painfully obvious, but the amount of tears that she could hear from him made her sympathetic towards him. 

Nonetheless, Ellen set him straight, not that he needed to be anyway, he knew he was wrong from the moment she left him sitting there. She had done her best to calm him down beforehand, Jack’s mind still in overdrive. He took in everything his mom said, agreeing with every point she made about him being wrong. She spoke in a gentle yet strict tone, letting him know that she felt sorry for him but what he did was horrible. He knew that and listening to his mom say it too made it feel all the worse. 

When Ellen hung up, Jack was once again left alone with the silence and his thoughts. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, yet he wasn’t in the right place to go and get her back. He thought he would just go over there and make it worse, make it so she would never want him back. So he walked out into the living room and looked at his brother who was watching TV, acting as if he had heard nothing. 

Jack plopped himself down next to him on the couch. He went to say something but he could feel another wave of tears coming. He went to stand up but Luke pulled him down, not wanting him to be alone anymore either. Jack buried his head into his younger brother’s shoulder and sobbed, slightly embarrassed but too sad to worry about it. 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

The next morning, Jack woke up with a pounding headache but he knew he needed to get his shit together. He took the box y/n had sent him and taped it back up, not taking one single thing out of there. He dressed in her favorite outfit of his, deciding he’d at least look how she liked him too. He even washed his hair, knowing how much she loved it when it was soft and looked like a fluffy mop on top of his head.

He knew that no matter how good he made himself look, it would have almost no impact on the outcome of this conversation. He knew how much he had hurt her and how much trust he had to earn back. He knew that no matter how many gifts he bought or made would ever make up for it, but that didn’t stop him from buying her favorite ice cream and flowers and making her a card.

He drove to her apartment and jumped out of the car as soon as he got there, running up the stairs as fast as he could. He knocked on the door lightly, waiting somewhat impatiently for her to open the door. It took a few minutes before he had to knock again and this time, she opened it seconds later, “What?”

“Please don’t close the door. I just want to talk.”

“Oh so-”

“Yes. “So now I want to talk.” Please y/n/n.” He cut her off, immediately knowing what she was going to say. His puppy dog eyes were out in full force and she didn’t know whether or not it was on purpose or a subconscious habit of his when he asked for something he wanted. 

She sighed, knowing that she couldn’t stand his eyes any longer. She turned around and walked further into her apartment, waiting for Jack to follow her. When he stepped in, his heart stopped at the broken glass that lay in the kitchen. He followed her with his eyes as he shut the door. He watched as she sat down and wrapped a blanket around her.

Before he got there, she had been watching another sad movie, Kiss and Cry this time. She had been caught off guard when she heard the knock and only wished it would go away. However, when she heard it again, she got up and opened it, feeling both upset and frustrated at who was there. Hearing the way his voice broke when he talked also aided in her decision to let him in. She felt sad when he sat down next to her and reached out to place his hand on her thigh like an instant reaction. He retracted it as soon as it made contact with the blanket, nervous that she would yell at him.

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath in preparation, “I’m sorry. And I know that no matter what I say, or how much I tell you I’m sorry, it won’t be enough. It won’t justify what I did, but just hear me out please.”

She nodded, allowing him to go on. The look on his face showed the gratitude he had for her response, “I shouldn’t have said what I said. Truthfully I don’t know why I said what I said. I think I must’ve been nervous about our future together but I feel like that’s just an excuse at that point. I don’t know what I was thinking, believe me. And I’m sorry I didn’t let us even try to talk it out, to let you talk. I- I just- To be honest, I really don’t know, y/n. 

“ I feel so lost right now, I hated you not being there. I hated not being able to come home from a game and celebrate with you when we won or have you comfort me when we lost. I hated not being able to wake up and you were the first thing I saw. I hated not being able to make dinner with you or play pranks on Luke or having you wake me up in the middle of the night because you had the most random epiphany.” He gave her a little laugh, “I hated not knowing that you were okay.”

She had been looking at the ground the whole time he spoke until he said that. She looked up and made eye contact with him, both of them harboring tears in their eyes. She knew that he meant it, she knew that he didn’t mean anything he said two weeks ago. At first, when she initially thought he would come to her apartment to plead for her back, she wasn’t going to accept the ‘I don’t know’ excuse, but she could tell that he really didn’t know why he did it. 

She reached out to hold his hand, toying with his fingers, “I believe you, Jack. And I’m not going to say it’s okay because it’s not, but I know when you mean something, Jack. I know that you didn’t have a reason to lash out.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “But it’s going to take a while for this to get back to how it was between us.”

“And I know that, and I’m willing to take it at your pace, and communicate with you more, and be there for you more.”

She nodded and turned away slightly to look at the TV, “You wanna finish this movie with me?”

He smiled and nodded, following her request to sit next to her. Jack had thought back to the moment when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and remembered the broken glass, “Are you okay?”

“Now I am, why?”

“Because there was broken glass in the kitchen.”

“Oh, yeah. I knocked it off yesterday. Maybe the day before, I don’t remember. Hadn’t had the opportunity to pick it back up.” 

Jack went over and picked it up in case she was to forget and got up in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water. When he got back, she laid her head on his chest and played with one of the strings from his hoodie, “This is my favorite hoodie.”

He nodded again, rubbing her back, “I know.”

“And you washed your hair.”

He felt his face flush at the realization that she had figured out what he was trying to do, “Did you think that the way you looked would convince me to take you back?”

He gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged a little, “A little.”

She sat up and kissed him, “You’re lucky it did, Hughes.”

They sat in a comfortable silence before y/n looked up at him, “Jack?”

“Yeah, baby?” The name was a force of habit and he went to apologize but when he looked down he saw her grinning at him. 

“When can I get those sweatshirts back?”

Jack let out a laugh, “They’re in my car, didn’t even take them out of the box. Want me to go get them?”

“Yes please.” He went to move her off of him but she clung to him, missing how warm he felt in the past two weeks, “You gotta let go of me baby if you want them.”

She shook her head, snuggling deeper into them, “You want this one?”

She just nodded and briefly let go of him, allowing him to take it off. He slipped it over her head and then opened his arms so she could lay back on him, which she did immediately. They continued watching and she felt a tear hit her head, looking up in worry, “Jack?”

“Hmm?” He sniffled and wiped his tears off his face with his left hand. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just missed you, is all.” 

She only smiled and hugged him tighter, both of them falling asleep minutes later with how comfortable they felt with one another.

© cupidbedsy (sunflower-lilac42) ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Hi 💗 I hope you’re doing well! This is soooo random and might not be much but may I request another roommate Carmy one-shot where he fixes something around the apartment and looks really hot while doing it? So, reader gets turned on and wants to show her appreciation for his handiness, meanwhile he’s like, I’d fix anything for you. And things just get hot and heavy and maybe even kinda fluffy. I’m just on a Carmy binge rn, and I loveeeee how you write him! 🥹❤️

Hands On.

Synopsis - A broken lightbulb leads to some interesting discoveries for both you and Carmen.

Pairing - Roommate!Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. carmen's big ego.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1.5k

Author's Note - thank you for this request!! another roommate!carmy fic <3 this takes place in the roommates universe, but it's up to you if it comes before or after the other fics - there's no timeline!! this one got a little filthy, actually. the roommate series seems to be getting dirtier and dirtier... i would apologise, but i'm not sorry.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

You're sat reading a book on your bed when the room is suddenly plunged into darkness.

You shriek in shock, and Carmy comes running, socked feet sliding on wooden floors through the apartment.

"Honey? You okay?"

He knocks twice before swinging the door open, looking around.

"Why are you sat in the dark?"

You huff and throw your book in his direction.

"I wasn't, until one second ago. The light just went off."

"Did it blow?"

"What?"

"Did it make a noise, when it went out? Did it flicker? Pop?"

"I don't know, Carm. It just kinda... went out."

He grabs his phone from his pocket to use as a flashlight, shining it at your overhead lamp.

"Looks like the bulb has blown. I think have a spare in the kitchen cabinet. Hold on."

He departs, leaving you sat on your bed, unable to see much. There's a warmth slowly building in your stomach, and you take a breath. Why are you so flushed, all of a sudden?

"Here. Got one. You think you can hold the light for me while I replace it?"

You nod and jump out of your spot, grabbing the phone from his hand. You point it towards the ceiling, watching as Carmy reaches up to unscrew the old bulb. His white t shirt rides up his stomach as he raises his arms, exposing his taut muscles. You exhale a shudder of a breath, willing yourself to calm down.

"Honey, can you stay a little more still please? The light is shaking."

"Sorry, Carm."

He winks at you before reaching up again, screwing in the new bulb. You can't stop staring at his arms, his strong biceps flexing as he works. His hands, big and rough, completely dwarf the little lightbulb. You know how those fingers feel as they brush across your skin. Little moments - like him skimming your back as he passes you in the kitchen - are imprinted in your mind, swirling around at a million miles per hour.

You're practically panting by the time he's finished, willing yourself to calm down.

"You okay, honey?"

You don't hear him. Instead, you're watching him run his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. You want to pull it as hard as he'll let you.

A hand on your shoulder startles you back to reality.

"You okay?"

You clear your throat, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thank you, Carm. Don't know what I'd do without you. Seriously."

He chuckles, running his fingers up and down your arm.

"It's not a problem. I'd fix anything for you."

Your eyes shoot up from the floor to meet his, ocean blue irises focused on your face.

"...Really?"

He looks taken aback by your question.

"Yeah, really. You didn't know that? I'd do anything for you, sweetheart. Genuinely, anything."

You don't think before you move. You lunge forward and connect your lips to his, fingers tangling into his hair just like you imagined.

Carmy kisses you back with more passion than you expected, hands gripping at your hips to pull you flush against his body. He slips his tongue into your mouth as you happily let him take the lead, humming in contentment.

Eventually, you pull back, gasping for air. Carmy rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"Just wanted to thank you."

"That was a hell of a thanks," he chuckles.

You smile, running your thumb across his cheek.

"You're so fucking hot when you fix stuff for me around the apartment."

"Wait... what?"

"Fuck, Carm. I got so turned on watching you drill that kitchen cabinet last week that I had to take a cold shower."

"That's what does it for you?"

"It's just you. You're good with your hands. It's fucking sexy."

"Yeah?"

He's smirking now, clearly enjoying having his ego inflated. You know you shouldn't, but you continue. You grab one of his hands, running your fingers over the palm.

"I imagine that my hands are yours when I touch myself."

He groans, low and rumbled.

"That's what I think about, Carm. At night, when I can't sleep. Think about the way you'd touch me, the way your hands would feel on my thighs, my tits, wrapped around my throat."

"Fuck."

"I'm surprised you haven't heard me. I try to be quiet, but I'm not very good at it."

Carmen's chest is heaving, eyes dark and watchful. You can see the thoughts forming in his head, filthy and menacing.

"Such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he drawls, running this thumb over your bottom lip carefully. "Maybe we should put it to better use, hmm?"

You whine at his tone, but you're smug on the inside. There he is, you think. The Carmen that you don't get to see very often. The version of him that's domineering, possessive, assertive. You like him like this.

"Wanna see how pretty you look on your knees for me."

You can't say no to that.

You sink down onto the carpet, looking up at him with wide eyes. He looks as if his control is wearing thin. You want it to snap.

"Now what?" you tease.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Play innocent. Not after all that shit you just said."

You smirk, running your fingertips over the tent in his sweatpants. He grabs your wrist, holding it tightly.

"Don't fuckin' tease, honey. You and I both know I'm not patient."

"Something you should definitely work on," you wink, pulling his pants and underwear down his legs.

Your mouth waters as you look at him. He's pretty all over.

"Gonna thank you properly now," you murmur, before taking him in your mouth gently.

Carmy groans, hand flying to the back of your head. He tangles his fingers into your hair, keeping you anchored in front of him. He doesn't force you anywhere, just keeps you still.

"Goddamn, you look pretty with your mouth stuffed full of me," he drawls. "This what you wanted, baby?"

Baby. That's a new one. The nickname goes straight to your core, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache. You nod in response to him, taking him deeper.

"Fuck. So perfect. Fuckin' made for me. Only me."

You nod again, reassuring him you've heard.

"Tell me, baby. Please. Use your words."

You release him with a pop, drool running down your chin and landing on your chest. You take a deep breath, licking your lips.

"I'm yours, Carm. Always have been. I'm yours. This pussy is yours."

You swear you see his knees buckle as he smirks down at you. He looks like the cat that got the cream.

"Gonna fuck you all over the apartment, baby. Every single surface. Doesn't matter if we break something. I'm good with my hands after all."

He winks at you before guiding himself back to your mouth, sinking down to the hilt. You hollow your cheeks and suck, trying not to smile when he practically whimpers. It's a power trip, having a man like Carmy at your mercy.

"Gonna cum down your pretty throat, angel."

You pull away to murmur against his skin.

"Want you to. Please, Carm. Wanna taste you. Wanna swallow it all."

He groans, deep and visceral, as you double down on your efforts, determined to get him to his ending. You dig your nails into his thighs, scratching down the skin as his hand tightens in your hair. The edge of pain is what undoes him, muscles tensing as he spills down your throat.

You catch his eyes, ensuring you have his attention. Swallowing carefully, you stick your tongue out, showing him proof of your promise.

"Good fuckin' girl," he breathes, dropping to his knees to connect your lips, languid and filthy.

Carmy smooths the hair back from your face, placing a tender kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth. Collapsing back against the bed, he pulls you with him, wrapping you in his arms.

"You okay?" he whispers into your ear.

"More than okay. You?"

"I've never been better."

You laugh, and the sound makes him grin, white and beaming.

The two of you sit on the floor for a while, unbothered by the passing of time. You're enjoying being so close, the proximity a welcome change. Eventually, Carmy breaks through the silence.

"So, I've been meaning to mount our TV on the wall... you wanna watch?"

You elbow him in the side, heat creeping up your cheeks as you both laugh.

DIY suddenly doesn't seem all that bad.

@dins-cyarika

[boiohboii]

A broken house

(Charles leclerc x daughter! Reader)

Masterlist

I just saw remembered this heartbreaking scene from an old theatre play (is that what they're called?), like when colors on tv first became a thing old, and I just had to write it down. WARNING: implications of cheating, abandoning children, Charles is not a good guy at all, a daughter confronting her dad, not proofread, just something quick right before bed

Charles never imagined he would ever be in this situation.

When he first held yn in his arms, his precious, precious daughter, his oldest and the apple of his eyes, he vowed to never hurt her, to never see her cry and to never let her expirence heartbreak, so what was he supposed to do when she's standing right in front of him cheeks flushed, fists by her side and angry tears falling out of her eyes.

He was the reason, he was the reason and he never thought he'd be. And to make it all worse, he doesn't feel sorry. He doesn't know where it all went wrong and he doesn't know when he became so cold-hearted towards the sunshine of his life, his pride and joy. But it's too late now, too late to try and talk, too late to try to explain and too late to even get a speck of the love yn held in her eyes for him. He knew it was too late. It was just too late.

"So what," yn refused to accept her father's silence, she needed to hear him say it, admit to his wrongdoings "you're just gonna leave us?"

"You don't understand," Charles tried to reason, his eyes not even meeting his daughter's identical ones "she needs help."

"THAT'S YOUR REASON!" yn's voice boomed through the empty house, thanking anything and everything that her mother and siblings aren't home yet "that's your reason to abandon us! What about mum huh? what about your wife? The woman WHO SACRIFICED HER YOUTH FOR YOU! TO FOLLOW YOU! TO HELP YOU! And what of my siblings, what are they gonna do? What did they do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this?"

Yn looked at her father, slowly walking towards him, she refused to believe that's the same man who showed her what love is, who carried her on her shoulders to hear her laughter, who promised to sheild her from the world's treachery. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, the man who promised to protect her is the one clawing at her heart and watching it bleed, too much of a coward to even lift his eyes from the floor.

"Please," yn's voice broke as she thought of her home tearing apart, her mother and her baby siblings "please take a moment and think about it, about our family, just for five minutes. Please."

"I'm not going to waste my time."

Yn's breath hitched in her throat, her voice gaining power as her disappointment and anger took over, yet still so quite.

"All four of us don't even deserve five minutes of your time. Are you that impatient to leave with her? Don't worry, I won't hold you back, but I swear to you, I swear on everything that you believe in that you will regret it. There will be a day where you will wish for the time to go back for an hour, a minute or even a second, you will wish you'd have thought this through and really kept in mind who actually loved you before you ruined it all. But even if all the years turn back, we will never forgive you, we will never miss you and we will never think of you as the man you once were. We will never love you again."

Yn doesn't know where it all went wrong, she doesn't know how could 20 years of loving someone, your father, all just go down the drain because of one voice call. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do or what's she supposed to tell her mother, her siblings, her grandparents, but she knew one thing; it was too late to try and talk her father out of it, too late to not let this moment tarnish all the good memories they had together, too late to even leave a bit of her love for her father in her heart. It was just too late.

[harryslittlefreakk]

masterlist

* indicates smut

^ indicates angst

you can join my taglist here

my requests are open :) please feel free to tell me anything you’d like to see, no idea is too wild here. 🫶🏼

late night talking (completed)

a chance meeting with harry before his wembley dates leads you into a whirlwind relationship. harry x fan!y/n

favourite crime

a chance meeting between y/n and her professor leads to a dare… which leads to a forbidden affair neither of them will forget

my policeman

harry is the police officer assigned to your case, though you are inexplicably drawn to one another 🤭 age gap romance

dr. styles*

fratboy!harry is a surgical resident in your class, and he helps you to relieve some stress

the pact* part 2*

you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

little angel*

a little drabble of needy y/n and dad!rry goodness, the pact extra but can be read alone

to build a home *^

buzz cut!rry and y/n spend their first new year’s together after splitting up and they look back on happier times. inspired by the song

girl crush *^

harry x bisexual bandmate y/n, based on the song

harry turns 30 *

a filthy smutty blurb about harry’s birthday 🎈💖

after the storm *^

y/n wakes up in her sworn enemies bed, with a city-wide storm keeping her trapped there. in the time that she’s stuck with harry, can they overcome their differences and build a friendship? 🫢🤷

obsessed ^

harry is your roommate, best friend … and crush 💃 he’s finally broken up with his girlfriend and you’re struggling to hide how you feel about him. loosely based on the song!!

arrogant s.o.b ^

based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

too sweet *

essentially porn with little plot… or .. when her boss decides that letting her go is in her best interests, y/n decides to show him exactly what he’s missing out on

just between us *^

when y/n’s life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces.. behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

make me, darling^ make me, darling 2*

harry and y/n’s shared hatred for each other finally reaches its breaking point when they realise how deep their feelings go. based on the prompt ‘do all of us a favour and just leave’

kiss it better

when y/n doesn’t show up to work, harry takes her care into his own hands. ceorry x PA y/n

the one *^

y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

fictober masterlist

[kwanisms]

Otherworldly — l.minho

» stray kids masterlist «

➮ alien!Minho × f!Reader wc: 29.2k (I have absolutely no explanation lol) summary: While watching a meteor shower with her best friend, Y/N witnesses a UFO falling from the sky and crashing on her family's farm. The two rush to the wreckage site and find an alien spacecraft with a rather mysterious survivor. genres/themes/au: smut; supernatural and alien themes, s2l; non idol au, alien au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, Minho is not from Earth so he doesn’t understand a lot of things, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! special taglist: @yoonguurt , @anyamaris , @wooyoungqueen , @kpop-stories-21 , @xsweetelegantdiasterx , @kookthief , @stardragongalaxy , @millennial-fangirl , @blankdyean , @imwithurmother , @bangchans-angel , @oreoqueen , @yjeonginlvr , @zdgx1, @shuxsoo , @s00buwu , @queenmea604 Join the taglist! »» Closes 10/30 @ 23:00 CST! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED.

a/n: uh... yeah. I have no explanation or excuses to give you. I just couldn't stop writing. It happens lmao but I'm totally in love with this Minho. I want this Minho tbh. Thank you so much for reading and if you liked it please reblog or comment! I love reading your feedback! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), unprotected sex (aliens have no concept of contraceptives but you should use protection), tentacles, alien genitalia, double penetration (f receiving), praise, anal (f receiving), Minho is more concerned at first about the anatomy but he goes pretty animalistic in the end. Let me know if I missed anything!

dialogue prompt: ❛ What? Does that feel good? ❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

The worst thing about living in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the isolation. It was the lack of anything to do. You hated living on the outskirts of a small town in the middle of the country but it was all you knew. Growing up, your imagination took over, allowing you to play till your heart's content but as an adult, entertainment was much harder to come by.

You’d grown up on a farm, you’d lived that life and even though it was in your blood, in your roots, you still longed for more. For something bigger and brighter. You dreamed of life in a big city where you lived a busy work life and hung out with friends at clubs in high rise buildings.

Your life was a simple one but you longed for complexity.

The only thing you truly loved about living out here in the middle of nowhere was the endless view of the starry night sky. On a cloudless night, you could see thousands upon thousands of stars littering the endless black of night. It had been your favored view since you were small. Your mother had always shown an interest in the sky and she passed that love onto you, showing you endless books about space, the solar system, and the universe. Books that got more complex the older you got.

You learned everything from the most basics up to the complexity of supernovas and even black holes. Your mother taught you everything she knew, which was more than you could have ever hoped to learn on your own. Your mother had graduated top of her class from a prestigious university. She was from a small town and while back home, visiting family and attending a state fair, she’d met your father and it was love at first sight.

Not long after their wedding, you and your sister had been born. Your parents moved the family to your dad’s old family farm to take over when your grandfather had to be put in a nursing home until his ultimate passing. Your grandmother lived just a little longer but in the end, you knew she died of a broken heart, passing as peacefully as one could.

Your father had grown up on a farm as well and it was in his blood, too. He’d taken to teaching you and your sister everything he knew about farming and animal keeping. Though you didn’t have many animals. A few cows, a couple of pigs, and a handful of chickens. In addition to the farm animals, you had a couple farm dogs, an elderly one who spent most of his days lying on the porch and a younger one who was much too excited to jump into action at the slightest disturbance.

Your barn was also inhabited by a family of barn cats which kept the mice and rats at bay.

Sure, your life was simple and while you didn’t mind it, you still wanted more.

The only person who seemed to really get you was your best friend, Jake.

You met Jake when you were in kindergarten. He had stolen your crayons during coloring time and later at recess, you’d pushed him over on the blacktop earning a timeout but if felt good. From then on, he not only asked to borrow your crayons but he also became your best friend.

You did almost everything with Jake. And you’d gotten into a fair amount of trouble with him, too.

It’s not like he was a troublemaker but when the two of you were put together, you became a pair of troublemakers. Alone you were tame but together you were menaces.

The first time you’d gotten into trouble was when Jake distracted the teacher in biology, allowing you to let the pet frogs escape from their enclosure. Chaos ensued as the class erupted into screams as several students tried to chase the escapees down. Ultimately, it landed you and Jake in detention but you wouldn’t take a single thing back.

When Jake got his first car, he picked you up and the pair of you went on a wild ride which ended with you crashing into Farmer Dan’s field and mowing down a line of his corn. Your best friend took the heat, allowing you to escape and return home without any trouble.

He always had your back and you always had his.

“Did you hear the news?” you asked as you sat on the hood of his jeep, Jake leaning back against the metal with his hands behind his head as he enjoyed the mid autumn sunshine. Jake was always outside, especially in the summer as he worked and helped his dad’s construction business. He had a perpetual tan which he liked to show off with sleeveless tanks.

Now, however, autumn was in full swing and the weather was chillier. He wore a light sweatshirt with the local university’s logo on it. You were both enrolled and the first semester of your last year of college was underway. You had opted to study biology while Jake was going for civil engineering. He initially didn’t want to attend but his father insisted he get a proper education and live a better life.

Your family was supportive of your efforts but your father often mentioned how your degree would come in handy in the family business. You didn’t want that though. You wanted to pursue a degree in zoology after graduating.

You wanted more than a life on a farm.

“What news?” Jake asked, not opening his eyes as he basked, reminding you of the lizards you used to catch as a child. The ones that liked to lay on rocks in the sun and warm up. “The shower,” you replied, picking at the sleeve of your sweater, pulling off the little pilled up threads. Jake opened one eye, looking up with you. “What shower?” he asked, forcing a knowing smile from you.

Jake was about as country as they came. He loved everything about small town living and farm life. He liked to spend summers mudding with his buddies, swimming in the creek, and working hard. The two of you had grown into opposing forces but you always heard people around you saying “you know how opposites attract” and it couldn’t be more true for you and your best friend.

“The meteor shower,” you clarified, dropping your hands into your lap and looking down at him. He opened his eyes, giving you his full attention. “I think Julia said something about it,” he answered before giving you a knowing look. “You want to watch it, don’t you?” he asked.

You nodded excitedly, lips spreading into a smile. Jake sighed dramatically before propping himself up on his elbows. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “I’m in,” he nodded. “But,” he added, pointing at you with his index finger. “I’m bringing the beer.” You rolled your eyes. “Fine,” you answered.

“Tonight, then,” you started. “Come over after dinner,” you said as you slid off the hood of his car. “And we’ll go up to the hill.” You started towards the house as Jake sat up and gave you an exaggerated salute.

“Sir, yes sir!”

The rest of the day passed in a blur as you went about your chores, helping your mother with the laundry, making sure your sister did her homework, and helping cook dinner. Your dad had parked himself in front of the television at just about six, turning on the news and watching the broadcast.

You overheard the news anchors talk about the meteor shower and smiled as your dad called you into the room. “You know about this?” he asked, gesturing towards the tv. You nodded. “Yeah, Jake is coming over later and we’re gonna watch it,” you answered, noticing the way your dad seemed to light up at the mention of your best friend.

Your parents had only had you and your sister and while your dad loved you as much as any parent, you knew he would have loved to have a son. A mini version of him to play ball and rough house with. Instead, he got two girls who nearly beat him up every time he tried to wrestle. Two girls who kicked his ass at baseball and teamed together to take him down when playing football.

You knew your father had no regrets about having two girls and no son but he had that bond with your best friend. Just two guys who could sit around and watch the game even if they were rooting for separate teams. If your dad had his way, he’d jump at the chance to have you marry Jake.

You weren’t interested in him like that however. Jake was your best friend. He was like a brother to you. The thought of marrying him was foreign and you never once entertained the idea. Your parents certainly had, dropping subtle hints at you whenever the subject of marriage or the future came up.

“I like that Jake boy,” your dad said as he settled back into his seat.

“He’s not a boy anymore, dear,” your mother called from the kitchen as you moved back into the room to help her with dinner. “He’s a man now.”

Your dad hummed in agreement as he continued to watch the news, greeting your sister as she walked into the room. “Smells good, mom,” she said as she moved to lean against the kitchen island. You resumed cutting veggies for your mom as she manned the pan.

You lightly slapped your sister’s hand as she tried to grab a piece of one of the veggies you were cutting. “Knife!” you warned her as you resumed cutting. She pouted before you picked up a piece of carrot and held it up, ready to toss in her mouth. “Girls, don’t throw food!” your mother lightly chastised as you tossed the carrot into your sister’s mouth and she raised her arms.

“And it’s good!” she called as your dad changed the channel to the game.

Your mother rolled her eyes, still smiling as she continued to stir the contents of the pan. “Add those in here,” she instructed. You shot your sister a wink as you lifted the cutting board and carefully pushed the veggies into the pan where they started to sizzle and mix with the meat.

As your mother finished cooking, you and your sister set the table and called your dad in. He grumbled and turned off the television and joined you in the dining room as your mother carried the pot in. She set it on the table in the middle, warning your dad it was still hot.

You moved to grab the basket of rolls and butter keeper as your sister filled the glasses with water. Once everything was in the dining room and everyone had a glass of water, you joined your family, sitting across from your sister. Your dad briefly said grace before adding in a cheer for his favorite football team and you started to help serve dinner. As always, a home cooked meal was delicious, especially since it was your mother’s cooking. Everyone always said their mother was the best cook but you truly believed it. Your mother was arguably the best cook in the entire world.

Minho sighed, looking out the thick glass into the infinite nothingness. It had been about a month since he left home and only a day or so since his last space jump. Checking the mapping system, his latest jump put him somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant. Since then, he’s been flying through, passing by Sol X, IX, VIII, VII, VI and Sol V. These were planets he’d learned about as a child.

Seeing them in person was like something out of a dream. He’d seen most of them on a screen or in a hologram but seeing the planets up close was more than he could have ever hoped. He’d learned about the Great Milky Galaxy and all its solar systems and that one in particular, the Sol System, was home to intelligent life.

Never in his life had Minho ever expected to travel this far, especially alone. He stared in awe out the window as he flew through the seemingly nothingness. Except it wasn’t empty.

He’d made it past the plants and past the Sol Asteroid Belt and was closing in on Sol IV when his ship started sounding an alert. “WARNING, WARNING,” the female AI voice said. “ENTERING THE DETECTION SYSTEMS OF SOL III. APPROXIMATE TIME OF DETECTION 3 DECAMINUTES.” Minho groaned as he reached for the switch for the comms system. “Shut up, Stan!” he snapped before switching the communication system off and tried to focus on flying.

Stan was the name of the AI computer that was installed in most space flight craft like the one Minho was currently flying. It stood for Steolla Transmission and Navigation. Starships and fleet crafts had a different AI computer. 

The thing about AI systems is that no matter how many times you turn them off, they can just turn themselves back on. The screen flickered back to life, displaying a sad face. “Why are you so mad at me, Minho?” the voice asked. He sighed heavily and continued to fly, noticing that Sol IV was slowly coming into view.

“I’m just trying to focus on flying, Stan, so if you don’t mind. Please stop talking,” Minho said as he watched the rust red planet come into view. “Okay, Minho,” the computer said before falling silent. As he neared the red planet, Minho started to slow. “Actually, Stan, can you tell me more about Sol IV?”

The computer came to life, the screen displaying a smiley face. “Certainly, Minho! Sol IV, known to locals as Mars, is the fourth planet from Sol, the star at the center of the Sol System. Known for its rust red color, Sol IV is covered in soil rich in finely grained iron three oxide, also called ferric oxide, dust. This inorganic material is what gives Sol IV its red color. It is the second smallest planet in the Sol System and the farthest terrestrial planet from Sol. Sol IV has a thin atmosphere made primarily of carbon dioxide and has two irregularly shaped natural satellites: Phobos and Deimos.”

Minho looked down at the red planet. “Small?” he asked softly. “Indeed,” Stan said. “Mars is approximately one eighth the size of Ninsa,” Stan replied. Minho said nothing but started to accelerate, passing the red planet and heading towards Sol. Despite the fact that Sol IV was smaller than his home planet, from his position, it looked huge.

“Entering Sol III space,” Stan said as Minho neared a round dark rock. “This is Sol III?” he asked, sounding disappointed. Stan spoke up. “Oh, goodness no. This is Luna, also known as the Moon. It is the natural satellite of Sol III.” Minho slowed, turning and dipping the steering, maneuvering around the moon.

As he did so, his eyes widened, the bright blue and green of Sol III coming into view. His lips parted in a silent gasp. “Is… this Sol III?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he stopped accelerating, slowing the ship and leaning forward, resting his arms on the top of his steering column.

“Correct,” answered Stan. “This is Sol III, also known as Earth, Terra, Tellum, and Gaia.” Minho let out a breath. “It’s pretty,” he noted. “Indeed. The blue you see is the ocean which covers seventy point eight percent of the surface of the planet. The remaining twenty-nine point two percent of Sol III’s surface is land, most of which is located in the form of continental landmasses. Most of the land is somewhat humid and covered by vegetation while large sheets of ice at the polar deserts retain more water than all of Sol III’s groundwater, lakes, rivers, atmospheric water combined.”

Minho listened intently as Stan went on, describing the planet in detail.

“Sol III’s land is part of the planet’s crust, consisting of several slowly moving tectonic plates, which interact to produce mountain ranges, volcanoes, and earthquakes, much like Ninsa. Sol III has a liquid outer core that generates a magnetosphere capable of deflecting most of the destructive solar winds produced by Sol and also protecting the inhabitants from cosmic radiation.”

“So it’s not much different than Ninsa,” Minho said, a smile forming. “Correct,” Stan replied. “Though Sol III is much smaller than Ninsa. It is twice the size of Sol IV.” Minho chuckled, looking down at the planet. “Tell me more,” he ordered.

“Certainly, Minho.”

Through the computer, Minho learned about the atmosphere of Sol III and how it sustains life, protects the planet from meteoroids and UV-light. “The composition is primarily nitrogen and oxygen,” Stan explained as Minho stared at the orb floating in vast nothingness.

“And what about the inhabitants?”

While you ate, your mother asked your father if he’d finished packing and he nodded silently. “Honey,” your mother said in a knowing tone. Your father smiled sheepishly before shrugging. “I’ll do it after dinner,” he replied. You took a sip of water and smirked at your little sister.

“How long will you be gone this time?” your sister asked. “A week,” your mother answered. “Just like last time?” you asked, looking up from your plate as your mother nodded, taking a bite of her food. She swallowed before replying. “Yes, so you’ll be on your own for a week.”

You looked from your mother to your father. “You mean we, right?” you asked, nodding towards your sister. Your mother shook her head. “Your sister is going on a camping trip with her friends,” she answered. You glanced at your sister who smiled back. ‘Camping trip my ass.’

“So don’t burn the house down,” your dad joked. You chuckled and shook your head. “I might not be inside much,” you reminded him. “School and all that,” you added. “Don’t you have a week off?” your sister asked curiously. You glared at her.

“Why do you have a week off?” your mother asked, turning to look at you. “Some kind of professor planning thing,” you answered, lifting your glass to your lips. “It’s not a big deal.” You took a couple gulps of water before speaking again. “I’ll probably spend a lot of time with Jake or something,” you added.

After dinner, your sister and you helped clean up, washing the dishes and setting them aside to dry. “Why did you have to rat me out like that?” you whispered as you worked side by side. Your sister shrugged. “I thought you told them.” Shaking your head you handed your sister a soapy plate.

“I don’t tell them everything, you know,” you said softly to which your sister scoffed. “I don’t!” you insisted. Your sister rolled her eyes. “You so tell them everything,” she replied as you pulled the plug and allowed the soapy dishwater to drain before starting to spray the sink down.

You glanced over your shoulder where your dad was watching the game and turned back to your sister.

“I never told them that I lost my virginity,” you whispered before leaning back as your sister looked up at you shocked. You smirked at her and turned to walk away, leaving her to finish her side of the sink. You walked down the hall to your parents’ bedroom where your mother was packing for their trip.

“Shouldn’t dad be doing that?” you asked, causing her to look up. She smiled at you as she continued to pack your father’s clothes away for him. “I love your father,” she started as she placed neatly folded shirts in the suitcase. “But he’s terrible at packing.”

You chuckled as you moved to the bed to help her. Your mother smiled up at you as you folded shirts and handed them to her to pack away. As you worked quietly, you couldn’t help but admire how much your parents loved one another. Not everyone was lucky enough to meet someone and marry them, let alone be with them for a long time.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door followed by your dad calling your name.

Your mother smiled and took the shirt in your hands. “Go,” she said gently. “Have fun.”

You shot her a grin before heading out of the room and down the hall to the foyer where your best friend was standing, talking to your dad. “You ready?” Jake asked, perking up when he saw you. You nodded. “Let me just grab a hoodie from my room.”

You climbed the stairs quickly, darting into your room and grabbing your university hoodie. As you passed your sister’s room, you leaned into the door frame. She was lying on her bed on her stomach, playing with her phone as you watched her. “Have a good time,” you said, causing her to look up suddenly. “Be safe,” you added. “And don't do anything dumb.”

Your sister rolled her eyes but smiled at you. “You too,” she said. “Don’t do anything dumb with your boyfriend,” she said mockingly. You picked up a pillow from the chair by the door and threw it at her. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you retorted. “He’s my best friend.”

You called a final goodbye to your sister before dashing down the stairs where Jake was waiting. You called a goodbye to your dad who got up and walked over, pulling you into a hug. “Have fun, be safe,” he said before letting you go.

Outside, the sun had almost fully set. You climbed into the jeep as Jake got in and started the engine. The drive to the hill didn’t take long and soon, Jake was pulling to a stop and parking the vehicle. You quickly got out, pulling on your hoodie and climbing onto the hood of his jeep as he came around the drivers side with a cooler which he set on the ground.

“You want one?” he asked as he opened the cooler and grabbed a can. You shook your head and he shrugged as he climbed up. “Suit yourself,” he said softly as he opened the can and took a sip. He leaned back against the windshield and looked up at the sky.

“When’s it supposed to start?” he asked. You grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes,” you answered, turning your attention back towards the sky. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, staring at the starry sky as the lights twinkled down at you from millions of miles away. Your thoughts were swirling in your head.

You were turning the words over in your mouth until you finally spoke.

“I’m leaving Derrey.” Your voice was so soft you weren’t sure Jake had heard you but when he sat up quickly, you knew he had indeed heard you.

“You’re leaving?” he asked softly. You nodded, turning your head to meet his gaze. Even in the low light of the setting sun, you could see the shock, confusion, and hurt cross his face. “Why?” he asked softly. “I’ve gotten early acceptance at the university in the city,” you answered, glancing down at his knee sticking out of a tear in his jeans.

“That’s… amazing,” he said, sounding suddenly excited. You looked back up. The negative emotions on his face were replaced with a smile. “What are you going to be studying?” Relief flooded your senses. You’d expected him to be upset with you for leaving him behind. You’d expected him to be mad.

“Zoology,” you finally answered. “I want to help animals,” you added. Jake smiled at you, one of his hands moved to cup your cheek. “You’re going to do big things, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’re going to be amazing.” You smiled, your cheeks growing warm.

In the corner of your vision, you saw something streak across the sky and turned quickly to see a meteor burn out. “It’s starting!” you said excitedly, sitting up straight and watching the sky, not noticing the way Jake’s smile fell before he also looked up at the sky.

“So Terrans have existed for approximately six million years?” Minho asked, looking from the planet to the computer. “Correct,” Stan answered. “And how long have Ninsans existed?” Minho asked as he started to slowly take the ship out of its suspended state.

“The first Ninsans appeared approximately 5 million years ago. They are directly descended from ancient humans, cross bred with Gorians to produce a genetically modified species and then selectively bred to create a pure strain,” Minho reached for the comms switch, flipping it so it cut off Stan mid speech.

“Save me the history lesson, Stan,” he said as he took hold of the controls, scoffing as the AI switched back on. “Sorry, Minho. It’s in my programming.” Minho shook his head as he started to fly around the moon, keeping Sol III in his line of sight. “We should not get closer,” Stan warned as Minho flew in.

“Shut up, Stan,” Minho argued. “Sol III has planetary defense systems in place. If we are detected, they could fire on us,” Stan continued. Minho rolled his eyes. “We’ll be out of here before they can detect us,” he said softly. “We will be spotted by the International Space Station.”

Minho slowed the craft. “The what?” he asked, looking at the computer screen as a rendering of some sort of spacecraft appeared. “The International Space Station is the largest modular space station in low Sol III orbit. The ongoing project involves five space agencies: the United States’ NASA, Russia’s Roscosmos, Japan’s JAXA, Europe’s ESA, and Canada’s CSA,” Stan explained.

“The ownership and use of the space station is established by intergovernmental treaties and agreements. The station serves as a microgravity and space environment research laboratory in which scientific research is conducted in astrobiology, astronomy, meteorology, physics, and other fields. The ISS is suited for testing the spacecraft systems and equipment required for possible future long-duration missions to the moon and Sol IV.”

Minho glanced at the blue planet and back at the screen. “You’re telling me, the inhabitants of Sol III haven’t been to Sol IV?” he asked incredulously. “Affirmative,” Stan answered. “Humanity has not yet developed the necessary technology for interplanetary travel. Humans have only visited their only satellite. They have had successful fly by missions past the other planets in their system and have sent multiple rover expeditions to Sol IV. The first manned mission to Sol IV is projected to happen within the next decade.”

Minho shook his head, a smug smile appearing on his face. “How is it, Ninsans have been around for less time but are more advanced?” he asked softly, not really expecting an answer. Stan, of course, had an answer for everything.

“Ninsans have been aided in their technology by Gorians. Humans have developed their technology on their own,” the computer replied. “You have been fortunate enough to be born in a world where deep space exploration is possible. Humanity did not have that help.”

The smirk on Minho’s face dropped slowly. He sat back in his seat, pursing his lips. “Fine,” he said flatly before reaching for the controls. Just as the tips of his fingers touched the wheel, the lights in the cabin went red, a warning sound emitting from the speakers.

“WARNING!” Stan’s voice said suddenly. “You are entering a field of meteors.” Minho grabbed the steering wheel and looked out the starboard side window. “What?” he hissed, seeing a cluster of comets hurtling towards the planet. “We haven’t even moved!” he exclaimed.

“Turn around and go around the planet to avoid collision and detection.”

“Shut up, Stan!” Minho said, flipping the comms switch. “I’m not going back. That’ll take longer. I’ll just go through,” he added as he adjusted his straps. The computer flickered back on. “The odds of surviving a run through a meteoroid field are—” Minho flipped the switch and sighed. “Don’t tell me the odds,” he grumbled as the computer switched back on.

“Minho, you must turn back now. This is the largest meteor storm in Sol III’s history. If you fly into it, you will get hit!”

Minho cursed, hand moving to fiddle with the controls. “I thought I told you to shut up, Stan,” he snapped as he tried to turn off the AI again. At the same moment, he took his hand off the control, a meteor whizzed past his shield and he cursed, moving his hand back on the control and continued to fly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he yelled as he started to navigate the field, avoiding the meteors plummeting to the planet below. Another meteor zoomed by, disturbing his flight pattern and causing the ship to shake violently. “Shit!” he cursed again, diving below to try and avoid another meteor.

“WARNING. WARNING. COLLISION IMMINENT. TAKE DEFENSIVE MANEUVER TO AVOID COLLISION!” 

Minho swore. “SHUT UP, YOU STUPID COMPUTER!” he yelled, trying to dodge the space rock. He managed to fly around it but suddenly the entire ship rocked as no doubt another meteor hit on the right side of the ship. Electricity crackled, the screens distorting for a moment from a small surge in power.

“WARNING. WARNING. FLIGHT PATH COMPROMISED. LOSING ALTITUDE.”

Minho grabbed the controls again and flicked a couple switches, trying to adjust his orientation. One of the screens flickered red with words that made his stomach sink. “THRUSTERS FAILED TO ENGAGE.”

Alarms started blaring as another screen went red. “MULTIPLE SYSTEMS FAILURE,” Stan read aloud. “Shit,” Minho hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He quickly started to fiddle with the controls, hoping if he redirected power, he might fly out of this mess.

“WARNING. ORBIT TOO STRONG. UNABLE TO PULL AWAY FROM SOL III. ABANDON SHIP. ABANDON SHIP!” Minho growled, hitting the top of the console. “Shut UP, Stan!!”

He pulled back on the wheel, hoping to point the nose of the craft up and while he was able to, the ship was now careening out of control, plummeting towards the blue planet. “Stan!” Minho called, looking at the computer screen that flashed red and a sad face appeared. “Yes, Minho?” Stan said, voice breaking as the ship started to enter the atmosphere.

“What do I do, Stan?”

The computer was silent for a moment before answering. “Raise the sun shade,” the computer finally answered. Minho flipped the switch, watching as the metallic screen raised, covering his view. “Okay,” Minho said.  “Now what?” Stan was silent for a moment.

“Take hold of the steering apparatus,” the AI instructed. Minho did so, grabbing it firmly. “Okay! Now what?” he asked. Stan was silent for a beat longer than last time. “Scream and hold on, Minho,” it finally replied.

“There’s nothing else you can do.”

“Which one is that one again?” Jake asked, pointing towards a star. You turned your gaze to see which one he was pointing at. “The bright orange one?” you asked. He nodded. “Yeah, that one,” he confirmed. “Uhhh, that looks like… Betelgeuse,” you replied.

Jake looked from the sky to you. “Beetlejuice? Like the movie?” You laughed, shaking your head.

“No,” you answered. “Betelgeuse. B-E-T-E-L-G-E-U-S-E,” you spelled it out for him. “It’s a mispronunciation of the original Arabic name. There was an error in a 13th-century reading of the Arabic initial ya as ba. So as a result, the European name is Betelgeuse,” you explained. “It’s part of the Orion constellation.” Jake turned his attention back on the star. 

“And what about that one?” he asked, pointing at another bright star. You squinted, looking at the star in question. “Oh, that’s Aldebaran!” you said excitedly. “Oldie what?” Jake asked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at him. “Aldebaran,” you repeated. “It’s also derived from Arabic,” you explained.

“It’s a red giant, so it’s a lot cooler than our star but it’s forty-four times larger than the Sun.”

Jake’s eyes widened comically. “Wow, that’s big,” he said, nodding. “What’s the name again?”

“Aldebaran. In Arabic, it’s al Dabaran. It means ‘the follower’ because it seems to follow Pleiades,” you explained, pointing to a cluster of lights near Aldebaran. “And what constellation is it part of?” Jake asked. “Taurus,” you replied quickly. You’d been waiting for him to ask that.

Jake smiled, turning his head to look at you. “Which constellation is your favorite?” You thought for a moment. What was your favorite constellation? There was always draco, a favorite of your mother’s. But then there was Ursa Major. Scorpius was another really neat one.

As you thought of your choices, one stood out to you. You turned to look at your best friend.

“Vulpecula,” you answered. His brow furrowed as a look of confusion washed over his face.

“What?” he asked, making you laugh out loud again. “Vulpecula,” you repeated. “It’s a fox.”

Jake sat up straighter, looking up at the sky. “Where is it?” he asked. You shook your head. “It’s not visible from here this time of the year,” you explained. “Oh,” Jake responded, slumping down. “The meteors are picking back up!” you exclaimed excitedly, pointing up at the sky.

Sure enough, more fiery streaks were darting across the sky, some of them lasting longer than the others. “Uh,” Jake said suddenly, looking around. “Are we safe here?” he asked, looking at you. “Of course,” you answered with a nod. “Most meteors will burn up in the atmosphere. Very few ever get past the mesosphere,” you added, giving him a reassuring smile.

You watched as more flashes streaked across the sky. As you were watching, you noticed something… different. It was like two meteors had collided. “Whoa, did you see that?” Jake asked, sitting up quickly. You looked over at him before back at the sky. You had seen it. You just weren’t sure what you had seen.

“What was that? Did two meteors hit each other?”

You shook your head slowly, watching the sky for any other sign. “I-I don’t know,” you stammered.

To your surprise, there was another flash in the sky. Like another collision. ‘What is that?’

Before you could voice your thoughts, you watched in a mixture of shock and disbelief as something fell from the sky, heading in the direction of your farm. “Y/N,” Jake said, his voice unsteady as he slowly scooted towards the edge of the hood of the jeep.

“What is that?”

You watched as the object flew in an unsteady and jerky pattern as it descended, a trail of fire behind it as it entered the stratosphere. “Y/N,” Jake said, a little louder. “What is that?!”

You couldn’t find your voice as the object continued to fall from the sky, sailing over the hill where you sat and headed for the woods. It was large, dark, and rounded. Not unlike a meteor but it looked almost… smooth.

You and Jake watched as it crashed into the trees, breaking a path into the woods where it eventually hit the ground with a resounding boom and the ground shook slightly. You turned to look at Jake who turned to look at you.

“What the f—”

You cut your best friend off by jumping off the jeep. “DID YOU SEE THAT?” you exclaimed, pointing in the direction of the woods. “Y/N,” Jake said as you ran to the end of the hill where it started to slope down. “Y/N, where are you going?”

You turned back to see Jake still seated on the hood of his jeep. “Are you coming or not?” you called. Jake shook his head, sighing as he slipped off the hood and moved around to the driver’s side, picking up his cooler and placing it back in the backseat.

“Come on,” he called back, opening his door and climbing in.

You scrambled up the hill to his jeep, yanking open the door and climbing in as he started the car and turned the headlights on. “Why couldn’t we just have a nice quiet night?” Jake whispered as he put the car in gear and started to drive down the hill and back towards the dirt road that led to your property.

The ride back took no time and as soon as Jake pulled onto your drive, you directed him to the edge of the woods, undoing your seatbelt as he put the jeep in park and cut the engine. “Y/N, wait for me!” he called as you jumped out of the vehicle, shutting the door and hurrying for the edge of the woods, Jake following reluctantly behind you.

Navigating the woods proved to be harder than you expected even with your phone’s flashlight. Jake had thankfully grabbed the flashlight from his glovebox and was leading the way in, helping you traverse over fallen logs and ditches. You passed a small portion of the creek and hurried up the embankment until you stood at the top, holding a tree for support. In the distance you could see sparks of electricity and broken branches. “It’s here!” you called as Jake started to climb up the embankment and join you.

He shined the light in the direction of the craft and whined as you started down the hill, using the thin trees to break any falls until you were on even ground and closer than ever to the object you’d both witnessed fall out of the sky.

“Y/N! Wait!” Jake called as he hurried down the hill after you.

You didn’t listen, instead pushing on, scrambling over a fallen log until you were within spitting distance of the strange craft. “Holy shit,” you heard your best friend gasp as he reached level ground and shined his light on the craft. You turned to look at him, a wide smile on your face.

“Can you imagine if we discovered the first known aliens to visit earth?” you asked, sounding much too excited for your best friend’s liking. “Stop,” he said sternly. “It’s probably some military craft. Don’t touch it!” he yelled, waving the flashlight in your direction.

You ignored him as the beam danced around, reaching up a hand and hovering it over the wall of the craft. Deciding to take the plunge you pressed your palm against it and… nothing.

You expected it to be hot but it was cool to the touch. And the material was smooth, metallic but still somehow soft. Not malleable like clay but still soft like silk almost. You kept your hand on the craft as you walked around to the front or what you assumed to be the front. There was no break, no windows, and no door. Whatever this was, there was no way into it that you could see.

“Y/N please come back,” Jake called from the opposite side of the ship.

You started to walk back around, catching sight of him in the low red light emitting from what you determined to be the rockets of the ship. He seemingly looked relieved upon seeing you. “You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he called, dropping from his perch on a log.

“Come on,” Jake added. “The cops and military are probably about to be all over this place in a matter of hours. Let’s get out of here.”

You glanced at him as he neared your spot. “Since when have you been scared of cops?” you asked challengingly. Jake scoffed as he stopped, leaning against the side of the ship. “Never said I was scared,” he said. “I just don’t want to get involved with the military.”

You rolled your eyes but before you could answer, a loud hissing interrupted you followed by a loud mechanical whirring and to Jake’s horror and your delight, a door started to open, materializing in the smooth surface of the ship’s exterior wall.

“Y/N!” Jake hissed as you leaned down, waving your hand to try and clear the smoke that billowed from the open orifice. “Don’t get too close!” Jake added, taking a couple steps as you tried to peer into the open door. You glanced back at Jake who looked back at you, shrugging. “Maybe it’s a drone?”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the door only to fall back, a scream emitting from you as a dark figure stumbled from the doorway. Jake fell back, tripping over a log as he tried to scramble away from the mysterious figure.

You watched in shock as the figure stood up and started to walk away from the craft, heading towards the back and looking around. You watched as the figure looked up at the sky and balled up its fists before letting out a slew of colorful curses in English.

You turned your head to look at Jake who looked to meet your gaze. The look of shock on his face must have matched the one on yours. Your eyes went back to the figure as he turned back to the craft and started to inspect the damage, muttering to itself. As it stepped closer, you noticed in the dim light emitting from inside the ship that the figure, or should you say he, looked somewhat human.

You heard the snapping of twigs as Jake got up and hurried over to your side. “Come on,” he whispered, gently grabbing your arm. You watched as the pilot of the ship raised his arm and started tapping on something at his wrist. When it didn’t respond, he let out another growl of frustration and kicked the wall of his ship.

It was at this moment, he seemed to notice the two of you.

He stumbled forward and Jake tried to pull you back but couldn’t and fell behind you. “Where am I?”

You stared up at the man, eyes wide. ‘Did he just… ask me a question?’

When you didn’t answer, he turned his attention to Jake. “Where am I?” he asked louder and more demandingly. “I-Iowa,” Jake stammered. The man took a deep breath and let it out. “What’s Iowa?” he asked. You glanced over your shoulder, meeting Jake’s gaze. He looked just as confused and scared as you felt. “What is Iowa?” the man asked again, albeit a lot louder.

You turned back to look up at the man towering over you.

Before you could answer, you noticed his body seize up and he started convulsing before dropping to his knees and falling to his side where he lay motionless. You froze, staring in shock at the body. You peered back at Jake before pushing yourself up onto your feet, squatting as you moved forward. “Stop!” Jake hissed but you ignored him.

You stopped just short of the man and hesitantly pushed his boot. His foot as well as his leg jostled but he didn’t move. You tried again but it yielded the same result.

“Is he dead?” Jake’s voice asked from behind you. You crawled closer, hovering over the man. You moved slowly, bringing a hand to his neck and pressing two fingers against his neck just under his jaw. It was faint but you could feel a pulse. You moved the same hand towards his face, holding your finger under his nose where you could feel a steady breath.

You sat back and sighed. “He’s alive,” you answered. “Just unconscious.”

“What do we do?” you asked, turning to look at your best friend as he walked over. “What do you mean? Just leave him here. I told you, the cops and military will be here soon. Let’s just go, Y/N, please.”

You turned your head back to look at the man. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, an idea popped into your head. “Let’s take him with us.”

Jake stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Take him with us? Are you nuts?!”

You looked up at him. “We can’t just leave him here!” Jake nodded his head before reaching down to grab you by the wrist and pull you up. “Yes,” he said, starting to drag you away. “We can!”

You pulled free from his grip. “I’m not leaving him,” you retorted, standing your ground.

Jake scoffed incredulously. “Where are you going to put him?” he asked.

“My parents and sister are leaving in the morning,” you replied. “They’ll be gone for a week.”

Jake shook his head, looking around the area. “I can not believe I’m hearing this,” he said, laughing nervously. “I can’t believe this.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Please, Jake,” you asked, forcing him to stop and look up at you. “For me, please?”

Jake sighed into a groan before throwing his hands up. “Fine,” he said. “But this is your mess. If the military comes bursting into your house, I’m not involved.”

You jumped up and down excitedly, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you said excitedly. Jake tried to keep a smile from forming. “Don’t thank me just yet,” he said as you both moved to the man.

Moving an unconscious body proved to be much more difficult than you thought and you were sure it had taken you and Jake hours to just get the body of the man out of the woods. In reality it had taken about thirty minutes. Once you’d put him in the back with the cooler, Jake drove around the house to the front door, parking as close to the porch as possible.

He got out and walked to the back as you ran up the steps and unlocked the door, opening and peering inside. The television was still on but your dad was passed out in his recliner. You pocketed your key and made your way back down the stairs to meet Jake.

“Dad’s in his recliner but he’s passed out,” Jake stared at you as you started to try and pull the man out by his boots. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said softly. Maybe we should put him in the barn?”

You looked up at Jake and shook your head. “No,” you protested. “What if he wakes up and is scared and confused?” Jake stared at you incredulously. “This is an alien we’re talking about, Y/N.”

You shrugged. “So?” you asked. “He speaks English and displays intelligent behavior,” you replied. Jake gave you a deadpan stare. “Kicking his ship when his fitbit doesn’t work strikes you as intelligent behavior?” You rolled your eyes. “Whatever,” you retorted. “Just help me!”

Jake shut up and helped you pull the man out of the back of his jeep, taking his arms and head as you took his feet and started up the steps, trying to take it one step at a time while also trying to keep a firm grip on the man’s feet.

You managed to pull open the screen door but carrying the man over the threshold proved to be a chore. The screen door swung shut, slamming in its frame and causing both you and Jake to freeze and turn your heads to look into the living room.

Your father shifted in his recliner but continued to snore softly and you could have sighed a breath of relief only you couldn’t breathe properly. Carrying the man up the staircase was worse than carrying him out of the woods and by the time you reached your bedroom and deposited him on the bed, you were convinced you’d never have to hit the gym ever again.

“You’ve really lost it, you know?” Jake asked as he shut your bedroom door.

You waved him off, falling back onto your bed. “Just think of it,” you panted. “As a week’s worth of workouts,” you continued. “You’ll thank me later.” Jake rolled his eyes as you sat up. “You need anything else from me, you weirdo?” he asked. You shook your head. “No,” you replied.

Jake nodded. “Good. I’m out of here,” he said, turning and heading for the door.

You stopped him. “Can you bring me some of your brother’s clothes tomorrow morning?” you asked, holding your hands together. “Please? I don’t have anything that would fit him properly,” you added. Jake sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he answered. “I’ll bring something. Text me when your family leaves.”

You thanked him, pulling him into another hug and following him down the stairs to see him out.

“I’m serious though,” he added as he crossed the threshold.

“If the military comes looking for him or that craft,” he started. “I’m not involved. Make sure he’s okay and then send him on his way. You don’t want to get mixed up in this and I don’t want to see you get in trouble.” You smiled as he took your hand gently in his.

“I’ll be okay,” you replied. “Text me when you get home.”

Jake nodded, dropping your hand and heading down the steps to close the back of the jeep.

“I will! Try and get some sleep.”

You waved as he got into his car and started it, back up and waving at you once more before he pulled away.

You shut both doors, locking them and heading back upstairs, entering your room and locking it.

The man took up your whole bed so you’d have to sleep on the floor for the night. You pulled off your boots and grabbed a blanket and one of your pillows, throwing them both down before lying down and covering up with your blanket.

Sleep must have taken you quickly because you woke with a start, a dull light starting to filter into your room. You sat up quickly and saw the man was still passed out on your bed. You got up and rushed to your closet, pulling off your hoodie and changing quickly.

You could hear your sister in her room moving about. You didn’t mean to sleep this long but there was no going back. You pulled on a clean pair of sweats, pulling your shirt off and tossing it into the hamper before grabbing a clean shirt and pulling it on.

You moved into your bathroom, standing by the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing some cool water on your face before drying it and turning the water off.

Back in your room, you pushed your mud covered boots further into your closet and unlocked the door before opening it carefully and peeking out. You stepped out, shutting your door behind you and walked down the hall. At the top of the stairs you saw your parents luggage as well as your sister’s camping gear sitting by the door. You hurried down the steps and into the kitchen where your mother was preparing two travel mugs of coffee. Your sister was sitting at the kitchen island, checking her phone as she waited for her friends to come pick her up.

“Didn’t hear you come in last night,” your dad said from the dining table, reading something on his phone. “Got in kind of late,” you answered. “How was the shower?” your mother asked, looking up at you.

You turned your head towards her before remembering to speak.

“Oh! It was really cool. Apparently it was the largest in recorded history,” you said as you moved to stand beside your sister. “Really?” your mother asked as she screwed lids on the mugs. “I’m sorry I missed it,” she said softly. You forced a smile as she set the cups on the counter.

A sudden horn outside announced the arrival of your sister’s friends. “That’s Clara,” she said, getting up from her seat and slipping her phone in her vest pocket. Your mother moved around the counter to hug her. “Have a good time,” she said before letting go and it was your father’s turn to hug her.

“Behave yourself,” he said, giving her a smile. Your sister turned to you and held up her fist for you to bump. “See you later, Star Nerd,” she said with a smile. “Later sea squirt,” you replied as she moved to the door and opened it. Her friend, Clara, had sent her brother Luke to help your sister with her bags and gear. She gave one final wave before heading out the door.

“And then there were three,” your father said.

Your mother handed him one of the mugs. “We better get going too,” she announced. You tucked your hands in your pockets and watched as they headed for the door, following behind. Your father grabbed the bags and took them out to the car as you followed your mother out onto the porch.

It was a typical crisp fall morning, a thin layer of frost on the grass and breath hanging in the air.

“There’s some food in the fridge,” your mom said as your dad loaded the car. “But I’ve also left some money for delivery. Don’t throw any college parties,” she pleaded. You smiled as you pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry mom. We don’t have a pool. No one is coming here for parties,” you joked.

“Come on, hon!” your father called. “We gotta go!”

Your mom gave you one final hug before hurrying down the steps and to the car. Your father waved to you as he opened the driver’s door and you waved back, watching as they got in and settled. The car backed up and you watched as they drove off and down the drive before turning onto the main road and disappearing from view.

“And then there were two,” you whispered to yourself as soon as the tail lights disappeared from view.

Once they were gone, you darted back inside, locking the doors and moving to unlock the back door before rushing upstairs to your room and opening the door. The man was still unconscious and you entered the room, closing the door behind you and moving to sit at your desk, turning the chair so you could keep an eye on the man.

You grabbed your phone from your desk where you left it and started typing a message to your best friend, hoping he was awake. He answered rather quickly, letting you know he was on his way.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the chill in the room. You decided to play on your phone, glancing up occasionally at the man sleeping in your bed. 

You kept calling him the man but you knew that wasn't entirely true. 

He was an alien. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed as you solved what felt like the hundredth sudoku puzzle when you heard the back door open and close. You stopped, listening as footsteps came up the steps, drawing closer and closer until there was a soft knock at your door. 

You watched as it slowly opened and the face of your best friend appeared. “Is he awake?” he asked softly. You shook your head,  turning your attention briefly to the alien before looking back at Jake. He opened the door fully, stepping in and handing you a cloth tote. Inside were some of his older brother's clothes. 

Sighing, you looked up and thanked him. He nodded, not taking his eyes off the alien.

“Now that I see him in the light,” he started. “He just looks like just some guy,” he continued. “Almost like he could go to our university.” You nodded wordlessly, looking at the alien.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He definitely doesn’t look like an alien.”

You felt Jake tap your shoulder, making you glance up at him. “What?” you asked when you saw his expression. “Don’t,” Jake said in a low tone. You shrugged your shoulders as if to ask him ‘what’ but he went on. “Don’t pretend like he isn’t from here. He came out of a spaceship that looks way beyond our technologies,” he started to explain.

“He didn’t even know what Iowa was!”

You gave your best friend a skeptical expression. “Hardly anyone knows what Iowa is.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “And besides, I thought you said it was military,” you added.

Jake shook his head. “Military would know Iowa,” he answered, only for you to shake your head this time. “What if he's from another country’s military?” Jake scoffed at this. “No other country has the advanced technology we have,” Jake retorted. This time you squinted at him.

“Then why does all our technology come from Asia?” you asked, raising a brow at him. You turned back to look at the man briefly and then back at Jake. “He looks pretty Asian to me.”

Jake opened his mouth to retort but only gasped, nudging you quickly as he stared at your bed.

You turned just in time to see the man’s eyes snap open and he sat up quickly. He caught sight of you and Jake and screamed. You fell off your chair, Jake falling into the closed door, caught off guard by the sudden noise. “What the fuck!” Jake cursed.

“Where the hell am I?” the man yelled, trying to scramble away, only to fall onto the other side of bed. Jake grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. The man’s head appeared at the foot of your bed, peeking over the top of the mattress.

“You’re in my room,” you replied softly, taking a tentative step forward, shaking off Jake as he tried to grab your arm. “Why?” the man asked, watching as you approached slowly, only the bed separating you. You glanced back at Jake who shook his head quickly. “Leave me out of this.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes before turning back to the man who turned his attention from your best friend to you, giving you a wary look as you reached the bed and sat down slowly, keeping your eyes on him. “Well,” you started, not sure how to explain it.

Deciding the easiest way was the truth, you went for it. “You kind of passed out.”

The man stared at you, his eyes briefly flickering over to Jake who nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, it was weird,” Jake answered. “You got real still and then fell down.”

The man looked back at you, watching as you nodded. “Yeah, you seized up, your eyes rolled back, and then you fell to your knees and then onto your side.”

The man lowered his gaze to your floral sheets before looking back up to meet your gaze. In the daylight, you could see just how different his eyes were than yours. A range of hues, almost like a rainbow but they were milky, almost as if he might be partially blind.

If that was the case, there’s no way he would have been driving— flying that spacecraft… right?

“How did I get here?” he asked, seemingly accepting your answer.

“We brought you here,” you answered, gesturing to yourself and then to Jake.

“Yeah,” Jake added. “Carried you out of the woods and put you in the back of my Jeep.”

The man sat up a little straighter, tilting his head slightly.

“What’s a Jeep?”

You fought the urge to snicker but held it back. “It’s a car,” you explained. The man turned his gaze upon you this time. “A car?” he asked, seemingly confused. You nodded. “It’s like a land vehicle? It has wheels and you drive it with a steering wheel,” you said, doing the motions of holding and turning a steering wheel. The man watched in fascination before speaking again.

“Show me.”

You picked up your phone and the man sunk down until only his eyes were visible as you googled a picture of a Jeep Wrangler. You turned the device around and showed him. The man sat back up and leaned in to look at the image.

“Jeep,” he said again. You nodded with a smile. “That’s right,” you said. “Jeep.”

“Jeeeeeeeep,” he said, elongating the double E sound, making you giggle.

“And what’s this?” he asked, pointing at your phone. “Oh, it’s just a cell phone,” you answered. “It’s like a communication device.” The man lifted his hand and pulled back his sleeve, showing you the watch around his wrist. “Is that your communication device?” you asked.

He held his arm out towards you. You hesitantly took his hand in yours and inspected the device.

It looked a lot like a smart watch. It had a massive crack in the screen and you figured it must have been damaged in the crash. “Is it broken?” you asked as he took his hand back and inspected where his palm had made contact with your skin before looking up at you with those same colorful piercing eyes.

You noticed how the color seemed to surge in a ring-like pattern from time to time. ‘Perhaps in time with his heartbeat?’ you wondered. He nodded finally, glancing at his watch. “It’s damaged. Must have happened when I crashed my-” his eyes suddenly went wide and he gasped.

“My ship!” he yelled, looking up at you. “Where’s my ship?!”

You held up a hand to calm him. “It’s okay! It’s nearby in the woods on my property.”

“I need to see it,” he said, scrambling to his feet but suddenly he doubled over, groaning. You climbed across the bed and stood up next to him. “Whoa, slow down there,” you said as you took his arm gently and guided him to sit back down as he kept a hand on his side just above his hip.

You turned to Jake and pointed at the tote he’d brought. “Bring me that, please,” you said.

Jake bent down, grabbing the handles and brought it to the bed where he handed it to you before taking a few steps back, keeping his eyes on the man.

You started to sift through the bag, pulling out a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray shirt.

You set them aside and turned to the man. “I need to take a look at your stomach,” you said, making him glance up. “What?” he asked. You nodded to where his hand was clamped over his side. “I need to look. You could be really hurt.” The man looked up at you, eyeing you up.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked. Jake scoffed from his place by the door, shutting up when you shot daggers at him with a glare. You turned your attention back to the man. “I’m in school for medicine,” you said, failing to mention your area of focus was animals and not people.

The man finally relented and let out a shaky breath before reaching up to unzip the top of his flight suit, pulling it down and you tried not to look flustered as he shrugged out of it, showing off his toned torso. He pushed the material down to his waist and you leaned around to get a look at his side.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” you asked, glancing up at him. He nodded, watching your face as you moved to kneel on the floor and reach up, fingers brushing against his skin. You gently pressed and he drew in a sharp breath. You looked up, meeting his gaze and felt your cheeks and ears burn before looking back down.

“It’s definitely bruised,” you said, starting to inspect the area around it which didn’t seem to be as tender. “Were you wearing safety restraints or anything?” you asked as you continued to prod around. He nodded, looking down where your hands were against his skin.

“I always wear safety restraints. That ship flies at almost fifty thousand decameters per hour,” he replied with a slight smirk. You slowly raised your gaze to meet his. “Fifty thousand what?” you whispered. He tilted his head curiously. “Decameters,” he answered.

You glanced at Jake who had moved from the door to the hall to the door to your bathroom.

“What the fuck is a decameter?” he asked, looking at the man.

“It sounds like ten meters,” you answered for the man. “Deca is the prefix that means ten,” you added, looking up at Jake who shook his head. “I’m not asking you, Y/N, I’m asking him.”

The man turned his head to look at Jake who took a step back upon seeing the man’s eyes for the first time. “She’s right,” he answered. “A decameter is ten meters.”

“Then why not say ten meters? Why even use decameters?” Jake asked, sounding annoyed. “Sounds like you’re overcomplicating things.”

“In my society, we measure everything in intervals of ten,” the man answered. “Sounds dumb,” Jake murmured, causing you to glare at him but the man smiled. “Sounds stupid?” he asked, drawing your best friend’s attention.

“Tell me,” the man said, turning his head again to face Jake. “Does a ship that travels at five-hundred thousand meters per hour sound like it was made by someone who was ‘stupid?’”

Your lips parted as the man spoke. ‘Five-hundred thousand meters per hour? Is that even possible?’

Jake looked even more shocked than you felt and the man knew it. He let out a little chuckle as he turned away from your best friend back to face you. “That’s what I thought,” he said softly.

You withdrew your hands from his body. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any internal bleeding,” you said, looking up to meet his eyes. “But that needs some attention,” you pointed at his shoulder where there was a decent size cut.

He looked at his shoulder and huffed. “Wonder when that happened,” he murmured as you got up and leaned in to look at his wound. “Maybe when you crashed? Might have cut it on something?” you suggested. The man shrugged. “Perhaps,” he answered.

“I’ll be right back,” you said softly and started to walk to the door. Jake’s hand wrapped around your wrist stopped you as you reached for the door. “Where are you going?” he hissed. “I’m getting the first aid kit,” you answered, glancing back at the man as he sat calmly on your bed.

“I’m coming with you,” Jake hissed but you pushed him back. “I won’t be long,” you said. “Just keep an eye on him,” you added with a nod towards the man. Jake shook his head. “No freaking way,” he whispered. “I’m not on babysitting duty!”

Before you could respond, the man spoke up.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said, making you and Jake look over. He was turned on the bed, looking over his shoulder at the both of you. “If my presence makes you that uncomfortable, you can go get the first aid kit and Y/N can stay here to ‘keep an eye on’ me,” he said with a smirk.

The wink he sent your way didn’t go unnoticed by either you or your best friend. Jake frowned, letting go of your wrist. “Just hurry up, yeah?” he said, glancing at you before moving to stand by the bathroom door. You nodded and opened your door.

Like you had said, you were back in a couple minutes at most, the kit in your hand as you entered the room. The man had moved, sitting on the other side of the bed facing the door instead. “Welcome back,” he said jokingly as you entered, making you smile before you shut the door and walked over, sitting beside him and opening the case.

Jake watched as both you and the man looked down at the case. “Alright,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s take a closer look at this,” you said looking up. “Jake, can you turn on the light, please?”

Your best friend moved to the door, flipping the switch without a word. You thanked him and turned your focus back on the man’s shoulder. It was a pretty large gash but nothing was protruding nor could you see any muscle underneath which you felt was a good sign. It might still need stitches.

You grabbed the blue gloves and pulled them on before picking up an alcohol prep pad and tore open the packet. “This might sting,” you said, looking up. The man simply smiled and nodded. You started to carefully wipe around the edge of the gash.

Jake had crept closer to get a better look at what you were doing.

Once you’d cleaned the outside of the gash, you inspected the inside closer. “It looks like there’s some fibers from your suit in the wound,” you said softly. “I’m going to need to flush it,” you said, meeting his gaze again. He kept smiling at you and nodded.

“Just do whatever you need to do.”

You picked up the small bottle of saline and grabbed a dry cotton pad. “This might-”

“It won’t,” the man interrupted. “Sting. It won’t sting,” he clarified. You nodded and looked back down at his wound, trying not to focus on the hammering of your heart in your chest.

You had been so mesmerized by his eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed exactly how handsome he was and now that his face was so close to yours, it was hard not to notice.

You tipped the bottle over and squeezed some of the liquid into the wound and watched as the fibers and blood washed out and started staining the cotton pad. A couple more squeezes and you were able to get the wound clean.

Now that you could see it better, you could see that he would need stitches after all. 

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Shit,” you whispered.

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man said, watching your face. You looked up and sighed. “You’re going to need stitches,” you replied. “I have the materials,” you answered. “ But I don’t have any anesthesia,” you explained. The man nodded, glancing down at his shoulder.

“What about the stuff your dad uses on the cows?” Jake asked. You rolled your eyes at him. “That’s for cows, Jake. You can’t use that on people,” you explained. “But-” you shot Jake a glare, effectively silencing him. “I don’t think taking you to the hospital will be beneficial,” you continued.

The man smiled. “No,” he answered. “It would only cause problems,” he added. “It’s alright, just do the procedure.” Your eyes shot up at his suggestion.

“Y-you want me to do stitches on you without anesthesia?” you asked, not sure if your ears were working properly. ‘There’s no way he just said that.’

The man nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s not going to be an issue for me. My pain tolerance is extremely high,” he explained. “Just do it please.”

You stared at him for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “O-okay,” you whispered.

“Okay, I’m out,” Jake announced. “I’m not watching you stick a needle and thread in his skin over and over. I’ll be downstairs,” he added, heading for the door, opening it and disappearing as he closed it, leaving you and the man alone.

The man looked at you with a smile. “And then there were two,” he said softly.

You gathered the suture and needle. “Are you sure about this?” you asked as you threaded the needle.

The man nodded as you moved into position. “My sutures aren’t perfect,” you continued. “But they’ll do the job.” The man smiled as you shook your hands before bringing your hand closer to his skin.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I trust you.”

Relief flooded your body as he uttered those words and you got to work, carefully stitching and tying off the suture as you sewed his skin back together. Your stitches weren’t perfect but they weren’t awful. As you finished the final suture, you set the needle and thread down and picked up another cotton pad and saline to clean the newly formed blood before picking up some antiseptic and covered the wound with it before finally covering it all with a large bandage.

“So,” you said softly. “What’s your name?” you asked, glancing up at him. You would never get used to those eyes. There was no way.

“Minho,” he finally answered, drawing you from your thoughts. “I’m Minho.”

You smiled at him. “And you’re Y/N?” he continued. You nodded excitedly. “And that man,” he added, nodding towards the door. “Jake? Is he your… boyfriend?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “No. Just my dumb best friend.”

Minho tilted his head. “What’s a best friend?”

You reached up to scratch your forehead. “You know what a friend is?” you asked, hoping he did. He nodded. “It’s that but the one you spend the most time with. Your favorite one. The one who knows everything about you and you know everything about them,” you explained.

“The one that no matter what, will always be there for you,” you continued, hoping Minho understood.

He nodded and smiled. “So best friend, not boyfriend.”

“Exactly,” you answered with a smile of your own.

Minho looked up as you removed your gloves and gathered all the used supplies to toss in your desk waste bin. As you returned to his side and packed away the rest of the supplies, he gently took your hand, making you look at him. He stared up at you with those bright eyes before his lips parted.

“Thank you,” he said softly. You offered him a kind smile. “It’s no trouble,” you replied as you closed the kit and latched it. “I may not be great at sutures yet,” you continued. “But I’m pretty decent at sewing. Maybe I could stitch that up for you as well?”

You pointed at the hole in his flight suit as he was pulling it back on. Minho glanced down at it. “Well shit,” he murmured. “That would explain the cut.” You held back a chuckle. “Are you going to sew it while it’s on me?” he asked, looking up. You shook your head before leaning across your bed and grabbed the clothes. “You can change into these,” you explained.

“And I’m sure you’ll want to take a shower. Clean up while you’re at it,” you added.

Minho nodded, grabbing the clothes from you and stood up. He wasn’t huge, probably about average human male height, even with the thick sole boots he wore. “Where can I… shower?” he asked, hesitating. You led him over to the bathroom door and turned on the light. “In here,” you answered.

You moved to the shower, pulling the rolling door aside and leaned in, turning on the stream and setting it to hot. “You can use this dial to adjust the temperature,” you explained, pointing to the handle. “And then to shut it off,” you continued and turned the handle back to the right until it pointed down.

“All the way down to the right,” you explained, looking back at Minho who was watching you with rapt attention. “There are towels in here,” you moved over to the small linen closet and opened it, grabbing a towel and handing it to him before shutting the door.

“And there’s plenty of soaps in here,” you continued, pointing at the soaps, shampoo and conditioner. “This one is for your body,” you said, pointing to the body wash. “And this is for hair,” you pointed to another bottle. “What that one?” Minho asked, pointing at the conditioner. “That’s to make your hair soft. You use it after you wash and rinse your hair,” you explained.

“And that?” he asked, pointing at your shaving cream. “Don’t worry about that,” you answered. “That’s not something you’ll need to use. Just stick with the body wash and shampoo. That’s all you should need.”

Minho nodded as you moved back to the linen closet and grabbed a washcloth and handed it to him. “That’s a washcloth,” you explained. “You use this to wash your body with the body wash. Keep this towel out of the water. You want this one dry,” you added, pointing to the towel.

You took the towel and clothes from him, setting them on the sink counter. “Just take that in there. Take off your suit and when you get in the shower, I’ll grab it and stitch up that tear in the shoulder,” you continued and moved to the door. “If you need anything, just call and I’ll see if I can help.”

You gave him a parting smile and exited, shutting the door behind you.

While waiting for the sound of the shower, you set up your sewing machine, filling a bobbin with a dark gray thread, hoping it would match.

Once you heard the shower turn on, you walked over to the door and knocked. “I’m coming in now. I won’t look at you I promise,” you announced, taking the handle and turning it. You peered in and saw the suit folded and set neatly on the counter. You stepped in and grabbed it, making sure not to look at Minho in the shower.

You exited the bathroom, shutting the door and moved over to your sewing table.

Sewing up the tear was much easier than performing surgery on Minho and once you were done, you admired your handiwork. The shower shut off in the bathroom and you decided you’d throw the suit in the wash to get some of the dirt stains out.

You hurried down the steps where Jake was sitting in the living room, watching TV. He looked up as you walked in. “Well?” he asked. “He just took a shower. His stitches are fine. I’m just throwing this in the wash for him,” you said, holding up the suit.

Jake rolled his eyes and turned back to the show he was watching.

Once you’d started the wash you walked back into the living room, placing your hands on the back of the sofa next to your best friend’s shoulder. “His name is Minho,” you said, drawing his attention. “Really?” he asked, looking up at you.

Nodding, you stood up straight. “Yep,” you replied. 

“And how do you know that?” Jake asked as you walked towards the stairs. “I asked!” you answered before starting back up the steps and down the hall to your room. The bathroom door was open and Minho was standing in the middle of your room, using the towel to dry his damp hair.

He pulled on the clothes you’d given him and you were pleased that they fit him so well.

He glanced up as you entered. “Are you hungry?” you asked. He hesitated, blinking a couple times before nodding. “Actually,” he said softly. “I’m ravenous.”

You led Minho down to the living area where Jake was still watching TV. Minho stopped behind the couch, eyes fixated on the television. You gently grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit at the kitchen island.

You moved to the fridge and opened it, peering inside. “Is there anything you don’t eat?” you asked, peering over your shoulder. “Anything you’re allergic to?”

You heard Jake scoff from the living room. “He’s an alien, Y/N. They don’t have allergies.”

You chastised Jake for being rude but Minho merely smiled. “No,” he answered politely. “No allergies. But I’m not overly fond of green peppers,” he added. You smiled and turned back to the fridge, grabbing the eggs, some bacon, and the steaks your mother had meant to have ready for your dad to grill the other night. ‘She won’t miss these. I’ll replace them if I have to.’

You set all your findings on the counter and opened a drawer to pull out a couple pans.

Once the skillets were heated up, you put the steaks in one and started the bacon in another. At the first sizzle of food, Jake had wandered into the kitchen and was looking hopefully at the food in the skillets. “Is that just for him or for everyone?” he asked.

You snickered and nodded. “I’m not making four t-bone steaks for one person,” you replied.

With that, you glanced up at Minho. “How many eggs do you want?” He tilted his head curiously. You picked up an egg to show him. “Do you eat them like that?” he asked, genuinely curious but his question made Jake burst into laughter as he moved to stand beside you.

You slapped his arm. “Stop being so rude!” You turned to Minho. “No,” you answered. “I’ll crack the egg and fry the insides,” you explained. Minho nodded and looked from the egg in your hands to the rest in the holder. “Five,” he finally said, catching both you and Jake off guard.

Jake was the first to break the awkward silence that ensued. “You can’t seriously believe you can eat five fried eggs and one of these steaks and bacon,” he stated. Minho’s smile turned into a smirk.

“Watch me.”

Thirty minutes later, you sat sipping on your coffee, musing over the look of shock on your best friend’s face. You both had one steak a piece. You’d made eight fried eggs total, five of them for Minho as well as a third of a pound of bacon. You’d eaten one egg and two slices of bacon with your steak, Jake had put away two eggs with his steak and three pieces of bacon.

Minho, on the other hand, had managed to consume two steaks, five eggs, and the rest of the bacon.

Jake watched with a mixture of shock, jealousy, and respect as Minho downed the rest of the second steak and the rest of his water. “I sit corrected,” Jake said softly, looking from the alien to you and back. Minho smiled at the both of you before he picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth.

“Now,” he said matter-of-factly. “Where’s my ship?”

You grabbed a jacket and one of the sweatshirts Jake brought over for Minho before letting him borrow some of your dad’s socks and shoes.

He sat in the back of the Jeep as you got in the front with Jake.

The drive to the woods wasn’t long but it was preferable to walking. Once Jake parked the car, Minho hopped out of the back and moved to your door as you opened it. He offered his hand to help you down, offering a wink as you looked up at him breathlessly.

“It’s, uh, this way,” you said, pointing and then leading the way towards the woods.

During the day, the walk took far less time and as the three of you scrambled over the ridge, the ship came into view and Minho cursed softly, carefully making his way down the slope with you and Jake reluctantly in tow.

You watched as he walked around the ship slowly, taking note of the condition before he headed for the open door and started inside. You followed, ignoring Jake’s warnings and peered into the open doorway. Minho was inside, sitting in a seat and flipping various switches.

He was murmuring and muttering under his breath as he tried to get some sort of response.

The console of the ship looked trashed, broken with wires sticking out everywhere.

Minho turned to look behind him before getting up and disappearing behind a wall. You grabbed onto a bar and started to pull yourself in. You reached the seat and craned your neck to see into the back. There was a small hallway leading through the ship to a wall with a door.

Minho was crouched in the middle of the hall, a floor panel in his hands as he inspected whatever mechanical that lay underneath. You looked around again and noticed that he had multiple monitors around the console. Silver embossed letters at the bottom read ‘S.T.A.N.’

‘Stan?’ you wondered to yourself as Minho cursed again, tossing the floor grate down and running his fingers through his hair. You felt your heart tug at his anguish.

“Is it totaled?” you asked, causing him to jump slightly. He turned to look behind at you before standing up and making his way back. “What’s totaled?” he asked as he reached the cockpit. “It’s like when you crash a car and the insurance company calculates the damage and decides it would cost more to fix than replace so they total it,” you explained.

Minho’s lips curled into a smirk. He shook his head. “No,” he said softly, one hand on his hip and his forearm resting on the back of the seat. “It’s not beyond repair,” he added. “I just need tools and a place to store it while I work on it. These conditions aren’t exactly ideal,” he continued.

You hesitated as you wracked your brain. An idea hit you suddenly. You brightened up and held up your index finger. “One second,” you said and hurried out of the ship, dropping to the ground. Jake started forward and started looking you over. “Are you alright?” he asked but you dismissed his concern.

“Does Julia still work for Ted?” Jake looked confused but nodded slowly.

“You think she could call in a favor?”

“Y/N,” Jake started but you interrupted him. “Just answer the question, Jake, please.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Ted owes her for covering his ass several times. A smile formed on your face. “Call your sister. We need those favors.”

It turned out that Ted, one of the farmers who owned an auto body shop in town, owed Julie several favors and she cashed in three of them on your behalf. You were almost beside yourself when a flatbed with an excavator and small crane pulled into your driveway. You waved and guided Ted to the old path into the forest.

He used the excavator to clear a path in the direction you led before moving the excavator back outside the forest and driving the crane into the forest. Upon seeing the craft, Ted was both shocked and also in awe at the sight. Julia had bought his silence with another one of her favors.

Ted was a professional, leaving the crane in place and walking back to get the flatbed and backing it up to the ship. Minho helped secure the bands and chains, careful not to cause any further damage before Ted used the crane to lift it.

Surprisingly, the ship lifted with no problem. Ted placed it onto the flatbed and once it was strapped down, he drove the flatbed out and Jake guided him to the barn, pushing the doors open and having him back it up.

You were lucky that your uncle had briefly ran a mechanic shop out of the barn until he left town so there was a lift and using the crane, Ted managed to secure the ship on the lift. Afterwards, Ted packed up his gear and with one final promise to never say another word about it, Ted and Julia left your family’s property, leaving you, Jake, and Minho behind.

You smiled triumphantly and even Jake couldn’t fault you for your cunning, knowing Ted would never break a promise made to Julia after she caught him doing things he wasn’t supposed to be doing on the job. 

Jake took his leave next and then it was just you and Minho.

You showed him where your father kept his tools and once the tour of the barn was over, you stood in the doorway of the barn with Minho, looking up at the gray sky.

“I think it’s going to rain,” you murmured. Minho looked from the sky to you. “Do you not like the rain?” he asked. You shook your head. “I like it when the sky is clear,” you answered. “I prefer it when I can see the stars.” Minho smiled and looked back up at the sky.

A soft meow caught both your attention and you glanced down to see one of the gray barn cats rubbing against Minho’s leg. “Sorry,” you said, moving to pick up the cat. Minho smiled and reached a hand up for the cat to sniff before petting it, even scratching it under the chin.

The cat purred in your arms at the affection before struggling against your hold and you let it jump from your arms onto a stack of hay next to the door. “Come on,” you said softly, gesturing to Minho. “Let’s get inside before the storm comes in.”

Minho looked up as you shut the barn doors, securing them and started for the house with him on your heels. “Storm?” he asked and you nodded. “Yeah,” you replied. “A thunderstorm is coming,” you added. “How can you tell?” he asked. You chuckled as you climbed the steps to the door and opened it.

“Because I’m from the midwest.”

Your intuition was spot on and by the time dinner rolled around, a storm had blown in. Most of it was wind, lightning and thunder so you used some of the money your mother had left to order pizza for delivery. You chose to get two pizzas just in case.

You sat on the couch with Minho, eating pizza and watching a movie. You decided to let him pick something based on the title and cover and unsurprisingly, he picked Alien and you had to try to keep your laughter in as you started the movie.

Minho watched with great fascination as the characters experienced misfortune after misfortune and as the titular antagonist appeared on screen, his rainbow eyes wide with rapt attention.

“It’s probably highly inaccurate,” you finally said as the creature on screen stalked Ripley through the cargo bay. Minho shook his head. “No actually, it’s not far off,” he answered, making you cough as you choked on your soda.

“Wh-what?” you stammered. He turned to look at you. “What?” he asked, a smirk forming on his face. “You think all aliens look this good?” he asked jokingly. You swallowed thickly, eyes returning to the screen. “So there are… aliens like that out there?” you asked softly.

Minho leaned against the back of the couch, resting his arm behind you. “Oh yeah,” he replied. You turned to look back at him, eyes wide with shock. “Even the acid blood?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nodded slowly, the light from the television illuminating one side of his face. You couldn’t be sure but it almost looked like his eyes dipped down to look at your lips but as quickly as you thought you saw, his eyes were looking back into yours.

“And the d-double jaws?” you asked. Minho nodded again. “Even down to the parasitic nature. The creatures that implant an embryo in your stomach and then it erupts from your body,” he said quietly, moving his hand up to place his palm against your chest, against your heart.

“From right here,” he continued.

Embarrassingly, your heart rate sped up and you knew by the look on his face that he felt it.

“Does that scare you?” he asked softly. You shook your head, trying to be brave. In truth, the thought terrified you. That there were parasitic, intelligent, lifeforms out there in the universe like the Xenomorph.

“What if I told you that my race is like that?” he asked suddenly, face void of any emotion.

Your blood ran cold and your stomach dropped. ‘What have you done, you idiot?’ Jake’s voice came to mind, chastising you for being so dumb. Trusting an alien. How stupid could you be?

You gulped, your fear showing on your face as Minho leaned even closer. His lips parted but before he could say or do anything, a clap of thunder caught you off guard and you jumped. Minho let out a chuckle as he pulled back.

“I’m just messing with you,” he said, cracking a huge grin. You stared at him incredulously.

“Wait, seriously?” He nodded, still laughing. “At most, a parasitic life form will give you the stomach flu or something similar,” he explained. “In all my years of schooling, we never learned about any life forms like that. The most dangerous alien lifeform is bacteria,” he continued, grabbing his can of soda and downing the rest.

You studied him as he set the can down and turned his attention back to the television. You finally did the same as the movie ended, Ripley’s log playing over a starry background before the credits started to roll. You picked up the remote and stopped the movie before turning the tv off and reaching beside you to turn on the lamp on the side table.

You cleaned up and made sure the house was locked, checking out the backdoor that the animals had gone into their barn before calling the dogs in and putting them in your parents’ bedroom.

Back in the living room, Minho was standing at the front door, peering outside. You walked up next to him and he turned his head to look at you, smiling at you and watching as you locked the storm door before backing up and grabbing the main door and shutting it and locking it, turning off the porch light.

“What about the cats?” he asked softly as you headed to turn off the lamp.

“They’ll be okay,” you answered. “They stay mostly in the barn,” you continued.

“We can check on them in the morning, if you’d like,” you added as you joined him by the stairs and turning off the overhead light and turning on the light at the top of the stairs.

Minho climbed the steps behind you as you led him to the guest room and showed him around. “I’m just down the hall,” you continued, moving to stand by the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” you added, shooting him a smile.

As you started to close the door, he called out to you, forcing you to open the door and peer in. “Leave the door open, please?” he asked as he sat on the bed, bedside lamp on. You nodded and left the door cracked open before walking down the hall to your own room, closing the door behind you and finally changing into your pajamas and climbing into your bed.

It had been a long and busy day and almost as soon as you were under the covers, you were out.

It only took you a few days to get used to having Minho around. You had told him he only had a week to get his ship fixed and get out of there before your family returned. Jake came by to keep you company but quickly grew annoyed with Minho’s presence and would leave after only an hour.

You went about your daily chores, feeding and taking care of the animals while Minho worked on his ship. You checked in from time to time, bringing him water or food whenever the time struck. He could still put back a lot of food and you would have to make a note to make a trip to the grocery store before your family returned home.

“Lunch time!” you called as you pushed open the door and peered in. Minho was leaning against the work table, holding one of the cats in his arms as he scratched its head and cooed at it. You smiled as you walked further into the barn holding a plate with a stack of sandwiches and a large bottle of water.

Minho glanced up from the cat and smiled as you approached, setting the bottle of water and plate on the table next to him. The cat in his arms leapt gracefully to the floor and trotted off as Minho brushed his hands off and picked up one of the sandwiches.

He took a bite, munching happily as you walked over to the ship, looking at it as you walked around it.

“It doesn’t look like there was much damage on the outside,” you noted as you rounded towards the back of the ship. Minho spoke a moment later. “No,” he answered. “Most of the damage is internal.” You said nothing as you rounded the front and he came back into view. Two of the sandwiches were now gone. “Speaking of,” you said, walking over to his side.

“Let me have a look at that bruise,” you continued, nodding at his side.

Minho lifted his arm but continued eating his sandwich as your fingers worked to untuck the shirt he wore.

Jake had brought over some more of his brother’s old clothes. Mostly tee shirts, jeans, sweats, and a few jackets. The weather had taken a turn and it was getting colder during the days now. Minho had chosen a white tee with a small red logo on a pocket on the right side of the chest. The jeans were just plain light denim and he’d also started to use the belts Jake included for some reason. 

You lowered your gaze to his side and gently prodded the spot that had been so tender a couple days prior. Minho didn’t wince and the skin didn’t look discolored. You glanced up to find him already looking at you, watching your face as you inspected him. “It doesn’t hurt?” you asked, pressing your fingers against his side. He shook his head.

“There’s no discoloration either,” you added, dropping the shirt. He smiled at you before swallowing the food in his mouth. “My body reabsorbs blood that doesn’t make it outside the body,” he said, chuckling when he noticed your shocked expression. “I’m like you but more advanced,” he added.

He finished his fourth sandwich and grabbed the last one. Five seemed to be his number, a small detail you noticed. Five eggs, five sandwiches. “These are good,” he said, holding the sandwich up before taking a bite. “What’s inside?” he asked, pulling back the bread a little to look at the filling.

“Egg salad,” you answered as you moved back around to pick up the empty plate. Minho reached out and gently grabbed your wrist. “Leave it,” he said softly. “I’ll bring it in later.”

You smiled but shook your head. “It’s fine,” you answered, picking up the plate and pulling from his hold. “I’m used to cleaning up.” As you started to walk away, Minho called out to you.

You turned back to look at him as you reached the door. “Will you come back when you’re done?” he asked and you smiled back at him. “If you’d like me to.” He nodded slowly. “I’d like that a lot,” he replied. Your cheeks burned and you nodded back to show you understood.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Outside the barn a gray overcast had started to fill the sky. More clouds and rain were in the forecast tonight but nothing like the storms from the other night.

You took the plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink, placing your hands on the counters and stared down at the white ceramic. ‘Stop it,’ you told yourself sternly. ‘He’s an alien. He’s not human. You can’t keep feeling this way.’

Trying to tell your heart to calm down was easier said than done and you would come to find it harder and harder the more time you spent with Minho. 

As promised, you returned to the barn and kept him company while he worked, sitting cross-legged on one of the square bales of hay while he worked under the ship, reaching through an open panel and reattached wires.

“So,” you said softly as one of the barn cats came out from hiding to crawl into your lap where it was warm. You petted the animal, looking back up at Minho. “Where are you from?” you asked, drawing his attention. He managed to hook a few more wires before pushing his hair back and turning to face you.

“Somewhere really far away from here,” he answered. You fixed him with a grimace. “I know that,” you replied. “But where is that?” Minho chuckled as he moved around the lift holding his ship and walked over to sit next to you, reaching a hand out to pet the cat as it purred and snuggled up in your lap.

“Did you know the universe is split into quadrants?” he asked softly, not looking up to meet your gaze. You looked at his face, his rainbow eyes fixated on the furry creature in your lap. “Like in Star Trek?” you asked before remembering he didn’t know what that was. “Sorry, it’s a-”

“I know what Star Trek is,” he said softly, glancing up to meet your gaze. “It’s a television show from the late nineteen-sixties, right?” You nodded slowly, watching as a grin spread across his face. “You’d be surprised at the reception we get back home,” he said simply.

You waited for him to continue but when he didn’t you spoke again.

“Where is home?”

Minho stopped petting the cat and looked up to meet your gaze once more.

“So, like I said, the universe is split into quadrants. Your galaxy is located on the edge of the Alpha Quadrant,” he explained. “My galaxy is located somewhere in the Delta Quadrant.”

You listened as he explained the quadrants and their structure before moving onto his galaxy. His home world was located one of six arms of a spiral galaxy, a lot like the Milky Way. “And in the third arm, is my solar system,” he continued. “The Chronos-Demos System,” your eyes were shining as he explained and he found it so endearing.

“Chronos-Demos?” you asked, tilting your head. This was more information that you could have ever hoped to learn. Minho was from an entirely different galaxy, millions of lightyears away from Earth. He’d seen things you could only dream of.

“It’s a two star system,” he explained. “Much like Proxima Centauri. We have two suns,” he explained. Your lips parted in awe as he spoke. “Here,” he said, getting up. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched as he walked over to the ship and pulled himself up, disappearing into the open door. You could faintly hear him moving about before he reappeared and dropped down, carrying some sort of tablet as he returned and took a seat beside you.

He tapped on the screen and it came to life. He started to tap around, pulling up a map and turned the tablet so you could see.

On the screen was a diagram, much like the ones you’d seen in science books when you learned about the Solar System as a child.

On one end was a large yellow sphere, solar flares shooting out from the surface. On the opposite side was an equally large red sphere, also with flames flickering from the surface. “Chronos is a class G star, a lot like Sol,” he explained before you held up a hand to stop him.

“Sol?” you asked, looking at his face. He smiled and nodded. “Your star,” he started. “You mean the Sun?” you asked and he nodded.

“In my society, your star system is called the Sol System. Sol means Sun in Latin.”

You nodded. “Okay,” you said softly as you started to follow along. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Minho smiled and went back to explaining the diagram.

“The red red star is Demos Gnu and is a class M star. I think your race calls it a ‘red dwarf,’” he said, glancing up as you nodded. “Yeah, that’s the common name but scientifically it’s a type m star,” you replied. “It has a smaller light field but produces more radiation,” you replied. Minho nodded, with a smile. “You know your stars,” he said, sounding impressed.

“My mother taught me,” you explained, a surge of pride filling your chest.

Minho continued, zooming in on the diagram.

“This little purple planet is Ahcar-3,” he said. “It’s very close to Chronos and has no life on it. It also doesn’t have a moon. This one,” he continued, moving the screen until a pink and purple planet with rings came into view with two moons. “This is Ninsa,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“This,” he said, looking up to meet your gaze. “Is my home.”

You leaned closer to get a better look. It was a beautiful planet. The surface was a swirl of light pink and purple and the rings, all five of them were a darker purple. The moons were relatively small compared to the planet, one was white and the other reddish.

“Why is one of the moons red?” you asked, looking up at the alien. He smiled and pulled the tablet back to zoom in further on the red moon. “That’s Ta,” he explained. “It’s a mining location and it’s extremely rich in iron ore,” he explained. “The soil has a lot of ferric oxide in it, a lot like Sol IV,” he said.

“Sol IV?”

Minho smiled again, setting the tablet down. “Your system, Sol, is home to ten planetary objects. Sol I, is the first one from the sun,” he explained. “Mercury,” you replied. “We call it Mercury.” He nodded. “So then Sol II is Venus?” you asked and he nodded again. “So then Earth is Sol III and Mars is Sol IV?” Minho nodded again. “Exactly,” he answered.

“So Ta is like Mars because of all the ferric oxide?” you asked, clarifying and Minho nodded again. “Precisely,” he answered before picking up the tablet again and moving the screen. The next image you saw was two planets close together. “These are the Twins, Abo Phi,” he said, pointing to the yellow one. “And Boa Phi,” he continued, pointing at the orange one. “They orbit each other as they orbit the sun and they have one moon, Odomin,” he said, pointing to the small yellow moon.

“Does anyone live there?” you asked and he shook his head. “The government of Ninsa thought about colonizing but the likelihood of the two planets colliding either with one another or their moon is too great of a risk,” he explained. We’ve sent missions and studied them extensively so we know that nothing lives there,” he continued, scrolling to the next planet.

“This one is Averlent,” he said, showing you a turquoise and blue planet. “It’s the only successful colonization project we’ve had. It was colonized over ten thousand years ago,” he explained. “So she has a thriving metropolis and more settlements have popped up. Her moon is Horim, which is a tropical world and a very popular vacation spot,” Minho explained with a smile.

“Have you been there?” you asked looking up. He nodded. “I went there with my family last season,” he answered. “Our winters on Ninsa, especially where I live, are particularly harsh. So my family spent the winter on Horim.” You smiled, imagining Minho lounging on an otherworldly beach on the moon.

“That’s so cool,” you whispered. Minho chuckled and scrolled to the next planet. You had to keep from snorting when you saw it. It was a green and oval shaped planet with a darker green and just as oval moon. “This is Planet 9,” he explained. “No one knows why it’s called that,” he added. “This system has six planets.” You finally let out the laugh you’d been holding in.

“It’s the furthest from Chronos and the closest to Demos,” he explained. “You’ve probably noticed it’s not round like the others,” he continued. You nodded. “Is it spinning really fast on its axis?” you asked and Minho nodded. “Yes, and so is its moon, 1.43-C.” You laughed again, sitting up. “Reminds me of Haumea,” you noted as Minho shut off the screen.

“I think I saw that on my way into your system,” Minho replied.

You glanced down at the tablet. “Do you have any pictures of your home world?” you asked, Minho blinked at you before picking up the tablet and turning it back on. He tapped on the screen a few times before turning the screen towards you.

“This is the capital, Ninsa Prime,” he explained, showing you several pictures of a vast sprawling metropolis with high rises taller than you’d ever seen. “This is where I live,” he added as he continued to scroll through the images.

“Do you work there too?” you asked, looking up at him. He nodded, turning off the tablet. “Mostly,” he added. “I’m an aerospace engineer,” he continued. “Which is why I’m confident in my abilities to fix this ship,” he added, gesturing to the craft.

“I should probably let you get back to that,” you murmured, looking down at the cat still sleeping in your lap. Minho reached out, his knuckle gently lifting your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “I don’t mind the distraction,” he said with a smile before he finally got up and headed back towards the ship.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You kept him company until the sun started to set and you got up to finish your chores. A light drizzle had settled in by the time Minho had finished for the day and came inside the house. He had gone up to shower while you fixed dinner when there was a knock at the door.

You walked over and peered outside. Jake was standing on your porch dressed in a zip up pullover, jeans, boots, and a baseball cap on his head. You unlocked and opened the door, smiling when your best friend turned to look at you. “Hey,” he said, opening the screen door.

You stepped back to let him in. “Something smells good,” he noted as he looked around.

“Where’s ET?” he asked and your smile fell. “Will you stop that?” you asked exasperatedly, moving around him and walking back to the kitchen with your best friend in tow. “It’s a joke, Y/N,” Jake said. “Lighten up a little.” You shot him a glare as you resumed stirring your sauce.

“What are you making?” he asked, looking at the stove.

“Tuscan chicken,” you answered as you added some pepper to the sauce. “He’s still eating half your kitchen?” Jake asked, noticing the grocery bags behind you. Nodding you looked up as footsteps announced the arrival of Minho who had showered and changed.

Jake and Minho locked eyes and Jake visibly stiffened as Minho’s expression went blank before walking over and taking a seat at the kitchen island. Jake moved around to stand next to you. “Well, it smells good anyway,” he said, leaning in to whisper in your ear before turning to open the fridge.

“What are you looking for?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Where does your dad keep his beer?” your best friend asked. “In the fridge in the garage but if you drink it, you’re replacing it. I’ve already replaced a bunch of groceries.” Jake saluted as he shrugged off his jacket, slinging it on the back of one of the dining chairs as he made his way to the garage.

“Aye, aye captain!”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to find Minho already watching you.

“Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Minho asked softly. You froze and looked back up at him.

“L-like what?” you asked. “Like he owns you,” Minho continued. You shook your head. “It’s not like that,” you replied. “Jake is just… casual,” you said, trying to find the right word to describe your best friend. Minho narrowed his eyes as Jake returned but said nothing else.

Dinner was an awkward affair with you sitting at the end of the table with Minho to your left and Jake to your right across from him. The food was good, probably some of your best but you couldn’t seem to enjoy it with the way Minho and Jake were shooting daggers at one another from across the table.

After dinner, Jake moved to the living room to turn on the TV while Minho managed to beat you to the sink, despite your protests. “In my culture,” he said softly as he pulled on the dish gloves. “The cook never cleans,” he continued, giving you a wink.

You brought the dishes to the sink and watched in awe as he cleaned and rinsed them much quicker than you or your sister ever could have. You helped by setting the dishes to dry and soon, the sink was empty and Minho was rinsing the sides and pulling the gloves off.

“You’re so… human,” you said softly as you leaned against the counter. He smiled at your words and looked up, his rainbow eyes meeting yours. “We aren’t that different,” he said, his smile faltering as he looked past you to the living room. You glanced behind where Jake was looking back.

“Y/N, could you get me another beer?” You rolled your eyes. “Get it yourself,” you retorted with a smirk. “You got two legs.” There was a silence before you heard Jake get up, presumably to get another drink. “What did you say to me?” he asked, his tone low. You turned to look at him.

He looked angry. You were taken aback. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to bicker like this before. “I told you to get it yourself,” you repeated. Jake stormed around the couch, making a beeline for you. The next series of events happened so fast you almost didn’t catch it.

As your best friend stormed towards you, Minho instinctively put his arm in front of you, pushing you behind him and putting himself between you and Jake, making your best friend freeze in his tracks. It took you a moment to realize that a deep rumbling growl was coming from Minho, the vibration coursing through his body.

You peered around Minho to see Jake’s look of shock and almost fear. You quickly moved past Minho, coming between the two. “Stop it,” you said loudly, looking from Jake to Minho. It was then you finally saw the look on the alien’s face. He was furious. His eyes had gone a distinct shade of red, brow furrowed and nostrils flared. If you’d been on the receiving end of that, you’d be terrified.

You turned back to Jake. “You should probably go,” you said softly. Your best friend finally withdrew his attention from Minho and looked at you incredulously. “You’re kicking me out?! What about psycho bastard over here?” he yelled, pointing at Minho who let out another growl.

You held a hand up towards Minho. “Stop,” you commanded calmly and to your surprise, he listened, backing down but keeping his eyes on Jake. You turned to your best friend. “He has nowhere else to go,” you reminded him. “He’s working on his ship and once it’s fixed, he’ll leave. Just be patient,” you told him. “And go home.”

Jake cursed under his breath, moving to grab his jacket from the back of the couch and headed for the door with you behind him. You threw a look back at Minho, who was still watching Jake intently. Jake stepped out onto the porch and pulled his jacket on. “It needs to leave,” he said suddenly. 

“I don’t like the idea of you alone in this house with it,” he added. You waved his concern away. “He is just fine. And he will leave when he finishes fixing his ship. Goodnight, Jake.” You shut the door and locked it, leaving your best friend on the porch.

He was starting to get on your nerves with his jealousy and disrespect. He wasn’t normally like this and you couldn’t understand why he was suddenly acting so rude to a stranger. He’d never done that before. You chalked it up to Minho being from a different world. Jake was just being protective. That had to be it.

The moment the door shut, Minho was by your side, looking over you and taking your face in his hands. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. His eyes were back to the rainbow you’d grown accustomed to. You nodded silently. “I’m fine,” you replied with a weak smile.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved,” he added. “I just went into protective mode,” he continued. “I know that alcohol impairs one’s judgment.” You smiled up at him. “Thank you for wanting to protect me. Jake wouldn’t hurt me,” you continued. “He’s just mad about something. He’ll cool off.”

“Y/N?” Minho said softly, drawing your attention. “Hmm?” you asked. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

His expression was full of curiosity. Those same rainbow eyes looking back at you. “Can I ask you something?” you asked, looking down and taking his hand as nonchalantly as you could. Minho glanced down at your hands and back up, nodding.

“Why did your eyes change color?”

Minho let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly before answering. “It’s linked to my emotions,” he explained. “Your emotions?” you asked, tilting your head. He nodded before explaining.

“My eyes change color when I experience strong emotions. Rage, grief, shame, fear…” he stated. “My eyes will change depending on the emotion I experience. Red, gold, green, gray, purple, pink,” he continued, listing off various colors. “So what color is red?” you asked curiously. “Rage,” Minho answered softly. “And Gold?” Minho smiled at you. “Joy,” he replied.

“What about gray?” Minho’s smile faltered a little. “Gray is for grief,” he continued to answer.

“And what about pink?” He chuckled, lifting your hand to his face, placing a soft kiss to the back of it, making your heart flutter before he looked up. “Shame. Mostly embarrassment,” he answered. You nodded, looking back at your hands before meeting his gaze.

“What’s the color for fear?”

Minho hesitated to answer and you thought for a moment you’d messed up but he finally answered. “White,” he replied. You nodded, thinking back to the colors he’d listed off. “And what about purple?” you asked, wondering what emotion that could mean.

Minho’s smile dropped, replaced with a slight smirk as he stared back at you. You watched as his eyes briefly flashed a bright purple color before they went to pink and back to rainbow. “What’s that?” you asked, looking between his eyes. He shook his head “It’s nothing,” he murmured. Your cheeks burned as he dropped your hand, moving his hand to your waist and pulled you closer.

The heat radiating from his body was enough to drive you mad and you watched as his eyes flickered between rainbow and purple as his eyes searched your face, the hand on your waist, sliding to your hip and stopping. “Minho?” you whispered. He smiled, tilting his head. “Yes, Y/N?” he asked.

Your words failed as Minho held your gaze, his free hand coming up to your face, thumb brushing over the curve of your cheek before the same thumb moved down to brush over your bottom lip. His eyes dipped down to look at your lips before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

At first, you leaned into the kiss, your heart hammering in your chest before you pulled back, stopping him as he tried to follow. “I’m…” you trailed off, not meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I shouldn’t… we shouldn’t.”

You backed away from him. “I’m…” you trailed off. “I’m going to bed,” you said before turning and hurrying up the steps, leaving Minho to stare after you, confusion on his face.

Minho stared at the spot you disappeared, dumbfounded. Had he done something wrong? He knew that when you kiss someone it usually makes them feel better. So why didn’t it work? Why hadn’t his kiss cheered you up?

These thoughts swirled around in his head as he tried to wrap his brain around what he could have possibly said or done wrong. All he wanted was for you to feel better.

Although he wasn’t used to Earth’s customs, Minho was well aware of emotions and what they were. His people were descended from ancient humans. He understood what emotions were. Did you perhaps think he was incapable of feeling? That because he wasn’t from your world, he didn’t understand?

He slowly followed up the steps, stopping at the top of the staircase and looked down the hall where your door was shut. He had half a mind to walk to your door but decided against it. He didn’t want to upset you further. Instead he made his way to the guest room.

You must have wanted space so he was happy to give it.

Only a couple moments later when there was a soft knock on his door, Minho was confused as he answered it. You stood on the other side, having already changed into your pajamas, a plain shirt and shorts. You looked at him, eyes searching his.

“I wanted to apologize again,” you said as he leaned against the door frame. “I’m probably really confusing,” you said softly, chuckling at yourself. Minho said nothing, letting you speak uninterrupted. “We can just forget anything happened,” you said softly. “If you’d prefer.”

Minho narrowed his eyes, unable to stop the purple from surfaces as he tried to ignore your exposed thighs and the way your shirt left nothing to the imagination. He could feel something stirring inside him and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be unable to control it.

“I don’t,” he said suddenly, surprising you. “I don’t want to forget it,” he clarified.

“I wasn’t confused when I kissed you, Y/N,” he continued. “What—?” you started to ask, only for him to press a finger to your lips.

“I know you think because I’m not human that I don’t understand your feelings,” he started. “But I assure you, I understand them perfectly.” He removed his finger from your lips, placing his hand by your head on the door frame. “I’m not from Earth,” he continued. “And while I may not understand the culture of her inhabitants, Ninsans aren’t much different from Terrans.”

“You told me the other day you were sad that I’m leaving,” he said, tilting his head. You nodded, remembering the conversation you’d had a day or so ago. 

You’d grown so used to his presence that the thought of him leaving really upset you. Especially after the conversation you had today about his life and where he came from.

“We experience sadness, too. I’m sad that I have to leave as well,” he added. “I would be happy if I stayed here, with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission.

“I may not be human,” he continued, his hand moving to your cheek as he stared into your eyes.

“But I’m a man all the same. And while we come from different worlds and have different biology, we are inherently descended from the same species.”

You said nothing, merely staring back at him as he spoke.

“I understand more than you think. Like, love, desire, lust,” he continued to speak, his voice still soft. Your cheeks burned at the utterance of the last word. “They’re emotions I’ve felt before,” he added. “We aren’t that different, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning closer so your lips were inches apart.

“These emotions aren’t unique to humans. Ninsans feel them, too. I feel them, too.”

He moved ever so slightly closer. “In fact,” he whispered, his breath hot against your lips.

“I feel them… right now.”

Any response you had was taken away the moment his lips met yours again.

This time, you didn’t push him away, instead, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him against you, your chest pressing against his. His arms went around your waist, backing into the room. Your kiss turned rushed, a mess of tongue as Minho backed you up to the bed, watching as you dropped onto the mattress and backed up, allowing him space to climb on after, hovering over you.

You looked up at him, his eyes were full of want, the pupils blown wide and his irises a ring of purple again. “Do you want this?” he asked softly, searching your face.

You nodded silently, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. He moved one hand, cupping your cheek gently. “I need you to say it out loud,” he said softly. “Do you want this?”

You nodded again, this time speaking. “Yes.”

Minho’s eyes widened slightly. “I want you,” you whispered.

In one swift movement, Minho had you flat on your back, hands pinned against the bed as he hovered over you, hips between your parted thighs. “Say it again,” he breathed, his nose bumping yours gently. “Say you want me.”

You let out a gasp as you felt something brush against your inner thigh. “What is—?”

Minho leaned down, taking your lips in a messy kiss, tongue moving against yours languidly. He pulled back, only slightly, to speak again. “I told you before we aren’t that different,” he said softly.

“But in this,” he continued, the thing you felt before brushing against your thigh. “We most certainly are.

You let out a yelp as the appendage you felt earlier slipped under your shorts, pushing against your core.

“It’s okay,” Minho said softly, taking your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Do you trust me?” he asked, searching your eyes. You nodded slowly. “Yes,” you managed to breathe out. “I trust you.” Minho pressed his lips to yours once more as the fleshy appendage under your shorts pulled, starting to slide your shorts down.

Minho pulled back for only a moment to take the shorts in his hands and toss them aside before leaning back in to kiss you.

Your body shuddered as you felt the same appendage press against your panties, slowly rubbing.

Minho’s lips left yours, kissing down the side of your neck, nipping occasionally. “What is that?” you whispered, holding back a moan as Minho suckled on the skin at the base of your neck. “Promise me you won’t scream?” he asked, looking up as his hands moved under your shirt, pushing the material up towards your chest.

You nodded, glancing down at him. He sat up straight and you could see his pants were undone and two long pale pink colored tentacles had emerged. You stared in awe at them as they wriggled, one resting at your core, the other staying close to home.

You glanced up to meet Minho’s gaze. “Can I… touch them?”

He nodded, watching as you sat up, reaching out one of your hands and carefully touching the tentacle that was currently not pressed against your panties. Minho shuddered at the touch and you pulled back only for him to grab your wrist and guide your hand back.

“It’s okay,” he reiterated. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You cautiously stroked the tentacle, noticing how Minho’s body reacted when you did.

“Is this— are these,” you asked, nodding towards the tentacles. “Your… you know?”

Minho smirked, leaning in until he was inches from your face. “Are they my what?” he asked in a playfully dark tone. You swallowed thickly. “Are they your…” you glanced down at the tentacles and then back up to meet his gaze.

“Your cock?”

At the mention of the word cock, Minho let out a growl, his hand grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a heated kiss, a clash of teeth and tongue as both tentacles slipped under your panties and your ears were greeted by the sound of cloth ripping.

You whined as Minho pulled back. “That was my favorite pair!”

He chuckled against your cheek, peppering kisses down to your jaw. “I’m sorry, darling,” he cooed. You opened your mouth to retort but let out a shaky moan as you felt the tip of one of the tentacles rubbing against your slick entrance.

“Seems like you’re already properly lubricated,” he mused, watching your face as he teased your hole, prodding gently with the tip of the appendage. “You really want this?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you gasped. “Please.”

Not needing to be told twice, you moaned as the tentacle pushed into you, your warm walls welcoming it with a firm squeeze. Minho let out a choked moan, pushing the tentacle further into you. “Oh fuck,” you heard him curse.

Hearing the word come from him made you laugh weakly. “What’s so funny?” he asked, the tentacle stilling inside you. “I’ve always wanted to ask,” you started, glancing up at him. “Where did you learn English?” you asked him. Minho smiled, chuckling at the question.

“I learned it from watching Friends,” he admitted. You stared at him incredulously. “Wait, seriously?” He nodded with a smirk. “You’d be surprised at the kind of reception we get out on Ninsa,” he said with a wink. Before you could respond, the tentacle started moving again, gliding against your walls with little restriction.

“F-fuck,” you groaned, back arching off the bed as he set a steady pace. “You like how that feels?” he asked softly, watching your expression. “Yes,” you whined. Minho chuckled, guiding the second tentacle to join the first. He misjudged his aim and found himself pressing against something else entirely.

You gasped, eyes snapping open. “W-wait a second!” you stammered. Minho stopped, watching as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Can you pull it out for a second?” you asked softly. Minho nodded, withdrawing the tentacle and watching as you carefully sat up.

“If you want to put it in there, it’s better if I’m positioned like this,” you said, turning away from him to lean over, presenting your back end to him. Minho was getting a full view of your glistening sex and the smell nearly sent him into a frenzy.

Instead, he managed to keep his composure and got to his knees, quickly removing his shirt and tossing it aside. The first tentacle resumed, pushing into your cunt, making you groan, your head falling into your pillows. He took your hips gently in his hands, staring at the smaller hole. He knew what this was. He had one too. It was where excrement came out.

He also knew that some people, even his own species, enjoyed having this hole stimulated during intercourse. With that knowledge in hand, he guided the tip of the other tentacle to this hole, slowly rubbing the tip against it and smearing the natural lubricant that his tentacles produced against your skin and the appendage.

You lifted your head quickly. “Just… go slow, please,” you said softly. Minho leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pushed the tip into your hole. Your body tensed up slightly at the intrusion but a few gentle kisses and soothing words had you relaxing under Minho, allowing the tentacle to push further into your anus.

“F-fuck,” you groaned. “Feels so f-full.”

Minho felt a chill run up his spine as he started to move both tentacles moving in tandem. Your head fell into the pillows as you let out another long, low moan. Minho chuckled lightly. “What?” he asked, taking your hips in his hands. “Does that feel good?”

You nodded fervently, your moans increasing in volume with each thrust.

“Don’t stop,” you whined. “M’gonna cum.”

Despite your plea for him to keep going, Minho stopped, pulling both tentacles back until they withdrew into his pants. “What the hell, Minho?” you snapped, turning back to look at him. He simply smiled, pushing his pants down and discarding them.

Your eyes followed down his body until you caught sight of what he’d been hiding the whole time.

“Oh holy shit,” you gasped.

By his species’ standards, Minho was average at best. He’d never been commended for the size of his cock but he’d been complimented on how well he used it. He was aware, however, that the average size for a human was not the same as the average size for a Ninsan.

From your perspective, this alien was about to shove his whole nine inch long alien cock inside you. “Th-that’s not gonna fit,” you whimpered. Minho leaned over your back, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Just lie back for me,” he murmured, leaning back up as you turned back to face him, lying back against the pillows.

Minho hooked his arms under your knees and pulled you closer. “It’s really not gonna fit,” you protested. Minho took his cock in his hand and slapped it against your clit, making you jump and cry out. “Don’t argue with me,” he said sternly.

You fell silent as he looked down at you. His hand moved to your sex, fingers gathering your arousal before he pushed two fingers into your cunt. You let out a whine as he curled them, watching the way your face contorted. “That’s it,” he murmured as he continued to alternate between curling and pumping his fingers. “That’s it, baby,” he grunted, his fingers moving faster.

“Minho,” you whimpered, moving your hand to the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. With your attention temporarily redirected, Minho pulled his fingers from your heat, taking his length in his hand and guiding the tip to your entrance and pushing into you.

You moaned into his mouth, a dull sting making you tense up.

“Shhh,” he murmured against your lips, one hand moving up to cup your cheek, using his thumb to brush away one of the tears that had formed. “It’s okay,” he added softly. “S’too big,” you whimpered. Minho took your lips in a tender kiss. “I know,” he murmured against your lips. “But you can take it, can’t you? Are you going to be good for me?”

A shudder ran up your spine before you nodded. “Y-yes,” you whined. You let out another moan as Minho pushed further into your walls, groaning as the warmth enveloped him. He’d never experienced such a tight fit before and it was making his head throb as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Fuck,” he growled, pushing further into you, holding you against the mattress as his cock stretched you open. “Shit,” he hissed. “That’s it,” he repeated. “Almost there.”

You let out a mix between a sob and a whimper. Minho leaned in, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and nose. “So close,” he muttered. “Almost there, baby.”

The pet name had your stomach doing flips and your heart fluttering. Finally, Minho seemed to stop moving and you let out a shaky breath. “Is it… are you…?” your words failed as your cheeks burned hot. “Yes,” Minho said softly, stroking your cheek tenderly. “It’s all the way in.”

As if to punctuate his sentence, Minho pulled out and gave you a tentative thrust, head falling into the crook of your neck with a low groan as you let out a high pitched moan, back arching off the bed. “It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to start pounding into you,” he said, his voice strained in your ear. You moaned again, walls clenching around his cock.

“Oh fuck. Keep doing that and I’ll lose my mind,” he growled.

You focused on relaxing, allowing the stinging stretch to dissipate. Minho coaxed you through it, leaving soft kisses on your face and against your lips, your neck, your collar as he whispered words of encouragement. 

“You’re doing so well,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. You let out a gasp as he gave another testing thrust. “Does that hurt?” he asked softly. You shook your head, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as he gave another. “N-no,” you stammered, shaking your head.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, his voice still low. You nodded quickly. Minho took that as a sign to keep going, setting a steady pace, growling as your walls gripped him so tightly, as if you didn’t want him to leave. “How are you so tight? It’s so warm,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to focus on the feeling of your warm walls completely surrounding his thick, heavy cock.

He moved his hips harder, hitting your ass with each snap. “S-shit!”

“D-don’t stop,” you moaned, fingers curling into the sheets as Minho’s face buried into your neck. “F-fuck,” he stammered. “You’re doing so well,” he grunted, his voice muffled against your skin. “Doing so well, baby. Taking me so deep.” 

You whimpered, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room with each frantic thrust. You could feel the tip of his cock so deep. Further than you’d ever felt before.

“M’close,” you gasped, one of your hands moving up to his hair, fingers tangling in his hair. “Yeah? You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Yes,” you moaned, ignoring the way the bed creaked under your bodies.

“Then do it,” Minho groaned as your walls clenched around him. “Cum for me.”

Your moans reached a high pitch, each thrust pushing you closer and closer until you finally came with a cry, tumbling over the edge. Your grip on the sheets and Minho’s hair tightened, your toes curling in tandem with your fingers as you rode out your high. 

Minho lifted his head, one hand moving to grab yours and untangle your fingers from his hair and lacing his fingers with yours as he pinned your hand against the pillow. “Look at me,” he ordered. Your eyes fluttered open, looking into his bright purple irises. ‘Sexual arousal,’ your brain finally said in your post nut clarity. ‘That’s what purple means.’

Minho’s hips stuttered as a low moan spilled from his lips as he finally came, releasing into you with three more thrusts until he stilled, burying his cock as far into you as he could. Your chest rose and fell with each breath as you stared up at him. He held your gaze until his eyes finally slid shut and he collapsed on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You listened to your own pounding heart as it started to slow, your breathing starting to return to normal as Minho also tried to regain his ability to breathe. “Are you okay?” you finally heard him ask, lips brushing against your skin.

Licking your lips, you spoke, internally cringing at the hoarse sound of your own voice.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m okay,” you answered. Minho let out a huff against your skin, the short blast of air against your sweat covered skin sending a slight chill down your spine. “Are you okay?” you asked, noticing he had yet to move. He nodded, burying his face further into your skin.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “It’s a normal custom to stay like this for a while after intercourse,” he added. Your cheeks burned slightly but you welcomed his hold as he kept a firm hold on your hand, his other arm managing to snake between your back and the sheets.

It was much different than the aftercare you’d experienced. “Post sex cuddles,” you murmured, making Minho raise his head slightly. “What?” he asked softly. “Post sex cuddles,” you repeated. “That’s what I’ve heard them called before,” you added. Minho hummed softly before hiding his face in your neck again.

You stayed like that for much longer than you cared to count but as you were starting to fall asleep, Minho started to shuffle, pushing himself up to look down at you. His eyes had shifted from the purple to rainbow again. Upon seeing your face, specifically your eyes, looking back up at him, his irises flashed pinked before a smile spread across your face.

The moment your lips curled into a grin, the pink was replaced with a beautiful golden honey color. You reached up your free hand to cup his cheek. “Joy,” you said softly as he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. When they opened again, they were still gold. “You must be really happy,” you commented. Minho leaned down, taking your lips in a tender kiss. “I am,” he murmured.

“I’m very happy. You make me very happy.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face this time as you freed the hand he held and wrapped both arms around his neck to pull him down into a hug. “You make me happy, too,” you whispered. You felt a vibrating rumble from Minho’s chest. “Are you purring?” you asked softly.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I am,” he whispered. You tightened your hold on him.

“You’re so cute.” 

Minho whined, hiding his face in your shoulder. “I’m not cute,” he pouted. You pushed him back, taking his face in your hands. His eyes had turned pink again. “You’re very cute,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to his nose. “But you’re also handsome,” you added, kissing his cheek. “And very, very sexy,” you concluded, punctuating your statement with a kiss.

Minho melted into the kiss, pressing his lips against yours with the same affection. “We should get cleaned up,” he murmured. “You’re full of cum,” he added. Your eyes snapped open. “Oh shit, you’re right,” you said as he sat up, his cock having already softened and slipped out of you.

He glanced down between your thighs and tsked, shaking his head slightly. “I’m gonna need clean sheets, too,” he murmured before getting up and walking over to the bathroom. “Stay right there,” he called as he disappeared. You propped yourself up and peered down, eyes widening at the sight of a deep eggplant purple colored liquid.

Minho returned with a towel and started to wipe your skin. “Is your cum purple?” you asked, sounding amazed. Minho looked up at you, perplexed by your question. “Yes?” he asked, not understanding why you sounded so shocked. “Is yours not?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Human cum is whitish,” you answered. It was his turned to looked shocked and confused. “White?” he asked incredulously. You nodded quickly as he finished wiping your skin and held out his hand. “Weird,” he murmured as he helped you up, guiding you to the bathroom, making sure you made it on shaky legs.

“I’ll join you in a second,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna pull the sheets before they stain.” You nodded, starting the shower and getting in as he disappeared. He was only gone for a few moments before returning. You stepped aside as he stepped into the shower behind you. “The sheets are already compromised,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before you turned to face him, your hands moving up his chest to his shoulders.

He leaned in, kissing you gently. “But the mattress is fine,” he added. You said nothing as he continued to kiss you under the stream of hot water. “I’ll come up with an excuse for the sheets,” you murmured when he finally pulled back. “I’m sure my mom won’t care that much,” you added.

“Just forward me the bill,” he joked, hands moving to your waist and pulling you closer, smiling as he kissed you. You moaned as his hands wandered. “Again?” you asked as his lips moved down the side of your neck and he backed you against the shower wall. “My energy replenishes fast,” he murmured, nipping and sucking the skin at the base of your neck.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he added. “Just turn around,” he added, using his hands to guide you to face the shower wall. “You’re insatiable,” you chuckled as you felt his already hard cock press against your back. “I know,” he retorted, taking himself in his hand and guiding the tip to your entrance again.

“I promise this is the last time,” he sighed as he started to sink into your heat, making your groan against the tile.

“For tonight anyway.”

Another day passed by with Minho working on his ship. He’d managed to put the console back together, even enlisting your help inside. You mostly helped hold things in place or hold tools while he talked about his life growing up on Ninsa. You listened with extreme fascination to his stories.

His life wasn’t much different than yours; only he grew up in a massive city but he still went to school, attended university, and went out with friends. He took vacations with his family, visited them for holidays, and even dated. It was almost as if he was human but you still noticed subtle differences that reminded you that he was an alien.

You pushed aside the door, walking into the barn with Jake on your heels as Minho worked under the ship. “Wow,” you heard Jake breathe as you walked over to the work table, setting down Minho’s lunch and some water. Today you’d made him some soup as it was a much colder day than before.

Minho shut the panel under the ship and wiped his hands on the rag he had tucked in his pocket and walked over, smiling at you as he hopped up onto the work table and picked up the bowl. “Smells delicious,” he said before digging in. You leaned against the table, watching as your best friend started to walk around the ship. “It looks like it’s done,” Jake noted, a hopeful tone in his voice.

Minho shook his head, swallowing the bite of food. “I’ve run all the diagnostics,” he started to explain, more to you than to Jake. “Everything is almost done but I’m missing a part,” he explained. Your eyes widened. “Oh no,” you said softly. “Is that… bad?” you asked. He nodded, swallowing another bite of soup. “It’s a crucial part,” he explained. “It allows fuel to reach the thrusters. Without it, I can’t even fire up the thrusters,” he explained.

“What, like a fuel injector?” Jake asked with a scoff. Minho nodded, looking at him. “Actually, yes,” he answered. Jake turned to look at Minho. “Wait, you’re serious?” Minho nodded again.

“Yes. That’s all I need. The valve spring in one of mine broke and the spray tip was crushed. I need a new injector.”

Jake looked from the ship to Minho. “Would a car fuel injector work?” he asked. Minho shrugged. “It might,” he answered. “What does yours look like?” Jake asked, tucking his hands in his jeans pockets. Minho set his bowl aside and got up, walking over to the ship and climbed inside.

A few moments later, he reappeared, dropping down to the ground and walked over to Jake, handing him the part. Jake inspected it closely before handing it back. “Looks like a JTS Jet Thrust Stoichiometric injector,” Jake said and you were thankful your friend was into cars.

Minho nodded and looked up. “Where can I find one?” he asked and Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. The cars these were made for don’t exist anymore.” You slumped in your spot. “So the auto shop won’t have any?” you asked, drawing both their attention. Jake shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Definitely not. These were manufactured for the Alfa Romeo JTS engines from the early 2000’s. Those car’s aren’t in production anymore.”

Minho looked down at the part and sighed. Jake’s eyes lit up. “But the junkyard might have one,” he said suddenly. You and Minho both looked up as Jake pointed at you. “Remember last month when I got all excited about the Spider that was brought into the junkyard but Jim said it wasn’t for sale!” You nodded, vaguely remembering the conversation.

“That car will have these. It should have four of them!”

Your face split into a smile as you looked at Minho. “Up for a visit to a junkyard?” you asked.

Minho’s lips curled into a grin. “Oh absolutely,” he replied.

Knowing the owner of the scrap yard wasn’t going to just hand over the part, Jake decided the best option would be to sneak into the junkyard at night and take the necessary part. You had asked if that was going to get you in trouble since you were breaking in and stealing but Jake merely smirked as he shrugged. ‘Only if you get caught,’ he’d said.

So later that night, dressed in all black, the three of you got into Jake’s jeep and drove out to the edge of Derrey where the junkyard stood.

Minho had brought a couple tools to remove the part from the car and Jake came with the wire cutters. You felt uneasy about this but once you were at the fence, there was no going back. Jake led the way around the outside perimeter of the fence to the spot he knew would be closest to the car.

Jake cut the fence and pulled it back, allowing Minho in first, with you following and finally, he slipped into the gap and started to lead the way, your path taking you behind large piles of old rusted cars and tons of scraps, old tires and more.

It only took a few minutes to reach the car. It was a pretty candy apple red but had definitely seen better days. The pain was chipped in parts and the exposed metal was rusted. The leather seats were torn with the stuffing falling out into the seats.

“What happened to this thing?” you whispered as Jake and Minho moved towards the hood. Jake managed to find the latch and open the hood, pushing it up and lifting the holder. You looked around nervously and turned to watch as Jake produced a small flashlight and pointed it to the engine. “Okay,” he said, taking one of the tools from Minho. “Right here. Undo this part.”

You kept glancing around, feeling as if you were being watched but saw nothing while Jake and Minho worked to unhook the fuel injector system. Once it was undone and the cover removed, Jake looked down at the four injectors and smiled, looking up at Minho who smiled back. Jake handed the injectors to Minho and started to lower the hood. “Alright,” he whispered, carefully shutting it.

“Time to go.”

You had only taken a few steps when a flood light turned on, illuminating the yard. “Shit,” Jake hissed. “It’s Jim! Go, go!” he motioned for you to move. Minho moved around the car, taking your hand instinctively and pulling you along as he followed Jake’s movements. The three of you ducked behind an old rusted Chevy, listening as footsteps walked past your hiding place.

“Come on!” Jake mouthed and waved you to follow. You snuck out from behind the truck and started heading for the fence when another flood light turned on illuminating the area you were in. “Fuck, go!” Jake yelled, taking off. Minho tightened his hold on your hand and pulled you along, running quickly as he tried to follow Jake’s path. Jake managed to reach the fence and jumped, climbing over it and landing not so gracefully on the other side.

Minho turned to look at you. “I can’t climb that!” you said, panic in your voice.

A loud yell in the distance followed by barking upped your panic and Minho cursed softly, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. “Here!” Jake called, running outside the fence and leading you both to the break in the fence. You reached it but before Minho could pull it open, the dogs, two doberman pinschers, had caught up and one of them made a lunge for you.

Minho blocked the dog with his body, letting out a growl of pain as the dog’s teeth dug into his leg just above his knee. Jake managed to pry open the fence and Minho shoved you through the gap as he managed to shake the dog off and kick it away. Before either dog could take another lunge, Minho fell through the gap and Jake let the fence snap shut.

You grabbed his arm and helped him up, the three of you running from the fence as the dogs barked ferociously but trapped inside the fencing. You helped Minho hobble back to the Jeep and helped him into the passenger seat as Jake started the engine and you hopped into the back.

Jake stepped on the gas, driving back towards town, cutting through to head back to your farm. He let out a laugh, mostly out of disbelief that you managed to get away. “Holy shit,” he yelled over the sound of the wind whipping. “Talk about a rush!”

You leaned over the center console to look at Minho. “Are you okay?” you asked and he nodded weakly. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. You could tell by his face, he was certainly not okay and you would look at his leg when you got back.

The drive to your house didn’t take long and Jake only pulled into drive when he was sure you weren’t being followed. Once he pulled up to the front porch, you hopped out as Minho opened the door. He tried to climb out but as soon as his foot hit the ground, he collapsed, screaming in pain.

You rushed to his side as he rolled over. Jake climbed out and walked over. “What happened?” Jake asked. “He got bit,” you said softly as you inspected his leg. “Help me get him inside.”

Jake knelt down, helping pick Minho up off the ground and slinging one arm over his shoulder as he helped walk Minho to the door. You unlocked it and held the door open as Jake guided Minho inside and to the living room. Minho grunted as Jake plopped him onto the couch.

“How did he get bit? What were you thinking?” Jake chastised Minho as you grabbed the first aid from the closet and returned to Minho’s side, flipping on the lights and starting to open the case.

“Stop yelling at him,” you said as you put the gloves on and grabbed a pair of scissors to cut open the jeans. “Those are my brother’s!” Jake yelled as you cut the pant leg of the jeans up to the knee. “I’ll replace them,” you said as you inspected the bite wound.

Jake ran his fingers through his hair as you worked to clean the wound and inspect the damage.

“What were you thinking, getting bit by one of those mutts?!”

Minho stared up at Jake, his eyes flashing between red and orange. ‘Orange? That’s new.’

“If I hadn’t taken the bite, it would be Y/N sitting on this couch instead of me,” Minho said angrily, his eyes finally settling on red. You sat up and turned to Jake. “Stop antagonizing him! I need him to be calm and still so I can clean this,” you snapped. “I don’t need you yelling at him and making things worse. If you can’t be helpful then you can just leave!”

You pointed towards the door. It was the second time you were kicking your best friend out but your priority right now was making sure Minho was okay. Jake scoffed and moved to the door. “Fine,” he snapped, ripping open the door and turning to look at you. “Tell me when the thing leaves. I’m not coming back until then.” He stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

You got up and followed, yanking the door open and stepping out onto the porch. “Don’t you dare slam my fucking doors, Jacob Willowby!” you shouted as you followed him off the porch. Jake rounded on you. “It’s like I’m not even your friend anymore!” he shouted. “Ever since that thing showed up, you’ve done nothing but give me the boot. You’re choosing some alien over me!”

“He’s not just some alien!” you yelled back, the corners of your eyes burning. “He’s my friend, too!”

Jake stared at you incredulously. “He’s an alien, Y/N!” he shouted. You raised your hands up, shrugging. “So? You’re an asshole and I’m still friends with you!” you retorted. “He’s. Not. HUMAN!!!” Jake shouted again. The commotion had caused Minho to get up and limp over to the door.

“That doesn’t make him any less of a person!” you shouted back at your best friend.

“What is your obsession with him?” Jake snapped. “It’s like you’re in love with him or something!”

You fell silent, staring at your best friend, watching his expression shift from anger to confusion as the realization hit him. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “You’re in love with him?” he asked, spitting out the word as if it was disgusting to him. “With him? You’re sick, Y/N,” Jake said, laughing incredulously.

“He’s an alien. He’s not human. It’s not like you could ever be together.”

Again you said nothing, images from the other night coming to your mind. Jake took your silence as some kind of omission and he choked back a laugh. “No fucking way,” he whispered. “Did…” his words failed him. “Did you have sex with him?”

You looked up, meeting your best friend’s gaze. You didn’t say anything but you didn’t need to. He could tell by the look on your face what the answer was. His eyes flickered behind you, anger taking over his features. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted, pushing past you and making a beeline for Minho who stood on the porch.

“Jake, stop!” you called as Jake stormed up the steps, towering over Minho, drawing back a fist. “Stop!” you screamed. Jake didn’t have a chance to land a blow on Minho before he was knocked backwards and tumbled down the steps. Minho took a step forward.

His eyes were blood red, a red aura emitting from him as he stalked forward, down the steps toward your best friend. “Stop please!” you cried out, moving forward. Jake tried to stop you but you dodged his attempt to grab you and moved to stand in front of Minho, reaching up to take his face in your hands.

“Minho,” you said softly. “Minho, baby please, look at me.”

Your voice seemed to snap him out of it and his eyes faded from the red to a white before settling back on their normal rainbow hue. You smiled, blinking back tears. “There you are,” you said softly. Minho’s arms went around you protectively.

Jake watched in a mixture of shock and horror that slowly gave way to anger as he got up. “Are you really picking him over me?” he yelled. You pulled back and turned to look at your best friend. “Jake,” you started but he interrupted you.

“No,” he snapped. “You need to think long and carefully about this Y/N,” Jake continued. “Are you really going to pick an alien over your best friend? Someone you’ve known since you were a child? Someone who’s been by your side this whole time, waiting for you to notice them?”

Your eyes widened as you realized the meaning behind Jake’s words.

“Are you seriously trying to confess right now?” you asked. Instead of sounding shocked or whatever Jake had been hoping for, you were livid. “You are so selfish!” you shouted, turning to face Jake who gaped at you like a fish. “Selfish? Me? I’m the selfish one? You were going to leave!”

You scoffed. “I was going to follow my dreams and get out of this place!” How dare he try to sell you as the selfish one when you’ve been living the life everyone has expected you to live and not the one you wanted to live. “I’m taking steps to live the life I want, not what’s forced on me. Everyone is trying to force me into a box and keep me from doing something great with my life. My parents, you, this whole fucking town!” you screamed, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I just want something bigger. Something better,” you added. You felt Minho’s hand take yours, comfortingly. “Why isn’t this place good enough for you?” Jake asked. “Why aren’t I good enough for you?” You shook your head. “It’s that thing’s fault.” Jake accused, pointing at Minho.

You shook your head. “No,” you answered.

“Even if Minho hadn’t shown up, we never would have worked. I don’t feel that way about you Jake. I never have.”

Your words must have been the final nail in the coffin for Jake. The hurt look on his face dissipated into a look of resolve. “Fine,” he spat. “Fuck you, Y/N,” he added, turning and heading for his Jeep. 

You pushed Minho back towards the steps, climbing them quickly as Jake put the car in reverse and backed up, tires digging into the ground. “You’re gonna regret ever coming here,” Jake shouted, pointing at Minho from the window of his car before throwing the car in drive and tearing out of the yard, his tires spitting up dirt as he floored it.

You turned to look at Minho who looked at you. “Your leg,” you suddenly said but Minho stopped you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he murmured. You glanced down and back up. “Let me at least look at it, okay?”

Minho allowed you to guide him back into the house and sat at the kitchen island as you looked as his leg. The bleeding had stopped but you cleaned and bandaged it all the same. Minho headed upstairs to change his clothes before coming back down. “I’m gonna put that part in the ship,” he called and you nodded as you cleaned up the dishes.

He walked over, resting his chin on your shoulder, resting his hands on your hips. You smiled as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before lifting his head and speaking into your ear. “Come with me,” he muttered. You smiled, letting out a chuckle as you sprayed down the sink and removed the gloves.

“Well, now that the dishes are done, I guess I could accompany you to the barn,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Minho broke apart, pushing you back. “No,” he said softly. “Come with me.”

You stared into his eyes until it hit you just what he was suggesting.

“You mean, leave Earth?” you asked. He nodded. “Yes,” he said, one hand moving to cup your cheek. “Come with me, baby,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your lips. You melted into his embrace before pulling back. “But what about school? My family?”

Minho caressed your cheek slowly. “If you don’t like it, I can always bring you back,” he offered, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Though,” he added. “I don’t think you’ll want to come back. Traveling with me? Seeing the universe?” he asked. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth.

“See the universe?” you asked, a grin slowly spreading across your face. “And Ninsa?” Minho nodded, slowly swaying you on the spot. “It’s rash,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s irresponsible,” you continued as Minho leaned in to kiss you.

“I’m not hearing a no,” he whispered, lips inches from yours. You closed the distance, kissing him passionately. “Yes,” you finally said, pulling back to look up just in time to see the rainbow irises change to gold. “Yes?” he asked. You nodded, giggling when he pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you.

“I need to pack,” you said softly. “Just bring some basics,” he said as you let go and made for the stairs. Minho chuckled as he watched before heading out the door. 

He made his way to the barn, glancing up at the cloudless night sky. 

Minho climbed up into the ship, moving to sit in his chair and flipped two switches to turn Stan on. The main screen flickered on, the familiar star logo appearing in the middle of the screen before the computer started booting up.

After a couple moments, the screen turned green and a smiley face appeared in the center. “Hello, Minho,” Stan greeted him, a smile spreading across Minho’s face. “Haha!” he laughed triumphantly. "Stan!" Minho said excitedly. "Boy, am I glad to hear your voice," he continued. “Happy to be back, Minho,” the female AI voice said. 

“I need you to run full diagnostics of the ship as well as chart a course out of Sol III's atmosphere,” Minho instructed. “Certainly,” Stan replied. “Where would you like to go?”

Minho thought for a moment before an idea hit him. “Sol IV.”

You looked through your closet pulling out some basic clothing. Minho had said to grab the basics only so you couldn't pack everything. You pulled out some leggings, sweatshirts, tee-shirt, shorts, as well as underwear and socks.

You quickly rolled and packed everything before moving to grab some shoes and place them in your bag. You rushed into your bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush, toothpaste, and other toiletries, throwing them in the bag as well. You grabbed your phone before hesitating. Would it even work??

Deciding you could at least use it to look at pictures and take pictures, you threw it and your charger in your bag before finally zipping it shut and picking it up.

You rushed down the stairs, dropping the duffle bag by the front door before heading to the kitchen, grabbing a pen and the pad of paper that hung on the fridge by a magnet. 

You hastily scribbled a message to your parents, letting them know you were safe and that you were traveling with a friend. You placed the pad back on the fridge and ran to the front door, stopping to grab your bag and step out onto the porch. 

As you reached the top of the steps, you heard the sound of vehicles approaching and looked up to see a line of cars driving down the road. At the front was an all too familiar Jeep.

‘No,’ you thought, dropping the bag on your porch and bounding down the stairs, making for the barn. You pulled the door shut behind you and turned the light off as Minho was dropping out of the door. “Hey,” he called as you ran to him. 

“I’ve calibrated the navigational system and Stan has run full diagnostics on the ship. We are ready to go and you're not gonna believe where we're going first,” he said, grinning as you stopped, grabbing his arms. “You need to go,” you said breathlessly. 

Minho's smile faltered slightly. “Well, the ship's ready,” he replied. “We can go as soon as you're ready.” You shook your head. “I can’t go,” you started. The remnants of Minho’s smile vanished.

“What are you talking about? Did you change your mind? If so, baby-”

“Jake’s back and it looks like he's brought the whole town with him,” you interrupted, watching Minho's eyes turn white. “Then we need to go now,” Minho said, grabbing your hand and starting to lead you to the ship, looking back when you pulled from his grip. 

“I can’t go,” you repeated, feeling your heart starting to crack. Minho hurried back over to you, taking your face in his hands. “Yes you can,” he said softly. You shook your head. “I have to stall them,” you explained, fighting back tears.

Minho shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. You took his hand, pulling them from your face. “Minho,” you started calmly. He shook his head again, his eyes flashing gray before settling back into rainbow. “No,” he said again. “I’m not leaving without you!”

You moved your hands, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay,” you whispered as his arms snaked around your waist, his face burying into your neck. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. “I’ll be okay.”

Minho's hold on you tightened. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” he murmured. You were the first to pull back, forcing Minho to meet your gaze. His eyes had changed to a deep sapphire blue. You reached up to cup his cheek. 

“What does this color mean?” you asked softly, noticing the way Minho tried to blink away his own tears. “It’s the color our eyes change to when our hearts break,” he said quietly. You tried to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest as you fought back tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. Minho offered a weak smile, removing your hand from his cheek before leaning in, pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t apologize,” he whispered.

“I’d rather have met you and experienced all this than not have met you at all,” he said with a smile despite the tears in his eyes. You pulled him back into another kiss, pouring as much emotion into it as you could muster.

Neither of you wanted to be the one to pull away until you needed to breathe, Minho resting his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. 

You needed him to know. Know that you’d never met someone like him. Know that your life had changed forever the night he came crashing into it, literally. Know that no matter what, you’d never forget him. You needed him to know how you felt.

“I love you,” you whispered, eyes shut tight.

Minho let out a soft chuckle. “You can’t say things like that and expect I’ll leave you behind,” he said, his voice cracking. You kissed him softly. “You have to,” you repeated. He nodded, pulling back to look at you, his eyes a bright pink, different from the pink you'd seen when he was embarrassed. 

“What's this one?” you asked, looking into his almost neon pink irises. He reached up, caressing your cheek before answering. 

“Love,” he said softly. “It’s love.”

The sound of engines outside the barn brought you back to reality. Minho looked towards the door before looking back down to meet your gaze. “I will come back for you,” he said, taking your face in his hands. “I promise.”

He gave you one final kiss before moving to the ship as you ran to the door. You looked back to find him looking back at you, the both of you holding each other's gaze until you finally looked away to open the barn door and step outside. 

In your yard were about ten cars, the occupants shutting off their engines and stepping out. Jake was leading the group as you walked to meet them. You stopped before Jake who stared you down. “Move, Y/N,” he said. You stood your ground. 

“He’s gone, Jake,” you said plainly. Your now ex best friend scoffed.

“Don’t think you can lie to me,  Y/N,” he started. “Just step aside and let us deal with it,” he continued. You shook your head. “No,” you snapped back. “You’re all trespassing,” you called out.

“Do you really want me to call the police and have you removed?” you continued. Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Go ahead, call them," he laughed. “I’m sure they’d love to see what’s in that barn.”

You pulled your phone out and unlocked the screen. “There’s nothing in the barn,” you said as you pressed the 9 on your dial pad. You pressed the one and looked up to meet Jake’s gaze as the ground started to shake, a deep rumbling sending vibrations rolling through the grass. 

A bright light shone out from under the barn doors as Jake and the other townspeople looked on in shock. You pressed the one again and just as you did, several of the people in the crowd screamed as a loud crash sounded from behind you. 

Wood splintered as Minho’s ship tore through the roof of the barn, rising up above the structure, lights illuminating the crowd. You turned to look up at the ship as it hovered before it finally turned and shot off into the night, becoming a faint glow until it ultimately disappeared. 

That night, more than forty people called into the Derrey police station, claiming to have seen some kind of spacecraft crash through your family’s old barn. It was the talk of the town until some other scandal took its place and eventually people stopped talking about it.

You decided to finish the year at your town's local university before transferring to Columbia University, packing up and moving to the East Coast. You loved living in the big city, finding it a massive improvement over Derrey. 

You went back home during the holidays and while you saw Jake in town, your friendship with him ended completely the night he led an angry mob to your house against your alien boyfriend. 

The only thing you missed about home was the sky.

In New York, you were lucky if you saw any stars, especially on campus. Thankfully, you happened to find a nice place just a thirty minute drive from campus where you could go and see more stars than you'd see in the city. 

You’d just finished an exhausting week off work at the zoo and decided to treat yourself with some ice coffee and a drive out to your favorite stargazing location. 

Summer was coming to a close and fall was on the horizon, a chill in the air each night. You were sitting on the hood of your car, looking up at the starry sky, thinking about the last three years of your life. 

Three years since you said goodbye to Minho. 

As you were staring at the sky, you noticed what seemed to be a meteor and sat up, focusing in on it. It was flying across the sky but suddenly, it changed direction and seemed to be heading your way. 

A smile slowly spread across your lips as you slid off the hood of your car and watched as the object sailed overhead and headed for the valley behind the hill your car was parked on. 

You shook your head as you walked around to the driver’s side,  unlocking the door and getting in. You started the vehicle and backed up, turning around and following the dirt road down the hill carefully until you reached the base and started driving into the field. 

As you looked around a bright light suddenly illuminated the field and you slammed on the break, parking the car and looking through your windshield as the craft you spotted before started to descend. 

You turned off the engine and opened the door, ignoring the wind as the ship carefully set itself down and powered down. You shut the door and walked around to the front of your car, crossing your arms as you leaned against the hood. 

You watched as a door opened, light from inside the craft spilling onto the grass. A shadowy figure emerged, walking from the doorway and stopping on the grass, facing you. 

Neither one of you moved for a moment and it was silent. 

Finally you spoke up.

“Took you long enough!” you called. The figure started a brisk walk into the field as you stood up and started walking towards them. 

You weren’t sure who was first but you both broke into a run, colliding with each other, where you threw your arms around his neck as his arms went around your waist, face burying in your neck.

Finally they pulled back and you smiled, looking into those familiar rainbow eyes as they flashed gold. “In my defense,” Minho started. 

“You moved and didn't leave a forwarding address.”

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