#since he has (too much) time on his hands and no one in his house (<- made myself sad with that one)

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: Cover Me in Sonshine

Author’s Note: Making the Operations fics into a series!

Content warning: Pregnancy and natural delivery.

It’s still early. The quiet of the house feels almost surreal as you wake up. The air feels heavier somehow, like the morning itself is holding its breath. Sunlight creeps through the blinds in soft slants, barely brushing the edges of your room. You shift slightly, wincing as the weight of your belly tugs against your body. Your hand instinctively finds the curve of it, still firm, round, and impossibly stretched. You sigh softly, not really wanting to be awake because you can already feel how early in the day it still must be. The clock on your nightstand blinks, 5:55 AM.

Another morning.

You’ll be lucky if you ever sleep in past seven for the next few years. Right now, though, sleep seems like a distant luxury, one you haven’t had much of lately. Between the ache in your hips and the dull throb in your lower back, rest comes in fits and starts. Despite how exhausted you are, your mind refuses to quiet.

All you can think about—all anyone can think about, is that you’re still waiting. Three days have passed since your due date and yet, no contractions, no signs, no…nothing. Just this endless limbo, your body stuck in a frustrating stalled state that makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something big, yet unable to tip over.

You grab at the nightstand for your phone, squinting as the bright screen flares to life. A message from Joe waits at the top.

Hey babe, just headed out for a quick workout. I’ll be back by 10:30. If you need anything or feel like today’s the day, just let me know and I’ll come home sooner. Love you.

Your lips curve slightly, warmth blooming in your chest, but there’s something else there too, something closer to frustration. Not at him, but at…all of it. This waiting game. The feeling of being stuck while everyone around you carries on.

You knew he’d get up early. Even in the offseason, Joe clings to a routine, his quiet hours in the morning when the world feels calm and focused. And he’s earned that space. He’s been incredible these past few weeks, doting without hovering, most of the time. He’s always steady and patient no matter how restless you’ve been. Every evening, he asks if you’re okay, if you need anything, sometimes twice, oftentimes more. His time off has revolved around you, learning everything there is to know about newborns: the most effective swaddle methods, how long to keep him awake so he learns the difference between night and day as well as an effective nighttime feeding schedule.

He can take a few hours to himself, you think. He deserves that.

Your fingers hover over the screen before you type out a reply.

Thanks, babe. I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t overdo it.

You can practically hear him chuckling through the phone, that quiet, knowing laugh, because he never seems to believe he’s overdoing anything. His stubborn confidence is part of what makes him Joe, part of why you love him.

You exhale and try to shift again, but a deep ache flares in your back, deeper this time, like a dull knife twisting low in your spine, pulling things apart that are definitely meant to stay firmly attached. You groan softly and press your fingers into the sore spot, massaging circles to ease the tension. It’s not new at all. This ache has been creeping in more and more lately, but each time it sparks, a tiny flicker of hope stirs in your chest.

Maybe this is it…

But no. The pain fades, leaving you frustrated and no closer to labor than you were yesterday, or the day before that.

The clock now reads 6:37 AM.

You close your eyes, but the knot of restlessness remains. There’s a quiet pressure building, not painful exactly, but heavy and constant, like your body is gathering itself for something important. You know it’s coming, but when?

You shift again, one hand on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your skin. The tiny human you've spent all this time carefully creating is still tucked inside, still waiting.

“Take your time,” you murmur softly, your voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “Just, maybe not too much longer? Please?”

You set the phone down and settle back into the blankets, trying to relax your shoulders. It’s been hard, lately. Waiting. It’s been a whole year of preparation, appointments, baby names, and finally, the moment feels so close, but not quite here yet.

The minutes tick by, slow and steady, but for now, you’re here, in this quiet space, waiting for the little one to arrive. Just a little longer.

You put the phone down, letting Joe’s text sink in as you try to shake off the dull ache in your bones. The unfortunate familiar pangs of discomfort from indigestion and constipation seem to be intensifying. Lately, it feels like the world’s most inconvenient ailment has decided to settle in just as you’re waiting for the baby to make its grand entrance. Of course, it’s also the one thing you didn’t expect to be this uncomfortable—being overdue should’ve been enough of a challenge without the constant bloating and awkward, painful pressure in your stomach.

You inhale deeply, trying to remind yourself it’s just the digestive struggles. The weight of the baby pressing against your insides, your body’s final stretch before it does its job. It’s annoying. Embarrassing, even.

It feels like every part of your body is letting you down. Your stomach bloats up at the smallest meal, your back aches with every step, and now, it’s like your own body is holding the baby hostage in there. And let’s not even get started on the hormone-driven emotional rollercoaster.

But, you have to admit, some of it feels comical, even in its discomfort. You’ve read enough pregnancy blogs to know that half the battle is dealing with things no one tells you about—like the indignity of trying to figure out which position on the couch will ease your gas without making you explode in a fit of awkwardness.

With a sigh, you slowly swing your legs off the bed, careful not to rush the movement. The pressure in your midsection seems to ease up slightly as you stand, though it’s still there, a little tight and definitely at max capacity. You gingerly make your way downstairs, holding onto the railing for balance, feeling the full weight of your baby drastically shifting your equilibrium. As you move, the cramping feels more like an intense knot in your gut, and you know it’s time to make your way to the exercise ball.

You head straight for the water bottle, taking a long sip, feeling the cool liquid trickle down your throat and easing the dryness that’s taken over. You don’t think it’ll help regulate whatever is going on, but hydration seems like a decent place to start.

After a few seconds, you make your way over to the corner of the living room where the exercise ball sits, your faithful companion during these last few weeks. You lower yourself slowly onto it, wincing a little as the baby shifts, and take a deep breath as you roll your hips in slow circles. The gentle movement is supposed to relieve the pressure, and although you’re skeptical, you focus on the slight relief it brings.

It’s just one of those things, isn’t it? One of the million little things people never tell you about pregnancy. How one day you’ll have to tell your husband you haven’t gone to the bathroom in days and you’re on the verge of praying about it. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, even if the situation is mildly uncomfortable. But that’s pregnancy—endlessly humbling, unpredictable, and sometimes…a little bit ridiculous.

You rest your hands on your belly, feeling the baby moving around, and for a moment, the cramping fades into something more tolerable. Maybe this won’t last much longer. Maybe the baby’s just waiting for you to stop worrying about the pain, stop stressing, before finally making his move.

Until then, you’ll continue rolling on this exercise ball, a little horrified at what your body is or isn’t doing, a little tired, but still hopeful that you’ll stop having to ask for help tying your shoes and getting off the couch soon and very soon.

By the time Morgan shows up at 8 AM, you’re curled up on the couch, tucked into a corner with a throw blanket draped over your legs. The dull ache in your lower belly hasn’t really let up, and the pressure feels like someone’s wedged a brick just above your hips. You’re trying to focus on Abbott Elementary, but even your favorite sitcom isn’t helping much. The laughter from the TV feels distant, like background noise to the uncomfortable churning inside you.

Morgan’s familiar voice calls from the kitchen.

“Morning! How’re you feeling?”

You force a smile and crane your neck toward him. He’s already setting his bags on the counter, moving with the kind of ease that comes from routine. He’s been Joe’s private chef long enough to know exactly where everything is—knives, spices, meal prep containers, all without a second thought.

“I’m good,” you answer, even though you’re very much not.

He pauses, wiping his hands on a towel. “You want me to whip something up for you? Eggs? Oatmeal?” He gestures toward the fridge. “I can make that quinoa bowl you liked last week?”

You grimace at the thought. The idea of food, anything warm, rich, or even remotely flavorful, almost make you gag. You press a hand to your belly, your palm tracing flat circles to the front tryin to sooth that backed up sensation, still feeling painfully full despite barely eating since last night.

“No thanks,” you mutter. “I feel like if I eat anything, I’ll actually combust.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. He’s seen you in various stages of pregnancy discomfort, the bloody noses, random crying fits over commercials, even that one time you cursed Joe’s sneakers for “squeaking too loud.” He knows better than to argue with you, especially this late in the game.

“Alright,” he says easily. “But if you change your mind, let me know and I can you something small and easy on the stomach.”

You mumble your thanks and sink deeper into the couch, moving around more easily now that the back pain has dissipated just enough to focus on what's really causing issues. Another cramp bubbles low in your belly, a little dull and you instinctively close your eyes, breathing through it. It’s really nothing. Just more of this stubborn indigestion that won’t quit.

Morgan, meanwhile, quietly moves around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and portioning out Joe’s post-workout meals. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way. He’s trying to be subtle but it’s very noticeable. He can tell you’re uncomfortable and even though you said you were good, he still feels like he should do something to help.

There's something about your silence, the way you’ve barely talked or how you keep pressing your hand to your stomach just nags at him.

He steps away from the counter and pulls out his phone. After a moment of hesitation, he types out a text to Joe:

Hey man, just FYI, Y/N isn’t feeling great. Says it’s indigestion, but she looks a little off. Doesn’t want to eat. Not trying to overstep, but figured you’d want to know.

He stares at the message for a second longer before hitting send. Then he goes back to his chopping, keeping one ear tuned toward the living room…just in case.

Joe’s phone buzzes on the bench beside him just as he’s about to start his next set. He’s been pushing himself this morning, faster reps, heavier weight, trying to clear his mind. And maybe to get a few intense sessions going before the baby comes and he's too sleep deprived to put 300lbs on the bar for leg day. The further away they get to the due date, the harder it’s been for him to focus. Every morning feels like a guessing game. Will today be the day? And it’s been weighing on him more than he'd ever care to admit.

He grabs his phone, swiping away a layer of sweat on his forehead with his other hand. Seeing Morgan’s name on the screen makes his stomach tighten.

Joe doesn’t even think twice after reading the text, he’s already tapping the call button.

You pick up on the second ring, sounding tired but still calm.

“Hey,” you greet softly.

“Hey,” Joe says, his voice low with concern. “Morgan said you’re not feeling too hot?”

You let out a small sigh. “Yeah…just uncomfortable. Same stuff I’ve been dealing with, stomach feels a little dodgy, like I’m too full even though I barely ate. It’s nothing worse than what I’ve felt the last few weeks, though. I promise.”

Joe leans forward on the bench, still breathing a little hard from his workout. “You sure? I can be home in fifteen. Maybe even less than that if you need me.”

“No, no,” you insist. “Seriously, I’m fine. Take your time.”

But then you hesitate and Joe hears it.

“…Actually,” you add awkwardly, “Can you um…can you ask your assistant to grab me some prune juice? And those Olly constipation gummies?”

There’s a brief silence.

“Prune juice?” Joe echoes, biting back a grin.

“Don’t,” you warn immediately, your voice sharp with embarrassment. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Joe can’t help himself, a quiet chuckle slips out, and you groan.

“I hate this,” you mutter. “I’m literally begging you to send someone to buy me prune juice. I might die of humiliation before this baby even comes out.”

“Hey,” Joe soothes, his voice warm now, teasing forgotten. “Don’t even worry about it. You’re carrying our baby. If you need prune juice, gummies, or whatever else, I’ll make it happen.”

“You better,” you grumble, but there’s a small smile in your voice. “You did this to me.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’ll text her now,” Joe promises. “And I’ll finish up fast, just in case.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Love you.”

You sigh, wanting to actually be swallowed by the couch, “love you too.”

As Joe hangs up, he’s already pulling up his assistant’s number, typing out the most ridiculous grocery request he’s ever had to send.

Hey, can you grab some prune juice and Olly constipation gummies and drop them off at the house? Don’t ask. Just trust me.

He pauses, smirks, and adds:

Maybe get some peonies too. The biggest bouquet they have. Just in case.

He sends the message, then grabs his towel and heads for the his last few sets. He’s not taking his time after all.

Joe steps through the front door less than 30 minutes after his call, tossing his keys onto the counter. The first thing he sees is the half-empty cup of prune juice and the opened bottle of laxative gummies sitting beside it. He frowns, setting his gym bag down.

“Where is she?” he asks Morgan, who’s finishing up in the kitchen.

Morgan just jerks his thumb toward the stairs. “Up there. Been a while.”

Joe mutters a quick thanks and heads for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His heart’s racing, not from panic, exactly, but from that anxious feeling that’s been simmering under his skin all morning. He stops at the bathroom door and knocks gently.

“Babe?” His voice is soft but concerned.

“I need a minute,” you groan from the other side of the door.

Joe’s hand rests flat against the wood. “You okay?”

“No,” you huff miserably. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Joe’s chest tightens. “Aw, c’mon,” he says gently, trying to keep things light. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I’m not,” you snap. “I am trapped in here, sweating like I just ran a marathon, and I’m pretty sure if I push any harder I’m gonna launch this baby straight into the toilet.”

Joe winces. “That doesn’t sound great.”

“Yeah.”

He pauses, unsure how to fix this. “Do you want me to call the doctor?” he asks carefully.

“No! God no.” you say quickly. “This is already horrible enough. I don’t need the entire city knowing my body is massively betraying me right now.”

Joe stifles a laugh but instantly regrets it. This isn’t funny, you’re uncomfortable, exhausted, and miserable, and here he is, helpless on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I just…I hate that you’re feeling like this.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you sigh, voice softer now.

“I really need this baby out of my body,” you murmur, frustration and exhaustion bleeding through your words.

Joe leans his head against the door. “I know, babe.” His voice is low and steady now. “But you’re doing amazing, okay? Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says firmly. “Look, you’ve made it this far. You’re tough as hell. This whole prune juice situation? Just a bump in the road.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Doesn't exactly feel like it. I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

“Well…” Joe grins. “Look on the bright side, if this baby does show up today, we’ll have one heck of a story to tell at their wedding.”

Your groan echoes through the door, but this time there’s a hint of a smile behind it.

“I’m serious!” Joe teases. “We’ll be like, ‘Oh yeah, your mom went into labor right after she chugged prune juice and I gave her a pep talk while she sat in the bathroom for 45 minutes.’”

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, but you’re laughing now, really laughing, and Joe feels like that’s a win.

“And yet you chose me,” he says softly.

“And I've been contemplating all of my life decisions ever since,” you answer, still stuck in the bathroom, still uncomfortable, but maybe feeling just a little bit better.

The bathroom door creaks open, and you step out looking thoroughly defeated. Your face a little damp from sweating, and your features riddled with exhaustion.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks carefully.

You shake your head with a tired sigh. “Nothing.”

Joe frowns. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “I drank prune juice, ate those stupid gummies, and sat in there forever just hoping something would happen. Now I'm just worn out.”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, but he knows better than to push his luck.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he says gently. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

You don’t argue. Your body feels heavy, your stomach taut, not from cramps, just…pressure. Like your baby’s taking up every possible inch inside you and still isn’t satisfied. You crawl into bed with a quiet groan, tugging the blankets up over you.

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing a fresh shirt and some shorts.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”

You mumble something in response, something sleepy and unintelligible. Your eyes are already closing as he heads to the bathroom.

When he comes back a few minutes later, his hair still damp, Joe’s wearing one of his old workout shirts and a pair of loose shorts. He tosses his towel in the laundry basket and moves quietly to your side of the bed.

You’re half-asleep, curled on your side, breathing slow and steady. He sits beside you, shifting carefully so the mattress barely dips. His hand finds your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your spine, tracing soft circles in the exact spots he knows help you relax.

After a moment, his hand drifts lower, resting on the hard, round curve of your belly. His palm molds to it, and his brow furrows slightly.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Does this hurt?”

Your eyes barely crack open. “Not really,” you murmur. “Just feels…overstuffed. Like he’s running out of room.”

Joe hums thoughtfully, his thumb absently stroking over the stretched fabric of your shirt. He can feel the tension beneath his hand. Your stomach’s so compact, like a drum. His fingers press a little firmer, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel for movement.

And then, right beneath his palm, the baby moves, slow and heavy, like he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Wow,” Joe breathes with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, he’s definitely running out of space.”

You smile sleepily, your hand sliding over his, locking your fingers together on your belly. “Feels like he’s trying to punch his way out at this point.”

“Well,” Joe grins, “I’d prefer that over prune juice doing the job.”

You snort, barely opening one eye to shoot him a look. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m too tired.”

“Alright, alright,” he whispers, pressing one more kiss to your cheek. “Get some rest.”

You’re out cold in minutes, your breathing soft and even. Joe shifts carefully, reaching for his iPad on the nightstand. He pulls up a documentary, something about space exploration. It’s the kind of background noise that won’t steal too much of his attention and settles in beside you.

He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone right now. Something about the way you’ve been moving, tired, off and just not quite yourself keeps him rooted to the spot. So he stays, one arm still resting protectively across your belly, just in case.

Just in case today’s the day.

Joe barely stirs when you shift out of bed a little over an hour later. He feels the dip in the mattress, hears the quiet shuffle of your feet as you head to the bathroom, but he doesn’t think much of it. Finally, he figures, letting his eyes drift back to his iPad. The prune juice and gummies must’ve kicked in.

But then he hears it, the familiar, awful sound of you gagging, followed by the unmistakable heave of you being sick.

He’s out of bed in an instant, the iPad forgotten on the sheets.

“Hey, hey,” Joe calls as he reaches the bathroom, his voice rising with concern. The door’s cracked open, and he pushes it the rest of the way.

You’re kneeling in front of the toilet, one hand gripping the side of it for balance. Your whole body shudders as another wave hits, and Joe feels his stomach twist.

“Aw, babe…” He kneels beside you immediately, one hand steadying your back. His other hand reaches for a hair tie from the counter, carefully pulling your hair away from your face.

You’re gasping for air, eyes watery and face pale. “I’m…I’m fine,” you choke out between breaths, but Joe’s not convinced.

“Yeah, no offense, but you don’t look fine,” he says softly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You rest your forehead against your arm on the toilet seat, completely drained. “I think I just overdid it with the prune juice.”

“Or the gummies,” Joe adds with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Or both,” you mutter. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Joe says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “None of that. You’re growing a whole human. If anyone’s allowed to have a rough day, it’s you.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah, well… my ‘rough day’ feels like a disaster movie at this point.”

Joe reaches over, grabbing a washcloth and running it under cool water. He kneels again, gently pressing it to the back of your neck.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.” You sigh, closing your eyes as the cool cloth eases some of the heat in your face.

Joe’s quiet for a moment, but his hand never stops moving slow circles on your back, steady and calming. Then, carefully, he asks, “You sure this is just the prune juice?”

You hesitate. “I think so?” you say, but there’s doubt in your voice now. “I mean…I’ve felt weird all day. Maybe this is just my body trying to reset or something. I actually feel a little better.”

Joe’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he leans down and kisses your temple, his hand still resting warm and steady against your back.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you back to bed. But if this gets worse…I’m calling the doctor and it's not really up for discussion after that.”

For once, you don’t fight him.

“Deal,” you mumble, too tired to argue.

Joe keeps a steady arm wrapped around you as he helps you back to bed, moving slow and careful like you might break. You’re shaky and exhausted, and each step feels heavier than the last.

“Almost there,” he murmurs as you reach the edge of the mattress.

But just as you’re about to sit down, that sick, awful feeling rolls through you again and twisting your stomach into knots.

“Wait,” you choke out, one hand flying to your mouth. “I’m gonna—”

You barely make it back to the bathroom before you’re on your knees again, heaving into the toilet. Joe’s right behind you, one hand supporting your waist, the other protecting your hair.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, his voice calm even though his heart’s racing. “I’ve got you.”

But then just as you’re catching your breath, something shifts inside you. A low, unsettling pressure that feels nothing like the cramping and indigestion you’ve battled all day. For a split second, you think you’ve just lost control of your bladder—but then warmth rushes down your legs, soaking your pajama pants and pooling rapidly on the tile floor beneath you.

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “Joe…”

He’s already looking down, eyes wide as they flick from your stunned face to the growing puddle on the floor.

“Is that…?” he starts, but you nod before he can finish.

“My water just broke.” Your voice is a shaky mix of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little relief.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Joe exhales a stunned breath and lets out a soft laugh. The kind that sounds part amazed, part terrified.

“Well…that explains a lot.”

You laugh too, breathless, disbelieving and suddenly the day’s chaos makes sense. The weird pressure, the nausea, the miserable discomfort…your body wasn’t betraying you. It was getting ready.

“Okay,” Joe says, snapping back into focus. “I’m gonna grab your hospital bag, and call Dr. Chen.” He presses a quick kiss to your damp forehead. “We’re having a baby today.”

“Today,” you echo, still trying to wrap your head around it.

The worst day of your life? Maybe not. Maybe it’s just the start of the best one yet.

“Babe, I really think you should just wait until we get there,” Joe says, his voice tight with worry as you pull a towel from the rack.

“Joe,” you groan, stepping carefully out of your soaked pajama pants. “I just threw up, my water broke, and I’m—I don’t even know what else is happening down there. But it’s gross. And I need a shower. Desperately, I'm literally not going anywhere like this.”

He exhales through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to argue. “I get that, but the hospital’s—”

“I just need twenty minutes,” you interrupt, your voice softer now. You press a hand to your belly, feeling a lot lighter now, mentally trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this will only get worse from here. And then you'll be a parent for the rest of your life, there's no going back now. “The next time I walk into this bathroom, there’s gonna be a baby in my arms. That’s…that’s insane. I just need a minute to...breathe.”

Joe’s face softens instantly. His shoulders relax, and he steps forward, cupping your face in his hands.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I guess you can take a few.”

You nod, suddenly feeling a lump rise in your throat. This is happening. It’s really happening.

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back. “I'm gonna grab you some clothes but I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he promises.

You step into the shower, letting the warm water wash over you. For the first time all day, your muscles seem to unclench. The spray rinses away the sweat, the nausea, and thankfully, the sticky amniotic fluid that had left you feeling miserable.

Your mind drifts as you stand beneath the stream, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. The idea that this is the last time you’ll shower before becoming a mom is overwhelming. Exciting, terrifying, surreal. All of it is swirling together until you can’t tell where one feeling ends and the next begins.

You take a deep breath, letting the steam calm you.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, your fingers tracing slow circles over your belly. “We’re doing this.”

When you finally turn off the water and step out, Joe’s still waiting. Your hospital bag is by the door, a fresh pair of clothes is folded neatly on the bed. He looks up, smiling softly when he sees you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

You nod, drying your face with the towel. “Yeah…a lot better.”

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, steam curling behind you as Joe looks up from his spot by the bed.

“Perfect timing,” he says, standing and grabbing the clothes he set out. “I brought your comfy leggings and that big sweatshirt you like.”

“You’re the best,” you murmur, taking the pile of clothes from him.

You get dressed slowly, feeling calmer now that you’re clean and in fresh clothes. Joe’s already crouched down by the door, untying your sneakers so they’re easy to slip on.

“Alright,” he says, patting one of them. “Let’s get these on and—”

Suddenly, a deep, pulling feeling grabs at your abdomen like someone’s cinching a belt around your waist.

You freeze, one hand flying to your belly as your breath hitches.

“Whoa—hey,” Joe says, instantly alert. “You okay?”

You press your eyes shut, breathing through the wave that comes and goes thankfully much faster than you thought it would. “I think…I think that was a contraction.”

Joe’s eyes go wide. “Do you alright, like you're good now? 1-10?”

“I think so. That was like a four. Wasn't bad,” you mumble out, slowly moving to sit.

Joe’s already moving, one hand on your arm to steady you as you lower yourself carefully onto the edge of the bed.

“Alright, just breathe,” he says, his voice calm but focused. “You’re good. We’re good.”

He grabs one of your sneakers and kneels in front of you.

“Okay,” he mutters, sliding the shoe onto your foot and tying it quickly. “Nice and easy.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs the second shoe, his fingers working fast but gentle.

“You good?” he asks again, glancing up.

You nod, still feeling shaky but relieved the pain has passed. “Yeah…this is just. Crazy.”

Joe gives your knee a reassuring squeeze. “Hey,” he says, grinning as he grabs the hospital bag. “I know you’re feeling a lot right now…but this is kind of exciting, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Terrifying, but yeah…exciting.”

“We’ve got this,” Joe promises, his hand sliding into yours.

And somehow, as you walk together toward the stairs your body still aching, your nerves buzzing, you can't help but smile at the fact that you get to do this with your best friend.

Joe steps closer, his hand sliding to your waist. “Good,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head. “Because I’m pretty sure our kid’s on a mission to meet us ASAP.”

You smile, a genuine one that takes over your entire being and for the first time all day, you feel ready.

You and Joe make your way downstairs, his arm still firmly around your waist as he helps you down each step. Your heart’s racing now, the nerves mixing with a strange kind of excitement. The contraction has passed, but the tension in your body still lingers, reminding you that things are really happening.

As you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by the smell of something delicious—a mix of fresh herbs and sizzling veggies. Morgan’s in the kitchen, expertly preparing lunch as always, his back to you both.

He turns when he hears you walking down the final step, his eyes landing on your focused face and Joe’s tense, wide-eyed expression. His brow furrows instantly, and without missing a beat, he sets down the knife he’s holding.

“You guys heading to the hospital?” Morgan asks, his voice even but his gaze quickly scanning you for any signs of distress.

Joe doesn’t even try to hide the mix of anxiety and excitement in his voice. “Yeah…we’re on our way. Her water broke.”

Morgan doesn’t flinch, but his lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking between you and Joe. “Alright,” he says, nodding. “Do you need me to do anything, or are you guys good?”

You shake your head. “We’ve got it. Just, uh, just wanted to let you know.”

Joe’s still holding your hand, but now his grip tightens just slightly as if grounding you both in the chaos of the moment. “You know, Morgan, I really wish you could come with us for moral support,” Joe says with a tired grin.

Morgan gives a wry smile, though there’s no humor in his eyes. “I think you guys have that covered. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it catches in your throat. “Thanks, Morgan…you really don’t know how much we appreciate everything.”

Morgan smiles, giving you a quick, understanding nod. “Don’t mention it. Just get to that hospital and have that baby, alright? And hurry up and bring home so I can finally know his name.”

Joe gives him a thumbs up as he helps you toward the door, your heart pounding as you walk toward the car. But the truth is, it’s finally happening. The baby’s on the way, and it's full speed ahead.

Joe’s hands are steady as he helps you into the passenger seat of the car, making sure you’re comfortable despite the cramping pressure is increasing in intensity by the minute, it seems. He leans in one last time to check the car seat, his fingers lightly brushing over the straps as he double-checks everything. His heart races, it’s almost too much to wrap his mind around.

The next time he sits in this car, his son will be in that seat.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and calm as he looks over at you, already buckling himself into the driver’s seat.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath but feeling a little more grounded now. “Yeah, let's do this.”

Joe gives you a small, reassuring smile before pulling out his phone. He presses a few buttons, his thumb hovering over the call button as he looks over at you.

“You texted your mom earlier, right?" You nod. "I’m gonna call my parents,” he says softly, his eyes focused on the screen but his attention still split between you and the road. "I know my mom probably already has a bag packed to stay with us for a few days."

You give him a small nod, squeezing his hand once before he presses the call button.

It rings twice before his mom picks up.

“Joe? Is everything okay?” her voice is full of excitement and anticipation like she already knows what he’s about to say.

“Hey, Mom,” he says quickly, trying to keep his voice light but failing to hide the excitement underneath. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just wanted to let you know, we’re on our way to the hospital. Y/N’s water broke.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before she responds, her voice almost breathless. “Oh my God! Oh, Joe, that’s amazing! You’re going to be a dad! A real dad!”

Joe laughs, his nerves finally starting to settle at the sound of her voice. “I know, Mom. It’s happening, right now.”

“Okay, okay, we’re on our way. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She’s clearly already getting ready to leave, but she pauses. “Tell that sweet girl we love her and we’re so excited.”

“I will, Mom. Love you.”

As he hangs up, he slips the phone into the cupholder and lets out a slow breath.

“Everyone should now be on their way,” Joe says, his hand gently squeezing yours. “It’s happening, babe. Our little guy is on the move.”

You smile softly, your fingers curling around his as you look out the window, knowing that the next chapter of your lives is about to begin and you’re ready.

You rest your head back against the seat, feeling the dull ache in your lower belly starting to build again. With one hand on your stomach, you fumble for your phone with the other.

“Who are you calling?” Joe asks, his eyes flicking between you and the road.

“Nikki,” you mutter, already scrolling for her name. “She’ll kill me if I don’t tell her.”

The phone rings twice before she picks up.

“Hey! What’s up?” Nikki’s voice is bright and casual, like she’s got no idea you’re in the middle of the most intense moment of your life.

“Hi,” you breathe, wincing as the ache sharpens. “Sooo…we’re heading to the hospital. Baby time.”

“OH MY GOD!” Nikki practically shrieks. “I’m grabbing my stuff right now. What do you need? Snacks? Chargers? Comfort items? A playlist? Should I bring my—”

Your hand clenches tightly around the phone as the contraction surges, fiery and all-consuming. Without thinking, your other hand shoots out and grips Joe’s thigh. Hard.

“Ahhh—oh, hang on, hang on—” you groan into the phone, squeezing Joe’s leg your own personal stress ball.

Joe’s eyes widen for a second before his hand finds yours. He presses his palm over your knuckles, grounding you as he speaks softly.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe…I’ve got you. We’re almost there. About ten minutes out.”

The pain peaks, sharp and relentless, before finally fading enough for you to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you gasp into the phone, blinking back tears as you rub his thigh, apologizing again. “That was a bad one.”

“Don’t apologize!” Nikki cries. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there, I swear.”

“Okay…just hurry,” you say weakly before hanging up.

But before you can even set the phone down, another contraction slams into you. This one much stronger and faster.

“Oh no, no, no, no—” you gasp, both hands now cupping your belly.

“Babe?” Joe’s voice sharpens, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other reaching for you again.

“Joe, just—” you gasp, your voice thin and desperate. “Just run the light.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. His foot taps the gas, and the car surges forward through the red light. Horns blare from both directions, but Joe doesn’t care. His knuckles are white on the wheel, his gaze laser-focused on the road ahead.

Joe’s arm is weighed down by the hospital bag, your overnight duffel, and a smaller tote crammed with last-minute items but still, he keeps his left hand free, reaching out for you as the elevator doors slide closed.

“Here,” he says softly, offering his hand.

You shake your head quickly, barely able to speak as another contraction tears through you. Instead, you grip the elevator railing with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around the cold metal like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Wow,” you grit out, your forehead dropping forward to rest against your arm. Your breathing stutters, short and sharp as you try to focus on anything but the pressure building inside you. Now that you were out of the car you could feel the shift, he was making his way down and you felt like you had could close your legs even if you wanted to.

Joe’s face tightens with concern, but he doesn’t force anything. He steps closer instead, hovering beside you, helplessly watching you fight through it.

“It’s happening so fast,” you choke out, your voice strained and shaky. “I didn’t think it would…feel like this yet.”

Joe shifts the bags higher on his shoulder and presses his palm against the small of your back, rubbing slow, firm circles.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “But you’re doing so good. Just keep breathing. I’m right here.”

Another contraction swells, more forceful than the last, and your breath falters. You grip the railing even harder, your knuckles turning white as a sharp, stretching pressure radiates low in your belly and deep into your back.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, your knees threatening to buckle as you circled your hips. "I feel like I need to squat or something."

Joe’s hand freezes for a second before he quickly presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Okay, okay…we’re almost there,” he reassures you, glancing anxiously at the glowing floor numbers above the door. “Just hang on a little longer.”

The elevator feels like it’s crawling. Each second drags, and by the time the doors finally slide open, you’re trembling, overwhelmed, breathless, and bracing for whatever’s coming next.

Joe doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bags, then steps right back to your side, curling his arm around you as you take one shaky step forward.

“You’re almost there,” he says again, his voice softer now. “We’re so close, babe…you’re almost there.”

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Just hang on, baby.”

You clench your teeth, breathing through the pain as best you can, your fingers still locked tightly with his.

“We’re almost there,” Joe repeats, glancing at you again. “I swear we’re almost there.”

The moment you step into the hospital room, you barely register Nikki and your mom standing by the bed. They’re both mid-laugh, probably swapping nervous jokes to ease the tension. But their smiles vanish when they see you.

“Oh honey,” your mom gasps, stepping forward.

“You okay?” Nikki chimes in, wide-eyed.

You barely manage a quick, shaky hug with each of them before muttering, “I need to pee. And I need my pants off right now.”

Without waiting for a response, you shuffle straight to the bathroom, tugging your leggings down as you go. The pressure is unbearable, like your body is trying to turn itself inside out.

Joe follows you to the door but stops just outside, lingering anxiously.

“You got it?” he calls softly.

“Yeah just give me a second,” you manage through gritted teeth, gripping the bathroom counter as another contraction swells.

A knock at the main door draws Joe’s attention. The midwife steps inside—calm and confident, like she’s seen this a thousand times before.

“I hear we’ve got a baby in a hurry,” she says with a warm smile.

Joe steps aside as she sets her bag down. “She’s in the bathroom,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Contractions went from nothing to…everything in no time.”

The midwife grabs a pair of gloves. “I’ll check her as soon as she’s ready,” she says, her tone soothing yet no-nonsense.

The next contraction slams into you right there in the bathroom, stealing your breath. You brace both hands on the counter, bowing your head as you ride it out.

“Fuck me, oh my God—” you whimper, feeling the pressure deepen.

Joe’s voice comes from just outside the door. “Babe? Want me to come in?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The moment the contraction eases, you stumble out of the bathroom, your shirt a little damp with sweat. Your mom and Nikki both look startled, but the midwife steps in like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Let’s get you on the bed,” she says gently. “I’d like to check you. Sounds like things are moving fast.”

You don’t argue. You’re too exhausted, too overwhelmed to care about modesty anymore. Joe helps you to the bed, his strong hands guiding you as you climb up and awkwardly lie back.

The midwife works quickly, gloved fingers checking your progress. You barely notice her calm smile until she looks up at you.

“Well,” she says brightly, “you’re at about eight centimeters. So you're either already in transition or it's coming soon.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “Eight? Already?”

“Oh my God,” Nikki whispers, grabbing your mom’s arm.

“That’s amazing,” your mom says, her voice shaky with emotion.

You don’t feel amazing. You feel like your body’s on fire, like you’re splitting in two or you’re going to explode.

“I don't think I can do this,” you murmur, your voice thin and ragged.

Joe steps closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yes, you can,” he says firmly, his hand curling around yours. “You’re doing it right now.”

“And you’re so close,” the nurse adds, her voice warm and steady. “Your body’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to.”

The room feels like organized chaos. Voices murmuring, hands adjusting, your body shifting from one position to the next as you desperately try to find some relief.

Your mom is behind you now, her legs stretched out as you lean back against her, the cool fabric of her shirt pressed against your sweaty back. The exercise ball in your lap is your only comfort, something to cling to as you rock back and forth, focusing on the rhythm instead of the relentless waves of pressure.

Nikki kneels at your side, her fingers digging into your hips, deep, firm pressure that somehow cuts through the worst of the pain.

“Right there,” you gasp between breaths. “Don’t stop. Stay right there.”

“I got you,” Nikki promises, her fingers tightening like a vise.

Joe hovers nearby, pacing like a caged animal. His eyes flick anxiously between you, your mom, and Nikki, like he’s looking for some way to help, some role to play that doesn’t involve just watching you hurt.

Finally, you glance up at him, chest heaving.

“Go grab some food,” you rasp.

Joe’s brow furrows. “What? No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Babe, seriously,” you plead. “You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re about to be up all night. Just go. I promise I’ll be okay for 20 minutes.”

Joe opens his mouth to argue when the door swings open and his mom, Robin, steps inside with a bag of food in her hands

“Perfect timing,” you breathe. You hadn’t bothered to check your phone since asking her to grab whatever Morgan was cooking for Joe to have with him.

Robin gives you a soft smile and crosses the room to her son.

“I stopped by the house,” she says, handing Joe the bag. “Morgan had it all packed up, ready to go.”

Joe stares down at the food, still hesitant. “I don’t know…”

You shift uncomfortably against the ball, another contraction creeping up your spine. “Joe… please,” you whisper, voice tight. “Just eat. I need you at 100%.”

His eyes soften, and finally, he steps back toward the chair in the corner, setting the bag down and opening the container.

“Thank you,” you say softly, reaching for his hand before he sits down. Your fingers squeeze his, a silent reminder that, even in the middle of all this, you’re still thinking about him.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much,” he murmurs.

“Love you too,” you whisper back, just as another contraction swells, strong enough to steal your breath.

Nikki’s hands tighten on your hips again, grounding you.

“Deep breaths,” your mom murmurs, her arms wrapping around your shoulders, holding you close as you ride it out.

And across the room, Joe watches you, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, amazed at how he had no idea when he woke up this morning that this would be how the day would go.

You squeeze Nikki’s hand hard as another contraction hits, letting the exercise ball go, "I need to move, this isn't working."

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, helping you lay on your side in the bed.

The room is quieter now, the energy calmer. After hours of constant movement, noise, and coaching, it’s just you and Joe. The dim lighting makes everything feel softer, less overwhelming, but the pressure inside you is still unrelenting.

You’re perched on a birth stool, legs spread wide, elbows resting on your knees, letting out soft sounds of pain. It’s not glamorous, but it’s oddly the most comfortable you’ve felt in hours, something about the position giving your body a break from gravity’s pull.

Dignity is beyond out the window. Your sports bra is damp with sweat. The waistband of your shorts is folded low beneath your belly, your body radiating heat like a furnace.

Joe’s crouched in front of you, arms resting on his knees, watching you closely.

“You okay?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to break the calm.

You nod, rolling your shoulders back as you take a deep breath. “Weirdly…yeah. This is…kind of nice.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Can’t say I pictured it going like this, but hey, whatever works.”

You huff a weak laugh, but it quickly turns into a low groan as another contraction tightens across your belly. You shift your hips instinctively, while closing your eyes, trying to ease the pressure. Joe reaches out, rubbing slow circles on your thigh.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Do you wanna try the shower? Might help you cool off a little.”

You drag a hand over your face, skin warm and sticky. The thought of cool water washing over you sounds like heaven.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “That actually sounds really good.”

“Okay,” Joe says immediately, standing walking over to turn the shower on, adjusting the temperature just the way you like it.

By the time he turns back, you’re already trying to peel off your shorts with shaky hands. Joe steps in to help, easing them down your legs, his touch gentle and patient.

“Couple more steps,” he murmurs softly, holding onto to you like his life depends on it. Right now, it definitely does. He has to get you through this. And he’s going to, no matter what.

When the shower’s ready, he guides you inside, one arm curled protectively around your waist. The warm spray hits your skin, and you exhale a long, shaky breath, the first moment of relief you’ve felt in what feels like hours.

Joe steps just inside the shower, still in his t-shirt and shorts, bracing one hand against the wall to keep steady as he rubs slow circles across your back.

“That better?” he asks quietly.

You nod, your forehead pressing into his chest.

“So much better,” you murmur, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your skin.

For a few precious moments, it’s just you, Joe, and the sound of the water. Everything is quiet, calm, and still.

Joe grabs the showerhead with his left hand, adjusting the spray to a steady stream. With his right hand, he reaches out for you.

“Here,” he says gently. “Squeeze if you need to.”

You eye his hand warily, knowing full well what your grip’s capable of right now.

“I’m not crushing your throwing hand,” you say through a shaky breath. “I’m not about to have Bengals fans making wanted posters of me.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, then switches the showerhead to his right hand and holds out his left instead.

“Alright, fine,” he says with a small laugh. “This one’s expendable.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, gripping his left hand as the next contraction rolls in. You groan low in your throat, bending forward slightly as the pressure tightens across your belly and back.

“Okaaay, okay…breathe,” Joe soothes, running the cool stream of water down your spine. The relief isn’t perfect, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling like you’re drowning in the pain.

The next sound that leaves your mouth is somewhere between a moan and a wail, guttural, raw, and absolutely unflattering.

“Oh my God,” you pant afterward. “I sound like a dying cow.”

Joe leans in, pressing a kiss to the damp side of your head. “That’s great,” he murmurs, “I love cows.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too exhausted to manage anything more.

“I’m serious,” he continues, his thumb tracing slow circles across the back of your hand. “Strong, beautiful…and a little stubborn when they’re in a mood.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, even though you’re smiling.

“No, you don’t,” Joe says softly, running the cool water down your back again. “You’re doing amazing…and I’m so proud of you.”

Your fingers squeeze his hand, hard, as another contraction tears through you. Joe doesn’t flinch. He just holds on tighter, staying steady and solid beside you.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

The pressure in your lower back and pelvis suddenly shifts—deeper, sharper —and a new kind of discomfort blooms, making it impossible to stay seated.

“I can’t sit anymore,” you gasp, wincing as you shift your weight. “It’s too much. My butt hurts.”

Joe’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He slides an arm around your waist, steadying you as you rise shakily to your feet.

The second you’re upright, it’s like gravity grabs hold. A powerful downward pressure that takes your breath away. Before you can even think to stop it, your body bears down on its own, your muscles clenching and pushing without permission.

“Hahh! Okay…okay. Oh my god.” you cry, one hand shooting between your legs on instinct.

“What? What is it?” Joe’s voice is sharp now, his eyes scanning you in panic.

You wanted to answer but you couldn't talk. You couldn't do anything but focus inward and do exactly what your body was demanding, curling in on yourself, bending your knees slightly. The sounds you were making were different, less breathing and more deep sounds, guttural...primal. Joe freezes for half a second before snapping into action.

“Babe? Oh you’re…you’re pushing." He notes, like saying it out loud would make it less daunting. "Alright, okay just…hang on.” He carefully turns off the shower, wrapping one arm securely around you. “We need to make sure you’re at 10, babe. Can you try to hold on for a second? It's hard, I know, we just gotta make sure you're ready so you don't hurt yourself."

“I can’t stop,” you pant, rocking your hips desperately, trying to breathe through the overwhelming urge to bear down. One hand grips your stomach, the other braced between your legs like you can physically hold your son inside.

Joe’s grip tightens. “I know—I know,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just…just try. I’m gonna get your mom or Nikki.”

You barely register him yelling as he helps you stagger out of the bathroom.

“Hey, I need someone to hit the call button. Right now.”

Your mom bursts into the bathroom just as you half-squat in the shower, your body pushing again with a force that steals your breath.

“I'm either shitting myself or he’s coming,” you choke out, tears springing to your eyes.

Your mom runs back to the bed and slams her hand on the call button, calling for immediate medical assistance. Joe is only focused on you, one hand bracing your back, the other gripping your hand as your fingers dig into his palm.

The reality of what’s happening hits Joe like a freight train, Kai isn’t just coming, he’s right there. His breathing stutters, but he forces himself to focus. You’re leaning heavily against him, your face twisted in pain, but you’re still fighting, still pushing.

“Just breathe,” he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re okay. You’re good. I’m right here.”

“I need…I need to move,” you gasp, your body desperate for a new position.

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll take it slow,” he says, helping you shift onto your hands and knees. His arm stays braced beneath you, holding you steady as you adjust.

The moment your weight settles into place, another powerful contraction grips you, and you bear down hard, arching your back as you push. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

The nurse rushes in then with a few people trailing behind, her voice is calm but urgent. “Joe?” she says firmly, locking eyes with him as she kneels beside you. “I need you to stay right where you are, you’re doing great.”

Joe swallows hard and nods, his grip tightening on you as the she guides him.

“Okay, his head’s almost out,” the nurse says, motioning to one of the medical aids. She presses a cold compress into Joe’s hand. “Hold this here, help her stretch.”

Joe places the cool cloth against your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh at the relief it brings.

“When she pushes again, I want you to support him. Don’t pull, just let him come.”

Joe’s fingers tremble slightly, but he nods again. “I’ve got him,” he says, more certain this time.

Another contraction rips through you, and you cry out, pressing your forehead into Joe’s shoulder as your body bears down.

“There you go, baby,” Joe whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re doing so good…so good.”

Suddenly, the baby’s head slips free into Joe’s waiting hands—warm, damp, and shockingly real.

“Holy shit,” Joe gasps, his voice barely a whisper. “…his head’s out.”

“Check for a cord.” The nurse cuts in.

Joe swallows hard and gently runs his fingers around the baby’s head, careful and precise. “No cord,” he says, relief flooding his voice.

You’re shaking, exhausted and overwhelmed, but Joe’s voice cuts through the noise.

“You can do this,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

With the next contraction, you push hard, crying out as Kai’s shoulders slip free, followed by the rest of his tiny body. The midwife hands him a clean towel just in time to catch the warm, slippery weight of his baby boy, who enters the world with a rush of fluid and an angry, piercing cry.

“Oh my God,” Joe breathes, his voice breaking as he carefully lifts his son onto his back, cradling him in the fresh towel.

“He’s here,” Joe chokes out, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “He’s here…and he’s so—oh my god. He’s actually here.”

Tears spill down your face as you reach back weakly, your fingertips brushing your son’s tiny hand.

“You did it,” Joe whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.”

And as their son’s cries echo through the room, Joe can’t stop staring. His heart full, hand still steady on your back unbelievably overwhelmed by the sight of the strongest two people he’s ever known.

The sound of your baby’s first cry fills the room —loud, raw, and impossibly perfect. You let out a shaky breath, your body sagging with exhaustion and overwhelming relief.

“He’s here,” Joe whispers again, his voice breaking as he cradles your son’s tiny body in the towel. “Little man’s got some lungs on him.”

You chuckle softly, your fingertips brushing Kai’s damp hair. He’s warm and wriggling beneath Joe’s steady hands, his cries fierce and strong.

“Kai,” you rasp, barely able to get the word out through your tears. “Took you long enough sweet boy.”

Joe’s face crumples as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing together tightly. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Both of you. So much.

Outside the bathroom door, Nikki and your mom, who had been frozen in terrified silence through those final moments, each let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” Nikki whispers, pressing a hand to her heart.

Your mom wipes her eyes, her breath catching. “He’s here,” she says softly, her voice full of awe.

Neither of you can believe there’s a baby in your arms. His cries soften the moment your skin meets his, his tiny fingers curling against you.

Joe leans in, his arm around both of you, his lips brushing your temple. “He’s perfect,” he whispers.

The nurses gently lift Kai from your chest, cradling him in a soft towel as they prepare to take him to be cleaned up. The rest of her team surrounds you immediately after, checking you over and checking you over.

Joe’s eyes flicker between you and Kai, a mix of joy and worry crossing his face. “Do you need me here?” he asks, his voice full of concern. “I don’t want to leave you alone…”

You reach out, your hand still shaky from the delivery, but you manage to catch his. You smile softly, trying to ease his mind.

“I’m okay, Joe,” you whisper, your voice quiet but steady. “Go with him. He needs you, too.”

Joe’s eyes soften, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. He looks at Kai one last time before meeting your gaze, his heart torn. “But—”

“Joe,” you interrupt gently, “I’ll be fine. You go with him. He’s our son. You don’t want to miss a minute of that.”

A soft smile tugs at his lips, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns to the nurses, his voice thick.

“I’ll be right over there with my adult diaper on.”

One of the nurses smiles and nods in reassurance, carefully carrying Kai toward the warmer. Joe hesitates for a moment longer, then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you reply, your eyes locking with his. “Now go.”

Joe gives you one last lingering look before following the nurses toward the table, his steps slow as he watches his son being gently cleaned. His heart, still racing, finds some calm in the knowledge that his family is safe and sound.

Back by your side, the midwife helps you settle into bed, cleaning you up gently but efficiently. You take a deep breath, your body aching but content, watching as Joe gazes down at Kai from the other side of the room, his hands trembling with a kind of wonder as he meets their son for the first time.

And you know, no matter what, your world has just changed forever.

Kai is carefully swaddled in a soft, baby blue blanket, his tiny body snug and warm. The nurses hand him off to Joe, and the second he holds his son in his arms, Joe’s breath catches. His gaze softens, and a smile spreads across his face as he looks down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket.

He takes a long, stunned moment, unable to tear his eyes away from Kai. The baby’s icy blue eyes are still a little puffy, his features soft and delicate, but the resemblance is undeniable.

“Damn,” Joe breathes, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “He looks like me. He looks exactly like me.”

He turns toward you, still holding Kai carefully in his arms, and you can’t help but laugh softly at the sight.

“Well,” you tease, your voice still a little raspy from the delivery, “I guess my genes didn’t even try, huh?”

Joe chuckles, his eyes still glued to his son, as he gently walks over to you. “At least the hair is all yours,” he says with a smile, his tone full of pure love. “He’s perfect.”

He settles beside you on the bed, carefully placing Kai in your arms. As soon as you cradle him, Kai’s tiny hand instinctively grabs onto your finger, and your heart melts all over again.

Joe leans in, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “He’s ours.”

And in that moment, you know with every fiber of your being, everything you’ve ever dreamed of has just come true.

Nikki and your mom both take turns holding Kai, their faces glowing with pure joy as they marvel at him. Nikki, teary-eyed, gently rocks him in her arms, whispering softly to him as if already promising a lifetime of friendship and love. Your mom smiles warmly, brushing a finger along his cheek as she coos, “He’s perfect. Just like his parents.”

Joe watches them with a soft smile on his face, still in awe of how everything has fallen into place. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. It’s his mom.

He steps into the corner of the room, his voice already trembling with emotion as he answers.

“Hey, Mom,” Joe says, a grin spreading across his face. “Kai’s here.”

Robin’s voice comes through loud and clear, excited and full of joy. “Oh my god, Joe! He’s here!”

“Yeah,” Joe laughs, his heart soaring. “He’s perfect, Mom. He looks just like me.”

Robin lets out a soft chuckle, clearly overjoyed. “I can’t wait to meet him! We’re on our way. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.”

Joe looks over at you, his heart full, and you give him a small nod, a smile lighting up your face despite the exhaustion still lingering in your body. You reach out for Kai again, holding him close as you breathe in the scent of his soft skin, overwhelmed by the love that fills the room.

“We’ll be waiting,” Joe says into the phone, his voice thick with emotion. “Can’t wait for you to meet him.”

He hangs up and turns back to the room, his eyes softening as he takes in the sight of his son being held by your mom and Nikki.

“They’ll be here soon,” Joe says quietly, walking back to your side. “But for now, it’s just us.”

You smile, your eyes locking with his. “Just us.”

And as you both sit there, wrapped in the warmth of your new family, you can’t help but feel that, no matter how much time passes, you’ll never forget this moment, when everything finally felt complete.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and Robin and Jimmy walk in, their eyes immediately locking on Kai, still peacefully nestled in your arms.

Joe’s parents stop in their tracks, both of them overcome with emotion. Robin’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she takes a step closer, her voice trembling.

“Oh my God honey…he’s beautiful,” Robin whispers, her voice full of awe.

Jimmy, usually reserved, can’t help but smile widely as he steps forward, his eyes twinkling with pride. “Look at him,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “He’s got your eyes, Joe.”

Joe, standing next to you, watches as his parents approach. His heart swells seeing the look on their faces, pure, unfiltered love. He gently takes Kai from your arms and cradles him against his chest, carefully walking over to his parents.

Robin reaches out first, her hands trembling as she gently holds Kai for the first time. She gazes down at him, tears spilling over as she whispers, “My baby boy now has his own baby boy.”

Joe watches, his own emotions thick in his throat as he stands beside his mom, who can barely hold herself together. Robin leans in, kissing Kai’s tiny forehead, her voice breaking as she says, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

She looks up at Joe, her eyes full of love. “You’ve made me the happiest mom in the world.”

Joe smiles, his throat tight with emotion, but he manages to speak. “I just can’t believe he’s here. And he’s real.”

Jimmy, his voice soft, adds, “You’re a dad now, kid. It’s…it’s something else.”

Robin holds Kai a little longer, her tears falling freely now as she cradles him gently, overwhelmed by the fact that her son—her only child—has started a family of his own.

Joe watches, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, his heart swelling at the sight. “We’ve got a family now,” he says quietly, looking at you. “A real one.”

On a bright sunny day in May, Kai Joseph Burrow entered the world, all 10lbs 3oz of him.

And as the room fills with quiet, overwhelming emotion, you realize just how much love surrounds you, how deeply your family has grown, and how everything, no matter how difficult or challenging it’s been? It’s all led to this perfect moment.

Life would never be the same. And after today? You can’t wait to get this next chapter started.

[reilemon]

Powdered Gold

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: When you invited Caleb to stay at your place in hopes of rekindling your friendship, you didn’t realize you’d be inviting the feelings you shunned years ago. You both changed, but what you feel for each other hasn’t—and maybe, this time, you’ll be brave enough to reach for it.

♡︎ pairing: Caleb x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, angst, smut, Caleb calls you pipsqueak (and always will in my fics), Caleb is a virgin, but reader isn't, oral (both of them giving and receiving), creampie as always

♡︎ word count: 10.3k

♡︎ a/n: this is my first time writing Caleb, so pls be nice to me ok??

♡︎ this is not beta read but i'm still giving a shout-out to my bestie ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @/anitalenia

Caleb’s voice echoes from the bathroom, breaking you out of your thoughts. “How many body lotions does one person need?”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond immediately. Instead, you smooth the fabric of his shirt between your fingers before placing it on a hanger in your closet. Then you go to the bathroom.

You lean on the doorway, crossing your arms, “You’re not being a very pleasant house guest with comments like that.”

He’s standing in the shower, placing his travel size toiletries in one corner, his back turned to you. “And you’re not bein’ a very nice host for making your guest sleep on the sofa.”

You roll your eyes again.

This was your idea. That’s what you remind yourself as you watch Caleb settle into your space like he’s always belonged there. You were the one who matched your vacation days with his, and invited him to stay here instead of a hotel.

It made sense. You hadn’t seen much of each other since he came back, just a few meetups here and there, a handful of nights at his place. But now, for the first time in what felt like years, neither of you had somewhere else to be.

The sight of him here, snooping around your bathroom after setting down the toiletries you know he’ll use up in a day before inevitably stealing half of yours, warms your heart. When you’re like this - so close to him, grabbing his wrist to drag him out of the bathroom because ‘why are you inspecting every corner, you’re so weird!’  - and when he lets out that impish chuckle as he says ‘but I need to get acquainted with my vacation place.’ - it feels like nothing has changed.

Like there are no threats in the shadows. Like both of you haven’t lost a little light in your eyes.

But you have.   

And now, watching him here, so effortlessly at home in your space, you’re not sure if it’s comforting or bittersweet.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Time quickly passed while helping him unpack and putting away his stuff, and now it’s already dinnertime and you’ve worked up an appetite. You glance, from where you’re sitting on the sofa, at Caleb who’s rolling up his sleeves before opening your fridge. Before he can ask you anything, you stand up and start walking towards the coat rack.

“Since I am such a gracious host,” you begin, earning Caleb’s attention and he turns to you, “I’ve decided to spare you of your cooking duties on your first day – “

“It’s dinnertime.” Caleb intercepts, with a mock offence in his voice.

You ignore him. “We’re going to one of my favorite places to eat.”

He closes the fridge and turns to you, crossing his arms. “That is too vague. Do I need to change and wear something fancy? Is it your treat?”

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Sure!”

You toss him his jacket and when you reach for your purse you remember something. “Oh, wait – I got you something.”

You dig into your purse and pull out a brand-new lip balm, holding it up with a triumphant look. Caleb eyes it, then sighs.

“You’re so thoughtful. Thanks.” His flat tone as he accepts it makes you grin.

“It’s extra moisturizing so I don’t have to keep looking at your dry lips.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why do you want to keep staring at my lips?”

Heat spreads across your face instantly. You immediately look away, mumbling, “I’m not staring.”

He hums, unscrewing the cap as he tilts his head. “What was that, pipsqueak?”

You exhale sharply, ignoring him. But the moment he swipes the balm across his lips, with orange glow of sunset spilling over his face, you can’t help but steal a glance. And you just know he catches it. But, for once, he doesn’t tease. He just smirks knowingly.

You grab your jacket a little too quickly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just follows, still smirking as he tucks the lip balm into his pocket.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

By the time the two of you return to your apartment, you feel sleep already overtaking you. The dinner turned into wandering around some shops, then you had smoothies, then Caleb insisted walking around more to burn off calories. Usually, an evening like that wouldn’t be so tiring if you didn’t spend the whole day cleaning and tidying up, and then picking him up at the train station. And there were these waves of butterflies in your stomach, that would appear whenever you thought of him. It was draining, and frustrating.

But not confusing.

You thought those feelings had disappeared. You really did. But as the years passed and you started a new life here—new city, new people, new experiences—you told yourself you’d moved on. You had to.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you fluff up his pillow after slipping it inside a fresh and clean pillowcase. You already took a shower, stole one of his baggy shirts and paired them with pajama shorts and fuzzy socks. While he’s in the bathroom, you decided to set up the bedding on the sofa, since you’re sure he must be tired as well, even if he’s not showing it. As always.

Though your body feels like velvet, heavy with exhaustion, you still accept Caleb’s suggestion to watch a movie before bed.

"We don’t have to watch it tonight." Caleb lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking over your sleep-heavy expression.

"I’m fine!" You try to sound convincing, but you’re already tugging the duvet over yourself. "I just need to lie down."

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watches you nestle deeper into the cushions, head resting on the pillow meant for him.

"It’s so nice and cozy in here," you murmur, voice already thick with drowsiness. The crisp, freshly washed bedding cocoons you, pulling you under.

He chuckles, stepping closer and tapping your legs, silently telling you to move. "You’re just trying to convince me that this is comfortable for me."

Before you can protest, he takes your legs and settles them over his lap.

Your body stiffens at the contact. This is normal. It should be normal. It’s not the first time he’s had your legs in his lap. You inhale deeply, telling yourself to relax, to stop overthinking. You’re just getting used to his presence again.

Though, suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy anymore.

The movie plays on the TV, filling the space with voices and background noise. Comfortable silence settles between you both, broken only by occasional remarks—mostly Caleb critiquing the acting. Of course he can’t keep quiet even during a movie. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the annoyance fades the moment his hands slide under the covers, grazing over your shins.

He glances at you, voice low. "You seem a little tense. Was the walk too exhausting?"

Your breath catches for a second before you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. His fingers press against the tight muscles in your calves, kneading gently.

"Maybe a little." you murmur, your voice softer than intended.

He murmurs a small apology, letting his hands make it up to you. He presses and kneads with just the right amount of pressure, his thumbs digging into spots that unravel you far too easily.

Heat blooms deep inside you, catching you off guard.

He works his way down, his palms smoothing over your ankles, rolling slow circles there before moving to your feet. The added texture of your socks only makes it worse—the friction, the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the way his thumbs press into the soles of your feet, it makes it so much harder to focus on the movie.

You bite your lip, pulse thrumming. A small sound threatens to escape your throat, and you swallow it back before lifting your legs off his lap. You murmur a small “thank you” and curl up on your side, your gaze now glued to the screen.

Caleb teases you, saying you look like you’re about to pass out. And even though you mumble a half-hearted protest, swearing you’re still awake, your eyes flutter closed before the movie is over.

His presence might be the source of your simmering frustration, of all the feelings you’re trying to ignore—but it’s also the most comforting one you’ve ever known.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes open, it’s already morning. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room. You’re warm, nestled beneath the comforter, a plushie tucked securely in your arms. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips as you nuzzle against it. You don’t remember how you got to bed, but you don’t need to think too hard about it. Caleb must have carried you here last night, just like he always used to, slipping back into old habits as if no time had passed at all.

The scent of something familiar drifts in from the kitchen, rich and savory. He’s up, moving around the kitchen, already making breakfast.

You stretch lazily before dragging yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine. After freshening up and changing into more presentable loungewear, you step into the living room.

"Look who’s awake!" Caleb’s voice greets you the moment you enter. His back is turned as he works at the counter, only glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to whatever he’s preparing.

You groan, voice still laced with sleep. “I don’t want to hear the usual ‘by the time you got up I already jogged’ and blah blah blah!” Caleb laughs at your mocking tone, shaking his head as he grabs a pair of plates from the cabinet. He starts setting the table, saying something in response, but his words blur in the background when your eyes catch on something unexpected.

A pillowcase. His pillowcase.

It’s hanging on the drying rack by the window, the fabric swaying slightly from the morning breeze. Your brows knit together.

"When did—why did you wash this?" You gesture toward it, confusion clear in your voice. "It was completely clean."

Caleb barely falters. "It was, but I drooled on it last night," he says easily, still arranging the table. "Didn’t want to make too much noise, so I hand-washed it."

You huff a small laugh, tempted to tease him for drooling, but for some reason, you don’t. Maybe he was exhausted. Or maybe your scent bothered him. Your stomach tugs uncomfortably at the thought, but you brush it off before it can settle. Don’t be ridiculous.

Instead, you take a seat across from him, scanning the breakfast spread. He made everything you like in the morning—even bought coffee from one of your favorite coffee shops. The warmth in your chest is immediate, dangerously soft, dangerously familiar.

“You should quit the colonel position,” you look up from the bowls and plates, meeting his gaze properly since you walked in – he’s already watching you, a hint of amusement in his eyes, “A – and be my personal chef.”

Damn it.

Heat creeps up your neck at the stumble in your voice.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle, setting a glass of water in front of you. "I wouldn’t mind that."

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The room is bathed in the dim, flickering light of the television, casting soft shadows across the coffee table cluttered with half-eaten snacks. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, warm and familiar, mixing with the faint traces of Caleb’s cologne. He sits comfortably beside you, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed, his focus on the screen in front of him.

You should be watching too. After all, you’re the one who recommended it, but Caleb wanted to wait, saying he’d rather watch it for the first time with you instead of on his own.  And now, here you are, barely paying attention at all.

Your eyes are glued to the phone screen, and every so often, a quiet giggle escapes you, fingers tapping swiftly against the glass as you reply to messages. You don’t notice the way Caleb’s gaze flickers to you from the corner of his eye. You don’t register the barely-there tightening of his jaw as you keep getting distracted, your smile aimed at a screen instead of him.

At first, he says nothing. He lets the minutes pass, lets you have your moment, but with every small laugh, every glance downward, his patience begins to fray at the edges.

Who the hell is so funny?

He shifts beside you, stretching slightly, making himself known, a silent reminder that he’s still here. But you don’t even glance up.

Fine.

The movement is swift—before you can react, Caleb reaches over and snatches your phone out of your hands.

“Caleb!” You protest in disbelief.

He leans back against the sofa, holding your phone just out of reach, with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

"I thought we were watchin’ this together?"

You blink at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity, before a scoff escapes you. "Did you seriously just take my phone?"

He shrugs, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it, like he has every right to.

Your eyes narrow. "That is a violation of privacy."

His smirk widens slightly, thumb hovering just over the screen. "So what were you laughin’ at?"

You sigh in defeat. Time to change the tactic.

You lunge for your phone without hesitation, but he’s faster—his arm lifts easily, keeping it just out of reach, and he leans away, making you chase after it.

"Caleb—!"

The next few seconds is a blur of limbs, the glowing screen of your phone, and breathless laughter.

You scramble onto your knees, grappling at his wrist, stretching upward, trying to reach the device, but he moves effortlessly, dodging you like this is nothing. You nearly lose your balance in the process, your hands bracing against his chest—

Fuck, those muscles are strong.

Caleb chuckles at your failed attempt, his grip on your phone still firm, completely unbothered by your struggling.

You’re not giving up that easily.

With renewed determination, you grab at his wrist again, pushing against him with your full weight, throwing him slightly off balance. Your bodies end up in a tangled mess of limbs as both of you topple on your side onto the cushions. His body is so close, his warmth suddenly everywhere. Your breath catches, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you notice a slight flinch when your fingers brush against his ribs.

You blink up at him as realization dawns, slow and sweet and far too tempting.

Caleb’s expression shifts instantly. "Don’t."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across your lips.

You dig your fingers into his side, and he twists in protest, his muscles flexing as he tries to escape you. His laugher is light and carefree - and it is the most unfairly attractive sound you’ve always loved.

You falter for a second too long.

Caleb doesn’t waste the opportunity. Before you can react, he grips your wrist, and with ridiculous ease, he flips you onto your back. By the time you catch your breath, he’s already caging you in, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

Everything stills for a moment. His breathing is heavier now. Yours is too. The TV hums softly in the background, but neither of you are listening. Your phone has slipped onto the carpet, forgotten. His grip isn’t tight, isn’t restricting, but it keeps you in place. Caleb’s gaze lingers on you, no trace of teasing left in his expression. And something about that - the way he’s looking at you, about the weight of his body pressing against yours, how his chest rises and falls above you—sends a slow, unbearable warmth curling through you.

But then, just as easily as he pinned you down, he lets go. You sit up quickly, forcing a small laugh, brushing off the moment like it was nothing. Caleb leans back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair before reaching down and lazily tossing your phone back to you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop stealin’ your stuff. For now.”

You roll your eyes, unlocking the screen, but you hesitate for a second before speaking. “I know it was rude to text during the movie,” you admit, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I was just talking to my friends about tomorrow.”

Caleb doesn’t react at first. He’s stretching out his legs, seemingly unfazed, “Yeah?” his voice is too neutral. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I already made plans to go out with them.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something quickly buried, masked with indifference. He exhales through his nose, nodding, like he’s completely unbothered.

“Cool.”

"I won’t be out late," you say quickly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Just a couple of drinks, maybe some dancing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his jaw is tighter now.

You hesitate, studying him for a moment, before offering a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, you can come pick me up.”

That makes him glance at you, his eyes softer now. “Yeah. Alright.” Then he takes the TV remote to pause the movie, and now his full focus is on you. “So, what are you gonna to wear?”

The question makes you flustered, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I don’t know.” You admit quietly. It is the truth, which is why you’ve been texting your friends during the movie. But he hasn’t seen you in anything revealing before—not really. Not outside of tiny glimpses in summers past, when you’d lounge around in shorts and tank tops, never once thinking about how his eyes followed you.

And it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so unbearably attracted to him.

You spent too much time getting ready this morning. From the cozy loungewear you’d picked out before breakfast, to the outfit you chose for your day out with him, to the subtle refresh of your makeup before settling down for the movie—it had all been intentional. Every choice, every small detail, designed to make you look effortlessly good.

“Why don’t you show me the outfits you had in mind?” He asks, leaning back against the sofa, “Maybe I can help you.”

You force yourself to exhale, keep your tone light. "Fine. But don’t be annoying about it."

Caleb smirks, tilting his head slightly. “No promises.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You disappear into your room, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body reacted to that simple suggestion. You shouldn’t care. It’s Caleb. He’s seen you barefaced and half-asleep, wrapped in blankets, wearing mismatched pajamas. He’s been around you long enough to know every version of you.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, sleek and form-fitting, hugging the shape of you in a way that suddenly feels too revealing. You refuse to dwell on it.

You smooth your hands over the fabric before stepping out, ignoring the way your pulse picks up the moment you re-enter the living room.

And the moment you do, Caleb stills.

He doesn’t shift, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t offer some offhanded remark the way you expect him to. He just watches, his gaze moving over you. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

"Hm. I don’t know."

You gasp, almost appalled at the comment. “What do you mean you don’t know?” You’re trying your best to sound normal, and not like your cheeks are burning under his gaze. He looks effortlessly handsome, sprawled across the sofa with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread in a way that makes him seem both completely at ease and utterly in control of the space around him.

His eyes lift to yours. "Turn around for me."

The request is effortless, spoken with the same ease as everything else he says. But something about it—the quiet authority in his voice, the way his gaze stays locked onto yours, unblinking—makes your skin prickle.

You try to shake off the thought, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Turn around? What, am I on a runway?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Exactly. Indulge me.”

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You try on another dress, stepping out with a little more confidence this time, expecting at least some approval. But Caleb only exhales, tilting his head slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Not my favorite."

You huff, retreating into your room once again, determined to find something he can’t find an issue with. But it becomes a pattern. No matter what you put on, Caleb always has something to say.

"That one’s not very practical."

"You’ll be freezing in that."

"It’s fine, I guess."

But you’re not stupid. The pattern is glaringly obvious—the more revealing the dress, the less he seems to like it.

After one final unimpressed hum from him, you let out an exasperated breath. There’s a pile of clothes on your bed and your muscles are aching from the endless zip-twirl-sigh routine. “Okay,” you snap, sharper than intended, “you’re officially no help.”

Caleb smirks, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. “Just bein’ honest.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your phone on the coffee table. "Whatever. I’ll just ask my friends."

You barely hear whatever excuse he’s offering now, his voice a low murmur in the background as you tap out a message. Then, an idea pops up in your head. You glance up from your screen, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You should go out as well.”

Caleb stops, his gaze flicking to yours, just for a second. Then, he shakes his head, exhaling lightly. “Clubs aren’t really my scene.”

You nod, finishing your message and sending it off before locking your phone. You lean your shoulder against the wall, the cool surface pressing against your heated skin.

"Well, who knows—" your tone is casual, "you might meet a cute girl."

His laugh is hollow. “Doubt that’s happening.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocence. “You have someone back home?”

The room stills.

You notice Caleb’s jaw shifting just slightly before his frown deepens. It’s not irritation—not exactly.

"I don’t." His voice is steady. Then, his gaze sharpens, latching onto yours, his expression more serious than before. "I would’ve told you, like I promised."

A breath catches in your throat.

"Like we promised."

Caleb’s words linger. I would’ve told you. Like we promised. You stare at him, throat tightening as his gaze sharpens—he’s studying you, dissecting the guilt spreading across your face.

“You never told me,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “if you ever liked someone.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you barely register it. You don’t want to answer this question. You swallow, but your throat feels dry. "We weren’t talking as much." The words come out quieter than you intend, "It didn’t seem relevant."

“Relevant.” He repeats.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as something in your chest tightens. "You can’t deny we grew apart, Caleb." The words claw their way up, bitter and ugly, “And you're the one to talk - as someone who decided to go no-contact for months.” and the second they leave your mouth, you regret them.

You watch his face shift from stunned to something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Before he can speak, you sink onto the sofa beside him, your scarred knee bumping his. “I’m sorry.” you curl your fingers into the fabric of your dress to keep from reaching for him. “I didn’t mean that.”

His eyes soften and a sigh leaves his lips. Then, the faint pressure of his palm settles on your head, the familiar gesture offering comfort. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, voice low.

You lean into his touch, eyes burning. “But I am sorry.”

“I know.” His hand stills, heavy and warm. “So am I.”

The admission is so quiet you almost miss it. You glance up, but he’s already looking away, jaw clenched against whatever else wants to spill out. So am I for leaving. So am I for coming back broken. So am I for loving you like a man who was never meant to fly—reaching for the only light that ever felt like home, even knowing that if I get too close, you’ll be the one who burns.

You don’t press. Instead, you let your shoulder bump his. He exhales, tension seeping out of him as his hand slips down to cradle the nape of your neck. "Come on, pips." His voice is quieter now, lighter. "We should get some sleep."

The argument dissolves, but the ache remains—a bruise you’ll both keep pressing, to remind yourselves it’s real.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Even though it was late, you had insisted on finishing the rest of the movie, clinging to the familiar comfort. You slipped back into the playful banter – you had whined about the pile of clothes still sitting on your bed, blaming him for it. Caleb, ever unbothered, had only smirked and offered to neatly put them away tomorrow.

While he was in the shower, you took the time to make up the sofa, tucking the sheets with more care than necessary. When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the heat of the water, you didn’t comment on the familiar citrus scent clinging to him—the scent of your body lotion.

You’d exchanged a quiet goodnight before retreating to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Grabbing the pile of discarded clothes, you stacked them onto the armchair in the corner, ignoring the mess for now. You had planned on wearing your usual pajama tank top, but Caleb had insisted you wear one of his shirts again, claiming it was more comfortable.

You’re here now - lying beneath the comforter, pajama shorts brushing against soft sheets, the soft fabric of his shirt enveloping you, and yet still— you’re completely awake. Your eyes remain wide open, staring into the darkness, as if sleep might find you if you just keep pretending you’re not thinking about him.

You shift beneath the comforter, rolling onto your side, then onto your back, only to flip your pillow to the cooler side and press your cheek against it. The softness offers no relief.

A deep sigh slips past your lips, but the weight in your chest remains.

I should have told him.

You should’ve told him about the men you’ve dated. You should’ve kept your promise. That’s what he did. But you tell yourself, keep comforting yourself, that at some point your lives drifted apart. When time and distance made him feel more like a memory, you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Except it did. It mattered to Caleb.

He’d said it plainly —I would’ve told you—as if keeping that promise was as simple as breathing. No loopholes. No expiration dates.

Your breath hitches slightly, something twisting in your chest. You roll onto your side again, eyes drifting toward the empty space beside you.

The dull ache in your lower back pulls at your attention, a stiffness lingering in your shoulder. You shift slightly, frowning at the discomfort— a souvenir from last night when you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He had carried you to bed, made sure you were comfortable. And now, he’s the one out there, sleeping on the same sofa, crammed into a space too small for him.

The guilt creeps back in.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, you throw off the covers and rise from your bed. You move carefully through the dark, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet as you make your way toward the living room.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The apartment is silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and as you reach the doorway, you pause, peering inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but you can already make out the shape of him—Caleb, stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped over his stomach, his breathing steady. For a second, you think he’s asleep -

"Can’t sleep?" His voice is quiet, but in the stillness of the apartment, it still makes you flinch.

You step closer, your gaze meeting his, even in the dark. “You should sleep in my bed tonight.”

There’s silence for a moment. You can’t make out his expression, but you can feel the hesitation in the way he exhales slowly.

Then you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

You narrow your eyes, irritation mixing with your exhaustion. Of course, he’s being stubborn. Any other night, you might have tried to coax him with teasing, maybe thrown in a snarky remark or the fact that he’d be doing the same thing for you if the roles were reversed.

But it’s late, and you don’t have the patience for an argument you know you’re going to win anyway.

So instead, you move without warning.

With one swift motion, you snatch the duvet right off his body, yanking the pillow from beneath his head before he can even react. A startled breath escapes him, but you don’t wait for a protest.

You’re already retreating toward your bedroom, grumbling under your breath, "I’m trying to be nice here."

Behind you, Caleb exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He doesn’t argue this time, just watches for a moment before finally pushing himself up from the sofa and following.

By the time he steps inside, you’re already back beneath your comforter, curled on your side. The mattress shifts slightly as he settles in beside you, his presence familiar yet suddenly overwhelming.

“Goodnight,” you say, too stiffly.

“Night.” His reply is softer.

You close your eyes, and the fact that he is sleeping in a comfortable bed eases your mind long enough to let you drift off to sleep.

⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

When your eyes blink open, the darkness feels denser, heavier. The digital glow of your nightstand clock blinks 3:07 AM. You're not sure if you ever truly slept or if your mind simply hovered somewhere between dream and wakefulness.

The room is silent, save for the distant murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of Caleb’s breathing behind you—deep, even, grounding. You listen for a moment, letting the sound soothe you, lulling your nerves the same way it always used to. From the sound of it, he managed to fall asleep.

Slowly, carefully, you shift onto your other side, moving as if the smallest rustle might wake him. Your body rolls toward him, your eyes adjusting to the dark until his silhouette takes shape in front of you. He’s asleep, facing you. The moonlight spills in through the slit in the curtains, illuminating his face with delicate silver light. His brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, and one cheek is gently squished against the pillow.

Seeing him like this makes you smile, faint and bitter-sweet. He looks like a memory. Like all those nights you used to crawl into his bed after a nightmare, when he’d shift just enough to let you under the covers, barely awake but always aware of you, always there.

But the warmth of that memory fades almost as quickly as it came. Guilt rises like bile, acrid and insistent.

I don’t blame you.

You should have said that. You wish you had. When you apologized earlier, when you sat beside him trying to make up for your comment, you should’ve said that too. Because it’s true. You don’t.

You understand why he disappeared. You understand why he didn’t call, why he let you think he was gone—you know that he did it to protect you.

But the girl who slept with his necklace clutched in her fist for months, who scrubbed explosion residue from her hair until her scalp bled—she blames him. A splinter of her still does, lodged too deep to dig out.

Your eyes sting, but you blink quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

You focus on the rhythm of his breathing, his lashes that cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight sheen on his lips. He is right here.

So close you could reach out and touch him. So close you can feel the warmth coming off his body.

And yet, so impossibly far.

But wasn’t he always?

Hadn’t he always felt just beyond reach, even when you shared the same space, the same roof, the same memories?

You had spent so many years convincing yourself he didn’t see you that way—that his devotion was born out of duty, not desire. That he was bound to you by shared history, not longing. You told yourself that he saw you as something fragile, something to protect—not something to love.

But there were glances. Touches that lingered longer than they should have. But he never crossed the line. Never let himself want aloud.

So you told yourself he didn’t want to. That he couldn’t. That you weren’t something he was allowed to reach for.

And that’s why you found distractions. That’s why you chased comfort in other people. Because if you couldn’t have him, you had to have something.

But now, lying here beside him, in the quiet of your own bed, there are no distractions. No excuses. No distance left to hide behind. And suddenly, you wonder—

What if he wanted more?

What if he was always waiting for me?

You could wake him now. Could trace your fingertips over his eyelids, could say the words that have lived in the marrow of your bones since before you knew their name. I loved you then. I love you now.

But your lips won’t move. Your hand won’t reach out. Instead, all that comes is the memory of the aching regret that followed you around when you grieved him, whispering your sins in the dark - You should have told him. You should have been brave.

But now—he’s alive. He’s here. He’s right beside you.

But nothing is the same.

And even if you let yourself reach for him, even if you handed over every buried feeling and begged him to take it—the world around you hasn’t changed.

The people who tried to destroy you once are still out there, still watching, still hunting. There are still shadows at your back, and Caleb has always been the one who walks toward them first.

And if you lost him again—really lost him—

You don’t know if you’d survive it.

Because if regret was unbearable before, the devastation of another goodbye—this time after knowing what it’s like to have him— would split you open, would leave you hollow as the day you buried an empty casket.

You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until your vision blurs, until a soft sniffle betrays you. Caleb stirs - he takes a slow inhale, then a deeper one. You still, but it’s too late. His eyes open—drowsy with sleep—but the moment they land on you, on the shimmer on your lashes, they sharpen with clarity.

"What’s wrong?" He whispers softly, concern clear in his voice.

You swipe hastily at your cheeks, the salt sting lingering on your skin. “Nothing,” you lie, offering a trembling smile. “Just a nightmare.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t search your face for more or press for the truth he knows you’re not giving. He just reaches out. His hand finds yours first, then the warmth of his palm presses against your side, gentle as it invites you closer.

You hesitate, just for a moment. But then your body moves on instinct, pulled to him like it always is, like it always has been. He shifts onto his back, making room for you, letting you tuck yourself against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

You let yourself melt into him. Let yourself take comfort in the solid warmth of his body, in the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek. Your tears dry slowly, absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers trace the chain around his neck, finding the pendants, the metal warm from his skin.

And you listen to the heartbeat beneath your ear.

Strong. Steady. Real.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s yours, if you want him.

The fear is still there. The shadows haven’t disappeared. The world is still dangerous, still cruel, still capable of breaking him again.

But here, in the cradle of his arms, with his heartbeat syncing to yours, you finally understand: bravery isn’t the absence of fear.

So, maybe…

If that’s what sits at the end of this—if tears and heartache is what awaits you—then let it be. Let the hurt come. Let it hollow you. At least the emptiness will echo how fiercely you loved him.

You lift your head from the steady rhythm of his chest, propping yourself on your elbow, your face hovering just above his. Your eyes find his in the moonlight—half-lidded, warm, still laced with sleep, but softened by the sight of you. A small, barely-there smile touches his lips, a quiet relief. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, calloused and warm, and you lean into his touch, your lashes fluttering shut. Then you feel the press of his lips against your forehead, featherlight and lingering.

When your eyes open again, he’s still watching you. Your faces are close now, close enough that your breaths mingle, close enough that the brush of your nose against his sends a soft shiver down your spine. You glance down at his lips, drawn to the place you’ve denied yourself for too long.

His fingers still on your cheek.

And when your gaze returns to his, you see it - the look you’ve spent years misreading. The one you chalked up to pity or duty, something you’ve caught glimpses of over the years and turned away from. Something you didn’t recognize at first. Then later, refused to acknowledge out of fear.

But now, there’s no more running.

You shift closer slowly, cautiously, as if giving him time to stop you if this isn’t what he wants. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to your lips, just once, but it’s enough.

In that stillness, you close the distance.

The kiss is soft. His lips are warmer than you imagined, but still a little chapped. He goes utterly still, as if fearing the slightest movement might dissolve this moment. But when you press closer, his hand slides to the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him.

And when you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” he murmurs.

You smile softly, and press a delicate kiss to his eyelid.

“You’re not dreaming, Caleb.” you whisper.

His lashes flutter open. His gaze searches your face like he’s still trying to understand how this happened. His hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with aching gentleness. And then he moves. This time, he closes the distance. His mouth moves over yours, his breaths shaky against your skin. There’s no practiced skill, no calculated seduction—just raw, aching want, tempered by the fear of wanting too much.

Your hands slide from his chest to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken, messy hair. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his tongue brushes hesitantly against yours. It’s clumsy, earnest, his nose bumping yours, his teeth catching your lip by accident.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but you laugh—a soft, breathless sound—and pull him closer.

“Don’t be.”

You lean into it, guiding him with soft sighs and quiet hums.

His hands hold you tighter now—one on your back, the other slipping down, splayed at your waist like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’s started.

And when your lips break apart for breath, you don’t pull away. You rest your forehead against his, and you whisper, barely audible, "I don’t want to stop."

He exhales, "Me neither."

Your fingers tremble slightly as they wander from his hair, along the line of his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower. Over the column of his throat, skimming the pulse beneath his skin, before drifting lower—over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. You feel the way he shivers beneath your hand, how his muscles tense slightly.

His breath hitches when you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there, his gaze locking onto yours.

He doesn’t need you to say it.

Without a word, he sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist as he yanks the shirt over his head. The fabric falls to the floor, and for a moment, you just stare—you’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never yours.

You gently press against his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back down, and he does so, collapsing against the pillows. You swing one leg over, your thighs bracketing his hips, but you hover just above him—close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough to let him breathe. You lean down to reclaim his mouth, your hands framing his face. The kiss deepens, and you tilt your head to better taste him, to feel more of him. He gasps into your mouth, one hand slipping to your lower back, the other lowering—slow, unsure—to brush against your bare thigh, the contact making you shiver.

And still, his hand doesn’t wander, doesn’t explore. It lingers like he’s afraid of being told to stop.

You pull back just enough to see his face, your breaths mingling between kisses. Your hand covers his where it rests against your leg, and you guide it higher, to your hip, where your skin is warmer.

You hold his gaze.  “You can touch me, Caleb.” Your voice is soft, “Wherever you want.”

His eyes widen slightly, color blooming high on his cheeks. His fingers flex against your skin, then he speaks, “I don’t… I’ve never—” He swallows hard, and you see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, not at you, but at himself, at his own nerves.

“I know,” you whisper, your hand slipping up to cradle his jaw, your lips brushing just beneath his ear. “It’s okay.”

Then, slowly, you lower yourself until your hips meet his, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you. His head falls back with a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Heat blooms through your belly at the contact, and your hips rock forward just enough to make him shudder.

His hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still. “Wait—wait.”

You freeze, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says, eyes snapping open. “Just… let me—” He swallows, his voice dropping to a plea. “Let me do this right.”

You smile, and brush his hair away from his eyes. “There’s no right, Caleb. Just us.”

He exhales, nodding, and then his hips roll upward tentatively, the friction drawing a gasp from both of you. His thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips as they continue to move against him in a slow, rolling rhythm. The thin barrier of fabric between you—his sweatpants, your pajama shorts—only amplifies the heat, the friction of every roll of your hips against his. His breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed, as you grind down again, your own shorts riding up, the seam catching just right. He curses under his breath, hips jerking up to meet yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

You want to feel all of him, nothing between. And the way his hands start to roam, still cautious, still learning, tells you he’s thinking the same thing.

You shift slowly, rising from his lap with a final roll of your hips that leaves him gasping, lips parted, brows knit. His hands fall away reluctantly, his eyes flickering with confusion and curiosity. Your hands trail down his chest, over the taut planes of his stomach. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers graze the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” His hand covers yours, trembling. “You don’t have to—”

You lift his palm to your lips, “I want to.” Your gaze holds his. “Let me show you how much.”

He swallows hard, but nods.

You hook your fingers into the fabric, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, letting you peel the layers away, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally see him, all of him – hard, heavy, straining for you, you feel a fresh heat rise in your chest, in your belly, deeper.

When your eyes meet his again, you find him watching you just as intently—like he’s searching your face for any flicker of doubt. But there’s none. At first, his body tenses—thighs taut beneath your touch, hands clenching the sheets under him. He tries to hold still, tries to be polite, tries to hide the way his hips twitch when your lips press to the sensitive skin just below his navel.

“Breathe.” you whisper against his skin, and you feel it when he does - shoulders softening, jaw loosening, a low groan slipping past his lips as you finally take him into your mouth. You take your time, learning what makes his body melt under your touch. You relish the way his hips stutter when you swirl your tongue, the broken whimper he tries to smother with his fist, the devotion in his voice when he rasps your name.

Gradually, his iron grip on the sheets loosens, one hand resting on the back of your head, and his hips finally start to move to the rhythm you set.

His breath starts to come faster. You feel the change in his body—the way his thighs tense, how his fingers flex and twist in the sheets. “Wait—” His voice is rough. “If you keep going, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You slow, just for a moment, lifting your eyes to his flushed face. You reach for him, one hand sliding up his stomach, calming. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the sharp cut of his hipbone. “Let me take care of you.”

He groans at that, head turning into the pillow. He doesn’t speak again, but his muscles start to twitch, his legs falling wider, hips stuttering as your mouth picks up the pace. His moans become deeper, more raw, and then your name spills from his lips again.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

You hum in acknowledgment, not letting up, your hands gripping his hips as he shudders beneath you, and then—he falls apart. You taste him on your tongue, feel every desperate pulse of release as his thighs tremble beneath your hands, coming undone in your mouth—helpless and wholly yours.

You don’t pull away. You stay with him through it, coaxing him through the final tremors. You only ease off when he makes the faintest sound of overstimulation, brushing your lips one last time to the hollow of his hip before sitting up.

Caleb is panting, eyes closed, arm thrown over his face.

But when you crawl back up his body, he opens his arms instinctively, pulling you into his chest, where you hear his heart is thundering under your ear. And after a long pause, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

His breath is still uneven, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. But he sits up, and for a second his eyes search yours again—asking permission without words. You nod once, and his fingers curl around the hem of his shirt you’re wearing.

He pulls it up slowly, his eyes tracking the reveal of your stomach, the curve of your breast, watching the way your chest rises and falls a little faster under his gaze. His hands tremble, just slightly, and you can see it - that mixture of reverence and disbelief in his eyes. He bends to kiss you again, before his mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, the flutter of your pulse.

He guides you onto your back, and shifts to follow, half-hovering over you. His lips trail kisses along your neck, your breasts. You arch into him, a gasp escaping as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and he hums in response, the vibration rippling through you.

His hands move lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pajama shorts. He pauses, “Is this okay?”

You nod, your voice failing you, and lift your hips. He slides the shorts down, his knuckles grazing your thighs, his breath hitching when you’re finally bare. For a moment, he just stares. Fading moonlight spills across your body, catching the sheen of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale escapes him as he drags a single finger across the wetness, his touch featherlight.

But before he goes further, before his mouth finds its way to where you’re already pulsing for him, something else catches his eye. The faint scar across your knee. Fading now, but still there. His thumb brushes gently along the uneven line, before he leans forward and presses a kiss to it, the silent apology making your heart flutter.

Then his mouth drifts lower, lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. The first flick of his tongue on your folds is so startlingly gentle you flinch. A soft laugh escapes you, breathless and giddy, goosebumps blooming on your skin.

Caleb stills, lifting his head, brows creased in confusion.

“You’re tickling me,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair in reassurance.

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “Got it,” he murmurs. His mouth presses more firmly, his hands holding your hips as his tongue parts your folds and he groans at the first taste. Your back arches off the bed, a moan slipping out, and it spurs him on. One hand stays braced on your thigh, the other moves to gently trace one fingertip around your entrance, testing. You whisper yes, please, and that’s all it takes. He sinks a finger in, his eyes flicking up to watch the way your face shifts—lips parted, brows gently pulled, the rise and fall of your chest now uneven.

His mouth finds your clit, more confident now. The heat of his tongue, the wet pressure of his lips - it’s clumsy but it’s honest, driven by need and the desire to learn what makes you tremble. Then his finger finds that spot inside you, the one that makes you fist your hand in his hair, the one that makes your toes curl. You whisper yes, yes, yes, and you swear you feel him smile.

His free hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers against your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, and you force your eyes open, “Want to see you.”

Your body is starting to unravel beneath him, soft moans spilling from your lips, your thighs trembling.

“Another,” you pant, and he obeys instantly, adding a second finger. His rhythm stutters at first, but you guide him with whispered pleas, your hips rolling against his hand. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers pumping in a deep, steady curl, and you’re suddenly so close to the edge. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, and he growls against you, as if your climax is his own.

And when you fall apart with his name on your lips and your hands tangled with his, Caleb doesn’t stop. He holds you through it, lets you ride it out, his fingers easing only when your thighs start to shake, when your hips twitch with overstimulation. He pulls back, resting his forehead against your inner thigh, his breaths ragged. His erection strains against the sheets, but his focus still on you, always on you, even as his hand trembles where it grips yours.

You pull him up, his body collapsing over yours, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips grind reflexively against your thigh, a broken noise escaping him, but he doesn’t push. Just holds you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, your hands cradling his damp hair.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breath and skin and the quietness of the morning twilight.

His fingertips trace along the curve of your side, not teasing, just feeling. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

Then he murmurs—soft, regretful, honest:

“I should’ve been your first.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. Still, the way he says it isn’t bitter. There’s no accusation in his voice. Only ache.

You draw back just enough to meet his eyes, your palm resting flat on his chest, right over his heartbeat. “Then be my last.” You whisper.

His breath hitches, eyes widening for a split second. He presses a kiss to your temple, before he meets your eyes again.

“Do you… have anything?” A pause, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Protection?”

You pause for a moment. Then you nod, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

“Left drawer,” you whisper.

He hesitates, his thumb circling your hipbone. “We don’t have to—”

“I know.” You press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “But I want this.”

He shifts to reach for it, but you catch his wrist. “Wait.”

His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowed.

You trace the skin with your thumb, suddenly too sheepish to meet his gaze. “We don’t need it.”

He stills at your tone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You finally meet his gaze, “If it’s you… I don’t want anything between us.”

He exhales, shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening as his arms wrap around you again.

When your legs shift, parting around his hips, you feel the hard length of him press against your entrance, and it pulls a soft gasp from you both.

Caleb stills. One hand rests by your head, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, threading your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

He exhales slowly, trembling slightly as he reaches between you, lining himself up. The head of him nudges your entrance, already wet and aching for him. You feel the pressure first, a stretch that makes your breath catch. He sinks in just a little—then stops immediately when you tense.

“Too much?” he breathes.

You shake your head, running a hand down his back. “No… keep going.”

Inch by inch, his body presses into yours, your warmth pulling him in, taking him deeper. His jaw clenches, a guttural sound caught in his throat as your walls flutter around him, as your hand curls over his bicep for something. His restraint is palpable, sweat beading at his temples as he presses deeper, his hips rolling in shallow strokes until he’s sheathed fully inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His necklace rests warm against your collarbone, the metal shifting slightly as his chest heaves above yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I will.”

His thrusts start slow, each one sinking deeper than the last, his eyes locked on yours as if searching for permission with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” he grits out suddenly, halting his movements with a trembling inhale. His entire body shudders as he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, nose brushing your throat, lips finding your pulse.

“I need a second…” His voice is breathless. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

You cradle his jaw, lifting his face up so you can look at him. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper, your thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Just be here. With me.”

His gaze falters, then finds yours again. He draws back just enough to move again, slow at first, like he’s trying to find a rhythm that won’t break him.

One of his hands tangles with yours, fingers lacing tightly together as he presses it into the pillow above your head. The other slips between your bodies until his thumb finds you, pressing a gentle, slow circle over your clit—and it draws a gasp from you, your thighs tensing around his hips.

“Like that?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathe, hips chasing the movement of his hand. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he leans in to kiss you again—messy now, all teeth and parted mouths. He keeps moving inside you, each thrust dragging along your sweet spots, and the rhythm of his thumb against your clit grows more confident, bolder with every breathless moan you give him. He watches you with blown pupils, flicking between your face and the place where your bodies meet, as if committing every detail of your pleasure to memory.

His forehead drops to yours, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down as his thumb circles faster, more intently, chasing the way your thighs begin to tremble, the way your grip on his hand tightens.

Then his hips shift—just a little, but enough for a sharp discomfort to shoot through you. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a soft, involuntary “ah—” escaping your throat.

He stops immediately. Every muscle in his body locks, his expression flashing from concentration to concern in an instant. “Shit—did I hurt you?” he asks, breath still ragged.

You shake your head quickly, already reaching for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. “No, no,” you whisper. “Just... not like that.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heels pressing against the small of his back, gently urging him into a better angle. “Here,” you guide, your voice low and coaxing. “A little lower. Like that.”

He swallows hard, still frozen in place, but the panic softens as he watches you, sees that you still want this. He nods, his throat working with the effort to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “I promise.”

He exhales on the word promise, and then he moves again. His brows draw together, not in worry now, but in focus, lips brushing your cheek as he resumes the rhythm that had your body unraveling.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as he grinds deeper, the angle just there, the friction so exquisite your vision blurs.

“Caleb—” you gasp, voice cracking as the pleasure rises sharp and fast inside you.

“I know, I know.” he rasps. His hips snap harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing as you spiral closer. “That’s it,” he grits out, his thumb pressing harder. “Let go. Let go for me.”

When your thighs lock around his waist, when your walls clench around him in a sudden, overwhelming spasm, your release rips through you - deep, intense, every nerve alight. Your back arches off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as you pulse around him, your fingers clawing into the sweat-slick skin of his back.

“Fuck—” His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt, his hips jerking as he spills into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath a ragged pant against your lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re both still, just a tangle of sweat and shared breath, his necklace resting between your breasts, now warm from the heat of your skin. Then he collapses against you, his weight comforting and grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone. His arms curl tightly around you, one hand tracing slow, mindless patterns over your hip, and the other splayed beneath your shoulder. You exhale slowly, your fingers sliding through his damp hair.

You’re not sure how long you lie there like that, tangled and breathless, your hearts gradually slowing from their frantic rhythm. The first sliver of sunlight filters through your curtains, golden and gentle. You tilt your chin to study him, how sunlight looks like powdered gold over his lashes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, because it’s true, and because you know it’ll fluster him.

His nose scrunches, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Men aren’t beautiful.”

“You are.” You brush the hair from his temple. “Like a pouty Renaissance angel.”

He only chuckles, burying his face against your chest.

You tilt your head to kiss his temple, your voice a soft murmur against his skin. “Come on. Let’s wash up.”

He groans. “Or we could stay like this forever.”

“You’re sweating all over me.” you protest, already nudging at his side.

He lifts his head just enough to squint at you. “You liked it when I was sweating five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off with a laugh as you both untangle from the bed. The sheets are a mess, still warm with everything that happened, and your thighs ache, making you bite your lip as you stand. You grab a towel and toss one at him too. He catches it, looking far too smug for someone who was blushing just an hour ago.

As you step under the warm spray, Caleb holding your hand for stability, something crosses your mind.

“Hey… did you really drool on the pillow?”

[nezuswritingdesk]

A/n: just remembered that I didn't get to introduce the youngest out of Sylus' kids! I'm too lazy to make a separate post so he'll be added here after his big sisters!

Inspired by : @tbaluver @starmocha @abyssyby

ninang @deusfoundry (aly) who probably wants to meet her inaanak no. 10

Same warning content as above and all!

wc: 543 words

Headcanons about the youngest son!

his name is seth (sylus picked it)

currently 10 months old and does 10 month old baby things

he's seven years younger than the twins. why the seven years? because sylus believes in quality over quantity (he wanted to treat his princesses well before adding a new baby into the picture)

Sylus had loved him since. He managed to repurpose his old girls' nursery, modified the crib to make sure it was sturdy (just in case he or you or the girls want to join him inside the crib lol). Is a constant and has been by your side since

was born at sunset (the girls had just gotten home from extra-curriculars, only to find their tiny baby brother wrapped up in a blanket with a tiny hat and their parents)

the first thing you all did as a now family of 5? dinner (aka breakast for sylus aka had a nice meal and ate)

he likes to walk around or at least try to and his sisters help him by letting him hold their hands

has a blackhole for a stomach (like his dad)

has fat baby cheeks— which sylus lovingly bites (like he does with his big sisters when they were tiny babies too)

Does try to talk for attention (a lot like Asteria)

he's been attached to his big sisters so much

Likes to sleep on sylus’ chest too

Sylus is also making his special mechanical birdie. He's been making it since you got pregnant again , and the girls, especially Nyx, had been helping him. He'll get that when he turns one year old.

Hes basically the little baby when his big sisters play house

Loves being carried on his papa's shoulders

Has baby teeth🥺🥺 (3, almost 4 to be exact)

In terms of appearance, baby seth looks exactly like you in every shape and form.

gets called ugly by asteria (as a joke)

nyx defends him

dont be fooled he is chaos incarnate like his namesake

this baby didn't spend most of his time sleeping. hes chaotic but has good intentions, well as good as a baby can get

also adored and fought by his uncles

his baby teeth is starting to growwww

and now sylus has to deal with a teething baby and girls who are in the process of losing teeth

mephisto is still the main and designated baby monitor but the twin girls asked if they can get their birdies modified too so that they can watch over their baby brother

the annual family picture just got a bit more better and cuter (note that family picture now includes you, sylus, the tiny twins (nyx and asteria) , mephi, the twins' birdies, the big twins (luke and keiran), and seth)

now with your boy as the new addition, you and sylus are satisfied. this, in a million lifetimes and circumstances, is the best thing you both have. the world can change, they can put a number on sylus' head, but so long as the children smile and rush to him with open arms, calling him daddy or papa,he knows that it is the most precious thing he has.

there is no love purer than his for the family he built with you.

a/n: finally done with the introduction of sylus' littles ! im doing this to procrastinate on xavier's kids. maybe i will get theirs out on april if i dont forget

sylus parenting au

A/N: sigh, here we go! Girl dad sylus!!! Will try to put the headcanons in chronological order. ALSO WTF DO YOU MEAN TUMBLR POSTED MY DRAFT?!

content warning: pregnancy? family stuff? babies? might cause possible baby fever (KIDS ARE EXPENSIVE. BE RESPONSIBLE.)

Inspired by : @tbaluver @starmocha and every sylus girl dad thing I've seen since (will update here still)

wc: 1.0k

I believe that we all agreed as a fandom that Sylus is a girl dad, I firmly believe that it is in his DNA to be a girl dad to the two most well-loved, spoiled, and protected girls of the N109. He is a happy father of two identical twin girls 🥰🥰 ( their temporary names are Nyx and Asteria)

Sylus had loved these girls since the start of their little lives. He was there for every appointment, every shopping trip when you wanted to buy things for the babies, he helped assemble their cribs, prepared the nursery, etc

The twin girls were born before dawn (aka the usual sleeping time of sylus. He didn't sleep because he stayed up all night to keep you company as the twins arrived). Nyx was born first, and minutes later, Asteria came along.

Absolute sylus clones. Tiny little ladies that look exactly like Sylus.

He cried when he held his daughters for the first time— how can a man like him , a man known for his strength and cruelty, the damn leader of Onychinus, with so much blood in his hands, hold such innocent little lives?

You assured him that the girls don't see him like that. He was their father and he means the world to their small little minds.

Once everything has calmed down, the first thing all four of you did was sleep until noon or the early afternoon. The twin girls called you and their father's chests home.

The twins sleep like otters, always holding hands to never separate.

They are nocturnal creatures like their father dear! When you were recovering and the twins were being fussy at ungodly hours, Sylus would take care of the girls (plus you, ofc you're just as important).

Sylus likes to have skin-to-skin contact with the babies and in turn, the babies like sleeping on his chest throughout

Most days were really spent sleeping. They're sweet little competitive babies, they like their playtime and would do things together. Nyx waits for Asteria and Asteria waits for Nyx.

Please don't separate the twins ever, they will cry. Nyx will fuss if her baby sister isn't in her line of bad baby vision and Asteria will scream if she can't see Nyx.

He can distinguish which twin is which. Nyx has his prominent nose while Asteria has bigger cheeks but to mess around with you , he likes to swap the babies.

Nyx acts like Sylus. Asteria acts like you.

The twins have a favorite uncle individually. They will fight or pout at the other twin when they're spending too much time with their favorite uncle. Asteria likes uncle Keiran and Nyx likes uncle Luke. The uncles enables the girls to let chaos reign.

Mephisto is the baby monitor. No need to expand on this.

Sylus has been making them their own little mephisto's since you both found about that you were pregnant. The birds are based on orioles and we're gifts to the twins on their first birthday. They loved the birds since.

Sylus knows how to dress his daughters! And he dresses them good! He likes giving Nyx the crow onesie (because it matched her grumpy little pouty face) and Asteria gets the smiley dino onesie (because it matches her big baby cheeks and her smile) and sometimes he'd match their clothes or complement theirs

Sylus has nibbled their cheeks multiple times , they girls would giggle and cup his face in their tiny hands

Sylus sings and reads poetry to them to help them sleep or calm down. (He has been doing this since you got pregnant)

Their first word is papa! (It happened when Sylus got home from another business trip and the twins were eager to reunite with him so they immediately walked up to him and began to call him papa.) Sylus broke down crying even more.

Nyx calls Asteria "Ria" and Asteria calls Nyx "Nixie"

They'd always drag someone in the base to play with and have tea time where they act like sylus during his business deals. (the unwilling willing participants: sylus, the twins, mephisto, their orioles, mama reader (but mama reader is willing)

There was one time that tea time was just them two, their orioles, and Mephisto , they even dressed them up.

Very much spoiled girls by you both. They can be picking out dresses or things they like and sylus will be like, "Just one, sweetheart? You can get a second or a third, it'll be fine baby." They definitely swapped and stole each other's clothes

I firmly believe that Sylus is the one that really indulges their requests. He's financially stable, has a good job, and finally has people who'd love and appreciate him. While you're the one trying to remind him not to spoil them too much or they'll end up as brats

Nyx and Asteria are little songbirds — they sing very nicely and like to duet together but they don't have the heart to tell their beloved daddy that he cant sing (lol jk asteria is like daddy you can't sing don't do it and nyx is like daddy my ears hurt from your singing 🥺)

Sylus? do you mean their jungle gym?

as the girls got older, they become more independent and sylus and you teach them necessary life skills

their evols (if they have one) complement each other and was made to protect the other

sylus taught them martial art skills and boxing when the girls were much older to protect themselves besides the use of evols and weapons

their baby brother was born when the twins were around 7 or 8. this little boy is very well loved and protected by his sisters like their lives dependent on it. he looks like you with a small sprinkle of sylus here and there

they have family pictures every year since you and sylus got married — first it was just you two, then a bump carrying the twins, then the twin girls as babies, as toddlers and little kids, you carrying your third child, and now, the three lovely children

at the end of the day, all of the children are well-loved and adored by sylus and you. they are the reason why you two kept going in life, why it was kinder and much softer and thought it wasn't perfect, everything is enough.

a/n : wtf tumblr posted this without me knowing :( I didn't even know it was posted 😭😭 anyways I hope you enjoy this! hope to get the Caleb and zayne papa aus soon! reblogs and everything is appreciated by me thank you 💖💖

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ the eyes, they never lie

he was only supposed to be gathering ashwinder eggs with you, but why does he keep catching feelings for you instead?

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — sim jaeyun x reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — fluff, hogwarts legacy au, any hogwarts house reader, jake x reader, jake has been developing this silent crush with you for a long while now since you've been in school, sorta loser!jake

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — anybody deathly afraid of spiders dni! not too much but it does say acromantulas so be warned asfjhfja, also if this goes well, should i start a series? def game for hogwarts enha typa beat

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ looking for my main masterlist? — here's the legacy one!

GET THOSE ASHWINDER EGGS BEFORE SHARP FINDS OUT!!

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The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled with a warm tune to your ears as Jake flopped onto the sofa beside you, his parchment unfurling with a dramatic fwip. His notes were less understandable handwriting and more chaotic hieroglyphics.

A quote underlined three times, accompanied by a doodle of a serpent breathing fire onto what might’ve been Professor Sharp’s face.

You smirked. “You know, if Sharp sees that, he’ll assign you to scrub the entire owlery. With a toothbrush.”

Jake groaned, flopping his head and relaxing his back onto your side. “He’ll kill me if I don’t fix this potion. You saw the Draught of Living Death. It tried to strangle Garreth!”

“It was just being affectionate,” you said, plucking a Chocolate Frog from the table. “Like a ... say a very aggressive kneazle.”

He snorted, but his grin faded as he stared at the map of the Forbidden Forest. “I've changed my mind! I can just … I dunno, transfigure a chicken egg and hope Sharp doesn’t notice.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you aced all Magical Studies? Drenching an egg in orange paint isn't such a smart idea.”

“But ... Acromantulas!”

“Ah, so that’s why you invited me,” you said, tossing the Frog wrapper into the air and igniting it into oblivion in a whip of your wand. “Bait.”

Jake’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No! I just—you’re good at… y’know. The thinking part. And the not-dying part.”

“Flatterer.”

He nudged your knee with his, his smile returning. “C’mon. It’ll be like that time we stole the pumpkin pastries from the kitchens. Except with more… legs.”

You sighed, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. Jake had always been like this—reckless, bright, and so alive it hurt to look at him sometimes.

The forest was a cathedral of shadows, its canopy blotting out the stars. Jake’s Lumos charm trembled in his hand, casting shaky light over the gnarled roots and moss-stained stones. You walked shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to feel the heat of his arm through his robes.

“Damp spots, right?” you muttered, stepping over a creek swollen with rainwater. “Ashwinders nest near—”

A twig snapped.

Both of you froze. Jake’s wand jerked toward the sound, his breath shallow. “P-probably just a bowtruckle,” he whispered.

“Bowtruckles don’t weigh 200 pounds,” you said, slowly reaching for your wand.

The clicking started first—a wet, rhythmic sound that made your skin crawl. Then the eyes appeared: eight glowing orbs in the dark, followed by the hulking silhouette of an Acromantula.

“W-what do we do?” Jake huffed, looking at you as if waiting for your cue.

You could see the flicker of fear in his eyes, a vulnerability that Jake rarely showed. He often tried to act tough and casual, but in moments like this, it was clear how much he relied on your presence. And you were determined to protect him, no matter what.

The spiders herded you into a clearing, their legs weaving through the underbrush with predatory precision. The largest one lunged first, fangs glistening with dangerous venom.

“We’ll face them together,” you assured him, trying to instill some confidence.

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In a whim, Jake reacted on instinct.

“Incendio!”

The fireball hit its face, and the creature recoiled with a shriek. With a bit of your help, you shouted a Stunning Spell, but the spider dodged, its leg slicing the air where his head had been.

“Jake, duck!”

He dropped. With a quick flick, you casted a Cutting Curse that severed the spider’s leg, black blood splattering the area. The Acromantula collapsed, thrashing, but two more surged forward.

“Circle!” you barked, grabbing Jake’s arm and pulling him back-to-back with you.

“W-what?”

“They’re ambush predators—they’ll come at us from all sides. Watch the flanks!”

Jake nodded, his jaw set. You felt him tremble, but his voice steadied. “Stupefy!”

The spell hit a spider mid-leap, knocking it into a tree. Another skittered toward you, mandibles snapping. You pivoted, slashing your wand. “Diffindo!”

The spider’s leg flew off, but a third slammed into you from behind. Your wand skidded into the shadows.

“No—!”

“Hey!” Jake roared, hurling a rock at the Acromantula. “Argghhh ... Eat this, you big ugly balls of lint!!!”

The spider hissed, charging him. Jake scrambled backward, tripping over a stumped root.

You dove for your wand, taking charge with a quick aim. “Arresto Momentum!”

The freezing charm hit the Acromantula mid-pounce. It hung in the air, frozen, venom dripping from its fangs.

“Depulso!”

The Banishing Charm sent it crashing into its kin. You hauled Jake to his feet, his hand clammy in yours.

“You okay?”

He nodded, breathless. “Y-you just… you’re insane.”

“You striked first, dummy.” You said, grinning. "I had to cover your ass."

"Touche.." He said, panting heavily as his tongue slipped out from his mouth.

Suddenly, spider silk was whipping past your ears. The ground sloped sharply, and your leather shoe caught on a rock. As he saw you, Jake lent you his strong arm, but the unstoppable momentum dragged you both down the embankment.

With a cushioned thump, you landed hard. On top of him.

His breath hitched. Your knee was wedged between his thighs, your hands braced on either side of his head. His face was inches from yours, flushed pink and speckled with dirt. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the hitch in his breath, the way his eyes flicked to your lips.

“I uhh… I-... Uh…” he stammered. He fucking did. Of course he did. Jake sighed in his own head.

You quickly rolled off him, ignoring the racing warmth that pooled in your chest. “They’re still coming. We need to—”

In a flash, a shining hue of blue cut through the gloom. Butterflies—dozens of them—danced in the air, their wings shimmering like fractured stained glass.

"Look!" You smiled, reaching candidly as you saw more of the flying critters. "Butterflies!"

Jake stared. “Are they safe?”

“Safer than the eight-legged dinner party behind us.”

Propping up gently from the ground, you stuck out your hand to help Jake. With your touch brushing upon his otherwise dirty palm, Jake's cheek glowed with a warm flush.

“Thanks.” he acknowledged you softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

As you followed the butterflies, a comfortable silence settled between you. The darkness of the forest faded, and the gentle glow of the butterflies illuminated your path. You felt a sense of calm as you walked side by side, the tension from the encounter with the Acromantulas slowly dissipating.

“You know,” Jake said, breaking the silence, “I’ve always thought the forest was kind of magical, even with all the creepy crawlies.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, it has its charm—especially when you’re not being chased by giant spiders.”

Jake’s expression shifted, and he looked at you with a hint of seriousness. “I mean it, though. I don’t think I’d want to be here with anyone else. You always know what to do. It’s like… you've always got everything under control.”

“Keeping you alive is my life motto.” you replied, a teasing smile on your lips. But deep down, his words warmed your heart. You appreciated the way he recognized your strengths, and it made you wonder if he saw you in a different light than just a friend.

The butterflies led you uphill, away from the clicking horde and the gloomy forest that had kept you entertained.

And for sure, he did. He really did. Awkwardly so but he does.

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When you finally stumbled into open air, the view stole your breath.

Hogwarts Castle rose in the distance, its windows glittering like scattered stars. The Black Lake mirrored the sky, smooth and endless, and the valley below bloomed with wildflowers even in the dark. It was like standing inside a painting.

“It's already nighttime...” You stretched your limbs as you stood up, watching over all the marvels you could find with your naked eye. “The stars are really out tonight.”

Jake slumped against a boulder, clutching his side. “Merlin’s pants… I think I swallowed a spider.”

“Only one?” You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulders grazed at that moment.

He laughed weakly. The sound faded as he turned to you, his gaze lingering.

When was it that he was truly enamored by the sight of you? When you entered Hogwarts so late in your years that you had caught almost everyone's attention? When you won the Quidditch match and had him cheering for you no matter what? Or when you successfully defended the castle from the invasion of Goblins not long ago?

When was it that he started looking fondly at you, dreaming of seeing your face without ever feeling weird about it?

Seeing your lashes and how they flowed and complimented the shape of your eyes, Jake could never get used to how ethereal you looked when he saw you first thing in the morning.

The bridge and tip of your nose, inches finer and sharper every time he took an almost sinful gaze upon your natural beauty. It was always breathtaking, as you could imagine.

And even glancing down at your lips, and how red they were, Jake could never refuse to imagine his own lips caressing yours in an intimate way. It was just as if he wanted to melt on top of you right then and there.

He wanted to feel your warmth so badly, but who was he for you, for him to have the luxury of having those thoughts of you?

And who's to say you didn't notice it too? He surely wasn't slick with it, as much as he wanted to be.

You’d caught him staring before—in the library, during Quidditch matches, that time you’d rolled up your sleeves in Potions, and even how he stopped breathing at the sight of you being so close to him earlier in the Forbidden Forest—but never like this. Never so quiet.

The silence stretched. Jake’s eyes never really strayed away from your lips.

“What?” you said.

He jerked back. “Nothing! I—I wasn’t—I mean, your face is just… really…” He flailed, gesturing vaguely. “Symmetrical?”

You raised an eyebrow, looking straight into his eyes. Jake could feel your judgment, but also your inquisitiveness.

Sometimes, you were just too good at guessing what he thought. It was as if his body was made of glass, see-through and transparent in front of you.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, covering his face. “I’m… concussed.”

“You’re not concussed, Jake."

“I could be.”

You smirked, leaning back on your hands.

As you grew quiet, you continued to admire the place that surrounded you. The valley sprawled beneath you, beautiful and strange. Hogwarts felt like a dream you couldn't ever imagine living in.

Jake’s voice softened. “Thanks. For saving my arse back there.”

“Anytime.”

“Even if I’m… y’know.” He gestured to himself. “A mess.”

You glanced at him. His hair was full of leaves, his robes torn, but his smile—small and hopeful—made your chest tighten.

With the smallest step between you and Jake, you took care of the leaves stuck on his hair and ruffled it then. With yet more warmth than ever, Jake felt a rush of dopamine crawling up his spine.

“Especially then,” you said with a simple smile.

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When you finally crept back into the castle, Filch’s shouts echoing somewhere distant, Jake nudged you with his elbow.

“Same time next week?”

“Only if you bring better snacks.”

He grinned, bright as the sunrise. “Deal.”

A smile crept across your face as you thought of going out again.

Maybe, you'll let this play a bit longer. After all, it is pure fun to see Jake unravel minute by minute.

EN—D

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — aahhhh!! i really wanted to write enha in hogwarts for so long and now iget to actually write them! hopefully yall like ittttt~

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

[gretavangroupie]

Still, Us

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 30.7k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Begging, Heartbreak, Sadness, Crying, Talks of Marriage, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Masturbation, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

A/N: Wow this has been a long time coming. Sorry that I have been a little bit MIA lately, it was never my intention, life got crazy! I hope you will accept this as an apology. I have poured into this for weeks and I truly couldn’t have done it without the constant support from @gretavanmoon and @jakeyt. They have given me the drive to keep going even when I felt like giving up. This story would not have happened without them. Period. Anyway, I hope you like it and will accept my apology for being away so long. I have so much more planned for you all and I cannot wait to deliver. As always thank you so much for every comment, like, and reblog. It means so much to me to know that you enjoy my writing. ❤️

Frankenmuth, Michigan 

May 2014

“Jake, can you please turn it down just a little bit?” you plead, your feet propped up on the dashboard, and your hand hanging leisurely out the car window. The warm air feels magical as it glides through your fingers. You’d both been waiting for the warmer weather to blow through town and it was finally here.

You turn to look at Jake, his brown shaggy hair finally growing out like he wanted, just barely dusting over the tops of his shoulders now as it blows around him in the wind. 

“Turn down ‘Shooting Star’? Bad Company? Come on Pops, you know that’s not gonna happen,” he smirks, looking at you over the tops of his wayfarers. “This is like the story of my life.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head as you smile, watching him dramatically mouth the words to you as you coast up 83 towards your house. Jake is your best friend, has been for ten years now, and as you readied yourself for college life, he continued to pursue the dream he’s had since you’d known him, but now bringing his brothers into it with him.

“It’s hardly the story of your life,” you quip, “Maybe the life you wish you had.” you tease, elbowing him in the arm over the center console. 

He laughs as he purses his lips, and pushes you away, “Yeah you say that now, but watch. We are getting that damn record deal, I don’t care what it takes.”

You turned to look at him again as the two of you pulled off the freeway and headed toward your exit. He believed it. He truly did, and you believed that he would do exactly as he said. He has always been that way. Some would say he is hard headed, but you would say he is just determined. 

“I know, I know,” you start, being quickly cut off.

“You’re still coming right?” he urges, looking at you before looking back at the now green stoplight.

“Of course I’m still coming!” you laugh, “I pledged twenty bucks to be there, remember?!”

“Damn right, and you better be in the front where I can see you,” he grins, “Or should I say, where you can see me.”

You roll your eyes at him again, watching the shit eating grin stretch across his face. “You're so full of yourself Jacob Thomas, it's gonna get you in trouble one of these days, and I'm not gonna be there to save you.”

He puts his hand over his heart and looks absolutely offended by your comment, “Save me? Baby doll, you know I don’t need saving. You need saving. From yourself.”

“Oh really? How so?” you ask, challenging him with a quirk of your brow. 

He smirks as he keeps his eyes on the road, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “You’re headed to college to be some hot shot lawyer or something. You’re way too cool for that, Pops. You should stick with me and the guys.”

You groan as he pitches his grand idea to you for the hundredth time.

“Seriously. You can do so many other things. You can tour, party, see the world, instead of sitting in some bleak office building reading dusty law books all day.” he says matter of factly.

“Jake…” you whine, knowing this conversation always goes nowhere and leaves your mind a mess of emotions. 

He sighs as his car comes to a stop in the driveway of your parents house. He looks over to you, and his voice is stern, “I’m serious Poppy. You’re a freebird, you’re not cut out for that boring life. I know it.”

You cut your eyes at him as you twist in the seat to face him, “So instead I can be some groupie, waiting on you guys hand and foot, cleaning up beer cans, and holding your hair back when you puke in some nasty bar bathroom? No thanks.”

He huffs in annoyance, “You know damn well that you'd be more than that. You'd be like…an honorary member of the band. You're not really the groupie type. You're far too good for that.” he says, twisting a lock of your messy hair over your shoulder. You can't help but to feel heat start to creep up your chest from the simple gesture. 

“You think so?” You ask timidly, your eyes locked in on his tawny brown eyes. 

His demeanor softens, and his finger twirls around the same lock of hair, “Poppy you are, without a shadow of a doubt, the smartest, toughest and coolest chick I’ve ever met. You are so much more than just some groupie.”

The nickname he gave you sounds different somehow– sweeter, maybe, in this moment. In an effort to quickly break the mounting tension growing between the two of you,  you nudge him hard in the arm, “You going soft on me, Kiszka?”

He laughs in response, his fingers releasing the lock of your hair and running them through his own before bringing it to rest on the steering wheel, “I may be many things, P, but soft is not one of them.” he grins playfully. “Now get out, I’ve got practice in ten minutes.”

You scoff and toss the passenger door open, grabbing your tattered bookbag on the way. As you shut the door he leans over the center console to look at you through the open window, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“You know it’s just because I’m gonna miss you, Pops. More than I care to admit.” he confesses. 

“I know, Jake.” you answer, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “I'll miss you too.”

“Good. Oh, don’t forget I can’t pick you up tomorrow morning. We’re heading straight to Groovebox after classes to set up.” he says, flipping his glasses back down. 

“I remember,” you say with a playful eye roll.

“Don’t be late, Y/N,” he says sternly, lifting a brow.

“Rich coming from you,” you taunt, beginning to walk to your front door. 

“M’never late, just running on my own time,” he winks. “Catch up with you later, P,” he says finally, pulling away as Bad Company begins blasting through the speakers once more. 

—

Jake 8:57 PM: which shirt should I wear tomorrow

You 8:58 PM: Um, maybe that denim button down you like? With the pearl buttons?

Jake 8:59 PM: it’s dirty

You 9:00 PM: Ok uhhhh, what about that colorful shirt with the aztec looking patterns on it

Jake 9:00 PM: do you think that will look good on camera

You 9:01 PM: Yes

Jake 9:02 PM: do you think I should like, iron it or whatever

You 9:03 PM: Do rockstars iron their clothes?

Jake 9:04 PM: see you tomorrow ;)

The air is a bit cooler now that the sun has set, the wind whipping right through your thin shirt as you reach for the door handle to Groovebox Studios. Tonight was the night, finally. This has been all Jake has talked about for weeks and weeks on end. Tonight they would record seven songs, live, in front of all of their friends and family, and anyone else that pledged enough money to be there. It had been grueling listening to Jake torture himself over what songs they would choose to record tonight, but they finally narrowed it down. At least, you hoped they did since everyone was here and waiting. 

As you entered into the lobby it was bustling with familiar faces, all waiting to step into the studio to watch the session. You could hear the guys warming up through the wall, the wail of Jake's guitar immediately sticking out to you. You could also hear the crashing of the cymbals as Danny tested his kit and the deep thrum of Sam’s bass. You nervously picked at your fingernails as you waited to be let inside, eager to see the guys, but mostly Jake. You needed him to know you were here, on time, at that. 

A few minutes later the large double doors opened and everyone filed into the small studio. You weren’t really sure what to expect but there were bright lights, and cameras everywhere, scattered between recording equipment and wires. Jake hadn’t noticed you were here just yet, but you saw him immediately in the shirt the two of you decided on last night. Something about that made you warm inside but you forced it back down where it came from. It was Jake. It wasn’t like that. Right?

The first song began, the guys seeming completely relaxed and not at all phased by the large equipment and people surrounding them, watching their every move. Josh’s voice was as strong and confident as Danny’s drums. Finally, Jake looked up from his guitar and let his eyes scan the crowd. A small and relieved smile filled his face as his eyes met yours. A small nod of his head said everything you knew he wanted to say, seeing you there supporting him in the front row of people. You knew that being there meant a lot to him, and gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed to make it through this set.

You were completely transfixed watching him play, giving everything he had for those seven songs. It seemed to fly by in a flash, the show ending with all four guys sweaty and a little winded. The crowd that showed up for them broke out into a round of cheers and applause as you all marveled at the budding talent in front of you. You watched as Jake placed his guitar in the stand and moved towards the producers of the show, thanking them profusely as he shook their hands. 

Immediately after that though, his eyes found you. He walked straight towards you, ignoring everyone else around, wrapping you in a sweaty hug.

“Well, P, you made it on time,” he grins, pulling you in tight against him, your head resting against his chest. He smelled of sweat, cologne and faintly of smoke and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your knees just a little bit weak.

“How was it?” he panted, “Sound alright?”

You laugh pulling away from his grip, “Jake, that was amazing! Of course it sounded alright.”  

He smiles as you pull away, fidgeting with the tip of his nose,  “Yeah? You’re not just saying that ‘cause you’re my best friend, right?” he says with his signature smirk.

“When have I ever sugar coated anything, Jacob?” you taunt. 

He laughs as he playfully runs his hand through his damp hair, “Valid point.” he smirks, looking around briefly, “Stay right here for a sec. Don’t go, just need to go say hi to some people. Wait, you’re comin’ to the house right?”

“Is this you inviting me?” you tease, knowing you never need an invitation at the Kiszka household. 

He rolls his eyes, not playing into your little game one bit, “Yes, I’m inviting you smartass. Like you even need an invite.”

You nod your head and shoo him away to go talk to the people who came out to support him, but you can't help but feel special that you were the first person he wanted to see after such a big night. 

You watch as he moves from person to person, saying his hellos, shaking hands and talking about the show with each one. He was his normal, charismatic self, except for the small glances over to where you were waiting. It was as if he didn’t want you to go anywhere without checking on you every so often. You’re able to find a quiet corner of the studio to relax for a moment, and you find yourself watching him like he’s the only thing in the room.

He is still surrounded by everyone, laughing and talking. He is so in his element, being the center of attention. You're happy for him, he deserves it, but you find it a little annoying how every girl's eyes were glued to him. No matter how many times you push these thoughts away, they keep resurfacing. It's all in your head, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake the idea of being anything more than friends with him, yet you can't help the fluttering in your chest.

Twenty minutes later he is walking back over to you, the crowd of people slowly beginning to filter out as the rest of the guys begin to tear down their equipment. 

He comes to stand next to you, and his face is a bit more solemn now, the adrenaline from the show now long gone. “So I’ll see you at the house?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. “Just gotta pack up real quick, then make a quick beer stop then we will be home.”

“Beer stop? Did you forget we are 18?” you laugh. 

He rolls his eyes playfully, “Did you forget I have a fake ID?” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Plus, I heard Sara Matthews is working tonight, and she won’t question it.”

“Getting started on the whole bad boy rock and roll thing early, huh…”

He lets out a laugh as he gathers his guitar cables from the floor and slings them over his shoulder, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been a bad boy for a long time now, baby doll.”

An hour and a half later you’re finally back in Frankenmuth and turning onto his street. You can see a few cars parked outside the house but you don’t see their van just yet. You laugh to yourself wondering if Jake was busted for his fake ID yet, or if Sara still had that crush on him from fourth grade. When you see the familiar set of headlights behind you, you know it's the latter. 

The van comes screeching around the corner, sliding into the driveway and nearly taking out the mailbox. You laugh, recognizing Josh’s driving anywhere. He cuts the engine and jumps from the driver's seat with a grin. Jake slips out of the back door, pulling his guitar case from the backseat, his other hand holding a twelve-pack. Wordlessly, he trots up to your car, nodding at you to join him as he makes his way across the lawn and into the house, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You slowly walk up the steps, a weird feeling starting to settle in your stomach as you enter through the front door. Music is already blaring from the basement, and the loud hum of multiple people chatting is growing louder the further you walk. You take in a deep breath as you turn the corner into the living room. A giant group is already gathered around, sipping drinks and mingling in the dimly lit room. Your eyes scan the sea of people and you recognize some of the faces from the studio, and the rest are most likely here just to party.

Your eyes scan the room for Jake, wondering where he took off to, but then you see him come bounding down the stairs in a clean blue t-shirt and a smile. He makes a beeline straight for you, his eyes locked on yours as he navigates the crowd. He finally reaches you, his hand landing on your shoulder and ushering you away from the crowd of people. “Come here,” he murmurs under his breath as he drags you down the hall towards the kitchen.

You follow behind him as he makes his way into the kitchen, and you know he is dead set on enjoying his well deserved twelve-pack. As predicted he takes out two cans, popping the tabs and handing one to you.  “Well, let's toast.”

You take the silver can from him, cold in your hand, “Okay, let’s…”

He lifts his beer up towards you with a smirk, his eyes locked on yours, “I guess I just want to say thank you for putting up with all of this the last few years, I know it hasn’t been easy,” he grins, his eyes raking over you, “You put up with a lot of bullshit from me, but even after all of that you’re still here.”

You tap your can to his, “Where else would I be?” you breathe. 

He takes a moment to study your face, his eyes tracing over your cheeks, your nose, your chin as they land on your own eyes. The two of you silently stand next to each other, the sounds of the rest of the party still loud and present from the other room, and you can nearly feel his heart beating against his chest from where you’re standing. The unspoken feelings rushing between the two of you are almost palpable. He doesn’t answer your question, instead choosing to remain quiet as he keeps his eyes trained on you.

You pull the can to your lips, sipping at the bubbly beverage, only slightly wincing at the taste. 

He laughs watching you try to drink the beer, trying to hide the grimace as the hops tickle your taste-buds, “It’s an acquired taste, Pops.” he grins, “And you’re going to have to get used to it before you get to college.”

You sigh, “It's not like college is some big party. I doubt it's like the movies.”

He laughs, resting his can on the counter next to him, “Sure it is. Beer flows like waterfalls, parties happening every day, you’ll even have a couple different flings I bet–” he pauses for a moment, his expression growing serious, “Just have fun, Pops. Get the full college experience.”

“I'll try, but I have to take this seriously. Definitely no flings or beer waterfalls or whatever.” you answer, skirting around that subject the best you can. 

“Well yeah, take things seriously, but don’t count yourself out of a little fun, too.” he says, resting his palm behind his head. He’s quiet for a moment before he continues, “Maybe you’ll meet some fancy law student…fall in love and get married and all that.”

“I don’t know, Jake…” You say nervously. “That’s not why I’m going to college.” Why in the world were you two talking about this? You could feel your cheeks growing warm. Doesn’t he know that the only future you’ve ever planned is the one with him in it? 

He raises an eyebrow at your flushed expression, “What’s wrong Pops, planning out your dream life  as we speak?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, “No,  Jake.” you grit out. “Can we like…go party or are we gonna stand here and play twenty questions about my love life all night?”

He raises his hands in surrender, “Fine, fine, we can go join those losers.” he murmurs, pushing himself off the counter. He lifts his hand in the air, motioning to the living room, “After you.”

A few hours later you find yourself laying on the basement floor in a pile of blankets, your mind hazy and free as you bask in the feeling of the alcohol swirling through your veins. Jake is laying next to you in a similar state, staring up at the warm string lights strung across the walls. Josh, Sam, and Danny are already passed out on the other side of the room, their snoring turning into a symphony as usual. Your body feels warm and weightless as you turn your head to the side to look at Jake.

He notices your movement, turning to face you, a small smile on his face as he watches you, a long empty can of beer clutched lazily in his hand. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, and you’re pretty sure he isn’t entirely with it considering you’ve lost count of how many beers he’s had since the party started. He lets out a small laugh, the kind he’s only capable of making when he’s like this, “You know what I just remembered?” he slurs, his words coming out slowly.

“What?” you answer, pursing your lips.

He grins, “Remember when we were kids, we’d sit on the edge of Cass River and throw rocks into the water for hours…‘til the sun would go down…” he mumbles, his gaze trained on the blue blanket beneath him. “We’d talk for hours, and it was just…So peaceful. We were best friends–” he trails off, running his tongue over his lower lip.

You nod, his words causing a slight tingle in your stomach as your own mind begins to wander. He is still watching you, his eyes traveling over your face, over your hair before he speaks again, “And we’re still best friends now…right?”

“Yeah of course we are, Jake. Me going to college isn’t going to change that.” you answer softly, seeing the worry painted across his face. 

He nods his head, a small smile creeping up on him, “I know. I know, I just…” he pauses, his thoughts coming a little slower now, “I just don’t know what I’m going to do without you here. I’m used to you bein’ around, it’s gonna feel weird…different.”

“It’s not like I’ll never come home, and you can call me and text me whenever you want. You know that. Where is all of this coming from, Jake?”

He sighs, his eyes dropping from your face and looking instead at the ceiling, “I dunno, I just…I guess I’m realizing it a bit more now that it’s actually about to happen. You’re going to school hundreds of miles away, with other people…other guys, and I won’t be there to keep those idiots in check.”

You giggle a little, the thought of him fending off guys a little humorous. “I already told you, I’m not going to college looking for guys. I’m going to become a lawyer, and I have to focus on the LSAT and getting into law school and everything else. Guys are going to be the last thing on my mind.”

He lets out an exasperated breath, “I know, Pops. That wasn’t my point.” he mutters before rolling onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks at you, “I’m just worried about you, okay? I don’t want some douchey frat guy to come up and ruin everything…”

“Ruin what?” you ask, furrowing your brows. 

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he looks away for a brief moment, but his gaze immediately returns on yours. “This.” he mutters softly, motioning a hand between the two of you. “Us. Our friendship, our bond. You know what I mean so don’t pretend that you don’t.”

“Nothing is going to come between us, Jake. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

He nods, a small hint of a smile creeping across his face, the tension in his shoulders slowly releasing, “I know you wouldn’t…it’s just me being a dumbass, as usual.”

“Jake, you're not a dumbass. I get it. I have the same worries you know. For all I know you’ll meet some super cool girl when you guys inevitably go on tour, and next thing you know you’ve forgotten my name.”

He laughs, moving his hand to playfully swat at you, “Come on now…there’s no way I’m going to forget your name, you’re the only girl I ever think about.”

You feel your heart lurch into your chest at his confession. He may not mean it the way you’re taking it, but part of you wonders if maybe he does. 

“So it’s agreed, no douchey frat guys for me, and no rockstar girlfriends for you,” you tease.

He laughs again, his fingers lightly brushing against the skin of your arm, “If that makes you happy then yes…agreed.” he grins, watching as the motion of his hand leaves a trail of goosebumps down your arm. “Just promise me one thing…”

“What’s that…” you answer. 

“Just, tell me…if you do– if you start to fall in love. Just tell me first.” he breathes. 

You can see the sincerity in his face, and hear it in his words. He really thinks…

“Jake, guys don’t– they don’t see me like that,” you pause. “It’s never been like that for me.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, a frown on his lips growing by the second. “Bullshit.” he mutters, “Guys don’t see you like what?”

You muster up the courage thanks to the alcohol in your system, and tell him what you really think. “I’m not the kind of girl that guys fall in love with. I am plain– average old, Y/N. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

He scoffs and turns onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, “Plain and average? Is that what you really think?” he asks with disbelief. “Y/N, you’re beautiful, and the guys around here are just too blind to see it. There are guys who would kill to be with you, for just one single chance.”

“I don’t know, Jake. Maybe. But like I said, I don’t care about that. Once I make it on at a firm, maybe I’ll consider it.” you say. 

He studies your face, the alcohol starting to dull his inhibitions, his thoughts coming out unfiltered at this point, “You’re thinking like, ten years in the future P! You’re about to go to college and you’re talking like you’re never gonna meet anyone or pay anyone any mind. For ten years!  You’ve got to live, Poppy! You’ve never even been kissed for Christ’s sake!”

“Wow,” you breathe, the hurt washing over you. 

​​He sighs, realizing that he might have gone too far, “I didn't-” he stops, looking away from you before he speaks up again, “I'm sorry, that was shitty. I didn't mean to say it like that.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, you’re right.” you reply. 

He looks back at you, his fingers running over your arm again, “No, it’s not…I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just, you think so little of yourself sometimes and it drives me insane. You are like…the most amazing person ever, and I don’t–” he stops himself, biting down on his bottom lip, “I just don’t understand how guys don’t see it.”

You’re a little taken aback, this is the first time that his true feelings about you have really come out. You’re unsure what to even say. 

“Thanks, Jake.” you smile, “I’ll let you know how my love life is going ten years from now.” you giggle. 

He looks at you for a long minute, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. 

“I have a better idea,” he says, taking a deep breath. “We’re 18 now, right?”

“Right…” you answer hesitantly.

“If you’re sure that you are dead set on waiting until you’re done with school to be with someone…” he pauses. 

“I am…” you confirm.

“Alright, when we are thirty, if neither of us are married…” he pauses, “Let’s marry each other.”

Shock fills your features, and you can tell that he notices by the smile pulling across his lips. He laughs lightly when you finally muster out a few syllables, “Come on P…it’s the perfect plan. If we’re both still single by thirty, we’ll get hitched.”

“Married?! Jake, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t want to marry me!?”

“Sure I do. You’ve always been my girl,” he murmurs, still smiling, “and we’ve already established that no other guy will ever know you better than me. We’ve been best friends since we were kids, been through every high and low, you’re the only one who’s stuck with me through it all…so,” his voice trails off, “if we’re both available at thirty, I see no reason why we shouldn’t marry each other. Plus, our parents would love it.”

“Jake, this is crazy,” you pause, “I can’t let you do this. You can’t make that kind of promise…”

He leans back against the pillow behind him, his expression growing serious as he turns and looks at you, “I think I can. And I wouldn’t be promising if I couldn’t keep it. You’re it for me, Poppy. You always have been...”

“I didn’t think– Do you– I didn’t think you felt that way about me…” 

He lets out a dry laugh, watching the realization starting to hit you, “How could you not know? We’ve spent our entire lives together…this is nothing new.” he sighs, pausing for a moment, “I should have probably said something before, but…I think a part of me was afraid that you didn’t feel the same way and I would end up ruining everything and lose you…” he pauses. “Why do you think I’m over here telling you not to fall in love with some stupid college guy? I want it to be me, P…I’m your guy. I always have been. The question is, do you feel the same?”

“Of course I do Jake. I– I just…” you stammer. “I’m sorry I don’t even know what to say, I–”

Your heart is racing and your eyes are glued to his every movement. You want to scream from the rooftops, but right here in the moment you can barely form a word. 

“Say you feel the same, that’s all you need to say.” He gently takes up your chin, his thumb running across your bottom lip, “Say you want it to be me.”

Your eyelids grow heavy as his warm thumb brushes your lip, “Yes,” you breathe, your eyes locked on his. “I feel the same.”

He lets out a low breath, the words that you’ve just spoken going straight to his gut, “You know I’ve wanted to kiss you for as long as I can remember.” he murmurs, his fingers still resting against your chin.

“Really…”

He nods his head, a small smile creeping up on the corner of his mouth, “Yeah. Since middle school, at the very least. Maybe even earlier…” he pauses, “It’s a shame you’re making me wait until we’re thirty.”

You smile at him playfully, “I mean...maybe we don't have to…”

A low grin slowly spreads across his face, “Don’t tease me, P.” he murmurs, his fingers still lingering on your chin and gently tugging at your bottom lip.

“Who says I am?” you whisper.

His breathing is becoming ragged as he gently runs his thumb over your bottom lip once more, “Poppy…say yes…” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

“To what?” you breathe. 

“To the pact. To kissing me. To all of it.” he mumbles, his thumb still stroking over your bottom lip, his free hand slowly traveling from your neck to the small of your back, gently pulling you towards him.

Your eyes flick to his, the string lights glowing in the reflection of his eyes. You can feel his body pressed against yours in the most delicious way, the closest you’ve ever been to  each other.  “Yes, Jake.”

And just like that, his lips are crashing into yours, his hand moving from your lower back to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, a low breathy moan leaving his lips as he pulls you into him even more. His kiss is slow and tender at first, the taste of beer still lingering on his lips as he moves them over yours in a languid back and forth, but it soon turns desperate and hungry as his tongue presses urgently against yours, a low growl leaving his chest, all of the feelings and emotions that he’s harbored for years releasing themselves in this one moment. But within seconds, it’s over. 

He rests his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in and out heavily. The kiss has both of you in a daze, your mind struggling to focus on anything other than the fact that your best friend just kissed you. Your first kiss. A content smile stretches across your face before you let your head fall into the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne as he wraps his arms around you. 

He holds you tightly against him, his chin resting at the top of your head as he runs his fingers across your bare arm. The feeling of your body pressed against his is one you’ve dreamed about for years and now experiencing it for the first time, you never want him to let you go.

“Thank you, Jake.” you say softly into his chest. 

He pulls you in even tighter, his heart rate finally starting to return to normal as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “For what?” he hums softly.

“For being my first kiss. I always wanted it to be you.” you answer. 

A smile spreads across his face and he squeezes you a little tighter again. “Me too, Pops.” He pauses, his hand finding a loose strand of your hair and twisting it around his finger, “and for the record, I hope I’m your last.”

You laugh, but then an idea strikes you. “Oh yeah, about that. Don't we need to like, sign our names on the line or something?” you say playfully. 

He pauses for a moment, looking down at you but quickly realizing what you mean. A small smirk spreads across his face and he lets out a small laugh, “I don’t know if we’ve got a pen and paper down here…”

You shrug as you look at him, but then he quickly reaches his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled gas station receipt from his beer run earlier in the night. “Will this work?”

“I don’t see why not?” you grin. 

He reaches up behind the two of you, digging around in the pocket  of Josh’s backpack that was left on the couch, pulling his hand out with a smile. “A pen.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes ironing out the fine print of your arrangement, before Jake takes the liberty of writing out the words on the back of the receipt paper. 

‘At age 30, if both parties are single they will enter into marriage with each other.’

You both sign your names beneath the words, the act feeling strangely good and you can tell you both are feeling it. “So it’s official…” you say, letting your eyes meet his.

He stares down at the receipt, the ink of your signatures drying on the back. A weird feeling of finality washes over you as he slowly nods his head, “Yeah, I guess we’re really doing this.”

“The pact.” you grin, leaning into his shoulder. 

He lets out a soft laugh as he looks down at you, his arm wrapping tighter around your shoulders, “The pact,” he repeats softly, before pressing another kiss to the top of your head and sealing your fate as you know it. 

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

2015 

“Yeah, fuck–” he groans, “keep doing that, baby…”

Your eyes flick up to meet his icy blue eyes, his tip nudging the back of your throat as you take as much of him as you can. You know it won’t be long now, you can feel the tightening of his abs as he fights off his release. You release him from your lips with a pop, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock for dramatic effect. You can hear the bass line of ‘Starboy’ thundering through the walls of the fraternity house party still happening downstairs, momentarily pulling you from the moment you found yourself in. 

You feel Trevors hand as it lands on the back of your head, returning you to your task. Again you take him into your throat, never letting your eyes part from his as your hands cup his balls. 

“Fuck baby doll, you’re fuckin’ amazing,” he groans,  his cock starting to jerk with need. 

You wince as the pet name rolls off his tongue, taking you back to a place you’d rather not remember right now. Right back to Jake. 

Jake. Where was he right now? What was he doing? Surely he wasn’t at the back of some girl's throat. What were you doing?

Suddenly you feel him as his cum starts to paint the back of your throat, swallowing him down with every grunt that leaves his chest. You pull off of him quickly, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Your mind is suddenly a jumbled mess of thoughts, the single word sending you into a tailspin of guilt. 

“Felt good as fuck, baby,” Trevor says, pulling up his jeans. 

You give him a curt smile as you pull yourself up off of the dirty bathroom floor. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“What?” he questions, grabbing his red cup from the bathroom counter. “Baby?”

“No.” you answer quickly. “Baby doll. Don’t call me that. I don’t like it.”

“Sorry, babe. My bad.” he says nonchalantly. “You good?” he asks, turning to open the bathroom door.

You let out a sigh, “Yeah. I’m fine.” you answer, watching him spin the door knob to open the door. The music from the party hits you full force, and that combined with the alcohol in your system hits you hard. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head out.”

“Why, the party is just getting started, it's only two,” he says, ushering you down the stairs. “And I thought you were coming home with me tonight.”

“Eh, I need to be at the library tomorrow morning first thing. I have an exam tomorrow afternoon.” you say, “I’ll call you though, yeah?”

He shakes his head, “Whatever, babe. Later.”

Relief washes over you as you free yourself from Trevor, and make your way through the party and out into the fresh air of Fraternity row.

“Fuck. What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?” you grit out, making the short walk back to your dorm. The air is starting to chill as fall begins to wash over Chicago. You kick yourself the entire way to your door, immediate regret setting in as you let your mind wander back to Jake. 

It had been a few weeks since the two of you spoke, and you definitely hadn’t let him know about your little ongoing situation with Trevor. You didn’t even truly know if you needed to. It wasn’t serious, and that was the deal, right?

As you lock the door behind you, you toss your bag onto your desk, hearing the loud thud as your phone hits the wooden table. It reminds you that you haven’t looked at it in hours. Pulling it from your purse you see a few Instagram notifications but more importantly you see that you missed call and a missed text from Jake. You wonder if you were on his mind, too. 

Jake 1:46 AM: Pops, call me when you can, I have big news.

Your eyes flash to your clock seeing it read out 2:32 AM, and you wonder if he is still up. If he would answer your call. You decide to try, knowing he keeps late hours. The line rings out four times before you hear his raspy voice answering the call. 

“Hey Pops,” he says, and you can tell you’ve woken him. 

“Shit, sorry, I woke you up didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Nice to hear your voice instead of reading it on a screen,” he laughs, clearing his throat. “It’s late Poppy, where have you been all night? Are you just getting home?”

You feel hesitant to answer but decide on the truth, “Yeah, I– I was out. I was at a party with some friends.”

You hear a deep hum as he takes in your words and you already know what he’s thinking. “Did you have fun?”

“Um, yeah I guess so…” you lie. “But that's not why I’m calling, I saw your text. What’s up, is everything okay?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice still thick with sleep, “Yeah everything is fine. Everything is great actually. Sorry to just text you out of the blue like that, but I wanted to– I just wanted to tell you over the phone instead of texting.” He pauses for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts, “It took a while but, the deal went through. We were signed for an album and we’re  gonna tour it.”

“Oh my god, Jake!”

“We are releasing a fucking album, Pops.” he repeats. 

“I don’t even know what to say, I am so– I am so proud of you Jake! I can’t believe it! I mean, I can but, you know what I mean!” you gush. 

You hear his soft laugh from the other end of the phone, “You don’t really have to say anything. Or you can scream or do whatever. I just needed to tell you. I wanted you to be the first person to know.”

The words then hit you, “Wait, I’m the first person you’ve told?”

“Yeah, you’re the first.” he laughs, “You’re the one I need to tell everything to, first. Just how it's always been. How I want it to always be.”

“I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

You can hear his smile on the other end of the phone, “I’m proud too. God, I wish you were here, Pops. Wish you were here celebrating with me.”

A sigh leaves your lips, “I wish I was there too.”

“Pops, listen, it– It might be a while before we can see each other again. We– we’re going to be touring all through the spring. All over the place…”

“Oh, I–”

“No, no, don’t worry or anything, I just mean I will miss you, that’s all. But you’re doing your thing in Chicago and I’m doing mine out here. Just kinda the paths we are on right now.” he pauses, “But I’ve still got a couple of weeks at the end of the year before we go. We can see each other then, right?”

You bite your lips together as you try to stay positive, “Yeah. Yeah of course.”

“Good.” he answers, “Just keep on going, Poppy. We’ve got this.”

“Yeah. Yeah we do.” you answer quietly. 

“Alright, well, we should probably get some sleep, it’s late. But one more thing before you go…” he trails off. 

“What’s that…”

“Just…” he pauses hesitantly, “We’re still, us, right?”

“Yeah, Jake. We’re still us. Nothing has changed.” you confirm. 

“Okay. Well, goodnight, Pops,” he says, his voice growing sleepy again. 

“Goodnight, Jake.” you whisper, hitting the red button to end the call. 

As you collapse down onto your lumpy dorm room bed you run your hand over your face. You try to shake the hollow feeling in your stomach at the thought of everything being okay, but you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease washing over you as you pull the blankets over your head. 

December 8,  2015

Jake 4:27 PM: When do you come home for winter break?

You 5:09 PM: I’m not sure yet. Cramming for finals currently. 

Jake 5:20 PM: good luck pops

December 19, 2015

Jake 11:47AM: We are leaving for Detroit to get a van and trailer. I can’t believe we are really going on tour. Miss you. 

December 22, 2015

Jake 9:57 PM:  I saw your mom today and she said you won’t be home for Christmas. Would it be weird if I came to see you? Let me know. 

December 25, 2015

Jake 7:46 AM: Merry Christmas, Pops. 

You 9:04 AM: Merry Christmas, Jake. Miss you. I’ll call you soon. 

December 29, 2015

You 12:03 PM: sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been so busy. When do you leave for tour?

Jake 1:10 PM: January 8th. We’ll be in Chicago on the 24th, should I leave you a ticket?

You 1:27 PM: Can you leave two?

Jake 1:30 PM: Anything for you pops. Can’t wait to see you. 

January 23, 2016

Jake 8:46 PM: leaving the venue in Springfield heading towards Chicago. See you tomorrow?

You 9:23 PM: Yes ❤️

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

January 24, 2016

“So what’ve you got going today babe?” Trevor asks, rolling over to face you. 

“Honestly not a lot. I have a class at 1:00 then I guess I am just going to come back here and get ready to go to that show. You still want to come with me right?”

“Yeah for sure, sounds like a good time,” he says, kissing your  shoulder as you sit up on your elbows. The sheet now barely covers your naked bodies, the light sheen of sweat now dry.

A knock on your door startles both of you, your head snapping to the right to look at Trevor, “You think it’s the RA?” 

“Fucking hope not,” he whispers, quickly pulling himself up out of your bed. 

You jump up, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it over your head as you rush to the door. You push back your hair and take a deep breath as you open the door, but much to your surprise, it’s not the RA.

“Jake?!” 

“Hey, Pops,” he grins, his smile lighting you on fire. His hands are in his pockets, and he seems almost nervous.

“Jake what– what are you doing here?” you rush out, taking in the sight of him for the first time in a long time. His hair is longer now, and he seems as if he's added a little bit of muscle tone.

“We got into town early, thought I’d surprise you,” he answers, his eyes flicking up and down your body as he takes in your current state.

Before you even have time to explain, Trevor walks up behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder. 

“All good, babe?” he asks, his eyes locked on Jake. 

You see the exact moment that realization hits Jake and you swallow harshly, “Yeah, yeah, um everything is fine. This is my friend Jake. He’s in the band we’re seeing tonight.”

You watch as Jake lets out a small huff of air, anger washing over him. “Jake,” he nods, “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” Trevor answers. 

“I see you’re busy, Pops. I’ll uh– catch you later.” he says, looking at you before walking away. You don’t even have time to speak before you hear the elevator doors opening. You shut your dorm room door with tears welling in your eyes, doing your best to not let Trevor see, but a huge lump has formed in your throat, and you feel like you might be sick, so you quickly dart into the bathroom before Trevor can question you. 

Your blood is rushing around furiously as you pick up the two tickets at willcall under your name.  Trevor seems oblivious to your anxiety, though, you are doing your best to keep it under wraps. The energy in the small venue is buzzing around you and your excitement doubles once you step through the double doors and enter inside. There are a few people gathered at the front of the stage, and you and Trevor step up behind them. Your heart is pounding as your eyes catch on the drum kit, seeing the band's logo displayed proudly. It won't be too much longer until they go on stage, opening for the main act, and you know more people will begin to show up after they start. 

“So you’ve seen them before?” Trevor asks, turning to look at you. 

“Um, yeah kinda. But not like this. Not on a big stage with lights and real sound equipment,” you answer, doing your best to shut him up. 

Your eyes are focused on the side of the stage where you see a few familiar faces getting ready to go on stage. A smile stretches across your face and your heart starts to pound harder, knowing Jake will be in front of you in mere seconds. The house music starts to quiet down and you watch as Josh takes the stage. He is followed by Sam and Danny, and finally you see Jake step up with his red SG.

They immediately begin playing, and Josh starts talking to the crowd of people that have gathered around you. There are more people here than you would have thought, but you chalk it up to their successful shows in other surrounding states. But you’re more so shocked at the sheer presence of  them on the stage. In seconds Jake’s guitar is commanding the attention of the entire venue, all eyes on him. Part of you wants him to look at you, but the other part of you is still feeling guilty about this morning's earlier interaction. 

As your attention focuses on him, you notice that his attention seems to be focused on everything but the crowd of people in front of him, in fact he seems to be looking over the crowd as he strums out the chords to the first song. It’s then you realize that he seems to be intentionally not looking for you. You hate to admit that it  hurts. 

The performance begins, and Josh starts the opening lyrics to a song you've never heard before, but it's incredible. You can't help but notice that the lyrics seem almost as if they could be about you, and it sends chills up and down your spine. Surely not.

It's then that Jake's eyes meet yours, locking in on you as Josh continues to sing. Your breath is caught in your chest and as you struggle to blink you see Jake look over at Trevor. Your heart begins to race, your cheeks turning flushed. It seems as if time has stopped, like the two of you are the only people here, in the entire world. You hold his gaze again for a moment before he rips his eyes away, returning his focus back to the music. 

The show continues this way, the constant back and forth as the two of you look at each other, speaking silently as he plays guitar. It feels like an eternity before the show is finally over, their set is ending and the guys are walking offstage. The crowd erupts into applause and cheers, and you and Trevor begin to make your way towards the back of the venue, but not before Josh spots you and wraps his sweaty arms around you. 

He looks flushed and out of breath but still has a million dollar smile plastered across his face, “Y/N! I’m glad you made it out. Did you enjoy the show?” he says, but doesn’t let go of the hug despite him dripping sweat onto your shoulder.

“Of course I did! I always do, you guys were amazing!” you shout, hearing the headliner start their set. “It’s nice to see you on a real stage where you belong.”

He lets out a low laugh, finally letting go of you, “It’s still unreal. I can’t even pretend like I’m used to it. Thanks for being here.” he pauses. “I don’t know where Jake ran off to but I’ll find him and send him your way.”

“Thanks,” you smile, seeing him wave over his shoulder. 

You turn back around to see Trevor standing beside you, a small hint of confusion on his face. He looks like he has something he wants to say, and you know exactly what it is.

“Yes, I know the whole band, and yes Jake is a twin,” you smile. 

He shakes his head and looks down at the sticky bar floor before looking back at you. “No actually it's not that. I saw the way you look at him, Y/N, at Jake… Like you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for the entire show. And how he couldn’t take his eyes off you either. Not once.”

Panic begins to set in, your heart rate immediately spiking, “What? No. I– I watched everybody, Trev.”

He raises an eyebrow as he stares you down, “No, you didn’t. You watched him.” he replies, his face growing serious as he looks you over, “I’m not stupid, babe. You’ve been with me for a while now, and I have never once seen you look at me the way you were looking at him.”

“No, you’re imagining things,” you say dismissively, seeing Jake appear in the crowd, heading your direction at possibly the worst time. 

“No, I’m not imagining things,” he mutters, his words turning cold. “Just admit it. Say that you have feelings for him.”

Jake finally makes his way over to you, and by that point the tension between the three of you is as thick as molasses. Jake’s face changes the moment he sees the expression on your face.

“Hey Pops, what’s going on? Everything okay?” he asks, his eyes flickering between you and Trevor.

“Um–” you stammer, unsure what to say to diffuse the tension between you and Trevor.

Trevor looks at Jake, his eyes narrowing at your obvious discomfort, “Just settling an issue here, that’s all.”

Jake looks at him, obviously confused and concerned, “What issue is that?”

“Oh, so you’re going to play dumb, too?” Trevor quips, “Of course.”

Jake’s face turns serious as his eyes narrow, “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, man. You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Not much to tell. I can just tell when a guy and a girl have feelings for each other. We’re working through the issue right now.” he answers nonchalantly, gesturing in your direction.

“Trevor!” you snap, your face burning with embarrassment. 

He shrugs his shoulders, “What? We are. Am I wrong? You’ve got feelings for this dude, right?”

Jake is standing stock still, his eyes wide and focused on you as Trevor mentions the feelings you’re not supposed to have.

The tension in the air is palpable, the realization of what he’s saying slowly settling in on him. “Right?” he asks again. You can’t bring yourself to look at either one of them, your gaze remaining locked on the ground.

“No. I don’t Trevor. You are my boyfriend. Jake is…just a friend…from back home. I'm here with you.” you answer, feeling your own heart break as the words pierce through Jake, too. 

He stands there, his face expressionless as your words sink in. He’s frozen, staring down at you, but your head is still glued to the ground and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Trevor lets out a breath, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree then. All I’m saying is the way you were looking at him just now, and the way he was looking at you…there’s something between you two that isn’t just a regular thing, and I see it.”

“No man, she's right. We are just friends. Nothing more. Never have been, never will be. Isn’t that right, Pops.” Jake says, and you can feel the venom in his words. 

You dare glance up at him, but the moment your eyes meet you regret it. His face looks like stone, the light in his eyes now replaced with a dark, dull anger. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Jake like this, his gaze locked on yours, staring you down.

“Right, Pops? We’re just friends,” he repeats, but his voice lacks the comfort of the countless times he’s said those words before to you. There’s no reassurance in there this time, no hint of a smile. This is not the Jake you know. The Jake that you love.

“Right,” you breathe, wishing more than anything you could just disappear into thin air. 

He holds your gaze for just a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you, waiting for something more from you, but you just can’t say it, your voice having abandoned you.

“Okay, great, well uh– thanks for coming out. See ya ‘round, Pops.” You watch as he nods his head toward you dismissively, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

The feeling of him walking away from you, the anger in his face and in his words, it’s leaving you with an unbearable emptiness feeling in your chest. Your head is swimming with everything that has just transpired. You’re unable to move, but Trevor breaks you out of your trance with a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Part of you wants to stay, to leave Trevor and find Jake and make things right, but you know you can't. It's too late. The damage is done. You let him lead you out, your head down as you stumble out of the venue. The night sky is cold and black, the weight of the moment still fresh. You let Trevor lead you away from the venue. Away from Jake. 

You make the trip back to your dorm in silence, both of you just wanting to forget about the whole thing and curl up in bed and sleep. He doesn’t try to talk, but you can feel his tense energy radiating off of him next to you, and you aren’t totally sure if he’s angry with you or just the situation in general.

As you slide into your bed, your mind is still replaying the moments back in the venue. Jake’s face as you denied having any feelings for him. The way he used a nickname that once was special between you two and somehow made it sound so cold. The way he didn’t argue when you denied your feelings to Trevor. And the worst part of all, your inability to correct him.

The sheets feel heavy on top of your body, and you’ve never felt more lonely. The person who knows you best is a couple miles away from you, and at the same time he’s never felt more distant. You want to try and sleep, hoping the morning can bring you some reprieve but you instead end up staring at the ceiling and letting the tears quietly fall.

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

November 10, 2016

“Miss Y/N?” the dorm attendant calls out as you walk through the entry doors.

“Yes?” you answer, stopping at the desk with a smile. 

“You had a delivery come this morning,” she smiles, “a big beautiful one.”

“Me?” you ask, not expecting any deliveries. 

“Yes, stay right here and I will get it,” she says, scampering off to the back office to retrieve your package.

However, when she steps out your heart nearly drops. It’s not a package at all. It's a giant bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers. Your eyes instantly begin to fill with tears, and a familiar ache in your heart flares up. Poppies, at least two dozen of them in a bright pink vase. They are all blooming and vibrant and you don’t even need to read the card to know who they are from. 

You accept them from her with thanks, and rush back to your dorm room as fast as you can. The tears are beginning to stream  from the corners of your eyes as you kick the door shut behind you. You place the flowers on your desk, and with shaky hands you pull the tiny red card from the holder. 

The outside of the envelope reads ‘Happy Birthday’ in bold handwriting. You look at the envelope one more time before ripping open the seal and pulling the card out. The front of the card has a handwritten message. ‘Have a great birthday, Pops.’

There’s no signature, but you know who it’s from. You open the card and find the inside blank, except for one simple phrase written in the middle.

‘Still us, right?’

You feel like your heart has exploded in your chest, the tears falling faster now. You feel a knot in the pit of your stomach as you read those words again and again, your brain unable to wrap your head fully around what they mean. You know what he’s really asking, and the feeling of shame and guilt over the way that you left things is even stronger now.

“What did I do?” you whisper to yourself. You never wanted to hurt him, that was never your intention. You let your head sink, your eyes landing on the beautiful multicolored flowers on the desk. You let the tears continue to fall, the guilt and helplessness washing over you in a fresh wave. You let your head fall into your hands, trying to will yourself to do something, anything, but the feeling of despair and the memory of how Jake’s face looked that night in the venue is like a heavy weight on top of you.

Should you call him? Text him?

You look around your dorm, as if a sign would pop up and tell you exactly what to do. You turn and look at your phone, your hands shaking as you reach out toward it. You think about calling him, you think about texting, but what would you say?

You want to say how sorry you are, how much you’ve missed him, and how much better everything would be if you could both go back and do that night over again...but what good is saying those things now? It’s too late for regret, no matter how badly you want to go back and change the last few months.

You pick up the phone, your fingers shaking slightly as you dial his number. The phone rings for a few seconds until you hear his voice on the other line. “Poppy?”

“Jake,” you reply. 

“Hey,” his voice responds, a little bit of surprise and relief in it. He hesitates before continuing, “Guessing you got the flowers?”

“I did. Jake, they are so beautiful. I love them.” you answer. There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of you, the elephant in the room growing larger by the second.

“Yeah, I’m really glad you like them,” he replies, his voice sounding less surprised and a little bit of normalcy starting to return to the conversation. He lets another pause linger between the two of you, the silence feeling strange after all the time you’ve gone without speaking to each other. Then he speaks again. “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”

“I wasn’t sure you would answer,” you say sheepishly.

He lets out a gentle chuckle, the sound of his laugh somehow still warming your heart. “Yeah, to be honest I was a little hesitant to answer. But I’m glad you called.” he says quietly.

“I um– I got your…note.” you breathe. 

A pause fills the line before he speaks again, this time quieter. “Yeah, it’s just been kind of heavy having the distance between us lately. I just… needed you to know that the way things ended last time we saw each other, I never meant to…” he trails off, suddenly unsure of the proper words to say.

“Jake, I-” you start, but he interrupts you.

“No, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Please don’t feel bad, okay? I just needed you to know that we’re still…” he fades off again, that familiar feeling of helplessness filling the air. He takes a moment before continuing, “You’re still my best friend and you always will be. I don’t want us to lose that. I don’t want to lose you any more. You’re my girl, Pops. Always will be.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Jake,” you confess, your voice cracking with pain. 

“I know.” he replies, letting out a sigh, “And I understand.” Another moment passes between the two of you before he speaks again. “Listen, I’ve got to go, we are going on soon and Josh is breathing down my neck, but I’m glad you called. It means a lot to hear your voice. Let’s try and…I don’t know, talk more?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry to keep you, I just…” you pause, “Have a good show, Jake... a-and thank you for the flowers.”

“Of course, anything for my girl,” he answers, “and Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you…” you trail off. 

“Call soon?” he asks, the volume in the background starting to grow louder.

“I’d like that,” you breathe, feeling the distance from him even more than before. 

“Good. Okay, well have a good night, P.” he says softly, and right before you think he’s hung up you hear him whisper, “It’s still us, Poppy.”

“Still us,” you confirm, the call ending as the words leave your lips. 

January 4, 2017

Jake 8:12 AM: Just signed the contract for a headlining world tour. I can’t believe it, Pops.

You 7:58 PM: I’m so proud of you Jake

March 28, 2017

Jake 11:04 PM: Just walked past a street vendor selling red poppies. Apparently they are a big thing here. Thought of you. Miss you. 

You 11:24 PM: I miss you too. Where are you at these days?

Jake 11:30 PM: In Paris right now, England tomorrow, then Scotland. It’s beautiful here. 

You 11:32 PM: I can only imagine.

Jake 11:33 PM: One day, Pops.

June 7, 2017

You 12:25 PM: Did I just see that you guys are playing Lollapalooza?! Jake!

Jake 1:49 PM: You did, can you believe it? 

You 1:50 PM: We used to daydream about that

Jake 1:56 PM: No more dreaming. Can I save you an Artist wristband?

You 1:58 PM: You’d do that for me?

Jake 2:00 PM: Of course poppy, you’re my girl. 

August 3, 2017

Jake 8:09 AM: P, it’s show day and I haven't heard from you. You still coming? Your wristband is at will call.

You 10:23 AM: Jake, I am so so so sorry. I can’t find anyone to cover my shift tonight at work. I’ve been trying for weeks. I hate to miss this. I am so sorry. :(

Jake 10:40 AM: Ahh, it’s alright P,  there will be more. I’ll catch you at the next one. 

You 10:45 AM: I won’t miss the next one. I swear. 

Jake 10:46 AM: I’m holding you to it. Call soon. 

November 10, 2017

You 2:21 PM: Thank you for the poppies Jake. They are even more beautiful than last years bouquet. Miss you so much. 

Jake 3:04 PM: Anything for you, Y/N. Happy Birthday. 

February 18, 2018

Jake 7:34 PM:  *Open in Spotify*  - Bad Company - Call On Me

You 7:45 PM: I remember listening to this album in your car non stop senior year lol

Jake 7:48 PM: Still one of the very best. I always think of you when I hear that one though. 

You 7:50 PM: Even if I called on you I don’t think you could get here very quickly. Last I saw on Instagram you guys were in Belgium. 

Jake 7:54 PM: We are, but all you need to do is say the word, Pops. 

You 8:00 PM: Miss you. 

Jake 8:01 PM: Miss you more. 

April 4, 2019

Jake 7:48 PM: My mom said she got your graduation invitation in the mail today. So proud of you Y/N. 

You 8:21 PM: It feels like it went by so fast. I can’t believe it’s over. I actually just received my acceptance letter from the University of Michigan today. I’m officially going to Law School. 

Jake 8:30 PM: You continue to amaze me Poppy. I’m glad we both get to live our dreams. 

You 8:32 PM: ❤️

University of Michigan Law School - Ann Arbor, Michigan

August 12, 2019

You 7:52 AM: I’m freaking out, what if I can’t do this Jake

Jake 8:00 AM: what?

You 8:01 AM: It’s my first day of classes at UofM

Jake 8:02 AM: Do you think I wasn’t petrified the first time I stepped onto a real stage? I know you can do this P. If I can do that, you can do this. You can do anything. 

You 8:03 AM: Thanks Jake

Jake 8:05 AM: Call me later and let me know how it went. We are on break for the next week so I’m free whenever. 

November 10, 2019

You 3:47 PM:  Jake! You’re so sweet. Gorgeous flowers, but I have to know how you got my new address?  

Jake 3:50 PM: Don’t worry about that, I have my ways. Happy Birthday my girl. I’ll call soon. 

University of Michigan Law School - Ann Arbor, Michigan

May 18, 2020

You can faintly hear a persistent buzzing, the sound pulling you from your sleep. You realize it’s your phone buzzing away on your nightstand with an incoming call. You roll over, reaching for it in the darkness of the room, noticing the time on your alarm clock says 2:47 AM. You wipe the sleep from your eyes as they adjust to the harsh light of your phone, but that's not what really wakes you. It’s the name on the screen that has you sitting up straight in your bed. 

“Jake?” you breathe, sliding your thumb against the glass. “Hello?” you answer groggily. 

“Poppy…” he replies, his voice deep and gravely. 

“Jake, what's wrong, is everything okay? It's like 2:30 in the morning?” you rush out, your heart starting to pound. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby doll,” he answers, “I just…I needed to hear your voice.”

You can hear the slurring in his words and you know he's had too much to drink. That, and he hasn’t called you that pet name in years, “What’s going on, Jake? You don’t sound okay.”

He’s silent for a moment, seemingly gathering the right words to say, “‘M fine, Pops. It’s just been a bad day. Hell, it’s been a bad week. A bad month. Everything is fucking exploding in our faces.”

“What do you mean?” you ask nervously, clutching your sheets in your fist.

He lets out a deep sigh, “God, everythings just falling apart. With the album, with tour–” he cuts himself off. There’s another pause before he speaks again. “It’s just all such a mess and I miss you, Pops. I miss you so damn much. I don’t know if I can do all of this.”

“What? What do you mean? Is it because of all this Covid stuff?” you ask.

“That, and so many other things. We had all these plans to release the new album and tour and then everything came to a screeching halt. We’re essentially in lockdown now, and I don't know when we will start up again. I can’t just sit, Pops, you know that. I just can’t,” he sighs heavily. “But it’s not just that,” he pauses for a moment, his words becoming a little more slurred, “There’s a million things, and I know I sound so whiny, but–”

“No, go ahead, get it all out. Tell me. I'm here. I'm listening.”

“I don't even know how to put it all into words. There’s just so much. The pressure, the uncertainty, the loneliness of it all, the shit with the label, my parents calling all the time asking what's going on, Josh bitching everytime something doesn’t go his way. Nothing is going right,” he pauses, “and you're not here.”

“I know. I know I'm not, but I think I understand a little bit at least. All my classes are virtual right now, finals and everything. It’s not how I ever imagined Law School going.  I don't think I have left my apartment in weeks. I haven’t talked to a real person in a while. It's scary and everything is uncertain right now. I get it Jake. I do, and I miss you. I miss you so much.” you answer.

“Yeah, exactly,” he sighs, “I just feel like– everything is going wrong and falling apart and I don’t know how to stop it. I just want…I want you,” he pauses, “I want you here. Things would be better if you were here. You would know what to do.”

“Well, where are you? Are you…at home or–”

“I’m locked in this fucking house in Nashville. Feel like a fuckin’ prisoner. All I can do is play guitar and write and drink,  and– I just need out.” he groans. 

“Nashville...You��You live in Nashville now? In a house? I had no idea you guys left Michigan.”  you say a little despondently.

“See, this is exactly what I mean. I want you to know these things. You deserve to know. I– I should’ve called. But, yeah, we got a place last year. Me and Josh. It made sense with us starting to record and touring, being centrally located and all that. But it’s not my permanent home. This is not what I want.” he adds hastily.

“Yeah, I understand, that makes sense, I just didn't know,” you pause, “I wish- I mean, how far are you from Ann Arbor? You know you can always come visit for a while. I’ll be busy with school work but at least we could…” you trail off. 

“I’d say maybe…six hours, give or take,” he answers, and his mind starts to wander a little. “I wish I could just hop in the car and come to you. I miss your face. Just you, in general,” he says, the drunken honesty coming through. “But the label has us on fucking lockdown. Can’t leave the city even if we wanted to.”

“Oh. Okay. I understand.” you answer, pain coloring your tone. 

He picks up on your change in tone, his voice growing a bit more sober, “Shit, no, P. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t want you to feel like I wouldn’t just drop everything and come to you right now, you gotta believe me. I wish I could. I’d  leave now and be there by morning.”

“No, Jake it’s fine, I get it. I was just daydreaming.” you answer, swallowing thickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything. I feel like everything has just been too much and I just wanted to hear your voice. But I shouldn’t have called you like this, I know you’ve got a lot of stuff going on with school right now. I shouldn’t have burdened you with my bullshit.” he says, his voice sounding just as pained as yours. 

“Never apologize for that Jake. That’s what I’m here for. I want to know, and I know you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N. You know that I would,” he responds, his words almost a whisper now. You can still hear the buzz of alcohol in his voice, but now it’s only a slight slur instead of drunken rambling. “You were always my person. My safe place.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper. 

You can hear him sigh heavily on the other line, and the two of you let a comfortable silence fall over the line. You’re both lost in your thoughts, just content to hear the other breathe. He finally breaks the silence, his voice quiet and hoarse, “When I get out of this hell hole, I’m coming to find you. I need to see you again. It can’t be another year without you.”

“You know where to find me,” you grin. 

“Yeah, I do,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, just listening to you breathe. “I should let you get some sleep. You got school and work and… life to deal with tomorrow, huh?”

“Sadly, yes. But, I– enjoyed this. I’ve missed your voice. It’s nice to lay here with my eyes closed and pretend like it's old times.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “This was good. I feel better now, I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. We’ve got a lot to catch up on…and I’m sorry I had to be drunk to find the balls to call you.” he giggles. “Can I call you again sometime soon? Preferably when I’m a little more sober?”

“Please do,” you answer with a laugh. 

He laughs softly along with you, the sound of his laugh is familiar yet different after all this time, “Okay, I’ll call you soon then. I promise. Goodnight, my  Pops.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

Detroit, Michigan

March 13, 2022

 

“And send,” you whisper to yourself, finally leaning back in your office chair as the email flies into the ether. You let out a deep exhale, checking the time. Only one more hour before you leave for the day. You take in your surroundings, seeing your colleagues still busy and working away on case files and reports. It wasn’t easy landing this job and it has been taxing to say the least, but in a few years you would be up for partner and you would do anything to make your dream a reality. Today though, you were leaving a little earlier than usual. You had plans tonight, plans you weren’t one hundred percent sure you should follow through with, but it had been years after all, and part of you is dying to see him. Jake. 

You’d been following along with the band's success for years now, watching them grow to crazy levels of fame in such a short amount of time. You think back to the night Jake called you, so worried about the new album, and now it was their most successful release to date. It truly was incredible and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see them play it live. And tonight, you would. 

When you saw that they had plans to play in Saginaw you knew you had to make the drive. You requested the time off and now today was the day. Your heart has been in your throat all day waiting for it to drop to your stomach the moment you see him on stage tonight. It only took a few messages with Karen to find out that you had standing tickets waiting for you. Stating that ‘Jake wouldn’t have it any other way’. You could tell she missed him, missed all her boys actually, and you knew the pain all too well.

You knew he would look different, from the pictures you’d seen you could tell his hair was longer, and his boyish figure was now that of a man. But he wasn't the only one, all of the guys' looks had changed dramatically, and part of you felt like you hardly knew them anymore. You had no plans of telling Jake that you would be there tonight, you wanted to see him play a good show without the burden of knowing you were out in the crowd watching. You have your outfit picked out and waiting for you on your bed, knowing you only had a few quick minutes to change and get on the road when you clocked out at the office for the day. Now, all there was left to do was wait. 

The traffic couldn’t have been worse. The freeway was congested with an accident and roadwork, and as your hands gripped the steering wheel  you began to feel nervous that you might not make it in time. You pushed away the nervous feeling, turning up the volume of the music playing through your car speakers. You’d done your research, listening to the new album a hundred times over, and tonight you’d put that knowledge to the test as you tried your best to sing along with every song they would play. As you sang along now, you let go of your stress and relaxed into the music, watching as miraculously the road cleared in front of you and you continued on your way to Saginaw. 

With your ticket in hand you searched for your seat in the crowd, finding yourself surrounded by familiar faces. Faces you hadn’t seen since you left home. It felt like a big reunion in section 102, and you couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of your face if you tried. When you finally found your seat you looked up to see Karen sitting a seat away, turning to face you as you sat down next to her. 

“Oh honey, you made it,” she cooed, pulling you in for a hug. 

“Yeah, yeah I did! Got stuck in some terrible traffic leaving Detroit, I didn’t know if I was going to make it on time.” you answer, waving hello to a few other friendly faces around you. 

“I am so glad you’re here, I haven’t seen you in years! You really should come home and see everyone soon. We all miss you!” she says, with a soft smile, “I’m glad he sat you with us. Right where you should be.”

You give her a confused look and she laughs. 

“Look around, you’re in the family section,” she pauses, and suddenly you realize shes right. “I can’t wait to see them play tonight, it’s been a year or so.”

“Well I guess I should confess that I haven't seen them since their first little tour. I think they were openers. It was back in college.”

“Oh well, you’re in for a surprise then. They are just fantastic now, they’ve really stepped it up since then. Oh, Jake is going to be so happy to see you.” she gushes. 

“I actually didn’t tell him I was coming,” you pause, “we haven’t talked in a little while. He’s been busy touring and I’m working at a firm now. Life hasn’t been the best to our friendship.” you confess. 

“Oh honey I hate to hear that. You’ll have to come with me after the show to see everybody. I’m sure they would all love to say hello.” she offers. 

“Like backstage? I don’t know. Maybe. I–”

“No excuses, we’re going.” she smiles, just as the lights dim and music begins to play through the arena. 

Your heart is positively thumping in your chest as you hear what you believe to be Josh’s voice as he talks over a piece of music. You feel your insides grow warm as he talks, your eyes filling with tears as you listen to the beautiful words he's crafted. The crowd explodes in cheers full of anticipation as the arena goes black and the curtain covering the stage begins to flash with red lights. 

You’re scared of what you will see when the curtain drops. Scared of the changes you’ll see in their faces, the changes you’ll notice in their playing, but mostly you’re scared that he may not recognize you if he does see you, because that would crush you. 

Suddenly the curtain falls down to the ground as loud music begins to fill the arena. Your eyes are immediately on Jake, his long dark hair and his two piece suit. He looks so amazing you feel like you could fall to your knees right here in the stands. But then, he spots you, and for that few seconds it’s just the two of you there in that arena. 

 A wave of shock sets in as soon as his eyes land on you. For a brief moment you can hardly believe that it’s real, that you’re  seeing him  in person and not just in the memories that haunt you during the dark hours of night. But there he is, living his dream right in front of your very eyes. 

He stands in front of the crowd, guitar in hand. The bright spotlight is so white it almost hurts your eyes, but once your vision adjusts you’re struck by the sight of him. He’s slightly sweaty and disheveled, his jacket open  and hair already sweaty and messy. He’s never looked more handsome than he does standing on that stage. He stands still for a moment, the shock of seeing you here has shaken him to the core, that is obvious to you. But he quickly shakes it off, and continues with the show, playing for the crowd that is screaming his name.

By the third song you are having to pick your jaw up off the floor. The way he is working the crowd is a vast difference from the last time you watched him play, still shy and unsure of himself on stage. He’s got a presence to him now, a confidence that you don’t remember seeing when you first watched him play years before. It shows in the way he moves on the stage, in the way he plays to the crowd, and in the way he works the guitar like it’s an extension of himself. He plays his heart out for the next hour, his movements smooth and precise. Jake is in his element just like he always knew he would be. 

The encore is upon you, and you can’t wait for him to be back on stage. Finally, he bounds up to the stage again, his energy and excitement at an all time high. You can tell he’s having the time of his life, the lights and cheers making him feel like he could fly. Josh is right behind him, grabbing the microphone and beginning to speak. “Thank you all for an incredible night,” he yells to the crowd, “But we’re not done yet. How about another one?” The room fills with loud cheers again. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as Jake turns his body to look at you, pointing his guitar in your direction as he acknowledges you. Your cheeks are on fire as he sends you a smile, Karen grabbing your arm as she watches the interaction. 

“Told you he’d be happy to see you,” she shouts over the music. 

You feel overwhelmed with emotion and excitement; not just by the fact that he spotted you in this giant crowd, but also by the fact that he is so clearly expressing a level of happiness because you’re here right now. The connection you feel to him is unlike anything you’ve felt in a long time.

He finishes the show with his heart on his sleeve. It ends on an incredibly high note, and he takes one last bow to the crowd as they start to leave. He starts walking off the stage, Josh in tow and you realize that now, you will go backstage with Karen and you’ll  have to face him. 

“Alright honey, you up for saying hello?” she asks, both of you making your way out of the aisle and towards the floor. 

Your body is shaking with nerves as you answer her, “Yeah, I should. It’s been too long.”

You and Karen make your way to the back where the band is waiting, still a little winded from the show. A few roadies are already packing up the stage equipment, and the crew is helping to dismantle the set. There is so much going on behind the scenes that you had no clue about. So many moving parts and pieces. 

Karen ushers you back towards the dressing rooms, each of the guys having their own space to dress and prepare. When did they get so fancy?

“Okay, Jake should be right through there, I’m going to go find Josh. Come find me if you need anything.” she says, leaving you at his dressing room door. 

Your hands are shaking, you’re unsure if you’ll even be able to raise your hand to knock. You smooth out your skirt and take a deep breath, fixing your hair a little as you try to calm your nerves. It’s Jake. It’s just Jake. 

Finally getting over the shock and nervousness, you knock softly on the door. You hear shuffling behind the door and your heart starts to pound in your ears. You hear him call out through the door, “Just a minute.”

Your heart jumps into your throat as you hear his voice through the door. It sounds like he’s just getting out of the shower, and with a towel wrapped around his waist he opens the door. The shock on his face is undeniable as he sees you standing there. He was expecting anything but you. “Pops,” he whispers, saying your name as if he were trying to convince himself that you were real.

“H-hi Jake,” you stammer, your nerves making themselves known. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you in disbelief. He’s still dripping wet from the shower, beads of water running down his bare chest. His face relaxes and a familiar softness sets in, a soft smile crossing his face. “You’re really here.” His gaze roams over your body, drinking in every inch.  

“Yeah, I'm here. You were–you were so amazing, I–”

It’s as if the sound of your voice brings a wave of peace over him, and before you know it he’s pulling you into a tight embrace, his body still damp from the shower. He pulls you against him, your body pressed to his bare chest. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath on  your skin as he holds you. “I’m so fucking happy to see you,” he murmurs. 

You hug him back, feeling all the guilt and nerves melt away from you, in a way that only he can manage. You can feel the water starting to seep through your clothes, and you pull away, looking between you with a smile. “You're wet, and naked,” you laugh. 

He blushes at your words, suddenly remembering that he’s still just wrapped in a towel. “Shit,” he says, feeling an unusual shyness that he usually doesn’t feel around you. He steps back to the side of the door, holding it open for you to enter as he gives you a nervous smile. “Come in, just give me a sec and I'll change.”

“I can wait out here if you want, I know that we–”

“No, come in Pops. Please,” he says firmly, the towel still wrapped around him. It’s still hard to take your eyes off of his bare chest, but you walk into the room, trying to keep your focus on anything but him, not wanting to stare too long. 

You watch as he saunters across the room, his long brown hair down to the middle of his back now, and dripping with water. You swallow harshly as your eyes travel over the curve of his ass in the towel, but you pull your eyes away before he turns around. He grabs a bag and slips into the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him. You can hear a nasty cough come from behind the door and you furrow your brows. Is he sick?

You stand there by the couch, suddenly noticing the small bottle of cough syrup sitting at the edge of the side table. A few moments later, he emerges from the bathroom, dressed in worn jeans and a clean white t-shirt. He sits down on the couch and he lets out another few coughs, trying to clear his throat as he looks up at you. “Sit down,” he says, gesturing towards the spot next to him on the couch. 

You take a seat next to him, and let out a soft breath. “Are you feeling okay?” you ask. 

The cough is still in his throat, but he nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just have this damn cough that I can’t seem to shake.” He looks you up and down, finally being able to observe you as closely as he wants to since you showed up at the venue. “You look great,” he says, a warm smile on his lips. 

You blush at his words, your eyes meeting his. The one thing about him that’s stayed the same over the years. “Thank you,” you say shyly. 

His smile turns into a grin, the same boyish smile that you’ve always loved. “Of course.” He lets his gaze linger on your face, drinking you in as if he’s trying to memorize every little detail. He’s unable to keep his hands to himself, and before you know it he’s reached towards you. His fingers wrap around your wrist, and he gently pulls your arm towards him.

The feeling of his skin against yours causes the dam to break, “Jake, I–”

He doesn’t let go as he lets both of your hands rest in his lap. That same electricity that used to pass between you is there, and you can tell that the connection you’ve always had is as strong as ever despite the distance. He speaks softly, knowing how heavy the air between you two is. “I know.”

“No, please I–” you start, but you’re quickly cut off as the dressing room door flies open and a blonde woman, around the same age as you steps inside. 

The sudden intrusion is like a bucket of ice water, and you pull your hands away from him as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. He looks back at you, his expression soft and apologetic before he looks up at the new presence in the room. You look over at Jake, expecting to see some kind of reaction from him, but he actually just looks mildly annoyed.

“Hey, Viv,” he answers, turning his body to face her. She looks between the two of you, an expression on her face you can’t quite decipher.

She gives him a small smile, and she doesn’t even glance in your direction as she walks into the room. You try to stay as small as possible, as if trying not to be seen. She crosses her arms as she stands on the other side of the room. “How did the show go?” she asks, her voice is casual and unbothered. You suddenly feel like you shouldn’t be here. 

“Was fine, got a little winded and lightheaded by encore,” he answers and she nods her head. 

“Well, the crowd was big tonight and it got hot, plus all the lights. That'd make anybody winded,” she says, still keeping her focus on him. You sit there, feeling slightly uncomfortable, wondering why she seems so comfortable in his space. She starts to dig around in the bag on her shoulder and you turn to look at Jake. 

The whole situation feels weird, and you don't understand why she is just standing there, going through her purse, while you and Jake sit there. His eyes flick over to you and you can see slight annoyance in them as he looks back at her.

Then it hits you like a ton of bricks. She’s not just some stranger. She’s here with Jake. For Jake. Oh god how could you be so stupid. Of course he’s seeing someone. You quickly shoot up, grabbing your bag and tossing it over your shoulder as quickly as you can, feeling so stupid to think tonight would be the night you’d work things out. She’s waiting for you to leave. 

Jake’s eyes go wide as he sees what you’re doing, “Wait, no, Pops, where are you going?” He stands up from the couch, reaching his hand out to grab your arm but you pull away from him.

“I’m sorry– I didn’t know. I– You were amazing tonight, I’m sorry I–I didn’t know you— I’ll go–” you stammer, making your way to the door.  

Jake practically lunges across the room, reaching the door at the same time you do. He turns you around to face him, the panic in his eyes apparent. “No, don’t go, let me explain–”

“No, no, you don’t have to. I understand. I shouldn’t have come back here. I don’t belong back here. I’m sorry,” you mumble pushing your way through the heavy wooden door.

“Poppy!” you hear him shout, his voice echoing through the busy hallway as you search for the nearest exit. You don’t turn around. You refuse to look back and let him see you like this. Your heart is absolutely more crushed than it ever has been, but you should have expected it. He is a rockstar and you’re…just Y/N.

He moved on, he found someone else to confide in. Someone that matches him. Someone else to trust with his secrets. Someone else to think of day and night, and finally you understand how he felt that night so long ago. Replaced. 

You hear his voice fade as you walk out of the venue, leaving your heart behind you in a single, devastating moment. The warm night is replaced by a cold breeze as you step out, the tears falling down your face as you realize the past was just that. The past.

Frankenmuth, Michigan

December 31, 2022

The air is frigid outside, you’re sure this is the coldest winter you’ve ever experienced, even growing up here. There aren’t enough layers in the world, let alone in your suitcase. Thankfully in just two days you will be back home in Detroit where it's not too much warmer, but definitely not as cold as Frankenmuth. You’ve been home for the last two weeks visiting your parents, not seeing them nearly enough since you started at the law firm after graduation. It’s been nice to be home, but something about it feels different now. You are riddled with nostalgia and the memories seem to come back with a vengeance the longer you’re here. Memories you have all but pushed away lately, not letting them into your heart as you once did. Currently you and your parents are sitting in front of the fireplace sipping on wine as you watch the Rockin’ New Year’s Eve special on TV. The wine is warming you up a bit, but not nearly enough. 

You’ve now brushed off dozens of invites from co-workers and even some old friends who are out on the town tonight, celebrating ringing in the new year. You know you should go, but something is telling you not to. Even your parents asked why you’re spending the evening at home instead of seeing old friends. You wish you had a good answer for them, but you don't.

“You really should go, honey,” your mom continues, finishing off her glass of red. “You’re only young once.”

“I know, but I just…I feel so disconnected from this place. I haven’t talked to these people since highschool,” you pause, “I just feel like I’m better off here.”

“I agree with your mother, hon,” your dad adds, “It will be good for you to get out. All you do is work these days. You deserve a night off.”

You let their words sink in as you look at your phone, seeing the ignored text from your old friend Isabelle begging you to meet her at Tiffany’s for a drink. Honestly, the thought of stepping into that bar again rattles you. 

“Just one drink hon, ring in the new year,” your dad says, sending you an encouraging wink. 

You look at her text again and let out a sigh, “Alright, fine. Maybe you’re right. It would be okay to let loose just a little. Tonight of all nights.”

“Thatta girl,” he says, nodding his head. 

With the decision made you text Isabelle back, letting her know you will meet her there in thirty as you rush upstairs to change into something that isn't sweatpants and a hoodie.

 It’s an eerie feeling walking into this bar, a place you used to frequent so often, so long ago. It’s been years since you've been back but it's exactly the same as you left it. The dining patrons are long gone, making way for the locals that use the bartop as their own personal therapy space, but tonight it’s a little different. It’s New Year's Eve and the bar is filled with unfamiliar faces. Of course, there are a few you recognize from high school, that much you expected. The air in the bar is much warmer than the air outside, thanks to the large group of people filling the small space. The lights are dim and music is playing from the old jukebox in the corner. The floor is already sticky from spilled drinks, and the air smells faintly of cigarettes. 

“I’m gonna grab a drink, what do you want?” Isabelle asks, snaking her way through a group of people. 

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” you answer, knowing it doesn't really matter. 

She disappears into the crowd and you look around in search of a table you can ditch your jacket at. Most are taken, but you spot one in a corner with no occupants. You walk briskly towards it, throwing your jacket down onto the inevitably sticky table top as you sit and wait for Isabelle. You let your eyes wander through the bar picking out familiar faces, and even taking in some new ones, but you can’t seem to shake the feeling of uneasiness you’ve had since you walked through the door. Something is different, you just don’t know what. 

A few minutes later a drink is placed in front of you that looks to be a whiskey and coke, and you secretly cheer that it's not something overly sweet. 

“Made them a double cause the lines’ a bitch,” she says, taking her first gulp.

“Good call,” you smile, taking your own sip and letting the bubbles burn the back of your throat. Maybe your dad was right. You did need this. You and Isabelle sit and talk for a little while, letting the alcohol seep into your system and cast away your cares. But then you hear something. Something you haven’t heard in a long time. A song from long ago that has made a permanent home in your memories. 

Through the crappy speakers you hear the opening notes to “Good Lovin’ Gone Bad” by Bad Company. You smile to yourself, thinking back on just how many times Jake played that album that summer. You both had practically every single lyric memorized by the time you left for college. A pang shoots through your chest as you picture him in your mind, and your mood suddenly sours. 

“Hey, I’m gonna hit the bathroom real quick,” you pause, “Save our table?”

“Duh, see you in a few,” she says, taking another gulp of her drink. 

You begin to make your way to the bathroom, needing a minute to yourself to freshen up and get Jake out of your head. You finally make your way to the opposite side of the bar, the bathrooms in your sight. But much to your surprise, something else oddly familiar catches your eye and your heart lurches up to your throat. No. It can’t be. 

His back is towards you, but you would recognize his shoulders and hair anywhere. You spot him with a group of guys, all drinking and having a good time. A wave of nostalgia hits hard, remembering how things were back in the day before you both went your separate ways and he shot to stardom. The way you could walk up to him without second guessing it. Now you’re not so sure you can. 

You try to turn around and walk away, knowing it's best to just go, but something has you frozen to the floor. You can see the way he holds the crowd at the bar, telling stories and cracking jokes in the same way he did at parties back in high school. He's a star in every sense of the word, but when the laughter fades for a second, you can almost see the sadness underneath it all. 

He doesn’t notice you, at least you think he doesn’t, as you push forward and rush into the bathroom. Your heart is pumping harder than it has in months and you feel like you might be sick. There is no way you are going to be able to get out of this bar without talking to him, so you decide you need to pull it together and pretend like he isn’t even here. 

You fix your make up, and smooth down your hair, taking a good long look in the mirror. You’ve got this. It’s just Jake. You take a few deep breaths and square your shoulders, preparing to face him and any uncomfortable conversation that may follow. You open the door and walk out into the bar, looking around as you do. You don't see him at the bar he was at before and for a split second your brain doesn't register that fact at all, but as you make your way out to the dance floor you look a few tables over and realize he is standing there, with his hands in his pockets watching you with the same intensity you’ve always seen from him.  

He looks so handsome and he doesn’t even know it. His long brown hair hanging over his shoulders, his corduroy shirt hanging open and messy over his t-shirt. He is exactly the Jake you’ve always known. The Jake you always wanted. There’s a mustache, too, you notice. The accent of hair, complimenting his upper lip in a way that has your entire chest heating. It’s the perfect touch to his pretty face, adding a masculine touch that you hadn’t known was necessary for his overall aura until this moment. 

Because god did he look impossibly more alluring with that addition. 

You know it’s only a matter of time before you two speak, and you have no idea what he is thinking. But for once, Jake doesn’t hide his feelings from you, his eyes are glued to you, refusing to look away. Willing you to come to him, and your body listens. 

You walk towards him, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if you're walking through quicksand. Your eyes stay locked on his face despite the nervousness running through your veins, and you can feel the electricity pouring off of him. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just stares at you. You can feel the memories of you together crashing through your head like a wave. You get closer and closer, the world around you fading away, until you’re standing right in front of him.

“It was you, wasn’t it. The song,” you ask, putting the pieces together immediately. “You knew I was here. You knew I would recognize it.”

His jaw clenches in response, and he lets a sad smile touch his lips before he says anything. “Yeah, it was. I saw you walk in. I knew it’d work,” he replies, the familiar rasp in his voice is softer than you remember, but still as deep and soothing as ever.

“Guess you were right,”  you smirk, watching as his body language starts to soften.

He lets a soft chuckle escape, and he relaxes a little bit. You can see the tension melting away from his shoulders. “Some things never change, huh?” he says, his eyes roaming over your face and body briefly, taking in every detail he can. 

“I didn’t know you were home,” you confess.

“I didn’t know you were home.” he says gently, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He looks down for a moment, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “I should’ve told you.”

You nod your head, “I could’ve called you too,” you pause, biting your lip, “It’s just ever since that night–”

“That night was not what you think. I wish you would’ve let me explain, Pops.” he urges, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm. 

“It's- It's the past now Jake, you don't owe me anything,” you answer, the nickname searing a sore spot in your heart. 

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You know exactly what I owe you. But I’m not going to talk to you about this in a bar, surrounded by all these people,” he drops his hand from your arm, running it through his hair instead. “Come with me, please.”

You look around for Isabelle, but of course she is nowhere to be found, “Okay.”

He leads you out the back door of the bar, into the cool winter air. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and grabs one, placing it between his teeth before lighting it just as quickly. He looks over at you for a moment, watching as you rub your arms to keep warm. “You’re cold,” he observes, noticing the goosebumps on your exposed skin.

“My jacket is inside,” you answer.

He shrugs off his corduroy shirt, draping it over your shoulders, before pulling you in a bit closer to him. The smell of tobacco and his cologne overwhelm your senses as he presses against your side. The heat radiating off of him is warm, and you instinctively bring the shirt closer around you, breathing in the familiar smell of him.

“Listen, Pops,” he pauses, taking another drag of his cigarette, “I’ve wanted to call you a hundred times since that night, explain what you think you saw…” 

It hurts you to know he's thought about it too. “So why didn't you?”

“I was scared,” he admits bluntly, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips as he does. “You are the last person that I ever wanted to hurt, believe me. But you didn’t even let me get a word in. You left and just…” he sighs. “I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. Still don’t. I think we are here right now in this shitty ass bar because the universe decided it was time for us to figure this shit out.”

“Maybe it is,” you agree. 

He lets out a long exhale of smoke, his breath visible in the cold air. “You’ve always been smarter than me,” he says, throwing his cigarette to the ground and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know where to start, but I need you to hear me out here.”

“I'm listening,” you answer. 

He paces to the edge of the sidewalk, running a nervous hand through his hair as he tries to compose himself. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “I know you think you know what you saw that night, but it wasn’t… That woman, Viv– Vivienne, she is our Tour Medic. Like our travel doctor. A few days before that show…I’d been sick. I didn’t want to admit it then, but I will now. I was sick, too sick. I shouldn’t have been performing. We needed to cancel those shows. I hid it the best I could, and I shouldn’t have and it made it all worse,” he pauses. “That night she came in to check on me after the show. I’d avoided her as long as I could and I think she just knew. She was coming to tell me that she was taking me to the hospital for my cough. She and I both knew it wasn’t normal and my time was up.”

“I– Yeah, I remember…I asked you…”

“I know. I know you did. Even you knew. I was going to tell you… But then, you– I don’t know you just freaked on me, and left. I wanted to explain but I wasn’t ready to admit what was going on.” he pauses, his lips trembling from the cold. “I went to the hospital that night and found out I had pneumonia. Bad. I– I was there for three days. I laid in that hospital bed and replayed you running out over and over again, Poppy. I wanted to call you and tell you but I just couldn’t. I was drained mentally and physically.”

“Jake, oh my god– I– I feel so stupid– I’m so sorry–”

“No, Pops, it’s not your fault. I know how it looked. I was just being too selfish to tell the truth.” he admits. “But now, you know.”

“You were in the hospital, Jake. I had no idea, I–We used to tell each other everything…What if something happened to you and I–” you trail off. 

His body tenses at your words, and his expression morphs into a mixture of guilt and regret. “No, you’re right,” he says, defeated. “I was just…ashamed, I guess, that my body was failing me. It was such a low point…But I shouldn’t have let you walk out like that. I should have chased after you.” He looks back over at you, your face illuminated by the glowing neon bar signs and slowly he brings his hand to cup your cheek. “I can’t believe I let you go.”

Suddenly you hear the inside of the bar erupt with cheering and the loud countdown starting. “It’s almost midnight,” you whisper. 

He looks back at the bar, then back at you, “I guess it is. I didn’t even realize it.” He says, his eyes glued to your face. The countdown gets closer and closer, and you can tell he is nervous. He looks almost afraid as he continues to talk. “I’ve really missed you, Y/N. I’ve thought about you so many times over these past few years, and it feels like no time has passed, but everything has changed,” he pauses, “I wish things could go back to the way it was.”

The world feels so still in this moment, even with all the ruckus inside the bar. “Ten seconds,” you note, eyes glued to his face as his warm hand rests on your cheek. He steps forward, his body so close to yours that you feel as though you’ll become one in this moment. The cold forgotten, his body almost feverish beside you. He runs his thumb across your cheek, his eyes glued to yours as the countdown gets lower and lower.

“Jake,” you whisper, your voice trembling with want. 

He takes another step closer, his body inches apart from yours, and his lips only a breath away from yours “Poppy,” he whispers, his hot, shaky breath caressing your skin as he does. “I need you.”

“Three, two, one…”

Everyone in the bar cheers all around you. He’s so close now, you can hear the sharp inhales that are escaping his lips, and in the moments after the chaos of the New Year erupts, he closes the distance between the two of you. His lips are on yours in seconds, his hand pulling you in, his touch soft and needy.

The kiss is slow, it’s as if time has frozen in this sweet, tender moment. His hands slide into your hair, bringing your face to his, wanting all of you. The kiss is quickly growing desperate and needy. He pushes you against the brick wall of the building, his body pressing into yours, your heart racing as his hand moves from your hair to your waist. He gently lifts your leg pulling it around his waist as this kiss of reunion deepens even more. It’s  filled with emotion and years of wanting, and your body is filled with an overwhelming sense of electricity.

He kisses you with everything he's got. His body craving your touch for so long. He pulls your body against his, wanting to feel every inch of you that he can. He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth effortlessly, as if he’s memorized every curve, every crevice. You feel your stomach churning with need for him. The need for more.

You bring your hands up to wrap around his shoulders, the kiss getting deeper and more desperate with each passing moment. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you tighter against his body, as if he can’t stand to have you away from him for even a second. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and he lets out a low moan, his need for you stronger than ever. It’s as if no time has passed at all. Suddenly you’re right back in his basement kissing him for the first time. 

You break the kiss, his name falling from your lips as your eyes open to meet his. “Jake...”

“P-Pops,” he stutters, struggling to find the words through his ragged breaths. “Fuck, I never should’ve let you go. It’s you, it’s always been you.” He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his grip on you just as tight, if not tighter. “You– You just light a fire in me that everyone else seems to put out.”

You let your lips press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw before moving to his ear, “I’ll always be the one with a match to bring you back.”

“Goddamnit, Poppy,” His eyes flutter shut, and you can see that the sensation of your lips on his skin has driven him towards a bliss he hadn't experienced in a long, long time. The way your body fits against his is as natural now as it's ever been. It's as if you were molded to fit in his arms– as if nothing else in the world could ever feel as perfect as this. “I never want to let you go. I'm so goddamn sick of letting you go,” he whispers.

The desire is growing between your legs, and you can feel the evidence of his pressed against your stomach. Instinctively you rub against him, causing a growl to leave his chest. You’re no longer eighteen in the basement. You’re adults who need more. 

He moves his body against yours, a low moan rising from his throat as he does. It’s as if he can feel the fire he’s lit up inside of you, and he’s desperate to fan the flames of the inferno that has always been there. “I’ve missed you so damn much,” he gasps, his hands starting to roam over your body. “Say you feel this. Say you feel it too.”

“I've always felt it Jake. Always.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, leaving small kisses, before sinking his teeth in gently. His hands are everywhere, as if he can't decide where he wants to touch first. He presses himself against you, his body flushed with need. “I want you,” he whispers, his words hot against your skin.

“I want you.” you pant, arching your neck to give him more. 

He takes full advantage, his lips and teeth working their way up and down your neck, leaving a trail of marks in their wake. He can feel your need growing, and he responds to it with his own. He presses his body against yours with a primal force, his hand moving  to cup your face, bringing your lips back to his. The kiss is hungry and needy, his tongue slipping into your mouth, searching for what he has been missing as his free hand  finds the waistband of your jeans. 

His hand begins to make a slow descent into your jeans, his rough fingertips sliding against your soft delicate skin. They brush the hem of your panties as his tongue continues to memorize yours. Your heart is pounding, your body aching for his touch where you need it most as the sound of “Auld Lang Syne” and distant fireworks boom around you. 

A soft sound of need escapes from the back of your throat, the anticipation of his touch building an excruciating ache between your thighs. He uses his thumb to brush against the front of your panties, teasing you, as he breaks the kiss to whisper against your skin. “Do you know how badly I want you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, before returning to your neck and biting down softly. 

You nod against him, still breathing harder than ever. He takes his time, his fingers running a lazy path against your skin, and you feel the heat growing between your legs as his touch gets closer.

He lets his fingers graze over the thin lace material of your underwear, gently tracing up and down in an agonizingly careful manner. His lips break away from your neck and move instead to your ear, his teeth taking the lobe gently. “I’ve dreamed about you like this, every night since the last time we touched,” he whispers, his voice raspy and low. “I’ve ached to feel your skin on mine, your body trembling under my touch.”

You feel his fingers move lower and lower until the heat of his touch is coated in your desire for him. “Jake,” you whine, totally lost in this moment with him. 

His breath catches in his throat when he feels just how much you want him, and he lets out a low moan that makes your whole body tremble. “Fuck,” he whispers, his fingers tracing slow circles over your warm sensitive flesh. His lips find their way back to your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making your spine tingle as you whine.

“Shhh,” he coo’s, silencing your whimpers with a soft kiss. He slips his fingers past the fabric, his touch growing more intense as he finally finds what he’s been craving this whole time. “So soft. So beautiful,” he gasps. He moves his hand in a gentle rhythm, his fingers slipping between your folds, finding your sweet spot effortlessly. You feel euphoric, and at complete mercy to his touch. “Can you feel me? Can you feel what you do to me?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I feel everything.”

His fingers move faster as they dip inside, trying to get as deep inside of you as he can, desperate to feel every inch of you. “I dreamed up a hundred different ways to make you fall apart in my arms,” he whispers, his eyes locking on yours, “and nothing comes close to reality. Come home with me, Pops. Stay with me.”

Just as you start to feel your release creeping closer, the bar door slams next to you, pulling you both from the moment. Your eyes snap to Jake’s and his to yours as he quickly realizes the compromising position you’re in, removing his hand from your jeans. 

He quickly steps back, straightening his shirt as you desperately try to regain your composure. You look around, hoping that whoever walked out of the bar doesn't look your way and catch you two in the state you were in. You're both panting, breaths ragged and desperate, and forced to ignore the needy ache that lingers between your legs.

It's as if a bucket of water has been dumped over your head, making you see clearly. Your eyes meet Jake's, his expression still waiting for you to answer his question. But as this rush of clarity takes hold of you, you realize exactly what you've done. 

Your eyes are glued to each other, but this now feels different. Everything feels different. It’s as if the air around you is suddenly thick with unspoken words, the gravity of the situation crashing down around you both. He’s just staring at you, his chest still heaving as he tries to slow his own breathing. He clears his throat, breaking the silence that hangs in the air. “Poppy…”

Your head begins shaking, “No, Jake, we– we can’t do this– we…”

You're at battle with your own mind, fighting for what you want versus what you know is right. 

His whole body goes rigid, the disappointment in your words written all over his face. He lets out a shaky breath, as if it physically pains him, “No– Don’t say that, we can, Poppy, please,” he begs softly.

“Jake we– we’re strangers. We know nothing about each other anymore. We– You’re a rockstar, you live in Nashville. I live in Detroit, I finally work for a firm. This is what we wanted. Isn’t it? This was our dream right? We can’t– You can’t…”

He swallows hard, trying to process what you’re telling him. You know you’re right, this is what you both wanted. He runs a nervous hand through his hair, his eyes looking for something to distract him from the crushing reality you just threw out in front of him.

“I know,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath, his mind and body still screaming to hold you. But the reality of it all is hitting you both like a train, and he’s trying desperately to keep his mind present in the moment. “I know all of that…I just–I don’t give a damn that I’m a rockstar, or that you live in Detroit,” he mutters, a defensive tone to his voice, “It’s you that’s missing, Pops. All day. All night. It’s you that’s in my head day in and day out. I want you. I always will. That is never going to change. We will never be strangers.”

Tears start to form in your eyes at his confession. You want to go with him. Run away and pretend nothing else matters. But it does, and you can’t. It can never be, no matter how badly you both want it.

His voice cracks, and he can feel the walls around his heart starting to crumble as he looks at you. He reaches out, taking your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek softly. “It’s always been you, Poppy. It will always be you,” he whispers, his hand continuing to graze over your skin as if he was trying to memorize every tiny detail. “So please, just– forget it all. Come home with me.”

Your lips begin to tremble, knowing that you’re about to break his heart. Again. “Jake… I can’t.” you say, letting a tear slip from your eye. 

You see the moment the weight of your words hits him, like a slow motion car crash that feels unavoidable. The look of complete defeat on his face makes you want to take it all back, tell him that you’re just as desperate as he is to throw everything aside. But you can’t. It’s just not possible. He lets his hands fall slowly from your face, and the space between your two bodies growing feels like your heart shattering all over again. “Okay.”

For some reason, that breaks you, your tears falling faster now as you see the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss him softly one last time. 

He returns your kiss with his own, gently taking your face in his palms. It’s as if he’s committing the feel of you to memory, the way he’s holding you, the way your lips fit so perfectly together. He doesn’t want to let go, and he holds the kiss as long as he can, until breathing becomes a desperate fight for air. When he finally does break the kiss, he whispers against your lips just loud enough for you to hear, “It’s still us, Pops.” and with that, he lets you go, leaving him there as small snow flurries begin to fall to the ground. 

With a heavy heart you finally make your way inside your childhood home, tossing your coat onto the couch. You collapse into your bed, letting the tears fall now that you’re alone in your solitude again. You can hear the snow falling harder now, tapping against your bedroom window.  You can still feel the faint remnants of his touch on your skin, his warmth lingering in your heart as you remember the taste of his lips. Jake. Your Jake. Yours for only minutes before you pushed him away. But you know it's for the best. 

You drag yourself up from the bed and change into your cozy pajamas, realizing you are still wearing Jake’s shirt. You bring it to your nose and breathe in his smell, sending you into a new round of tears. You put the shirt back on and crawl back into bed, needing to feel his presence close to you. You bring the neck of the shirt up, enveloping yourself in it like a blanket, your body still trembling with need.

It feels like it's been hours. You're exhausted, but your mind still won't put Jake to rest. There’s no escaping the fact that you're still just as hopelessly in love with him as you were the first time you met. As if he is thinking of you too, your phone buzzes next to your head, his name illuminating the screen with a text. 

Jake 1:42 AM: I keep thinking about what happened. I can still taste you on my lips. I know what you said, and I understand but I can’t let it be over, Pops. I just can’t.

Your heart shatters reading his message. You know how he feels because you feel the exact same way. You don’t even know what to say to him, so you just don’t. You lock your phone and put it back on your nightstand, turning off the lamp and attempting to sleep this terrible, beautiful night away. There is, however, an unbelievable thrum between your legs that you can’t seem to ignore. 

You toss and turn, trying so hard to sleep, but it’s pointless. The only thought going through your brain is of Jake. That deep need for him is building in intensity, your body wanting his touch desperately, your mind remembering every detail of the time you spent wrapped together against the building just an hour ago. You let your hand wander down beneath the sheets, your fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your pants.

He’s all you can think of. It’s as if the flood gates are now wide open, and you’re finally allowing yourself to let Jake occupy every space in your mind and body, and there is nothing else you need. You close your eyes, but all you can see is Jake’s face. His strong, handsome features, the way his lips form as he speaks…

With your eyes shut tight, you picture his body hovering over yours. The scent of him, his touch, the way his body felt against yours as he leaned into you. You let yourself fantasize about him being here with you, wanting you and only you. You imagine the way his lips felt all over your skin, the way he let his teeth graze over your neck and collarbone. The memory of it makes you shiver and your fingers work faster and faster, seeking the release you’ve craved for so long.

You feel like you’re right at the peak of surrendering to this imaginary version of him, when you hear your phone start to ring. Your eyes shoot open as you pull your hand from under your sheets. You reach for your phone but this time your brain is too hazy to think clearly. You see his name on the screen, along with a picture of him you set as his photo years ago. Against your better judgement you slide your thumb across the screen, needing to hear his voice. 

“Hello?” you breathe, your voice coming out as a breathy pant. 

His voice sounds soft and vulnerable, “Hey…” he breathes, sighing on the other end of the line, “I didn’t think you’d answer…I was just laying here, can’t sleep. I don’t know why I called, I just, I saw you read my text earlier and you didn’t answer– I don’t want this to be us. I never want that.”

“I know,” you pause, trying to even your breathing, “I'm sorry.”

“How can this be it?” his voice sounds strained now, the emotion in it pulling at your heart, “How is this the end? I can't make sense of it, all I can think about is you.”

Hearing his deep, gravely voice has your hand slipping back under the sheets, resuming its previous work. “I– I never said it was the end…”

“The way you walked away sure made it seem that way,” he says, and it breaks you in two. 

“It took everything I had Jake, you have to know that,” you say, your voice even more breathy than before and you know that you need to calm down before he takes notice, but the sound of his voice has your hand continuing to move. 

He notices the slight change in your tone, picking up on the way your breathing gets more shallow and more uneven, “Are…Are you okay? You sound…different. Where are you? You sound like you’re out of breath.”

“I'm at home now. In my bed,” you pause, breathing into the phone, “Where are you?”

He lets out a shaky sigh into the phone. You know he’s figured it out, and if you know him like you think you do he isn’t going to change the subject. 

He wants nothing more than to be there, to hear every noise he could pull out of you, to feel every shiver and tremble as he worships every inch of your body. “I’m…I’m in my bed too. But I haven’t turned the light off yet.”

“Turn it off, Jake,” you breathe. 

Your self control is gone. You want this. No, you need this.

You can hear him inhale a sharp, stuttering breath, a quiet, breathy moan escaping him as he takes in your words. He knows what you’re asking for. He’s wanted it in some form for years. The phone jostles a few times before he says, “Done.”

You hum in response, continuing to run your fingers through your soaking wet folds. Something about the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne wrapped around you has you soaking in this moment and throwing your cares to the wind. 

“Let me send an Uber, Poppy, please,” he manages to breathe, the desperation in his words sending a shiver down your spine. “Come to my hotel. I fucking hate not finishing what I start.”

“So finish it,” you tease. 

“God damn. Get in the Uber, Y/N.”

“No, no Uber. Just this. Just...talk to me Jake,” you whine.

His breath catches in his throat and he lets out a groan, the sound going straight to your core. You can hear him moving around in his bed, shifting to a more comfortable position, the sheets rustling as he does. You know he wants to touch himself, but he’s trying to resist. “I don’t know if I can just talk. Not knowing you’re…like that.” 

“For what it’s worth, you felt better,” you confess in an airy breath. 

“Fuck, Pops,” he groans, “You don’t even know how many times I’ve thought about you like that. I’d die to have you on my fingers again.”

“I want you,” you breathe, “But I know this is the only way I can have you.”

He is quiet for a bit, the only sounds you can hear from him are the heavy breaths he’s trying so hard to control. You’re picturing it all, imagining exactly what he looks like on the other end of the line.“You can have me,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, “I’m all yours, baby.”

“You've never been mine, Jake…”

“I’ve always been yours,” his words are spoken quickly, his voice almost a pleading whine. “I’ve always been yours. You’ve always been mine. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

His words sear through you, your fingers circling your clit faster now, causing a whine of pleasure to leave your chest. 

“Fucking hell, Poppy.” His voice comes through the phone, raw and ragged. “Are you…Is there a way…Can I see you at least?”

You think about it for a second, and you know the sight of him will send you straight to that sweet release you've been chasing all night. “Only if you join me…” you counter. 

“Do you think my hand isn’t already wrapped around my cock, listening to you whimper like that? Thinking about you touching yourself in all the ways I’ve dreamed of?”

“Show me, Jake.” you breathe. 

You quickly switch your phone to Facetime, your thumb hesitating over the call button. You know that there’s no coming back from this, but you can’t help yourself. You need to see him, and you’re not going to let your fear stop either of you from taking what you both want. “Answer the call.”

You press the button and watch as his face fills your screen, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes, his silver necklace laying against his body. He’s propped up against the headboard, his skin flushed with a light sheen of sweat that makes your body heat up even more. “You…” he whispers, “God, look at you. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

“Jake…” you moan his name, your hand moving faster and faster.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty. I can’t….I need…” he stops, unable to find the right words.

You stop suddenly, realizing that he can’t see that much of you. “Hold on,” you say, dropping your phone to the bed as you peel your shirt over your head, leaving your chest exposed. This will be the first time he’s seen you like this, but you feel more confident than ever. You prop your phone up on a pillow, allowing him the full visual of you. 

He sucks in a sharp breath as your shirt comes off, his eyes going wide as he stares at your bare chest, completely mesmerized by you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, his eyes glued to your body, “You are so perfect. It’s not even possible that someone is this perfect,” You watch his hand move, disappearing under the sheets and moving slowly down his body until he starts to move the sheets so you can watch. “I want you to see me, too.”

It’s dark but you watch as he props his phone up the same way, giving you the exact same view. His cock is hard and throbbing in his hand, bigger than you ever dreamed of, but exactly what you felt beneath his pants at the bar tonight. “Jake, I wish–”

“Say it,” he responds quickly, unable to wait another second to hear your words. He’s almost painfully hard right now, but he needs to hear it all. “Please say it, baby. Talk to me.”

The new pet name sends you spiraling, admitting things you would never admit in the light of day. “I want to feel you. I need to know how you would feel inside of me. I need you, Jake. All of you,” you whine, watching his hand stroke his cock a little faster. 

“Fuck, I’ve never wanted anything like I want that. I need you, too. I need to feel every single inch of your body. I need to do all the things I’ve dreamed about. You have no idea how many times I’ve laid here thinking of you. Wishing that I had you in my bed.” He stops his hand, trying to keep his mind together. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” you answer. 

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s afraid to give in to the moment completely. But his need for you is stronger than his common sense. “Take your panties off, but don't touch yourself again. Not until I tell you to. I want you to listen, I want you to feel this.”

You comply, sliding your panties over your legs and tossing them to the floor. He can see all of you now, your wetness glowing in the dim light of the phone. 

“You’re everything,” he moans softly, his hand moving again. “You are as perfect now as you’ve ever been. I can’t believe I’m seeing you like this.”

“Tell me what to do, Jake,” you plead.

The control he’s desperately trying to keep is starting to crack. Every part of him is wanting to rip that phone from his hand and be there with you. “Touch your inner thighs,” he requests, his voice sounding low and strained. “Just your thighs, don’t touch anywhere else.”

You comply, running your fingers over your thighs as the sound of his voice gives you goosebumps.

He watches you, his eyes glued to the way your fingers move over your skin. His hand slowly working over himself, his need to touch you growing. “Good girl…Does it feel good to touch your skin?” he asks, his hand moving faster. 

“Yes, but I wish it was you,” you admit, your legs starting to shake with anticipation. 

​​“I know,” he whispers, “I know, babydoll. You have no idea how desperately I need it to be my hands.” He bites the inside of his cheek, fighting back the words he wants to say.

“Jake,” you practically moan his name, your back arching as the need for him consumes you from the inside out. You let your eyes flutter closed as you let your hands roam over that most sensitive part of you. “It feels so good but it’s not enough. I need to…I need…” you plead, your whimpers filling the void between you.

He can’t take it anymore. Your desperate whimper has shattered the last bit of his resolve, leaving only pure desire in its place. As much as he wants to watch, to see every bit of you come unraveled, he can’t stand it anymore. He has to see you. “Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes flick to his, seeing them dark and blown out with lust. 

“Spread your legs, let me see you,” he growls, and slowly you do as he says, placing the phone back down against the pillow. 

Watching you spread your legs is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The way you’re trembling underneath your own touch makes him let out a soft moan, his hand starting to work faster. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, completely entranced by you. “Touch your clit for me, baby.”

Your hand moves without hesitation as his words ignite something inside of you. He gasps, completely hypnotized by everything he’s seeing. “Slowly, baby,” he whispers, drinking every moment in. “Don’t rush it.”

Your fingers move  in soft, slow circles over your clit as you do what he requests, desperate to obey him. You’re already so close to that edge, his voice is sending you flying. “That’s it, just like that,” he’s praising you, and the look in his eyes says he’s as close as you are. “Keep doing it, baby. Don’t stop.”

“Are you touching yourself, Jake? Are you hard for me?” you ask, knowing he needs this release as much as you do. 

He groans, his head dropping back as your voice fills his ears. “God, yes. You have no idea how hard I am right now. All I want….No, all I need is to bury myself inside of you. I need to feel you, all of you, every warm inch… I need it more than air. I need you, baby. I need you so badly.” he says, flipping his phone around to show you his beautiful cock as he works it with his hand. Precum has started to gather on the tip and you wonder how he tastes. 

“I want to taste you, Jake. I want to feel you in my throat. I want to swallow down every last inch of you. So fucking bad,” you whine. 

“Jesus…” his words come out as a strangled gasp. “I want that, too. I’ve dreamed of having your mouth wrapped around me, of seeing you on your knees, swallowing my cum. I want it so badly, baby. I’d give you everything.” he says. “Put two fingers in baby, move your thumb to your clit.”

You sink two fingers into yourself, the camera positioned perfectly for him to watch how your body takes the digits. “Oh god, Jake,” you cry, wishing more than anything it was him. 

“Oh fuck, look at you. I’m never going to forget this. I’m never going to be the same after seeing you like this.” He takes a moment to just watch your body, his hand still moving furiously on his length. “I need you to keep going, just like that, but start with a third one. I want to see how much you can take, because that’s how much I’m going to give you. As soon as I get my hands on you, I’m going to wreck you, Poppy.”

“Please Jake, I’m so close,” you whine, adding a third finger. 

His chest is heaving, his hand moving at a rapid pace. His eyes watch your every movement, drinking it all in. “I know, baby,” he responds, his voice ragged. “I can see you getting tight around those fingers. I need to hear you Poppy, I need to see your face as you come for me.”

“Come with me, Jake. Please,” you beg. 

“Together, then, ” he breathes. “I’m fucking close. Come for me, baby. Right now.” He’s on the edge, and watching you is going to take him over. “I’m right there, you have no idea. Just come, baby. Look at me, let me see my girl fall apart for me.”

Your eyes lock on his as you fall apart against your own fingers. Your mind tricks you into thinking it's him, letting loose the most powerful release you’ve felt in years as his name falls from your lips. 

He sees the wave hit you, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Hearing his name in that moment does it, it’s all he needs. He gasps as he watches you and lets go, “Fuuuuck,” he whimpers, shuddering as release begins to wash over him. “Y/N…Poppy...” he grunts, “I’m coming, I’m fucking coming,” he grunts, his body tensing as his cum lands on his bare chest in several hot spurts.  

It’s like a freight train, the way it builds and then comes crashing down. And then it’s over. All that’s left besides the ragged breathing is the blissful silence. And as it clears, you find him there staring at you like it’s the first time he’s seen you. He looks so vulnerable, so open. His body is still, but his chest is rising and falling as the last hints of what you did are still visible on his chest in the dim light. The words hang between you, heavy with the impact of everything you just did.

“Poppy,” he whispers, still catching his breath. 

That word breaks your heart, and you find yourself unable to speak for a minute. The weight of all of this is taking over your chest and you have to swallow to find your voice. “Jake,” is all you can manage to say.

He just stares at you. It’s like a dream. You’ve been here, in this moment a million times, but it’s never been real until tonight. All of this feels so impossible, and you’re still trying to make sense of it. 

“I…” he tries to speak, but his voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

Your guilt overtakes you, “I'm sorry...That I ran from you again. I didn’t want to. I just–”

He shakes his head, the pain of it all visible in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I get it. We both know why you did. I just wish…” he trails off, the words caught in his throat.

“I wish things were different,” you finish. 

“Yeah,” he sighs heavily, the weight of it all hitting him. “We’ve been wishing that since the day we met,” It hangs in the air for a bittersweet moment before he speaks again. “Maybe in another life.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” you whisper. “But Jake?”

“Yeah, P?” The way he says it, the way he says your name, it feels so intimate.

“We’re still us, right?” you ask, your eyes welling with tears. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He stares at you for a moment, taking everything in. “Yeah, we’re still us.” He responds quietly. There’s a long pause before he speaks again, but his face is filled with so many different emotions. “We’ll always be us.”

A single tear falls down your cheek, “You promise? Forever?”

His heart is breaking, watching that tear fall. He’s desperate to brush it away, but he can’t. He can’t touch you. He can’t hold you. He can’t tell you that it’ll be okay. He just has to watch from afar, wishing for more. “Yes, baby. Forever. I promise.”

You nod your head and swallow down the lump in your throat, finally meeting his eyes again, “Happy New Year, Jake.”

You can tell he is shattered just the same as you are, but he is doing everything he can to keep it together. “Happy New Year, Poppy,” he responds quietly, trying his absolute hardest to steady his voice. “I’m glad you were my midnight kiss.”

“Me too, Jake…” you trail off. 

He forces a soft smile, trying desperately to hold on. “I should let you get some rest,” he says quietly, the words making his chin tremble.

You nod, “Yeah, it’s late…”

“Okay,” he whispers, hating every second of this. “You get some sleep.”

“You too,” you murmur.

“I’ll try,” he says, his voice so weak. “Goodnight, my beautiful Poppy.”

 Your voice comes out cracked and thick with emotion, “Goodnight, Jake.”

You want so badly to say more. But the lump in your throat is too strong. You stare at him through the screen, trying to memorize every tiny detail in this moment, knowing that this is how things are going to be. 

“Bye, love,” he breathes, desperately hoping that you don’t hear the word that slipped out, but you do. The screen goes dark, the call ending as you drop your phone to the bed. 

For a minute, you just lie there, staring into the darkness. It just feels so empty without him. The loneliness is almost oppressive, and you need…something. You’re desperate for his touch, for his smell, for anything. You finally sit up, grabbing his shirt that you had pulled off earlier and putting it back on. You crawl under the covers, pulling the shirt over your head. 

You curl up to his shirt, pulling it up over your nose and closing your eyes. It feels like if you could just will it hard enough, maybe you’d feel him here, in your bed, holding you. But you can’t, and you know you have to live with the memories of how he felt pressed up against you at the bar, instead. He’s just a few miles away, on the other side of town, in his bed, probably thinking the same goddamn thoughts. And here you are, separated from him, but no less in love with him than you ever were. Your arm is draped over your pillow, your eyes fixed on the wall across from the bed. You’re trying desperately not to cry, but the tears start anyway. You pull his shirt over your eyes, trying to just disappear in it, hoping it will give you just a bit of comfort. But it doesn’t. 

You know you have to live with the decision you made, even though it's not what either of you wants. You let yourself cry until you can’t anymore and then you just lie there, in the darkness of your childhood bedroom, holding his shirt like a goddamn lifeline. You’re fighting the sobs that are trying to tear out of your chest. 

It just doesn’t make sense. You’ve always been so sure of yourself, and of your life. But right now, the only thing you can be sure of is that you love this man more than you ever thought possible, and you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life knowing that you will never be able to tell him how you really feel about him. How you’ve always felt about him, because though it may be true, it doesn’t change anything. You can’t be together, and that's what hurts the most. 

November 10, 2026

Detroit, Michigan

You drop your car keys into the ceramic dish by your front door, the metallic clang echoing through the house. Your coat is dripping with rain, the weather not giving you a single ray of sun the entire day, in fact the forecast even calls for snow. As you hang it on the coat rack you’re sure to fish your phone out of your pocket, still receiving a few sporadic birthday texts here and there. 

There’s a text from your parents congratulating you on your milestone birthday, a few messages from friends and of course the obligatory ones from random old classmates you haven’t seen since high school. You’re almost at the bottom of the messages when you’re suddenly hit with a wave of disappointment. You don’t know if you were expecting him to reach out today, but it doesn’t make you feel any less deflated that he hasn’t. Not a call, not a text, no flowers, nothing. Part of you wonders if he’s finally moved on from your friendship, or whatever it was. 

Today was a busy day like any other, maybe even busier than usual. You spent most of the day preparing your client in the office for trial next week. It’s everything you’ve ever worked for. You were finally living the life you always dreamed of, but for some reason, you knew something was missing. It felt incomplete.

You drop onto the couch, the heavy November rain against the windows is the only noise in the house. Now that you are finally home, your exhaustion is starting to hit you, and your thirty minute commute  in the rain and traffic didn’t help. You reach for the remote on the coffee table and flick the T.V. on. Nothing is really jumping out at you as you browse through the channels so you just leave it on the news, not really bothering to pay attention. 

You can’t help but dwell on the fact that you haven’t heard from Jake today. Today of all days is the one you count on each year. Big beautiful poppies always show up at your door when you least expect it, but now at 6:30 with no delivery trucks in sight, you let your heart fall. You lean your head back against your couch, letting your eyes close as you think of all the years you took it for granted. You can’t help but smile when you think about it. How thoughtful he was to send poppies specifically. They always were significant to you, a special moment between you and Jake all those years ago. 

You can remember it clear as day. Jake was the first to get his license having a birthday in April, his beat up old sedan now his pride and joy. He insisted he drive you everywhere, to school, to work, everywhere. He just loved the freedom. It was about a month after he got his license when you got a text from him, telling you he wanted to take you somewhere. This wasn’t strange because again, he insisted on driving you everywhere. But this was different, it was early in the morning, and he told you it was a bit of a drive. He gave you no other details, but told you to be ready for him to pick you up in an hour. It was a warm day, dressing yourself in a pair of cut off shorts and a tank top, fastening your hair into a braid as you waited to hear his car pull into your driveway. 

The engine of the car was loud, the windows rolled down. Music was blasting from the stereo as you opened the passenger door to the car. He was already turned to face you, a wide grin on his face, “You ready?” he asks, looking you up and down, with a nod you reach for the door handle as he speaks again.“Well, get in, we’ve got a drive ahead of us.”

You spent two whole hours on the road, him not giving you a single clue to where you were going the entire time. You’d never been with him in the car for this long, but there wasn’t a single nerve coursing through you. You were completely at ease, you remember that perfectly. He sang along to every song that came on and you couldn’t help but to stare at him, even then you were totally and utterly in love with him. 

When the car started to slow, you saw it. Right there through the passenger side window you saw the biggest field of flowers you’d ever seen. You didn’t even know the place existed. It was stunning, as far as the eye could see, flowers. Thousands of them. Red, yellow, orange, pink, every color you could imagine. Your eyes were filled with wonder, and you looked over at him, his eyes still on the road, but his smile was present. 

“I knew you would love this,” he said as he pulled off the main road. He brought the car to a stop and turned to look at you, studying the awestruck look on your face. “Come on,” he said simply, climbing out of the car and walking around to your side to open the door for you.

As you got out you walked along the overgrown pathway towards the field of flowers, the sun shining down harshly on your shoulders as bees buzzed around overhead. “Where are we?” you asked, letting him lead you. 

“Fennville,” he smirks, flipping his sunglasses down to his nose. 

“How did you know this was here, we are in the middle of nowhere?” you question. 

“Heard some people talking about it at Kroger, thought of you.” he answers, rubbing his hand over his mouth. 

“Do you know what kind of flowers these are? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Yeah, they’re poppies.” he smiles, snatching one up from the ground and tucking it behind your ear. Your heart swelled at the act and it was right then you had a new favorite flower. 

He led you deep into the field, the two of you spending hours exploring and picking the beautiful flowers. He eventually sat down in the middle of the field, lying down to watch the sky, patting the ground next to him for you to join him. You laid next to him, your heads turned to look at one another. You remember exactly how the sun cast his face in the most incredible glow, the flecks of gold in his eyes stood out more than ever, and the freckles that dotted his nose were almost shimmering. Your mind drifts back to how effortlessly you two could just be together. You couldn’t get enough of his attention, and he was never scared to give it to you. You just existed together, comfortably, calmly.

He twirled a beautiful red petaled stem between his fingers as he looked up to the sky, listening to the nature that surrounded the two of you. “You know, these kind of remind me of you.” he says, softly. 

“Really?” you breathe, feeling sleepiness take you over as you lounge in the warm sun. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, staring at the flower between his fingers. “They’re not afraid to stand out, to be bold. They grow wild and free and they are just so full of joy. You can’t help but smile when you see them. The rest of the field is so plain, but they fight to get their share of the sun. Just like you.” He looks over at you when you don’t respond. You’re almost asleep, the heat of the sun and the beautiful afternoon sending you into a blissful trance.

You turn to look over at him, he is staring up at the sky, his profile completely visible. You’d never been around anyone who paid such close attention to the little details about you, the thought alone made your heart skip a beat. 

“So soft and beautiful,” he continues, letting the stem fall from his fingers and reaching over to lightly lay the flower between the two of you, “and you’re just as unique as these are. They don’t grow everywhere, they’re rare.”

You let his words sink into you, and unbeknownst to him you felt exactly the same way about him. You looked to the field, the poppies dancing hypnotically in the breeze around you, and the colors on their petals almost sparkled in the sunlight. You were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of them, and every single one of them was beautiful.

That was the day your nickname was born, Jake refusing to call you anything else after that. You loved it, it was special, and no one else knew why. They didn’t need to. There was no hiding the flush from your cheeks that day, or the flutter in your heart each time he let it slip out. You couldn’t deny its significance, you were completely lost to the boy that was lying next to you in the field of poppies, and you didn’t know it then, but you always would be. 

As beautiful and special as the memory was to you, it also hurt, knowing that today was the first time since that day that he hasn’t sent them to you on your birthday. The memory now feels tainted and forgotten. You pull yourself up from the couch and make your way into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine to try and ease the pain that has suddenly crept up upon you. 

You feel the cold air from the open fridge as you pull out a bottle of Pinot Grigio, the neck of the bottle clinks against the edge of the glass as you fill it up more than you should. You move to the counter and lean against it, staring blankly out the kitchen window into your backyard. Darkness has settled in, and you're reminded once again that you are entirely alone with these thoughts. No one to pull you out of your head, no one to whisper sweet nothings to you. 

You even tried to make plans with friends tonight, hoping to share a few drinks and laughs to ring in your thirtieth, but each person you asked had plans, or perfectly valid reasons they couldn’t. Families to tend to, and partner work events. If you didn’t feel alone then, you certainly do now. It’s not like the weather was the best either, all around this day was a bust.

You stand in the empty kitchen, surrounded by all the silence and feeling so utterly alone. You lift the glass to your lips and take a heavy swig. You try to shake off the feeling that this might just be the most miserable birthday you've ever had. Unable to stand the silence a moment longer you wander over to your album collection, your fingers searching through the shelf for the one album you know will help soothe the ache inside you. You smile when you see the familiar cover, pulling the vinyl from the sleeve and placing it gently on the turntable. The unmistakable sound of Bad Company begins to play through the speakers as you sit on your couch and drink your wine, wondering where Jake is tonight and if he feels this too.

You stare out the window, watching the rain and now snow fall together, your head starting to feel fuzzy. You drink your wine as you listen to “Weep No More”, wishing that it would numb you in ways that would make the ache disappear, but it doesn’t. It just reminds you of how lonely you are, how lonely you have been for so long. As the guitar solo sounds through the speakers, you lean your head back against the couch and close your eyes.

Next thing you know you find yourself waking on your couch, the record begging to be flipped and your wine glass empty on your coffee table. The rain is still pouring and the clock now reads 8:43. You decide to call it a night, placing your glass in the sink and closing the turntable until next time. You drag yourself upstairs, changing into a pair of pajamas and pulling your hair into a knot at the top of your head. You crawl into your bed, ready for this day to be over and as you turn off the light, the last thought on your mind is Jake. Just like always. 

It's hard to fall asleep, your brain just won't shut off. Your mind is still working overtime, memories playing in double time. It's a vicious cycle, and a cycle that you get stuck in every year on your birthday. Each year, one year older but no less sad. You close your eyes tightly, doing the only thing you can do right now which is force yourself to fall asleep. Or try to, at least.

As you start to drift off thunder clatters in the distance and though it’s soothing, it wakes you, causing you to toss and turn. Just as your eyes begin to close, you hear it again, but it sounds strange. A few seconds later you hear it again, and your brain fully wakes as you sit up in your bed. You listen again for the sound, and as you hear it you realize it's not thunder at all, but the sound of someone knocking on your front door. 

A bolt of panic runs through you. Who the hell would be at your door at this time of night? You look at your phone, it's almost ten-thirty. No one you know would be stopping by unannounced, and at this hour? You get up, quietly walking from your room, down the stairs and toward the front door. As you get closer, the rain and the knocking both get louder, causing you to grow even more confused as nerves start to gather in your stomach.

You take a deep breath as you gather your courage, twisting the lock and opening the door. The second the door opens, a gust of cool, wet air blows through the house. The rain, now seemingly heavier than before pours onto your front porch step, the sound almost drowning out the sound of your thumping heart. You peer through the dark, rain drenched night and you swear your heart stops at the sight. Your mind can hardly comprehend what you’re seeing. 

In the dark, with rain pouring down around him, you see Jake. In jeans, a t-shirt and a very drenched leather jacket, holding the largest bouquet of multi-colored poppies you’ve ever seen, petals heavy with rain. 

“Poppy?” he says. He's breathing hard and he looks incredibly panicked. You again notice the bouquet in his trembling hand and your brain starts to piece the situation together.

“Jake? What’re you–”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I was supposed to be here hours ago, but there was a wreck once I hit 75, and then the traffic–” he says, water dripping from the end of his nose as he talks. 

A wave of shock washes over you at the fact he's really here. Right here at your doorstep no less. “Oh my god– Come inside!” you urge, seeing his cold, wet body start to shake. 

He nods his head and starts to shake the water off of himself like a dog as he steps into your house. His hair is sopping wet, and the way his shirt clings to his chest…well, you’re trying to push down that thought. He looks like he’s barely holding it together. As soon as you shut the door behind him he holds out the bouquet, wanting you to grab it.  “Happy Birthday, Pops, sorry they’re late.”

Your heart shatters. Of course he didn't forget. “Jake...Thank you...But– You're here, in Detroit, what are you–”

“It’s your birthday, Pops,” His voice is shaky and his body is shivering slightly. He's soaking wet and he's going to get sick if he stands here in those wet clothes any longer. So, you reach out and take his hand, tugging him with you as you walk toward your living room. He follows you in and stands awkwardly next to the couch as you turn to face him. You can’t take your eyes off of him, and you notice the look in his eyes is off, like your presence has him hypnotized. You notice his eyes move up and down your body, taking in your pajamas.

You quickly look down at yourself, feeling slightly self conscious and he instantly notices. He shakes his head as if reading your mind. “No, don’t. You look perfect to me.”

You feel bashful, and unsure of what to say, so instead you rush to the bathroom to grab a towel for him to start drying himself off.

“Thank you.” he mumbles and takes the towel from you, trying to dry his face and hair. You watch as he rubs the towel over his head, his shirt comes off his body and you're almost knocked backward. There were a few times throughout the years you'd see him shirtless but, my god, did he look good now. You're trying to take little glances, hoping he's too busy drying off to notice.

“Jake, don’t think that I don’t want you here, but…Normally you just…send the flowers. I can’t believe you drove eight hours to deliver them, in this weather no less…” you question, crossing your arms across your braless chest. 

He stops drying his hair and stares at you. You can see the look in his eyes. It’s  intense, and it’s not just because he’s freezing. He’s trying to read you, he’s searching for something. He stands there, in his wet jeans, with only a towel thrown over his shoulders. He is looking at you intensely, and your heart starts to pound in your chest.

He bites his lip, and his eyes dart down your body for a split second. He swallows and continues to dry his hair, the air around you suddenly feeling much heavier. He looks you in your eyes. “The flowers didn’t feel like enough this year.”

“Jake, they are always enough. They are more than enough,” you whine. 

He drops the towel to his side, the damp strands of hair clinging to his face. You see his chest rising and falling, trying to steady his breathing, but he seems to be failing. He walks towards you and you back up until you are pressed against the wall. He gets in so close you can feel his body heat, and he gently reaches up to take your chin into his hand. His fingers are still cold, and the feeling of them on your skin almost burns. His voice is rough as he looks at you deeply, he’s searching every inch of your face. “No. I couldn’t let you be alone, to sit there all night long with a glass of wine in your hand, just staring at the flowers. Not this year, Pops. This year is different.”

“Different?” you breathe.  

“It's your thirtieth birthday, Poppy.” he smirks.

“Yeah?” you answer, still not on the same train of thought he seems to be on. 

He takes a deep breath, and you can see the nervous look come over his face again. His eyes flick down to the floor, his cheeks start to get red. He can’t look at you. This entire thing is so incredibly intense, and you can feel the anticipation in the air. He takes a deep breath and then lets his eyes meet yours. 

“You know, I have traveled all over the world. I have seen people and places so beautiful your mind can hardly comprehend it. I’ve seen waterfalls and caverns, and cliffs and fields so big and vast you feel small compared to them. What I’m saying is that, I’ve been to so many places and seen so many beautiful things, but none of them, nothing, compares to you.” 

You blink at him, awestruck by his words. “Jake…”

He doesn’t give you a second to speak. He’s nervous and he’s scared, and all of this is coming out unfiltered. “I mean it, I’ve been to so many gorgeous places, I’ve met so many people and nothing has captivated me the way you do. I have searched the whole damn world, and everywhere I looked, I was looking for you. Always looking for you, thinking about you.”

You don’t even know what to say. Just two hours ago you were laying in your bed missing him, and now hes here, in front of you spilling his soul. 

“I could go to the edge of the ocean and see the beauty of the sunrise, but it’s nothing compared to the way your eyes light up when you laugh. No matter where I go, or how many new things I see, I can tell you that there isn’t another you. You’re rare. You’re my one in a million, wild and free Poppy. I’d give up every single thing I have to wake up next to you in that poppy field again, just to be next to my girl. Just me and you.”

Your lips part to speak but he’s not done.

“It's been twelve years since that night in my basement. Twelve years that I have thought of you day in and day out. I know that at the time you probably didn't mean it. Who really means anything they say when they're eighteen?” he laughs. “The thing is, I did. I did mean it Pops. You're all I’ve ever wanted, so much so that I signed the back of a gas station receipt to prove it.” he says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He reaches inside and pulls out a well worn, tattered and wrinkled receipt, barely hanging on to life. Signed on the back with both of your names. Your heart lurches in your chest as your fingers grab the delicate paper from him. 

He rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to find the courage to keep going. “And I still mean it today, Poppy. Twelve years later, and I still feel it, I still feel everything…for you.” His eyes don’t break from yours, and you can feel all the walls he’s put up starting to come crumbling down. You can see that he’s terrified, but he’s fighting to keep those emotions tucked away. “I’m ready to make good on that pact, Y/N. I never forgot. Not for a second.”

You look at the receipt in your hands, seeing the words scribbled down so carelessly, promising yourselves to each other at age thirty. Your names are still there, though the pen is faded. You hadn’t thought about that night since it happened, and seeing this has flooded your mind with the memory. The night you kissed him for the first time. “I can’t believe you still have this.”

“Of course I do,” he says, his voice shaking. “It’s the only thing that has kept me going. How do you think I got through all these years?” His eyes are still locked on yours, he is trying so goddamn hard to keep everything inside him. He’s fighting the tears that are attempting to come, “Every time I thought time was up, every time it looked like we wouldn’t make it, that this thing we have was hopeless…I’ve had that piece of paper. It was something to hold on to...” his voice drifts off, his eyes are watering now. “A piece of you when I couldn’t have the real thing.”

You see his eyes fill with tears, and you can’t take it anymore. You reach out to him, your hand touches his stubbly cheek. You wipe his tears away with your thumb. You’re not even sure what to say right now or what to do, just that you need to touch him. He reaches up and grabs your hand, holding it against his face, desperate for your touch. 

The walls are coming down, he can no longer hold back. “God…you have no idea, no idea at all the hold you’ve had on me, Poppy. You don’t understand how much I’ve loved you for so long. You know how much I still do. Even if I never said it, even if I didn’t fight for it…I still kept loving you, more and more with every single day. You were always there, in my heart, in my mind. For twelve years, shit, longer than that, you’ve been my everything.”

Love. He loves you. He’s always loved you. 

“Jake, I lo–”

He pulls your hand from his cheek, resting your fingers on his mouth as he slides them across his lips, taking in the feeling of you. Then, his eyes meet yours again. “And listen, I don’t even know if you have a boyfriend, or– or if you’re seeing anyone…I never let myself look, but I’m here, I have time, and I want this Poppy. I want you. I want to do this. It’s finally time for us.”

This feels like you’re in a dream. You’re watching some fantasy of yours unfold right in front of you. You would be convinced that this isn’t really happening, if it weren’t for your hand still against his lips. Your heart aches, and you feel like maybe it’s too good to be true. The man you’ve been in love with since you were young, the man who keeps you awake at night, is telling you what you’ve dreamed of. 

“Jake, you– you want to be… with me? Like…that?”

“Of course I do,” he says, his voice cracking, “I’ve wanted it forever. I wish I could go back and change things all those years ago….I wish we could have just been together the whole time. But right now…I just need you to hear me when I say that I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve only held on and I’ve only pushed through for you. Everything I’m doing is for you. For us. You’re my girl, Pops. I’m ready to make it official.”

You feel your own eyes starting to well with tears, the words coming from his lips are everything you’ve ever wanted. The part of your life that has felt so incomplete has suddenly vanished from the second you opened your front door. It’s him, it’s always been him, and now he’s here, asking you to be with him in the way you planned all those years ago. 

“I won’t promise you that it’ll be easy. This isn’t going to be pretty. We’re not kids anymore. We’re not those two dumb teenagers who made a promise on a piece of paper not knowing what life had in store for them. We’re in the real world now, and it’s messy. It's hard. We both have demanding jobs and work long, tiring hours, but I know we can do this. I want to do this. With you. No one else.” he whispers as he rubs your cheek with the back of his fingers, his knuckles dragging along your skin like he’s trying to absorb the feeling of you.

“But– Married? That seems like a big leap,” you breathe. 

His mind drifts for a moment as he tries to put together the words. “Is it a big leap? I don't think it is. If you think about how long I've loved you, the idea of us being together, it's not too soon. I've waited twelve years to be here with you. I've taken every single step just to get to this moment, and now I know, even through all the bullshit, there's no one else for me. I want to be married to you.”

“It just– it seems scary,” you whisper, feeling his hand wrap around your waist. 

He steps even closer, his hand wrapping around you and pulling you against him. His damp chest pressed to your thin tank top. You can hear the sound of his breathing, and feel his hands as they roam gently over your body. “It is scary, it’s terrifying. Being without you is scary, and the idea of me losing you completely scares me the most. But, what if we just try? What if we stop running and just try?”

Your eyes meet his as his thumb rubs small circles on your lower back. 

He leans forward ever so slightly, closing the distance even more between your bodies, like he’s pulled into your gravity. A faint noise escapes his lips as he breathes against your mouth. “Sometimes you just have to jump and trust that the net will appear.”

It’s as if your breath has been stolen from your lungs, “I–”

He’s so close, all you can see is the gold flecks in his eyes. His lips skim across your cheek, your skin is on fire. You can feel the air from his nose brush against your face, his hand around your waist is holding you so close. His touch is lighting you up inside like fire, you’re completely hypnotized by him. 

“I want to do this, Y/N. I have a long time off, and I want to spend it with you, making this work. I love you Poppy. I’ve loved you forever. We can do this. Say yes. Say yes to this, Poppy.”

“You’re sure about this?” you breathe, letting your lips brush his. 

“Every nerve in my body is telling me this is right. I know in my soul that this is it. It’s you, it’s only ever been you….” he whispers, his hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pulling your body into him as his mouth ghosts over yours. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me like I want you, P.”

“I want you, Jake. I always have.” you confess, cupping his cheek with your hand. His face falls into your touch as he groans with relief. 

“Do you love me?” he asks, his tone vulnerable and pleading. 

“Yes. I do. You know I do. I’ve loved you since the day I met you,” you answer, brushing your thumb under his eye.

He breathes against your palm, your name murmured out in a soft whimper. “Say yes, Poppy. Be mine. Marry me.”

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing. You know this isn’t some fairytale that you’re going to wake from. The only man you’ve ever loved, the one man you’ve dreamed of for years is standing in front of you asking you to marry him.

“Yes.” The word falls from your mouth so easily, it's as if you haven’t even thought it through. This could be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done. 

Your heart is pounding, the word feeling so final on your tongue. 

And as you look at him, you have no idea what the future will hold, but what you do know is that he’ll be in it, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

But… this was Jake. You needed to be fully honest with him. 

Your present, real life wasn’t going away. There was a crafted reality that didn’t involve him, in ways you didn’t care to address at this moment. 

Though, you couldn’t lie to him. You had to tell him. There was one issue. It wasn’t so drastic that it could get in the way of this for you two, per se. It just seemed wrong to go through with what you felt was about to happen, without informing him of your current situation. 

But, logic was escaping you quickly. 

As soon as he was leaning in to kiss you, his lips so full and soft, you lost the ability to rationally think. Any thought besides Jake Kiszka himself was far and fleeting from your mind. 

Tonight was meant for you two.

Right now, this could be it. All you had to worry about was right now. At this moment, you could venture into a universe where things seamlessly fall into place. Just like you always wanted.

A little secret kept from him in this moment was the least important thing to you as you felt his lips finally brush against yours, his mustache tickling your upper lip. 

The harsh beating of your heart calmed as soon as you felt his lips touch yours. 

Tonight was tonight. 

Tomorrow’s reality could set in just as soon as you felt him like this, the way you've always dreamed of— even if only this once. 

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[saturneras]

Private Eyes III

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: There is a mutual understanding between Joel Miller and yourself that both of you will probably never mention again what was said when you were getting in his truck a few nights ago. He has been curt and professional at the station and so have you. He has made up his mind and so have you. So Tommy Miller's Fourth of July BBQ shouldn't be an issue, right? The lines have been clearly drawn and you're definitely not reckless enough to cross them - but is he?

Note: Just giving the people what they want.

Part 1 , Part 2

Silence. Seventeen minutes of nothing, but utter silence. That was what happened between the chief of police and you when he drove you home that night from the bar. He did not say a word to you the whole time as if he had been frightened by his own conviction. When he had stopped the truck in front of your parent's house and opened the car door for you, he didn't even glance at you. No eye contact whatsoever. You figured he was pissed that maybe he had let himself get carried away. Let you rile him up and loose a fraction of his stoic control. You knew he didn't like you very much and that you were making his job way harder than it needed to be. But being a pain in the ass was just too enjoyable to give it up anytime soon. You figured Joel Miller was the type of guy who wasn't usually confronted with someone questioning his decisions or ignoring his orders. You like to give a man a hard time as much as the next girl does. The duty to be as resistant as possible was something you took very seriously. So when he invited you to the Miller's Fourth of July BBQ, you couldn't help but feel a little taken aback. Okay, maybe that's a bit of a stretch. He invited the whole station, not you specifically. So maybe you had been the necessary evil?

"Quit acting like a troubled main-character and get the beer, will ya?" Your brother shouts from the hallway. "I told Tommy we would be there in 10."

You roll your eyes. "I was thinking, Casey. Maybe you should try it some time."

Your brother laughs and pushes his way through the front door. "And grab your bathing suit, Tommy said the pool is open for business."

"Will do," you shout, throw your bag over your shoulder and grab the two sixers standing on the counter.

You rush out and jump in the car. The sun has been beating down all day and humidity is at an all time high. The air feels thick and heavy, resting on your skin like a layer of sand. Casey is rambling on about his last baseball game and how this one kid always makes sure to get on his last nerve. He teaches little league on Sundays and hasn't won a game in weeks. It's driving him nuts, but he loves it.

"Listen," he starts and turns down the Eagles' song that's playing on the radio. "Can you at least try to be nice to Joel today?"

Your head whips to your side. "Sorry?"

Casey clears his throat. "You know, just make some normal conversation or tell him you like his shirt or whatever."

"For what?" You ask, confused.

"It just seems like you don't get along."

"And why would you think that?"

"Well," Casey mumbles. "He never answers when we ask him how ya'll are getting on and Tommy has been saying he's been a little on edge ever since you started working there."

"And you always look at each other like you're two seconds away from throwing punches," he adds. "Maybe he thinks you don't like him."

"Why would he think that?" You say. "I have been perfectly professional." Images of his eyes dragging over your face flash in your mind. His lips parted slightly, his smell making his way up your nose, unnervingly intoxicating. "Maybe he just needs to cool the control freak energy a little."

"You know how you get," he says. "He needs a little time to warm up. Help him out a little."

"He's a grown man, Casey," you reply. "He is able to communicate if he has a problem. And if he is not, maybe he shouldn't be the chief of police."

Casey lifts is hand and points at you. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, dude. Just be nice and not like.. this."

"Sure, brother," you say and grin. "I'll be nice and agreeable and won't embarrass you in front of your friends."

He rolls his eyes just as you pull up in front of a house. You both get out and your brother gets some grocery bags from the backseat. The front of the house is white, but the window panes are painted in a lovely washed out brown and the door is a deep dark wood that reminds you of trusting dark eyes. The front lawn is perfectly trimmed and there is an outdoor sofa on the porch that looks like the perfect place for a morning coffee. Everything looks extremely well taken care of. Music is resounding from the backyard.

"Tommy's house is beautiful," you remark and glance at your brother.

He laughs. "At least now you have something to compliment him on."

"As if that has been an issue with him before."

"I ain't talking about the youngster," Casey grins. "It's Joel's house."

You turn your head abruptly. "What?"

"Tommy is redoing his garden this year, so Joel offered to do the party at his place. They even got his pool all cleaned up and running, since he never uses it," Casey explains and walks up the driveway. "Tommy told me to just come 'round the back."

You follow your brother up the path and both of you turn around the corner, heading for the backyard. Tommy is the first one you spot, standing by the grill in swimming trunks with a bottle in his hand, talking to some friends you recognise from other gatherings. The party is in full bloom, people lounging on chairs, the grass and in the pool, laughing, drinking.

"Hey bud," Casey calls. "Where do you want this?"

Tommy points to the far side of the garden, where tables have been brought out. You walk over and put the beers on the wooden tables, taking in your surroundings. The backyard is a huge open space, with a terracotta pathway that leads to the crystal clear pool and a fire pit with chairs around it a couple of steps to the back. Hedges and huge hydrangeas line the outer edges of the grass and pots of tomatoes, herbs and other flowers are scattered around in various places. Jesus Christ. The cold hearted chief has a green thumb. There are some chairs and tables set up for eating and coolers filled with drinks.

Casey carries the rest of the bags inside the house and a couple moments later walks out in his trunks. "If I don't get into that pool right now I might melt from this heat."

A couple of the others laugh and most of them follow his lead to the swimming pool as Tommy walks over to you.

"Hey," he says. "I'm happy you could come!"

You smile. "Thanks for having me, this all looks amazing."

"Well," he says. "I do tend to pride myself on my abilities as a host."

"So I've heard."

"Might I suggest a dip in the pool before your brother decides to race everyone here," he jokes and points to the backdoor of the house. "If you want to change, just use the guest room."

"Thanks." You start to make your way toward the house before you realise you have never been here before. "Where is the guest room?"

Tommy turns. "Oh, right, up the stairs and to your left."

You nod and step inside the house. With all the sun outside, your eyes need a couple seconds to adjust to the low lighting in the kitchen. Making your way up the stairs, you look at the pictures hanging on the wall. You recognise Tommy and the chief, as well as other family members out on a beach, on fishing trips and in front of Christmas trees. A family man. Who would have thought?

In the guest room, you quickly undress and change into your bikini. Thankful to be stripping of your already sweaty summer dress, you stuff the clothes into your bag and make your way back to the hallway. Did Tommy say there was a bathroom up here? You don't remember, but take a right and make your way down the hallway. The first door on the right just leads to the utility closet, but the second one opens up to a bathroom. It is even warmer in here and the mirror you spot to the left is still a little foggy. Someone from the party probably showered before the pool.

You take a step inside and are about to close the door behind you, when a gasped "Fuck" resounds from your right and you quickly turn toward it, only to find yourself slipping on a little puddle of water. You have already accepted your fate of falling straight on your ass and are wondering why on earth you keep getting in these situations and if you should consider doing more squats, when a hand grabs your arm and yanks you back. You've seen that hand before. It has held a closet over your head, helped you into a truck and was splayed out on the back of the wall, right next to your head in the hallway of the bar. But the hand cannot stop the force of your fall, so your body pulls it back and as you're about to crash against the door, you feel your body being turned and slam into ... oh god.

Your eyes travel up from the throat to the face. His brows are furrowed. A stern expression on his face and you almost have to turn away from the piercing gaze of his eyes. He looks angry, leaning against the door, his body having shielded yours from the impact, only for it to be smashed into his and held in place by both his arms wrapped around you. Time doesn't exist for a solid minute, while you're both just staring at each other. The warmth of his arms against your exposed skin feels tauntingly familiar. You quickly suppress the urge to lean into him any further, to pressure the weight of your hips forward.

His palm is splayed out on your lower back and you can't help but feel the tip of his fingers dig in a little lower than they probably should. Your lips part in reflex and you think you must imagine the way his eyes soften for a second, holding on to your mouth. Your eyes trail down the hollow of his neck and find themselves on your hands, playing directly on his very broad and very naked chest. There is no way this is happening right now.

"Oh god, no," you say and shake your head.

"I don't think Jesus is gonna help you with this one, Darlin'," Joel Miller drawls. His voice is nothing more than a growl as he speaks to you.

His skin is hot and damp from showering, smelling like eucalyptus and a hint lemony. You feel the drops of water caught on his chest under your hands. This should definitely not be happening.

"I think you should move," he suggests.

"Is this the part where you tell me to 'get on my knees and crawl' or does that just happen at work?" Sometimes you wish your mind would take a second to rethink the things coming out of your mouth.

He grunts and in one quick motion, he bends his knees, lifts you up and pushes both of you off the door. You expect him to drop you immediately, but he takes two steps toward the sinks. Before you can even comprehend the feel of his hands on the back of your legs, he places you on top of the vanity.

The chief of police is standing right between your legs, wearing.. a towel wrapped around his hips. If you were wearing pearls, you probably would be clutching them now.

Just now, when he is standing fully before you are you able to take in the sight of him. His hair is a little ruffled and still dripping. He hasn't shaved and looks like he's about to say something, but stops himself in his tracks. As if he is now just realising who he has in front of him, his eyes run over your body, tentatively, widening by the second. Oh right, it's not that he is just wearing a towel - you are wearing a bikini. And not even one that covers more than what's basically decent. Christ.

You must have said that out loud, because his eyes immediately snap back up to yours, looking the slightest bit guilty.

"What are you doing here?" He snaps.

"I was trying to find a bathroom," you say and point to the room around you. "Success."

"Why did you come in here?"

"As I said, I was trying to find a bathroom," you repeat.

"Maybe you should have knocked before barging in here," he suggest.

"Maybe you should lock the goddamn door when you take a shower," you snap.

He lowers his head a bit. "This is my goddamn house and I wi-."

"Joel?" Tommy's voice resounds from the hallway. His steps are getting closer.

Joel's eyes widen and he shoots you a glare promising death upon disobedience. When you're about to say something, he lifts his hand and covers your mouth. The motion makes you both hold still. His eyes dart from yours to his palm on your lips and back. He exhales slowly. Without you noticing, he has moved closer to the sink, his body now almost aligned with yours. The pressure of his palm is firm but soft, his fingers warm and his thumb hooked under your chin slightly moving over your skin.

"Are you in here?" Tommy calls.

Joel snaps back into motion and turns his head toward the door. "I'll be out in a sec."

"Oh okay," Tommy says behind the door. "Can you maybe get a couple more towels when you get down?"

"Sure," Joel's voice comes out a little harsh, but you both hear Tommy's steps fading.

His hand is still resting on your mouth, when he turns his head back toward you. As if burned, he immediately pulls it away.

"Are you keeping me a secret, Mr. Miller?" You say and grin.

"That is not funny," he says. "I wouldn't even know how to explain that to Tommy."

"Do you trust him that little?"

"People jump to conclusions," he says.

"I've never cared about where other people jump," you say.

Joel's mouth twitches slightly. "I thought so."

You shrug. "People slip and get into accidents all the time. No big deal."

"So you regularly have these interactions with your superiors?" Joel asks mockingly.

"Will it make you happy if I tell you that you're the first, Mr. Miller?"

"Watch it, sweetheart," he growls. "I ain't up for that shit in my house."

He takes a quick glance down your body as if reminding himself of something and steps away from you. "And don't call me Mr. Miller when you're sitting on my bathroom sink barely dressed."

"If you prefer Chief, just say so." You put your palms on the counter and push yourself off, sliding down, until your feet hit the cold tile. "And the last time I checked, this was a pool party, so I will remind you that my attire is perfectly reasonable."

"If you think that thing is reasonable then you gotta watch a lot more than just your tone," he rumbles and crosses his arms. His chest flexes slightly and the image of him in his towel will probably be ingrained in your mind until you take your last breath.

"So you keep telling me," you say.

"Maybe you should start to listen," he replies.

"Maybe you should put on some pants before we're having that argument again," you suggest and mirror his movement, crossing your arms. "You know, to keep things professional."

"Maybe you should do the same," he retorts.

"What?" You say, looking down at your bikini. "You don't like red?"

He averts his eyes. "I really need you to put on your clothes."

You grab your bag. "This might be your house, Miller, but I'm not following orders on a holiday."

"Put on your goddamn clothes," he repeats in a threateningly low voice.

"No." You shake your head curtly. "And you can't make me."

His eyes lower themselves to yours and his mouth morphs into a wicked grin. "You'd be surprised at what I can make you do."

"Probably not." You shoot him the same grin back, make your way to the door and grab the handle. The door opens with a click and you catch his glance. "But I sure do like to see you try."

--------- 1 hour later ---------

Tommy has been busy at the grill, bringing out steaks and veggies to everyone. You're sitting at a table with Tommy's friends Dan and Ray as well as Casey and his friend Marie. Ray is big on musicals, so you're all still talking about the Wicked, when Joel steps out the backdoor of the house. His hair is dry and a little puffy. He is wearing a dark green button down, which seems way too warm for this kind of weather. His gaze rakes across the garden and surely directly lands on you. Without hesitation he begins to walk across the grass toward your table. He looks full of conviction. Let's see how long that will hold up.

"I told you it was Oscar worthy," Ray says to Casey, "She trained years to sing this way. Glinda has always been her dream role."

"Sure, sure," Casey agrees. "I just think she wouldn't have been as good without Cynthia. She basically carried the movie."

Until the last possible moment, you think Joel might walk past, but he takes a halt at the table, looks around it and pulls the empty chair, right next to yours to sit down. You look up at him, but he's watching Casey and Ray continue talking. His proximity makes you uneasy - as if you hadn't just had your hands on his chest moments ago. You can't get it out of your head. The way his body felt pressed to yours, the grip of his arms around your hips. You wish you had never felt it in the first place. Right?

"What do you think, Joel?" Ray turns to him and watches him expectantly.

"'bout what?" He asks.

"Do you think Ariana should have gotten the Oscar for her Glinda?" Ray explains and you frown at Joel. As if he had actually seen the movie.

"Don't know 'bout her," Joel shrugs. "But the green one definitely should have gotten one."

"Elphaba," Casey corrects and adds: "That's what I've been saying this whole time."

"You've seen Wicked?" You look at Joel in surprise.

He doesn't turn toward you, but Ray nods. "Oh yes, we do a movie night every first Friday of the month, when Joel doesn't have the night shift."

You can't help but grin, imagining Joel at the movies watching Wicked with a sobbing group of friends and your brother, who has always been easy to bring to tears ever since he was a kid.

"We love musicals," Ray says. "But my personal favourite is definitely Cabaret."

"What's your favourite?" You tease and finally Joel turns his head and lays his molten eyes on you.

He stills for a moment and then says: "The Sound of Music."

"Really?" You say.

He shrugs and without any hesitation, as if it were the most normal thing to do, lifts his arm and drapes it on the top of your chair, directly behind your back. "Maybe I just like women with an attitude and hate Nazis."

There's a rattle in your chest that makes you lean back a little into him. As if a skittish bird had just awaken from a clap in the distance. His arm at your back feels like a thousand matches scraping against a matchbox.

"Don't we all?" Ray claps his hands and gets into a conversation with the rest of the table about their plans for the rest of summer. Casey's eyes flick to Joel for a split second and his eyebrows narrow almost unnoticeable, but he just turns back to Ray.

"By the way," Dan says. "The garden looks lovely, Joel."

"Thanks," he says, a little hint of red appearing at the base of his neck. "I'm glad you like it."

He leans back into his chair and observes the conversation.

"The city has agreed to everything you suggested in your report," Joel suddenly mumbles and turns to you.

"I know," You nod. "Daniel told me."

"You know he didn't give you any credit, right?"

"Oh I knew that," you say. "I didn't do it because I wanted to get credit for it."

Joel's frown deepens. "Why did you do it then?"

You lower your eyes. "Because he said it was important to you."

Joel's head reels back slightly as if you had just said something offensive. He huffs out a breath and clears his throat.

After a few seconds of silence, he says: "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" You ask, meeting his gaze.

"Convince them," he says. "I've been trying to get them to sign off on these things for weeks."

"Well, it's sort of what I went to school for."

He shakes his head. "I've met a lot of lawyers and I don't think you can learn that shit in school."

"It's just about finding out what they need," you explain.

"Need? Like motivation?"

"No," you say. "It's not about what drives them. Ambition is too obvious and most people can easily see if you are just trying to appeal to that. It's more about what they desire when no one is watching."

"So like lust?" He mumbles only for you to hear. His eyes lazily graze over your mouth.

You shake your head slightly. "Not everything is about sexual desire. Most people don't actually care as much about that as one would think. It's much more about a specific feeling they crave that comes with receiving something you hadn't realised you needed in the first place."

"And how do you find out what that is?" His eyes are still stuck to your now parted lips. Dark. Waiting. Expecting.

"You look very closely and wait," you say. "People are too impatient. They don't see what's directly in front of them."

Joel furrows his brows but stays silent.

"You know like their incentive. That could be power, attention, acceptance?"

"Go on," he says.

"You create this idea in them that the thing you want them to do is actually going to satisfy that need. Almost as if you're not actually convincing them at all, they're doing it for you."

A slight breeze catches his hair and unlocks a strand that dances on his forehead.

"Everyone wants to do the right thing," you say. "You just need to assure them what the right thing actually ist."

"Do me," Joel mumbles, his voice is low.

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry?"

"How would you manipulate me?" He asks, a glint of mocking in the corner of his eyes. "Or is my soul of stone to hard to read?"

"I've watched you, Mr. Miller," you say. "And a lack of emotion is not something you suffer from."

"You've been watching me?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Of course I have," you say. "It's my job to shadow you, is it not?"

You lean back and the hem of your dress slowly falls back, revealing a glimpse of your upper thigh. Joel's jaw ticks, as he takes in your bare skin. His fingers on your chair twitch and softly touch the back of your shoulder just to immediately clench into a fist.

"And what have you found out?"

"That you're no exception," you say. "You also just want to do the right thing. Like a good chief of police."

"And the right thing is doing what you want?"

"It's not about what I want," you say.

"What is it then?" He asks and leans in.

"Huh?" You reply and catch yourself raising your chin to meet his face. The conversation at the table has completely drowned out. You hear nothing but the sound of his breath on your face and feel only his arm pressing against your back. You wonder what it feels to be touched by him with intent, not just by accident. Would he move differently? Or do his hands find their way just as easily?

"What is it that you want?" Joel drawls.

"Are you trying to manipulate me?" You asks, wearily.

"I'm trying to understand you," He says.

"For what?"

"So I can figure out why your mouth seems to never match the story your eyes are telling."

And it's in that moment you realise that the chief of police might be capable of more than what you thought you'd bargained for.

[anon-sect]

Picture source: internet, story request by @footlave61773

Part 3

Dan's life had turned into one of servitude to Mr. Talford, Ash's dad. He would exist as a pair of socks and then turned back to normal to massage and lick his owner's feet the next time. For six straight months, Ash was never aware of this dynamic going on until his dad was caught.

The dynamic had a new twist once Ash caught him worshipping his dad's feet. Dan now found himself at the feet of his friend as well. It was new being a slave to both the father and son, but he loved it. It was like he was meant to be a sock and foot slave to dominate men while they enjoyed the pleasure of controlling him.

After five months, being a slave to both Ash and his dad, Dan heard Ash and his dad arguing on who would get to keep him since Ash was moving out into his own place. Ash was demanding to take Dan with him to be his personal foot slave and socks.

"He has been my socks way longer. So I am keeping him, son." Mr. Talford reported. "He won't be shared between two places, and that's it." He added.

"Dan would not have been yours if it wasn't for me. He is my former best friend and I should be the one to keep him." Ash argued back to his dad. "He is coming with me whether you agree or not." He too added to his claim.

Mr. Talford wasn't about to give up his favorite sock whatsoever. "Is that your final answer?" He asked his adult son while opening up the app on his phone.

"Making Dan decide who he wants to serve would be difficult for his submissive mind by now. He's gotten used to us making him worship both our feet." Ash paused. "He should come with me to my new apartment." He finished. He had gotten used to the new Dan and wanted to keep him around a lot longer. He didn't realize how much fun it was to have a foot slave friend.

Mr. Talford pointed his phone camera at Ash and hit the flash option. He reached down and picked up a brand new sock off the floor. "Now, Dan doesn't have to decide. He gets to stay with me. So do you get to stay with your old man as well." Mr. Talford spoke to the sock.

Mr. Talford took off his current socks, which were Dan. He pointed the phone camera at the socks. He hit flash and watched the pair of socks become a matching sock to the one he recently created. "Now I have a matching sock to my new sock." He smirked as he put on both socks. He wiggled his toes in his socks. One of his socks was experiencing something new on his feet. The other sock was already used to this feeling.

Ash found his dad's feet to be disgusting. The taste and smell were horrible. Being a sock really sucked. He wondered how Dan was so easily turned on by his dad's feet. He so wanted to be off them entirely. He was powerless as his dad walked on him around the house. The excruiating pain of bearing his father's full weight on his sock body had him screaming mentally in pain. His own dad had turned him into a sock for trying to take away his favorite sock. He mentally pleaded for his dad to change him back to normal.

Mr. Talford deleted Ash data from the app. He didn't want his son trying to take Dan away from him again. Yet, he found that Ash was a pretty comfortable sock as well. Since Ash was a permanent sock, it didn't make sense to keep Dan's data as well. He deleted Dan's data from the app. Now, both were a permanent pair of socks on his feet for his comfort. He knew that would not bother Dan one bit since his mind had been warped by his feet a long time ago. Ash, on the other hand, would have to get used to it over time. He would treat him the same way he treated Dan, just like a normal sock on his feet.

Picture source: internet

For Ash, hours turn into days, and days turn into months on this dad's feet. Each day was one tortourous day after another. His dad didn't bother to wear any other pairs of socks. He only wore him and Dan. Somehow, he found that he was able to resist worshipping his dad's feet. He didn't know how, but he was glad his mind didn't get warped like Dan's. Yet this made his current situation worse for him, in fact. With his mind in tact, all he experienced was torture at his dad's foot. Stinky shoes were his prison every day. He had to taste his feet whether they were washed or sweaty. He hated when his dad worked out. Soaking up all that foot funk and sweat made him beg for death that never came.

Dan was in bliss. He didn't miss being human at all. He loved how his owner abused him for his own pleasure. He liked the feeling of being powerless at Mr. Talford's foot. What some would call torture was simple pleasure to him. The more his owner abused him, the more he was enjoying every moment. He was serving a great purpose at Mr. Talford's foot and wanted nothing to change about that.

Two years later, Mr. Talford looked down at the sock that were his favorite. His feet had completely ruined them. The holes created by his feet were large. "I guess these socks are done." He spoke down to them. "Until I get more living socks, I will have to deal with normal socks then. Dan and Ash, you two really served my feet well, but unfortantly, this is the end for both of you." He finished as he removed both socks off his feet.

Mr. Talford walked over to the fireplace. "You both were really good socks for me feeet, but all good things must come to an end." He paused. "Hopefully, I will find two more living pairs of socks to replace you one day soon." He smiled at that thought and threw both socks into the fire without a second thought. He walked away from the fire to get another pair of socks out of his sock drawer.

Dan felt he had a life purpose fulfilled as the fire began to burn his cotton body. He didn't mind the pain of his life being extinguished. His owner had used him up until he was of no purpose anymore. He figured this would be his fate ever since his owner turned him into socks. He would end up being tossed away like a common object and nothing more.

Ash was crying as he realized his father threw him in the fire after two years of allowing his foot to destroy him day in and day out. It was a horrible way to end one's life, especially after having such a promising start. The pain of the fire wasn't what bothered him the most. It was that his own dad tossed him away like a common ruined sock and left in in the fire to die painfully and horrribly. This was a fate he never thought he would have to experience. The flames consumed what life he had left.

[wol-fica]

i know you’re working on stuff atm, but could you do a little drabble idea i have?

pov: r is sabrina’s younger sister and is taller+stronger than her sisters due to being in lacrosse. sab is home visiting along w sarah and shannon, and david(their dad) gets drunk and puts his hands on sabrina, r steps in and defends her which surprises her cause r isn’t close w any of her sisters cause of the age gap (r just turned 18)

if not i understand, this has been brewing in my head for awhile, love your writing!

an - since you asked so kindly, and since the prompt you gave me is so delicious, i cooked something up for you <3

summary - sabrina is home to visit for christmas, and as much as you resent your older sister, seeing your father lash out sparked a protective nature inside of you…

warnings - domestic abuse, shoving, slapping, collar-gripping, swear words, punching (disclaimer: i respect sab’s dad, this is just for the plot)

sub an - felt a tad unsure about this writing, but i know you all need a little something so i just left it as is, i hope it’s enjoyable!

——————————

“Yes Kiara, I am having such a greeeaaaat time.” You deadpanned into the phone, rolling your eyes.

It was Christmas break for you in Pennsylvania, snow falling in thick flakes that covered the grass in a fluffy blanket of glittering white. Your family was all home for the holidays, which normally would be exciting if you weren’t on such tense terms with one of your older sisters.

Sabrina, who had become an international sensation overnight, was someone you never really clicked with. You didn’t dislike her or argue with her; the opposite actually, you truly did love her and enjoyed hearing about her success through social media, but the two of you just never had that…spark.

Your mom tried to get you to connect with her, being that Sabrina IS your sister and you were pretty solid with your other older sisters, but it didn’t work out that well in the end. She was on tour too much, and left for publicity and fame when she was young, which in turn bruised your relationship so early that it was hard to try to rekindle a flame that was never lit.

It also didn’t help that you had a 7 year age gap with her, compared to your sister’s 2-3 year age gaps with each other.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Kiara, your recently found best friend cooed, “It’s only for two weeks, and she won’t be around for all fourteen days.”

“I know she won’t, that’s not the problem.” You groaned, rubbing your face with your hands, “It’s my dad, he’s being an ass.”

“How so?”

“You know him and how Sabrina feels about what he did; imagine how awkward it is to be in the house with both of them around.”

Kiara chuckled, the sound of water running in the background indicating that she was finishing up her skin care routine, “Well just avoid, avoid, avoid. That’s what i’d do.”

You grumbled a complaint but silently agreed, knowing she was somewhat right. It sucked having to stay cooped up in your room all holiday break just to avoid the awkwardness with Sabrina and your father, but it was waaaaay better than awkwardly sitting around her or arguing with your dad, so hide away you will.

“Well mopey, i’m gonna get going.” Kiara said after a moment of silence, bringing you out of your thoughts, “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah probably, if i’m free.” You replied, reaching for your phone to end the call, “Good night!”

After a swift farewell, you hit the red button and flopped back onto your bed, sprawling your arms and legs out into a starfish position to stretch your limbs out. Your body was still sore from lacrosse conditioning camp that ended just before break, but those handful of sweaty days had paid off in your favor, as now you were more muscular and toned than you had ever been before.

Gaining that muscle was something that you had been working towards for awhile, partly because of your self confidence, but also because of your father and his slightly abusive tendencies. See, ever since you had come out to your parents on your 18th birthday, your dad had not been the supportive parent in the situation.

He had used some nasty language towards you, and ended up getting physical towards you in his anger. You didn’t want to say it was anything drastic, just a shove, but it was enough to push you to be stronger, and enough to cause a disturbance in your family unit.

Your mother was not happy at all, chewing out your dad after you had hurried away to your room and forced him to apologize to you in the morning. Sarah, the closest of your older sisters, had immediately called you to check in and almost drove in from Michigan if it wasn’t for your stubbornness of her staying with her boyfriend. Your other sister, Shannon had sent messages and called as well, making sure you were safe and secure and even offering her place for you to crash at if you needed.

Sabrina was the only one who came home, flying in from LA and postponing a pretty big talk show she was scheduled for just to see you. She had dropped in as a surprise, hoping to talk with you and confirm that you were both physically and mentally okay, but you were keen on keeping to yourself and pretty much shut yourself off from everyone’s attempt at checking in.

Fast forward to now, the only time Sabrina has been home since that incident. Currently, your entire family was downstairs, drinking their hearts out and laughing to dirty jokes or whatever they were saying. You had excused yourself a while ago, feeling uncomfortable under your dad’s judgmental gaze during dinner, and had opted for curling up in your bedroom instead.

Big mistake unfortunately.

You were scribbling on your sketch pad now, ignoring your clocks flashing of ‘12:45’ and focusing on shading in whatever drawing you had procured in your boredom. You felt like it was almost done, but before you could lean back to get a good look at the final product, the sound of shouting from downstairs caught your attention.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You think you can talk to me like that, you are very mistaken.”

“Dad, you need to relax, like right fucking now!”

“I wasn’t talking to you!”

The sound of a slap jolted you upwards from your desk, and you moved swiftly toward your door. After yanking it open, you could clearly hear who was saying what, and it definitely didn’t sound pretty.

“What the fuck David?!” Your mother’s voice, scared and strained.

“Jesus Christ!” Presumably Shannon, fear and confusion thick in her voice.

“Sabrina are you okay?!” Sarah, that protective instinct always coming out of her.

It almost felt like a surge of anger rushed through you, and before you knew it you were bounding down the stairs and rounding the corner into the living room.

The scene before you wasn’t something that you had ever expected to see in your household, yet here you stood. Your mother and your sisters were crowded together, Sarah and Shannon consoling someone while your mother was in a yelling match with your father. He was clearly drunk, his eyes droopy and his speech slurred as he threw out insults in their direction. A certain word came out of his mouth that personally stung, and Sarah had whipped around so fast that you thought she was going to fall over.

“In what world do you put your hands on your own daughter?” She screamed at him, throwing her hands up.

That got you a good view of Sabrina, and you felt your stomach drop at the sight of her. She was clutching the left side of her face with both hands, her eyes bloodshot and tear filled from the injury she had just received. She looked so…defeated, and afraid, and that just wasn’t going to sit with you.

You moved quickly and precisely, maneuvering your mother and sister out of the way before taking your father’s collar in one fist and swinging your other into his jaw. The impact was loud, the room falling silent from the moment’s severity.

“Fucking hell!” Your dad stumbled backwards away from you, falling against the back of the couch.

He cupped his face, looking down at his hand as blood dripped out of his mouth, and then looked up at you. Your chest heaved up and down, your shoulders square and your jaw set as you stared him down.

“You think you can hit me, huh?” He sneered, pushing himself upright and moving towards you, “Think you’re all big and stron-.”

You silenced him with grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him towards the front door, watching as he almost tripped in the process. He stood up to go at you again, but you were swift with dodging his swing and pushing him out the open doorway.

“Touch my fucking sister again and I’ll kill you.” You said lowly, watching as he struggled to stand on the snowy front porch, “Find somewhere else to stay tonight.”

With that, you slammed the door shut in his face and locked it, ignoring his yells and insults of your character. You returned to the living room and approached your family, who was now seated around Sabrina on the couch who had an ice pack clutched against her face.

“If he ever, and I mean ever, puts his hands on you again,” You started, glancing around all four of them, “I will be much less merciful.”

Your mother stood first, pulling you into a tight hug and murmuring something about how she would fix this nonsense, before hurrying outside to where your father was probably moping in the cold. Shannon followed after her, setting her hand on your shoulder as a silent acknowledgement of appreciation and disappearing around the corner.

“Glad that you hit him and I didn’t, cause I don’t think I would be able to stop.” Sarah grumbled, her arm still wrapped around Sabrina’s shoulders, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She responded, a small smile gracing her face, “Could you get me some water though?”

Sarah nodded, glancing at you before standing and heading in the direction of the kitchen. You rocked on your feet awkwardly, looking at anything in the room except your older sister. Sabrina hummed, and patted the spot next to her.

“Can you sit?”

You dropped into the cushions gingerly, interlocking your fingers and choosing to stare at the ground. She sighed next to you, proceeded to toss the ice pack on the table, and leaned herself against you with her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” She murmured, reaching for your hand, “For doing what you did.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” You responded, feeling insecurity rise in your throat when she intertwined her fingers with yours.

“I know, but I did it anyway.”

You grimaced, tensing your body before relaxing against the couches pillows. Sabrina felt that, and began to stroke the back of your hand with her thumb as a soothing method.

“I’m sorry for not being here when you needed someone to be.” She whispered after a moment, closing her eyes when you rested your head on hers, “It wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

“I didn’t need someone Sab,” You muttered, “I needed you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.”

She nodded, squeezing your hand gently before standing up. She turned to look at you, her blue eyes shining under the overhead light.

“Just so you know, you’ll always be my baby sister, and I’ll always love you.” She said, running her finger tips against your cheek before taking the ice pack and leaving the room.

“Dammit.” You cursed to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Why does family always have to be so hard?

———————

again, v unsure about this one, but i wanted to attempt something different. i’d love to hear your thoughts!

[k-aemi]

haii, i would like to request stepcest with rin itoshi. like he caught her dry humping his pillow when he got home. and he's gonna punish her for that, thank you so much!

itoshi rin ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ told you to wait for me.

smut, stepcest, use of toys

it wasnt like you planned this or even meant for this happen. it just sort of did. knowing rin, he did have a rough time making connections with others with his cold demeanor after the encounter with sae that one night. after that, hes just as determined as ever, hoping to excel over sae.

he has his frustrations. kicking the ball wouldnt help because itd get too flat by the time, and he couldnt just punch a random hole in the wall, destroying his fathers house. the only one that would keep up with him and not break is you. he can use you again and again.

he knows its wrong but fuck he cant enough of that face of yours. though hes focused on his career, he has his urges too y'know? after all, hes just a guy.

plus its not like you mind, he thinks. ever since hes touched you, all you ever did was comply and let him do as he pleased. yeah hes your step brother, but who can resist such an handsome guy? and one with long bottom lashes too at that.

his touch is too addictive. those godly thick thighs, his slender fingers, and those siren eyes of his has you in a trance. its like a one in a billion chance and yet hes your step brother which you find annoying.

hes always away for long period of time due to football, it has you longing for his touch. you shouldnt be treating this like it’s a regular thing(which is not). but hes like a drug. not like youve taken any but if you had to give an example it would be rin.

you just cant help when he texts you to just wait for him, itd be about twenty minutes before his practice ends, but its twenty minutes too long! youre in his bed, inhaling his scent around the room as you wear his hoodie thats of course way too oversized for you, but you loved feeling small around him. it gave you an excitement to just wanna be so obedient to rin.

its been far too long, theres no way you can wait for another half an hour…its fine right? a little fun time with yourself wouldnt hurt. and it definitely wouldnt hurt having your pussy juices all up on his pillow.

just some slight friction should get you off. his scent is enough to keep you going. slowly propping yourself on his pillow, grinding against it. little groans elicit from your mouth continuing your movements.

“r-rin…” you whimper out, imagining it was your older brother beneath you instead of this dumb pillow. you miss his voice, his touch, his beautiful face. you just wanted him home right now. you sped up your movements while your forehead rests on the pillow, hands clenching on the fluff.

the way the pillow rubs against your clit so slightly just wasnt enough…you wanted his long fingers to circle your bud, until youre crying and begging for him to stop. you wan’ his cock in your mouth, face fucking you till youre gagging. wan’ his long cock to fuck that sweet pussy of yours.

its wrong. its wrong to yearn for his touch. you know its fucked up, but you cant stop yourself once youve gotten a taste of him.

“mmh—please r-rin needa come so bad..” you breathed out as your rubbing becomes sloppy but faster.

“do you now.” your eyes widened at the sudden stern voice from afar. you halt before look behind you, only to see him leaning against the door frame.

“rin! wha—i thought you didnt leave until—“ “canceled early due to rain.” he didnt say anything further except walked to the bed. you can feel the dip and you cover yourself in his blanket.

“dont act like ive never seen this sweet pussy before.” closing in on you, he removes the covers before harshly rubbing circles on your sensitive bud, pressing onto it.

“r-rin—! oh god…please..” your hips moved in a circular motion , staring down at his ministrations on you.

yes, you waited for this! for his touch…god he makes you feel incredible no matter the day, mood, or situation. his touch was magical. like a cure to any illness.

that feeling of joy soon fades as he retreats his hand. “h-huh…? rin? whyd you stop! need to come…” you whined and he can only keep that stoic face of his. he caresses your cheek softly as he sighs.

“told you to wait, cant even follow simple directions silly ‘mouto?” that was…true. but if you had known he would come home so early you wouldnt have done it! you swear!

“thought youd take to long thats why…’m sorry wont do it again…” you take hold of his wrist placing it onto your clit to rub, feeling that sensation again..only to retract his hand and grab hold of your jaw, squishing your cheeks tightly.

“who said you can just do that huh? had a fuckin’ bad today, and you just g’na make it even worse for me.” he growled, the pain in your jaw starting to leave you sore. youre squirming under his touch. “s-sorry rin didnt know…” he clicks his tongue before opening the drawer of the night stand next to his bed, revealing a little toy vibrator.

“you do this and ill stuff you with my cock yeah?” he licks a stripe up your cheek and you nod eagerly. you loved his cock, his cum tastes a bit sour but the aftertaste always makes you desiring more<3

rin attaches the vibrator to your bud and you huffed from the contact, the cold air hitting your bare pussy. rin turns it on to the lowest setting and you let out a ragged breath. its not too intense but felt good. but not good enough…you wanted to increase the power just a bit.

but of course rin isnt gonna give you what you want. what he wants. he raises it to the maximum and you squeal. your back arched as you try to reach out to rin to grab hold of. “r-rin! too much!” your thighs tensed.

“yeah, that’s the good stuff.” he would occasionally lower, then higher the intensity of the vibration and it had you going nuts. you just wanted to come, but rin isnt giving you that!

“this what you get and ill make sure you dont forget what happens when you dont listen to your nii chan.” rin is so mean…but he’s actually super nice. hes just frustrated right now and wants to relieve some of that stress on to you which you dont mind. even if he continues to deny your orgasm.

you dont even know how many times youve came so close to cum…but rin knows you too well when youre bout to. he always times it just right so that youd lose that excitement in your pussy. your eyes are teary and you cant even control your breathing from the intensity.

you wanna just touch yourself and finish the job but you know hell even deny you for more hours! so you better behave…even if youre crying for him to just let you cum.

rin coos you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. “think you learn your lesson yeah?” you nod eagerly. you wanted to come so bad, wanted his seed inside of you.

he chuckled. he knows you want to have that sweet released. but he loves seeing you so vulnerable beneath him. you can take a little more can you? of course you can, you want the best for your nii chan right?

“know you can handle it a bit longer ‘mouto. then ill give you my cock okay?.”

late post again was lazyy (⇀‸↼‶)

divider: magicalboything

[sadieshairbrush]

Helping Hand | Steve Harrington

Steve has a big date, but he loses confidence when his best friend puts in his head that he’s no longer in high school, and that the girl he’s seeing tonight won’t be impressed by the same old tricks. You got him into this mess, you gotta get him out of it

Warnings: my first smut on here so it’s kinda bad :0, no name but use of she/her pronouns, reader with boobies and cooter, making out, oral f receiving, p in v

Steve absolutely loves himself as far as you’re concerned. He thinks he can do anything, and he’s certain the entire population of Hawkins knows it, too.

Now, only to provoke this sentiment further, he stands in front of your mirror running a hand through his fresh, clean hair.

The twinkle in his eye was reserved for one thing, and one thing only. It was almost literally, like you could see it even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

“Knew it, you’re planning on having sex,” you smirked, noting the stunned look he passed you through the mirror. “Steve the virginity snatcher.”

“Stop watching me,” he snapped, embarrassed. Because indeed, you lay on your front atop your messy bed, magazine abandoned beneath you. Your eyes are hard to shake.

“Weirdo.”

“This is more interesting,” you declared, grin widening at the pink creeping up your friends neck. “And you’re in my house, stupid.”

The smell of Aramis lingers around the room like spiced cinnamon.

He’d unwrapped the bottle you’d gifted him on his 15th birthday and has worn nothing else since. It reminded you of school mornings in his car, still half asleep in the passenger seat as he whined for your attention.

“Can’t get ready with dad breathing down my neck, can I?”

He turned, eying your form as you roll onto your back, head hanging off the bottom of the bed.

From here, the valley of your chest was on full display, dragging Steve’s gaze in.

You can’t blame him, it being a routine at this point. It’s as if you tried your very hardest to turn him on at the most inopportune moments.

Really, it depends how he looked at it. He supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to let his motor run before he saw whatever girl it was that week.

As the pattern would make evident, there was every chance in the world you were doing it on purpose.

“Guess so,” you sighed, eyes still on him as he leans his palms on your dresser, head quirked at you. “Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

“Don’t make it sound like that,” he sneered. Why must you make it out as if he flies through women like the pages of a phone book? It really hadn’t become as bad as that.

“Heidi Morrison. Blonde girl, big rack.”

This changes things. Heidi who’s had three boyfriends, at least. Heidi who has some experiences under her belt to compare to.

Not that every girl Steve had pursued was a virgin, but all young and clueless.

“Steve, you understand that you’re probably not as good in the sack as you think you are, don’t you?”

Unnecessary and rude, he thought.

What the hell would you know about his performance?

“That’s just weird of you to say,” he squeaked, waving one distressed hand around by his head.

“All your sex-capades have gone on ten minutes tops with no room for foreplay,” you laughed, watching the new fire burn in his eyes. “I’ve been to those parties, Steve, there’s barely even any time to miss you.”

Okay, so he’ll admit, most of these aforementioned happenings were a quick “get in, get out,” but that’s all it needed to be, right?

If it feels good for him, it’ll feel good for her. It’s all part of the same experience, right?

“You wouldn’t know,” he fired back, scrambling to save himself this embarrassment. There you are, cheeks pink as the blood rushes to your head, full cleavage on display for Steve’s eyes alone. “You wish.”

“I wish to sleep with someone who doesn’t know where my clit is?” You tease, separating your legs, innocently. If only you knew how much he wishes you were turned the other way, just for one sneaky peak up your loose pyjama shorts.

“You’re in trouble~”

That stupid, sing-songy voice of yours, too. Are you trying to play games with him?

“I know where a clit is, I just- I figure if I’m feeling good, she’d be feeling good.”

And there it is, the truth you never thought you’d hear. Your best friend is probably pretty bad at sex. He lets out a huff of air, flying himself backwards onto your bed so his head is by your knees. “Why are you making me panic?”

“I’m not trying to make you panic,” you defend, sitting upright to look down at Steve who covers his face with his arms. “But this is a totally different situation now. Girls like Heidi know what they want from a man, and being repeatedly slammed into won’t cut it. It’s not high school anymore.”

“What else is there?” He all but growled out, a frustrated mess beneath you. He removed his arms, his honey brown eyes finding yours. “Not to cross a boundary with you here, but I’m so certain they always come.”

“That’s pretty unlikely, Steve,” you told, crossing your legs beneath you before motioning for him to sit up. He does so, rather begrudgingly.

“Probably around 80% of girls won’t come just because we have a dick in us. Most of us probably won’t even find it all that enjoyable, period. Not when there’s no foreplay, no external action, you should know this. They moan and they whine because they think they should be.”

Hearing this filth come out of your mouth so brazenly was surprising to say the least. Not that you two haven’t always been close as close can be, but the terms you’re using now were downright pornographic, and might have had him straining in his jeans if he weren’t so stressed.

“I didn’t think foreplay was necessary,” he admitted, sitting upright to mirror you. “I’ve never needed it.”

“Foreplay gives us time,” you explain, all tones of teasing disappearing for good. “It gives makes us expectant, wet.”

This made Steve freeze. He couldn’t possibly be hearing you right. Or maybe he was just looking too far into the whole thing. But either way, the very idea of you letting him in on what gets you hot and bothered nearly had him sweating under his jacket.

“I can tell you what you should do.”

He didn’t know whether or not you were serious, and you wouldn’t give it away. Your smile is light, innocent enough to where the ball was totally in his court.

It was almost too fun to watch him silently fumble, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, his pouty lips parted in astonishment.

You looked so pretty in the dim lighting, shorts wrinkled around the tops of your thighs, camisole top loose over your breasts. “Really?”

you nod, slowly, grin widening.

“If you want me to.”

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cross this line or not. Surely, you’d just be talking him through what you, as a woman, like. But even that had him hot under the collar.

“Okay,” he gulped, breathless as your grin widened to full.

“Tell me how you usually start,” you begin, sparing not a single second.

It’s an odd position to be in for both of you, but you were keeping your cool. Steve just desperately wanted to know whether that was because you were just generally unbothered by the lines to be crossed, or that he was mistaken that these lines existed at all.

“I don’t know, I just… I kiss her, lay her down on my bed, we’d strip down and… you know…”

“consummate?”

“Not the word I’d use, but, yeah, I guess.”

He was trying his very hardest now not to portray his defensiveness to you. But you could read him better than anyone, so if you did notice, you didn’t let him know.

“Well, you know when you make out with a girl? But like, really make out? When it gets all hot and heavy… that’s foreplay, so you’re not completely stupid.”

Except maybe he is. He desperately wracks his brain for a time he followed such an intense make out session with sex. Making out was for when sex was off the table, if there wasn’t enough time for the deed itself.

Without having to admit a word, you catch on, knowing his shameful expression more than anyone.

With a sigh, you nudge his leg with your foot. What a pathetic loser your friend is.

“Think about it, you’re making out, your hands are on her waist, then her tits, her thighs. Your lips are on her neck, and she’s grinding herself against your lap ‘cause she’s so desperate. She needs friction, some contact to get her wet and ready.”

Again, pure filth.

You’re not beyond realising the hotness of the man before you, and the idea of grinding against his denim clad cock until you begged for his fingers was enough to have you squeezing your thighs together.

This wasn’t lost on Steve, but the last thing he wanted was to be wrong if he’d confronted this speculation head-on.

“Where would her hands be?”

And like he’d hoped, you shuffle impossibly closer, no heed paid to the mountains of tried-on and written-off clothes on your bed.

But his breath still hitches in the back of his throat when your hands come to meet the back of his neck, a light grip on the silky hair that resided there. He’s unable to hide the strangled groan that escapes his throat, but you don’t mind as you pull his hands to your back.

He knows exactly how to make out with a girl, it wasn’t new to him. His being clueless has more to do with this sudden pathetic attempt to feel your hands on him.

You shift a little closer so you’re settled between his parted legs, the strong odour of autumn fanning hotly from his neck. Your fingers are absently massaging his scalp and his hands move to your back, kneeding the flesh over your tank top.

“See?” You whisper, close enough to feel his breath hit your face. It was like cigarettes and mint. The mints in your vanity drawer, to be exact. “How easy is that?”

How easy is it to be this close to you? Smelling the sweet aroma of your skin, full cleavage a dangerous distance away? Not very easy, not easy at all.

You’d been this close before, but it had never been a position quite this intimate, but you felt as ease doing it.

Instead of answering, his eyes trail down the smooth skin of your neck down to the exposed expanse of your cleavage.

He knows he’s caught, but he brings his eyes back up to yours to see you’re unsurprised. You might even be encouraging him.

“This is already foreplay if you think about it,” you laughed, softly, sending heat radiating through Steve’s body. Because, here you are, in his arms, practically crotch to crotch, convinced you were taking part in what he’d call canoodling. “Is it helping?”

“‘M not sure… how do I know?”

“Well, aren’t you getting ideas? If I was a girl you liked, right here, tits in your face, pussy expectant, what would you do to make her want you? To make her feel good?”

Now you were asking the impossible. It’s like you’re trying to trick him into overstepping boundaries that should be obvious, but there’s no telling where the line is.

Is he allowed to say he’d been listening to you all along, and that he’d thumb your clit over those slutty pink shorts? Isn’t that what you’re asking him?

“You’d- umm… you’d need to move. So you’re on my lap.”

“Oh, she would, would she?”

You smirked, adjusting yourself to the position he’d asked, unsurprised but thrilled to feel the forming tent in his jeans.

“She, yeah, sorry.”

“Then, what?”

It’s obvious to you he’d had ideas. His eyes trailed down towards where your clothed crotch met his, and you’d immediately let your weight drop, sitting down where he wanted to feel you. “Don’t hold out on me, Steve, I know you’ve got some ideas.”

Reluctantly, he drops his hands lightly onto your thighs, skin smooth and warm. He didn’t know whether it was okay or not to squish his fingers into your flesh, but you seemed to be more than okay with this development, slowly grinding your core against the tent in his jeans, drawing out a throaty moan.

“This is where you should probably kiss her,” you spoke softly, drawing his dark eyes to yours.

It took a second to sense his agreement, but once you see him nod slightly, you lean in to press a light kiss to his lips.

It’s over a quick as it starts, you’re pulling away slowly, lips tingling and heart thumping against your rib cage.

Steve chases your lips, uncertainty still there but pushed to the back of his mind. It’s slow, it’s noisy, wet smacking sounds filling the room as you feel Steve’s hands begin to roam free over the skin of your thighs.

“Now what?” You breathed into his mouth, proceeding to brush your lips against his.

With less hesitation, he slides one hand around to hold the flesh of your ass, the other hand creeping closer to your crotch, dangerously close to your wet core.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice is muffled against your skin, breath moist on your face as you nodded. What has taken him so long to just say it?

You’d imagined your best friends hand creeping towards your core, soft, warm lips moving slow on your jaw. It was always a fleeting thought, when you’d been sat across from him at a party as he flexes his fingers at random, or when he had a strange blonde on his lap, palm pressed to her thigh.

Real life was different. His thumb presses into the damp fabric covering your clit, and you let out a quiet gasp into his mouth.

The sound was angelic to Steve. Here he had you, straddling his lap in your bedroom, and his thumb pressing harder but fleetingly into your clit as you chased the contact by rolling your hips ever-so-slightly.

It was unbelievable. He couldn’t even believe what he was doing, that he really had you flush on top of him, straps of your top falling down your shoulder, lips wet from his tongue.

He leaned forward again, capturing your lips in his. But it’s messy, all teeth and tongues as he nibbles around your lips.

His hands are kneading the flesh of your moving hips as his lips move to your jaw.

The thought of leaving evidence down your neck was so erotic and resolute, so he near enough attacked, nipping and biting only to soothe the burn with his tongue.

You were breathless, His eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of you, a mixture of desire and adoration dancing in his gaze. He sits up, gripping your thighs, his hands gliding up higher on your skin as he pulls you closer, his gaze never leaving you as he looks up at you, his expression almost reverent.

“What’s next? What else do you wanna do to make me need you?” You breathed out, hips rocking against him in a motion to small you’d barely see it. But if the raging boner twitching in Steve’s pants was any indication, he could definitely feel it.

You don’t even know what you expected him to answer, but he didn’t say a word. His hand was on the back of your neck, and he was pulling you back into an open mouthed kiss.

He pushed his tongue against yours, hand wrapped around the wet fabric of the crotch of your shorts, knuckles brushing your slick folds, so dewy and inviting it sends a shiver down his neck.

He’d never been so aroused, it almost ached as his hardened cock strained so obviously against his jeans. A groan escapes his throat, strained and desperate against your tongue, making your lower belly swirl.

You hadn’t the brain function at the moment to register his lips moving to leave a wet and messy trail down the side of your neck.

Your skin is scorching as he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin. It’s enough to give you flashes of wild, dirty images of what’s to come.

Next thing you know, Steve is shrugging his jacket off, then he’s easing you onto your back to rest between your parted thighs. His hand held the back of your head as his lips found yours again in a messy, almost dirty kiss.

Maybe you were both completely lost, taken over by lust in all its plain simplicity.

Because damn, you can feel how needy he is.

His thumb finds your swollen clit as his hand settles under your shorts, drawing a shaky breath from you, moving to bury his face by your ear, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

“…wet,” his breath was hot in your ear, a hoarse whisper as he slowly pulled your shorts down past your hips.

Oh fuck, this is really happening.

He slides the fabric down your thighs, fingers digging into your soft, smooth flesh as your shorts were abandoned and lost to the pile of clothes over your sheets.

The line was officially crossed, because Steve had a perfect view of your bare, glistening cunt. Your puffy lips slick with arousal, pulsing with a carnal hunger. Because the man in front of you was hungry, his hair a fluffy mess you’d never seen it in. His eyes, hooded with lust, drank in your cunt like a juicy peach begging to be tasted.

And that was exactly the plan.

All reasoning of why this was happening had been abandoned, and you were both completely consumed with blind desire.

He looks up at you, the look on his flushed face fleeting before it disappears between your parted thighs making you gasp.

His tongue flicks through your soaked folds, hands wrapped around your thighs as he savours the sweet musk of your hot cunt on his tongue.

A possessive growl escapes from the back of his throat while he feasts like a staved man.

Your head is spinning, body twitching with electric jolts with every flick of his tongue to your hardened clit before he pushes it into your small, fluttering opening, his nose now nudging your tiny bud.

Your mouth falls open, hips raising as if to get closer to his hot, wet mouth, his spit mixing with your slick spreading over your inner thighs and down the crack of your ass.

“So wet…”

It’s all you needed, your climax climbing closer and closer with every flick of his tongue, but those words made the muscles of your tummy tighten, your whining release coming in quick waves as your thighs shake, back arching.

You’re reduced to a writhing, moaning mess, liquid heat gushing onto his tongue.

As your chest rises and falls, Steve gets straight to unbuckling his belt, hungry eyes never leaving yours as he yanks his jeans past his thighs.

His grey boxers left little to the imagination, his sizeable cock straining against the fabric, an obvious wet patch where his slit is.

He leans back down, capturing your lips as he blindly reaches for his abandoned jacket, only pulling away to dig into the pockets.

You watch as he pulls out a condom.

“You’ll need that later,” I breathed out.

Ultimately, Heidi would still be waiting to be swept away by the man in front of you. She is, after all, the reason this is happening.

“No, I won’t.”

He opened the condom quickly with his teeth.

No further instruction was needed, and you got to yanking down his boxers in a flash.

If you were desperate before there’s certainly no hiding it now as you plucked the condom from his hand to roll it onto his angry, red cock, slick with pre-cum.

That action alone had him hissing harshly, sensitive to the touch.

A quick study, you call him. Because your pussy is more than ready to accommodate him, your soaked and sloppy hole clenching and unclenching around nothing, as if already milking an imaginary cock.

He growls with want, caging you in underneath him as you spread your legs. One of his hands guides his cock to your ready hole and he pushes himself party in, drawing two perfectly harmonious moans.

The stretch burns still slightly, and you whimper into his shoulder as he feels every ridge of your insides on every vein of his cock.

It’s slow, but he reaches the hilt, the dark patch of hair at his base meeting your ever-needy clit.

“You’re so wet… so tight…”

You only nod, chest heaving as you pull him in close with a hand on his back beneath his shirt.

“So tight,” you muttered against his shoulder.

He thrusts slowly and deliberately to start with, feeling how tight your cunt is, knowing just how full you must feel. And yes, you’re stuffed.

His face is buried into your neck, grumbling out nonsense between kisses to the skin there.

“So hot.”

“You feel so good…”

“So tight, fucking wet…”

His pace only picks up as you squeak out his name, repeatedly. What else can you do when he’s plunging into you with such urgency?

Lewd sounds fill the room, the squelching so obscene beside the groans and the gasps, the sound of Steve’s balls slapping rhythmically against your ass.

Your nails drag down his back, careful not to break any of his hot skin as he reaches impossibly deep inside you.

His grunting became persistent, his breath rapid as he held you tight and close, hips jerking harshly as he pulls almost all the way out, just to slam back it, all the way with a shaky moan.

“Gunna… cum… gunna cum,” he announces quickly, hips rocking into you rapidly.

Fuck, you were perfect, with your eyes hooded, your lips parted and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Not to mention he felt that your cunt was made for his cock, the way he fit so snuggly, the way it pulled him in…

Fuck.

His lower belly coils tightly, cock swelling inside you. His jerky thrusts were quickly becoming more urgent, and less controlled.

One hand tightened on your thigh, the other in your hair as he groaned out his release, filling the condom with his hot seed, his moan downright pornographic in your ear.

Steve Harrington just fucked you. On your bed. Before a big date.

He was collapsed on top of you, spent cock inside you with his face buried in your neck.

“Oh my God, sweetheart…”

“Isn’t it so much better like this?” You laughed softly against him, feeling him laugh back, nodding his head.

He looked back down at you, a light sheen on sweat over his skin, cheeks flushed pink in pretty blotches.

“I think I’ll skip that date. What else you got to teach me?”

[snowfieldstories]

Hello! I heard ur open for requests for kim dokja hehe, anyways i was wondering if u could do a kim dokja/female reader where we are his childhood best friend and we defend him from his bullies during when we were in Highschool? Reader has a crush kn him since children and basically confessed her feelings in high school and dokja reciprocated it hehehehe bonus if they got engaged before the apocalypse :DD

Thats it tysm, have a nice day <333

kim dokja x childhood friend!reader

a.n: the idea of being a protective, childhood friend of kim dokja is so adorable! especially then turning into a couple, and later engaged. i had so much fun building their dynamic that I may come back to this someday...maybe more h.s scenes

and to the others in my ask box--your requests are on the way! there's a lot on my plate rn so some of them are slow-moving, sorry <3

warnings: strong language, mentions of suicide attempt

w.c: 4.5k

chronology of love.

six

You were six when you first met him.

A boy your age, with big, dark eyes and a soft complexion. He must have lived somewhere in the same apartment complex as you, because you saw his mother whisk him up the stairs once.

You had the chance to meet him one sticky, summer day.

Your mother heard the jingle first. The ice cream truck. She pushed a wad of cash in your grubby hands and sent you downstairs, eager to get your hyper self out of the house for a moment of peace. You skipped happily down the apartment stairs.

"Chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream. Chocolate, vanilla, I'm gonna scream! If you don't...gimme...iiice creeaaaaa—ah!" Your self-composed song came to a surprised halt as you nearly toppled over a lump on the bottom step.

It was that boy.

"Hey! Don't sit there." Your pout dropped open when he looked up, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I—I'm s—sorry..."

He got up to move, but you ran in front of him. "Why are you crying?"

The boy shook his head, shying away from you.

"Tell me." You went to grab his arm, but a huge, reddish-purple mark stopped you cold. "Oh! You're hurt?"

Now you were looking at him closely, and you saw a similar red mark on the side of his mouth. He turned away from you. "Go away."

You wanted to say something, but a loud jingle reminded you of your initial quest. "Ice cream!" you gasped, and snatched up his hand to tug him down to the street.

The ice cream man smiled as you both approached. "What can I get you kids?"

You ordered a chocolate cone for yourself—without nuts, of course, because eww—and you turned to the boy. "Pick one!"

"Huh?" The boy was shocked. At your insistence, he chose a superhero-themed ice pop. You gave the money to the ice cream man, stuffing the change impatiently in your pocket after. You both thanked the man and sat on the curb with your treats.

"It's hot. And ice cream makes you feel good." You bit into the cold chocolate, and the boy watched you with confused eyes. "Do you feel good now?"

He gave an experimental lick of his own popsicle. "...A little."

You were halfway through your ice cream when the most important question popped into your head. "What's your name?"

"Kim D—Dokja."

Excitedly, you told him yours. Your beaming smile was timidly returned.

"Dokja," you said after finishing the dessert. "It's too hot. Let's go to my house and play!"

For the first time, Kim Dokja looked a bit hopeful. "Is that okay?"

"Yes! Let's go." And you proceeded to grab his hand with your sticky one and lead him back up the stairs. A wash of cold air greeted you two.

"Mama! I have a new friend. Can Dokja play with me, pleeeaseee?"

Your mother's eyes widened the instant Kim Dokja came into view. She coughed, trying to hide her immense distress at the sight of such a young child bearing such pain. "Yes, of course he can stay. Um, Dokja-yah, where do you live? I should tell your...father?" At his flinch, she quickly said, "Mother. I'll tell your mother that you're here."

Kim Dokja gave her the information while you wiggled impatiently beside him. Your mother reminded you to wash your hands first, before she picked up the phone.

After that day, you begged your mother to set up another play date with Kim Dokja. He was nice. And funny. And he also liked to read!

Your mother agreed easily each time you asked, and your new friend was constantly over, morning to evening. On special occasions, Kim Dokja was even allowed to sleep over. The two of you had built such a comfortable space in your home, that it never crossed your mind to go to his.

Summer break ended, and you were sad that you wouldn't get to see your new friend every day.

But, suddenly, Kim Dokja was at your school. Had he always been there?

You asked him, and his frail, fearful little yes made you feel bad. Mother always said you should be kind to others, and you knew you had been mean just now. So you grabbed his shoulders and hugged him. "I'm so happy! Now we can be best friends all the time. Forever!"

He flailed in your hold, before tentatively squeezing back. "Okay."

From then on, the two of you were attached at the hip. Kim Dokja came over to your house often, so often, in fact, that if you were any older and wiser you would have realized the truth. Your mom was wise. She ushered in little Dokja, and while you proudly showed him the challenging book you managed to read all on your own, your mother returned a smile of reassurance and worry to the grateful one that Kim Dokja's mother offered.

At school, some of the teachers affectionately called you "double trouble." You had a knack for dragging Kim Dokja into your harebrained schemes, and despite getting him into trouble, he was happy because he was with you. The teachers never scolded you two very hard, anyways.

"I love Dokja, mama," you said one day after he left your house. "Can he stay here forever with me?"

"No, dear. He can't."

You whined that it isn't fair! and he is your bestest friend! so why couldn't he be with you?

"He has his own family," your mother responded, but she looked rather uncomfortable to say it. The truth was, she wished more than anything that that sweet boy could be welcomed into a more loving home. But there was nothing to be done.

A brilliant thought entered your little mind. "One day, I'm going to marry him so he has to stay."

Your mother was already in full support of your childish dream.

Everyone at school also knew that there was no Kim Dokja without you, and there was no you without Kim Dokja—all the way through the final year of elementary school.

And then you moved.

fourteen

"This pathetic twig went down too easy, today. Hey! Hey, Song Minwoo, should we make him beg?"

Kim Dokja was dizzy on the floor of the school hallway. His head had struck the tile when they'd shoved him, and he could already tell where the bruises would form on his body. At least this time they didn't stuff his head down the toilet to literally eat shit...

But this time they had stolen his phone. And a chapter containing a pivotal moment in TWSA had just dropped.

So Kim Dokja was highly considering begging in order to get that phone back.

Before he could decide, a classmate wedged herself in between him and Song Minwoo. He only caught a glimpse of her ear before she faced his bully head on, but something about her made his heart race—no one had ever dared to interfere in these tormenting sessions before.

"Stop," she said in a low voice.

Her uniform was crisp and clean from the back, and her willingness to step in was the mark of someone confident, yet uninformed. She must be that new transfer student that arrived today.

"You're the new girl, right?" said Song Minwoo eagerly, and Kim Dokja wanted to scoff. She must be pretty. "Let me help you out. You should avoid losers like him—here, I'll show you around campus."

Before Song Minwoo could wrap his meaty fingers around her shoulder, she lunged forwards.

Is she hugging him?! thought Kim Dokja, before she swung her leg around to kick Song Minwoo's out from under him, slamming him hard to the ground. Her hair cascaded around her face as she loomed over the bully.

Kim Dokja felt a sick satisfaction at the whimpered flinch of Song Minwoo as she pretended to go in for a punch to the face.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. "And don't you fucking dare touch Kim Dokja ever again."

The sound of his name made him jolt, and not from surprise that the new student knew his name, but because it was your voice ringing loud and clear, declaring his name.

You pushed a hand back through your hair to see properly, and Kim Dokja could now see your face perfectly. (And it was a rather perfect face.) His heart thumped in his chest as his mind melted like a popsicle.

Three years.

You snatched the phone out of Song Minwoo's hand and kicked his groaning body away.

"Next time, I'll kill you."

Perhaps Kim Dokja should have been afraid or concerned at your violent outburst—so unlike the you that he knew before—but he only had one thought: You were cool like Yoo Joonghyuk.

It seemed you possessed the ability to intimidate with your expression like Yoo Joonghyuk, too, because Song Minwoo and his cronies quickly scampered away and down the hall. You finally turned, face softening, and your captivating gaze locked on to him.

"Are you some kind of black belt?"

It was so, ridiculously far from what Kim Dokja had hoped to say to you if he ever had the chance to see you again, but it was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. His brain was too scrambled at your presence to think straight.

At his words, though, a dusting of pink swept across your cheeks. Yeah, you're definitely pretty.

"You remember how I did taekwondo?" Kim Dokja vaguely recalled it, but he had never joined your lessons. He pocketed his phone given by you. "I worked really hard at it in middle school...it was a good stress-reliever..."

You looked as if you wanted to say more, but then your mouth clamped shut.

He stared at you, and you stared back at him.

"D—Dokja-yah," you said at last, ducking your head. Your body trembled once, twice, and you fidgeted with your fingers. "I missed you."

Kim Dokja was glad you weren't looking at him right then, because his body flushed red. His schoolboy crush on you hadn't faded in the least, and he willed away any thoughts of it because you had only just returned and certainly weren't feeling anything of the sort. You were his only friend (if he could still hope to call you that?) and he cherished you too much to ever risk losing that companionship.

But he had missed you. Painfully. He had never been more thankful to still be alive than in that moment, seeing you once again.

It was a once-unattainable dream. And now you were a reality.

Kim Dokja called your name, and when you lifted your head he grasped your hands in his. "I missed you, too."

Your smile was blinding. Dazzling. Kim Dokja felt his head go woozy, but this time it was a pleasant sensation. Then he was wrapped in something even more pleasant and warm—your embrace.

"Dokja-yah, let's go have lunch. Oh, did you bring enough food? I have extra, mama sent me way too much for the first day, and I have these Japanese onigiri..." You prattled on, just as bubbly and sweet as he remembered, and Kim Dokja was sure that stars dotted his eyes as he gazed at you fondly. "...and—ehh? Are you listening? Wait, let's go to the nurse first and get your head checked. You fell? Or they hit you there?"

"Both," Kim Dokja murmured. He wasn't concerned in the least about his head, but if it meant more time with you (and you fussing over him like that), then he was more than willing to go.

You nodded and tugged him along. Kim Dokja was acutely aware of the way your fingers laced together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Dokja," you spoke seriously. "If they ever bother you again—tell me, so I can beat their asses to hell."

Kim Dokja smiled and promised, "I will."

Satisfied, you continued walking with the focus and determination of a military commander. Then you stopped. "Um...I actually don't know where the nurse's office is..."

For the first time in three years, Kim Dokja let loose a genuine laugh filled with pure happiness.

He hadn't felt so free in a long, long time.

seventeen

"What is Yoo Joonghyuk up to now in Ways of Survival?" You asked as you both lounged by the window of an empty classroom during break.

The eager expression on Dokja's face made your insides all warm and gooey.

As he spoke, you filled his hands with karaage and onigiri (you had learned that he liked the tuna mayo ones the best) that your mother had prepared. Though your family had hated the majority of your three years in Tokyo before your father jumped at the chance to return to Seoul, your mother had taken a shine to Japanese cooking, and regularly made them for your school lunches. She always packed extra for Dokja.

"...and this regression might be the best one yet, because he has nearly all of his companions by his side. So in the latest chapter..."

You listened intently, offering your input and own questions here and there. Coming home to find Dokja's new obsession with a web novel was a bit surprising, but not so much once you learned of the history behind it.

You pushed that train of thought out of your head. It never failed to raise the most gut-wrenching fear in your body, drowning your heart and mind in agonizing distress.

Dokja kept talking, and you were satisfied to listen. Though you were an avid reader yourself, something about Dokja's love for Ways of Survival made it a more thrilling experience to hear him tell the story from his own mouth. The novel was captivating when told through him; it was a bit...lackluster when read on its own (not that you would ever admit that, even under supreme torture).

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more pressing things—the final year of high school. University. Though it was only two weeks into the school year, already these important life decisions were weighing on you all.

"I want to go to the same university," you said, and not for the first time.

Dokja argued back, "But you can do so much more than me, and go to a better school."

I want to go wherever you are, you idiot, you thought, a bit tired that he seemed to never understand this fact.

He was listing all of the reasons why you were supposedly destined for bigger and better things, when the sun caught his eyes. Dark grey suddenly paled and sparkled, his thick lashes glowed, and you were struck dumb.

He really is a beautiful idiot.

You were in love, so stupidly in love, and Kim Dokja could not get the hint no matter what you did.

But there was one thing you had yet to try.

Your eyes dropped to his plush lips, slightly glistening as he wet them to continue speaking. Already, your hands were shaking at the idea, but the feeling had overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn't bear to contain your heart any longer. And you had never been one to hold back when it came to Kim Dokja.

So you steeled your nerves (they still made you bite your quivering lip) and interrupted him.

"Dokja. Can we try something new?"

── .✦

High school had abruptly switched from hell to heaven the day you returned into Kim Dokja's life.

You had always treated him like he had value, even as kids, and even as you grew older and realized that the constant rotation of injuries littering his body weren't because of any sort of clumsiness.

With you, he felt like he could just...be. Not the son of a murderer. A victim of abuse. A failed suicide attempt. Not the invisible and unambitious student by his peers. And not even Dokja, the only child, alone in every sense of the word.

With you, he was just Kim Dokja—an obsessed web novel geek, a guy more witty and clever than anyone knew, and your best friend. And much less alone.

In your eyes, he was enough.

"Dokja." He knew it was something important at your tone. "Can we try something new?"

Kim Dokja was intimately acquainted with your cheeky and playful schemes. You would cock your eyebrow, tilt your head in an alluring sort of way, and ask him to join you. And he could never resist.

This wasn't your usual approach.

Your lashes were lowered, lacking confidence as you worried at your bottom lip. Kim Dokja was a touch concerned, but it was you—you whom he trusted more than anyone in the world, more than himself, and so he said, "Yes."

When you finally looked up, your gaze on him was intense. He inhaled sharply as you leaned in intimately, sliding your palms along his cheeks.

And you kissed him.

You. Kissed. Him.

Kim Dokja couldn't move. Then his brain rebooted, just in time to register the softness of your lips before you pulled away.

"Oh." A blush graced your cheeks as you looked away, hurt in your eyes. "...I see."

"Wait—" he gasped out. "Wait, what—?"

You sucked in a deep breath, as if you were trying not to cry. "I like you, Dokja. Actually, I've been in love with you since were were children, and I just thought...since this was maybe our last school year together, I should...well, you don't have to feel the same, of course. I understand...um, I hope we can still be friends...I would never let it interfere with that or anything..."

As your voice became smaller and smaller, Kim Dokja was stuck on one, singular thought: You were in love with him.

And he couldn't help but ask, still unbelieving, "You're really in love with me?"

"Yes." You sounded fearful, but resolute.

Kim Dokja's heart was going to burst. Then the feeling rushed out of him like water from a geyser.

"I love you. I've always loved you, ever since we were kids. I never thought you could—" he choked, suddenly overcome with emotion.

"Oh." You said, your tone coloring with relief. The gleam returned to your eyes. "I see!"

The silence after where you stared at one another was very brief.

You both moved at the same time, your lips pressing together again. Kim Dokja felt you smile into the kiss, and he returned it as your lips met over and over.

Your hands went up to grip the collar of his uniform, and his found your waist. The kisses became slick as you both experimented—a nibble on your bottom lip, the way he'd always craved to do when you bit it nervously; a lick at the seam of your lips after you tilted your head for better access; a tug of his hair that made him gasp into your mouth, prompting you to take him in deeper. Your hands were everywhere as he pushed you against the window, like you couldn't get enough of him. Just as he couldn't get enough of you.

Riiiiing!

The shrill bell went off, and you both ripped apart from one another.

Classmates trickled in from the lunch period, too wrapped up in their own gossip and worries to notice the flustered and rumpled pair trying to catch their breaths.

"Uh, we should—"

"Let's get back—"

You both stumbled over your words and looked away shyly. But your eyes were drawn back to the other. Even after you took your seats, the class had settled around you, and the teacher had made their appearance, you both couldn't help the frequent glances.

A sharp call of your name made you whip forwards in your seat. "And Kim Dokja, too! Stop mooning over each other and get back to work."

The class giggled at your embarrassment, but you both smiled to yourselves.

Life was already so much sweeter with the one Kim Dokja loved loving him back.

twenty-eight

You knew it was Ways of Survival the instant the dokkaebi revealed itself. Fortunately, you had absorbed all of the knowledge Dokja shared through his detailed, almost daily, recaps of the story.

Unfortunately—you were not with Kim Dokja the day it all went to hell.

But now, after recent developments and the reports gathered from loyal followers in your group, you had a good idea of where he might be. You were headed towards the station rumored to house prophets.

You ran through the streets near Gwanghwamun station, when a group in front of a local shrine caught your eye. Standing apart from the others was a cute young boy in a backwards baseball cap, and he spoke with a man...

Your heart leapt and stumbled over itself in excitement.

"Kim Dokja!"

You saw his eyes widen just before you crashed into him, sweeping him into a bone-crushing hug. He held you back just as strongly. You breathed in his scent as he whispered your name repeatedly like a prayer.

When the chaste contact wasn't enough, you drew up to press your forehead to his. "I knew you would survive."

He exhaled slowly. "I knew you would as well. I mean, I talked your ear off about Ways of Survival enough times..."

"Good thing, right?"

"Great thing," he said, voice thick with emotion. His nose brushed yours, a silent request for permission.

You responded with your lips.

It was nothing too sensual, but your kiss was still filled with the passion and longing of being separated for any length of time in such a dangerous world. Aware of your gawking audience, you kept it disappointingly brief.

"I heard about the published regressor novel," you said, waggling your eyebrows. "You petty, petty man."

Dokja had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. He grumbled, "It's so obviously plagiarized! They deserve to be humbled."

You laughed, his lovable pout prompting you to kiss it again. "I very much agree. Especially since it helped me find you quicker."

His hold on you grew stiff, and you spotted the shame in his gaze. "I've been looking everywhere. I wanted to leave to find you, so badly, but I couldn't abandon—the plot—"

"Dokja, hush." You cupped his cheeks and he leaned into your touch. "I understand and I don't blame you one bit." Dokja seemed to relax at your words, knowing you to be honest with him about your feelings. "In fact, I might have to smack you if you did stray from the story...because the Kim Dokja I know and love would never do such a thing."

A sheepish expression crossed Dokja's face. He rubbed the ring on your left hand and brought it to his lips; then he pulled the chain around his neck out from under his robe. Your ring's twin was looped through.

"I was afraid to damage or lose it. Now that we fight constantly with fists and swords," he explained. You nodded in understanding, having become familiar with constant battle as well.

All of your taekwondo mastery had come in handy. When paired with your knowledge of the world—you were a formidable and unstoppable force during these early scenarios.

You had been with the Wanderers the last few weeks. When the apocalypse came, you were visiting his mother to tell her about your engagement. You certainly weren't asking for her permission, but it was her son, and you felt strange not informing her that you would soon be family. In the legal sense only, of course.

Dokja would understand—he knew it was something you felt compelled to do, even if he had no desire to join you—but he hadn't known when you would go.

You were a bit afraid of his reaction to finding out you had begun the scenarios in a high-level prison.

He hesitated before he asked, "Are your parents...?"

"My mother survived." You didn't need to elaborate, and Dokja's fingers tightened around yours in comfort. "I left her with the Wanderers. She'll be safe there...the king will protect her."

They were familiar acquaintances, after all.

You were conflicted about telling him. In the end, you had no desire to sour your long-awaited reunion, and so you left it for another day.

Today, at least, you would savor this sweet moment with your beloved. And his new companions.

"Um..."

It was the boy. He looked up at you with big, expectant eyes, strongly reminding you of a young Dokja.

"This is Lee Gilyoung. He was on the train with me when it all began," introduced Dokja.

You squatted to grab Lee Gilyoung's hands. "Thank you, Gilyoung-ah, for keeping him safe for me."

Then you kissed his hands gently in gratitude, and Lee Gilyoung's face flushed bright red. He leaned back and tugged Dokja down to his level to whisper in his ear. "Hyung, she's really pretty."

"I know," Dokja stage-whispered back with a grin. You pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh.

There was a call of your name, and you straightened to see a welcome and familiar face. "Yoo Sangah!"

You reacquainted yourself with the kind coworker of your fiancé, and as you chatted, Dokja trailed behind with a palm hovering over your lower back. Then, he took you to meet the others and your hand found his again.

You were overwhelmed with joy as you saw how genuinely these people cared for your Kim Dokja. He deserved more people in his life that cared for his well-being besides you, and in a ruined world he would need all the people he could get. At each new introduction, you held him a little tighter.

Dokja finally noticed the glisten that had gathered under your lashes. "Is something wrong—?!"

"No," you said with a laugh. "I'm just really happy."

Dokja's panic was squashed immediately, and he settled his arms fully around you once more. "I'm happy, too," he murmured.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment.

"By the way." You smirked and traced your fingers along the collar of his robe teasingly. "Where did your clothes go?"

Dokja groaned, "They burned."

You were looking forward to hearing that story (spoiler: you ended up hating that shitty-ass story), and contented yourself with his presence until there was an appropriate time to catch up later.

Yes, it was not an ideal situation, this apocalypse; but somehow it was just right for the two of you. You and Dokja would figure it out together, the way you always did.

You would fight, and you would live. Together.

[trappolia]

── O, BRIDE OF THE UNDERWORLD

thanzagmeg. amongst the dead of the underworld, a reprise of a love story blooms.

Your mother-in-law once called you the beating heart of the Underworld.

It was a startling thing to hear from Persephone — she who had forsaken her mother's name to marry the God of the Underworld; she who the Earth weeps frozen tears for in her absence; she who has made a dark spring bloom here with just her presence.

The Underworld already has a heart of its own. It thrums with a steady, distant pulse, like the distant drum of a song for soldiers fallen in battle. It is in the shadows that move with purpose, and the chill of death of once warm bodies wandering the halls of the House of Hades and engaging in idle conversation about how they died as if they are merely discussing the weather.

The quiet hum of eternity.

You wonder if she simply sees a bit of herself in you. You were once a nymph of the grassy plains above before Death. Now you are a bride of the Underworld, who has founded a home in this realm of ink-black rivers and whispering shades, its gilded halls and blood-red roses, its ceaseless churn of souls. You walk these corridors not as a mere visitor, nor as one damned, but as something precious; as Persephone is.

Or maybe she simply thinks too much of you. Places you against the greater portrait of the Underworld and all its hellish circles. You have always seen yourself as something more minor, though no less significant. The portrait of a lover, rather than something belonging to the whole of the Underworld; Prince Zagreus’s consort, chosen and beloved.

And not only his.

The scent of laurel and iron is familiar when Megaera finds you first. She is leaning against a cold obsidian pillar where you turn a corner in the hall, caught in your daily wandering of the House of Hades. Her whip coils lazily around her hand, and you have felt the touch of those fingers too often to worry about what that hand is capable of against your beloved prince. You know Zagreus well enough to understand that even he takes some pleasure from their semi-daily spats.

Her golden eyes are alight with amusement when she catches you.

“Looking for someone?”

Her voice is smoke and steel, the kind of teasing only she can pull off — sharp enough to wound, sweet enough to make you crave more. It's a delicious rasp, one that pulls you in.

"I thought you were working," you say softly, meek even in your approach. Under Megaera's gaze, you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. It's a delicious feeling, like flames licking at your skin.

"Tisiphone is dealing with your fool of a husband, sweetling," she muses, reaching out to brush your hair out of your face. Her fingers drift, pinching your chin playfully. "Had it been me out there, Zag wouldn't be coming home in time for supper."

Before you can answer, a weight settles against your back, a touch cold as the space between stars. A hand, deathly pale yet soft in its tenderness, trails over your wrist before curling around your fingers. Megaera raises a brow as she lifts her gaze to the newcomer.

Thanatos does not need words. He never does. His presence alone speaks volumes — the weight of inevitability, of endings — pressing into you like the certainty of a final breath. And yet, there is warmth in him, one you have come to know intimately—a paradox of comfort in the arms of Death himself.

“Zagreus is coming,” he murmurs, voice quiet as the rustle of the Fields of Asphodel. “He was waylaid.”

“Waylaid,” Megaera echoes, smirking. “That’s one way to put it.”

You tilt your head up as you feel Thanatos shift, his golden eyes gleaming under the torchlight. He is beautiful in his quietude, just as Megaera is beautiful in her storm.

"Were you helping him again, Than?" you inquire.

It has been a long time since aiding the Prince of the Underworld in his escapades was seen as some form of treason by Hades. Even then, Thanatos still averts his gaze, his grey skin flushing with a dark shade like the murky waters.

"Helping is a generous term, dear," he mumbles.

Megaera snorts.

Their bickering is dry, almost entirely deadpan. There is none of that theatrical flair of Zagreus arguing with his father for eternities, but it is no less entertaining for you to watch. You've learned to take delight in the sharpness of their words, the furrow of their brows. In a way, it is strangely domestic.

You cannot help the little grin that tugs at your lips as you watch them in front of you. The laugh that tumbles out of your mouth is entirely accidental, and you squeak as two pairs of golden eyes snap to you.

"What are you laughing about, little flower?" Thanatos muses, his voice soft and utterly smitten.

"Isn't it obvious? They're laughing at you," Megaera scoffs, though it lacks in her usual malice.

Suddenly, the scent of wine and pomegranate blossoms floods your senses.

It comes before you even see him. You close your eyes, basking in the scent of it as if it were the spring that you have not felt in a lifetime. Beside you, Megaera and Thanatos fall silent.

Then, there he is: breathless, grinning, battered from the inevitable chaos that follows him everywhere, the floors of hell burning under his feet. His underworld-forged armor bears fresh scrapes, his knuckles bruised from the skirmish, but his smile—his smile is for you.

For all of you.

"There is your husband," Megaera drawls.

Zagreus is panting when he reaches you, still dripping in the blood from the River Styx. You have learned to disregard the viscera, delighting only in the way his hands reach—finding yours, Megaera's, brushing against Thanatos's in an unspoken promise.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Zagreus breathes. “Got a little distracted.”

"Distracted, he says," Thanatos deadpans.

Megaera rolls her eyes, but she lets him pull her closer. Thanatos sighs but does not resist the touch.

Death, treachery, rebirth; how odd for a maiden of the Earth to surround themself with. But you have learned like the goddess before you that love tends to find creatures like you in the strangest of places, like a stubborn dandelion blooming through the cracks of a cobblestone path.

You beam, lifting yourself up on your toes to press your lips against your husband's cheek, then your two other lovers. Their hands are cold like the touch of Death and unbearably warm like the flames of Asphodel, and you stand at the very center of it—something that was once warm and breathing and now is not; beloved in your death as you were in life.

"Shall we have our supper together now?" the bride of the Underworld asks.

And like any damned creature in love, the Underworld listens.

[bisexualastronaut]

truly don't understand the people who think eddie was popular in school because he would have no time for it!!!! he wouldn't be able to go to parties and hang out with his friends and be a kid because he was busy looking after his sisters and his mum and being the 'man of the house'. in fact he was probably quite lonely and isolated from his peers in a way that has continued to impact him later in life like he's textually shown to be less close to the other members of the 118 (apart from buck) than they are to each other and a large part of it is probably because he's never had enough time to form close friendships with the people around him because he's too focused on being there for his family

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[rafeysbunny]

‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron

stepbro!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.

warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.

word count. 4k.

author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!

it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.

it's the perfect moment.

rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.

you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.

rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.

what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.

and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.

well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...

you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.

somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.

the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.

how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.

before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.

how are you supposed to know which one to pick?

you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.

"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.

well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.

you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.

"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."

"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.

the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.

"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.

you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.

"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."

"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.

if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.

honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.

"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.

it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.

"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.

there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.

"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"

he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.

"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.

"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"

your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."

"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."

to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?

"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.

"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."

only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.

god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.

"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.

he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.

he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.

your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.

he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."

"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.

the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.

the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.

"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."

"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.

your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.

you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.

as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.

you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.

rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.

he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.

"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.

rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.

"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."

his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.

your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.

rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."

you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.

"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"

rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.

your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.

taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.

you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.

he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"

you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.

"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.

withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.

rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.

after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.

"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.

rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.

"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.

heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.

and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.

"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.

you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.

"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"

"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.

"such a good girl," he praises.

at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.

he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.

suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?

he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.

"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."

you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?

it's just the tip.

"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

"rafe," you whimper.

rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.

he can't fucking take this anymore.

with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"jesus, fuck." he grunts.

your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.

"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."

your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.

you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.

this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.

you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.

after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.

[starpens]

CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”