#the mattress story ADAM PLEASE

[ratatatastic]

having brothers means yes we will take advantage of them and have them do interviews together on this special broqvist segment on primetime panthers

adam and jesper carpool to the arena together

while previously adam has stated he knows jesper better than he knows himself and because of that he knows how to talk to him to motivate him, jesp admits that just having adam's presence is motivation enough

compartive skillsets: jesper is the better overall skater (which is true considering the amount of times adam has fallen on his ass because hes blown an edge multiple times each game lmao), and the better puckhandler. adam is the better backwards skater (lol) though jesper does compliment his skating and puckhandling as well but most importantly he highlights his passing abilities and the way he moves on the blueline

in floorball jesper won most of the times but adam says as he got older he mostly won (to which jesper is like lol no i dont know about that i dont think hes won yet down there)

adam quips they put up a mattress on the wall while they played so they could check each other (which also LMAO THEIR POOR PARENTS) and that they always invited the neighbours over to play

favourite memory of the season so far together? adam says the first game. jesp says the first day they were down here together. he also adds every game so far too because they get to walk down the tunnel together

Primetime Panthers | 10.23.24 (x)

the funniest part was them trying very hard not to sit in the same way and doing it anyways by the end

[yuuchama]

Sometime during the VDC training camp, when everyone on team Night Raven is sleeping over at Ramshackle Dorm:

Ramshackle Dorm has no shortage of spare rooms, but their condition is another story. You've managed to get enough of them decently clean. They're not as nice as your room, which has had far more time invested in it and is well lived in, but your groupmates should be able to spend a few days at the dorm without issue and are more than free to tidy up rooms as they please.

Yet on one of the first nights, you hear the door of your room creak open. It's dark and you can't see the intruder, though you know it's not one of the ghosts. The approaching footsteps aren't as heavy as Grim's, even after he's cleared out the entire fridge in one sitting. You're also pretty confident Grim is fast asleep beside you.

"Hello?" You groggily lift your head and call out to the intruder. If it's anything malicious, you hope the ensuing scuffle will cause enough noise to wake everyone else up.

A weight pushes the edge of your mattress down and there's a gentle touch at your shoulder. "Prefect, do you mind if I spend the rest of the night here?"

"Jamil?"

You almost don't recognize him in the dark with his hair down. You feel around for a bedside light. Grim groans in his sleep when it clicks on and turns over, shielding his eyes with tiny arms.

Jamil looks exhausted. "Please, I'd really appreciate if you could let me sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Maybe it's the sleep addling your brain or your trust in Jamil. You see no reason to turn down his request and didn't question why he was coming to you instead of Kalim. You nudge Grim over to make room for one more on the bed.

The vice housewarden does his best to fit in the cramped sleeping conditions, assuring "I'll pay you back for this. Thank you."

He's turned towards the wall, back touching your side so that he doesn't fall. You wait to make sure he's fully secure in bed before turning off the light. In the calm that follows, you notice he's almost imperceptibly shaking. Sure, the dorm is cold, but not that cold. Especially with three in one bed.

"Jamil, are you okay?" The longer you spend awake, the more concerning this whole situation feels.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Prefect." Jamil already has his eyes shut and seems adamant about not discussing things further.

"Okay... Goodnight."

You lay down and silence settles over the room once more. It's really warm between your two friends. Sleep is quick to catch up to you, you find yourself nodding off within minutes of your head touching the pillow.

Before you fully drift off, Jamil turns to face you. His hair drapes over the side of the bed and he places a hand on your pillow, lightly grazing your cheek.

"Thanks again," he whispers. "I feel a lot better with you here. Your room doesn't have bugs on the wall."

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[macabr3-barbi3]

dream a little dream (of me) - chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54459367/chapters/140496796

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

You were bound to break a term of the deal eventually, right?

we've hit chapter 3! I got a huge influx of people interested and loving this story and I finally got the inspiration and drive to bang the next chapter out for everyone 🤭 there's going to be more coming, I do as the brain commands lol

A big shoutout to @fraugwinska for being like my number 1 hype person on this fic, you are a godsend 💕

And for those who asked to be tagged when the new chapter went up! @spottypug @dennsfz @bishiglomper @ivebeenthearchersstuff

Same tags as chapter 1/2 plus a couple new ones: Dream Sex, Dreamsharing, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Rough Sex, Dreamwalking, blowjobs, 'punishment' wink wink, minor injuries, let me know if I missed anything lol

I love comments and feedback, I would love to know what you think ❤️ enjoy!

The shock on Husk’s face at seeing you inside Alastor’s room when the door flies open a few days after the camping trip is matched only by yours- the horror you’re sure is written in your expression at the pool of blood accumulating under Alastor’s body where Angel Dust is supporting him with an arm around his waist, a smoking gash across his middle.

“The fuck are you doing in here?”

“What the fuck happened?”

You speak at the same time, voices overlapping as Husk shoves the door to the room further open to make room for Angel to drag Alastor inside. He’s also coated in blood down one side, likely having been supporting Alastor’s weight from the other side to drag him up the stairs.

Alastor’s eyes are clenched shut, smile more like a grimace as he snarls at Angel Dust trying to get his feet underneath himself. “I do not need any assistance, spider, release me-”

“Sure, Smiles, tell me all about it. Ya can’t even fuckin’ stand up without ya gangly ass legs collapsin’, how else were we supposed to get ya here?” Angel has also just noticed your presence in the room as you rush over, pleased smirk taking over his features. “I fuckin’ told you there was somethin’ goin’ on with them, Husk!”

“Shut the hell up, Angel,” Husk mutters, grabbing Alastor by the ankles and helping the other demon get him to the bed, despite Alastor fighting like a wild cat the whole time. You follow closely, hovering anxiously next to the mattress. They drop him unceremoniously, causing him to hiss in pain before the wound starts gushing again. “You,” Husk says, fluffy finger pointed in your face. “You stay here with him. Make sure he doesn’t fuckin’ bleed out or anything. Angel, you go tell Charlie and Vaggie what happened. I’ll get the med kit.”

“Wait, Husk” you say as he and Angel both step away, and there’s a hard grip on your wrist from Alastor when you start to follow them. “Just one sec,” you tell the demon- a great idea, with how known he was for his patience and understanding- and pull out of his grasp, hurrying after the other two. You catch Husk at the door, Angel taking off to find Charlie. “What happened to him?”

“Got into it with Vox, what else? Those fuckin’ overlord meetings are just trouble waitin’ to happen if you ask me, never would’ve caught my ass at one of them.” He runs a frustrated hand down his face. “We couldn’t get much out of his besides that, figured it would be best to get him to his room before anyone else saw him stumblin’ around the lobby.”

“Fuck.” You glance over at him, splayed across the mattress, an arm over his eyes. “Can’t he heal on his own? I thought regeneration was all the rage down here.”

“He’s been fucked since that battle with Adam- angelic steel right to the chest, did something to his body and he doesn’t heal as quick anymore. Some stitches should get him right for at least a little while.” A dark eye watches you from Husk’s peripheral. “I don’t know what you’re doing gettin’ all buddy-buddy with him but you watch yourself. We’re not all fuckin’ stupid- somethin’s up, we saw the goddamn vampire bite on your neck after camping-”

“Are there vampires in Hell?”

“Not the goddamn point. The point is be careful and don’t fuck anyone else over in the process of whatever the hell you two’re doing.” He points back into the bedroom. “Now go stand guard or whatever you do until I can stitch him up.” Husk is off then, jogging in the opposite direction that Angel had gone. You leave the door unlocked and cracked so he can get back in when he returns and go back to Alastor’s side in the bed.

His face is sweaty, eyes still clenched shut in pain, but one of his ears perks back up when he hears you come closer. “Pay no mind to those idiots,” he mutters. “I will be perfectly fine in a matter of hours. Do not let them back in.” He waves a hand lazily, the door slamming shut with a bang.

“Yeah the smoking hole in your chest gives me a lot of confidence to that. I’m not going to stop them from helping you.” You hesitate only a second before reaching out to his shirt buttons. “Let me- you’ll need this off for Husk to stitch you up.” He’s uncharacteristically quiet as you undo the buttons and slide the shirt sideways as carefully as possible to clear some space for the cat to work. You brush against his ribs and there’s a sharp inhale, Alastor’s nostrils flaring and claws digging into the sheets.

There’s a knock at the door and when you move to go open it there’s again a hand wrapped around your wrist. “Stay,” Alastor says, looking like it pains him to say it. A strip of shadow darts across the room to open the door in your stead, Husk coming back through the frame and raising an eyebrow at the sight of you still seated beside the demon.

“Charlie and Vaggie know what happened and will check on you tomorrow. Angel went to shower. Let’s get this fuckin’ over with.” He settles on the other side of you, and Alastor releases his grip on your hand to clench them into the bedsheets as Husk starts to drag the needle through his skin.

A good bit of swear words and a loosely wrapped bandage later, Alastor is patched up and passed out on his mattress. “Where did you learn to do stitches?”

“I don’t know, not really. Winged it. Just knew he wouldn’ want anyone else to see him like he is now. Vulnerable; weak. Benefit to him to have me under his thumb, I can’t run my fuckin’ mouth or use it against him.” He eyes you. “I assume you have no problem stayin’ to monitor him? With the stitches he should be good to go by mornin’ but you’ll want to watch him through the night.”

You could revive your old sleep habits and keep awake through one evening. “Yeah, I can stay. And Husk, it’s really not what you’re thinking-”

“Don’t care. Not my business. Make sure he doesn’t die- who fuckin’ knows what happens to my soul if that happens.” Husk gathers his materials and leaves the room, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.

You wander the room for a while trying to find a way to entertain yourself. He only has a couple books in the room- ones you’ve already read before- and despite your interest in the bayou dimension you don’t want to wander too far away from him. Eventually you pick a book and drag the armchair over to the bed, settling in and keeping an eye on the movements of his chest. He seems to be doing well, despite being weak and injured, no blood yet seeping through the bandages on his chest.

You do so well for a while without getting tired before the siren song of sleep starts to pull at your eyelids. You combat it as best you can- you pace the room, do push ups and jumping jacks, try counting backwards from one thousand. It doesn’t help, and you find yourself curled up in the armchair next to the bed, eyes drifting shut and not opening again.

When the world of Alastor’s dreams comes to fruition, you’re once again just in his bedroom, the only difference being a slightly darker tone to the light. His eyebrows raise when he sees you. “Well! Fancy meeting you here, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I was trying to stay awake out there to keep an eye on you-”

He waves you down. “No worries, dear. I told you before the stitches that I would be fine, that remains true. I cannot fault you for falling asleep on duty when you’ve not been accustomed to staying awake during the evenings any longer.”

A sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was-”

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupts, and with a shifting shadow he stands before you, trailing a finger down your throat. “That is not to say that I’m not upset with you for something else.” He circles you, eyes lidded and smile teasing. “Need I remind you again of the terms of our deal?”

“What?” Something slips around your wrist, almost like the feeling of Alastor’s fingers but softer, and you glance down to see one of his shadows. His meaning dawns on you. “Wait, Alastor, I didn’t- I’m not here on purpose, I-”

“Ahhh but that wasn’t a condition, was it? It is only allowed with my permission , dear, and I must say I can’t recall giving that to you!” Another shadow wraps itself around your thighs, buckling your legs and bringing you to your knees; he runs a hand gently along the top of your head, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. “I’m afraid discipline is in order.” With a wave of his finger Alastor’s armchair is behind him, settling into it as his tentacles make themselves at home across your body, holding you in place where you now sit on your knees, Alastor’s hand still cupped under your chin. “I think a spanking will do.”

Your body jerks where you’re held. “I’m not a child.”

“This may seem a bit tame,” he admits, expression pensive, “but sometimes the classics can be rather effective! Here’s the plan-” The tentacles shift, bending you at the waist so your chin rests nearly on Alastor’s knee. “You’ve done rather well so far so I won’t be cruel . I think ten strikes should be sufficient. You’ll count them aloud, and should you miss one we will start over. How does that sound fair?”

“Alastor-”

The first strike is over your clothing, Alastor cocking his head when you try to move away from the faint sting of it. “Surely you know how to count, dearest.” Your clothes seem to melt off your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the chill in the air. When you don’t respond he sighs, his smile almost condescending. “Oh well; I suppose it can’t be helped. We begin again.”

The tentacle strikes again, a sharp snap that has you hissing through your teeth. Not knowing what else you can do, you decide to just submit- how bad can ten simple swats with a tentacle really hurt? “One,” you mutter, and Alastor’s eyes light up now that you’re willing to play his game.

He cups his hand around the back of your head, and you tilt into his palm. “Perfect. Good girl. Go ahead.”

A gentle whoosh through the air, and another blow to the soft skin of your ass. “T- two,” you say, gritting your teeth against the vague ache. It’s not terribly painful; it’s more the humiliation of it than anything else, but not being able to see it coming contributes to the sting. “Fuck!” Another that you didn’t anticipate. “Three.”

Alastor uses the light pressure of his hand to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “Perhaps I’m just old fashioned,” he says softly, “but I don’t believe ‘fuck’ is a number. Start again.”

You feel the sting of frustrated tears. “Alastor, please.”

He brushes them away with a claw. “Come now, darling, no need for that. You can count to ten, can’t you? Why, it’s easy as can be and then we can be done with this business.”

So he makes you start again- and now for a third time when you can’t stop the whine in your throat from distorting the ‘eight’ into a broken groan. The spanks hadn’t been really painful before but as the punishment continued and the same spots were struck over and over you had become sore, and every new blow stung and ached like nothing else.

And yet- maybe its the position, or the utter helplessness of what’s happening with Alastor in control but there’s that familiar burn in your core, slick arousal from your cunt slipping down your thighs and out of sight of the demon before you.

Your eyes had drifted closed at some point, neck eventually losing the strength to hold itself up and pressing into the fabric of Alastor’s trousers. When he makes a curious humming noise you let your lashes flutter back open. His eyes are dark, pupils blown and his smile dangerous as he looks down at you with lidded eyes. “You know, if you’re having such trouble counting I may have a better use for that lovely mouth of yours, darling.” A brief respite from the tentacles, at least, as he repositions you with his hands to bring your face to the erection that’s grown in his lap. “This isn’t my punishment, after all; I don’t see why I should have to suffer now. How’s this- I’ll count for you, and you keep your mouth otherwise occupied, hm?”

You don’t bother trying to speak, instead just nodding in his gentle hold. He smiles, a little softer then, another quietly uttered “good girl” before he’s undoing his pants and pulling his cock out, presenting it to you and slowly guiding it into your waiting mouth.

He’s not demanding about it, lets you take your time in getting your lips wrapped around the head, fingers brushing delicately through your hair. The position isn’t perfect, and not having use of your hands is a bit of a nuisance but you can move your head enough to take some of his length into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You swipe your tongue along what you can reach of the underside of him and he hisses above you, pulling you back with a soft fisting of your hair until you can only reach the tip.

“We’ll continue now, my dear. Be mindful of your teeth, please.” And he slides back in with a simultaneous strike of one of the tentacles. “One.”

Somehow the childish punishment is easier to take with Alastor’s cock in your mouth. You still jerk in the hold of the tentacles when you’re hit, but your whimpers and cries of pain are muffled, the vibrations of it serving a greater purpose now in bringing Alastor pleasure. You make it to seven before a particular hard spank jolts you forward, prick shoving harder into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. The constriction that happens when you inadvertently gag a bit makes a harsh moan tumble out of Alastor’s mouth, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “Fuck-”

You pull off enough to speak, lips brushing the tip as you do. “Thought ‘fuck’ wasn’t a number.”

“Wretched, delightful thing,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “You raise a valid point, but I think we’ve drawn this out long enough- you’ve learned your lesson?” A nod from you, lips once again covering him and tongue swirling around the head. “Lovely,” he sighs. “Then we’ll make this last bit quick.”

He shifts forward in the armchair, enough that he’s now fully inside of your mouth and each lazy thrust of his hips bumps the back of your throat. He gives himself time to savor the feeling of you sucking and licking at him, throat constricting each time he bottoms out, in between swats from the tentacles. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” Your hands are released from their restraints, and rather than bringing them to your throbbing clit like you desperately want to, cunt drenched and ready for something more, you instead bring them to Alastor’s lap, repositioning yourself to better choke on his length. You let your teary eyes drift up to his face, his eyes lidded where he stares down at you, smile tight and tense. “Wonderfully done, sweetheart. I need only a moment more- may I?” He fists his hands in your hair on either side of your head and you let your mouth go slack, allowing him to thrust in and back out at his own leisure.

You can feel under your hands the flexing of the muscles in his forearm and wish that he would take off his goddamn shirt- get undressed in one of these dreams, just something so you weren’t the only one exposed and vulnerable.

“Magic in dreams doesn’t count, I rather think; it seems that you can do it as well.”

You think about what Alastor had said while camping- how your pants had simply vanished with a thought, the mere desire. You’d never really tried much with your dream powers. You just showed up and tried not to be spotted whenever you were in one, or got the information you were looking for and left. It hadn’t occurred to you until Alastor had said something that you might be able to do more , to use the power for something else.

So while Alastor grows more desperate in his race to completion, fucking your mouth with renewed fervor, you concentrate on the buttons of his shirt. You don’t want to alert him to what you’re trying to do- he’d probably take offense to the fact that you aren’t as wholly engrossed in letting him use your mouth as he likes, might even start the whole punishment over again after he came. So you let your vocal chords do as they please while he ruts into the hole you’ve provided for him, soft moans and whimpers to distract him a bit.

The top button twists, and slowly, silently, pulls itself from the hole it was fastened into. A slight shift of your eyes and the second one follows.

The mere possibilities of what you could do with this information makes you moan, long and low and vibrating hard around Alastor’s cock. Already close, the sensation makes him buck his hips hard, spewing curses as he spends himself in the warm and wet heat of your mouth. You’ve hardly had a chance to swallow- the taste and feeling not awful but just a little strange- before he’s yanking you up from the floor, pulling you into his lap and crushing his lips to yours. His hands come to rest on your thighs, traveling slowly upwards until he meets the welts that his tentacles have left on your skin. You hiss into his mouth at the sting of it, and he kisses you gently while massaging the sensitive skin. You distract yourself with popping another button on his shirt, a motion that goes unnoticed by Alastor in favor of switching between kissing you and watching your face while he touches you.

The rush of it eventually slows and stops, content to just sit there together for a bit with him unaware of the 6 buttons you had managed to get undone. Unlike the other times you’ve met in his dreams you aren’t simply shoved out this time- Alastor wakes up slowly and groggily, like anyone else would, and you open your eyes at the same time. He spots you in the armchair and moves to the side, clearing up a space beside him. “Come over here, dear,” he says, and you’re helpless to disobey. 

Sitting up in the armchair you become aware of two things- that the welts and likely bruises from the tentacles had carried over into real life, as did the slick arousal and throbbing need in your cunt, suddenly desperate to be filled with Alastor- not just in a dream but here, now.

You stand from the chair and to the demon’s surprise, slip your bottoms and panties off before climbing into the bed and settling yourself against his side. He turns to face you, face twisting in slight pain when the wound on his chest shifts, but he trails his fingers down the slope of your neck, over the curve of your hip, finally dipping between your legs and feeling how wet you’ve become from allowing him to be in control of you. “We may have to find a new punishment for you, dearest, if this is how you react to this method.”

“Please, Alastor,” you say, reaching a hand down to his lap and pleased to find that while he’s been spent in the dream, his erection here in the real world is eager to go again. You slip your fingers under the band of his trousers, circle them around his cock with a light squeeze. “Please, I need it- not in the dream but here, real . Please?”

His breath catches in his throat, hot exhale against your face. “I- I am injured, darling, I cannot perform as I do in my mind-”

“You don’t have to.” You’re already shifting, getting up on your knees and settling over his lap, slotting his hard, hot length against your dripping folds. “I’ll do it- you don’t have to do anything. I- I just need to cum, please?”

He cups your face in his hand like he had in the dream. “How could I possibly deny you anything?” He assists you in positioning yourself on his cock, a soft “careful, dear” as you start to sink down.

Jesus fuck. The dreams had done nothing to prepare you for the feeling in real life as you’re speared on his cock, your body making room for him with the delicious slide down until you’re seated in his lap completely. You’re full of him in every sense; your cunt stuffed, mind racing with thoughts of Alastor, vision blocked by anything but the sight of his eyes wide as he watches you take him in, his claws digging into the skin of your hips. It’s so, so much better than it is in the dreams- it’s tangible , a real memory that you can hold onto from your mind, not remnants of something in Alastor’s head. This was yours. Something he’s giving you because you asked for it, begged him for it and he obliged.

You raise up on your knees, already shaky from the slow descent, and make it halfway before Alastor shifts his hips and hits the bundle of nerves inside you. You bite back the moan that wants to escape, glaring at him halfheartedly. “I said I would do it.”

“You’re certainly taking your time, darling. Just thought I could offer some assistance.” He gives you a positively lecherous smile. “I suppose if you won’t allow me to move this should suffice.” He lets one hand slide off your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, the other tightening its grip on you.

“I’ll- I’ll allow it,” you choke out, a little miffed that the subtle shift of his hips was enough to get him right where you needed him. You ride him gently, mindful of his injury, and the pleasure crests, so close to breaking you that your legs are cramping. “God, Alastor, please-”

“What do you need, beautiful?” You have only a moment to process the word before he’s moving, an arm wrapping around your middle and turning the pair of you over, rutting his cock into you with a speed and pressure that makes you dizzy. His smile is dazed looking down at you, watching your cunt swallow him and reveling in the wet noises that emerge from where you’re joined. “You’re so close, darling, I can feel it- your pleasure is mine. Every time you reach that peak, when you cum on my cock, it will only ever be me. ”

He shifts again, brings his knees up closer to get deeper inside of you. “Fuck, Alastor, my god-”

“I like the sound of that,” he purrs, bending down to trail his tongue up your throat. “I want to be everything to you. Would you allow me that privilege? To claim you, to own you in every way that you’d let me, in any dimension.”

Your head whips back and forth on the pillow, the edge so close your vision is dark. “Please, please, please,” you’re mumbling, “Alastor please, I’m gonna-”

The tension snaps before you can finish your sentence, a wailing cry falling from your lips as you clench and shake and cum under him, around him. It’s so different from when it happens in Alastor’s dreams- it echoes in every part of your body, your head spinning and fingers tightening in his shirt so hard that you fear you’ll rip the fabric. His name spills from you in waves with your release, and his eyes are dark as his thrusts intensify, chasing his orgasm with the resolve of a man possessed.

“Yours, all yours,” you mumble against his lips when his face comes close enough to catch his mouth. “All of me.”

He snarls and his hips stutter, snapping hard against yours. “So much- so much better,” he gasps through the tightening of your pussy on his length. “So perfect- mine -” With a harsh growl he spends himself a second time for the night, into the wet silken grip of your body. He thrusts gently through the wave of it before he collapses in a heap against you, breathing heavily into your ear.

“You’re so- lovely,” he mumbles. “Giving, for a demon. One would think that you would simply take- I would, were it me with your powers. But you’re just…” He trails off, head against your shoulder and breath slow. 

You bring a hand up to trail down his back. “I meant it,” you whisper, swallowing your nerves. “If you- if you would have me, I would be yours. For as long as you want. Forever.”

He remains silent.

Fuck. You hope you haven’t overstepped some boundary. “Alastor?” He doesn’t move, or show any indication that he’s heard you. “Hey, are you okay?” You push at his shoulder with no response, so you double down and push harder, tumbling him off of you.

“Mother fucker.” The bandages wrapped around his chest are stained with red, more than when you had begun- the demon had torn his stitches open when he flipped the pair of you around to take control back, after you specifically told him you would handle your orgasms yourself. “Idiot,” you hiss at his slacken face, but you still brush his hair back from his sweaty forehead before pulling your bottoms back on and rushing down the hall to find Husk, ignoring the sting of the welts on your rear the whole way.

[crushedsweets]

I'm the sweetest girl in town; so why are you so mean? Nina 'the Killer' Hopkins in Creeped PT 3: NEW MESSAGE

PT. 1: K-12 — PT. 2: PURPOSE — PT. 4: MISSED CALL (TO BE UPLOADED)

General disclaimer: This AU is an amalgamation of headcanons, fanon, canon, and the occasional rewrite. There is an overarching story that HEAVILY strays from their canon stories. TW for toxic relationships, murder, and violence. Please take care of yourself and only engage in content you can handle.

NEW MESSAGE

❥Nina’s nails anxiously tapped against the front desk of a shoddy motel. It was one of the first she stayed at when she moved to Tuscaloosa, so when ‘Mark’ asked to meet her somewhere discreet, she immediately thought back to her miserable nights here.

❥She paid for the night and awkwardly made her way to the room, long acrylics fidgeting with the key. She felt eyes burning into her. The receptionist glaring at her down the hall, the truckers peering through the blinds, roomkeepers casting judgmental glances. She kept texting Mark, asking when he’d show up. 

❥By time Nina entered the room, he stopped replying entirely. She deadbolted the door and sat on the dusty mattress, quietly running her hands along her thighs to self-soothe. She kicked off her baggy sweatpants, revealing a mini skirt and torn tights. Nina just wanted Mark to reply. She didn’t want to get stood up. She wanted to see him so badly. She dressed up for him in uncomfortable clothes, did her makeup especially pretty, washed her hair and shaved her legs.

❥An hour went by with nothing. She would pace around the room and send him a text every few minutes. Peek through the blinds, scanning over the dark parking lot. Rain poured hard onto the asphalt and the street lamps flickered. A few busted up cars were littered about the lot. She’d text him a photo of it, making a comment about how pretty it looked. Then, Nina would return to the bathroom. Reapply her lipstick, fix her mascara, re-do her ponytail. Then text him again. Then flip through channels. Then text him again. She eventually laid down on the bed, staring blankly at their messages. Her hopes were dissipating, until-

❥New Message! ❥”im outside, open the door. its cold”

❥Nina was quick. She shot right up out of bed, her head snapping towards the door and its peeling paint. She smoothed her hair back down, fixed her skirt, cleared her voice, and stood at the peephole. Standing on her toes, she could see a man through it. Maybe 5’6, in a white, rain-soaked hoodie. He had shaggy black hair and a black face mask. His eyes were piercing. 

❥”Mark?” Nina’s voice cracked through the door, more high-pitched than she intended. ❥”Open the door, Nina.” He rasped. Nina’s heart skipped out of her chest. She fumbled with the deadbolt, earning a sigh from the other side of the door. Finally, she cracked it open. He simply pushed it, nudging her to the side and slamming it behind them. Nina’s pulse shot through the roof, eyes darting over his entire figure. 

❥But he just let out a groan, pulling his hood down and walking to a chair. He plopped down, getting comfortable and leaning into it. His head tilted back against the chair, visibly exhausted. She watched his Adam's apple bob for a moment. Everything was silent. Just his slow breaths and her tapping against her phone. 

❥He sliced through the tension with ease. “How long did I have you waiting?” 

❥Nina laughed first, waving her hands and settling back onto the bed. She insisted it wasn’t long, she was just so excited. He nodded, finally craning his head back to look her in the eye. She couldn’t really handle it. He asked her a few more questions, mostly about the motel. How much it cost, how often she came here. He seemed to be accusing her of frequenting motels to meet guys online.

❥It proved too much for Nina. She began to stand, anxiously dismissing herself to the bathroom. She thought she was going to throw up. His head rolled to the side as she hurried to the bathroom, watching her curiously.

❥She stood at the sink for a moment, chest heaving. She wiped at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. Why was she so nervous? She was so comfortable with him online. She told him so much, and she thought he listened intently. Maybe it was the face mask? Could she ask him to take it off? Maybe he had a cold. Would that be rude? He could just be awkward. Not everyone is the exact same over text and in person. Or she caught him on a bad day. It was late and he seemed like he walked in the rain. She needs to calm down, give him a chance. He wasn't doing anything wrong. This was Mark, her friend.

❥There was a firm knock at the door.

❥”Why’re you hiding in there, Nina?” She didn’t even know how to respond. She didn’t lock the door, which they both noticed at the same time. He pushed it open, and Nina simply stepped back. She wasn’t thinking, just letting him put her where he wanted.

❥He wasn’t wearing the mask anymore. He was pretty pale, skin resembling an old classmate she knew with vitiligo. He had a few piercings, including eyebrows, a triple bridge, and snake bites. But these details were miniscule in comparison to the torn flesh of his cheeks. Violent, jagged scars from the corner of his lips to his ears. Mark really was a Jeff fanboy, huh?

❥Nina choked on a gasp at first, but the gasp turned to a cry when he violently shoved her back, forcing her into the tub and climbing in after her. His knee pressed into her gut and his forearm pinned her wrists above her head, uncomfortably grinding her bones into the tile walls. She was about to scream, but his palm fit harshly against her mouth. Nina’s legs were hooked over the edge of the tub, due to him shoving her in the short way.

❥He began whispering to her. It started with mindless rambles that were difficult to comprehend. Nina began to cry, muffled against his calloused hand. He leaned down, licking her tears and spitting to the left, now grumbling about her makeup. He kept it up for a bit, until he made a remark about her appearance. Something about a pretty girl like her liking a guy like him, how odd that was. Her struggling weakened by this point, eyes going wide as his head tilted into her shoulder. 

❥He kept going on and on. Bringing up how much Nina liked him, how obsessed she was. Bringing up posts she made in the past or mentioning his favorite photos of her. How he killed people just like she described. He'd ask her for ideas, and he'd share them all with her. It wasn't hypothetical, it wasn't a fantasy, it wasn't a story.

❥It was funny, actually. Despite her fixation, Nina didn’t even realize who he was. She thought this was Mark, a random Jeff fanboy ready to make Nina his first copycat victim. But the more he spoke and the more she frantically studied his face, everything set in.

❥This was her idol.

❥Seated on top of her, touching her, speaking to her, going on and on about how pretty she is. He stalked her page for hours on end, too, reciting all the posts that she’d made on him. To anyone else, they’d have understood it was from his own ego. To Nina, it was for her. Just like she dedicated the last three years to Jeff, he had dedicated one to her. He had been texting her. He asks her for photos. He tells her how creative and beautiful she is. He sends her images of Jeff’s crime scenes before she could even find them online. His crime scenes. 

❥He didn’t make sense half the time. He’d bring in random names and information totally irrelevant to her, or so she thought. He kept talking about a girl named ‘Clocky’ and how annoyed he was that ‘Clocky’ was hiding Nina from him. Something about her being a shitty wingman.

❥He eventually relaxed on top of her, removing the forearm that pinned her wrists to the bathtub wall. Instead of his knee pressed into her stomach, he placed them on each side of her. Her legs remained hooked over the tub, but she had long stopped kicking. She was sniffling a little, letting her sore arms drop to her sides. He made her agree not to scream if he let go of her face. She nodded desperately.

❥He removed his hand carefully, eyes scanning over her expression, watching her throat to see if she’s about to scream. 

❥”I love you,” was an insane thing to say. He stared at her for a moment, before throwing his head back and barking out laughter. His rough hands grabbed at her face, nodding along as he confirmed that he was well aware. Just like he spent the last few minutes going on his mindless rambles, she did the same. Whispering about what he meant to her, how strong he was, how much she wanted to be like him. How she’d do anything to fuck that bitch Claudia up the way he mutilated Randy. She shared what she did that one day, but began crying when he laughed. He joked about how weak she was, but she agreed with him. 

❥She clung to his hoodie. They sat like that for a while, having an uncomfortable, bizarre conversation in the bathtub. It largely centered Nina’s webpages, blogs, and forums. How it fed his ego. He kept making backhanded comments about her, but she warped them all into compliments. Eventually, he stood, yanking her out and making her wash her face. He liked her, unfortunately.

PUPPY LOVE

❥Nina was truly living out a long-time fantasy. Her and Jeff began to frequently see each other. Much to Natalie’s horror, Nina pulled her aside at work one day and shared this news. Brought up the ‘Clocky’ comments, and Natalie dragged Nina outside by the dumpsters and quietly scolded her. She tried to warn Nina, saying that regardless of her own friendship with Jeff, Nina was making a stupid choice. And it scared Natalie, too. Nina didn’t seem too stable. What if she started to run her mouth? Get Jeff in trouble, dragging cops along to her farmhouse?

❥Well, Clocky got an apartment that year. She kept in touch with everyone all the same, but she switched into a new career and housing situation. Leaving Jeff and Nina alone.

❥It started with Jeff tugging Nina along, bringing her to the forest and laying her down on his dirty mattress. They’d fool around, talk, he’d go through her blog right in front of her and laugh at her. Even if it made her nervous, she did a good job at convincing herself they were laughing together. They were bonding. 

❥Eventually, he began tagging along to her apartment. It was a cute, comfortable little place. It had heating and cooling, a stocked fridge, washer and dryer, a fucking kitchen for once. A TV, too. He began staying night after night. Nina always made him dinner, always washed his clothes, always let him relax. He’d bring her to lay down with him and she’d melt into his touch.

❥It seemed soft, at first. Jeff began introducing her to the messier parts of his life. She met BEN, she met Toby, she met Jack. They all scared her a little, but when Jeff threw his arm around Nina and made a comment about ‘his girl,’ she was over the moon. The group liked her a decent bit, and she clicked quite well with Toby. It helped that Toby was close friends with Natalie, a beautiful coincidence that made the three a solid trio. 

❥Nina wanted to integrate fully into Jeff’s life. She kept up her obsessive research on his friends, or whatever she could find. Apparently, BEN did a great job at wiping information online, which explained why Nina had such a hard time finding information on such an infamous killer. However, BEN didn’t wipe anything with Liu. Liu wasn’t an ally or friend to any of them. But he was Jeff’s brother, and Nina learned some fantastic news about him. He had moved to Alabama recently. Nina wanted to grow close with him, too. 

LAKE WATER

❥Outside of Nina’s blossoming friendships with Jeff’s crowd, the two began to get into some trouble together. Jeff would have Nina help steal alcohol, as they were only 19 and 20. He’d send her to talk to plugs for him, saying that Nina gets weed cheaper on account of her pretty face. 

❥One day, they were doing exactly that. They were hanging around a relatively empty parking lot in a dead shopping center, waiting for some guy to show up and sell Nina some weed. Jeff was in the distance, observing as the man pulled up to Nina leaning against one of the lot’s lamps. The guy parked, got out of the car, and chatted Nina up for a while. Jeff watched as the man pushed Nina’s hair back, leaning too close and saying God knows what. 

❥Jeff stalked up to the situation, pretending he was on his way to a nearby car. The guy didn’t even look his way, not until Jeff suddenly slipped into the picture. It was sudden and sloppy, but Jeff never needed to practice his violence. He pushed Nina out of the way and began to crash the guys’ head into the metal pole, repeating it until Nina was frantically crying and begging him to stop. The guy crumpled to the floor afterwards, blood pooling beneath him. The sight was too familiar for Nina. Images of 16 year old Claudia beneath her flashed before her eyes.

❥Suddenly, Jeff started rummaging through the man’s pockets. Yanking out his wallet, phone, some weed, a lighter, and his keys. He told Nina to get in the car.

❥Nina protested, but Jeff shouted it this time. So like the sweet girl Nina is, she listened. Jeff dragged the man into the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat. 

❥Jeff was reckless in every way. He was impulsive, brash, and unpredictable. In this random dude’s car, he began barrelling down the streets. It was night time in their fairly small town, leaving the roads quite empty. He had all the windows rolled down, laughing as their hair whipped around them. Jeff’s adrenaline was pumping violently, while Nina was crying and begging him to slow down. He was going 110mph down a random highway, doubling the speed limit. 

❥Nothing Nina said could stop him. He was at an all time high once again, a victim in the trunk of a stolen car and pretty Nina beside him, wailing and afraid. 

❥Nina didn’t know what to think when she saw him driving towards the biggest lake in the county. There was a poorly made pier leading far into the lake, but Nina swore Jeff was going to slow down. Please slow down. She panicked more when he reached over with one hand, unbuckling her seatbelt. What the fuck was he doing?

❥It surprised them both when the car actually flew into the water. Nina’s screams were cut off as she inhaled that dirty lake. Water immediately flooded the vehicle and moonlight reflected through the murky water. She desperately fought her way through the open window, swimming to the surface. She choked up the water and sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow. Fuck, she was so scared. She sobbed, trying to regain enough composure to keep her afloat, weak kicking and splashing. She barely made out the shoreline, desperately swimming her way there with chunky platforms and soaked clothes. Jeff got to the shore first, but returned to the water to help drag Nina out of it.

❥Before she could cry at how cruel that was, he lifted her up and crashed his lips into hers. His arms moved tightly around her waist, lifting her feet above water and laughing loudly as he spun her around. The muddy water splashed all over as he cackled, still pulling her further away from the lake in his arms.

❥”I fuckin’ love you, Nina!” He barked, still on a high as he dropped them both to the ground, smothering her in his excitement. That was the first time he said that to her. 

PT. 4: MISSED CALL (TO BE UPLOADED)

[navybrat817]

The Red Woods

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve tells you a story as he keeps you warm by the fire. Word Count: Over 2.7k Warnings: Implied sex, spooky story (violence), attempted scare, humor, Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Fic #5 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense belongs to Lumberjack!Steve thanks to this poll winner. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The moon and stars lit up the night sky, beckoning you to go outside and bask in the beauty. Cold settled into your bones as you stepped outside and shivered. It was chillier than you expected and you debated going back into the comfort of the cabin. Steve had already started the bonfire nearby though and you knew the heat from the flames would warm you up.

So would your lumberjack.

Steve carried an extra load of wood from the shed as you walked toward the fire. He set up a spot for you to sit beside each other, but you had a feeling he'd have you in his lap as the night went on. He liked having your body close to his, whether it was after a long day of work or coming home after a mission. You enjoyed it, too, because he enveloped you with his love.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, catching the slight tremble in your body as you took a seat. "When I suggested the fire, I didn't think it would be this cold."

"It's okay," you assured him as he added another log to the fire. The rich and powerful scent from the smoke soothed you as you stared into the flames. "But what made you so adamant to have one tonight?"

"No particular reason," he replied casually, wiping his hands before he sat down beside you. It was a bit too casual, but the red and orange from the flames dancing along his face distracted you. The urge to reach up and touch his beard was strong. "Wasn't something I really got to do in the city."

Part of you would always love the city. So would Steve. There was always something to do and inspiration could be found around every corner. It didn't mean it was home though. It was a place to visit, to remember. Your place in the woods with each other was where you were meant to be.

And the love of your life provided plenty of inspiration if you ever needed it.

"I don't remember ever having a fire there," you said after thinking about it. There weren’t many places to have fires. Your old apartment didn’t even have a fireplace.

"Hardly ever saw the stars," he added.

You nodded a little, your fingers scratching along his chin. If your touch was too cold, he didn't make a big deal out of it. "I didn't really get to appreciate the stars from my old apartment either," you said, tilting your head to look up at the sky. "But out here? It's like they serenade us. It's a chorus that resonates with the moon until the sun comes up."

Steve wrapped an arm around you, allowing your body to heat up more. He was your own personal heater. "Even when you're not writing, your words are beautiful."

You couldn't blame the fire or his body for the heat that filled your face. His opinion on your writing meant the world to you. "You're just saying that to get in my pants," you teased.

He chuckled as his mouth moved close to your ear. "I already did that this morning," he whispered.

You exhaled, remembering the two of you tangled up in each other. Lazy, soft kisses and lingering touches as he made love to you. His large body pinning yours to the mattress, his hips thrusting in a slow rhythm like the gentle waves of an ocean. You nearly sobbed when you came, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he quickly followed.

You had lovers before Steve, but he taught you the true meaning of making love.

"And I'm sure you'll do it again before the sun comes up," you whispered.

"If I have my way," he said, pulling you closer. Your hand fell to his shirt, gripping the flannel. Your super soldier was insatiable some days, but you weren't going to complain when you both reaped the benefits of his appetite.

"It's too bad the gang isn't here. Otherwise we could tell spooky stories," you said. Maybe you could invite Bucky and Jewel over another night for dinner. It was nice that Steve had one of his best friends not too far away. Sam also didn’t mind making trips to visit.

"Well, you and I can still tell stories to pass the time," he said, kissing the top of your head. "How about I start? Even though I’m not the best storyteller."

“That’s a lie. You’re a great storyteller,” you said, lifting your head and seeing a hint of a blush in his cheeks. With his deep, commanding voice, the man could read the phone book to you and you'd listen. You teased at times that he could do a podcast if he wanted to. Or erotic recordings. "And I don't scare easily, but you can try."

You didn’t mind a healthy dose of fear now and again. It was natural and helpful in some situations. It was also fun and exciting in the right setting, like this.

"I'm sure you've heard all sorts of different stories about creatures and spirits who live in the woods," he began, which earned a nod from you. "Local legend says there's a spirit right here who controls part of the forest: The Lumberman."

"Wow. A lumberjack is telling a story about a lumberman? How original," you said, your deadpan expression dropping when he pinched your side. "Hey! I was kidding."

"Let me tell the story," he said, brushing his lips against the top of your head again as an apology. "They say long ago that a lumberman lived in the deepest part of the woods. He had no family or friends and mostly kept to himself. He only ventured into town to sell the wood he chopped down."

"A loner," you said, already invested.

"Yeah, he was. Not unfriendly. Just a quiet man. And all was well until a local woman went missing. The town searched everywhere for her and couldn't find her. It was like she vanished without a trace. Her family demanded answers, so people shifted the blame to him," Steve explained, a slight breeze rolling by.

You frowned as you listened. It was just a story, but you knew how dangerous mob mentality could be. "What happened?"

"A group of men confronted him in his home and demanded to know what he did with her body. He swore he didn't know what happened and that he would never hurt a soul, but they didn't listen. They were out for blood,” he said, sadly shaking his head. “When he still refused to admit to any wrongdoing, the men took turns hacking him up with one of his axes and burned his cabin to the ground. They even brought the axe back as some sort of trophy, stained with his blood."

"Jesus," you whispered, scooting a bit closer.

"It was only after they killed him did the girl show back up in town alive and well. Not a scratch on her. She had gone a couple towns over to meet up with some guy," he said, rubbing your arm.

"So they condemned an innocent man to death," you said.

"They did," he said, nodding toward the trees. "Most of the townspeople didn't venture to his part of the woods out of fear that his spirit would seek revenge. And they were right."

You raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

"Over the years, hikers and locals who were brave enough to go on his old land went missing. Their bodies were never found, but people say you can hear their screams echo through the air if you get close enough,” he said, pausing to look around with a somber expression. "And that they became part of the trees."

Glancing around as well, it was difficult to make out the trees in the darkness. "They became part of the trees? How?"

"As you get closer to his land, you can see faces twisted in pain in the bark if you look closely enough. Some even say there’s blood in the sap and dripping from the branches. They even renamed that part of the forest the Red Woods since the paths have inexplicable red dirt, like blood had seeped into the soil," he said, lowering his voice as if to tell you a secret. "It’s like a warning to turn back."

"That is not why they call it the Red Woods," you argued, though you weren’t completely sure now. You actually had no idea why the area got that name.

"That’s how the story’s told."

"So an innocent man was hacked to pieces in his home," you said slowly. "And now he kills anyone who steps into his territory?"

"Condemned to a terrible fate. Just like he was," he said as simple as that. "And people still go missing to this day."

You smiled a bit. There was nothing at all uplifting or funny about the story, but Steve spoke with such seriousness that you almost believed the tale was real. "Okay, but why is he still haunting the woods? If it's revenge on the men who killed him or the townspeople in general, he wouldn’t go after random, innocent hikers."

Steve’s head tilted as he looked at you, something a bit more sinister in his gaze. "Isn’t it obvious? They took his axe. He’s waiting for someone to return it."

A heartbeat passed before you huffed. "Of course, he is. The axe that the men brought back as a trophy," you said, gesturing toward the toolshed. "It’s too bad you don’t have it. You could help put his soul to rest."

"What if I told you I do have it?" he asked.

Your heart rate increased before you huffed again. "You’re a great storyteller, but a terrible liar, Beefcake."

His eyes shot to yours, maintaining eye contact as he reached beside him. You raised an eyebrow when he held up an axe. You had to admit, you knew his tools well and that was one you didn’t recognize. "See? Still stained with blood," he told you, holding it closer to the fire so you could see the blade. "Should we go into the Red Woods and return it?"

You didn’t admit that your stomach turned a little as you brought your hands up and slowly clapped. "Bravo. You went all out for this story. And, no, I’m not going into the woods when it’s this cold out," you said before a snap from a twig nearby drew your attention, making you tense up. "What was that?"

"What was what?" he asked, setting the axe down.

"Oh, you had to have heard that. Your hearing is ten times better than mine," you argued, standing up and narrowing your eyes to try and see when you heard another twig snap. You froze before you began to giggle. "Okay, Bucky! Come on out! I know Steve put you up to this."

Steve jumped to his feet and pushed you behind him. He wouldn't let anything happen to you. "Buck isn’t here. He's at home with Jewel," he said in a hushed tone.

"Wait, you didn’t convince him to come out of the woods to try and scare me?" You asked, placing your hands on his back when he shook his head. "Okay. It’s probably just an animal then."

SNAP.

"I don’t think an animal did that," he whispered, guiding you toward the cabin. Maybe it wasn’t a joke after all. "I think we should-"

"Give…" you stopped at the sound of a demonic voice just beside the toolshed, your heart thumping. "Me…" a man stepped out of the darkness, dragging his left foot behind him. "My…" His decayed skin was caked with blood as he lifted a hand. "AXE!"

Your eyes widened before you snapped out of your stupor. "Oh, fuck this," you muttered, pulling away from Steve who called after you. Grabbing your shotgun from the porch, you brought it to your shoulder and cocked it. "I don’t have an axe, Lumberman, but I’ll shoot you in your fucking face if you take a step closer."

"Whoa!" Steve shouted, holding out his hand for the "zombie" to stop. "Don’t move. She’s serious!"

"Fuck," the zombie muttered, tapping the side of his neck. "Seriously? I really thought I’d get you," the demonic voice fading to a normal tone.

"CLINT?!" you guessed, lowering your gun. The former Hawkeye nodded. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"For the record, this wasn’t my idea," Steve said, an innocent look in his blue eyes. "And I told you she wouldn’t get scared. I don’t know why you insisted on this."

No wonder he wanted to have a fire tonight.

"Okay, okay. It was my idea. Everyone is off doing their own thing and I just wanted to have some fun," Clint explained, walking closer toward the fire as he began to peel the makeup away and toss it in to burn. "This didn’t work on Jewel either! She grabbed one of Bucky’s knives and almost stabbed me."

You laughed a little. No doubt Bucky was both proud of and scared for his girl for that move. "Maybe because, I don’t know, in the story Steve told the Lumberman was hacked to pieces and you’re clearly not. There was also no indication that the Lumberman could leave his territory. Everyone went missing on his land. So why would he be here?"

Clint exchanged a look with Steve. "She has a point," your husband said.

These men are defenders of the universe.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks for that," you said, putting the gun back where it belonged. "I have to ask though, why prank me? And why prank Jewel?"

Clint shifted a bit on his feet. "So the guys could be heroes? But seeing as how you grabbed a gun and Jewel grabbed a knife, I think you two are good."

You had to smile as you turned your attention back to Steve. "You wanted to be my hero and protect me from a zombie?"

With a sheepish smile, Steve nodded and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I did," he said in a small voice. "It’s stupid, right?"

Your man, a true hero who saved hundreds of lives, simply wanted to protect you from anything bad. You never loved him more. "It’s not stupid. I think it's kind of sweet," you assured him. "Clint, please, put out the fire and get the hell out of here. Steve, get inside so we can have sex and get warm."

Clint coughed into his hand. "Can I at least get a coffee before I go? I was out there for a while and it’s a little chilly."

Steve ignored his friend as he gave you a smile. "You’re really going to sleep with me after we tried to prank you?" he asked, looking at his feet for a split second. "And you know I’d never want to scare you, right?"

"Yeah, I’m really going to sleep with you. And I know the last thing you’d ever want to do is frighten me. All you want to do is protect me," you smiled. You weren’t going to deny yourself pleasure, especially since you were starting to get cold again. "But for the record, this is pity sex for failing your prank and not grabbing the gun first," you added, giggling when he took two large steps toward you.

Clint stared after you as Steve grabbed and pulled you toward him, fastening his mouth to yours. "So, is that a no on the coffee?"

Your friend eventually got his coffee before he went on his way. After Steve thoroughly wore you out, he promised to stick to cuddling in front of a fire moving forward. Making love in front of a fire was also on the table, whether it was in front of the fireplace or outside under the stars. Though he never did tell you where he got that axe or why it really looked like it was stained with blood.

But maybe you could convince Clint to take that axe into the Red Woods and show Steve how to really scare someone.

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[klanceficatalogue]

hi! i was wondering if you had any band au stories?? those are something i really like reading

definitely :) enjoy - k

twin sized mattress by breadpoetsociety (1/1 | 3,811 | Teen and Up)

"I'm gonna have to learn that this love will never be convenient," Lance sang, smile now no longer gracing his face. His eyes instead bore an intensity, a question on the tip of his tongue but never asked. "I'm gonna have to learn that this love will never be convenient." Keith could almost feel the lyrics forming on his tongue even though he'd never heard this song before. He knew the feeling and Lance could put it into words for him. They did make a good team. (Lance makes music. Keith is trying.)

Little Notes by Sachiela (1/1 | 11,276 | Teen and Up)

Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Shay form a band called Interstellar Lions, where Lance is lead guitarist and songwriter. But he can't find the inspiration for a ballad. The others suggest that he asks out their manager, who he'd been crushing on for months. Despite his reservations, he does just that. And the rest is just pure fluff.

(hunk/shay)

A Song Worth Singing by orphan_account (1/1 | 2,773 | General)

“Oh? And it has nothing to do with- what’s the band’s name again?“ Shiro looked at Adam, pretending to think. “‘Keith Kogane, please notice me‘.“ Adam pursed his lips, finger tapping against his jaw. “No, I’m sure they were called, ‘I put on this event only to show off to Keith‘.“ Shiro shook his head. Keith rolled his eyes, “You old-timers have no idea what you’re talking about“ he huffed and looked away. It was a complete lie of course. Adam and Shiro knew exactly what they were talking about, both being professors at not only the university, but the same department as Keith and Lance.

(adam/shiro)

[thevelria]

Electric Love (Gojo x Reader) Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Summary:This is the 4th chapter of an AU story, some parts might be canon, but mostly not. It's going to be a love story between you and Satoru with some spice. Warning will be at the beginning of the chapters. Please read them carefully and skip if any of the listed warnings might trigger you. Otherwise have fun!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY//smutty smut! I mean detailed, heavy smut with a pinch of fluff.

Wordcount:2455

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finishing in the bathroom, you dropped a fluffy white towel around your body, when you heard a knock on your door. 

“Who’s this?” you frowned. As you walked you heard another knocking, a louder one. “I’m coming!”

When you opened the door your confused look told everything. A troubled looking Gojo was standing in front of you. His clothes were messy and you swore you saw some blood on them.

“Satoru? What are you doing here? What happened to you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a step forward, forcing you to let him in. Not a single word left his mouth before he grabbed your waist, pulling you into him. 

The next you remembered him lifting you up, as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Where?” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Second room, left.” you whispered. 

Gojo didn’t waste anymore time and roughly crashed his lips against yours. Kissing you with so much passion your body became jello. He entered your bedroom, tongues fighting for dominance. 

The mattress of your bed slightly bent under his weight, as he sat down on the edge with you on his lap. Your knees resting on the bed, caging him between your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, breaking the kiss, pulling a bit back.

“Now, I am.” he smiled. 

Looking at his worn face, you bit your lower lip, before your hand wandered behind his head. You’ve never seen his face entirely. That annoying blindfold always blocked the view and now you wanted to truly see him. Your fingers fidgeting with the cloth, while you were examining his expressions. But he neither stopped you nor said anything, so you kept going. Slowly freeing him from the straps until it fell down, revealing his angelic face.

Your eyes widened the second he made eye contact with you. 

“You are beautiful.” you whispered, as your palm caressed his cheek. In which he immediately rested his face. The snow white hair of his gave him an irresistible look. “Fuck, why do you hide yourself under this fold?” you chuckled, while blush crawled upon your face rapidly.

For a response he pulled you into another kiss. His huge palm rubbing your back up and down.

“I’m sorry for coming here, but I had to see you.” he broke the kiss, hands resting on your hips.

Now it was your turn to stay silent, enjoying the sight in front of you. In the next second he grabbed you and with an easy move he switched your position. Gently laying you down on the bed. He freed you from the towel, but you didn’t care. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

Slowly crawling upwards to the headboard made him smirk. He towered himself above you in a second. Your fingers grabbed his collar, pulling him in a kiss, which made him moan into your mouth. The second you started to undress him he lost his control. 

Gojo kneeled up, finishing the work you started and freeing himself from his shirt, revealing his perfectly toned torso.

“Damn, Satoru. I didn’t know you were this ripped.” sliding your fingers up and down on his abs. “You are full of surprise.” you chuckled.

“You have no idea.” he smirked, while leaning in once again. Planting featherlight kisses on your neck, shoulder, collarbone. Working his way lower and lower. 

One of his palms cupped your breast, as the other one grabbed your thigh. 

“Fuck…” you let out a desperate gasp the second he reached the bottom of your stomach. The way he looked up, into your eyes made you wild. You felt the tension pulsing between your legs. 

His palm let go of your breast and wandered down to your other thigh, grabbing into your flesh, opening you wide for him and leaning in. 

“You have no idea how I yearned for this.” he murmured, being so close that you felt his warm breath on your skin. 

Rushing your fingers through his snow white hair and moaning his name the second his tongue entered your needy part between your legs. Gojo lapped and sucked on your clit in a way that drove you insane. Head throwing back into the pillow, while your eyes rolled back in your skull. 

“God…” a loud moan left your mouth, while you bucked your hips. He clutched your thighs with his hands to keep you still, while kept eating you out like a starved man. Humming and growling here and there, enjoying your taste. 

The second he switched his tongue with one of his fingers you lost your control. The pace he chose was perfect. Just a few moments later one more finger entered your pussy, hitting the perfect spot again and again. 

He smirked, as he felt your wall clenching around his fingers.

“Damn, ‘Toru…” you moaned in lust “Just like that! Fuck, I’m so close…”

Gojo enjoyed the view you gave him. He wanted to pleasure you the way you deserved. And hearing you moaning his name turned him on even more. Speeding up the pace pushed you over the edge.

“I’m gonna…” you breathed heavily “I’m about to…” your sentence died into a lustful growl.

“Come baby, come for me.” 

He kept you in place as your high bursted out and you rode your climax under his fingers.

Blinded from desire you pushed yourself up on your elbows. “Take off your pants.” you commanded and he obeyed. Freeing himself from every unwanted cloth, he crawled atop of you in an instant, burying his face in the crock of your neck. Resting his already hard shaft on your stomach. A slight hiss left your mouth, when he bit your neck, marking you. 

But then suddenly he kneeled up, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, confused.

“I don’t have a condom.” he shook his head, giggling in embarrassment.

“I’m on birth control.” you laughed “So don’t worry.” your eyes wandered down on his dick and he saw the fear on your face. “Fuck, ‘Toru, you are huge!” you gasped.

“Nah, baby…” he positioned himself to your entrance “You can take me, I know you can take me.”

He was gentle, sliding himself slowly in, inch by inch, giving you enough time to adjust. Even if it felt like a torture to him. He wanted nothing else, but to bury himself into you, pounding you senseless. You closed your eyes, trying to relax your tense body.

“You can move now.” you whispered. Gojo leaned in, his palms resting aside your head, biceps flexing, as he started to move. Painfully slow, sliding himself in and out. After a few minutes you clenched your legs around his waist.

“Please, ‘Toru…please go faster.” you begged. Your desperate voice made his dick twitch. He crashed his soft lips against yours, while he started fucking you.

“Fuck…” you moaned out loud, the pleasure he was giving you made you dizzy. Your nails digging into his muscled back, leaving marks behind, but he didn’t mind at all. 

As his movement speeded up his balls slammed against your sore pussy. Unholy sounds echoed through the room. 

“You feel so good, baby. So damn good.” he mumbled “Look at you…you can take me so well.” he kept babbling under his nose.

Before you reached your next high you put your palm on his chest “Wait.” you panted.

“What’s wrong, princess? Am I hurting you?”

“No.” you smiled “Not at all. I want you to come behind me. I want to feel you even deeper.”

The cocky smirk that appeared on his face made you giggle. In a few seconds he put you on all four and slid himself in right away.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so tight!” he growled in lust, digging his long fingers into your hips. 

Gojo enjoyed you being a complete moaning mess under him. Your walls clenching around him, squeezing him hard as you were about to reach your climax. His hard shaft hitting that one special spot again and again drove you wild.

“‘Toru..I’m close!” you pushed yourself back, wanting to feel his whole length at once.

“Do it! Come on my cock!” he clenched his jaw, speeding up the pace.

His words pushed you over the edge, riding your orgasm under him. 

An animalistic moan bursted out from his throat as he also reached his high and filled you up. He thrusted once or twice more before pulling out and dropped himself down on the bed next to you.

As he rested on his back, facing the ceiling you scooted closer to him, resting your face on his chest. “That was amazing.” he played with your hair.

“It indeed was.” you agreed, before taking a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned.

“Should I ask what happened after you left the club?”

“Please, don’t.” he whispered.

So for now you kept silent, enjoying his embrace. 

***

The next morning Gojo woke up to be alone in bed. Tapping the side next to him to realize you were gone. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, slowly opening his eyes. As he yawned, sitting on the edge of the bed he automatically fidgeted with his blindfold, placing it back on his face. You pleft clean boxers on the chair near the bed.

“Hmm…” he hummed, while looking for his clothes, but couldn’t find anywhere. 

You were standing in the kitchen, baking some pancakes for breakfast, wearing panties and a tank top. Smiling like a schoolgirl and actually feeling like one. After last night’s hot ride you felt satisfied and happy. You didn’t even remember when was the last time you had mind blowing sex. But one thing was for sure, Gojo was an expert in the bed and you were grateful for it. Sighing deeply, biting your lower lip as memories of the night flashed in front of your eyes. 

“Good morning, princess.” Gojo’s husky voice snapped you back to reality.

“Morning, handsome.” you smiled, flipping the pancake in the pan. “I hope you like pancakes. Oh and I put your clothes in the washing machine, in less than an hour they will be clean and dry.”

“I love them.” he walked behind you, hugging you tight. Feeling his abs on your back sent shivers down your spine. It seemed it was enough to turn you on. Gojo noticed your body language and decided to take advantage. “So…” he murmured “Does it mean that we are dating?”

“Maybe.” you shrugged.

“That’s not good enough.” he giggled “It seems I need to convince you.” The way he pulled aside the strap of your top and planted a super light kiss on your shoulder gave you goosebumps. But he wasn’t intent on stopping yet. He kept kissing your neck, slowly. Brushing his soft lips against your skin, licking it. “How about now?” he smirked, feeling your body shaking from the tension he was giving you. 

“Nope…” you teased.

Gojo gently bit your earlobe and a soft moan rolled from your lips. “I can go even further, if you want me to.” he cooed into your ear, guiding one of his huge palms under your shirt, cupping your breast, squeezing it. 

As you baked the last pancake and placed it on the plate, you turned off the stove and faced him in an instant. Disappointedly noticing the blindfold on him.

“What’s wrong?” he tilted his head.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, your face is so handsome, but you hide it under this.” you picked your index finger gently under one of the straps of the fold.

“Do you want me to take it off?”

“Please.” you bit your lower lip. He took it off in a second, tossing it aside, then grabbing your hips and throwing you on the counter like you weighed nothing. You opened your legs wide for him as you pulled him into a passionate kiss. Clenching your legs around his waist, losing yourself in that sloppy kiss. “I want you ‘Toru.” you growled, sliding your hand down on his bulge. Rubbing his cloth covered throbbing shaft. 

“I’m gonna fuck dumb, baby.” he burried his face in the crock of your neck, biting it hard, leaving one more mark on you. As your fingers slid under the waistband of his boxers, trying to reach his dick you heard some noises from the front door.

“What the fuck?” you snapped your face in the direction of the door. Satoru also heard it, like someone would have tried to put the key in the keyhole. 

“Did you not change the lock?” he gave you a worried look.

“Uhm…” you pulled an awkward smile.

“Y/N.” he rolled his eyes.

Daniel opened the door with a victorious expression on his face, he was almost sure you already changed the lock. 

“Morning, baby. I’m home.” he cooed, walking to the kitchen. His arrogant smirk froze on his face the second he noticed you sitting on the counter in panties and Gojo standing between your legs only in boxers.

“You fucking whore!” he yelled “How dare you…” Daniel didn’t recognize Gojo with his blindfold completely off and his hair down, but the second he heard his voice the blood in his veins froze.

“You better spin on your heels and get the fuck out of this house.” Satoru’s cold voice made you uneasy. You saw the fear in Daniel’s eyes and it made you confused.

“Is it you?” Daniel gasped “Man, I didn’t know…I’m sorry, I just came to collect some of my stuff I left here.” 

“Wait. You know him?” you frowned, asking your ex. “I mean you barely met once…”

“We talked…” Gojo turned back to you, caressing your face “Right?” he side eyed Daniel, who nodded like an obedient puppy. “Let me walk you out.” he softened his voice.

As they were standing at the door you stayed on the counter, shaking your head. You definitely felt both of them were lying. 

“Give me the key.” Gojo commanded him. When Daniel's hand touched his it felt like a slight electric shock. Daniel faced transformed, thick lines appeared on his face and jaw. Looked like Sukuna’s marks, but with fire. Like hot lava would have boiled in the lines under his skin.

“Sorcerer…long time no see.” 

“Arvis?” Gojo’s eyes widened “What the fuck? How?”

“I’ve been looking for a vessel for so long. Sukuna suggested this body and man, he was right. It’s a strong one. I let the pathetic moron be in charge until he came here. But from now on he’s no more. Oh and one more thing, sorcerer…” the words dripped from his mouth like poison “You better watch out for your woman, before Sukuna gets her.”

[tokkiwrites]

FAWN HEART PART THREE : love in death.

dark!joel x f!reader

part three | part one | part two | more coming soon.

summary: After a few months of being together, you move in with your boyfriend, 'Adam'. The landlord, Joel Miller, takes a special liking to you.

tags: dark!joel !!!!! , mention of murder, violence, blood, stalking, spying, mention of abuse, kidnapping, age gap, vulnerable reader, stalker joel, mentions of abusive relationship, literally insane joel, restraints, unrequited love, f reader w she/her pronouns. (lmk if i missed anything!!!)

ㅤ↪ㅤtokki's ۫ 𐑺 𝚜𝚞ׂ𝚐𝚊𝚛 ࣭ note ˑ ⌕ ࣭ ּ ➭ i have returned with the next part!! with just 1.5k words, this is more so exposition to set in where the next events will take place. remember guys, THIS IS NOT CUTE. This is crazy stalking behavior, but it is fiction. so stay safe out there. not proofread.

【commencing】: In the twilight of existence, there wandered a figure cloaked in the deepest midnight. She was Death, a woman of otherworldly beauty and a heart that beat with an emotion long thought foreign to her kind. Death had fallen in love.

「july 4th ㅡ unknown time」

A constant trickle sound bounces off the walls and all around you, you can't make out what it is quite yet, but as the fog clears from you vision you find yourself in a dimly lit room, the constant trickle being the rain outside, hitting the roof. Or maybe it was something elseㅡ You couldn't see. There were no windows. You look down and find yourself covered in blood that has blackened, and you want to get up, but you can't. Shaking your limbs, you find you've been cuffed to the frame of the bed you'd been sleeping in. The bed was white, and little fake-flower details plastered in corners where rust started to settle in. There were no sheets, just a splotchy mattress. This is a bed you've surely had nightmares about, or seen in horror movies. Yet, the walls around you told another story, pristine brick walls painted white, a large mural on the farthest one from you: a lush forest with critters all around and in the middle of it allㅡ a deer. one staring right back at you, eyes large as if it, too, was locked in this place alongside you.

you try to remember all that you can, snippets of last night's happening flowing back and over, transforming into tears that threaten to spill out again. You swallow in a sharp breath before screaming a short 'hello', the little echo in the room being the only answer. So you scream again and again until you're out of breath and resort to pulling on your restraints. It seems as if you can't even cry. The tears once there are now completely gone as it dawned on you: will i die today?

you're quickly pulled out from your self inquiry as rapid and heavy steps are heard closer to the door. then it opens revealingㅡ him. You stumble upon your words. " Please, I- What do you want? I'll do anything, just dontㅡ don't kill me please." Joel's brows quirk up, the wrinkles on his forehead hidden under his graying hair. "Why would I kill you, fawn?" it sounded like he was more confused than you at this moment. "Why would I kill the most precious thing to me right now..?" he looks down as he takes each step closer to the bed at the back of the room, where you were. You shudder, unbeknownst to what he might do. "I'm- I.. Why, why me?" You ask, that familiar feeling in your throat. "You? You are...everything." He huffs out the last part with a smile, head crooked as he now stands over you, knees at the edge of the bed. "Everything I've ever dreamed of, baby. I didn't wanna hurt you last night, really... And I'm sorry for this- mess." He says, waving his hands around. "It's not ready, but I didn't expect you to move in so soon. Last night wasn't...planned."

"Why did you do it then?" you find the courage to bite back. "Why'd you murder Adam?" You whisper, the air in the room settling freezing around you two. "Had to be done. I saved you." Joel points down at you, before kneeling down next to your head, as if ready to pray. "Saved you, fawn baby." He traces one of his roughed up finger along your neck, a big smile gracing his features. "I know it's hard for you to understand. But thisㅡ it's all for you. This-!" he exclaims whilst clutching his own chest, circling his heart. "It's all for you."

You're left speechless. This has to be a dream, or a sick twisted prank. You want to laugh but are afraid of Joel's reaction. "Is this... a joke?" and his gaze is clouded by darkness. "A joke? You take my love f'you as a-a joke?" he pulls back from you, still on his knees. "You don't understand, do you?" Joel repeats, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper, cold as steel. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I don'tㅡ I don't understand why I'm here.. why you killed Adam, why you think this is love?" The words tumble out, each one feeling like a step closer to an abyss you're terrified to fall into. Joel sighs, shaking his head slowly, almost as if he's disappointed. "Fawn, my sweet fawn, you don't see it yet, but you will. Adam... Adam was a threat. He was going to take you away from me. He was going to ruin everything we've built together."

You feel a surge of anger. "Built together? I don't even know you! This isn't some romantic gesture, Joel. This is kidnapping. This is madness." He stands up abruptly, his face a mix of frustration and something darker. "Madness?" He paces back and forth at the foot of the bed. "Madness is letting you slip through my fingers, letting someone else have you. Madness is living without you when I know we're meant to be together."

You pull at the cuffs again, your wrists aching. "Joel, please, just let me go. We can talk about this outside, somewhere safe. You don't have to do this..." He stops pacing and looks at you, a strange glint in his eyes. "Safe? You think out there is safe for you? No, no, my fawn. Here is where you're safe. With me. Always with me." Tears prick at your eyes again, but you blink them away, trying to stay strong. "What about my family? My friends? They're going to look for me. They're going to find out what you've done."

He smiles, but it's not a comforting smile. It's a smile that speaks of plans and secrets. "Let them look. By the time they figure out where you are, you'll have accepted our love. You'll understand why this had to happen." He leans in close, his breath warm against your face. "You will. In time, you will. And until then, I'll do whatever it takes to make you see. To make you love me." You turn your head away, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the twisted reality he's trying to force upon you. "I won't," you whisper, though the words feel feeble and unconvincing even to yourself.

Joel stands up straight, his demeanor shifting from affectionate to stern. "We'll see about that, my fawn. We'll see." He walks to the door and opens it, pausing before he steps out. "I'll give you some time to think. But don't worry, I'll be back soon. And maybe then, you'll start to understand."

The door closes behind him with a heavy thud, and you're left alone, the sound of the rain outside a constant reminder of your confinement. You take a shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart, but the terror grips you tighter with each passing second. Your wrists ache from the cuffs, and the dried blood on your skin feels like a cruel, suffocating reminder of last night's horrors.

You try to piece together the fragments of your memory, but they come in disjointed flashes, each more terrifying than the last. Adam's face, twisted in pain, Joel's maniacal grin, the sharp, blinding pain that brought you here. A sob escapes your lips, and you bite down hard to stifle it, afraid that he might hear and come back too soon. The wind outside pick up and you make eye contact with the deer on the wall again. Gaze empty, devoid of any fear, acceptanceㅡ andtears finally spill over. you let them fall silently, the only sound in the room the faint trickle of rain and the occasional creak of the old bed frame. You pull at the cuffs, but they don't budge, the metal biting into your skin. Panic swells in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

in the ghostly stillness of the room you shudder and you lie there, exhausted and terrified, a bitter realization creeps in: you have no control over this. No way to fight back, no plan, no hope. You're utterly at Joel's mercy, and the thought is enough to make the darkness of the room a little less unsettling than your reality.

[anicekidlikeme]

Do you know how I grew up?

Back when I was dating Peter, I was always aware of just how much he would talk (about his accomplishments, about his friends, and different annecdotes). His stories would go far back as elementry school. I hated it. I know that is a horrible thing to even think as somebody's girlfriend (I knew that then too) but at the time getting myself to like the person I was dating felt like a crushing expectation. How am I supposed to love you unconditionally? How am I supposed to love you at all? Your friends are mean, your music taste is okay, and I cannot stand the way you refuse to walk alongside me.

There was a moment when we were walking to Target to buy Kombucha, and holy shit was I pissed off. Peter would walk ahead of me, constantly, and turn around in tiny spurts to tell me to speed up. Could you please walk with me? I know now that love is definately not supposed to feel like that. It is the easiest thing in the world. Drew walks next to me, always. Even if it means having to slow down his pace (often, also emotionally). He grabs my waist everytime we have to cross a road, or everytime I walk into a room I've never been in before. He has incredible patience. I could hear Drew talk and talk for hours, and just keep wanting to listen to even more stories of his. He teases me about how many times in one day I ask him How was your day?! But I just want to hear you talk!

Anyway, a year ago I would think a lot about Peter and I's out of sync walking. It felt like he was ahead of me often. Especially when he told stories. I would sit at the dinnertable with his family and just listen most nights to him sharing annecdotes. About Sam, Adam and Holden, about Miss Gurb from Middle School, and about going to house-shows with Isabella. I would think holy fucking shit, how can you remember all that? How do you have so many happy stories to tell?

The earliest my memory goes to is sometime before 3rd grade when my mom was texting my father on her Nokia, and my uncle had been bugging her all day about selling their Dad's house. I realized then how easy it is to just block out undesirable moments out of your memory. Forget about them completely so they are never to be spoken of, and better yet, never to be remembered. After that, it is a blur. I don't have any stories to tell from growing up, all I remember is how some days felt. There was never enough room where we lived post-divorce, always too many angry people, always too many bugs, and always so many fights in this tiny one- bedroom apartment we shared with 8 other people. My mom told me that I was once in the hospital for 6 months. I had no fucking clue that happened. I still dont.

If I told somebody that I slept most nights of my childhood on a purple straw mat (yes, no bed. not even a mattress), they would probably be so fucking confused. But it is true. And it happened, and it is not a very tell-able tale. Not like Peter's atleast. I am trying to think of other things that happened but I am noticing myself getting fatigued. It's too hard, and there is a big lock on that door. Let's not bother. It is much easier to say Im doing well now. Oh, she sucks and he's dead.

So if you were to ask me how I grew up, I would tell you I have no fucking idea. I dont know how I grew up. Bitter and scary and mean, is probably what my friends from high school would say. Unfortunately, as a result of me changing as a person, I had to quit talking to them. I couldn't find it in me to say, hey guys, I'm in America now so I've decided to be a completely new person. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be this person I was anymore. It's not their fault, and it is not mine.

I am now very emotional (something I was very very afraid of, and am still coming to terms with), very silly, not obsessed with being smart anymore (I'm surprised by that one too), and very very Vaibhavi. Everyone calls me Vai, and I hate it. I want to shout at them, and instruct them to call me Vaibhavi. That is who I am! I am intensely focused now on the memories I make, even if they are bad ones. I dont want to forget anything. I don't want to forget my fights with Fawwaz, or my sick days with Drew, or my secret-spilling sessions with Atharva. I dont want to forget when I had awfully pink hair, or when I was friends with people I hated. I want to have stories, and I love the stories I have now. I am obsessed with getting engaged, because then I will have a family. A family I like, a family to tell stories about when I am asked so, tell me about your family.

A family to love, a family of two. Definately not one with Peter, but I wish him luck. I really do. We are both good people with so many differences, and my hope is that he finds someone to cherish them. I know I did (and god, is Drew a sight for sore eyes).

I have no idea how I grew up, but there was a tent in a balcony. Don't know which one, we have moved too many times.

[judeswhore]

a kiss or two… or three; steve harrington

summary: bedtime in the harrington household always contains a copious amount of kisses

type: dad!steve harrington

requested: yes

warnings: none

notes: you can find my masterlist here

“okay, sleepyhead, s’time for bed.” steve’s words were a little muffled from where he’d pressed them to the top of his daughter’s head, quiet in the silent bedroom. she was settled into his side, his arms like a cage around her as he held the fairytale book in front of them, her own arms wrapped loosely around her rabbit plushie. they were propped up against her headboard, a blanket thrown over the knees to fight off the winter chill as steve read page after page of her favourite book to settle her into sleep.

at his words she shuffled, made a soft noise that made his chest ache and then shook her head. she turned her face and hid it in the material of his sweater, her way of trying to make sure he didn’t see just how tired she was. but she’d been yawning for the past fifteen minutes, slowly slipping further and further down until she was almost in his lap. it was already passed her bedtime but one story had bled into another and another because steve was weak and had extreme difficulty saying no to either of his girls.

“don’t wanna.” he let the book fall closed, set it down on her bedside table with a little difficulty considering how tightly the little girl was clinging to him. “just five more minutes?”

“you had five more minutes an hour ago, trouble.” he shuffled a little, stroked his hand over her cheek as though to coax her out from hiding but she refused to move, only buried herself deeper. she yawned again and steve laughed, tugged playfully at her hair. “see, you’re tired.”

“m’not.”

“oh really? so who was yawning?”

“mr floppy ears.” steve’s smile grew even wider, his head dipping as she finally looked up at him. her eyes, almost identical to his, were soft and full of sleep, a clear sign she must have been dropping off as he read to her. he settled his palm on her cheek, brushed his thumb beneath her eye and watched her stifle another yawn, her eyes growing glossy with water.

“i think you’re telling lies.” he used his thumb to tap her nose, watching the way it scrunched and wrinkled in response. she was adorably stubborn sometimes, a trait you claimed she got from steve but he was adamant she was a replica of you in that way, always needing to get her own way no matter what. he shifted and patted her leg, climbing up off the bed. “c’mon, let me get you changed and then i’ll tuck you in, all snug yeah?”

she didn’t answer, just pouted at him, watched with droopy eyes as he rifled through her drawers for a pair of pyjamas. he was quick in finding them, tucking them over his arm before turning back to the bed, his heart almost melting in his chest at the sight in front of him. his daughter was mid-yawn, tiny fist rubbing into one eye, her dead dropping off to one side, plushie clutched close to her chest. she was still sitting up although a little unsteadily and steve wanted to wrap her up in his arms and keep her there forever. keep her warm and safe and protected from everything outside of this room.

he was quiet in approaching her, mumbling her name softly to get her attention and he smiled when she blinked sleepily at him, all traces of argument gone from her. he paused at the side of the bed, tapped ever so lightly beneath her chin. “gotta stand up for me, baby, we’ll be quick, okay?” she nodded a little sluggishly and with steve’s help stood on the mattress, her hand clutching tight to his arm. “what are we gonna have for breakfast?” he spoke quietly, a barely there whisper as he worked her shirt over her head, apologising even quieter when it tugged a little at her hair.

“pancakes. with nutella, the special ones that mommy makes.”

“lift your arm, that’s it. mommy’s special ones? with the strawberries and cream? other one, please.” the girl in front of him, already half asleep, nodded, drowsily did as she was told as he swapped her r shirt for a pink pyjama top, pulling the sleeves over her arms and checking she wasn’t twisted. “gonna do your trousers now, yeah? you wanna hold my head so you don’t trip?”

“i want the ones that she makes into stars and the hearts.” as she spoke she stepped in closer, wound her arms around her fathers neck and tucked her face away in his throat. steve pressed on hand against her back to steady her and used the others to tug at her trousers, helping her step out of them with a little struggle.

“hmm those are the best ones. we can ask her in the morning. can you lift this leg for me? careful.” steve laughed softly when she wobbled a bit, fatigue clearly pulling her under and tried not to wince when she clutched at his hair. “lift the other one and then we’re all done.” within another couple of seconds she was settled into a pair of pyjamas, her head falling on to steve’s shoulder as he lifted her up, settled her on his hip.

“do you think uncle dustin will wanna come and play tomorrow?” her words were a little sluggish but he could only smile, an odd fluttering kicking up in his stomach at the mention of dustin. his daughter had never really been told to call any of steve’s old friends uncle or aunt but it was as if it was just a given, from the moment she could talk it was alway uncle dustin or aunt robin and no one ever corrected her. steve would never admit it out loud but it was something he enjoyed hearing, no one would ever be able to understand the gravity of how much it meant to him, that they’d all still stuck around after this long, watched him grow and build his own family.

“we can ask him,” he pulled her sheets back, kissed the side of her head and set her back on the mattress, watched her plop herself down on to the pillow, shuffle a little until she was comfortable. steve passed her mr floppy ears and pulled the sheets back up, tucking them beneath her chin. “you can show him your new bike.”

“i can show him that i can ride to the end of the street now!” her voice rose a little from excitement and he reminded himself to make sure to call dustin and ask him round, just so his daughter would keep flashing that summer sweet smile. he sat to her side, grazed his fingers softly over her cheek.

“i think he’d love that.” she nodded, a sleepy smile still settled on her lips as she snuggled down into the sheets, eyes once again starting to droop closed. “get some sleep, yeah? you’ll need all your energy so you can beat uncle dustin in a race tomorrow.” he leant down and kissed her forehead, both cheeks, then her chin and finally her nose, grinning at her sleepy giggles. he nuzzled his nose against hers, dropped another kiss to the very tip. “i love you.”

“i love you, daddy. this much.” steve pulled back to see the way she was holding her hands, as far apart as possible.

“that’s a lot.” she nodded, face serious.

“it’s the most.” she blinked at him, hid a yawn behind her hand and steve smiled, ruffled her hair much to her annoyance.

“time to sleep, you want your night light on or off?”

“on please.” he nodded, went to push himself off the bed but she caught his arm, tapped her cheek when he looked down at her. “can i have another kiss?” the laugh he left out was more a breathless puff of air, his chest inflating with overwhelming love, a sudden surge of emotions crawling up his throat and he had to hold back an odd wave of tears. steve had never really known what this kind of love was like growing up and he was determined to make sure that your daughter felt every ounce of the emotion possible at the hands of both of you. leaving hawkins, he’d vowed he would never be like his parents.

“just one more and then you have to sleep.” she nodded and he kissed her cheek but ever the softy couldn’t settle with just that and pressed his lips once again over her head and nose and chin, a ritual they’d developed long ago. forehead was always first, nose last, it was a silent i love you, a press of feelings that neither of them really needed to say but he said it again anyway. “i love you.”

as he went to shift away, the little girl followed him up, pressed her own kiss to his cheek before settling back into the pillows, snuggling into the sheets and mr floppy ears. “g’night daddy.”

[buckybarnesdiaries]

please

© @captaincentenarian

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky needed to be spoiled.

word count: 1.2k

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! sub!bucky (more or less), handjob, mention of bodily fluids, praise!kink, language, cockwarming.

author notes: this isn't proofread, sorry for possible mistakes. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Oh, fu— fuck”.

A muffled moaning escaped his lips when your thumb caressed his reddened tip. Since Bucky woke you up some minutes ago, with curses and groans, you knew perfectly what he needed. Now he was sprawled between your legs and his back was stuck to your chest. The soldier tossed his head to your shoulder, having a better view of his tongue strongly licking his lips and his eyelids closed.

Your right hand pumped his most sensitive skin, up and down, at a medium pace. Enough to please him, but not to make him cum too soon. Bucky was stirring under your strokes, gripping his balls with his cold fingers as the flesh ones got tangled in your hair. Sometimes, he just needed to be touched. Touched by you, and no one else. Be treated with care and tenderness. The last mission had some complications and that took its toll.

“Does it feel good?” You whispered using a honeyed tone of voice into his ear.

“God… yes… so damn good, doll”. He replied as he could.

“You deserve it”. You hummed spreading sweet kisses on the connection of vibranium and skin.

Increasing the pace a little more just to tease him, Bucky responded with a soft growl, rubbing his abdomen with the palm of his free hand, slightly stretching back his head. His hard cock felt warmer with every move of your fingers around it, using some more pressure to give him an added pleasure. Bucky had to settle himself better against your chest, stealing the air from his lungs when you nailed your teeth in his neck. His digits got closed tighter in the back of your head, watching him trying to breathe through his parted lips.

James wasn't too loud while having sex, except in moments like those where your only purpose was to make him enjoy. He couldn't control his vocals, babbling your name with a wrecked tone. You used the tip of your tongue to draw a mark on his skin, sucking and hollowing your cheeks slightly. You loved to mark your territory, although those hickies never lasted longer than a day.

“Puts your hands on my thighs”. You ordered him, placing your legs over his to keep them wide open at any moment.

He obeyed with a soft pout, landing your free fingers on his balls to massage them slowly, contrary to how you were pumping his firm dick. Bucky would never recognize it, but he loved when you took control and told him what he should do. Tilting his head, he kissed you slowly, invading his mouth with your tongue as you felt his anxiety by digging his fingertips in the sides of your legs. Both were hungry for each other, jerking his length faster till earning again his moans and his curses.

Bucky looked like the most beautiful piece of art with the pearls of sweat decorating his forehead and some tufts of his black hair stuck on it. He bit his bottom lip fixing his pale blue eyes on yours, not needing words to express to you what you were making him feel.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you?” You purred against his lips, brushing them with yours. “My good boy”.

“Yes… I am”. Bucky whined when the pleasure started to be too much for his body.

“Of course you are, and you belong to me”. You spoke this time with a hoarse voice that gave him goosebumps, watching your boyfriend swallow. “Say it”.

“'M… you— yours, doll… only yours… I swear it”. His dick was twitching between your fingers, getting tensed as you squeezed his balls tighter. “Fu— Fuck… I need to… I need to cum…”

“Beg for it, my good boy”. You murmured, licking his parted lips with the tip of your tongue while slowing down the pace of your strokes, causing him to sob.

“Don' be… petty, doll… C'mon… C'mon, lemme cum, please”. Bucky growled in gasps, starting to rock his hips against your hand unconsciously.

He needed to release all the frustration running through his body. And he wanted you to help him with it. For you, it was a little funny how easy it was to make your big bad boyfriend plead. Although he hated you for it, trying to do his best to not push you apart and finish by himself.

“Baby, ple— please… Please…” Bucky moaned closing his eyes strongly, gripping your thighs with his huge hands. “God… I ca— can't wait… I can't…”

“You 'gonna disobey me?”

At the moment you replaced your left hand from his balls to his throat, forcing him to look at you again, his breathing became erratic, keen. His chest rose and fell furiously, not being able to control a single action of his anatomy.

“Please…” He begged you one last time, feeling all his blood concentrated in a concrete point of his cock and the knot within his low abdomen growing. “Doll… please.

“Cum for me. Now, James”. You commanded jerking him off faster than before, receiving a delighted cry from him.

Soon, the white ropes fell and stained his torso. His whole body was shaking, his Adam's apple was dancing under the palm of your hand still gripping his throat, the toes of his feet were curled and his abdomen was tense because of the orgasm exploding within him. Shutting up his vocals by devouring his mouth, your tongue fought his with dominance, while he was trying to breathe through his nose.

Collecting his arousal with your fingertips, you broke the kiss leaving him running out of air, sucking clean your digits under his attentive and exhausted gaze.

“Should be illegal to taste like that”. You purred giving him a whole show. “Wanna try it?”

“Please”. He mumbled leaning his head enough to lick your lips and suck the tip of your tongue. Bucky couldn't help but gasp at the savor of his jizz mixed with your saliva.

Not saying a single word, after placing one last kiss on his sweaty forehead, you stood up from your bed to go to the bathroom. Wetting a small towel with warm water, you came back to find your big soldier lying on his back and trying to recover. You kneeled on the mattress to clean first his face from the sweat, before continuing with his chest and abdomen and finishing with his —yet— twitching erection. Bucky sighed because of the careful caress, placing his hand made of vibranium on your back.

You tossed the towel somewhere over the floor, stripping yourself after that to lie by his side. “Come here…”

Using a sweet thread of voice, you urged him to turn and to let you embrace him. What he wasn't expecting was one of your hands to be snaked among your bodies, while you put a leg over his waist. Bucky understood your intentions when he was buried deep inside your soaked walls, sinking a more than pleased growl in your neck. He closed his arms around your body, forcing his cock to beyond your limits and holding it within your warm pussy.

“You're an angel, babydoll”. Bucky whimpered, feeling your walls clenching his sensible erection. “I love you… I love you”.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

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[fivelakesinwriting]

Golf Days (Rafe Cameron)

Author's Notes: I have very strong feelings about Drew Starkey's golf glove, this translates to Rafe Cameron's golf glove. Like..This got out of hand and I should be sprayed with the hose.

Warnings: This is filth. Pure smut. Swearing, somewhat rough sex, sexting, spanking (with and without the glove), Unprotected sex - please be safe out there, your choice how! *Also brief mention of drinking. All characters are of age (Rafe is 19 years old as per OBX story, his girlfriend is the same age as him)

Requested? NO, but all requests for OBX are open.

@outerbankies babe, you wanted the tag for this, you got it.

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

She hated golf days. Rafe was usually gone before she woke up and home late, too tired to really pay attention to her. Not that he didn't, but it was lazy. A squeeze of her thigh while her legs laid over his lap, or lazy kisses down her neck. Any other day there would beg each other for "one more, please".

Golf days he was in the sun and playing the game for hours. He would have a few drinks with his friends and come home tired. It wasn't that he didn't want to love her, he didn't have the energy most times.

This time, she wasn't having it. She woke up before him, rolled on top of his still sleeping form and placed kiss after kiss over his broad chest.

"Morning, sweetie." Rafe hummed with a smile as he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her naked body against his to keep her close.

"Morning." She replied before she sucked at the sweet spot on his Adams apple.

"Don't start. Not this morning." Rafe moaned, his eyes still closed. She felt him continue to stiffen between her legs so made no effort to stop sucking a hickey on his already tanned skin.

"You don't like it?" She smiled against his throat with a rub of her core against his manhood.

Rafe growled deep in his chest as he flipped her onto her back, then laid between her legs. He pinned her knees to the mattress, thighs spread wide for him as rubbed his tip against her folds.

"I love it, and you fucking know it." Rafe replied with narrow eyes. He watched as her mouth fell open as she slowly slid inside of her. They had been playing with positions, and her flexibility, lately. This one was definitely new.

"B...baby." She gasped as she gripped at his biceps, her nails deep in his skin.

"Too much for you, pretty girl?" Rafe muttered as he watched her eyes roll back as he pulsed his hips. He knew what she was trying to do the minute he felt her grind her slick folds on him.

He would set her straight.

"No! Just so deep, Rafe." She breathed as she leaned up for a kiss.

Rafe smiled as he pulled his hips back, then snapped them forward harshly bottoming out as he planted a firm kiss on her lips. His girlfriend screamed against his lips as sh cleaned around him.

"Be a good girl while I'm gone, and you get this when I get back. Just like this." Rafe growled as he kept his pace steady to ride her through her orgasm.

"Don't leave me." She whined as she came, her nails scratched at his biceps. She surged forward to suck at his throat as he gave her a few final pumps to finish inside of her.

"I've got to, Sweetie. But I promise I will be back and I'll love on you how you deserve." He mumbled as he kissed her forehead.

She released a loud whine when he gently pulled out of her. Rafe placed a kiss on her lips, then her collarbone before he made his way out of their bed. He pulled on his discarded pair of sweats from the previous night then made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Rafe's girl pouted while she laid in bed, her legs still spread to accommodate his frame. She sat up in bed before she grabbed a pair of panties from her bedside drawer and scurried to the front door where Rafe's golf bag waited. She stuffed them in one of the side compartments for him to find.

*

A few hours later Rafe was on the golf course with some of the Kooks, already done a few holes. He finished off his beer before he rounded the back of the cart to grab something from his bag. He unzipped the compartment and pulled out a lacy yellow thong.

"Damnit, sweetie." Rafe scoffed as he rolled the fabric in his hands then put her panties in his back pocket. He grabbed a fresh scorecard then walked back to the guys at the tee with a smirk.

"What?" Topper asked as he lined up his ball.

"My girl is a fucking deviant." Rafe grinned as he held the small pencil between his teeth as he fixed his glove.

"What did she do this time?" Kelce laughed as he took a seat in the cart.

"Found a pair of panties in my bag." Rafe smirked as he pulled his phone out of his other pocket to see multiple messages from his girl.

"What did you do to that girl?" Topper asked as he swung at the ball, hitting it down the green.

"I didn't do anything!" Rafe replied with a laugh as he placed his ball and tee down to take his shot.

"Well, when we met her she was shy and sweet. Now she's leaving her panties in golf bags." Kelce stated with raised eyebrows.

"She's still sweet. Just way more confident than she way then, and a bit of a sexual deviant." Rafe grinned as she took his own swing. He walked away from the tee then checked the multitude of messages from his woman.

Rafe ran his glove free hand over his face as he read through the filthy text message from her, followed by pictures that got more and more suggestive. A finger in her mouth, her breasts in his favourite lacy bra, her fingers tugging at the sides of the matching lace thong.

You're in trouble when I get home.

Rafe texted back after he saved every single photo she sent him. Despite how he had left her in their bed that morning, without more than a kiss on her pouty lips and an "I love you", he hated leaving her. He was just as desperate for her as she was for him. And he wanted to play with that new position a little more.

Rafe wrapped up his golf fame around the same time as usual, but his foot was heavy gas pedal home. He practically kicked the door of their apartment down and tossed his golf bag in the foyer as he came home.

"Hi, baby." She smiled sweetly from her spot on the couch, still in her lingerie as she read a book.

Rafe pursed his lips as he pulled his golf glove from his back pocket and walked over to sit next to her. He pulled the book from her hands and placed it on the table in front of them. He gave a pat to his thighs while he gave her an expectant look.

"Ass up." Rafe grumbled as he raised his eyebrows at her.

She sat up on her knees then crawled over to lay herself over Rafe's lap. She whimpered softly when she heard the velcro of his glove tighten behind her. She lifted her backside into his touch as he glove- less hand ran over her backside.

"Rafe." She smiled as she gripped at the arm of the couch as she wiggled her backside for his attention.

Rafe laid a slap on her left ass cheek with his gloved hand, smiling as she squealed. Her hips pressed into his lap. Rafe grinned as he ran his other hand over the skin as it began to flush.

"How many times do I have to tell you to play nice?" Rafe growled as he laid another smack with gloved hand on her other cheek.

"Baby!" She cried as she tried to grind herself into him.

"I didn't take care of you earlier? Hmm, pretty girl?" Rafe grunted as he pulled her thong to the side to push his fingers between her legs. He growled as he felt her soaked, her face buried in the arm of the couch as she whined.

"Rafe!" She sobbed out, her hips rolling back to his hand as her nails pulled down the fabric of the couch.

"You sent me some filthy shit, sweetie." Rafe mumbled as his glove-less fingers worked between her legs.

"I missed you." She moaned with her back arched.

Rafe breathed out a laugh as he slipped his middle finger inside of her. She writhed above him with a sob, one of her hands reaching down to grab his thigh.

"I missed you, too." Rafe replied as hie slipped his index finger in her as well. He hooked his fingers inside of her and reached her spot, smiling as she croaked out his name.

Rafe watched her every move as she writhed on top of him, her face buried in the couch as she came around his fingers. He slowly removed his fingers from his girlfriend and placed his gloved hand beneath her on her belly to prompt her upright.

"Baby." She hummed with her hands on his neck, her slick thighs on her side of his. He knew his pants would be ruined, but he didn't care.

Rafe smirked as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. His smile grew as she whined and pushed her hips down to his, her hands buried in his hair.

"What did I do to you?" Rafe growled as he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back. He watched the way her chest rose heavily with her breath and he couldn't help but place messy kisses on her breasts.

"Made me a slut." She whispered as he hands pushed through his hair.

Rafe tossed his head back with a laugh before he placed a kiss on her lips.

"You're my slut." Rafe muttered against her lips as he pulled the cups of her bra down, then pinned her knees to the couch.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! xoxo

Requests for OBX are open, open!

[sehunniepotwrites]

i’ll send all my loving to you | jh.s

💌  part of the OF FIRST SNOWS AND SOULMATES collaboration with @ppangjae​, @smoll-tangerine​, and @jeongvision​ 

💌 SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.

So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?

💌 WORD COUNT: 24.8k+ 💌 GENRE: holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au,  friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn 💌 PAIRING: photographer!johnny suh x (female) poet!reader

💌 WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce, odd references to sci-fi shows and movies

💌 PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden

💌  a love letter to my readers.

hello, soulmates! welcome to the first fic of this special spin-off collab based on ppangjae’s seven letters. this collab has been in the works since november and we’re so excited for you all to read our four fics! now, i hold this story close to my heart because all the poems included are my original work (so please don’t steal them!) 

it’s also related to this johnny drabble i wrote a while back: “you turned him into poetry because you can’t have him any other way.” (not necessary to read but it’s less thatn 500 words.)

and without further ado, here’s the first of four letters!

signed, @sehunniepotwrites​

From your large bedroom window, you could see a picture perfect day. The winter sun peered through the large clouds, the rays casting an illuminating glow on the freshly fallen snow. A slight breeze made its way through the air, causing tree branches and your blackout curtains to rustle with the winds. Looking down below, you saw children and adults alike playing in the soft snow. Shrieks of laughter were heard as people threw snowballs, built lopsided snowmen, and pressed angels’ silhouettes into the ground. You saw bundled up couples making their way down the streets with interlocked hands and cups of steaming drinks to keep them warm.

It was as perfect as a beautiful winter’s day would ever be— if only you could write about it!

BAM.

You slammed your hands against your desk by the open window, letting out a frustrated scream. It was loud enough to alarm the people playing below, causing them to look up at you with widened eyes. You shut your window with a bang and yanked your curtains closed with more force than needed.

The door to your room flung open to reveal your frazzled roommate and best friend, Donghyuck. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” he yelled as he entered your room with widened eyes. 

You could only groan back as you belly-flopped onto your bed, lower legs hanging off the sides. “Everything. Absolutely everything is wrong.” You pressed your head into a pillow, hoping the soft cotton would drown you and take you away from your misery. 

“And what exactly does everything include?” your roommate implored. He took a seat beside you, the mattress sinking down into the springs of your bed frame as he did so. Donghyuck awkwardly patted your upper back as you continued to moan into your pillowcase.

You didn’t give him an answer. Instead, you looked up from your pillow and glared intensely at him. “This is all your fault.”

He drew back his hand and placed it on his chest. “My fault?” Donghyuck asked dramatically with a scoff. “How could this be my fault? I don’t even know what your problem is!”

You sat up with a pout, arms crossed against your chest. “I’m stuck.” 

“You’re stuck,” he repeated with a deadpan expression. “Now, what in the flying fuck is that supposed to mean and how is it my fault?”

Grabbing your pillow by its corner, you gathered the fluff before beating your roommate with it. You struck him on the head, his sides, and on his stomach with huge whacks, leaving him to squirm on your bed. 

“You had to go and send my work to a publisher without my consent and. Look. Where. It. Got. Me!” you screeched, your last few words being enunciated with a strike to your best friend’s stomach.

He grabbed hold of your hitting arm before you could make another attack. “Young, rich, and famous?” he suggested cheekily with a hesitant grin. “New York Times Best Selling Poet, Sunny Blume?”

At the sound of your pen name, you jerked your hand away from his grip and went into another hitting fit. “Correction: I am a struggling English Lit senior who happens to be a New York Times Best Seller with the biggest case of writer’s block, you dumbfuck!”

Donghyuck bit your writing hand, or the money maker as he called it, causing you to yelp in pain. You clutched your throbbing hand and pouted, “Ow!”

“That’s what you get for blaming me!” He stuck out his tongue before pulling you into his hold. He kept you in a loose headlock and sat you on his lap. “Now, what’s this talk about writer’s block, buttercup?” 

You sighed against his hold, your head rolling back onto the crook of his neck. “I haven’t written anything in two months,” you blankly stated as you stared up at the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. They seemed a bit childish when you first hung them up but they were nostalgic and kept you grounded when you needed them most. 

“Ah,” your roommate simply replied, allowing you to continue.

“And according to my agent, they want a draft of my next collection by the end of January,” you lamented. You both glanced at the calendar hanging by your desk— it was already the 1st of December. 

His plump lips thinned out in an awkward smile. Donghyuck brought a hand to your shoulder, patting it in defeated consolation. “Wow, that’s rough, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes before sliding off his lap. You dragged your body towards your messy desk, shuffling the crumpled wads around before grasping a stack of papers to hand over to your friend. “This is literally all I could come up with.”

He snatched them out of your grip, brown eyes skimming over your messy scrawl. With raised eyebrows, he read the top poem out loud. “Roses are red, violets are blue; I can’t write shit, so boo hoo hoo.”

Just hearing those poorly written words made you want to bang your head across on your desk or throw your refurbished typewriter off your table— scratch that last thought. That typewriter was a prized possession and a precious gift interlaced with a special memory, you could never part with it. 

“These are—” he began to say, his dry hands skimming through the pile of crumpled paper.

“Don’t say it,” you countered. You already knew his answer. 

“—complete utter shit,” he finished his thought. 

You pulled out your swiveling chair from under your desk and flopped onto it. Dropping your head down, you faced your friend with a cheek squished onto the cold surface of your desk.

“I know,” You sighed defeatedly. “I just— I don’t know, dude. I don’t have anything to write about!”

“Well, what happened to Miss Romantic Sunny Blume that wrote all those love letters and sappy poetry?”

“Excuse me, Miss Sunny actually had someone to write about back then!” you fiercely snapped back. “I don’t have anyone or anything to inspire me now!” 

It was true. When Donghyuck secretly sent your first round of writings to a publisher, you had a muse and he was beautiful— almond eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, a kittenish smile paired with a sweet voice and an even sweeter personality. He was a poet’s dream boy and even better, he was your best friend.

His name was John Suh but you called him Johnny. Just saying his name brought a lovesick smile to your lips.

When you were with him, your words painted pictures of childhood innocence, of laughter flowing in with the flowers and the trees. You grew up attached at the hip, conquering the big old world with your hand engulfed in his, and many stories poured out of your adventures. You wrote of moments that you cherished and wanted to preserve through the art of the written word. 

The ones you mostly wrote about, though, were the times he made your heart skip a beat. Johnny used to grab your hand and pull you away from the end of the sidewalk to stay on the safer side, causing you to flush with appreciation. You scribbled about the times he would push back your hair with a smile, press a kiss to your temple, or he would look at you as if you held the whole world in your eyes. 

“Hey!” A rough shove to your side brought you out of your thoughts and onto the hard wooden floors. You let out a whine, rubbing the shoulder that made contact with the ground. 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck replied unabashedly. “You were doing it again.”

Again meaning spacing out and thinking of the one person that held your precious heart in his hands before snapping it in two. As much as Johnny had been your muse in the verses of love, he was equally responsible for the prose and poems touching on heartache. 

Johnny was the sole inspiration for your unexpected Best Seller, letters left unsent. As hard as you tried within the past three years to find another, no one could ever stir up your heart with a fountain of words as Johnny did.

In other words, you were so fucking screwed.

When one cannot think of what to do, there was only one thing you could do: when in doubt, call your—

“Mooooom,” you whined, pressing your phone against your ear with your shoulder. You juggled a mug in one hand and a steaming pot of tea in another. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetie,” you heard your mother sigh into the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why not?” you argued back like a child, a louder whine leaving your lips. “You’re my mother, aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“Oh honey, don’t be like that,” your mother chuckled. “I’m not a writer. I don’t know how to use my words as well as you do.”

“Well then, I’m at a complete, utter loss.” Taking a sip of your hot tea, you hissed as the temperature burned your tongue, “Ack, too hot!”

Setting your tea down onto your living room coffee table, you slid onto the couch in a weird slouch, where you’ve camped out for the past few nights. Your last bullet journal was filled to the brim with no blank pages left, jam packed with scribbles, rips, and stains of either coffee or tea. It held poems, yes, but they weren’t good enough to publish— they were dry. Beyond dry, even. Devoid of emotion. Just words on a page. 

“Nothing from your old notebooks?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already published in print or online,” you complained. “I guess I could probably pull a couple but not a whole bunch.”

Your mother called your name just as you placed the phone on speaker and you responded with a crushed hum. “You’re on break now, yes?”

“Yeah,” you replied back. You and Donghyuck had just finished your first semester of your senior year, with break beginning at the start of December. You had been tucked in your small apartment, away from the blistering cold of winter ever since. 

“Would a change of environment help?” she suggested kindly.

“I’ve tried that already— I’ve gone to coffee shops and libraries. I’ve people-watched in the park. Went out with friends. And still, absolutely nothing,” you moaned. You were just about ready to give up.

“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant, dear,” she said a bit apprehensively.

“Huh?” was all you could give back.

While you grabbed your mug to take another sip of tea, you could hear your mother suck in a deep breath through the speaker. “Why don’t you come home for the holidays?” she uttered suddenly, throwing you in for a loop.

You froze in place in shock, the mug almost slipping from your hand. Your fingers gripped onto the handle tighter than necessary, the cup shaking in your hold. 

Your mother, more than anyone else in the world, knew that going home for the break was off-limits to you.  You hadn’t been back home for the holidays for the past three years, the memories of your heartbreak four years ago still living fresh in your mind. Although you had never told her the full story, one look at your shaken face and she knew that something had happened— call it a mother’s intuition. She held you in your arms while you cried and watched over you as you leaned over your desk, maniacally typing away on your typewriter. When the following break came around, you refused to go back home. So instead, your family came to you.

Placing the tea back on a messy paper stack that replaced a coaster, you exhaled loudly, your breath blowing through the mic of your phone. “Mom, w-why would you even say that?”

“Sweetie, I still don’t know what exactly happened between you two but you can’t keep running away from home. Or your problems,” she advised, her tone morphing into the ‘know-it-all’ mom voice that you hated. You grumbled but didn’t say a word. “Besides, when you were home, all you could do was write— coming home could help you tremendously.”

She paused, as if the dull moment in her words would help you think. “And if you need any more convincing, John hasn’t been home in three years either, honey. I doubt you would run into him here.”

“I guess,” you responded, voice teetering. 

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Days after speaking to your mother, you forced yourself out of your shared apartment like a man on a mission. You went to the movies and to the theatre, hoping you could pull ideas from existing plot lines. Your feet took you to record shops and more cafes to find inspiration. You went on drives and rode buses while staring out through the window, hoping for words to just hit you. You did anything and everything to call upon your creative juices but nothing helped.

“Honey, I’m home!” you jokingly shouted as the squeaky door to your apartment swung wide open. You winced, you really needed to get that checked out. Throwing your keys into the bowl on top of your shoe rack, you shuffled your way to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

“Yo,” Donghyuck greeted, his lithe body sprawled over the couch. His arms were outstretched to hold his phone over his head, a finger scrolling through the feed. “Any luck today, Rupi Kaur?”

“Nope.”

“Sucks to suck, Lang Leav.”

“Oh, fuck you too,” you retorted as you poured some sugar and creamer into your cup. You inhaled the heavenly scent as you whacked your roommate’s legs off the couch. Taking a sip, you sighed. 

“This is the best part of my day right here,” you said as you drank a mouthful of caffeine. It immediately dispersed warmth down your hands and throat, like magic.

“Really? I thought it was wandering through the cold weather in search of ideas and failing at it,” Donhyuck threw back. You smacked his arm and he yelped, murmuring something about always being your punching bag but you paid no attention to his words.

You took another long sip of your coffee, eyes glaring at your sassy roommate.

“Maybe you should listen to your mom, you know?” he proposed, running a finger through his long brown locks. 

“Hyuck,” you started.

He interrupted you as he sat up in his seat and gave you a pointed look. “Listen, she said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hasn’t been home in years. So why not go home?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, you could even search through your old notebooks and maybe you’ll find ones that haven’t published yet,” the boy pushed, “or you could even revamp or write responses to your old work.” 

That was true—many people have done that before. 

“I’ll even go with you for moral support if you want me, too,” Donghyuck lightly suggested, testing the waters. As much as he sassed you, your best friend never wanted you to be uncomfortable.

“You would do that for me?” you pouted with sparkling eyes. You coiled your arm around his, playfully rubbing your cheek against the sleeve of his shirt. “You growing soft on me, Hyuck?”

“Ew, I’m never soft,” he reacted, his face contorting with fake disgust. He wiggled his arm out of your ridiculously tight grasp to give you a noogie, knuckles digging deep through your hair and on your scalp. “Come on, we have some packing to do.”

Okay, so you were doing this. 

And so came the dreaded day— December 7th, the day you planned to drive home. Luckily, your university was only an hour and fifteen minutes away from your hometown so it wasn’t much of a drive. Donghyuck waited downstairs in the packed car as you did your last minute checks around the apartment. After checking everything was either turned off or unplugged, you swiftly slipped on your boots and outerwear. You opened the door to reveal your postman with a package in hand. You jumped at his sudden appearance, not expecting it at all, and he had the audacity to laugh at your skittish self. 

“Oh, just in time!” he chuckled. He read off your name, “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered him. He grinned at your polite answer, handing you a clipboard to sign off on. You quickly scribble your name in exchange for the small package and whisper a distracted ‘thanks,’ shaking the box once it was snug in your hand. 

The postman laughed again before leaving you to make more deliveries.

Heavy boots pounded on the steps of the staircase as you curiously eyed the package. You continued to stare suspiciously at it as you entered the passenger’s seat of your car with your friend in the driver’s seat.

“Retail therapy?” Donghyuck teased as he glanced at the mysterious box. You shook your head, hair swaying with movement as you buckled your seatbelt. He set off onto the icy street and suddenly, you were on the open road, heading back to your childhood home for Christmas. 

“No, everything I ordered already arrived,” you answered with furrowed brows digging deep into your face, “but it’s addressed to me.”

The driver shrugged, still keeping his eye on the road. He was driving slower than usual due to the condition of the pathway. It would probably take you two hours to get home rather than the usual hour and fifteen. 

“Maybe one of the warehouses made a mistake and sent you two sets of things instead of one, it happens a lot this time of year,” he said nonchalantly. That was a valid point.

Using your keys as a dull blade, you cut through the tape. Hands dug through the bubble wrap to find a brand new Moleskine journal and a fancy fountain pen. The cover was black and made of leather. The book itself was pocket sized, a perfect notebook to slip into a purse or a slit in a coat. 

“So, what is it?” Donghyuck tried to look over curiously and you scolded him, telling him to keep his wandering eyes on the traffic-clad highway. 

“It’s a brand new journal and pen,” you said, describing the items to him. “Funny, I never ordered this, though.”

Flipping through the pages, you found them to be dotted— exactly how you liked them. Your hand turned to the first page, surprised to see lines of neat cursive scribbled jotted on the bright surface.

“Huh.” You blinked. Why would someone send you a used notebook? That was odd.

Another odd thing about this whole mysterious package was how familiar the handwriting looked— the way this person dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. You recognized the loops of their L’s and their F’s.

It looked awfully similar to the way you did it but how could that be possible? 

The cursive read:

My dear,

It will be December 7th by the time you get this package. I know you’ve been wanting to purchase a new journal, I am you from the future after all.

You’ll be needing this. A beautiful muse will appear in front of you soon. I will not tell you who or when— you’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

After you meet him, find the yellow Moleskine journal tucked under your bed. I have placed another note for you in there.

Sincerely,

the sunflower who misses her sun 

Quickly shutting the notebook, you threw it into your purse before chucking your bag to the back of your roommate’s car. You slapped the side of your head, trying to take away whatever wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey bullshit you just read. What in the space-time continuum was this crap?

“Dude, are you okay?” Donghyuck asked, clearly concerned.

“Let’s talk about something else!” you demanded, still shaken from the words you just read. 

“Whatever you want, buttercup,” he went along with your suggestion, immediately shooting into stories of him with his crazy high school friends and his current partner. His absurd stories throughout the ride cracked you up and they reminded you of all the old shenanigans you and Johnny used to get into. Funny how your thoughts always traveled back to him.

You hoped that once you meet your new muse, your thoughts of your childhood friend would disappear. 

Donghyuck gently called your name and you turned to face him with a slight smile.

“I don’t think you ever told me,” he started.

“Told you what?”

“Why you chose Sunny as your pen name,” he finished, glancing over at you for a second. 

“Oh, that?” you answered, leaning your head against the car window. You crossed your arms as you began to explain, “Johnny used to call me sunflower, you know.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you almost giggled, “thought I was a bundle of positivity, always looking for the bright side in everything. Guess it just stuck with me.”

Donghyuck hummed, “And were you? Seems a little different from the you that got her heart broken.”

“I guess I was,” you answered wistfully thinking of the day he gave you that nickname, “but really, I was just a sunflower looking up at someone she thought was the sun.”

i wonder how long  i have to look at you like a sunflower gazing up at the bright sun before you shine  your rays down on me and only me

Memories of one specific Fall day with him came to mind. 

It was four years ago— the day was hot, not a single cloud in the sky and yet, there you two were at a pumpkin patch. You were gleaming with both sweat and excitement while your tall best friend who had been there before watched you with amused eyes.

While it was your first Fall Semester in university, it was Johnny’s second Fall quarter away from home. When Johnny moved away to study photography at a prestigious university, you remembered how sad you were to not have your partner-in-crime by your side but all was well when he made the forty-five minute drive home on weekends. Those days were the times you were glad he didn’t wander too far.

You chose a well-known university that had an amazing English program. An hour and fifteen away from home but also only twenty minutes from where Johnny was, meaning college courses couldn’t separate your strong bond; that was how you ended up running through corn mazes and haystacks. 

He had his favorite camera on him that day, strapped around his neck. You could remember exactly what he was wearing, too; that image of him lived forever in your mind. He sported an oversized striped button-up tucked into a sleek pair of blue skinnies and adorned his classic Converse. Round glasses sat on the edge of his nose with his hair parted and styled immaculately. Johnny just looked like the Fine Arts major everyone fantasized about. 

You could still picture all the people stopping to stare at him but he paid no attention to them, his hands and eyes too busy fiddling with his camera. 

You were admiring the field of sunflowers in front of you when Johnny yelled your name. You turned towards him with a curious smile, a hand touching the stem of a flower before a flash went off. 

He took pictures of you, the loud noise of fast shutters going off, and you rolled your eyes before he waved you over to come check out the shots. Johnny leaned down as you peered over his arm, his finger navigating through the quick shots he took. He stopped on one particular photo and grinned.  

Johnny caught you mid spin, your head turned over your shoulder as you clutched the flower in your hand. Your eyes bled both wide-eyed curiosity at him calling your name but also admiration for the flowers behind you. The mustard yellow of your shirt stood out against the green stems and there was a small smile gracing your lips highlighted by your favorite fall-colored stain. 

In other words, it was the perfect shot. 

“Look, you fit right in with them,” he said, smiling down at you with a certain fondness in his voice. It was soft, not like his usual teasing voice.  “My little sunflower.”

You scrunched your nose at his cheesy comment, although it made a weird feeling hatch in the pit of your stomach. It felt odd and fluttery but you shook it off to lightly shove his buff arm.

“Oh shut up, you giant,” you remembered saying before smiling up at the man who was too busy admiring the picture. If anything, he looked proud of the shot— his eyes shining in a certain way. Or maybe it was something else, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Your eyes flickered around his face, admiring the way the glasses and his black hair framed his face so perfectly. Maybe your eyes lingered a little too long because the next thing you recalled was him saying, “Are you done staring at my gorgeous face? I wanna take pictures of you being a basic bitch by the pumpkins.”

And then, the teasing returned. 

“Ugh, evaporate, tall person,” you pretended to groan as you made your way to the pumpkins. 

“Eh, can’t— who would drive you home?” he called out cheekily, using his long legs to catch up with you. Johnny elbowed your arm and you dug yours into his side, leaving him to moan painfully until he asked for mercy. 

The boy took so many other pictures of you and the scenery that day. The next time you visited his dorm, you stole a glance at his wall of favorite shots. Right there on the bottom of the wall was that picture of you, unedited.

You remember biting back the biggest smile. You held it in until you got home, your mind relishing in the feeling when pen hit paper. You wrote your first poem about him that day and three years later, it became one of your most famous pieces.

first coat of white hits the ground and i forever think of you angel of snow, do you think of me, too?

Not even two days of being home and your mother had already sent you on an errand run. Usually, you would moan and groan for being sent outside with a to-do list but today was the exception as it was the first snowfall in your hometown.

“Hurry up and unlock the car, I’m freezing!” Donghyuck called, his hands yanking on the handle of the passenger’s door. You stuck your tongue out at him and pressed a button on your keys before taking in the feeling of fresh snow hitting your skin for a moment more. You followed him into the car, buckling your seatbelt before driving off on a familiar pathway. Driving through your neighborhood with the snow raining from the sky made you sigh happily.

The first snowfall of the season was always special to a romantic because of its significance. People believed that a confession to a crush made on the first snowfall would always be reciprocated. 

Just as so, the first snowfall was special to you. Not because of crushes and confession or anything of that sort. The very first fall of snow was special because it brought Johnny to you. 

You remembered being just shy of five years old, excited about the first snow day of the year. Quickly dressing yourself in your outerwear, you ran around in front of your house with snow dropping down from the sky. Your family laughed at your hyper antics, watching you from the window as you began to play by yourself. A snowman dressed in your best winter beanie and scarf set kept you company as you decorated the yard with snow angels. 

Just as you were getting up from making your last snow angel, a dark shadow blocked your view. You made out a pair of dinosaur snow boots facing you, then your eyes tracked up to see a happy boy wearing a matching dinosaur winter jacket and beanie. His puffy lips smiled brightly at you from above and you looked up at him with a pout, not recognizing him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you dusted snow off your pants.

“Hi, I’m John and I’m six! I just moved here!” the boy beamed, his almond eyes closing as he gave you another cute smile. 

You replied shyly with your own name while moving onto another spot in the snow. You sat down, ready to make another snow angel. 

“I live there now,” John pointed to the house across the street, his dinosaur mittens peeking through his sweater paws. You nodded while he told you this. You remembered thinking he talked a lot. His mother watched not too far from him on the sidewalk with a fond smile. Your parents came out to greet her, the adults striking up a small conversation while they kept their eyes on you.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m making snow angels, duh,” you gestured to all your markings on the floor. “See, those are wings right there.”

“Can I make them with you?” John questioned, sitting on the cold ground next to you. You nodded enthusiastically, happy to have another playmate. He flopped onto the snow and you followed suit with a loud giggles.

“I like you, Johnny— you’re fun,” you blurted out with a beaming smile.

“That’s not my name! My name is John, not Johnny,” he insisted with a small frown. Your grin slowly flipped upside down, saddened by the rejection from your new playmate.

Seeing the tears building in your eyes, the boy panicked. “But it’s okay— you can call me Johnny!” he quickly blurted to put an end to your waterworks. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, cause I like you, too. You’re pretty,” Johnny hugged you, his small arms wrapping around your tiny waist and you did the same in return. Johnny’s father was quick to snap a photo of the hug with his camera, successfully capturing your first picture and memory together as friends. 

Time passed quickly as you dragged your bodies onto the snow while your parents observed the new friendship in the making. They predicted the start of a long-lasting friendship; they just failed to predict the ending. 

Regardless of the tragic end, the first snowfall of the season was still something you cherished. It reminded you of shy introductions in dinosaur outerwear, laughter, and a billion angels surrounding the white dusted floor. You just hoped that when the next person came along, they would learn to love snow angels as much as you did. 

You exited through the doors of the grocery store while hugging a paper bag to your chest. The items were piled up a mile high, obscuring your view of the parking lot. Donghyuck noticed your struggle and asked if you needed help but you shrugged him off— your car wasn’t parked that far from the entrance. It was just a few more steps away.

The snow was still falling from the sky, the cold nipping at your exposed skin. Your friend walked ahead with the keys, determined to return to take advantage of your car’s heater. He left you struggling to see and a strong gust of wind threw you off balance. You stumbled with one hand clutching the bag to your chest and the other pushing down on the items on top of your pile. Too focused on not letting your items touch the ground, you failed to see the couple walking straight towards you and crashed right into what felt like a brick wall. 

You fell back with force, arms flailing around. You closed your eyes as your back came in contact with the icy ground. You groaned— that was definitely going to bruise.

“Oh my god, Miss. Are you okay?” a gentle female voice panicked. 

“Ah, I’ll be okay. A little bump won’t kill me,” you awkwardly laughed. You scrambled to get up but the icy road was preventing you from doing so. 

“Baby, help her up!” the woman scolded her partner as she started to gather your belongings. 

“Oh no, it’s okay. You really don’t have to do that.” 

Where was Hyuck when you needed him?

“Nah, it was my fault anyways. Here, let me,” a friendly male voice replied as a strong arm pulled you up with ease. 

You froze in place, feet glued to the ground because you knew that voice. Oh god, how you knew that voice. You heard it so many times throughout your life, it was hard not to recognize it. How could you forget the voice that was so prominent in your childhood and teenage memories? That voice was ever so present in your first year of college, laughter echoing through dumb phone calls and moans resonating through your thin bedroom walls.

How could you ever forget the voice that lived in your mind and heart?

“Miss?” he called again as you refused to look up, your hands curled into tight fists. Instead, you stared at the ground, watching the snowflakes hit the floor. You weren’t ready to see him but when he spoke once more, you realized there was no use denying the inevitable. 

“Y-yes?” you coughed, glancing up at him with a self-conscious smile. Your eyes met his russet brown orbs and you prayed to whatever higher power was out there that he wouldn’t recognize your frazzled self. Being your best friend for so long, Johnny knew who you were at first glance. His gaze widened and his grip loosened around your wrist.

There was a deep contrast between him and the white falling snow but even with a wide-eyed gaze, the man before you was more beautiful than ever. The dark hair that was imprinted in your memory was now dyed a honey blonde. His strands were a little bit longer now and his face a tad bit thinner. The little upturns of his lips and his defined cupid’s bow were still the same. He wore that plaid winter coat you gifted him and Johnny still looked like an angel amongst men.

A pretty angel. Your snow angel. 

Johnny whispered your name, sending this warm surge throughout your body. You suddenly felt way too hot in all your layers. You muttered a tiny ‘hi’ back accompanied with your unnecessary finger guns. The woman with him handed you back your groceries with a kind smile and you returned it with a forced one. 

“John, do you know her?” she turned to him, her pretty hand clutching onto his bicep.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed out, still a bit awe-struck that you were right in front of him again. “This is my, um, childhood best friend. You know the one I’m always talking about?”

“Yup, that’s me,” you managed to spit out, rocking on the balls of your feet. 

Where in the hell was Lee Donghyuck? How come he hasn’t checked on you yet?

“Oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” the girl relayed. 

“You have?” you asked, shooting your former best friend an odd look. He gave you a slight smile back, just one corner of his chapped lips curling up. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t heard much about you.”

She playfully slapped Johnny’s arm. “Well, introduce me, silly goose!”

“Right, this is Alice, my—” he paused to clear his throat, “my girlfriend.” 

“Great to meet you,” she stuck out a hand. 

You lifted your bag of retrieved items as an excuse not to shake it. “Right back at you,” you reciprocated, doing your best to hide the pieces of your broken heart. 

You gave them a tense smile. You needed to get out of there right away before your heart fell out of your chest. “Sorry to cut this meeting short but I do have someone waiting in the car. He’s been in there for a while now, so if you’ll just excuse me.” 

Before they could answer, you shifted on your heels and power walked without looking back. Quickly tossing the items haphazardly into the back, you slipped into the driver’s seat and drove away. The car went right past them, Johnny watching you as you sped into the street.

Donghyuck sat quietly for a minute but ended the silence when you began to bang on your steering wheel at a stoplight. “What the fuck happened out there? Did I miss something?”

“Hyuck, of all the things that could happen to me out here, what was I so afraid of?” you screamed at him, knuckles turning white as you tightly gripped the wheel. 

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Think, Donghyuck, think! It’s really not that hard to use that little brain of yours!” 

When he couldn’t think of a possible answer, you groaned. How did this idiot call himself your best friend?

“I bumped into the last person I wanted to see and I couldn’t just be rude,” you screeched as your car dashed along the street. 

“I bumped into Johnny-fucking-Suh, can you—” You stopped mid-sentence, your thoughts going back to the note in the journal.

You’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

Bumped. You bumped into him. 

You wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. There you were, ecstatic at the possibility of finding a new muse when in reality, nothing had changed.

Johnny Suh was your muse— always had been and always will be.

And of course, you met him again during the first snowfall of the season. Of-fucking-course. 

Screw the Fates.

Driving home at record-breaking speed, you scared Donghyuck half to death. There was this frantic look in your eyes as you turned onto your street corner and into your driveway. You rushed out of your car and swung your front door open, leaving your friend to bring the groceries in— a bit rude to make your guest do the work but your mind was running wild at that point. There were so many questions floating amuck in your brain and you desperately needed answers.

Throwing yourself by your bedside, you dug into the drawers of your bed frame, hands flying through your old belongings. They pushed through your special treasure box filled with trinkets, your polaroid albums, and a stack of journals crowded with your old thoughts and musings from your high school days until you found it. 

There it sat— your yellow Moleskine journal. Just grazing your hand over the book brought back so many emotions. You grazed over it with a far-off smile, hand fiddling with the elastic that held it shut. It was worn-out unlike the other ones in your drawer of miscellaneous things because that journal was well-loved. The cover was far beyond clean, stained with ink marks and dirt that came from who knows where. 

You opened it slowly, delicately as if it was made of glass. In some way, it was because this was your life for a year, all trapped into one small notebook. It was your raw emotions and the whispers of your heart during your first year of college. The very journal you held in your hands was the original draft of letters left unsent. 

There were poems and notes and letters far too personal to publish, words for only one other person to see. You remember typing up the better ones on your typewriter and leaving them on your college apartment desk and those were what Donghyuck found and sent. 

But the rest of the words in this journal remained a secret, hidden underneath your childhood bed and from the rest of the world. 

Your hands gently turned through the pages, looking for anything out of the ordinary and you found nothing within the bindings. Just as you were about to give up on finding that supposed letter tucked into this notebook, you caught a glimpse of a pink envelope sticking out of the back cover’s file pocket. 

Tugging it out, you were astonished to see your name so carefully crafted on it. It was written in the most beautiful calligraphy, the gold of the ink picking up specks of light and glittering like the stars in the sky. With a trembling hand, you turned it over and broke the wax seal to pull out another letter.

It read:

Hi again,

You must be feeling extremely overwhelmed. I remember I was when I saw Johnny again. Was he still as handsome as you remembered? 

If you haven’t realized by now, Johnny Suh is your muse. Some things change but that never will. 

Seeing him again ignited that little light I lost all those years ago but my mistake was that I never acted on it.

Do me a favor— pick up that pen I gave you and start writing. I know there are so many thoughts bustling through your head. Don’t let them get away; they could be your next best seller. I can’t let you be a one-hit wonder like I was. 

There was another mistake I made and I’m writing to you so you won’t do the same. 

The next line you read left you speechless. It hit you like a tow truck— hard. You dropped the letter, the page fluttering to the floor.

This was creepy. Beyond wild. How did this piece of paper even get here? This was improbable. Impossible.

You had watched and read almost every sort of time-traveling science fiction available to mankind and this did not make sense because like you said, that was fiction. You were living in the real world— a place of fact. 

You wracked your brain for any sort of explanation but none came to mind. No science could explain this. Gathering your courage, you picked up the fallen paper and continued to read.

Johnny Suh is your soulmate and my biggest mistake was letting him go. 

Imagine living a life without the person you are destined to be with. I’ve lived a miserable life without him as he lives one with his Alice and I cannot let you suffer through the same fate.

He may be in love with Alice in the future but in your present time, you have a chance to stop their love from blooming even further. You have the chance to make it right. 

So, my dear self, let me ask you this—  if you had the chance to change your fate, would you take it? 

With love, 🌻

You scoffed, disbelief raking through your features. Where was your Doc Brown  or your trusty Eleventh Doctor with a TARDIS to help you out of this conundrum? Wouldn’t this alter the space time continuum?  

You had no one to guide you. You were essentially Marty McFly or Amy Pond, just Doctor-less. 

What in the hell were you supposed to do? 

You sighed, combing your fingers through your hair before pulling out that small journal from out of your coat. You flipped to the first blank page you could find. Climbing onto your bed, you leaned against the back of the headrest until you felt comfortable.

Click. The tip of your fountain pen popped out from its hiding and just as your future self commanded you to, you began to glide your pen onto the paper. 

The room was only filled with the sounds of scribbles as you started to write for the first time in three years. 

Donghyuck grumbled his way up your staircase, a menacing glare and the deepest frown gracing his soft features. With the guise of scolding you for leaving him with the groceries, he roughly opened the door to your room and opened his mouth to yell. Your roommate was quick to clamp it shut when he saw you. The mug of your mom’s famous hot chocolate he held in his hands almost spilled at his abrupt stop but that didn’t matter at the moment. 

What mattered was that you had your back facing him, body hunched over at your childhood desk. Your fingers frantically met with the tops of the keyboard, the sounds of clicks ringing loudly in your room. He watched as your head turned back and forth between your notebook and the keys. 

Donghyuck’s frown turned into a smile, happy you found inspiration again, and quietly placed the cup of hot cocoa on your desk. So deep into the zone, you didn’t even notice your friend’s action. He chuckled at your dedication to your craft. His eyes quickly flitted to the piece you were currently working on, and he hummed in approval. Knowing how you shut everything else out, he decided to leave the room before you yelled at him for disrupting you in your hardworking state.

“Did you scold her for me?” your mother laughed as she saw your best friend descend down the steps. 

“Didn’t have a chance to,” Donghyuck replied. She gave him a look, her eyebrows arched in question. She handed him his own hot cocoa, top filled to the brim with whipped cream, and he happily took a sip. The cream made its place on his top lip and he licked it up with a satisfied hum, “She was too busy typing away. Hadn’t seen her like that in years.”

“What?” your mother gasped with a hand on top of her heart. “Did something happen?”

Donghyuck took another long sip, almost groaning at how sweet the treat he held in his hands was. “Oh yeah,” he choked, almost forgetting to relay an important part. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and your mom made a noise of disapproval. 

“She ran into John,” he stated, “he’s back in town.”

“Well, isn’t that something?” she said to herself, bringing her hot cocoa to her lips.

After hearing that Johnny was home, your mother immediately contacted his and suddenly, the tradition of Sunday brunch at your house was revived. There were slight differences, those being three things:

You and Johnny could finally drink mimosas with your parents

Johnny’s parents were both present at the brunch even after their divorce (they hated to break the tradition)

And lastly, two extra settings were placed on the table because Donghyuck and Alice were there.

You should have been more prepared to see Johnny in your home after a third letter warned you but meeting him in all his blond glory made your heart stop. Seeing him smiling with a pretty girl wrapped around his arm made that fragile muscle break once more, the pain much deeper than the first time he broke it, and it hurt like a bitch.

The brunch despite the new additions went as smoothly as it possibly could. Donghyuck, being a hyper and playful soul he was, got along well with the adults.  He tried to hide his distaste for Johnny and Alice as per your request, but the snark came out every now and then. You elbowed him a couple of times to stop it from going any further and your mother shot warning looks, silently telling you to behave.

Alice, on the other hand, was on the shy side. She was kind but she seemed nervous at the new environment and loudness of the dining table. If you were in her position, there was no doubt you would feel the same; you never did feel comfortable around strangers. Your families couldn’t help it though— they were as wild as you and Johnny were.

“So, John,” your mother called for your former best friend’s attention.

He looked up from his mimosa. “Yes, Auntie?”

“How long have you two been dating? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Not wanting to hear the details of their relationship, you squeezed her thigh under the table and she pinched your hand back. You flinched at the contact.

Johnny smiled over at Alice, grabbing hold of her hand. “We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

Alice, with her gorgeous smile and sharp eyes, interlocked her smaller fingers with his. “We got together in February after testing the waters. How a Photography major found a Lit major like me, I have no clue,” she laughed.

Three years. He started dating her right after breaking it off with you. You wanted to cry but all you could do was push down the tight feeling in your throat with another swig of your mimosa.

“Lit? Are you an English major?” your mother asked her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely.

“Just like my dear here! You two should talk about this after brunch,” your mom suggested to which Alice wholeheartedly agreed with. Donghyuck gave you a look of pity.

“Of course,” you nodded, remembering the letter that had just arrived. As everyone assisted in cleaning up the table, you excused yourself and hid in the guest bathroom to catch a breath. Putting the seat cover down, you quickly took a seat and held your head in your hands.

You yanked the letter out of your pocket to read over it once more before heading out there with a determined face. You couldn’t let your future self down.

Sweetie,

Remember this day: December 15th. The Suh’s will be over with Alice for Sunday brunch and believe me, it will hurt seeing him with her.

It will pain you to even talk to her but you have to— you must. You and Donghyuck, bless his soul for being there for you, will notice that she is very similar to you. I am sure this is not a coincidence. If my letters ever work, please ask Johnny about that.

She is a big fan of the poet, Sunny Blume. Funny, isn’t it? She will gush about her work, not knowing the poet she adores is standing right in front of her.

She’ll tell you that she’s trying to convince Johnny to read it. He’ll fight back and I want you to say— “I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.”

The moment you call him by his name, he jolted in his seat.

“I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.” 

It was so weird to hear your voice after three years. Even weirder to hear you call him by his name in three years but for some odd reason, it made his heart skip a beat. His blond locks covered one of his eyes as his gaze locked onto yours. He saw you smile a polite one, one that didn’t scrunch up your cheeks in the way he adored. 

From what Johnny could see, you looked good. You were dressed in a simple outfit: just a knit sweater and jeans but you were still able to catch his eye. It hurt, though, to see you grin widely at your new best friend, Donghyuck, when that grin used to be aimed towards him. You still got along well with his family after all those years of being apart, which only warmed his heart.

First time seeing you in how long and it was all his fault. He missed you terribly but he couldn’t blame you for shutting him out. Thinking back to the day you last talked, he would’ve reacted in the same way, too. 

“Johnny?” Alice queried, stealing a glance at his frozen body. “I thought you didn’t like being called Johnny.” 

It was true—  he did hate it when people called him that because that was a name reserved for one person and one person only.

He felt someone touch his bicep and he turned to see a wrinkled hand clasping onto his sleeve. His mother’s teasing grin graced her older features as she said, “My love John, he hated being called Johnny. He thought it was too childish.”

She walked over to you with a motherly smile, her small hand patting yours lovingly. “He only let her call him that.”

Johnny watched as you took her hand in yours to give it a tight squeeze, “I’ve missed you, Mama Suh.”

His mom took your cheek in between her index and thumb, pinching it just as a mother would to her own child. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. We’ll catch up later, alright?” 

He loved seeing his mother act so comfortably with you. It always warmed his heart to see his two favorite women together. Stealing a glance at his girlfriend, he wondered why his mom never acted that closely with Alice.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, shaking away his thoughts. “What exactly am I giving a shot?”

“Were you even listening to what we were talking about?” Alice huffed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.” She scrunched her nose in fake distaste.

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with that all my life and I still don’t know what to do with him,” the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. You felt Donghyuck snort from beside you as the back of your head rested against his shoulder. You were both seated on the loveseat, his larger body squished into a corner while yours was spread out on the couch, calves resting on the arm rest.

Johnny and Alice sat adjacent from you on the bigger sofa, her tiny build snuggled into his. “We were talking about Sunny Blume, that poet I keep obsessing over.”

He only blinked at her words. He clearly did not know what she was talking about. You held back a chuckle— Johnny was never into books and poetry the way you were. Some things never changed.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged. 

“I mean, I’m not really into poetry and shit but even I read it,” Donghyuck added to the conversation. “It was really good.”

“Right?” Alice fired back. You had to hide the grin that was beginning to curl. 

“Surprisingly, a super easy read but some of those poems hurt like a bitch. It felt like someone ripped out their broken heart and just laid it out on the table for you to read, you know?” 

You whispered a small ‘thank you’ to him, low enough so that no one else could hear. Donghyuck muttered back an even lower ‘you’re welcome,’ causing you to stick out your tongue at him.

“Blume’s work isn’t my favorite but—” you started to say, gaining the attention of both Alice and Johnny. Alice appeared as if she was going to fight you on your opinion while your best friend just waited for what you were going to say next. 

“—to release a full collection of unsent love letters and poems written for one person, must’ve been some muse,” you continued on, your gaze suddenly meeting Johnny’s curious stare from across the room. His dark brown eyes always had a way of sucking you in. You felt yourself falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole all over again. 

“Blume poured her heart out in it. You could almost feel the raw emotions bleeding off the page. You really shouldn’t miss it.” As much as you despised talking about your work, your future self told you to really sell it.

“Exactly! It’s like you took the words out of my mouth!” Alice agreed, her finger pointing towards you. “Her poem about sunflowers was my favorite.”

You hummed, still not losing eye contact with him. “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

He blinked, breaking off the staring contest you were holding. “I guess I’ll check it out.”

Behind your back, you pumped your first in celebration for your first success in changing the supposed future. There was another task you had to do— it was the bigger of the two. You were scared beyond belief, hoping that your nervousness wouldn’t mess up the script that was pre-planned for you.

Here comes the harder part. Johnny will approach you and ask— “Can we talk in private for a little bit?”

Lead him outside to the porch. It’ll spark up some memories. 

Ever the gentleman, Johnny brushed off the snow on your front steps and gestured for you to take a seat. He placed himself right next to you, his thicker thigh rubbing against your tinier leg. His gaze focused on the falling snow and his hand reached out to catch a couple of flakes in his palm.

“Remember when Frozen came out? All you wanted to do is build a snowman,” he babbled.

Of course, you remembered. Who could forget a tall male teen belting out Let It Go with you in the middle of a snow storm? 

“How could I ever forget that?”

It will be silent for a while. I guess he was trying to find his words. He’ll say something along the lines of— “I know this is practically years too late but I’m sorry for how things ended.”

Your heart will flare up with a rage of emotions, like a hurricane is stirring up inside you. This is the apology you’ve been waiting for. My mistake was brushing it off. I told him that it was nothing but a small crush and that everything was water under the bridge.

I need you to talk about it. Be open with him even though you’re scared to. I want you to say— “You really hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I’m sure all the words will flow from there.

“No, I don’t think you do know, John,” you fired back with a voice that rendered him silent. He shrunk into himself, never experiencing the receiving side of your wrath before.

Before you continued on the rant that was bubbling inside you, he cut you off. “Johnny.”

“What?”

“I don’t like when you call me John,” he murmured so quietly, his words almost getting lost with the winter breeze. “It’s always been Johnny to you.”

You coughed, not expecting that little outburst from your best friend. “Right. Johnny.”

Shifting your body to face him, your knees knocked into his. Gone were the days when you could easily fit into one step. You were squished against him. 

Let it all out. Don’t leave anything unsaid.

“But you need to know. I was a wreck when you left me,” your voice broke, suddenly recalling how you fell into this hole of depression. Donghyuck and your mother were barely able to fish you out. 

“Just— Just imagine this for me, okay?” 

He agreed silently.

“Imagine falling for the person you trusted most in the world, yeah? The person who was like your guiding light home, who could make you feel better with just one touch,” you set the scene with your words, voice cracking at the resurfacing pain. Your throat felt tight and your heart even tighter. This was always a hard memory to recall. 

“Picture telling that person that you loved them in that romantic, ‘I want to be more than friends, hold my hand and never let me go’ type of way.”

You peeked at him to see him gulped at how emotional you were getting. He always hated to see you in that manner. Your words were affecting him the same way they were affecting you. The desperation in your speech was seeping through— it clung onto each word, each syllable, and lingered in every breath of air you took. 

“Imagine telling the person who promised to never hurt you that you are in love with them and then they just tell you ‘no.’ Can you picture that in your head, Johnny? You give them your everything and then they tell you one simple word that just tears you apart?” 

He cleared his throat. He heard you loud and clear.

“I miss you so fucking much, you don’t understand.”

He jumped up at your confession, “I’ve missed yo—”

“I’m not finished,” you interrupted him, bringing a finger to his face. Johnny’s shoulders fell, making him appear like that little boy that forever lived in your mind through the fondest of memories. 

“I’ve missed you and I appreciate your apology but in no way can I forgive you right away. That amount of hurt needs a lifetime to heal completely,” you relayed to him, your voice firm as a rock. Strong and unwavering. 

“You may have not wanted to turn our whole friends-with-benefits relationship into something more and I get that now. But you have to understand, Johnny,” you paused, the words choking up in your throat. 

“You, you— God, you left me all alone to deal with that heartbreak! You just— you just threw me away like a crumpled piece of paper on the damn floor, you couldn’t even pick me up and— and place me in the trash,” you stuttered through your rant but you didn’t care. You became a spitfire, spewing whatever came to mind. 

You watched him lick and sink his teeth into his bottom lip as he wracked his brain for something to say to make it up to you. Johnny’s fingers worked their way through his bangs and he held them back for a second before releasing them. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say except that I’m just really sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Feeling yourself getting all worked up, you took a deep breath. You grounded yourself, feet digging into the wooden step and hardened snow. Your fingers curled into fists, sharp nails marking the skin of your palm as you shook in place. 

You nod frantically at his answer, “I know, Johnny. I can see that. If anything, please just understand that I not only lost a love I thought I had that day but my best friend in the whole entire world, okay?”

“Yeah,” was all that came out of his mouth for just a moment. “Okay. I understand.”

There was another brief period of stillness as the words sunk into your heads. Did that really just happen? Did you really just say that and did he just acknowledge your feelings?

You peeped a glance at Johnny’s eyes and he just appeared to be so shaken by your confession. You didn’t mean to startle him to the point where he couldn’t speak— you just had to get it out just as your future self advised. You had to console him somehow.

“But,” you said softly. Raising your head to look up at his crestfallen face, you lifted his chin with a shaking hand.

Whatever you do or say, make sure to tell him this— “I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny.”

Love, 

a sunflower that aches for the sunlight

“But...I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny. That is, if you’ll have me.” Your hand rested on his chin and suddenly, a flurry of emotions raced through the boy’s head.

The blond was relieved that you were talking to him. Beyond happy that you were willing to rekindle the friendship, Johnny was determined to win back his best friend no matter how long it would take for you to fully forgive him. Excited that you seemed to get along with his girlfriend. 

But there was this weird feeling that came over his heart when you said his name with that certain softness in your voice. The way you held his chin with the lightest of touches sent tingles down his spine.

Johnny ignored the fluttering in his chest and pulled you into his arms. He felt you sigh happily, your smaller build sinking into his comforting hold. 

His chin rested against the top of your head. “Of course, flower,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “I’m just happy to have my best friend back,” he muttered.

And when you looked up at him with glittering eyes that looked like the snow falling from the sky, he swore his heart leapt out of his chest. “Me too.”

The transition from friends to something more that occurred four years ago didn’t happen abruptly. The build up was slow, stemming from your many first-year adventures. The large campus was new, uncharted territory for you—  abnormally large to what you were used to and filled to the brim with people. You skirted on the more introverted side as a first year in university, barely reaching out to your classmates and hallmates unless they initiated the interactions first. There were other casual friends, however, Donghyuck was one of the only people you truly felt comfortable with but even then, you still searched for that sense of home.

You found that in the days you spent with Johnny. During the days where it was harder to adjust to your new life, you made that twenty minute drive to Johnny’s campus instead of trekking that hour and fifteen home. He would take you in with open arms, distracting you with your favorite things or introducing you to new places. The first two months of university were tough but you made it through with his support.

Johnny eased you into kickbacks and college parties, always making sure that you were okay. In new environments, his hand always lingered on the small of your back or grazed against the exposed skin of your shoulder. He would hide you in his hold when boys would approach you, an evident and overprotective glare emitting from his sharp eyes and somehow an attraction bloomed inside of you. You kept your budding crush to yourself for a while, wanting to linger in the fresh feeling bubbling in your chest. 

You couldn’t keep it in though, not after that day at the pumpkin patch. His deep, soothing voice calling you ‘sunflower’ released that cage of butterflies trapped in your stomach and they fluttered freely each time he looked at you. 

Every moment spent with him sent your fingertips flying over the keys of the typewriter Johnny gifted you for your eighteenth birthday. You heard so many dings from the machine that year, a hand quickly coming up to push and roll a paper back in place. That beaten yellow journal that sat on your desk was quickly consumed with an endless flow of words that flew off the pages.

Every time Johnny would place his hand in yours, he had you under his spell. The enchantment he casted on you grew stronger the night of the Causeway Classic. 

Your separate universities always had this sense of friendly rivalry. With each year came the annual blood drive that led to the famous football game to uphold the competition. The location switched every autumn and Johnny’s university was in charge of hosting that year. Unlike Johnny, you weren’t much into sports but you were into grilled food and free alcohol which ushered the pair of you to attend your first tailgate with his college friends. If it wasn’t Johnny taking care of you, his roommate Doyoung was there to make sure you were okay. 

You remembered starting early that day, the tailgate party starting at noon when the game didn’t kick off until three hours later. A cold glass bottle of beer in one hand and a fresh hot dog in the other, you sat on the edge of Johnny’s truck bed with your legs dangling below. You were dressed in your school’s signature green and gold while his close group of friends surrounding you drowned in their navy and yellow. 

You took a swig of your drink, feeling the cooling liquid rush down your throat, and let out a loud hiss of satisfaction. Misjudging the height from where you were sitting to the ground, your legs wavered as you jumped down from the truck. Your center of balance was lost, pushing you to lean your drunk body against Johnny’s. 

Noticing how incoherent you were, a buzzed Johnny decided to cut you off and call an Uber so you could rest easily in the comfort of his apartment. You barely recalled him tossing his keys to Doyoung, who was forced to be the designated driver of the night, before taking you home.

The only thing you remembered was the way your body flushed with heat as you pressed your weight against him in the car. Your head snuggled into the crook of his neck while his toned arm draped against your shoulder. Johnny rubbed soothing circles onto your exposed skin and the feeling littered goosebumps all over your body. You sighed, your warm breath hitting his neck and through your slightly closed eyes, you caught him looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze.

Johnny effortlessly carried you in his arms and into his empty apartment, your head perched against his shoulder. He handed you a clean set of clothes to change into and you stripped yourself of your sweaty outfit and makeup before making yourself comfortable on his twin sized bed. He placed a glass of water and painkillers by his bedside before heading out, his mind set on crashing on the couch. 

Somehow in your tired and drunk state, your hand shot up to grab at his wrist. “Stay with me?” you asked with a raspy voice.

“I was just going to crash in the living room,” he told you.

“You hate sleeping on the couch, you always complain about how it hurts your back,” you argued. “Just stay here, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The bed dipped when his body slipped under the covers and being the touchy drunk you were, you easily slipped your hands under his arms and wrapped them around his torso to cuddle into his strong chest. You shifted a couple of minutes in, trying to find a more comfortable position and the movement caused the shirt to bunch up at your waist. A heavy arm slung around your own waistline, driving you closer to him. His fingers somehow found their way to your revealed skin and brushed over the spot to soothe you to sleep.

Instead of lulling you to a peaceful slumber, Johnny’s light strokes shifted something in the air. The atmosphere in the room grew thicker and more tense with every touch.

You moved your head away from his chest to gaze up at him. Your eyes met his hooded ones giving you a look you hadn’t seen before. It was darker and heavier, his brown orbs almost digging into your soul and you couldn’t look away. Gripping his arm when his head moved closer to glance at your lips, your heartbeat increased and almost skyrocketed to the roof. 

“I don’t think I’m in my right mind right now,” he whispered with a strain. 

“I’m not either,” you cut him off, unconsciously licking your bottom lip. 

Johnny’s gaze never wavered, his eyes planted on you as he inched even closer, “Just tell me when to stop and I will.”

You never did. 

And when you woke up the next day with a sole sheet pressed onto your body, marks coloring your skin, and Johnny staring down at you with the fondest smile, you knew something had changed between the two of you. 

There was a moment when he escaped the room to grab breakfast, you quickly reached for your phone and typed up a new set of words in your notes inspired by the dazzling grin that was aimed at you. 

i may not be in love with you i may just be in like but i love the way you look at me  like i may be your light

is it bad that  sometimes i miss staining your lips with my boldest  shade of red and showering you with a load of a thousand kisses  — those red stains represented how deeply i loved you

The friends-with-benefits relationship was established that same day and continued to drag on throughout the semester. It was heavy on the friendship, even heavier on the benefits. Every single meet up from fall to winter ended up with limbs tangled on top of bed sheets, marks staining your skin, and words written on a page. You remembered Donghyuck warning you to be careful, not liking where all the uncertainty was leading to and you brushed it off with a simple statement that was so unbelievably wrong: “Stop worrying. Johnny would never hurt me.”

It all came crashing down during your first winter break from university. Prior to the falling out, your time at home was juggled between catching up with your mom, a couple of high school friends, and the Suh family if Johnny wasn’t there to preoccupy you. 

Christmas Day came along and as tradition followed, you spent the holiday across the street at the Suh residence. The house was decorated with lights and bows, the Christmas tree you and Johnny picked out standing tall in the corner of the family room. The opened presents sat at the foot of the tree, except for one— a single box wrapped so neatly in white and accented with the prettiest red bow. 

“Johnny,” you tugged on his sleeve, head gesturing to the front door. 

Thinking you wanted to sneak off for a kiss, his lips curled into that kittenish grin with a small dimple indenting the plump of his cheek. The tall boy stepped out first, leaving the door slightly open. You followed him shortly after and closed the door behind you. 

Your grip tightened around the small parcel in your hand upon seeing him leaning against the border of his porch, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. He was dressed in a knit turtleneck sweater, tight jeans, and a pair of stylish boots, his dark brown hair slightly brushing over the eyes you adored.

God, you liked him so much it was almost gross— absolutely smitten as a kitten for the boy with the catlike smile. 

You jabbed his side before joining him against the fence, hiding your gift behind your back, “Hey.”

Johnny quickly pivoted to trap you between his arms, both hands resting on the porch lining. “Hey yourself,” he returned, his warm breath clouding in the small space between. You felt your cheeks grow hotter, clearly flustered at the sudden action and flirty tone of his voice.

“Don’t move,” he commands abruptly. The camera swinging around his neck was brought up to his eye level and he swiftly snapped a photo of your ruffled state. You gave him a shy smile as he revealed the shot to you— your wide-eyed look and crimson lipstick standing out against the white snow in the background. 

“Pretty,” you remember him saying with a proud glance, happy to have captured you in the moment. “The prettiest little sunflower.”

“Oh, shut up,” you brushed him off, shoving the camera away from your face. 

“No, really,” he pushed, adjusting the camera strap so the device rested against his hip and no longer in the way.

“Stop lying.” You never knew how to take a compliment. 

“I’m not,” he leaned in closer, arms pushing him lower to your line of sight. “Definitely pretty enough to kiss.”

“Really now?” you bit back a grin. 

“Need me to prove it to you?” he challenged, his dark brown eyes ghosting around your facial features with a cocky grin.

“And how are you going to do that?” you flirted back with your heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. It was beating so loud, much like the clashes of a little drummer boy. 

“Like this.” He briskly closed the distance, his head angled to kiss you deeply. His firm body depressed against yours, the corners of the gift and the porch lining digging into your back and arms. One of his large hands moved to cup the side of your neck with a thumb rubbing the end of your soft cheek. 

It was a little different from the rushed kisses he gave you behind closed doors. It was slower and out in the open, anyone could have caught sight of it if they were to walk out. Your right hand made its way up to his chest to grip onto the knit of his sweater, cherishing the way he held you so gently. 

You broke away first with a huff. “Wait, that’s not why I told you to come out here,” you pointed out, staring up at his now stained lips. You thumbed at the plump top lip, trying to rid his skin of the red you transferred onto him. 

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, though,” he nodded at the tight grip on his sweater. You quickly released it causing him to laugh loudly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he sprung back without missing a beat.

You hesitated before answering, voice dropping a little lower, “Yeah, right.”

Johnny jumped up to sit on the railing, arms spread out to keep him steady. “So, what’s up?”

This was the time to let it all out and you were tongue-tied— you didn’t even know where to start. There was a reason why you liked writing more than speaking; it gave you a chance to arrange and rearrange the words in your head. No matter how hard you rehearsed your upcoming confession, nothing prepared for what was going to come.

“I— um,” you began to stutter under his presence, even though you weren’t even directly facing him. 

He turned his head to face you. “Are you nervous? You really shouldn’t be— it’s just me, flower.”

“Just you?” you laughed apprehensively, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous. It’s you. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be you.”

He whispered your name with furrowed brows, confused at your ramble.

“Johnny, listen, I don’t know if you felt the change between us but I can’t really ignore this any longer.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brows now digging even deeper into his face. “What are you talking about?”

“This—” your hand flapped, gesturing to the both of you. “What we have going on here, it doesn’t seem like we’re just fooling around anymore.”

“Then, what does it seem like?” he fired back with confusion.

“It seems like— I don’t know,” you started to say.

“Yes, you do know,” Johnny countered, “you just don’t want to say it. You’re stalling.”

“Okay, okay. It seems like…” you gulped, looking him dead in the eye, “you like me as much as I like you.”

He went rigid at your confession, appearing completely dumbfounded. His eyes were widened with astonishment. His mouth opened like he was about to say something but then closed shut. They were pursed as he tried to process your words as you stood there, antsy at the lack of an answer. “Can you just say something? Anything?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair and held back his bangs, something he always did when he was lost in thought.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he said, still lost in thought.

“Just say something, please,” you practically begged, the neatly wrapped parcel in your hand feeling like a deadweight. 

“Y— you like me?” his voice wavered.

“Yeah,” you looked away from him. “I honestly think that I— um, love you.” Your voice became so soft towards the end, your words almost getting lost in the wind. 

“Love,” he repeated.

“Can you say anything else besides repeating my words? This was hard enough as is, you know,” you managed to spit out. The more he stalled with giving you an answer, the more choked up you felt. The tight feeling was building up in your throat, fighting its way up.

“I—” He stopped before he could even start. 

“Johnny, I like you. A lot, okay? I just want to know if you like me too? ‘Cause unless I’ve been reading it wrong, it seems like you feel the same,” you prattled on, mouth running at the speed of light.

He hesitated before answering with a simple, “N-no.”

“No?” you almost cried back.

“This— this was supposed to be a ‘no strings attached’ thing,” he blundered. 

“I know but can you honestly tell me that you felt nothing when you kissed me just now? Because that didn’t feel like a ‘no strings attached’ type of thing! No strings means ‘no emotions involved, just physical’ and clearly, there were some emotions present!”

He avoided your question. “We’re just— just friends, flower.”

“Johnny, how often do you wake up naked with your other friends?!” you shout hysterically. You winced; you hoped your parents weren’t listening in. “Do you go around and steal kisses with Doyoung or Yeri or anyone else in your friend group?”

He couldn’t answer those questions, either. 

“We’re just friends,” he said a little more firmly, like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s what we are and that’s what we’ll always be. Nothing less, no— nothing more.”

“Really?” you disputed through the free-falling tears. You sniffled and wiped the drops off your face, not caring if it messed up your makeup. 

“Just friends,” Johnny said once again, his voice almost breaking at the sight of you in tears. He stood in front of you now, a hand reaching out to dry your eyes.

“No, don’t touch me,” you called out, backing your way out of the front porch with a shaking head. “You don’t get to touch me like you used to if all we are is just friends.” 

Johnny walked down the steps to follow you, the sole of his boots crunching against the hard snow. You stopped him with an extension of your hand, palm fanned out towards him. You continued to walk backwards, red painted nails ripping the wrapping of your present to reveal the worn-out yellow cover of your personal journal.

“That’s where you were wrong though,” you started, “about being nothing less than friends.”

“Sunflower,” he tried to persuade you otherwise. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve been repressing this for so long, I-I don’t think I can just ignore it and hold it in anymore,” you confessed, clearly distraught. “Every time I see you walk through a door, my heart beats so fast for you and I can’t make it stop. So if I can’t have your love, I don’t think I can stand just being your friend.”

“What are you saying?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I can be around you right now. I need space.”

“You don’t mean that, bubs,” he reasoned.

“How do you know what I feel?” you yelled. “I told you I practically love you and you couldn’t even answer. You can either have all of me or none of me, Johnny. There’s no in between.”

He said nothing.

“I gotta—I have to go.” You roughly dragged the sleeve of your jacket against your eyes. 

“Please don’t go,” Johnny begged.

“If our parents are looking for me, just tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

He shouted your name as you began to cross the street. You turned back around for a short moment, “Oh and John?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Merry fucking Christmas.” With that, you ran into your house, the door slamming shut behind you. That was the last you saw of him until your unexpected reunion that day in the snow.

Some writers painted heartbreak as this beautiful concept that closed the chapter on one end and opened another. They drowned themselves in the heartbreak, allowing the feelings to take over and extract the a mouthful of words that ended up being masterpieces. They loved the heartbreak because it pulled out emotions they would otherwise never experience.

But, how could you love the heartbreak when Johnny was the one you loved?

Another Christmas tradition your families upheld was picking out Christmas trees together. Seeing as how both you and Johnny were home, your parents forced you to go without their help, choosing to just sit the day out to catch up. They trusted the two of you enough to pick out the best trees since you had been done it throughout your childhood. Donghyuck (the traitor) and Alice had already left to spend Christmas Day and New Years with their families, leaving you to go tree hunting at the farm with Johnny as your only company. 

You looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck you were seated in, still in disbelief that Johnny Suh was back in your life. He had his right hand on the steering while his left rested against the window, brown eyes focused on the road. His long, blond hair was pushed back by a black ball cap and was paired with a yellow oversized t-shirt that matched the shade of your winter coat. His plaid green puffy jacket was thrown haphazardly in the backseat of his car. His soft, melodic voice sang along to the carols playing on the local radio, blessing both your eyes and your ears.

“So blond, huh?” you broke the silence. 

“Yeah,” his free hand reached up to quickly flip his cap over, the bill now facing backwards. “I think it suits me.”

You scoffed, “Who do you think you are—Jesse McCartney?” 

“Well, I do want you and your beautiful soul,” he answered back with the smuggest smirk. 

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled, turning to look out the window. You drove down the familiar highway, passing places that were so prominent in your childhood. Memories of you and Johnny walking to the movie theater and having ice cream at the skate park ran your head. It felt good being home.

A flurry of loud text tones went off, disrupting the calm atmosphere in the car. “Sorry,” you grimaced, quickly moving to lower the volume of your ringer. You let out a laugh while you scrolled through the long list of notifications, causing Johnny to turn his attention to you.

“Everything good?” he questioned. “That’s a lot of texts.”

Your fingers worked on your touchscreen, rapidly replying to your roommate’s dramatic texts. “Oh, everything’s fine. Hyuck’s just being dramatic. He just got home and his family is driving him insane.”

Johnny hummed. He hesitated before asking the next question, “Does Donghyuck treat you well?”

His inquiry made you pause in your seat, thumbs resting right above the screen. “What?”

Johnny cleared his throat before pushing further, “Is he a good boyfriend?”

A deep snort escaped your nose and you brought up a hand to cover your quivering mouth. You couldn’t hide your amusement, your ear-splitting laughter reverberating throughout the walls of the truck. Tears made their way down your face and you had to clutch onto the door handle to catch your breath. “Oh my god, Johnny!”

“What? It’s a valid question!” 

“He’s not— Hyuck’s not my boyfriend,” you shook your head, still reeling at his question. 

“He’s not?” he pressed for confirmation. Why he was insisting on this topic, you really didn’t know.

“Oh my god, no. He’s just my roommate,” you swore, “Besides, I would never get in between Hyuck and his partner.”

“His partner?”

You nodded, lips upturning with the widest grin. “Renjun— they’re really cute together even though they argue half the time.”

“I see.”

One of your favorite Christmas songs came on the radio and you immediately increased the volume to sing along. Johnny joined you, his voice mixing along with yours. It eased up whatever tension that lingered in the car, his broad smile mirroring yours as he continued on the path to the Christmas tree farm.

“I actually read that Sunny Blume book, by the way,” Johnny brought up, your pen name immediately catching your attention. “Alice had her copy with her so she let me borrow it.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, shoulders pushed back and head turned to face him completely. “Yeah? What did you think of it?” 

Preparing your heart for the worst, your hand fisted a part of your mustard yellow overcoat, the material rubbing against the skin of your palm.

“I didn’t think I would like it,” he admitted, “but I actually really enjoyed reading through it.”

You perked up, letting go of your coat at the positive reaction. “Really now?” 

“Yeah. I mean, the way she writes is so simple but her words still get to you. It’s so personal and heart-wrenching, I had to stop at times,” his compliments ran off the mouth, leaving your heart to swell with joy. 

“I get what you mean, some were painful,” you chimed in.

“But the others, wow,” he continued almost breathlessly. He shook his head with admiration. “You could just sense the love and adoration in her words. Whoever her muse was, dude, what a lucky person.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“To have someone love you so much that they write about you and immortalize it in a book— who wouldn’t want that?” Your heart pounded rapidly at his sweet words; it was like music to your ears. He loved the poems you wrote about him. Now, if only you could admit that they were for him. 

“Do you have a favorite?” you posed a question, curious to hear the answer.

Johnny hummed positively. He stole a glance at you, eyes lingering a little bit longer than normal. “The one about sunflowers.”

When his gaze shifted back to the icy road, you responded with, “Yeah, that’s mine, too.”

You picked the perfect weekday to visit the Christmas tree farm. There was a small bunch of visitors picking out their trees and participating in the other offerings but not enough to crowd the farm, making it easy to wander around. Johnny quietly followed behind you as you made your way around the farm with a reusable bag slung around your shoulder. He was amused by the way you would pause to pick up fallen pine branches to stuff in your bag.

“What are you going to do with those?” he asked, gesturing to the pine leaves sticking out of your hold. 

“Oh, I’m going to fill up some vases with them and place them around the house,” you conversed with a smile. “I did this all the years I didn’t come for Christmas. I wanted the smell of fresh pine in my apartment but I didn’t have room for a tree, so I just did this.” He watched you as you took a whiff of a piece of fresh pine before placing it in your bag.

“That’s a smart idea,” Johnny said to himself.

“You learn to be more creative as a broke college student,” you commented with a shrug, still moving through the aisles of trees. 

“Did you enjoy it?” The snow crunched beneath his boots.

“Enjoy what?” you mused, attention focused more on the trees surrounding you than your friend lingering at your back. Your fingers skirted the ends of the trees, the pine tickling the tips as you passed them. Johnny let you take the reins on picking the tree this year, only there to give you a second opinion. He always loved coming to the tree farm with you— your face never failed to light up like the bright lights decorating the shop and fences.

“Spending the Christmas holiday at school,” he replied, curious to hear your answer.

“I mean, it was different, that’s for sure,” you told him. 

Johnny tilted his head, sensing the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

“It really didn’t feel like Christmas without you there,” came your low reply. You didn’t turn to face him but if you did, you would’ve been able to capture a shot of a flustered Johnny. His face was as bright as Santa’s signature suit, the color spreading all the way to his ears. He felt hot at your words and that weird skittish sensation in his stomach made him feel uneasy and confused. It flipped around and he felt something flapping rapidly in time with his quickening heartbeats. 

He brushed the feeling off before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you through the fabric of your coat, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your head turned to look up at him, “That you are.”

“Don’t you run away from me again,” he sputtered out. Where did that come from?

“Then, you better not let me go this time,” you replied wittily with the brightest smile that rivaled the North Star. Twisting in your spot, you turned your attention back to the trees and focused on the perfect ones to take home. Questions about the trees were thrown Johnny’s way but he was too distracted by sight of you in front of him. Your mustard yellow overcoat and matching beret made you stand out from the evergreen of the trees and he couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking sight.

Johnny inwardly cursed, wishing he had his camera on his person. He settled for his phone, pulling it out of his jacket pocket to sneak some candid pictures of you enjoying your time at the farm. He captured you patting the horses that pulled the sleigh around the area, shuffling through the many handmade decorations of sale, and you mindlessly wandering through endless aisles of green.

Johnny swiped through the pictures as you pointed out two full trees to a farm worker. His finger lingered on the picture amongst the trees— yellow and green standing out against the white snow covering the floor. 

A sunflower in the midst of winter.

Johnny halted, his brain short-circuiting for a moment, a hand shooting to his other coat pocket. Something that sounded like paper crinkled against his touch. Just as he was going to reach in, you yelled his name. He snapped out of his daze to see you gesturing to a pair freshly cut trees, ready to be wheeled away to his truck.

“You’re not going to make me push these to the car, are you?” you joked. “I mean, I’ve gotten stronger since I’ve last seen you but still.” 

He approached you, bringing his large hand to your head to ruffle your beret around. “I’m sure you have, flower, but let me do it.” 

You giggle at the nickname, the noise sounding like jingle bells. “Alright, Johnny, lead the way.”

The fourth letter arrived the day before Christmas Eve, the envelope pressed snugly against the wall of your mailbox. Forgetting to check the mail the day prior to the holiday, you only saw it Christmas Eve morning. You rushed to open it, back leaning against the front door as you did so. A shaky breath left your lips as you read the letter’s contents with clammy hands. Cold sweat spread throughout your body as the information sank in. 

What I am about to tell you is a pivotal moment in changing the future, so please pay attention, love. 

On Christmas Eve, Johnny will show up at your doorstep and he will appear extremely disgruntled and confused. Just like so many times before, he will look to you to be his saving grace. You were always the first one he would run to. 

The doorbell rang and you peeped through the whole to see your best friend pacing back and forth along your porch.

He rang the doorbell one more time and you gave yourself a pep talk before twisting the doorknob.

“I need to talk to you,” he sputtered out with a panicked look.

“Alright,” you said, doing your best to stay calm. Shutting the door behind you, a hand shoved the letter in your back pocket and jumped up onto the porch ledge. He followed suit, his hand almost touching yours as you steadied yourself on the thin piece of wood. “Talk away, Johnny.”

You didn’t dare face him as he revealed the reason for his disheveled state. “Should I propose to Alice?” he asked a bit too quietly.

He is thinking of proposing to Alice but he is starting to have second thoughts. I was stupid and I told him to go for it. 

Your heart ached at the thought of him getting down on one knee for someone other than you. The image of his smiling face shining up at her with his mother’s engagement ring hurt you in ways you couldn’t explain. 

You avoided the question. “Didn’t think you were the type to get tied down so soon.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” he laughed a little dejectedly. You had to agree with that statement. “But I should, right?” 

You peeked over at him and the smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. Johnny’s brows were pressed deep into his face and his pink lips were thinned out in a line. 

“Why are you asking me?” you questioned, wanting to dig a little deeper into his head. “I barely know her. And you—I don’t know, you could’ve changed within the last three years. Shouldn’t you ask Doyoung or your mom instead?” 

His hand blindly found yours and the touch ignited the fire in your heart. “I’m asking you because you’re still the first person I think of when I need help. Not Mom, not Doyoung—you.”

Oh. That was something to unpack. 

Clearing your throat at that unexpected confession, you prompted, “And you need help with the proposal?” 

He sighed deeply, “Not exactly.”

“I’m not getting where this conversation is going, Johnny,” That was a fat lie but it was meant to get him to talk. 

Another sigh left Johnny’s lips. “Alice and I, we’ve been together for three years. I’ve graduated and I have several jobs lined up for me at different studios. She’s almost done with her last year. I don’t know, shouldn’t it be time for me to propose and settle down?” 

“If you feel ready for it, then yes.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if I’m just feeling lost over this? I don’t know what to do.”

He will express how confused and pressured he feels. There are a million decisions he has to make and it will weigh him down. Johnny won’t know what to do. 

I want you to pose two questions.

You lift yourself off the ledge, spinning around to face Johnny. The frown lines in his face were so prominent, you had to fight the urge to smooth them away.

“Close your eyes.” He followed your direction, eyelids fluttering to a close. You smiled fondly at the way his long lashes hit his reddening cheeks.

First—“Picture your dream future,” you instructed, “can you see it?” 

“As clear as day.”

“Describe it to me.”

Johnny ran off at the mouth, speaking of gaining experience as a photographer. His grin expanded as he spoke about eventually owning a studio. He mentioned his dream about living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to all the drama but far enough to make a quick escape if needed. His voice went up in volume as he rattled on about owning a dog, maybe a black labrador, and having it grow up with his future wife and children. 

You commanded him to open his eyes and they met yours, orbs buzzing with delight.

And second—“Now tell me, John, do you see Alice in it?”

You observed as the look in his eyes shifted into one of perplexity. He looked so lost in thought, you almost pitied the poor man.

If he hesitates, I hope to god it’s because he is thinking about you. 

Good luck, 🌻

When he couldn’t give you a solid answer after a minute, you shot him a tired smile. “Well then, there’s your answer.”

Just as you were about to leave him with his sudden revelation, he stopped you with a hand to your wrist. “Yes?”

He released his grip on your arm, bringing his hand to brush his hair back. You caught a glimpse of the wrinkles in between his brows. “Do you have an idea about what your future looks like?” Johnny asked, curiosity lingering in his voice.

You only laughed in return, “We’ll talk about it another day, okay? I think you have a couple of things to sort out yourself.”

“what does your future look like? do you have an idea?”

“i’m not quite certain as of yet but darling i think it looks a lot like you.”

Struck with a sudden realization, Johnny barely made it across the street and into his truck. His hand shook as he tried to put the keys into the ignition. He stole a glance at his phone and saw a missed call from Alice. He definitely couldn’t call her back at the moment. He couldn’t face his mother either because she would ask about his girlfriend. He couldn’t go home and head straight into his bedroom— his head was too busy reeling with an overwhelming epiphany. 

As he drove around the neighborhood with no particular destination in mind, he fiddled with his car’s touchscreen to call his closest college friend. They answer on the third ring.

“Help,” Johnny said once the call connects.

“Wow. No, ‘Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, Doyoung.’ Some friend you are,” his friend greeted back, snark oozing from his voice. Johnny could practically sense his eyes rolling.  “Just straight to the point as always.”

“Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, happy holidays. I hope you’re doing well,” the blond quickly reiterated. “Now, please help me.”

Johnny heard Doyoung’s deep sigh, his breath heavily hitting the microphone. He picked up chattering in the background and the shuffling of clothes before the sound of a door closing echoes through the speakers. “What’s going on? Last time I checked, you were visiting home with Alice. Everything good?”

“No, my mind is going fucking insane right now,” Johnny proclaimed, his voice increasing in volume.

“John, calm down. Where are you right now?” Doyoung’s calming voice questioned.

“I’m in my car just driving around my neighborhood at the moment.”

“And Alice?”

“She’s back in her hometown spending Christmas with her family,” Johnny answered.

Doyoung paused, “I don’t really see a problem here. Is it because she’s not spending the holidays with you?”

Johnny took a deep breath before relaying the next piece of information, “Doyoung, Flower is back in town.”

He was able to make out his friend clicking his tongue, “Ah.” 

Johnny made a rolling stop at a stop sign before continuing his loop around the neighborhood. “That’s all you have to say?”

“No, actually I have a lot to say but I want to hear the end of this story first, so I’ll hold off for now,” Doyoung replied and Johnny flinched. Knowing him long enough, he could hear Doyoung holding back his criticism. 

“It’s the first time she’s come home in three years, too. We’ve made up—”

“Shocking,” Doyoung interrupted. 

“— after a long talk and decided to ease into the friendship again.”

“Is that so?” 

“Can you not judge me until I finish?” Johnny nagged with the roll of his eyes.

“It’ll be a bit hard for me but I’ll try.”

“She met Alice and they got along okay.” He heard Doyoung click his tongue again, most likely biting back a comment.

“And...” Johnny stalled, his eyes drifting to your house as he passed the familiar front porch. 

“And?” Doyoung repeated, fishing for his friend’s next sentence.

“I asked for Flower’s opinion on proposing to Alice,” The sound of his former roommate’s scoff filled the car. 

“John,” Doyoung’s voice called over the speaker. He hummed back a soft reply, afraid of what his friend was going to say.

“Riddle me this, okay?” There was a beat of silence, causing Johnny to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. “Why does her opinion on marrying Alice matter to you?”

“Because— because she’s my best friend and I used to go to her for everything,” he stammered out with no confidence whatsoever.

Doyoung almost laughed into the phone. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now?”

Feeling this conversation turning up in heat, Johnny quickly pulled into the empty parking lot of the local park. His eyes scanned the park, childhood memories spent with you in that park flashing through his mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Doyoung disregarded his question. “What did she say?”

“What?” 

“What did she say about the proposal?”

Johnny’s lips pursed into a pout and his brows sunk near his eyes as he recalled your words. “She asked me if I could see Alice in my dream future.”

“And what did you tell her?” Doyoung pushed for his answer.

“For some reason,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I— I couldn’t answer her.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” The question hit him hard. 

“Again, Doyoung, what the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny challenged, not liking where this conversation was going. His heart raced against his chest and he felt the blood pumping through his veins.

“God, you really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Doyoung shouted into the phone.

Johnny fought back, “Since I am an idiot, please! Go right ahead!”

His friend sighed in disappointment. “John, you were a wreck after your falling out four years ago. Anyone with eyes could see it. I had to watch you drag your ass out of bed everyday and then suddenly, you started dating Alice and everything was all better?”

“Yeah, that’s because I loved Alice!” Johnny yelled.

“Bullshit,” Doyoung retaliated. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Think about it, Alice is a Lit major who loves poetry. She was shy at first but then she opened up to you. You felt the need to protect her all the time. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“What does her being a Lit major have to do anything with this?”

“I really do have to tell it to you straight, don’t I?” Doyoung muttered to himself before relaying the hard truth, “John, you started dating Alice because she reminded you of her! Don’t you get it?”

“That’s not true,” Johnny whispered. 

“Okay, if it’s not true, then you can easily answer this for me. Were you able to see a clear future with Alice?”

“...No,” Johnny answered after a beat of silence. 

“Were you able to see someone else?” Doyoung asked with a softer voice.

“I…”

His friend’s tone dropped, taking a more mellow approach when telling him the next bit. He just discovered something big after all. “John, if you saw her in your future, it’s because you were never really able to let her go in the first place. She’s always been the person who mattered most to you.”

It instantly became too hot in his car. He rolled the windows down as sweat started dripping down his face. Johnny rolled up his sleeves and fanned himself with his hands before turning up the air condition. He gulped, attempting to get rid of the sudden thirst that came out of nowhere. He reached for his water bottle but remembered he forgot to grab it on his rush to leave the neighborhood.

“Okay,” Doyoung began, “one last thing. In between the time you weren’t talking to her and before you met Alice, what did you get a tattoo of?”

Johnny immediately looked to his forearm and a bright imprint of sunflower stared back at him. “A sunflower,” he muttered back.

“Why did you choose a sunflower, John?”

“Because...sunflowers mean positivity. I wanted it so I could look at it whenever I had a hard time,” he said, running a finger against the ink on his skin.

Doyoung hummed, “Is that the only reason? Tell the truth.”

“No,”  he whispered. Johnny took a deep breath before admitting, “I got it because this was the only way I could keep her with me after I lost her.”

Doyoung stayed silent, allowing Johnny to sit with his thoughts for a few moments. He continued to thumb his tattoo, his mind flickering to the girl who left him on his porch years ago. He thought about your lingering touches and stares, the way he would feel better in your presence. He pictured your smile and how it rivaled the light from the sun, how brightly you shined when you wore the vibrant shade of yellow. 

“I’m happy to have her back,” he stated. “I don’t think I can lose her again.”

“Are you okay with losing someone else, though?” Doyoung posed, “Because there’s something you have to do. It can’t go on any longer.” 

You shut your laptop closed, so seemingly done with the publisher you were working with. Your agent had been pestering you with progress reports on your latest collection and you did your best to reassure them that you indeed had some drafts in the making. The pocket journal from your future self was filled up halfway with your innermost thoughts and sat on top of the typed versions of the poems you deemed worthy for publication.

You glanced at the small calendar sitting on your desk and brushed your fingers against the glossy paper. The month of December was marked with an abundance of plans and reminders. You took note of every single important date mentioned in the past letters you received, those days circled with a bright red sharpie. The latest mark glared back at you, its vivid color reminding you of how significant it was.

Hey you, December 27th will be a big day so remember it. 

This one will be hard for you but trust me, I wish I had done this years ago. 

At times, you felt like a sitting duck. You knew what was going to happen and how to respond but you never knew when it would occur. Whenever your mother walked past your room, you would enter your fight or flight mode, complete with sweaty palms and a panic-filled mind. Your thoughts raced through all of the possible situations that could result from your future self’s suggestion.

This impending moment would be the one to change the game.

Just as your mind was about to spiral into a million different possibilities, a loud knock resounded throughout your room. You took a long and loud breath, shaking your arms to rid yourself of the nerves before opening the door.

Johnny will come into your room to talk...

You pretended to be confused when the door revealed a disheartened Johnny. His usually neat hair was a disheveled mess and he had prominent bags under his red and irritated eyes. His pressed clothes were swapped for a wrinkled top that was messily tucked into his pants. 

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you said as you stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he greeted almost lifelessly.

“I thought you were spending a couple of days with Alice and her family. At least, that’s what Mama Suh told me,” You motioned for him to take a seat on your desk chair. “Did you just get back?”

He plopped himself down, head in his hands. “Yeah, but let’s not talk about that right now.”

...and he’ll spot the typewriter he gave you.

Just as your letter predicted, Johnny turned his head to see your refurbished typewriter sitting on your desk. The machine’s older, vintage appearance stood out against the more modern and minimalistic design of your room. He pressed down on a couple of keys, filling the room with the sound of its clicking. 

“I’m surprised you still have this old thing,” he remarked. 

You moved closer to him to roll a new sheet of paper into the machine before allowing him to play around with the device. A few loose strands of your hair brushed against his face and he caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo scent. It smelled so familiar and comforting, taking Johnny back to the intimate moments where he used to hold you in his arms.

“I could never part with it,” you answered as you leaned back to take a seat on your bed. You watched him continue to type a fluffy of lines. “It was the first present you got me with your own money.”

Johnny stopped typing, his hands lingering over the keys. “You make it sound so special. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you know.” 

He caught your eyes and you make sure your voice doesn’t waver when you say the next line, “Well, it was special to me.” 

Johnny broke away first, sporting that ridiculous grin he always bore when embarrassed. You saw his cheeks turn color underneath the long blond strands and you stifled a laugh. He coughed into his hand to hide his flustered state before shifting back to face the typewriter.

“So have you written anything with this old baby since?” he posed, his voice overpowering the sound of the keyboard clicks.

He’ll ask if you have written anything since the break in your friendship. I made the mistake of saying “no,” but you, my dear, have the chance to change that.

“I took a break for a bit,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders, “but yeah I have a few journals filled, not a lot though. Typed out the best ones— they’re around here somewhere.” 

“Have any to share?”

Pivoting away from him, your body shook as you bent down to reach into your drawers. A hand trembled in time with your racing heart when you spotted the familiar leather-bound journal, the dirtied yellow practically screaming your name. You grabbed hold of it with a solid grip, nails imprinting crescent moons on the cover. 

You pressed the book against your chest and the beating of your fragile heart was so strong, you thought it was going to break through your ribcage and thrash against the journal itself. The book you held in your hands was your most prized possession: your blood, sweat, and tears all within its binding. It was the secret to your success and the secret to your heart. 

His name was so neatly written on that first page, starting off an unsent love letter to him and there he was, in your room, about to receive everything you had caged behind a fake name. 

I want you to hand him your journal, you know the one, and tell him— “Read it if you ever have some time on your hands.”

Johnny accepted it with a smile. He tapped the book cover heartily before tucking it under his arm. “I’ll always have time for you and your work.”

“Be careful with that— that particular journal is really important to me.”

“I will.” Johnny paused, just observing the way your eyes would flicker nervously from the notebook and then back to him. 

“Did you ever write with someone in mind?” he questioned, his puffy eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You gulped before giving him a nervous smile, “I’m sure you’ll find the answer to that in there somewhere.”

I feel as if this is our last chance in changing the future. Let’s pray the Fates are in our favor this time. Best of wishes and an abundance of happiness to you, love.

I hope this works.

signed,

the sunflower without her sun

Johnny read through your journal the minute he got home. Locking himself in his childhood bedroom, he changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and dived right in. He was terribly exhausted from his long drive back from Alice’s place, the trip both mentally and physically draining. He read with the intention of taking a break from the raging waves inside his head but instead, it turned his mind into a tsunami— the thoughts crashing along each other and causing him to drown in the harsh waters of his brain. He read the book from cover to cover, leaving no page unturned. 

You gave him this odd request and although weird, he wanted to follow through for you. You had asked him to read the book in its entirety before flipping back to the very first page.

Your words floated off the page and they touched him in ways he never knew. Johnny soaked in every scribble, every word you wrote. He felt every instance of love and heartbreak within its binding and wondered who made you feel this way. His heart swelled at every lovesick poem you wrote and dropped at every sad picture you painted with your verses.

Some of your writings sounded awfully familiar to Johnny but he shrugged it off, thinking you had shown him your old work in passing. 

It wasn’t until he reached a certain poem that everything came crashing down on him. You wrote a short poem, one that barely filled the page, about a sunflower that longed for the light of the sun and it hit him all at once. 

Johnny frantically sprung up from his bed to search for a certain book. Practically running to his desk, he shoved everything aside and down fell a pile of paper, prints, and polaroids. He shuffled through endless piles of junk until he found what he was looking for: Sunny Blume’s letters left unsent.

He flipped and flipped and flipped through pages, his heart doing cartwheels inside his chest as Johnny so desperately foraged for that particular set of words. His eyes skimmed through Sunny’s published book before turning back to find the same words written in your neat handwriting.

It was one and the same.

He rifled through the pages of Sunny’s book until he reached the dedication, eyes taking in every word.

these are my unsent letters to you, my muse

i hope they get to you someday because no matter when we are or where you are or with whom you’re with— it always has been and always will be you, you, you

His mind was sent into a loop when he shifted his attention back to your worn-out yellow journal. Johnny’s large hands move on their own, working to find the first page. He handled the pages so roughly, the papers ripping at the seams, until he reached his destination. The tall man lost his balance, body falling to the floor when he read an identical dedication. The only difference was the opening line.

these are my unsent letters to you, johnny— 

The next few days passed by in a daze, Johnny’s head still filled with thoughts of you and the poems you secretly addressed to him. The blond didn’t dare meet you in person, his mind still muffled with confusion. Instead, he just stared outside of his bedroom window, his line of sight directed towards your window. He stared blankly for days, watching the lights flicker on and off every now and then. His heart pushed against his chest, beating erratically when he caught a glimpse of you leaving your house to run an errand for your mom but would hide behind his blinds when you would look his way.

He shook with every text you sent him, but you never touched on the topic of your journal. Johnny refused to reply to you, scared of running off at the mouth with the wrong words. 

His mother, being the intuitive person she was, noticed his behavior right away but didn’t approach him until New Year’s Eve.

She knocked on his door and he let her in, his thoughts still elsewhere. Taking a seat on his bed, Johnny easily followed suit, body gravitating towards his mother’s in his time of need. His mom cupped his cheek and stroked it gently, “My love, what is going on with you, hm?”

He turned his head away from her, almost ashamed of his feelings, and crossed his arms against his chest to protect himself. “Nothing.”

She chuckled in that motherly way, hands moving to comb through her son’s blond hair. “Now, you and I both know this isn’t nothing if you have been holed up in your room for days.”

When he doesn’t reply, his mother pushed in a way that would definitely elicit an answer, “She’s been asking about you, you know? Seemed pretty worried that you weren’t answering her.”

“Mom,” Johnny started off, looking at her with a confused expression. He was bewildered by everything he had discovered recently, he didn’t even know how to start laying it out. 

“These past few years, I thought I was in love with Alice but,” he shook his head, almost in disbelief, “turns out I wasn’t after all.”

Her wrinkled hand slid down his arm to grab hold of his hand. She squeezed it with all the love and support in her heart, urging her son to continue. 

“I talked to Flower and she made me realize I wasn’t. I never saw Alice in my future and Doyoung made me realize I had always pictured someone else.” His mother followed Johnny’s far-off gaze only to find it focusing on your window. He continued to stare at it as you opened the glass doors to let in some cold air, your arms stretching outward to catch the falling snow. 

“And is that someone else your best friend?” she posed the question with a knowing smile. 

Johnny’s answer was caught in his throat, struggling to come out. It was hard for him to admit but he felt the need to. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and his pride before finally spewing out the answer he had been denying for the past few years. “Yeah, it’s always been her.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Johnny felt the weight in his chest disappear. He stole a glance at a framed picture on his desk and the biggest smile spread along his lips. It was a picture of you and him in the middle of the sunflower field from years ago. He initially sent it to his mother and she took the liberty of framing it and placing it in his room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes zeroed in on you in that bright yellow shirt. 

“Somehow, her mom and I always knew you would fall for each other,” his mother pointed out, snapping him out of his daze. Her statement ripped the fond smile off his face.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Johnny almost whispered.

“Of what, John?” Her eyes searched for his face and he refused to meet her gaze.

It took him a minute to reply. “Of losing her, like how you lost dad. You guys were best friends too, you know.”

Johnny never liked talking about the divorce, the split still living too fresh in his mind. It hurt him too much to even think about, so he shunned the feelings away. The boy grew up with an abundance of love stories, from his mother being spoiled with flowers to the sweetest proposal. Like you and him, his parents grew up as childhood friends that turned into more. When everything fell apart, it tore him apart in ways one could never explain.

“Oh, my love,” his mother sighed. Although her build was much smaller in comparison to his, she pulled her son into her arms and he immediately curled into her hold. He rested his head against his mom’s chest and she worked her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. 

“Your father, as loving and sweet as he is, wasn’t my soulmate. We discovered this way too late in life but I loved him all the same,” she began to say. He shifted in her loving hold, still not ready to discuss the split.

“Yes, we didn’t work out but I’m so glad to have him in my life because he made me who I am today and,” she took a second to lift her son’s chin with a gentle finger, “he gave me the most precious gift of all— you.”

Johnny smiled up at his mother with tears rimming his eyes and she wiped them away with the tip of her manicured finger. “You are the light of my life, my dear, and you are so deserving of love.”

“Mom,” he muttered through a sniffle. His heart always grew soft at his mother’s words.

“And I know she is the one who will give it to you,” she finished sweetly, tapping his cheek. “She always looked at you like you were the sun.”

“You think so?”

His mom’s laughter fills the room with delight, “John, if you only saw things from our eyes. I saw it and so did her mother and your father. You looked at her the exact same way.”

She broke the embrace first to place a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. “I know you’re scared, everyone is at some point but you’ll never know until you try, darling. That’s how life works.”

Johnny could only nod at his mother’s advice and she squished his cheeks lovingly in return. She stood up from her seat to stretch before slapping him lightly on his bicep. He flinched at the sudden contact, shooting his mother a shocked surprised look. 

“Enough of this, we have a New Year’s party to get ready for. You need to look nice tonight,” she playfully scolded her son. She shuffled through his closet before pulling out a thin black turtleneck and a beige trench coat to match.

Right before she walked out the room, his mother turned on her heel to say, “By the way, John. You got a letter in the mail. I set it on the counter for you.”

The New Year’s celebration was in full swing at your humble childhood house, the living room and kitchen decorated with the shiniest shades of gold and silver. The numbers of the upcoming year were pasted on the wall where your makeshift photo booth was located, a couple of childhood friends shoving their bodies together to fit into the frame of the ring light and the camera. They drunkenly called your name, hands reaching for you to join them, but you waved them off and shook your glass in the air. You needed a refill.

Balloons littered the floor, making it hard to walk across the crowded room filled with your mother’s friends and their families. You wiggled your way until you reached your kitchen, quickly pouring yourself another flute of champagne. Three flutes of bubbly and two shots of rum deep into your night but you still wanted more. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your skirt pocket and you blindly palmed your thigh until you found it. “Hmm, hello?” you mumbled.

“Hey, buttercup,” Donhyuck’s voice almost screamed into the phone. His side sounded rowdier than yours. “Happy almost New Year!”

You removed the phone from your ear to check the time, thirty minutes until midnight. “Right back at ya, you doof!”

“Did you find someone to ring in the New Year with yet?” 

“Ha, funny for you to assume I was looking,” you heartily laughed.

“That’s no fun.” You could practically picture Donghyuck’s pout in your head. “Johnny Boy hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No,” you groaned. You informed your friend about handing the journal over a couple of days ago and he was hanging onto your every word, hoping your mutual stupidity and pining for each other would end soon. He knew everything that had occurred since he left, everything except the letters. 

“Is he there?” 

“Yes and he looks like Adonis in that tight turtleneck of his,” you moaned into your flute, the alcohol you consumed finally bringing out your hidden thoughts. “He hasn’t talked to me yet, though.”

“Then, why don’t you approach him first?” Donghyuck suggested.

“Aren’t you too invested in this? Shouldn’t you be on your way to Junnie?” you shot back with another glimpse at the time. The clock was ticking closer to midnight. 

Your mind short-circuited as you caught a glimpse of your childhood friend across the room. He locked eyes with you, the deep brown you loved so much shining in the lowlight from afar. You watch him down his flute of champagne in one go before slowly making his way over to you. Johnny’s lengthy body twisted and turned while fighting the crowd, the tight shirt hugging every defined curve and line of his torso. His styled blond hair fell to frame his handsome face and his brows were furrowed with determination.

“Hyuck, oh my god, I take it back. He’s heading over here,” you whispered harshly into the phone. His quick steps across the floor matched the beating of your heart.

“I’ll talk to you later, sweetie,” your roommate teased before ending the call. “Happy New Year!”

“Hyuck!” you shouted but it was too late.

It didn’t take long for Johnny to reach you. You tried to ignore the butterflies but they increased as he stood in front of you with only the kitchen island separating your bodies. He leaned against the counter, looking so effortlessly handsome, you almost fell to your knees. 

“Go outside with me?” were his first words to you in days. “We should talk.”

“Sure, let me just—” You cut yourself off to chug your freshly poured glass of champagne, the bubbly substance tickling your throat. Johnny gave you an amused look but you ignored it, rushing towards the front door with a coat in hand.

He opened the door for you as you shuffled into your jacket, motioning for you to step out first with a dazzling grin. He followed right after, leaving the door slightly ajar before leaning against the wall. 

In your tipsied state, you struggled to jump onto the ledge of your porch. You frowned at the seemingly easy task and gasped in surprise when you felt two strong arms lift you at the waist and your shivering hands flew to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. Johnny had the audacity to smirk at your flustered state and you scoffed at his confidence. 

“You wanted to talk,” you tried to match his confidence but you failed once he leaned against the railing, bringing his handsome face closer to yours. He was so close, you could see the length of his eyelashes, the shadow of his freshly shaved facial hair, and the pores on the apples of his cheeks. “So, let’s talk.”

Without missing a beat, he jumped right in, “You’re Sunny Blume.” You closed your eyes shut at his accusation and took a deep breath, clearly not ready to hear Johnny call you by your pen name.

“Yup, that’s me,” you admitted, tugging on a loose strand of hair out of nervousness.

Before diving any deeper into the conversation, he asked, “Why that name?”

“Because I’m your sunflower, that’s why,” you pushed yourself to say. He chuckled with the shake of his head, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Sunny for obvious reasons. ‘Blume’ meaning ‘flower’ in German. It was obvious to those who knew what they were looking at, but to others, it was just a simple name. Everything about that poem collection always tied back to Johnny Suh.

“Did you really mean everything that you wrote?” was his next question. There was this hopeful gleam in his eyes as he stared at you, lips pursed out as he waited for your revealing answer.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” 

You squeezed his arm, “When have I ever lied to you about something as serious as this?”

He hummed in return. 

“I turned you into poetry because I couldn’t have you any other way.”

You release your hold on him, bringing your hands to rub against your stocking-clad legs. Your short coat cut off at mid-thigh, leaving your legs exposed to the cold winter air. Noticing your shivering body, Johnny quickly shimmied out of his trench coat to drape it over your smaller figure. 

Your face flushed with heat as his familiar scent flooded your nose and thanked him for his kind gesture. Slipping your arms through the sleeves of his coat, you giggled at the size difference. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder, slowly riding up to rub at the base of your neck. “Do you— do you still feel the same way about me?”

Your hand reached up to take his larger one in yours. Your fingers skirted along his skin as his hand moved to thumb at your cheek. It was a very intimate gesture, causing that tickling feeling in your stomach to return. You hummed at the warmth of his touch, “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”

You pick up the sound of him breathing heavily at your confession. 

You laid your cards on the table. It was his turn to make a move. 

“The question is, Johnny, do you feel the same?” You exhaled, the puff of hot air hitting his face. “Do you love me, too?”

“I’m pretty sure I always have,” he replied with the softest look. Johnny drank the sight of you in: the haze in your bright eyes, the rise and fall of your chest, the blinding smile that you were trying so hard to conceal.

He straightened up and stepped closer to you, your knees now hitting the tops of his thighs. Johnny leaned down, transferring his weight to one arm, as he brought his face closer to yours. “I was always so scared of losing you that I couldn’t admit how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” You found yourself subconsciously moving towards him, your body automatically gravitating to the warmth he was executing. 

“A little bit, yeah,” Johnny confessed. His fingers reached up to play with a loose strand of your hair. He tenderly tucked it behind your ear, his skin grazing against a sensitive spot on your neck. You fluttered at his soft touch, your heart now dancing along your chest. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“And Alice?”

“I broke it off with her the day I came into your room.” That explained why he looked so out of sorts that day, you thought to yourself. Taking a moment to let that information sink in, you realized that the Johnny standing in front of you was single and willing to try with you. 

It worked. The letters that your future self sent you, they worked. 

The countdown for the New Year began in the background, the excited yelling ringing throughout your house. 

10! 9! 8! 7!

“Is that right?”

6! 5! 4! 

You would forever remember the moment your childhood best friend, Johnny Suh, stole your heart for good. He looked you dead in the eye and with the deepest voice, he repeated your own written poem back to you, “It has always been and always will be you.”

3!

He kissed your left cheek first.

“You.”

Then, your right.

2!

“You.”

1!

The clock struck twelve and without a moment’s hesitation, Johnny captured your crimson-painted lips with his own to ring in the New Year. Catching you off guard, the force of the kiss almost sent you backward but he was quick to wrap a tight arm around your waist. Your legs opened to give him room to slide in between your thighs, allowing him to press you even closer. His free hand slid its way to your hair, holding your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Your head titled in time with his as you grabbed at his neck to hold him down.

Your neck was starting to strain at the awkward positioning and you pulled away to catch your breath. Still longing to taste you, Johnny tugged you back into another heated lip-lock and tapped at your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist, enjoying the way his larger figure molded with yours. He walked backward and turned to push you against the wall.

He broke away to nibble at the base of your neck, peppering fleeting kisses on the expanse of your exposed skin as you thumbed through his hair. 

“Hey,” you mumbled low enough to catch his attention. He tore away from your neck, placing his head on your shoulder. “Happy New Year, Johnny.”

When he looked up at you with all the love and adoration you had only dreamed about, an overwhelming feeling of happiness took over your entire being. “Happy New Year, sunflower.” 

He slowly let you down from his hold before interlocking your fingers. “Now, wanna get outta here?” He gestured to his empty house across the street.

“And why would I do that?” you teased with a scrunch of your nose. 

He sent you a smirk that sent shivers down your spine, “To make up for lost time, of course.”

You yanked him down for a short but fervid kiss. “Well, we have four years to make up for. Better get started.” With a tug of his arm, you giggled your way down the street as he fiddled around to find his keys. 

It was the first time in four years where Johnny woke up with you by his side. The rays of the winter sun peeped through the small gap of curtain, illuminating part of his room. He arose to clothes scattered along the wooden floor and a tiny breeze blowing through the vent above his bed. He turned over to find you pressing your bare self into his exposed chest with a whine, searching for a source of warmth in your sleepy state. He smiled fondly, heart thrashing wildly at the sight of you under the covers next to him. 

Johnny reached over to his bedside table in search of his phone but ran across two envelopes piled on top of each other. He opened the first one, eyes glazing over a recognizable font.

John,

You might think this handwriting looks familiar and that’s because it is— it’s yours. I’m you from the future and I’m writing to you because I need you to do something for me. 

I know you’re skeptical about this, just as you always are with the supernatural so I’m here to prove it to you. 

By the time you receive this letter, you should be home for Christmas for the first time in three years. On the day you go to the Christmas Tree Farm, you’ll find a sunflower and it will be beautiful. 

A sunflower in winter, sounds impossible, right? Believe me— it’s not. You’ll understand soon enough.

But promise me, once you see that flower, keep it in your grasp. Don’t let it go.

Sincerely, JS

A soft chuckle built up in his chest, the vibrations shaking your slumber away. He gently placed the paper back on the table only to feel a feathery touch rub against the bright ink of his sunflower tattoo. 

“A sunflower in winter, huh?” he said to himself.

“What did you say, Johnny?” you asked, voice hoarse from sleep and the activities from the night before. You pressed a kiss onto his forearm, smiling against the tattooed print that forever reminded him of you.

“Nothing, baby,” he shook his head, hand leaving his side to stroke the side of your face. “Go back to sleep.” You hummed at his command, eyes immediately fluttering to a close. You sighed happily as Johnny wrapped an arm around your waist and you tangled your legs with his to bring him flush against you.

Just as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, he decided that he was never going to let you go. 

The new year passed with the blink of an eye. Within the twelve months, you graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature and moved into a small two bedroom apartment with Johnny. His many pictures decorated the walls of your new home, smiles found all around your apartment. One bedroom was converted to an office with two desks, one for him and an even bigger one for you. On top of your desk sat your beloved typewriter, your trusty laptop, and a few of your journals. A dried arrangement of sunflowers and red roses hung right by your desk, never failing to bring you inspiration when your mind ran dry.

On a random day, you found yourself grinning from ear to ear in your living room, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from his photography studio. You killed time on the couch, flipping through channels and scrolling through your phone, toes wiggling in anticipation.

What felt like hours later, you heard the rustling of keys and the wobbling of your doorknob. You turned just in time to see Johnny appear with that kittenish grin curled on his lips. You jumped up at the chance to greet him, arms wrapping around his torso and legs coiling around his waist to give him a kiss. He dropped his backpack in astonishment, not expecting that eager of a greeting before pressing back into you. 

An arm pushed against the small of your back to keep you steady as he broke away, walking your bodies further into the apartment. “Hey to you, too,” he laughed into your hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really happy today,” you beamed up at him, the upturns of your mouth almost meeting the tips of your ears.

Johnny set you down gently as he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. “Because it’s date night?”

“Well, that too,” you replied before quickly running to the coffee table. Picking up an item, you hid it behind your back before approaching him with the widest smile. “But it’s because I have a surprise for you!”

He immediately closed his eyes, arms extended out as his fingers opened and closed playfully against his palm. You placed the item in his hands as the tall man bounced on his heels, his eyelids fluttering open to find a hardcover book in his hold.

“Is this what I think it is?” Johnny questioned softly, fingers trailing against the spine of the book.

You refused to answer and just silently motioned for him to open it but it was exactly what he thought it was— the proof of your new poem collection, all my loving. A surge of pride rushed through you as you saw your beloved hold your book in his hands; it felt amazing to finally have another book under your name.

He opened the hardcover hastily, excited to read your work. As much as he pestered you for a peek for the past year, you always denied his requests, telling him to wait until the collection was complete.

Johnny turned to the first page and you watched him with all the love and adoration in your heart as he soaked your book’s dedication.

That collection was far from perfect but it was yours as much as it was his. With that book and your first year together almost complete, you couldn’t wait to start all over with new verses and prose filling your heart and soul but more importantly, you couldn’t wait to do it all over again with him.

Johnny looked up from the page, completely enamored by your musings. Tears threatened to cascade down his rounded cheeks as he smiled down at you. “The perfect gift from the perfect girl,” he said, his fingers finding their way to the belt loops of your jeans to tug you closer.

“Nothing can beat this gift, huh?” You stared up at him with the brightest eyes he had ever seen. It was then he realized you were brighter than the yellow flowers that became your namesake. You were the sun itself.

“I’m pretty sure I can think of something that could top this, sunshine,” Johnny chuckled, lightly touching his forehead to yours. 

You placed a tender kiss at the side of his mouth before asking, “And what would that be?”

You didn’t receive an answer, you just felt the warmth of his body leave yours as he took a step back with the shyest smile. You watched him with wrinkled brows and a curious look as his trembling hands left your hips and slid up to grab hold of your hands. His palms were sweaty, you noted, as his grip tensed around yours. 

“I, um, planned on doing this at dinner tonight but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Johnny started to say with a shaky voice. Feeling the nervous energy in the air and the slight shaking of his body, you put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” you let out an unsteady breath. Your heart was fighting a battle with your ribcage, screaming to be let out as another quivering chuckle escaped his lips.

You felt his thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand before it moved up to ghost against your ring finger. “Now, I can’t phrase things like you but I’ll do my very best,” he quipped. There was a tremble in his voice and you wanted to kiss it away but you decided to stay quiet and just live in the moment as he poured his heart out to you.

“A bit over a year ago, something incredible happened: I got these weird letters in the mail—”

Wait, letters?

“—and they led me back to you. They said something about finding a sunflower in the middle of winter and I thought that it was the dumbest prank someone could ever pull but way later down the line, I realized the letter was talking about you.” 

He got letters, too?

“When you asked me about my dream future,” Johnny continued, “the only person I could picture was you and I was so angry at myself for not figuring it out sooner.” Your eyes flickered up to stare into his adoring gaze. His brown eyes dripped of honey and candy and everything sweet in the world. 

“That— that’s okay,” you laughed through your tears. “We have all the time in the world now.”

He nodded; that you did.

“And your poems are like something sent from the heavens, you are something sent from the heavens, and I don’t think I can ever let go of your hand ever again,” he squeezed your hand and you pressed back with double the strength. 

For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak. Johnny Suh, your winter angel and the sun of your sky, had rendered you speechless.

The only sound that left your lips was the genuine gasp you let out once your eyes caught sight of the small jewelry box that he pulled out from his back pocket. Johnny struggled to one-handedly open the case, refusing to let go of your left hand. “I’m simply the Earth that revolves around you.” 

An immense heat rushed to your face as Johnny went down on one knee, his brown eyes wide and shining just for you. “You’re the light of my life, my most precious flower and person, so please,” he paused to press a kiss to your knuckles before looking you in the eyes, “please marry me.”

Overwhelmed by his proposal, you squeaked out a “yes” before Johnny pulled you down to his level for the most earth-shattering kiss you had ever experienced. You were spinning, mind reeling as he kissed you over and over again, leaving no spot on your face untouched. You giggled and cried at his actions and his words, feeling nothing but loved.  

When Johnny slipped that beautiful diamond ring on your finger, you realized that the most impossible dreams had a possibility of coming true. 

“I love you,” you sobbed as you admired the new piece decorating your hand. The sparkle of the jewel shone brilliantly but it could never compare to the twinkle in your love’s eyes.  

“I love you too, soulmate,” he answered, nudging your nose with his. 

Soulmates— that’s what you were and what you always will be. You wondered if your future self would be happy with how everything turned out; she probably would.

And to think, you laughed to yourself, it all started and ended with a couple of love letters.

for my most precious person,  the sun to my flower, johnny—

you’re in every song i sing every gift i string  everything  just brings me back to you

in every note i write every candle i light degree fahrenheit  my heart burns nothing but true

and so i say in this letter new i’ll send all my loving to you

💌   © sehunniepotwrites, 2020

[violence-uncut]

First Fight. ( j.m. & c.r. )

pairing- Cody/Jon

warnings- m/m, smut, daddy kink, mentions of blood, fighting, being tied up ( w/ belt ), tw: vvv slight mentions of SA if you squint

type- one-shot

words- 2,782

summary- Jon's had a bad day and he's feeling insecure, but it takes Cody almost walking out to put things into perspective for both of them.

a/n- Tried my hand at Jon having a secret daddy kink and . . . I think I'm in love with it. And happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate even though this is in no way thanksgiving related lol.

“Please don’t leave, I’m a work in progress but I’m trying.” Jon pleads, grabbing Cody’s arm as he goes to leave their shared hotel room. “I know I get jealous easily and I know I can be hard headed at times and I’m emotionally damaged but there’s one thing ‘m certain about Cody, and it’s that I love you. . . please, stay. Let’s work this out. . .”

Cody takes a deep breath, tears pooling in his eyes as he squeezes them shut, feeling the warm liquid slip down his cheeks. He’d heard all the stories before from past lovers, but if Cody let them win now by ruining how he saw Jon, how would their relationship even work?

Turning on his heel, Cody stares into the eyes of his lover and grips his face in his hand, pressing a rough kiss to his lips. “No more hiding how you feel Jon, if something’s wrong from now on you gotta talk to me.”

He's never really the one to be the overly dominant one in the relationship but if this is what he’d have to do to get Jon to open up, he’d do whatever it takes.

It takes a moment for Jon to realize what’s happening before he slowly nods his head in Cody’s still firm grip, not being able to look away from his eyes.

“I mean it, I don’t know if I can handle another blow up like what happened today. I don’t need this relationship, I want it. I’m not gonna feel sorry for leaving if it means you’ll finally realize what’s going on here.”

“I promise, I’m gonna - .”  Jon’s cut off by Cody’s lips on his own and he melts into the other’s body, arms wrapping around his neck and moaning as the fingers on his jaw gets tighter.

“Actions speak louder than words baby, and you’ve got a lot to prove.” Cody growls onto his lips, shoving the other onto the bed behind him. Jon tries his hardest not to let out any sounds of excitement past his lips but it comes out in a small laugh anyways.

Cody’s on Jon in a second, hand coming across his face hard. A moan’s ripped from Jon’s throat as he’s forced to look up into Cody’s matching blue eyes, which are almost black with lust.

“You think this is funny boy? I’ll have you whimpering and begging me not to stop by the end of the night.”

Jon’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, subconsciously spreading his legs open so Cody could fit between them.

It’s his first time willingly giving himself over to being the bottom and he knows he can trust Cody. Calloused fingers trail up Cody’s back and he grips his shoulder blades, bringing his body up to press against his boyfriend’s.

He buries his face into Cody’s neck, taking in a deep breath and his scent. “ ‘M sorry daddy… I didn’t mean to laugh.” He breathes, pressing kisses against the other’s neck softly. He kisses across his jaw, taking his time.

Cody’s genuinely surprised with the reactions he’s getting from the other and takes it as a good sign to continue. He grins and grips Jon by the chin, pulling his face from its hiding spot and assault on Cody’s neck.

Big doe eyes stare up at him, confusion glittering in them. “Daddy huh? That’s different for you,” Cody practically purrs, running his nose up the side of Jon’s jaw. It takes a minute for Jon to fully let go before he swallows, his eyes glazing over.

“Change. . . is a good thing right?” His voice comes out breathy, an invisible weight being lifted from his shoulders as he relaxes into the mattress.

Cody grins, nodding as he rests his free hand around Jon’s throat. “It’s a very good thing baby, and I’m glad you’re working through it. An’ I’m here to help you all the way.” He coos, pressing his lips against Jon’s teasingly.  

Jon couldn't even begin to explain what he's feeling in this moment. An extremely high, high which was something he only got from wrestling. And anxious. 

He doesn't know where that feeling came from but he knows he's in good hands. "Jon. . . baby. . ." Cody's voice brings him from his thoughts and he looks up into his lover’s eyes,  staring in concern down at him.

Before Cody gets a chance to say anything else, Jon wraps his hand around the back of the other's head and brings him down for a hard, steamy kiss on the lips.

Getting all the answers he needed to continue, Cody makes quick work of Jon's t-shirt. Only breaking the kiss for a moment so he could discard the useless piece of clothing. Pale fingers fumbling as he works the button on Jon’s jeans, sliding his tongue along the other’s bottom lip, demanding entrance.

Jon opens his mouth willingly, moaning as Cody’s tongue explores. He kicks his jeans down his legs and his breath hitches when Cody nips his bottom lip.

Wrapping his hand around Jon’s neck, he drags his other hand down the other’s chest. Cody grins, brushing the back of his knuckles up and down the length of Jon’s cock. “F-Fuck daddy. . .” Jon’s body twitches at the gentle touch.

He definitely wasn’t used to being touched so sensually before. The feeling almost brought tears to his eyes. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t used to this.

A whine passes between his lips and goosebumps erupt all over his body. Of course Cody knows what he’s doing to his boyfriend. “You look so good like this.” He pulls off Jon’s boxers, watching with hungry eyes as Moxley’s cock springs free. 

     Cody slides down his lover’s body and places his lips around the head, slowly taking Jon into his mouth. He’s slow as he begins to bob up and down, tracing his tongue along the sensitive vein on the underside of his dick.

     Moxley’s eyes roll back into his head, fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. His fingers twist into the bedsheets and his hips buck up against Cody’s face. 

     Draping his arm across Jon’s waist, Cody pins him down to the bed. “Who said you could move?” He growls out, pulling off his cock.

     “You never said I couldn’t!” Jon whines out, suddenly feeling Cody reach up and slap him for the second time. If it was possible for Jon to fall even more in love with him, he would’ve jumped off the top of a steel cage already. 

     A moan gets lost in Mox’s throat as Cody takes him all into his mouth again, the tip hitting the back of his throat. 

     Jon cries out, arching off the bed again and tangling his fingers in Cody’s short, blond hair. A million thoughts run through his head when he pulls off him with a ‘pop’ so suddenly.

     In a matter of seconds, Moxley has the two of them flipped, Cody's still clothed body underneath him. As fast as it happened with Jon, Cody flips them again, pinning Jon's arms besides his head. 

     "Don't forget who's in charge here..." Keeping his wrists in his hands, Cody offers the other two of his fingers. Jon parts his lips right away and takes the digits into his mouth, swirling his tongue between them. “Get ‘em nice and wet for me baby boy.” Feeling satisfied with Jon’s work after a few minutes, he removes his fingers and spreads his legs open with his knee. 

     Cody brings his fingers down to his ass and gently eases one around the ring of muscle, watching the other’s reaction. A gasp comes from the body beneath him and he takes it as a sign to continue. He works his finger in more, crooking it in a ‘come hither’ motion. 

     He marvels in the way Jon arches his back before adding the second finger, working him open. “Doing so good baby…” He coos down at him, pumping his fingers a few more times before slipping them out. A whine escapes Jon’s throat when Cody slides off the bed away from him. 

     “God daddy, please, I hate being teased. . .” Cody laughs as he undresses and pulls his belt real slow through the loops of his dress pants before kicking them away. He makes his way back onto the bed, watching as Jon’s doe eyes follow his every move. 

     Eyes landing on the worn leather in Cody’s hand, Jon's mind drifts back to how his day started that lead to this.

Flashback - Earlier that day. 

     Jon was having a bad day, from. This morning when the coffee shop he liked stopped serving his roast; being late to his meet and greet- he hated disappointing his fans- and he missed lunch; To now . . . Covered in soda. He was heading toward the locker rooms when he saw Scorpio Sky pulling a can from the vending machine. 

     Common sense would be to wait a minute before opening the can but clearly Sky was lacking in at the moment. It was like slow motion in Jon's mind. He was walking by and Sky opened the soda and it sprayed everywhere. The sticky mist covered Jon from head to toe. 

     Fists clenched at his sides, Jon could feel the last line to sanity snap inside him. 

"Oh shit, Jon I'm-" 

"Just. . . Walk away Sky. . ."

     Scorpio walked closer, another apology on his lips when Jon finally looked up, anger swimming in his cold blue eyes. “Seriously, walk away before I do something we both regret, please.” The eerily calm voice seemed to do the trick as Sky held up his hands and backed away cautiously. 

     After hearing the man’s footsteps retreat down the hall, he let his shoulders drop. He made his way into the bathroom to clean up.

     Jon was shocked with himself. Not blowing up like he would have eight years ago. All he wanted was for this day to be over with. He washed his hands, face and neck, hoping to make it back to the locker room in one piece.

     After changing his clothes, Jon walked into catering. He found himself a table in the back, completely oblivious to his boyfriend and Kenny getting food. Jon had his nose buried in the elbow of his jacket and the beginnings of a headache forming at the base of his skull.

     A few minutes go by before the sound of chairs dragging across the floor gets his attention. "Babe, is everything okay?" Cody's concerned voice reaches his ears before he could fully lift his head up. 

     Seeing Kenny sitting there with them, made his blood boil. Cody knew how much Jon didn't like Kenny, but he didn't want to come between his boyfriend and his friends. Jon's voice was tense as he spoke, not being able to hide it anymore. "Yeah babe, just a rough day."

     "You've been having those a lot lately, you sure?" Kenny couldn't keep the snideness from his voice. Jon had been trying all day, but of course the one person who could, had made him snap. He flew across the table and his fist met with Kenny's nose, knocking him from his chair. Jon heard a 'crack' and felt warm liquid on his knuckles. 

     A group of wrestlers gathered to watch as Cody pulled the two men apart. Well, he pulled Kenny away; Being the easiest to get to at the time. Jon reluctantly let Cody drag his friend a good distance away before Jon could attack the Canadian again. 

     He looked over at Omega, seeing the blood gushing from the man's face. That's the crack he'd heard, he'd possibly broken the guy's nose. 

     Jon didn't look back again as he stormed out of Daily's place.

End of flashback - 

   Hands now secured with the belt, Jon moans out as Cody lines up his cock with his ass before pushing into him in one smooth thrust. 

     The leather rubs deliciously against Jon's skin and he wraps his legs around Cody's waist. "Oh God daddy, f-fuck, you feel fantastic inside me.." His voice is low and raspy as he moves against him. He hates not being able to touch Cody, he did like how dominant his boyfriend’s being though.

     The anger from today's events fading from his mind as they move against one another. Cody looks down at Jon underneath him and grins, seeing him finally relax. "Yeah baby boy? You feel better now that daddy’s inside you?” He teases, pumping his hips lazily. “Yes, m-much better, thank you.” Jon’s breathless as he gazes up at Cody, eyes hazy.

    He brings his bound arms up and loops them over Cody’s head, resting his forearms on the other’s shoulders. If this was the only way he could touch him, Moxley’s gonna take it. “You little shit,” Cody laughs at the man’s loophole and starts pumping his hips faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around their hotel room.

     Jon moans out at the change in pace and locks his legs around Cody’s waist, taking him deeper. “Who knew you could be so needy.” Cody teases, gripping his boy’s hips. A tingling sensation begins to grow in the pit of Jon’s belly, causing him to squirm underneath him. 

     “M-Mmm, daddy. . .” He whines, their eyes locked on one another's. Cody could tell that his boy’s getting close to cumming. Reaching between them, Rhodes wraps his hand around Jon’s dick, jerking in time with his thrusts. “Getting close baby boy?” Jon stares up into his lustful eyes, nodding quickly. 

     “Y-Yes daddy, please make me cum!” Jon moans, his eyes rolling back in his head as the overstimulation rushes through his body. Cody reangles his hips, the head of his cock now brushing right against the other’s prostate. Placing his mouth by Jon’s ear, picking up the pace in his thrusts. “Cum with me baby. . . cum for daddy. . .”

     That’s all Jon needs to hear before he cums between them, his body going numb with pleasure. Cody feels him squeeze around his dick, causing Cody to cum seconds after. His thrusts become erratic as he fucks them through their highs. Jon’s body slumps into the bed as his boyfriend begins slowing down.

     Cody’s hips pump into him lazily, reaching his hands around his neck, he undid the belt around Jon’s wrists. A moan escapes Jon as the feeling comes back to his arms. “Are you okay baby boy?” There’s a hint of concern in Cody’s voice as he looks down at him. A smirk appears when he sees the blissed out state Jon is in. 

     Jon’s cheeks are flushed red and a smile’s glued to his lips. Leaning down, Cody presses his mouth against the other’s. “ ‘m so much better, daddy.” Jon murmurs into the kiss, his hands trailing down the other’s sweaty chest. “You look much better.” Cody breaths, slowly pulling out of his boyfriend and takes a hold of Jon’s wrists. He kisses each one where it’s irritated.

     “Stay here baby, I’ll be right back.” Cody gets off the bed and makes his way into the bathroom. He grabs a washcloth and holds it under the hot water. Jon’s limbs are like jello as he moves anyways, situating himself more comfortably. “. . .You really like being a pain in my ass don’t you?” Cody shakes his head even though there’s a smile on his face. “Even though you just fucked my brains out, ya’know I gotta uhhh. . .” Jon trails off in a moan as he wipes the hot rag along his body. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.” Cody grins, tossing the rag into the bathroom after cleaning himself up as well.

     Finally regaining the feeling back in his body parts, Jon works his naked body underneath the blankets. He holds up the other side so Cody can slip in beside him. He immediately scoots himself into his arms, their bodies fitting against each other perfectly. 

     “I’m sorry about the way I acted today.” Jon murmurs between them. Cody drapes his arm over his shoulder and cups the back of his neck, stroking the side with his thumb. “A bad day will do that to you. Next time, please tell me? This way daddy can help his baby boy a little sooner next time, yeah?” A blush creeps across the bridge of Jon’s nose and cheeks.

     He pressed his forehead against Cody’s, staring into his eyes; Something unspoken happening between them. Cody closes the distance and kisses him slowly. “Go to sleep babe, we’ll have a better day tomorrow.” They share another kiss before getting comfortable under the blankets. 

     They drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, both men feeling as though they understand each other on a deeper level now. Only time would tell. 

fin.

[wreckmetoji]

idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Megumi Fushiguro/Reader

Part 8/?

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7

content warning. afab reader, fingering, unprotected sex, profanity, shameless smut, angst, minor fluff, megumi down bad, will i ever stop hurting megumi? no

This is part eight of a several part story revolving around smut. **Minors DNI**

2.0k words

In this moment, and in this time, you felt loved. You felt needed. You felt respected. And you knew that come morning time, you'd probably regret that too. A man's resolve is only as strong as his will, and with the way you pushed your ass back against Megumi, you could tell the foundation of his resolve was crumbling fast. Especially with the way he would whisper your name, with the way his hand came up to your hip and stroked your curves, the way the arm under your head nudged you to look back and kiss him. You don't know how long the two of you had been laying there, completely restless, but unwilling to say anything to break the silence. Neither of you dared look at the clock, not wanting to know if it had been minutes or hours spent in silent sexual tension, but you had a feeling it was the latter. Megumi would whisper small protests of we shouldn't, get some sleep, you don't want this, but he never stopped kissing you back, never stopped touching you back, never stopped rocking his hips into you. The way you gripped his hair and dug your fingers into his scalp was the final nail in your coffin. "Turn around," Megumi whispered against your lips, hardly giving you time to process his request before tugging your hip, turning you to face him. "You don't know what you do to me..." A part of you did, and used it to your advantage. Throwing a leg over his hip, you brought the other up between his legs and brushed against his now fully hard erection. He was back on your kiss-bruised lips within seconds, tongue lavishing your own in an intricate dance. His strong hand gripped your thigh, a hiss passing through now clenched teeth when you gave a particularly rough grind of your knee, feeling him curl his hips to meet you halfway. The way he was looking at you had your breath catching in your throat, a shiver wracking your body. There was nothing but love and adoration in his eyes, his hand coming underneath your head to cradle the side of your neck. "I promised myself," Megumi exhaled, pushing his top half off the mattress and hovered over your stilled body, "That if you gave me another chance, I'd do it right this time." Silence hung in the air, only both of your labored breathing and his words ringing in your ears, heavily weighing on your conscience. His thumb brushed your cheek, dipping his head to kiss you once, twice, three times, as he shifted until his lean form hovered over you. Nobara was wrong, you thought as he caressed your sides, slowly pushing his hands up your loose shirt. He didn't have a thing for you. Undoubtedly, without question, he was in love with you. The thought scared you more than you'd like to admit. "Megumi," You whispered against his lips, swallowing thickly when his hand stopped just as his knuckles grazed the soft flesh of your breast. He opened his eyes, long lashes brushing up against your cheeks as he stared at you through a half mast gaze. "I trust you." The faintest of smiles graced his lips, before pressing them up against your plush kiss-bruised ones. He was meticulous, thorough, like he was mapping out your body with his hands, memorizing every dip, curve, and mark. He kissed you like you were the last thing he'd ever taste, and it makes you think this is probably the most careful anyone has treated you in bed. Megumi was much more diligent, his fingers grazing then gently rolling your nipples, brow scrunching when you moaned into him, as if he was burning it into his memory. "Again." He shuddered, breath fanning against your face. You were going to ask what, but you were interrupted by another shameless, high pitch moan, relishing the gentle pinch and roll of his fingers. You'd nearly been too distracted to hear him groan, nearly too distracted to feel the rut of his cock against the inside of your thigh. "Take these off," You demanded, hand reaching down to give a firm, long stroke to his girth through his pants. One hand was quick to shoot down to your wrist, gripping it firmly as he shuddered out a breath. "Don't..." "Wha–," Oh. Oh. Megumi was quick to shuffle his pajama bottoms down, kicking them from his feet, his throbbing cock red and twitching. You swallowed, watching the slow drip of precum down his shaft. He was painfully hard. Guess big dicks run in the family. He noticed you gawking, pink crawling up his neck and dusting the tips of his ears. "I told you, you don't know what you do to me." Deft fingers pulled at the stretched out hemline of your shirt, his shirt, meekly reminding you that you were still completely clothed, unexposed. You pulled it over your head, throwing it to the side, working on sliding your shorts down your legs. God, you heard him whisper, your lips pressed in a nervous thin line, eyes glued to the material of your bottoms as you tossed them across the room. By the time you looked back, he'd removed his shirt as well, and your eyes locked with his. It seems the weight of your situation had finally settled, watching the bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed, as he slowly crawled over you again, as his hand came up to caress the soft flesh of your inner thigh. His fingers brushed by your core, azure eyes flicking down at the slick already soaking you, then back to lock gazes. You thought you could see his breath hitch, see his cock twitch, but you didn't dare look down again. When Megumi ghosted the pad of his thumb over your clit, you whined, eyes sliding half shut. He seemed hesitant, guilty, but the way he slid his middle and ring finger into your heat made you think otherwise. "Fuck, you're so wet." His fingers moved slowly, painfully slowly. A hand reached under you, settling the flat of his palm against the dip of your lower back, leaning on his forearm for support. "Gumi, please–" You keened, closing your eyes and arching your back when he rubbed just the right spot. "Please what, princess?" The pet name made your chest grow tight. You could tell he noticed when his fingers stopped moving, opening your eyes to see him searching your expression for anything. The warmth of his hand was burning compared to the cool wetness sticking to your thighs. "Do you want to stop?" He was so attentive. "No, I just–" You breathed, smiling at him. "I want to keep going. It would be mean to leave you like this, anyways." Of course you were only joking, trying to distracted yourself, but the way he whispered your name made your smile drop and your stomach do flips. "I don't fucking care," Megumi leaned down, stopping just short of your lips. "I just want you to want this." No words you could say were convincing enough. Instead, you opted to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, craning your neck to kiss him. The low moan he emitted got swallowed up by you, and you had to stop your own noises when his cock slid between the two of you, gathering slick up the underside of his shaft. Effortlessly, Megumi succumbed to your embrace, hips rocking back and forth, back and forth, harder, longer. "Condom," He breathed out, seemingly reminding himself more than you. "Do you ha–aah, fuck." Megumi nearly buckled when you arched your hips, his tip catching in your warmth, pushing him in just a bit. He couldn't help but give a shallow thrust, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth when he pulled back out. A strong hand kept your hip pinned to the bed with how insistent you were. "No– wanna feel you." It was almost shameful how fast he folded. With a whine, you rolled your hips up, impatient with how slowly he was sinking into you. You were sure it was more for himself than for your sake if his quaking arms spoke truth for him. His forehead came down to your shoulder, unruly black hair tickling your jawline once his hips were flush against yours. He gave a tentative thrust, breath warm against your skin when you moaned and squeezed around him. It didn't take him long to find a sweet, satisfying rhythm. The careful sway of his hips, the gentle caress of his hand on your waist, the warm palm against your back, had you breathless and melting into him. Every patch of skin he palmed, squeezed, stroked, felt like it was on fire, tingling in the aftermath. Your combined noises were quiet, reminiscent of when you were a teenager afraid of getting caught, like it was something forbidden, something to be kept secret. Warm hands came down to your thighs, pulling you up and against him, his legs folded beneath him. Your legs tightened around his waist, your arms around his neck, as he pulled your hips down in time with his upwards movements. The new change of position had you throwing your head back, mouth agape, nails digging into whatever skin they could find. The new position had the head of his cock repeatedly abusing just the right spot, just the right force, just the right speed, it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. Managing to get some of your wits back, your head lulled to the side, gazing down at him stupidly. Anyone with eyes could tell you Megumi Fushiguro was an attractive person, even you could admit that. You had always been so blinded by the fact you were so close in different ways to really appreciate him. The way his brows knit together, the slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his eyes were unmoving, completely locked onto you like you were his personal messiah, a figment of his imagination bound to disappear any second. His voice sounded smooth as velvet when he breathed your name. "You're everything to me," Megumi clenched his jaw, thrusts becoming harder, erratic, pleading. "I care about you so much." You weren't sure if it was his gentle words or the roll of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit, but the heat rising up and spilling over was as intense as it was imminent. Too absorbed in your toe curling orgasm, you were unable to register how loud you called out to him, unable to hear him frantically say shit– I'm cumming. You were shocked at the strength behind him when he lifted you off of him with one arm, his other hand coming down to stroke out his release in thick pumps, hips jerking as he spilled thick seed against your stomach, chest, and onto himself. Legs shaking, breath mingling, you gazed down at the mess sticking to you both, then looking up to his face. He was panting, brows furrowed, his eyes focused so intently on something below your waistline. You didn't have time to look before he gently laid you down, scooting off the bed and muttering something along the lines of getting a towel. Glancing down at yourself, you wondered what he could've been looking so worriedly at. Your mouth went dry when you saw the deep red and purple bruise forming a line across your pelvis, the countertop at the restaurant. Megumi was wiping himself down with the dampened towel as he walked in, quickly taking care of the quickly cooling wetness on your stomach, chest, and thighs after he laid down. His touch was a little more gentle, a little more hesitant around the bruise. He didn't say anything. You laid in silence, swallowing after he place the towel on your side table and laid down beside you. There, you laid in the positions you'd taken at the start of the night, an unbreakable, tense silence hanging over your heads. Part of you thought you should say something, anything to ease his silent concern... but what could you say? So instead, you curled up to him, his arm wrapped protectively around you, your eyes closing and welcoming the much needed sleep.  You didn't see the way he clenched his jaw, the way he stared at the ceiling, or the unadulterated sadness swimming in his dark azure eyes.

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