#we have been sleeping in a size Full bed on a mattress that is over 20 years old and it has Taken Its Toll

[televinita]

I spent 4 solid hours working on it but finally, the entire bedroom floor has been cleared and thoroughly vacuumed! Even the closet floor with stuff spilling out has been cleared enough that I can finally close the doors again! Length of time I have been putting this off: maybe a year idk.

[babydollmarauders]

SECOND TRIMESTER — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem reader

part of the el!hughes au

summary: when y/n (Lovie) is having trouble sleeping and her pregnancy hormones are at their peak, Jack convinces her she won’t make his injury worse by riding him.

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, p in v (unprotected), pregnancy sex, slight degradation, praise. (2k words)

notes: everyone’s been asking for a Jack and Lovie smut, so i thought when better to do the first one than when Lovie is feeling extra needy?

my husband and i lay on opposite sides of our mattress.

i’m curled up on my side, one leg curled up towards my stomach and laid on a pillow, facing my husband but at least two feet apart from him. meanwhile, he sprawls lazily on his back, scrolling on his phone.

i peek an eye open to look at him, stretching out my arm and placing my hand on his naked torso.

Jack glances over at me in thinly veiled amusement, an expression of disbelief curtaining his face.

“so, when i try to cuddle you, you push me away and tell me to stay on my side of the bed, but now you wanna touch me?” he gapes, glancing down at my hand that’s plastered onto his abs.

“precisely.” i state, my voice groggy and words drawled, “we touch on my terms, and right now, i can’t sleep and i need to feel you.”

“but i can’t cuddle you?” his full bottom lip pokes out in an exaggerated pout.

“no. you’re like a furnace and your spawn has made me into one too.”

“my spawn.” he echoes my words with amusement, “is that what we’re calling our baby now?”

“mhm.” i hum in confirmation, readjusting my leg on its pillow and wiggling my body. “i forgot how hard it is to sleep while pregnant.”

Jack locks his phone, discarding it onto his nightstand.

“is there anything i can do to help you sleep?” i mull over his offer, carefully considering each option that my mind thinks up.

there’s only one that really interests me, but as soon as my eyes land on his injured shoulder, i shake my head.

“no.” i finally tell him, but he cocks a brow at my hesitation.

“you sure?” he questions, “because based on the look on your face, i’d say you thought of one.”

i eye his shoulder again, thinking it over once more; but this time, his eyes follow my line of sight before he sighs.

“you’re not gonna break me, lovie.” he ushers me forward until i’m curled up into him, my medium sized bump pressed against his side. “i’m fine and i’ll continue to be fine even if we cuddle.”

cuddle.

he thinks i’m afraid of cuddling him.

he thinks cuddling is what will help me fall asleep.

“that’s not what i want.” i murmur, barely above a whisper.

“huh?” his fingers dance lightly up and down my back, sending goosebumps throughout my skin.

“i didn’t wanna cuddle.”

“then what is it you need, lovie?” he asks in a hushed tone, his baby blues gazing into mine as i look up at him.

i press my lips to his chest, mumbling out my next words, “i wanna ride you.”

“i can’t hear you, baby.” my eyes flutter closed, a silent sigh leaving my lips when i realize i’ll have to repeat my statement.

“i wanna ride you.” i repeat, slightly louder this time.

Jack’s hand freezes on my back, eyes widening just slightly before they go back to normal.

“forget it, i’ll go make some warm milk or something.” i huff, making a move to roll away from him, but his hand wraps around my forearm, effectively stopping me from getting far.

“c’mere.” he orders, darkness clouding his eyes as his pupils blow out.

his chest puffs a little when i do as he says, crawling back over to him and sitting on my knees beside him. i look down at him, hair falling to curtain my face.

“you wanna ride me, baby?” one corner of his lips quirk up in a smirk, “you wanna sink that pussy down on my cock and get yourself off?”

my breathing is becoming labored, my thighs clenching at his dirty talk, and he immediately takes notice.

“you do.” he confirms, “you wanna wear yourself out and make a mess on my cock.”

a whimper draws up from the back of my throat, nodding my head hastily.

“go ahead, lovie.” he urges, pushing the comforter down and kicking it off his lower body.

he’s half hard already, his bulge beginning to strain against his gray sweatpants. my body reacts to the sight instantly, my dampening core becoming a puddle.

but before i can jump on my husband, i hesitate, looking back down at his injury.

“are you sure?” my voice is small and meek, unsure in my actions, but when i look into his eyes, i find them darkened with lust, pupils blown.

“fuck, baby.” he groans, throwing his head back on his pillow. “yes, i’m sure. now please, just ride me.”

he doesn’t have to tell me again, i make quick work of stripping off my oversized t-shirt, laying on my back and hooking my thumbs through my panties before trying to yank them down. but my bump prevents me from getting very far in this position.

“Jack.” i whisper, a little embarrassed by the predicament.

“yeah, lovie?” i can hear the amusement in his tone, making me roll my eyes.

“can you help me?” his face pops up in front of my own as he sits up, leaning over my body.

“i’ve got you, my love.” he takes over for me, hooking his index fingers in the sides of my panties and pulling them down my thighs.

“thank you.” i tell him as he throws the now dampened panties in a vague direction towards our hamper. “now lay down.”

he chuckles at my attempt of demanding, laying back down anyways.

i roll back over and get back on my hands and knees, crawling over my husbands body and hovering over his thighs.

“hi, beautiful.” he smirks, letting his fingers trail up my sides, but his hips jerk when my own hand comes down to palm him through his sweatpants. “fuck.”

i bite my lip, tugging at the hem of his pants until they finally come down just enough for his erection to spring out. i lick my lips at the sight, any other time, i would gladly take the moment to get my lips on him, but right now? i need him in other places.

i crawl higher up his body until my face is hovering over his, lowering myself just enough to capture his lips with mine.

a soft moan pours from my lips to his, my hips lowering to grind upon his hardened cock. his hips buck up, his hand now tangling in my hair as he pulls me in deeper. his tongue grazes my lips, urging me to open up to him, and i do so eagerly, letting his tongue into my mouth to battle with mine.

“Jacky.” i whimper against him, grinding myself down onto him again.

“sit on my cock, lovie.” he gruffs, and it’s just the push i need in order to grasp his length in my hand, lining him up with my entrance before i finally sink down onto him.

my head tips back, a moan escaping my parted lips, and his hand immediately covers my mouth.

“gotta be quiet.” he states, voice strained as my walls envelop his cock. “Luke and El are sleeping right down the hall. you don’t wanna wake them, do you?”

i eagerly shake my head, enticing him to let his hand drift away from my mouth and down to my full breast. he squeezes roughly, pinching at my nipple and pulling it.

my hips grind against his, my clit dragging along his pelvic bone, but i bite my lip to hold back my sounds.

“good girl.” he praises, causing a full body shiver to encase me.

i lift myself, beginning to bounce on his dick, and the squelches of him rubbing through my wetness spur me on, lowering myself closer to his chest in order to hit a better angle.

the tip of his cock hits my g-spot and my eyes roll back, my jaw going slack as i drag my hips up and then back down.

“you’re doing so good for me, lovie.” he whispers, leaning up to let his lips graze the shell of my ear. “this is what you needed, isn’t it? to fuck yourself on my cock like a good whore? get yourself all tired out?”

i whimper behind pursed lips, nodding my head, “yes, Jack. fuck.”

he leans back down, his head back on the pillow as his fingers grip at my ass. a strangled noise escapes his throat, his cock twitching inside of me as i swivel my hips.

“just like that.” he breathes, his hips beginning to buck up in order to meet mine.

my breathing is heavy, my hands forming fists on Jack’s chest as i begin to feel that familiar pressure settle in my stomach.

“oh my god.” my words are panted out, my legs starting to ache, but i push myself to finish.

“not god, baby. just me.”

my teeth sink into my bottom lip, a squeak leaving me as my hips begin to stutter, the knot in my stomach growing tighter and tighter with each meeting of our skin.

“Jack, i’m gonna-” i can barely finish my sentence, being cut off with a whine as his thumb finds my clit, beginning to rub circles into it.

“cum for me.” he orders, rubbing faster with each passing second, “make a mess on my cock so you can sleep.”

my walls squeeze him tighter, my legs shaking and my breath catching in my throat as my orgasm hits me. my hips halt in their movements, but Jack’s don’t stop, rather fucking up into me to ride me through my release.

until finally, he falters, his rhythm becoming sloppy as he reaches his own orgasm, his hot cum spilling into me in ropes.

his hand cups the back of my head, pulling me down so his lips meet mine, and i let him moan against them.

our bodies press against each other, as we lay there basking in the afterglow of sex, my eyelids fluttering open and shut, my body on the precipice of sleep.

“did it work?” he asks me, a gentle hand running up and down my back.

“mhm.” i hum, “are you okay?”

he sighs as i peer at him through my lashes, scanning his face for any sign of pain.

“lovie, i’m fine. stop worrying about me.” i pout at his response, nodding my head and laying it down on his chest.

“so what made you want this?” he questions, “the last couple months if i even try to insinuate sex, you look like you wanna beat me with El’s blocks.”

i press my lips to his chest, stifling a laugh.

“damn second trimester hormones.” i huff, “i’m so horny all the time right now.”

the corner of Jack’s lips quirk up in a smirk, “i think i love the second trimester.”

“shut up.” i giggle, rolling my eyes as i finally lift myself off of him, getting off the bed.

i leave my husband behind in order to use the bathroom and change back into my t-shirt and some new panties before i lay back down.

“okay, you can cuddle me.” i decide right after a hefty yawn.

“too late.” he says, an exaggerated pout playing at his lips. “i don’t wanna cuddle anymore.”

“too bad. i’m your wife and i want cuddles now so i get cuddles, because i’m carrying your child.”

Jack feigns an exasperated sigh, pulling me in so my back lays against his chest, his hand resting on my bump. he peppers light kisses up my shoulder and the side of my neck.

“i guess.” i can hear the smile in his tone, making me giggle.

“there is no guess. you love me.” i state, my hand coming down to lay on top of his.

“yeah, i love you.” he playfully concedes, pressing one last chaste kiss to my neck. “so much.”

“i love you too.”

sleep pulls at my consciousness, my eyes falling closed as i let out one final yawn, and just before i fall asleep, i can register the feeling of Jack’s hand soothingly rubbing my bump.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i played myself on this one. posted that little barzy blanket thief headcanon post a million years ago and then i had to write this! the pro shop doesn’t sell the themed comfy, which i think it should but whatever. couldn’t resist writing this one and it just got away from me. full disclosure this was written before christmas but i didn’t want to post it in the middle of posting the other christmas fics so i held it back for a little bit! enjoy!!

word count: 6.2k

tw: brief unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex

summary: mat’s a blanket thief and tries to make it up to you

In theory, the king sized mattress that you’d bought for the new house was meant to stop Mat from stealing all of your blankets in the middle of the night. What with king sized sheets and blankets and comforters to go along with the king sized mattress, the thought was that Mat would have more than enough of his own coverings without having to take yours too.

Wrong. So wrong.

Every night for the first week in the new house, Mat rolls himself into a little burrito of blankets, cocooned up in the warmth that you’re missing. He’s oblivious to it too, which is extra annoying for some reason. It’s not even like he normally sleeps all rolled up in the covers. Usually Mat’s a restless sleeper, all that energy trying to escape even when he’s asleep, and he’s starfished on the mattress or rolling from one side to the other. Only after games or travel days does he pass out like the dead, after, of course, working you into the mattress and making sure you both have at least one orgasm.

For whatever reason lately, even when he’s got an off day, he’s been sleeping like a log, moving only to pull the covers over his shoulders and rolling them around his body.

“Mat,” you hiss his name, pulling at the comforter. He doesn’t budge at all. “Mat!”

If anything, he wraps himself tighter in the blankets.

You let out a frustrated little growl and pull harder, planting your foot flat against his outer thigh, or where you assume his outer thigh is, and kick a little, trying to get some leverage. Mat grunts a little in his sleep and shifts his lower body away from you, taking the blankets with him.

You flop back against your side of the bed, exposed to the elements and freezing. Stupid fucking Mat and his “the bedroom has to be at sixty-five degrees so we get the best possible sleep” arguments. A chill runs down your spine and you scowl to yourself, yanking at the little bit of sheet you managed to keep him from taking, wrapping it around yourself and snuggling up close against his back for a little warmth.

The next morning, as usual, Mat’s awake before you and you’ve got the covers back, having subconsciously pulled them over your body when he left the bed. Groaning at the thought of having to leave the warm bed, you drag a hand over your face before slowly getting up and padding to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Feet shoved into Ugg slippers that have seen better days and pulling a sweatshirt over your head, you make your way down to the kitchen where you find Mat making himself eggs at the stove. You lean a hip against the kitchen island, watching him for a few minutes, the way his muscles work as he’s cooking, bare back displayed just for you. His sweats hang low on his hips and you want to press your hands against his lower back.

“Staring’s rude, Squeaks,” he says on a laugh. Without turning from the stove, he gestures to the counter with the spatula in his hand, “coffee’s hot.”

“Stealing all the blankets from your poor frozen girlfriend is also rude,” you reply deadpan, reaching up for your favorite mug and pouring yourself a generous serving of coffee. You doctor it up with sugar cookie flavored creamer and wrap your hands around the ceramic to warm them up before taking a sip.

Now he turns to face you and his eyes go wide and his eyebrows lift up his forehead. “Ah, shit. I’m still doing that even with the bigger bed?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a roll of your eyes. “I’d say we should upgrade to a California King, but you’d probably keep doing it.” An amused smirk plays on your lips and Mat grimaces.

He sets the spatula down and flips off the burner before coming over to stand in between your legs. You keep your mug held up by your chest as a barrier. “I’m sorry, babe,” he brushes the tip of his nose against yours. His hands fall to your hips, sliding up underneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. His palms are warm and rough against your skin and you shiver a little. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts and you can’t help yourself from pushing your chest further into his hands. “You should’ve woken me up, I would’ve given you the blankets back.”

A startled laugh bursts out of your mouth and Mat looks briefly offended. The pads of his thumbs freeze on your nipples.

“What?” He asks, flicking a nipple with his fingernail. You press your thighs together. “I can share.”

“If you,” you start, stuttering a little as Mat’s fingers roll over your nipples, “think that it’s just that easy to wake you up, you’re delusional.”

Mat huffs a laugh and you yelp when he pinches down hard. The menace. He knows he’s a heavy sleeper. You reach behind you to set your coffee mug down on the counter, afraid that the hot brew is going to spill everywhere. “Aw, come on,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “it’s so easy to wake me up.” His hands continue their work under your sweatshirt and you feel your panties growing damp.

“Mmm?” You hum, letting your knee rub up against the outside of Mat’s thigh slowly, opening yourself up to him. “I kicked you twice and not even a peep.” Your hands come up to lock around Mat’s neck. Your fingers play in the shirt bristles of Mat’s hair and you wish, not for the first time in months, that he would let his hair grow in again.

He lets his hands slide down your sides again, one over your stomach and one around your back. “Your mistake,” he says, pulling you closer so your core is flush up against the hard ridge of his erection. You grind against him mindlessly, tension building low in your stomach, already forgetting why you were annoyed. “I don’t respond to kicking,” his hand works its way underneath your sweats and grabs a palmful of your ass. The other hand remains frustratingly warm against your lower stomach, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing against the elastic of your panties. “Gotta be nicer to me, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” You breathe, wiggling against him, scratching your nails absently against his scalp. “What do you suggest?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, kneading your ass with one hand. “Could’ve wrapped that pretty mouth around my dick.”

Fire pools in your stomach even as you giggle. “And how would I have penetrated that cocoon of blankets you stole?” You ask tartly, raising an eyebrow. Before Mat can answer, you continue, “besides, blow jobs are a reward for good boys.”

Mat’s ears go pink, but he smirks at you. “Just like getting your pussy licked is for good girls?”

Your cheeks heat and arousal floods between your legs, a little gasp punching from your lungs. You try to press your thighs together, but Mat’s hand is lightning fast, sliding under the band of your panties and cupping you in one warm, broad palm. You squeal at the sudden contact, grinding down onto his hand. “Maaat,” you whine his name, his fingers stroking gently between your folds, teasing at your entrance. He uses his grip on your ass to drag you closer to his chest and you allow him, knees feeling weak as his fingers play with you.

Your hands drift down to his biceps, gripping them for dear life to keep you upright. “Stop teasing,” you hiss, the tip of his middle finger sliding inside of you. You clench around him, chasing his hand and your pleasure.

“So fucking wet, babe,” Mat grins, dropping his forehead to yours. His hand never stops moving, drawing you closer to the peak of your pleasure. “So good for me.”

All the blood in your body rushes to your cunt at the praise and your back is arching, pressing Mat’s fingers deeper. He holds the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit and squeezes your ass, slanting his mouth over yours to muffle the moan that escapes when he rubs against your clit. Your toes curl in your slippers and your head falls back, legs trembling with the force of your orgasm as it washes over you. Mat’s fingers guide you through the aftershocks for a few lazy moments and you drop your chin to your chest, breathing hard.

“Why was I mad at you?” You mumble, laughing breathlessly. You wiggle your hips, starting to get overstimulated and uncomfortable with Mat’s hand still down the front of your panties. He takes the hint and pulls his hand out of your pants. His fingers are wet with your arousal as they brush against your lower stomach and you shiver happily.

Casually, he sticks his middle and ring fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, releasing them with a wet pop. “‘Cause I steal blankets,” he replies, without really thinking. He realizes his mistake a beat later, hazel eyes going wide and jaw dropping open. “Aw, fuck. If I haul you up on the counter and eat you out will you forget I said that?”

“Nope!” Your giggle turns into a shriek as you try to escape Mat’s lunging hands. He digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly. “Nooo! Mat! Stop! No tickling-“

“Gonna make you forget about the blankets one way or another,” Mat laughs, holding your squirming body tightly. Your ass presses against his crotch and he hisses, biting gently on your shoulder.

“Never! If I forget, you’ll just steal them again,” your words are stuttered from laughter and you fight Mat’s hands. He’s stronger and manages to wrestle you to the kitchen floor, pinning your wrists above your head, straddling your lap, knees on either side of your hips. His sweats ride low and the chain around his neck sways with the momentum. His cock bobs behind his sweats and you swallow harshly. Mat grins down at you, flattening his body to yours, his cock pressing insistently against your stomach. He kisses the edge of your jaw as you wiggle under him.

“You look pretty warm to me,” Mat teases, rolling his hips against yours. The hard heat of his erection makes your thighs tremble.

You wrinkle your nose at him, fully aware that he has the upper hand in your positioning. “You’re going to be late to practice,” you say, even as your hips lift to his subconsciously.

“Always plenty of time to fuck my girl silly,” he says lightly, bumping his cock against your cunt again. “As long as she forgives me for being a blanket thief.”

“Mmm,” you whine, heat prickling up your spine, “you’re forgiven. Just…I need you.”

Mat’s teeth scrape at your jaw and one hand lets go of your wrists, moving between your bodies and tugging your sweats and panties down in one swift move. The cold kitchen tile against your bare ass has you yelping and instinctively bucking your hips off the ground, up into Mat’s hips. He soothes a hand over your inner thigh before pulling his sweats down enough to free his cock. You crane your neck to look down at him, grinning when you see the tip of him, groaning when he bumps it against your clit. Shocks of pleasure ripple through your body and you whine again, heels kicking against the floor, dripping for him.

“Gonna give you everything, ‘kay?” Mat mumbles, gripping the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance, letting the tip slip inside of you. His head falls forward on a groan and you grind down on him, trying to get more.

“Just not - can’t come inside,” you babble, bucking your hips up into his. “Not without a condom.”

“I’ll pull out,” he promises and you know he means it. You’re on birth control and neither of you is ready for kids. “Gotta fuck you good. Make you come on my cock and gonna finish in your mouth.”

His words are punctuated with harsh thrusts that have your back sliding against the floor. Your free hand roams Mat’s body, scratching against his chest and arm, fingers tangling briefly in the chain around his neck. You egg him on, reaching down to dig your nails into his hips. “C’mon, Mat. Harder, please!” You beg, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck. Fuck, so good. You’re so perfect, baby,” Mat grunts, leaning down to kiss you and changing the angle so he hits harder and deeper inside of you. “Gonna fuck you everywhere in this house. Every wall, every floor.”

Your body tenses up with pleasure, gasps and moans leaving your lips along with Mat’s name. Your orgasm builds heavy and fast in your stomach, clit throbbing from the drag of Mat’s pelvis against the swollen, sensitive nub. “Gonna - Mat, please!” You cut off in a wail when his free hand finds your clit and pinches it, sending you over the edge of pleasure, sparks dancing in your vision, arousal leaking from your cunt down the curve of your ass. Your hand slaps against the floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he continues fucking into you, the hard, hot drag of his bare cock making you stupid.

Mat’s hips continue pistoning into yours and you’re faintly aware of the slapping of skin against skin underneath his babbling. “Jesus, so fucking pretty when you come. Love that face, love that I made you make that face,” the words fall from his mouth without him even focusing on them, too busy working his cock in and out of you.

You watch his shoulders tense up, feel his thrusts falter a little and you know he’s close. “Mat, not - no baby,” you remind him, pushing at his shoulder, hand slipping down to his chest, stomach, hip.

“Fuck,” he groans, pumping into you once more before pulling out completely, the sudden loss of him inside of you leaving you feeling too empty. You slide your own hand from his hip and let your fingers skate over your clit lazily, not really working yourself towards another orgasm, but just easing the empty feeling. Mat’s hand grips the base of his cock, jacking himself once, twice, three times before his entire body goes taut and he comes all over your sweatshirt covered chest, too far gone to even give you a chance to try and get your mouth on him. “Sorry, baby, sorry. I’ll buy you a new one. I couldn’t—“ he mutters around the groans and slick sounds of his palm sliding over his cock.

When he’s done, the hand holding yours above your head loosens and Mat flops down onto his back next to you. His cock is softening against his thigh and you have a literal puddle of his cum warming your skin through the material of your sweatshirt. Your ass is cold against the tile, wet where your arousal had dripped down the curve. You roll your neck and look at Mat, watching his chest heave while he catches his breath. His cheeks are pink from exertion and his limbs are completely limp.

“We’re disgusting,” you comment on a laugh, afraid to move.

“Why didn’t you say the tile was so cold on your ass?” Mat replies, lifting his hips so he can pull his sweats back up. You watch with a little pout as his cock disappears under the sweats, a little wet spot forming and turning the fabric a darker grey.

“I was a little busy getting railed on the kitchen floor,” you deadpan. “That I’m going to have to clean with, like, bleach now.”

Mat rolls onto his side, props his head up on his elbow, and gives you such a mischievous, shit-eating grin that you kick out your foot to make contact with his shin. “What’s with that look?” You comment, wiggling your sweats back up over your lower body. He whines a little.

“Just thinking about how hard up we were that I had to fuck you on the floor,” he laughs, his fingers coming over to tug on a piece of your hair.

“If anyone hears about this,” you warn, half-joking, half-serious, “I swear to God that I will never give you a blowjob again.”

A laugh startles out of his chest and Mat promises he won’t say anything, defends himself that he doesn’t usually talk about your sex life with the guys anyway.

“That includes Beau,” you warn him, carefully wiggling into a sitting position, wincing when Mat’s cum slides down your chest and pools in the fabric of gathered on your lap. “This is so gross, Mat.”

“He’s my best friend!” Mat yelps. “I tell him everything.” You whip your head in his direction, eyes wide and mouth dropped open a bit. There is no way Beau knows everything about sex life. Mat backtracks, his hands up in surrender, “not everything. I didn’t mean everything. He knows a lot, but not about the time we almost killed each other in the shower or the time I almost —“

You clap a hand over his mouth, muffling his ramble. “Enough. Oh my god. You seriously need to get a filter,” you can’t help the little disbelieving laugh that works its way out of your mouth. Shaking your head, you mutter to yourself, “to think this all started because you’re a fucking blanket thief.”

Mat opens his mouth under your hand to defend himself and you can physically see him gearing up for a long ramble, so you shake your head. “No, nope. Go get yourself cleaned up for practice. I need to get myself in a completely different headspace for the day,” you laugh. “Fucked on the kitchen floor was not how I pictured my week starting.”

Mat licks your palm so you’ll pull it away from his face. You grimace at him and wipe your hand on his bare chest, the faint smattering of dark hair over his chest tickling your skin. “Don’t say that’s gross, Squeaks,” he teases, leaning in to kiss you, “I’ve had my tongue all over that body.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “it’s the principle of the licking. Now leave me, I have to figure out how to get this sweatshirt off without making more of a mess and it’s not going to be cute.”

He laughs at you and gets to his feet, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, babe. I’ll be back down in a few to finish making breakfast.”

You’d almost forgotten that Mat had been cooking when you came downstairs. Thank God he’d turned off the stove. As he heads back upstairs, you drop back onto your back, arms spread out to your sides. What a fucking morning.

——-

Mat’s out of town for a few days, a mini road trip that has him gone from your bed for nearly a week, and so you get the bed and blankets all to yourself. You’ve more or less forgotten about Mat’s thieving habits when you have the thick comforters wrapped securely around your body.

So when Mat comes home on a Saturday afternoon, lugging a giant shopping bag along with his suitcase and duffel bag, you’re a little curious and a lot confused.

“Plane snacks?” You tease after accepting a hello kiss from him.

“Those didn’t even make it out of the Tampa airport,” he grins, setting the bag on the couch. “This is even better.”

You lean over the back of the couch and watch as Mat pulls a blue and orange something out of the bag. He shakes it out and you recognize it as the extra long Islanders-logo patterned, hooded Comfy that’s being sold in the pro shop at the Northwell rink. Mat holds it out in front of him with a little “ta-dah!” and a big, cheesy grin on his face.

“What is that?” You ask rhetorically, hand reaching out of its own accord to touch the fleecy fabric. It’s soft, you’ll give him that.

“It’s one of those Comfy things, for you to wear when I steal blankets,” he laughs. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last week.”

Instinctively, your gaze cuts to the spot on the kitchen floor that you’d scrubbed three times with bleach. Mat’s eyes follow yours and his grin turns into a feral little smirk. “Haven’t forgotten that either,” he continues. “But try it on.”

“This is ridiculous,” you say, grabbing for the hooded blanket. Pulling it over your jeans and t-shift, your voice is muffled, “you could always just stop making a cocoon out of the blankets - oh!”

It’s extremely soft, the Comfy. The hood is oversized enough that the hem of it flops over your eyes, obscuring your view of Mat, and keeping your head nice and warm. The sleeves hang a few inches past your hands and the bottom of it comes to your mid-shin. It’s like wearing a space heater. You wrap your arms around yourself and sway a little, giggling.

“I actually love this?” You can’t believe it. There’s so much room and you know that if you were sitting on the couch you could tuck your legs up under the fabric and still have plenty of space. “Okay, we still have to train you not to steal blankets, but this is a nice temporary solution.”

Mat’s laugh is delighted and you flip back the hood to look at him. “You’re adorable in that,” he says, coming around the back of the couch to get into your personal space. “Gonna share with me?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you giggle, dancing away from him, the fleece swishing around your legs. “This is my reward!”

“For what?” Mat cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Putting up with you,” you retort, hands on your hips, knowing you look insane in your new getup.

Mat grabs for the fabric, snagging it between two long fingers and pulling you into him. “Babe,” he kisses your cheek, “you give just as good as you get.”

You cuddle up against his chest, head tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his waist. “Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Missed you too,” his arms tighten around your back. “How about we do something fun tonight? I’ll take you out for dinner too.”

——-

The Comfy works wonders even though Mat continues to steal the blankets. More often than not, you’re wearing the giant hoodie to bed, tucking your legs up underneath and curling up in a little ball.

Mat loves the stupid thing too - if you’re wearing it while laying on the couch, he’ll crawl up underneath it too, laying on top of you, chest to chest, like a giant weighted blanket. The head hole isn’t quite big enough for both of you, so usually the top of Mat’s head is bumping up against your chin while he rests his cheek against your chest, groping and mouthing at your breasts.

“It’s hot under here,” he complains, voice muffled. He’s kneading one of your breasts in his giant hand, lazily grinding his half-hard cock against your thigh.

“The Comfy is only meant for one person,” you sigh. You’re getting sweaty and worked up from Mat’s body heat. “It’s a giant fleece blanket, what did you expect?”

“Dunno,” Mat says against your shirt, licking your nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back, pressing your breast into his mouth. “Wasn’t really thinking.”

He bites the underside of your breast and you wince, even as a spark of pleasure fires low in your stomach. You’re surprised that you don’t have a permanent mark there - Mat’s a biter.

“Story of your life, Mathew,” you murmur affectionately. “How about I take the portable sauna off and you fuck me into the couch properly?”

Still under the Comfy, Mat tries to sit up, gets tangled in the fabric and before you know it, you’re both falling off the couch and landing on the floor in a pile. Your knee drives into Mat’s thigh, your elbow in his stomach and he grunts with pain. Your head takes a glancing hit to the edge of the coffee table and you see stars briefly. “Fuck,” you drag the curse out for a few extra seconds. Mat’s wiggling underneath you, trying to get out from the confines of the fabric.

“Are you okay?” You ask, trying to roll off of him and help pull the fabric away from his body. Mat’s face is bright red, but he looks okay.

“No one can ever know about that,” he says seriously.

You laugh and he breaks, cracking up too. “How about we never discuss our sex life outside of the relationship cone of silence?” You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal,” he shakes your hand once, snorting a laugh. He leans up into a sitting position. “Can I still fuck you into the couch?”

“I think I’d be kind of insulted if you didn’t,” you pull the Comfy over your head and toss it off to the side before crawling into Mat’s lap so you can wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. Mat’s hands roam up your back, under your shirt, pulling you closer to him. You rock your hips, grinding down over his cock and Mat moans into your mouth. He braces one arm around your lower back and gets up on his knees to lift you onto the couch, pressing you back into the cushions. He settles into the cradle of your hips, your thighs coming up to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at his lower back.

He grinds his cock against your cunt and you whine into his mouth, breaking the kiss to say, “want it hard and fast, Mat. Don’t be sweet, just fuck me hard, okay?”

Mat’s pupils are blow so wide you can’t see any of his hazel irises. He nods like a bobble head, “yeah, fuck yeah, baby. Whatever you need.”

He makes quick work of your pants, leaning back on his knees to get both of you bare from the waist down. His jaw goes slack when he sees just how wet you are for him, his hands holding your thighs open so he can just stare for a bit. “Jesus,” he mutters and your cheeks warm. You kick at the back of his thigh, startling Mat.

“If you don’t get a condom on in the next thirty seconds,” you say, fighting past the blush that’s heating your entire body, “I can’t guarantee that I won’t just take matters into my own hands.”

Mat laughs hoarsely and springs into action, reaching for one of the little side drawers on the coffee table. A strip of condoms is hidden away there just for times like these. Your hands are already sliding down your stomach to tease at your throbbing clit. Mat catches sight of you and smacks your hands away, the condoms in his other hand. “Oh no way,” he growls. “I still have twenty seconds.”

You laugh and start a little countdown, making Mat’s fingers fumble on the foil wrappings. He scowls at you and shifts so one knee is pressed firmly against your cunt. You break off into a surprised moan, head thrown back against the couch cushion, “Mat!”

He shifts his knee, moving it slightly so your throbbing clit catches against his leg hair and you whine, grinding down harder on him. “You’re not gonna touch yourself,” he warns, finally getting the condom open and rolled down his straining erection, “are you, baby?”

“No, no,” the words stutter out of your chest as Mat keeps moving his knee against you. Your hands fly out to clutch the couch cushions and Mat grins down at you.

“This pussy’s mine,” he says, planting one foot on the floor and keeping one knee bent on the couch so he can stabilize himself. You whine at the loss of contact from your cunt, but the noise gets choked off in the next second when Mat grabs your hips and thrusts into you in one swift punch of his hips. His hips smack against yours as he bottoms out and you cry his name in a babble of breathless chants.

“Told you,” he grunts, pumping into you and using his grip on your hips to push and pull you closer, your ass hitting high up on his thighs. “Mine, fucking mine.”

Your legs lock around his hips, thighs trembling, heels pushing against the top of his ass. “Oh - god, more! Mat!” Your fingertips turn white from how hard you’re grabbing at the couch cushions, your body sliding up with the force of Mat’s thrusts. Your breath hiccups out of your lungs, fire burning in your veins. Every hit of his cock against your g-spot has you screaming his name.

“Fucking -“ Mat grunts, jaw slack as he watches where his cock splits you open, disappearing into your soaked cunt. “Gorgeous. Fucking all for me, baby.”

You need more, just a little more to push you over the edge. Mat usually pays attention to your clit, helping you finish, but he’s pounding into you hard and fast, just like you asked, so you reach a shaking hand down and circle your fingertips around your clit, arching your back with the added stimulation. Mat growls over you and bats your hand away, not stopping his pace.

“Told you no touching,” he huffs, pulling your hips flush against his and holding you there, his cock throbbing inside of your cunt. “Ask for it, baby.”

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and trail down your temples. You whine, “wanna touch my clit, Mat. Need it.”

Instead of touching you, Mat’s hands tighten on your hips and circle them slowly over his cock, your clit pressed tightly against the dark hair at his base, making you moan, eyes squeezed shut hard enough for you to see stars.

“Come on, baby,” Mat mumbles, watching you fall apart. “Come for me, gonna make you cum. Right here on my cock.” He pulls his hips back, all but the tip of him leaving your body and you babble at him, trying to grab at his wrists to pull him back in. “Who’s gonna make you cum?” He asks, snapping his hips back against yours, harsh and fast.

“You!” You wail, dragging out the word for several seconds, barely breathing as Mat bullies the orgasm from your body, holding your hips to his as you clench around him, shaking in his grip. Pleasure loosens all of your limbs as you gush around Mat, crying his name.

He strokes his thumbs over your hipbones and pumps into you a handful more times, but you’re barely aware of him filling the condom with a shout of your name, your head fuzzy with post-orgasm haze. Mat breathes heavily over you, slumping slightly to the side as he finishes, loosening his grip on you. You blink sleepily up at him, a lazy, satisfied smile forming on your lips. “What?” He asks, voice raspy and smoky.

“Just really like your face,” your smile turns a little wicked, “‘specially when you’re cumming.” You wrangle your features into a caricature of his orgasm face. “Looks like this.”

Mat pinches your hip and pulls out of you, wincing when he takes the condom off and ties off the end. “Yeah? Yours looks like this,” he throws his head back dramatically, squeezes his eyes shut, and drops his mouth open, letting his tongue flop out like he’s a corpse on a terrible soap opera.

You bark a laugh, kicking at him. “I do not!”

“Do too,” Mat grins, leaning down to cup your jaw and kiss you with tongue and teeth. “Good thing I think you’re the fucking hottest woman on the planet.” He climbs off the couch to toss the condom and you watch his ass as he walks away. It should literally be a crime to have an ass that tight. Your clit gives a pathetic little throb as you watch him, used and abused but so ready to go another round. You slip a hand between your legs, rolling the swollen nub between your fingers gently.

“Can we implement like naked weekends around here?” You ask, popping your head over the back of the couch. Mat’s laughter echoes through the kitchen.

“You know I’m never gonna say no to that,” he replies, and then in the next second, his t-shirt is flying through the air and landing on your head. “In fact, let’s start now.”

——-

You get in late from girls’ night - it’s close to one in the morning - and you know Mat’s asleep. He’d texted you around midnight, a typo-filled message that essentially said he was going to bed, but if you wanted to wake him with a blow job he wouldn’t be opposed to it. You’d snorted a laugh at the message, hiding your screen from the other girls while you typed back a definitive no. He’d replied with a pouting selfie that you ignored. You figure he’d gone to bed shortly after that since the boys have a game later in the day.

The house is dark when you get home, just a few of the under cabinet lights on in the kitchen so you don’t trip on anything.

You make your way slowly up to your bedroom, unsteady on your feet, discarding your shoes and clothes as you go. All you want to do is curl up in bed and pass out.

There’s a lump of blankets on one side of the bed that tells you Mat is passed out under there. Sure enough, when you get closer, you can see one of his bare feet poking out from the bottom of the covers. You smile faintly to yourself, getting rid of the last of your clothes and rummaging around in a drawer for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The alcohol has your body feeling overly warm so you don’t bother with retrieving your Comfy from the closet. You’ll manage with whatever blankets you can wrestle away from Mat.

The bed is nice and warm from Mat’s body heat and you settle happily on your side of the bed, cricketing your feet a little to really warm things up. Mat hasn’t wrapped himself all up yet, so you scoot closer to him, planning on pressing your chest against his back and spooning him, but instead of feeling bare skin or the cotton of a t-shirt, your fingers are met with a familiar fleecy material.

“What the fuck?” you forget to whisper and your voice is loud and echoes around the room. You squint and pull back the blankets that are partially covering Mat’s head.

The royal blue and orange of the Islanders’ logo comes into view and your jaw drops when it finally clicks that Mat’s wearing your Comfy to bed. The hood is secured over his head and his hands are tucked into the sleeves.

“Oh my god!” You shove at Mat’s shoulder and he startles.

“Hnghh?” He grunts, rolling onto his back, yawning.

“You took my Comfy!” You jab at his arm and Mat’s eyes crack open.

A faint, sleepy smile curves his lips. “Hey, babe,” he mumbles, reaching a hand out for you. “Have fun with the girls?” He stretches, blankets shifting around.

“Don’t ’hey, babe’ me!” You grumble, pulling at the blankets. “You literally gave me that because you take my blankets. Now you take my Comfy?”

Mat yawns again, jaw cracking. He doesn’t look apologetic at all. “It’s warm,” he whines, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “And it smells like you.”

You go to him despite yourself, scooting over and curling up against his side, tucking your shoulder under his armpit. Your legs brush against his and you frown. “Are you naked in my Comfy, Mathew?” You yelp, pulling at the fleece fabric. “You cannot be serious!”

“I have boxers on!” He laughs in protest, swatting your hands away from him. “I’m not gross.”

“Yes, you are,” you grumble, growing sleepy again. “I want a new one now that you’ve taken this one.”

He slings his legs over yours, arms holding you close as he kisses your forehead. “I can share, Squeaks. I’m a generous boyfriend,” he laughs against your hair. You press closer to his warmth, burying your face in his chest.

“You failed sharing in kindergarten, Mat,” you tease quietly. He slaps your ass gently and you giggle, curling up closer to him.

“So mean to me,” you can hear the pout in his voice. “Definitely not sharing now. Gonna buy my own Comfy.”

——

When Mat comes home from practice three days later, he’s toting another giant bag that he hadn’t left the house with.

You eye it suspiciously and he’s laughing like a lunatic as he pulls out another Comfy, declaring, “we match, Squeaks.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. You didn’t think he was actually serious about getting his own.

Mat pulls the fabric over his head and does a little twirl for you, holding his arms out. “How do I look?” He asks, striking a dramatic pose, pushing his lips out in an exaggerated duck face.

“Like the hottest oversized fleece hoodie model in the world,” you reply, reaching out to grab the fabric and pull him in for a kiss.

[mochidoie]

room for two.

kim doyoung x reader wc - 7k genre - pure fluff, sharing a bed cliché, mutuals to lovers, mutual pining, SO MUCH TENSION BUILD UP warnings - kiss scene, sensual tension, mention of alcohol

It's Johnny Suh's birthday trip and as your childhood best friend, Johnny books a hotel room with only one bed for you and Doyoung to share. The catch: you're completely head over heels for Kim Doyoung.

“I can sleep on the floor.” Hands on his hips, Doyoung quizzically stares at the full sized bed in the center of the hotel room. Seconds pass by, feeling like hours staring at this one bed situation and trying to find a solution for the next three nights.

“Maybe we can ask if they have a spare mattress we can rent? Hotels do that right…?” If only you could be confident in your suggestions, knowing damn well that it was highly unlikely and you’ve already heard an earful of excuses as to why you’re unable to change your room last minute.

At this point, you are mentally strangling Johnny for this slip up. This is the last time you trust this man to do anything for you. Not only did he pick the middle seat for you on the airplane when you specifically asked for the window, he has now ruined your good night’s sleep by "accidentally" booking you only one bed to share with Doyoung.

Doyoung shrugs at your proposal, “it’s been awhile since I traveled. I can go down and ask if it’ll be possible. Hang tight.” He is gone before you can protest, but perhaps it’s better that he tries to negotiate with the receptionists since they wouldn’t even let you finish a sentence earlier.

Grabbing your phone, you’re quick to type an angry text to Johnny Suh about how badly he screwed up the hotel reservation and how he is getting on your last standing nerve.

Good. Maybe finally you’ll get the balls to make a move.

Plus, it was cheaper. You told me to save you some money and that’s what I did.

Scoff leaving your lips as you read the two text bubbles over and over. You can’t believe your eyes at this little weasel and in fact, you straight up cannot believe he actually thought this was a good idea.

While this means you get to share a bed with your crush, you never intended for it to be premeditated. A love that happens naturally, that is all you could ask for. Absolutely in no way did you want your friends to meddle with your love life and definitely not to put you in such an awkward situation.

The door beeps open and Doyoung walks in looking as defeated as ever. Judging from his facial expression, it was a no. You two are stuck sleeping together on this tiny bed for this entire trip.

“I really tried.” Doyoung scratches the back of his neck, quite apologetic that he couldn’t find some resolve to an issue that he didn’t even cause.

You laugh, “it wasn’t even your problem to fix anyways.” A sigh of relief follows after and Doyoung flashes you his gummy smile at the idea that pops into his head.

“You know, I don’t really mind sleeping together.” He admits, bashfully and trying to gauge your reaction to the potential thought of sharing a bed. “But obviously, if you’re uncomfortable with the idea, I completely understand too.”

“I don’t know… I’m just a bit embarrassed.” Your cheeks grow hot at the possibility of waking up next to Doyoung, how nice the fragrant of hotel body wash would smell from his skin so close.

Not to mention, the proximity of your bodies being way closer than they’ve ever been before. Just no respectable distance between the two of you underneath the sheets and completely vulnerable in your sleep.

“Of what?” The shift of the bed has you dipping toward him. “Do you snore?”

You don’t answer.

“I mean- like even if you did, it’s not a big deal and you don’t need to be embarrassed about it.” Doyoung frantically tries to make you feel better, seeing that your expressionless face leans closer to sadness rather than neutral. You two are definitely not on the level of friendship to be playful with each other yet.

So you lie just to see what he says. “I snore, I kick. I even steal blankets, Doyoung! And I think you’ll be too nice to wake me up about it or to take them off of me.”

Doyoung practically chokes on his spit at the last part of your sentence. “No, you’re right. I would be too nice to do any of that.” He seriously ponders for a second, his eyes darting around at the ground to maintain his focus on weighing the pros and cons. He really didn’t want to sleep on the floor.

“If it happens, it happens. I won’t mind either way now that I have a heads up.” He gets up to start unpacking his suitcase. “Like I said, there is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Fair warning, don’t be upset at me in the morning if you don’t get a good night’s rest. You can blame Johnny for that.” Unpacking the soft dress from your luggage, you smooth out its crinkles and hang it up in the tiny closet next to Doyoung’s jacket.

Doyoung laughs, he has actually been laughing the whole time you’ve spent with each other. It’s as if you’re some comedian and it has you wondering if you’re actually even that hilarious. “I’m pretty happy rooming with you. I’d rather be here than third wheeling with a couple still in their honeymoon phase.”

The magnitude of his words has a buzz running throughout your veins, hairs to stand up on your arms and a slight churning in your stomach. Mindlessly folding out his clothes, Doyoung has no actual clue how he is affecting you. He’s just oblivious to it all.

“Good thing I didn’t bail like everyone else.” The nervous chuckle that escapes your lips is unintentional, probably an awkward reflex to deflect how you’re dying at being in his presence alone.

Johnny’s birthday trip had been a last minute thing and only a select few were able to make it, some bailing at the very last day before. It was a weird time of the year, especially with the New Year starting not too long ago. However, this season allows for cheaper flights and accommodation since it was after the holidays.

It was initially supposed to be a group of Johnny’s close friends — you, Doyoung, Mark, Jaehyun, Yuta — in addition, his girlfriend. How the room arrangements were supposed to be was that you and his girlfriend would share an all girls room, while the guys shared one room.

That outcome could still technically be possible, but Johnny insisted on switching rooms so he can stay with his girlfriend after the others dropped and how he has already shared the experience of being roommates with Doyoung. He also knew how big of a crush you had for Doyoung, so he thought it would be more fitting to pair the lovers together.

Although, Doyoung didn’t like you back nor does he know you do. The severity of your crush is mild, just that Doyoung is the most attractive man ever with poise and an aura that oozes so sexily from him. This is the first chivalrous man in your life, meeting him through Johnny some years ago.

You and Johnny are family friends, your moms being the closest women duo on this Earth. When they’re together, they’re unstoppable. In return, the two of you are practically siblings and have spent every celebration, every holiday, every family event, every funeral together.

Doyoung is Johnny’s roommate from college, these two have been lifelong friends since then. Doyoung had actually moved to your hometown after college, finding an amazing job opportunity at the same company as Johnny. He started coming around a lot more to social events or whenever you saw Johnny. Since the first moment he offered you a ride home, you’ve been stuck on this infatuation for this incredibly charming and sweet man.

Though, you two never got extremely close despite your individual connections to Johnny. It has always felt like Doyoung is Johnny’s friend and vice versa. You also really had no reason to see Doyoung without Johnny, so there had always been a distance. You two spoke when in a group setting, just to make small talk about work, general life updates, or anything about Johnny.

On a very drunk night long ago, you and Johnny had been very well over your drinking limit and had been talking about nonsense between the two of you. Just old friends catching up, but the itch of asking about Doyoung had been bothering you all night.

“Out of curiosity, is Doyoung single?” Oh god, the alcohol has started speaking for you. Johnny raises a skeptical brow and beckons his beer bottle at you before taking a swig.

“Don’t tell me you’re interested in digital marketing Kim Doyoung, cubicle 4E80.”

The boldness overtakes you, it’s not like you lose anything asking a simple question to satisfy your curiosity. “What if I am?”

Johnny laughs, rather than lightheartedly, it is a robust laugh that feels like he’s mocking you and that your statement is unbelievably ridiculous. “He’s single, painfully single too.”

There is a brief pause as your drunken state processes the loud beating of your heart in your ears. Hope settles in, a big dumb grin plasters on your warm face.

“It’s interesting. He had asked about you too.” Johnny sits back and sinks into the couch. “He asked if you had a romantic partner.”

“Me?” You are truly in disbelief that he would ever even give you a second thought.

“Yeah, you dummy. I think he meant it as you should get into a relationship though, not asking if you were single because he is interested in you.” Your heart soars, quickly depleting after hearing Johnny’s explanation. So much for hope or a chance.

“I’m not fully understanding.”

“Doyoung is weird sometimes with his thoughts. I think he was trying to say that you seem lonely? Oh, and that you seem like you have a lot of love to give.” Johnny rubs his eyes with his knuckles, feeling the alcohol induced drowsiness coming on. “Such an observant man.”

Since that night, you never tried any advancements toward him. Partly because you are afraid of him catching onto something and because it was enough for you to realize he probably isn’t interested in you romantically.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering or from your smile growing whenever Doyoung says something nice. He is a naturally friendly and genuine person, super considerate of others and very kind. Johnny says that he has never met another man with such good intentions and a big heart, while still being snarky and intelligent.

“Heading to the pool?” Doyoung asks, a fist holding his swim shorts and a plain shirt. The warm weather outside is so inviting, knowing you’re probably going to get sunburnt at the end of it but it being a year’s worth of Vitamin D. Johnny definitely knows how to travel.

“Yeah, I can’t swim so I’ll just sit by the edge and dip my feet in.” You’re rummaging through your suitcase for your bikini cover-up until your hand hits the bottom of the barrel.

Panic creeps up your neck as you’re tossing all of your clothes out of your luggage now, picking through shirts, dresses, underwear and pants to find the one item you set a reminder to pack.

It’s not there. “Everything okay?” The genuinity in Doyoung’s voice makes you feel more embarrassed for some reason. Tossing all your belongings back into your suitcase, you throw your hands up in the air out of frustration.

“I can’t find my swimsuit cover up. I guess this is what happens when you dismiss a reminder before fulfilling it.” Slightly annoyed, you’re holding the two-piece in your palms and wondering if it is worth the hassle and bashfulness to wear it. You brought it with the intent of looking hot and sexy for the trip, while also keeping your decency by having a cover up to …. well, cover up.

You excuse yourself and clench the bikini in your hand, walking into the bathroom. Fuck it, you brought it. You’re going to wear it. If it gets too much, you’ll just wrap a towel around or buy a new cover up. It shouldn’t be too big of a deal and you already know that Johnny is going to give you shit for not joining them at the pool.

You’ll suck it up. Looking in the mirror, the bottoms barely cover your ass cheeks. Barely is an overstatement, the fabric is so far up your crack that it gives you a wedgie every time you move. Nonetheless, the baby pink is such a sweet color that you’re not minding the exposure too much.

Now, the top situation is a whole mess. The strings wrap around your midsection, but your arms are too short to give yourself a secure knot. After multiple attempts at stretching and pulling, twisting your arms in funky positions, you give up and think it’s best to call in help.

Doyoung. Fuck. You take a few deep breaths and examine yourself in the mirror again, reminding yourself of every positive affirmation and Doyoung is too nice to say anything. Calming your nerves, you gently push open the door.

“Doyoung, could you do me a huge favor and tie my bikini top for me? I genuinely don’t think it’s tight enough when I do it.” You peek your head out and his footsteps come from around the corner, happy to help!

Walking in, Doyoung looks taken aback by your choice of attire. You’re examining his reaction through the mirror as he stops at the door frame, his eyes widen and drag down your body twice. He is most definitely checking you out.

He clears his throat when he meets your eyes. “Did you want me to double knot it?” He asks, softly and shyly. Stepping behind you, his hot hands guide your hair to the side of your neck to expose your back. Your heart is in your throat when Doyoung takes the string from your hands and pulls it toward him, a bit too roughly.

You lose your footing and jolt back into him, your shoulder hitting his chest. “Shit, sorry.” His breathy apology in your ear sends chills up your spine and a slight rush down below.

The tension in the air is so thick – you’re both suffocating in it. Staring at his profile in the reflection, Doyoung’s expression is none of what you’ve seen before. It’s lustful, almost, if you’re not interpreting it incorrectly. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and he is trying to look everywhere but your ass and your breast from an aerial view.

“It’s okay.” You laugh it off, but he is unwavering. “You’re stronger than you look, Doyoung.”

Your light teasing breaks the serious concentration on his face and his shy gummy smile returns, “it’s from all the times Johnny dragged me to gym with him.”

He ties the knot perfectly, making sure it’s one of those pretty bows that top off a gift box. He’s quite happy with himself that he forgets your bare ass is inches away from his clothed dick.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “pink is a pretty color on you.” His eyes catch yours in the reflection of the mirror and a light blush dusts his cheeks, a kind half grin on his lips.

Your heart is soaring, once again. “It’s nice on you too.” Smiling back, there is a split second that you can actually believe that Doyoung could’ve felt some connection between the two of you. “Thank you for such an impressive bow.”

His demeanor shifts back to friendly, less serious and intense. “Yeah, no problem! If you’re still looking for a coverup, I have something you can borrow.”

Walking out of the stuffy bathroom, Doyoung hums and pulls out a white button up from his bag. It’s light and flowy, just the perfect thing to wear out on a beautiful day. He helps you slip on the sleeves and it covers your backside very well. It’s even better than the initial cover up you had. Then it hits you, you’re wearing his clothes. His scent falls on your body fruitfully and Doyoung doesn’t even flinch at the sight of you in his shirt.

Nonetheless, there is no denying that his stares seem to linger longer than they usually do.

Despite multiple occasions of waiters and waitresses mistaking you and Doyoung as a couple, the first day of the trip was jam packed with good fun and no complaints. Johnny and his girlfriend love showing PDA, but keep it modest for those around. Doyoung enjoys getting his picture taken at every tourist spot, some lowkey alleyways or artsy areas that catch his eye. You just like being around your friends, in a new environment and living in the moment with them all.

The night had fallen upon you so quickly, the expression time flies when you’re having fun held true for this day. Johnny had mentioned prior that he wanted to have a romantic candlelit dinner with his girlfriend for one of the nights you were on this trip.

It didn’t hit you that he was actually being serious about that plan until you’re back in your hotel room with Doyoung, looking for a place to have dinner on your own.

“I didn’t know how much of a romantic Johnny is.” You’re blowing raspberries into the air as you scroll mindlessly on the internet for a good place to eat in this foreign area. Doyoung takes a seat on the chair at the desk, doing exactly the same as you.

“It takes the right person to get it out of him.” Doyoung mumbles, ruffling his hair out of his face cutely. The strands of his bangs disheveled and sticking up. “But he’ll do anything for the person he really likes.”

“I guess I’ve never seen that side of him.” You shrug, attention draining from the overwhelming selection of food choices in the area.

Doyoung notices your mind wandering and hears the tiny grumble of your stomach from hunger. “How about we go here? Looks like they have happy hour and a very nice aesthetic.”

He kneels down at the bed level to show you photos of the restaurant. It’s a large outside patio with decorative ambient string lights, vines of greenery hanging from the ceiling and the rustic wooden walls within the indoor portion of the restaurant.

Overall vibe of the place feels elevated, yet still trendy and modern. The food seems to be a fusion of Korean and Chinese cuisines and the prices look more than desirable.

“Half off main entree items and bottomless cocktails during happy hour?!” Sitting up, you’re grabbing Doyoung’s phone out of his hand to get a closer read on the menu. You’re in disbelief at such a good deal. “Let’s go!” You cheer, jumping up on your feet to pick an outfit for the night.

“I knew the bottomless cocktails will get you. You understand me, y/n.” Doyoung is as overjoyed as you, and you’re both happily smiling at each other without a thought about how good you make each other feel. Grabbing your flowy white romper, you change quickly in the room as Doyoung fixes up in the bathroom.

There is elegance in the white silk, yet it doesn’t make you look too overdressed or too casual. Leaning forward to the vanity, you’re clipping on some shiny earrings and the door opens behind you.

Doyoung steps out in that loose white button up you borrowed earlier today, three buttons unbuttoned from the neck to expose some of his toned chest, half tucked into his neat slacks. His hair is combed and styled back, getting a clear view of his sharp features and maturity. He looks so good, you almost start drooling.

“Oh, your zipper isn’t zipped all the way.” Doyoung breaks you out of your gawking. Without any hesitation, he walks up behind you and helps you with your zipper. This moment mirrors earlier events from this morning.

He chuckles, mostly to himself as he drags the zipper up and his eyes follow the trail of your spine to your eyes in the reflection. “How do you ever get yourself dressed when you need help getting dressed so often?”

“It’s a bit of a struggle, but I manage.” Straightening up your posture, Doyoung’s hand gently caresses your forearm. “But you definitely have made it easier for me today.” You’re still in shock as you watch Doyoung clip your bracelet around your wrist, dropping your arm back by your side ever so gently.

“I’m more than happy to be of assistance.” He clicks his tongue and this fleeting feeling of sensual tension finds itself lost again. Nonetheless, this moment is going to play like a loop of reruns in your mind the whole night.

Three and a half cocktails in, you’re both indulging in a conversation that makes no sense to either one of you but it’s a harmonious time. Your heart is pounding in your ears from the alcohol running circles in your bloodstream, but the moderately loud ambiance of the restaurant creates a good buzz. Doyoung is a cute shade of red before you, every sip making him dangerously close to losing his senses.

“I have to say, this has been the most fun I’ve had in awhile.” The bottom of his glass hits the table and finds its way perfectly in the right spot everytime. The look of content fills his red cheeks and you’re seriously so intoxicated that your mouth has a mind of its own.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means, but the alcohol is asking for more context and reassurance. Has it been fun because of the copious amounts of drinks you two have had after only sharing an appetizer? Or is it genuinely because of you?

“You’re so easy to talk to. I feel like I can talk to you for hours.” His gummy smile twinkles in the dim atmosphere, all because the thought of talking to you for hours makes him full of glee and happiness. He isn’t one to hold back a genuine compliment, he wants you to know how he feels about you as a person. Intimacy didn’t exist between the two of you before tonight, but that changes with every exchange of glances and sweet words.

The call of his name gets his attention, eyebrows raised and eyes as alert as they can be, “you’re one of the only people in this world that I could listen to for hours.” There is no stopping you at this point. Another compliment and you’re bound to confess a part of your heart tonight to him.

Doyoung nods, understanding every bit of where you’re coming from. He gets you like how you get him. “There has been a question that’s been on my mind since I met you.”

Your breath hitches at the actuality that he thought enough about you to have such curiosity. You lived in his brain when you truly believed he would never give you a second look. “Why have you and Johnny never dated?”

The laugh that creeps up your throat almost slips out from hearing the question, but Doyoung is more than serious with this revealed secret question he had been holding onto for so long. Clearing your throat, your finger lightly traces the rim of your glass as you really think hard about every reason you are not attracted to Johnny romantically.

“I’ve known him practically since birth, so he has always been a good brother to me.” It really is that simple, shrugging to show that it's nothing too deep. “While we meet people in a certain moment of their lives, that version of them freezes as the person you will always know them to be to you.”

Doyoung watches your finger dance around. “To me, Johnny will always be a booger-eating cry baby. The love I have for him is purely familial, as if he was the reason for every scraped elbow growing up or for my fear of abandonment when he left me in the grocery store aisles.”

He hums lovingly at your explanation. “I’m guessing you get that question pretty often.”

“Besides his current girlfriend, you’re the only other person who has asked.” Your chuckle makes Doyoung slightly embarrassed, can he be that obvious? It’s fine, you both won’t remember this night fully.

“A follow up question then,” Doyoung leans forward with his elbows digging into the white table cloth, “who am I to you?”

Your eyes widen, those words are enough to knock some sense back into you. Your heart continues to pound in your ears, but also drumming against your chest quickly with every possible way you could answer him.

His eyes stare down at you like prey, just waiting patiently and silently for you to speak. Doyoung’s demeanor may seem confident on the outside, but he is dying to know on the inside. “You’re Johnny’s best friend.”

He lets the disappointment subside, the whiplash in your face is enough indication that you weren’t prepared for such a question. Doyoung relaxes back in his chair, dropping his gaze and nodding at your simple answer. It doesn’t satisfy him, but he can’t be someone to ask for much in this situation.

“Who am I to you?”

Doyoung rolls his lips, debating if his answer will only produce fruitful reactions or you would be turned off. The alcohol has too much control over his choice of words, truthfully, the haziness surrounds his vision. “You’re y/n, Johnny’s cute friend who I can’t seem to get out of my mind.”

Something about Doyoung paying for dinner and his chivalrousness throughout the night oozes a romantic side of him you’re not used to. It felt as if you and Doyoung went on a real date together, even though it was curated off of unforeseen circumstances. Romance isn’t dead, as some may oppose. You could hope that Doyoung agreed.

“Doyoung, the shower is free for you now.” A towel wraps your wet hair up into a cone on your head, earning a small smile from Doyoung. He gathers his things and makes his way into the already steaming bathroom, your essence filling the tiny room.

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, hearing the shower turn on and suddenly turn off. Then it hits you, you have walked out empty handed and your discarded clothes are still hanging on the glass door. You’re both quick at the door, but Doyoung beats you to open it from the other side.

His head pops out, the door slightly ajar. He is naked from the top down to the towel around his waist. Droplets dribble down his tone chest and stomach and your throat goes dry from the sight of him. “Don’t be embarrassed.” Doyoung says gently, holding out your dirty clothes in an orderly pile and your underwear visibly in the mix.

“Thank you.” Finding your words, you quickly take your belongings.

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose, y/n.” Doyoung clicks his tongue, a playful eyebrow raise and a corner of his lip turning upward into a smirk.

“No! I swear, you just make me so comfortable.. I’m treating this as if it’s my own space.” You’re coming to your senses, shutting the door on him so he couldn’t respond to such a ridiculous excuse. Your back hits the bathroom door, sliding down and huddling your laundry.

“I feel comfortable around you too.” You hear Doyoung say through the door. Though you couldn’t see him, a smile lies on his lips as he continues his nightly routine.

Some time passes, Doyoung enters the sheets before you and the anxiousness settles in your system when you know you have to eventually join him. He feels the shift in atmosphere, peering over at your hunched figure at the end of the bed.

“I can still sleep on the floor.” Pushing the blankets off of his body, he starts to get up. You’re fast to push his chest down, landing softly over him. You’re both unmoving in this position, out of pure shock of the sudden proximity.

Your eyes meet briefly, but you look away from his wide bunny eyes. “It’s okay. I don’t want you on the floor.”

His finger turns your chin to face him. The annoying pounding of your heart is loud in your eyes, aching from his hot touch and how you could seriously drown in his beautiful gaze. You’re wondering if he could hear it.

“Then, where do you want me?” Doyoung swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of your lips before him and he is three seconds from diving into you. Completely stunned, obviously, taken aback by his bold question and the tension in the room seems to find its way back.

You want him in your arms. You want him suffocating you with his warm embrace. You want him where you are. Will he allow that? “The bed is fine.” The firmness in your voice assures Doyoung that you don’t feel unwavering. He would hate for you to feel the slightest uneasy. With a roll off of him, you’re planted on your back on the other side of the bed. Staring at the ceiling, you’re both processing the elephant that has overstayed its visit this entire day.

He has to have felt something. There is no way he could be that oblivious, you know he isn’t.

Pulling the sheets over your body, your back is facing Doyoung as he tries to find a good position to doze off in. Heat radiates off of your bodies underneath the blankets and you’re partly grateful to be sharing the bed with such a gorgeous man. Peering over your shoulder, Doyoung swipes on his phone aimlessly looking through the photos he took today.

He feels your curious eyes on him, “want to help me choose which ones I should keep?” Doyoung scoots a bit closer toward the middle of the bed, closing the distance between the two of you slowly.

As this man speedily scrolls through photo after photo, you’re too much in awe at how a simple photo could capture how handsome he is. You’re trying to be helpful, without saying much, but still trying. He deletes a random one at his distaste in a blink that you could barely keep up.

“Do, you look great in all of these.” You sigh, moving even closer to him as his shoulder hits your arm. You’re swiping a few photos back to one that caught your eye – gummy smile, hand covering his eyes, low light underneath the stars, one hand in his pants pocket. He is the perfect wallpaper material. “I like this one the best.”

“You can’t see my face in that one.” He laughs, “what do you like about it?”

“You look good.” It’s all you could say, anything more will tip the boat.

He instantly favorites it, moving on before he can dig anymore about your vague explanations. Swipe after swipe, a new angle, a new pose, a new facial expression but all in the same area. You’re starting to get sleepy at the endless miniscule details, but your eyes shoot open when he swipes upon a photo of you and then, quickly dismissing it as if you weren’t supposed to see.

“Was that me?” You ask, practically grabbing his phone. Doyoung sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, letting you scroll through his phone to find more pretty candids he took of you without you knowing. Progressively, you begin to see yourself in his perspective or maybe, he really is just that great at taking photos.

Nonetheless, you’ve never seen yourself like this. Hair in action, caught in the sweep of the wind. Your smile is as bright as the moon, very natural and genuine happiness painting your face at something stupid that Johnny probably said. There you are among your own laughter and excitement, Doyoung captured such beautiful parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

Doyoung breaks the silence between the both of you, slowly reading your facial reactions at the pictures. He slowly inches closer, his head slightly above your shoulder.

“I can’t help, but notice how happy you look when you laugh. Your smile is contagious.” He whispers, swiping a few more photos to land on one that you wouldn’t have even recognized was yourself.

Your right hand brushes your hair out of your face and you’re smiling from ear to ear. It had to be a moment at dinner with him. Doyoung knew the reason behind that gorgeous smile was him. “So pretty.” His voice leaves a chill down your spine and goosebumps to rise on your arms.

He perks up at the sound of his name, “I’m genuinely confused.” You say, setting his phone down and looking at him with eyebrows furrowed together. “I know you’re a nice person so it could be just your mannerisms or the intimacy of sharing a bed, but I don’t want to misunderstand your intentions.”

“Oh,” Doyoung shifts away from you, the bed dipping at the movement as he scoots back over to his side of the bed. “I’m sorry if I came off as overbearing.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” You’re fighting with yourself, trying to decide if you should just confess. What is the worst that could happen? You’re stuck together in the same room for two more nights and he will know that you’re insanely attracted to him.

But there feels like a chance. You could be incredibly delusional and misreading everything. You sigh, unsure how to proceed with this conversation. Nonetheless, Doyoung can see how heavy your heart seems.

“Is there something I did?”

“No, forget it.” You’re pulling the blankets back over your body again, turning off the lamp on your side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Doyoung follows your lead, doing the same and the room falling into complete darkness. Your shaky breaths being the only audible noise in the silent space.

There is so much adrenaline in your throat, coursing through your veins at how close you are to just telling him.

“Just know that you can tell me anything. I know we’re not the closest of friends, but I feel like that’s sometimes better.” Doyoung turns to face you and you’re staring at him in the low light, making out the most gentle and comforting smile that puts your heart at ease.

“Doyoung, I like you and it’s not just because you’re a nice person, I have romantic feelings for you. I hope you can understand.” You’re all choked up that it makes Doyoung’s heart ache. Confessions are way harder than they need to be, but you did it. That's all that matters.

You didn’t need reciprocal feelings from him, you just needed him to be okay with it. He is silent for a while, his gaze dropping and wandering the sheets. He, too, is conflicted about how he should proceed.

Laying on your side, you face him fully. Doyoung peers up at the shift and his eyes are intensely gazing at you. Your heart is back thumping at your chest and drumming in your ears.

Before you know it, Doyoung is leaning forward and his lips land on yours softly. Your eyes remain open and in shock, but you kiss him back fruitfully. This long awaited kiss has finally fallen upon you, something you’ve wondered days on end how his lips taste.

Doyoung kisses your lips tenderly, almost as if he has waited for this moment too. Gliding effortlessly along yours and a sweet heat that lingers deliciously, he kisses like a shy romantic. You’re both too hesitant to touch one another, afraid of asking for too much. Your arms are stuck to your chest, hands in fists and tensions rising.

His knuckle lightly brushes your cheek, and as you close your eyes and settle into the kiss, you find yourself deepening it and free falling right into him. Desperation? It is the right amount to indicate how much you wanted it, how much you have craved him.

You are kissing Kim Doyoung. That thought alone could leave you grinning ear to ear for days. He doesn’t even know how much it affects you.

When you both pull away, Doyoung’s lips are pretty and plump. It compels you to give him a last quick peck and he chuckles cutely. His eyelids fall over his eyes ever so slowly, his long eyelashes dancing on his cheekbones and he looks surreal.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you this entire day.” Your heart would stop right there. His raspy confession has your whole face turning hot, “ever since I saw you in your pink swimsuit. You don’t know what you do to me.” He buries his shyness into his pillow. Seeing Doyoung like this is new, it’s so adorable that you don’t know how to react besides giggling at how shy he is. He usually holds himself up pretty well, getting embarrassed here and there by Johnny’s silly actions or boldness. Nonetheless, here he is, barely able to look you in the eyes and a pillow shielding his pretty face.

“Have you always felt this way?” Your fingers touch your lips, still in disbelief at the scandalous kiss you two just shared and coming to the realization that Doyoung could have felt this way this whole time.

“Since the moment I met you, you have always been endearing to me. But since you are practically Johnny’s non-biological sister, you felt out of reach.” Doyoung sighs, “I didn’t want to cross any boundaries or make it seem like I was some creep trying to hit on you through Johnny. I respect you a lot, y/n, and Johnny does too.”

His voice grows soft and his words are still so kind. Doyoung is effortlessly sweet and chivalrous. At times, you question how he and Johnny managed to be the best of friends. Doyoung is so outwardly soft and feminine, emotionally attuned and safe. Johnny is all those things as well, but not as clear as Doyoung.

Growing up, Johnny always felt like he needed someone like Doyoung to reassure him that boys can cry too. Although you never imagined that you would stumble upon a dream man like Doyoung, he lays next to you in bed with endless thoughts of you running at full speed in his head.

“I’m speechless.”

“I can tell.” Doyoung smiles, “I’ve kept my distance enough to not give you any impression of interest.” He coyly puts his arms behind his back and peers over at how stunned you look blinking back at him. “Let’s sleep, I want you to rest up for the day tomorrow.”

“I feel like this is going to keep me awake.” You slide down to lay firmly on your side to face him.

“Will sleeping in my arms help?” Doyoung extends his arm out for you to snuggle up next to him. You’re practically losing your mind at how forward he is, it’s as if five minutes early he wasn’t all shy about confessing to you. “Sorry, too much.”

Nonetheless, you dive right into him like it's all you’ve ever known. Your face hits his chest and the scent of his laundry detergent immediately hits your nose. His warm arm wraps around your upper back as he presses you closer. Planting a delicate kiss on your forehead, Doyoung rubs soothing circles on your back to help you sleep.

So if this was a dream, you hope to never wake from it.

The stuffy morning has you and Doyoung tiptoeing around one another. When you had woken up, Doyoung was already in the bathroom to freshen up and prepare for the day. You both had exchanged small good mornings before you had also disappeared into the bathroom. Now, you two silently get ready in your own corners of the room and nothing but the sound of clattering fills the air.

Did he have a sudden change in heart? You grow more confused with this man as it turns from day to night. Doyoung looks over his shoulder at you, noticing the eerie silence in the room.

“How did you sleep?” He asks, clearing his throat awkwardly. Good thing you two didn’t fuck or anything, you feel like that would make this moment even more awkward than it already is.

“Fine. You?”

Doyoung laughs, mostly to himself, as he remembers the position you two woke up in. “Seems like someone couldn’t let go of me last night, so I would say it was pretty good.”

Your embarrassment doesn’t shy away from being evident. Slowly, you turn to face him. Doyoung leans against the wall a relaxed fit, hair nicely falling above his eyebrows and a grin so taunting, you wouldn’t have believed it was his. He notices your lip quiver before you begin to speak and he reassures you once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.” Doyoung makes his way toward you, his delicate hands holding your forearms quite lovingly and his kind smile tries to make you feel better. You both gaze into each other’s eyes like they’re all you’ve ever known in life.

This is so romantic. You’ve forgotten that you two aren’t dating.

“Would it be too much of an ask for us to start seeing each other?” He shakes his head without hesitation. Kissing your forehead, he can literally see how beautifully you admire him.

“I want to be with you.” He draws you in tighter. “I want to be yours.” Doyoung whispers. A chill runs down your spine. “However, you have to let me take you out on a proper date before we settle things. One where I ask you out, pick you up and bring you your favorite flowers.”

“I’d really love that.” It is no joke how incredibly immersed in this man you are. Never in your dreams would you think that a moment like this would exist between the two of you.

All it took was sharing a bed. If only Johnny had thought of that sooner.

[goth-mami-writer]

♡•Feel Sick•♡ (Pt.3)

~(Au) Leon Kennedy × f!reader fic

⚠️TW⚠️: plot contains themes of age gap romance (reader is 18yo), obsessive behaviors, mild instances of stalking, coercion, emotional manipulation, and graphic smut. (Please interact with discretion! ♡)

{Find parts one and two here!}

♡ @badasseddy ♡

《 The closer you became to Leon's small, below-deck bedroom, the more your virgin hands began to shake. Were you going to kiss him? Would you hurt too much to go through with it? There were questions falling over themselves but Leon held your back to guide you towards the small room.

You saw the full-size bed tucked close to the wall in the smaller, most cozy room only intended for sleeping. In this first moment, you weren't sure how to even begin and you turned to Leon with your eyes searching for some kind of cue. He softened seeing you wide-eyed with a vulnerable expression and he said softly,

“I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Let's sit down and talk for a second.”

You sat up in wait for him to ease down beside you and your heart began to idle away from thundering out of your ribcage. He seemed hesitant himself even when he asked firstly just to make sure he understood what you wanted,

“So- you're okay with doing this? I mean it. If there's something you're not okay with- we don't have to do it. This isn't about me.”

He was being so cautious of the way you felt and your trust in him to keep you safe. It made you twice as sure that Leon needed to be the one to do this as a small, little favor to ease your worries. You nodded and told him again that you were certain that you were fine in doing this with him. Although…you felt incredibly nervous. Even if he didn't want to be impressed, you still wanted him to enjoy it.

He nodded again but you continued to listen as he found another question,

“Now, what exactly have you ever done like this? Like I said- I won't tell your dad anything and you've got my word. You can tell me.”

The truth was, as much as it embarrassed you, making out with wandering hands was the furthest you had been with any boyfriend. You always cowered away if they tried to move further or found an excuse to take a rain check. It felt too nerve racking and the feeling of it being expected from you was something you never liked.

When you told him of your lack of real experience, you watched him smile and he said becoming a little closer as if his next words should be said discreetly between you,

“Yanno, when I was your age I wasn't very experienced with sex either?”

“Really?” You asked in sheer disbelief that in his younger years that girls weren't climbing through his window to screw around with him.

But he nodded and said further,

“I didn't have my first real girlfriend until I was seventeen, baby. I had no idea what I was doing. Take it from me…it's okay.”

You only smiled a little softer in the sense of finally feeling understood and he stood then to walk over to turn off the light. Your heart began to patter again with heavy thuds of excitement and he said when he came back to the bed quietly,

“Let's get you a little more comfortable and we'll see where to start okay?”

He reached over to tug at your hoodie and hurriedly you began to slide it away from your body, revealing your string bikini that remained below. You practically were in your bra this way and it made your face red to think about it. You reached for your waistline where your jean shorts were buttoned, waiting for his word and he nodded, telling you to go ahead and remove those as well.

Once down to nothing but your bikini, your nerves became rampant with jitters that shook your wrists. Leon smiled but told you to lay down to ease away your nervous shakes. You laid your head in the pillows of the mattress and watched as he began shifting his weight to hover across you.

He looked down, seeming to take in your body with wandering eyes and he said in a warm whisper that thrilled you,

“What you take off next is up to you. I want you to feel ready enough to do it on your own and when you feel like you need to. Okay, baby?”

You nodded and you watched as his mind began to turn again. He wet his mouth, making you think that maybe he would try to lean in and kiss you, an act enough that would make you scream but instead his mouth met the side of your neck. Your eyes closed instinctually and your mouth opened for a pant of air that felt hot in your throat.

Your chin tilted back and with a small dose of confidence, you asked him with your eyes half lidded as he lapped his lips under your jaw,

“Leon- will you kiss me?”

He leaned up with his mouth only inches from yours and your heart throttled at its loudest when you heard him reply in a gravelly tone,

“Only while we're doing this, okay?”

You didn't know exactly what he meant but it didn't matter when he finally placed his lips against yours. You felt the stubble of his five o'clock shadow and the roughness of his lips that still felt somehow soft as they pressed into yours. You felt that he was guiding you to kiss as his hand reached up to hold the back of your head and stroke against your cheek with unsaid praise.

His tongue grazed against yours and for the first time with a lifetime of humiliation, your hips bucked to taste him kissing you so careless and open. You were kissing Leon S. Kennedy, a name that you knew that some women only whispered and that was enough to hardwire your pulse.

“Easy, sweetie-” Leon cooed as he pulled away,

“I know you're excited. We're moving on.”

Your hips writhed to be touched and your face was reddened with bliss as he looked over your body again. Your inhibitions felt like they were nosediving after that and you were cloud minded with desire to have more of him. His kiss traveled down, planting on your neck but then to your collar bone, tugging and nipping with intent. He kissed down your sternum and with a touch more bravery from feeling the pleasure build, you slipped away your bikini top- letting him see your bare breasts for the first time.

He smiled in view of the sight in the dim dark and he muttered sexily with his lips dragging your skin still,

“Oh, baby, you're perfect.”

Your face reddened further as this was the most insane, daring move you'd made this far and Leon continued to kiss down. When you felt his hands traveling to meet your body, you felt that you knew where this was headed and you quivered to speak up when your legs naturally opened.

“Leon-..I'm..I might be…well you know? Because I'm..I'm turned on?” You stuttered, trying so desperately to find the right words.

He nodded but then said she he hovered above you with his first bit of an instructional tone peeking through his careful words,

“Babygirl, I know you're turned on. It's okay, sweetie, you can tell me you're wet. I want you as wet as I can get you before the important part, okay?”

You nodded and Leon kissed down your torso, letting his tongue softly flick your navel and he looked up before inching his fingertips at your panty line,

“Is this okay, beautiful? I just want to have a little look?”

You shook when you nodded your head and he felt your trembling knees when gently he pulled the bottom of your bikini aside. His jaw went agape just slightly to the sight of your pussy raw and slick with need and the heat from its core was enough to make him swallow.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He said with a half smile that felt cocky in the moonlight and you heard him finish with another small question,

“Are you okay if I touch it? I'll be slow but you tell me if something feels off, alright?”

You needed him to touch you and when he saw your consent, he moved his hand up to gently brush your swollen, pulsing clit with his thumb in a soft, experimental swipe. He licked his lips and said in a rumble from his throat when he felt his cock stiffen beneath his pants as he instructed you more,

“Listen to me, baby. Don't ever let a boy touch you like this until he's made you wet, okay? Promise me.”

His stare from below beamed up to you as he waited for your answer that squeaked as he massaged his thumb now in small yet delicious circles on your virgin sweet spot.

“I promise.” You answered and he raised his head only for a moment to kiss your mouth almost in confirmation.

Your clit was being stimulated under his careful fingertips and he bit his lip for the first time as it throbbed beneath them in pulses of need. Your virgin hips bucked at the first feeling of given pleasure and your mouth hung open to pant for the warm air around you.

After another stir of your hips, you reached down and began to slip away your bottoms. Leon gently pulled them down for you to remove them and he looked up as he eased your legs to fall open now, exposing you with your womanhood opened like a flower. Leon reached behind his collar, removing the t-shirt from his torso when he told you softly now that you were completely naked,

“I don't want you to feel self conscious. Although, you're a little smoke show who doesn't need to feel anything but beautiful.”

You blushed again hearing him compliment you so lowly in his gravel tone that was making you shake just as much as his touch and he returned his hands to you. He made sure your legs were spread widely with your knees meeting the mattress and he said with his eyes up,

“Relax for me, sweetie, okay? I'm gonna go a little further.”

Leon slowly placed his ring and middle finger into his mouth, wetting his skin before placing his hand back to your body. He slicked his wet finger tips to your clit, moving in soft circles that thrilled you. Your eyes closed from the pleasure and you felt as he began touching lower, now moving to your wet virgin slit still untouched even by your own fingers.

He adjusted his weight, sitting closer as he looked upwards telling you again to relax for him. Slowly and gentle, he carefully inserted his middle finger into your spread pussy that welcomed his penetration inside. Leon licked his lips and said praisingly when your body adjusted nearly in an instant,

“Good girl. Just keep relaxing.”

You nodded and put your hand over your mouth to keep your sounds and whimpers at a bare minimum. You'd never cried out in delight before now and the act felt so foreign when it fell from your lips. Your back arched when Leon brushed his fingers against your g-spot to begin his gentle stimulation and he smiled to see you enjoy it.

He warned you before placing his ring finger inside as well and you whimpered again, feeling only his fingers begin to stretch your womanhood slowly. Your lips quivered, and your voice caught again from another stifle of your hand, and you mentioned to Leon from above as the act of hindering your moans became overwhelming,

“Leon-...I'm trying not to..make too much noise. I don't- want to be… annoying.”

He looked up in quiet disbelief and he shook his head to tell you as his wrist still gently pumped his fingers inside you,

“Oh, sweetie. Don't try to stop moaning. Who told you it's annoying?”

“I just- I'm trying to think of what….boys like.”

“Oh, babygirl, boys may not like it. But men love to hear you feel good. You put your clothes back on and leave if one of these little boys tell you to stop moaning, do you hear me?”

You nodded, but then felt as Leon's other hand cupped the back of your neck to lower you into a reassuring kiss that promised again that you were safe to feel whatever you felt. Your lips parted again and he continued fingering into your body gently, using your more confident moans as his direction.

But you began to wonder what was next and you asked under your breath as he kept moving his fingers,

“Leon- do you have a condom?”

He grinned hearing how eager you were to continue and he promised you softly with a flirtatious chuckle,

“You let me worry about condoms-”

“Leon-” You whined with need and your hips stirred against his fingers when he hushed you sweetly in a purr,

“Don't get impatient, sweet girl. You're gonna get it when you need it, okay? You let me take care of you.”

He leaned up again to kiss your lips in that calming kiss that was making your legs spread wider. His mouth then grazed down your neck, nipping at your collar letting his warm tongue swathe against your exposed nipple that flared to the bliss of still being teasingly fingered.

“Leon-!” You cried out loudly to all the forms of pleasure being so sweetly given to you at once and Leon smiled widely becoming too turned on by the way you raspily called his name while your slick walls grasped around his knuckles.

“Yeah, that's my girl.”

Your heart was racing already but it drummed louder when you felt Leon pull his hand away to slowly stand up. He unbuckled his belt, pulling at the tongue to loosen it from around his waist when he began to slip down his waistband. Before he lowered any further, you saw him reach into the nightstand drawer of his cabin bed and reveal a square condom from the inside.

He looked to you with eyes softened from what you had to assume was arousal and slowly the waistband of his pants lowered. He tilted his head to gesture you close and instinctively, assuming that this was the right step, you lowered to your knees in front of him. When his eyes widened in surprise he asked you from above,

“Do you think that's a good idea for the first time?”

“I-” You stammered just trying to think of things you knew other girls were doing during sex and Leon grabbed your chin in his rough palm sweetly with a firmness that melted your heart when it corrected you kindly,

“You get up here. I told you this isn't about me.”

He'd never let you put him first. Especially not the night he was taking your virginity. 》

~

Part 4 coming soon! ♡

[grapejuicestyless]

Our Last Dance

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n is Harry’s childhood best friend and the only person he’s been able to hang onto as his popularity grew. Y/n wasn’t as successful in life, but she wants to be able to do something nice for Harry one last time.(inspired by Aftersun…Warning: there is a lot of detail about vomit in this if that bothers you and depression/suicide.)

“It’s not much, but it’s right by the beach so I thought it might be nice.” I’ve known Harry for over two decades. He’s been my best friend since I was seven, I know everything there is to know about him. I know who he is, yet I still can’t help but feel ashamed when we stumble into the dusty hotel room, one large king sized bed sat in the center of the room and a balcony overlooking the blue oceans of Italy and an old handy cam from nineteen ninety something dangling from my wrist.

“No, no. It’s great.” Placing his suitcase on the tile flooring of the small bathroom, he flashes me a genuine smile before he peels back the bedsheets and checks the corners thoroughly for anything that could raise red flags.

“I could have sworn I paid for two beds, I don’t know how they mixed that up.” Running a hand through my hair, it only now hit me that there was only one place to sleep in the room. Usually, it would be no big deal seeing as Harry and I often spend our time together glued at the hip in his large bed or cramped together in my mid sized one. But I paid extra money to have the extra mattress, and money was tighter than usual and I just wanted everything to be perfect.

Harry simply shrugged it off, laying back against the headboard while dialing the front desks number with his right hand and welcoming me into his arms with his left one.

“I don’t have cooties, you know.” Shooting him a glare, I lay my head against his chest and take the phone in my hand that wasn’t wrapped underneath his waist. I feel one of his hands play around with the band on my wrist to grab the camera from me while he waits. The phone rings for some time before the monotone voice of the teenager working the front desk cracked through the shitty phone speakers.

Harry didn’t listen to much of the conversation, choosing to run his fingers through my hair and hum quietly under his breath, playing around with any buttons he could find on the camera.

“So thats the best you can do?” I asked, feeling my chest tighten like an elastic band. I raised from my spot on Harry’s chest, sitting on my knees and slouching in defeat, “No, I don’t need that. If I could get my money back though, for the extra bed?” Looking at Harry, I shook my head in question, sighing without making a sound.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you so much.” Before I could continue my passive aggressive approach to the situation, the line beeped dead and Harry began to crack a smile.

“’s not funny!” I slurred my words, feeling the ache between my bones hit me at that very moment. I let my body fall into Harry’s chest once again, sighing at the vanilla scent from his cologne that fills my nose and the warmth from his body despite the sweltering heat from the Italian summer making our joints extra sticky with sweat. A soft thud on the bedside table on Harry’s side tells me he’s done playing around on the camera and has turned his full attention to me.

“I don’t mind being stuck with you, y’know.” He tries to downplay the situation, diffusing my rising anxiety about expenses he recognizes in my mannerisms and my attitude. Huffing in response, I roll off of him and sprawl out like a starfish. My eyes find a home in the ceiling and I feel Harry take my right hand in his, “Why don’t we go to the pool? Why waste such a nice night pouting, yeah?” He tilts his head towards our bags that are still in the bathroom, and when our eyes meet, we both know someway or another he’s going to drag me down there.

“Race you?” I regret my words when I feel him scramble off the bed beside me, letting me get tangled in the sheets while he strips into his bright yellow swim trunks and dad-like flip flops. I laugh about it not being fair while I clasp my top in the back and desperately try and kick my sandals on but he’s already out the door, leaving it wide open as he runs down the slippery stairs and all but dives into the deep end of the teal waters.

“Come on in, the waters just fine!” He laughs, urging me to join him and I’ve never felt more alive as I full sprint off the edge of the cement and fall into the pool with my best friend.

“I call it a tie!” Water falls from my hairline as I break the water’s surface.

“What? No way, I smoked your ass!” Harry splashes me, hopping back when he sees me approaching him with a mischievous grin.

“You had a false start, I was not ready. So, as the officiator of this match, I have decided to add on penalty time meaning we tied.” The water creates a wave like pattern on our bodies, illuminating our sun kissed skin a hue of bluish-green and hiding any fading sunburns from the beginning of summer.

“You little minx!” He rushes towards me and I can feel my heart beating through my chest.

When he wraps his arms around my torso and threatens to dunk me, I can’t help the ugly giggles that bubble out of my mouth and shake my whole body. I can’t help the way my hands claw at his skin to keep me afloat even though I know he would never dunk me if I didn’t want him to or the way his laughter only makes my ribs tougher and my stomach ache worse.

“If I go down, I’m taking you with me!” Wrapping my hands around his shoulders, I somehow manage to maneuver myself in a way that has us both flipping into the six foot deep end.

I imagine the people who are sleeping just beside the pool are thankful for the brief silence when we are submerged, and I swear someone screams at us to shut the hell up when we start coughing and screaming again at the sudden chill of pool water soaking our drying skin.

“Best vacation ever!” Harry yells it in my ear, watching how I flinch away and cover my ears with my fingers and grimace, bearing all my teeth when I groan through them but also smiling while I do it.

I jump up onto his back, holding him like a koala bear and try my best not to slip off of his wet body.

“I know!” Somehow, we end up in the water again, and I don’t mind the sting of water in my nose or how I cough a large amount of it out over the edge of the pool when we break the surface again because Harry’s patting my back while I do it, and I do the same for him.

It’s funny and delirious and stupid, but the pool is occupied by us until our skin is pruned until there’s no more wrinkles to create and our lips are more blue than the water we swim in. And I swear, it feels like flying.

“One long island on the rocks!” He held up one finger but quickly held up another and corrected himself, “No, wait, two! Two on the rocks please!” He slurred, slapping a twenty down on the bar and handing one of the orangey-red drinks to me.

The glasses clinked together, sloshing the liquid within them and knocking my lime to the ground with a splat. Still, neither of us cared much, choosing to smile and laugh while we make our way back to the sandy shores of the nearby beach.

“This tastes so good! He knew what he was doing!” Pointing at my glass, I nod my head enthusiastically, feeling my cheeks start to hurt with how big I was smiling.

“No, you’re just drunk! I would know, I am too!” Harry stumbles all the way to the sand, downing the glass and setting it on the top of a nearby trashcan along with my half finished one.

“Heyyy, I wasn’t done!” Taking my hands in his, Harry begins pulling me to the waves that crashed down onto the sand, laughing at how my feet struggle to keep up with his in our drunken states.

“Come on, I’m hot!” The water hit our skin like a ton of bricks, tiny icicles hitting up to our hips and before we could turn back, a large wave knocked us over and fully submerged our goosebump covered bodies.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” It didn’t necessarily hurt, being in the water and splashing around in it’s freezing temperatures, but it was shocking, especially with the extra heat of alcohol roasting us underneath the warmth of the summer sun.

Neither of us speak for a moment, choosing to hold our arms away from our bodies and look down at ourselves like we are trying to air dry our limbs after the accidental ice bath.

A puff of air leaves Harry’s mouth, followed by another and another. I look up to see him, and he’s already looking at me with a smile plastered on his face and giggles falling from his drunken lips. I’m only acutely aware of the heavy feelings in my limbs, but my own giggles falling from my lips mask the weird sensation and I don’t really care for it.

“You have seaweed on your…” Pointing to the top of his head, I look at the very small piece of the plant tangled in his curly brown hair, it almost looks like it’s part of it.

Harry picks it out, dangling in front of his face and smiling at it for a second. Then, he throws it at me.

“Ew! No-Harry!” Flinching away, I splash more water onto the both of us and feel the shock of it too, but I can’t stop moving, even after it’s fallen into the water in front of me, only barely touching my arm. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the water anymore though, sitting back and watching my overdramatic reaction to his antics. It’s only after I stop flailing about that he leans his too half into the water, scooping up a larger chunk of the plant and staring at me like a man with a plan.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare!” Running through the water feels impossible, each stride I take being slowed by the movement of the shallow waves and the uneven surface of the rocks and the sand underneath my feet. I can hear his breathing just behind my ears, and the sloshing of his feet breaking through the water makes my heart pound faster.

I’m not sure where the chase disperses, when he gets tired of chasing me and decides to call a truce, but Harry stops chasing me after a good long while, metallic taste in our mouths rising from our throats and breathing so heavy, I think for a second I’ll have to go running to find Harry’s inhaler.

“Are you okay?” His voice fades in and out of my ears, I’m too focused on the taste in my throat and the steady restriction of my throat. I feel it bubbling up, and the saliva in my mouth seems to multiply. I’m on the brink of sobriety, or something close to it, so when he calls after me as I fight my way out of the ocean, I keep steady on my path to the one open trashcan just down the shore.

My hands grip the edge of the hot black plastic rim, bending myself forward and popping my foot up to better submerge myself into the opening. A gag followed by another and another shakes my entire body before everything spews out of me in an orangey-lime colored mess. I can still taste the alcohol on my breath, and I can feel the tears behind my eyes.

Harry came to rub my back and hold my hair, rubbing circles and looking away so I won’t feel embarrassed after.

Rising from the trashcan, I notice he also looks a bit paler than before, his eyes carry a baggage I never noticed and his lips are chapped.

“Fuck.” Wiping anything that could have gotten on my lips away, Harry laughs at me in the same drunken way he did in the water.

“What? What?!” I catch myself laughing, holding my stomach and feeling it turn underneath my palms. He directs his head towards the ocean, leaning against the trashcan now and somehow ignoring the smell.

“Real amateur move, just threw up in the great big ocean like any other person.” He jokes, and I feel my face contort with disgust. I would have laughed harder if I were still completely hammered, but after physically ridding myself of most of what I have consumed within the past few hours, I’m beginning to feel the effects washing off and leaving behind an intense pounding in my head.

“You’re disgusting.” Looking behind me, I make sure Harry is still following me. The day isn’t even close to being over yet, but with us pouring down shots at ten in the morning like it’s water, it feels more like midnight rather than midday.

Weaving between dirt paths made from excessive use on grassy areas and sidewalks that lead us to where we need to be, Harry and I are complaining about how heavy our feet feel and how tired we are getting. The drunk highs have already passed and all we can focus on is the plushy bed waiting for us at the hotel.

“Y/n!” Harry’s hand pulls me back, his chest hitting my spine with the force he uses against me. My foot that had stepped off of the sidewalk to cross the road to get to our hotel is yanked back onto the higher ground, a bus honking as it speeds by. I can feel his heartbeat pounding into my body and the sweat gathering on his palms. He mumbles something under his breath, the but ringing of the horn is still overwhelming my eardrums and drowning out everything else.

Truly, I don’t care that much about the incident, it wouldn’t mean much anyway if I had kept going. I probably would have made it, or worse case scenario, the wheel nicks my foot. But it has Harry all up in arms, checking the road on both sides multiple times before he decides it’s safe to cross. I’ll blame it on my drunkenness or my tiredness, and Harry will scold me, if we don’t fall asleep first. Which we do.

Or rather, he does.

The softness of the bed is nice, something that I was able to sink into the night before when I reached a point of absolute exhaustion, but now it feels too soft on my back that is used to my hard mattress at home. The pillows are flat, or at least mine are, and the blankets are scratchy.

The tiles in the bathroom are cold, a deep blue color that compliments the boring grey walls nicely. The toilet creaks as I shift all my weight down onto it, a bottle that resembles aloe vera to my left and a bucket of water to my right.

The cap pops open quietly, and the gel pours out of it with a fight. It’s been left behind somehow, and nobody has come to collect it. It’s gooey and it smells odd, sticking together in clumps between my fingers and pulling at my arm hair when I try to spread it.

My eyes are too heavy and my fingers are lazy, I can’t even try to fight against the thick mess rubbing into my skin.

Sighing, I give up on the gel, not liking the tug, even though the cold feels good on my skin. It’s when I close the cap again, holding the previously discarded bottle in my hands I realize I’ve read it wrong in my sleepy haze. It’s only so gooey because it’s not aloe vera, but rather a hair gel with aloe vera in it.

“What the fuck?” It goes straight into the trash, right next to the water bucket which is swiftly slid over to sit right in front of me, propped between my ankles.

It doesn’t pull off easy, taking some hair with it. My skin feels slimy for a little, but no longer sticky. I think it’s probably because in a way, I’ve just waxed my arms because I’m too damn lazy to thoroughly read a bottle. Other than the horrible feeling of it, I don’t mind the inconvenience of it. It wasn’t like I was going to sleep anytime soon, and it distracted from the pounding in my head. I wonder silently if Harry packed anything for pain? I hadn’t, I’d barely remembered to pack enough shirts and he always has those kind of things.

Treading lightly along the carpeted floors and looking over my shoulder, I see Harry passed out on his stomach, a little wet spot collecting under his cheek which is firmly pressed against the comforter. The zipper to his bag is much louder than mine, it’s also ten times more expensive than mine and newer. But he has the money to spend, and I would do the same if I were him. I just wish with how much money it cost that they would have opted for a quieter zipper. I think back to when we were still in school, taking calculus and cheating off of each other and stealing notes. Harry was always a very heavy sleeper in his teen years, but it feels like the more well known he becomes, the more jumpy he is in his sleep. Maybe it’s because of the constant pressure of pleasing his fans or the rigorous schedule his team put him on in his early twenties, but it eases the aching in my chest to think it’s just because he’s getting older.

A tiny pack of aspirin catches my attention in the first pocket I open along side some deodorant and toothpaste. An odd combination, but very Harry.

Opening it with a struggle because of the damn child lock caps, I see there are only three left. All that struggle only to be able to take one. After all, it’s not mine and Harry would surely need more than me after the current coma he was inducing, his groaning and complaining is something I can already hear. I swallow it dry and drift over to the balcony.

The sun is still so high in the sky, it’s only just past one now. Children play and cars pass, the breeze is blowing my shirt against my body and cooling the sweat that is collecting on my upper lip.

Harry is passed out in bed and my body is more awake than ever. It’s funny because it’s usually him calling my phone late at night telling me he’s on the way over and to get myself ready because we’re going out. I smile to myself, all of our best memories happen just before we get drunk it seems like. The wine spilling on his carpet after his first grammy win, or the deep conversations curled up in the corner of some bar while we nurse some strong beverages and laugh about all of our shitty lovers and toxic exes.

“Harry.” Calling out to him from the balcony, I find it’s much more comfortable out here in the breeze, where it feels like flying if you stick out your arms and close your eyes, rather than laying like a dead man in a stuffy hotel room.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t even shift. He still has the redness in his cheeks that tequila stains him with and the sweat collecting on his hairline. He looks completely at peace with himself, unbothered by the broken air conditioning and the overworked fan humming away in the corner.

I decide that just because he isn’t up for an adventure, I shouldn’t sit around and wait for him to find one. Theres a crinkled up receipt on the floor just by the foot of the bed, it’s got his name on the top and a long list of drinks down the length of it. I flip it over and flatten out. There’s no good pens, only a half dead one on the dresser that makes loud scratching sounds every time it passes over the paper.

Gone out, couldn’t sleep. Be back in an hour. Love you always and forever! Xoxo, your best friend.

It sits stuck with an edge trapped beneath the phone on the bedside table, the rest of it blows softly every time the fan rotates in that direction. Harry scrunches his nose slightly every time the breeze hits him, it feels nice in the summer heat and even better with the extra warmth in our veins. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, it makes a moment like this sweeter. A memory only I’ll remember and get to carry with me.

I hope no matter what happens my brain never fails me, so that when I die and go wherever I’m supposed to be in the afterlife, I can still have my memories to hold onto and I’ll be able to carry his smile with me as I roam the empty earth alone.

“These glasses are nice.” My fingers run over the rims, feeling the smoothness of the glossy finish over the tortoiseshell color. Harry has a very similar pair, only the temple tips of his have worn down and there are scratches on the lenses. He has plenty of sunglasses, but he those are his favorite. He insists on wearing them even when some of his have never been touched.

“How much are they?” Holding them up to my eyes, I move them back and forth to watch the darkened parts of the world shrink and expand within the round boarders.

“A hundred.” The man behind the counter smiles nicely at me, watching how delicately my hands hold the glasses between my fingers. I clear my throat and fold the temples in.

“Sorry, in pounds?” He lulls his head back, thinking and clicking his tongue while he counts.

“About eighty five pounds, one hundred seven US dollars.” I nod my head and place them on the counter. As soon as I do so, the man seems to be quick to swoop them up and clean away any marks left behind with a cloth. It almost makes me laugh.

“Uhm…” I dig through my wallet, looking at what I have left. I’ve emptied most of my account into my wallet for this extended weekend. My savings going into the tickets and the hotel room, which felt more like a motel, and some change going towards drinks and food. Still, I have nearly double what I need for it left in my wallet and motivation that makes me dig it out of the leathery pocket and hand it over to the man. “Eighty five, right there.” I smile up at him and he smiles back. He gives me the glasses back in a fancy case with a magnetic button that seals them away safely which is wrapped tightly in light blue wrapping paper. It crinkles in my hands, but I think it’s just lovely. Harry will love it.

“Thank you. Have a good day!” A bell chimes when I exit the store, and the stifling heat outside makes my already prominent eye bags feel ten times heavier than before. I feel the same sluggish feeling I did after the beach, only this time it’s accompanied by a real sense of tiredness only the overly soft bed can fix.

The sounds of the passing cars and the ticking of crosswalk signals all sort of blur into the distance the closer I get to the room. My key is stuffed in with the crinkled bills and old coupons that have expired long ago. I’m so focused on getting into the warm comforts of the room, I don’t hear the shuffling around inside of it or the angelic humming of my best friend just on the other side of the door.

“Y/n/n!” He looks like he’s been hit by a bus. A really beautiful, clean, expensive bus. Even hungover with dry drool on his cheek the man still manages to resemble one of those greek statues that proudly display their defined features and sharp jawlines.

He has the bottle of Advil in one hand and the handy cam presses in the palm of the other. He moves it close to my face until I swat it down, laughing at him like he wanted.

My thumb presses against his cheek, my palm cupping his chin. I wipe away the dry drool and make a mental note to wash my hands before I touch anything else.

“Have a nice sleep?” His tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick away my hand and for the second time today I grimace in disgust and back off, but not before wiping the wet patch down his arm.

“It was okay. Woke up a little after you left, I think. Thought you up and left me until I found the note.” He jokes.

“How’d you know I wasn’t just in the bathroom then if you didn’t see the note?” I see now that he’s moved it over to another table in the room and that the phone it was under is moved to the further side of the table.

“I didn’t hear snoring.” I hit his arm. “Ow!”

“Asshole!” He laughs at me and for a second I think about hitting him again, but this time over the top of his head.

“You love me.” I shake my head, walking to the bathroom to piss or vomit, I’m not really sure.

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’, closing the door and locking it in his face.

“Yes you do, you liar! You wrote it right here! Love you always and forever, xoxo, your best friend! You put two different kinds of love in one note! You must really love me!” I open the door and throw a towel at him before slamming it shut again.

“Don’t love you enough to not debate tossing you over the balcony right now!” I hear him laugh at that and for a second, as we wind down from our fits of giggles it’s completely quiet.

“I do love you though.” I admit softly, hunched over the toilet and smiling.

“I knew it!” I can practically hear his gloating grin in his shouting and I wonder how no one has come knocking at our door to tell us to shut up yet.

I shush him aggressively, placing a finger to my lips even though he cant see it, “Quiet! Please, can’t a girl throw up in peace?” Harry groans, but his back doesn’t lift from the door and his shadow doesn’t move.

“Do you need me to hold your hair?” I don’t answer him, instead I unlock the door, holding back a gag as the familiar restrictive feeling comes back up my throat. I’m on my knees when he walks in and his hands are threading through my hair as gently as possible.

“Let it all out.” He tries to be comforting, finding that his hands are big enough to hold my hair and rub my back at the same time. I don’t find it aggravating, in fact I think it’s kind of sweet that he cares so much, that he doesn’t completely ignore me because it’s gross. But I can’t lie and say I didn’t roll my eyes a little bit when he says it, because it feels just a little condescending and my mouth tastes bitter.

“Oh my god, please stop talking.” My head is back in the toilet, gagging up a mix of medication, ocean water, alcohol and old water from Harry’s water bottle. Harry’s laughing and I can’t help but too, but it comes out more as a dry cough followed by a string of spit into the water which only makes us laugh harder.

After some time, I think I’ve gotten it all out. Instead of being hunched over the toilet, by back is pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and my arms are resting over Harry’s chest. The sound of our breathing fills the quiet room and we find that it’s very comfortable just sitting like this, in the company of the other.

“Harry,” He hums, turning his head to look at me even though mine is still facing the ceiling, “Did you turn off the camera?” He sits up quickly, huffing curses under his breath and looking to see how long he had been recording. My laughter echos throughout the room when he sees he’s captured the entire thing, shutting it off swiftly and storing it in an empty compartment in his bag.

He calls it stupid, a waste of space and useless, but I know he doesn’t think that. His sister gave it to me when she got her first phone and I’ve used it to record special trips ever since. He texted me to remind me to bring it, and I yell out to call him a dirty liar while he pouts around.

“Come on, we’ve been in bed all day. The weekend’s not passing any slower and we aren’t getting any younger!” He shook me vigorously, smiling that same toothy grin I remember from our childhood, and the same one that promised before he ever stepped foot onto a stage that he would never forget me, and would always be near. We’ve both changed, but it’s nice to know that some promises are forever.

I simply shrug Harry off, finding peace in the cocoon of our bedding that he had made for us in the middle of the night. Still, he’s persistent against my body, begging and pleading for me to just go with him and he hasn’t even said where he wants to go.

“We’ve only got two good nights left before we leave and this is one of them. Get up!” I don’t choose to listen to his whining, mumbling something about the cheep ass wine we found at the drug store around the block and the pounding in my head thats only gotten worse on this three day bender.

“You can’t still be hung over, get up. Come on, I planned something fun for us!” Again, he tries to take me with him. He knows that once I’m up, I’m up. I’ll easily follow him anywhere with anyone because with him, it’s just that simple.

“Harry.” I warn him, my voice airy and soft the first time and my eyes avoiding his playful expression. Still, he seems to find it all too entertaining that I’m so stubborn yet so easy to crack. He keeps pushing, literally, and begging and whining and talking.

“Harry, stop!” Sitting up from the blankets, for a second he thinks he’s won. I’m above the covers and facing him just like he wants but then he see’s the bags under my eyes and the haze hanging over my face. While I am up, no longer comforted by the security of the blankets, I am not able to leave the mattress. So, he backs away, scoffing under his breath and looking to the ceiling like I’ve just kicked him.

I can hear the faint sound of tapping by his side, the same sound I know to be of his thumb digging into his cuticles and picking away any fresh skin until he bleeds. Usually, I would at least tell him to stop, even if we were angry at each other, but today I find that I don’t really have the energy to do anything except slump into myself and hold my head in my hands.

“Jesus, Y/n.” He’s turned himself around so he’s looking out of the glass doors that lead to the small balcony. For a second it even looks like he’s tempted to slide them open and just be with the breeze, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, Harry has spun himself back around with the saddest look on his face and blotches of red produced from stress lining his neck.

“Harry, please. Maybe later, I just…I just don’t feel up to it right now.” I’m praying that he understands, he surely should. He better than anyone else would know the feeling of creeping aches in our joints and the heaviness of our mind.

“You’re never up to it.” Is what he says instead. He was never going to coddle me, that I understood. While he had in the past, we were never the over the top touchy people who survived solely off of the brush of a stray arm at a party or a compliment of a stranger at midnight.

His words have always been kind, but not this time it seems. Because they wobble a little when he says it and he doesn’t look very confident in how he’s standing. But I wouldn’t know because I can’t even look him in the eyes right now.

“We’ve spent the last couple days getting sick out of our minds in the bathroom, it smell’s like a bar in here and yet, you can’t even find it in you to push through for a few hours for your best friend?” He doesn’t really mean it that way, he’ll come back later tonight begging me to understand what he really meant, but just because Harry has always been kind does not mean he has always been smart. Sometimes, even the person who preaches kindness to everyone can be a foul man to the people he loves.

“You know that’s not what’s happening, stop being a jerk!” I scream but I don’t mean to. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m yelling because I’m not angry, or irritated or anything. It’s like I’ve been dragged through some slick mud, stuck in it with nothing to grab onto to pull me out, not even Harry. It keeps me here, in this bed, it’s paralysis through the brain. I can move but every cell in my body advises me to stay put.

Breathing heavily, Harry simply sticks his hands into his pockets, shoving his knuckles down so harshly that I can see the waist tug down just a little further on his stomach. His nose is flaring up and his lips moving with his tongue that swipes over his teeth.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, I really don’t, but you need to fix it.” It’s low coming from his mouth, almost like he wants me to hear it, but he doesn’t want to say it. My throat has gone dry now, eyes looking at his forehead rather than his eyes because now I can’t even stand the sight of him anymore. I’m so much more than tired and he doesn’t get it, my best friend doesn’t get it.

The door closes, the handle rattling with the force he shuts it with, and yet even though we’ve just blown up at each other all I can worry about is if he’d hung the do not disturb sign on the door or not. My best friend, my life has just walked out on me, blind with rage and all I can worry about is if someone will come knocking or not?

I’ve always known there was something wrong with me, the sunny Saturday’s not hitting quite the same and the good things always draining my body of the little life I had left to give. The other kids were never that way, going from party to party in high school and laughing like they had no tomorrow to worry about.

Theres something royally fucked up about me and I don’t know how to help it. I know that theres nothing wrong with what I have, but I can’t help but feel ashamed when I find the most interest in rotting away in some lumpy bed when the whole world is just at my fingertips and I can explore it all with a hell of a good man and best friend by my side.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my self pity, and for a second I almost let myself believe that it could be Harry coming back. But the voice of an older woman knocking to see if anyone will answer and tell her to go away changes the image of Harry on the other side of the door into a woman hunched over with a cleaning cart and reality sets in.

“Sorry, I’m in here!” I call out, and when she doesn’t answer, I let myself become pulled from the bed, sitting up to answer it if I have to. The wheels of the cart move on to the rest of the hallway, a faint knock followed by the jingle of room keys tell me that she’s left, and so has Harry.

A trip I planned for him, one that I worked so hard to make possible just in case I were to never be put in a position where I could ever again, ruined because of myself. A selfish monster is crawling under my skin, over my bones and it just doesn’t feel right, why can’t I feel alright?

Hot tears are pouring down my cheeks, falling into my lap as I now sit in nothing more than a damp swimsuit and Harry’s old grey shirt I stole from him back in high school. It still smells like him, even after I’ve washed it over and over. I try not to because once it’s gone, and I fear that all leftover from our youth will become washed away and the cloudy haze of simplicity that comes with it.

“Oh, god!” The words heave out of me in a deep breath, cracking with each syllable. I try to rub my hands up and down against my thighs, but my hands are shaking and I can’t see all that well through my teary vision, I find myself clawing at the fat of my thighs, pressing deeper and deeper until the ache becomes so intense that my fingers stutter and break free.

I don’t think I could speak if I tried. It’s hard to scream when it’s hard to breathe, and my lungs are giving out right in front of me while I wail like a tall child, rocking slightly with each deep breath and the tremble of my joints.

Its dark, orange hues sinking into pitch black lit up by splintered streetlights and yellowed overhead lights shining through windows. The moon casts a streak of light through the glass doors, the same that lead out onto the balcony, and I can see the crescent shapes of my nails tattooed into my skin and red with blood.

Harry’s out getting drunk, probably bent over a pool table or people watching at the outdoor bar on the other side of the resort, and I imagine his velvet laugh hanging in the air and the gentle sound of his hushed dirty jokes whispered in my ears.

I hope he knows that I do love him, I only ever want him around forever, and if I could fix myself in every way to be more fit for you, I would. I just hope that someday he’ll forget all about this, and I could act happy.

“Are you still mad at me?” My arms are tucked over the sheets, hands clasped together and eyes glued to the ceiling, Harry does nothing more than breathe heavily out through his nose beside me in the same position I lay in.

“Harry?” I call again, the shuffle of my head rubbing against the pillow case filling the silence in the room.

It’s nearly the same time as the night before, our last day together spent avoiding speaking to each other, but our longing gazes speak for us, and we both recognize that we miss the company of the other.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to waste any of our time together, I just wasn’t feeling right.” I try to reason, and I don’t think it works until I see his head falling to the side to look at me, his hands unclasping so he can reach up and brush the flyaways out of my face.

“It’s okay.” He tells me with his palm pressed to my cheek, slowly moving to cradle my jawline with his pinky.

He wears a sad smile, one that tells me he’s still bothered. But, unfortunately for him, I’m a sick woman, not a nasty one.

“No, it’s not okay, it’s not and I’m sorry.” Shaking his shoulder with my hand, I find it in my sleep filled bones to pull the sheets off of both of us, slipping over his body to stand by the side of his bed where I start shaking him again.

“It’s not okay so let me make it up to you.” My hands find their way under his arms, trying my best to pull him from the mattress that has been dented with the shapes of our bodies.

He whines, closing his eyes and fighting a smile but doesn’t try to fight against my pull. He falls into my body with a grunt, eyelashes fluttering against my collar bone and the feeling of his lips curling into a secret smile against my shoulder, we both laugh silently, and my hands briefly rub at his back.

“Alright, come on idiot, get up because I’m taking you out. My treat!” Shoving him back into the bed, he bounces against the worn springs and settles back into place, hands folded over his stomach and a toothy grin on his face. I can see how his eyes shift, the same broken eyes from the night before mended into the same green ones I always knew, the same ones that were now subtly shifting around to observe my face, admiring my smile the way I do to him.

“We don’t have all night, come on!” And he’s up, feet padding behind mine with that same lopsided smile he’s worn since we started talking again and the same energy I’ve always known him to have.

We’re out the door within minutes, barely even put together when the door slams shut, just like before only now we’re both rushing down the steps, tripped over the gaps in the stairs and the weeds that grow within the cement.

“Come on, catch up!” I can’t stop laughing, no alcohol in my system and yet I’ve got the same rose colored haze covering my eyes and the same smile that bears all my teeth.

Harry is panting behind me, joking that without his trainer and daily routines he’s lost his touch, his feet slapping the ground with a loud thud every time they connect, breath heavy in my ears.

The moon hangs high in the sky, accompanied by millions of sparkling stars surrounding its welcoming glow and twinkling fairy lights hung from every nearby post to the next. You can yell and scream all you want and the music from the outdoor bar and the hum of the air conditioning will tune you out. It’s like free falling without the bone crush sprinting and weaving through these paths, it feels like living.

In the distance, from across the street just beyond the pools you can hear the music grow louder, my ears picking up on the strumming of a baseline and the tune of an old song that we used to sing not so long ago.

Freddie Mercury’s voice mixed with Bowie is something I believe to be heaven on earth, a mix that can never be over appreciated or overplayed. We’ve caught the beginning of the famous song and we both know it, and without a second glance, Harry smiles at me because he knows it better than anyone that I’ve set my heart on something tonight.

My palms are sweating in the humid summer night heat, but I grab onto Harry’s hand anyways and pull him along with me, only quickly checking both ways for cars as we sprint across the significantly newer cement and laugh. A car’s headlights appear just over the hill and a small blue car speeds past us once we’ve made it up the curb, but I don’t stop.

No, instead I’m turning my whole body to face him, only focused on the curly headed boy who’s held my heart in the palms of his hands since we were only kids running on the blacktop and through the muddy grass at school. I only hear his muffled laughter under the booming music and the crowd that takes up the makeshift dance floor at the bar.

His feet are planted on the floor and I can feel my hands slipping away from his, Freddie sings about the people on the streets, the snaps of the bridge quiet enough for my voice to begin reaching his ears.

“I don’t dance!” He shrugs his shoulders, letting his hands fall to his sides stubbornly as I back away towards the crowd even more, but I stick close by.

“Harry.” Tilting my head, I look at him knowingly. He does dance, within the tiling of my kitchen or the walls of his bedroom, on stage for his fans or at parties after a few too many shots. Harry does dance, he just wont.

“I never, ever dance.” He’s trying to convince me, trying to hide his smile that so desperately wants to break free.

Holding my arms out and moving my body back slowly, I smile at him fondly, “I’m dancing with or without you.” I’m getting farther away now, and he’s stuck in place, watching with his best poker face.

“I told you I love to dance!” Spinning around, I place my hands on my hips and do my worst dancing possible just to see the blush on his face rise into a peachy pink.

“Y/n/n, stop. This is embarrassing.” He tries to keep lying, but his words fade into a weak laugh at the end and his teeth show for just a second too long.

“This is embarrassing?” He knows I don’t believe him, I never did but still I find myself moving closer to the crowd, stepping to the beat and and swaying my hips and shoulders.

When I turn around, he’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before, like I’ve hung the sun and the stars all for him and spread them across the sky.

“What? Come on.” My arm slings around his shoulder, pulling him in and trapping him on the dance floor. He finds it funny, all this fight, but he’s breaking down and we both know it.

“Ready?” I tease, holding his biceps in my hands and trying to move in the same way I just was. He tries to tell me to stop, by I don’t pay him any attention as I tell him, “Let’s dance.”

“Stop!” He shoves me back playfully, but his smile is showing all his teeth and his laugh is filled with pure happiness, he doesn’t even try to fight when I pull him back onto the floor, dancing with him with no real rhythm or rules.

I feel his heartbeat against mine, our bodies pressed together tightly as he spins me in his arms like real friends do.

‘Cause loves such an old-fashioned word and love dares you to care for the people(people on the streets) on the edge of the night and love(people on the streets) dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.

He spins me around and holds my head in his hands, I can smell the toothpaste on his lips and feel the scars from his guitar on his pointer and his thumb.

This is our last dance, this is our last dance

“Have I ever told you I love you?” I scream at him despite how close we are, and the smile he shows me is infectious.

“A few times, yeah!” He jokes, but the music is too good and the night is growing tired. I don’t want this night to end, I want to feel this way forever, I don’t want to have to always chase it.

“Well I mean it, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else!” He spins for the thousandth time of the night, lifting my head above his just to hear my squeals.

“Consider myself lucky then, because I love you like I’ve loved no one else!” Harry says it, but he says it in a way that feels different than my confession. I hope I can hold onto him forever.

This is ourselves

The camera clicks to a stop, a collection of some stray videos from early high school and a storyline reflecting back on our final trip. The camera still has dents from her careless behavior when storing it away, and the quality of each video feels so much worse without her here to watch and laugh with me. It feels older, I am older.

A year since I’d last seen her, a year since we took separate planes home and promised to visit each other soon. A year since I got that damn letter in the mail taped to a small gift shaped in a crinkly mess from the blue wrapping paper just days after the news broke like some sort of sick joke.

I hate that I can only hear her voice through the salvaged videos, the wind covering the breathiness of her laugh and the calming sound of her voice. I hate the way I’ll never see the way her eyes sparkle under the night skies again, and most importantly I hate how I never saw it coming, even when she was showing me all of the signs.

I don’t think I’ll ever open that letter, not for a while at least, when the pain has settled. But how can it when I’ve just lost my whole life? The only person to ever make me feel alive in a way nobody else ever could, not even the screaming crowds of thousands of fans each night.

But I’ll reread the front of it like a prayer, her messy handwriting something I’ll miss forever, the little notes she’d pass or the drawings in sharpie that left stains behind on my coffee table.

The front of the letter, though crinkled from shipping and losing its stickiness reads, “To Harry, the love of my life, I love you always and forever. Love, y/n.” And just beside her name she leaves a little heart, something to try and lessen the blow of her absence.

And the glasses she sent along with the letter, the last thing she ever gave me. They still have a lingering smell of Italy, but more than that, I convince myself I can still smell her perfume on the plastic. Even when doing one last nice thing to me though, she leaves a little piece of paper taped to the lenses, “They were getting a little gross…try these.” And with snot running down my chin and red blotches of skin from my tears, I find myself laughing at her stupid little insult.

I know I’ll love these forever, and I’ll laugh whenever I put them on, because in my head I can see her taking them off of my head and trying them on, and we’ll both agree that they look better on her.

I hope they never loose her smell, and I hope that I never forget the sound of her voice or the colors in her eyes. She’ll never know about the plans I hoped we’d make, and she’ll never be back to try and embarrass me and dance with me in public.

But sometimes when I’m lucky I get to relive those moments in my sleep, and it’s almost like I can still feel her touch and see her smile even if it’s across some dark bar that never ends.

So I’ll live through her in pieces, telling all those willing to listen her story and how much I’ll always love her. And I’ll hang onto our last dance forever.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Melodic Memories | Track 1: Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, high school breakups, divorce, estranged parent/strained parental relationship, depression, high school drama, anxiety, mentions of drinking, mentions of hookups/one night stands, unrequited love, PTSD mentions/explanations of reactions and behaviours due to PTSD, mentions of addiction/drugs, smoking, swearing, best friend fluff, sorry if i miss any!

Here we go!! I’m so excited to share this. this story is very near and dear to my heart as all of these songs are very special to me in one way or another. I will warn this is a bit of a slowburn, and there’s a lot of flashbacks/memories in the chapters to showcase the extent of the relationship between the characters. As always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 I can’t wait to hear what you guys think

I usually have a listen while reading section, and it’s mostly a suggestion, but it’s imperative that you listen to the song stated in the title at least before reading, as every chapter is directly related to each one. If that’s not your thing, at least give the lyrics a quick read over! Much love 🫶🏻

SIX YEARS LATER

“Holy fuck, you have a lot of stuff.” Your best friend let out a dramatic huff as she dropped an overflowing box to the ground. You looked back at her over your shoulder, letting out a small chuckle as she pushed her long hair away from her forehead. She was tired, that much was obvious, and so were you. Still, despite your aching bodies and worn down minds, the two of you persevered with faith that the end goal would be worth all of the suffering.

“So do you.” You reminded her, folding a t-shirt and setting it neatly atop a pile of clothes you had been focused on. “Don’t hear me complaining about it.”

“Yeah, as if.” She scoffed. You could hear the roll of her eyes in her tone, striking a small smile on your face as she took a step towards you. “All you do is complain.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it pisses you off.” You grinned, grabbing an old pair of jeans from the mound of clothes you pulled from your closet. You looked over the tired material, your lips turning down into a frown as you tossed them into a pile on the ground, knowing there was no sense in keeping them when they looked one wear away from disintegrating.

“I’m kidding, you know that.” She assured you, making it clear that she wasn’t truly as upset as her words seemed. She began moving another box from your bed to the hallway, huffing as she bargained with the weight of the item. She was stacking them outside your door to allow for some more space inside the already tiny room.

Despite the smallness and the outdated decor, it felt nice to be back, sleeping on the same comfortable mattress you’d grown so used to when you lived at home. In truth, the lack of space was mostly credited to your oversized bed; you had begged your mom for a king size, asking for it for every Christmas and birthday from the ages of ten to sixteen until she finally cracked and made the purchase. Turns out, it was a great purchase, because six years and a graduate degree later, you and your best friend were sharing it while you prepared to move into your own apartment a few towns over.

You had traveled to Mel’s hometown almost a month prior, tearing apart her childhood bedroom just the same as you were doing to your own. You packed boxes full of her belongings, spending some quality time with her parents while learning and laughing about the funniest of all her childhood stories. Just like her, her parents were fun, free spirited and more accepting than even you could comprehend. They took you in with open arms, extending their gratitude for loving their daughter so dearly while she was so far away from home.

In truth, the pleasure was all yours, because in your six years at university, you felt as though Mel was the reason that you not only survived, but flourished. The two of you clicked instantly when you met, finding each other during your first week of freshman year in an intro to classic literature class. You bonded over your mutual dislike for your monotone professor who had to make an effort to be so disinterested in her own syllabus, and from there, the rest was history.

“You know, I actually liked Jane Eyre before I took this class.” You muttered under your breath, casting a sideways glance at the girl sitting next to you.

Her dirty blonde hair hung over her face, her eyes focused on a piece of empty paper in an unused notebook as she clutched a black pen in her hand. Every time the professor would switch slides on her PowerPoint, she would jump to write something down, but stop once she realized that once again, the gray haired woman was spewing nothing of significance.

Her skin was sunkissed, like she had spent all summer on the beach (or in a tanning bed—who were you to judge?), and her clothes were cute, but comfortable. Her brown eyes flickered to meet yours, her head turning ever so slightly to give you a glimpse of her face through her thick locks of wavy hair. The warmth within them was familiar, like you had seen them before in someone else you loved so dearly. You swallowed hard, forcing the thought out of your head. You were nervous, yet still excited at the thought of making a new friend, wondering if your words held any value to her, or if she would tell you to shut up.

Since moving to town, you hadn’t found one person you clicked with. You met lots of rich boys who threw their money in your face in hopes of convincing you to sleep with them, and plenty of girls who turned their nose up at your jeans with holes in the knees. They all looked like they stepped out of a magazine, and you felt completely out of place as you tried to break free from your small town habits. You dressed the same as you did in senior year, barely understanding how to be a university student and definitely lacking in the fashion department. You wore makeup to parties, but never anywhere else, mostly because in the years prior, you never felt the need to impress anyone.

Your long term relationship in high school left you more than secure with yourself, happy if you were comfortable and confident without any external aids. Now that he wasn’t by your side, you realized just how dearly he loved you, because without a pristine outward appearance, all of the university-goers seemed to turn their heads as you walked by. You had yet to find anyone to make friends with, and definitely no romantic interests as you tried to mend the hole in your heart that formed when you left your boyfriend behind to start anew. You were lonely, and more importantly, desperate to find someone to talk to.

“UPenn, Ivy League with a 7% acceptance rate and an English program better than any of their competitors, if you survive it.” She cracked a small smile, keeping her voice hushed as she joined in on the joke. “Only place in the world you can pay 20k a year for someone to put you to sleep.” You bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to swallow back the laugh stuck in your throat. You had sat beside the unnamed girl for your first three classes of the semester, but never found the courage to speak to her until that moment. She was the first person you had met that radiated a bit of life, something unique and alluring in her eyes that you couldn’t quite place. More than that, when you looked at her, you felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity. You were incredibly appreciative that she reciprocated any of your efforts at all.

“I think she put herself to sleep on Wednesday.” You confessed, recalling her slumped posture as she sat at her desk, waiting too long to engage in the group discussion after assigning an individual comprehension activity.

“Think she’s on her way there now, actually.” The girl nodded towards the front, suppressing a grin as she noticed the professor's drooping eyelids and extended bout of silence. The two of you shared a silent giggle, shaking shoulders and hurting bellies as you used all of your energy to silence yourselves in fear of getting caught. “I’m Mel, by the way.” She said, introducing herself after she calmed herself down.

“Y/N.” You replied, feeling better than you had in days. It felt nice to laugh, especially with someone who seemed to adorn the same sense of humour as your own. “Mel… is that short for Melanie? Or are you just ‘Mel’, cause that would be cool. Mysterious, even.”

“Neither, actually.” She chuckled, shifting in her seat so she was facing you a little better. “It’s short for ‘Mélange’, which is the stupidest fucking name I’ve ever heard.” She gave you a moment to digest the fact before explaining further, noticing your curious eyes as you held back another laugh. “My parents had me young, during their hippy-dippy era when they smoked too much weed and dressed like they were headed to Woodstock. Apparently it means ‘a mixture of dissimilar elements’, because I was made from different parts of them, or whatever. To me, it sounds like a really weird way of saying they had sex, and I really don’t think it meant that much to them back then. Probably just wanted to be the first to name their kid something, then realized how ridiculous it sounded so they had to come up with a story about it.”

“That’s… cool, though.” You stifled another laugh, finding her expression comedic as she rehashed the same story she used to explain her name every time someone asked.

“Yeah, cool unless it’s your own. Try growing up with that name and trying to survive the American public school system.” She shuddered at the thought, but a smile still lingered on her lips, telling you that she truly didn’t care that much anymore. “What about you? Your name short for anything, or are you just cool like that?”

From there, the title of best friends went without question. You did everything together, ranging from schoolwork to trips to the grocery store, hating the thought of being apart even while doing the most mundane tasks. You had made a pact to live together after graduation, unable to digest the idea of being apart when your university days ended, and you took the promise seriously. Since then, you did everything you could to ensure it happened, including travelling to her home state to pack up her shit so long as she promised to help you with yours. You both decided to go in the direction of teaching with your degrees, so you thought that if you lived together, you even had a shot of getting hired at the same school. Though, she seemed more keen on teaching younger students, and you leaned more towards high school.

There was lots still up in the air, especially without a solid job offer in line, but the two of you were determined to make it work, knowing that if you had each other, you could get through anything. Your mom was enough of a saint to house the two of you while you figured your shit out, and that’s what you were doing; packing, reminiscing, applying, and enjoying your life before things got too hectic again.

Despite it being manual labour, you quite enjoyed the experience of packing up your belongings, even though it did feel a bit melancholic at times. With every item you picked up, you were reminded of memories you’d shoved so far down that they were nearly forgotten. Although not all of them were the best, they were still important, and they showed you how far you had come when sometimes it felt like you made no progress at all. Mel was having a fantastic time for a whole different reason, finding your dramatic retelling of stories greatly comedic, and getting her first pick at the clothes you were planning on donating.

Being back at home with your family was different than it was all those years ago. Your mom, who had finally come to terms with the fact you were an adult, drank wine with you both in the evening as she got to know your best friend beyond what the surplus of FaceTime calls allowed over the years. You went on errands with her when you wanted to get away from packing, and enjoyed the things you once took for granted. Some nights, when she found herself a little too tipsy and reminiscent on the years that passed so quickly, she sat before you, weepy-eyed as she professed how proud she was of you. You felt like you were learning a whole new side of her, rather than the strict but loving one you knew all of that time ago. She was a woman who hurt and cried just as much as you did, who always put her kids first and held herself together when she was falling apart, just for the sake of being the rock in the house. You found yourself growing a whole new respect and a whole different kind of love for her, and you were grateful for the opportunity to see it.

Your younger sister, who was also staying at home for the summer, found herself hanging out in your room more often than not. There was much less arguments over who was spending more time in the bathroom, and no more mean words shared between the two of you that once flew so fast. In the early hours of the night, you finally had the chance to have the heart-to-hearts you missed out on when you were angry at each other over nothing important. She had grown up just as much as you had, and it almost pained you to see a woman standing in the shoes of the little girl you best knew her as.

Being in your hometown was different, and you had spent little time there since your studies began. Mostly for a few days during the holidays, and rarely any other time. When Mel pitched the idea of moving out of dorms and into an apartment, the visits grew much less frequent and when they did happen, it wasn’t usually for very long. You didn’t have many friends left in Frankenmuth, if any at all. The town was strange, a former village in which you had built a life that was now completely abandoned. Shops you used to love closed down for good and replaced with something new, old hideaways being changed into modern corporate hellscapes. Every year, there seemed to be new buildings lining the streets and different faces regularly appearing on sidewalks. It was home, for sure, but nowhere near as comfortable as it used to be. When you blundered around the town, you felt like a stranger visiting for the first time, learning everything all over again.

“Hey,” Mel caught your attention, pulling a cork board from your closet that had pictures tacked to the surface and small paper decorations in between. “Ms. Fishers sixth grade graduation!” She exclaimed, pointing to the banner of cardstock paper tacked to the top, the letters outlined with black sharpie and filled in with coloured marker. You laughed at the sight, realizing you hadn’t seen that board in years as you stepped towards her.

“That’s me!” You exclaimed, pointing to you standing in the mini-graduation gown at the very end of the front row. The class picture was sweet, but it made you wonder where everyone else in the class ended up. After all these years, were they nearing twenty five with no clue where they were headed, just like you? Or were they settled down with families, finding full time jobs and building lives with the people they loved?

The thought was saddening to you, making you realize how far away you were from getting to that point. A relationship was laughable, barely mentioning marriage and kids. In your six years of university, you had your fair share of hookups and flings, but never anything serious. You couldn’t seem to find anyone who you connected with further than physical attraction, and certainly nobody you would be willing to spend your life with. So far, the only compatible relationship for living was the girl standing next to you, and you were certain at some point, she would be ready to move on to something different.

“Look at this,” you stepped past her, grinning as you grabbed a cowboy hat from one of the handmade shelves at the top of your closet. Your dad, when he was still a good dad, made it for you so you could have some extra space. You placed the hat on your head, tilting it downwards over your face as you struck a pose. The dollar store gemstones you hot glued to the top glimmered under the light, making the sight even more ridiculous.

“What is that?” She asked, caught in a fit of laughter as she looked at the poorly decorated hat.

“I got really into spirit days at school.” You shrugged, tossing the hat in the pile of throwaway items.

“Loser.” She muttered, reaching for an old sports jacket suspended on a hanger. “Volleyball?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow as she read the words embroidered on the back.

“Yeah, tenth grade and never again. Coach was a bitch.” You explained, reaching for it to see if it still fit. As you made a move to slip it over your shoulders, you froze in place, knowing that even if it did fit, you would never wear it again. Instead, you threw it in the pile of clothes you were planning to drop off at the thrift store.

“Oh, cool!” You exclaimed, a shiny trophy catching your eye, hidden in the back corner of the top shelf. You brought it down, flashing it in her direction so she could read the gold panel.

“1st place…. Frankenmuth Middle School Relay?” She asked, unsure of what the award was for.

“Big race we used to do at the end of the year. Think the teachers got sick of lesson planning, so they brought us to the soccer field to do a bunch of activities. I was the fastest in the class that year.” You said, proud of the achievement as you placed it back upon the shelf.

“Is this a diary?” She asked, hauling an old leather bound book from a stack of papers and magazines.

“Yes,” you cackled, snatching it from her hands and flipping it open to a random page. “Let’s see… April 30th, 2010.” You cleared your throat for dramatic effects, beginning to read the entry aloud. “Today, in English class, Liam S. was totally checking me out. He’s definitely not the cutest guy in the class, but he’s funny, and he’s so nice. I hope he asks me to the spring dance, mom got me a new dress and everything!”

“And did Liam S. sweep you off your feet that night?” She asked, pulling her hands to her heart as she let out an airy sigh.

“No, but we did date.” You explained. “For three weeks, until I broke up with him for rating me too low on a hot or not list.”

“What!?” She exploded, her voice shrill as an echoing laugh boomed through the room.

“Yeah, apparently I only had the fourth best ass in the class.” You scoffed, quickly reading a little further into the book. You used to sit in your bedroom for hours at night, pouring your heart out on to the paper just for it to be forgotten in a mess of items in your room. “It’s funny, you know. I used to carry this thing with me everywhere, and I barely even remembered it existed.”

“Yeah, there was lots of stuff that I did the same thing with. Used to be a prized possession, now they just collect dust on a shelf somewhere.” She muttered, pulling out a large box sitting in the back corner. “And for the record, I bet you had the best ass out of anyone at that school.” She clarified, plopping the cardboard down on your mattress.

“No, I definitely didn’t.” You laughed, looking to the door as you heart a small pitter-patter of paws against the linoleum floor. The jingle of the bell around the collar signified your suspicions were correct, and when a fuzzy head peeked around the corner, you greeted him with excitement. “The man himself, Blizzard of Ozz: Prince of Fucking Darkness!” You exclaimed, watching as the tubby black cat raised his tail and rubbed himself up against the doorframe. He let out a meow in response to your voice, happily trotting over to greet you.

“Don’t call him by his full name unless he does something wrong!” Mel scolded, reaching down to pick him up as he rubbed against her leg. “He won’t take us seriously if we use it all the time.” She plopped him down on the bed, the sound of his purring loud enough to reach both of your ears. He sniffed around the boxes a few times, nudging his face against the corner of the cardboard flaps to investigate the item taking up his place on the mattress.

“I don’t think he ever really takes us seriously, Mel.” You furrowed your brows together, looking from her to the small animal curiously meandering around the bed. “He gets treats and new toys every day, and we kiss him on the head after we scold him because we feel too bad about it.”

“Right, so don’t give away the last bit of power we have left.” She said, fixing the tag on his collar that somehow adorned his entire name in small print.

The cat was spoiled, loved so wholly and deeply by the two of you that sometimes you believed he was in charge. After a particularly rough exam week in your second last year of school, the two of you took a break from studying and took a walk downtown to clear your mind. You stopped at a coffee shop a few blocks away from your apartment building, where you found him, keeping content by playing with empty coffee cups in the nearby alleyway. Being two kindhearted people, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind. Within two weeks, he had made himself at home in your apartment, and not long after that, in your hearts, too. He went with you on every adventure; his harness being on more often than not. He tagged along in every road trip, and neither of you ever thought once about leaving him behind as you moved across the country again.

He was a witty and clever little thing, always sneaking into places he shouldn’t be and never allowing himself to go unnoticed. The minute you stepped in a room, he was squeaking at you to pet him, and never did he allow either of you to sit alone on the couch. He took turns sleeping with the both of you, and was happier than ever now that you shared a bed and he didn’t have to pick.

And yes, his full name was The Man Himself, Blizzard of Ozz: Prince of Fucking Darkness.

Oftentimes, Ozz sufficed.

The cat actually went unnamed for quite some time after you brought him home. Neither of you seemed keen on the names being suggested, so for a while, he went by ‘Mr. Man.’ Or some odd arangement of classic terms of endearment that got stranger by the day. Then, when the two of you found yourselves a little too high off some weed you bought from an upperclassman, the name made its first appearance. You both took turns rambling ridiculous titles for him, until you took a leap of faith and rattled off the first thing you thought of when Crazy Train played from your Bluetooth speaker. The laughing was so intense it brought the both of you to tears, and from there, it seemed to stick.

Now, you couldn’t think of a better name to call him, even if it was a little ridiculous.

Careful not to disturb him, Mel reached forward into the box, lifting a few items from it. Ozz busied himself by chewing on the cardboard flap, not privy to the woman beside him at all. “What’s all this stuff?” She asked, looking over a few sheets of Monopoly money, a cracked mirror from the dollar store, and a deck of playing cards.

“That must be the stuff I cleared out of my locker in senior year.” You said, turning your head downwards and peeking inside. “Yeah, it definitely is.” You confirmed, pulling out a set of string lights with a battery pack attached. “It’s all junk, you can throw it out.” You dismissed it, ready to move on to something new.

“Are you sure?” She asked, looking between you and the box with great hesitancy. You casted another sideways glance, your lips pursing together as you wondered if it was worth your time.

Something in your heart told you not to jump so fast, to think about it a moment longer before discarding the memories away so easily. You tried not to be a sentimental person, because you found that sentiments only seemed to hurt you rather than bring you comfort. You used to be that type of person, so many moons ago when life was simple and the most you had to worry about was a surplus of homework and no pocket change to spend. Now, you thought it was ridiculous, and you did everything you could to draw a line between memories and objects. Items could not hurt, just the same as they could not be happy. They were objects, inanimate and unable to mean more than what you made them to be.

But there was something about that fucking box, like it was fate for you to rediscover all the things that awaited you inside.

“Let’s go through it.” You said, changing your mind as your skin prickled with curiosity. The emotion that took hold was unfamiliar, confusing and unsettling when you thought about throwing it away. It washed over you so quickly that you couldn’t even think of anything else, and you wondered if you were the very thing psyching yourself up for nothing, or if there was a reason you felt such a pull to the old items inside.

You sat on the side of your bed, your hands landing on the very corners as you gripped at the soft sheets lining the mattress. As you did so, a twang of hurt filled your chest, passing almost as soon as it came. You blinked hard, your eyes wandering the room as you tried to comprehend the sudden change in yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed together, your mind racing as you looked at the old chestnut dresser that stood next to the door, standing prominently against the crimson paint on the walls. The scene was so familiar, just like the melancholic emotion that came along with it. The hurt in your heart seemed right as you sat on the edge of your bed, but you didn’t know why.

“Are you okay?” Mel asked, also noticing the shift in your demeanor. Your head snapped towards her, your eyes glossy with the feeling that plagued you, but you nodded your head and tried your hardest to snap yourself out of it.

“Yeah, just a nasty little bit of deja-vu, I think.” You breathed, your eyes wandering back to the empty door frame. Whatever your brain wanted you to remember was pertinent to you, but you couldn’t seem to put it together yet. You felt like you’d been in the exact position before, but you couldn’t place it.

“I get it,” she empathized, taking a seat next to you and placing the box on the floor in front of her. “It’s a lot seeing all of your old stuff, like a lifetime you’ve completely forgotten about.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, the sound airy and forced. “I haven’t thought about high school in so long that it kind of just seems like a different world, now. I kind of forced myself to stop thinking about it, because it hurt too bad, you know? And I guess after a while, I blocked it out completely.” She knew what you meant, because in the entire time you’d known her, you had been unreasonably stingy with stories from your high school days. Every time she mentioned it, you seemed to go to a different place entirely, like you were using all of your energy to ensure the memories wouldn’t resurface. She respected you enough not to ask, but it was impossible to run away from now that you were standing face to face with the very things you tried so hard to stay away from.

“We don’t have to go through this, if you don’t want to.” She assured you, watching your face as your eyes fluttered towards the box.

“I do and I don’t.” You tried your best to explain how you felt, hesitant to reach out and explore the items before you, but gutted at the prospect of throwing it in the trash. “I feel like I’ve grown so much and I’m so different, and I don’t need to see any of this stuff again, but there’s something telling me I have to look through it all, that if I don’t, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.” She bargained with your words before she responded, carefully considering all you had to say.

“Seems like you’re looking for something, but you don’t know what it is.” She offered the idea with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Yeah, maybe.” You muttered, finally harnessing enough courage to reach forward and sort through the mess of items.

Underneath a pile of loose papers, you found your old graduation cap. You held it in your hands, your fingers drifting over the silky, light blue fabric. You let your hand drift downward, running through the red threads of the tassel that dangled from the top. You placed it to the side, finding little comfort in the item at all. Below that lay a tattered AP Biology textbook, the front cover frayed and littered with marks from the students who used it before (and remembered to return it). There was an old pencil case stuffed to the brim with writing utensils and erasers. When you pulled it open, you found a folded up note from a fellow friend that was much too faded to read.

The more you pulled out, the stronger the tugging in your heart felt. Photographs of you and your old friends, bent and torn, floated loosely around the box. You took the time to study every one of them, saddened at how estranged you’d become from them. You didn’t talk to anyone from your hometown, and although you thought cutting contact was for the best, it only seemed to hurt as you recalled the sleepovers and adventures you engaged in with people who didn’t know you any longer. It all hurt.

Why did it hurt so fucking bad?

Sitting on the edge of the bed, boxes packed and the lingering scent of your mother’s favourite lavender candle hanging thick in the air. The chestnut boards of the dresser that once stored your entire wardrobe, the tile underneath your feet, impossibly cold despite the summer heat radiating through the panel windows by your bedside. Reruns of Dr. Phil on the television downstairs, the hum of a song stuck in your head despite no tune playing at all.

You’ve been here, in this exact position, hurting over something with the same fervor as you felt in the moment. It was so far away. Why couldn’t you remember?

For once, six years after leaving the town, you were aching to remember the memories and the love that was contained within the walls of the home, but you couldn’t. You pushed it so far away that the life you once led in Michigan no longer felt like your own. It was hazy, fuzzy around the corners every time you tried to recollect a scene. The voices were warbled, echoing somewhere deep behind your eyes and not quite loud enough to reach your ears.

Why did you try so hard to forget? Why did you force it away so desperately?

Then, the world stopped.

No person beside you, no curious cat nudging your hand. Dr. Phil had gone silent, and the air wasn’t even filled with the sweet notes of vanilla laced in unison with lavender. The creaks and groans of the old house ceased to exist, and the mattress below you disintegrated to nothing. You were stuck, frozen in time, floating amidst a cloud of smoke that wouldn’t clear. Your lungs burned for air, your heart threatening to explode under the weight of emotion. Your mind was repeating the same thing over and over again, incessantly reminding you, forcing you to remember everything you had hidden away in hopes of closure.

Instead of your voice, it was his, saying the same words that were written in silver sharpie on the lid of the tiny, black shoebox.

So let’s make it last.

“Oh, god.” You wheezed out the words, feeling like you were suffocating from the plethora of pain encasing your body. In an instant, six years spent dedicated to forgetting suddenly dissolved into one, terrifying storm of reminiscing.

The box.

The box.

That’s why you couldn’t throw it away.

“What is wrong, Y/N?” Mel asked, urgent as if she’d already asked a hundred times.

Little to your knowledge, she had, but you were too busy listening to the sweet sound of Jake Kiszka’s voice, stored so pristinely in the deepest depths of your mind.

“The shoebox.” You squeaked, raising a shaky finger to point her attention towards the poorly painted over Vans logo.

“So, what? What is it?”

What is it? It was everything.

It was a box full of love, sealed so long ago and hidden away for safekeeping when you couldn’t part from the physical reminders of the boy who forever had your heart. It was years worth of memories, years worth of emotion you hadn’t let yourself feel since you locked it away.

“That should be everything, my love.” Your mom crooned, placing the last movie ticket stub inside the box and sending a sorrowful look your way. Your tear stained cheeks were too much for her to bear, but she loved you enough to stand witness to the biggest heartbreak of your life. She loved you enough to put her own hurt aside, just to ease yours, to alleviate you from being the one to close the book on the chapter that hurt you the most. “What do you want to do with it, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know.” You drew in a shaky breath, holding in a wail that was begging to escape you.

It had been 110 days since you had broken up with Jake, since you left him with sad eyes and a heart that bled only for you standing in your driveway, the ghost of his last ‘I love you’ still on his lips. It had been 110 days of the most gut wrenching, exhausting, and excruciating pain you had ever felt.

The snow stuck to the ground, the frost nipping at your nose when you stepped outside, and the Christmas tree standing tall in your living room told you that the season had passed and the world was still turning, but you felt stuck in that sticky summer day in August, tears on your cheeks and love on the tip of your tongue as you spent your last night with him. It was the first time you’d been home since then, the first time stepping foot in your bedroom after creating your most haunting memory within it.

You knew you needed to get over him, but you did not know how.

How do you move on from someone who loved you so completely and wholly? How do you stop lamenting about better days that have since passed and will never return? How do you keep going, knowing you would never hold his hand again, feel his touch, or appreciate the sweetness of his kiss? How could you move on when you did not hate him? When his memory still existed in your mind and he was still that perfect person?

The memory of him lived within the walls of your house still, his shampoo still lingering on your pillowcase and his love still in the air. The reminders of your relationship existed in every corner of your bedroom, on the walls, in picture frames, and in the threads of your sheets and blankets. Even now, with the pictures and love notes and dried flowers contained in a single box, you had no idea how to get him out of your head.

“Wait,” you sniffled, watching your mom begin to close the top of the box. You couldn’t stand to do it yourself. You tumbled down the stairs, a mess of tears on your face and a pain in your heart growing larger by the second, begging her to help you gut the last remaining proof of your relationship from the walls. “There’s one more thing.” You confessed, reaching down into your book bag. 

For 110 days, you kept it so close, carrying it with you wherever you went and playing it through the disc drive in your laptop every night to fall asleep. Now, you knew that you would never be able to move on, especially not if you continued to hold on to the memory so tightly.

With an unsteady hand and a heaving chest, you handed her the plastic CD case. Her eyes traveled over the faded writing on the disk itself, and her heart ached for you. Slowly, she placed it underneath the rest of the items, hiding it from sight to make it easier on you.

“I’m gonna keep this, and I’ll put it somewhere safe, lovebug.” She said, finally closing the top to the shoebox and sealing the memories inside forevermore. “Why don’t you go take a nice bath? I’ve got a bottle of wine downstairs with your name on it, but only this time.” She offered, reaching out and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Tomorrow, we’ll go out and do something, all three of us. That sound good?”

Of course she understood; five years ago, she sat in her bedroom, hurting just the same over a man who left her without a second thought. Who left all of you without a second thought. The only true healer was time, and right now, time was not your friend. You could lean on her, ask her for help, hold her hand, because she knew how you felt, and she’d felt that way many times before you even knew what it meant.

“That sounds good.” You breathed, closing your eyes and squeezing out the last of the tears brimming the lids.

“I’ll change your sheets for you, too.” She said, standing with the box clutched tightly in her hand. “It hurts right now, my love, but it won’t feel this way forever. I promise.”

It won’t feel this way forever.

Oh how wrong she was, even if the truth didn’t come in the way she meant it.

It did hurt forever, but it was not constant.

Four years it’s been since his name crossed your mind, four years of sleeping soundly and four years free of regret that plagued you so viciously. You were so tired of hurting that you forced yourself to forget; you erased every memory of him from your brain with the help of alcohol and meaningless hookups. You went home with a new guy every night, promising yourself that with new hands on you, you would forget the feeling of his. You buried yourself in school, studying so intently and for so long that your eyes crossed and you had a constant migraine. You deleted him and his family off every social platform, because despite going no contact that first ever week at university, you still stayed up at night, torturing yourself as you scrolled through Instagram and Facebook. You deleted every picture you ever took of him, knowing that if the temptation was there, you would submit to it. Worst of all, you vowed to never speak his name again, just so you could forget how good it felt rolling off your tongue.

You purged him from your life entirely, and it worked so well that he hadn’t been a passing thought in your mind in years. It was not because you hated him, not because you wanted to forget him. You did it out of necessity, knowing that every time you reminisced on the beautiful memories you made with him, it took a little more of your soul. For nearly two years, Jake Kiszka plagued every thought you ever had. You abstained from relationships and romance as a whole, because you knew nobody would ever be able to replace him. You needed to forget him, or else it would have killed you. You loved Jake so utterly and completely, even two years after you broke up, even after never speaking his name again, that it forced you to drown his memory. Every time you thought of him, you forced yourself to think of something else. Every time his face was pictured, perfect in your mind, you made yourself look at something else.

After so long, it became a habit, and now, it was a way of life.

But, even so, as you stared down at the silver writing, you knew deep in your heart that no matter how much forgetting you did, you never stopped loving.

“—earth to Y/N!” A hand waved in front of your face, breaking your staring contest with the Vans box decorated in silver sharpie. You could remember writing it, the sobs that shook your shoulders and the aching of your heart. The shakiness of the letters retold the story as clear as day.

After six years, you were still hopelessly in love with Jake, and one fear you always had remained true; nobody in the entire world could compare to him, and nobody else ever loved you in the same way he did.

Not that you let them, and not that they tried.

So let’s make it last.

How, after so long of refusing to think of the man, did he still have such a drastic effect on you? How were you still so caught up on someone you fell for when you were fifteen?

Out of all the questions, that one seemed the easiest to answer; you were still pining for him, because every version of you after fifteen loved him more than the last.

“Christ, you’re scaring me.” Mel tried again, her hand landing on your shoulder in a desperate attempt to pull your attention back to her. Your head finally snapped in her direction, your lungs searing from the lack of oxygen as you drew in a long overdue breath. “Are you okay?” She was panicked, her eyes wide and her expression coated with her fear. Never once had she seen you in such a state, and she was clueless as to why you were taken from her so quickly.

“I…” you trailed off, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your mind. It felt like a million memories were washing over you at once, stuck in an endless stream of thoughts that you forced yourself to ignore for so long. “That box.” You finally huffed out, your eyes shining with the same heartbreak you felt all of those years ago. Time did not change the intensity in which you hurt over losing him, even if you convinced yourself that it did.

“What about that box?” She asked, trying to pry it out of you. It was a rough subject, not only because it was hurting you so badly, but because aside from your mother, you had never spoken a word about Jake to anyone.

She was your best friend, your partner in crime and everything good in the world, but this was a heartache she had not touched, yet. It was one you stored so deep down that not even you touched it anymore, and in order to answer the question, you would have to tell her everything.

“What isn’t in that box?” Your rhetoric was full of refrain, like the words fought a daunting battle to even pass through your mouth. Your heartbeat was so strong that you could feel it surging through your entire body, under your skin and behind your eyes, all the way to the very tips of your toes. Your face was burning, your throat dry and your eyes sad as you finally reached forward. Your fingers grazed over the surface, collecting a layer of dust as they traced the words. “My whole life is in this box, Mel. The very reason my heart beats.” You whispered, picking it up and placing it in your lap.

“I don’t like it when you get poetic.” She let out a nervous laugh, looking between your face and the item in your hands as she awaited further explanation.

“I don’t know if I can explain it without showing you.” You admitted, your finger gently running over the lip of the cardboard where the cover sat flush with the rest.

“If it’s so important, how did you forget about it? And more importantly, why have I never heard of it?” She asked, trying to make sense of it all. You couldn’t blame her for being so confused—in all of the time you’ve known her, this was the only thing you had ever kept from her.

“You know when something hurts so much that it feels impossible to survive? Like if you don’t stop thinking about it, it will be the only thing you ever think about?” You began, your eyes fluttering closed as a sad smile crossed your lips.

“Yeah, I guess.” She replied, her tone softening as she realized the seriousness of the situation.

“This is one of those things. It was the most beautiful part of my whole life, but now that it’s gone, it’s horrible to remember. It took me two years to get over it, and even then, I never really did. I just got better at bottling it up and ignoring it, and eventually, it became a habit. This hurt so bad that I had to forget about it, because if I didn’t, I would have spent the rest of my life stuck in it, rather than making something new for myself.”

“Ooookayy.” She drew the word out for dramatic effect, her humorous tone usually uplifting you in times of crisis, but not even this time could it begin to ease the feeling of hurt in your heart.

With a breath of courage you did not have, you flipped open the lid. You did not look inside straight away, instead finding yourself staring at the empty section of wall between your door and your dresser, remembering the sight that was there so long ago. Jake, teary-eyed with flowers from his backyard and a CD he’d worked so hard to make, clad in a sweater that he wore only because you bought it for him. You wondered what he looked like now, if he’d recognize you if he stood before you again. You smiled gently to yourself as you recollected the softness of his features, the warmth in his dark eyes, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Where was he, now? Was he halfway across the world, living his dream and playing guitar on stage every night? He used to talk about it so often that you thought it would be a shame if he let that passion go to waste. Was Josh alongside him, still annoying him beyond belief and loving him in a way only a twin brother could? Was his hair long, flowing past his shoulders and cascading down his back, just like he told you he wanted it to? Was his smile the same, toothy and goofy enough to make you fall in love at the first glance?

There were so many things you wanted to know, gutted that Jake existed in the world somewhere and you were not a witness to the light he added to it. You were in agony knowing that there wasn’t just one, but so many versions of him you never got to know, just the same as he never got to experience the many different versions of you. You hated yourself for never reaching out, for locking up that part of your heart and throwing it away, but you had to. It was necessary for survival, and you didn’t want to lose yourself to a stranger who might not even be the boy you once loved so desperately.

Then again, a small part of you knew that no matter how strange Jake would be to you now, he would still be just as lovable and just as beautiful.

Your heart ached at the thought of him being grown, now, likely wrapped up in someone else’s arms who could love him more than you could at the time. Back then, you thought that letting him go was the best way to show how much you loved him, but six years later, you understood he was the type of person you never should have let slip through your fingers. You wondered if he ever thought of you, or if he went through the same turmoil that caused you to shut out his memory completely. You swallowed down the lump in your throat when you realized he likely didn’t, because Jake was always much too grand to be caught up on someone as mediocre as you.

Forcing yourself out of the maddening thoughts, your eyes trailed down to the items inside the box. Carefully, you picked out a pile of movie tickets, sifting through them and trying not to get stuck in every memory of every theater date the two of you had.

“In high school, I met a boy who turned my whole world upside down.” You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as you passed the tickets to Mel. “He was everything anyone could ever want. He was the type of person that made it impossible not to love him.” You explained, feeling the scratch of tears in your throat as you grabbed a ziplock bag full of dried wildflowers and petals from bouquets. “He was a real romantic, always buying flowers and writing love notes. He walked with me to school before he got his license, and drove me as soon as he did. He was my best friend, and unfortunately, probably the best love of my entire life.”

“What was his name, love?” Mel asked, taking the bag of flowers from your hand so you could continue the walk down memory lane.

“Jacob,” the name felt like gold on your tongue, the taste sweet and the warmth otherworldly. “I called him Jake.” You pulled out a torn journal page, folded neatly and begging to be read. Carefully, you opened it up, letting your eyes drift over the familiar scrawl of his messy handwriting. “We dated for three years. Liam S. had nothing on him, and I met Jake not long after the hot or not debacle.” You laughed quietly, your eyes crinkling in the corners as you realized how happy you were that Liam turned out to be an asshole. Because of his childish behavior, the best years of your life happened. “I’ve never been so thankful to have my heart broken by someone, because if I stayed with Liam, I never would have met Jake. I was skipping class one day because I couldn’t stand the thought of being near Liam after that god awful list, and I ran into Jake, skipping because he couldn’t stand the thought of being in History class. Was fate, I guess. We were inseparable after that.”

You took a moment, swallowing back the pain and blinking away tears as you pulled note after note from the box, each one more painful than the last. There were doodles, stick figures of the two of you holding hands, and hearts dancing around your heads. Jake always had a special way of expressing his love, and he did it in every way he could. It was always lighthearted, never too serious but always fully expressing the tellings of his heart. He wrote you love notes because he wasn’t good at saying it aloud, and he drew terrible pictures when words failed him. At the end of the day, he was a teenage boy, but he was so much better than the rest of them.

“We did everything together. So many days spent at the lake, and so many nights spent talking in this bed. We used to sneak out on the roof and look at the stars every night, because there’s a ledge on the attic window that makes it easy to get up there. He listened and never made me feel stupid, and he loved me so much that I never had to question it. He used to drive my sister to her basketball practices when mom was at work, and he’d sit with me the whole time, happy to do it. He was quiet, but everything he said was worth listening to. He was funny, and so kind. The biggest heart I’ve ever seen on anyone.” You felt yourself choke up, the surplus of emotion becoming too much for you to hold back.

“What happened?”

“Life did.” You responded, simple enough as you continued to sort through the box. There were tickets to school sports games, tokens from the local arcade, and all of the guitar picks that fell from his pocket into your bed. There were unopened ring pops, because he’d buy you one at the corner store every time you stopped, forever promising that it would be a real ring someday. Your entire relationship was in the box, staring you in the face with a ferocious grin as you recounted the mistakes you made. “Him and I were always different. He had a dream of being in a band. He hated school and everything that came along with it. He played soccer, he loved to have fun, and he smoked cigarettes. He wouldn’t listen no matter how many times I told him it was bad for him. I loved school, I was good at it, and I wanted to go to the best university I could get into. I didn’t drink all that much, and I stayed in more often than not. For three years, it never phased us, and we loved each other no matter how different we were. It still seemed right.”

“Until it wasn’t?”

“Not even then.” You chuckled, pulling out an old Polaroid picture.

As your eyes landed on the two of you, laying in the long grass in the field at the old park, you felt the knife twist in your stomach. He was smiling, the grin lighting up his whole face as he held you in his arms. You were between his legs, your back against his chest and your arms atop his, wrapped around you. You were in his clothes, your hair falling over your face that was nearly washed out from the flash of the camera. You could remember the feeling like he was behind you now, the rattle of his chest as he laughed and the warmth of his body against yours. The deep amber of his cologne lingered in your nose, and the sweetness of his kiss still remained on your lips.

In that moment, you thanked God that Josh was there to take the picture. Even now, even after all the hurt, the memory was so precious to you and you wished so badly to be there one more time, just for a minute.

“We talked about it for a long time, what would happen when I left for school. I knew I was going far away, and he knew he was going to stay here. Maybe if I went to school closer, the outcome would have been different.” You shrugged, acting nonchalantly about one of the thoughts that often plagued your entire life. “We decided long distance wasn’t right for us. I didn’t want to hold him down, and he didn’t want to hold me back. We loved each other so much that we let each other go, believing it was for the best. I can’t speak for him, but for me, it was far from the best. It was the worst, actually.” You explained, looking at a few other Polaroids in the box. “We broke up the night before I went to school. Or the morning of, I guess.” You corrected yourself, your fingers going in search of the only thing you truly wanted to see.

“And that was it? You never talked to him again.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Never again ‘cept for a few days after I got there.” Your fingertips found the hard plastic case, pulling it out from the very bottom of the box. Origami flowers went flying, the ones you made for him but never had the chance to give him, and a few guitar picks fluttered to the floor. “That night, he gave me this.” You flashed it in her direction. She reached out, taking it from your hands so she could read the words written on the disk. “I remember exactly what he said, and it fucking killed me, Mel.”

“Eight songs, Y/N. I sat there for hours, listening to as much music as I could. I sorted through my dad’s old vinyl records, and all of the CD’s Josh and I could find in the house. I searched for lyrics on the internet, I even asked my mom if she had any ideas.” Jake explained, taking a step closer to you. There was a small plastic case in one of his hands, a bushel of hand picked wildflowers in his other, and a look in his eyes that made your heart ache with all of the pain you had been holding back. “This is it; eight songs that tell you exactly how I feel about you. Four that tell you how much I love you, and four that tell you everything you need to know about how I feel about you leaving.”

You recounted the memory aloud, the quiver of sadness in your tone too loud to ignore. “For three months, I listened to this every night to go to sleep. I carried the CD with me everywhere I went, until I came home for Christmas and mom and I decided it was best that I put all of this stuff away. I was torturing myself, loving someone I couldn’t have. That’s why when I met you, I never wanted to leave your side. I was recovering from this, and I had nobody.”

“So he’s the reason you listened to that Pearl Jam song on repeat all of the time?” She asked, thinking back on the state you constantly found yourself in.

“Yeah,” you laughed, nodding as a tear rolled down your cheek. “Black. That was the song.”

“Right, how could I forget?” She chuckled, humming the tune to herself. “I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life, I know you’ll be a star in somebody else’s…” she sang to herself, trailing off as she realized why the words spoke so loudly to you.

“Sky.” You finished, unable to leave it hanging. “But why can’t it be mine, right?” You forced a smile on your face, trying to joke, but both of you knew it was not funny to you.

“Why did you never tell me about him?” She asked, looking at you with sadness in her own eyes. She was grieving the love with you, like a true best friend would.

“Lots of reasons, I suppose.” You sniffled back another wave of tears, your voice now infiltrated with the sadness that once only ravished your heart. It was taking over again, like it did so long ago when you vowed to shut it out. “Guess I didn’t want to scare you away, and I didn’t really want to bring that memory to school with me. The dorm and the apartment walls, all of the buildings…. That sadness never touched that, you know? He was never there, his memory didn’t live in the place like it does here. I thought if I never talked about it, it would never hurt as bad there as it did here, that night.”

“But it did anyway.”

“It did.” You agreed, clearing your throat slightly. “For a really long time. I spent two years thinking of him, dreaming of him. I wanted him so bad, and it never went away with time like all of the Reddit forums said it would.” You laughed at your own stupidity, shaking your head at all the time you spent reading breakup advice from faceless strangers on the internet. “One day, I had to stop. I was my own worst enemy, listening to all the music we used to listen to together, living in the memories at night when I was alone in bed, picturing him beside me, holding my hand. I deleted him off all my social media, and his family, too. I erased all the pictures, and I drank and partied so much that I couldn’t think about anything, let alone him. I studied so much that I dreamt about Shakespeare, and every time I thought of his name, I shoved it so far to the back of my mind that I couldn’t possibly find it again. I forced myself to forget it all, to pretend it never happened so one day, I could believe it.”

“I told myself new memories would replace the old ones, and after a while they did. Christ, when we came here he wasn’t even a passing thought in my head, but I could feel this lingering sadness in the air, looming over my head all of the time. I didn’t get it until now, when I saw the box, and it all came back at once. I shoved it so far down that I tricked my brain into blocking it out, but when it’s in your face like that… it’s hard to keep it out.” You finished, closing your eyes to regain yourself. “That’s why you lost me for a while, I guess.”

“So you haven’t had any contact with this guy? Like, at all? You don’t know what he looks like, where he lives…?”

“Nothing.” You assured her. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s ignoring a problem so much that it ceases to exist.”

“But it does exist, and it still hurts.” She explained. “You don’t date, you don’t try to meet guys, you hate the idea of love, and this is why, Y/N. If it’s been six years and you still feel that way, maybe you should reach out.” She offered, looking over the CD once again.

“As if,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at the idea. “He wouldn’t even remember me, Mel. It’s been so long, I’m sure he’s long moved past us. He’s the type of guy everyone loves, so I’m sure he’s found someone who treats him really well. He deserves that, not the girl from high school who broke his and her own heart.”

“Maybe we should just look at his instagram, just to see what he looks like?” She asked, pulling out her phone.

“No.” You said, reaching out and holding her phone down. “I don’t want to, Mel. I stopped keeping up with him for a reason. All it does is hurt me more.”

“Okay.” She conceded, placing her phone back on the bed. “Since we’re already sad, why don’t we listen to the music? Why don’t you tell me about the songs?”

“Nosy.” You snipped, but shot a playful smile her way.

“Obviously.” She huffed. “My best friend just told me about a boyfriend I’ve never heard of before, who is apparently the greatest love of her life. I want to know everything that I didn’t know I was missing.”

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, eyeing the messy handwriting on the surface of the disk. “I’d just be reopening old wounds. I don’t know if that’s what I should be doing while I’m trying to start my life.”

“Seems like they’re already open, Y/N.” She said, raising an eyebrow. “Just one song?” You watched her face for a moment, your heart racing at the thought of playing that first track. At the same time, an overwhelming sense of calm washed over you at the idea, like an addict finally in reach of a fix. It had been so long since you let yourself enjoy the music that spoke his love for you, and the thought of hearing it again made your heart soar. It had been so long since you felt such an abundance of love like that, and you understood that it couldn’t hurt more than it already was.

“Yeah, okay.” You sighed, carefully placing all the items back in the box. You sat it beside you on the bed, slowly standing to your feet. You grabbed the disk from her hand, navigating through the mess on the floor and plopping down in the computer chair nestled in the corner of your room. You hunched over; searching through the drawers of your desk until you exactly found what you were looking for. “A-ha.” You muttered to yourself, pulling out the old CD player and the speakers you had to go with it. The cords were tangled, wrapping around all of them and knitting together to make the task even more daunting for you. “I haven’t used this in years.” You said, your fingers carefully unraveling the tangled mess of the cords.

“Used it? Y/N, I haven’t even seen one since middle school.” You chuckled, plugging the player into the outlet on the wall beside you.

“I only ever used it to listen to this.” You clarified, wiping the dust from the surface with the bottom of your already dirty t-shirt. You popped the top open, carefully taking the disc from its holder and placing it inside. You shut it, trying to read the faded white print on the black surface to find the play button. Eventually, you hit start, and the air filled with a static silence, the whirring of the machine the only thing filling your ears.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes as you braced yourself for the impact of that first note. Your palms were clammy, your chest tight and your stomach swirling with nausea. Even as horrible as you felt, knowing what was to come, the feeling was comforting, familiar even. You felt it so many times, huddled in that exact chair with your knees pulled to your chest. You felt it in your dorm room, tears clouding your vision as you tried to hide yourself under the covers and disappear from the world. You knew this feeling better than anything else, and you had every scratch and pause on the track memorized so well that you could recite it in your sleep.

Even so, it didn’t seem to stop the wave of grief that washed over you when the first strum of the acoustic guitar filled the air.

You nearly doubled over in your seat, struck with an invisible force that was stronger than anything else. Your bones ached and your body felt heavy, your eyes aching as you squeezed them shut so tightly it made you see stars. The music that filled the room was quiet, but it felt like it was screaming at you, beating you down and berating you for being so foolish.

“Childhood living,

Is easy to do

The things you wanted

I bought them for you.”

Four years old, Barbie doll in hand and chocolate stains visible on your neon green shirt as you stood at the entryway of the kitchen. Your hair was wild, messy from a full day of playing outside. The summer air was sweeter than it had ever been, the color of the grass so prominent in your mind. Dandelion yellow stained your knees from kneeling on the abundant petals in the backyard. The clouds in the sky looked like cotton candy, and you pleaded with your mother to let you stay outside for just a moment longer.

Of course, she picked you up by the arms, scolding you with a smile as she told you that you wouldn’t be able to play if you were hungry. Dinner was waiting for you on the table, your favorite meal to top off the wondrous day of being completely carefree. For dessert, you split an ice cream sundae with your dad, doused in chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles. As your mom did the dishes, you watched a cartoon on the couch. When the sound of the water stopped and giggles filled the air, you couldn’t help but investigate, dreading missing out on a moment of fun.

When you peeked into the room, the kitchen table concealing you as you stood at perfect height, you did not see your mom hovering over the sink. Instead, you heard the static hum of the radio, the familiar song playing quietly. Your mother was in the middle of the room, dish towel still in her hand and a blinding smile on her face. Your father stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and his head nuzzled in the crook of her neck. A smile that matched hers rested on his own lips as they swayed slowly, and he was singing her the lyrics as they passed through the speaker.

Although it was out of tune, off time, and nowhere near as good as Mick Jagger had sounded, it was perfect. To you and your mother, it was the best sound in the whole world, because when your dad sang it, it was full of love.

“Graceless lady

You know who I am

You know I can’t let you

Slide through my hands.”

Eight years old with your little sister by your side, the words passed through your fathers lips, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. He was tired, withdrawn, singing the song with refrain in his eyes as he watched the hand your mother was holding. The love has lessened, the tune a habit rather than a gift. Things were different, and you chalked it up to age. One day you were certain your father would sing it again, with the very same love in his eyes he used to have.

“Wild horses

Couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses

Couldn’t drag me away.”

The familiar song played through the closed door of your parents bedroom, but it was not framing a sweet moment. It had been on repeat for a day, now, and your father had left late the night before. Something deep in your soul told you he was not in there, nor was he singing it to her. Sometimes, when the music lulled, you could hear a muffled cry pass through the hollow door, cementing the notion in your head for good.

“I watched you suffer

A dull, aching pain

Now you’ve decided

To show me the same.”

At thirteen, you stood at the door of your parents bedroom, a lump in your throat as you watched your mother sleep away another afternoon. Your sister continued asking when your dad would be home, but the longer you stared at the half-empty room, the more you understood that the answer was something she couldn't quite understand. The longer you watched, the more you understood you’d never hear him sing that song again.

“No sweeping exits

Or offstage lines

Could make me feel bitter

Or treat you unkind.”

“Oh, God. Jake, please turn that off.” You pleaded, the melodic sound filling your stomach with dread. He looked back at you, nestled in his bed and safe under his blankets. He turned around in his desk chair, his head cocked to the side as he abandoned his math homework.

“What, you don’t like The Stones?” There was a careful kindness in his tone, wondering where your sudden discomfort came from but nervous to cross a line by asking.

“No, I do, just not this song.” You clarified, your heart racing in your chest as the hum of Jagger’s voice began to fill your ears. You tried so hard to stay calm, not to retaliate and cover your ears so you did not look like a child throwing a tantrum. Instantly, he reached over and lifted the needle from the spinning vinyl, placing it back on the holder. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t listen to it.” You breathed, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as the song came to an abrupt stop.

“S’okay, sunshine. You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He promised, wheeling over to you as he noticed the discomfort in your eyes. He reached out, brushing your bangs from your eyes in an attempt to comfort you. “Why not?”

“Long story.” You whispered, your head sinking further down into his pillow.

“I always have time to listen to you.” He assured you, his thumb drifting over your cheek. Your eyes fluttered to meet his, the sight immediately calming your mind. You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch ever so slightly.

“My dad… he used to sing this to my mom. It was the best song in the whole world to us for so long.” You explained, fighting the distaste begging to leech into your tone. “They used to slow dance to it in the kitchen, and he’d sing it to us too, when we were sad. Then he fucking left, and mom listened to it over and over again, like it would bring him back. Guess it didn’t work out as well as she hoped it would.”

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I had no idea.” He hummed, his fingernails gently scratching over your scalp in hopes of soothing you.

“S’okay,” your eyes fluttered closed in bliss at the feeling. “Just sucks, ‘cause I used to love the song so much, and now it makes me sick.”

You didn’t understand back then, but now you knew why your mother played it so often. She was hoping it would bring him back, or hoping that it would make her feel close to him again. She was torturing herself in the same way that you tortured yourself with the exact CD you were listening to, then.

“Wild horses

Couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses

Couldn’t drag me away.”

“I have something to show you, sunshine.” Jake's hand in yours felt right, just as it always did. His voice rang through your ears as you walked up the stairs to his bedroom. You had no idea what was awaiting you, but you knew if he had anything to do with it, it would be nothing short of fantastic.

“I know I dreamed you

A sin and a lie

I have my freedom

But I don’t have much time

Faith has been broken

Tears must be cried

Let’s do some living

After we die.”

You couldn’t stop the tears, running like waterfalls down your cheeks as Jake softly strummed at his dads old acoustic. The rasp in his voice paired with the quiver of nervousness made his singing all the more beautiful, and the sentiment behind his actions made your heart swell with joy. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes on, and you couldn’t believe he loved you so dearly.

His playing slowed to a stop, his anxious eyes flickering up to your face. As he noticed the trails of mascara streaked down your cheeks, his stomach dropped, fearful that he hurt you more than helped. You wanted to speak, to commend him for his gracious gesture, but words were failing you. You had never been so full of love in your life, not for anyone or anything, but he continued to amaze you with every day that passed.

“I’m sorry, beautiful. I never wanted to make you cry.” He stood, propping the guitar against his desk as he stepped towards you. His hands reached out, gently swiping away any lingering sadness on your face.

“No, Jake.” You shook your head, still choked up at the sweetness of the moment. “It was beautiful. So, so beautiful.” A small smile crossed his lips, and he crouched down to eye level, dreading overlooking a single moment of time with you. “Nobody’s ever done anything so nice for me.”

“I just… you said you loved the song, but you couldn’t listen to it anymore because it hurt too bad. I wanted to make the song good again, to make it hurt less.” He whispered, his brown eyes seemingly staring into your soul. “I don’t know if it worked, but I’d do anything for you, sunshine. I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.”

“You do, Jake. You always do.” You felt tears falling from your eyes, but they were for a whole different reason than they were all of the times you heard the song before. He did exactly as he intended, and the song took on a whole different meaning. The bad hurt less, and the memory of Jake singing to you would be something you would never forget. He was everything, and you were so incredibly lucky to have him.

You reached toward, pausing the track before it could finish. Your chest was aching, your shoulders shaking with your tears as you felt Mel’s hands on your shoulders in support. She slid them downwards, and your hands raised in search of hers. Your head fell back, resting on her stomach as you tried to calm yourself down. It hurt the same every time; no matter how many years stood between the initial heartbreak, the thought of losing Jake had always been the worst one ever.

“Tell me about the song.” She whispered, pulling you out of your own head in hopes you’d share the sorrow with her, just to make it a little easier to digest.

With a shaky breath, you recounted the memories that you’d kept locked up for so long, finally allowing someone to help you carry the weight of them. She listened intently to every word you had to say, hanging on to the stories and keeping them as safe as you had the whole time. There was no one in the world you trusted quite like her, knowing that you could confess anything and she’d still extend a helping hand. You were lucky to have her, grateful to call her your best friend, but you knew that even she could not begin to ease the pain from this.

“I just… I wish things were different for us, you know? Like, I always knew we should have been more, that we shouldn’t have ended like that.” You let out a ragged sigh, finishing your retelling with the sentiment that haunted you for so long. “He tried to stay friends, and he tried so hard, but I had to stop. A few days after I got to school, I had to stop talking to him, because I loved him too much. Friends was torture back then, but now I feel stupid for cutting him off. Now I know that having him around would have been better than this.”

“Y/N, you have to reach out to him.” She urged, combing her fingers through your hair. “If it’s been this long and you still feel that way about him, you can’t let it go.” She tied your hair back in a ponytail, keeping it away from your face until you calmed down. Your cheeks were crimson, burning with heat as the sadness ran its course. Your eyes were swollen, your head aching, and you wished it could be that easy.

“After six years, Mel?” You didn’t mean to sound so condescending, but the tone slipped out without a second thought. “We’re totally different people now. I bet he doesn’t even think about me anymore.”

“You don’t know that, though.” She argued her point, squeezing your shoulders ever so slightly. “He could be sitting in his room, talking to his best friend like this. He might still be hurting, too, and maybe he’s scared to reach out because he thinks you forgot about him.” She let the thought hang in the air for a moment, not pressing any further until you responded. You blinked hard, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. The coolness of your skin felt nice against your face, bringing you back to earth for a moment. When the silence became too much for her, she spoke again. “You never know unless you try, Y/N. You can’t live the rest of your life wondering. Just reach out, say hi and ask how he’s doing. Even if he’s moved on, at least you’ll know for sure. Once that door is closed, you can move on too. Right now, you’ll be stuck thinking about him and wondering ‘what if’ forever.”

You didn’t want to tell her she was right, mostly because you were too afraid he would be moved on, in love with someone else and happier without you. You wanted it for him, because he deserved it, but you wanted to be the one that made him happy. The thought of someone else loving him made you sick, because you doubted that anyone could ever love him as much as you did. Actually, you doubted that anyone could love anyone as much as you loved Jake.

“I doubt he has the same number, anyway. I just have the one he had in high school.” You shook your head, finding yourself too hopeful already. You needed to shut it down before your heart broke even further.

“Try, Y/N.” Mel urged, unable to drop the topic. She wanted it for you, to see you happy and in love. She always wondered why romance never seemed to move you, and now she knew it’s always been because you were waiting for him. Instead of responding, you hit the rewind button on the player and pressed play again, already yearning to live in the memory of him singing it to you again. A sad smile crossed Mel’s lips, but she gave a curt nod, turning around and continuing to pack and move boxes of already sorted items.

You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your chin atop of them as you listened to the familiar melody. You wondered if maybe his number was the same, and if you reached out, he’d still have your contact saved in his phone. You wanted to know where he ended up, what he was doing and who he was doing it with. You wanted to know him, to hear his voice and have him say your name again. The need was pressing, and it grew harder to ignore the longer the song played.

Could he still feel the same? After this long, did he still think of you from time to time with hurt in his heart and regret in his mind? Was it possible that he was still hung up on you, or were you just an idiot who couldn’t comprehend letting go?

You had so many questions, the same ones that plagued you since the day you left. You didn’t know the answer, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted to.

However, Mel was right.

You would never know unless you tried, and for him, you would do anything. As much as it would kill you to hear how happy he was without you, it would still be better than never talking to him at all. You needed to know the man he grew into, even if it was for a fleeting moment in time. You wanted to know if his hair grew out, if he still played guitar, and if his laugh was still just as sweet as it was back then. You wanted to tell him you graduated, that you finally did it after so long spent talking about it.

You couldn’t waste the rest of your life hung up on a man who loved you when you were young. You couldn’t be eighty years old and still thinking of Jake Kiszka when you tried to sleep at night. More than that, you couldn’t open yourself up to love if you were still so in love with him.

“I’m going to grab something to eat.” Mel said, hovering in the doorway of your room. When you didn’t so much as look her way, she turned towards the stairs and walked out of sight.

You needed to reach out. You needed to try, just like she said. Even if the conversation sealed shut the door you always wished to open again, it would give you closure, and you might finally be able to move on. Right now, moving on was laughable, and it was something you never believed you could do.

Mel was right, and so right that it was impossible to ignore her.

Even if his number changed, or if you were blocked, you would finally know for sure. You took a large gulp of breath as you stood to your feet, Wild Horses still playing softly in the background as you stepped towards your bed. You grabbed your phone from the mattress, unlocking the screen and clicking on your contacts. You gulped down the ball of anxiety stuck in your throat as you selected the name you never thought you’d speak again. There was still a red heart beside his name, something you couldn’t bear to change. You opened a new text thread, the empty screen sending a shiver down your spine as you recounted the endless ‘I love you’s’ once held inside the chat.

Your finger hovered over the keypad, your mind blank as you thought of what to say. There were so many things you always wanted to confess to him, that you were sorry and you missed him, or that you were wrong and never should have left. You wanted to be angry that he let you leave, and to be happy for all the love he gave you that carried you through until that very moment. You wanted to say everything and anything, but it wasn’t right. You couldn’t break the radio silence after so long with something so powerful, but you never knew how to keep it simple when it came to Jake. His name alone caught you in a storm of emotion, and the picture of his face in your mind nearly brought you to your knees.

You began to type, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. It wasn’t right. What were you supposed to start with? How could you rekindle conversation with the only man you’d ever loved, after so long of loving him silently?

You started again, letting out a sigh as the words seemed to come out wrong yet again. You felt like an idiot, but you still stood in place, staring at the screen. Somehow, no matter how stupid you felt, putting the phone down felt wrong. You needed to do it, but you just didn’t know how.

You typed and re-typed the message so many times that your eyes crossed and your head began to spin. Your heart was thudding against your chest so intensely that it began to hurt, and you hadn’t even hit send yet.

“Come on, coward. You can do it.” You huffed, furrowing your brows as you hyped yourself up. “Stop overthinking it.”

And you did; when you stopped thinking, it seemed all the more easy.

You - 4:53pm

Hey, Jake. It’s Y/N. I know it’s been a while, and I’m not sure if this is even your number anymore, but I’m back in Michigan again, for good I think. When I’m in Michigan it always reminds me of you. I hope you’re doing okay, and I hope that this isn’t too weird. It’s strange being home, and I guess I was just thinking of you and wanted you to know that after all this time, you’re still on my mind.

With little hope and a lot of courage, you attached a song from Spotify to the text. You hit send, watching the blue line at the top of the screen slowly begin to slide across, signifying it was much too late to change your mind. It was slower than usual, making you believe he truly may have changed his number, or blocked you at the very least. If he did, you couldn’t blame him, because you’d been tempted to do the same.

Before you could spiral too far, the small chirp let you know that the text was delivered, and the words underneath the bubble read as such. Your heart drummed even faster, and you expected a wave of regret to take over, but it never came. Instead, your mind was calm, a strange peacefulness washing over you at the sight of his name in your phone again. Soon after, the song delivered too, the link turning into a shortcut. The album cover showed in a small square, and next to it showed the name of the song and the artist underneath. On the very opposite side, a small little play circle appeared, letting him preview a snippet before he opened the app.

“Wild horses

Couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses

We’ll ride them someday

Wild horses

couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses

We’ll ride them someday.”

You listened to the song playing over your speakers, your cheeks flushed and your lips upturned into a small smile. You wondered if it was too much, or if he would think you were weird for sending him the song, but deep down you believed that even if he did, some semblance of the man you used to love so dearly continued to remain. Even after all this time, the song would still be important to him, and just the same as back then, even after all this time, not even wild horses could drag you away from him.

TAGLIST: @anythingforjtk @highway-tuna @klarxtr @hollyco @thetroublegetssoloud71 @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @raceb14 @watchingover-hypegirl @starshine-gvf

[cal-writes]

train au snippet number 2! this time it's namis pov. it takes place after chapter 3 and i think that wraps up train au for now! that's all she wrote™ thanks so much everyone for your love and excitement for this story it was a joy to write and share. if you have questions about the universe that i didnt get into in the main story feel free to shoot me an ask bc i probably thought about it. here is the other snippet and heres the full fic!

-

Nami turns on the bed. Despite sharing it, she and Zoro are miles apart on the king sized mattress. It doesn't even creak in the slightest, only the fabric rustles softly. She loves staying over at Kaya's. Everything is lush and extravagant, like staying at a hotel for free and without strangers. A vacation from real life which is what they sorely needed after tonight. Her dress is draped over one of the chairs next to the bed. In the dim light of the night the wine stain at the hem looks black. She'll have to remember to take it to a different dry cleaners than the one she stole it from. 

She looks over, pulling her hair out from under her head. With the moonlight falling in from the window she can see Zoro's profile in the dark. His eyes are closed, chest falling and rising slowly. 

"You okay?" Nami asks, loud enough to wake Zoro up should he already be asleep. He shuffles around with his eyes closed.

"Yeah. Didn't even hit me." He replies, nonchalant. Wide awake. 

She scowls at him. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Zoro sighs and moves his arms until he can cross them behind his head. He opens his eyes and glares at the ceiling. He shrugs half heartedly with one shoulder. "Was only a matter of time, so."

Nami sits up in bed so she can put her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demands.

Zoro narrows his eye at her. “We both know what.”

“You’re a catch.” She tells him and gives her a look. 

“Right." He huffs, angrily adjusting the duvet around him. "I’ve been sleeping on my friends’ couches for months when I’m not sleeping on a train.”

"So what?" She says petulantly.

"Not to mention 'a hopeless wreck and pathetic child'." He tells her pointedly and Nami scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I said that when I was mad at you, you can't hold that against me." She says and Zoro shakes his head, closing his eyes to deem the conversation over with. Nami pouts. "Even if-," She says and Zoro opens one eye, the vein on his forehead announcing his irritation. "He's a much bigger loser than you. You're perfect for each other."

Zoro groans. "You hate him, what do you care?" One of his hands pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"I don't hate him. He doesn't deserve you. There's a difference."

Zoro sits up, throwing the blanket off of him and his hands into the air. "Yes, of course. The accomplished doctor with his own apartment, obviously the teenage dropout criminal is much too good for him." Zoro's voice says, dripping in sarcasm so she stabs him in the ribs with her nails.

He lets her, rubbing his side afterwards. "This guy paid me 50 bucks to know if you're still alive. He's a mess." She tells him. 

Zoro gets off the bed in a huff. "Doesn't matter who's more pathetic. It's not up to me."

"So you're not even gonna fight?" She says and he glares at her.

Something builds up in him, a tidal wave sweeping in, but it crashes against the shore before he can let it lose. She sees it in the rise and fall of his shoulders. His breath leaves him in a short and violent burst. He shakes his head, shrugging. 

"What's there to fight for?" He asks, letting himself fall on the couch underneath the giant window. The sheer curtains are open, bathing the entire room in the light of the full moon. He pulls his legs up and pops his elbow on the back of the couch, gaze through the glass. "As you said, he got something out of it. I had a good time. Whatever." 

Nami sighs deeply. "Zoro-" 

"Wouldn't have lasted anyway." He tells her sharply. "Nothing ever does." He mutters into his hand and exhales heavily. The brief stint in the holding cell making him all melodramatic. Nami purses her lips. Zoro had been looking forward to tonight, even if he hadn’t said it in so many words. 

The blanket rustles as Nami gets up and her feet pad softly over the carpeted floors. "Come on now." She says, softly chiding. He folds his legs to make room for her on the couch as she joins him, grabbing a pillow to put on her lap in lieu of a blanket. 

Zoro glances over. "Let's be honest. He can do better." He says with misplaced humor, avoiding Nami's indignant gaze. 

She exhales loudly. "Okay, you want to feel sorry for yourself tonight. Fine. I'll let it slide." She tells him before reaching out to grab his chin with her sharp fingers and turn it to face her. "But he would be so lucky to have you. And if he doesn't see that he's an idiot. Don't argue with me, we both know I'm always right." 

Zoro sighs softly, resignation on his face. He knows she won't take any rebuttal so he stays silent, cheeks squished in her hold. She releases him. Shuffling closer until he has to put his legs over her lap. 

She lets her hands fall on his knees. "I know things suck right now." 

"Not more than usual." Zoro says, looking out into the dark. Their view stretches out across the gardens. Out here where Kaya's mansion sits, there are even a few stars visible at night. "Been way worse." He adds. 

Nami sighs again and sinks further down until the upholstery. "True." She admits. 

"I miss Luffy." Zoro mutters into the night. A rare admission. The ache and weight of the night has crushed him underfoot and revealed his mushy center. Nami puts her chin on his propped up knee and wraps her arms around his legs. 

"Me too." She says miserably. Only a little while longer now. She should check when Luffy’s flight is scheduled for again. "He's gonna be so mad at you that you didn't tell him." She says with a small smirk. 

Zoro huffs. "He would have come back early if he knew." And Zoro has been doing just about everything to avoid that. Luffy had been excited about this trip for months. One of the reasons Zoro hadn't wanted to tell Chopper about his situation was because Chopper wouldn't have been able to keep a secret. They both knew Luffy would have dropped everything, helped him, maybe even fought for him against that stupid parent and the police. Zoro would only have to ask but he never would have done that. It had taken weeks for him to even consider crashing at Nami's place. She probably wouldn't even know about it if Franky hadn't told Robin who had told her. And Franky only knew because he had nagged Zoro on the train for days until he spilled the beans. 

It was infuriating, the way he insisted he didn't need help. He was going to figure his own shit out. He always did. 

If she weren't wired exactly the same, she would have throttled him already. 

Nami hums. "Heard back from Kidd yet?" She asks. 

"No. Next week they said." Zoro mutters. She clicks her tongue grumbling under her breath. How long did Kidd need to decide to hire someone when he was desperate for any help in the bar? Bastard. 

Zoro sighs, looking up at the moon above. "Let's go to sleep." 

Nami blows out a breath. "Yeah." She says and neither of them move. Outside the moon makes its way across the sky.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Changes Chapter 6

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The full moon shone brightly on the dimly lit road. It was early morning, and most people had ceased their driving for the day - either because they were home or because they found a motel to stop at. There was one car, a rusty coloured model, driving down the road. The windows were open, and if you tried, you could hear the notes of Bach and Brahms flowing through the air.

Normally, Max would have sped up, having used the loneliness the night brought to get to his destination quicker than legally possible. However, the problem was that he didn't quite know where his destination was. After his visit to the Widow, he immediately took his car to go and find Lucien's home. The problem was that Lucien had never told him where he lived, and he just had the description of "an old family crypt" to go on. So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, looking for a crypt that could be god knows where.

With a frustrated sigh, Max turned the music down, stopping on the side of the road. He took a map out o this glove compartment, folding it open and staring at the hundreds of lines depicted on it. He took a pen from his chest pocket, crossing out certain places. Lucien had said it was a two hour drive from his crypt to Santa Carla, so that eliminated a lot of cemeteries already. He sighed, crossing out some more options. Lucien had never shown any interest in cities like Los Angeles, so for him to go south and move closer to there was unlikely. So, for now, anything south of Santa Carla was ruled out. Max was about to fold his map away when his eye fell on a place. Oakley. If he recalled correctly - and he did - Lucien was from Oakley.

A grin appeared on his face as he restarted his car, racing down the roads to the town. It would make the search much easier - tomorrow evening, he'd start. It was already four in the morning, and he'd have to find a place to stay soon. At four thirty, he parked at a motel, quickly getting out and walking towards the home office. No one was there, so he rang the doorbell, hoping for the best. He had some time to spare, luckily.

"You had a long night, didn't you?" A middle-aged woman opened the door for him. She was dressed in a bathrobe and some slippers, curlers in her hair - but besides that, she seemed energised enough as if she'd been awake for onpy a few hours.

"Yeah, you can say that. Do you have a room for tonight?" Max smiled kindly, grabbing his wallet.

"Sure. Any special wishes? We got one with a single bed, double, king-sized-"

"A single is just fine."

Max knew that if the quality of the curtains was bad, he would have no choice but to sleep in the bathroom. Getting the mattress of a single in there was easier than struggling with a mattress the size of a double or bigger.

"Sure thing hon. Just for one night?"

"Yes. If everything goes as planned I'll be going back home tomorrow."

"You here for a job?"

"Something like that."

He paid for his room, taking the key, and quickly moved towards room number 17. With the time he spent inside talking, he was really cutting it close. As he opened the door, he saw what he had suspected. The room was old, and he was certain he'd find mould in the corners of the room. A wooden bed stood in the middle of the room, on top of a faded yellow carpet. Across from the bed was a desk with a chair, and above that, a mirror that could really use some cleaning. Max sighed. He hated motels for this exact reason. But it would do. It would only be for one night. He wanted to find answers, and if this was the cost, he could survive it for one night.

As he got ready for the night, he couldn't help but be amused. As a human, more than a few centuries ago, he had been germaphobic. At least, that's what it would be called nowadays. Back then, it was called weird. You'd think that after so much time, he'd gotten over it, but there were moments where it still bothered him. It had gotten better. Killing didn't bother him, nor did the mess the boys made. But certain areas and spaces made him feel icky. Especially spaces occupied by mainly humans were a problem. He sighed as he looked around, deciding that if he had to sleep somewhere else the next evening, he'd find some high-quality hotel or something. He shoved the desk in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering.

The next evening, he awoke early. He had slept horribly, sitting on the bathroom floor after deciding that the mattress was simply too gross to even consider touching. It basically came down to him hardly having slept, but he decided not to care too much about that. One night of not sleeping wouldn't do anyone much harm. As he packed his bag and put the furniture back in place, he couldn't help but make a mental note that he'd have to invest in a camper or something similar. At least the mess he'd find in there would be his own.

"Good luck with your trip!" The woman from the night before called to him as a goodbye after he left the keys at her desk. He had no intention to stay and talk, knowing that the question 'How did you enjoy your stay' would come up, and his answer wouldn't be satisfactory. In his haste to leave, he didn't notice the woman staring at him and slightly shaking her head.

"What a strange man..."

It was a little after ten when Max found his way to the cemetery. He parked his car outside the gate, turning both the motor and the light off. There were only three crypts in this cemetery, making his search easier than he had anticipated. The first one he came upon, laying in the middle of some rosebushes, was locked. He made his way past the graves, noticing how many stones laid bare before walking up to the second crypt. This one was unlocked. He pushed the stone door open, and was surprised at the sight before him.

Lose papers were spread everywhere around on the floor, a broken chair and desk laid in the corner of the crypt - as if someone had thrown it there. In the middle of the room was Luciens coffin, broken to pieces. Max walked in, looking around. There were scratchmarks on the door, the walls, the wooden remnants of furniture. There had been a fight here. And someone was taken.

Max closed the crypt door, looking at the papers on the floor. He recognised the handwriting as Luciens, making hundreds of notes next to typed documents. He quickly collected them all, scanning them quickly to see if he could find mention of Julie's name.

Test subject 7B has shown no interest in participating in the experiments.

His eyes fell on that line, noticing Luciens handwriting next to it.

Julie???

Another page that had a picture of a large metal pipe forced through a woman's torso. Even on the black and white photograph it looked gruesome.

Subject 7B has yet to complete the change fully. Injuries seem to stop bleeding sooner but take longer to fully heal. Bruises sustained in an earlier fight (date 23/2/1985) seem to only now (05/3/1985) start to heal and lighten in colour. Estimated recovery time for the impalement is three months.

As Max piled together more and more papers, he quickly realised they were a medical file. Pages upon pages describing the horrors done tot he poor girl. As he finally collected the last page, he realised he had about a hundred in his hands. No wonder Julie had nightmares. Just skipping through the pages and seeing what they described was enough to make him physically ill.

Max sighed as he stood up, walking towards the door. Lucien was nowhere to be found - and that too worried him. He wouldn't just leave his place abandoned like this. Max looked around one last time, noticing a scrap of paper laying in the floor under some pieces of wood.

Berkeley University

Max frowned as he looked at the card. Lucien didn't go to university, so why did he have this card? He looked at his watch, noticing it was nearing twelve already, and decided that the crypt would be his spot for the night. Until then, he'd go and investigate the only lead he had. What was Lucien doing at Berkeley University? It was a short drive, taking only twenty minutes, before Max saw the university building arise at the horizon. It seemed to have a botanical garden, with brightly lit glass domes and - as far as Max could see from this distance - loads of exotic flora. The building itself was old, but people were working hard to keep it modern. On the left side of the building was some scaffolding. Max grinned. Of course, he could have made his way in through an open window or door anyway, but this made it much easier.

As he parked the car, he couldn't help but wonder what Lucien had been doing here. The vampire had been known for being lazy, refusing to take any jobs, and claiming that the undead live was one for free time - not for work. So, why would he go to the university? He didn't seem like the type to take up classes or teach for that matter. Max made his way to the side of the building, flying up - not wanting to climb the metal stairs of the scaffolding and risk being found out - and entering through an open window. Once inside, he stopped and looked around. The walls were split in two, the upper half bare, painted a bright white colour. The bottom was lined with faded yellow tiles. The floor was made of granite, and it could definitely use an update. The number of cracks in the floor was, in his opinion, unnecessary.

He walked down the hallway, searching for an office with Luciens name on it. It was his best shot. As he searched both the third and second floor hallways, he realised quickly that it was unlikely he'd find it like this. Maybe Lucien used a different name - something Max realised he should have thought of earlier - and maybe he had a hidden office or had just come here for a meeting with someone. He sighed, walking down the stairs towards the entrance of the building. With any luck, there was a receptionist there - or at least someone from the university - who could tell him if they knew Lucien and his whereabouts.

"Sir? You can't be here." A young man, in his twenties and probably working the nightshift as a side job to finance his studies, looked at Max. Max smiled kindly. The kid would not be a problem. He was scrawny, sounded nervous, and looked as if he had never won a single argument in his life.

"I'm sorry for barging in," Max said, "but I was looking to surprise a friend of mine. He said he worked here. Maybe you know him? Lucien-"

"Yes? Eh - he does work here sometimes, but he never really stays long. I haven't seen him tonight."

"Do you know where his office is?" Max asked, a subtle force in his voice. The boy would not refuse him - and if he did, he could always hypnotise the student. It would be tricky since he hadn't done it in a while, but he was certain he still could.

The student nodded, walking away from Max. He walked down a long hallway, opening a door at the end of it. Behind the door was the entrance to the botanical garden - but also a winding staircase going down. Max quickly dismissed the boy, closing the door behind him. First, he'd take a look at the botanical garden. Within a couple of hours, the sun would rise, and he would have no time then to investigate.

Wild flowers grew everywhere, hiding the pathways around the fountain in the middle of the greenhouse. As he did a quick sweep, he didn't find any sign of Lucien - or anyone else for that matter. What he did find, however, worried him. The plants growing here were medicinal, for the main part. That in and of itself wasn't that weird - but the fact that the majority of these plants were potentially harmful to both humans and vampires? Yes, that worried him.

Next chapter >

[neon-kazoo]

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

[doeeyeseddie]

3. Buddie

thank you! here's the prompt fill for "forehead kisses"

send me a soft prompt

[read on ao3]

In the end, they’re lucky. For a fire of this size, two injured firefighters aren’t uncommon, and no serious injuries at all pushes them close to “lucky”. Rodriguez suffers from smoke inhalation because his mask cracked when the building collapsed, but he’ll probably be allowed to leave in a few hours.

Buck took the brunt of it, again, and his sprained ankle, concussion and bruised ribs will take a little longer to heal, but aren’t life-threatening. They’ve still set him up in a room and have given him painkillers, enough of them to knock him out for a little while.

The rest of them had to finish out their shift – minor injuries don’t warrant an entire fire station taking up a hospital waiting room – but as soon as Bobby let them go, Eddie was on his way to the hospital with the order to text their group chat how Buck and Rodriguez are.

He spotted Rodriguez first, sitting with his wife while he breathed through an oxygen mask, and stopped to check in with him for a minute. Thankfully, he was fine though, so Eddie didn’t feel too bad about rushing on to find Buck.

Which he did, and now he’s here, sitting by Buck’s hospital bed and watching him sleep like a creep. He’s already texted the group chat and has promised to pass on everyone’s well-wishes, so now all he can do is wait.

It gives his mind time to wander, back to the moment a part of the building collapsed, with half of their team still inside. To the moment after, when Buck didn’t respond to Bobby’s command to radio in.

Not again, he’d thought, and it was only Hen’s hand gripping his tightly that kept him from running back into the building without a plan.

It took a horribly long minute for Bobby to give the okay for the evacuation team to go back in, and another one for them to locate Buck and Rodriguez, trying to climb over a pile of rubble. Buck had been helping Rodriguez, and it wasn’t until Chimney checked him over outside that he even admitted to anything hurting.

Eddie sighs and scoots forward on the uncomfortable chair. Buck has become much more careful, he doesn’t do reckless stunts, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is that he puts other people before himself. He’s selfless to a fault, which is probably a good quality – but Eddie isn’t selfless.

Eddie is selfish, and he needs Buck in his life. Needs Buck, full stop.

It’s pretty simple: he already knows what a world without Buck in it is like, lived in it for three minutes and seventeen seconds, and he’s not interested in it.

“You scared me,” he admits in a whisper. He wants to touch Buck but doesn’t want to wake him, so he settles for spreading his fingers on the mattress next to him, far enough until he can feel his warmth. Far enough for his pinky to almost brush against Buck’s.

“I know our job is dangerous. And that’s okay, we chose it. But I just– I wish it wasn’t us, for once. We’ve been at each other’s hospital bedside way too many times.” He sighs. It feels a little weird saying all this out loud when Buck’s asleep, but it’s also kind of like a practice run. One without the stakes. “I’m tired of it. And I don’t want to ever have to feel this regret again, of knowing I never got to tell you. So I’m gonna take you home, and I’ll tell you, and hopefully I won’t ruin the best thing in my life.”

It’s a risk – but even if Buck doesn’t return his feelings, Eddie feels pretty sure that it wouldn’t actually ruin their friendship. They’ve been through too much for anything to do that, he thinks. It’d hurt, of course– but that’s something he’ll think about once they’ve crossed that bridge. He shakes off the thought.

What’s important now is that Buck wakes up soon and is cleared to go home, and then Eddie will take him there. His home, not Buck’s loft, but he’s pretty sure that Buck will be on board with that plan.

He looks a little like he’s still in pain, even when he’s asleep, and Eddie’s heart clenches.

Buck’s gonna be a horrible patient, as always, Eddie’s familiar with it, but he’s probably gonna be an unbearable caretaker, too. Already, he can’t help but worry that Buck received the wrong dosage of painkillers, that he has an injury that’s somehow been missed and is causing him even more pain.

Buck frowns and Eddie pushes up off the chair, reaching out to smooth the wrinkles on Buck’s forehead out softly.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises quietly, and can’t resist leaning just a little bit closer to press a lingering kiss to Buck’s forehead.

He pulls away to find Buck staring at him, and startles so badly he almost trips over the chair behind him.

“I thought you were asleep,” he gets out, and Buck blinks up at him, not asleep.

“Do that again,” Buck demands, his speech barely slurred.

“I–,” Eddie starts, and sits back down on the chair. “You’re concussed, and probably high on painkillers right now, Buck.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want,” Buck says, stretching a hand out to Eddie in a clear request.

Dazed, Eddie reaches back and takes it, heartbeat tripping over itself at the smile that spreads across Buck’s face in response.

“And what’s that?” he asks, even though he shouldn’t. He should call the nurse to check Buck over, and then he should take him home, and then they should have a real conversation when Buck isn’t drugged.

“For you to kiss my forehead,” Buck says simply. Then he smirks. “And other places.”

Eddie laughs, startled. “Yeah?”

Buck nods seriously. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

He squeezes Eddie’s hand and Eddie squeezes back, suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of love he feels for Buck.

“That’s good to know,” he says softly. “We can talk about this more at home, okay? Once you’re clearer in the head.”

“Promise?” Buck asks, and Eddie rubs his thumb across his knuckles, then bends closer to press a short little kiss there.

Buck’s looking at him, his mouth half open and eyes sparkling with happiness, and Eddie loves him.

“Promise,” he says.

[rothjuje]

Help me make a decision. Our girls (4 and 7) share a room. Currently 7 year old is in a twin and 4 year old is in a transitioned crib. We desperately need to get Gen a new bed. But this our dilemma: Alyssa wants a full bed. The room is quite large (identical to our living room actually, it’s directly above and the same dimensions). But a full bed and a twin bed is kind of bulky/won’t look even and they will lose a lot of floor space. Justin is in camp each girl gets a twin bed, end of story. And yes, growing up we all had twin beds. But nowadays a lot of kids have full beds, even from the start, especially up here. All my friends’ kids are in full sized beds. Anyway Alyssa’s reasoning is that she can’t sleep well because she’s afraid of falling off her mattress, which is a completely valid fear because she tosses and turns a lot and she is very tall for her age.

We’ve looked at bunk beds, Justin thinks the weight will be too much on the upstairs floor (our floors don’t seem super stable). A trundle bed is also an option, but Justin and multiple friends feel like it’s not fair that Gen technically wouldn’t have her own bed. But the plan isn’t to stick Gen’s bed underneath everyday, they play a lot on their beds and I think it would give them a lot usable space. Both bunk beds and trundles have full/twin options.

I overthink everything and can never make decisions. I guess we could put full sized bed in the corner and twin against the long wall and maybe I need to just move on, that there isn’t a perfect solution.

Anyway. When they excavated for the retaining wall two things happened.. our side and back lawn were annihilated but we also gained a large bonus space in the back. We are desperately prepping the side and back lawn to lay sod and to pour concrete in the bonus area. And I say we, but so far it’s been me digging up rocks for 3 hours a day. Which I kind of enjoy and it’s the best workout ever, I think I’m just so glad not to be trapped inside the house anymore.

The bonus area will be a circular firepit area. I was thinking stone or pea gravel, but Justin is set on the concrete. It won’t be the prettiest but I like that the kids will have somewhere flat to ride bikes/scooters. When does one even lay sod in MA? I know fall is the more popular option but I can’t survive spring and summer with a mud pit again.

Cookie season is officially over for our troop. It’s our first year/first cookie season. We thought we would make about $400. We made about 4k after the cookie debits. That is insane. But we do have 30 scouts so I guess it’s not super shocking. We actually don’t even know what we’re supposed to do with the money. We make the parents pay dues to cover project supplies, per Girl Scout rules (there are a lot of rules). And I know we are supposed to donate the donations (but that’s only $150). I know I did field trips in scouts, I’m assuming cookie money covered those. We are all just so surprised. I know we can save it but seems sad not to use yearly because then the girls who leave the troop/help earned it won’t benefit from it. I’m sure we will use some and save some, but we definitely have enough to plan a really fun adventure with our scouts!

[emloafs]

hawkmetri amnesia trope 🤝

Eli shakes his head and makes his way over to Demetri’s closet. He pulls the door open and searches the top shelf above the hangers that neatly display Demetri’s (new?) collection of color-block hoodies.

Huh. That’s also weird. It’s not there.

“Hey, Dem?” Eli calls over his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Where’s the air mattress?”

“The what?”

“Air mattress,” Eli repeats, turning to talk to Demetri. “You know, the one I sleep on literally every time I’m here?”

From across the room, Demetri’s eyes flicker up to the shelf where the air mattress normally lives. Realization flickers across his face.

“Oh, shit. Right.”

Eli raises an eyebrow. “So, where is it?”

Demetri scratches at his neck. “I kind of, uh, got rid of it. A little while back.”

“What? Why?” Eli is genuinely confused. If he got rid of the air mattress, where had Eli been sleeping when he was at Demetri’s?

“Well, you weren’t around to use it for a while,” Demetri admits. He looks flustered. “And then recently, there just hasn’t really been a use for it.”

This is the first time today that something in his and Demetri’s realm of normalness has been off. Eli isn’t sure what puzzle piece he’s missing, but he certainly can’t see the whole picture.

“Do I usually not stay over anymore?”

“No, no!” Demetri assures him. “You do! It’s just- um. It didn’t make sense to have you sleep on the floor when I- uh. When we- um…”

Demetri is looking back and forth between Eli and his full-size bed, his arms floundering around, probably for words he can’t seem to find. Realizing Demetri wasn’t going to give him a straight explanation, Eli sighs.

“Alright, whatever. Don’t tell me.”

He shrugs off his hoodie and drops it on Demetri’s desk chair before making his way to Demetri’s bed. He lifts the right side of the covers and begins to situate himself under them.

“Wha-,” Demetri clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

Eli looks over at him. He’s just standing on the other side of the bed staring at him. Now he’s the one who looks lost.

“Going to bed, man,” Eli says as if it is obvious. (It is very obvious to him, at least.) “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh.”

Demetri doesn’t move. Eli groans and drags a hand over his face.

“Can you stop being so weird about this and just get in bed?”

“Yup. Got it.”

read more of my fic here :)

[jolapeno]

Hello lovely human!

since i am a part of mostly GhostXHelen, for #mmvalentinesevent i was wondering if i could request Simon and Helen but them at home having a good time in his big bed in Manchester that she loves so much? You might remember me from the previous ask when i asked if we would ever get that so... i was wondering if this would be a good opportunity to request it :') i fell into the domestic hole with the rest of people here it seems and i can't help myself, but if you rather not then it's totally okay ^w^

of course! i’m going to answer this more as bullet points — just because it’s more rambling thoughts than a plot, hope that’s okay ☺��

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

fluffy headcanons re: his super king bed

the first time he invites her to stay, he shows her where to put her bag. her body coming to a halt at the sight of it. because outside of plush hotel rooms, she’s never seen one that size. her eyes widening towards him, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his head. because simon owns a super king bed and has kept it a secret. it’s plush, the bedsheets as expensive as the mattress. there’s more pillows than she thought he’d own.

“you tested it out, the mattress?” “i’ve slept in it.” “but, have you tested it?” “no, helen. i’ve not fucked someone in my bed.”

they change that. over and over again. her muscles sagging into the mattress after her shower, damp hair against his pillows.

“it’s a nice bed.” “most expensive thing i’ve ever bought.”

she could believe it. the rest of his place minimal, not to the highest spec. his television in his living room good enough, but not the best. no console or gadgets, no expensive leather sofa, but a worn fabric one she suspects he’s always owned. but his bed…

he’d later tell her it’s all he wanted when he got off the plane. that if he wasn’t fighting for something, he wanted to be sleeping in something good. something which wouldn’t be willing to let him go with ease.

helen sleeps in more than he does. her body clock adjusting the moment her skin meets british air—his mattress has something to do with it. it hugging her, making all of the aches and pains feel less.

mostly, she can stretch out. even when he’s next to her. the space between them large, expansive. so when her leg stretches out as sleep lessens it’s hold, she’s not surprised she doesn’t brush against him. her arm able to fully extend, it taking a second for her lashes to lift, to see his side empty.

she almost rises, almost gets up to go find him. seek out coffee and something to eat, but it’s just so nice to not have anywhere pressing to be. to not feel the uncomfortableness of a cot or the springs of her base bed. the sheets soft, comfortable—fucking expensive. the pillows full of feathers…

so she doesn’t, she turns her head to the cold side, eyes growing heavy, and she lets sleep take her.

“i think you’re only with me for my bed.” “what gave you that idea,” she winks.

he’s used to waking up to space, but he’s not used to waking up to space and her. her face turned towards him on the pillow, peace etched into her features—his muscles relaxing at the sight of her.

since he was little, he’s never been able to fall back asleep once he’s awake. it takes hours, most of the day, before he could feel tired again. if she weren’t here, he’d get up, exercise, stretch—drink cups of coffee like they’re water.

instead, he slides across the mattress, feeling her warmth enveloping around him. she doesn’t even stir when he brushes his fingers over her cheek. but her leg does slide over his, the softest murmur leaving her lips. he doesn’t want to wake her, just wants to feel her—show himself the evidence that she’s really here.

his head lying back down on the pillow, palm pressed against her cheek as his thumbs draws the laziest lines. his eyes slowly closing, feeling sleep sliding it’s fingers over him, taking him back under. the softest smile on his face as he does.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Duet, Pt. 9

Hours and hours later McKay wakes up in a strange bed, in a strange room, naked and with no recollection of how he got there. He fell asleep on his stomach and wakes up sleeping on his back. We are meant to think that this is hilarious rather than terrifying because he had been drooling slightly in his sleep.

We follow McKay's gaze glide over pictures on the nightstand and stop at the one of Cadman in full regalia with what are likely her parents, indicating a military ceremony. Interesting here is that his eyes gloss right over the picture of three young and attractive women to the sight of a military uniform, and then come to a stop at her father. It is the only man in his line of sight that catches his attention.

Now, the photo of Cadman flanked by two of her attractive friends is relevant for later, but she also has a frame that says "best friend" with a photo inside. The photo appears to be of a dog, a German Shepherd, which is not only a nice contrast to the picture of McKay's pussy on his nightstand but also connects or parallels her with Sheppard.

In Letters from Pegasus (S01E17) McKay talked about cats and dogs in his video message, saying that while he had a dog as a child, he prefers cats. However, he described his cat with very dog-like qualities: loyalty, enjoying his company and waiting for him to get home. Where McKay himself possesses many cat-like qualities, these dog-like qualities seemed descriptive of Sheppard, and it's not a coincidence that we find a Shepherd here, confined to the role of best friend. Cadman has many things in common with Sheppard, seemingly up to and including bisexuality, and it invites us to ask what Cadman's character can tell us about Sheppard.

So, McKay wakes up in a strange bed. McKay has drooled a bit while asleep and wipes it off of his face first thing, this really is gold star comedy right here. If we switch their genders, people would suddenly have a much easier time seeing just how creepy this whole set-up is (young soldier possesses the body of a middle aged scientist who wakes up naked in bed with her her body worn out). Cadman is young and a marine, so we might chalk her cavalier attitude toward sexuality and gender up to having to overcompensate in the hypermasculine environment of the USMC. This can also be seen in the decor of her room, full of gym equipment. She's clearly a gym bro and acts like one.

While momentarily confused, McKay very quickly shifts gears into bewildered:

McKay: Where am I? Where are my clothes?! Cadman: Can't we sleep just a little longer? McKay: It is two in the afternoon! Where the hell are we?

McKay is freaking out. This is very obviously the first time he has woken up naked in bed with a woman and he's just not alright with that. Not to even mention that it's late in the afternoon and he's missed almost a whole day of work, time that he could have used figuring this thing out and getting Cadman her own body back.

Cadman: We're in my room. Your mattress sucks. McKay: That is a prescription mattress, I need that for my back.

It is interesting in that we are asked to pay attention to McKay's bed while he is lying naked here, on a bed that clearly fits two. And as mentioned, McKay's bed seems to be the same size, only shot from a different angle. Both beds are wider than Sheppard's teeny tiny bed. While usually couples might prefer much bigger beds, given that the Lanteans seem to have preferred narrow beds (they might not even have used beds for sex for all we know; they might not even have pair-bonded the way humans do despite the sexcapades and may have preferred to sleep alone), and this bed is the largest bed we see on the show. Even Teyla's bed, seen in this same episode, seems smaller (although it, too, is likely the same size as it is also shot from a different angle). And by mentioning McKay's new mattress, we are asked to pay attention to this fact, to the size of his bed and how many people it fits.

Also, this indicates McKay is suffering from back pain. Orthopedic mattresses are used by people who sleep with pain, people who are in active recovery from injury, and athletes or other people who are active. They also support good spine alignment which is especially important if one were to sleep, say, on their side. The way that we have seen both McKay and Sheppard sleep, they sure could use mattresses like that. Both men also sustained injuries during the first year so such mattresses would also benefit both of them for that reason. Not to mention the fact that if you spent more time in a bed than you used to, you start paying attention to the kind of mattress you want. In effect, we are told that McKay has the kind of mattress that young women don't like but middle aged men do. But McKay currently has many other things in mind than his mattress:

McKay: Now, how the hell did we get here?' Cadman: I walked here while you were sleeping. McKay: You did what?! Cadman: Yeah, well, it was a lot easier to use your body when you were asleep.

She flat out says that she used his body. She also tells him that she's seen his dick (or ass). McKay is not alright with this woman seeing his dick (or ass). He's not alright with any of this. McKay draws up the sheet over his chest like a woman covering her breasts, which just tells us how uncomfortable he is with Cadman seeing any part of him in an intimate, non-professional setting. He is really quite angry by all of this.

McKay: Pants! Where are my pants? Cadman: They're over on the chair. Seen it! McKay: We have gotta set some boundaries! Cadman: Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I'm kinda used to sleeping in the buff. McKay: You have crossed a line here, Cadman. Cadman: I guarantee it was more traumatic for me.

Again, Cadman's line here is meant to take the sting out the fact that what she's done here is morally dubious. Just because she is a woman and younger than him does not make this alright. He has every right not to want to share his body with women, and it seems as though McKay is not alright with sharing his body with any woman in any fashion whatsoever. There is nothing erotic about this scene. Comedic, yes, as the comedy comes from the flipping of usual gender roles (usually you'd have a woman covering herself up, not wanting to be seen by a strange man and hence putting McKay, a man, in this female role is unexpected and hence farcical). But note that none of this is evidence that McKay is just bad with women and hence inexperienced. He is very clear about the fact that he does not want a woman to see him naked, ever. His voice actually breaks when he mentions setting boundaries, witnessing to just how upset this makes him.

McKay: Why are my legs burning? Cadman: Oh, I took us for a run before we went to bed. McKay: Why in the world would you do that? Cadman: Because it helps me unwind.

Cadman is a track star, a gym bro, a sport junkie. Action Jackson. Fine. But using the word "unwind" here is also suspect because it invites us to think what ever else she might have done to unwind in the minimum 12 hours that she controlled his body. And why would her taking him for a run make his legs burn? We just saw him trek through the woods for hours with Ford without complaining about his legs, and he was running faster than Cadman was on the field. McKay may not be a runner but he's not nearly in as bad a shape as we're lead to believe. Why are his legs burning?

Also, she says "before we went to bed" as though they really had slept together. Only, he didn't consent to any of that. She basically roofied him, and seems to have done all manner of things he has no knowledge of. And as this starts dawning on him, he realizes he really has no idea what she has done with him:

McKay: OK, OK, this is very important. Did you ingest any citrus? I am deathly allergic to citrus. Cadman: Uh-oh. McKay: Uh-oh? Cadman: Rodney, look. I worked out, I came here and I went to bed. Jeez, loosen up! McKay: I would love to, but every muscle in my body is sore from your stupid workout!

He mentions the citrus thing because it's the most acute of the things he wants to know she didn't do with his body, but it is by far not the only thing. The fear in his voice here is evidence of the degree of violation he feels from her actions. She tries to make it into a joke and she doesn't even seem remorseful for having used him. Yes, she's trapped, but that does not give her the right to take without asking. And the fact that she's acting like he's a stick in the mud just goes to show that she really has no idea why McKay is so upset about this. She thinks she's doing him favours by arranging dates, taking him out for a run, helping him unwind, teaching him about women.

Cadman has a USMC poster on her wall that says "Think fast," and as an explosives expert, she probably is very quick on her feet, she thinks fast and makes decisions on instinct without thinking things through. She has an impulsive nature. And where such qualities can serve one well on the field, and this certainly is something she shares with Sheppard, the same characteristics can make it very difficult to sustain relationships. But at the same time, it's McKay we find standing in front of this poster, and he is also having to think very fast in this situation. There's a lot riding on Cadman never figuring out why this is so upsetting to him.

The fact that we are shown the interiors of both Cadman and McKay's quarters is also meaningful in that they seem to reflect their respective internal landscapes. And the decor tells us that McKay is cerebral, he considers himself a mind first and foremost. Cadman, on the other hand, is corporal, she's first and foremost a body and physical being. In this, they are contrasted. Cadman is the body, McKay is the mind, and it is the fact that currently Cadman lacks a body and McKay does not have full access to his mind that makes the experience awful for both of them.

It does not seem to have even occurred to Cadman that McKay might not want to learn about women, and certainly does not want women to use his body, in bed or otherwise. Even in this episode, it is heavily, heavily implied that Rodney McKay is a gay man, and that just makes this whole scene creepier. It's a violation of his boundaries.

While Cadman never seems to catch up to just why McKay is upset about this, she does get that he is upset and hence attempts to ameliorate the situation by changing the subject:

Cadman: So what's on the board for today? McKay: More of the same. Why, do you have any ideas? Cadman: Yeah, actually I do. McKay: Don't look!

McKay has covered his body with a sheet and really seems to not want Cadman to see him naked. And the mainstream audience probably interprets this as him having hang-ups about his body. He's not an athlete, he's not in male model shape and hence is shy about letting a woman see him naked. If he was a manly man and confident with his body, he'd walk around with his dick swinging. But because he is not, we find him with the sheet wrapped around him like a woman, attempting to put on his underwear while covering up like a teenage girl putting on a bathing suit inside her towel at the beach. Here, with Cadman's gym paraphernalia lying around her room, we're invited to compare the two of them and to find Cadman more masculine even though she is a girl. But the thing is, like Sheppard well knows, none of this makes McKay not a man. He is very much a man. He is merely unwilling to share himself with a woman. His male body is not for her consumption. A woman watching him gives him no pleasure, it only makes him feel anxious.

The following scene is interesting, too. We find Ronon and Teyla sparring in the gym where they are joined by Sheppard. The scenes are connected by the same red free standing punching target in the background, both in Cadman's room and at the gym. Ronon and Teyla's sparring may even reflect the mental tug-of-war that is going on inside McKay's mind.

Regardless, Sheppard seems upset seeing them at it. He could also just be upset and it has nothing to do with the scene before him, but he does come across as awfully sour:

Sheppard: I thought we were supposed to be sparring today? Teyla: You were late, so Ronon and I...

As we learned in the previous scene, it's past two in the afternoon, and Sheppard was late arriving at a prearranged sparring date with Teyla. Previously, we've seen them spar before lunch (The Gift, S01E18) which may or may not be their usual time for sparring. They seem to do it regularly. While we don't know just how long Ronon and Teyla have been at it, it seems like Sheppard is not just a little late, he's a lot late. And given that they have their ear pieces, he could have informed Teyla that he was running late if he had been awake. Not being awake is the only reason for him to run late without having informed the person waiting for him about it. Which is interesting. Because we learned in the previous scene that it's two in the afternoon and Sheppard certainly is not someone who seems to sleep in. If anything, he seems to require less sleep than others. And given that we also saw him up and about in front of McKay's quarters in the previous night, we know he was awake late. And although he did bid McKay good night, it didn't seem like he was off to bed himself.

But we never ever learn what Sheppard had been doing. We don't get a hint of why he's late, why he seems to have slept in. But we do know that he did sleep from the fact that his jacket is much more rumpled now than it was the previous night.

Sheppard had been in his fatigues all day when we saw him in front of McKay's quarters but they were still fairly neat. Now, as he turns his back, we can clearly see that the condition of his outfit is worse, it has clearly been slept in. So again, as he apparently had in The Runner (S02E03), Sheppard seems to have slept in his clothes. He hadn't even taken the jacket off which, as we saw with McKay, is the minimum one might do to get comfortable. This happening once is an accident. This happening twice is a pattern. This is also a contrast to Cadman making McKay sleep in the nude. And while now both McKay and Sheppard seem to sleep with their clothes, because we never previously saw Sheppard's jacket in this condition, we may assume that he used to sleep in something much less than this.

But the fact that he's still in his clothes from yesterday also means that he hasn't showered. Although he might be cool, Sheppard is far from fine himself. Sheppard also looks tired, his hair is a mess. His reaction time also seems slower, as he's late to react to Ronon slamming Teyla into the mat:

Sheppard: What the hell do you think you're doing? Dex: I wouldn't have hurt her. Sheppard: You sure the hell looked like you were going to. You OK? Teyla: I am fine. I told him that he did not have to go easy on me. Sheppard: You've gotta be careful what you say to this guy.

Now, Sheppard says that one has to be careful saying things to Ronon but we haven't actually seen Ronon do anything that might warrant this.

So far, Ronon has been doing pretty much everything Sheppard has asked him to do. He took the utensils and attempted to eat with them, he tried out the weapons Sheppard showed him, and he sparred with the marines out of Sheppard's request. Teyla told him not to take it easy on her, so he didn't. Sure, Sheppard himself has probably tried to be careful in his use of words around Ronon because he is working him over, is trying to convince the man into coming to a certain predetermined conclusion (to stay and join his team) but there is nothing Ronon himself has done that warrants this caution. While their sparring does seem intense, Sheppard's reaction is nonetheless overblown here.

Where Ronon had saved McKay's life and Sheppard was hoping that he could use the man for this purpose in the future, he's still unsure if Ronon is controllable as an asset. He needs him to make sure McKay is safe but at the same time, he needs to be sure that Ronon is not a threat to McKay himself. And seeing him slam Teyla down like this, it did make him wonder because, unlike Cadman, he has learned to think things through after getting to know McKay. Maybe he wanted this to happen too much. He definitely had too much riding on this. He needed to get a second opinion from someone that he knows wouldn't allow him to put McKay into jeopardy.

Continued in Pt. 10

[invisibleraven]

my internet has returned home from the war

good morning kisses

sweet tarts

Welcome back Katie's internet, we have missed you greatly!

Carrie had never been a good sleeper-her thoughts always racing. Planning out choreography, reworking songs, rethinking outfits, and that was just for gigs. Nevermind her normal life where she had to be Carrie, always on, smiling with a bite, perfect and perky and pink.

Honestly it was so exhausting she wondered how she was able to stay up at all.

However, now she had her own space, where she felt a little less pressure, and that was all due to the man she shared said space with.

She had never expected Reggie-a goofball bass player who liked vintage sci-fi, pizza, and lived in leather and flannel. But he was also a sweetheart with hidden depths who made her feel treasured and beautiful, no matter what.

It was Reggie who insisted on splurging on a new bed when tey got this place-her childhood bed was too small for two, and he didn't want to go back to his parents house for his. They had a lot of fun testing mattresses-even if she was sure the store employees wanted to murder them for jumping on the beds.

Thankfully her dad's platinum card silenced any objections-and well, he had told her it would be a housewarming gift for her since he wouldn't be around to help her move.

So now she and Reggie had a queen sized bed with a solid wood frame, high thread count sheets, and a lovely quilt that his MeeMaw had made them. Sleep came a lot easier in it-but that might had been because of Reggie holding her through the night.

But maybe the best part was waking up next to him. She usually woke up first-she always had been an early riser, and even if sleep came a little easier, he didn't completely obliterate her insomnia.

Carrie would turn over, or look up, and just watch him-he assured her it was adorable and not creepy, but he was a little biased. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way the early morning sun made his pale skin glow, highlighting the freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose. The way he was so still and calm when he was usually so fluid and full of energy.

Gosh he was pretty.

"I can feel you staring," he mumbled.

"Who could blame me?"

He grinned at that, still not opening his eyes, and she rubbed their noses together until his lashes fluttered, letting her see that springtime green looking back at her.

"Mornin' doll," he drawled, pecking her lips gently. "Sleep good?"

She shrugged a little in response-by now he knew she and sleep weren't on the best of terms some days. "Got a few broken hours."

"Obviously I'm going to have to start wearing you out before bed," he said with a leer.

"You know I just get wired after sex," Carrie replied, refusing to rise to his bait.

"I meant going for a run, gosh you've got a dirty mind," he teased, then pulled her in for another kiss-still closed mouthed because morning breath, but it lingered to the point that Carrie's toes curled and she sighed into it.

"How about you? How was your nap?" she asked, their lips brushing as she barely pulled away.

"Not too bad, though I could go back to sleep if we didn't have things to get done," he replied, slowly sitting up. "I'll start breakfast if you want?"

She nodded, but as he got up, she yanked on the necklace he wore-even to bed-pulling him in for one more kiss. "Love you."

"Love you too doll."

They smiled at each other, even as Reggie backed away to go make food and Carrie got up to do her morning yoga and get ready for the day. Even if part of her was tempted to crawl right back under the covers.

Especially if Reggie's offer to wear her out was a sincere one.

Instead she plowed on with her morning, and looked forward to a day when she could just lounge in bed, enjoying his company, maybe some more kisses.

Not that she didn't get plenty-kisses over coffee and after brushing their teeth, a kiss just after she applied her lipstick, just because he loved how it made her brow wrinkle having to reapply it. A kiss before they went their own ways that lasted longer than the others.

And the kiss he blew her before his bike took off, the one that made her heart flutter uncontrollably, just because.

So maybe Carrie wasn't the best sleeper-but that was okay. She preferred mornings-and all the kisses that came with it anyways.