#To live a life where you are always second and never ever allowing yourself to be first...

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & LUKE — streets of ann arbor au fic

darling, you’re one in a million

inspired by never met anyone like you — ella langley & hardy

warnings! suggestive, allusion to smut (but not actual smut), angst, fighting, mentions of fake ids and underaged drinking, friends with benefits, slow burn (i think?) and i think thats it! word count: 25.3k

(5 times you were just friends + 1 time he made an actual move)

a/n: here it is… the big one that some of you have been waiting for🤭 im so sorry it took me so long to write! it’s in different sections with the approximate time frame, which i also hope that lines up with everything else that’s happened so far in this series. it’s essentially 6 mini fics in one so if u can’t read it in one sitting, it should be easier to come back to it later! i made a few changes back and forth with my docs file and tumblr, so im really sorry if there’s errors!! please msg me if you find one so i can fix it😭 anyways i hope you enjoy it, i love you guys!

1. THE SECOND YOU WALKED THROUGH THAT DOOR (september 2021)

You heard the endless stories from your friends who were a couple years older than you, how exciting college is and the endless opportunities you come across. It’s the best four years of your life, they say, and it’s filled with partying and hanging around your best friends. The people you meet in college are the ones who will be your friends for the rest of your life, and you also have a fair chance at meeting your person in college. So you were more than eager to start your new journey in Ann Arbor, Michigan – a fresh start at the University of Michigan. 

It was far enough away from home where you felt like you were maturing and able to experience living on your own, however it was also close enough where you could make the trip back if you ever got homesick. Which was a comforting reminder at the back of your mind when you watched your mom and dad drive away from the front of your residence building, leaving you completely alone in a new city for the first time in your life. 

Everything felt new and quite frankly was new to you. You spent the rest of that Sunday afternoon unboxing your belongings from cardboard boxes and organizing them into the various storage spaces in your new room. You somehow managed to get a single dorm room without a roommate, the front desk said it was some mistake that occurred in the system but they allowed you to keep the room to yourself. Which you weren’t exactly sure if you were grateful for the fact you didn’t have to worry about sharing a dorm room or if you hated that you would be alone. But, having the extra dresser, wardrobe, and desk was something you definitely didn’t mind having. 

The warm first night in your dorm room was different, it felt strange to have no one to physically say goodnight to. You had called your mom while getting ready for bed, at least someone to keep you company – which at this point you sorta wished you did have a roommate to talk to. Once you had hung up the call, you laid in your new bed, and were ever so thankful for that TikTok video that had highly recommended getting a mattress topper for your dorm room. You would've been lying if you told someone that you didn’t cry on your first night alone, you did because you missed your parents even though you were so excited for your new life that you were starting that next morning. 

Nonetheless, you were eventually able to fall asleep despite the nerves and anticipation for the start of frosh week activities scheduled for 9am on Monday. You were thankful that you decided to pack your childhood stuffed animal and that your dad made sure to wash your bed sheets with the same detergent as always, so at least a small bit of your new room still felt like home. 

You had made small talk with another girl who stood in the same line as you in the dining hall on Monday morning. She said that she was studying art history and liked photography. She seemed nice but you could also tell that she was looking for her friend to join her in the dining hall. You didn’t mind, you knew that there would be countless more opportunities for you to meet new people who will become your friends here. 

The activities of frosh week were jam packed, you hopped from activity to activity and did more icebreakers than you ever had done before in your life. You couldn’t even count how many times you introduced yourself, where you were from, what you were studying, and a random fact about you. What you were most excited for was the parties being held in the different frat houses on Hill St and Washtenaw Ave, you heard many of the other first years buzzing about it and spreading the word. You agreed with another girl, Abby, that the two of you would go together and meet more people and let loose. 

The sun had barely set by the time you were slipping on your favorite jeans and debating which top said “fun and approachable” without trying too hard. Abby had texted you about ten minutes earlier, confirming the location which was some frat house on Washtenaw with loud music already spilling out the windows and a lineup forming down the front steps. You tucked your phone into your back pocket, gave yourself a last once-over in the mirror, and tried not to overthink it.

It was your first real college party, and you felt the mix of adrenaline and nerves fizzing under your skin.

Abby was already waiting by the sidewalk outside your dorm, her hair curled and a confident grin on her face. 

“Ready to make some bad decisions?” She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You laughed, linking your arm with hers, “Only slightly bad, I still want to graduate.”

The streets were buzzing with students, there were groups spilling onto lawns, red solo cups in hand, laughter echoing from porches strung up with fairy lights and UMich banners. It felt like the beginning of something, the new chapter of your life, which could be life changing with lifelong memories to be made.

By the time you reached the party, the house was packed. Music pulsed through the walls, and the air was heavy with the smell of cheap beer, cologne, and way too much Axe body spray. Abby dragged you towards the kitchen, where there were people filling up plastic red solo cups from a painted cooler filled with jungle juice. You took one gratefully and sipped cautiously and just as you expected, it was definitely too sweet and definitely way too strong.

You were still scanning the room as you wondered who you might meet as you left your cup on a table, when your eyes landed on him. 

He stood just a few feet away near the fridge, mid-conversation with another guy. He had this easy and bright grin and his backwards Michigan hat did absolutely nothing to hide the messy tufts of brown hair peeking out underneath. He wasn’t ridiculously loud or surrounded by a crowd, but something about him pulled your attention like gravity.

As if he felt your gaze, his eyes flickered up and immediately met yours. You looked away instantly as you felt your cheeks heating up in hopes of him not noticing your staring by pretending to be very interested in the various solo cups in the kitchen.

“Hey,” A voice spoke up from behind you, “You a freshman too?”

You turned and almost knocked over a drink with your elbow when you realized it was him. The boy from across the room, who was now standing right next to you with his playful and curious smile drawn upon his face.

“Hi uh, yeah,” You managed to squeak out before clearing your throat, “I just moved in yesterday, I’m Y/N.”

He stuck out his hand, “Pretty name for a pretty girl, I’m Ethan but my friends call me Eddie.”

You shook it, your fingers brushing his calloused palm, “It suits you.”

“You think?” 

“Mhm,” You hummed with a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

“First college party?” He asked, tilting his head slightly, like he already knew the answer by the way you stood awkwardly and alone.

You nodded with a sheepish smile, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little,” He teased, “You immediately ditched the jungle juice, which honestly is probably for the better anyways.”

That made you laugh leading to the tension in your chest loosening just a little. You found yourself wanting to keep talking to him, you were curious and you wanted to know why he came over to you when there were so many other people he could’ve approached at this party.

“So,” He continued with his large brown eyes that softened whenever he looked at you, “What are you studying?”

You didn’t expect to spend most of your night with him, but somehow, that’s exactly what happened. You and Ethan had found yourselves tucked against the wall in the cramped living room after he helped you to a better tasting drink, the two of you held your drinks and talked like old friends. At first it was the typical icebreaker questions that you two had both become immune to after Frosh activities being filled with them – like where you were from, what you were studying, what you liked to do in your free time. But it didn’t take long before the conversation quickly bloomed into something more, something easier. 

Ethan was sipping on his warm frat beer, occasionally pulling a slight face at the taste, while you nursed your Twisted Tea, grateful he grabbed something you actually liked. Even that didn’t matter, because the drinks were nothing in comparison to how he smiled at you, like he genuinely wanted to be nowhere else but right here with you.

And he couldn’t stop looking at you.

There was something magnetic about you, and he knew it from the second he saw you. Maybe it was the way your hair shimmered in the low kitchen light, or the way your eyes sparkled every time you smiled, but it was more than that. Something about the way you carried yourself, the way you tilted your head just a little when you listened, had him feeling like gravity itself had shifted.

Ethan wouldn’t say he believed in love at first sight but whatever this was, it had his heart flipping in ways he didn’t know were possible. Cheesy rom-com butterflies? Yeah, those were very real and they fluttered like crazy every time your knee bumped his, every time your fingers brushed his forearm as you laughed at something dumb he said.

And God, he needed to make you laugh. He craved your attention and your validation. He found himself watching you after every joke or comment, waiting to see if your lips would curve into that same adorable smile again, if you’d laugh and tilt your head toward him, eyes crinkling in the corners. Every time you did, it electrified him in the best way possible.

He didn’t tell you he was on the hockey team, just not yet. It was a detail of himself that he thought could come later. As for right now, he just wanted to be Ethan Edwards. Not the guy everyone pointed out as he left the arena this morning, or the defenseman from the incoming class. He didn’t want to impress you with a title, he wanted to impress you by being himself.

It seemed to be working. You didn’t flinch when his hand gently settled against the small of your back to help you through the packed kitchen. You didn’t move away when his arm draped casually around your shoulders as you both stood off to the side, watching a group of guys attempt to shotgun beers in the backyard. If anything, you leaned into his touch like it was the comfort you were seeking at that crazy party filled with people you didn’t know.

You didn’t say it, but his touch left a lasting mark deeper than you had originally anticipated. Maybe it was the warmth of his fingers, or the fact that every time he looked at you, it was with such focused and undivided attention. Like nothing else around him mattered. Like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the whole damn house. It was nice after feeling like just a number in the crowd of freshmen during frosh week. 

He made sure you were okay, by offering to grab you a refill when your cup was low and offering if you would rather have a bottle of water, checking in with a gentle “you good?” whenever the party crowd got too chaotic. His voice dropped into a soft, raspy tone when he leaned in to speak in your ear, just for you to hear over the music. The kind of whisper that made goosebumps trail up your neck, even though you were sweating in this overcrowded house.

He laughed easily, and when he did, you couldn’t help but smile too. He was the golden retriever kind of boy, he was like sunshine in human form, all charm and genuine kindness wrapped in a backwards hat and a crooked grin. The type of guy who made you feel safe in a room full of strangers. The type of guy you weren’t expecting to meet tonight at a random frat party.

And here you were with heart stuttering, cheeks aching from smiling so much, wondering how a guy you’d just met could already make you feel like you’d known him forever.

You were in the middle of telling Ethan about your horrible high school junior prom experience, which was making him laugh so hard that he nearly choked on his drink, when a voice cut through the noise beside him.

“Dude, I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes.”

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, “My bad man, I got a little distracted.”

That’s when you looked over, and everything tilted and shifted within seconds.

The boy standing next to Ethan was taller than him with messy dark blonde curls that flopped a little over his forehead and blue eyes that reminded you of summers at the lake. Something about him was sharp and soft all at once, like his confidence wasn’t loud, but still commanded a room. He wore a faded blue Michigan shirt and jeans that clung to long legs, hands tucked casually into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

And when he looked at you, really looked at you with those eyes and you felt something in your chest stutter.

“Oh,” Ethan said, realizing that the two of you didn’t know each other, “Y/N, this is my roommate, Luke.”

Your name rolled off Ethan’s tongue like it belonged there, but when Luke repeated it under his breath, it sounded different, it sounded better than it ever has before.

“Hi,” You said, barely above a whisper.

Luke smiled with just a small, barely-there curve of tugging at his lips, but it hit you like a sucker punch to the ribs.

“Hi,” He said back, and it wasn’t much, but the air shifted around the two of you anyway.

Ethan watched the exchange, brow twitching with something unreadable for half a second before he gave a friendly nudge to Luke’s side, “We’re just hanging out, you sticking around?”

Luke didn’t take his eyes off you, “Yeah, I think I will.”

Somehow, the next moment blurred, one second Ethan was laughing at something someone shouted from the kitchen, and the next you found yourself standing closer to Luke, like the room had naturally arranged itself that way. Like the crowd around you peeled away from the spot on the wall without either of you noticing.

“First year too?” He asked, head tipping slightly as he studied you, his eyes dancing around your features.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yep,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Just got in a few days ago.”

There was something quieter about Luke, something that was less overt than Ethan’s golden warmth, but just as equally magnetic. Where Ethan was all sunshine and smiles, Luke had this steady, comforting energy that wrapped around you like a blanket of warmth. For whatever reason, from the second you started talking to him, it felt like you’d known him in another life.

You talked, and god, you talked for hours… or maybe it was just an hour, or twenty minutes. Time had stopped meaning anything the second you fell into conversation. He asked questions and not just the polite kind, but real ones. Ones that made you open up before you even realized you were doing it and he listened to each word that rolled off of your tongue. 

He laughed too, in this low, warm way that made your stomach flutter and do multiple somersaults. When he leaned in to hear you better, his shoulder bumped yours and stayed there. His presence didn’t demand attention. It started slow and natural, like you’d always been meant to find him at this exact moment.

It didn’t even occur to you that Ethan had drifted away until you glanced up and realized he was on the other side of the room, caught up in conversation with a few guys and giving you and Luke space. Not that you were thinking about anyone else now.

Not with Luke watching you like this. Not with his fingers brushing yours every now and then as you both leaned against the wall, talking like there wasn’t a whole party happening around you.

It was terrifying, really, how fast and how easily this connection bloomed. Like something had cracked open inside of you and let the light pour in. From the way Luke kept looking at you, with that unreadable softness in his eyes, you had a small feeling in your gut that he felt it too.

You were mid-laugh when the thought hit you, like a snap of realization slicing through the warm haze of the party.

Abby.

You fished your phone out of your back pocket, the screen lighting up with a missed text from over an hour ago.

notification: abbs (1 unread message)

Just left with a couple girls from my dorm, they r heading to another party. U good? Text me when ur home safe <3

Your stomach sank with a quiet thud. Not because you were angry because Abby had checked in, but because you hadn’t noticed her leave. Your whole world tonight had shrunk down to warm beer, low music, and the boy standing beside you who made everything else fade into background noise.

“You okay?” Luke’s voice cut in, his eyes catching yours in the dim light.

You nodded, tucking your phone away back into your pocket, “Yeah, just realized the girl I had originally come here with left for some other party.”

His brows furrowed slightly but not in judgment, rather with just concern, “Left without telling you?”

“She texted me,” You clarified quickly with a light shake of your head, “I just didn’t see her text.”

Luke’s gaze lingered on your face, unreadable for a beat before he glanced toward the door and back at you.

“I can walk you home, if you want.”

You opened your mouth to decline which you weren’t sure why, but the look in his eyes softened something in you. There was no pressure, no hint of obligation, but just a quiet offer wrapped in intention.

“I’d like that,” You told him, your voice barely above the buzzing of the music and drunk people behind you.

He waited for you to nod, to move first, before gently pressing a hand to your lower back which was light, respectful, steady as he guided you through the crowd. The two of you stepped out into the warm Michigan night, the heavy scent of spilt beer and sweat replaced by the comforting dampness of summer grass and the distant echo of cicadas.

It was late, but not dead. The sidewalks were still filled with a few scattered students laughing, lingering under streetlamps and porch lights, but it felt quieter now. The sky above was a velvet navy, clouds trailing lazily past the moon, and the air had cooled just enough to carry the scent of cedar and the faint trace of someone’s barbeque down the street.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing every few steps. It wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t forced. There was a rhythm to it that you fell into easily, like you’d walked beside him before.

Luke shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So,” He said eventually, his voice casual but warm, “Was it everything you imagined? Was it anything like the shows and movies?”

“The party?” You asked, glancing up at him to catch him already looking at you.

He nodded and you gave a little laugh, tilting your head as you reflected on his question, “Honestly? A little overwhelming, and stickier than I imagined.”

Luke grinned, his freckles flashing in the low light of the streetlamps, “That’s pretty spot on.”

“But I’m glad I went,” You added, your voice softer now, “I met you, didn’t I?”

That stopped him in his tracks for a second. His steps slowed just slightly, like the words hit harder than you meant them to. He looked at you,

“I’m glad I met you too.”

The silence stretched between you again, but it was comfortable despite only having met him just a couple hours ago. You turned the corner, and your place came into view with its windows glowing soft yellow, porch light casting a faint circle on the front steps like a stage waiting to hold its next scene.

You slowed to a stop just before the front door.

Luke shifted his weight as he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, “So, uh… I know we just met, but...”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah?”

“Can I see you again?” His voice was gentle, “Somewhere less sweaty and dark?”

You laughed, your cheeks warming despite the cool breeze of the Michigan night as you looked up at Luke, “I’d really like that.”

He smiled, wide and boyish, making your heart skip a few beats as his eyes flickered across your facial features – he fished out his phone for you to put in your number into his contacts. Luke looked up from his phone screen for a moment as his thumbs typed away before slipping it back into his pocket. You felt your phone vibrate, and he didn’t step closer nor did he push the moment. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, letting the night hold the weight of everything unsaid.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He told you, like your name was the safest thing he knew.

“Goodnight, Luke.”

When you slipped inside, the heavy door clicking quietly behind you, you leaned against it with a soft sigh escaping past your lips, and heart still dancing somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t move right away. Just stood there, cheeks warm, a ridiculous grin tugging at your lips as the buzz of the night played back in pieces – his laugh, the way he tilted his head when you spoke, how careful his hand had been on your back as he walked you home. It all lingered like the echo of a favourite song you didn’t want to end.

Your heart had been beating steadily all night, but somewhere between the way Luke said your name and the way his eyes lingered on your face like you were the only thing worth seeing, it started skipping in uneven rhythms. It was stuttering, racing, tripping over itself like it couldn’t quite keep up with what you were feeling. Every time he looked at you, there was this quiet sparkle in his eyes, almost like starlight flickering just for you and it made your chest flutter and your breath catch in a way that felt dizzying. Whenever his fingers brushed your arm or his shoulder nudged against yours, even the softest touch lit a fire beneath your skin, slow and warm and all-consuming. You couldn’t tell if it was nerves or excitement, or something far more dangerous blooming in the silence between words. All you knew was that you hadn’t felt like this before; not so fast, not so deeply, and not with anyone else.

notifications: unknown number (2 unread messages)

I had a great time with you tonight :) Sleep well!

You let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh reading the two notifications on your lockscreen before quickly adding his contact into your phone as you kicked off your shoes and padded into your room, closing the door behind you. You were giddy, like a teenage girl with a crush and a secret, head full of stars and heart full of something unnamed but impossibly bright.

Luke Hughes.

You whispered his name in your mind like a confession you weren’t ready to say out loud. As you curled up beneath your comforter, still in your jeans, your face pressed into the familiar softness of your pillow, one truth settled in your chest like a promise:

Tonight meant something.

And deep down, you hoped he felt it too.

2. THE SIDE YOU PICK ON THE SIDEWALK (march 2021)

Tonight, the streets of Ann Arbor were chillier than they have been for the past few weeks with winter coming around the corner. The night had the breeze that caused shivers to run up your spine. The kind that settled quietly over your shoulders and nipped at your cheeks without ever fully sinking in. The sidewalks glistened faintly with the remnants of an earlier rain, puddles reflecting streetlights in blurred halos of gold. There were leaves that crunched under your sneakers as you walked, frosted and curled at the edges like they'd been resting too long in the winter cold.

Luke walked beside you, just as he always did after a game with his shoulder close to yours, his hands shoved into his pockets, his steps falling perfectly in sync with yours like routine. He wasn’t in a rush, he never was with you. He always made it feel like you had all the time in the world.

He’d swapped his jersey and hockey equipment pads for a simple black hoodie that clung slightly to his still-warm skin, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the prominent veins that danced up his forearms. His joggers were slightly worn and showed its continuous use by the light fading of colour at his knees, and his curls which were still damp from a quick shower poked out from beneath a backwards hat. There was a fresh scrape on his knuckle, and a faint pink flush on his cheeks that hadn't faded from the cold of the rink yet.

"You know," You said, glancing at him with a teasing smile, "You could at least pretend you're tired after skating like that."

He looked over at you, eyes bright as his blue eyes interlocked with yours, "I’m not tired, I’m thriving actually. Can’t let my number one post-game dinner date down.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words, “Oh, so I’m on a tier list now?”

“Obviously,” He gave a playful nudge to your side, and your arms brushed, lingering longer than necessary, “Top of the leaderboard, and no one else is even close.”

You tried to hide your grin behind a light scoff, “Must be a short list.”

Luke chuckled under his breath, his voice a low rumble that melted into the night air, “Nah, I’m just picky.”

Your heart gave a quiet, inconvenient thump in your chest. The two of you kept walking, the silence between you thickened with something unspoken but was still comfortable. His proximity was calming and electric all at once with each step falling into a rhythm, the soft thud of sneakers on pavement almost hypnotic.

And then you noticed it again.

Luke shifted ever so subtly, moving to your outer side as you both stepped off the curb. His body angled just slightly in front of yours, instinctively placing himself between you and the traffic that was humming just down the street. He didn’t say anything about it. 

He just did it, just like he always did.

That small detail nestled into your chest like a weightless truth, and you turned your head slightly to look at him again. You looked at the set of his jaw, the way his breath curled in front of him like smoke, the soft flicker of his lashes as he glanced down and met your gaze.

“You always do that,” You said to him quietly.

He raised an eyebrow with his eyes filled with curiosity, “Do what?”

“Walk on the side that’s closest to the road.”

Luke blinked, then shrugged with a grin, his typical all casual charm, “I mean, if a random car were to crash into the curb, I’d prefer to be the one flattened than you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, “Very noble of you.”

“I try,” He told you, sending a sideways glance your way, “Chivalry’s not dead, at least not while I’m around.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, Luke stopped in his tracks.

“Wait,” He paused in his movements suddenly as he reached out to tug your sleeve gently with his fingers warm against your wrist, “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

He gave you a look, one that sent butterflies low in your stomach, “You always say that.”

Then, without waiting for you to argue, he pulled the hoodie over his head with one clean motion, his white T-shirt riding up just slightly with the movement, revealing the curve of his toned waist and a peak of his defined lower abdominal muscles. Your gaze flickered away quickly but it was still not fast enough. Your skin buzzed from the sudden shift in temperature and something else entirely.

“Here,” He mumbled as he draped his hoodie over your shoulders, his hands brushing your collarbone as he adjusted the fabric, “You get cold too easily.”

You slipped your arms into the sleeves and it swallowed you in the best way, soft and warm and heavy with the faintest trace of his cologne –  it smelt like clean soap, cedar, and something like hockey ice and adrenaline. The sleeves fell past your hands, and the inside smelled like him and it somehow felt like him.

He tugged on the drawstring gently, his fingers brushing your cheek, “Perfect fit,” He said with his voice just slightly quieter now.

And the way he looked at you then, god, it was enough to make your knees go soft and your legs feel like jello.

You turned forward again, hoping he couldn’t hear the stutter in your heartbeat in your chest.

“So,” He hummed, falling back into step beside you with a familiar smirk, “Diner or the burger joint?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, “Hmm… it depends on who’s covering the bill.”

Luke placed a hand on his chest in mock offense, “Wow, so that’s what this is. I open doors, give you my hoodie, protect you from imaginary traffic,”

“And now you’re buying my dinner,” You finished sweetly, glancing up at him through your lashes, “That’s what good guys do, right?”

Luke leaned a little closer, voice dipping low. “I’d do a hell of a lot more for you than just buy dinner.”

Your breath hitched, but not enough for him to call you out on it, though it was enough for him to notice. A small smirk etched upon his face as he slowly pulled away and returned to his full height. You could feel his grin even though he didn’t say anything else. You both just allowed the air between you two to settle into something warmer, and he didn’t need to follow up with words.

The look in his eyes already said too much and somehow, even though you were the one wearing his hoodie, Luke still felt like the one keeping you warm.

The nearby campus diner sat on the corner of a quiet street with its neon sign buzzing faintly above the entrance, casting a pinkish glow against the glass. Inside, it smelled like a mix of maple syrup, grilled onions, and coffee that had been sitting on a burner a little too long. The booth seat’s vinyl was cracked in places, and the menus were faded in colour and the plastic protection was sticky, but it was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down and where college friends would hang out after a night out or get breakfast the morning after. Somehow, the combination of all factors is what made it perfect.

You and Luke slid into your usual booth near the back, the vinyl seat squeaking beneath you. You shrugged off his hoodie to avoid sweating through it but kept it nearby in the empty space beside you, folded neatly beside you like a quiet reminder.

The two of you ordered quickly, he got the same thing he always did, which was a massive plate of fries, the classic burger with no tomatoes, and a strawberry milkshake. You ordered something smaller, just a vanilla milkshake and hashbrowns, but eyed his fries like a challenge.

“So…” You said innocently as the food arrived at your table, “Those fries smell amazing.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, already catching on to your subtle hints, “Uh-huh.”

You reached over towards him, slow and deliberate, with your fingers hovering just above his plate – and he didn’t stop you. He didn’t slap your hand away, didn’t shoot you his usual “I don’t share food” glare he gave to the boys on the team. Instead, he leaned back slightly into his seat and tilted the plate toward you.

Your fingers closed around a fry as you blinked up at him through your mascara coated lashes.

“You’re letting me?”

He shrugged, lips twitching into a faint smile, “You’re the exception.”

You grinned as you popped the fry in your mouth, “High praise.”

“You have no idea,” he said, still watching you with the small amused glint in his eyes.

You went back for another, and this time, your fingertips brushed his on the plate. A quick spark of warmth shot through your hand, and just for a second your eyes met his and stayed there a beat too long. The edges of his grin softened into something more fond than flirty, and your stomach did a tiny, helpless flip.

Luke took a fry from the same plate, barely glancing down while his foot nudged yours gently under the table, almost like he couldn’t help it.

“You realize I don’t even let Duker touch my fries,” He told you after a moment, sipping his milkshake.

“That’s because Dylan double-dips,” You replied with a laugh as you dipped your fry into your vanilla milkshake.

Luke nodded in agreement, “And talks with his mouth full.”

“But me?” You teased, leaning forward just enough to shorten the space between you, “I get full fry privileges?”

He tilted his head, eyes dancing over your features, “You get a lot of privileges with me.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you didn’t look away from the defenseman. Instead, you stole one more fry off his plate, slow and deliberate, and popped it into your mouth with a wink. When he laughed, with head tilting back slightly and his eyes crinkling, you felt something settle deep in your chest. Realizing that this moment wasn’t just a post-game routine anymore, like it had become a sacred tradition between you and him. A routine only for you and him to share without the other guys tagging along. Something you didn’t want to stop or share with anyone else.

By the time you both stepped back outside, the night had turned colder, the wind curling around your legs in quick little swirls that made you hug Luke’s hoodie tighter around your body. He noticed, like always, and gently placed a hand on the small of your back as you walked, guiding you down the quieter stretch of sidewalk like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer into his side to provide you with his body warmth, something that you always commented on.

Neither of you said much on the way home, because you didn’t need to, the presence of the other was comforting enough. The streetlights cast soft yellow glows that flickered against the wet pavement, and your sneakers echoed side by side in a quiet rhythm. Luke yawned once, with his shoulder brushing yours and you smiled to yourself.

“You tired?” You asked softly, glancing up at him and noticing how the soft golden glow from the street lights highlighted his eyes and freckles across his nose and cheeks.

He hummed, “A little, but not enough to call it a night though.”

You turned to look back up at him, your heart doing that little flutter as usual, “Do you wanna crash at mine?”

Luke blinked, but not with a look of surprise, rather just like he was checking to make sure you meant it, “You sure?”

You nodded, “Yeah, you’ve got a practice tomorrow anyways and I’m closer to Yost.”

He smiled, a slow and easy thing, and nodded once, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The door to your place clicked softly behind you, muffling the world outside. Inside, the space was warm and comforting with fairy lights lining the edges of your walls that met with the ceiling, faint music still playing from a half-forgotten Spotify playlist, and a stack of laundry you really should’ve folded yesterday still waiting on your chair.

Luke kicked off his sneakers by the door just like how he’s done it a hundred times before. He hung his hat on the same hook he always used, then padded across the room and flopped backward onto your bed like it belonged to him.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement, “Make yourself comfortable.”

He grinned at the ceiling before looking over to you with that same crooked smile, “Already did.”

You tossed a pillow at him, which he caught easily, “At least pretend to be a respectful guest.”

He rolled onto his side, propped on one elbow, watching you pull your hair up and grab your skincare from the drawer in your ensuite washroom that faced into your bedroom.

“You always do that little claw clip thing instead of your messy bun when you’re tired,” He said casually.

You paused as you turned away from the mirror to stare at him, “What?”

He shrugged, still smiling mainly to himself, “Just something I noticed.”

You ducked your head, cheeks warming. He didn’t say it to fluster you, but he still managed to do it anyways.

A little while later, you were both in your tiny bathroom brushing your teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, spitting into the sink between giggles. You were wearing one of his old Michigan Hockey t-shirts that fell mid-thigh which you’d somehow stolen weeks ago, and he was in his joggers and a plain white tee, hair still damp from his shower.

Back in your room, Luke settled onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard, scrolling aimlessly through his phone while you dimmed the lights. You climbed in beside him, knees bumping under the blankets, the silence stretching in the coziest way possible.

After a while, he locked his phone and set it on your nightstand, then he shifted closer, just enough that your thighs touched beneath the covers.

His voice was quiet, “You know, this is kinda my favourite part.”

You turned to him to face him with your head tilted, “What is?”

“This,” He said, glancing around your room before his eyes landed back on you, “The post-diner crash, your room, your comfy big bed with so many jelly cats and pillows, your music, and you wearing my t-shirt.”

You looked down at your shirt and laughed softly as the heat painted across your cheeks.

Luke leaned his head back against the wall, gazing at the ceiling for a second before looking at you again.

“You make it easy,” He mumbled as his voice barely above a whisper now.

And in that moment, with the quiet hum of your music playing off your Alexa, the soft rustle of blankets, and the warmth of Luke’s leg pressed against yours, something tugged in your chest as his comforting scent and body warmth surrounded you.

You both stayed quiet and just listened to the gentle hum of the world outside your window. The distant buzz of late-night cars, the faint whistle of wind against the glass, the steady rise and fall of Luke’s breathing beside you.

Your bed wasn't exactly built for two, at least not for the second person to be as tall and muscular as him. But he made it work, curling towards you without hesitation, like this wasn’t the first time he’d fall asleep this close.

Without a word, you turned towards him too, your knees brushing his, your forehead resting against his chest.

Luke reached out slowly and gently, like he was testing the line between bravery and permission. His arm slid around your waist, hand splaying across your back, and he pulled you in like you were meant to be there and you two fit together like puzzle pieces.

You didn’t resist and you didn’t even think twice about it. You just curled into him, your fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, anchoring there as your body melted into his.

He was warm and solid in all the right ways. His chest rose and fell against yours in a rhythm that made your eyes flutter shut. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and sure, like a lullaby meant only for you.

He buried his face into the top of your head, his voice nothing more than a breath against your hair.

“‘Night, Bear.”

Your hand slid up to rest lightly against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

“Night, Luke.”

He tightened his arm around you just a little more, pulling you close enough that there wasn’t even a sliver of space left between your bodies. You could feel his breath steadying as sleep slowly began to pull him under, and yet, even half-asleep, he didn’t let you go.

You didn’t want him to and as your legs tangled together and the warmth of his body on your skin, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to say out loud.

You didn’t just feel safe with Luke, but you felt you were home.

Sunlight crept in slowly and golden, filtering through the gaps in your blinds and painting faint, glowing lines across the hardwood floor and the pale sheets tangled around your legs. The shirt he originally wore to bed was tossed onto the floor somewhere in the middle of the night from overheating. The room smelled like fabric softener, faint cologne, and the lingering scent of last night’s diner fries from his shirt and underneath it all, the scent of something distinctly Luke.

You stirred first, blinking against the warm haze of morning. The air was cool, but under the covers it was all heat, his bare chest pressed to your back, his arm slung low around your waist, fingers curled lazily just underneath the material of your shirt and resting softly against the skin of your stomach.

He was still asleep, breathing slow and steady. You could feel it, the soft rise and fall of his chest against your spine, the quiet exhale against the nape of your neck.

You let yourself stay still for a moment longer. His hoodie was still draped over your desk chair. His sneakers still sat by the front door to your place, and his body? It wrapped around yours like it had always known the shape of you.

A sleepy sound rumbled from his chest, and you felt him shift as his hand adjusted slightly at your side, curling in closer as if to keep you anchored right there. Then a moment later, his voice, all raspy and low,

“Good morning.”

The single word vibrated against your shoulder, and your breath caught in your throat.

You turned just enough to look at him over your shoulder, your noses centimetres apart, the sun casting light across one half of his face. His hair was a mess, curls flattened on one side, the other still sleep-tousled and boyish. His blue eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and soft.

“Hi,” You whispered.

He gave a lazy grin, voice still coated in sleep, “Do you always wake up looking this pretty?”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow as heat flooded your cheeks, “You’re such a flirt.”

Luke laughed quietly, his hand now smoothing gently up your spine beneath the covers, fingertips brushing your shoulder blades through the thin cotton of your shirt. The touch was barely there but it was comforting, slow, and way too easy to fall into.

“Just saying it like how I see it,” He mumbled against your hair.

You turned fully onto your back, and he adjusted too, propping his head on his arm, looking down at you like he was in no rush to be anywhere else. For a few heartbeats, you just admired each other, almost like waking up next to him was something you were always meant to do.

Your fingers were just brushing his when your phone buzzed violently on the nightstand, its sharp vibration echoing far louder than it had any right to. Luke groaned, flopping backward with an arm thrown dramatically over his face as you reached for the screen.

The screen display lit up bright

markyy is FaceTiming you…

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the green button, “Should I?”

Luke peeked at you from under his arm, eyes squinting, “He’s like a baby. If you don’t reply, he’ll only cry louder.”

You sighed and accepted the call, settling back against your pillow. Luke stayed close, close enough that you could feel the heat of him pressed against your side, but he ducked slightly below the frame, only the very edge of his bare shoulder visible in the camera.

“Hey, sleeping beauty!” Mark’s grinning face filled the screen, his voice way too loud for this hour, “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?”

You offered a sheepish smile to your best friend, “It’s not that late.”

He rolled his eyes as he set his phone against something on  his desk, “It’s practically brunch time. So are we still good for our hot girl walk later or are you ditching me again?”

Before you could answer, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, “Wait… Hollon a second, is that… is that someone next to you?”

Your stomach dropped and you barely had time to tilt the phone away before,

“IS THAT HUGHES?! HE DIDN’T COME HOME LAST NIGHT!” Mark screamed or squealed as he pulled his phone to his face so that his bewildered expression took up the entirety of your phone screen.

Luke let out a startled bark of laughter and quickly pulled the covers over his face. You froze, lips parted in horror.

“Oh my God,” You mumbled as your face turned a bright shade of red.

“No, no, no, hold on and back up the camera,” Mark said, wide-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement, “Did I just interrupt a fucking sleepover?! Did y’all-”

You hit the red button.

Almost immediately, Luke burst into uncontrollable laughter beside you, rolling onto his stomach, his face buried in your mattress.

“Oh my God,” You groaned again, dragging the blanket up over your face in pure embarrassment, “He’s going to tell everyone, like literally everyone.”

Luke’s voice was muffled through the pillow, still shaking with laughter, “The boys are gonna be feral. I give it twenty minutes before Mackie texts me some crap about ‘taking my shot.’”

You peeked out from under the covers, cheeks burning, unable to hold back your own laughter, “We are never hearing the end of this.”

Luke flopped back onto his side, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and his grin was pure, unfiltered joy.

“I regret nothing,” He told you.

“You regret nothing?” You echoed, half laughing and half exasperated.

He reached out, curling an arm around your waist and tugging you closer until you were nestled into his chest again, your legs tangled beneath the blankets.

“Not a single thing,” He said into your hair before pressing a kiss to your temple, “Except maybe not closing the blinds.”

You giggled, the sound muffled by his chest.

When everything quieted again. Just the two of you in your bed, wrapped up in too many blankets and even more unspoken feelings. His thumb traced lazy circles on your hip beneath the fabric, slow and thoughtless. Your hand rested over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath your palm.

“Hey Luke?” You said quietly after a moment.

He tilted his head down, “Yeah?”

You looked up at him, biting your lip, “That thing that Mark said,”

Luke blinked, smile softening, but he didn’t say anything right away. His fingers kept tracing those quiet circles against your side, lazy, familiar, unhurried. Then he just shrugged like it was no big deal, even though something in his voice gave him away.

“Hey,” He mumbled, “If the shoe fits.”

You gave him a look, “We literally just slept.”

“Exactly, very wholesome and totally innocent,” He told you as his eyes glinted, “But if you want to call it something more, I won’t stop you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the smile growing on your face, “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” He said as his voice was warm and teasing, “You’re still cuddling me like I’m your emotional support hockey player.”

You let out a soft, reluctant laugh and pressed your forehead against his chest again, hiding the grin that curled at your lips, “Shut up.”

Luke rested his chin lightly on top of your head, “Never.”

A beat passed. Then another. His hand still rested low on your back. Yours settled gently against his side, feeling the steady, slow rhythm of his breathing. Neither of you spoke and neither of you moved. This moment wasn’t a confession, but something about it felt different, softer, and safer. Like it was a place you could come back to.

Eventually, you felt his breath hitch slightly like he was going to say something else but instead, he just gave your waist a small squeeze and whispered, “We should probably get up.”

“Probably,” You echoed, making no move to do so.

And still, neither of you let go.

3. THE SONGS YOU PICK AT THE BAR (september 2022)

The air inside the country bar was thick with heat, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You had barely entered the doorway before you were hit with the scent of whiskey and wood polish, and the low hum of a steel guitar crooning through the speakers. Twinkling multi-coloured string lights crisscrossed above the dance floor, casting a colourful glow over the crowd of flannel shirts, denim, and cowboy hats. Someone who worked at the bar had gone all-out with tonight’s country bar theme, with bales of hay framed the small stage, a pair of old saddles hung from the rafters, and a neon longhorn flickered lazily behind the bar.

You hadn’t even taken in the full scope of it all when Luke appeared beside you, slipping through the bodies with ease and wrapping an arm around you to give you a slight side-hug. He didn’t say much, as he just gave you that half-smile he always wore around you, the one that made your stomach dip before he placed a hand on the small of your back like it was second nature. His palm was warm, fingers gentle but steady, and he leaned into your ear, “Stick close to me, it’s packed in here.”

You would’ve followed him anywhere.

The rest of the boys had already taken over a large corner booth, drinks in hand and voices raised over the music. Mackie was trying to convince Mark to two-step with him, while Dylan was dramatically re-telling some incident at practice with full body reenactments which kept the rest of your friends completely and utterly engaged. Rutger was hunched over the table, howling with laughter, and Adam was grinning wide at whatever his brother had just whispered into his ear. The chaos of it all felt warm and familiar, just the way your makeshift family you joined at UMich always was.

“Look who finally showed up,” Ethan called out, lifting his beer in your direction as you and Luke approached, “Michigan’s golden couple!”

“We’re not-” You began, but Mark cut you off with a sly and knowing grin drawn upon his face.

“Yeah, yeah. We know. ‘Just friends’,” He said as he made air quotes with exaggerated fingers, “Sure.”

Luke didn’t argue. He just shrugged before he slid into the booth beside you and was so close that the side of your thighs pressed together, and took a lazy sip of his drink. His pinky brushed yours on the bench. He didn’t move it and neither did you.

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest as he casually rested his arm on the back of your seat with his fingers lightly drumming on your shoulder. Somehow, Luke stuck beside you the entire night, not that you minded. Every time you turned, he was there holding your drink while you laughed at something Rutger said, pulling you out of the way when a group of strangers pushed through the crowd, lightly shoving the shoulders of others who were drunkenly stumbling towards you, and tilting his head slightly just to ask if you were okay.

At one point, you ducked away to the washroom. When you returned, he was right where you left him with him leaning back against the bar, his hand resting over the top of your cup, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was waiting for someone to try something stupid.

He handed you your drink without a word but with a relieved smile when you joined his side again.

“You know,” You said as your tone had a hint of amusement, “I’m starting to think you take your job as my personal bodyguard a little too seriously.”

Luke looked down at you, his smile lazy but his eyes serious, “You disappear in a place like this and I will kick someone’s ass.”

Your cheeks burned, but you laughed. “Well, it’s good to know I’ve got backup, even though you don’t even like fighting.”

He chuckled at that while the music changed again, but this time to a slower, sweeter country song sung by Morgan Wallen. Something about summer nights and dancing in the headlights. Couples filtered onto the floor, swaying lazily, some twirling under the string lights. Luke glanced towards the crowd, then looked back at you.

“Wanna dance?”

There was something in his tone that was casual, but soft and you couldn’t say no.

You let him lead you out, weaving between the crowd until you were under the lights, surrounded by the buzz of voices and the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floorboards. Luke’s hands found your waist, steady and confident, while yours looped around his shoulders. Your bodies moved slowly, more swaying than dancing, but the world felt like it slowed anyway.

He smelled like cedar and laundry detergent, and the faintest trace of his cologne still clung to the collar of his flannel. His touch wasn’t demanding but it was warm, familiar, comforting. When he looked down at you, his blue eyes sparkled like summer Michigan lakes under moonlight, and something in your chest tightened.

“You’re staring,” You teased with a giggle slipping past your lips.

“So are you,” He told you with a half-smile tugging at his lips.

Your skin tingled every time he touched you, like when his hand slipped slightly under the hem of your top to rest on the small of your back, your breath caught in your throat. When he leaned down to whisper a joke in your ear, his mouth grazed your ear and your heart practically leapt out of your chest, and you knew that you were a goner.

Back at the table, the guys were clearly watching the two of you dance together. Tyler let out a long, dramatic sigh, “That’s it, I’m sick of this. Can one of you just kiss the other already?”

“Yeah,” Dylan added with a grin in agreement to his brother, “You two are dancing like we’re totally not at Rick’s country night.”

You chuckled as you heard the comments from your friends. Luke turned his head just enough to shoot them a look, then refocused on you, “Ignore them.”

“I always do,” You whispered.

He chuckled, soft and low, “Good girl.”

You definitely didn’t imagine the way your knees went a little weak.

Maybe it was the fourth or fifth country love song of the night, or maybe it was just the warmth of the whiskey from your whiskey sour settling in your stomach, but you found yourself tugging at Luke’s flannel sleeve with a breathless laugh and a slightly slurred, “Come with me,” He didn’t hesitate and just gave you a small nod, his jaw ticking slightly like he was fighting a grin, and followed you as you weaved through the crowd.

The back patio of the bar was quiet and dimly lit, strung with soft golden fairy lights that swayed slightly in the breeze. The September night air bit at your cheeks, making your skin shiver as you stepped out onto the creaky wooden deck. A few smokers huddled near the far end, but no one paid you and Luke any mind. You pulled him closer towards the edge of the patio, the scent of his cologne of clean pine and warm musk settling into your lungs in the most dizzying way.

Luke joined you at the railing, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his flannel, shoulders brushing yours. You weren’t close enough to touch, but it still felt like you were drawn together by an invisible thread.

“Needed some air?” He asked softly, voice warm in the crisp cold.

You nodded as your teeth chattered slightly, “That, and maybe I wanted some Luke time.”

He looked down at you, his breath visible in the space between you, and gave a lazy smirk, “Oh, so now I’m the main attraction at Rick’s?”

“You’ve always been the main attraction,” You teased, eyes gleaming under the fairy lights, “Don’t act like you don’t love the attention.”

Luke tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, “Depends on who it’s from.”

That made your cheeks flush and not just from the cold. You ducked your head, a giggle slipping out as you swayed just a little closer to him. His shoulder was warm beside yours. 

“You’re drunk,” He mumbled, but his voice was gentle despite the harsh breeze that moved past the two of you.

“I’m tipsy,” You corrected as you nudged him with your elbow, “There’s a big difference.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, drunk me would be asleep in a booth while tipsy me wants to flirt with the hot hockey player next to me.”

Luke chuckled, low and rough in his throat, “Well, I’m not stopping you.”

“Dangerous game, Hughes,” You whispered as your voice lowered with playful heat.

“Is it really?” Luke asked with his tone of voice matching yours.

You tilted your head up towards him, your cowgirl boots scuffing against the wooden deck planks as you leaned in slightly. The golden light danced across his face, catching the edge of his lashes and the sharp line of his jaw. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and there was a softness to the way he looked at you.

“Yeah,” You said, “Because you should know that I’m not very subtle when I'm tipsy.”

Luke’s gaze dropped to your lips for a second too long, “You’re never subtle with me.”

Your breath hitched, and the chill in the air seemed to disappear, replaced by the warmth spreading in your chest. Your hand brushed his as the backs of your fingers grazed his knuckles, and the contact sent a bolt of heat through you.

He didn’t pull away, and if anything, he leaned just the slightest bit closer.

“You’re cold,” He told you with a low voice.

You nodded slowly, realizing the goosebumps that were crawling up your bare arms, “A little.”

He slid one hand out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers around yours, thumb brushing your wrist before pocketing your interlaced hands into his pockets, “You should’ve said something earlier.”

“Well, now I have an excuse to hold your hand.”

He didn’t say anything in response but he just smiled quietly and gave your hand the gentlest squeeze from the inside of his flannel pocket.

The music thumped faintly from inside, the bass now a dull heartbeat in the distance. The wind nipped at your cheeks and nose, but you could hardly notice it anymore. All you could focus on was Luke’s presence beside you, his body heat seeping into yours, the excitement hummed under your skin whenever his thumb traced tiny circles against your hand.

“Your cheeks are red,” He said to you after a moment, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“It’s cold out here,” You replied while rolling your eyes, “What do you expect?”

He leaned down slightly, lowering his voice to be just slightly above a whisper, “Or maybe it’s because I keep looking at you like I want to kiss you.”

Your breath hitched as you were caught entirely off guard by the confidence behind the words. You stared up at him, momentarily stunned, your heartbeat racing in your chest.

“You do look at me like that pretty damn often,” You whispered.

Luke smiled softly at you, “And you haven’t looked away all night.”

The wind picked up slightly, sending your hair fluttering around your face. He reached out without thinking and tucked a piece behind your ear, his fingers grazing your temple. You swore you felt the warmth of that touch run down your spine.

The door to the back patio creaked open, spilling a gust of noise and laughter onto the patio as Ethan stepped outside – with the look that he had been looking for the two of you. You both stepped apart instinctively, though his hand still held yours, loosely, like neither of you really wanted to let go. You watched as Ethan’s smile wavered slightly before he recollected himself, “They’re playing some bangers inside.”

“Alright man,” Luke nodded, “We’re coming in soon.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered from both of your faces to your conjoined hands before muttering a quick, “Ok bro,” before he disappeared back into the bar again.

The warmth hit you the moment you stepped back inside the bar. The crowd had swelled, the music louder now with some Shania Twain playing out loudly over the speakers while the dance floor swirled with cowboy boots and flannel shirts. The air inside Rick’s smelled heavily like spilled beer, fried food, and the November cold melting off the scattered jackets amongst the various seats inside.

Luke’s hand hadn’t left yours since the patio.

“Back to the chaos,” He said close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as the music vibrated through the floor.

You grinned and bumped your hip into his, “Admit it, you love it here.”

He raised a brow, “Not as much as I’m loving this version of you tonight.”

“What version’s that?” You asked as you wore mock-innocent when you looked up at him.

He leaned down, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, “The one who’s gonna ask me to come home with her later.”

You definitely blushed at that as your skin heated up under the low lights, your stomach doing an excited little flip. But you played it off with a cheeky smile and tugged him toward the bar.

Your friends were in a clumsy semi-circle near the bar, beer bottles and plastic cups in hand, hollering the lyrics and jostling each other with drunken grins. Rutger had a straw cowboy hat on for some reason which he had definitely stolen from another Rick’s patreon, Dylan was jokingly line dancing with Adam, and Mackie had a fry sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette.

“About time you two rejoined society,” Mark called with a smirk, raising his drink toward you and Luke, “We thought you’d eloped.”

“Still could,” You called back with a smirk etched on your lips.

"God, will you two just kiss already?" Luca groaned dramatically from down the bar, throwing his head back like the theatrics might make it happen faster.

Rutger snorted into his beer, "They’re literally always together and sneaking off, it's almost criminal if they’re not dating, they should at least have the decency to make it official for the group."

"Yeah," Dylan added as his eyes flickered between the two of you, “We’ve got money riding on this."

Luke didn’t flinch and kept his cool composure as your friends continued to tease the both of you. He just gave them a lazy smile and took a sip of his drink, the ice in his cup clinking. But you could feel the way his thumb tapped against your thigh hidden under the table. You fought a smile, biting your bottom lip like the secret of the two of you was about to spill.

"I don’t know what you guys are talking about," You said sweetly, wearing innocence like a professional as you tilted your head and looked up at Luke, your voice soft and teasing, "Do you?"

His blue eyes sparkled as he leaned in slightly, mouth brushing close to your ear.

“Nah,” He grinned before slowly pulling away to look over at his teammates, “Just sitting here with my favourite girl, can’t a guy do that without catching some strays?”

The warmth of his breath made the small hairs on your hair stand up with anticipation. You reached down and squeezed his thigh under the table just a little, enough for him to feel it.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, “You’re both so full of shit.”

The whole group cracked up, hooting and tossing ice cubes in your direction. Adam laughed so hard he nearly knocked over Ethan’s beer that he was holding.

“You’re so obvious it hurts!” Mackie added, shaking his head as he wiped fake tears away from his face, “You two are definitely hooking up and just not telling us!”

That earned a chorus of whoops and hollers, and you just laughed and leaned further into Luke’s arms as the music shifted into a slower, sweeter melody. Luke settled his hands on your waist, gentle but firm, and pulled you closer. You let your hands wrap around his wrists as you swayed together, his body pressed close, the beat lulling you into a haze of movement and melody.

“Is it just me,” You whispered with a playful tone, “Or are all our friends waiting for us to kiss?”

Luke chuckled softly as his nose brushed against your temple, “Oh for sure.”

You tilted your head, “Maybe we should give them something to talk about.”

“Tempting,” He said, gaze bouncing to your lips and back up to meet your eyes, “But it’s way more fun when you make them wait.”

You rolled your eyes as you laughed before resting your forehead briefly against his. The floor around you blurred, voices and bodies fading out for just a moment. All you felt was his hand pressing on your lower back, the rhythm of your heartbeat matching his steps.

“Besides, if I kiss you now, you won’t want to leave the bar.”

“Hmm,” You hummed, fingers grazing the back of his neck, “And if we do leave the bar?”

Luke’s lips curled into a smirk, the kind that could ruin you if you weren’t careful,“Then you should be ready to be awake all night”

He winked at you as you let out a soft and surprised laugh before you swatted his shoulder even as your stomach twisted with anticipation, “So full of yourself.”

Luke lowered his head so his mouth was level with yours, his nose nudging against yours, “You’re still holding onto me though.”

You giggled and tilted your head back to look at him. His eyes sparkled and you could feel the steady beat of his heart through the thin layer of his shirt where your hand rested against his chest.

“You think that’s what’s gonna convince me to take you home tonight?” You asked him while letting your thumb trace a slow circle where his shirt met the top of his jeans. Luke’s hand on your waist tightened slightly as he pulled you half a step closer until your bodies were pressed together, 

“You mean I still have to convince you?” He replied with his voice low and warm against your jaw and you tried your hardest not to melt right there on the spot, “My hoodie’s still at yours, right?” Luke asked with his voice as smooth and sweet as honey, “I might need to grab it, babe, it’s kinda chilly out.”

You smirked, “You might need me too, huh?”

A deep chuckle came out from his throat, “That too.”

Your fingers slid up his broad shoulders and tangled into the hair at the back of his neck, making him shiver slightly at your touch.

“Maybe I’ll let you stay over,” You whispered into his ear, “If you dance with me to one more slow song.”

“That’s the easiest deal I’ve ever made,” Luke said, already tugging you in tighter as the next chord strummed through the speakers. Your body was pressed to his with the both of you swaying slowly as the noise of the bar melted into the background. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on your lower back, and every now and then your foreheads brushed when you leaned in too close between teases.

From across the room, you could feel your friends watching from their table in the corner of Rick’s. You heard Rutger whistle once and Luca yelled something like “Just kiss already!” but you ignored them. Luke’s cheek pressed gently to yours, and you smiled, knowing full well you were leaving with him when the night ended.

“Think they know?” You asked him as you tilted your face just enough to look at him from under your lashes.

He grinned, lips brushing your hairline, “I think they’ve known for weeks.”

You grinned at him before glancing towards the exit doors, “I hope you’re ready to freeze your ass off when you walk me home tonight.”

Luke just looked at you with his eyes filled with amusement, “If it ends with me at your place, I think I’ll survive just fine.”

You laughed and it was breathless and light, as you let yourself melt into him while you already started to picture the quiet walk home and what came after, the cooler late September air curling around the two of you as you left the warmth of the bar behind. For a night to be tangled up with him in the quiet of your bedroom with the warmth of Luke surrounding your senses.

4. THE WAY YOU TALK TO YOUR MAMA (october 2022)

The final game horn blared through Yost, indicating that the game had officially ended. The whole arena surged to its feet in a wave of blue and maize with hands thrown up in the air in celebration, voices screaming and hollering, and cowbells ringing. A 5–2 win, and the kind of win that left adrenaline in your throat and pride blooming in your chest.

Your palms were red from clapping and not to mention your voice which was hoarse from yelling. Not that you minded since Luke had played like no other tonight and had an amazing performance.

You leaned towards the glass as you looked at the ice as the boys crowded around the net, arms slapping backs, helmets jostling. The camera lights flashed across the rink, catching every grin, every sweat-slick curl, and there he was.

Luke, number 43, who was skating backwards with ease and a bright smile drawn on his features, his hair curling out from under his helmet and his cheeks flushed with exertion. He tugged off his gloves, pulled off his helmet in one motion, and scanned the stands until his eyes landed right on you. As if he knew exactly where you’d be seated.

And God, that smile he gave you. The smile that wasn’t cocky and it wasn’t the kind of grin meant for the cameras and for the various social media accounts. It was softer and more private, like the kind of smile that curled slowly at the corners and sent a wave of warmth to crawl down your neck.

You couldn’t help the way your face formed into a matching one, or the way your fingers lifted automatically in a little wave just for him. His response was a wink, subtle and smooth, before he turned to fist-bump Dylan and skated toward the handshake line.

You barely heard the announcer reading off the game stars with how loud Yost was with the crowd full of students, family, and alumni. Next to you, Ellen Hughes clapped her gloved hands together, beaming with the kind of quiet pride only moms could master. She leaned toward you slightly, her voice just above the buzz of the crowd.

“He plays differently when you’re in the stands,” She told you with a small smile painted across her face.

Your eyes widened, caught somewhere between being flustered and being flattered, “What do you mean?”

She gave you a gentle and knowing look, “I mean I’ve seen a lot of games, and I know my son.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just smiled politely at her with your heart pounding in your chest like maybe she knew something you weren’t ready to admit out loud yet.

Ellen waited just outside the players' lounge, tucked into a quiet corner of Yost with a paper cup of hot chocolate warming her hands. Her University of Michigan scarf was wrapped tight around her neck, her cheeks still rosy from the cold and the post-win buzz. Her face lit up the second she saw her son coming down the hallway.

“Hey, superstar,” She greeted with a proud smile, “You played so well tonight.”

Luke grinned and stooped slightly to wrap her in a hug, careful not to crush her with his gear, “You see that breakaway in the second?”

“Oh, I saw it and so did the whole arena, and Quinn definitely saw that one too, he told me he was watching the game tonight ”

Luke laughed, ducking his head in modesty as Ellen squeezed his bicep before stepping back to study him with the kind of knowing look that only moms could pull off.

“You’re glowing,” She said to her youngest softly, her voice tinged with something amused, “You’ve been glowing lately.”

Luke scrunched his face and hoped that the flush growing on his cheeks could pass as just the cold from the rink, “It’s just the win.”

“Luke,”

He sighed as he slowly rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay fine, maybe it’s not just the win.”

Ellen raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to explain further. Luke paused for a second, like he was debating whether or not to let the words leave his mouth, and then, with a small smile, he gave in.

“She’s… kinda incredible,” He told his mom quietly as he was scared that his teammates might walk past and overhear their conversation.

Ellen’s eyes softened as she watched her son’s eyes sparkle and the smile grow on his face while he spoke about the girl.

“She just gets it, you know? Like the schedule, the noise, the crazy pressure. She never makes it a thing. It’s like, every time I see her, it gets so much easier to breathe,” He explained to Ellen as he shifted his weight, his cheeks slightly pink, “She always comes to the games. She doesn’t say anything when we lose, just lets me sit in it until I’m ready, and when we win, she’s not screaming her head off for attention. She just waits for me by the tunnel, like it’s just about me as Luke and not because of my last name.”

Ellen’s smile was small but deep, etched in quiet affection, “That sounds like someone pretty special.”

“She is,” Luke shrugged one shoulder, looking down for a second, “She kinda became my safe place when I’m here and away from you, dad, Jack and Q and like, being away from home in general, y’know?.”

Ellen didn’t tease him and she didn’t poke or pry. She simply reached up, smoothing his damp curls off his forehead like she’d done since he was a little boy.

“I like her a lot,” She told him as she watched her youngest boy beam at her words, “She’s got that calm thing about her, but she’s sharp and observant. She definitely cares a lot about you, Lukey.”

Luke nodded, “Yeah, she notices everything and she doesn’t ask for more than I can give.”

Ellen gave his cheek a gentle pat, “Well, don’t be dumb about it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Luke chuckled with a little shake of his head.

“I mean it,” She repeated with a teasing grin, “If she’s someone worth talking about, don’t wait too long to figure out what you want.”

Luke looked past her shoulder and towards the doors that led to the waiting area – and probably straight to where Bear was standing right now, flushed with leftover excitement and maybe still holding his hoodie from warmups.

“I won’t,” He told his mom, almost to himself before pulling her into another brief hug as a way to say bye to Ellen before she headed back home. He watched his mom leave Yost before he disappeared into the change rooms.

The crowd was thinning out as students headed for the exits. You followed the familiar route towards the player tunnel while weaving through fans in Michigan jerseys, families waiting with Sharpies, kids holding up poster board signs. The air still buzzed with leftover energy, everyone a little flushed and sticky under their coats. It was early December in Michigan but it was definitely cold enough that the warm air from inside fogged the glass doors leading out.

You waited by the roped-off hallway with a few others, familiar now from all the times you’d done this before. Ethan was the first one out of the locker room, his hair still wet as he tugged a hoodie over his head as he spotted you and grinned.

“Our lucky charm,” He called out in your direction as he gave you a lazy salute before continuing on.

Rutger followed with a wink and a fist bump, Mackie gave you a side hug, and Dylan was eating a granola bar and offered you half, which you were quick to decline.

And then, finally Luke appeared out of the navy painted door.

Fresh from the locker room, curls still damp, black joggers slung low on his hips and a team-issued quarter zip clinging to his frame like it was the perfect fit, you didn’t miss the way it perfectly cupped his muscular butt from a lifetime of hockey. His hands fiddled with the brim of his hat that he wore early, and his bag slung on his shoulder.

He looked up and everything around you dropped away.

“Hey you,” He said easily with his voice a little low, and a little rough.

You smiled at him as he approached you, “You were amazing.”

He stepped in close, not enough to raise suspicion from the other individuals in the area, but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him. He was close enough that the smell of his body wash and his cologne made your stomach do multiple somersaults.

“You played fantastic tonight,” You continued with your voice a few octaves quieter, “That backcheck in the second? I thought Rutger was gonna fall over the boards as he was cheering for you.”

Luke let out a breathy laugh as he reflected back to his performance, “That was mostly just me showing off.”

“To who? Me?” You asked jokingly as you pointed at yourself.

He tilted his head slightly in your direction, “Who else?”

There was a pause as the air around the two of you shifted, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge how your heart jumped at the same time. So instead, you bumped your shoulder against his, “Modest, aren’t you?”

He leaned down just a bit, his voice soft at your ear, “You staying at yours tonight?”

You swallowed quickly, the question itself was subtle. No one would think twice hearing it, but your pulse quickened all the same while knowing his hint behind his words.

You looked up at him with a smirk, “That depends on who’s asking.”

He matched your smile, “I’m pretty sure you know, you’re a smart girl.”

Your hand found the hem of his sleeve, tugging it gently so it was just enough to anchor him there.

“Oh,” You said to him, “Your mom said you’ve been playing with more spark lately, and she thinks I might be the reason.”

Luke made a small face which was a mixture of surprise and confusion, “She said that?”

You nodded, “Yup.”

He exhaled through a laugh, glancing toward the exit where Ellen had left just earlier, “Great, I love that for me.”

“I thought it was cute,” You commented with a little shrug as you continued to toy at the hem of his quarter zip.

Luke’s eyes softened just a little as he looked at you. The crowd around you had mostly cleared out now, the players saying their goodbyes as their echoing footsteps faded down the concrete hall. The rest of Luke’s teammates left already, knowing that you and Luke typically went out to do your own thing for a bit before he made his way back to the hockey house. It felt like a bubble of quiet with just the two of you, the faint buzz of the arena still vibrating in the walls.

His hand brushed yours again, warm and calloused, and he hooked his pinky with yours like he was swearing to you a secret.

You smiled, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you mumbled, “So, what now?”

Luke leaned in just enough for your noses to almost touch. “Now we will go get food and then I’m gonna walk you home.”

“Because you’re a gentleman?”

“Nope,” he said, lips curving, “Because I wanna be in your bed before midnight.”

You snorted, trying not to look as giddy as you felt. “You’re so cocky after a win.”

“But you still let it happen every time,” Luke smirked as a small chuckle slipped past his lips.

You motioned towards the exit as you fell into a matching walking pace beside him. Outside, the Michigan cold waited as your breath fogged in the dark. But as Luke’s shoulder brushed yours the whole walk to the edge of campus, it felt as though the cold didn’t touch you at all.

Your apartment was warm when you both stepped inside which contrasted to the chilly Michigan night like a blanket that engulfed the two of you. Luke left his sneakers by the shoe rack near your front door, his game-day duffel still slung over one shoulder and his cheeks still a little flushed from the cold or maybe from the way you slipped your hand into his on the walk back.

The scent of takeout filled the air, its greasy yet delicious smell taking over the small space of your kitchen, but it was exactly what you two needed after the game. You had ordered it online and had it scheduled for pick up from your usual spot on the way home, the paper bags still steaming slightly on the kitchen counter. Luke dropped his bag by the couch making sure it was out of the way before he headed towards the kitchen. 

“You’re the best,” He said to you as he peeked into the bag, finding a box of fries and his usual burger order without even having to tell you beforehand.

“I know,” You replied with a smirk as you hung up your coat on its hanger and tossed your keys into the bowl by the door, “Consider it my reward to you for your big win tonight.”

You both settled onto the couch a few minutes later, plates balanced on your laps with your TV playing some late-night rerun of Friends in the background. The living room lights were dimmed with just the warm glow of a single lamp in the corner casting soft light over the space. Your favourite throw blanket was draped over both of your legs and Luke’s sock-clad feet had somehow made their way to rest lightly on yours underneath it.

He took a bite of his burger before looking over at you, “You were at the glass tonight, weren’t you?”

You nodded as you took a fry from his plate, “Front row, and I screamed for you when you scored.”

Luke smiled with his soft voice, “I knew I heard you.”

“You did not,” You said to him with a playful eyeroll.

“I did, it’s like, I don’t know, but I always hear you when you're in the stands.”

That made your heart skip a few beats in your chest, but you masked it with a sip of your vanilla shake and a raised brow at Luke, “You’re getting sappy.”

Luke shrugged and remained unfazed, “I blame the adrenaline, and the fact that you bought me food – Which by the way, you should’ve just used my card to pay for it.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, eating and sharing slow and lazy comments about the game. He leaned back after finishing, rubbing a hand over his stomach and letting his head lean against the back of the couch.

“I could sleep for a week,” Luke mumbled as he glanced over to you.

You nudged his side, “You could shower first, you still reek of the locker room.”

Luke cracked one eye open to look at you, “You love it.”

“Not when you stink.”

“Then come shower with me, you gotta make sure I’m all clean.”

“Yeah right,” You rolled your eyes but the flush on your cheeks definitely betrayed you.

Luke didn’t push it, he just chuckled before pushing himself to his feet as he scooped up the empty takeout containers, and carried them to the kitchen. When he came back ten minutes later, he was shirtless and drying his hair with his claimed towel after a quick rinse, and looking perfectly at ease in the space of your home, almost like he belonged at your place.

He flopped back down onto the couch, this time curling into your side with his arm thrown across the back of the cushions behind you, fingers absently playing with the edge of your hoodie’s sleeve. You leaned into Luke without thinking much as your head found that familiar spot on his shoulder, and your body soon melting into his warmth.

“I still can’t believe I talked to your mom at the game,” You said quietly, playing with the hem of your own hoodie.

Luke’s arm tightened around you slightly as he pressed a light kiss to your temple, “She likes you.”

“You think?”

He nodded with a soft laugh, “She said you’re observant and said I’d be dumb to mess it up.”

You smiled to yourself, cheeks hidden against his prominent and bare collarbone, “Well she’s not wrong.”

“You’re dangerous when you’re like that.”

“You like it,” You teased and Luke didn’t argue.

Your bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the heating vent and the occasional sounds of a car passing outside. The streetlight filters through your blinds in faint orange lines that stretch across the foot of your bed, it was bright enough to cast a soft glow across the room but not enough to pull you out of the warm daze you’ve both sunk into.

Luke’s skin is warm against yours as one of your legs was slung over his and tangled beneath the blanket that’s half draped across your hips. His fingers move slowly along the bare length of your spine, with light and unhurried touches like he’s not in any rush to fall asleep. He probably wasn’t and truthfully, neither were you.

You were tucked into his chest, face nuzzled into the crook of his neck where he smells like your shampoo and your body wash, like how he always smelled on nights where he spent nights over at your place. His other hand is resting in your hair, fingers running lazily through the strands as if it was second nature.

You don’t remember the last time either of you spoke. It’s been quiet for a while, but not awkward. Just that sleepy, post-hookup kind of quiet that’s more about soaking in the weight of the moment than needing to fill it.

You eventually break it, your voice low and slightly scratchy after it all, “This is still like, totally fine, right?”

Luke let out a soft breath of laughter that vibrated against your cheek, “You mean us? Naked in your bed after I just spent ten minutes with my head in between your legs and after our second trip of the night to poundtown?”

You bite back a laugh and tilt your head to meet his eyes, “Yeah, that.”

His curls are a little messy, still damp from the quick shower you both took afterwards before climbing back into bed to sleep, and his cheeks are flushed from warmth or maybe from slight exhaustion. There’s something soft about the way he’s looking at you, the faint glow from the streetlights outside of your window highlighting his blue eyes and capturing the sparkle they had whenever he looked at you.

“We’re friends,” He said casually, like he’s said it a hundred times before, but maybe because you both have.

“Exactly,” You nodded, “Friends who sometimes sleep together.”

“And sometimes make out against your kitchen counter.”

“And sometimes sneak off to the storage closet in Yost after games.”

“Very mature, consensual, self-aware horny teenagers,” He stated with a grin on his face.

You nudged him lightly in the ribs, before letting your hand rest there. His skin is smooth under your palm, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath it grounding you more than it probably should have.

Luke dipped his head to press a kiss to your hairline, slow and unhurried with his soft lips lingering a second longer than necessary.

“I like this,” He told you quietly.

You hesitated as your fingers drew small, absentminded shapes across his solid abdominal muscles that tensed and contracted at your light touch, “This?”

“This version of us, y’know with no pressure, no strings attached, and no expectations. It’s just easy like this.”

You nodded again but this time a little slower since you weren’t too sure what you were exactly agreeing with, “Right.”

And it is easy except when it definitely isn’t. Except when you notice how his thumb traces circles into your hip like he’s memorizing you. Except when you catch him watching you while you talk to your friends at the bar, like he’s proud to know things about you they don’t. Except when he shows up at your apartment with your favourite food without you even asking, or how he stays just a little longer after he says he should go.

You shifted slightly as you adjusted the blanket  in the process of curling a little closer to him. The tips of your fingers trail from his stomach up to his chest, where his heart beats steadily beneath your touch.

“You’re warm,” You whispered as your lips brushed along his strong collarbone.

He hummed, “You always steal the blankets.”

“That’s because you run hot.”

“Or maybe because you’re always cold.”

The banter makes you smile, sleepy and content. You tucked your face into the space where his neck and jawline met again, allowing the silence to settle around you like a second comforter on your bed.

“Do you ever think we’re… too good at this?” You asked in a hushed tone against his skin.

Luke paused, his hand stilled for a moment on your lower back.

“At being friends?” He questioned.

“At being this kind of friends.”

He shifted onto his side a little bit more as he cradled you against him, your bodies fully pressed together now. His hand found yours under the blanket and laced your fingers together.

“Maybe,” He said finally, “But if it’s working, why mess with it?”

You nodded, though something about the answer twists in your stomach, “Right, no reason.”

“Unless you want to mess with it.”

You smiled into his chest, “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

Your words lingered in the dark like they’re hanging off the edge of a question that neither of you were ready to ask. His thumb rubbed slowly along the back of your hand, and you can feel the weight of everything you’re both not saying sitting quietly around you.

You shifted underneath the sheets again as you hugged your leg tighter around his, your foot cold as it brushed against his calf.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding about always being cold,” He whispered to you with his voice deeper and sleepier.

You laughed softly, “That’s what you’re here for.”

“To be your personal space heater?”

“Exactly.”

He pressed another kiss to your forehead and it was gentle and a little too tender for just being friends, bBut you don’t mention it. You just let him hold you, and let yourself breathe in the quiet warmth of his body, the safety of this space you’ve both carved out without ever putting a name to it.

“Careful,” Luke mumbled as your hips rolled slowly in hopes to find a comforting sleeping position. His hand moved down towards your hip with his fingers flexing slightly like he’s deciding whether to pull you closer or keep things friendly.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, a slow grin tugging at your lips, “We’re friends, remember?”

“Mm,” He hummed, leaning in so his lips skimmed just over the skin behind your ear, “My other friends don’t usually press their thighs between mine when we’re trying to fall asleep.”

You closed your eyes with your eyelids heavy with sleep as you smiled to yourself,  “Maybe you should pick better friends then.”

Luke let out a light chuckle, the sound soft and warm against your skin. His hand tightened on your hip and it was just enough to make your breath get caught in your throat, “I don’t want better,” He told you with his voice thick with sleep, “I want you.”

You don’t say anything, but just let your fingers trail down his chest with feather-light pressure that makes his muscles slightly tense beneath you. You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then sink back into your pillow.

“Sleep well, Hughesy.”

Luke groaned quietly as he buried his face in your hair, “You’re evil.”

You chuckled, “You like it when I use your nicknames on you.”

From the way he pulled you so close that there was no space left between you, you knew that he did.

Just friends, you thought to yourself as you shut your eyes as sleep began to weigh down your eyelids.

Just friends.

Just friends who sleep in the same bed every other night, and know each other’s takeout orders by heart, and trace the shape of each other’s hands in the dark like they’re afraid to forget them.

Totally normal.

Right?

5. YOU GOT SOME KIND OF HEART (november 2022)

Your apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that only really has the background noise humming like the TV murmuring with the low flicker of some movie neither of you are paying attention to, the silent buzz from the fridge, the soft rustle of the fleece throw draped over your legs, the occasional creak of the heating system kicking in against the bite of mid-November.

Outside, Ann Arbor is all bundled-up trees and frosted sidewalks, but inside, you’re warm and nestled against Luke on the couch in one of his hoodies that still smells like his detergent and maybe the faintest hint of cedar. Your legs are stretched across his lap, and he’s got one hand resting on your calf, his thumb making absentminded circles over the fabric of your leggings. It’s lazy and comfortable and everything that makes your chest feel full and sore at the same time.

He’s relaxed, shoulders soft, jaw slack, and you keep stealing glances at him, wondering how the hell he can sit there looking so effortlessly beautiful when your brain is eating itself alive.

You’ve been thinking about the little things, like how he never hesitates to pull you into his side when you're tired. Or how he always makes sure your door is locked before he leaves, and how he texts you after games, no matter the score, just to ask how your day was. How he teases you when you're grumpy, and always offers to split his post-practice snacks even though he's notoriously known amongst your friends to be food possessive.

And how, lately, it hasn't felt casual at all.

You don’t remember when it started, when that pull in your chest every time he smiled at you like you were something safe, or the way your fingers always drifted to the empty space on his side of the bed when he wasn’t there. It crept up slowly, like the recent snowfall being quiet and soft, and then suddenly, everything was blanketed in it.

You shifted your weight to pull the blanket tighter around you. 

“Hey,” You said to him gently as you tapped your toes against his thigh.

Luke glanced over with his eyes still heavy-lidded from the nap that you both just took, “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

His fingers are still on your leg as he tilted his head, lips curving in that lopsided smile that always makes your stomach do small flips, “Since when do you ask permission to ask questions?”

You smiled but it’s tight around the edges, “Just being polite.”

“Dangerous territory,” He teased, “Alright, shoot.”

You hesitated for a second too long before asking the question you had been thinking about for the past little while, “Have you ever thought about us being, like… something more?”

Luke blinked, “More?”

You fiddled with a loose thread on the edge of the throw blanket that was currently draped over the two of you, “Yeah, like I don’t know, being official or something.”

Luke chuckled with the expression of surprise on his features, “You mean like dating?”

You nodded slowly while still opting to not look at him. There’s a pause in the conversation though it wasn’t long enough to be awkward, but definitely too long to ignore. He rubbed a hand over his jaw as he took a sharp inhale, “I mean, what we have going is really good though, right?”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes and he looked so earnest, like he genuinely believed that answer was enough.

“Yeah,” You said softly, “It is.”

“I just think it works, you know?” He continued while gesturing vaguely into the space in front of him with his free hand, “It’s easy, there’s no pressure and it’s chill. We hang out, we… you know, fuck, but it’s chill and I like that it’s not complicated.”

Not complicated. You chewed on the inside of your cheek on that. You pulled your legs out of his lap slowly, folding them beneath you as you readjusted your position. The distance is small but it feels like a void opening between you, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice.

“Like, I really like being with you,” He added, nudging you lightly at the side with his elbow, “I feel good when I’m here, like isn’t that enough?”

The thing was that you knew that he meant it, and that’s the worst part. He’s not brushing you off to be cruel and he genuinely thinks this is good enough.

And maybe it should be, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore – not after the two of you have been acting more than just friends with benefits for the past year.

“Yeah,” You whispered, “Totally.”

Luke reached for the remote that rested on your coffee to rewind the movie without thinking, “We missed that part, wanna watch from here?”

You nodded quietly, but your chest ached and you felt how the ache spreaded, slow and cold, like frost creeping up a window. The room felt heavier now than before with the kind of silence that doesn’t come from peace, but from what you were holding back on saying.

Luke leaned back into the cushions beside you, comfortable again like nothing just shifted, and maybe for him, nothing did.

You’re still curled under the blanket, still wearing his hoodie, still sitting beside him on the couch. But everything felt different, like the air changed in weight and you're the only one who noticed. A tension coiled low in your stomach, bitter and warm. You swallowed it down with a small sip from your water bottle, hoping it might wash away the sting creeping into your throat and push away the knot that was tightened in it.

On screen, the movie continued, which was some romcom with warm lighting and soft music and two fictional people falling in love effortlessly and the irony of the moment is almost laughable.

You glanced over at Luke again, noticing how his profile glowed in the television light, all soft lines and sleepy eyes. He laughed quietly at something the characters say, and you can’t help but think about how easily he gives himself to the story in front of him, while the one unfolding beside him was slipping by completely unnoticed.

He was so close, with his thigh brushing yours with every small movement and shift. His hand is still draped over your knee like it belongs there — like you belong to him, in some quiet, thoughtless way that should be more comforting but it’s not, not tonight.

You shifted your body slightly to the side, creating just an inch of space, and he doesn’t react. In fact, he doesn’t even glance over. It’s not deliberate, and that’s what makes it worse. He simply doesn’t notice you pulling away.

Your heart beats hollow in your chest and you start to speak, although you don’t even know what you plan to say, just something to fill the space — but your mouth stays shut. What’s the point? He already gave you his answer and it was wrapped in a smile and dressed as comfort.

What we have going is really good.

You run your tongue across your teeth, nodding to yourself like you can convince your heart to agree. Like you can pretend this isn’t starting to feel like breaking your own heart slowly, one night at a time.

Luke leaned forward to grab the bag of chips from the coffee table, offering it to you with a playful smile, “Want some?”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Suit yourself,” He mumbled around a bite as he kept his eyes locked on the screen.

You should want to lean into him again and to curl against his chest, tuck your face into his neck and pretend none of this matters. But the ache is rooted too deep now, and this isn’t one of those nights where pretending feels easy, but rather it felt like lying.

You stood up, stretching your arms above your head, 

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” You told him quietly.

Luke turned to look at you for the first time in a bit, “You okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah, just tired.”

“You want me to stay?”

The question makes your breath catch and not because you don’t want him to, but because you do. Which might just be the problem.

“Sure,” You replied as you forced a small smile, “If you want.”

Luke’s grin returned, lazy and easy, “Of course I want to.”

You gave him a soft nod and disappeared into your room, closing the door just long enough to press your back against it and breathe.

You don’t cry. You just feel. Which somehow is worse because crying would mean a release. This just sits in your chest like a stone weighing in down and making it harder to breathe. By the time you come out, teeth brushed and face washed, Luke is already under the covers. Shirtless, because of course he is, hair a mess from running his hand through it. Your bedroom suddenly felt impossibly small.

He lifted the blanket for you wordlessly, and you slid in beside him. You don’t cuddle him right away, at least not tonight.

But at some point, he found your hand under the covers, and his pinky hooked around yours.

It’s the softest touch which should mean nothing, and yet it felt like the kind of thing that might kill you.

The morning crept in quietly as the muted light filtered through the blinds, soft and gray, casting faint stripes across your bedroom walls. There’s no warmth in it, rather just the kind of overcast Michigan morning that makes everything feel a little heavier and a little colder.

You reached for the other side of the bed before your eyes even opened, but it’s empty.

It’s still slightly warm, but the space is empty.

Of course he’s already gone, morning skate waits for no one. He probably left quietly, the same way he always does. He probably pressed a kiss to your hair, and closed the door with care. You’re sure he thinks that’s sweet and maybe even thoughtful, but it doesn’t stop the quiet ache that curls under your ribs.

You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like armor, and stared at the dent his body left in the pillow beside you. It already looks like it’s fading and that’s the thing about Luke, he never stays long enough for the weight of him to linger.

The floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you pad into the kitchen. The apartment is too quiet as there was no music humming from your phone speaker, no lazy footsteps behind you, no deep voice asking how you want your eggs. Just you and the echo of your own heartbeat in the stillness.

You poured yourself a mug of coffee, watching the steam twirl upward like smoke. It burns your hand, just slightly but you don’t pull away as the small sting keeps you grounded.

You leaned against the counter, sipping slowly as you tried to shake off the sleep that clinged to your body.

The hoodie you’re wearing is his and it’s soft and oversized, and still faintly smelling like his cologne from the night before. You try not to think about it and about him. About the way he smiled so easily last night, about how he completely missed the way your voice trembled beneath your words, how he didn’t see you when you asked for more.

He was right beside you the whole time, and somehow still so far away.

Your phone screen lit up on the counter with a text notification from Luke.

notification: lukey pookie (4 unread messages)

Hope you slept okay, I’ll call you after practice?

You stared at the screen as your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment. You typed something, deleted it. Typed again, deleted. Eventually, you settled for a plain thumbs up reaction to his text.

You hated how small that makes you feel and how empty it looks on the screen.

The mug was half empty now and your hands were cold again and your place still felt too big.

You wondered how many more mornings like this you’ll wake up aching for someone who doesn’t know he’s slowly breaking your heart. You wondered how long you’ll keep pretending that this is enough.

The coffee had completely gone cold by the time you remembered to take another sip.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been standing there. Just watching the steam fade, staring through the window over your sink. The clouds outside were hanging low, thick and winter-heavy even though it's barely even November. Ann Arbor looked grey, like the sky can’t decide if it wants to snow or just keep everything dull and duller.

You leaned your hip against the counter and let yourself finally feel the weight of last night.

You hadn’t even meant to bring it up to be completely honest. The thought had just slipped out after various nights between the sheets, between kisses and whispered half-truths. You'd thought that maybe if you wrapped your arms around him a little tighter, pressed your cheek to his chest and let the question rise soft and simple, he’d hear what you were really asking.

Have you ever thought about us being, like… something more?

You’d said it lightly and almost teasing, as if you hadn’t been thinking about it for weeks. As if it didn’t make your heart race to say it out loud. You’d kept your voice casual, but inside, you’d felt raw, like you were standing barefoot on ice, waiting for it to crack beneath you.

And Luke had smiled like you’d just told a cute joke.

But what we have going is really good.

That’s what he’d said, word for word. He probably had kissed your forehead after, arms wrapping around you like he could comfort the bruise he didn’t even know he’d left. Maybe that’s what made it worse. He meant it. He thought he was being kind, he thought he was protecting something between you.

You set the coffee mug down, harder than necessary on your counter.

Good. That’s what this was to him.

Good, like a routine. Good, like it was comfortable, easy, and just for fun.

But it wasn’t fun when you went to sleep aching beside someone who held your body like he’d memorized every part of it, but couldn’t hear what your voice was really asking. It wasn’t fun when your heart swelled every time he looked at you like you were his favorite secret, but only a secret.

You bit your lip hard, because the truth was that you’d already fallen for him.

Somewhere between the late-night drives and the way he always made space for your legs in his lap. Somewhere between every “this doesn’t mean anything” kiss and the quiet moments when he looked at you like it did. You’d started letting yourself believe he might want it too, that maybe he just didn’t know how to say it yet.

But he had said it last night and maybe not in those exact words, thought it was clear enough.

He didn’t want more and he didn’t want you in that way.

You exhaled shakily and pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to force the sting away. You weren’t going to cry over this again, but god did it ever hurt so bad in your chest.

It hurt because he was still so sweet in the way he touched you. Because he still texted good morning and sent you pictures of dogs on the street and shared fries with you at Yost like you were his someone. It hurt because he knew you. Because he liked you enough to sleep over, to trace patterns into your hipbones and kiss your shoulder and call you “trouble” with that damn smirk, but not enough to always stay for breakfast.

Not enough to choose you fully and want you more than the arrangement you both agreed upon a year ago, and he just wanted to keep you as a friend.

You sank into the kitchen chair, hoodie sleeves swallowed past your fingers, and stared down at the text he’d sent you an hour ago. Your chest felt tight, but not breaking yet. Rather like it was bracing for something because the more you thought about it, the more certain it felt.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

You couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t mean something to you. That you could keep your heart zipped up in the hoodie he left behind. That it didn’t feel like you were always one step away from falling completely, while he kept anchoring you to the idea that “what we have is good.”

Maybe it was, but it wasn’t enough anymore and the silence of your apartment this morning? That told you exactly how much he didn’t realize he was losing you.

You don’t even remember the walk to the hockey house. It was one of those Michigan mornings that felt heavier with a grey sky filled with unfallen snow, the kind of wind that cuts straight through your jacket and slips under your clothes like it’s looking for somewhere warm to ruin. You kept your hands jammed in your pockets and your head down as you replayed Luke’s words in your mind like a needle stuck in the same groove of a broken record.

Like you were a casual arrangement, like you hadn’t spent nights tangled up in each other’s sheets and mornings sharing coffee and soft laughs and sleepy kisses. Like he hadn’t left pieces of himself in your apartment – a hoodie, his favourite water bottle, the smell of him whenever you used your shampoo and conditioner on your pillow.

You shoved the thoughts away as you climbed the steps to the front porch, knuckles already raw from the cold when you knocked. When Tyler opened the door, he was sleepy-eyed in a hoodie that’s definitely not his, you managed a small smile.

“Lukey isn’t here but Rut and Eddie are inside,” He muttered as he stepped aside to open the door wider for you, his eyes glanced over your features and definitely noticed your off-mood, “You good?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” You lied quickly, “Thanks, Ty.”

The hockey house is its usual mess, it was something between being a frat house and a hockey locker room, all hardwood floors and mismatched couches, with the faint scent of protein powder and Axe body spray hanging in the air. You moved on autopilot as you dodged a pile of sneakers and an empty pizza box as you headed for the living room.

Ethan is exactly where you thought he’d be, half-reclined on the couch in a hoodie three sizes too big, legs spread out comfortably, his attention split between his housemates yelling about a replay on the TV and the massive chocolate protein shake in his hand. His hair was a mess, and his socks were mismatched, but when he saw you, he sat up instantly.

He took one look at your face and his expression dropped, “Hey, what happened?”

You shook your head lowly, “Can we talk?”

He’s already on his feet, gently guiding you away from the noise. He doesn’t ask again and doesn’t push. Just led you upstairs to his room, the one at the end of the hall with the window that sticks and the string lights you helped him hang up last fall. The door clicked shut behind you, and for the first time that day, you exhaled.

Ethan pulled his hoodie sleeve over his hand and wiped the dust off his desk chair before gesturing towards the bed instead, “You should sit or lay down or something, you look like you haven’t slept.”

You don’t bother arguing with him and choose to sit at the top of his bed. He dropped down beside you, close but not too close, his knee brushed yours for a moment. The quiet stretched between you like it was also holding its breath.

“I talked to Luke last night,” You told him finally.

Ethan’s jaw shifted, but he didn't interrupt. Just nodded slowly with his eyes locked on yours.

You don’t even know how to start, but then it all just comes out. The hints you dropped that Luke brushed off. The way you finally asked him not directly, but enough that he should’ve understood. The way he smiled like it was sweet, like it was cute, and then turned you down without even realizing what he was doing. 

“He made me feel like I’m just his side piece and won’t ever be something more,” You whispered.

Ethan doesn’t say anything. He just moved closer, gently shifted your legs so you could fold them over his lap like you always tended to do when you were upset.

“I feel so stupid,” You mumbled, “Like I got ahead of myself and like I made it all up.”

“You didn’t,” Ethan said to you softly, voice low like he’s trying not to shatter something fragile, “You didn’t make anything up.”

“I thought he cared,” You continued, “I thought maybe… I thought it mattered to him, the way I feel about him, but I think I was just convenient. Something easy between games and classes.”

Ethan tensed at your words.

You knew that he had always been protective of you ever since the two of you became friends, you’ve seen it in a dozen little ways. How he always checked if you’ve eaten. How he glared at drunk guys who look at you too long at parties. How he noticed when you’re quiet and never made you say why.

There was something deeper in the way he looks at you now. His jaw clenched and his hands stayed still. Almost like he’s holding something back like some deep, aching truth he’s kept tucked away because it wouldn’t be fair to say it out loud.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate,” He told you quietly, “Someone who knows what they want and isn’t afraid of it. Who doesn’t make you feel like asking for love is asking for too much.”

You blinked as your throat tightened, “I keep trying to tell myself it’s fine and that I should be fine with what it was, that I shouldn’t feel this heartbroken over something that technically… never existed.”

“But it did,” Ethan reassured you and his voice is firmer now, “It existed for you, and that’s real and that matters.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, “You always say the right thing.”

He gave you a small crooked smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I try.”

“I’m sorry I just showed up here like this.”

“Don’t be,” He said with a shrug, “You’re always allowed to show up here.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. He leaned into it instinctively, like this has always been your rhythm, like two people who circled each other but never quite touched the center.

Neither of you says anything for a while. The room is warm and still and heavy with things that can’t be said. Eventually, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, it was so gentle, you might’ve imagined it.

“I hate that he made you feel like this,” Ethan whispered, “But I’m really glad you came here.”

You nodded slowly as your fingers twisted in the hem of his hoodie, “So are you guys actually throwing that party tonight?”

The hockey house was alive with energy as you stepped through the front door, the muffled thrum of bass vibrating up through the soles of your shoes. The familiar scent of cheap beer, flavoured vodka, and pizza grease mixed with the cold Michigan air that clings to the edges of the room. You caught snippets of conversation as you squeezed through the crowded hallway, people laughing, shouting to be heard over the music, and the occasional burst of cheer as someone takes a shot or makes an exaggerated victory dance.

The whole place felt like it had been taken over by a lively mix of beer pong tables, speakers playing loud music which was a mix of throwbacks and country songs, and people swaying to the beat of the music in their own chaotic, drunken rhythm.

You spot Mackie in the kitchen, hovering over a plate of nachos with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He gave you a small wink as you passed by, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and holding it out to you.

“Here, save yourself from the cheap stuff they’re handing out,” He laughed, his eyes scanning the room before his attention lands back on you, “You good?”

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The word doesn’t feel right in your mouth, but Mackie doesn’t seem to notice, and you don’t bother explaining. There’s too much swirling around in your head already.

You tried to shake off the tightness in your chest, the way your stomach churned every time you caught sight of Luke in the crowd, his smile wide with his attention split between Jacob Truscott who he was laughing with and the girl standing a little too close to him. It’s a slow burn of jealousy that makes your stomach tightened more with each glance.

He hasn’t even noticed you yet.

You took a sip of the beer Mackie handed you, letting the cold liquid numb the knot in your throat. You don’t want to be one of those people who gets upset at something so minor, but you can’t shake the way your stomach twisted every time you see Luke interact with her. It’s a combination of how easily he seems to be laughing with her, and how easy they look together.

You pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house, spotting Luca and Rutger near the living room. The rest of the guys are scattered throughout the house, but there’s no sign of Luke.

“Hey, look who finally made it!” Rutger called out, a drunken smile on his face as he spotted you weaving your way over to them, “I thought you bailed on us, huh?”

You smiled weakly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders as you joined them, “Nah, just needed a minute to breathe.”

“You should’ve joined us for a round of shots, would’ve loosened you up,” Luca told you as he offered you a playful grin, “Right, Rutger?”

“Absolutely,” Rutger agreed as he leaned in with a smirk, “You can’t just stand in the corner like a wallflower all night. The fun’s out here!”

You shook your head, trying to hide the way your nerves kept flaring. You don’t know why, but you’re suddenly feeling more self-conscious than usual. Maybe it’s the way your friends are looking at you, or the fact that you can feel Luke’s presence somewhere nearby, even though you don’t look for him. You can hear his voice in the crowd, his laugh, and it twists something inside you.

You glanced over your shoulder to see if you could spot him again, and you did.

There he is, standing near the edge of the crowd, talking to that girl with the blonde hair, the leather jacket, the one he’s been laughing with for the past half hour. She’s touching his arm, leaning into him as they both laugh at something, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.

You don’t know why, but something inside you snapped. The knot in your stomach grows tighter, like a fist tightening around your ribs. You felt your hand tightened around your drink, knuckles going white.

“Hey, you good?” Adam’s voice brings you back to the moment as his eyes search your face, clearly noticing the shift in your expression, “You’ve been a little off all night.”

“Yeah,” You muttered as you quickly shook your head in an attempt to try to get your emotions in check, “I’m fine.”

But you’re not, you’re anything but fine. The jealousy is eating you alive, and you can’t escape it.

The night continued on, and the party continued to grow louder, more chaotic. People are dancing to country songs now, some doing a half-assed line dance, others laughing at the chaos around them. You try to lose yourself in it, but you can’t. Your eyes are constantly bouncing back to Luke and that girl, and every time they’re close, every time their bodies lean in toward each other, it felt like a punch to the gut.

You don’t even realize how much time has passed until the music changes, the crowd thinning out around midnight. Some are heading out to get food, others filing out to the porch for fresh air. The party’s winding down, and Luke was nowhere in sight.

You should leave and you should just head back home, let this night fade into the distance, but you can’t.

You can’t shake the feeling of abandonment.

With a quiet sigh, you make up your mind. You need to confront him to figure out what the hell is going on between you two. You push through the thinning crowd, scanning the room for him. When you spot him again, he’s talking to the girl near the stairs, laughing again, just like earlier. His attention seems to be entirely on her, and it makes the jealousy in your chest burn hotter.

Without thinking, you move toward him.

“Luke,” You called out with your voice tighter than you intended.

He turned, a grin on his face that quickly fades when he sees the look in your eyes, “Hey you, what’s up?”

“Can we talk? Maybe somewhere more private?”

The music faded as the hallway of the hockey house swallowed up the chaos of the party behind you. Each step toward Luke’s room feels like an eternity, your heart pounding harder with every passing second. You could feel the anger rising, a storm just below the surface, ready to explode.

You tore the door open, not bothering to wait for Luke to catch up. The room is quieter than the rest of the house, the volume of music and chatter barely audible now. You moved towards the middle of his room and turned to face him as soon as the door closed shut behind you both. The space felt small and suffocating, and all you could focus on is the knot tightening in your chest.

“I need to talk to you,” You told him with your voice low but sharp, barely keeping the tremble of anger at bay.

Luke hesitated as his brows furrowed, he's clearly caught off guard and confused, “Okay, what’s up?”

You don’t give him a chance to lead the conversation, “I saw you were talking to her, that girl.”

Luke’s face didn't change and he just raised an eyebrow, not even flinching at the accusation, “What? Are you mad about that?”

You could feel the anger bubbling up as you took a step towards him, “Yeah, I’m mad. You were all over her and didn’t even come to talk to me once. What was that about, Luke?”

Luke scoffed, leaning casually against the wall as if your frustration is nothing more than a passing inconvenience. 

“It’s not like that,” He said dismissively, “We were just talking, chill out.”

“It’s not just talking, Luke. You were leaning in, laughing with her like you were having a fucking blast. What was that? You having fun with her?” The words felt like acid in your mouth, burning as they left your lips.

Luke’s expression hardened, but his voice stays condescending, almost amused, “Are you seriously mad about that? You know we’re not exclusive, right? It’s not like we’re dating, we’re friends who fuck around.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, “Friends who fuck around?” You repeated with the sound of disbelief thick in your voice, “What the hell are we then, Luke? Because I’ve been thinking we were more than just a hookup.”

Luke stood up straighter, finally letting go of his calm facade, “So now you want to make it something serious? We just went over this, didn’t we? I told you I don’t want the baggage of a relationship.”

You could feel the room close in around you, “What we’ve been doing… it’s more than just casual, and I don’t know why you’re acting like this right now, like this thing between us is just casual.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smug grin, although there’s an edge of frustration behind his eyes, “I never said you don’t matter,but you can’t expect me to fall in line with some ‘relationship’ bullshit just because you get emotional about it. This is easy, no strings means no drama.”

“Easy?” You choke out, the sting of his words hitting harder than anything else, “This isn’t easy for me. I’ve been here, giving everything, and now you’re acting like it’s nothing, like I’m nothing.”

Luke takes a step toward you, his tone harsh now with an edge, “You’re acting like this whole thing means more than it does. I told you I don’t want the complications. So don’t blame me for not being the guy who’ll give you everything you want.”

“You think I just want to take from you?” You spat out, “You think I’m only asking for what I want? What the hell do you think I’ve been doing all this time, Luke? Giving everything I have to someone who’s too scared to admit he wants the same thing?”

Luke’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed as he took another step closer to you, his presence suddenly too much, like the space between you is closing in on itself

“I’m not scared,” He snapped, “I just don’t want to be tied down. I don’t want to be some fucking charity case for you to fix. I’m not the guy you want me to be, and I’m getting fucking tired of you trying to make me into someone I’m not.”

The harshness in his voice stung and you take an instinctive step back, the tears already welling in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

“You’re not a charity case, Luke. I never wanted to fix you,” You managed to get out, voice cracking, raw with emotion, “I just thought this thing between us was something real. Something more than just ‘casual’, but you won’t even let me have that.”

Luke’s gaze flickered away for a second, but it’s too late and the damage was done, “You think I’m some kind of monster?” He hissed, the venom in his words making your heart race, an ache burning deep in your chest, “I don’t owe you a damn thing. I never asked for this. You’re the one who made this complicated, not me.”

The tears finally break free, hot and sharp, and they spill down your cheeks before you can stop them. You tried to speak, but the words choke in your throat, stuck behind the weight of the pain he’s causing. Luke doesn’t soften. He just stood there, arms crossed, as if he’s completely unaffected by your tears, by the hurt that’s now filling the room between you both. 

“You don’t get it,” He mumbled, shaking his head, “I’m not the guy you want. I’m not your fucking fairy tale.”

His words are like knives, each one carving deeper into your already broken heart.

“I thought you were different,” You whispered, now barely able to hold yourself together, “I thought you’d be there when I needed you.”

Luke doesn’t say anything and he just stood there with his expression unreadable. The silence between you two is deafening, and it feels like it stretches for years. Finally, your legs give out from the weight of it all. You can’t look at him anymore and the door is right there.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” You told him as your voice trembled as you turned away, “I thought I meant something to you.”

Without another word, you walked toward the door as tears blurred your vision. Your heart felt like it was shattering into a thousand little pieces, and yet, there’s a small part of you that wondered if it ever really meant anything at all to him.

You yank the door open, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as you step out of the room and you don’t dare look back. You don’t know how long you stood there in the doorway but it had to have been for a few seconds, until you finally slammed the door behind you.

You feel the weight of every tear, every ache, and every word that Luke just threw at you. The air around you feels heavy, thick with the suffocating weight of it all. You’re no longer sure what’s real or how to process everything that’s just happened. Your heart feels like it’s been ripped out, and all you can do is walk with one shaky step after the next down the hallway of the hockey house.

Your chest is tight, the sobs hitched in your throat as you tried to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The mascara that once decorated your lashes is now a streaked mess, tracing down your cheeks like rivers of pain. Your face is flushed, blotchy, and you don’t even care.

As you passed by Ethan’s room, the door swung open. He must have heard your footsteps, the violent sobs that escaped from deep in your chest. You locked eyes for a split second, his face immediately registering shock, concern, and a raw sadness as he took in the sight of you.

His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. The words that should comfort you are stuck in his throat. And for a brief moment, it feels like the whole world stops. Ethan’s eyes are filled with so many things – pain for you, a quiet understanding of the depth of your hurt. He’s been your best friend since the start, but right now, he’s standing there helpless. You can see that he wanted to reach out, to take you in his arms, to protect you from the heartbreak you’ve just endured, but you can’t let him, not when you needed to get out of this house.

Before he could speak, you’re already turning, pushing past him with a frantic urgency. Your feet are unsteady as you make your way down the stairs, the sounds of the house which was a mix of laughter, and the loud voices of your friends  fading behind you. The only sound you hear now is the rushing of your blood, the pain in your chest, and the echoing footsteps that only seem to lead you farther from everything.

You open the front door, the cold November Michigan night air hitting you like a slap, and before you even realized it, you’re outside. You stumbled down the porch steps, unable to catch your breath as your chest tightened, the sobs wracking your body once again.

The door slammed shut behind you, its sound harsh and final and as you walk away from the house, the tears flow freely, the pain seeping into every step. You don’t look back.

6. I’VE NEVER MET ANYONE LIKE YOU (november 2022)

The weight of the silence in the hockey house feels heavier than ever. The laughter that used to fill the halls now sounds distant, muted by the space between you and the rest of the team. Luke had barely seen his friends for over a week, not since that fight with you, and the absence of your presence had casted a shadow over everything.

Luke’s head is buried in his hands, the guilt chewing away at him as he sat on the couch with his body stiff and exhausted. His mind is flooded with the image of you walking away from him that night, the door slamming shut behind you like the final nail in the coffin. He didn’t mean to hurt you, hell, he didn’t even know how much he was hurting you until it was too late.

Mark Estapa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching his friend with a mix of frustration and sympathy. He’s seen this before. Luke, too afraid to admit his feelings, too scared to let someone in, pushing away the person who means the most to him.

Ethan Edwards, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, spoke up from his spot on the armchair with his voice soft but firm, “Luke, you need to fix this. You hurt her, man and badly. She’s been a mess ever since that night and you don’t get to just ignore it. Not this time.”

Luke looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and tired. He’d always been good at deflecting, but now, with Ethan’s words hung in the air, there’s no escape from the truth. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Luke muttered, the weight of the admission making his chest ache. “I just… I got scared. I didn’t want to lose her, and I thought that if I kept things casual, it would be easier. But I fucked it up, like I really fucked it up.”

Mark let out a frustrated breath, but there’s understanding in his eyes, “You know what you did. We all saw it, Luke. You pushed her away because you were scared of what you felt for her, but she’s not just another girl to screw around with, man. Bear deserves more than that. She deserves the truth.”

Luke ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret dancing together, “I don’t know how to fix it and I didn’t mean to say those things. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it simple, but now she thinks I don’t care. I care. I fucking care so much, that it’s killing me.”

Ethan’s eyes softened, and he stood up to move closer and clapped Luke on the shoulder, “The first step is admitting it. Now you’ve got to show her, you’ve got to make it right and that starts with showing her that you’re ready to be vulnerable. You’ve been running from it, but it’s time to stop.”

As if on cue, Luca entered the room, a slight grin on his face as he walked towards the couch, a confident beam in his eyes. 

“I think I’ve got a plan,” He told the three, his tone playful but knowing, “If you’re really serious about making things right, I’ll help you out but you’ve got to do the work, Hughesy.”

Luke looked at Luca as confusion flickered in his eyes, “What kind of plan?”

Luca leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his arms with a casual attitude, “I know for a fact that our little group hasn’t been the same without her. The atmosphere is off, you’re off, we’re all off. And I know the best way to make up for what you did, we’ll help you show her how much she means to you. Let’s get her favourite things like the stuff she loves, the things that make her smile. If you really care about her, you’ll go the extra mile and actually talk to her and say you’re sorry.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, “Luca’s right. You’ve got to get creative here. No half-assed apology. You want her back, you show her. All of us will help, but it’s on you to make it right.”

Luke looked between his friends, the determination slowly building in his chest, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

You’re curled up in your living room, the quiet of the night settling over you. The week without your usual group of friends and without Luke, had been harder than you’d care to admit. It felt like a piece of you is missing, like something essential has been taken away. You’ve tried to keep your distance, but the ache in your chest won’t go away. Every corner of the campus, every familiar place, seems to remind you of him. You can’t shake the image of the hurt in his eyes when he told you he couldn’t give you what you wanted. Luca had just felt your place not too long ago and you couldn’t ignore the seed that he planted in your mind that you needed to talk things out with Luke, and not let the thing the two of you have die in silence.

It was late when you made your way to the hockey house, Luca’s reassuring words echoing in your mind. The air is colder now, November chill biting at your skin as you step inside. Luke’s bedroom door cracked open, and you hesitated for a moment before knocking softly.

When Luke looked up and saw you standing there in his doorway, his face fell. He opened his mouth, like he’s about to speak, but no words came out.

“Can we talk?” You asked with your voice quiet but firm.

Luke nodded, stepping aside to let you in. His eyes are tired, red-rimmed from lack of sleep and too much thinking. The guilt is written all over his face.

The quiet hum of the hockey house faded into the background as you walked through the door of Luke’s room. It felt like you’ve walked into a different world, one where the sounds of the party, the laughter, the chaos, are all left behind. It’s just you and him now, standing in the space that’s always been a bit too small for the amount of tension that has built between you. The air feels thicker here, as if the walls were all holding their breaths too.

There’s a heavy silence, thick with everything that hasn’t been said between the two of you since the last time you spoke. The words sit in the air like stones, waiting to be moved. And you know and he knows that this conversation was long overdue.

“I-” You started, but the words feel heavy in your mouth, like they’re stuck somewhere between your heart and your lips. He’s already looking at you, his blue eyes are intense, and you see a flicker of panic, like he’s trying to figure out how to fix it. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about… everything,” He told you and his voice was rough, almost hesitant. It’s unlike the usual softer tone he wears, this vulnerability raw and unguarded, “And I know I’ve messed up big time. I- shit, I don’t even know how to say this, but I need to tell you the truth.”

Your heart clenched as you were unsure whether you wanted to hear the truth or run from it. But you stayed in the space between you both, as if waiting for him to tear down the walls he’s so carefully built around himself.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Luke continued, his words softer now, more fragile than you’ve ever heard from him, “But I’ve been scared. So damn scared.” 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret mixing in his movements, “I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious. But the truth is, I was just pushing you away since you brought up being more because I was terrified of how much I care about you. I didn’t think I was good enough. I thought if I didn’t let myself get too close to you, I wouldn’t get hurt when you left but I was wrong and I’ve been wrong about so much.”

The admission fell between you like a confession, a burden lifted but replaced with something even heavier. He turned to face you fully now, the distance between you and him feeling even greater than it did before.

“You mean so much more to me than I ever let on, and I’ve hurt you because I was too damn afraid to be real with you.” His voice cracked slightly as he looked down, his hands shaking at his sides.

The soft tremor in his voice, the rawness of it and it breaks something in you. Your chest tightened as you tried to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to overtake you. He looked at you then, the desperation in his eyes now clear, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Luke added, his voice soft and almost apologetic, but it’s too late for that now, “I just- I didn’t know how to make you see that I care about you. That I want something real with you, something more than what we’ve been doing and I was just afraid.”

The pain of those words, the ones he spoke that night, the ones that made you feel so small rushed back like a wave crashing over you. You opened your mouth, but the words won’t come. You want to shout at him for being so blind, for making you feel like an option, but your chest ached too much for that.

“I don’t want a ‘no-strings-attached’ thing with you,” Luke continued, each word coming out like he’s fighting to say it, “I’ve been stupid, I’ve been so stupid. I don’t care about keeping things casual anymore. I don’t want that because I want you. I want to be with you because darling you’re one in a million and you’re it for me.”

“You mean everything to me,” Luke told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s the most honest thing you’ve heard from him, “And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for making you feel like I didn’t care.”

Your mind spun as the weight of his words settled in your chest. The tension between you has shifted, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes now, something soft and open that makes you realize how much he’s holding back before this. The wall he built is finally crumbling, and you’re left standing here, not sure if you’re ready to let him in again, but somehow, feeling like maybe you should.

Luke took a careful step toward you, his hands slowly reaching for yours, his touch tentative and unsure, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t want to run.

“I’m sorry,” He repeated again, his voice thick with emotion, “Please just… give me a chance to show you how much I mean it.”

The sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable, and something inside you shifted. You felt your heart flutter at the way he’s looking at you with his eyes vulnerable, open, and so completely, undeniably real. For the first time in this entire mess, you can feel it. 

“I thought I was just a hookup for you,” You admitted, your voice small and fragile as the raw truth leaves your lips, “I thought it was never going to be more than just some fuck buddy.”

Luke shook his head violently as he took both of your hands in his now, his grip strong, grounding, “No, I never wanted you to think that. I was just too scared to tell you how much you meant to me, but I promise to you that whatever you were feeling before this was real. All of it.”

Your breath hitched as you processed his words. The hurt from before doesn’t feel as sharp anymore, but it still lingered like an open wound, and maybe you need time, maybe it’ll take more than just this moment to heal, but something in you can’t ignore the honesty in his eyes.

“I want you, too,” You whispered, your voice shaky, but your heart is finally catching up with your words, “But I need to know this is real and that you won’t pull away again when it gets hard.”

Luke took a step closer, his breath mingled with yours as his forehead leaned gently against yours, “I won’t. I promise. I’ve learned my lesson and I love you, and I want to make this work. You’re my best friend and you’re absolutely everything to me and I want to be with you. Please, will you be my girlfriend, Bear?”

The world slowed, and the only thing you can focus on is the warmth of his hands around yours, the way he’s looking at you as if you’re the only thing that matters. And at this moment, you knew. You knew that despite everything that’s happened in the past week, despite all the hurt and all the confusion, that this is real. You could feel it in the way your heart raced faster when you looked at him, in the way your breath caught in your throat when he spoke.

“I love you too,” You told him with your voice quieter but steady now, “And yes of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

The words felt like a promise and like a new beginning, as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you with the kind of tenderness you’ve been waiting for. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you knew this is right.

“I wonder which one of them is gonna be rich tonight,” You giggled against his lips as you referred to your eight friends who were most definitely making bets on the outcome of this conversation.

“I don’t care, I’d pay them as a thank you for helping me get you back in my life,” He mumbled with a small smile as he kissed you again, “I should’ve listened to my mom and not been an idiot.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

When in doubt, Soup it out.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part 2 of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon Riley x single mom reader

In truth, lying was something that came second nature to Simon Riley

He’d lied to his teachers in school about where he got his bruises and burn marks from, if they bothered to ask

He’d lied to his brother while their parents argued on the other side of the wall, telling him that everything would be okay

He’d lied to his dad about where he’d been all night, telling him he was making less money at the butcher job than he really was

Whatever lie he had to give to get through the day, get through the night, get through his childhood, he would offer up without so much as batting an eye

And as he got older, he started stretching the truth for different reasons

Whatever his CO’s needed to hear from him in order to let him do his job, then he’d let them hear it, true or not

Whenever people started asking too many questions, well-equipped sarcasm became his right hand man in avoiding the truth

Lying had always come in handy for Simon, whether it was a life or death situation or goading Soap into believing an obviously fictitious story, carefully chosen words and slight exaggerations had never steered him wrong before

This one, however?

Well, as he sat in an all too colourful daycare office with murals of ducks and bunnies watching over his every move, Simon began to wonder if this was one lie he shouldn’t have told

But then again, he wasn’t telling this lie out of malice, or greed, or ill-intent… he was doing this for you

Because at the end of the day, he’d be lying to no one apart from himself if he were deny how often you popped into his head

Ever since he’d first squinted through the glaring sun and spotted you through that flimsy chain link fence, since he’d heard your voice over the rumble and roar of construction behind him, since he’d spent less than ten whole minutes talking to you, it was as though something within him had started brewing, started changing

Similar to two live wires coincidentally meeting until an inevitable spark shoots through the air, akin to a wind chime that hadn’t rang out in years suddenly beginning to sway to and fro with the promise of strong winds on the horizon, or closer yet to that moment Franklin’s key and kite were struck by lightning and history was forever changed, meeting you had stirred something loose within Simon

For too long now, Simon felt as though he were nothing more than a man stuck behind the wheel, lost in the storm on an infinite stretch of road that would never lead him towards home, no matter how many maps or compasses or tools he may have, he was on a steady cruise control headed nowhere

But since he’d met you, since he’d learned about the situation you were in, you and your sweet little baby bird just as alone as him and up against the world, since he’d made up his mind and decided he’d help you in whatever capacity you’d allow, it was almost as if the fog had cleared from his tired eyes, as though he was finally glancing up from the maps and realizing that ‘home’ could be down any stretch of road he took, if he was willing to take it

You’d stumbled into his life on an afternoon like any other, instantly making a home for yourself in the recesses of his brain by that very same evening

His eyes now were constantly glancing at the phone number now tacked onto his fridge as he went about his routine, your smile appearing behind his eyelids as he tried in vain to fall asleep at night, or the image of the soft swell of your cleavage bouncing as you’d walked away playing on a loop in his mind until he’d accept he wasn’t going to be getting any shut eye until he allowed his hands to slip beneath the blankets

His early mornings were no longer spent cursing having to be up before the sun, instead he found himself staring at the empty spot across from him at the table, wondering if you were awake too, perhaps trying to soothe a fussy baby back to sleep, or feeding her from the same swollen breasts Simon selfishly wished he could suckle from as well

Or were you still laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as you too struggled to fall asleep? Too worried about finding your baby bird a spot somewhere before the money ran out? Stressing yourself over things that Simon wished he could fix for you? That he knew he could fix for you?

Less than 24 hours after your first conversation, Simon had hounded just about every living and breathing soul working on the construction site, determined to come up with at least some bit of information, someone to contact, something that would lead him in the right direction, but everyone seemed to be just as in the dark as he was

He wasn’t easily deterred however, nor was he lacking in imagination, when he decided he was unwilling to return to his flat that night without being at least one step closer to having a valid excuse for calling the number that called out to him each time he walked through his kitchen, and so if no one apart from Simon happened to notice that every single blueprint disappeared from the site that night, well that was just unfortunate wasn’t it?

He’d nearly missed the phone call he’d been hoping to get the next morning, preoccupied with having to change his bed sheets after having dreamt of you again all night as visions of your soft body had him feeling like a teenaged boy again, he managed to snag his phone just before the ringer ended

As expected, the site manager had been on the other line, practically beside himself as he told Simon how he’d arrived at the site and discovered that some troublesome teenagers must have snuck in during the night and done away with their building plans, asking Simon if he wouldn’t mind driving to the supervisor’s office and snagging some copies

Simon had already been halfway out the door before he’d hung up

The foreman’s office was cluttered beyond belief, disorganized chaos he sifted through carefully to find the one piece of information he needed, and there amongst the loose papers and pencils and measuring tapes, was the next piece to the puzzle he was slowly solving; the buyers contact information

The blueprints were delivered back to the site in no time, having been kept safe in the back of Simon’s truck the entire time, and a carefully concocted story about needing to run to grab supplies for the job was believed by everyone as the tall man climbed back in behind the wheel and weighed his options

He could reach out to you now, he’d been able to find you the owner’s name, along with an email and phone number to contact, the promise he’d made to you was done, his duty fulfilled

He knew he could call, and you’d be overjoyed to hear from him, that you would be eternally grateful for his help, thanking him endlessly… but that would be the end of it, wouldn’t it? His role would be fulfilled, his duty done and over with, no other valid excuses for you to keep him within your orbit, he’d just be a kind stranger who’d done you an incredibly kind favour

But as Simon pondered that choice, he wondered, why stop here?

You were alone with a newborn, stressed enough as it was, you didn’t need more work being added onto your already full plate, he may as well go the extra mile and help you out even more, right?

At least, that’s what Simon kept telling himself now, as he sat in a too small chair inside of a much too colourful office, avoiding the judgemental eyes of the painted woodland creatures staring at him, as though they knew what his intentions were, waiting for none other than the owner herself

“Hi there, sorry to have kept you waiting.” The woman says as she walks in, reaching a hand out to greet him as he stands to meet her halfway. “My assistant director says you’re here from our newest expansion? The East end location?”

“Yes ma’am, that’d be the one.” Simon offers politely, lowering himself back into the chair he hardly fits in once she rounds the desk and sits down as well. It would make sense that that was what her assistant has told her, as that was the story Simon had offered, reasoning that he had to speak with the owner about the project, not giving them much choice when he showed up to the office unannounced

“There aren’t any issues with construction so far, are there? We shouldn’t be expecting any delays?” She questions, getting straight to the point. Simon appreciates that she isn’t wasting any time with small talk, he also wants this done quick, he’s got a pretty bird waiting on him after all

“No ma’am. Everythin’s on track so far.” He replies easily, omitting the small hiccups she doesn’t need to know about. “M’afraid that’s not why I’m ‘ere today.”

“Well, what can I help you with then?” She questions, an over plucked brow raising as she tilts her head

“Had a few questions ‘bout the nursery we’re buildin’ for ya.”

“Oh, well- I believe the specifications were in the plans for-”

“Not so much ‘bout the building itself, ma’am.” He cuts her off, not unkindly, but clarifying his point. “Was more so wondering ‘bout- well, it’s a decently big plot o’ land we’re working on. How many lil’ ones are meant be in there?” He asks, trying his best to ease his way into this conversation

“Currently, plans are set to have two preschool classes, two toddlers classes, as well as an infant class. With full capacity we could have up to 88 children in the centre. Why are-”

“How many of those spots are for the babes?”

“We can have up to 10 infants at most.”

“Alrigh’, and how many o’ those spots are available?” He finally asks, cutting to the chase, ripping the bandaid off. Simon watches understanding cross her face and she lets out a small scoff, not rude, but more so like she knew she should have expected as much

“Ah, I see now.” She says with a knowing smile sent his way. “I appreciate your interest in our centre, and I understand nursery spots have been scarce in the city, but I have to be honest sir, we do have a wait list policy. There are numerous families already signed up wi-”

“It’s a little girl.” Simon cuts her off firmly this time, not wanting to entertain whatever rejection she was preparing to give him. No, he wouldn’t be leaving here without good news for you, he couldn’t do that. He ignores the painted birds mocking eyes as he steels himself as presses on. “She’s just a tiny thing. Eight weeks old, almost nine now I suppose. Her mum’s got to be back to work, hasn’t got much of a choice. There’s no family ‘round to help or nothin’. She needs this spot for her.”

The woman’s lips thin as she looks at him with understanding, with sympathy, none of the things Simon cares to see unless she’s nodding her head in agreement. He knew it might take a little push to convince whoever was behind the desk to do the right thing, to help him do right by his birdie and her baby bird, and so he’s not ashamed, nor above saying:

“I’ll make sure the job’s done early.”

At this, both her brows now shoot up, obvious intrigue now painted across her features as she blinks at him.

“Pardon?”

“I will see to it that everything is ready ahead of schedule. Personally. The sooner the place is open, the sooner you start making money, the sooner kids are in and sooner parents are happy. Everyone wins.”

Simon watches her ponders his words, gears turning in her head as she thinks it over. She could easily refute him, call him out for being out of line and send him on his way, tail tucked between his legs. But Simon knows a desperate person when he sees one, knows just what people want to hear, and so he isn’t surprised when she’s suddenly standing from her desk, crossing the room to shut the slightly ajar door, and he smiles to himself slightly, knowing he’s won.

“Now when you say ahead of schedule-”

“Could have ‘er ready by the end of the month. I’ll pull the strings, make it happen. You leave it to me and it’ll be done.” He answers easily, confidently, like there is no question in his mind he can offer up such promises and see them through to fruition. Hell, he’d build the entire goddamn thing by himself day and night if that’s what she wanted to hear, whatever would convince her

“I mean-” she says, letting out a long sigh as she leans back in her chair, opening up a drawer and rummaging through for something or another. “I can’t lie, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve made exceptions for someone, especially one of our own builders.”

Simon nods along, pleased with the way this is going thus far, though things take an abrupt turn when she next says:

“I would still like to meet with your wife and daughter first, just to iron out the enrolment details and confirm whether this would be a good fit, but I can- I could potentially find a way to make this work.”

And Simon knows this is the moment where he’s supposed to correct her, where he’s supposed to speak up and clarify that no, you aren’t his wife and she isn’t his daughter, that she’s misunderstood him and that the two of you are strangers he met earlier this week- fuck he doesn’t even know your baby’s name yet for crying out loud- all of this could fall apart tremendously as soon as she asks even a single question that he won’t have the answer to, potentially jeopardizing this entire thing for you and her, and yet-

“Brilliant. The missus will be thrilled.”

Next chapter

Alrighty first off, apologies for the delay between posts, writers block and life in general are so ew, but we’re so back babe

All the love on the first part was so unexpected and so so appreciated!!! Y’all have me looking like this with every comment and reblog and tag-

Gonna strive to have part 3 out before the end of the weekend hopefully, don’t want to keep you all waiting so long again

- M 🫶🏻

[multific]

When the World Turns to Ash

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Since childhood, you have felt an invisible thread tying you to another. When Prince Aemond Targaryen loses his eye, you collapse in agony, finally understanding the truth.

But Aemond does not want a soulmate.

He does not want weakness, does not want someone sharing in the burden of his suffering. He tries to shut you out, to deny the bond, but fate does not bend so easily.

And no matter how much he resists, he cannot ignore the one truth that has always been, when you hurt, he hurts, too.

And when he finally stops running, when he finally accepts the love that has always been his, he learns that pain is not a curse… but a promise that neither of you will ever face this world alone.

Since childhood, pain has never been yours alone.

You felt it when you were small, scraped knees, bruised elbows, little pains that barely mattered. But you also felt things that were not yours.

The sharp sting of a lash, a blade slicing through skin, the deep ache of wounds that no child should bear.

You learned to live with it, to endure it in silence.

Until the night a boy lost his eye.

That night, pain unlike anything you had ever known tore through you. You collapsed where you stood, hands clawing at your face, sobbing as fire seared through your skull.

It was endless, unbearable. You had never screamed before. That night, you did.

And somewhere in the world, another screamed with you.

Years passed.

The pain lessened, but never disappeared.

You still felt it sometimes, a sword’s bite, a deep ache in the ribs, old wounds that never truly healed. But you endured.

You lived in a small holdfast in the Riverlands, far from the power struggles of court.

But when King Viserys died and the kingdom fractured, your father chose to swear fealty to Aegon the Usurper.

Which was how you found yourself in King’s Landing.

It was in the halls of the Red Keep that you first saw him.

Prince Aemond.

And you knew.

His gaze found yours across the corridor, his lone violet eye narrowing slightly, as if he had felt something, recognized something.

You turned and fled before he could approach.

But fate would not be denied.

The second time you met was at a feast.

You had been given no choice but to attend, seated near the high table, your father eager to prove your family's loyalty. You felt it before you saw him—his presence, sharp and suffocating.

And then he was there, lowering himself into the chair beside you.

Neither of you spoke at first. The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence.

"It was you."

Your throat tightened. You kept your gaze fixed on the goblet in your hands. "I don't know what you mean, my prince."

Aemond scoffed, leaning in slightly. "Do not play coy. We both know the truth." His voice was lower now, for your ears alone. "You are the one who shares my pain."

You shuddered. "I don't want this."

"Neither do I."

The words should have made you feel relief. Instead, they cut deeper than any blade.

You turned to look at him then, at the sharp lines of his face, the storm in his violet eye. "You cannot deny it," you whispered.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I have spent my life trying."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "You feel it, don’t you? When I hurt."

He said nothing.

But that was answer enough.

Days passed. Aemond ignored you, and you tried to do the same.

And yet, the bond did not allow for silence.

One evening, you accidentally cut your palm on a broken goblet. The pain was minor, a sting, nothing more.

But across the hall, Aemond flinched.

Your eyes locked.

Without a word, he strode toward you, his hand seizing your wrist. He turned your palm over, inspecting the wound.

You watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled a cloth from his sleeve and gently wrapped your hand. His touch was careful, precise, soft.

He met your gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

"You should be more careful."

And then he was gone.

He started watching you after that.

At feasts. In the training yard. In the gardens. He never spoke, but his presence followed you, heavy and inescapable.

Until the night you were hurt.

A foolish accident, tripping down the stone steps, your ankle twisting beneath you. The pain shot through your leg, and you barely had time to gasp before a roar echoed through the halls.

And then he was there.

Storming toward you, his eye blazing with fury.

He dropped to one knee beside you, his hands ghosting over your form, searching. "What happened?" His voice was tight, controlled, but you could feel the panic beneath it.

"I-I'm fine, Aemond, I just fell-"

"You are not fine," he snapped.

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. The gesture was shockingly intimate. "I felt it," he whispered. "Your pain. It-" His breath shuddered. "It hurt."

You swallowed hard. "Because we are bound."

He was silent for a long moment. Then, so softly you almost didn't hear it—

"I do not want to be alone anymore."

Your heart ached.

Carefully, you reached up, your fingers trailing over the sharp lines of his face. He did not pull away.

Instead, he leaned into your touch.

"Aemond," you murmured.

Something broke in his expression then. His lips parted slightly, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin.

And then, finally, after all this time-

He kissed you.

It was slow, hesitant at first, as if he was afraid you might disappear. But when you melted into him, when your fingers curled into his tunic, he claimed you.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was warm against your lips.

"You are mine," he whispered, "as I am yours."

You smiled softly, pressing another kiss to his lips, as gentle as a promise.

"Always."

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[girlfromflor]

idk if this makes sense but i couldn't stop thinking about it. omega!reader x pack!141 but simon and reader have a backstory.

you were rescued by los vaqueros. that was all anyone knew about you. there were no files, no archives, no photos, no information at all that you were indeed a living person. the ones who believed you were real were the ones that had seen you. but that's it. the only proof that you existed came to those who stared into your lifeless eyes and got a glimpse of your seemingly cold, distant demeanor and sharp, almost unnatural reflexes. almost is the key word, because they were in fact the most natural, primal form of your being. your omega.

it has barely been a week since you were rescued and they haven’t let you stop for a second. the higher-ups transferred you from place to place. from the local hospital to the base's medical center, back to back like you were some important patient even though there was nothing wrong with you. they just had no idea what to do with you. you were a deceiver. they had no trust in you to “allow” you to the outside world because that would mean a threat to civilians. and there was no locking you away either because they liked to pretend they weren't just as worse as the ones who kept you locked in some dirty dungeon far away from humanity.

they couldn't figure out what to do. you had a way of controlling your scent with such expertise that wasn't known to trained military soldiers. most of the time you masked your omega scent well. you didn’t smell like nothing at all, a neutral almost non existent aroma lingered around you. it wasn't very different from when someone would use scent blockers and they wondered how did you learn that in the first place. it took them seven long days to get you to let go and allow an omega specialist to get a sniff of your natural scent, no manipulating involved. 

just as you could mask your scent to a non existent one, you could also make it more appealing, more seductive. it was a problem, really. it brought alphas and betas to a dizzy haze where they felt like they had to do what you wanted so you could allow them closer for as long as it was possible. you made them submit in your own, fucked up way. even the elite forces couldn't help but give in to you. you lured people in, just to whisper your way into their hearts and minds to have what you wanted. and all you ever wanted was to survive, no matter what. always.

it wasn’t long before word spread and you were faced with the reality that your future once again was stripped away from your hands and put into the care of others. people you didn’t know and that you didn’t want to be forced to get to know. people you didn’t want to meet in the first place. and you were prepared to stand your ground. you were ready to do whatever it'd take for you to feel like you took back at least a bit of control of your life. the one you've long lost. the one you so deeply yearn to have back. even if it meant war. hell, you'd chase a way to feed your needs even if that meant death.

you waited patiently, sitting down on the hospital-like bed in one of the many rooms in the base's med center, playing with your fingers to pretend you had something to do other than think. you let yourself daydream from time to time, usually you fell in the arms of your very vivid memories from the last place you used to live in – the place you've been kept pretty much your whole life, but not anymore. you weren't given options, you knew you were going to be handed to someone only for this person to decide what was going to happen. the lack of opportunities to give consent and to have control over your own life were both things you never had the privilege to have. you caught yourself overthinking more often than not. it was a cruel habit, of course, but one you rather have over suicidal ones. you used to have those too, you recall. 

you never indulged in self harm of any kind, but suicide was a regular thought of yours before you met simon. your dear, cherished best friend who you kept well hidden somewhere in the back of your mind. the last time you saw him you were helping him escape the grey walls and steel gates where you were trapped for years. the place was supposed to be a orphanage. and it was, for a while. the younger ones were adopted by loving families and, eventually, moved on from the cold, creepy place. the ones who weren't chosen, the neglected and overlooked like yourself, were left behind to grow older and to grow wiser on their own. they were left alone with the slow understanding that if they weren't picked by the time their adulthood came, they would be sold somewhere else. 

you were a teenager by the time you stumbled upon simon. the tall, threatening young alpha who seemed to be older by only a few years, maybe months. alphas and omegas were kept in separate places of the building, so imagine your surprise when you were met with his warm chest, your cheek knocking on the fabric of his hoodie as you walked without looking forward, and rather to your right where anyone could appear at any moment. it was late, probably past midnight and you had the habit of sneaking around the building to find its secret places. simon never questioned where you were really going that night, you never explained yourself either, that would feel much too forced. after a while you didn’t have to either, because simon got to know you all too well, he was glad he accidentally caught you when he did.

after a few days of pining over each other's company, you sat down beside simon during lunch. none of you said a word but it became a routine. before either of you could realize a few months had passed and you saw each other every day, the two of you developed a very deep friendship filled with care and mutual understanding. lunches turned into whole days together, the days turned into months and as you grew fonder of each other you also realized there wasn't much time left. that’s where it all started. it was you who told simon to run away, it was you who said that he could make it, that he’d find a pack, a family, a home. you showed him every single one of the alternative exits around the building, you wrote down by memory the schedule of every security guard that worked on the big gates that kept you inside. you ran with him and you fought with him – you fought for him, because when the plan went down, you gave up on your own attempt of running away to be sure that he would make it out. you did it for him, for the love you found with him – one you only ever saw in books, one you never knew you'd ever be able to experience.

the place was huge, to this day simon doesn’t know how you managed to know it all so well to help him out. he later in life realized why it was so big. the place had a hospital-like facade only to be a lot of other things from inside. it was a reformatory to the kids who were sent there to be lectured, the ones like simon. it was an orphanage to others, but he only realized that when he met you. he still remembers that night, even with all the heavy emotions that came with it. he had been woken up by a nightmare and decided to grab something to eat from the kitchen – which was forbidden, but he really didn't care –, only for his idea to be totally forgotten when a smaller being collided with his chest. after that night his nightmares seemed to be slowly but determinedly replaced by images of you,  after a few days he didn’t have sleepless nights anymore and when he realized both of you had come to terms with the fact that you were in fact friends, he didn't even have nightmares at all. although, by the time he was out of the steel gates, hidden behind a tree, scared and panicking as he watched you being dragged back to the stone cold walls of the place he knew you likely wouldn't escape any sooner, he knew he'd never sleep as calmly as he did when he had you. 

it wasn’t long before he was found. price took him in and took care of him. they had a weird alpha to alpha relationship at the beginning, but it was more than simon could've ever asked for and as he grew used to long conversations and talks about his past experiences, simon finally felt like he belonged somewhere. as he joined the first project of task force 141, simon learned how to care for others. he only ever had you who was a fragile, delicate little omega – in his mind, at least – that he avoided hurting at all cost, which meant he avoided you altogether. you cared for each other but it was you who called the shots, it was you who laid boundaries and limits, it was you who took care of him. not the other way around, like it should be – like he wanted it to be.

as the task force 141 became a solid and stable unit, it also became simon's pack. he loves john with all he has, he’s always ready to follow him to the end of the world if that means they’ll still be together. john taught him how to love kyle – sweet, loving kyle who is too kind for his own good –, in a way that felt natural. kyle deserves all the love in this world and simon slowly learned how to give that without feeling like he was going to mess everything up. it was too bad that simon only realized that he was in love with you after he met johnny. johnny came like a hurricane and brought all simon’s walls down one by one. it was johnny who helped him with the nightmares he had of you, johnny was the only one who knew the whole story – how you sacrificed everything for simon, and how he would never allow himself close to another omega who weren’t you. you were probably dead, most likely gave in to the insane torture they must have put you in and either died from it or went into distress and had to be put down somehow. he couldn’t live with any of it, he never forgave himself for what he did – he left you behind, what type of person does that? it doesn’t matter that you were both young and scared for your lives. it doesn’t matter that you purposely threw yourself on the guard that was almost catching simon, only so he could escape and you would be the one captured and dragged back inside. johnny always tried to get simon to get back to the institution and look for you, but simon always sank so fast in the idea that you were already dead that johnny stopped asking, stopped questioning. both he and kyle did a great job at keeping simon’s mind out of bad thoughts and john was there to catch him if he ever fell. now, after so many years, the only reminder that you were part of his life was the nightmares he had of the day he left you, the ones who haunted him every other week.

caught up on reminiscing about your past life, you don’t acknowledge the opening door and the heavy steps that make their way inside of the room you're currently located in. you also don’t realize someone is talking to you until a hand touches your shoulder. you are shaken back into reality at the movement, your body reacting involuntarily and getting on guard and wary for a second. it was a soft touch that you knew meant no harm, but you were distracted and vulnerable. but then again, when weren’t you vulnerable? you look up from your fingers as you quickly take in the person in front of you, a woman – a beta – she is pretty, with kind eyes and kind intentions. her black skin is as beautiful as the night sky. you can see right through her, she’s scared you will think she has any other intentions when she actually only wants you to have some peace of mind. you can see it in the slight frown of her brows and pressed lips, the edge of an overbearing desire to comfort you well masked, only the soft and comforting beta scent more apparent – if you weren’t so good with scents, you might have missed it.  

“okay…?” she takes her hand away as she asks you, the british accent catching you off guard because most of the people you came in contact with since arriving from the hospital were either mexican or american. you’re not sure what she means.

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i heard a word you said…” you answer matter-of-factly with a chuckle, wanting to ease her nerves if that meant she’d stop projecting her scent to try and calm you down. you didn’t need that.

she chuckled as well, and you could see her shoulders relaxing a bit as her hands found their way to rest inside the front pockets of her cargo pants. “you seemed distracted, so i don’t blame you,” she jokes back, the atmosphere getting easier to deal with as you both settle in a normal conversation, despite the unusual circumstances. “i said that i’m here to make sure you’re okay and see if you’re ready for the meeting.”

oh, yes, the meeting. it was the usual power speech, they made you feel like you had the opportunity to choose if you want this or not. neither you nor the pretty beta in front of you fall for it, of course. because you aren’t ‘ready’, and you don’t get to voice it. she knows that as much as you, but you know she still wants you to be okay. so you sigh, stepping out of your bed and answer, “yeah… yeah, i’m ready.”

the walk was kind of long, but it was the first time you got to walk around the base, so you took your time watching your surroundings. you realize very quickly you’re wearing a uniform, given that the plain shirts and cargo pants were a very common occurrence – the only difference was that yours were a slightly different colour. you were silently thankful for the break from the hospital gowns you had to wear for the past week. you also thanked the discreet clothing they chose, despite you being a civilian, that way you could blend well among the soldiers and, with your scent masking skills, you became so normal you almost disappeared.

it took two busy days for you to fully comprehend everything that had happened. the orphanage where you grew up was in england. you stayed there most of your life until the day – about six weeks ago – that you were transferred to las almas. a place that stayed just on the border of mexico and the united states, which meant you were transported to the other side of the world without your acknowledgement – an information now known to you, because you were told after you were moved to the base’s med center, three days after you were rescued.

“i’m sorry if that’s, uh… crossing a line… but, what is your name?” you ask the beta that is walking by your side. she hadn’t said anything since you left your previous room, so you guessed maybe she had orders to not talk with you. but that was quickly proved wrong when she gave you a quick glance and a smile formed on her lips.

“i’m sorry,” she starts, seeming like she was trying to hold in a laugh. “i was so nervous i forgot to introduce myself…” she says with a shake of her head, and you wonder if she’s a new recruit or something to be acting so sincerely. “i’m natalie, but you can call me nat.”

“shouldn’t i address you with a respectful name?” you ask, genuinely confused at the intimacy she was allowing. she then lets out a giggle.

“i’m just a recruit with superiors who get me to do their work. i guess you could say they trust me a lot.” she answers in a nonchalant, calm voice. giving you another glance as she guides you inside of a building. she gives you a wink and points to a door by the end of the hall and you understand immediately what it means. you try to keep at least some of the good atmosphere that surrounds you and natalie as you approach the door and she knocks at the wooden surface. 

there’s a moment of silence before some chairs are moved and a deep, masculine voice calls from inside for you to come in. natalie steps in first, holding the door open for you to walk right after. the wave of mixed scents knocks you out a bit, but it’s manageable. the meeting room is just what you expected, plain and organized. practical. there are three chairs being occupied around the long table. you recognize two of them. natalie walks towards the third person, who was sitting at the head of the table – a woman but an alpha, nonetheless  –, they exchange brief greetings before natalie moves to stand behind her. you try to take in her scent alone, distinguishing some floral notes under a smoky cloud, like smelling a flower while standing in front of a bonfire. it’s a pleasant mixture, it brings a sense of warmth without the uncomfortably intense scent of domination alphas usually had. her brown hair was well tied, except for her bangs that covered part of her eyebrows. she had more of a relaxed appearance compared to the other two.

the shortest one was sitting at the woman’s right, closer to the door. a beta like natalie but a man, he was the doctor that accompanied you during the week that had passed. he was polite but very reserved, he asked you to call him doc but never indulged in any other activity to help you feel at ease. you didn’t hold that against him, you rather enjoyed the silence and peace that came with it. the other one, sitting on the left side of the woman, who had an imposing figure and hard stare, was the alpha that took you away from the dirty and dimly lit basement you were being kept in. his name was alejandro, by what you remember from that day. he seemed all too eager for this meeting to be over, while the doctor remained as unfazed as he had been while treating you.

the woman offers you a seat beside the doctor, and you realize he’s only there to ease the tension of you being an unclaimed omega sharing a space with two alphas, maybe that’s the reason natalie is still here too. you take your seat, wondering how long you could keep a neutral scent of your own – it was safe but it was tiring, much like having to keep a raised arm or leg up for too long, it’d eventually give out.

“i’m kate laswell, i’m sure you’ve already been introduced to doctor ortega and to colonel alejandro vargas,” she starts, her tone purposeful and assertive, everyone in the room had their eyes on her. “i know you already answered everything you could, so i’m not going to repeat that,” she says more to ground you for what is to come. she goes through a few papers on her hand but you know she’s trying to buy time, you can smell it in the anxiety that sours the edges of her floral notes – and the worst, the empathy that causes it. “we thought of this with much care considering your situation and with unwavering intentions of solving the undeniable problem caused by our lack of success in keeping you safe as a nation and armed forces,” she takes a pause and you know she is not only talking about las almas, she is talking about your whole life. even if she wasn't part of the british military. after a sigh, she finishes. “and we’ve decided that you’ll be moved to live under the care of trained soldiers who volunteered to take care of your needs, keep you safe and offer the comfort you seek not just as an omega or an addition, but a part of the pack. if, of course, you decide to accept their offer. if you don’t, you can simply share their spaces for a while and whatever happens in the future is up to you and them, rather that is you moving on alone and starting a new life or staying with them.”

“there are two packs who stepped up in your regard,” she says, eyeing the alpha on her side. “los vaqueros, which you may remember from the day they helped you out…” she says, eyes roaming your face looking for any sight of a reaction. you stayed as expressionless as you could, but your eyes flickered towards alejandro, who was already looking – boring his eyes – at you. after a pause laswell continues her small speech, “the other pack you haven’t met yet. they’re called task force 141, an elite unit just like the one who saved you, but they’re from england.”

it is too much, everyone in the room knows that. you blink slowly trying to take it all in, soldiers volunteered to take you in? what kind of people do this? you can’t decide if they’re too good or too evil. your scent wavers in the air as you start to grow tired from having to deal with so many thoughts in a day. you try to appear to have some inner control and voice out your doubts. “i’m sorry, ma’am, who are those who volunteered?”

your ear immediately perks up at that, what are they doing so far from uk? you tilt your head only slightly, lips parting to start your questions. she nods in understanding, letting you talk. instead of wasting time with non-important matters you ask what has been burning in your mind. “so, if i choose to stay with los vaqueros, we go to mexico… and if i choose task force 141, we go to england…?” you ask, sounding unsure despite the firm tone of your voice. laswell only nods, already knowing what you’ll choose. you grew up in england, after all. you turn to look at the alpha on the other side of the table, eyes full of honesty as you speak, “i’m grateful for what you did, despite knowing that it is your job…” you watch him nod, knowing what will come next. he doesn’t seem mad, he doesn’t smell angry either, so you turn back to the blond woman, her hands are grabbing the papers sprawled in the table and putting them on a pile, but her attention is on you. you eye natalie behind her, she has a small smile adorning her lips. when she notices you looking at her, she gives you a reassuring nod. you take that as a cue to voice your decision. “i’d like to go with task force 141, please.”

the plea comes involuntarily, a habit you were taught since you were very young and never really had the chance to grow out of it. laswell smiles though, happy to know you actually chose something for yourself, other than choosing the alpha who had saved you like you had something to pay back. because you felt like you did, but you also didn’t want to lose the opportunity to go back to england, even though there wasn’t home anymore. no where was, really. 

you didn’t even think about who this pack is. why they volunteered and what it meant. at least you knew alejandro had helped you, but you knew nothing about this new group or what they wanted with you. you don’t get time to panic over it, though, because the second after you finish your statement kate is muttering a ‘very well, then’ and you are being moved out of the meeting room by natalie, who says that now you’ll just have to wait a few hours before you get to meet them and that your flight to london is going to happen in a week from now – and that’s when you realize that maybe you didn’t really have a choice, because they knew from the start that you’d pick england.

a/n: let me know if you liked it! <3 | part 2

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 22 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A dark surprise is awaiting you - something that might change your entire life for better or worse, if it doesn't end before it could.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening (knife), mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking, kidney failure, cockwarming, rough sex, penetration, oral sex, blood play, degradation kink, knife play, threats of torture and gore, rape (to a certain degree), the pregnancy is being threatened in a vile, graphic way, not beta-read! if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+! dark content ahead!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Author's note: I'm putting an extra note here, just to say: I think compared to the other chapters it gets kinda dark here, with real noncon vibes, so please be cautious of that before reading. Beware: Word count 12.278

When he came home, it always went the same way.

The door creaked open, then he closed it, set his briefcase aside and washed his hands.

Not a single time had he ever missed one of these steps. Washing his hands was like a sacred ritual. You did it, because you felt your hands vibrating the second you didn’t. Whenever you came in from wherever you were outside – and if only to check the mailbox – you had to immediately wash your hands or else you felt sick. It was a physical ache, your hands were reminding you that they needed to be cleaned.

You didn’t know if it was the same for him. Maybe there were other reasons, maybe he had the same kind of OCD. Whatever it was – he washed his hands. Every time.

And only then would he come and look for you, seek out where you were. Normally you’d either be in the kitchen or the living room. Sometimes you’d be typing mindlessly on the typewriter, lost in the cloud of your own imagination. It was much more fun than you expected and it reminded you not only of your father, but also the man you loved, with every letter. You loved the clicking sound and the hum every time a new phrase came to paper.

Other times, you’d be cooking. Ever since the first trimester nausea passed, you finally were able to eat again. Now you were craving things. Often savory food, but just as often it was some sweet nonsense. You tried to eat as healthy as possible, but often times you’d settle for some kind of cornflakes when he wasn’t home. It was alright though, so you told yourself. You had been through a lot and you deserved to calm down and relax a little.

There were those other days when you’d come up with the freakiest things. This gummy pudding, you had no idea what it was, but it was to be found in Korean convenience stores. He brought it home for you and it was disgusting, but you still finished it. Other times, you felt you were in dire need of spicy food – very unlike yourself. He still brought it home to you. One time was especially odd. You had just finished a giant portion of pasta (now that you could finally eat it again), but you couldn’t get one thing off your mind.

A McFlurry.

It was the one good thing you associated with your mother. Well, not her directly, but with your childhood.

Your mother had never been one to spoil you, but on some very rare occasions, when you were out in the city, which wasn’t quite often, she’d allow you some Fast Food. Like any other kid of course you were all for Nuggets and Fries, but the thing you loved most was the ice cream. The ice cream machine was broken more often than not, so it was quite the highlight when you got to eat it. You remembered one moment especially.

You sat on the worn-out red leather cushion, slurping on your ice cream, when you felt your mother’s intense gaze on you. You immediately straightened up, thinking you had done something wrong and she’d take the ice cream away for it.

“What is it?” You had asked in that quiet, unsure voice of a poor, insecure nine-year-old.

She kept looking at you for a long moment and there was something soft in her eyes, something she never let you see. Later that day, she’d send you to sleep in the wardrobe, because on the way home, you said something to piss her off, but then and there – she looked at you with kind eyes.

“Eat your ice cream, honey.”

To this day, the taste of it reminded you of that moment. That one time honey didn’t sound like a mocking curse, but something a mother would say to her daughter. Because she loved her.

Not, because she’d try to poison her a few years later.

So, many years later, you found yourself on the couch, picking at the last of your pasta, when you felt his gaze on you.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. You didn’t want to mention your mother to him, but you did. You told him of the brief moment of kindness and the way you still loved that ice cream to that day.

And what did he do?

He got up and put his coat on.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting ice cream.”

That made you smile, but softly. “But it’s almost midnight.”

He smirked in return, but his eyes were warm. God, it was so easy to lose yourself in them.

“Eat your pasta. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He kept his promise and only twenty minutes later you found yourself curled into his side, licking the sweetness off the plastic spoon. “You’re such an idiot.” You murmured and shot him a smirk. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He snorted as he played with your hair. “Yeah. That’s the weirdest thing I’ve done so far.”

You laughed in response and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He grinned and took the spoon from you with ease. “I’m just saying.”

The next few weeks went on just as smoothly. It was almost like you were stuck in a dream. A part of you was constantly on edge, always expecting something horrible to happen. If it wasn’t your kidney to suddenly give up, it would surely be him. He’d do something – something horrible, something unforgivable, something to hurt either you or your baby…or you both.

But the more time passed, the clearer it became that he wouldn’t.

Every time you stared at him in silence, whenever you observed the way he nibbled on his pen while he filled out some paperwork, every time you watched him drive the car with a quiet hum on his lips, every time he did each of those things – the guilt was nearly suffocating you.

Of course you trusted him. You loved him, you adored him, he was the father of your child.

But he had also hurt you.

More than once. Repeatedly. Some of his ways more painful than others.

He looked so peaceful when he slept beside you or stirred something in a pot in the kitchen, while you watched him. He still brought you your fruit cocktail every morning, still seared your vegetables for you daily. And never did he complain once.

But it was inside of him. You knew it was there, buried under piles of kindness and love.

You saw it in the way his hand twitched, whenever you got into a minor argument. The way his eyes shone darkly and his lips pulled into a frown. The way he clenched his jaw over little things. Sometimes, he was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

One night, he almost lost control.

Almost.

It had started as a minor disagreement, you couldn’t even tell what it was about, but it escalated when it got to the point of you asking him why you still weren’t allowed to leave the house on your own. After all, you were carrying his child.

What would finally make him trust you?

But he nearly exploded. A few minutes into the argument you realized, it wasn’t him being paranoid and angry. It was him being concerned and possessive. His jealousy was easily triggered, even easier than your own and now that you had his child in your belly…

It didn’t make things easier.

“I would never leave you.” You muttered, shaking your head.

He let out an annoyed exhale. “I know that.”

“Then why?!”

“Because I said so.” He gritted out and shot you a dark glare. “And now shut up about it.”

“I won’t.” You had been feeling somewhat too confident that day. That was the thing with him. He made you feel so safe that you actually dared to speak up your mind and feel like you were someone. And when you did, it infuriated him. Not always…but whenever it went against his way of things. “I won’t, because this is ridiculous! I will not-“

“Shut up!” His fist shot out so fast that you hardly even recognized it as a movement. A sharp inhale later, you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your damp fists, expecting him to break your jaw. But all that really happened was a sharp flinch that went through you, when you heard his fist bump into the wall only a few inches away from your head. You felt the air heat up with his proximity and for a long moment, you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When you eventually did, you immediately looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his gaze downcast, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He was taking quick breaths, his chest rising and falling in record speed. You didn’t dare open your mouth in case this was just the calm before the storm. But it didn’t seem to be. Instead, he seemed almost pained under the weight of his loss of control.

You tilted your head only enough to see his fist, still shaking against the wall. There was a faint crack in the plaster and you saw the hint of harsh red of his blood mixing with the soft apricot color of the wall.

It would have probably been the clever thing to let go. Lock yourself away until he calmed down. He’d apologize, probably and even if he didn’t – he hadn’t hurt you.

But instead of leaving him, you reached out a hand, still struggling to breathe yourself. Your fingers closed around his wrist and he yanked his hand back, attempting to pull away, but you only tightened your grip.

“Let me take a look!”

His arm was tense as was the rest of him and you were almost afraid to look at his face, but when you did, he was still avoiding your gaze. So, instead you focused back on his hand and the traces of blood, the broken skin, mixing with paint.

You swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m going to clean this up, okay?”

He still didn’t answer. It was like tending to a wild animal, a bull even. His eyes were wide and unfocused, looking for a spot to fix upon. Just not you.

But when you guided him to sit on the couch, he didn’t resist. When you attempted to get up and get a clean cloth, his hand shot out again, fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vice. You winced, but quickly caught yourself again. You wrapped a gentle hand around his arm and whispered: “I’ll be right back.”

He swallowed and hesitated for another second, before he finally let go. You nearly broke both legs stumbling over a pair of shoes and a bag on your way to the bathroom. You gathered what you thought you needed, a wet cloth, some disinfectant and luckily you even found a clean bandage in the drawer. While you carried everything back to the living room, you caught yourself thinking, how is it even possible that I never needed this until now?

You crouched down beside him, taking a look at his hand. He was still far away with his eyes, but he seemed softer now. Less like a wounded lion and more like a man who drowned in guilt.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He cut himself off and clenched his jaw again.

It was hard for him. You could see that every time he held himself back for your sake. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant now or because he was slowly starting to understand that you indeed loved him and that you truly didn’t intend to leave him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy on him. He was still two people at once, fighting internally, battling each other over minor things. Sometimes, he won. Other times, he punched the wall hard enough to crack.

But that was okay, you told yourself. He was trying. You could see that he was, despite his struggle. He would hurt you again, you were sure. You took a slow breath, silently praying to God for him never to lose control too bad. He would hurt you again. But fuck if you’d let him hurt your child.

“I know.” You murmured softly as you gently began to dab at his wounded knuckles. “Nothing happened. It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He gritted out. “I could have-“ He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

You waited patiently until he opened his eyes again and until he was finally ready to face you. This wasn’t like him, you suddenly realized. His dark side, his evil twin, it was unlike him to show signs of guilt. But to you he did. For you he did.

His eyes were still dark, but now there was something else as well. Something you had rarely ever seen in him. It was more than guilt, it was different than anger, it was…fear.

“I could have hurt you.”

You paused for a beat, before you could respond. “But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He lowered his head so he was eye level with you and you were forced to look into his eyes, to see the depth of what lay beyond them.

“I wanted to.”

There was a tight knot in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? There was not much you could do. You knew what he was. He was trying. But was that enough?

“But you didn’t.” You eventually said again. Your voice was unwavering, more certain than the rest of you.

He frowned and pulled his head back, glancing down at his fist, still clenched in your hand.

“I don’t deserve this.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, still staring down at your hands. “I don’t deserve you. What have I ever given you aside from pain?”

You felt as though he had punched you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show the horror you felt inside. “You…”

“It’s true. You are good and kind and forgiving. You care about me in ways…” He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze entirely. “I don’t deserve this.”

Before you had time to think it through, you already reached out and grasped his chin between two fingers. You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you. With a stern expression, it was now you who shook your head.

“You love me.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You smiled, with more conviction than you thought yourself capable of. “Everything.”

He didn’t comment on it any further and neither did you. You simply took care of his wounds and he let you. It was foreign to him – you could tell by the way he watched you in a mixture of confusion and wonder. A part of him was still tense, as though he expected you to strike. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but he was getting better at it.

That was the moment you decided you wouldn’t ask him again.

No matter how confused and desperate you felt, how angry it made you that he knew everything about you and you seemed to know nothing about him.

You didn’t know his name, nor what he did or where he came from – but you knew that he loved you. That he’d kill for you. And that you were his, as much as he was yours.

And so you decided to trust him with everything else as well.

Because he was trying.

Six weeks came and went. Time passed so quickly and life felt so easy, that you tended to forget about the bad things. The times when he ignored you, when he withdrew his love in order to punish you for things you might have done wrong in his eyes, were all but forgotten.

The days were short. You spent every possible moment together. Aside from when he went to work or to…well, to work on the man your mother had sent, you were together. Always.

Sometimes you were almost afraid that your constant presence would end up suffocating him.

Despite the way you got more and more confident in yourself, the dark thoughts lingered. Whenever he was gone for a few minutes too long, whenever you got into an argument, you couldn’t help but think yourself unlovable. One day he would wake up and he would realize the terrible mistake he had made.

But he had ways. Many different ways to ensure your thoughts were only that – thoughts.

Every time you thought you were being too clingy and decided to pull away, put at least a little distance between you – scoot over on the couch, roll over, pull yourself away from him – he caught you. Whether it was being a hand on your thigh, an arm around your shoulders or just his knee pressed a little tighter against yours. He was just as clingy, you realized. Of course you didn’t speak of it. But you saw it in the way he closed his eyes, when your fingers ran through his hair. The way he smirked to himself when he caught you staring at him when he came out of the shower – if he ever allowed you to take a shower alone. He needed your contact just as much as you did his and it only ever made you love him more.

What was it about the couples who needed space? What did that even mean?

Sure, you sometimes asked yourself if it would do your relationship any good if you spent some time apart. But no, God, no. The thought alone made your skin crawl in fear. Falling asleep without him by your side sounded like the most ridiculous and impossible thing. You needed him there, his warmth, his arms around you and his warm breath on your neck.

It wasn’t just you and him cramped up in the space of the apartment all the time. Things became…lighter.

Going outside became a trivial thing to you. It wasn’t only the regular appointments at the doctor’s office. You went out to eat, to take walks and he showed you Seoul. Of course you’d seen a few places there – guided by only your phone, because you were a ghost in your own life. But what he showed you weren’t only tourist spots. No, he showed you things you would have never even thought about on your own. Things only someone who had grown up there could show you.

Even his old house.

It was burnt down to the ground of course, no more than dead grass, some dirt and rusty metal. But the way he stared down at it, the place that had once been so much bigger than him, the place where all his nightmares found their origin…

It made you hold his hand just a little tighter.

He didn’t say a single word and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. His pain ran much deeper than you had ever assumed. Maybe even deeper than your own.

But pain is not something to be measured and compared, right?

You squeezed his hand – and he squeezed yours right back.

You never spoke of it. Not a single time. And you held onto your word, your thoughts, you had had just a few weeks ago. You didn’t pressure him and it seemed to pay off, because the tension in him that was always there seemed to ease just the tiniest bit.

You went to the movies – thank God there were days when they played in their original language – and to the theater. He showed you bridges, buildings, food, music, art.

All the things you had missed out on your entire life.

And while he was at it, he showed you love.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened on the small of your back, whenever you got into a group of people. The way he looked at you, that sheepish smile, whenever you caught him staring at you while you were doing something – be it the dishes or stargazing.

He showed you himself. All you needed to know was right there in the way he kissed you.

And he kissed you.

Of course there were moments when a quick peck had to be enough, but the nights? The nights.

There was not enough air to breathe and you didn’t care one bit.

All you needed was him. He made sure of it.

You couldn’t count the times he made you inhale sharply and claw at the sheets.

Every night, so far. Once your nausea and your sickening exhaustion had passed, you became a wild thing. It was hard to tame you, the second you felt his fingers run up your thigh, down your hip, up your back. You were sure you could have recognized his hands blindly in-between a thousand others.

When he rubbed the pads of his fingers over your tongue, down your stomach or when they slipped inside your panties. They were so skilled that it never took him long to have writhing and begging. It was so easy that it almost got boring.

And so, sometimes, he had his ways of making you suffer, just to spice it up.

The night before, he had done just that. Your jaw still hurt thinking back to it – and your panties grew wet just the same.

He had been sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper as he so often did. Sometimes you asked yourself if he really read it or if that was just some kind of front to keep up the illusion of composure. You had just come out of the shower and were on your way to maybe try and write something, when you saw him sitting there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The way he leaned back, one arm resting on the couch, the other one holding up the paper.

It didn’t need any words. Just one look.

He leaned back in that infuriatingly hot way, legs spread apart and lowering the paper just enough to look at you.

You had never seen such expressive eyes before. And the command was clear.

You let go of any idea of writing, the moment you approached him instead. You slid onto your knees almost automatically, but not before he shoved a pillow before you, for you to kneel on. You shifted slightly, spreading your legs apart involuntarily, but he shot you a warning look.

“I want to see your hands at all times.” He said lowly, before he glanced back down at the newspaper. “And now keep me warm.”

You nearly choked on your spit, your own arousal making your mind go hazy. But you obeyed. You always obeyed – until you didn’t. But that night, you did.

You freed him from his sweatpants, his hardness already apparent and ready for you to take care of. The need to run your tongue along his length and drive him to the brink of madness was almost suffocating, but the way he tightened his grip on the paper just slightly kept you from doing so. Instead you spat down on it just once and took him in your mouth. And then you stayed in place.

You felt the way he tensed, heard the way his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything either.

“Good girl.” He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair with his free hand, keeping them there. You tried to swallow around him, but it only made you drool all over him. A small whimper died in the back of your throat as you forced your knees to press into the pillow firmly, not daring to move or touch yourself, when that was all you wanted to do. You were already so wet, just from kneeling like that, just from tasting him.

A soft sigh came over your lips and your tongue involuntarily moved, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. You expected a scolding, but he just pushed your head down further onto him. You moaned and chocked back a gag.

“My good girl.” He murmured, as he kept playing with your hair. “Be a good girl for daddy, so he can finish reading this, okay?”

You didn’t respond and how would you have accomplished that? You just stayed in place, keeping your head still. Your fingers twitched to reach between your legs and do something against the burning ache there, but you didn’t. It would only cause him to torment you further, to withdraw your release or keep you on edge.

Minutes passed and the only sound was his ragged breathing and your own.

His grip on the newspaper was painfully tight – normally he had a better grip on his composure. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in two days. Maybe it was because he felt your legs shaking.

The evidence of your own arousal was slowly dripping down your thighs and you let your eyelids flutter shut. You choked back any sounds you wanted to make, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa tightly.

“Fuck this shit. Fine.” He sighed out, before he slammed the paper onto the couch. “Come, darling, make daddy feel good.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You always loved to pleasure him with your mouth, for many different reasons. The sounds he made, his grip on you…almost like his life depended on it. It was exhausting of course, but it was worth it. You almost came, just kneeling there, being at his mercy – and somehow, it was you in control nonetheless. Of course he’d guide your movements every now and then, force a gag over your lips, but other times, when he was in a softer mood, he’d just…

Admire you.

His mouth slightly agape, his brows furrowed, he stared down at you like a man starving and you were the water he desperately needed. His grip on the back of your head was firm, but not painful, just enough to allow him to massage his fingertips into your scalp.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. Just like…ah, fuck.”

His eyes fluttered shut and you used the opportunity to bring your hand between your legs, dying for any kind of friction. But he caught the movement and quickly caught your wrist.

“No, baby, no. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have before, but you’re going to listen to me. Understand?”

You forced yourself to nod, though you almost felt tears of desperation sting your eyes. You hadn’t felt this needy in…

Probably not that long ago. He kept doing this to you. And as much as you hated it, as much did you love it, because in the end…

He always made up for it.

Before you had the chance to thrive on your determination to make him cum, he pulled your head back, causing you to whimper.

“Good girl.” He gritted out, his grip on your face bruising. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled you up onto the couch and pushed you back into the cushions.

“Are we above begging, huh?”

You shook your head in a way that could only be described as hysterical. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You breathed out, your face flushed red.

He smirked in that devilish way, looming above you and making a face as if considering.

You whimpered again and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “Beg a little more, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips and bit down on them as you pressed yourself back into the couch, involuntarily arching into his touch. “Please. Please, I’m begging you, I…I’m so…Please…”

He hummed approvingly. “That’s a good girl, if I’ve ever seen one.”

His head dipped forward and his lips brushed over the side of your neck. He kissed a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he gently bit down on it. “Do you want me that bad, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you nodded, sliding your hands over his bare back.

“I want to have a taste first.” He breathed in your ear, causing your body to tremble and your toes to curl. Your throat felt too dry to form a response, but that wasn’t necessary. He leaned down and parted your lips with his tongue, delving in for a kiss that was as messy as it was desperate.

You moaned and arched your hips up against his, feeling his slick hardness against your soaked panties.

He hissed in response and bit down on your lip. “God, you’re killing me.”

In no time, he kissed his way down your body. The way his hands smoothed your clothing out of the way made you shiver. You were a puddle in his hands, unable to move or breathe, all you could do was gasp and whimper.

He ran his fingertip over your slit, which caused you to inhale sharply.

“My God.” He murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had you this wet before.”

You whimpered in response, biting down on your tongue to keep any more pathetic sounds back.

He smirked and hooked his fingers under the material, pulling them off of you torturously slow.

“Fuck.” He all but growled, when he came back up. You felt his hot breath against your core and it was enough to make you cry.

“Please-“

“Patience.” He spoke calmly. How could he be so feral and suddenly so composed, all within a minute? Maybe he had more than just two personalities.

He ran his hands up from your ankles to your knees, before he swiftly hooked them around his shoulders.

“I want to hear you, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. You were sure you had a fever by now.

And then he finally touched you.

The sound you made when his flat tongue ran over your slick folds was hardly even human, but you didn’t hold anything back. You just leaned back – and relaxed.

If one could call it that.

His gentle ministrations quickly turned into something else entirely, because soon he ran the tip of his tongue in circles around your sweet spot, before he attacked it with his pursed lips.

Your hand found his hair almost involuntarily. It had to hurt, the way you tugged at it, but you couldn’t help yourself. You guided his movements, practically using him to pleasure yourself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-“

He hummed and the vibrations it sent through your core alone were enough to make you arch your back.

“Oh, fuck!”

It didn’t take you a full minute to end up writhing and crying out, your body nearly floating from the sofa.

But he didn’t stop there.

It was almost painful, the way he kept working his mouth, kept lapping and licking, kissing as he would your mouth.

“Oh, oh, oh God…”

And soon, you felt yourself tip over the edge again, this time even more intensely than the first time.

“Please…can’t take…more…”

Your legs were shaking and so was the rest of you. You felt hot and cold at the same time and you kept feeling as feverish, until he finally decided to be merciful and pull away.

He slowly crawled back until he was hovering over you again, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, that was delicious.”

“I hate you.” You whispered breathlessly.

That made him laugh and he leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you moan.

“Too bad.” He murmured against your lips. “Because I love you.”

You sighed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. “I love you, too, you demon.”

His smirk widened into something more genuine. “And what does that make you, hm?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “Oh, shut up.”

He gently cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at you for a moment, before he let his hand wander and gently pressed it against your stomach instead. The intensity of his feeling and the softness in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you both.” He whispered.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“We love you, too.” You whispered back.

He smiled and didn’t say anything more. You bit your lip and gently pressed a hand against his chest. “And what about you?”

He cocked a brow. “What about me?”

You smirked and teasingly ran your thumb along the tip of his hardness. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. “You know what I want?”

He shook his head, pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes darkened in a way you had only ever seen in him. It was him. He had that effect on you. He made this of you. This mess. This wicked, wanton, needy mess.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Now his own eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Is that so, hm?”

You licked your lips and nodded. “I want you to fuck me, daddy.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, your words sending a shiver down his spine. When he opened them again, he looked feral again.

He immediately pushed your legs apart and pressed himself against your entrance. You, still wet like crazy and him glistening with precum, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. You observed the way his brows furrowed and his breath stuttered as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

It didn’t matter how many times he did it. It was always enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around your throat, but not squeezing. Only holding you, only showing you who was in control.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. And he didn’t hesitate to spit down in it.

When you closed your mouth and swallowed, you could swear, you felt him throb inside you.

He leaned in so his lips grazed your earlobe and whispered: “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl. My beautiful, dirty girl.”

Your eyelids fluttered and you forced yourself to look up at him. He began to roll his hips against yours and you pressed yourself up against him, following his rhythm. You never thought it was possible to cum in this position, not as a woman, but he showed you that it was indeed possible.

His thumb found your sweet spot again, still heated and sensitive from his earlier attack, but that didn’t stop him.

“My good girl.”

“Ah, fuck…You’re my…My man.”

His eyes narrowed and his movements stuttered just slightly, before he caught himself and his movements only ever became more frantic. His mouth fell open and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Say that again.”

“My…” You licked your lips, your brows furrowed. “My man.”

He licked his lips as well and stared you down in a way that was deeper than any doting look he had ever given you.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

You froze in your tracks and your eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

He nodded. “Would you?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and the way your chest tightened.

Marriage.

It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, right? After all, you were pregnant with his child. But you had never thought that far, never even dared to think of such a thing.

“What a dumb question.” You breathed out.

“Then answer it.” He whispered just as breathlessly.

Yes. Yes. For God’s sake, yes!

But you didn’t say that. Instead, your body reacted before your mind could, your lips curving into a dangerous, teasing smile. “You’ll have to be a man and risk asking me for real.”

He smirked, his eyes filling with a warmth that you didn’t expect. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re being a tease for me.”

He then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I will burn this fucking world for you. Just say the word.”

You bit your lip and slowly shook your head. Your chest still felt warm under the weight of his words.

“Just love me.”

And that he did. To bliss and back.

The next evening you found yourself lying in bed, thinking about your life. So many bad things and so much pain had led you to that point. If you could go back to change it, would you?

No.

Not if it meant the outcome would be different.

You lay on his mattress, wearing no more than a dark red negligee, a pair of panties and a wistful smile. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever wished for in a man.

The things he made you feel, both emotionally and physically…You never even thought that possible.

You always thought you were unlovable.

You always thought no one would ever love you.

But there you were. His.

Only his.

You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, remembering the night before. Involuntarily, you felt your hand wander down your body, to the gentle curve of your belly. It was so tiny, barely even noticeable, but you did notice. You saw it, when you wore a tight dress and you felt it, whenever you thought about it. A baby.

Your baby.

His.

This wasn’t exactly what you had expected to come out of your life. This wasn’t what you anticipated either. To be honest, you had never even thought you would make it that far. You had never been able to picture yourself that way. Married, pregnant…All these things sounded foreign to you. And yet, there you were.

Lying on the bed of the man you loved, his child inside your belly.

When you heard the door click open, your smile only grew.

No matter how much time you spent with him, you always missed him like crazy.

You considered getting up and approaching him at the door just to show him how much you had missed him. But then again, you were already settled under the blanket, warm and cozy…and the way you knew him, he’d be there within two minutes anyway.

But something felt off.

You heard the door creak open and you heard his steps. Slow and measured, hesitant even. Maybe he assumed you were asleep and so he tried to be careful about it.

But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

And that was when you realized it.

He hadn’t washed his hands.

You wanted to believe that you were being paranoid, but a little voice inside your head told you that something wasn’t the way it should be.

There would be only one reason for him not to wash his hands after he came in: any kind of emergency. But if there was an emergency, if he was worried for you, wouldn’t he be running? Wouldn’t his steps be quick and relentless?

But there he was, sneaking in like a ballerina.

You sat up stiffly, careful not to make any sounds. Whatever the feeling you had was, it got worse with every minute.

Fuck.

As much as you didn’t want to think too much into it – you had to. Better safe than sorry, right?

The last time your brain went into rotting mode, you ended up being kidnapped. No matter if you wanted to call it that or not – it was a fact.

Before you knew it, you had already opened the closet, careful not to make any sounds. You crouched down and pressed your back against the back of the wardrobe, slowly pulling the door shut.

If it was him simply being careful and having forgotten, for whatever reason, to wash his hands, he’d probably panic if he came in and didn’t immediately find you. But you’d deal with that by the time it came to it. You stared through the tiny crack between the doors, holding your breath as you listened in.

The steps came closer, but they were too careful. Too slow.

And the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t him.

You choked back the horror you felt and only ever leaned back against the wall. Your body felt hot and cold, your palms sweaty. Your breath was stuttering and stilling in your lungs.

Fuck.

Who on earth could that be? The police? He had killed that janitor, after all.

No, it wasn’t the police. It was only one person, you could tell. That was far worse.

You wanted to close your eyes and attempt to calm yourself, but there was no way. Your eyes stayed wide open, your breath caught in your throat. You tried not to breathe at all, to not make a single sound.

And then the door opened.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as your eyes followed the light that suddenly flooded the room before you. You saw the shoes before you saw anything else. It was still too dark and your view wasn’t exactly clear.

You held your breath.

“I know that you’re here.”

The familiarity of the voice nearly made you gasp or scream out in horror. The accent. You heard the fucking accent, because you spoke in the same way. His accent matched yours.

“You can’t hide forever, girl. Come out and maybe I’ll let you live.”

You pressed your hand tighter against your face, sucking in a sharp breath while you were at it.

Oh God. God. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But you didn’t even have the time to say a prayer in your head.

The wardrobe door was yanked open and you were immediately sure.

Your life was over.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, but all you were met with was something that was…hardly even human.

The sight of the man who had once stopped you and questioned you, who had once appeared in front of the door and who ended up on the floor in blood and shackles…

Well, that man was gone.

All that was there now was skin and bones, pale skin and probably broken bones. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin and you saw how he was missing a few of them. His bloodshot eyes were filled with darkness and terror, his lip bruised and bloody, his collarbones nearly jumping at you from the way he was so skinny.

You stumbled back against the wall, but he didn’t give you time to react.

His bony fingers wrapped around your arms and he yanked you to your feet. A part of you was almost confused at how he even managed to get anything done. Judging by the way he looked, he was barely even alive. Just a skull with hollow eyes and blood smeared all over him.

“Is he home, hm?”

You hadn’t even noticed the knife. You only ever realized his grip on it, after he pressed it against your jugular.

You gasped out loud and held your breath, your eyes wide and terrified. You wanted to speak. Wanted to scream. Wanted to fight, to run.

But then you felt it.

Slowly, at first. And then full-force.

You froze.

Your body, your mind. Yourself.

You froze. The same you always did whenever someone touched you.

The feeling was nearly foreign to you by now, because it hadn’t happened in so long. A part of you had almost assumed it wouldn’t ever happen again, because maybe, maybe he had managed to heal you. Maybe you were normal now. Maybe a touch couldn’t cause this reaction in you any longer.

Oh, how entirely mistaken you were.

“Look at that.” He smiled that unhealthy smile, a hoarse laugh rumbling in his chest. “Look at that. Aren’t you a convenient little slut?”

It wasn’t even necessary to restrain you. When he pushed you against the bed, you let him. You fell against the mattress, your limbs stiff and still. The only thing reminding you that you were still alive was your pulse. You were sure you heard it pumping in your ears, somewhere near your brain. But it felt as though you were seconds away from having a stroke.

“Please.” Your voice was hardly even audible, your lips barely moving. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he paused, his expression almost contemplative. But then he pursed his lips and stretched out his arms, the notion almost lazy. “Good.” He purred. “Then it will hurt him all the more.”

He straddled you in a swift movement, ramming the knife into the mattress only a few inches from your head. You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut.

This was it.

Everything that had led you to this moment – Would you still take it? If this was how your life ended?

All the pain. All the misery. Only for your mother to get her last wish.

He leaned down and his breath hit your face, smelling of iron and blood. “You know…” He stretched out a finger and ran the tip of it down your cheek, then your neck. You whimpered and only ever squeezed your eyes shut tighter. That made him smirk. You heard his amusement clearly. “I was actually supposed to find you and bring you back. Rescue you, if you will.” He scoffed and shook his head, before he dug his fingers into your cheeks and forced a sharp gasp over your lips. “Isn’t that so fucking ironic? Rescue you. While you were here, getting fucked by this little piece of shit. Did you enjoy it? Huh? Did you enjoy spreading your legs for this bastard?”

You wanted to keep your eyes closed, to somehow escape this nightmare. But he didn’t let you. His hand cracked against your cheek with enough force to make you cry out aloud.

He had never hit you so hard.

Not even his goddamn punches had hurt that much.

You sobbed and tried to swallow back the saliva that threatened to make you choke. A hot feeling flared up in your chest – humiliation, anger, but mostly fear.

He would hurt you. He would genuinely hurt you.

“Please, I didn’t want any of this!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped you again, this time even harder. Hard enough to make you go dizzy. “Will you keep that fucking, slutty mouth of yours shut or do I need to use other methods to make sure you obey?”

A soft rustling sound and then you felt it. The cold metal of the blade, pressed against the side of your neck. Your eyes shot open and you choked back a sob, trying to gasp for air, but there was none.

Were you already dead?

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly.

He nodded. “Good. But just to make sure…”

He tilted back the blade, running the tip of it over your neck. Your eyelids fluttered and all you saw was white, white, white light.

This was how dying felt.

Not being forced by your mother to sleep in a wardrobe, not having to drink water from a bowl on the floor, not event thinking you’d get raped at the metro station.

This was it.

The hardness in his eyes. The coldness. The numbness. The death.

There was nothing left of him. And soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of you either.

“P-p-please.”

But he only smirked. He only smirked and guided the tip of the blade lower and lower, until you felt it pressed against your abdomen.

You stiffened painfully much, digging your nails into your palms.

Your baby.

Your man.

Was he dead?

Oh God, had he killed him?

There was no safety in sight. No help. Nothing.

You were going to die tonight.

Never had you ever been particularly fond of life. And now that you finally were, now you were going to die.

But that didn’t hurt half as much, as did the blade against your stomach. The threat.

“I could cut that thing out of you and feed it to him.”

He wasn’t dead.

And still, his words made you shudder.

You had never even realized when you had started to cry. You simply suddenly realized your face was wet, your lashes sticky and your vision blurred.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But please-“ You sobbed out, but you stopped, when he pressed the blade harder against you.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He spat.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and nodded frantically.

“Good.” He murmured. “Maybe you’re not entirely useless. What do we have here?”

He used the tip of the blade to cut the strap of your negligee, causing you to gasp.

“Look at that. How pretty. Like a pretty little slut.” His eyes darkened and his lip quivered in barely suppressed rage.

He leaned down and you felt his tongue run a path from your cheek to your ear. It made you shudder and tense, squeezing your eyes shut, but you forced yourself to stay still and not say a single thing. You just sobbed.

“You know what I’m going to do with you?” He smirked and ran a disgusting path with his tongue inside the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy. I’m going to fuck it again and again and again, until there’s nothing left of you. And only then will I cut you open.”

You were shaking and sobbing so hard that you felt nausea rise within you. Not only his words, but the intensity of your sobs was enough to make you want to puke.

“Or maybe…” He pressed the blade against your cheek and you held your breath. “Maybe I could cut your eyelids off first, hm? So I can be sure that you keep your eyes on me at all times. What do you think?”

The cold metal of the knife dragged over your face, until you felt it pressed right underneath your eye.

“Please.” Your words were slurred and choked out between sobs and gasps for air. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, I’m pregnant. He f-f…He forced me. He forced me. Please, he forced me, he dragged me here by force, He…he…made me…”

“Shh.” It was almost soothing, the way he shushed you. But the way the blade pressed into your cheek was anything but. The pain came slow, but it stung more than his slap ever could have.

“That’s why you’ve been waiting here, wearing this, hm? Because he forced you?”

You felt blood trickling down your cheek. It didn’t hurt half as much as his words did, though.

“Ah…”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you still want to defy me?"

You shook your head, trying to breathe in hysterically. But there was simply not enough air.

The cut went from your eye down to the corner of your mouth.

There went your vision from a pretty wedding dress, a sweet, young mother picking up her child from daycare. No, you were the Joker. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wouldn’t make it to that part of your life.

If only he hadn’t stopped cutting you. Because the second he did, you felt the next blow, dark and low. His fingers traced a path down your chest, over your stomach and before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your center. You squeezed your eyes shut and your lip quivered, a silent plea on your lips.

Not this, not him. Not someone who wasn’t your man. But he couldn’t have cared less, right?

The blade followed the path his fingers had drawn and soon enough you heard the material of your panties being cut open.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your nails biting bloody marks into your palms.

Maybe it would be over sooner than later.

Maybe he would violate you and then leave you to it. Maybe, he’d let you live at least.

Still, you couldn’t choke back the sob that threatened to drown you, when you felt the knife wander down further. The cold metal pressed against your core, sideways, and you forced yourself to stay still. You were sure, one wrong movement and you’d end up maimed for life.

For the little life you had left.

He kept the knife pressed against the bundle of nerves underneath him, while you felt two of his disgusting fingers press against your entrance.

“There, there. I thought that’s what little sluts like you want.”

He pressed forward and you cried out in horror and pain.

“Please, stop!”

You didn’t mean to speak, you knew what always happened whenever you opened your mouth, but your body reacted before the rest of you could.

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a dumb fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what he did to you! I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to!” The words spilled from your mouth like wildfire. “What I said is true, he did force me here! But I fell in love with him and then you talked to me that day, and then you followed us home and I just- He just- He saw your gun and then he- And then he-“

“Shut up!” His free hand shot out and squeezed your face so tightly, it made you gasp. “Shut the hell up, will you? I’m not doing this, because you fell in love with him. Fuck! Do you think I care about his shit?!” He gritted his teeth and leaned down enough to be right in your face. “You wanna know what your motherfucking boyfriend did? Hm? You wanna know?” His lip quivered again and his eyes were hard enough to cut you open.

“He had my brother killed.”

That made you freeze. More than you already were.

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest and you opened and closed your mouth several times.

“What?”

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you. How fortunate.” He scoffed and exhaled through gritted teeth. “He kept asking me where your bitch of a mother is. And I told him, that I don’t know. Which I don’t. I haven’t seen her in months, right? And he kept asking me. Fuck. I told him that I don’t know. I told him! And what did he do? What did he do the next fucking day?!” The hand he used to hold your face was shaking and so was the rest of him. The crazed look in his eyes intensified to a degree where you were genuinely frightened – genuinely believed you would be dead soon.

“The next day, he showed me a picture on my own phone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My twin brother.” He briefly closed his eyes, before they shot open again.

“Someone had…Someone had shot him. Right in the face.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, scrunching up his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it himself. But no, he was here, busy fucking you. Getting you pregnant. Fuck!”

He slammed the blade back into the mattress, pressing his fingers back against you, forcing your legs apart.

“I’ll fuck you ‘til you die.” He spat out.

“I didn’t know!” You sobbed out. “Please! I had no idea! Had I known-“

It was a soft sound, a gentle thud, somewhere in the apartment. And what started as a soft breath, quickly turned into running steps.

An emergency. An emergency indeed.

He had heard it, too. And the second he turned his head to look at the open door, you finally broke free from your haze.

He wanted to kill you. Your baby.

Your elbow shot out, hitting the side of his face hard enough for an ugly cracking sound to be heard. He gasped loudly and pulled back, just enough so that you could somehow scramble back from underneath him. He doubled over and pressed a hand against his temple.

The door flew open and there he was.

Oh God.

The fraction of a second. A single second.

His eyes were wide in horror, in disbelief, in surprise.

And then that was all gone. And all that was left was pure, unbridled, murderous fury.

He stormed forward and yanked the intruder off of you, leaving you finally able to breathe again.

You somehow stumbled over, getting on your knees, unable to tear your eyes off the scene.

He slammed him into the wall and began to throw punches left and right, but not in the way one might see in a movie. Not even in an underground fight. Maybe he didn’t even want to kill him. No, he wanted to cause as much damage as possible and watch him suffer.

He was shaking. Shaking in fury, shaking in rage. His fingers itching to murder. And his eyes were black.

“I found your little sister, Elliot.” He spat through gritted teeth.

The man, whose name seemed to be Elliot, slumped down against the wall, but his head perked up, his eyes immediately shooting open in alarm, despite the way his face was slowly swelling beyond recognition.

“What?” He coughed up blood. “No. I don’t have-“

“She lives in France. Clever move, Elliot, really. Thought I wouldn’t find your little French whore of a sister.”

He spun around and dragged the knife from the mattress, making you flinch. He crouched down beside him and tightened his grip on the knife.

“I wish you would live long enough to see what I have planned for her. You see, I’m a loyal man, so I won’t fuck her myself. But fuck, I’ll gather enough men to break that dumb little cocktail waitress. They’ll split her in two.”

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, shaking his head frantically. “No…no…no, please, she’s only twenty-six…Fuck, no, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly – his gaze met yours.

You flinched and stumbled back against the wall, inhaling sharply.

“Please, you can’t let him do that! Please!”

All you could do was stare at him.

But then his voice cut through the silence. “Get out.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, to the way his eyes were blazing with murderous intent.

“I- I-“

“Get out!”

He didn’t need to say it a third time.

You stumbled to your legs, shaking and nearly falling over, but you caught yourself in the last moment. Your legs somehow carried you outside and you ran and ran, until you reached the bathroom. You collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. You retched and retched, aiming for the toilet and ending up puking all over yourself.

You were still shaking.

Still sobbing.

And with every pained gasp you heard from the bedroom, with every grunt, every plea for help – a little part of you died.

You had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? More? Less?

You lay curled up between the toilet and the wall, your stomach grumbling in unease. You had never felt so disgusting before, covered in blood, sweat, your own puke and the lingering touch of a dead man.

When you heard his footsteps approach, you couldn’t even lift your head.

He knelt down beside you, the movement frantic and concerned. His warm hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him despite your terror, despite your pain.

“No.” You heard him whisper, his fingers brushing softly over the cut on your cheek.

It sounded watery, like he was speaking through a tunnel. Everything was distant.

Was this how death felt?

He gathered you in his arms and your head lolled forward, resting against his chest. He held you like that for a long while, but you barely felt it. You were shaking like a leaf, but the sobs had died.

You had died.

“He- Wanted-“

“Did he hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, trying for your sake. There was not much he could do to retaliate to a dead man, anyway.

“Is he dead?” You choked out.

“Don’t think about that now. Did he hurt you?”

You begrudgingly shook your head. “Not…enough to…”

You had no idea what you were even trying to say.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” He said lowly as he attempted to get up. You caught his wrist before he could.

“He didn’t.” You choked out. “I’m not- He didn’t-“

Your gaze followed down his to your exposed body. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“Did he…”

“No! He didn’t…I mean he did try to…He…You came in.” You whispered weakly. “You came in, before he could.”

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, before he pressed you against him, cradling your head against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest and his hand pressed your head into his embrace almost painfully tight.

“This is all my fault.” He whispered hoarsely. “I lost the chip and by the time I realized it, I…This is all my fault.”

Of all the things he had done wrong, you wouldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“No.” You whispered, slowly coming out of your haze. Everything was still blurry, but the shaking began to lessen ever so slightly. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

“If I didn’t-“

“We’re not discussing this.” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to overwhelm you any further, you could tell. And you were grateful for that.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital regardless. The stress-“

“Okay.” You whispered. “But please, I…Just let me…Give me…”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression pained. “I’ll take care of you. I promise, I will. And I will never leave you alone again. No one will ever touch you again.” He gritted out.

You didn’t protest when he sat you in the tub. He knelt beside it, gently washing everything off you. You just sat there, your chin resting on your knees. The warmth of the water felt good on your skin, it helped against the cruel cold in your bones. But it did little to comfort you. Nothing could ever erase the pain, the fear you felt as you lay there, entirely helpless and frozen.

You barely felt his hands as he gently cleaned you up. You closed your eyes when the warm water ran down your hair and face, but you didn’t flinch.

After a while you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He made you look at him and you didn’t hesitate to.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He whispered barely audible.

You had never seen him like this. So…desperate.

You were sure, you would never forget the look in his eyes when he reached for the knife. The moment he saw what was going on.

You had been terrified then. And also incredibly relieved.

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, since that was inside of him…would you always be safe? Would your child always be safe?

But then your expression softened. He looked genuinely terrified. Terrified of the possibility that he had lost your love, your trust. You.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You whispered hoarsely. “I love you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze, gently tightening his grip on you.

A few minutes later, you were still damp but covered in a big, fluffy bathrobe. He led you to the other bedroom and lay you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll get the doctor here instead.” He murmured. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

You didn’t protest. He sat by your side, squeezing your hand and staring down at it.

His guilt was eating him alive. And that was eating you.

You gently took his hand and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles.

“I was just afraid. I’ll be okay.” You whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. The pain in his eyes was so apparent, so real. You had never before seen him like that.

After a while, you slowly looked up at him. “Did you really have his brother killed?”

He stiffened slightly, but he didn’t avoid your gaze. “Yes.” He said quietly.

You were silent for a while. “Why?”

“He said things about you.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Threatened you. I should have killed him back then already.”

Your guts churned and you averted your gaze.

“Your mother is in Korea.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe you were indeed dead. And maybe it was better that way.

“What?” You breathed out.

You felt him nod. “She’s here. She’s in Seoul.”

He bit his lip and you kept your gaze glued to the ceiling.

“I know where she is.”

You closed your eyes and tried to sort out your thoughts. A list of pros and cons. And then you thought back to the baby in your belly. The tiny human, dependent on you. Tiny fingers and toes. Small teeth. A smile, covered in chocolate and ice cream.

Someone to love.

Someone to love unconditionally.

And then you thought back to how you how almost lost it. How your kidneys were giving up. How you had lost one, due to poisoning. You almost lost your baby because of her.

When you looked up at him, your eyes didn’t look like your own.

“I trust you.” Was all that you said.

He didn’t comment on it and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He was a clever man.

He didn’t need words to understand you.

You averted your gaze again, staring up at the ceiling and gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. He loved it when you played with his hands.

He loved it when you leaned on him.

He loved it when you loved him.

He-

“Choi Seo-jin.”

You stopped in your tracks and kept your gaze focused on the ceiling. There was no confusion. You knew it. You knew what he was saying. You knew what it meant.

When you slowly tilted your head to meet his gaze, he was already looking at you. His eyes soft. Softer than ever before.

“My name. It’s Choi Seo-jin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. There was not much you could say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a voice so soft and silky that it left you feeling breathless.

His name. His name.

“Sorry?” You breathed out.

He nodded. “For not telling you earlier. For not trusting you, when I should have. For…for all the things I have done to you. Everything.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Most of it, you had already forgiven him. Probably everything. Most likely everything.

Sure, you had told to the dead man that he kidnapped, that he forced you to be here and carry his child. But what else should you have said? You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your baby to die. And so you lied.

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Not a few months ago. But now you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

There was no more curtain, no uncertainty left. No guilt, no unease, no fear.

When you feared him, then you feared him as his partner. Not his victim.

“You don’t have to say that.” You said gently, but he cut you off with a sharp nod.

“Yes, I do.” He exhaled slowly and looked down at your combined hands. “I told you of my father, right? But I didn’t tell you everything.”

You held your breath and simply…let him be.

He smiled, but there was no mirth wheresoever. His eyes were cold, but not directed at you.

At the memory.

“I still hear my mother screaming, you know? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’m sure I can hear her. When I wake up then and see you lying beside me…It’s the only thing to bring me back.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, still not looking at you.

“He told me that no one would ever be able to love me. That no one could ever love a weak little bastard like me. Called my mother a whore. Said she slept around. He wouldn’t even be sure whose or what I was. Bastard was his go-to name for me.” He sighed and shook his head, gently playing with your fingers. “He said no one could ever love me. And everyone who ever said they did would lie.”

That was when he finally looked up to meet your gaze.

“And I believed him.” He whispered. “I was sure that no one could ever love me. No one would ever trust me. No one would ever look at me and see their lover, their husband. Their protector. They’d see me for what I was. A bastard.” He shook his head again, his voice dropping low. “I thought if I tested you enough, if I hurt you enough, you’d run. I was sure. You were a tough girl. Tough as nails. I did the most vile things to you, but you? You never tried to run. I tried to kill you and what did you do? You told me you loved me.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke. “And I was…I was so fucking confused. Why would you love me? You had to be lying. But no matter what I did, you didn’t run.” His voice turned contemplative, his gentle grip on your hand never wavering.

“He came to my room, you know.” He swallowed against something in his throat and you were sure the sound of your heart breaking was audible.

“Every so often. He…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. And he didn’t need to. Instead, you gently squeezed his hand, just a little bit tighter than usual.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you bit them back. You wanted so bad to be strong for him, especially now. He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze, a tiny, weak smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t control it.” He whispered and slowly shook his head. “No matter what I did. I was never in control. Everything just happened. And I could only let it happen.” He clenched his jaw tighter, his grip on your hand was shaking now. “And I told myself I would never, never feel that way again. Never. And I didn’t.”

He sighed deeply. “But I think I got a little ahead of myself. And now…And you…” His gaze raked over your face, over your damp cheeks and he smiled again.

“I gave you control. I know it wasn’t much. It’s not…easy. But I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He reached out a hand, his palm against your cheek warm and gentle. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You never took advantage of it.” He murmured. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes. That one time you slapped me or whenever I let you be in control…It’s almost like it’s hurting you physically.”

His smile widened, just the tiniest bit. “I know it now. I know that my father was nothing but a liar. And you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you nodded. It was all you could do.

“Good.” He whispered. “Because…”

He took a slow breath and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against it.

“Because I intend to marry you and make this whole thing work. I’m going to be your husband and you will be my wife. And this…” He gently pressed his free hand against your stomach. “This is our baby. And no one will ever touch our baby. We’re going to love it. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to touch either of you again.”

His voice was so firm and convincing that you were sure. He meant every word.

You couldn’t even protest. You didn’t want to.

You would be his wife.

And your baby was going to get all the love the both of you had been missing.

And then?

And then he told you everything. Everything from who he was and where he came from. Every quirk, every ick, every pain, every wish, every fear. Everything. Until you were sure.

You were meant to be there.

You were meant to be his.

And had it been him who wrote the text, who uploaded it, who decided to share his thoughts with the world. Had it been him, not you.

You would have done the same.

After an eternity of just talking and letting go of everything that dragged down his soul into the strange abyss that was his misery, he finally looked at you.

“Did I miss anything?” He murmured, before he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple.

You swallowed and nodded. “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’ll love me regardless?”

You didn’t need to think about it. You simply nodded.

You would.

He nodded as well and leaned down, just enough so you felt his breath against your skin, like the gentle kiss of a sweet spring day after a long, bitter winter. His fingers gently played with your hair, the movement absentminded.

His eyes softened even more and he looked at you with nothing less than pure trust.

“Tell me, darling…Have you ever played the Squid Game before?”

_________________________________________

Tag list 1 :@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q @koigguki

Author's note 2: Sorry for traumatizing you, guys. I hope whatever I wrote made any sense...My brain is a mess, it's 2.30am and I'm going to sleep now. I loveeeee you! 🤍

[ba9go]

to fall in love with soulmate!bakugou katsuki

the soulmate au nobody ever asked for. in which red is your favourite colour, and also the colour of katsuki's eyes.

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

you've always considered it one of your greatest blessings, being in class 1-a.

it's where you got to meet some of the brightest people at u.a. high. you were supported by amazing teachers and got to grow alongside the best classmates you could ever ask for; without 1-a, you wouldn't be half the pro-hero you were today.

but most of all, that's how you met your soulmate.

growing up, you never really believed in soulmates. you knew soulmarks existed. you've heard stories, of magically-appearing matching-coloured bands around the wrist and perfectly-synced unmatched chemistry between lovers simply destined for each other. it all sounded too good to be true.

you were 13 when your parents (who were "soulmates") decided to split after almost 20 years of marriage. you told yourself right there and then, that you would never live your life waiting for some magical moment, for the stars to align, for sparks to fly. what was the point?

you were 15 when you met your soulmate.

bakugou katsuki. when you first met him, he was loud, obnoxious, and absolutely unbearable. he was an egomaniac, an asshole to everybody. when you first locked eyes with his, you felt a burn sear across the skin of your wrist.

in the red of his eyes, you saw red. nevermind that red was your favourite colour — you were angry. angry that this guy just had to be your soulmate. your other half. but you also felt smug. smug that you were right, about soulmates meaning jackshit.

you couldn't read bakugou's expression. you didn't bother. you simply turned around and walked away.

you stopped by the nearest family mart and bought a concealer. you got back to your dorm room. seated on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, you finally allowed yourself to look down at your wrist.

again, you saw red — a single, braided cord tattooed around your wrist. of course, it had to be red. you dabbed at it with your newly-bought concealer until it was gone.

you don't miss the way bakugou stares at you, at your wrist, when you walk into class the next day. his eyes narrow, his face twists into a scowl, and you feel oddly satisfied.

but a soulmate isn't that easy to get rid of, apparently. especially when he's your classmate.

the moment you saw his quirk, you understood that bakugou katsuki was a force to be reckoned with.

bakugou katsuki was relentless. he was driven, ambitious, confident, and strong. and he only got stronger, and stronger. and you refused to fall behind him.

you couldn't take your eyes off him. you were afraid that if you blinked for even a fraction of a second, he'd go on without you and you'd miss out on his metamorphosis into a true hero.

into somebody you could actually love. and no, not just a fleeting love. a love that could last you a lifetime.

you don't take your eyes off bakugou katsuki. you watch him, furiously attentive with awe and fascination and spite. watching katsuki ignites something in you that you don't understand. well, not yet.

sometimes, your gaze flickers to katsuki's right wrist, to the red string wrapped around it, and your stomach twists at the reminder that bakugou katsuki was not just your rival; he was, in theory, the other half of your soul.

you continue denying this fact until bakugou forces you to face it.

after a particularly gruelling day of quirk training, you're completely spent. you're exhausted, hunched over the water cooler and taking mouthful after mouthful of water. when you stand back upright, your feet wobble and your knees buckle but you're steadied by a strong hand clasped on your shoulder.

you jerk at the touch, and you whip around to see bakugou katsuki standing next to you. you wrench yourself out of his hold and bakugou rolls his eyes at you.

"better not pass out," bakugou grumbles. "m'leavin' you and your beat-up ass here if you do."

"fuck off," you spit. "i don't need your help." you pass out as soon as you finish your sentence.

bakugou catches you and easily gathers your tired and bruised body in his arms. you wake up 3 hours later in recovery girl's office, with a pounding headache and, on the nightstand, a bottle of water and a box of aspirin.

you reach over to grab 2 pills and you realise that the concealer on your wrist has been smudged off. it's also then that you realise the brand-new concealer that's also on the nightstand.

the twist of your stomach is all too familiar, and it's then that you decide that you're done running away from your soulmate.

later, you find yourself knocking on his door. he opens the door after roughly 18 seconds of knocking and you're greeted with a gruff "fuck do you want" until he realises it's you, and he takes a step to the side to let you in.

you stand awkwardly in the middle of his room, until he snorts, taking a seat on his bed and patting the spot next to him. you oblige.

it's quiet, and you realise you don't exactly know what to say. "thank you"? "i'm sorry"?

"so?" bakugou asks expectantly. "what, wrong brand of concealer?" he raises an eyebrow, somewhat amused.

you know he's joking, but you still flinch at his words.

"no, that's not it," you say, shaking your head quickly. "i just... well... i..." before you can stop yourself, you're crying.

bakugou catches on and offers you a tissue. you don't know why he's being so nice to you, but you mutter a quiet "sorry, thanks" and accept it anyway.

your hand brushes against his as you take the tissue, and you see the exact moment bakugou realises that for once, you don't have concealer applied to your wrist.

bakugou's frowning.

you don't know what you were expecting, showing up now at bakugou's room after ignoring him for most of the year and blatantly disregarding the fact that the two of you were soulmates. of course you should've known that he'd be upset.

"i'm sorry," you croaked. "for everything. i avoided you for so long, i was just so scared, i didn't know you back then and i wasn't ready to—"

bakugou holds your wrist so gently. you realise that he's still looking at the red band around your wrist, and your chest tightens at the uncharacteristically soft look in his eyes.

a small smile graces his lips, and it's like a weight is finally lifted off your shoulders because you finally get it.

bakugou katsuki is your soulmate.

"you're my soulmate," bakugou says simply, finally looking you in the eyes, and you know he's known all along but you can tell that he's sure of it now.

because you're sure of it now, too.

"you're my soulmate," you smile. you meet his gaze shyly, and as you stare into the red of his eyes you realise that red has always been your favourite colour.

i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this ❤️

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, | rex sloan 'splode' x gender neutral reader

love mail — PLEAASE please rex sloane be famous IM BEGGINg this took me like an hour but it's so long i'm actually surprised i committed to it. !!( ; ﾛ)ﾟ ﾟguys.. .. please... my efforts for my alive husband.. MAJOR S3 SPOILERS ! angst too oops, not proofread sorri !

wc : 2.2k

the three times rex sloan broke your heart.

rex sloan, or splode, one or the other — depending on how much he liked you, was a man that many knew for his pride, ego, and utter selfishness. the living, breathing representative of a self absorbed man. you hated the fact you fell for his stupid jokes and undeniable charm, how could you not? in his words, he was irresistable, and you had to admit.. he wasn't lying.

rex had you smitten with that little smirk of his and promises of well spent 'bonding' and 'getting to know each other'. you were doomed the moment he caught on to what made you tick, and what made you flush.

the very first time he had broken your trust, was his promise to court you — to have a beautiful life with you, that your eyes were pretty, that you were his, all his. only to hear those same words as he pounds into some random woman in your apartment, to your dismay. clothes that weren't yours and ones that definitely belonged to rex are scattered all over the place, and you just feel sick.

you make sure to yell for them to get out. and your eyes burn into rex's unapologetic ones, you see that smile on his face — unashamed, uncaring. you accept your defeat, that you fell for stupid, flowery words, from a pretty face with an ugly heart. you fall to the floor when you hear the door click, wobbly knees unable to hold you up for any longer as you sob; heart screaming at you for allowing yourself to be betrayed like this — when you knew you should have been smarter, wiser. not fall to something as stupid as love.

dealing with him around the base was your worst nightmare. he was fine; same insufferable jerkbag, while you cried and cried for days on end. where your body felt used, and your heart strings being tugged so tightly, you were afraid your fraile organ would burst. you knew one thing for sure, rex splode — was a man beyond redemption, beyond saving, and beyond forgiveness.

you dealt with seeing his face all the time, pissing you off, the team off, and being the same arrogant asshole he always was. you scold yourself for ever thinking he was anything different, for all the times he confided in you, and you him, for all the times your connection was more than cheap sex — was revealed to be nothing. hell, you wouldn't even be surprised if the cheap sex was all rex cared about. fuck that guy. (not literally, enough of that.)

the second time was weird. because you never even took him back — but after his.. haunting battle with king lizard that damn near killed him, the team did everything they could to keep him alive. at the cost of him needing to be bedridden for a while, unconcious, barely breathing.

you don't know why you even bothered to visit. you used to fight the urge to bash his face in, but seeing him so.. still, perhaps even peaceful.. you come to wonder how anyone was able to tame that fire he so naturally burned with. you made regular visits with mark, his best friend. and the way he talked about rex, made you remember the version of him you understood him as. for all his spunk and bite, he was still a man. a man who just wanted to be loved; for reasons unbeknownst to you at the time, as his past left him feeling unwanted.

you pitied him, almost. nothing can excuse cheating, nothing — but still.. you can never really get rid of the affection you held for someone. in the back of your head, like a virus that won't go away, it stays.. even if you can't see it, you definitely feel it.

things got worse when he woke up, because you don't know why — or how — but he just.. got better. scoffs and sneers turned to smiles and greetings, brushed off attempts at small talk became check ups on his health, and for the first time in the longest time.. your heart softened for him. you felt the familiar ache of your heart whenever he was around, but not one of hatred, but instead of.. yearning. oh no. your feelings for him coming back a second time around was not welcomed.

you didn't know how to feel on the night rex asked to see you at the roof of your apartment complex, and you didn't know what you were thinking when you agreed to meet. your footsteps feel heavy as you walk the stairs to the very top, and when you open the door — there he is. you expected the whole hero get-up, it was like the only thing he wore.. but no, just a shirt and plain pants while he leaned against a short wall, his back turned as he looked over to the city below. weird, you noted, but rex splode was always weird. and annoying, and insufferable, and —

"you ever think about what it's like?"

you snap out of your thoughts — surprised to hear such softness in his voice. it was almost believable, you scoffed mentally, even if you two were on better terms, you remained cautious. but nevertheless, you walk towards him, standing by his side with crossed arms. "what are you getting at?" you mumbled, an unintentional bite in your tone as rex chuckled, all too familiar with it.

"you know, what it means to be more than a hero — something more than a masked figure that saves lives, lives that are the reason i can only wonder what it must be like to.." his voice trails off, but you're understanding the direction this conversation is going.

you opened your mouth to continue his sentence, the previous snark disappearing. "be happy, truly, and unapologetically happy." you finished, turning your head to search his face for confirmation of her assumption of his words. his bittersweet smile speaks volumes.

he then asks; "you know my last name? like, for real." laughing at the question, you answer without thinking. "splode. it's stupid, rex splode — explode —"

"sloan."

your laugh slowly dies down, blinking at the realization. "my full name is rex sloan." rex, for the first time in.. ever, looks vulnerable. and all of a sudden, you recall just exactly why you were always so captivated by those eyes of his.

the talk extends for a couple hours, some tears are shed, unsaid words were finally shared, and a single promise was made.

"i promise," rex's hand makes it's way to your cheek, soothing your sniffles as the other pulls you close by the hip. a gesture you once recognized as rex wanting something physical, but there was more to this.. something emotional, a connection beyond desire and lust. "—that i'll be better. i'll fix what i broke back then, when i was spoiled, a big brat.. and that i'll be a good man for you. for all the hurt i caused, i'll try to heal tenfold. i'll be more than.. rex splode, i'll be yours." he whispered, leaning in close and brushing his nose against yours, a form of sweet affection.

and at those words, you leaned in to kiss him. a seal, one could say, to his oath of change. and since rex was staring at your lips all night, being on his very best behavior, he appreciated the reward. "you know.." he mumbled against your lips, smiling. "for once in my shitty life, i think i'm actually content." a laugh escapes him, and you practically swallow it with the way he just.. can't, won't pull away from you. "it's kinda worth living if it's with you."

but nothing could be greater than his relief that you forgave him. that the man you found to be so repulsive and conniving, was worth forgiving. and you will never know how much that meant to him. how much you meant to him.

the third, and very last time rex had broken your heart, was the invincible war.

the team was sent to deal with an invincible variant, no biggie! rex was joking about how excited he was to kick his best friends ass, and you laugh.. the war was hard, after all. with so much destruction, some humor doesn't hurt.

you wish you told him to not underestimate the enemy, to have a high guard.. because maybe, maybe you could've stopped this.

monster girl and rudy are safe, they had long fleed the bridge and now it was just you and rex. beaten, bloodied, and bruised.. but together. rex had taken so many more hits, for you and the others more than anything else. the gash in his side is still dripping blood and you feel sick at the sight. you can't win this, you won't win this.

your thoughts are disturbed by the hardest hit you'll likely ever take if you make it out of here alive, slamming you into a wall, knocking the wind out of you. "agh—.." trying to get up serves impossible, every inch of your body is screaming for you to stand, but the building shakes with each explosion rex throws at gogglesible — and all you can do is helplessly watch as your boyfriend, the love of your life, still tries to fight a battle he knows he's lost.

your one good eye widens at the sight of gogglesible getting the upper hand, grabbing rex by the throat — chokes and curses of struggle escaping his lips. "when i'm done with you, it'll be your dumb little partner next. right after they watch you get torn to shreds, limb by limb, with nothing left of you to mourn." the variant spoke coldly, his grip on rex's neck tightening with every second.

you watched helplessly, tears brimming in your eyes as you catch rex's gaze. even as he struggles, he's still got his eyes on you, so loving, full of nothing but adoration. so that's when you know somethings wrong — because for all the love you have for him, you know he wasn't the type to become sappy in the middle of battle. not unless —

that's when you're forcing yourself to move. grabbing onto the wall as you don't notice the way he reaches into his aforementioned gash, too focused to getting to him before it's too late.

rex always joked about going out with a bang — oh fuck, please be some messed up joke.

"honey,"

the sound of his voice immediately makes you snap your head to him, the kindest smile is on his lips — and he's got that apologetic look in his eyes. he knows what'll happen, he just hopes you remember him fondly. not for who he was, but who he became. cause among everything else, he was grateful to become yours. that you will be the one person to remember him as rex sloan, and not the jackass the world made him be.

"make sure to look away f'me, yeah?"

three times rex broke your heart,

two times you chose to forgive —

and one whole lifetime to live without him.

you sob as you turn your head away, the sight too much to bear as the last thing you see is rex's skin beginning to glow an bright yellow hue.

"my entire goddamn skeleton, dickhead."

and then, it was over.

you wake up in a hospital bed, noticing the burn marks that cover your skin, almost mocking the experience you had only hours prior. a reminder of who you lost, permanently engraved on your body forever.

at your side, is a note; it's not anything grandiose, hell — it's crumpled and the penmanship looks half assed. but you know it all too well, rex.

hey, i'm awful at notes. don't expect sappy shit, alright? i just have a horrible feeling about the mission and, you know, no regrets. not saying somethings gonna go wrong but i just want you to know.

when i met you, i was a horrible guy. i chased nothing but my own self pleasure and ego, and i still regret it. the way you looked at me that night, i get scared of disappointing you like that again. god, i wish i wasn't writing this on some tiny notepad i stole from marks desk, but i digress.

i love you, holy fuck i love you. you're my world, my honey, my heart. you made an irredeemable scumbag a tolerable young man, and that's something to be proud of. make sure to never forget that, okay? you were the reason i stopped throwing myself into danger like i was immortal, for once i..

i would be afraid.

for the first time in my life, i was terrified of dying, and that was new — so incredibly new to me. regardless, i'm glad i get to come home to you every single night, honey. no need to be afraid of dying when i know i'll fight hard to live, and see your pretty eyes first thing in the morning.

i love you, for all your sassy remarks and shitty jokes, i love you.

i'll see you when we get back from the mission, and you'll laugh at me for making something so stupid and sappy. but you know i mean it, everything, it's always for you. all of it is for you.

— utterly yours, r. s. ♡

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Happy New Year.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - may 2025, bring everyone joy and happiness. 🎆🎇, here’s a little something from me to you.

word count - 700.

in which, this new years is the most different one that you and harry have ever spent together, instead of going out to a party, your both cuddled up on the sofa with your newborn fast asleep on there daddies chest.

The living room is quiet except for the soft hum of the television in the corner, where the countdown to midnight ticks away.

The lights are dim, and the Christmas tree in the corner still twinkles faintly, a reminder of how much life has changed in the past two weeks.

Harry sits on the couch, his chest bare, his hair tousled in that effortlessly messy way that makes your heart flutter.

Your baby boy is fast asleep on his chest, his tiny body rising and falling with Harry’s steady breaths.

A soft muslin cloth is draped over Harry’s shoulder—evidence of a just-in-case burp that never came.

You’re curled up beside him, your legs tucked beneath you, watching them both with a soft smile.

"Ten seconds," you whisper, glancing at the screen, the numbers counting down the last moments of 2024.

"Still feels weird, doesn't it?" Harry murmurs, his voice hushed, careful not to wake the baby. His fingers gently stroke the baby’s back, his touch so tender it makes your chest ache. "Not being out f’once, I don’t think we’ve ever stayed in f’new years eve."

You smile, reaching over to run your fingers through his curls. "I don’t think I’d rather be anywhere but here, with you, with him."

Harry looks down at the baby, his lips curving into the softest smile you’ve ever seen. "Neither can I.”

‘Eight…’

"Do you think he’ll be the kind of kid who loves fireworks?" you ask, tilting your head to watch Harry’s expression.

He shrugs, his dimples peeking out as he grins. "Depends. F’he’s like me, probably not. I was always the kid hiding under the kitchen table when they went off."

‘Seven…’

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Not me. I loved them. Always wanted to be out in the middle of it all."

Harry tilts his head to rest against yours. "Maybe he’ll take after y’then. Brave little thing."

‘Six…’

The baby stirs slightly, his tiny hand flexing against Harry’s chest, and you both freeze. But he settles again, his soft breaths steady and warm.

"See? Told y’he was brave," Harry whispers, his eyes never leaving the baby.

‘Five…’

You reach out and trace the curve of your son’s cheek, marveling again at how perfect he is. "Can you believe we made him? Like... he’s real."

Harry chuckles softly, his laugh vibrating through the baby’s tiny body. "I know. I keep thinking someone’s gonna knock on the door and tell us s’been a mistake. Like, 'Sorry, y’not allowed to keep him—y’just two kids pretending t’be grown-ups.'"

‘Four…’

"Speak for yourself," you tease. "I’m very mature, thank you."

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, really? Is that why you cried over the last chocolate biscuit yesterday?"

‘Three…’

"That was different," you huff, nudging him gently. "I’m postpartum. I’m allowed to cry over biscuits."

"Fair enough," he concedes, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

‘Two…’

You both fall quiet, the weight of the moment settling over you.

The new year is seconds away, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something you’re rushing toward.

It feels... still.

Peaceful.

Like everything you’ve ever wanted is right here in this room.

‘One…’

Harry looks at you then, his green eyes warm and full of love.

"Happy New Year, m’love."

"Happy New Year," you whisper back, your voice catching slightly.

The television erupts into cheers and fireworks, but it feels distant. Harry leans in, kissing you softly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The baby snores softly between you, oblivious to the world.

When you pull back, Harry grins. "Best New Year’s ever."

You nod, leaning against him and resting your hand over the baby’s back. "And it’s only just beginning."

[bluemerakis]

Recently finished Swayze’s ‘ghost’ and now I can’t stop thinking about post-Hell Dean, where the reader has his iconic brown leather jacket hanging in her room thinking she’s never gonna see him again but he shows up in her room (in a non creepy way as much as possible lol) and they fuuuuck like old times and she thinks she’s dreaming until she realises it’s actually him (or not lol) but the romanticism is screaming out to me, idk if it’s something you’d be interested in writing but omfg you’d write this so painfully well

ANON!! i LOVE LOVE LOVE this SO much! i’m so honoured that you’ve entrusted me with this idea—i had the time of my life writing this & went a lil wild with it LOL. thank you for your support and kind words, it means the world to me! i hope i did your request justice 🩵

─ ۶ৎ ─

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ sunshine ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ s4 .ᐟ spoilers, established relationship, dramatic descriptions of grief, cussing, angst, sam being an adorable little angel, nip sucking, unprotected sex p in v, tooth-rotting fluff. lmk if I forgot any.ᐟ if there are typos, no there isn’t

synopsis ─ after dean had sealed the deal that warranted him a one-way ticket to hell, you had no hopes of ever seeing him again. you were overcome with a grief that felt inescapable, but with sam’s help, you’d managed to pull through the storm and enter clearer skies. just when you thought you’d have to navigate a new life without dean, against all odds, he makes an unexpected appearance.

word count ~ roughly 15k

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Four months.

The duration of your ongoing turmoil. The grim tally of his absence.

For four months, you’d been trapped in the stagnant bog of your grief. It had formed the very first night you’d lost him, seizing your mind like a rabid plague. It didn’t matter which way you attempted to swim, or how hard you paddled to try and stay afloat, there was no sure escape from its bottomless depth. It immobilised your existence, broke down your hope—scattered it like falling leaves to be lapped up by the famished surface and swallowed to the point of no return. It was lonely and suffocating, but you’d since given up on waiting for a lifeline to be cast from some land beyond your gloomy horizon, so sure that you’d isolated yourself from any soul kind enough to try.

Except for Sam.

Sam had tried to rescue you many times, but the lines he casted were always too battered—chewed up by the demons of his own grief. And you knew that if you grabbed onto it—where he stood barely clinging to the other end—it would snap and pull him right in. You couldn’t do that to him, so you’d surrendered to the bog entirely, allowing your grief to engulf you into its endless, bone-chilling nothingness. And each day, you sank further and further, like the dead weight of a stone, drifting down into the pits of your despair. Your living, breathing death.

A slow, agonising journey of digestion—your body, mind and soul disseminating into nothing.

Reaching rock bottom hadn’t taken long, not when you’d been left feeling so shallow by the robbery of your life’s meaning. And you’d laid there ever since, slowly deteriorating, slowly drowning. Over and over and over again. You could have said that you were losing every part of yourself, but you hadn’t been whole to begin with, not for a long time—not since losing him.

If he were here, he could have saved you from yourself. But he wasn’t. And you hated him for it.

You hated him. For striking a deal with the devil. For placing his life on the line without a second breath. For lying to you about it. For even thinking that nobody would notice the dead space left behind. There were certain days that tended to plunge that hateful knife—already engrossed in your heart—a little deeper. A day like this morning.

The day that marked the anniversary of Dean Winchester’s death.

On the first day without him, you’d spent your time trying to fight it—forced smiles, laughs of denial, stares that didn’t linger on any of his belongings for too long. But it was hard not to come face to face with his memory when the ghost of his existence seemed to prowl after you at every turn and every corner of the apartment. His favourite coffee mug with an infamous chip on the rim. The frozen, pasty pies he’d crammed the freezer full of. Six packs of canned beers stocked along the pantry’s top shelf. His discarded shoes. His sparse watch collection. The shampoo bottle he’d diluted to last a month longer.

And that damn leather jacket, which currently draped from the frame of your desk chair.

It hung there like a museum exhibit—the memory of Dean Winchester, frozen in time. The jacket he’d left behind on the day he’d slipped your life for good. You hadn’t once touched it. You couldn’t bring yourself to lay your fingers across the leather when there’d be no warmth radiating through its fabric to soothe you—couldn’t face the fact that it’d reflect the cold, empty truth of it all. So there it laid, collecting dust and slowly drowning beneath the suffocating, grey sea without a merciful hand to liberate it. It was a cruel parallel of your own withering state.

Every morning, your eyes would peel through a hollow sleep, and the first thing they’d settle on was that damn jacket. Every. Single. Time. As if you needed the constant recap on top of everything else. You could have mustered up the courage to move it some place else that’d finally warrant the motto out of sight, out of mind. But the naive fool that had created that saying failed miserably at accounting for the woes of the brain. Once scorched into memory, nothing would ever truly be forgotten. You’d remember regardless of where that jacket lay—a curse bound to your life, never to be broken.

Unless you broke first.

You shifted at the heart of your king-sized bed, your head sinking back into your plumy pillow as you gazed up at the ceiling. At anything but that jacket. Your limbs sprawled out between the cotton sheets, taking maximum advantage to voyage the sea of space left at your disposal. While a mattress this large and luxurious should’ve offered you a sense of comfortable freedom, you couldn’t help but mourn all the space—space that at one point, had been occupied by him.

The gentle, golden glare of dawn had begun its steady journey into the room, letting itself in almost shyly through the slits of your curtains. The meek sunbeams sliced through the dim atmosphere you’d found solice within, and you watched as dust particles began to waltz around one another through the bronzed air—as if they’d been cast into the centre of the ballroom. Around and around they swirled in perfect, mirrored harmony. You thought it looked a lot like a courting display—more mental imagery to emphasise your loneliness.

For a second, some faded image—a memory—flashed across your mind. Yourself and Dean, taking to the neglected dance floor of a bar nearing its closing time. A half-emptied beer bottle clutched in his one hand as his other linked with yours, serving as the leash that dragged your protesting form to its debut on the dance floor.

You’d never been too confident in your dancing skills, a fact you’d tried many times to disclose, but Dean had been insistent. Somewhere behind you, Sam had whooped from the comfort of the booth you’d both discarded, and when you’d glanced back at the younger Winchester, he had his beer-adorned hand raised into the air as a cheer. You’d scoffed with a heavy thanks for nothing.

When you’d turned back to Dean, he’d drawn up in his tracks without any prior warning, causing you to crash not-so-elegantly into his torso. Instinctively, your free palm had lurched forward to cradle his chest in a steadying motion, your chin tilting up to grace him with a stunned giggle.

The drink he’d throttled in his other hand sloshed with the jolt, foam tumbling over the nozzle’s edge like a provoked volcano’s tantrum. It slathered his fingers and trickled to the floor, adding fresh patterns to the aged, sticky blotches already scattered amidst the young night.

“Woah, easy there, tiger,” he’d laughed, but the hand that’d dragged you here released your fingers only to form a seductive curve at the small of your back. There, he’d pulled you in even closer, his lips closing in on you with the promise of a love-sick kiss. But instead, his jaw had dipped past your temple, lips grazing your cheekbone before hovering at your ear. “There’s nuff o’ me to go ‘round without you jumpin’ ship for the first spot,” he husked. You’d practically felt the grin spreading his lips.

You’d ducked your head away from his with a hearty huff. “Down, boy,” you’d scoffed, hands trailing up his chest to crown either shoulder with a natural ease. The touch had been smooth, magnetic. And maybe you two were like magnets, utterly obsessed with being intangible, and eager to keep on exploring every inch of one another with a shifting touch rather than be torn apart.

Dean’s eyes had lowered to the naughty line you’d drawn to his shoulders, the grin he’d taken up deepening enough to suction his cheeks into the dimples you’d come to adore. When he’d acquainted your eyes again, it was through a heavy-lidded stare that promised all sorts of activities to reciprocate your tantalising touch. “Oh, I’ll get down, alright,” he’d chuckled hoarsely, leaving the line open to interpretation as he brought his beer to his lips. He’d downed a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes not once straying from yours as he watched you mentally decipher his words.

“You know what? Enough of your games,” you’d laughed, hands slipping from his chest to forsake the dance floor before you’d have a chance to make it regret hosting you. You’d attempted to turn tail and flee, but Dean’s hand had found your wrist in a firm, yet gentle tug, and then you were held prisoner under those hypnotising eyes once more. Your lips had split to offer some final protest, but his own lips puckered into a shushing pout that had you clamping down on your tongue.

“Don’t say anythin’, just dance with me,” he’d instructed, and then the hand tethering you to him lifted, your arm following the motion like a chain effect. Against your will, you were spun around in an awkward, off-timed circle that deviated abominably from the background music. When you came to face him once more, his chest had rattled with a laugh a little too passionate for your liking. “That was adorable—like a toddler learnin’ she’s got the gears but don’t quite know which she’s shiftin’.”

Your cheeks had seared hot at that comment, free hand diving forward to shove his chest lightly. “Stop—I warned you!” You’d simpered.

“Hey!” He’d laughed, beer-occupied hand lifting in a gesture of innocence. “I’m only playin’! You’ll get the hang o’ it—I’ll teach ya. Watch.” Your hand lifted under his guidance as he executed his own spin—even more sprawled and ridiculous than yours had been. Your free hand had flown to cradle your mouth as a disbelieved chortle blared through, and as Dean came to face you once more, his brows were lifted in question. “Eh? I’m a natural, yeah?”

You’d giggled into your palm again before dropping your hand back to your side, lips pursing with amusement. “Let’s just say that I don’t think either of us should be teaching the other,” you’d huffed through a pained smile.

Dean lowered your joined hands to the space between you. “Well,” he’d begun, pulling you into his frame once more, like he just couldn’t get enough of your presence—like he wanted it to hog him. “Guess we just gotta. . . y’know, feel this one out together,” he’d murmured suggestively, eyes narrowing with cheek while he released your hand to settle into its natural hold at the small of your back.

You’d leaned your smirk-heavy lips closer to his with a content hum, your hands coming to wrap around his neck. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll follow if you lead.” He’d grinned approvingly at that, tugging you along to a slow and steady sway of the bodies, which you’d succumbed to and harmonised with in no time—much to your surprise.

“Sammy!” Dean had called to his younger brother, his eyes not once straying from yours as he presented his beer in the direction of the booth. “All yours for the takin’.” He’d paused to steal a glance at your beaming lips. “I got my own special o’ the night.”

You’d laughed at that, and Dean’s charm had grown all the more potent as he stretched out the dance between the two of you for what felt like a good couple of hours. In the background, the music in bad taste had blared on, ever so eager to cheapen the moment between the two of you, but you’d become so enthralled with one another that all else around you was drowned out, anyway.

Both his hands had selfishly hoarded your lower back, pressing you so far into him that you’d stumbled around his feet more times than you’d have liked to admit. But you’d remained steadied by the hands furled around his neck, and comforted by the gentle, reciprocated press of your foreheads, gazing into the sanctuary of one another’s eyes.

If you’d known then, in that moment, that Dean Winchester was going to die, you’d have held onto him a little longer—and probably never have let go. Even if it killed you, too.

With a heavy, rattled rise of your chest, you came back to your grim present, drawing in a long and shaky breath. You shifted between the sheets to roll onto your side, arm coming up beneath the underside of your pillow to cradle it like an emotional support teddy. You tuned your attention to your curtain-clad windows, and like a corpse, you continued to rot away within your coffin of a mattress, watching idly as the sun continued to announce its ascent.

It wasn’t long before warm golds drained into a paler shades that fully lit your room now—the official statement of a new day. But still, you didn’t stir. The curtains remained cast, the windows crammed closed as tightly as they’d been left about a week ago, and your soul feeling anything but renewed to tackle this heavy day head on.

Somewhere beyond your wall, footsteps thrummed lightly down the hallway. Now and again, you’d let yourself believe that they belonged to Dean, on his way to brew you both a morning cuppa—just to offer some pathetic, fleeting slither of comfort. But nothing—nobody could ever fill those shoes left behind. It hadn’t stopped Sam from trying, though.

Before Dean’s. . . disappearance, the brothers had stayed together in the larger room of your two-bedroom apartment—nothing like reliving the good old times, right? It didn’t much bother either one of them, given that Dean had slept in your bed on most nights, leaving the space feeling basically like Sam’s own. The dynamic between you all worked well, and it was practical for a hunter’s lifestyle. Costs were cut, perimeters familiarised and mapped out, and the shared company between you all was reliable. Trustworthy.

You’d become a blended family of some sort. You didn’t think there was any external force that could’ve torn you all apart. But you hadn’t accounted for an inside job. Hadn’t accounted for the weak link that was you.

After Dean’s death, you’d gone into a self-destructive spiral, eager to push anybody and everybody away while you feigned bravery. But Sam had clocked you like an open book, and it made him the hottest target of your impulsive ire.

You couldn’t stand looking at the younger Winchester, how he served as a constant reflection of your own grief—the grief you’d tried so hard to drown out. You knew you should have bonded with him over your shared loss, and the younger Winchester had tried everything to utilise that angle to be there for you, but it’d only made you push back harder. You half expected him to walk out after the first week, but you’d forgotten how deep-rooted stubborness ran within the Winchester bloodline.

Sam had continued to stick around. Why was beyond you. You could have argued that it was because he’d come to love you like a sister, but you couldn’t help the feeling that Dean had made him promise to look out for you, should he ever bite the dust. And it made you hate him more. Because if it were the latter, it meant that Dean had always intended to stay en route on the sacrificial pathway you’d tried countless times to swerve him from. And it meant that loving you hadn’t been reason enough for him to become sidetracked.

If only he’d held out a little longer and put off making that damned deal, you could have continued searching for a solution that didn’t end with either of the Winchesters’ deaths. But deep down, you knew that fate hadn’t written that ending down in any of her books. That continuing to skim page after page would have done nothing but waste minutes paid in blood. Deep down, you knew that Dean had no other choice, but it didn’t make you hate him any less for choosing it.

The faint clanking of utensils transcended the walls, indicating that Sam had worked himself into the kitchen. It was like a routine now. Every morning, the same time. You thought he might’ve craved some taste of control over his life by instilling this morning pattern he now followed so religiously.

You envied how well he seemed to hold himself together, despite it being his blood that had passed on. It made you feel invalidated in all your mourning. After all, if he could move on from the loss of his brother, whom he’d known all his life, why couldn’t you move on from a man you’d known for a pitiful number that paled in comparison?

As they so often did, your thoughts rampaged for a while longer, so eager to hold you captive between the sheets. But eventually, you felt the pit of neglect burrowed into your stomach gape wider, something that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

Your head turned to glimpse the plates you’d stacked atop the bedside table over the last few days. Almost all of them held meals that you’d scarcely picked at, meals Sam had cooked you, and they were starting to smell. It wasn’t doing much to help encourage the full return of your appetite. But still, you had to eat—something fresher, of course.

Eventually, you mustered up the courage to stir and shed the sheets, your week-old pyjamas falling limp around your frame as you shovelled your weight onto wilted legs. You stood for a moment, taking in this new pull of gravity, before angling yourself toward the door.

At the corner of your eye, it beckoned to you. You shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have given it the attention it so desperately craved, but how could you stand steadfast when you were crippled with the need to reminisce him during every waking moment? So you buckled, like you always did, and turned to glance over the waiting leather jacket.

It beamed a little brighter this time around, illuminated by the sun’s pale touch. It looked almost angelic, and you could have sworn that new life had been bestowed upon it—like a reincarnation. But no matter how long you stared, no body seemed to materialise between its hold to glorify that hope. Still no Dean Winchester to show for it.

So much for having faith.

With a barely audible scoff, you finally tore your gaze away and trudged toward your bedroom door. You reached for the handle, fingers hovering over the cool metal as you took a moment to think about what’d you say to Sam. Starting with an apology would probably be ideal, followed up by a looping string of thank yous for everything he’s done. You swallowed thickly before tightening your hold, the mechanism clicking open with a brash sound that cut through your senses. And then, like a ghost, you neglected your grave and slunk into the hallway.

When you traipsed into the open-plan apartment on light, reluctant feet, your eyes wandered over to the kitchen at the corner, where Sam had already made himself comfortable at the hot lip of the stove. His back was turned on you, but you caught the whisk of his arms as he executed an impressive flip of something within the skillet. It landed with a muffled thump, a result that had Sam hissing out a noise of satisfaction.

A shy, smoky ghost levitated above the Winchester, and it wasn’t long before the cracked kitchen window wafted a clue in your direction—the sweet tang of pancakes tickling your nose. Usually, it was a smell that had you inhaling a little deeper, like you couldn’t miss savouring even a scrap of its existence. Now, the smell roused nothing other than a faint reminder of just how much you didn’t crave breakfast. Or anything, for that matter. But still, duty called. More like your stomach would begin eating itself if you insisted on starving it for a day longer.

With a practiced breath of bravery, you picked your way past the living room sofas, your sock-clad feet scuffling across the floor with a severe lack of motivation. As you approached the kitchen island, you spotted a can of sweetened whipped cream—your favourite—and a bowl of berries straddling the plated, ever-growing stack of pancakes. It was the complete picture your stomach needed to enlist the first of its rumbling, but you hadn’t had much of a mental appetite for quite some time. The simple joy you’d once held for eating had been boiled down to the dull necessity of sustenance—you ate only because your body needed fuel. Anything more than that just wasn’t worth feeling.

And, truthfully, it was a baffling, new reality because there was a time you'd have nagged the boys to drive you halfway across the country to try some new cuisine you'd seen advertised across billboards. You’d scribble down the names of the niche diners and renowned restaurants in your trusty notebook to be reviewed on the trips back to the motels, heated debates unfolding as the brothers either vouched for or condemned your idea of a good meal. Now, the memories were so distant that you'd started to wonder whether they'd even existed. Whether that version of you still existed.

You brought up the rear of one of the kitchen chairs, moving a hand to cradle your protesting stomach while the other outstretched to retract the chair at the rim. The sudden, intrusive screech of wood against wood was enough to startle Sam into a growing awareness of his surroundings. He pivoted on his heels to face you, the pan making a reflexive dive in your direction in what was meant to be some pitiful means of a defence. The white of his eyes blared through, his tall frame ducking slightly as he assumed a defensive position.

Your composure didn’t falter as you slunk into the seat; his reaction wasn’t any surprise, not when you lead the adrenaline-laced life of a hunter forced to guard their six on a daily. And you doubted he’d expected any company after you’d basically stopped existing outside of your room these last couple of days—and at this early hour, no less.

What did surprise you, though, was that the pancake had managed to cling to the metal of the skillet in the midst of his jolt.

As Sam drank in your familiar form, his broad shoulders sagged visibly under his growing relaxation, the vice grip he’d unintentionally taken up around the pan’s handle now relenting an inch.

“Oh,” he stuttered out, a flustered half-chuckle diffusing his misplaced adrenaline. He slunk toward the island with his head slightly bowed, his gaze flickering between you and the pan. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips pursing shortly after the meek sound, as though he were afraid to let the wrong words slip. His caution wasn’t misplaced; you hadn’t exactly been kind to him these last few days.

It usually went that way around this time of the month. The days stepping up to the anniversary of Dean’s death tended to trip you right into the worst vision of yourself. You were more sullen than usual, losing patience over minuscule things, and sinking jaws of hostility into anybody who’d even attempted to offer hollow words of comfort.

Bobby had been the first to withdraw with some muttered crap of I’m too old for this shit. But Sam had always been too forgiving. He’d stuck around regardless of your temper, taking all the verbal beatings while he tended to your unspoken needs in ways that you couldn’t. You owed him so much more than you were capable of giving at this time.

You leaned onto the cool marble of the island, your hands coming forward in a timid fold as your lips flattened into a pathetic spectacle of a smile. “Hey, Sam,” you murmured, and for a second, the sound startled you. It was so dull, so lifeless—you’d even go so far as to say that it was so unlike you.

It was a stark contrast to the version of yourself the brothers had learnt to tolerate, maybe even appreciate—constant chatter and running commentary streaming live from the backseat of the impala. Dean had gone so far as to nickname you sunshine and rainbows, trailing after the twin storm clouds—the Winchesters—that seemed to thunder down on the unassuming world. But now, you felt like nothing more than the rolling, gloomy skies that paved way for everything wet, woeful and destructive. A weather so devastating that a show of a rainbow would be a mockery rather than a promise.

Sam returned your smile almost sheepishly, his head dipping to drink in the view of the counter. “You, uh. . . you sleep alright?” He asked, the pan coming forward to leer you over as he tipped the metal downwards and crowned the seasoned stack of pancakes with the fresh newcomer.

Your eyes lowered to the newest addition of the pancake pile, following the faint trails of heat that seemed to rise with a freedom and lightness you craved to feel. “Yeah,” you lied, your lower lip instantly pulled into a tense bite. “Yeah, I slept. . . fine.”

You knew that Sam wasn’t convinced, the moment of silence following after evidence of some tactic he might’ve been mentally reviewing to try and coax the truth from you. You began tracing a line along the patterns of the marble counter with your index finger, anticipating the awkward conversation to come.

“Come on, really?” He laughed softly, but the sound was gentle and sympathetic, not slathered with amusement or scorn. “‘Cause I didn’t,” he confessed.

You glanced up at him in surprise, your finger halting in its place. “Really?” You breathed out softly, instant relief crashing over you. Maybe Sam hadn’t recovered as much as you thought he had, and as unfortunate as that was, you couldn’t help but feel slightly comforted—less alone.

He tipped his head to the side in consensus, a wry scoff piercing his lips. “Honestly? Can’t remember the last time I did,” he said, eyes flickering up to glance you over briefly before he turned his back on you to discard the pan at the sink. He slid over to the stove, flicking buttons and shifting dishes before he was back at the island. “I mean, I sleep—but just. . . not very well.” He took up a spatula and began shovelling at the pancake stack. “One?” He asked intuitively.

“One’s perfect,” you said. You watched as he dragged the rim of the spatula down the building of pancakes, stopping somewhere around the middle floor before he slid the utensil inward. He shimmied out a hot and fluffy pick, placing it onto your plate rather gingerly before he nudged it in your direction. “Thanks, Sam,” you murmured, receiving it with a forced show of eagerness—you didn’t want your lack of an appetite to make things more personal than they already felt.

“Yeah, anytime,” he answered, sparing you a soft smile before he took to plating his own stack of three.

You held off on digging into your singular pancake, hands idling around the knife and fork bracketing your plate as you waited for the younger Winchester to cover up the remainder of the breakfast.

With a satisfied dusting of his palms, he finally pushed his own plate across the marble to slide in a distance beside yours before he made his way around the island. He pulled out the seat beside you and settled himself down with a heavy plop and an appreciative grunt—almost like an old man of some sorts.

He took up his cutlery and glanced over at you with a comforting smile. “Time to, uh. . . dig in, I guess,” he laughed lightly. “There’s whipped cream and berries if you’d like.” His chin jutted to the listed toppings, and then his knifed hand jolted into the air suddenly. “Oh, and there’s syrup, too. I’ll fetch it from the pantry.”

Without waiting for your response, he set down the cutlery and shifted back in his chair, but you turned your body a slither to face him before he could slip away as quickly as your nerve.

“Sam, wait,” you said, your hands straying from the table to bundle in your lap in an anxious toying of fingers.

He halted in place almost instantly, turning to face you with his brows quirked an inch—like your sudden unrest was news to him. But you knew he was only trying to be polite in playing his attentive part; he likely knew exactly what this was about. “Yeah?”

You drank in his softened eyes, and they held so much purity and innocence that it caused your heart to sag with a fresh, guilt-ridden heaviness. It tugged your head down to the view of your lap, your chest heaving with a shuddering inhale. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your voice rattled by so much regret that it began to quiver.

At the edge of your vision, you saw Sam settle back into his seat, arms drawing onto the counter. “Hey,” he cooed gently. “It’s oka—”

“No, it’s not okay,” you cut in hastily. “I need to say this. I’m sorry for everything—for the way I acted. . . for the things I said—you didn’t deserve any of it, Sam.” You began picking at the skin of your nails. “I just, I have all this. . . anger inside of me. I’m angry at myself, and I’m angry at Dean—I’m angry at everything cause everything’s just so fucking unfair. And I know that it’s not an excuse, but I just. . . I figured. . . I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know,” you scoffed, but you braved face and lifted your head to face him once more. “But I do know that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Sam’s head lowered to take in the view of his plate, his eyes darting about the porcelain. “Listen,” he eventually murmured, his mouth stuttering around air as he searched for the right words. Eventually, he settled on grace. “I get it, okay?” His chin lifted to gift you with a break you didn’t think you deserved. “All that anger inside of you. . . I’ve felt it before—more than I’d like to admit, actually,” he laughed dryly before his expression warped into something more solemn. “It eats you up inside. . . makes you say and do things you wouldn’t usually say or do. There are so many times I’ve gone down that road, but Dean—he’s always been there to pull me back, even if it was by the tip of my ear.” He laughed again, this time more genuine, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile of your own.

Sam’s head lowered again, his smile simmering away. “Anyway, I guess what I’m tryna say is that, I get it. I get why you said the things you did, and I’m not mad about it. For once, I don’t feel that anger anymore.”

Slowly, your fingers began to still their fidgeting as you listened to him talk, your chest cooperating by letting up on its rapid pace.

The younger winchester upturned his eyes to yours with a new ferocity. “I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you—and not just because I owe Dean that much, but because you’ve been there for me, too. So many times. Even at my. . .” He trailed off as he averted his gaze to the side, some unspoken shame breaching his conscious. You saw his Adam’s Apple bop under a heavy swallow before he turned back to you. “Even at my worst,” he continued. “So. . . don’t worry about it, really. I get it.”

For the first time in a long time, you found your eyes watering an emotion other than grief and heartbreak—something far lighter and rejuvenating. Love. Appreciation. Relief. You envied Sam’s ability to barrel through this cruel life so determined to pin him down, and you admired how each time, he seemed to emerge with a heart even larger than before. Even after all the rounds you’d emptied into his chest, he stood tall, still offering that hand you so desperately needed to pull you from your self-dug trenches.

Maybe, it was about time you finally took it.

The first tear slipped the keep of your eye, jettisoned from the ledge of your cheekbone to where it splattered across the marble top. Your hand flew to wipe the moisture away, an ugly sniff racking your chest. There was a clank of shifting metal before Sam’s hand came forward to brush your shoulder.

“Hey,” he cooed softly, and then you were carefully tugged into the side of his towering frame. “Come here,” he urged, and he was so gentle that it had you fully succumbing to his hold without a single reflexive need to resist. His arm snaked around your shoulder blades to hook around your arm as he drew you into a tight hug, your hands bundling further into your lap. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this. Together,” he added pointedly, a clear warning that he didn’t intend to let you get your lonely way again. You were okay with that.

Your lower lip began quivering with fresh emotion—guilt bouncing on the rim the heaviest. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” you reiterated.

Your felt his chin settle into the crown of your head, the vibration bouncing off your hair. “For what? Being human?” He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, we tend to be dicks from time to time, and I’d say hunters have more right than most to be a bigger one now and again.”

You laughed—actually laughed at that, the sound snotty and slightly gross, but real. Sam harmonised with his own throaty chuckle, the hand furled around your arm in a tight, reassuring grip relenting to rub comforting lines up and down the expanse.

“Now, enough of the pity party. Let’s finish these pancakes before they get cold, and then what do you say we pull out a couple of board games?” He gave you one last comforting squeeze before slowly releasing you from the hug.

You leaned away from him, centring your weight back over your own chair as you turned your head down to your plate with a thoughtful pout. “Okay,” you agreed, your chin ducking in tiny, accepting nods. You sniffed away the lingering tears, hand coming up to pat your eyes one last time for good measure. Then, your head swivelled to face him as you put on a weak smile. “Hey—think you’re smart enough to challenge me to a game of scrabble?”

Sam laughed as though your challenge was satire, but you frowned with slight offence, which sobered his smile into a look of confusion. “Wha—you’re serious?” He huffed, jaw gaped around disbelief.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” You exclaimed, your voice cracking around a light giggle—the first you’d uttered in a while. “I’m as smart as you are—we read the same books!”

His averted his gaze, head cocking to the side with a scoff before he glanced back at you in amusement. “Yeah, and after you gave your reports, I had to go back and reread every single one of those books to fill in information you left out,” he said pointedly.

You shook your head with light disbelief, a thin chuckle following after. “You know what? Let’s have that round, and if you win, you can bullshit my literacy skills all you like. Deal?” You outstretched your hand across the counter.

Sam’s gaze ducked to the gesture, his brows cocking on a look that you thought was a little too smug, before his hand reached to link with yours in an informal pact. “Deal,” he said through a scheming smirk.

You squeezed his hand lightly as a warning. “Wipe that douche-display off your lips, nothing’s set in stone.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” he replied nonchalantly, but when your hands unlinked, you saw the corner of his mouth hitch with some mental remark.

“All right, that’s it.” You took up your utensils while Sam glanced you over with slight surprise. You began digging into your pancake with a renewed sense, plopping the first piece into your mouth and taking on a ferocious chew. There was a brief wave of nausea at the food’s sudden intrusion before it quickly dissipated at the sweet taste, beckoning you back for another bite.

“You might wanna slow down there,” he laughed, hands tending to his own plate before they finally presented his first bite to his lips with far more poise.

“Uh uh,” you hummed through a mouthful, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I got a lot riding on this. You made it personal when you brought my ego into this. Sooner we’re done here, sooner I can beat you.”

Sam let out a disbelieved laugh, but didn’t argue any further as he began dissembling his own pancakes at a faster rate. Once you’d both lapped down the dough and licked the plates clean, you’d taken to washing up the dishes and wiping down the counters while Sam procured the board games that had long since collected dust. You’d taken the liberty of microwaving you both a bowl of popcorn and pouring glasses of soda while he set out the game within the living room. Then, you both settled down for the first round, snacks at the ready.

Sam had won, as he’d so smugly anticipated. But you weren’t so eager to be humiliated without a challenge, so for the rest of the day, you’d played out the game to a tally of the most wins. Hours seemed to pass like the impression of a second, the apartment growing dimmer and dimmer with each trailing retreat of the sun.

Eventually, you were both cast in a saturated bronze that poured in through the living room windows, illuminating the score page you’d scribbled up and further glorifying Sam’s final win. He took the game by far, and you were forced to acknowledge that maybe he was the smarter one of you both. Or at least the more apt thinker.

After that, you’d both powered through a movie of his choice, chowing down on some Chinese takeout he’d had delivered. And you emptied the carton down to the last noodle, appeasing the appetite you’d developed somewhere throughout the day. Already, you felt so much lighter—physically and mentally—and you knew that you owed it all to Sam and his perseverence. You couldn’t help but beam with some newfound appreciation for the younger Winchester.

Through the darkness, the tv screen emitted just enough light to illuminate Sam’s side profile. His eyes were glued to the screen, jaw circulating hasty chews as he practically inhaled his second bowl of popcorn. The sight made you shake your head with light amusement, and you watched him a little longer just for the sake of it.

“Hey, Sam?” You eventually called, which made him face you with a look of sudden concern.

His hand halted within his bowl. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For today—for everything.” You offered him a warm, appreciative smile. He’d given you something you desperately needed today—a distraction. From everything and most definitely from yourself. Debts like those didn’t feel possible to repay, but you’d try, regardless. As long as it took.

Sam took a moment to drink in your words, his features motionless before his brows furrowed like he’d made nothing of your gesture. “Yeah, no problem,” he answered, a smile to match yours following shortly after. You both turned your attention back to the screen, and for the rest of the movie, you sat in comfortable, popcorn-tinged silence.

Once the movie came to an end, you’d both chatted about anything and everything until the first person let a yawn slip—that person being you. After that, you’d both tidied up the space, folded the blankets and packed the games back into their keep. Then, you’d dipped into your room to gather your old dishes, discarding the food and washing up the plates. Sam had helped pack it all away.

Once the day’s chores were wrapped up, you’d both exchanged your nightly greetings before going your separate ways. Sam retreated back to his room, though not without snagging a thick book from the shared reading shelf. You’d briefly slipped into your own room to pull out a fresh set of pyjamas and a towel before dipping your toes into a much needed shower.

Once you felt you’d scrubbed off enough of your week-long rot, you’d slunk from the shower and back to your room to call it a day. When you clicked the door closed behind you, you hovered on the spot with a hearty sigh into the dim atmosphere. You took a moment to reflect on the day, and for once, it provoked a smile—not sadness, not anger, not grief—but a genuine smile. The relief after the storm.

You flicked on the light and dressed yourself into your fresh set of clothes, teeth brushed and hair secured back before you flicked the lights off and sank into your bed with a new type of exhaustion. A fulfilling one. It wasn’t long before sleep arrived to hurl you into vivid dreams, and not unlike other times, you dreamt of Dean.

Within your bed, he had you bare and sprawled out beneath his own nude figure, his lips wandering gentle, curious trails along the side of your jaw before dipping down the ledge to trawl the arch of your neck. His elbows propped him up on either side of your head as he took his time to lovingly brand you with his wet caress, your own hands combing blissful strokes through his hair.

You sank back into your pillow, lips parting with breathy mewls as he shifted his attention down to your breasts. He moved to cup one tenderly, tongue swirling a loop around the hardened bud, his strained moan sprawling into the mix of stimulation as you tightened your hold within his hair.

“Dean,” you exhaled weakly, for no reason other than to verbalise the unorthodox way he made you feel. Your teeth found your lower lip in a restrained nibble as he acknowledged your absent-minded praise with a gentle kneading of your breast—as if he sought to gorge on it to the point of total devouring.

You felt the blood flow vigorously to your chest, spurred onward by the suctioning of his lips, and it pooled at your nipple, causing it to throb within his hold. You let slip a soft noise of discomfort, your hand collapsing from his hair to gently push him back at the collarbone.

Dean’s head lifted to yours, a slight pant wafting from his glistening lips. “All good there, sunshine?” He murmured, hand slipping from your breast to run a light, reassuring finger across your cheek. He smudged away the moisture beading along your skin before settling his thumb in the divot of your chin.

“Too much,” you breathed through a dazed grin, hand coming up to gently wrap around his wrist. “You’re like a leech,” you added with a soft giggle.

His lips thinned in a proud smirk, encouraged by your tease rather than offended. “Damn right I am—have you tasted you? Freakin’ delicious,” he praised, smacking his lips in a dramatic show and tell. It made you giggle and release his wrist to pin his lips between your thumb and index finger, and you held them captive while he mumbled noises of protest. He looked so ridiculous, it warmed your heart.

“Stop that!” You laughed, your cheeks flushing hot at the silly sight of him.

Dean wiggled his lips between your grasp until he was able to wrap his lips around a finger, nibbling your skin tenderly so that you released a light squeal and pulled away from his famished lips. “Stop what?” He mocked lightheartedly, head lowering down to you as he followed after your retreating hand with a determined grin playing his lips.

Your hands flew to your chest in a pretence of helplessness, your giggles elevating to a heartier laugh as he pretended to chase after them. His teeth acquainted the air all around them with animated chomps, but made no good on the promise. Eventually, he gave up the hunt and pressed his lips to the side of your jaw, gradually tracing his way up to the soft curve of your cheek before he drew back an inch to gaze into your eyes.

“My sunshine,” he said softly, adoringly, leaning down to nuzzle the button of your nose with his own before he placed a soft kiss there.

Your heart trilled love-struck melodies around Dean’s proud declaration, the magnitude of your smile hoisting up the apples of your cheeks until your eyes were compressed into half-moons. “Say it again,” you murmured, palms drifting up to frame his face and thumbs twiddling to soothe the humps of his cheeks.

Your touch set Dean’s composure alight, his sultry stare softening into something more pure and needy. His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at you, as though you had captured his complete and undivided attention. You found yourself getting so wrapped up in their green depths that for a second, it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re my sunshine,” he repeated in a voice so low and soft that it bordered a husky whisper, but the love imbued into those words carried through as clear as a shout. “I don’t care if that sounds like the title of a Jane Austen novel. You’ve got this. . . fire to you, the kind that nobody—nothin’ can gank. And you draw people into your orbit like they’d never stood a damn chance. Trust me, I sure as hell didn’t,” he laughed, both his hands coming up as a unit to brush back the hair framing your face. “And you’re warm. . .” He trailed off to place a kiss on your cheek, “—and radiant—” and then the other. “And my whole goddamn universe.”

You gazed at him as he pulled away from your proximity, his eyes brimming with love as he waited for your response. What you wanted to say was, “I knew you read Jane Austin in your free time!”, a harmless poke that would keep this tender moment elevated at meaningful heights. Then you’d both share a laugh, and melt into the night cocooned within each other’s warmth.

But deep down, something more solemn tugged at the strings of your heart—an unanswered question that slowly began to resurface despite your attempt to bury it time and time again. So instead, you said, “then how could you leave me?”

Dean’s face warped into a light frown, your question catching him off guard. For a few seconds, he did nothing but stare, his lips parting to search for an answer that you’d waited months to hear. But when he looked as though he might finally answer, no sound carried through to lay your suspense to rest. His mouth gaped and his lips moved, but they formed nonsensical words, and no matter how hard you tried to focus and decipher your most craved confession, it never came to you.

Then, the scene around you began to distort, the lights cutting out and the shapes of the room’s decor warping erratically. And when you blinked, Dean had disappeared entirely—his atoms scattered into the cosmos of your mind. You tried to call out to him, to summon him back to his rightful place beside you, but it seemed as though he were destined to be robbed from the palm of your hands—both in the waking world, and in the confines of your own mind.

And then you, in your entirety, were dissolved into a black abyss, the surroundings melting away like you’d imagined it all in a vivid episode of mania. For a moment, you floated around in a void, your mind slowly dissociating from the fantasies of its own creation. You heard nothing, saw nothing, but somehow, you felt a touch lingering upon your arm. It was warm, familiar, and even though no face materialised to claim it, you knew that it was Dean.

You prepared yourself to mourn the loss of it once you emerged into the waking world, but as your eyes fluttered open, your lids blinking frantically to clear your vision, the touch didn’t fade. If anything, it became more palpable, solid—real. And when you’d adjusted enough to the dawn haze shrouding your room, it wasn’t the image of the leather jacket that arrived first to taunt you.

It was Dean.

You blinked harder, more desperately, your heart rate skyrocketing as you attempted to rationalise whatever fucked up delusion your exhausted mind was currently displaying you. But his body didn’t vaporise into nothingness, and blinking didn’t seem to possess the same parlour trick of making the rabbit disappear, like it did in your dreams.

It was real.

There he sat, as stoic as a statue, at the edge of your mattress, and the hand you’d felt cupping your arm stroked up the curve of your shoulder to gently frame your neck. The contact sent a shiver up your spine, your lips falling open to expel a shaky breath.

It can’t be, you thought, your brows contracting in a puzzled frown. He’s dead—he’s in hell, he can’t be here.

Through the dawn gloom, you could make out the faintest stretch of his lips—an almost simper. “Good mornin’, Sunshine.” But you didn’t recognise the voice. It was low, gruff and abraded, like his vocal cords had been extracted and sent through the grinder before being forcibly shoved back into its compartment. And he sounded dull, the type of dull you’d come to embody in his absence. It was. . . anything but Dean Winchester.

Your lower lip began to quiver, your shoulder drawing into yourself as you shied away from his touch. “This isn’t real,” you choked out, hastily collecting yourself onto your elbows as you sought to put some distance between you two. “You’re not real!” You exclaimed in rising volume, which had the impersonator stretching out both his hands in a steadying motion.

“You’ll wake Sammy,” he whispered urgently—a harsh sound that came across as more of a scold.

You frowned as you inched yourself a fraction across the mattress, eager to reach the end opposite to where he sat. “Who are you?” You demanded in a tone more regulated, your hand subtly reaching behind you to grab ahold of the salt container you kept on the bedside table like a framed picture.

Dean’s eyes seemed to follow your not-so-subtle play with dry amusement. “It’s me,” he insisted gruffly, his hands coming to settle on his knees—and one of them bounced with unspoken thoughts. It was a habit you’d come to recognise since knowing him, and it did a fraction of a favour in vouching for his authenticity. “It’s Dean,” he continued, eyes straying from your hands to settle onto your face.

“No,” you refused, and behind you, your fingers grabbed ahold of the salt. “Dean Winchester died—four months ago,” you explained in a low, but no less stern voice. “So I’m going to ask you again—who are you?”

His nostrils seemed to flare with dwindling patience, his eyes flickering off to the side. “Man, paranoia’s one son o’a bitch,” he scoffed under his breath before turning to face you again. “Listen, I know you’re not gonna believe me. And I also know that you’re about to baptise me with a shit ton o’ salt to barbecue the livin’ crap outta whatever demon you think’s got his hand stuck up my ass.” He began reaching into his shirt pocket. “Now, as much as I’d love to swallow a mouthful of killer blood pressu—” his words were cut short as you tossed a handful of salt in his direction, the mound not shying away from taking a bold dip in his mouth.

The assault dealt no physical damage to his body, but it did earn a passionate look of annoyance from Dean, whose jaw slowly circumducted as his tongue began shovelling the salty hell from his mouth. You scrutinised him for a few seconds longer, not so eager to let down your guard because of one passed test.

“You’re not a demon?” You asked more than stated.

His jaw fell limp at your question, a slow blink accentuating his displeasure. “Clearly not,” he said lowly, the words slurred by his unwillingness to taste the salt with proper pronunciation.

He leaned forward, hand reaching for the box of tissues sitting atop the beside table, and yanked a few free. He brought it up to his lips, where he spat furiously to cleanse his mouth. After a rough clearing of his throat, he bundled up the tissues, tossed it onto the table and glanced over at you once more. “Listen, I’ve already been through all the tests back at Bobby’s. I was goin’ to pull out the phone and get him on the line to clear me before you decided I needed some seasonin’,” he said flatly.

You watched him suspiciously, your brow quirking in disbelief. “Fine,” you said tensely, but offered nothing further.

Dean frowned lightly, his eyes doing a brief and clueless sweep of the room as though he expected you to offer more clarity. He settled his attention back onto you, his chin lifting slightly as he uttered a cautious, “okay.” He began reaching into his pocket once more, the movement deliberately slowed. “Just gonna reach for the phone, alright? So hands off the fuckin’ salt,” he said, eyes flickering between you and the container. “Please,” he added gruffly, and then his had retracted with the phone.

You prowled after his every move like a predator, but despite your weariness, you still lowered the salt an inch. You watched as he flicked open the phone, thumb gliding across the keypad as he pulled up Bobby’s number. Then, he lifted the phone to his ear, eyes trained on you with equal caution as he waited for the line to connect him to the opposite end.

You heard the static click, and a voice blared through shortly after—Bobby’s voice. The sound soothed your heart by a slither.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted, passing his tongue along his lower lip. “Listen, I, uh. . . I need ya to do that thing I told you I’d need—you know, vouchin’ for me and all.” On the other end of the line, Bobby uttered a few, incomprehensible words. “Yeah,” Dean laughed weakly. “Yeah. . . she threw me with the salt. Just like you said.” His eyes flickered to you with subtle amusement before Bobby said something else. Then, he was handing you the phone.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism before your free hand reached for the phone, so careful not to graze his skin as you retrieved it from his fingers. Dean seemed to notice the rejection, and his mouth gaped slightly with the hurt it evoked. You pushed aside the image, but didn’t stray from his face as you brought the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You called into the line.

“Hey, kid, it’s me,” Bobby’s static voice answered. “Listen, I know you’re goin’ through one helluva mind-fuck right ‘bout now. . . but it’s ‘im, kid. It’s Dean.” He trailed into silence after those words, providing an interval he expected you’d fill with some sort of taken aback reaction. But all you could do was choke on your stunned silence, your heart beginning to ram at your chest harder than it’d ever managed before. “Kid? Y’still there?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed all-knowingly as he watched you in patient silence. His hand shifted from his lap an inch, like he yearned to reach out to you and offer some reassurance, but you both knew it’d do little to soothe you in this current predicament—the mental debate of whether or not the man you loved was really back.

Eventually, your body hosted a response, but it wasn’t one you’d preferred to have at this instant. A tear clotted along your one eye, bundling up until it was heavy enough to slip over the edge. Dean’s expression visibly softened, his jaw clenching with the knowledge that he couldn’t exactly pull you into a tight embrace—not just yet, anyway.

Your lips loosened, a rattled breath breaking through. “I saw his body, Bobby,” you pushed out in a quiver. Another tear lined the opposite cheek. “I watched you and Sam dig that fucking hole. . . and I watched you roll his lifeless, rotting corpse over the edge before cementing him under six fucking feet of dirt.”

The phone line hissed and crackled with the silent air on Bobby’s side. You almost thought he’d given up the ruse that you were so determined to believe you’d gotten caught up in, but then his voice blared through—the most tender and sympathetic you’ve ever heard it.

“I know you’re confused,” he began. “Hell, this shit had me believin’ that my family’s history of Alzheimer’s had finally kicked the bucket out from under me. But I did all the tests, and I interrogated him over and over again. I gave him hell, kid, but in the end, it’s really him. Y’know I wouldn’t have even thought ‘bout lettin’ him get close to ya if I weren’t certain o’ it. So if ya can’t trust ‘im just yet, then trust me. I give ya my word.”

Your fingers gripped the phone a little tighter, if only to still the trembling of your hand, and you gave a large sniff as you processed his words. Your eyes still bore into Dean, as though it would keep him pinned to the spot should he think about making a run for it.

You shifted the phone against your ear an inch, taking your lower lip into a tense bite before you spoke again. “Okay,” you breathed softly. “I trust you, Bobby.”

From Bobby’s end, shuffling noises chafed your ear like sand-paper. “Alright, kid, I’ll leave the two o’ ya to it. Good luck,” he said, and then the line terminated with a beep. The call’s ending tune reached Dean’s ear, where he shifted on the mattress almost anxiously while he waited for your decision.

“So, uh,” he began, his lips stuttering on the right words as his head buckled to face the hands he’d crossed in his lap. His palms rubbed tense lines—like the scheming motion of a fly—before he glanced back up at you. “We good?” He settled on. You saw the subtle desperation in the clench of his jaw. He craved the pardon only you could give him.

Slowly, you lowered the phone from your ear, flipping it closed as your chest rattled with another, shaky breath. Your eyes began to water once more, and this time, it didn’t hold back. In a second, you were hurling yourself across the mattress, arms flailing through the air to wrap around his neck with a desperation that could have body-slammed him to the floor.

“Woah,” he steadied in a laugh that sounded all too relieved.

Your chest crashed into Dean’s, and his hands were hasty to return your hug as he wrapped himself around your waist. There, he completed the embrace, pulling you against him so tightly that it started to pinch the meat of your skin through your shirt. But you didn’t care if his grip left behind a bruise—you’d consider it a physical reminder of just how real this all was.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, all the pent up emotions you’d come to harbour over these last few months finally liberated from your clutch. The tears began to roll without practiced regulation, and you found yourself yielding all control. Because being around Dean always had you feeling safe enough to do so, and your body had utilised its muscle-memory to re-establish that foundation. To rebuild the home that his death had wrecked.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whispered against the stubbled skin of his neck, the sound heavy and cracked.

His palm stroked slow, comforting circles across your lower back, his own face buried against the slope of your shoulder. You felt his warm breath waft over your skin as he spoke. “Me too,” he pushed out tensely. Shakily. There were very few moments that you’d ever heard that tone on him. “I didn’t think I was ever comin’ back,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you, or Sammy—hell, even Bobby, again. But I’m not complainin’,” he added hastily. “Shit, I’ll never complain ‘bout anythin’ e’er again. I got everythin’ I need right here.”

He shifted against you, torso pulling back as though he couldn’t wait a second longer to peer into your eyes. You leaned yourself back in rhythm, your cheeks blown red with your overwhelmed state and your eyes still glistening with fresh tears. You kept your hands looped around his neck, fingers still clutching his phone, and your heart was seized by a new fist of pain as you saw Dean’s bloodshot eyes pave way for his own, sparse—but undeniably real—tears.

His hands settled at your hips, fingers subconsciously squeezing at the meat as he did a mental walkthrough of his own emotions. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling now. “God, all I could think ‘bout down there, every second of every miserable day, was you—how much I needed you. How much I missed you.” His chest jolted with a forced, but much needed exhale to steady his next words. “And how much I love you.”

You choked on your breath at that final confession, words that—up until now—had never directly admitted. You couldn’t help but huff a slight breath of disbelief, a weak grin beaming through as your eyes softened with a warmth that made you feel whole again. Dean, himself, looked slightly stunned at his declaration, his eyes widening mildly as he drank in your reaction. But as you gazed at him, there was no undertone of regret or shame mingling with his features. There was only what looked like relief, if the slight quirking of his lips and the soft sigh that followed after was any indication.

Maybe, it was relief attributed to the fact that he’d finally started to unpack—and put words to—some of his more complex emotions. It made you feel so much closer to him.

Without sparing it another thought, you blurted your own reciprocation. “I love you too, Dean.”

He smiled tenderly at that, and neither one of you moved as you shared an intense stare that circulated all sorts of emotion—love, adoration, and desire. Then, as though some unspoken agreement had been exchanged, you dove down to meet his lips in a fierce kiss, the phone you’d been clutching dropping to some surface beyond your current care.

Dean’s hands trailed up the expanse of your back as he returned your kiss hungrily, his lips feuding with yours for an advantage of the play. He wasted no time sliding his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm palms massaging a determined, upward trajectory until he gained enough leverage to tug it over your head.

The kiss broke off momentarily as your arms flew up in an eager gesture to shed your layers, your chest heaving with the exertion. He managed to successfully tug the shirt over your head, the neckline the last to go and leaving behind an impression as it briefly snagged onto your hair. When he gave it one last freeing tug, your hair tie came loose amidst the commotion, your hair cascading across your bare torso in fresh, yet slightly damp strands.

Dean came forward to press two distinct kisses against your lips—hasty, but a bold statement in itself—before he leaned back to roll his shoulders and discard his own clothing. Your hands flew to his chest in aid, fingers sliding beneath the isles of his unbuttoned shirt to push it over the slopes of his shoulders. His hands twisted behind himself to pluck each sleeve from his arms with practiced speed, discarding it some place behind him before he was tugging his snugly-fitting tee over his head.

Instantly, your attention lowered down his toned torso, the glorified sight of him causing your core to pulse with desire. You didn’t get to exploit his image for long before he hogged your view with another, fierce tumble of the lips, his hands grabbing at your waist like he’d needed to remember what you felt like. Your tongues found one another with an ease that felt like its fates were tied, swirling about in a seductive dance to the death. Your hands settled at his neck, gently rubbing and kneading the skin as you allowed yourself to melt into his devouring.

When your palms wandered further down the contoured muscle of his broad shoulders, you felt the skin of his left bicep raise in a questionable pattern. The contact over that area made Dean wince into your mouth, and then he withdrew from the kiss with a feral pant, eyes shifting from an insatiable hunger to a more vulnerable uncertainty. It was enough of a reaction to tear your gaze away from him and steal a glance at the mood-killing discovery. But you almost wished you hadn’t stumbled upon it because the sight of a raised, red handprint seared into the flesh of his forearm made your eyes widen in horror.

“Dean—” you breathed, overcome with the instinctive need to trace your hand over the anomaly, but his shoulder withdrew from your curious touch, which called your attention back to him. “What happened?” You asked softly.

He shook his head lightly, taking a moment to acknowledge the marking with a newfound solemness. His chin dipped down for a second, a broken, incomplete noise dangling from his lips. You knew then, that whatever grim reminder had been imbued into this branding was something too fresh to confront at this time, so you made the silent decision not to probe him about it any further.

You moved to cradle his face, tilting it up to you. His expression looked defeated, his eyes sagging with a heavy fatigue. You didn’t doubt that hell had had its tolls—if anything, you were surprised that he’d come out of it in one piece. Physically, at least. Whatever mental deconstruction he’d undergone during his time there was knowledge beyond your grasp, and a conversation for another time. Hell had already taken enough from the both of you; you wouldn’t let it have this moment, too.

“If you want to stop, just say the word,” you told him gently, offering a hearty smile. “We can just lay here and cud—“

“No,” he answered, the hands at your waist tightening with new resolve. “We’re gonna cuddle, alright, but after we’ve had our overdue fun,” he said, a newfound smirk creeping through his evident exhaustion. “I’ve waited too damn long for this day—hell if I pass it up in a blink.”

You loved it when he took charge this way. Your teeth peered through your lips in an exhilarated grin, and then, you let out a yelp of excitement as he pushed you back onto the mattress, his frame following closely in a controlled hover as he positioned himself on top of you. His lips came crashing down onto yours, the heated dynamic between the two of you returning full-forced, as though it’d never been interrupted in the first place.

Your hands wandered messy lines up and down his neck, occasionally dipping down to glide over the curve of his pecks. The heat in your core began to build with every second you spent tumbled within the skilled warmth of his lips, his hands adding fuel to the fire with the way they staggered along your exposed torso to grace any and every inch of your skin.

He pulled away to drag his moist lower lip up your cheek, pressing a kiss to your temple before he whispered into your ear. “I need to feel you. I need to have all o’ you,” he breathed, and then he pulled away as quickly as he’d arrived, leaning back onto his knees as his fingers found firm grip at your shorts.

He tugged the material down mercilessly, pulling your underwear along with it, and you lifted your legs with a giddy laugh to allow him all the access he needed to yank it free. He tossed it to the other end of the room, his hands flying to undo his belt and jeans while his fixated you with focused eyes—like he was silently entertaining all the things he’d like to do to you.

He shed his boots at the foot of the bed to terminate his undressing, and your eyes immediately lowered to the bowing length of his manhood. It felt cheap—ogling him this way, but something about the sight felt so validating that you couldn’t help but stare. Maybe it was knowing that the mere sight of you was enough to spur him on in this manner, and god, you needed him just as much as he evidently needed you.

Your core throbbed more impatiently now, your built-up arousal taking the first of its leave through the slit of your folds. You were tempted to call out to him, to utter the first, desperate words of beckoning, but Dean seemed to clock your needs almost instantly. He leaned back down to you with a charming smirk, one hand propping himself up at the side of your waist while his other took ahold of his manhood.

“Ready, sunshine?” He murmured—low and rough and slightly dazed with his own suffocating arousal.

Your core seemed to answer before you did, the area beaming hot at the mere sound of his voice. You pushed out a needy hum, and Dean wasted no time in sliding his tip between your folds. He breached through your slicked entrance with ease, his head tilting back an inch and his eyes fluttering closed as he pushed out a gruff moan. He sank himself further into you, his length conforming to your walls in perfect unity. Instinctively, your legs propped to give him better access, and the action drew him in even further.

“Fuck,” he murmured lowly, his head then tilting forward as he gathered himself and fully leaned himself down to you. He placed a kiss onto your lips for good measure, both arms scooping beneath yours in a sure grip. His fists balled at either side of your head, and you wrapped your own arms around his neck.

“I need you, Dean,” you cooed into his ear, and he left slip a breathy sound of acknowledgment before he drilled the first thrust into you.

You both harmonised with noises of pleasure, your nails digging into the nape of his neck as his hips began swaying at a faster pace. He leaned his forehead down against yours, lips parted as he fought to steady the feral breaths of pleasure heaving his chest.

Your eyes stuttered closed as his thrusts deepened and deepened, curving against your walls and gliding to meet your sweet spot at just the right angle. Your head burrowed back into your pillow, your lips gaping with a loud moan. It made Dean lower himself onto your lips, taking them between his in a soft, chiding nibble. You breathed into him erratically, releasing noises that gradually became more and more slurred until you became a hot, panting mess.

His own control seemed to slip from his grasp as he began to grunt and whimper against your cheek, his head eventually falling past yours to graze your ear with just the right verbal performance to add to the contractions of that growing ache within.

His thrusts became firmer—but not brutal. They were passionate and needy all at once, but still laced with a sort of caution that only deep admiration could warrant. He gave a few more firm thirsts, both of you heaving against one another with the approach of your climax. Then, with a final jerk of his hips, the knot that had tethered you to one another came undone in a cascading warmth.

You felt it seep from your entrance, and for a second, Dean didn’t stir from atop you. He remained hovered over you, the point of his nose brushing your cheek methodically as he attempted to replenish his lungs and recover from his own bliss.

“Jesus,” he remarked, an impressed chuckle tickling your ear. “All this time apart, and still it doesn’t feel like I ever slipped your spell.”

You released your own breathless chuckle. “I’m usually opposed to captivity of any sort, but in this case, thank god for that.”

Finally, Dean withdrew from inside of you, collapsing to side of the mattress nearest to the door—his space. Rightfully occupied at last. He reached over to pluck some tissues from the nightstand before turning back to you, fumbling the tissue between his fingers before he began dabbing at the moisture along your forehead.

He gazed at you through loving eyes, so soft and vast that it made your heart throb—like you were falling in love all over again. Dean seemed to notice the lovesick look on your face because he smiled with an expression to match. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, and you puckered your own to receive it eagerly. And then he shifted momentarily to clean you down below.

When he came back up to you, he flicked the used tissues off to the side, and then instantly, you were pulled against his chest in a tight embrace. The skin-on-skin contact soothed you, your body relaxing almost instantly within his firm hold—a type of pressure therapy that only worked because it was him. It felt so safe and natural, so you melted further into him, and the hand he’d cupped around the back of your hair began to massage a soothing pattern into your scalp.

Everything about this moment was enough to lull you into a much needed state of relaxation, your body finally unwinding after months of being held together at the threads. Your eyes drifted close, your breathing deepening with the newfound peace.

“You know,” Dean said suddenly, beckoning to your senses. Your eyes remained closed, but you hummed softly to acknowledge him. “Down there, time works differently.” That piqued your interest enough to part you eyes in narrow slits. “You said I’ve been gone for four months? Well, for me, it’s been forty years.”

Your eyes widened fully now, your lips split with some bewildered gasp. “Dean,” you sympathised softly, hand moving from its place at his chest to stroke along his cheek. “I’m so sorry—that sounds awful.”

He shifted to place a kiss on the first part of your palm he could reach. “It ain’t your fault,” he assured you thinly, his eyes bowing under his own exhaustion—as if the mere recollection drained him. “If anythin’, you got me through it. I don’t have to tell you just how shitty things are down in Satan’s basement,” he laughed, but you knew there was no real humour behind it, only pain. “But you. . . just thinkin’ o’ you. . . rememberin’ what I’ve gotta fight for, it kept me sane. Strong.”

You smiled weakly, his words evoking a mixture of warmth and guilt all at once. You appreciated that you’d been able offer him some sort of comfort in your mere memory, but at the same time, you wished he hadn’t needed it to begin with.

Hell was no place for a good man like him.

“Well, you’re back now,” you offered softly, your hands shifting to wrap around his torso in a hug. His own arms wrapped around your upper back, pulling you so tightly against him that you thought your beings might finally form a physical union to mirror the spiritual tying of your souls.

“And I’m here to stay,” he finished in a faint murmur, the words—the promise—hot against the crown of your head.

Those words lingered in your mind as you eventually drifted into a sleep, the steady sound of his breathing the last thing you needed to loosen your grip on reality. Darkness came to claim you, and this time, you welcomed it eagerly.

When you roused into the waking world, your room was fully lit with the tell of noon. The finding was indication enough that you’d stolen the sleep of a lifetime, and there was no lingering heaviness perched on your lids this time around. It filled you with a sense of satisfaction, and you blinked a few times to ground your bleary senses.

When you stirred against the sheets, you heaved a deep breath, your lungs expanding around a newfound sense of inner peace. Instinctively, your arm reached across the mattress to claim the touch of man you loved, but where you expected to feel the warmth of his skin, you felt nothing but the cool, empty space of the comforters.

With a jolt, you sat yourself up, head swivelling about the room with a sense of panic. Dean was nowhere to be found. Your mind instantly began reeling with endless possibilities, your breathing elevating with a growing sense of panic—had you imagined it all? Had he ever been here to begin with? Had you finally snapped and gone insane?

But when you took a moment to lower your head and drink in your frame, you found yourself to be as bare as when you’d fallen asleep. You shifted to the edge of the mattress, feeling some slither of relief that your clothes were where you’d left them—discarded about the room in ruthless bundles. And then, out of instinct, your eyes wandered over to your desk chair, where you expected to greet the leather jacket that had become a pivotal part of your morning routine.

Only, your heart lurched when the chair glared back at you with a bare rim—the jacket nowhere in sight.

Beyond the walls, mingled laughter brightened the atmosphere. The sound made you slip from the mattress almost instantly, where you darted about the room to gather your scattered pyjamas in a hurry before slipping it over your frame. You dashed toward the bedroom door, twisting the handle with anticipation before you practically hurled yourself into the hallway.

When you entered into the open-plan living room, you found that Dean and Sam were weaving rather chaotic ant trails around the kitchen’s floor, each brother tending to steaming dishes that you were too far away to appreciate in detail. But you weren’t paying much attention to it, anyway. You were far too focused on watching Dean, as though you’d had to solidify the mental image of his presence—to believe that he was really here, and here to stay. And the best part of it all is that he was wearing the leather jacket you’d thought would never come to crown another set of shoulders again. It was the last image you needed to place the final puzzle piece in your heart—no, you felt truly fulfilled.

Some part of you had thought—just for a second—that your reunion had been a figment of your imagination. But now, you could breathe a little easier knowing that Dean had truly returned, rooted in flesh as he drifted about the kitchen with an extra skip in his step.

Just then, he spun on his heels to nick something off the counter, his head lifting in your direction as he finally noticed your loitering figure. “Second g’mornin’ to you, sunshine,” he called to you, birthing a cheeky smirk. He flashed a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “In case you were wonderin’, Sammy here’s all caught up,” he said. “So let’s skip the big, mushy family reunion and get movin’ on those damn tacos. I’m starvin’”.

“Tacos?” You echoed with a light laugh.

Sam appeared at his big brother’s side, beaming so brightly, it was almost blinding. “We’re having tacos for lunch. Everything’s basically finished,” he piped in, casting a pleading glance in your direction. “Would you mind helping me plate it?”

Your heart settled as you drank the both of them in. This was the life you’d come to miss so dearly, and you couldn’t help but smile appreciatively. You jerked your chin in Dean’s direction. “Why don’t you make him do it?” You teased, padding your way over to the kitchen island.

“Call it a family discount,” Dean chuckled smugly, rounding the counter to draw up at your side. “Or, y’know, the breakin’ free from hell card.”

You shook your head lightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Isn’t it a little too soon?” You scoffed.

“You let me worry ‘bout my own shit,” he replied, gracing you with a charming wink.

You didn’t offer anything further as you turned your attention down to the prepped toppings spread out across the counter—mince, lettuce, guacamole, chilli sauce, salsa, cheese and the taco shells themselves. You reached for the empty plates and began topping each one with the hollow taco shells, moving to fill the first one with the toppings.

Dean snuck up behind you, his hands finding grip at your waist while his chin came to rest atop your shoulder. His lips grazed your ear. “Thank you for lookin’ after my jacket,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I’d be seein’ this old thing again.”

You smile at his words, hands shifting to stuff the taco with the next pick of toppings. “My reason for keeping it was more selfish than that,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t bear to move it. It would’ve felt too final.”

He hummed a noise of understanding, a soft kiss gracing the side of your neck. “The only thing that’s final is that I’m back,” he said. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that anymore, alright?”

“I know,” you murmured, and Dean squeezed you in a light hug, but continued to keep you tucked within his hold as you finished stuffing the taco. You lifted it over your shoulder, carefully guiding it toward his lips.

He released an approving noise before leaning forward to accept your offering in a gluttonous chomp, his lips practically smothering your fingers as though it were deemed part of the meal. You giggled at the feeling, taco fragments scattering across your shoulder as he chewed the food intently.

“How does it taste?” You asked him, turning your head to get a better view of his expression.

His eyes did a roll of appreciation, his cheeks swelled with the large bite. He hummed a string of approval, coupled with a content, repeating nod. Once he gave a hearty swallow, he cleared his throat in satisfaction.

“Tastes like sunshine.”

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a/n ─ can you tell i had the time of my life writing this?? can you tell?? anon i love your mind so so much please never stop your special creativity. i will be tending to my other requests soon, and i encourage you all to keep on sending them through. i appreciate you ALL and your lovely ideas, as well as the support and trust you have in me to flesh out your fantasies 🫶 now, it’s literally almost 4 am as i publish this so nighty night beautiful people!

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented

want to be apart of the taglist for any future jensen ackles works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[authorhjk1]

30 days

(Irene x Male Reader ft. TripleS Nakyoung)

Trigger warning: cheating

You were destined to fail. No way in hell would you be able to survive this ridiculous challenge. You knew that from day one. Especially with such a gorgeous wife like Irene.

The two of you had a bet going. Throughout November, neither of you were allowed to cum. The loser would face severe punishment. Which would be nothing new to you. But up until 10 minutes ago, you thought you had a chance to succeed. A slim chance. But a chance nonetheless. It could've been the first time in your life having the upper hand in the bedroom. Up until now, Irene always was in control. She always decided when and where and how often.

Which was fine to you, until around two months ago. Irene started to pay less attention to sex. The two times a week became once a week. And then, you went a couple of weeks without proper sex at all.

You were about to get worried. Rightfully so. Irene is a gorgeous, beautiful, sexy woman. And you know you aren't the best lover in the world, but it always seemed like Irene was satisfied with you.

Luckily, she suddenly brought up the topic of participating in this year's NNN challenge. No sex, no masturbating, no cumming for 30 days. Your reward? The chance of doing something, you've always wanted to do. Have sex with Irene the way you want to. Maybe for once be in control.

But all that now seems to almost suffocate you as you lie on your and your wife's bed. Your eyes staring up at the ceiling, but you're not really looking at it. Your crotch covered in cum, your dick already softening again. Your phone in your left hand.

You glance at it again. You couldn't help yourself. You met her a couple of days ago while picking up Irene from her music show appearance. The younger woman was talking to you, maybe even flirting? Now that you think back at it, that could've actually been possible.

Kim Nakyoung looked like a tease with those shorts that showed off her thighs. That shirt that showed off that midriff. And that tie that almost seemed to beg you to pull on it.

She was already sexy in person. But when you saw this picture 10 minutes ago, you knew you had lost.

You still remember all the things you thought about doing to her, which Irene would never let you do. Bend Nakyoung over a table, or just have your way with her, while she's on all fours on your bed. Making her ride your cock, while doing those body rolls she did during her performance. Even trying out how tight her ass is. And finally finishing off by painting her face, while Nakyoung plays with her clit at the same time.

You sigh heavily. Maybe Irene doesn't have to know? Would she ever find out if you just get yourself together and walk back into the living room? While still thinking about keeping your loss a secret, you hear the door open.

Before you can even blink, Irene is standing the room.

"What do we have here?"

An amused, slightly derogatory smile plays around the corners of her mouth. Almost as if she knew you were gonna lose.

"I-I think I lost."

"Oh, I can see that."

Her eyes move to your phone.

"Even thinking about someone else?"

"It's not what it looks like."

You're afraid Irene would take it the wrong way, but she just looks at you, waiting for an explanation.

"I just thought about doing stuff to her, which I'd never do to you."

"Why, because it's dirty?"

You want to say that it's mainly because she doesn't let you do it, but you're not brave enough to say that.

"Yes. While it's hot, I would never want to see my wife doing stuff like that."

"Of course not."

Her amused smile makes you feel warm, but also guilty. The fact that you're still lying here like this, the fact that you lost, the fact that you thought of someone else. You know Irene's punishment for you won't be a small one.

The last days of November have arrived and you've grown more worried by the second. Irene never told you when or where or how you'd face your punishment. At first, you thought it was gonna be December 1st or November 30th. But you could be wrong as well.

When you arrive at the cafeteria to start your lunch break, you keep picturing an angry Irene making you suffer for hours on end, before finally letting you cum. Halfway through your meal, you get a message from Irene, which is quite unusual. She knows you're working around this time and she might be working too right now as well.

"Today is the day."

You swallow hard, knowing that when you're coming home today, you're done for. Even more fantasies and hellish punishments invade your mind. Irene once mentioned she'd love to try out something that involves pain. She might've been talking about herself, but you're not so sure about that anymore.

You almost drop your fork, when she sends you a picture of herself. Your wife is basically only wearing lingerie. A black see through crop top, showing off her porcelain like skin underneath. You can clearly see her tits and her nipples. All of that barely concealed by the black flower patterns on the fabric. Her tight midriff makes you unconsciously rest your hand in your lap. Her panties are black lace as well. They appear to be see through too, but the black flowers hide her lower lips. The black stockings end in a flower pattern as well. They look tight, making it seem like her thighs are thicker than usual. Irene's black heels make her look taller and her legs longer.

Seeing that she's dressed in all black confirms your suspicion. You'll get punished today. You're glad she isn't holding a whip or anything. Maybe she's just hiding that?

"You better come home now. Or your punishment will be worse tonight."

Taking the second half of the day off was an easy decision. Not just in fear for what's to come if you don't, but also because of your excitement. You've never seen her in that outfit before and you just want to look at her wearing that in person.

When you pull into your drive way, you notice someone's bike standing near the front door. Looks like Irene ordered lunch for the two of you. You already had lunch earlier, but you don't mind eating again. Getting out of the car and walking towards your house, you realize that the door is slightly open. Where is the delivery guy anyway?

Maybe he is inside, waiting for Irene to pay? But wouldn't she have money on her and wouldn't he normally wait outside? You feel a little uncertain as you open the front door fully.

You step out of your shoes and hang up your jacket. You still don't see anyone.

Entering the living room, you freeze.

Your wife is kneeling on the floor. Kneeling between another man's legs, who's sitting on your couch. His pants are lying next to him. And Irene has her hands on his thighs and her lips around his cock.

"I-Irene?"

You're standing to her right as she looks up. You don't know what kind of reaction you expected. But you definitely didn't expect her to lift her head and give you a smile, while she keeps stroking him.

"Hi, babe. This is your punishment."

You still can't believe this is actually happening. Your wife is sucking off someone else? In your house? Not even bothered by you watching her?

You don't know what to do as you see her taking him into her mouth again. You don't want to watch, but for some reason you can't look away. You feel disgusted when the delivery guy puts his hand on your wife's head. He guides her up and down on his cock.

You take a step back, your legs hitting the armchair behind you. The sound makes Irene lift her head to look at you. But the man's hand pushes her further down his length instead. You hold your breath. Irene would've killed you for that, but you see her just smiling up at him, his cock now deeper in her mouth.

The man hasn't even acknowledged your presence yet. He stays focused on Irene, watching her giving him head.

You still try to find the right words. Something heavy seems to be stuck in your throat. You don't want to scream. Or cry. Or do anything. You just silently watch how your wife lets her head bob up and down the delivery guy's cock.

Soon, you notice Irene's top is missing. Her perky tits are exposed, slightly glistening with her own spit. Another string of saliva falls off her lips as she quickens her pace. The guy's groan makes your stomach twist. You catch the sparkling wedding ring on Irene's finger as her hand strokes his base.

How could she do something like this? She seemed distant from time to time, especially recently. But you never expected Irene to cheat on you. And you never thought she would let someone have this control over her.

The sounds of her lips gliding along his wet shaft and her humming around his length fill the room. You don't know for how long you've been watching her already. A minute? Two?

"Irene."

Her name weakly leaves your lips once more.

Your wife finally lifts her head off his cock again. A string of saliva connecting her lips with his tip. It tears as she leans away a little.

"Don't act all surprised. You should've seen this coming, really."

"W-What? Why?"

You sound weak, almost whining.

"It was fun with you at first, but I'm getting over it."

Irene keeps stroking the guy's cock, while talking to you, spreading her saliva everywhere.

"What do you mean? We're married."

"So? That doesn't mean I can't have some fun."

"Fun? You're cheating!"

Your emotions are mixed between anger and sadness. Irene seems like a stranger to you now.

"It's not cheating, if you watch."

"Of course it is!"

Irene rolls her eyes.

"Don't be such a baby. Watch or leave. Choice is yours."

"But-"

You don't continue as your wife starts to ignore you again. She takes the guy's cock back into her mouth, her lips now tightly sealed around his shaft.

You don't know what to do. Stay or leave? You watch her closing her eyes and gliding along his length slowly. She only makes that face when she enjoys her food very much. Her eyebrows furrow a little.

Finally sinking into the armchair, you try to look away. You feel like your body is to weak to keep you standing.

"Oh, fuck. That feels amazing."

The man's words make you look back at Irene. You can see how her tongue moves inside her mouth, occasionally bulging her cheeks.

"You like that?"

Irene lets go of his cock and looks up at him.

"You like it when I suck you off like this?"

"Fuck, yes."

The delivery guy takes her face into his hands and guides her back onto his cock. You watch with wide eyes as he seems to thrust up into her mouth, while making her head move up and down as well. Irene never let you take control, she never let you fuck her face. But she's now letting this stranger do it. You can see how he makes her take all of his cock, her lips meeting his base with every thrust. When you hear her gag, you close your eyes. You don't want to see or hear it. But the gagging only becomes louder as he now properly fucks her face.

Once he lets go of her again, Irene looks up at him.

"Your cock has me so wet. I want it in my pussy."

Your eyes shoot open again. You're unable to comprehend what she just said. A blowjob was already too much. And now she wants him to actually fuck her.

You see him helping her onto the couch. It seems it's on purpose the way the two of them position each other. Irene now directly faces you on the couch on all fours.

Most of the time, when the two of you had sex, Irene usually just rode your cock. She was always in control. But now you watch how she purposefully arches her back and raises her ass higher. The man, now kneeling behind her, reaches for her panties and pulls them off of her. Irene smiles when she sees you following his movements.

"Don't worry, baby. I still love you."

Her words sound wrong to you. She's saying one thing, but doing the complete opposite.

"Just let me have this once in a while."

"But-"

Irene interrupts you as the the man makes her moan by licking her pussy. You can't directly see it. But his hands on her ass and his head right behind her leave little to the imagination. Your wife's face contorts in pleasure. She's tightly holding onto the cushion in front of her, her long dark hair partially covering her face. You hear the delivery guy eat out your wife and you can't find any words. You have nothing to say.

"Damn, give it to me."

Irene's moans make you want to cover your ears. But the way she looks at you has you paralyzed. She looks so satisfied, so turned on. You've never really seen her like that before.

When the man gets back up, you hold your breath.

"Make me take it."

Irene sighs, looking straight at you.

The two of you lock eyes. Your wife bites her lower lip. You can see the exact moment when his cock enters your wife. Her mouth falls open, her eyes grow wider. A deep moan leaves her body.

Irene's face shows you exactly how deep he's inside of her. When he hits her limit, Irene's brows are furrowed and she bites her lip.

"You cunt is fucking tight."

You never thought you'd hear another man say these words about your wife. She only responds with a moan as he moves back, before thrusting into her again.

After a short while he really starts to fuck Irene like you never did. She always told you she doesn't like to have sex like that. Makes her look like a slut. But now that man is reaching forward to take a fistful of her hair.

"You like getting fucked by someone else in front of your husband?"

The question leaves your heart aching as he pulls on her hair, making your wife arch her back further.

"Yes, I love it. Make me your whore."

His thrusts become faster and you seem to sink even deeper into the armchair. It's not like you can blame this man. If a woman like Irene would throw herself at you like this, you wouldn't be able to resist too. But why does she let him do this to her?

"I'm gonna ruin your pussy."

"Yes, you own it now. Ruin it!"

Her moans make you shake your head in disbelief. You still can't understand why she'd do this. Aren't you enough for her? If she'd let you, you'd do this too.

"Baby..."

You look at her, when you hear her calling for you.

"Don't look so sad. I'm trying to save our marriage here."

"What? This is the exact opposite of-"

Once more Irene's loud moans cut you off.

What did she mean by that? That she'd leave you, if you don't let her have sex with other men?

"I just - yes, right there! - need a big cock once in a while to show me my place."

"But..can't I do that?"

Irene ignores your question, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the delivery guy hits the perfect spot. She doesn't talk for a while, only moaning and gasping as he keeps pounding her from behind.

"Irene?"

You call her name again, but she doesn't respond. Her head drops between her shoulders as he lets go off her hair. A loud clap echoes through the room as his hand meets her ass.

"Fuck, yes! Spank me! Punish me!"

Irene's face is a combination of happiness and pleasure. Her smile is replaced every other second by a deep moan.

Another spank. You can see how her right cheek jiggles for a moment.

"Spank me harder, make it hurt."

When you watch the delivery guy fucking and spanking your wife, you finally realize how hot Irene looks right now. She'd look just as good when you'd fuck her like this, but she never let you. You kinda see her in a new light. She always looked sexy. Now she looks slutty. Which makes her even hotter for some reason.

"God, yes!"

Only now do you catch yourself staring at your hand, which is slowly rubbing your crotch. Looking back up, you see how the guy has reached underneath Irene. His left hand gropes and plays roughly with her perky tits, while the other still hits her cheeks. Over and over again, the sound echoes through the living room.

"You like this, slut? You like it when I play with your little tits?"

"Yes, use my body. Touch me."

Your wife's words reach your ears and you have to stop yourself from opening your pants. It hurt to see her like that at first, but now you have that urgent need to touch yourself. To play with yourself while watching your wife getting fucked.

Irene's eyes sparkle in amusement when she catches you rubbing your crotch. A mischievous smile plays around her lips.

"It's fine, baby. You lost this bet anyway. You can jerk off, if you want."

You feel shame warming your cheeks. You never thought you'd actually even consider this. But when the delivery guy grabs Irene's arms and pulls them up from underneath her body, you can't hold it back. You slowly undo your pants as he fucks your wife from behind. Her upper body in the air, her arms behind her as he holds onto them. You watch her head bounce with every thrust as you take out your cock.

"I knew you'd like it, baby. Just relax and enjoy the show."

The man fucks Irene harder now, probably turned on by you jerking off to the two of them. She has to close her mouth to not bite into her tongue, her head continuously moving around.

"Take my cock, slut. I want you to make me cum."

His words make you stroke yourself faster. Irene is probably trying to flex her muscles, wanting to hug his cock even tighter.

"Fuck, just like that."

He groans and you catch Irene's smile, whenever her face isn't covered by her hair, which is flying around in the rhythm to his thrusts.

As you keep jerking off, you notice how hot Irene really looks right now. You get into it more, watching how your wife gets fucked. He is rougher with her than you ever could be.

"I'm gonna cum soon."

His words make you stroke yourself faster.

"Where do you want to cum?"

You never heard this question before. You're curious about the answer.

"Your face."

He lets go off Irene's arms, making her fall onto the couch. You watch how she quickly slides to the ground, kneeling and waiting for him to stand up. You see her side profile, her mouth open.

The delivery guy strokes his cock, which is slick with her juices. He aims it right at her. You feel yourself getting closer already too.

It doesn't take much longer. When he orgasms, he shoots his load all over your wife's face and into her mouth. Irene gasps and tries to get all of it. Her hand replaces his, trying to get every last drop.

You follow quickly after, making a mess of yourself, like you did a couple of days ago.

When Irene finally turns to you, you can see how her face is full of cum.

"To be honest with you, honey, this wasn't our first time."

"What?"

You ask weakly, still recovering from your own orgasm.

"You were right earlier. I've been cheating on you. But now it's not cheating anymore, if you keep watching us."

You see her using her finger to scoop up his cum.

"F-For how long already?"

Irene sucks the cum off her finger, before smiling at you, most of her face still covered.

"30 days."

------------------

Hi, everyone! Just something small for the end of NNN. I thought I'd try out something new. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me now what you think.

Stay healthy!

[3amfanfiction]

May I politely and desperately request daddaughter Simon x reader? It doesn’t exist and I’m in despair. Not fauxcest/stepcest as that just doesn’t hit the spot

Nonnie you sent this less than a week ago and i can now present you with 2.7k of dad!simon incest. you're welcome, lovely <33 You should also check out santaprice for some more dad!simon x reader works. A lot of her works are sweet and horny.

Synopsis: dad!Simon stops you from heading to a date and has you hang out with him instead.

Cw: incest

Come Sit On My Lap

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice rumbled out of the darkened living room causing your heart to leap into your throat. You whirled around, diverted from your trek towards the door.

"Dad! You're home," you exclaimed happily, a smile creeping across your face as you made out his shadowy form sitting in his recliner, tucked back into the far corner where he could see everything.

It's where you'd normally find him after coming home from a deployment. Still too tightly strung to find rest in a bed, the position far too vulnerable. So he'd post up in his big, comfortable chair instead. It allowed him a clear line of sight of the entryway while also letting him find some sort of rest if he could manage to doze in the plush cushioning.

"Mmm. I'm home and the first thing I see is you trying to sneak out of the house, how's that for a welcome?"

"First off, I'm an adult. I wasn't sneaking out of the house. I just didn't realize you were back," an admonishing smile peeked out as you made your way into the darkened living room, "second off, what if I was sneaking out? What're you going to do? Ground me?"

"Well, I guess that depends on why you were sneaking out. Going to meet up with a boy, were you?" he asked, giving you an obvious up-down and judging your attire. You smiled and gave a little twirl, showing off your new dress you had bought for just this occasion.

"I am, actually," you smoothed a hand down the skirt, making sure it was laying correctly, "seeing a guy, that is."

You didn't notice in the dark but your Dad's face grew stony, no emotion finding it's way from behind his eyes. It was like the whole room was holding it's breath for a split second.

"Is that so?" he took a drink of the amber liquid sitting next to him, "Why don't you come over here, let me see you better."

Not seeing any reason to argue you made your way over, coming to a stop directly in front of him. He gave a little 'spin around' motion with his finger which made you laugh before you complied, spinning on the ball of one foot to allow the skirt to flair out ever so slightly with your movement.

When you came to a stop facing him once more you smiled in delight, not noticing the predatory look in his eyes. What you did notice was him leaning forward and grasping your waist.

"Dad?"

With a sharp tug he pulled you into his lap, legs over the arm of the chair as your shoulder and side pressed into his abdomen.

"Dad! What are you—what are you doing?" you gasped in surprise, putting your hands on his shoulders to try and stabilize yourself. It had been years since you'd sat on his lap but you fit just as well now as you did back then.

One thing about your dad was he was always larger than life. This behemoth that never let anything get in his way. It had never failed to comfort you. If there was a problem you knew he could handle it, you only had to ask and it would be taken care of. It went to your head sometimes.

You tried to pull your legs down but he wrapped a large arm over your knees, placing a work-roughened palm against the outside of your thigh, holding you in place.

"Who's this boy you're going to see?" he ignored your slight squirming as he encased you in his arms, his other going behind your back to pin support you.

You settled down after a moment, accepting this would be your position for the next little bit. You relaxed into him, letting him take your weight and rested your head on his shoulder, forehead tucked into the crook of his neck as you looked down at your hands placed in your lap. You started to twiddle your fingers.

"I don't know, just someone who I've been talking to. He's been really sweet so we were going to go to a drive-in tonight to watch a movie."

He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat and held you, resting his cheek ever so slightly against the top of your head. You thought you heard him sniff your hair but that must've been a mistake.

The silence prompted you to fill it.

"He's been really nice to me, I think you'd like him," you tried, unsure of this thing that was hovering in the air but trying to inject some normalcy into the conversation. "He's been excited about seeing this movie with me all week."

"Of course he has," your dad scoffs in admonishment making your shoulders rise towards your ears for a split second before you lowered them again, "a drive-in is where you go to fuck your date."

"Dad!"

"It's the truth and if you're too naive to see it you won't be going tonight." You tried to pull away so you could sit up and look at him but he just cradled you tighter, fully tucked into his warm body.

"Well maybe I want that tonight, have you thought of that?" you sputtered your rebuttal into his chest but tried anyways. You felt your face heating talking about this with your dad but he was the one who started it.

And besides. It was true, you did want something to happen tonight. You'd been thinking about it all day and you were slick between the thighs even now. While getting ready you had touched yourself over you panties, teasing yourself with a glimpse of what was to come—working yourself up. The slick slide of your thighs reminded you of your debauchery with every move.

And now your dad was trying to cockblock you.

You pouted down towards your lap, safe in the assurance he couldn't see you.

"Pouting about how badly you want it?" You jerked in surprise, how did he always know what you were doing? "Want someone between your thighs tonight, you little whore?"

~~~

"I don't—that's so inappropriate," Simon smiled as you stuttered, clearly unsure of what was happening. He'd never acted this way before and watching you flounder had him chubbing up in his pants, blood rushing south at your sense of propriety.

He was going to enjoy pushing you tonight.

It was your own fault for coming out looking like that.

" 'S not inappropriate. It's a fathers job to take care of their kids, no matter what that looks like," his hand rubbed back and forth against the warm skin of your outer thigh. It felt silken under his fingertips. "If you need someone to deal with your whining cunt then so be it. I'll be handling it."

He felt you clench your thighs together tightly at his quiet commandment that he would be addressing your problems. He knew how it turned you on when he was competent. He'd seen you shuffle in your seat or excuse yourself to your room when he took care of things for you.

Your pussy was going to be included on that list.

His hand came around to rest at the seam halfway between your knee and hip, his wide palm covering a good portion of skin. He didn't press, just slowly stroked his thumb along the soft plushness, waiting for you to open up, to let him in.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whispered, grasping at straws "this is wrong."

That finally got him to let you sit up. Still with one arm behind you he grasped your chin with his other, turning you to look into his eyes, unable to look away. They were inky black pools in this shadowed corner—watching everything and allowing nothing to slip past.

"There is nothing wrong with pleasure. I'm not the kind of father to sit back and watch his kid hurting." He watched as your eyes darted down to his lips before looking away. Felt the heat of your face against his fingertips. "I don't want you getting hurt by some overeager little shit rutting like a beast between your legs."

"I don't—Dad . . ."

Even now you looked to him for guidance. It went to his head how trusting you were, looking to him to help you out of this situation he was placing you in. He'd help. Make no mistake about it.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed condescendingly as his thumb raised to trace along your lower lip, a wave of heat rushing through him when your tongue subconsciously followed the path his thumb took. When it caught up to the digit he knew he was gone. The wet give of the muscle against his skin was unlike anything he'd felt before.

You were such a fucking slag.

He held himself back from shifting his hips to rub against you through pure force of will. He wouldn't scare you off just yet, not when the reward was sitting right in front of him, waiting to be coaxed into his hand, sweet as you please.

"I thought that I raised a good girl. But you haven't been one, have you? It seems like when I'm away you turn into quite the little slut. I bet if I reached between your legs right now, played with those cute panties you have on, I'd find you dripping, wouldn't I?"

You didn't respond to that, your eyes darting away in shame as you tried to pull your chin free. Simon tightened his grip to keep you pinned facing him. He drank up your discomfort with delight. He wanted you to make that same face when you were tucked underneath him.

"No need to be shy now, after all you wouldn't have been shy once you got to the movies. Go on then, prove me wrong. Show me you're not wetter than a whore right now."

He watched tears fill your eyes as you valiantly fought not to let them spill over your lashline while you squirmed in discomfort. He was fully hard at this point and every movement you made rubbed his cock between his own leg and the fat of your ass. It took everything in him not to toss you to the floor in that moment and crawl between your legs.

He had to fight to keep his breathing steady as your legs slowly parted giving him access to the treasure housed between.

Maintaining eye contact he dropped his palm down to your knee, squeezing in a mockery of comfort before slowly trailing up the inside of your thigh. You radiated heat, soaking into his skin with every slow inch climbed. He listened to your hitched breathing with delight knowing he was the one causing such reactions.

When he reached your apex he was greeted with exactly what he'd been expecting.

"It seems I've raised a whore."

That caused the tears to finally spill as you denied it fervently. You tried to push his arm away but it was useless. He had you in the palm of his hand and he had no intention of letting go now. You closed your thighs around his hand, trying to protect your center but only pinning him firmly against you.

"I don't know why I expected anything else—everyone knows your mother was a slag so it's my own fault for thinking you'd be any different.

"Dad, please!" you cried, holding onto his forearm now that it was clear you weren't going to be able to push him away. "Please don't be mean to me."

You always were his sensitive little girl, weren't you. Couldn't stand a harsh word spoken to you without breaking down into tears. He was gratified that same reaction remained even now. He wondered how far he could push you before you would sob.

A goal for next time.

"You don't want to be called a whore? You want to be my good girl instead?" —you nodded firmly— "Then spread your legs for me, let me see this cunt that won't quit crying on my fingers."

You sniffled as you reluctantly opened your legs giving him free range. So obedient. Maybe he did raise you right.

Now with room to properly explore he dragged firm fingers up the indent of your slit, enjoying the texture of the soaked fabric against his skin. Watching you give an aborted twitch of your hips sent heat racing down his spine. He wanted you making those twitches while speared open on his cock. He wanted to feel every muscle spasm and hitched hips you'd give him. Pulling the wet fabric to the side he repeated the motion skin-on-skin.

Your whimpering moan was musical.

"You say you're not a whore but you sound like that when I get my fingers on you? Your own dad?" He scoffed deridingly, "you must think I was born yesterday."

"I'm not a whore," you insisted with a gasp, hips moving like you were unsure if you wanted to press closer or pull further away. "It's just—it feels really good," you ended on a mumble, ashamed.

"Feels good, hmm?" Simon smirked to himself, "well let's see what else feels good for this needy cunt."

Moving down he wasted no time pressing one finger in to the knuckle, entranced at the lack of resistance. Your body practically sucked it up inside it was so greedy. He watched the faces you made as he stroked at your sensitive insides, his callouses adding a delightful roughness to the sensation.

It was the work of minutes to have continuous moans falling from your mouth as you humped his hand—the wet squelch of his fingers a counter-tune. By this point your slickness was all the way to his wrist, smearing down onto his clothed thigh—staining the fabric with your essence.

He watched with avarice as you grew closer to your peak.

"I need to cum."

That was the best you could do? No, he wasn't going to let you off the hook that easily. It was clear you'd been suffering from a lack of discipline since he was gone so often. If he wanted to correct your behavior it would start here.

"That was pathetic. Try again."

"Dad," you cried, whether from your encroaching orgasm or from his harsh words who knew, "please, I need it. Please make me cum."

"Still not quite there, try again."

He watched you scramble trying to find the right words, trying to figure out what he wanted to hear in order to let you cum. He wasn't going to help you, not when those pretty, pleading eyes went straight to his cock.

"I—I'm sorry for being such a whore," you tried, mumbling it quietly under your breath.

"I couldn't hear you. Did you say you wanted me to stop?" he slowed his fingers and began to withdraw them.

"No!" you choked, clawing at his arm as if you were trying to sink your nails in and hold him in place, "I'm sorry I'm such a slut."

"—who gets wet with her daddy's fingers inside her."

"I can't—" he shifted his fingers again, "who gets wet with my daddy's fingers inside me," you finished quickly, shame coating your voice.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard now was it?"

Getting what he wanted he returned to his motions with purpose, bringing you to the edge of your orgasm within moments. With one last twist of his fingers he sent you over the edge, falling into the abyss that was him.

He watched your face as you fell, drinking in the parted lips and unseeing eyes. This was something to remember. The first time he made his baby fall apart on his fingers.

It certainly wouldn't be the last.

Easing you down gently he tucked you back into the crook of his neck as the last aftershocks raced their way through your trembling muscles.

"Look at that, seems you've missed your movie. I guess you'll have to stay home with me instead." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, "Let's head to bed. I know just the thing to tire me out so I can get some sleep."

[yawnderu]

cr: @ave661

Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.

Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.

It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.

Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.

Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.

“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.

“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.

“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.

The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.

“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.

“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.

It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.

“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.

To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.

You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.

She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.

“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.

“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.

“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.

“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.

“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.

“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.

Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Dad!Ghost Masterlist

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: The ☆Glow-Up☆ 2024 Has Planned For you

♠︎ “At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvelously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. 

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✧ Pile One ✧ (queen of cups, 5oC rev., 10oC, the chariot, the magician, 4oS)

Release.

➣ The central theme of this glow-up is inner fulfillment. You are on a journey of true self-love. The queen of cups is sitting proudly at the front of the spread. Major water energy here. You are unraveling emotional trauma down to your roots and reevaluating past attachments and burdens with the six of cups.

➣ I picture floodgates opening, allowing all of the pent-up emotional turmoil to release and finally free you on a deep psychophysiological level. You released something, an attachment or mindset that was set in motion during your formative years that was hindering your ability to hold compassion for yourself.

➣ Shuffling my music, "Daddy Issues" by the Neighbourhood came on. I also saw the hierophant while shuffling the cards. You experienced a lot of undervaluing and emotional neglect in your home. Emotions in your home were taboo and possibly even punished.

➣ I feel like the people around you growing up, were either always dissatisfied with you in some way or made you feel small. Since this is a group reading, it is hard to word this without excluding a large chunk of the audience, but some of you grew up in a home situation where any form of outward self-love or expression was met with a lot of negativity and ridicule. 

➣ This forced you into hiding your true self which groomed you into a mental space full of self-criticism and doubt. In your mind, you were unwanted or inherently broken in some way and deserved less. The way you were treated created deep emotional wounds in your young psyche which made it hard to feel satisfaction within yourself or with the outer world.

➣ With the five of cups, I get the sense that you had felt you were in a desert and unable to fill any of your cups so to speak. Baby, that’s coming to an end. The ten of cups is at the center of your spread with a big ass RAINBOW touching corner to corner. The drought is over. The dark days are over. The sun is shining and you can taste hope again. 

➣ On this self-love journey, you are currently grieving (releasing) a degraded perception of yourself along with any beliefs that inhibit you from feeling good about your character.

➣ You are realizing just how enough you are and flushing out all of the poison that was crammed in your head about being inadequate. You are freeing yourself from the chains of feeling unworthy of a good life.

➣ You will find true beauty in every corner of you. Beauty in your laugh, beauty in how you dance, beauty in how you take care of yourself, beauty in what you care about, inner beauty that cannot be taken from you or scaled down. You will nurture your inner world, thus adding color to your outer world.

➣ During this major life-changing period, your view of reality will flip in a way you never thought imaginable. Life will feel worth living again. Your music will move you more and the swift pass of wind will invigorate you with new ideas for creative projects that will propel you forward to lifelong prosperity.

➣ I’m hearing 🎵 “… I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so proud of you” from Make Me Proud by Drake. Congratulations babe, you just broke a fucking karmic cycle. 10 of cups, following the 5 of cups??? You have graduated from a dark knight of the soul and are now approaching new, abundant energy.

➣ The universe is proud of you. Your ancestors are proud of you. Your inner child is proud of you. Your God(s) is proud of you. All of the cells in your body are proud of you. You have released something cosmically within you. Please hug yourself and have a good cry because you are doing something you never believed you could. Your hopes and dreams are unfolding.

➣ Get ready to make your daydream your reality.  With the chariot, you’re prepping to TAKE AWWFF BABY. The release of this blockage has raised your energetic vibration and is ushering bountiful opportunities into your life, new passions, new ideas, and new connections. 

➣ Your newfound faith in yourself is going to give you the courage to go out and experience life. Most importantly you will find satisfaction in the mundane. Every frame of your day will be brighter and feel better. You have gone from 5 empty cups to an eternally flowing fountain. Take the time to thank yourself for all of the hard work you put in to get here. 

➣ Advice: Extend yourself grace. During this period, you will have enlightening moments that will unlock pieces of the puzzle surrounding your trauma and a lot more will make sense and become easier to process. 

➣ However, as the flawed humans we are, we tend to make sense of something and then turn around and beat ourselves up for not realizing it sooner. Or, minimizing our pain and criticizing our past selves for not doing more about it because hindsight truly is a dirty dawg. No that is not how it works. 

➣ That’s like when you were in school and the teacher would start bullying you for not understanding a subject. YOU HAVE A DEGREE??? I’m fourteen?? Of course, you can say it's simple when you have already “graduated” and learned from it, not when you’re in the middle of experiencing it.  You gained clarity during this tower moment and can now see the bigger picture and liberate yourself. 

➣ Younger you fought to make your way through the fog and deserves grace because you would not be here today without your younger self’s perseverance. Forgive yourself for the time it took to get here and see the beauty in your evolution throughout the journey.

➣ Also, drink plenty of water and get rest!! It’s Pisces season, and a Pisces new moon is coming too. Most of your trauma will unravel while you’re unconscious. Please get plenty of rest and hydrate. This pile has Cancer/4th house energy written all over it. Mother yourself during this period. Clean your room, make your favorite foods, watch cheesy movies, and splurge on special skin care. Pamper yourself. okay I'm done. KISSES.

"My consciousness has outgrown this vessel"

✧ Pile Two ✧ (4ofS, the tower, the wheel of fortune, the emperor, the lovers, judgment, 7ofW, ace of wands)

Life's gotta always be messing with me (you wanna see the light) Can't they chill and let me be free? (So do I) Can't I take away all this pain? (You wanna see the light) I try to every night, all in vain, in vain

Justice.

➣ I asked for a song to explain the central theme of your reading and I got "Freak on a Leash" by Korn. I get the feel that one of the main struggles of your life path is unfair judgment. People are quick to create a false narrative of you and run off with it.

➣ If you read my last PAC, “What is most alluring about you”, you may have chosen pile 2 or 3. With the seven of wands, you are constantly under attack.

➣ Take what resonates but I see a few scenarios. People may be quick to paint you as a bad person without getting to know you. Your public reputation was heavily influenced by rumors from people who intentionally wanted you to be disliked. People will take something small, blow it out of proportion, and try to impose it as a character flaw. Oh, you don’t eat the crust on your sandwich? How wasteful! There are starving kids out there, you’re so inconsiderate!! and then everyone else in the room who claims to not like you (but are truly your biggest fans) are oooing, ahhing, and egging that hating ass bitch on. 

➣ I’m seeing a bus. You may have been betrayed and thrown under the bus a few times before. This is the pile of my Lilith placements. Your power is your ability to garner attention, both good and bad. You attract a lot of envy. The ugliest emotion, in my opinion. It’s partners in crime with greed. 

➣ For some of you, I am getting the message that all of this underserved hate has sent you into a dark mental space and driven you to take an attempt on your life. And if you like my messages or my readings please believe me when I say this,

 I know you are meant for greatness. I picked up on your energy and you found this reading for a reason. Just like the Universe and everything within it, we go through cycles. And I know this is a long, painful cycle but it will come to an end and you will get out of this darkness. From the bottom of my heart, I feel your importance and I am happy you are here to share this moment with me. Keep swimming, I support you, the Universe supports you. The sun is rising and is offering you a new beginning.

➣ In this dark period in your life, the negative attention may have outweighed the good. I see a theme of being outcasted and isolated. Severe bullying. For some, even abuse. Like pile one, you have gone into hermit mode and isolated yourself from the unfair judgment of the world. 

➣ But head up muffin, the scales are balancing, and the wheel of judgment is turning in your favor. Following the wheel of fortune, you got the fucking emperor!!! You will come out of this on top. The people who kicked you while you were down will have to swallow their pride and kneel to shine your shoes while you sit rightfully on the throne. The public scrutiny you face needs to balance itself out karmically.

➣ Think Megan Thee Stallion. I won’t bring up any of her business, but if you've been keeping up with social media, there is a good chance you are well aware of it. That woman has gone through the unimaginable, one traumatic event following the other all while facing an obscene amount of public scrutiny. She had to go into solitary and off the internet to rebuild her life. But guess what??? MY GIRL STAYS ON TOP>>>>> After all the bullshit she endured, she’s coming out on the top of the charts, brand deals with major conglomerates, she is the people’s princess.

➣ That’s going to be you. You have dealt with a lot of injustice in your life, now you’re coming out of your “rehabilitation” and all of the people who spent the better half of their day attempting to tear you down will have to watch your rise like a phoenix and fucking weep.

➣ People were constantly taking from you , now the universe (whatever you want) is preparing to give you the power to replace what you have lost tenfold. Ace of wands, I see that life is handing you the metaphorical talking stick. The king stick. You are being blessed with a flame in your belly (activated solar plexus chakra) and the chance to completely reinvent yourself. 

➣ There is a lot of king and authority messages here, the ball is in your court. You are being released from the shackles of public perception and these next few months will be filled with inspiration and willpower to prove everybody wrong and showcase your strength.  I feel like a good chunk of this group will get chances to be in positions of authority or importance. 

➣ This is going to sound silly but I got this exaggerated imagery of a mean person calling you poor and ugly but the next year you drive past them in a Bugatti with their sugar boo in the passenger seat. HELLOOOO.

➣ With the lovers, I see you are coming in union with what is rightfully yours. In the grand scheme of cosmic law, you are owed good fortune and it is on its way. With the tower, I see an explosion and people fleeing. You’re going to pop out stronger than ever and that’s going to scare people cause whatever superiority they got from painting you as inferior is going to blow away and their true scummy nature is going to be seen. 

➣ After this, there may even be people who pretend to be your friends and claim they supported you all along. Have faith in your discernment. I have faith in your discernment. It will all be okay pookie.

➣ Advice: Just keep swimmin' my love. <3

"The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth."

✧ Pile Three ✧ (queen of wands, knight of pentacles, 6oC, page of pentacles, 10oW, 3oW, the hermit)

It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Awaken.

➣ Regardless if you’re a woman, a man, somewhere in between, or none of the above, you are approaching a newfound understanding of your sexuality. For some of you, it is a full-blown sexual awakening. 

➣ Some people here are realizing their sex appeal, others are coming to terms with their lack of sexual attraction, some are learning what they like in sex and what they’re attracted to. Yes bae, all of it; the whole spectrum of sexual exploration is here.

➣ There is an emphasis on attraction to yourself. You will see a huge shift in your physical appearance. Yes, your style will change but the main reason for this glow up is because you shifted the perception of yourself into a higher light. You’re allowing yourself to feel desirable and embracing the aspects of yourself you once shunned. 

➣You will carry yourself in a higher regard and this will open doors for you. Look into the mirror and give yourself a nice smack on the ass. Your self-esteem is sexy.

➣ Pile one is on a watery emotional self-love journey, this pile is all about fire and finding out where sexuality and passionate relations fit into your life. 5th house (flings, passions, hobbies), 8th house (sex and rebirth), 9th house (adventure, connecting with your soul tribe).

➣ I asked for a song to tie up this message in a cute little bow and I got the 639 HZ frequency. This is the frequency of love, radiation, and positive energy. It is the frequency of the heart. The heart chakra is opening significantly during this glow-up.

➣ You are opening yourself to adventure and sending a high vibe out into the ether. I see a sunflower and the queen of wands is decked out in bright yellow, you are stepping into the spotlight and attracting a lot of attention. I would say Venusian attention because the aura here is very romantic and collaborative. It's like the universe is spraying you with extremely magnetic pheromones and having opportunities run at you.

➣ You are going to get a lot of offers. Love offers, career offers, party invitations, you’re going to be involved with exclusive circles. You are realizing your self-worth and now you’re attracting things and people who also see value in you.

➣ This isn’t going to resonate with everyone, but I sense that for a few of you, there is going to be a reconnection with a past lover or a past friend from your childhood (or just the past in general). I also sense a theme of using your attractiveness and people’s attraction to you to your benefit. Somehow monetize your appeal. 

➣ It is like you finally released your ugly duckling mentality and you woke up and went, “WOAH, what can I do with this???” Lmao you discovered you’re an undercover member of the pretty privilege club.

➣ Yeah, with the page of pentacles and the ten of wands, I’m seeing an entire life path open up for you. Your passion and fiery energy will get you places, and you’ll go on adventures exploring your opportunities with that. Some of you will even become spicy content creators or do some risque sex work. Orrrrrr just venture into a career path you weren’t courageous enough to do before. 

➣ You’re a giant magnet energetically right now (I mean c’mon, 639 HZ???) you’re attracting a lot of romantic suitors. But watch out, they’re not all good suitors.

➣ I pulled another card and got Justice in reverse. Some people will try to get over on you. Also, the person on the justice card looked strangely untrustworthy when I flipped it over. Once again, practice your discernment.

➣ Your romantic and passionate life is taking off and it's going to be extremely exciting, especially if you are coming out of a period of stagnancy. However, with the 3 of wands and the hermit, the cards remind you to remain centered and plan bigger. Your passion, attractiveness, and sexuality will amount to more than hookups and shallow relationships if you invest in yourself wisely.

➣ You are unlocking an advantage you have in this lifetime. Open yourself to career endeavors, social networking, and creating a strong foundation for your talents and hobbies. Yes, date and have fun but don’t spend all of your energy in one place. Your attention and your energy are your greatest currencies.

➣ To expand on the hermit, I need to emphasize you are going to be getting a LOT of attention soon (I’m getting Sun-conjunct-Venus energy, is that in your natal chart or is there a transit with Venus right now or something?). You will receive more eyes on you than average and this might overwhelm you and push you into hermit mode.

➣ That is okay, let life flow. During those moments to yourself, dream big because you have the power to pull your dreams into your reality.  You will meet lifelong friends during this period. I am sensing a power trio for some of you. 

➣ Advice: To wrap up, we all know attractiveness is social currency, and you are coming into a great deal of social wealth baby. But please spend it wisely and do not lose yourself in the crowd. Keep up with your self-work and take introspective breaks away from people so you can figure out how to best utilize this awakening for you. 

➣ You look really good in red currently. Red hair. Red lips. Red clothes. Red jewelry. The color red is bringing you a lot of abundance. Okay bye. MUAH. <3

"I said mom, I am a rich man."

✧ Pile Four ✧ (page of swords, knight of cups, wheel of fortune, temperance, 7oP, the devil rev.)

Ascension.

➣ OMG I’m so sorry, I wrote a novel for the other piles but this one is going to be short. Maybe you were drawn to another pile mainly and this is your secondary pile. BUT IT’S SHORT BECAUSE ITS FUCKING AWESOME. 

➣ The song I channeled for you was named “Elniño Prodigo” and I want to say the artist is Love Record but I'm not too sure. This means child prodigy. When I was laying out your cards, I got this sense of anticipation and impatience. Theeeennn BOOM the wheel of fortune, temperance, and the seven of pentacles smack me in the face.

➣ Oh me oh my, you are chilling in the universe’s womb just BAKIN’ being prepped for a complete rebirth. You are a prodigy, you are not meant to live an ordinary life, you are being prepared for a unique journey. I know this is going to sound hard to believe because I feel like with this pile, a large portion of your life was spent in waiting.

➣ Do you feel like you are a late bloomer? If so, trust me, it is for a reason. Whatever you build in this lifetime will be built slowly and have a solid foundation because your legacy is meant to withstand the test of time and last long after you leave this Earth. This period you’ve spent waiting is you getting your ducks in a row and sowing your seeds for the next evolution of you. I said something like this in my last pac, if that's you, heyyyyyyy i’m glad your energy stuck around, i love it.

➣ Do you have Pisces or 12th House placements mixed with Saturn significance? Whatever this glow-up exactly holds for your future is a secret. It’s the universe’s divine surprise to you. I did not get any energy detailing exact events, just something big in the works behind the scenes is making its way to you. 

➣If you’re reading this pick a card there’s a good chance you’re spiritually attuned and can feel this cosmic shift happening. Something about your energy is so excited. I imagine a hyper dog being held back by a leash because it's not quite time yet.

➣ If you’re in a period where you’re not seeing any life progression and it's causing you anxiety, relax, you are on the right track and you are where you need to be. You have not wasted time, time really isn’t even fucking real. Everything is moving slowly for a reason. 

➣In this “boring” period you are meant to tap into your inner world and curate what you want your life to look like. Create vision boards, imagine your future hobbies, involve things that mentally stimulate you, keep the spark of curiosity in your life, and nurture your inner dreamer. 

➣ You are connecting with your sensitivity at this time, finding the sweet spot where your mind and heart meet, and letting it fuel your zeal for life. Get these thoughts on paper. Journal them, draw them, sing it, and call this energy into the 3D. Your life is about to have a complete 180. Maintain faith.

➣ You’re seeing a lot of synchronicities currently. Animal synchronicities and repeating numbers(111,444,222,1144,1414). You’ll find strangely personal messages in music and media. Maybe you’re seeing shapes repetitively pop up around you in your environment, like stars or eyes. 

➣ Patience is a life lesson for this pile, there is a lesson to be learned in the stillness of your life. You are mentally restless right now, slow your body down and try out parasympathetic regulation techniques to calm your racing thoughts. Go swimming, take a class, try out a new hobby. In this “womb” era, enjoy your last moments of stillness because your life turns up a notch. I’m not even getting rebirth, I’m getting BIRTH. No matter your age, your life is truly beginning in this new season.

➣ Advice: I see a lot of clouds. I see angel symbolism. You’re ascending. You’re shedding old skin, letting go of dead weight, and you’re growing wings, getting ready to experience life to the fullest. Maintain hope that your life will pick up pace and become exciting again. 

➣ Find peace in this waiting period. Listen to bird sounds!!! They are going to calm your mind and elevate you emotionally. You’re growing your wings and getting ready to take off like a bird, you should learn from the best. Okay, I love you, the universe loves you, MUAH <3.

"Your sim has gone stir-crazy!"

watching tumblr shit on my images in real time is just...

On a lighter note, I know some of these piles are heavy, I posted my first reading two days ago, and the support I received has brought so much joy into my life. I love doing this, if you like this me doing this, I'll do this forever. I am eternally grateful for all of you likes, reblogs, and comments <3

Also, some of these piles are connected, feel free to poke around and pick up on messages spread out for you. okay, I'm done. kisses! MUAH

[mymoonisgrey]

B2B

❤︎ ໋𓈒 back to back, love to hate, hate to love— your relationship with gojo satoru was a mess, but, you can’t really leave, can you?

warnings. 18+, smut, satoru is a munch, yearning, brief cameo of yandere!satoru, breeding kink if you squint, borderline obsession and possessiveness, toxicity, masturbation (m)

wc. 7,43k

You were reminiscing on decisions you made in high-school that got you to this point.

You were never the type to generally date. It wasn’t your thing, never was—you once said your perdition would come as a man trying to ruin your life, or ruin you generally, body and soul.

However, the 19-year-old theory hit you hard, because Gojo Satoru weaved himself into your life like a cobweb you can't seem to dust. You didn’t give in so easily, no. You took your sweet time to finally get in the scene, without ever seeking advice from friends because somehow situationships always disappear when you tell a friend about them.

But Gojo? He was persistent. He had his hands in your pockets before you even realized he was slipping his fingers between yours. His charm was something built into his DNA, impossible to resist, even when you swore you would. He knew how to make you laugh when you were furious, knew how to touch you like he was mapping out constellations on your skin. And maybe that’s why, even when it hurt, even when you knew better, you always came back.

The fights were cinematic—shouting matches in rain-soaked streets, doors slamming, voices breaking on words too sharp to take back. But the reunions? They were something biblical. You’d fold into him like he was home, let him press his apologies into your skin, your lips, your throat. And just like that, you’d start again. Back-to-back, love to hate, hate to love. A cycle neither of you wanted to break.

Because both of you had flaws neither of you could fix, but only learn to love. There’s constantly something to worry about—whether it was Utahime’s closeness to him and how it managed to get on every nerve of yours—or how men swarmed around you like ants on glucose, it was fucked up. He once had to verbally warn his ex-best friend to leave you alone.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

OCTOBER

You walk in with a sense of dread—you ‘broke’ up with Gojo two months ago, and it has been like... the longest you two have been separated since high school. Jujutsu Tech was lively and it made you nostalgic for the days you ran around as a student rather than a sorceress-to-be, life was much easier back then anyway, wasn’t it?

You know you’ll see him as usual, he runs this place, walks like he owns it because hell—if someone had the power he did, they’d be a lot cockier and haughty than he is. Satoru is considered humble compared to the rest of the power-hungry geezers you put your neck out there for.

The memories flood in before you can stop them. The late-night missions where exhaustion blurred the lines between camaraderie and something deeper. The way he’d lean into you, mask slipping—only for a second—before the world called him back. The stolen moments in between duty and destiny, the whispered confessions between bruises and battle scars. You remember the way he looked at you then, like you were something sacred, something he wasn’t quite allowed to have but couldn’t help but claim anyway.

And then, the downfall. The slow unraveling, the fights that started small but snowballed into something monstrous. The jealousy, the frustration, the push and pull of two people who loved too hard and hurt even harder. You remember walking away that night, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back, the ache in your chest that felt like a wound that would never close.

You shake the thought away, forcing yourself back into the present. You weren’t here for him, not really. You had a job to do. And yet, as you step further into the familiar halls, you can’t help but feel it—the pull, the inevitability of it all. Because no matter how far you run, how long you stay away, it always leads back to him.

Back-to-back. Love to hate. Hate to love.

Your line of sight drifts to the bright green fields stretching out, where a couple of students train one-on-one—blades clashing, curses forming, sweat glistening under the afternoon sun. Your gaze flickers, unintentional, to those three students: pink hair, black hair, and brown hair with a voice loud enough to carry over the clash of sparring.

Then, your eyes find him.

That white, silvery hair you know the soft texture of like your own name. He’s dressed simply—a white tee, his usual slacks, hands tucked into his pockets. A pair of God-knows-how-expensive sunglasses shields his eyes, but you know what’s behind them. That easy smile graces his lips, effortlessly relaxed as he watches his students, his posture all confidence, all control.

Your stomach churns with something familiar, a tangled mess of longing, resentment, and something you won’t dare name. And then—your heart plummets, crashing straight to the pit of your stomach when his head snaps with surgical precision, turning directly toward you. Of course, he felt it. He always does.

His gaze pins you in place, a tether snapping taut between you, even from across the field. There’s no mistaking it, the way recognition flickers behind those ridiculous shades.

You almost want to disappear, but it’s too late. How the hell—scratch that. Of course, he’d know. Him and those freak-show eyes you love so fucking much.

Your face remains neutral, betraying none of the storm beneath, despite the way your fingers dig into your palms, nails carving crescents into your skin. He doesn’t look away. Instead, he smiles, slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. His eyes flicker downward, just for a second, shameless and languid, before locking with yours again. And in that moment, through the tinted lenses, you catch it—a glimmer of iridescent blue, a ghost of something unspoken.

His lips part, and you swear you see the tip of his tongue dart out to wet them. His head tilts, the corner of his mouth quirking like he’s thinking something inappropriate—no, scratch that, he definitely is.

Then he raises a hand in a lazy wave, and you can hear it in your head before he even says it. Miss me, baby?

God, you hate him. And even worse? He knows you don’t.

You spare him a nod, offering a brief, almost nonexistent smile, before turning away and heading toward the administration building.

Your pulse is erratic, but you keep your steps measured. Controlled. Like he didn’t just unravel something inside you with a single look.

This is why you never did love—because how the hell are you supposed to just... forget someone and move on? Like flipping a switch? Like love is something that fades if you just give it enough time? That wasn’t you. You weren’t built for that kind of indifference.

And as for him...

You don’t know.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That his life—his thoughts, his wants—are no longer yours to consider. But there’s an itch in the back of your mind, a whisper of doubt crawling up your spine.

Would he ever get over you?

Would he even try?

❤︎ ໋𓈒

Gojo had never moved toward his office as quickly as he did now, his long strides purposeful, nearly frantic, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing you—hell, even just feeling your presence—had turned his entire world on its axis, and no amount of cocky bravado could hide it. Who the fuck was he kidding? He needed you back. Pronto.

The moment he shut the door behind him, his back hit the wood with a heavy thud, his head tilting upward as he stared at the ceiling. His breath was uneven, hands twitching at his sides.

And then there was the other problem.

The one currently straining against the fabric of his pants.

"Fuck," he muttered, his brows knitting together as the ache in his chest twisted into something darker, heavier. His body felt like it was fighting itself, caught in the crossfire between want and restraint.

He had no idea what the hell he was even horny for—you hadn’t been wearing anything particularly revealing, hadn’t even done anything except stand there looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. And yet, his entire body reacted like it had been starved for you. Because it had.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before unbuckling his belt, frustration coiling hot and tight in his stomach. He palmed himself through his slacks first, the friction barely enough to ease the throbbing pulse of his cock, already leaking against the fabric.

His sunglasses were thrown somewhere across the room as he pulled himself free, hissing at the rush of cool air against burning-hot skin. His cock was hard, thick, an angry red at the tip, drooling precum like it was begging for relief.

The only cure was you.

He spat into his palm, a filthy, wet sound breaking the silence, and wrapped his fingers around himself, squeezing at the base before giving a slow, torturous stroke upward. "Shit," he groaned, his voice husky, dripping with need. His shirt bunched between his teeth as his free hand gripped his desk, knuckles going white.

His pace picked up, faster, rougher, as images of you flooded his mind. You, with your legs spread wide for him, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body arching, gasping his name like a prayer.

"Fuck, baby..." he panted, hips jerking into his fist, his strokes messy, erratic. "Miss this fuckin' pussy... goddamn, you made for me. Shit—gonna fuckin'—"

The orgasm ripped through him, his whole body shuddering as thick ropes of cum spilled over his fingers, his stomach, his mind blanking out in white-hot pleasure. His breath was ragged, uneven, body twitching as the aftershocks coursed through him.

And then...

The silence hit. Hard.

Post-nut clarity slammed into him like a freight train.

What the fuck was he doing?

This wasn’t enough. Not even close.

He needed you. Bad. Toxicity be damned.

Because no matter how fucked up the cycle was, no matter how many times you tore each other apart, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t letting you go. Not again.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The only time Yaga ever felt generous enough to take his hardworking sorcerers out to dinner—some looked forward to it, others did not. It was just simple barbecue, nothing extravagant, but the company always managed to make it lively—especially Shoko, who was an absolute menace when she got drunk.

The air was thick with the smell of sizzling meat, sweet and smoky, mingling with the distant scent of cigarette smoke. The usual bustling sounds of downtown Tokyo surrounded you—laughter spilling from izakayas, the occasional honk of a car, the chatter of normies oblivious to the weight the people at this particular table carried.

Nanami, naturally, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his displeased grunts audible every time someone—usually Gojo—spoke too loudly. His arms were crossed, his beer barely touched, his patience thinning with every passing second.

Shoko was already a drink in, lazily leaning against the table with a lopsided smirk. Her brown eyes were hazy under the dim lighting, and the way she swirled the ice in her glass told everyone she was only just getting started.

You sat beside her, one hand propping up your cheek, the other absentmindedly pushing around the meat sizzling on the grill in front of you. There was something about the atmosphere tonight—lively, warm, yet… off. Maybe it was the way you felt his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, even as he pretended to be fully engrossed in whatever ridiculous conversation he was having with Nanami.

Or maybe it was the way your stomach twisted, knowing he wasn’t just looking.

He was remembering.

His posture was lazy, his usual grin in place, but his fingers drummed against the table with slow, rhythmic taps. You knew him too well—his restless energy, his smug amusement—but this? This was different. His legs were spread wide, arms slung over the back of his seat, and beneath the cover of his dark lenses, his gaze flickered, tracing the curve of your cheek, your lips, your throat.

He looked calm. Completely at ease.

And yet, beneath the table, his fingers curled slightly, the ghost of a grip.

Fuck.

The thought hit him like a truck.

He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head since this afternoon. Since the moment he saw you standing in front of Jujutsu Tech, looking like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wanted anyway. The way you had looked at him—stiff, hesitant, like you were trying so hard to act unbothered—had sent a wildfire through his veins.

He had barely made it to his office before undoing his belt, his mind already painting too-clear images of you, the way your lips parted, the way your legs felt wrapped around his waist. He had gritted his teeth, hissing your name under his breath, fisting his cock like a starved man—fast, desperate, chasing something that didn’t exist outside his head.

And now, here you were. Sitting just a few feet away, oblivious—or maybe not—to the fact that earlier today, he had been thinking about nothing but you while spilling all over his own hand.

His jaw flexed.

You shifted slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulders as if shaking off the weight of his gaze. The movement made the hem of your top ride up just the tiniest bit, exposing a sliver of skin, and Gojo—despite his reputation, despite his control—felt something snap inside him.

His fingers stopped drumming.

The air between you grew thick, unbearably so, like a taut rope ready to snap.

You still didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t look away.

This was bad.

He needed you back.

Toxic or not.

The weight of his gaze was suffocating. It pressed against your skin, coiled around your throat, settled in the pit of your stomach like something dangerous. You swallowed against it, forcing yourself to stay still, to not react—but your fingers twitched, and your heart pounded, and you knew if you sat there a second longer, your composure would snap.

You leaned toward Shoko, murmuring a quick excuse before pushing back your chair, slipping away before your legs could betray just how unsteady you felt. You barely registered the bustle of the restaurant, the warmth of the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and soju. All you could focus on was the pounding in your chest, the way the tension clung to you like a second skin.

The bathroom door shut behind you with a quiet click. You exhaled sharply, pressing your back against it, your pulse loud in your ears.

What the fuck was this?

Two months. Two fucking months. You should’ve been over it by now. Should’ve built an iron wall around your heart, should’ve let time do its thing and dull the edges of what you felt for him.

And yet, it took nothing. Just a look. Just the ghost of a smirk. Just the knowledge that, beneath that cocky mask, there was something else—something darker, something desperate.

A muscle in your jaw ticked. You refused to be the one to break.

But you should’ve known better than to assume Gojo Satoru would let you leave first.

Out at the table, he was still staring at the closed door.

He knew you weren’t running from the conversation at the table. He knew you weren’t going to throw up from too much soju. He knew exactly why you left. And fuck, if that didn’t send a sick thrill down his spine.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen blank—but that didn’t matter. His movements were smooth, calculated. He glanced up, feigning distraction, catching Shoko’s gaze. She squinted at him, trying to focus through her haze of alcohol, but before she could voice the question forming in her mind, he was already standing.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stepped away from the table, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

Shoko blinked slowly, then exhaled, swirling the ice in her drink.

“…This is gonna be a mess,” she mumbled to herself.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The bathroom door slammed open so hard it rattled against the hinges.

Your breath caught.

Satoru stood in the doorway, tall, imposing, his presence swallowing the small space whole. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you both in, the air turning suffocating in an instant.

You straightened, fingers twitching at your sides, but you didn’t move back. You held your ground, even as your pulse roared, even as something electric crawled down your spine.

His hands were still in his pockets, his stance deceptively casual, but you weren’t fooled. His broad chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, his jaw tense. Those sunglasses of his—arrogant, infuriating—were gone, stuffed somewhere in his pocket, and that meant his eyes were on you.

Unfiltered. Unhidden.

And you felt them.

The weight of them. The hunger in them. The sharp edge of something between obsession and anger.

Seconds passed.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched, taut and fragile, like something was about to snap.

And then, finally—

“…Why are you here?” Your voice was steady, but there was venom beneath it.

His lips curled, slow, deliberate. His head tilted just slightly, like he was amused, like he wasn’t the one who had cornered you in a fucking bathroom like a desperate man.

“You tell me,” he said smoothly. “You ran first.”

Your fingers twitched. “And you followed.”

His eyes dragged over your face, slow, taking his time, like he was savoring something.

“You left me with a problem,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. “Not my issue.”

Gojo clicked his tongue, taking a single step closer. Just one. Just enough to make the space between you feel nonexistent.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he mused, voice dipping lower, dangerous now. “You’ve always been my issue. Even when you don’t wanna be.”

His scent curled around you—clean, sharp, tinged with the faintest trace of the cologne you still remembered, the one you once pressed your face into his neck to breathe in.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

This was dangerous.

You knew it.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmured, voice dripping with something dark. “You have any idea what you did to me earlier?”

Your breath hitched.

Shit.

You knew exactly what he meant.

But you refused to acknowledge it.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, planting a firm hand against his chest, shoving him back—just enough to put space between you. Just enough to make it clear you weren’t playing his game.

“Don’t start,” you bit out, your voice cutting, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath was still uneven.

Satoru barely moved, barely reacted. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched, like he found it cute.

That pissed you off more than it should have.

“Start what?” he asked lazily, tilting his head. “You’re the one running, sweetheart. And for what? You really think you’re over me?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t think—I know.”

He snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re shaking right now, right?”

Your nostrils flared. “Fuck off, Satoru.”

“Or what?” His voice dropped, teasing but sharp. “You’ll run again? You’ll pretend like none of this ever happened?”

You hated how easily he got under your skin. Hated how he knew exactly where to poke, exactly which wounds to press his fingers into.

“I don’t have to pretend,” you shot back. “It already ended. Two months ago.”

His expression darkened, his smile slipping just slightly. “Yeah? And you’ve been real happy since then, huh?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him see how your fingers trembled slightly where they dug into your skin.

“Actually?” You forced a smirk. “I’ve never been better.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

And for the first time tonight, something flickered in Gojo’s expression.

Something ugly.

Something that twisted and burned behind his eyes.

His lips curled—not in amusement, but in something bitter, something close to anger.

“You really wanna play that game?” he murmured, stepping forward. “Fine. Let’s play.”

He reached up, his fingers gripping your chin—not harshly, but firm, tilting your face up to his.

“Tell me,” he continued, his voice lower now, something dangerous coiled beneath it. “When you’re lying in bed at night, when it’s quiet, when there’s no one else around—do you still touch yourself thinking about me?”

Your stomach clenched, heat flashing through your veins, but you didn’t let it show. Didn’t let him see how that single sentence knocked the breath out of your lungs.

You scoffed instead, eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah? But you like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

Your mouth opened—but no words came out.

And Satoru saw it.

His grip on your chin tightened, just barely, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lip, his eyes dipping down—watching, waiting.

You hated him.

Hated how easily he broke past your walls.

Hated how, even now, even after everything, your body still reacted to him like this.

Hated how much you fucking wanted him.

And he knew.

Of course he knew.

A slow exhale left him, his breath fanning over your lips, and you felt it—the shift in the air, the way the tension between you snapped from hostility to something darker, something that burned.

“I jacked off to you today,” he murmured, his tone almost conversational, but there was a roughness to it. A rawness. “Couldn’t even fucking help it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I was pissed, you know?” His thumb dragged down, tracing the curve of your jaw. “Seeing you. Watching you act like I don’t fucking exist. Like you weren’t mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit out.

Satoru smiled.

And then he laughed.

Low. Mocking.

Like you just said the funniest shit in the world.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, and your breath caught at the way his voice dipped into something dark, something possessive. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your fingers twitched.

And then you did what your body screamed at you to do.

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth clashing, hands grasping, months of tension snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight. It was resentment, and love, and lust, and every unsaid word swallowed into the heat of the moment.

Satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands snapping to your hips, yanking you flush against him.

And fuck—he was already hard.

You felt it, pressing against you, his body burning hot, his grip rough as he spun you, backing you against the sink.

“You always do this,” you panted against his lips. “You always—”

“Always what?” he murmured, dragging his teeth along your jaw, his hands slipping under your shirt, burning against your skin. “Make you want me?”

You shuddered, fingers tangling into his hair, tugging harshly—and he groaned, low and wrecked.

“You fucking love it,” he said against your throat.

You hated that he was right.

But you weren’t about to let him win that easily.

Your hand slid down, palming him through his slacks, and his breath hitched, his hips jerking into your touch.

“Fuck,” he bit out.

You smirked. “What was that?”

His grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

And then he was yanking your head back, capturing your lips in another kiss, and you knew—this wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Your fingers curled tighter into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and the sharp hiss that left his lips sent heat flashing straight down your spine.

But just as fast as it started, you wrenched yourself back.

Breathless.

Satoru’s grip on your waist tightened for a fraction of a second—like he didn’t want to let go. Like he physically couldn’t. But you pushed against his chest, and he let you slip through his fingers, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you put space between you.

A smirk curled your lips as you leaned back against the sink, crossing your arms. “What happened to all that confidence, Satoru?”

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t fucking start,” he muttered.

“Or what?” You tilted your head, faux innocence dripping from your tone. “You’ll break?”

The muscle in his jaw clenched harder. His hands twitched. His eyes—fuck, those fucking eyes—burned into yours with something wild, something unrestrained.

And then, just when you thought he was going to snap—he laughed.

Not his usual laugh. Not the carefree, cocky one he tossed around like spare change.

This was different.

Low. Dark. Wrecked.

Like he already knew he was losing.

Satoru took a slow step forward, closing the distance you put between you, his fingers dragging along the edge of the sink counter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You wanna play, baby?” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “Fine. Let’s play.”

You didn’t move when he caged you in, his hands bracketing your hips, his breath fanning against your cheek.

“But we both know how this ends,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Enlighten me.”

His lips brushed against your jaw—so close, but not touching. Just there. Just teasing.

“It ends with you on your knees,” he said, voice thick with something sinful. “Or maybe I’ll be on mine. You know I never minded.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you let your lips curl into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you need me more than I need you.”

That got him.

His nostrils flared. His fingers flexed against the counter. His whole body tensed like a live wire about to snap.

And you had him.

For a split second, he looked like he was going to crack, to give in—

But then—

He stepped back.

The loss of his warmth, the absence of his presence, sent something hollow through your chest.

Satoru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his head tilting back toward the ceiling. “You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered.

And then he looked at you—really looked at you.

Like you were something unattainable. Like he could reach for you, but you’d slip through his fingers.

Like he was already mourning the loss of you, even though you were right there.

Something inside you clenched.

Because Satoru never looked at you like that.

Not like he was breaking.

Not like he was crumbling under the weight of you.

And that—that scared you more than anything.

You turned, grabbing the door handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was sharp.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

And that second was all he needed.

In one swift movement, he was there again—right behind you, his chest pressing flush against your back, his fingers gripping your hips with bruising force.

“Go ahead,” he murmured into your ear. “Walk out that door.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the handle.

His hands slid down, slow, deliberate, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

“But we both know you won’t.”

Your breath hitched when he rocked against you, his erection pressing firm against the curve of your ass.

Your fingers clenched around the handle.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “I’m going insane.”

You closed your eyes. “Then let me go.”

His laugh was soft. Bitter.

“Never,” he whispered.

And then his fingers dug in, and he spun you—slamming you back against the door.

His hands were everywhere, mapping out the body he had memorized, relearning every curve and dip like he was starving.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he rasped.

Your heart pounded.

He kissed you before you could answer.

Desperate.

Teeth and tongue and months of loneliness crashing into you all at once.

His hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you up, pinning you between him and the door.

“I can still taste you,” he murmured against your lips.

Your breath stuttered.

His grip on you was bruising, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking, biting, marking.

“You think you can just leave me?” His voice was rough. “Think you can just walk away?”

Your head tilted back, breathless, overwhelmed.

“You’re mine,” he muttered against your skin, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband.

You gasped when his hand dipped lower.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t. You never could.

Because even now, even after everything— You still wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down with a sharp tug, and your breath hitched as the cool air kissed your heated skin.

“Satoru—”

“Shh,” he hushed, lips dragging along the column of your throat. “S’okay, jus’ me, baby.”

His voice was low, raspy, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he palmed between your legs, fingers running over the damp fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned. “What, you missed me that much?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

He didn’t like that.

Without warning, he pressed the heel of his palm against your clit, and your hips jerked involuntarily.

“There’s my answer,” he murmured, lips ghosting against your ear.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed your panties aside, two fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing.

“Y’know,” he mused, voice like velvet, “I thought jerking off earlier would take the edge off. But look at me.”

You felt him grind against your thigh, the thick outline of his cock straining against his slacks, hot and heavy.

“Didn’t work,” he continued, dragging his fingers through your slickness, circling your clit with lazy, taunting strokes. “Still fuckin’ starving for you.”

Your breath hitched when he pushed a finger inside, slow, teasing, curling it just enough to make you gasp.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured, adding another finger, stretching you out. “my pretty pussy.”

Your head tilted back against the door, a sharp moan slipping from your lips.

His pace quickened, fingers thrusting in and out, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit, every motion calculated, precise, like he was pulling you apart piece by piece. “Feel good, baby?”

You nodded frantically, hips bucking into his hand.

“voice, honey, use it.”

“Y-yeah,” you choked out. “Feels so fucking good.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers suddenly disappearing—making you whine at the loss—before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the door. “Hands up,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, pressing your palms against the doorframe, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. The anticipation burned through you, every nerve in your body attuned to him.

A loud thud echoed behind you, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found Satoru on his knees, his striking blue eyes locked onto you with a dark, ravenous hunger. His fingers hooked into the band of your flimsy panties, tugging them aside with ease before his nose brushed against the sensitive heat of your core.

“Ah, fuck,” he exhaled, his voice thick with desire. “Yum.”

The warmth of his breath sent a shiver coursing through you, and then—oh god—his lips parted, his tongue swiping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees tremble. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he pulled you closer, his grip firm on your thighs.

“You smell so good,” he muttered against your slick skin, his words vibrating against your core. “Fuck—been thinking about this for the past two months— why’re you depriving me of this, wifey?”

Your face twists from anticipation, and moreover, irritation at how he seemed to always think he owned you. news flash, he does.

“you’re acting like—“ you gasp out breathlessly before—His mouth latched onto you, devouring like a man starved. The wet heat of his tongue worked expertly, tracing and teasing, alternating between languid strokes and eager, desperate sucks. Every movement sent shocks of pleasure crackling up your spine, your fingers clenching uselessly against the doorframe as your body melted into his touch.

“Satoru—” you gasped, hips jerking instinctively toward his mouth, craving more. He chuckled against you, the vibration making you whimper.

“So needy,” he murmured, his tongue flicking wickedly before he sucked your clit into his mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened as he buried himself deeper, his own groans mingling with the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your legs shook, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. He could feel it—he always knew. With one hand, he slipped two fingers inside you with ease, curling them just right, pressing into that spot that had you biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxed, voice thick with arrogance and lust. “Let me hear you.”

Your hands trembled against the doorframe, fingers pressing uselessly into the wood as a whimper slipped from your lips. Satoru’s pace was relentless—his tongue dragging through your folds, his fingers curling inside you with devastating precision. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, heat pooling low as he worked you over like he had all the time in the world.

“Look at you,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Dripping all over me—fuck.”

You gasped as he pressed his palm flat against your lower stomach, holding you in place while he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against the swollen nub. The pleasure hit you like a wave, rolling through you in sharp, dizzying bursts.

“Satoru—I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Go ahead. Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body seized, pleasure snapping through your core as your orgasm crashed over you, hard and unrelenting. Your knees buckled, and Satoru caught you effortlessly, keeping you steady as you trembled beneath his touch. He groaned as he licked you through it, his fingers stroking you lazily, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally slumped against the doorframe, boneless and breathless, he pulled back, licking his lips like he was savoring the taste of you. His eyes, darkened with lust, raked over your trembling form.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, rising to his feet. He cupped your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You good?”

You nodded weakly, still floating in the haze of pleasure.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Think you can take more?”

Before you could answer, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around to face him. He kissed you—deep, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands wandered, fingers tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze and letting out a loooowww whistle.

The moment your silence stretched too long, Satoru knew he had you.

A slow, cocky smirk curled on his lips as he rolled his hips forward, pressing his hardness against your core, just to hear the way your breath caught in your throat.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, voice low, rough—wrecked.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he lifted you, pinning you between the door and his body, the heat of him searing straight through your clothes. You barely had a moment to gasp before his lips crashed against yours, desperate and bruising.

It was messy. Uncoordinated. More need than finesse.

Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

You wanted to hate him for how easily he unraveled you, how quickly he made you forget why you were supposed to be angry, but the way he groaned into your mouth, like he was starving for you, made it impossible.

"Fuck," he muttered, breaking away just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. "I've been thinking about this all day."

His fingers found the waistband of your pants, yanking them down in a single, impatient motion, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare skin.

"God, baby," he groaned, voice shaking. "You have no fucking idea."

You swallowed hard, gripping at his shirt as he reached down, palming himself through his slacks. The outline of his cock was thick and heavy, and when he popped open the button and shoved his pants down, your mouth watered at the sight of it—hard, flushed red at the tip, pre-cum already leaking.

He gave himself a few strokes, his eyes locked onto your soaked cunt, before he pressed the blunt tip against your entrance.

"You’re already dripping," he murmured, smug. "Missed me that much, huh?"

You wanted to argue, to shove him back and wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but the second he pushed in, stretching you open inch by inch, your brain short-circuited.

"Shit," you gasped, head tipping back against the door.

Satoru grunted, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

"Tight as ever," he hissed. "Like this pussy was fucking made for me."

You dug your nails into his shoulders, your walls clenching around him as he gave a sharp thrust.

"Shit—" His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. "You’re gonna kill me."

And then he started moving.

There was no build-up, no easing into it—just raw, desperate thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, his cock driving into you so deep it had you seeing stars.

Your moans filled the small bathroom, drowned out only by the muffled sounds of the restaurant beyond the door. The thrill of it—the risk, the absolute filth of being fucked up against a public bathroom door—only made it worse.

Satoru must have felt the same, because his grip on you turned bruising, his pace brutal.

"This what you wanted, huh?" he growled, lips brushing against your ear. "Wanted me to ruin you like this?"

You could only whimper in response, your legs tightening around his waist.

"You love it," he groaned. "Love letting me fuck you like this, even when you hate me."

His teeth found your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he panted, "I should keep you like this forever. Stuck on my cock, whining like a bitch in heat."

The filthiness of it sent heat rushing straight to your core, your walls fluttering around him, making him curse under his breath.

"That's it," he muttered. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and your body jerked at the sensation.

"Fuck—Satoru—"

"I know, baby," he gritted out. "Come for me. Come on my fucking cock."

The coil in your stomach snapped, and you came with a sharp cry, your walls clenching down so hard on him he nearly collapsed against you.

"Shit, shit, shit—"

His thrusts turned erratic, sloppy, his breath ragged against your skin as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—"

And then, with one last thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a low, wrecked groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting, clinging to each other, the aftershocks still rippling through your bodies.

And then—

Reality crashed down.

His head dropped against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Fuck," he murmured, voice hoarse.

You didn’t respond, still coming down from your high, your mind too fogged to process anything else.

But then he spoke again.

"You’re never leaving me."

Your breath hitched.

"You hear me?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his iridescent blue eyes burning.

"This—" He gestured vaguely, his chest still heaving. "Us. It’s never gonna stop."

You swallowed hard. "Satoru—"

"I don’t care how fucked up it is," he interrupted, voice cracking. "I don’t care if we tear each other apart." He sniffled, You swallowed, your throat tight. His words pressed against your skin, heavier than his body pinning you to the door.

"You can’t say that," you whispered, voice barely there.

Satoru’s gaze didn’t waver. He just looked at you, eyes burning with something you weren’t ready to name.

"I can," he murmured. "Because it’s true."

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, sliding down the column of your throat, pressing lightly—just enough for you to feel his touch, like he was mapping you all over again.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your body still ached for him, how every inch of you still burned from the way he took you.

"You don’t own me."

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I know," he admitted, his voice a broken rasp. "But you still belong to me."

Your breath stuttered. "That’s not the same thing."

"Isn’t it?" he asked, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you like you were something fragile. "Tell me, then. Tell me you don’t feel it, too."

You didn’t answer.

Because you did.

You felt it in the way his body curled over yours, in the way his breaths mingled with yours, in the way he held you—not with possession, but with something deeper. Something unshakable.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another on your cheek, then lower, down to your jaw. He was shaking. His lips trembled against your skin.

"I thought about you every fucking day."

His confession poured into you like warm honey, thick and golden, coating every inch of your chest.

"I know you think this is just obsession," he continued, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. "That I’m selfish and I only want you because I can’t stand the idea of someone else having you. Maybe that’s true."

His hands slid up, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them down from where they’d been pressed defensively to his chest.

"But it’s more than that," he said, kissing your palm. "It always has been."

Your fingers curled slightly against his cheek, as if testing the weight of his words. "Then why do we keep ruining each other?"

He let out a breath, slow and quiet, like it hurt to say the truth out loud.

"Because I don't know how to love you without ruining myself, too."

Your heart clenched.

Satoru lifted his head, his gaze searching yours, his lips parting slightly before he said it.

"And you can’t leave me anyway."

You blinked. "What?"

His hands flexed at your sides, gripping tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"Something’s already taken root inside you," he whispered, almost reverently. "You know it, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, your breath catching as something deep inside you—something instinctual, something unspoken—stirred at his words.

Because you did know.

It wasn’t just the way your body still felt like it belonged to him. It wasn’t just the way your heart raced whenever he was near.

It was something more. Something permanent.

Satoru swallowed, his thumb brushing over your lips, his voice raw, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Tell me I’m wrong."

You couldn’t.

His eyes darkened, something deep and knowing settling in them.

"That’s what I thought."

His hands found your hips, gripping them, his thumbs tracing slow circles.

"You’re never leaving," he murmured, softer this time, like a promise. "Not now. Not ever."

You shivered, your head dropping against his chest, your breath unsteady.

Because for the first time in all the years of back-and-forth, of fights and reconciliations, of leaving and coming back—

You believed him.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to leave anyway.

Satoru’s arms wound around you, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

His lips pressed against your temple, slow and lingering, and then—

"Marry me."

The words were quiet, barely louder than the sound of your own heartbeat.

Your body froze, rigid, like glass refusing to budge. Satoru only pulled you closer.

"We both know this is forever."

His hands skimmed your sides, like he was memorizing you all over again.

"So let’s stop pretending otherwise."

Your throat went dry.

Because as crazy as it sounded, as reckless and fucked-up as this love was—

Maybe, just maybe—

He was right.

Back to him, you guess. Forever this time.

FIN.

❤︎ ໋𓈒 a/n. hello loves, i was feeling very uninspired towards my long fic “All I Need” so im posting this. I’ll hopefully be back on track once i jot down my ideas for chapter five. I hope you enjoy this one-shot, based on B2b by charlixcx.

© All Rights Reserved mymoonisgrey

[ccazimi]

White Chrysanthemums

Part 1

plot: you are sukuna's most puzzling job to date. why would anyone hire a professional assassin for some ordinary woman? wc: 1.4k a/n: this part is kind of just a teaser :3

Sukuna has never been one to ask questions, not where it doesn’t matter. Which is probably part of why he’s so successful at what he does.

Assassination is about efficiency, and lethal precision. His job is to eliminate, not wonder.

And still, this job — this might just be the most odd job he’s ever been given.

The file said you lived in a building just off a quiet residential street, surrounded by plum trees that had long shed their blossoms.

Sukuna didn’t need much to locate you.

You live on the third floor, balcony door always unlocked. A few half dead potted plants sitting there. Your curtains are too sheer to matter even if they do happen to be pulled closed. No pets, no roommates, no boyfriend, just some freelance graphic designer that lives alone.

Your life, according to the dossier, is painfully uneventful.

And yet, there’s a bounty on your head for 225 million yen.

The first time he sees you, you arrive home late in the afternoon — arms full of groceries (why you didn’t just get a grocery bag is anyone’s guess), oversized hoodie slightly damp from the rain. He watches as you kick the apartment door shut, a lemon falling out of your hands and tumbling onto the ground.

For a second, you just stand there staring at it like you’ve watched your soul escape.

And then, you put the groceries in your arms down on your dining table. Sukuna, who’s crouched across the street on a rooftop, just expects you to immediately go and pick up the lemon, like any sensible person would.

You don’t.

Instead, you decide to put away every single other grocery first.

And Sukuna just waits there, watching through his binoculars, unable to remember the last time he felt so stressed at the sheer inefficiency of how someone lived their day to day life.

And finally, finally, once everything else is put in its place, you go and pick up the fucking lemon.

He breathes a sigh of relief, before putting down the lenses and deciding what to think.

You move like someone with no predators — no paranoia, no fear, no unease.

Your apartment has just one lock, your phone password is four digits — probably your birthday.

You live like you have no idea that someone like him even exists.

But he’s checked the file countless times, he’s followed you enough to make sure that this is the person. Without a doubt, it is you, with that exorbitant bounty on your head.

Sukuna doesn’t have questions about his targets.

But this? This is something he can’t wrap his mind around — something that makes him uncomfortable.

So, he watches some more.

It doesn’t take Sukuna long to figure out your schedule. You have a few freelance clients, and work from home. Sometimes you’ll go to the park with a sketchbook, other times you’ll buy yourselves flowers or sit outside convenience stores inhaling onigiri.

You smile at strangers, and seem to be rather fond of stray cats — feeding them tidbits of your food, scratching and petting them — but strangely enough you don’t ever speak to them. Or to yourself, like he might have expected from someone like you.

You love plants, clear from the amount of random ones you bring home, which Sukuna finds mildly humorous considering they always seem to end up dying within a few days of your care. You drink coffee, usually with so much milk and sugar he’s not even sure if it should be allowed to be called “coffee”. You try to cook, whether the meal will be a success or not is entirely up to chance. Maybe partially because you don’t use the gas stove ever — if you cook things it’ll either be in the microwave or oven.

Sukuna feels himself starting to grow more and more uncomfortable.

Because for some odd reason, despite the suffocating mundane nature of you and your life, you don’t feel like prey.

It’s another rainy afternoon, and Sukuna’s once again tailing you as you stop by the convenience store by your house. He’s been watching from a distance, planning to get closer but not quite sure on how to do it yet.

He knows it's not a good idea considering he's planning to murder you, but something about all this simply doesn't sit right. Maybe if he actually meets the target, he'll be able to understand better.

You run into the store without an umbrella, hoodie slightly soaked, and grab your usual- a pack of onigiri, canned coffee, and some white chrysanthemums from the convenience store rack.

You rush out, juggling everything in your arms as you always do, no matter the fact that it never gets easier. Unsurprisingly, one of the cans of coffee slips from your grasp and rolls down the pavement — straight to where he’s standing at the overhang, smoking a cigarette, acting like just another nonchalant guy avoiding the rain.

You chase after it, a little breathless, just to look up and find him holding out the can to you.

“You dropped this,” he says, cool and unreadable.

“Oh.” You blink up at him like you’re not used to being seen, raindrops glittering in your lashes. “Thanks.”

You take the can carefully, fingers brushing his for a second too long.

And as you start to leave, a grey tabby trots up out of nowhere—wet and scrawny. It meows.

“Oh, Cement,” you murmur, crouching down to open your onigiri and break off a piece. “I told you salmon wasn’t good for your kidneys.”

The cat takes it anyway, evidently holding no concern for the wellbeing of its kidneys.

Sukuna furrows his brows in confusion. “You named it Cement?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You pause and look up at him like he’s asked the most stupid question in the world. “Uh…because he’s the color of cement?”

Sukuna looks at the cat, and now he’s not sure why he even asked that or what answer he really expected.

Cement finishes his morsel of food, and then to both yours and Sukuna’s surprise, he brushes against his ankle.

You glance up, half-joking. “He doesn’t usually like people.”

Sukuna shrugs. “Maybe he’s got bad taste.”

You snort. “Rude.”

Your nose twitches a bit as you suddenly glance over to he cigarette between his fingers, before commenting, “You smoke the same brand as… someone I know… used to. I hate it.”

He blinks. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You stand up again. “He died in a fire.” And then as if you’re already expecting some awkward answer of pity, you jokingly add, “Not your fault, unless you’re secretly an arsonist or something.”

There’s a faint smile on your lips, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. You adjust your groceries, pause, then extend your hand like you just remembered how introductions work, and give him your name before asking for his.

Sukuna gives his real name.

Should he give a fake one? Probably.

But his pride wouldn’t allow such a thing. Besides, you don’t really seem like much of a threat anyway.

“Well,” you say, glancing at the cigarette again. “You shouldn’t smoke near cats. It’s bad for their lungs.”

It’s bad for humans’ lungs too, he almost wants to say, but you’re already walking off, disappearing into the rain, flowers crushed slightly under your arm.

He stays standing there long after you’re gone.

“I’m telling you,” he says, voice clipped, trying to keep his irritation in check, “you’ve got the wrong woman. This doesn’t make any sense.”

His employer’s voice crackles through the phone, dry and mechanical. “You’ve been given the target. Proceed as directed.”

“No,” Sukuna interrupts, running a hand through his hair, his impatience flaring. “I’m serious. You sent me after her. But there’s nothing special about her. She’s... harmless. She doesn’t even look like she knows what the hell’s going on.” He stares out the window, narrowing his eyes as the rain pelts against the glass, a sound that almost drowns out the gnawing confusion in his mind. “Why the hell is she worth so much money? What’s the catch?”

The employer’s response is cold, as if they’re reading from a script. “Do the job, Sukuna. Payment will be processed when it’s complete.”

Sukuna’s frustration grows. “Fuck. Just tell me something — anything. Do you know what she named her cat? She named it Cement. She fucking named the stupid cat Cement because it’s the color of cement! And this is the person you want dead?”

A long pause on the other end of the line. Then the employer, unfazed, replies flatly, “I mean... I guess that’s a pretty decent reason to name a cat Cement.”

“I-” Sukuna growls in aggravation, raking his hand over his face. “Just forget Cement! Don’t you think this entire job is kinda off? It’s like you just tossed me a random target, and now I’m supposed to play along.”

He leans against the window, staring out at the rainy street, the soft thrum of water hitting the glass doing nothing to calm him. He exhales sharply through his nose. “I get it, you want it done, but come on... Something doesn’t sit right with me. Why her?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, Sukuna wonders if they’ve hung up.

Then the employer speaks again, as monotone as ever, “Your assignment is not to question the target. Proceed with the mission, Sukuna.”

Sukuna closes his eyes, annoyed, but he doesn’t hang up. He knows this is pointless. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I want full payment, up front, once it’s done. No more bullshit, no more waiting.”

He pauses for a beat, thinking, before finally muttering, “And if anything happens... If something goes wrong with this, I’ll be coming for you. No one gives me a job this shady without consequences.”

The line goes dead, and Sukuna stands there for a moment, his thoughts swirling. He hasn’t let it go, not yet.

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to anytime soon.

a/n: so. i intend for this to be a fic with multiple parts, and ofc a multichapter fic means i just have to... play around with certain elements. meaning i probably won't start regularly posting the other parts until i plan a bit more, finish my other fics, and of course start writing. this was me just testing the waters hehe

taglist: @thequeenofcurses