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gav-san · 6 days ago

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Safe Harbour

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Oneshot Length: 7 K

You met Emiliano first; loud, charming, all flash and no brakes. He grinned like the world owed him attention and flirted like it was a sport he intended to win. But it was Enzo you noticed. The older brother. The quiet one. His love is shaped by duty and devotion, built in the spaces between glances, in the quiet weight of callused hands. Reader x Older Marine Brother (Enzo) Here's my love letter to One Piece's Fan Letter (and because, your honor, he's a cutie-patootie). The brothers are named Enzo and Emiliano here.

You met Emiliano first.

He was loud in the way young men often are when they’re trying to be noticed; boisterous, charming, too eager to impress. You remember the Sabaody rainstorm best: thick clouds rolling in like trouble, the kind of downpour that came down sideways and soaked you in seconds. Emiliano had peeled off his coat before you could blink and draped it over your shoulders with the swagger of a stage actor hitting his mark.

“Dibs,” he announced, to no one in particular. “Just saying it now.”

You rolled your eyes.

Behind him, someone sighed.

You hadn’t looked up yet. But you felt it—that stillness, the kind that settles over a room just before a storm breaks. Not cold, not heavy. Just quiet. Anchoring.

When your gaze finally lifted, you saw him.

Enzo stood a few steps behind, as if he hadn’t meant to be seen. He wasn't looming. He was just… there. Steady as the tide rock. His uniform was damp at the shoulders, his face unreadable, and his eyes calm but unreadably deep. He’s tall and broad, with sun-brushed brown hair and a jaw that looks like it’s clenched more often than not. His eyes are sharp, a deep bronze that holds steady even when everything else is chaos.

He speaks low, like he means every word. People listen. He’s calm, unreadable, quietly emphatic. Not flashy, just solid. Unshakable.

And when your eyes met his, something subtle shifted in your chest. Not the lightning-bolt kind of thing. Slower. Heavier. Truer.

That was just Enzo.

Emiliano visits often. Flirts always. He talks with his whole body, gestures widely, and his eyes bright. He calls you “his future civilian wife” with a grin like a private joke between you and fate. You’ve never answered it.

And Enzo… lingers. Always just behind.

He’s the one who notices when your shutters stick and fixes them without a word. The one who catches your empty kettle before it whistles. Who quietly puts your favorite brand of tea on the pantry shelf before you realize you were out. He doesn’t ask how you’re doing—he already knows. Somehow.

He never interrupts. He just… waits. With presence. With patience.

But he never says anything.

Maybe because Emiliano won’t stop saying everything.

Maybe because Enzo’s never been the kind of man who takes what someone else has claimed, even if the claim is all noise and air.

Still, when the evacuation drill turns real, and the panic breaks like a wave through the crowd, when you trip over a curb and go down hard, it’s Enzo who reaches you first.

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice low. Steady. And when he looks at you like you matter, it hits like a punch to the ribs.

No one argues.

You feel the strength in his arms as he lifts you, the careful way he holds you close without drawing attention. The restraint. As if even now, when the world is chaos and you’re trembling in pain, he won’t allow himself the indulgence of holding you too tightly.

Emiliano hovers. Shouts for medics. Tells the story like he lived it. But it’s Enzo who sets you down gently, who brushes the dirt from your sleeve without being asked. His fingers pause just above your wrist—almost a touch, almost not. His eyes meet yours.

And in that look, something slips through. Not a confession. Not quite.

But something raw. Something simple and unattainable. A truth he keeps so carefully guarded that it barely survives the air.

The problem with Enzo is that he never lets himself want anything.

You see it every time he lets Emiliano take the lead; his younger brother charming a room like it’s his birthright, tossing out jokes and half-true stories with a grin so bright you’d think the sun spun just for him. Emiliano has that kind of confidence. The kind that assumes you’ll laugh, swoon, and follow.

And every time he points at you and declares, in that theatrical, smug voice,

“That one’s mine! I called dibs!”

Enzo says nothing.

Just exhaled. Quiet. Almost tired. Then turned his face away.

It hadn’t been flattering. Not really. But you’d laughed it off. Let it slide.

Until you started noticing Enzo.

You noticed how his name always seemed to appear on rosters for your district. How, when Emiliano got too bold, too handsy, too loud, Enzo would materialize at your side with a calm word or a task to pull him away. How, during those long dusk patrols when you asked about the sea, the old wars, the shape of the stars, his voice would turn low and thoughtful, as if you were the only person he trusted with the truth.

How his hand would drift close to yours. Just enough. Just barely. Then pull away like it had crossed a line he’d drawn in stone.

And he'd look down whenever your eyes lingered too long on his. Swallow thickly.

Then, say, almost pained, “He’s young. He likes you. Don’t… don’t…Hurt him.”

It goes on like that for months.

Emiliano brings you flowers, always loud, always colorful. Enzo repairs your doorframe and doesn’t mention it.

Emiliano boasts that he’ll be Commander by thirty. Enzo carries a wounded child across a field of broken glass, runs four miles on foot, and never tells anyone.

Everyone says how sweet Emiliano is. How lucky you’d be.

But you know better.

You know who clears your garden path the morning after a storm. Who sweeps up the broken branches before you even open the shutters. Who replaces your gate hinges so they don’t squeak. Who oils the latch, mends the step, and tightens the handle.

He never says a word. Never leaves a note.

But the signs are everywhere.

Your garden has never seen a weed. The soil is always turned. Your boots, muddy one day, gleaming the next. You know it isn’t magic. And no one else seems to notice.

Except you.

The week after you and the brothers became friends, life changed.

A special blend of tea you once mentioned in passing starts appearing in your pantry. A kind you haven’t had since childhood. The bag’s always freshly sealed. Always tucked behind the usual groceries. Always there just when you’ve had a bad week.

He doesn’t ask if you like it. He just… makes sure you have it.

One afternoon, as you cross the yard, someone watching from the fence whispers to their friend, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Enzo smile before.”

And the other replies, quietly, “He looked like he saw the sun.”

They don’t mean for you to hear it.

But you do.

You know who you’re falling for.

The breaking point comes one evening, your ankle twisted, your patience worn raw. You sit on a rock, wincing, while Emiliano rushes off to fetch bandages and a lecture about learning to “look where you step.”

It’s Enzo who kneels in front of you. Who doesn’t speak at first, just cradles your foot like it’s something breakable. Like he’s afraid even his touch might make things worse.

He won’t look at you.

“You should’ve let me help sooner,” he mutters, barely above the breeze.

You lean in, voice low and pointed.

“Are you really going to let him win by default?”

He freezes.

You see it all: his guilt, discipline, the quiet ache he’s worn like armor for most of his life. He’s breathing hard, thumb trembling faintly against your ankle. Like he knows one wrong move could undo him.

“He called dibs,” he says eventually, and it sounds like defeat. You would smack a lesser man for such nonsense.

You huff a laugh. “I’m not a treasure chest. I choose.”

Your fingers brush along his jaw—careful, slow—and tilt his face toward yours. His breath hitches, like it’s the first time anyone’s touched him like that. Like he wasn’t ready, but never wanted anything more.

You kiss him first.

It’s not a firestorm. It’s not a moment that unravels you both. It’s reverent, like he’s been holding his breath for months and can finally exhale.

When you pull back, he doesn’t open his eyes right away. Just presses his forehead gently to yours.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers.

“Too late,” you murmur. “Now you have to take responsibility.” He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s slow, crooked, and dangerous. You’d sell your soul to see it again.

That’s when Emiliano returns, with bandages and his usual dramatic flair.

“Don’t worry, I brought two kinds—one for sprains, one for being clumsy and cute. You can guess which—”

He stops cold.

Enzo is still kneeling beside you, flushed, eyes wide. Your hand rests calmly on his shoulder like it always belonged there. And Enzo looks like the dirt beneath his boots just whispered a secret it wasn’t supposed to tell.

“Wait. What the hell?” Emiliano stares. Then points. “You kissed him?”

His voice cracks like a boy who’s just been betrayed by a bedtime story.

“Bro. I called dibs.”

You blink. “You also called dibs on the last piece of sea pie and threw up for six hours.” Your voice is dry.

Enzo tries to speak. Tries again. Fails.

“I told her not to—”

“But I did.” You say smugly.

“And I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” you finish for him, eyes steady.

Enzo finally looks at you. Really looks. Not like a protector. Not like a man who’s buried himself behind duty and distance.

He looks at you like you just shattered something, and he never had the courage to break himself. And now he’s caught in the wreckage, half-terrified, half-relieved.

Emiliano throws up his hands.

“I cannot believe this. I had a whole speech planned. There were going to be flowers. I was going to dramatically quit the Marines.”

He glares at his brother. “Enzo, you’re the boring one!”

Enzo blinks. Still dazed.

“You were going to what?”

“Never mind!”

Later that night, Emiliano sulks on your porch, eating pity pie straight from the pan. You leave him there, wrapped in a blanket of his own dramatics.

Enzo stands just outside the reach of your lantern light, like if he steps into it, the moment might vanish.

“You really… meant it?” he asks quietly.

You cross to him. Stand toe to toe, though he towers over you.

His shoulders are tight. His breath shallow. You reach up, gently smooth the crease from his brow with your thumb.

“I didn’t kiss you by accident, Enzo.”

His hands settle slowly at your waist. Light. Unsure. Like he’s learning the shape of wanting.

“I thought… wanting you was unfair to him.”

You tilt your head, smile just a little.

“Then let me be the unfair one.”

A pause.

“Just… give me a bit.”

And that’s when he finally pulls you in. Not like he’s claiming you. But like he’s finally, finally allowed to hold what he’s been carrying in silence.

Emiliano sulks for three straight days.

Not quiet-sulking. No, it’s performative sulking. He sighs like it’s a competitive sport. Writes long, tragic journal entries in full view of anyone who might ask what’s wrong (no one does). Once, you catch him on a dock bench feeding half his sandwich to a seagull while whispering,

“Take it. I know what it’s like to lose something you loved.”

At breakfast, he levels a glare at Enzo so intense it might qualify as a war crime.

“Et tu, big bro?”

Enzo, sipping his coffee like it personally betrayed him, says nothing. Just grimaces at the horizon and endures.

Eventually, Emiliano corners you.

Enzo’s off doing something unnecessarily heroic and, for reasons beyond your comprehension, sleeveless. His arms are like your daily sweet treat. Your complaining.

Emiliano crosses his own arms, face pinched in long-suffering dignity.

“He’s so bad at flirting, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You could’ve had someone fun. Someone who knows how to compliment people without looking like they need a defibrillator.”

You smile. Soft and sure.

“I know. That’s why I picked him.”

He groans like you’ve physically wounded him and buries his face in both hands.

“Ugh. Fine. You win. True love, whatever. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

He peeks at you through his fingers, solemn.

“If he proposes like an idiot, let me hold the ring. He’ll drop it. Probably into a ravine. Or a soup.”

You laughed it off because at the time, you underestimated something important.

You underestimated how hard Enzo falls and how hard he takes falling. Since the kiss, he’s become an utter menace.

Not to you, or anyone else, but himself.

It all started the night you kissed him. You thought that would be it. That the tension would break, the walls would fall. That your Enzo, the quiet, steadfast Marine with hands built to lift wreckage and a voice soft enough to hush storms, would finally let himself have something gentle.

You.

But he didn’t.

The next morning, he couldn’t meet your eyes. He turned pink when you handed him tea. Emiliano made kissing noises behind your back, and Enzo dropped a spoon like it had personally betrayed him.

You pulled him aside, heart pounding.

“Do you regret it?”

His answer came fast.

“No. Never.”

Then quieter. Like it hurt to admit.

“I just don’t know why you’d want… me.”

He wasn’t retreating because he doubted you. There was something deep inside him that he couldn’t bear to overcome.

So you started pushing.

Gently, at first.

You invited him to sit beside you during the harvest festival. He did, stiff, formal, like the bench might reprimand him for improper conduct. You complimented his dark hair after a sudden rainstorm, and he blushed so hard he nearly walked into a tree.

You sent him home with warm bread wrapped in cloth. The next day, it came back folded with military precision, pressed, and faintly scented with his soap; brine, citrus, and something clean and warm beneath.

You caught yourself smiling for hours.

And then came the flowers.

He started bringing you bunches of them. Beautiful, thoughtful… soaking wet and untrimmed. Still clumped together at the stems like he’d yanked them from the ground and second-guessed himself the whole way over.

He tried writing poetry. Serious, clumsy verses in neat block letters. You found the torn-up drafts in the trash beside your porch. Lines about your laugh. About the sea. About how your presence felt like quiet after a storm. He hadn’t meant for you to see them, but once you did, you couldn’t stop rereading the pieces.

Then he built a bench. Sturdy, well-made. Placed just outside your home beneath the shade of the lilac tree.

Then he panicked.

“Too forward,” he muttered.

For a week straight, he sat on it every morning like it was a crime scene. Never looked up when you passed. Refused to speak more than three words at a time.

Took extra shifts just to avoid you. You tried, one last time, to ease him out of it.

“You know I already like you, right?”

He shifted his weight like he was reporting for inspection.

“I know. But if I don’t do it properly, it’s like I cheated.”

“Cheated on what?” you asked, exasperated. “Time?”

He hesitated.

“On… courting. I never did it right before.”

That stopped you.

Because underneath the military polish and restraint was the truth. He didn’t want to just be with you. He wanted to earn it. Not once. Every day.

You softened.

“You don’t have to. I already chose you.”

He finally looked at you then, really looked. His eyes full of hesitation and hope, like your words had cracked something loose in him.

“Then let me prove why you should keep choosing me.”

And from that day forward, you were relentlessly, sweetly, awkwardly courted by a man who already had your heart… but refused to take it for granted.

From a distance.

Enzo delivered flowers wrapped in old service paper. Left thank-you notes by your window, written in his most formal tone, like reports turned love letters. He bowed when greeting you. Once, he asked if he should speak to your parents about “declaring intentions.” You laughed so hard, you dropped your laundry basket and scared the chickens.

Even Emiliano, with his endless commentary, eventually said:

“Alright. I still hate this. But… okay. You two are stupid. In love. But stupid. Him especially.”

You sighed.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Each time you thought, maybe this is it.

Maybe today, Enzo would say what he felt out loud.

Each time, he stayed silent.

Until the day you finally snapped.

You cornered him behind the naval outpost, palm flat to his chest, eyes blazing.

“Enzo, I kissed you. I chose you. I keep choosing you. Are you ever going to let me?”

His hair was messy that day, the brown falling into his eyes, which you mercilessly took advantage of. You ran your hand to straighten the locks.

He looked like you’d short-circuited something vital.

Eyes wide. Breath caught. No sound.

He blinked once. Then again. His mouth opened slightly, like he had a response queued but forgot what language was. His ears turned pink. Then his neck. Then the entire back of his neck, visible under the collar of his uniform like a slow-spreading confession.

You hadn’t even said anything.

He stepped back too fast, nearly bumped into the chair behind him, and muttered something that might have been your name or a swear word.

“You could have anyone,” he said, voice barely audible.

“I don’t know why it’s me.”

And in that moment, you finally saw the full weight he’d been dragging like armor.

Not just duty. Not just the uniform. But the belief that love was for other people. Softer men.

That Marine who stayed standing while others danced. The girl always chose someone more straightforward.

So you took his hand and pressed it against your heart.

“Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

A breath.

“The man who notices when I limp? Who fixes my porch? Who listens like I matter?”

He didn’t answer with words. He just pulled you into his arms and held you like the world had finally made room for him in it.

After that, he got a little closer.

He built you a second bench, and this one is clearly meant for sharing. You knitted him a scarf for cold-weather patrols. He brought you seashells from every port. You gave him a carved wooden comb after noticing his hair always dried wild and unbrushed.

You started writing him notes. Tucking them into his coat. Little sketches. Jokes. A pressed petal or two and he cherishes each one.

It became your quiet language.

Until the raid.

It was supposed to be routine until it wasn’t.

Word spread: ambush, wounded, names not yet released. You tore through the recovery tents, shoving past Marines who tried to stop you. Your hands shook. Your lungs barely worked.

You found him at last. Blood on his uniform. An arm in a sling. Alive. You didn’t say a word. You ran to him. Collided with him.

He blinked. Dazed. His good hand hovered, then wrapped around you, tight, desperate, grounding.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“So are you,” you snapped, voice cracking. “I thought I lost you.”

He pulled you into his lap, unthinking. Breathed you in like you were the only thing keeping him together.

“I didn’t know anyone would ever look for me like that,” he whispered, broken.

You leaned back, took his face in your hands, and met his eyes.

“Enzo,” you said, steady as truth.

“You’re the only one I’d look for.”

That was the moment the last wall fell.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t sorry anymore. Like he finally, finally understood.

You weren’t choosing him in spite of who he was. You were choosing him because of it.

A year passes.

Since the day you kissed Enzo.

Since the day the Straw Hats sailed off in a flurry of cannon smoke, cheers, and one of Emiliano’s sandwiches flung like a farewell gift from the dock.

So much has changed.

The archipelago is quieter now. The world, louder. Rumors drift in like fog, of rising tides, rebel winds, pirates with absurd bounties, and louder dreams. But here, in your little corner of the coast, the seasons turn as they always have.

And Enzo?

Enzo’s been promoted, and he seems to find a little more confidence these days.

He’s a Lieutenant now. The new stripes sit heavy on his shoulders, though he carries them as he does everything else, with discipline, silence, and the occasional glance toward you that says he still hasn’t quite figured out what he did to deserve this life.

His patrols stretch longer. The decisions come harder. You see it in the way he stops mid-sentence, caught between telling you the truth and sparing you from it. In the way he rests his forehead against yours in the dark, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to shore.

He never says it outright.

But you know.

The sea is pulling harder, and Enzo is the kind of man who never lets the current drag someone he can save first.

Still, despite the weight, he always comes home to you.

Even if it’s late. Even if it’s only long enough to kiss your cheek, lean against your shoulder, and fall asleep upright while you untie his boots. You leave him notes. Knit him fingerless gloves for winter drills. He brings you back little things: foreign coins, rare teas, and a compass he swears points to you instead of north.

The time between your moments has stretched thin. But he’s never once stopped trying.

And lately?

He’s been… weird.

Weirder than usual.

Jumpier. Too formal. He nearly saluted you once when you brought him coffee. You caught him practicing a prewritten speech at his reflection in the window. Then watched him flinch and claim it was “a new Marine protocol.”

His uniform is cleaner than normal. His hair is slicked back instead of just combed, and his boots are a mirror shine instead of just polished.

And there’s a little wooden box in his coat pocket that he guards like it contains both a dream and its consequences.

You know. You’ve known.

He’s just taking forever.

So when he invites you on “a walk to check sea fog patterns,” you sigh but follow. You already know where you’re headed.

The cliffs.

The same spot where, months ago, he told you he didn’t think he was worthy. Where you cupped his face and told him you didn’t care.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

He turns to face you fully and holds your gaze, no retreat in sight.

“You once said you’d keep choosing me.”

You smile, already tearing up.

“Still true.”

His hands shake slightly as he pulls the box from his pocket, kneeling with all the ceremony of a man proposing to both a goddess and a landmine at once.

“Then… will you marry me? Not because it’s safe. Or proper. But because I want a future where I don’t have to let you go.”

Your breath catches.

It’s everything you wanted.

Stupidly sweet.

Painfully sincere.

Perfectly Enzo.

And then—

“YOU HAD ONE JOB—DON’T PROPOSE WHILE I WAS PEEING!”

Emiliano screeches from behind a tree and stumbles into view, hands flailing.

You both whirl.

“Why are you even here?!” Enzo barks, still down on one knee.

“I was supposed to hold the ring if you dropped it! You PROMISED!” Emiliano howls, now fake-sobbing into his sleeve. “I CAN’T BELIEVE MY OWN BROTHER IS MARRYING MY CRUSH.”

You stride over and smack him across the back of the head with the precision of a seasoned marksman. Birds take flight in every direction.

He freezes, stunned. Rubs his head.

“Ow! That’s assault.”

“That’s restraint,” you snap. “Try me again.”

He squints. Narrows his eyes.

“I’m making a speech at the wedding, and no one can stop me.” He retreats, still grumbling.

Enzo is flushed. Embarrassed. Still kneeling like a soldier caught in crossfire.

You exhale. Then gently reach out, take the box, and slide the ring onto your own finger.

“Before your brother breaks something else.”

Enzo laughs, soft, stunned, completely yours.

“You deserve something better than this,” he murmurs, overwhelmed.

You cup his face. “This is better.”

And then you kiss him, slow and certain and steady.

The ceremony is small.

Quiet. Intimate. And just a little chaotic, because of course it is.

Marines aren’t known for softness, but for Enzo? His command makes an exception. They gather in dress uniform, row by row, stiff-backed and stoic, though more than a few blink too much and pretend it’s sun glare. Even a Vice Admiral—who only ever signs paperwork with “Mmmm”—sends a bottle of champagne and a note that simply reads: “Don’t screw this up. Congratulations.”

You wear white. Enzo wears awe.

He stares at you like he’s never seen the sun before and only just realized it rises for him. His hands tremble as you walk toward him, and by the time you reach the vows, he’s shaking like a green recruit at his first inspection.

The words are simple. Barely spoken.

The party makes it through the ceremony without embarrassing Enzo. Barely. When it comes time to exchange rings, Enzo’s hand shakes so hard he drops yours. It hits the dock with a soft clink.

Emiliano immediately dives in like he’s recovering a sacred relic.

“See?” he says, holding it aloft like a trophy. “This is why I needed to be part of this.”

You glare. He winks. Enzo looks like he might pass out.

Then the kiss comes. Sweet. Steady. Reverent.

The kind of kiss that says, we fought for this, and we won. Enzo’s hands cradle your face like he’s still not entirely sure you won’t vanish. Like, if he lets go too soon, he might wake up.

But you don’t disappear.

You’re married.

You’re his.

And he is entirely, breathtakingly yours.

The party unfolds beneath warm lantern light, right by the sea. Laughter, music, the scent of roasted food, and salt air mix in the breeze. Someone breaks out a guitar. Someone else spikes the punch. A retired Rear Admiral starts crying during the cake cutting.

Then Emiliano finds the mic.

He clinks a fork against his glass and climbs onto a chair with the gravity of a man about to deliver either a wedding toast or a declaration of war.

“As the best man—self-declared—I feel obligated to speak.”

A chorus of groans rises. Enzo immediately buries his face in his hands.

“When I first laid eyes on my new sister-in-law, I said ‘dibs.’ And I still stand by it.”

You stare.

“But fate is cruel,” Emiliano continues, “and my brother’s stupidly good with his hands if not his emotions. So here we are.”

Enzo peeks through his fingers. “What does that mean?”

“It means I lost,” Emiliano sighs, placing a hand to his chest like a tragic hero. “But damn if the guy who beat me didn’t deserve it.”

He looks at you then. The mischief fades for a moment.

“You made him better. Softer. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’ve never seen him like this. Except maybe when he won that chili cookoff, which was weirdly intense.”

You snort. Enzo groans louder.

“To the couple who proved you can have duty and love. Justice and joy. And to my brother, who finally figured out he’s worth it.”

There’s cheering. Clapping. The captain in the back wipes their eyes with a napkin and yells,

“I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

And when the party begins to wind down, Enzo leads you away, quietly and gently, down to the edge of the docks.

The moonlight dances over the water, and he holds you close, the sea breeze wrapping around you both like a blessing.

He strokes his thumb along your ring finger.

“Still sure?” he asks softly.

You press your forehead to his.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He kisses your temple.

“Then let me keep proving you right.”

You lean into his chest, your heartbeat syncing with the waves below, and know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

The honeymoon is peak Enzo.

He books the most boring, out-of-the-way island he can find. No war. No missions. No Emiliano. Just wind-swayed palms, sugar-sweet drinks with little umbrellas, and a private cabin with two hammocks on the porch—even though there’s a bed inside.

“Just in case the weather’s too warm,” he mumbles, refusing to make eye contact when you raise an eyebrow.

For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no uniform. No title. No orders.

Just Enzo.

And Enzo is so, so lost.

He tries to act cool. Casual. Like he’s totally the kind of man who’s been barefoot on a beach with his new spouse a dozen times. But he carries your bag, over-apologizes when sand gets on your shoes, and re-checks the sunscreen like it’s a combat manual.

When you finally strip down to your swimwear, he completely short-circuits.

“You—uh—You-uh-you’re gonna get sunburned,” he blurts, staring very intently at a palm tree.

“Enzo,” you say, deadpan. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

“Right. Right. Just… safety first.”

He’s adorable.

“Want to inspect the bed for hazards?” His entire face goes crimson.

“I don’t think I’d survive that.”

He does.

But that night, with the island breeze soft through the open windows, Enzo kisses you with quiet confidence. No urgency. No hesitation.

Just reverence.

He kisses your knuckles. Your shoulders. The scars you once tried to hide. You cup his jaw and whisper, “You can relax now.”

And he does.

He exhales like it’s the first full breath he’s allowed himself to take in years.

You wake the next morning tangled together, limbs knotted like driftwood, his arm locked protectively around your waist as he snores into your neck.

“Still sure?” you whisper.

Without even opening his eyes, he mumbles,

“Marrying you is the only thing I’ll never second-guess.”

You press a kiss to his brow and smile until your cheeks ache.

Later, you watch him attempt to cook breakfast shirtless over a fire pit, completely covered in flour, mumbling to himself about “structural pancake integrity.” He burns half of them. One falls in the sand. You eat them all anyway.

Best meal of your life.

A couple months later Emiliano watches the two of you across the base yard, your laughter ringing like music, Enzo’s rare smile pulled wide and real in a way he’s never worn it before.

And it hits him.

You were the one thing that got away.

Not because he didn’t try; he did. Flowers, jokes, his best smiles. Not because he didn’t want you (he still does, a little, in that tender part of himself that always hoped someone like you would say “yes”).

But because Enzo was always going to be the one you reached for in the dark.

You were the spark. But Enzo? Enzo was the flame that never went out.

And that used to sting.

It still stings, sometimes—especially when you wave at Emiliano like he didn’t once declare you his future wife at age 19 with full confidence and zero plan.

But then he sees the way Enzo looks at you, like you’re not just a person, but the first thing he’s ever let himself love loudly, and Emiliano feels something he never expected:

Peace.

“You picked him,” he mutters under his breath, standing alone under a barrack awning, arms crossed. “And for once… he picked himself.”

Because Enzo never did that. Not really. He always let Emiliano shine. Took the back seat. Chose duty. Let him call dibs on everything—even you.

But not this time.

“Good for you.” He smiles.

Emiliano can’t hate him for it.

Not when his brother looks like a man who finally stopped holding his breath and started living.

Later, he finds you alone on the balcony, sipping tea. You raise a brow when he approaches, ready for teasing.

Instead, he bumps your shoulder and mutters, “Take care of him, okay?”

You glance over with a soft smile.

“Always.”

He nods once, turns, and walks away, hands in his pockets, grin crooked.

“Still calling dibs on naming your future daughter, though. She’s gonna be hilarious.”

Being married to a respected Marine officer means you live in two worlds.

One is quiet: a sun-drenched coastal home with creaky floors, sea breeze through the curtains, and the sound of Enzo’s boots hitting the porch at exactly 1800 hours. There’s a lilac bench in the yard and tea on the stove. He always checks the porch light twice before bed.

The other world is uniform and orderly: sharp salutes, base protocol, and Marines who clear a path when you arrive, because you always do. Frequently. With lunch. And sometimes revenge.

On base, your reputation is soft-spoken but steel-edged. You’re the sharp-eyed civilian wife who fixes your husband’s collar, brings him food he forgets to eat, and once outshot a Vice Admiral during a festival game because you “had a feeling.”

People talk.

Your name is spoken with reverence. The younger Marines watch how Enzo treats you—how he respects you—and they start following suit.

You’re not just the pretty wife. You’re his world..

“She’s too pretty for him,” someone mutters behind a stack of reports.

“He treats her soooo well. I’d marry him,” someone else replies.

“She called him ‘husband’ right in front of the Vice Admiral last week. He almost fainted.”

Which, to be fair, is true.

You’d said it casually—“Well, my husband says—”—in the middle of a conversation about leadership changes, surrounded by Marines, townsfolk, and one poor sergeant who very clearly has a crush on you.

And Enzo?

Enzo dropped an entire crate of tools.

Everyone turned.

Someone gasped.

You glanced at him, brow raised. He stood frozen. Ears red. Eyes wide. Like someone just summoned the sea god behind him.

“Did I say something wrong?” you teased.

He swallowed. Twice. Cleared his throat. Failed.

“No. No, I just—it’s the first time you said here. Like, out loud.”

“You are my husband.”

“I know! I just… can you… Say it again?”

So you leaned in, all warmth and trouble, and whispered,

“My husband.”

He was useless for the rest of the day. Filled out half his paperwork with your name instead of his own. Emiliano found him hours later, still staring into his tea like it had revealed the secrets of the universe.

“You okay?”

“She called me her husband.”

“Yeah. Because she married you?”

“But like… in public.”

You had started small, to try not to overwhelm your poor, shy marine husband.

A rice ball. A thermos. A handwritten note slipped into his field kit:

“Don’t forget to eat, dummy. Love you.”

He flushed scarlet and hid it behind a personnel file for two hours.

The next day, you added a fruit tart.

The third day, Enzo tried to pack your lunch instead.

“You do enough—let me take care of you for once,” he muttered, fumbling with toast.

“Enzo. The last time you packed me lunch, it was three boiled eggs and a spoon.”

“A protein spoon,” he defended, mortified.

You won that round. You usually do.

Now, he shows up to work with a perfectly tied bento box wrapped in floral cloth, and every Marine in the yard watches like he just won the damn lottery.

“He bagged a goddess who feeds him. How?”

“I heard she visits at noon just to kiss him and leave. That’s power.”

They’re not wrong.

You sweep onto base like sunshine in a hurry, breeze past security like you own the place, because, in Enzo’s eyes, you do.

You find him hunched over paperwork, jaw tight, ink staining his fingers.

“Enzo,” you call sweetly, arms crossed.

He looks up, already smiling. “You brought it again? I was going to—”

You kiss him before he can finish.

A long, thorough, shameless kiss. One Marine drops his clipboard. Another accidentally salutes you. Emiliano, watching from a tower, shouts:

“I AM TOO YOUNG FOR THIS MUCH AFFECTION IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.”

You pull back slowly, murmur:

“Eat the dumplings first. I used the good sauce.”

He’s red from his ears to his collarbone. Watching you walk away like the tide just stole his soul.

At home, he packs your tea for early mornings. Polishes your boots when you’re not looking. Presses kisses to your shoulder when you yawn while brushing your hair.

And one night, after dinner, he wraps his arms around you from behind and says softly,

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you… But I’m so glad I didn’t stop myself.”

You turn, tuck your fingers under his chin.

“You deserve all of this. You always did. You just didn’t know it yet.”

And when he kisses you—slow, deep, grateful—you know one thing with absolute certainty:

His life didn’t just get better. It finally started.

And yes, the Marines still talk.

“She’s his actual wife?”

“She’s the one who brought the dumplings?”

“I heard she once fixed a bayonet and a bureaucratic form error in under five minutes.”

It’s a lie you don't correct.

“No wonder he’s unstoppable.”

Back on the tower, Emiliano sighs dramatically, hands on his hips.

“If they have a kid, I’m calling dibs on being favorite.”

You gave birth to a walking contradiction; your grace, Enzo’s quiet storm.

From the very beginning, your child was a perfect balance of opposites. Wide, curious eyes. A furrowed little brow. Tiny fingers curled into decisive fists, even while peacefully asleep. Sweet one moment, imperious the next. Somehow, already more self-possessed than half the base.

Their name was chosen carefully; something soft, meaningful. Something with roots. Something that sounded like home.

And then Emiliano stormed into the hospital with a whiteboard, two marker options, and the exact energy of a man who had not been invited but chose to interpret silence as a green light.

“Hear me out: Stormblade. Middle name optional. First name? Absolutely not negotiable.”

You didn’t even look up.

“They’re not a sword, Emiliano.”

“Fine. Justice Jr. Final offer.”

Enzo, seated beside your bed with the baby tucked carefully in his arms, adjusted the blanket and kissed the baby's forehead. His expression didn’t even flicker.

“He’s not naming our child,” you said firmly.

“Agreed,” Enzo replied, calm as a rising tide. “They deserve better.”

Emiliano sniffed. “Rude. But fair.”

It happens on a quiet afternoon, the baby finally napping like a tiny, blanket-wrapped warlord after a long campaign of chewing on everything in reach. You and Enzo are sitting at the kitchen table, sun spilling in across the floor, tea cooling between your hands.

You’re casually flipping through name ideas in a little notepad. Doodled hearts. Crossed-out contenders. A few joke entries, courtesy of Emiliano.

“We still haven’t settled on a middle name,” you muse aloud, tapping your pen against the paper.

Enzo hums in acknowledgment, completely unsuspecting. He’s focused on folding a dish towel with the kind of precision normally reserved for battlefield maps.

You smile, wicked in intent.

“What about Luffy?”

Silence.

Utter, spiritual silence.

Enzo’s hands were still mid-fold. His head snaps up so fast it’s practically a salute. His ears are already turning pink.

“Wh-what?”

You glance up, all innocent curiosity.

“Luffy. It’s soft, but strong. Kind. And… well, it’s a good legacy, isn’t it?”

He looks like you just proposed naming your child after a thunder god, a cannon, and a national scandal all at once.

“You… you want to name our child after Strawhat?”

You smile sweetly.

“Why not? I’ve heard you speak about him with admiration.”

Enzo sputters. “Admiration is not—I mean, yes, fine, I respect the guy, as a symbol, but that doesn’t mean—” He’s waving his hands now, flustered and deeply cornered.

You tilt your head, delighting in every second.

“You called him ‘unshakable in moral alignment’ just last week.”

“That was during a disciplinary briefing! It was contextually relevant!”

You lean forward, elbows on the table.

“You also once said, ‘If more people had his conviction, we wouldn’t need as many warships.’” Enzo covers his face with one hand.

“You memorized that?”

“You said it very passionately.”

He groans, voice muffled behind his palm.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

From the other room, Emiliano yells,

“Tell us what? Wait—is this about Luffy again? I told you we should name the baby ‘Strawblade!’”

“No!” Enzo shouts back, then turns to you, looking genuinely panicked.

“Please don’t put that in the name records. The paperwork lives forever.”

You reach over and take his hand, gently, thumb brushing along his knuckles.

“Okay. Not Luffy. But it’s sweet that you admire him.”

Enzo goes still.

“He’s brave. And kind. He makes people believe in better things.” He glances away, voice quiet.

You squeeze his hand, and your smile is very soft.

“A lot like you.”

He looks back at you sharply, startled.

“You really think so?”

You nod.

“Only difference is you fold laundry like a Marine and he’d probably just wear it as a cape.” Enzo chuckles. Relaxes. Blushes, still.

And later that night, as the baby sleeps and you’re curled together in bed, he quietly admits:

“I did once think… if I ever had a kid, I’d want them to be that brave.”

You kiss his temple.

“They will be. Just like their dad.”

He doesn’t answer. Just holds you tighter. And the next morning, tucked beside the bento you laid out to pack, you find a note in Enzo’s neat handwriting:

“Middle name’s your call. But… if you did write Luffy, I wouldn’t fight it.”

(P.S. Please don’t tell Emiliano.)

Three years later, your contradiction is marching across the yard with toddler-level authority, brandishing a homemade paper badge and barking orders at Emiliano like a pirate admiral on a deadline.

“Uncle ‘Liano, stand still! You’re under cannon arrest!”

“That’s not even a thing!” Emiliano yelps, ducking behind a garden barrel.

“You’re being tried for lunch crimes and excessive whistling!”

From your seat in the sun, tea in hand, you watch it all unfold with mild amusement. Enzo stands nearby, arms crossed, his gaze bouncing between you, the chaos, and your wildly imaginative child.

His expression is a cocktail of love, fear, and existential awe.

“They’re too smart,” he whispers.

“They’re ours,” you murmur back. A beat of silence.

“So, yes. Too smart.”

Life is louder now.

Messier. Sweeter.

Enzo still makes tea. You still pack his lunch. Now, you take turns rocking a child who insists on being carried like they’re reporting for formal review; back straight, blanket draped like a ceremonial cloak, paper crown tilted with purpose.

Enzo still brushes your hair from your face when you nap. Still looks at you like he’s seeing a miracle unfold daily. Still calls you his wife, like the phrase was forged just for him.

And when he finds your child asleep beside you on the couch, curled up like a comma between paragraphs, he kneels down, leans in, and kisses both your foreheads in turn.

“My whole world in one place,” he whispers.

And then—The kid farts. Loudly. Triumphantly.

Enzo freezes.

You peek one eye open, already grinning.

He straightens up.

“My whole world,” he says again, this time with pride, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Loud and majestic.”

You sip your tea to hide your laugh.

And when Emiliano peeks in the window, holding a hand-drawn “Wanted” poster with his own face on it, he shouts:

“YOU’VE RAISED A MONSTER—AND I’M SO PROUD!”

Your child stirs just enough to mutter,

“Justice never sleeps.” And drifts back off. You and Enzo look at each other.

And then you laugh together, warm and full—because this is your life now.

Too soft.

Too silly.

Too perfect.

Just like you wanted.

#one piece #one piece fan letter #marine older brother x reader #one piece fan letter x reader #slowburn #gav story #yearning #sibling rivalry #sweet story #one shot #monkey d. luffy #slow burn #friends to lovers #mutual pining #stoic but gentle #older brother complex #he fell first

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its-just-me-rin · 2 days ago

Text

IF THIS IS NOT THE HOTTEST JEALOUSY, FRIENDS TO LOVERS STORY I HAVE EVER READ I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS!!

No Angels

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Rhett have been friends for almost your entire lives and you’ve had a crush on him ever since you could remember. You’ve never made a move out of respect for the friendship, but when Maria–an old crush of Rhett’s–comes back into town, you can’t help but get a little jealous of how much he swoons for her.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Angst, and Fluff, We got the childhood best friends trope, and I frickin love it! Reader is super jealous but really tries to be happy for Rhett.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Rhett is a bit dominant in here, Dirty Talk, He talks you through it, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Rough Sex, He puts his hand on your throat��But like…Not to choke? I guess. A little bit of overstimulation, Heavy Makeout, Some Grinding

Author’s Note: I got this request a while back and honestly I was writing it and hated the way it went, then I had this huge eureka moment and literally put my whole chest into this damn thing lol. Thank you anon, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting! But I hope it meets your expectations. (I made it on time y’all sorry for the delay!)

Word Count: 18,010

The lights above the ring hummed with electricity, casting long, bright white beams over the dirt-packed arena like they were trying to mimic daylight–but it was well past sundown. The night air had settled cool against your skin, clinging to the sweat on your collarbones and the thin cotton of your oil-stained tank top–the same one you had been wearing when Rhett burst into your garage hours earlier, all breathless and grinning, saying, “You comin’ or what?”

You didn’t even notice him at first. Your arms were elbow-deep in the hood of your father’s busted-up ‘82 Chevy, sleeves rolled past your shoulders, knuckles stained black with grease. The old truck had been sitting in the barn lot for years, more rust than a frame, but it had history, and you couldn’t bring yourself to give up on it. You had been trying to get the engine to crank for weeks now, working after hours between shifts and moonlight with stubborn hands, and a soft heart.

Rhett had found you with a pair of pliers clenched between your teeth, and your hair stuck to the back of your neck. You were in the middle of coaxing a frayed wire into a cleaner splice when he had said it again.

”Y/N! You comin’ or what?!” You nearly dropped the pliers into the engine block that time around, and your eyes immediately shot up to him.

”Jesus Christ, Rhett,” You muttered around the tool in your mouth, straightening up just enough that your back cracked, “You ever heard of knocking? You’ve got hands do you not?” Rhett leaned his shoulder against the frame of the open garage door, arms crossed, boots scuffed and dusty. The golden evening light caught the curve of his jaw, lighting up the honeyed brown wisps of hair curling out from under his ballcap, the one he wore when he wasn’t wearing his normal cowboy hat. He grinned like he had all the time in the world.

”Yeah, I got hands.” He said, holding them up and wiggling his fingers, “But I need ‘em for the circuit tonight, can’t go wasting tiring ‘em up by knockin’ on your door.” You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. With a sigh, you pulled the pliers from your mouth and tossed them onto the stainless steel tool table beside you, the clink echoing off the walls of the garage. The wire you’d been working with curled like a question mark in the air.

“God forbid your precious hands do somethin’ useful.” He let out a huffed laugh, smirking, like that little jab of yours was exactly what he had come there for. You reached for the damp rag that always lived folded beside your socket set, rubbing your hands down with practiced efficiency. Grease smeared into the creases of your fingers, under your nails, and you could already hear your father warning you–again–about keeping motor oil off your face. You scrubbed harder.

“Can you give me five minutes to change, at least?” You asked, gesturing vaguely at yourself. “I look like I crawled out of a junkyard.” Rhett checked the time on his phone like it was life or death, kissing his teeth.

“No can do. It’s gonna take us ‘bout two hours to get down there, and I gotta check in early. No time.” You looked down at yourself–at the tank top clinging to your skin, streaked with oil and sweat; your low-rise jeans that had a hole in the knee; boots dusted in gravel, grime and oil. You knew your hair certainly didn’t look good, especially with the sweat that pooled on the back of your neck, so you tried to plead again.

”C’mon, Rhett,” You groaned, “At least lemme–“

”Nuh-uh,” He interrupted smoothly, already pushing off the doorframe, “You look fine.” He said it so matter-of-factly it hit you like a sucker punch to the gut. His tone was easy, and offhanded, but his eyes flicked over you once–head to toe, like he was checking the welds on a fence post–and lingered a second too long on your bare shoulders before flicking away again. You felt your skin heat up despite the cool air from your fan blowing onto you.

Then he tossed you his keys without ceremony, and you barely caught them in time.

”Now. Get your butt in the truck, I need my good luck charm.” You stood there for a second, holding his keys like they were heavier than they had any right to be, watching Rhett backpedal across the gravel with that cocky grin stretching his mouth. The nerve of him–waltzing in, dragging you out in grease-stained clothes, and telling you that you looked fine like it didn’t mean something.

Like it didn’t knock something loose in your chest.

You tucked the rag into your back pocket with a sigh and followed him out into the golden spill of sunset that painted the drive, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. Rhett was already climbing into the passenger side, settling into the spot he always took when he was with you. He never once offered to drive–not because he didn’t want to, but because he liked how you drove his truck. He liked watching you lean one hand out the window, tapping the side with your fingers in time with the radio, he had said you made it run smoother somehow.

You climbed in behind the wheel, the door creaking shut with that familiar metallic groan as you shoved the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life beneath your hands like it had been waiting on your touch.

“You just always have to pull that good luck charm shit with me,” You muttered, fingers flicking the air vents toward Rhett like that would somehow cool your irritation, “If it wasn’t for the fact your dad would have my head on a stake if I didn’t show up, I wouldn’t be coming.” Rhett didn’t even flinch, he just smiled wider, teeth flashing under the brim of his cap.

”You’d show up anyways, even if there wasn’t that loomin’ threat.”

”Yeah?” You shot back, shifting into reverse, “And why’s that?”

“Cause you always do, that’s just how you are.” You let the truck ease back down the gravel drive, headlights cutting twin beams through the soft haze of kicked-up dust. Rhett reached out to roll down his window, letting his arm dangle outside, fingers tapping lazily against the side of the door like he had no care in the world.

“You still act like it’s a choice,” You grumbled, glancing sideways at him as you turned onto the main road, “You ever consider the possibility that I just don’t like you makin’ stupid decisions alone?”

“You’re not just here to babysit me, darlin’,” He said, voice soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “You’re here ‘cause you belong there.”

That had shut you up pretty quickly.

He didn’t say it with any kind of weight. Didn’t lean into it or give it too much gravity. Just said it like it was a fact of life–like gravity or dust or the way your names had always sounded right in the same sentence.

Rhett had called you his good luck charm since you were barely tall enough to see over the top rail at his first junior circuit. He’d botched the ride and landed square on his ass, the wind knocked clear out of him–but when he stumbled to his feet and saw your worried face at the edge of the ring, he lit up like he’d just won the whole damn event.

From then on, he’d refused to ride without you.

It didn’t matter what his father said. Didn’t matter how many times Royal Abbott tried to reason, bribe, or flat-out yell Rhett into submission—if you couldn’t be there, neither could he.

Royal had tried everything over the years. Bargained with prize money, lectured about reputation, brought up every missed opportunity, every unclaimed buckle, every point lost in the rankings. And every time, Rhett just shrugged, chewed his toothpick a little harder, and said, “Ain’t worth it without her.”

Royal had even gone to your father once, showed up at the house red-faced and muttering under his breath, looking for backup. He’d stomped up the porch steps, knocked hard enough to rattle the screen, and said, “You need to talk some damn sense into your daughter. She’s holdin’ Rhett back.”

Your father didn’t even look up from the paper in his lap. Just flipped a page and said, “It’s outta my hands, Royal. She’s his lucky rabbit’s foot, not mine. You’re the one who raised a superstitious kid.”

That had been the end of it.

Well–besides the occasional muttered complaint, the exasperated way Royal folded his arms and scowled at you from across the arena like you were the one who’d crawled inside Rhett’s brain and rewired the whole damn thing. But you knew he didn’t really mean it. Not deep down–cause just like Rhett, he too had a soft spot for you.

Your father and Royal had been friends since high school–thick as thieves, the kind of troublemakers who grew up and never quite grew out of it. There were more stories than you could count about the two of them sneaking out of study hall, crashing their bikes into fences, and getting into brawls over rodeo scores. Royal may have grumbled and huffed and barked, but he knew what this was.

He knew what you were to Rhett.

And that’s how you found yourself at the circuit tonight, in the worst possible outfit you could be in for a night that turned chilly. You leaned against the rail with your arms folded, listening to the announcer listing off names you didn’t recognize and sponsors you didn’t care about.

One rider across the way was adjusting the strap on his glove with his teeth, spitting into the dirt before swinging a leg over the gate. He was broad-shouldered and too young to have that many calluses on his palms. His boots also looked too new, and you could tell he was nervous just by the way he puffed out his chest.

“He’s overcompensatin’ with all that noise,” Rhett’s voice came from your left, low and familiar, warm despite the cold air, “Looks like he spit shined his boots and bought the buckle from a pawn shop.” You turned your head just enough to see him steadying beside you, close enough that your elbows almost brushed. He had one glove on already and was working his other hand through the second–leather creaking around his knuckles as he tugged it tight, mouth set in that concentrated little frown he only ever wore when he was minutes from getting on a bull. You hummed at him.

”You say that as if you weren’t the same way your first time.” He scoffs.

”I don’t think I was that bad.” You didn’t reply, you just smirked, and shook your head, turning your attention back to the rail. But your eyes didn’t stay on the ring long. Not when he was standing that close.

Rhett had always been easy to be around–easier than most. He didn’t demand attention, didn’t fill the silence with noise unless he felt like it needed to be broken. And somehow he always made you feel like the most important person in the room without ever saying it outright. Your gaze drifted down his arms, the way the veins ran like fault lines beneath his skin, pulsing beneath the leather. The gentle scrape of stubble along his jaw. The way his shirt clung to the dip between his shoulder blades.

You knew how to look without letting it show. How to admire the little things from afar, memorizing them only to recall later in the quiet moments of your own space, when it was just you and the memory of him.

You’d gotten good at control.

“You okay?” He asked suddenly, glancing at you from under the brim of his dusty brown Stetson. His voice had shifted–still soft, but lower now. Quieter. You raised your eyebrows.

”Why wouldn’t I be?” You replied, he shrugged a little, pulling the strap of his glove tight.

”Been quiet since we pulled in…”

“I’ve been tired since we pulled in,” You said, deflecting with a tilt of your chin, “You yanked me straight outta the garage before I could give myself a cold shower to wake myself up.” He smiled at that, eyes crinkling at the corners like he didn’t buy your excuse but was willing to let you keep it.

“Well,” Rhett drawled, shifting his weight and giving you a side glance, “Thank you for joinin’ me all marinated in oil and tired. Really sets the mood.”You rolled your eyes, lips twitching as you looked away

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t bring a wrench to throw at you while you’re on that big bull.” He chuckled under his breath, his gaze tracking the arena before flicking back to you.

”Gonna go sit with my family?” You let out a long sigh, eyes squinting at the stands like you were preparing for battle, seeing the Abbott’s were already together talking among themselves.

”Course…Always the best seat in the house. Front row for your brother talkin’ my ear off about his side hustles, and your dad telling me how the whole thing’s rigged against you, while Cecilia tries to ask whether or not I’m moving shops anytime soon.” Rhett huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“Always happy to know you love bein’ up there with them.” His tone was thick with sarcasm, but his smirk was soft. Familiar. Like he was picturing it already–your boots kicked up on the railing beside Royal, his dad grumbling into a foam cup while you offered him your popcorn. You both shared a quiet chuckle, the kind that slipped out easily, like short breaths in cold air.

In the moment of silence, your hand slipped into your back pocket without thinking–it was instinct more than anything. You dug around until your fingers curled around the thin chain, the cool metal warmed by your skin. Rhett didn’t look at you, because he didn’t have to. He knew the moment you turned fully toward him that you were pulling out the necklace. His shoulders straightened slightly at the sight of it.

A thin gold chain, delicate as thread, with the charm your mother had worn nearly every day before she passed–the small, oval locket with a dent on one side. It was a gift that your father had given her when they were first going out, and now it was yours. But in moments like this–when the dust was thick in the air, when the circuit lights buzzed overhead and danger sat heavy in your chest–it was his.

Rhett always took it the same way: quiet, gentle, and like it meant something more than just luck and protection.

Because it did.

Your mother had loved Rhett like he was her own. She fed him when Royal was late picking him up, scolded him when he scraped his knees, kissed the crown of his head when he showed up on your porch with dirt on his boots and his heart on his sleeve. When she passed, he didn’t say much. But you remembered him standing at the far end of the church, knuckles white around his hat, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

He didn’t cry. He never had to because you had done enough of that for the both of you.

You placed the necklace in his palm gently, brushing your fingers along the inside of his wrist. A quiet exchange. A tradition that had started the first time he made it onto the adult circuit–when you pressed it into his hand before the gate opened and said, “She’s got you.”

And it stuck and became something neither of you ever had to explain.

“Think she’s watchin’?” Rhett murmured, voice rasped low as he curled the chain into his fist.

Your answer came easy. “Always.” He nodded, jaw ticking as he thumbed the charm once for good measure before tucking it into his shirt–over his heart, where it belonged. He gave it a soft pat, like he was anchoring her there. Like maybe she’d feel it, wherever she was.

“I dunno if she’d like that you’re still lettin’ me do this,” He muttered after a beat, offering a crooked little half-smile. “Ridin’, I mean.”

You scoffed lightly. “She wouldn’t like it,” You admitted, “But you know she’d still be yellin’ the loudest when they called your score.”He smiled at that, shoulders easing just a little. Like the weight of her was something warm instead of heavy.

“She always liked you better than me,” You teased gently, trying to keep your voice light even as emotion caught in your throat. “Pretty sure she would’ve traded me for you if she had the option.”

Rhett looked over at you then, really looked, and something in his expression softened so fully it made your stomach twist. “Don’t think you believe that for a second,” He mumbled quietly.

And you didn’t.

But it was easier than saying what you really meant–that you’d give anything to hear your mother talk about Rhett again. To hear her tell him to be careful. To bring him a sandwich while he leaned against the side of the truck, and to kiss your forehead and say, “You take care of him out there, alright?”

Because she’d known about your true feelings for him. She always knew.

“You better not get yourself broken tonight,” You warned, trying to talk the emotion out of your voice, attempting to shake it out, “I’m not scrubbin’ your blood outta your jeans again.”

Rhett laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm. “I’ll try not to, but I admire the fact you did it so well the last time…” He gave you a soft pat on the side of your arm, the leather of his glove cool against your skin. “Don’t worry too much though. I’ve got you, and I’ve got her. That’s a two-for-one deal even the devil can’t mess with.” You didn’t smile this time–but your eyes stayed on him, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the tilt of his hat, the line of his shoulders.

“Be safe,” You said, and it was quieter than anything you’d spoken all night.

Rhett nodded. Touched the charm through his shirt once more. And then he turned and walked toward the chute, back straight, shoulders squared, steps steady.

You watched him go.

And just as he disappeared behind the gate, swallowed up by the noise and the crowd–

You heard a voice you hadn’t heard in five years.

“I’ll be damned,” The voice called out behind you, thick with familiarity and a smile you could already picture even before you turned, “Didn’t think you’d still be hanging around here.”

Your entire body went still–like a switch had been thrown on, and your nerves froze under your skin. It wasn’t just the voice. It was the cadence. The tilt in the vowels. The lilt of amusement laced with old memories and summer sweat.

Maria Olivares.

You didn’t turn right away. You just stared straight ahead at the chute where Rhett had disappeared, your heart dropping like it had been cut loose from a string. The last time you’d heard her voice, it had been filtered through the cracked speakers of the high school PA system during her senior farewell speech–warm, confident, grateful for her small-town upbringing, even as she looked forward to city lights and bigger things.

She hadn’t come back. Not once in five years. Not for holidays. Not for spring break. Not even to visit old friends. Everyone figured she’d traded Wabang for somewhere with sidewalks and skylines.

And yet here she was.

You turned slowly, dragging your eyes up from the toes of a pair of spotless white sneakers, to a pair of high waisted black jeans that fit right, and a hoodie, jean jacket combo that looked warm and cozy. Her dark brown–almost black–hair was still long, and shiny, catching the circuit lights in ribbons as it spilled over her shoulders. There was not a wave out of place. She looked good, and that was always the worst part for you.

”Hey stranger,” She smiled, stepping toward you, her hands in her jacket pockets like this was just another Friday night and you were the one that vanished, “Didn’t expect to see a familiar face here when I rolled in.” You blinked, pulse throbbing somewhere behind your teeth. You could feel every streak of sweat dried into your collarbone. The grease under your fingernails. The smudge of oil you’d missed above your brow. The faded tank top clinging to your ribs.

“Maria,” You managed to say, trying to force something that resembled a smile on your face. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Didn’t know you were back in town…It’s been a long time.” She nodded.

”Five years.” She said softly, like she was trying the words on for size, as if she hadn’t known exactly how long it had been. There was a brief pause, heavy with memories you didn’t ask to revisit.

Then, with a little huff of breath, she gave a rueful smile glancing toward the arena.

”I got burnt out from college…Thought I’d come back to Wabang to try and get my life back together…” Her gaze flicked sideways, and then back to you, “And I heard around town that Rhett was riding tonight, so I thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.” You felt your stomach twist up into knots.

You tried to keep your face neutral, tried not to flinch at the mention of his name on her lips, because Maria had always been nice to you and treated you well. She had never acted above you, even when she could’ve. She was sweet, and effortless, and the kind of girl that seemed built for being admired. People talked about her like she was a firework: bright, exciting, and temporary…And Rhett…Well…

Rhett had always looked at her like she belonged in the Louvre.

You remembered it so clearly–him leaning back on the bleachers during lunch period, eating a sandwich, baseball cap tilted low as he watched her laugh by the vending machines. He used to elbow you in the side and mutter something like “God she’s just…Look at her, would ya?” Or “If I asked her out and she said no, I think I’d have to walk into traffic.”

And you’d laugh. Pretend it didn’t bother you, and you’d joke back and say “You’d have to start a new life in the city or somethin’.”

Because what else could you do?

You were…You. The grease-monkey. The tomboy. The one who spit-shined carburetors instead of joining social clubs. The one who could drink the boys under the table, throw a punch better than half of them, and still knew the sound of Rhett’s laugh like the back of your hand. You were his best friend. His good luck charm. His midnight mechanic and his porch-sitting, star-watching, shit-talking ride or die. But you were never the girl.

Not in the way Maria had been–even though they didn’t date.

So when Maria left for college, it was like someone let the air out of Rhett’s chest. He didn’t say much–just got real quiet for a few weeks. Stayed out late, rode harder, drank more. Then one night, sitting on your porch with his head tilted back and his boots up on the railing, he let out a sigh and said, “Guess that’s that, huh?”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You just passed him the bottle and leaned your shoulder into his like you always did.

And little by little, he put himself back together. He didn’t talk about her anymore. Stopped bringing her name up at all. And a part of you–one you never said out loud–had hoped maybe he was finally looking at someone else now. That maybe he’d finally see you.

But now, she was here.

In the flesh. Smiling, radiant, all polished edges and big city warmth. And she’d said his name like she had every right to, like she’d never left a hole in him when she packed up and vanished.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words settle somewhere heavy between your ribs.

“Thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.”

You hated how those words clawed at the inside of your chest.

”Yeah,” You mumbled, voice tighter than you wanted it to be, “I’m sure Rhett will be glad to see you…It’s been a while.” Maria’s smile didn’t falter, not even for a second.

”We should go out for drinks after,” She suggested, casual and bright like this wasn’t a slow-motion car crash happening in front of you, “Maybe you two can come find me? I’ll stick around.” You swallowed hard enough that you felt it echo in the back of your throat like a gulp of warm soda going down the wrong way.

“Sure,” You managed to agree, forcing your lips up even more, “Sounds like a plan.” It came out flat. A little too fast. But she either didn’t notice or was too polite to mention it. She just glanced behind her, motioning toward a small group of people standing a few yards off, gathered near the funnel cake stand.

“I’m gonna head back to my friends,” She informed, “But I’ll see you after the circuit!” You nodded stiffly.

”Yeah, see you.” And with that, she turned, her sneakers scuffing quietly in the dirt as she made her way back to her group—hair bouncing lightly with each step, laughter already ringing in the air as one of her friends greeted her with an inside joke you didn’t get.

You didn’t watch her long. You couldn’t.

Instead, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned your gaze toward the bleachers, willing your legs to move. One step at a time. Your shoulders rolled once, then twice—like shaking off a weight. But the tension didn’t budge, not really. It stayed coiled up in your spine like something waiting to snap.

You stomped up the bleacher steps, boots loud against the metal, and found them all right where you expected: Amy munching on kettle corn, Perry fiddling with a foam cup of coffee, Royal with his arms crossed and a resting scowl, and Cecilia offering you a tight smile like she already knew you needed one.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cecilia greeted first, scooting to make space. “We were wonderin’ when you’d show.”

“Hey,” you said, voice still low as you nodded to each of them.

Royal shifted over with a grunt, making room beside him, and Perry tipped his head back toward you in a silent greeting.

You sank down between the two of them with a heavy breath, letting the cool of the evening air wrap around your sweat-damp skin. Amy reached over and tapped your boot with hers.

“You smell like axle grease,” She said flatly.

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Amy grinned back, and you leaned forward to prop your arms on your knees.

Royal glanced your way. “How’s your dad doin’ these days?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, grateful for the shift in subject. “Busy as usual,” You replied. “The shop’s been crazy for both of us, so I haven’t really been able to talk to him. Our faces are always under or inside cars.”

Royal chuckled low in his chest. “Well, a mechanic’s job is never finished until the last car is completely fixed.”

You snorted. “We’d be open till the end of time if we lived by your rules.”

That got a laugh out of Perry too, who clapped you on the shoulder. “Ain’t that the truth.” His eyes wandered casually over the crowd before something caught his attention. His chewing slowed, the foam cup crinkling slightly in his grip as he leaned in a fraction and nudged your arm with the back of his knuckle.

“Hey…” He muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low, “Is that who I think it is?”

You didn’t need to follow his gaze. You already knew. Still, your eyes drifted to the right, past the funnel cake stand and toward the little group of people laughing in the warm glow of the overhead string lights.

Maria was standing right in the middle, her smile shining like she’d never left, like she hadn’t cracked something in your chest just minutes ago.

“Yep,” You replied, the word flat and dry on your tongue.

Perry let out a soft whistle, eyebrows climbing. “Did Rhett see her?”

You shook your head slowly, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you glanced back toward the chutes. “Not yet… But I’m gonna have to be the one that breaks the news to him. As usual.”

Perry tilted his head, his expression shifting into something halfway between sympathy and disbelief. “She say why she’s here?”

”She said she got burnt out from college, now she’s back in town until further notice basically. She said she wants to go out for drinks after the circuit,” You explained. There was a beat of silence. Then Perry huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Man… That’s gonna be pure torture for you, huh?” You flicked your gaze toward him, jaw tight.

He knew. Perry was one of the only people who did. You’d sworn him to secrecy years ago—right around the time you drank too much whiskey behind the barn one summer night and finally admitted it. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t teased. Just looked at you with those steady eyes and said, “Yeah…That tracks.”

And despite his reputation for being a smartass, Perry had never breathed a word of it to anyone.

“I could come with you guys,” he offered now, voice quieter. “Even out the numbers.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You’re talkin’ like we’re goin’ to war.”

Perry shrugged one shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

You shook your head with a sigh and muttered, “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

“Hey,” Perry said, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t say I didn’t offer. And don’t come cryin’ when you end up sittin’ between them, third-wheelin’ your own heartbreak.”

Before you could respond—before the knot in your chest could turn sharper—the PA system crackled back to life, cutting through the thick air.

“Next up, ladies and gentlemen—we got Rhett Abbott comin’ up in the chute!”

Your whole body snapped to attention, your eyes instinctively finding the chute where he stood, framed in gold and dust and determination. He was climbing the rails now, one hand on the edge of the gate, the other adjusting the brim of his Stetson. His back was broad beneath the weight of his vest, the number pinned crookedly to the fabric like it always was because he never let anyone else do it. Always asked you.

He didn’t look toward the stands. Not yet. His focus was on the bull–pure, burning concentration.

But your chest was a live wire.

Because he didn’t know she was here.

And when he saw her–when he looked up and caught sight of Maria’s soft smile and city-polished glow standing in the crowd–you didn’t know what it would do to him.

But you knew exactly what it would do to you.

Perry leaned back, a shadow in his expression. “Buckle up,” he said, almost like a warning. “Here we go.”

And all you could do was hold your breath…And wait.

————————

The crowd had started to thin, the night slipping gently into its last stretch–boots shuffling through kicked-up dirt, families gathering up folding chairs and foam cups, laughter tapering off into low murmurs beneath the buzz of the circuit lights. The arena was quieter now, calmer. A few riders lingered by the chutes, stripping off gear, comparing scores, cracking open lukewarm beers from coolers tucked behind the rails.

Rhett was still standing near the gate, dust clinging to the bottom hem of his jeans, his shirt sticking to the sweat that had dried down his spine. His hair was damp under his hat, eyes scanning the space like he was still riding the high of the eight-second count.

You moved down the bleachers slowly, like each step took effort, the cool night air brushing against the back of your neck, the gravel biting into the soles of your boots.

He saw you coming, and his face lit up in that familiar way it always did–soft around the edges, glowing just under the skin. Without a word, Rhett reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out the thin gold chain, the charm glinting faintly beneath the floodlights. He held it out gently, curled between his fingers like something sacred.

“Guess you two really did help tonight,” He commented with a crooked smile, placing the necklace in your open palm. “Probably one of my best performances.” You looked down at the charm as it settled into your skin, feeling the warmth of him still clinging to the metal. You managed a smile, small and tired.

“Yeah…You looked good out there.”

But it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And Rhett noticed. His brow furrowed immediately, eyes narrowing with that uncanny instinct he always had for your moods.

“Somethin’ wrong?” He asked, pointing gently between his own eyebrows. “You’ve got that little crease here–means you’re thinkin’ too hard.” You tried to shrug it off, eyes dropping to the necklace as your fingers curled around it. But the weight in your chest didn’t move. You hesitated. Then you exhaled slowly.

“…Maria’s back.” You felt the moment he registered the name like a jolt–like it lit something under his skin. Rhett straightened a little, his whole posture shifting, just slightly. Perking up. Perking toward her.

“Really?” He said, his voice brightening in a way that made your stomach churn. “Where is she?”

You nodded toward the far end of the arena without lifting your gaze. “She told me to come find her after…Said she wants to go out for some drinks.”

There was a brief pause before he smiled, teeth flashing in the glow of the overhead lights. “Well that’ll be great! Would love to catch up with her.”

You nodded once. “Yeah. I thought so.”

Your voice was low. Measured. Your lips pressed into a thin, practiced smile–the kind you’d perfected over the years, the one you used when something stung but you didn’t want anyone to see it bleed.

Rhett didn’t catch it. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to do with it.

You tucked the necklace into your back pocket, the chain coiling softly in your grip like a secret.

————————

The hum of the arena faded behind you as the three of you made your way down the gravel path toward the bar just off the main strip–The Rusty Spur, glowing amber beneath a flickering neon sign shaped like a bull skull. You’d been here a hundred times. After circuits, after slow nights, after heartbreaks that you never let show. It was familiar ground.

But tonight, it didn’t feel like home.

Rhett held the door open with one boot, gesturing Maria inside with a crooked grin, and you followed silently, your fingers still brushing the edge of your back pocket like the necklace might anchor you if you kept touching it.

The bar was low-lit and humming with half-empty pitchers and slow drawls. Music crackled low from the jukebox–old country, something about losing and loving in the same breath. You barely noticed. You were too busy clocking how close Maria stood beside Rhett. How she reached for his arm when she laughed at something he said. How his body naturally leaned toward hers, like it remembered the rhythm of it even if his heart didn’t quite know why.

You took the booth in the far corner. Your usual spot. Rhett slid in beside you, and Maria took the other side. It should’ve felt balanced. It didn’t.

Someone took drink orders–probably Rhett, but your ears were ringing too hard to catch the words. You muttered something about whiskey, and a moment later, a sweating glass was placed in front of you.

Maria was talking. Rhett was laughing. You were sitting in your grease-stained tank top, sweating in your spot, barely blinking as the two of them picked up where they left off–like no time had passed at all.

“Oh my god, do you remember that time at the bonfire?” Maria said, grinning, her knuckles brushing Rhett’s arm as she leaned forward. “When Perry and Jacob tried to jump the creek in that rust-bucket four-wheeler and we all thought they were gonna die?”

Rhett chuckled, elbow resting on the table, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I think Perry still swears he cleared it by three feet.”

“He didn’t,” You muttered, voice low, more to your glass than to them. “He cracked the axle and limped it home with a broken taillight.”

Maria paused, then offered you a smile. “God, you’ve always had a better memory than all of us.” You gave her a small nod and took a slow sip, the whiskey burning just enough to keep you tethered to the moment. Rhett turned toward you briefly, nudging your boot with his under the table like a reflex.

“That was the same night you duct-taped the handlebars back on, right? Got the damn thing running again in fifteen minutes?”

“Thirteen,” You murmured, lips quirking just slightly.

“Course it was.” He grinned, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. But then Maria asked another question–something about Denver; a story you hadn’t been there for–and Rhett’s attention shifted back before you could respond.

You stared at the condensation on your glass.

Their conversation rolled on, easy and familiar in a way that twisted something in your chest. Not cruel. Not exclusive. But you couldn’t help but feel like a guest at your own table.

They laughed about old teachers. About some kid who used to bring his goat to show-and-tell. About a trip to a fair you barely remembered because you’d spent most of it alone, fixing a blown tire while they wandered off for cotton candy.

Every now and then, one of them would glance toward you. Ask a soft “Remember that?” or toss you a half-smile. And you would nod. You would smile back. You would pretend.

But it felt like watching them through a window.

At one point, Maria reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her nails painted a glossy wine red that caught the light. Rhett’s gaze lingered a second too long. You saw it. You always saw it.

You drained your glass.

The table blurred a little around the edges as you blinked slowly, pressing your fingertips to your temple.

“You alright?” Rhett asked quietly, finally noticing the way your shoulders had gone still. His voice was soft, too soft, like it might undo you if you let it. You didn’t look at him, you just gave the smallest nod.

”Yeah, guess the lack of sleep is catching up to me.” Maria stood then, smoothing out the front of her jacket. “I’m gonna head to the bar–get another round.” She motioned between the two of you. “You guys want anything?”

Rhett looked toward you. You shook your head. “I’m good.”

”I’ll take one more beer, I have a feelin’ I’ll have to drive this one home tonight.” He commented motioning to you. Maria smirked.

”Got a preference?” She asked, and Rhett shook his head, a boyish grin appearing on his lips.

”Nah, whatever they’ve got I’ll take.” Then Maria disappeared into the crowd, and the booth fell quiet. You sat back, arms crossed loosely, your eyes fixed on the edge of the table. Rhett shifted beside you, his leg brushing yours.

”You sure you’re alright?” You’re actin’ really weird…” Rhett shifted a little closer, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight as his knee knocked gently against yours again. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Not with him this close. Not when the heat from his body was bleeding into your side and curling around your skin like something unspoken.

And then you caught it–that scent.

Faint, but unmistakable. A soft, masculine heat rising off his collar, sunk into the fabric of his shirt. It was that cologne he always wore for circuits–something low and woodsy, edged with spice, like cedar and cracked pepper and the memory of summer sweat. The kind of scent that lingered even after he was gone, that clung to his flannel when you borrowed it, that sank into your lungs and made your stomach tighten without warning. You’d never asked what it was. You didn’t need to. You knew it like you knew the sound of your name when he said it quiet.

And it always made you a little dizzy.

You blinked once, twice, trying to keep your face steady as your gaze finally flicked toward him.

“I said I’m fine, Rhett,” You murmured, a little firmer this time. “Just exhausted.” But he didn’t back off. Not completely.

His brows drew in slightly as he studied you, mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a frown. Those blue eyes–always a little too clear, always a little too honest—swept over your face like he was reading it in a language he used to speak fluently but hadn’t practiced in years. He looked at your cheeks. Your jaw. Your eyes. He tilted his head just a fraction, lips parting like he was about to say something and then thinking better of it.

And then, finally, he nodded–slow, thoughtful.

“Alright…” He started, voice quieter now, more careful. “After this round, I’ll take you home.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an offer. It was something softer than that. A promise tucked inside a sentence.

You opened your mouth to argue–to say you could take care of yourself, to brush it off like always–but before you could get the words out, Maria returned. She set a glass of water in front of you, and took one beer for herself and handed the other to Rhett, her fingers brushing against his. You watched him glance up with that familiar, easy smile.

“Appreciate it,” He said, nodding.

Maria slid back into her seat, eyes flicking between the two of you for half a second before she leaned in again, chin resting on one hand, and launched straight back into whatever story she’d started before–something about a concert she went to in Austin, a rooftop party of sorts.

You listened with one ear, the other still tuned to the quiet place inside your chest that was trying not to crack open.

You nursed your glass of water. You forced a smile.

And all the while, you felt Rhett’s leg still pressed against yours beneath the table, warm and unmoving.

As if some part of him still remembered you were there. Even if the rest had already started drifting.

Rhett nursed the last of his beer with an absent sort of slowness, fingers rolling the base of the bottle in tight little circles against the table like he was working something out in his head. Maria was still talking, still smiling–her voice soft and syrupy in the warm barlight–but his eyes flicked toward the clock above the jukebox.

And when his bottle hit the table with a soft thunk, you already knew what was coming.

“Well,” Rhett drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing up from the booth, “We oughta get goin’. Gonna be a long drive back to Wabang.”

Maria sat up a little straighter, her smile faltering just slightly. “Oh–are you headed out already?”

He nodded, casting a brief glance your way. “Yeah, gettin’ late. You need a ride back or��?”

She shook her head quickly, waving a hand. “No, no, I’m good. I’m stayin’ with some friends out here for another day or two. Figured I’d ease my way back into town life.”

Rhett grinned, all teeth and comfort. “Well, I’ll definitely call you.”

Maria bit her bottom lip–barely–but you saw it. Like punctuation on a sentence that didn’t need saying. “I’d really like that.”

Then her gaze shifted toward you, warm and easy. “We should all do this again sometime, eh?”

You gave her a nod. Tight. Quick. Polite. “Yeah. Definitely.”

She smiled one last time and turned away to rejoin her friends at the bar.

Rhett didn’t say much as you both made your way outside–boots crunching gravel, the cool night air curling around your ankles like smoke. The neon sign buzzed overhead, painting the parking lot in pale, flickering yellow.

You reached into your back pocket without a word, dug out his keys, and tossed them over. He caught them easily, looking at you like he wanted to say something, but you were already climbing into the passenger seat. The door slammed shut harder than it needed to, the echo of it biting into the quiet.

You leaned against the door, body turned away from him, cheek resting against the cool window as you stared out into the night.

Rhett slid into the driver’s seat, settling in with a soft exhale as he buckled in and adjusted the rearview mirror. He started the engine–it rumbled to life with the low growl of something familiar, something that usually made you feel steady.

Tonight though…It just made you feel even more tired.

“Hopefully you can catch some sleep while I’m drivin’,” He said, his voice low, maybe even a little hopeful.

“Yeah…” The word left your mouth flat and dull, dry as dust. Rhett turned to glance at you, the concern already knitting into his brow. But you were already reaching into the backseat, fingers curling around the flannel that always lived there–the dark blue one he sometimes wore when he was cold and you always stole when you wanted to feel his warmth. You tugged it over you, and didn’t glance his way for the rest of the ride, fading off into a sleepy haze.

————————

The shop smelled like motor oil, burnt rubber, and heat-soaked metal–the scent of long hours and too many worn-out engines trying to hold on. The radio murmured low in the corner, old country drifting from the busted speaker, the static crackling between verses like background noise to your every exhale.

It was just past noon, but the heat had already settled in for the day. The big bay doors were rolled open, sunlight spilling across the concrete in sharp streaks, cutting through the floating dust like gold through smoke. You were bent over the open hood of a ‘97 Ford Ranger, your shoulders glinting with sweat, black tank top sticking to your back in places where the fabric met skin. The sleeves of your navy jumpsuit were tied around your waist, the whole thing cinched low on your hips and streaked with oil from earlier jobs.

Rhett was sitting on the workbench a few feet away, his boots propped on the lower shelf, stool tilted back dangerously as he rocked on two legs like it didn’t matter if he tipped over. His ballcap was pulled low, his light brown hair curling out from the back, his jaw working absently around a toothpick as he talked–still talking–about her.

“…I mean, I dunno,” He was saying, shifting his weight again, “She called me last night after dinner just to talk–like real late too, almost midnight. We didn’t talk about much, just…Stuff. Nothin’ important. But it was nice, y’know?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, voice casual, but his brows were slightly furrowed like the whole thing was keeping him awake.

You hummed a soft acknowledgment, eyes trained on the belt tensioner you were adjusting. The socket wrench in your hand clicked steadily with each turn, your knuckles smudged with grease, fingernails stained half-permanently. Sweat beaded on your lower back and slipped beneath the waistband of your suit.

“Anyway,” Rhett continued, “She said she might swing by the circuit again this weekend. Wants to grab coffee first. Think that means somethin’?” His voice dipped into something hopeful. “I mean, she doesn’t have to make the first move, but…It’s been weeks and I still can’t tell if she’s just bein’ polite or if she’s actually–y’know–interested.”

You blew out a slow breath through your nose, kept your eyes on the pulley system as you tugged the belt back into place. “Dunno, Rhett. She’s hard to read.”

He paused, like he was expecting more. When you didn’t add anything, he scratched at his jaw and pushed the stool back down flat.

“You ever notice how she touches my arm a lot when she laughs?” He asked, tone casual, but a little eager. “Like, not in a weird way, just kinda light. She’s always been touchy though. That don’t mean much, does it?”

“Not always,” You mumbled, wrench clacking again. “Could just be her way.”

Rhett leaned forward, elbows on his knees now. His gaze was drifting, not really focused on the cabinets or the tools. Not even on the truck. It was on you. On the way your tank top rode up just a little when you reached for a tool. The way your back muscles shifted beneath sun-warmed skin. How your hair clung to the nape of your neck in sticky curls. He took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he’d barely touched, then swallowed slowly.

“You always been good at figurin’ people out,” He said after a beat, softer. “You’d tell me if I was readin’ into it too much, right?”

“Sure,” You replied, brushing a hand across your forehead, leaving a streak of dirt there without realizing. You stood up straighter to stretch your spine, a soft crack echoing as your hands went to your lower back. Rhett’s eyes flicked down your side–followed the way the tied sleeves of your jumpsuit tugged the tank top tight across your waist, the glint of your exposed hip where your shirt had ridden up slightly. He quickly looked away, rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just keep thinkin’ about how she left, y’know?” He muttered, almost to himself. “And now she’s back and it’s like nothin’ happened. Like we can just…Pick up where we left off.”

You finally glanced over your shoulder at him, one brow arched. “Did you leave anything to pick up?”

Rhett opened his mouth. Shut it and thought for a second, “No. I mean, not really. Not out loud. But I always thought…” He shook his head, letting the words trail off like a loose wire. “I dunno what I thought. I guess I just missed her.”

Your lips pressed together into a flat line, but you didn’t say anything. Not at first.

“I get it,” You finally muttered, wiping your hands on a rag. “She’s easy to miss.”

Rhett tilted his head slightly at the tone, like he was hearing something he wasn’t meant to catch. “You don’t like her much, do you?”

You paused, grip tightening just a little on the wrench.

“I don’t not like her,” You said slowly, choosing each word carefully. “She’s…Fine. Y’know how I am with people…” He squinted at you, suspicion tugging at his features like a loose thread. But then his eyes dropped again–to your neck, your collarbone, the bare line of your shoulder as you leaned over the engine again. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Was thinkin’ of askin’ her to come to the Fourth of July thing next week,” He said, casual but deliberate, watching for your reaction. “Figured it’d be nice to have her meet everyone again…Y’know, properly.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t roll your eyes. You didn’t say anything cruel. But your fingers curled around your wrench tighter than before, the metal biting into your palm.

“Sure,” You said with a hollow shrug. “Bring whoever you want, I’m sure everyone would love to see her.”

Rhett watched you for a moment longer, unreadable.

“You ever gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on in that head of yours?” He asked, almost teasing, but his voice dropped just a little at the end.

You didn’t look at him. Just reached back into the engine block.

“Nothin’ is going on up here, I’m just payin’ attention to this customer's car.” Rhett knew better than to believe that.

He’d seen it with his own eyes–felt it in the air, even if you were too proud or too stubborn to admit it. You used to meet his gaze across a room and hold it, unbothered, cocky even, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him. But now? Every time Maria’s name came up, you flinched just a little, like you were bracing for a hit. And whenever the three of you were in the same space–which was rare because you made it rare–you got quiet. Distant. You’d hover near the edge of the group, arms crossed, mouth pressed flat, eyes focused on anything but them.

And he remembered.

He remembered asking if you wanted to come out with him and Maria after that first weekend she rolled back into town. It had been a simple question, low-stakes. Just a casual invite.

But you didn’t even think about it–you just said, “Can’t. I’m busy.”

Didn’t even ask what night.

You’d turned him down so fast it had made his head spin. And after that, whenever he mentioned Maria, you got this far-off look like your mind had slipped into neutral. Like you weren’t even there anymore.

He shifted on the stool now, elbow digging into his knee, watching the way you moved with quiet precision–like you were using the engine block to avoid him. Like if you focused hard enough on the bolts and belts, you could keep the rest of the world from touching you.

Sometimes he wished he could read minds.

Not for anything big or cosmic–just so he could finally know what the hell went on behind your eyes when you looked at him.

What you thought when Maria’s name came up.

What you thought when he said she might come to the Fourth of July thing.

What you thought about him, period.

Did you think he was being desperate? Clingy? Chasing someone who didn’t deserve to be chased? Or did you just not care anymore?

“You sure nothin’s goin’ on in that head?” He asked again, a little quieter this time.

Still no answer. Just the soft click of your tools.

Rhett let out a slow breath, set his Gatorade bottle on the bench beside him with a soft thunk. He looked at the concrete floor, then back at you.

“Y’know, sometimes it feels like you’re playin’ wingman,” He said after a beat. “Only you’re not rootin’ for me to win.”

You froze for just half a second–barely enough for anyone else to notice–but Rhett caught it.

He always did.

Then you straightened up again, slow and careful, wiping the back of your neck with the same rag you’d used on your hands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shrugged, but it was tight. Guarded.

“Means you show up, sure. But you don’t really wanna be there. You say you’re happy for me, but I can tell you’re not. You act like you’re helpin’ but you keep your distance. It’s like…you’re close enough to see it all, but never close enough to be part of it.” Your jaw tensed, lips parting just slightly like you wanted to fire back something sharp–but nothing came. So Rhett leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his thighs.

“Do you want me to stop talkin’ about her?” He asked gently. “Just say the word, and I will. I swear I will.” Your eyes finally met his–steady, unreadable. And for a moment, he thought you might actually tell him. That you might finally crack open whatever it was you were hiding behind grease-streaked skin and bitten-off words.

But instead you said:

”I don’t care Rhett, you can talk about her till the cows come home.” And you turned back to the engine.

————————

The fireworks had already started by the time you sank into the corner of the worn-out couch, your dad’s recliner creaking as he shifted beside you. The TV was low, tuned to some classic western neither of you were really watching. Outside, through the screen door, you could hear the faint distant pop of celebratory explosions, followed by a round of cheers from somewhere down the road. The air was thick with summer—warm and buzzing with mosquitoes, smoke from backyard grills clinging to everything like memory.

You hadn’t told Rhett you weren’t coming.

You’d texted Perry earlier–just a short message, simple and vague.

“Can’t make it tonight. Not feelin’ great. Tell Rhett sorry.”

He sent back a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else, which was honestly a mercy. Your dad glanced over from where he was leafing through the town paper, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He didn’t look at you right away when he spoke.

“Didn’t you have plans tonight with the Abbotts?” He asked, casual but pointed. “Royal told me they were havin’ a Fourth of July party.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just shifted in your seat and tugged the throw blanket higher over your lap, even though it was too hot for it. Your voice came out low.

“Yeah. Just not feelin’ well.” That made him look up. He tilted his chin slightly, peering at you over the tops of his glasses.

“All of a sudden? You were fine at work today…Could’ve sworn you were elbows-deep in someone’s transmission this afternoon.” You shrugged, eyes fixed on the soft glow of the television.

“Guess it hit me late.”

He didn’t push at first. Just turned a page in his paper with a slow rustle, let the silence stretch like taffy. You thought maybe he’d drop it. But then–

“This ain’t about Maria comin’ back now, is it?” You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion.

“Why does everything have to come back to her all the damn time? Can’t I just not feel good?” Your dad raised his brows like you’d just proved his point.

“Well,” He said slowly, “That answers my question.” You shot him a look, but it lacked heat.

“Are you jealous that she’s gettin’ Rhett’s attention?” He asked plainly, like he was asking about the weather. “I mean–I ain’t judgin’. You’ve always liked that boy, ever since y’all were knee-high and runnin’ around this place like wild dogs.”

“I have not,” You muttered, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.

“Sure you haven’t,” He teased, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I suppose I imagined the way you used to light up like a damn Christmas tree whenever he’d show up on that beat-up four-wheeler.” You opened your mouth, then closed it, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking over at you again–not teasing now, just fatherly. Tired, maybe.

“Look, I know it ain’t easy. Watchin’ someone you care about look the other way. But if you want something different…You gotta say something different. Boy’s not a mind reader.”

“I know that,” You replied softly, after a long beat. Your throat felt tight. “I just…It’s not that simple.”

“Never is,” He agreed, settling back with a soft grunt. “But you keep sittin’ on your hands, and someone else is gonna take the spot you won’t claim.” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

Because across town, Rhett was probably smiling at her the way he used to smile at you. Probably handing her a cold drink, nudging her shoulder when she laughed, leaning in a little too close like it was second nature. You could picture it too well. That easy charm. That golden light. The kind of warmth he didn’t even know he carried.

And maybe, just maybe, it used to be yours.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you were just a ghost in a room you used to stand in, watching from the quiet side of town as the fireworks bloomed without you.

You stayed curled on the couch beside your dad for another hour or so, the two of you watching the rest of the Western he had put on in a silent that wasn’t uncomfortable–but felt heavier than usual.

Every now and then, he’d make a quiet comment about the film or chuckle under his breath, and you’d hum in response, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. You couldn’t stop picturing it: Rhett laughing under the glow of string lights, standing too close to Maria, that loose and familiar posture he used when he felt wanted. When he felt seen.

Eventually, the credits rolled, the TV dimmed, and the old western faded into static hum. You stretched slowly, working the tension from your shoulders before pushing to your feet.

“I’m gonna head out,” You said quietly, brushing your hand down the side of your sweatpants. “Gotta wash off the day.”Your dad didn’t look up from his recliner, but he nodded once, the paper still resting in his lap.

“Alright, kid. Tell the ghosts I said hi.”

You snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll light ‘em a candle.” You stepped toward the front door and reached for the handle–then paused. Rain.

The sound hit your ears before you even saw it–soft, steady, the kind of slow summer drizzle that snuck up on you after sundown. You opened the door and stood in the frame for a second, watching the raindrops dance in the yellow glow of the porch light. The gravel was soaked already, puddles forming in the grooves where the driveway dipped, and the path to the loft looked like a slick, muddy mess.

“Well, shit,” You muttered, eyeing the way your breath curled in the humid air. “Rarely rains on the Fourth.”

Your dad made a noise behind you–somewhere between a grunt and a dry chuckle. “This is what happens when you decide not to celebrate it,” he called out, flipping another page in the paper. “The weather takes it personal.”

You huffed a laugh and grabbed your old black windbreaker from the coat rack, shrugging it over your shoulders. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to the weather next year.” With that, you slipped out onto the porch, tugged the hood up, and jogged down the steps.

The mud squelched under your boots immediately, sucking at the soles with every step, but you kept going, ducking your chin down against the rain. Your loft stood about forty yards behind the house, nestled at the edge of the property where the grass met the tree line. The walk was familiar, even in the dark, and your feet followed the worn path instinctively–even if the occasional puddle slowed you down.

The rain soaked through your jeans by the time you made it to the porch. You slipped your key into the door and turned it, heart settling as the lock clicked open.

The smell hit you first–warm wood and lavender, the faint trace of engine oil clinging to the boots by the door. You stepped inside and shut the door behind you with a soft thud, shaking yourself off like a dog and dragging your hood down with a sigh.

The lights were low–just the ones above the kitchen sink and the little Edison bulb lamp you always left on beside the couch. You didn’t bother turning on the overheads. The place felt better dim.

The loft was everything you needed and nothing you didn’t.

It was open-concept, all one floor, no walls to separate everything–just beams and slanted ceilings, wood-paneled walls stained a soft, honeyed brown that caught the light like something out of a dream. Your father had built it himself for your eighteenth birthday, saying, “Every girl needs a place she can disappear to. Somewhere that’s hers.” He’d smacked the blueprints on the dining table with a grin and said he didn’t want to know who was coming or going, didn’t want to hear anything about late nights or early mornings. He just wanted you to have space. Independence. Freedom.

You had cried when he showed you the key.

The place was cozy–homey in a way that didn’t require explanation. The kitchen sat along the far wall, rustic cabinets painted sage green, an old farmhouse sink surrounded by chipped enamel counters, your mug collection hanging from hooks above the stove. To the right was your sleeping space–a big, soft bed piled with mismatched quilts and pillows, tucked beneath the loft’s only window. Books were stacked on the floor beside it like a makeshift nightstand, with a cracked old alarm clock resting on top.

The living area bled right into everything else: a wide brown leather couch which you had thrifted with Rhett at a decent price, a low coffee table you’d made from an old pallet, and your record player setup on a shelf near the armchair where you kept your journals. The only thing separating the zones was a long, faded rug with a southwestern pattern that anchored everything in place.

Boots were kicked off by the door. Your dad’s old denim jacket hung on the hook by the kitchen, next to the keys Rhett had left behind last winter and never came back for.

You took your time peeling off your soaked clothes, leaving your windbreaker to hang dry by the door. You padded barefoot across the wood floors to the kitchen, flicking the kettle on without thinking, craving something warm. Outside, the rain picked up a little, tapping softly against the windows like a quiet apology, before changing into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

You leaned your hip against the counter, watching the steam curl from the spout, and let yourself breathe.

The kettle hissed softly behind you, steam whispering up into the warm air of the loft, curling like smoke from a slow-burning fuse. You were still leaning against the counter when you heard it.

Tires.

Crunching gravel.

Slow. Deliberate.

You straightened, eyebrows furrowing. You hadn’t heard anyone pull into the main driveway. The rain was still falling, steady and soft, a silver curtain beyond the windows–but the headlights cut through it in sudden streaks. Wide. Familiar. High off the ground.

A truck.

Your eyes narrowed as the engine cut. The lights went dark. A moment later: Three sharp knocks.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Just firm. Like whoever was outside knew they had every right to be here.

You let out a slow, tired sigh, and turned off the kettle.

“Perry,” You muttered under your breath, pushing off the counter. “Dumbass probably thinks I’m curled up cryin’ into a bottle.”

You crossed the floor barefoot, pulling your oversized tee down lower on your thighs as you passed the couch. The rain hadn’t let up–it was still falling hard enough that you could hear it pinging against the porch roof, a low murmur just under your breath. You reached for the handle, pulled open the door–and stopped dead.

It wasn’t Perry.

It was Rhett.

Soaked to the damn bone.

His shirt clung to his chest, heavy and half-translucent, his flannel abandoned somewhere along the way. His jeans were soaked through, dripping onto the porch. His hat hung limp in one hand, curls plastered to his forehead. Water streamed from his jaw, his shoulders, his eyelashes.

And his expression…He looked furious.

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, boots thudding onto the hardwood as he slammed the door behind him. His chest rose and fell hard, breath sharp in his nose. And when he looked at you–it wasn’t his usual warmth.

It was a supernova.

Frustrated. Scalding. Desperate.

“What the hell is goin’ on with you? Hmm?” he snapped.

You blinked at him, stunned. The loft felt suddenly too small, too quiet except for the rain beating against the roof. Rhett kicked off his boots without breaking eye contact, his wet jacket hitting the floor with a heavy slap.

“Wow,” You started, raising your eyebrows. “No, ‘hi, Y/N, how are you?’ Not even a ‘how’s your night goin’?’”

But he didn’t bite.

He just stared at you–blue eyes sharp, tense, unreadable.

“Right now ain’t the time for games.” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

You froze in place.

“First you don’t wanna come out with me anymore,” he continued, stepping closer, water still dripping from his sleeves. “Then you start pullin’ away like I did somethin’ wrong, and now you ditch the Fourth of July party and say you’re fuckin’ sick?” His voice cracked faintly on the last word. Not in anger. In something closer to hurt.

“Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on.”

You couldn’t answer. Not immediately.

You just stared, mouth dry, trying to find footing in the storm that had followed him inside. He tossed his wet hat off to the side, ran a hand through his dripping hair, like the mess of it might let him breathe. It didn’t.

You swallowed.

“I…” You cleared your throat, tried again. “Let me go grab you a towel, alright? You’re soaked, and you’re gonna–”

You moved to brush past him–but his hand came out gently. Just enough to stop you.

He caught your wrist.

Not hard. Not angry.

Just… steady.

Warm fingers curled loosely around your skin, grounding you.

“I don’t need a towel right now.” His voice was quieter now. Less heat, more gravity. “What I need–” He met your gaze fully, voice low and razor-sharp with feeling“–is for you to tell me the truth.”

And for the first time all night, you realized–he wasn’t mad because he didn’t care. He was mad because he did. Because he had been confused. Lost. Hurt. Because something had shifted between you, and you’d never let him see it.

And now he was here–dripping, shaking, looking at you like you were the one thing he couldn’t figure out how to fix.

The air inside the loft had thickened–saturated with rain and tension, heavy with every word you hadn’t said and every moment that had gone sideways between you.

Rhett’s hand still circled your wrist, warm and unrelenting, grounding you in place like he was afraid you might bolt. You could feel his pulse through his fingertips–fast and strong, matching the thunder of your own heart. His eyes locked to yours, demanding something, anything, while water pooled beneath him on the floor.

Then his voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp:

“Is this whole thing about me and Maria?”

Your chest cinched tight. Your jaw tensed automatically–every muscle bracing like your body knew how dangerous the truth might be. You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared at him, and in that silence…Your face dropped. Just barely. The kind of shift only someone who knew you like the back of his hand could notice.

Rhett saw it.

And something in his face snapped–not in rage, but in clarity.

He stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to make the air crackle.

“Look at me in the eyes, Y/N,” He said, voice firm now–stern in a way that made your stomach twist, the dominance in his tone curling heat into your spine. “And tell me that isn’t what this is fuckin’ about.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a command.

You tried to hold it together. To keep your eyes from betraying you. But he was right there, soaking wet and burning with something you hadn’t seen in him in years. And when you finally looked up at him, really looked…Everything cracked.

Your breath caught. Your throat tightened. The words didn’t come.

They couldn’t.

Because how the hell were you supposed to lie with him looking at you like that? Like your silence was the final piece of a puzzle that had been driving him insane.

“I knew it,” He said softly–more to himself than to you. “Christ.” He raked a hand through his wet hair again, exhaling hard. “All this time, you’ve been walkin’ around pretendin’ you don’t care… Pretendin’ it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

You yanked your wrist free–not violently, just enough to take a step back. “What was I supposed to do, Rhett?” Your voice cracked open like a dam. “Watch you chase after the one girl I could never compete with and just smile about it?”

He stared at you–stunned, but not surprised. Like some part of him had known this truth existed, buried deep beneath the grease-stained tank tops and quiet sacrifices.

“She left,” You snapped. “She left and you broke for a while and I helped put you back together piece by piece. I sat on that goddamn porch with you night after night while you pretended you didn’t care she was gone. And I was there when you started laughing again. When you started living again.”

Your voice was rising now–shaking, furious and breaking apart all at once.

“And then she shows up, all pretty and polished and fuckin’ effortless, and you just light up like nothing ever happened. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Rhett’s mouth parted slightly, but you didn’t stop.

“I’ve been right here, Rhett,” You whispered, stepping forward now. “All this time. Loving you so quietly it damn near killed me.”

And there it was.

Out in the open.

The words you’d never dared say. Hanging between you like smoke in a thunderstorm.

Rhett didn’t move at first. His chest rose and fell, slow and ragged. Water still dripped from his jaw, but he didn’t wipe it away. His eyes were locked to yours, blue and searing.

“I didn’t know,” He shot back, voice low. Raw. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t want to know.”

“No,” He said, stepping toward you again, shaking his head. “No, that ain’t fair. Don’t you put that on me. I looked for signs, Y/N. I did. But you–you shut me out. Every damn time I tried to get close, you’d change the subject or pretend it was nothin’.” Your footsteps echoed in the silence between you, the sound of your breath sharp in your throat as you turned to face him fully–eyes blazing, rain still dripping off the ends of his curls and onto the floor like the storm had followed him inside.

“I didn’t avoid any conversations with you,” you snapped, voice raw and loud in the warm wood space. “You never thought to say anything! You think I’m just supposed to read your fuckin’ mind?!”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, teeth flashing as he stepped forward again, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And why does it have to be up to me to say anything?! I didn’t know this was a one-sided friendship. Last time I checked, there was two of us in this!”

That did it. You surged toward him with fire in your chest, your pointer finger jabbing hard into the middle of his chest–right against the damp fabric that clung to him, warm and heavy over his heart.

“Because you’re the one who kept chasing Maria all through high school, Rhett! You never gave me a chance!” The words landed hard, thick with years of held-back ache. “You were so wrapped up in her smiles and her perfect little skirts and how she looked in the goddamn sunshine, and you never once looked at me!”

And then–before you could step back–his hand caught your wrist again.

But this time?

This time it wasn’t to stop you.

It was to make you listen.

He held your arm firm, water trailing down the slope of his forearm, his eyes locked to yours like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“And why do you think I went after Maria in the first place, huh?” He bit out, chest heaving. “You weren’t that fucking easy to read, sweetheart. You hid your feelings real damn well. So how else was I supposed to move on from somethin’ I thought I’d never have?”

You froze.

Every word struck like thunder in your gut.

Your mouth parted. Your heart tripped.

He’d said it with such certainty. Like it had always been true. Like it had been sitting under the surface of every glance, every late-night porch talk, every ride home in his truck when the silence said more than either of you dared.

“Does everything make sense to you now?” he asked, voice low and scorching.

And it did.

You stood there in the hush of your little loft, the rain pounding like a drumline on the roof, and everything finally clicked into place.

And before you could think, before you could breathe, before your heart could scream for you to slow down–

You launched forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was heat and breath and years of longing breaking open all at once. His mouth met yours with a desperate groan, his hand leaving your wrist to grab your waist, yanking you into him like he needed to feel every inch of you, like just touching wasn’t enough. You could taste the rain on his lips, the bitter edge of frustration still lingering in the way he kissed you–hungry, fierce, like he was starved for this.

Your fingers curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you gasped against his mouth. The warmth of his chest bled into yours, soaked cotton clinging to skin as he spun the both of you until your back hit the wall beside the door.

“God, you don’t even know,” Rhett growled against your mouth, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in again, kissing you deeper, rougher. “You don’t even fuckin’ know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

His hands ran down your sides, settling heavy and possessive on your hips, thumbs digging into the waistband of your shorts as he pressed into you, chest to chest, thigh slipping between your legs like he had every right to be there. You moaned softly, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he leaned in harder, kissing you like he was trying to make up for every year he didn’t.

And all you could think was: finally.

Finally, he was holding you like he meant it. Kissing you like he wasn’t afraid anymore. Like the truth had broken loose and there was nothing left to hide behind.

You gasped as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and rough against your rain-chilled skin, dragging a trail up your ribcage. Your body arched into him instinctively, your legs going weak under the weight of it all.

“Tell me you want this,” He murmured against your jaw, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been goin’ crazy.”

You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him right back to you.

“Just…Shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” You whispered, your voice ragged, nearly breaking, while your mouth was already bruised and hungry. Rhett’s breath hitched, and then he laughed—low, hoarse, and a little cocky. That boyish, infuriating smirk of his twitched at the corner of his lips as his forehead pressed to yours. His hand still clutched your waist, anchoring you like he’d drown without it.

“Well, hell,” he drawled, voice thick with heat and years of wanting, “You sound a little desperate, sweetheart.”

“Rhett,” you warned, already chasing after his mouth again.

But he kissed you before you could even threaten him further—kissed you like he was starved, like the sound of your voice made his restraint unravel. His hands slid back under your shirt, dragging up your ribs and then lower again, palms rough and reverent all at once. He gripped the back of your thighs, strong and certain, and then—

You yelped softly as he lifted you off the ground.

Your legs wrapped tight around his waist on instinct, like they’d done it a hundred times before, and your arms flew around his neck—one hand diving into his soaked curls, the other cradling his jaw like you needed to make sure he was real. His lips never left yours as he staggered forward, blindly navigating the loft until your back hit the bed in a messy sprawl.

You bounced once against the soft quilts, dazed.

Then Rhett was above you, peeling off his drenched shirt in one fluid motion, flinging it somewhere across the room with a wet slap. He stood over you for a moment, his chest rising and falling, water still dripping from the line of his collarbone, his abs heaving with every breath. His jeans clung to his hips, soaked dark and hanging low, every muscle in his body cast in golden light from the lamp on the nightstand.

You had seen him shirtless before. Plenty of times.

But not like this.

Not with your lips swollen from his kiss. Not with your thighs still tingling where his hands had gripped them. Not with your body burning for him in every place you had tried to forget existed.

He caught the look in your eyes—hungry, reverent, awestruck—and his smirk faded into something darker. Something heady.

He crawled onto the bed without saying a word, muscles shifting as he moved between your knees, spreading them apart with his palms like he had every right to. His fingers dug into your bare thighs, holding you open as he settled his hips against yours, weight pressing down with purpose.

Your breath hitched. Your hands slid up his chest–feeling the heat, the muscle, the scar near his ribs you knew by heart–and you kissed him again like you were trying to make up for every single day you hadn’t.

This one was feral.

Messy and frantic and clumsy in the best way. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, mouths parting on gasps and moans as your hands moved like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt again, dragging the fabric up your sides and pushing until it bunched around your ribs.

You barely noticed. Too busy tangling yourself in him.

His hands found your hips again–then your jaw–then your ass. He was everywhere at once, and you couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, couldn’t stop arching up to meet every roll of his body against yours. His jeans were soaked, and yours were barely on, and the heat between you was enough to dry everything that had been soaked by the storm.

It was the kind of kiss you didn’t come back from.

The kind that set fire to memory, that branded your ribs from the inside out.

You were breathing so hard you couldn’t tell where your lungs ended and his began, couldn’t remember a time before this–before his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were grinding against your core like he’d been waiting his whole damn life to do it.

And maybe he had.

“Fuck,” Rhett panted, his forehead pressed to yours again, voice thick with disbelief and hunger as his thumb stroked just beneath the edge of your shirt, “You got any idea what you do to me, do you?”

You barely had time to answer.

Because he kissed you again like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning all these years.

You moaned into the kiss, your body arching instinctively against his as your hand slid up his chest–not to push him away, but just to slow him, to breathe, to feel. Your palm pressed flat against the warmth of his skin, just above his heart, and Rhett stilled.

He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes dark but gentle, the storm in his chest quieting just a little.

“You okay?” He asked softly, thumb still brushing your waist.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling lightly into his damp curls. “Yeah,” You whispered, voice shaking with heat and adrenaline. “I just wanna take my shirt off.”

Rhett blinked, and then leaned back slightly, palms splayed beside your hips on the bed. “Yeah?” He asked, husky and reverent, giving you space.

You sat up on your elbows just enough to pull the oversized tee over your head in one quick motion, your breath catching as the cool air of the loft met your flushed skin. The fabric hit the floor with a quiet thud, and then you were left in nothing but your sleep shorts–bare from the waist up, your chest rising and falling with every ragged inhale.

Rhett didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered, eyes locked to your chest like he couldn’t decide if he should worship you or fall to his knees. “Holy crap.”

You let out another quiet laugh, flustered but aching, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “You okay there, cowboy?”

His eyes snapped up to yours. And then he leaned in again like he’d just remembered he could. Like the sight of you had lit something under his ribs.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” He breathed against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, reverent. His lips moved down your jaw, then your throat, then lower–pressing heat into every inch of skin like he was branding you with it.

You gasped as his mouth trailed to your collarbone, lips brushing, teeth grazing the dip there before he murmured, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?”

Your hands found his hair again, tangling in the damp curls, anchoring him as he kissed his way down the slope of your chest. He paused at the top of your breast, glancing up with heat in his eyes, waiting–making sure.

You nodded.

That was all he needed.

His mouth closed over your breast, warm and wet and full of want, and you cried out softly as he sucked, his tongue flicking over your nipple until it peaked beneath his touch. His hand came up to cradle the weight of the other, thumb circling slow and steady as he dragged his mouth from one to the other, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a few soft marks in his wake.

You were already trembling. His mouth stayed latched to your breast, tongue dragging slowly over the sensitive peak, lips sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. And he didn’t look away–not once. His eyes burned into yours, half-lidded and dark with want, jaw working like he was savoring every fucking second. Every twitch. Every breathless sound you made.

And then he ground his hips into you–slow and deep, the press of his soaked jeans meeting the heat between your thighs in a rhythm that made your whole body jolt. You gasped, your thighs clenching around his waist instinctively, the friction too good and too much all at once.

“Fuck, Rhett—” you breathed, your fingers flying to his shoulders, nails dragging down his skin without thinking. You didn’t even realize how hard you were clutching him until he moaned.

Loud.

Right against your nipple.

The vibration of it sent a shock straight through your core, your breath catching as he pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin before it snapped and fell away.

His lips were pink and swollen. His chest was heaving. His hands still held your hips like they belonged to him.

And then—he licked his lips. Smirked a little. That cocky, heartbreaker smirk that always used to get him out of trouble when you were kids, only now it looked feral. Possessive. Dirty.

He dipped his head to the other side of your chest and gave the second nipple the same worship he’d given the first—slow, wet, reverent, his tongue flicking and swirling and teasing until your legs were trembling around his hips.

You could feel him growing harder with every second, the denim of his jeans rough against your thin sleep shorts, but neither of you moved to get rid of anything yet. You were too busy drowning in this.

In him.

His mouth. His heat. The way he held you like he’d been starving for this since the beginning of time.

He sucked harder, his teeth grazing the swollen bud just enough to make you whimper, and then he pulled off that one too–again, with a lewd, wet sound that left another line of spit trailing down your skin. His voice was rough as gravel when he finally spoke, eyes still locked to yours, lips slick and panting.

“I just wanna keep tasting you,” He rasped, his hands stroking up your sides like he needed to memorize you with his palms. “I wanna taste every fuckin’ inch of you. Wanna see what you’ve been hidin’ under all those smart-ass jokes and mechanic suits.” Your chest stuttered with a broken laugh, your nails still dug into his shoulders, dragging light lines down his back that made him shudder. His hips rolled into you again, more desperate this time, like he couldn’t help it, like the thought of you beneath him in nothing but your shorts was driving him insane.

“Go on then,” You whispered, voice wrecked and teasing and vulnerable all at once. “See for yourself.”

He growled low in his throat, and kissed you like it was a promise. Like he was going to do exactly that.

Rhett pulled back slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze dragged down the length of your body like a man about to sink his teeth into something he wasn’t sure he deserved. His hands slid down your thighs–slow and warm, worshipful–and hooked just beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“You sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, throat tight with restraint even as his eyes burned with hunger.

You nodded.

That was all he needed.

He tugged the sleep shorts down your hips, inch by inch, until they peeled away from your skin like a secret being revealed. His eyes never left you–not even when the cotton slipped past your knees and off the edge of the bed. And when he saw what you weren’t wearing beneath?

His breath caught.

“Fuck me,” He groaned, so low it was almost a growl, his fingers tightening around your thighs. “You were just walkin’ around like this?” His voice dropped darker, hotter. “No fuckin’ underwear? Just wet and waitin’ under those shorts, huh?” You bit your bottom lip, heart hammering, skin blazing under his stare.

Rhett sat back on his knees between your legs, pushing them apart with both hands—broad palms sliding under your thighs to lift and spread you just a little more, until your heels dug into the mattress and you were completely, utterly bare for him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared like he was being given a miracle he hadn’t earned.

“Jesus, baby…” He whispered, voice gone reverent. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’–look at you.” His tongue darted out across his bottom lip, his breath shaky. “Bet you taste so goddamn sweet.”

You whimpered at the praise, back arching involuntarily as his grip on your thighs tightened. One hand slid down to grip behind your knee, pushing it gently up and open, his thumb stroking the soft skin there like he was trying to soothe your trembling.

Then–without warning–he dove in.

His mouth hit you like a man starved, tongue flattening and dragging up the length of your soaked heat with a groan that shook through your whole body. You gasped–hips jerking up off the mattress, but he was ready. His hands flew to your hips, pinning you down hard into the sheets.

“Just stay still…Lemme take care of you hmm?” Your fingers flew to his hair, gripping tight as his mouth slowly sealed around your clit. Rhett sucked hard–just once–and then started working you with his tongue like he’d been waiting his whole life to make you fall apart on his face. Long, slow licks. Then fast, eager circles. He switched between the two like he was chasing every sound you made, every gasp, every twitch of your thighs like it was a map.

“God–Rhett–” Your voice hitched, your hips trying to grind against his mouth again, your thighs trembling under his hold. He pressed them back down firmly, groaning against you.

“I said stay still,” He growled, so rough and low it vibrated straight through your core. You whined, writhing under the weight of his mouth, your thighs beginning to tremble.

His tongue flicked your clit again, fast, and then he pressed in deeper–his nose brushing your mound, his tongue fucking into you slow and deep, like he was drinking you down.

Your thighs clamped around his ears, but he just groaned–louder–and pressed in harder, his arms locking around your hips, holding you open for him like you were something holy.

You couldn’t stop moaning–couldn’t breathe around the pleasure curling tight in your gut. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, tugging, pushing, desperate and greedy as your hips rocked against his mouth without thinking.

Then he growled, pulling his mouth back just enough to speak–and the sight of him, lips shiny and jaw slick with your arousal, was filthy.

“I said stay still,” He rasped, grabbing your hips and pressing them back into the mattress with just enough force to make you cry out. You whimpered–your body shuddering at the dominance in his tone, the possessive heat of it—and nodded.

“Words, sweetheart,” He said, licking a slow stripe up your core. “I wanna hear it.”

“Yes,” You gasped. “Yes, Rhett–fuck–I’ll stay still–please, just–please don’t stop.”

He smirked into your core.

“Didn’t plan on it.”

And then he buried his face in you again–harder this time–his mouth moving like he was trying to tear the climax from your body with his tongue alone. His grip on your hips was iron, keeping you right where he wanted you, no escape, no mercy.

You came with a loud, shattering cry, your whole body jerking against the bed as pleasure tore through you like lightning, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

Rhett didn’t stop.

Not through your first wave, or the second.

He kept licking, savoring you, sucking gently, coaxing every last tremble from your hips until you were shaking and soaked and boneless beneath him, your fingers still tangled in his hair like you didn’t know how to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glossed with you, his jaw shining, his eyes wild and dark and full of need.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ tasted,” He whispered, breathless, licking his lips as he hovered above you again.

And then he kissed you.

Messy. Deep. Dirty. Tongue sliding against yours, lips slick with your own arousal, like he wanted you to taste yourself on him.

You moaned into his mouth, and that sound lit him up from the inside. He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still glistening, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run flat-out for miles. You watched the way his tongue darted out across his bottom lip, savoring the taste of you one last time like he couldn’t help himself. Then his eyes flicked up to meet yours–warm, slightly sheepish–and his voice dropped, rough with apology but still trembling from the high.

“Sorry ‘bout bein’ a little rough…” He murmured, thumb tracing your hipbone. “I… I couldn’t really control myself once I got a bit of a taste. Sorry.”

You blinked at him, breathless, your cheeks flushed from everything he’d just wrung out of you. And then you laughed—a soft, low sound, all wrecked and wrecking. You reached up to brush the damp curls from his forehead, still tangled in the storm.

“It’s okay…” You whispered, lips twitching into a lazy smile. “It was pretty hot. Not gonna lie.”

That made him laugh—quiet and stunned, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. His dimples showed through his scruff, and it lit him up from the inside out, that boyish grin making a brief return before it got swallowed by something deeper. He leaned in and kissed you again—slower now, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your relief, your want, your voice wrapped around the words I need you.

And then he paused.

Just enough to pull back again, gaze searching yours, soft and careful.

“…You still okay?” he asked, voice quiet now. “Do you…Wanna stop here?”

Your heart clenched at the way he asked it–like it physically hurt him to offer the out, but he’d take it in a second if you needed it.

You shook your head immediately, voice low and steady.

“No,” you breathed. “No, I want to feel you. I need you more than ever right now.”

Rhett froze like he hadn’t expected that. His breath caught, visibly, audibly–and then his face flushed, blooming red across his cheekbones and down his throat. He blinked at you like you’d just shattered him with a single sentence.

“I’ll do anything you fuckin’ want,” he said hoarsely. “Anything.”

He leaned back onto his knees, hands sliding down your thighs once more as he slowly stood on his knees between them. You watched with wide eyes, breath caught behind your ribs, as his hands went to the waistband of his boxers. His fingers hooked into the elastic, and he hesitated–just for a second–like he needed to be sure one last time.

Then he pushed them down.

The fabric peeled away, soaked and clinging, and your mouth went dry.

Your breath hitched as your gaze dropped–then stalled.

Because Jesus Christ.

He was thick. Long. Heavy even before he touched himself–his cock flushed red, the head already leaking and shining in the low light of the loft. It hung low between his hips, resting briefly against his thigh before springing forward slightly, and your whole body reacted before your brain could catch up.

Your mouth actually watered.

You shifted on the bed, thighs spreading wider like your body already knew what it wanted, what it was about to take. The stretch… God, you could already feel it–imagine it–him splitting you open slow, his hips rocking forward while you clawed at his back. You wanted to feel him press in inch by inch until you were full–until you couldn’t think straight. You wanted all of it.

Rhett saw the look on your face–the hunger, the awe, the way your chest heaved and your lips parted–and his blush deepened, but his cock twitched in response, proud and aching.

He leaned down again, bracing one hand beside your head as he hovered over you, breath hot and voice trembling.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” He whispered, eyes locked to yours. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You reached down, wrapped your fingers around the base of him, and watched as his jaw clenched tight, a guttural sound ripping from his throat.

“Don’t worry,” You whispered, He exhaled ragged against your cheek as you guided him closer, your fingers wrapped around the base of him–slow, sure, trembling just slightly. Rhett’s breath hitched again as the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, heat meeting heat, slick and swollen and pulsing with need. He braced a forearm beside your head, the other curling around your hand on him, intertwining your fingers like he needed to anchor himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He whispered, voice hoarse, reverent. “You’re so fuckin’ wet–gonna slide in like you were made for me…”

You whimpered–because he was right.

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he started to push in.

The stretch was immediate–hot and deep and toe-curling. Your lips parted on a breathless gasp, your head tipping back as your body opened for him inch by inch. Rhett groaned low in his throat, jaw clenched, eyes locked on where he was disappearing into you.

“Fuck–goddamn,” He hissed, gripping your hand tighter. “Tight little thing, huh? Grippin’ me like you never wanna let go…”

You moaned, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively as he pushed deeper. His cock stretched you wide, the pressure sharp and perfect all at once, your body pulsing around him in greedy aftershocks. He paused halfway in, resting his forehead against yours, sweat and rainwater dripping down his temple.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice shaky but tender.

You nodded, chest rising fast. “Don’t stop,” You breathed. “Please. Keep goin’. I need all of you.”

That broke him.

Rhett let out a ragged sound–half groan, half whimper–and pushed in deeper. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, slow and thick, until finally, finally, his hips met yours, your bodies flush and trembling with the sheer weight of it.

He was fully inside.

You both stilled for a moment–just breathing, savoring it. You could feel him throbbing deep inside you, every twitch of him making your insides flutter. Rhett’s hand squeezed yours like a lifeline, and he brought it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles before resting it on the mattress between you.

“Goddamn,” He whispered, voice barely there. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You laughed, breathless and ruined, eyes glassy with heat and disbelief. “You sound like you’re about to cry, cowboy.”

He let out a half-choked chuckle, his hips giving an experimental roll. You both moaned at the same time, your bodies clutching together again like magnets. Rhett looked down at you, completely wrecked–his hair dripping, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide with awe.

“Fuck—you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, shifting his weight back slightly.

He let go of your hand only long enough to bring the other up to your throat—just resting it there, fingers spread gently, reverently. His thumb stroked along the underside of your jaw, so tender it made your heart lurch.

”You are too,” You whispered, lips brushing his. “Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

His hips rocked again, deeper this time, and you arched into him with a soft cry, your nails digging into his shoulders. He kissed you hard, his hand at your throat grounding you, guiding you.

“That’s it,” He panted, voice rough. “Take me, baby. You’re takin’ me so damn well.”

“You’re fillin’ me so good,” You moaned, hips rising to meet every thrust. “I can feel you so deep–fuck, I swear I can feel you in my fuckin’ soul, Rhett.”

He let out a strangled noise–somewhere between a growl and a whimper–and his rhythm stuttered for just a second.

“You can’t say shit like that,” He gasped, laughing through it, completely undone. “You tryin’ to make me lose my damn mind?”

You grinned breathlessly, kissing him again, still giggling softly against his mouth as he started moving again–deeper, slower, more confident now.

And with every thrust, every filthy word, every moan tangled between you–it felt less like something you were giving and more like something you were reclaiming.

His rhythm stuttered again–once, then twice–like he was losing the reins. Like everything he’d been holding back was breaking loose all at once.

You could feel it in the way his hips began to roll faster, less controlled, more chaotic. His thrusts hit deeper, harder, the slick sounds of your bodies crashing together filling the space like a drumbeat under the rain.

“Rhett,” You gasped, voice high and trembling, your fingers clawing at his back now, digging in like you needed to anchor yourself before you flew apart again. “Fuck–you’re gonna make me come again–”

That did it.

His mouth crushed yours in a frantic kiss, all tongue and teeth and heat. He bit down on your bottom lip–firm but careful, pulling it between his teeth like he couldn’t help himself. You moaned into his mouth, loud and wrecked, and he swallowed it whole like he wanted to keep it forever.

“Good,” he growled against your lips, voice tight and broken. “Want you to. Wanna feel you come on me again–need it, baby, I need it–fuck–I’m close too–“

You could barely think. His hips were slamming into yours now, rough and desperate, each thrust so deep it sent sparks exploding behind your eyes. Your legs wrapped tighter around him, your back arching off the bed as his hand slid under your thigh, lifting it higher to get even deeper.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, the creak of the bed frame, the relentless rain outside–and your moans. Loud. Wild. Unfiltered.

“Oh my god–Rhett–Rhett–I’m–”

Your climax hit like a lightning strike.

You cried out–loud and raw–your whole body locking around him, legs trembling, hands clutching at his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your pussy pulsed around him, gripping him tight, dragging him over the edge with you.

And he broke.

With a strangled groan, Rhett buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard–his whole body jerking against yours as he spilled inside you. His arms locked around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he moaned low and desperate, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.

“Fuck, fuck–Jesus–” He gasped, whimpering softly as the pleasure rocked through him, his body trembling with the force of it. He gave one last shallow thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and then went still–completely spent, panting hard into the crook of your neck.

You both just laid there for a second. Breathing. Shaking. Floating.

The rain hadn’t stopped outside, but it felt quieter now, like even the storm was giving you a minute to collect yourselves.

Rhett eventually lifted his head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed and still wide with the aftershock. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking gently across your cheek.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay,” You whispered, your fingers pushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “I think you broke my brain a little.”

He laughed–weak and stunned and fucking glowing.

“Yeah?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss your nose. “Well…You wrecked me. So. We’re even.”

You both chuckled, quiet and wrecked and tangled up in each other. His weight was still resting on top of you, warm and solid and perfect, and you didn’t want him to move.

He kissed you again–soft this time, slow and sweet. Just once.

Then he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his eyes filled with something tender. Something quiet and wide and full of meaning.

“I swear to God, I’ve never felt anything like that,” He whispered. “Not ever. You ruined me, darlin’. In the best fuckin’ way.”

And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #Rhett you fucking man!#friends to lovers #Rhett is a sad cowboy

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sunnylikeslife · 5 days ago

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The difference between bsf and bf is only a letter.... just saying

#friends to lovers #mlm yearning #mlm thoughts #mlm #gay #gay yearning #gay thoughts #yearning

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idkyetxoxo · 20 hours ago

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Five | Burning Cold | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2k

Warnings - Parental abuse, angst (who's surprised x)

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"You embarrass me beyond reason."

Beron's voice struck like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

The dining room was almost eerily quiet. The candles had burned low, casting elongated shadows across the table, and the fireplace crackled behind him like it too knew what was coming.

Rhysand and Azriel had already been shown to their respective rooms. The staff had long since been dismissed.

It was just him, Eris, and me now. A ritual in cruelty. One we'd all rehearsed too many times.

Beron remained seated at the head of the long table, one hand curled around a glass of wine he hadn't touched, the other drumming slow, deliberate fingers against the polished wood.

I stood before him, hands twisted together in the front of my dress, heart rattling against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape.

Eris stood beside me. Tense. Too still. His eyes locked on our father like he was calculating exactly how much defiance he could get away with before he was forced to watch me bleed.

I knew this was coming.

I had felt it simmering beneath Beron's skin during dinner, even before I'd forgotten the name of my supposed betrothed. Even before I stumbled over my words like some foolish, fidgeting girl.

My silence, my trembling hands, my avoidance of wine—all damning in his eyes.

But I hadn't anticipated just how bad it would be.

"I apologise," I said, voice low and tight. "It simply caught me off guard. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know?" he repeated, his tone mockingly aghast. "And is that not the root of your failings? You do not know. You never know."

He set the wine down with quiet precision, then leaned forward, voice lowering into a pitiless rasp. "What use is a daughter who crumbles under pressure? Who flinches like a whipped dog and forgets her place like a simpering maid?"

I swallowed, hard. "It was sudden. I was just shocked."

"Shocked" he echoed, voice thick with derision. He laughed once, a sharp, joyless sound. "Does the battlefield offer surprises, girl? Do alliances form and break without warning? And what then? Will you stammer your way through strategy while your enemies slit your throat?"

He stood. Slowly. With the terrible weight of inevitability.

"You are weak," he said flatly. "Weaker than before. I see it in your shoulders, the way they slump. In your eyes—there's softness now. Contamination. And you reek of something else. Something foreign. Untrustworthy."

Beside me, Eris stepped closer. His hand found the small of my back in a subtle, silent gesture. A warning not to provoke. A tether, so I didn't float too far away from myself.

But it was too late.

With one violent sweep, Beron's hand smashed across the table sending silverware and glasses crashing to the floor. The force of it made me flinch, and before I could recover, he was there.

His fingers were in my hair, twisting and yanking my head back until I was forced to look up at him. The pain was sharp. White-hot.

"You dare flinch from me now?" he snarled, his breath hot and thick with wine and rot. "You've forgotten what fear feels like? Let me remind you."

"Father—" I gasped. "I'm sorry," I cried out, the words choking on my tongue.

Eris's hand dropped from my back as he stepped between us. "Stop. Just—wait," he said quickly, voice low and firm, but Beron didn't even look at him.

"Eris, leave." His voice was razor-edged.

Eris didn't move. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing. "No."

"Eris, leave now!" Beron roared, and a ball of flame exploded near the door, bursting in a rush of heat and smoke. The flames danced along the stone walls like predators hungry for more.

For a long heartbeat, Eris stood rooted. Then, with eyes that burned with guilt and helpless rage, he turned and left. I watched him go, just for a second and the look he gave me... It undid something in me.

It was sorrow. It was apology. It was useless.

Beron yanked my face back toward him, his other hand grabbing my chin so tightly I could barely speak.

"You are no daughter of mine when you falter like this," he snarled. "You've gone soft. Frail. Sluggish. And I will not have it." His breath was hot and sour. His grip turned bruising.

"You're hurting me," I sobbed, voice cracking as tears slipped down my cheeks.

"Good," he hissed. "Maybe pain will remind you what's expected of you. Maybe fear will shake this lethargy out of your bones."

I tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, nails digging into my skin. He shook me, hard enough that the room spun.

"You think tears will save you? That Eris's pity will shield you from what you are meant to become? No. You will not be soft. You will not be weak. You will be what I command you to be."

His nails dug in. My legs buckled.

"You are not a creature of sentiment," he growled. "You are not soft. You are not kind. You are Autumn's flame, and you will burn when I say burn."

He released me so suddenly I stumbled back, clutching at the edge of the table to keep from collapsing completely. My scalp screamed. My lungs heaved for breath.

The doors to the dining hall burst open with a force that echoed through the room like thunder cracking through frost.

But it wasn't Eris this time.

Azriel stood in the threshold, shadows slipping off him like smoke from a smothered fire, writhing toward me in instinct—those tendrils of darkness already reaching, already knowing. They curled around my ankles, my wrists, brushed the bruised corner of my jaw with ghostlike care.

Of course they knew. Of course he knew.

"High Lord," Azriel said coolly, voice devoid of emotion, like he was carved from ice and steel.

Beron turned slowly, irritation flickering like flame behind his eyes. "What?"

"Rhysand wishes to speak with you before you retire for the night," Azriel replied, words casual but precise.

It was quiet. Polite. Submissive. It was also a lie. To Beron, it must have sounded routine. A servant simply doing his duty.

But not to me. To me, it was code. It was calculated interference.

Beron stared at Azriel for a moment too long, suspicion simmering behind his gaze. Then he glanced at me, my flushed face, trembling hands, the way I stood too still, too quiet. His mouth curled in distaste.

But he turned and left. His footsteps disappeared into the corridors like the closing of a cage.

Silence followed in his wake.

"Rhysand doesn't want anything," I rasped, my voice cracking like dried leaves.

Azriel took a single step toward me, and in it was restraint, fear, reverence. "Well," he replied softly, "he does now."

I let out a breath that shook on its way out. My hands fumbled to smooth the bodice of my dress, to pull my sleeves back into place. Anything to look less ruined. Less broken.

When I looked up, I wished I hadn't.

Azriel's expression was... shattered. Quiet, steady Azriel, the male who never let a single crack show—he looked at me like something inside him had just died.

The devastation on his face made me feel like I was drowning in it. It made me angry. Made me ashamed. I looked away.

He reached toward me slowly, gently, as though approaching something wild and wounded. His fingers found my arms first, featherlight on the sleeves of my dress.

A breath later, his hand moved to my face. He brushed back a strand of hair, one of many that had been yanked free just minutes ago.

The contrast of it, kindness after cruelty was too much.

It undid me. I almost crumpled. Almost collapsed into him right then and there.

"How long?" he asked, his voice roughened with emotion.

I looked up at him, and my eyes betrayed me. The tears welled, then spilt, despite everything in me that tried to hold them back.

His jaw clenched. His eyes turned stormy.

"It's nothing," I whispered. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters," he said, voice firmer now, edged with something dangerous. "But you shouldn't have to take—"

"Do not meddle in our family's affairs," I snapped.

I meant it to be sharp. Meant it to push him back where he belonged. But the words fell flat. Brittle. Useless.

His shadows recoiled as if wounded. I felt the space between us widen, the silence become unbearable.

And still, I couldn't stop my body from leaning forward, couldn't stop my hands from curling into fists just to keep from reaching for him.

I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and pretend the last twenty minutes hadn't happened.

But I couldn't.

Because if he touched me like that, I might not be able to let go. Because if he comforted me, truly comforted me, the illusion of strength would fracture for good.

And that would be dangerous.

For him. For me. For the tiny life inside me that I hadn't even dared to speak of.

"Is this why you've pulled away—" Azriel began, his voice quieter now, no longer edged in frustration but something softer. Something close to hurt.

But he didn't get to finish.

Pain—sharp and sudden ripped through my abdomen. A jolt that stole the breath right from my lungs.

I doubled over without meaning to, a sharp gasp tearing from my lips as my hands flew to my stomach—my glamoured stomach still concealed beneath layers of illusion and silk.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the table beside me to steady myself.

"What's wrong?" Azriel was at my side in an instant, shadows coiling around me like a net ready to catch me if I fell. His arm reached for mine, his hands steady and sure.

I shrugged him off before his touch could truly land. Because I knew what it was.

Because the baby—his baby had just kicked. For the first time.

It had been subtle, not the kind of thing someone else would notice. A ripple, a flutter like wings brushing against skin from the inside.

But to me, it was seismic. A soft little tumble inside me that sent everything reeling.

My heart stuttered. My fingers splayed protectively over the illusion hiding the small curve that had begun to show beneath the glamour.

I straightened slowly, schooling my expression as best I could, even though I felt like my world had just shifted off its axis.

Azriel was still watching me, concern carved into every line of his face.

"I'm fine," I managed though the words were hollow.

"You doubled over in pain—" he started again, voice tight, jaw clenched.

"It's nothing," I snapped too quickly. "I just... I hadn't eaten. Probably a cramp."

It was a terrible lie, one that passed my lips before I could think better. But it was all I had.

If I told him the truth, if I let it slip—what then?

His child. The one I hadn't planned for. The one he hadn't planned for. The one who had just made themselves known, as if to remind me they were real. Alive. Growing.

Azriel was still watching me, too perceptive for his own good. His shadows hadn't recoiled either they hovered close, sensing the deception, the tension, the truth I refused to let free.

"Every time I try to speak to you, you shut me out. Now you're in pain and you won't even look at me—"

"Because you don't get to know everything," I bit out. My voice was harsher than I intended, cracking at the edges. "You don't get to demand pieces of me just because you decided to care too late."

That stunned silence again. The kind that cut deeper than shouting.

I hated this. I hated the look on his face—of ache and confusion and maybe even guilt. I hated how part of me wanted to fall into his arms and just tell him. Tell him everything.

But I couldn't. Because once he knew, he'd never leave.

And I wasn't sure I could protect him, not from my father, not from this court, not from the consequences of what we'd done.

So I turned away. Clutching my stomach as gently and secretly as I could, fingers spread over the place where life had just moved for the very first time.

My chest ached with everything I couldn't say.

The baby kicked again, just a flutter this time, almost as if they were responding to my heartbreak. As if they already knew they'd have to be strong, even inside of me.

And behind me, Azriel stood in silence.

Still waiting. Still not knowing.

A/n - This part is a bit shorter than usual, but intentionally so—I didn't want to rush into the next part just yet. Next part, well, the beginning of it is my fav so far (hint hint kinda?).

Azriel finally sees the abuse firsthand and, of course, steps in. He assumes it's the reason reader has been pulling away—understandably, but it's not!!

And then... the baby makes their presence known. For the first time. The timing couldn't be worse, but in some small, bittersweet way, it matters that both parents were there x

It's definitely one of the more graphic ones with the abuse so I apologise for that.

Thank you for reading <33

Shadow and Flame tag list - @coffeebooksrain18 @jaybbygrl @slut4acotar @justtryingtosurvive02 @mortqlprojections @sheblogs @moonlitlavenders @windblownwinston @queenoffeysand @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @metaphysicaldoom @natalijassav @bookishbishhh @yourenothingbutnottome @holb32 @etsukomoonbeam @fxckmiup @i-am-infinite @megwan @cuethedepession @rinalsworld @whoreforfictionalmen18 @asahinasstuff @lilah-asteria @smol-grandpa @shinyghosteclipse @rachelnicolee

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woozisprincess · 2 days ago

Text

Looking In

Your two closest friends, who are also your otp, are more comfortable around you than anyone else. Like they're really comfortable. Probably too comfortable.

Scoups x Fem!Reader x Woozi

6.4k

Poly fic, fluff, friends to lovers, dense reader, super suggestive, Seungcheol thot activity, CheolHoon argue a lot but it's all in good faith, made Seungcheol really pouty because I like, Jihoon tries to be normal, Vernon listens to your CheolHoon problems, lmk if anything else

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Whenever Jihoon and Seungcheol were around, you always felt like you were witnessing something that you shouldn't. Moments between them that in no way were intended for the public eye. And for whatever fucking reason, they only seemed to act this away around you. During a group hangout, when the three of you were the first to arrive, it almost felt like you yourself were in the relationship. They giggled and smiled at each other like they shared a secret no one else knew, and then they'd look at you like you were also privy to that secret. You were not. And then as more of your friends filed in, they'd go back to acting how they normally did around people. Still cute, still in love, just much less intimate.

And this has happened multiple times, mind you. Whenever you had the pleasure of third wheeling them for the day, or when you'd stop by Jihoon's place to binge anime while Seungcheol lurked around. It was insane. You felt insane. At first you had fully convinced yourself that you were imagining things, but as time went on, it was clear that it was very real, and that you were the only one experiencing this.

The lovers were undeniably your otp, seeing as you had been rooting for them since Jihoon first let it slip to you that he had a massive crush on Seungcheol. He was all nervous and flustered, made you promise to not say anything. You couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he was being. Did he really not see how Seungcheol looked at him? Truthfully, you're the only reason they're even together. Jihoon was in complete denial that Seungcheol could possibly like him, and Seungcheol couldn't read through Jihoon's Tsundere tendencies for shit. So through meticulous planning, and months of egging the two of them on, they finally confessed to one another. So yeah, you happily take credit.

You assume that's why they're so… comfortable… around you. You really can't find another explanation. You'd always been pretty close to both of them as well, so that's definitely gotta be a part of it. It's just so odd to you.

Well, at least it was odd to you. It's been a year since it all started, and you've grown quite used to their behavior. In fact, you'd even say that you enjoy the special treatment. The way Seungcheol reaches to hold your hand in crowded spaces the same way he does for Jihoon, when Jihoon pulls you as close as he possibly can during movie nights, how they both call you their girl. You don’t think you've even thought about getting a boyfriend since all this started, you really didn't need one when you basically had two. That's why as you sat at your favorite brunch spot with them, you were completely unphased by… whatever they were doing.

You looked at your menu, unsure of what to get this time around. You told yourself that you'd order something different today, but your eyes kept drifting to the Very Berry French Toast that you always ordered.

“What do I even get?” You were mostly talking to yourself, but Seungcheol chimed in anyway.

“I don't know…” He feigned genuine thought as he glanced at his menu. “Maybe we should just order this.” His hand grabbed Jihoon's face, pinching his cheek.

First of all, we is insane, but okay.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but the flush creeping up his face betrayed him. “You cannot do this every time we eat, the joke is dead.”

“Who said I was joking?” Seungcheol raised his brow.

“Do not-” you closed your menu having decided on your meal. “-start this here, Seungcheol. People are trying to eat.” You were getting the Very Berry French Toast.

“Yeah me too-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon cut off the large man. “Can I please! Just enjoy brunch in peace?”

Seungcheol looked around, once again pretending to think about his answer.

“Maybe… if you give me a kiss.” Seungcheol looked at him smug.

You had no clue how Jihoon did it. Seungcheol was a Leo man. A LEO MAN. But then again, you probably entertained Seungcheol's antics the most.

Jihoon pretended to die, slumping over in his seat and making a cartoonish ‘bleh’ sound. He stayed like that for an entire ten seconds before sitting back up, scowling at Seungcheol, and quickly pecking his lips. Seungcheol hummed triumphantly, fully aware that that was the most he was gonna get in a public setting.

You see, Jihoon would've never done even that if anybody else was sitting across from them. PDA was not his thing at all. But for whatever reason, he could not care less in your presence.

You watched as Jihoon fixed his Jacket after it had fallen from his shoulders due to his award winning death scene. You were actually pretty sure it was Seungcheol’s, a new one of his too. Jihoon sure worked fast.

Soon your waitress arrived to take your orders, quickly jotting down the three meals before scurrying off. As you all waited, you continued with your mindless chatter. Jihoon and Seungcheol held hands over the table and you were very unsurprised when Jihoon eventually reached across to grab your hand as well. You happily took it, you'd have to be insane to turn down Lee Jihoon's open and willing affections, regardless of how peculiar it was. You watched as his eyes lit up just a little bit brighter as he continued to yap about the anime the two of you had finished the night prior.

When the food arrived, they shared with each other, as couples liked to do, and then they shared with you, as they liked to do. You also shared your treasured Very Berry in return. You honestly liked this arrangement, it meant that you could have different meals and still order your tooth rotting breakfast food. A bit of Seungcheol's Hearty beef sandwich, some of Jihoon's healthy chicken salad, all together it balanced out your meal perfectly.

“Maybe you're their third person?”

“Their what?”

You sat on your couch with Vernon as the two of you talked about your mornings, a movie playing on the TV that you've only half paid attention to. Vernon is the only person you've told about your relationship with the couple. He's rational and can keep a secret, making him the best person to vent to when you first thought you were losing your mind. You never point out their behavior anymore, incredibly desensitized to it all, but upon hearing that you had brunch with them, the Aquarius man thought of a new theory.

“Third person,” Vernon said simply.

You blinked at him.

“Please elaborate.”

“Well…” he swayed side to side in thought. “Some couples just have a person they're really attached to, and like to do everything with. Kind of like a pet.”

“A pet?” You squinted. “That's super comforting, thanks, Non.” You muttered sarcastically.

“No problem.”

You never knew if he genuinely didn't understand your sarcasm or if he just didn't care. Either way, it pisses you off.

Obviously, the next logical step was to launch a couch pillow at him. He yelped upon impact and immediately did the same to you.

And so it begins.

Your living room was a wreck by the time you were done assaulting each other with pillows. You knocked over a ton of trinkets, busted one of the pillows, and possibly broke something- something fell off of a shelf with a ‘crack’ but you paid it no mind. You had collapsed on the couch while Vernon found refuge on the floor. You both laughed as you shot stupid insults at each other.

At some point you heard your phone ring, you promptly ignored it after realizing that you had left it on the kitchen counter, and were unwilling to get it. But then it rang again, and then you got a few text notifications. So you begrudgingly got up from the soft cushions of your sofa, and trudged to the kitchen.

Missed call from Leo Man 🤨

Missed call from Baby Boy 🫧

Text from Leo Man 🤨

Hey, cupcake!

Baby and I were going to the mall and you said something earlier about needing new shoes so we thought to invite you! 😍

Lmk wassup!

Text from Baby Boy 🫧

Mall

We'll be outside in 10mins

You sighed. Oh your sweet boys.

You did need new shoes, so you decided to take them up on the offer, though Jihoon didn't seem to be giving you a choice. You let Vernon know what was going on and when you left he showed no signs of actually leaving himself. Strange man.

Just as Jihoon said, the couple was outside in ten minutes. You opened the door and slid into the backseat of Seungcheol's bright red truck.

“You miss us?” Seungcheol mused as he put the car in drive.

“It's been five hours, Cheol.” You deadpanned, strapping your seatbelt.

“So?” The man glanced at you, offended, through the rearview mirror. “We missed you!”

“You know, if you keep acting like this you'll scare her off.” Jihoon furrowed his brows.

“What!? No!” Seungcheol sputtered in disbelief. “I don't scare you, right, cupcake?” He glanced at you in the rearview once again, awful concerned about his boyfriend's comment.

Was Choi Seungcheol big and intimidating? Yes. And he could be down right terrifying if you got on his bad side. But to you? Nah. Big softy. A teddy bear even.

You chuckled at his wide eyes. “No, Cheol. You're bout’ as scary as a puppy.”

“Well that's not…” Seungcheol bit his lip in consideration. “I'm intimidating sometimes.”

“You are so picky.” Jihoon laughed at him.

“Okay but you love me!”

“Ehhh.”

Seungcheol scowled. “Well, ____ loves me!”

“You like, strictly complain around her, so think again.” Jihoon muses.

And now Seungcheol was full blown pouting, his plump, rosy lips jutting out in distaste. Very upset that no one loves him. This wasn't true.

He knew this wasn't true. He pouted anyways.

“Jihoon, ease up, I need him to carry my shit.” You repressed your own laughs to maintain the peace.

“I'll gladly carry your things, cupcake.” Seungcheol stated, still frowning. “Jihoon will have to fend for himself.” He'd turn his head if he weren't focused on the road.

“I'm not buying anything???” Jihoon continued his teasing. “Plus, we all know you'd still carry my stuff anyways.”

Sometimes you forgot how much of a fucking brat Jihoon could be around you and Seungcheol. The man was always so cool tempered and quiet around the masses, but when it was just the three of you, he'd leap at the chance to make Seungcheol pout. Sadism.

“I'm not gonna buy you the new Maple Story packs.”

Jihoon gasped and promptly shut the fuck up. Seungcheol smiled in triumph. He's had a lot of victories today. Unbelievable.

You couldn't help but cackle at their bickering. They've only been together for a few months longer than a year, yet they argued like an old married couple. You sighed as the mall finally came into view.

“Oh my god, why's he pouting now?” You just came back from the bathroom to find that Seungcheol is, once again, upset about something.

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I called him Choi Seungcheol.” he mutters.

You blinked. “Ji… you know better than that.”

“It wasn't even on purpose!”

“Cheol, see? It wasn't on purpose.” You tried to mediate.

“Nah, he said it as revenge for threatening to not buy him new fortnight skins.”

“Why-” No. Nope. It didn't matter. Y'all weren't going anywhere unless this was solved. “Jihoon, kiss him!”

“What, why!?”

“It's the easiest way to make him feel better.”

“You kiss him then!”

You looked at the pale man, appalled. “He's your boyfriend!”

“And? I'm sure he'll be plenty happy if you kissed him.”

“I-” You blinked rapidly at the couple. “-I don't have time for this.”

So you approached Seungcheol, grabbed his face, and planted a big, fat kiss on his cheek. When you pulled away, you saw that your lipstick had smudged, leaving a shotty print of your pursed lips on his cheekbone.

Jihoon leaned over to see, clicking his tongue and muttering a ‘Nice.’

A sheepish smile slowly grew on Seungcheol's face as you let go of him. He held his cheek as he suggested you all grabbed something to eat. Fucking Leo's, man.

As the three of you sat to eat in the food court, Seungcheol still hadn't bothered wiping his face, so you did it for him. He complained as you used a napkin to rub away the lipstick, saying that it was proof that you loved him.

“You don't need proof when I'm sitting right here, dumbass.” You mumbled it mindlessly as you finished with your efforts.

You hadn't noticed that both Jihoon and Seungcheol were staring at you, so when pulled back, your eyes darted between the two, confused.

“What?” You raised a brow at them. “Is there something on my face too?” You joked.

Jihoon blinked at you before locking in on his food. “No, you're good.”

Seungcheol just gave you a giddy ass smile as he went to eat his own food.

Okay then…

You dozed off on the car ride home, only hearing the couple's soft murmurs over the even quieter radio every now and then.

“She's asleep.” Jihoon whispered as he watched over your still figure in the backseat.

Seungcheol hummed in response. “I'm not surprised. We dragged her out twice today.” He chuckled.

“Yeah…” Jihoon's gaze lingered a little longer before turning to sit properly. “So nice of her to come out. Even with all your pouting.” Jihoon couldn't help the jab that escaped from him so naturally.

“Even with all your nagging.” Seungcheol fired back.

Their hushed laughs flowed throughout the truck, much too gentle for the vehicle’s garish appearance.

“Ugh, what're we gonna do?” Jihoon sighed, covering his face with his hands. “She was so cute when she kissed you.”

Seungcheol agreed as he resisted the urge to feel his cheek where the phantom kiss lingered. “And what she said in the food court…” He recounted.

“Oh my goooodddddd” Jihoon whisper screamed. “Shut up, I thought I was hearing things.” He scrunched his face.

“No, she said that.” Seungcheol confirmed.

In his peripheral vision, Seungcheol saw his boyfriend's cheeks puff out to hold his breath, most likely trying to keep from screaming. And they called him the dramatic one.

Seungcheol smiled as he reached over to grab his lover's hand. Even if it all really meant nothing, he was just happy that you were around.

You don't need proof when I'm sitting right here.

Yeah, he was gonna hold onto that for the next forever.

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, Jihoon once again maneuvered his body to look at you. “Cupid, you're back home.” He spoke a bit louder than he had previously been.

The couple watched you stir at the call of your name, fully sitting up when Jihoon patted your knee.

“Shit…” You mumbled, blinking the sleep from your eyes. You looked out the window to find that you were, in fact, at home. “Okay.” You yawned.

You undid your seatbelt and then attempted to stretch your arms in the cramped space.

The lovers felt like they were watching a cat wakeup. Slow blinks, quiet yawns, big stretches. It made them feel all fuzzy inside.

You grabbed the paper bag with your shoes, as well as a different bag with a top Seungcheol had bought for you as well. You swung open the car door and shuffled outside. You then stepped over to Jihoon's door, peeking through his already open window. Like clockwork, you grabbed his hand, bringing it to your lips as you've done a million times before. Then you quickly reached for Seungcheol's hand, knowing damn well he'd have a fit if you didn't. He wouldn't be concerned at all with how you were kissing on his boyfriend, more concerned about getting his turn. You couldn't fully reach to kiss him, so you gave his hand a good squeeze.

“Goodnight, boys.” You mumble with a tired smile.

“You have work in the morning?” Seungcheol inquired. You hummed. “I'll pick you up, okay?”

“Mmmkay.” You agreed.

“Night, Cupid.” Jihoon mumbled, leaning back in his seat, also clearly tired from the day. His droopy eyes gave you a cuteness aggression fit that took the will of thousands to not act on in that moment.

With a bit of reluctance, Seungcheol let go of your hand, allowing you to wander off and take refuge in your home. He looked at his boyfriend and they shared a knowing look. Really… What were they gonna do?

You were back to thinking that maybe you were going insane. You had barged into Jihoon's apartment, ready for another anime binge, and when you entered the living area, you witnessed Jihoon essentially pry Seungcheol off of him upon hearing your footsteps. That was normal. Seungcheol, of course, was never the kind to give in so easily, so he continued to kiss his boyfriend all over his face and neck as he tried to greet you. Also normal. Seungcheol's response to Jihoon's complaints of you standing right there as you waited for them to finish their little show, was to offer you to join. Still normal.

The lustful glances at you? Weak. The way Jihoon basically moans as Seungcheol's lips refuse to leave him? Been there, done that.

So what on god's green earth could've possibly struck you as odd? When Seungcheol grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit between the two of them. So simple compared to literally everything else you just witnessed, but it was the only thing that was out of the ordinary. Seungcheol usually got up and wandered further into the apartment as you flopped on the couch next to Jihoon. If the large man ever did come back, he'd take the seat on the other side of Jihoon. So yeah, it was pretty surprising when you found yourself pressed between the two of them like the cream in an Oreo.

Vernon's old theory about them being swingers came to mind. You'd debunked it saying they would've made a move forever ago. And it was true, swingers weren't exactly known for their patience. So as you looked at the two of them, Jihoon leaning on you as he turned on the TV to play the show, Seungcheol's arm falling behind you on the couch, you accepted that this was now a part of the routine.

Other than that, the night was pretty normal. You found yourself laying across the lovers as the episodes went on. You and Jihoon hummed and gasped at the TV, occasionally pausing to stand up and rant about something stupid a character did. Seungcheol laughed at the two of you, saying that ‘It was just a show,’ and that you both needed to calm down. Two sets of eyes glared at the Leo, immediately Jihoon reminded him of how he acts when his favorite team loses a game.

“That's real.” Seungcheol huffed, crossing his arms.

“It's a game!” You shouted at him in disbelief from where you had stood to announce your irritation. “It's literally grown men kicking a ball around!” You gestured wildly.

“Those grown men are skilled, and deserve a win!” He shot back.

“Obviously not if you're crashing out every other night because they can't get one!”

Jihoon cackled at the two of you, falling back on the couch and kicking his legs in the air. “It's true-” Jihoon wheezes trying to catch his breath. “They never win!” He clutched his stomach.

You stood up straight, basking in your victory. Not today Choi Seungcheol. Seungcheol rolled his eyes and pouted, but he still let you flop your legs over his lap without complaint.

You tried to continue the show, but the three of you kept giggling about whatever you were talking about. And as the hours rolled by, and you all grew more tired, you decided it was time to sleep.

Seungcheol threw you over his shoulder, and hauled you to the bedroom when you attempted to walk home at the unholy hour. You could only sigh as you locked eyes with Jihoon who giggled as he treaded closely behind the two of you.

Seungcheol plopped you on the bed while Jihoon went to grab you some of his clothes to use as pajamas. The apartment once had a guest bedroom, but Jihoon had turned it into his photography studio a few years back, leaving only the one room. You never understood why they made you sleep in the bed with them when the couch was still perfectly fine, but you've learned not to question things.

This is just how things are. This is just how they are. And even in all their behaviors, they've never once made you feel uncomfortable, so what was the point in fighting it? You surely couldn't think of a good reason as you slipped on one of Jihoon's oversized shirts, and tied on a pair of his shorts. You exited the bathroom and flopped on the bed where the couple was already cuddling. You'd think the bed would be too crowded, but for whatever reason, Jihoon owned the biggest mattress on the market. Said something about liking his space. Ironic seeing as he drags you and his boyfriend into bed whenever possible.

Jihoon pulled you into the cuddle sesh with little thought.

“Nooooo, you guys run hot.” You whined as you weakly pushed his arms away.

“Yeah we do.” Seungcheol mused.

Well… he wasn't wrong.

Ultimately, you ended up laying on Jihoon's chest with Seungcheol’s arm thrown over the both of you, you all chattered mindlessly while drifting off.

“All this mattress…” You began. “And you guys insist that we sleep like shivering kittens in need of each other's warmth.” You complained half heartedly.

“Awww.” Jihoon cooed at the mental image, his hand running up and down your back. “Those poor kittens.”

“The kittens aren't real, Ji.” You mumbled.

“They are somewhere.” He whispered.

You heard Seungcheol, who you thought was asleep, chuckle at the two of you. “You're both my kittens.” He asserted in a hushed tone.

You rolled your eyes at how cheesy the man was. You didn't bother commenting, but Jihoon sure did.

“That was so fucking corny, babe.” He scrunched his face.

This only made Seungcheol laugh, his mission to make you cringe a success. “I'm glad you think so, babe.”

“Can you like, not, babe.” You tacked onto the ‘babe’ train happening.

“Mmmm, only if I get a kiss, babe.” You don't think there's been a day since you met Seungcheol, that he hasn't demanded kisses from you, or anyone else in the vicinity. The man was such a thot. But hey, If you could pull the way he could, you'd probably be one too.

“How about you both go to bed…” Jihoon chimed in. “Babe.”

You snorted at the delay. He tried not to give in, but he couldn't help himself.

Seungcheol sat up a bit, leaning on his elbow so that he could kiss you and Jihoon. One on Jihoon's lips, one a bit close to yours as he whispered ‘love you's.’

In that moment, as you all were finally falling asleep, a thought dawned on you. One that, perhaps, should've come to you a year ago. Maybe you weren't just their third person, a fortunate witness to their love for one another. Maybe you were their third person, a receiver of the love and devotion that you thought the two of them only held for each other. Your brows furrowed as you pushed the thought aside. Not now. Go to sleep.

The next days were… odd. Even more so than usual. The couple wasn't even doing things out of their ordinary, you were just looking at the things they were doing differently. You really tried to push it away, tell yourself you were crazy, but it was no use. Even the level headed Hansol Vernon Chwe, was of no help to you.

“Why didn't I think of that!” Vernon gasped in realization.

You went to him for rational thought, not one of his convoluted theories. But here you were, head in your hands as he further entertained the idea.

“I guess I assumed that they were only exclusive to each other without considering the possibility that they'd be open to a third partner that third partner specifically being you of course because why else would they act all lovey dovey with you unless they wanted you in the relationship as well it actually makes complete sense but we overlooked it due to our closed minds refusing to see-”

“Vernon, literally if you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to rip your tongue out.”

Vernon paused his ramblings, clearing his throat. “All I'm saying, is that I think you clocked it.” he raised his hands in surrender.

You groaned, falling back onto your couch in defeat. “What do I dooooooo?”

“Well… what do you want to do?“ Your friend leaned back into the corner of the couch he always claimed.

What did you want to do? As odd as you felt it all to be in the beginning, you accepted the matter without complaint. And slowly, but surely, the couple had been ingrained into your life, almost like you were a part of the relationship. Always just a boundary or two away from being able to say you were in a throuple. You were perfectly okay with all of it. But you hadn't ever thought about actually being in the relationship. You cared for them both very dearly. Jihoon was your oldest friend, and Seungcheol had thundered his way into your life with a conviction and stubbornness that only he could possess.

Truly, you're grateful to be attached at the hip with them. You always called them ‘your boys,’ because it really felt like they were yours. They were a way around you that they only were with each other, and you took pride in that.

“I mean-” Vernon piped up once again. “-you’re basically dating them already, why not tack on the title and it's added benefits.”

True, true.

In order to fully understand yourself, you thought about your life if you decided to turn them down. A life where they treated you like everybody else. That is if they even still spoke to you. Yeah… no. Not doing that.

Throuple it is.

The next time you hung out with the couple, your were practically shaking with nerves. You really had no clue what to say. You considered calling and telling them you were sick, but you realized that they'd probably drop everything to coddle you. Vernon, who never seemed to leave your home, basically wrestled you out the door.

“What if I'm wrong!?” You screeched as he pulled you into the hallway.

“Trust me! You're not!” He huffed as he finally got you close to the elevators. “They want that cookie, ____!” He pushed into the first elevator that opened.

You could only gawk at his words. Foul mouthed boy.

So here you were, in Jihoon's living for what was likely the millionth time, nervously chewing on popcorn while the couple argued about what movie you should all watch. Seungcheol wanted an action movie that you didn't catch the name of, and Jihoon wanted to watch an animated movie that was likely going to make you cry.

Jihoon turned to you with a fire in his eyes. “We won't watch either then! Cupid, you pick!”

Your eyes widened at being addressed so suddenly. You looked between the two of them with furrowed brows.

You picked Howl’s Moving Castle. Seemed like a good in between. Speaking of in between, guess where you were. Sandwiched between the beefy men once again. No surprise there. You watched diligently as Howl whisked Sophie away from the predatory soldiers. The lovers seemed much less invested in the movie they've seen a hundred times, chattering with one another quite literally behind your back. You didn't mind of course, the film was pretty much tattooed on your brain as well, so every now and then you'd hone in on their conversation before going back to focusing on the TV.

You were also plotting. Well… attempting to plot. You still had no clue on how to go about letting them know that you're privy to their own schemes. Do you just say it? Like ‘hey, I know you guys want me, let's do this shit.’ That seemed… not ideal. What if-

Your thoughts were cut off by a small gasp followed by Jihoon's voice. “Seungcheol!”

“Don't Seungcheol me!” The elder's hand flew over his chest, as if wounded.

“Stop being a freak while Howl’s Moving Castle plays!” Jihoon fires back.

The two of them got louder. You only leaned back, trying to decipher exactly what just happened.

“I was just saying!” Seungcheol defended.

“____ is literally sitting between us! Have some decorum!”

“Ain't nothing she ain't heard before!”

Ah okay. Seungcheol was being freaky again. Checks out.

Normally, you'd just kick back and laugh as they went on and on. But today, you were arguing with your own demons, really taking in what was being said in reference to you. Seungcheol was always a flirt, minding at all if you were there to witness sexual way he spoke to his boyfriend, and he always “joked” about including you in their… activities. But Jihoon was keen on not scaring you away with Seungcheol's raunchy behavior. It was one of the things that had confused you a lot in the beginning. Seungcheol's behavior was far from appropriate, but Jihoon was less worried about his man saying sexual things to you, and more worried about you not wanting to be around them anymore. You shrugged it off as a joke seeing as Seungcheol had always been kind of a hoe.

“Oh look what you did, the poor girl is frozen.” Jihoon took in you stiff appearance, convinced that they'd really fucked up this time. “You've actually scared her this time around.” His voice actively became more gentle, in fear of you running off.

Seungcheol's face visibly softened. “Shit. I'm sorry, ____, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He slowly made some space between the two of you, Jihoon followed suit.

You blinked trying to collect your thoughts. “That's not-” You looked at him, taking in how sincere he was being. “I'm not… I was just-” Damn, if only you could form a fucking sentence right now.

The concern on Seungcheol's face only worsened with every second that passed. Jihoon ever so gently places a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face him.

“Hey, it's okay. We know we're a lot. Just… you can tell us if it's too much.”

“No! That's not it!” You shot up from your seat, spilling the popcorn in your lap. You'll clean that up later. “I'm not uncomfortable!” You asserted.

The lovers looked at you, surprised by your outburst.

“I just- fuck, how do I say this?” You scratched at your head hoping to form a tangible thought. “You guys… have always been this way with me. And I've always kinda wondered why… and I think that I've finally put two and two together.”

You glanced at them to try and gauge their reactions, but other than furrowed brows, their expressions gave away nothing. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you continued.

“Call me crazy if I'm wrong.” You chuckled nervously. “But is there a chance… that maybe you both-” Your heart was beating out of your chest. This was it, now or never. “-have feelings for me?”

You flinched at your own words, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't bear to look at them. What you just said was insane, it was even more so to say to their faces. You readied yourself to be called an idiot and laughed at, or worse, they just look at you awkwardly and ask you to leave. Oh just the thought made it hard to breathe.

“____.” A gentle voice called your name. You finally opened your eyes to find Jihoon standing in front of you with Seungcheol right beside him. “Hey, you're not crazy.” He shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“We're literally insane about you.” Seungcheol added.

Jihoon shoved the taller man in his side, his eye twitching. “Tone it down!” He said through gritted teeth.

You chuckled at the antics, even in your state of semi panic. You adored these fools. The lovers smiled as your laugh reached their ears.

“It's okay if you don't feel the same, we-”

“Are you kidding!?” You cut off Seungcheol. “As integrated as I've been in this relationship, I'd literally cry like it was a real breakup if it ended here.” You ran your hands down your face, exasperated. All that anxiety for nothing.

Seungcheol could no longer help himself. He launched at you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You'd hug him back if you could move your arms. He quickly pulled Jihoon into the hug as well, making sure you were all pressed together like pancakes.

“This is great, Cheol.” You coughed out. “But my lungs are collapsing.”

When Seungcheol showed no signs of moving, Jihoon pinched his side, causing him to yelp.

“What the hell, baby!?” Seungcheol cried out.

“You're gonna kill her before we can even make her our girlfriend!” The pale man scowled.

Seungcheol messaged his side. “Yeah… that would be bad, wouldn't it…” He muttered mindlessly.

You found yourself laughing again. Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose as Seungcheol collected himself.

“Can we do this?” Jihoon pleaded.

“Yeah okay!” Seuncheol started, determined. “How?”

Jihoon's eyes went wide. “Like we practiced, Cheolie!?”

Practiced? All this effort to ask you out? You were extremely flattered. Truthfully, you would've been satisfied with a ‘be our girlfriend.’

“I know, but I can't remember what I'm supposed to say, baby. I'm sorry.” Seungcheol scratched his arm.

Jihoon blinked a few times. “Okay… that's fine.” Jihoon comforted, placing a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Just ask her.”

“Me? Are you sure you don't want to?”

“I'm going to punch you in your beautiful face.”

“Okay! Okay! Understood!”

“Hey, guys?” You spoke up, doing your best not to fall out from how cute they were being. Just the sweetest guys. They looked at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I was wondering if the two of you wanted to be my boyfriends?”

“Yes!”

“Absolutely!”

Both voices hit you at once. You could only beam at two men standing in front of you. “Well that was easy.” You giggled.

“Yeah, and it only took you a year.” Jihoon scrunched his face at you and crossed his arms.

“Hey!” You pointed at him. “Don't give me that! I was being decent!”

“Cupcake.” Seungcheol chimed in, leaning on Jihoon's shoulder. “There was nothing decent about any of this.” He raised a brow at you.

You thought back to all of what was essentially soft core porn you witnessed, and could only nod in agreement. None of this was decent.

“Just because you two are whores, doesn't mean I had to be one.” You raised your brow in judgement.

“If you stuck around to watch, I think that makes you just as much of a whore as we are.” Jihoon narrowed his eyes at you, his lips quirked into a smirk.

Well then…

You looked down at your feet, taking note of the popcorn that still needs to be cleaned up.

“I should clean that up.” You mumbled.

Seungcheol wheezed at the topic change as he moved to do it for you. “I got it, my love.”

Oh. My love. You could get used to that.

Jihoon flopped onto the couch, ensuring to pull you down with him. He basically wrapped around you like a Koala. You reciprocated, tangling your limbs with his and giggling as you watched your boyfriend clean.

Ooh that had a nice ring to it. Your boyfriend. Your's and Jihoon's boyfriend. You and your boyfriend's boyfriend. Yeah that's good stuff.

Seungcheol soon joined the two of you, enveloping you both in his large arms with ease. It helped that you and Jihoon had essentially merged into one person while he was cleaning. Howl's Moving Castle was about half of the way through, and the three of you let it play just to talk over it some more.

“Did you really do that?” Jihoon's eyes widened in horror as you told him about how they had Vernon to thank for being in your presence tonight. “You're neighbors probably heard.” He held his hand over his mouth, immensely worried about the social implications.

“And it only got worse when he screamed ‘they want that cookie.’” You looked off into the distance with a thousand yard stare as you thought about your poor nextdoor neighbors, Mrs Song and her husband. Awful, just awful.

Jihoon choked on air, coughing into his hands. “What!?”

“Well he wasn't wrong.” Seungcheol commented.

“Cheol!” Jihoon slapped his arm.

“Oh my god, she's our girlfriend. What more could you want?” Seungcheol groaned.

“I don't know, maybe buy her dinner first, you freak!” Jihoon scolded.

“We buy her dinner! Often!”

“A proper date! We have to take her on a proper date! Then we can talk about whatever…” Jihoon gestures vaguely at Seungcheol. “This is!”

“What does that even- you know what, never mind.” Seungcheol waved him off. “You weren't even this by the book when we started dating. If I remember correctly, you basically begged me to-”

“Genuine question.”Jihoon cut him off. “Do you ever shut the fuck up? Just genuinely.”

You could not breathe. That's how hard you were laughing. Tears pricked at your eyes as you gripped Seungcheol's arm to find some sort of stability. You hadn't noticed the conversation came to a halt until you managed to catch your breath. You blinked away the tears in your eyes and noticed Seungcheol and Jihoon looking at you. Their eyes were all sparkly and wide, and they had soft smiles on their faces.

“What?” You breathe out.

“Nothing.” Seungcheol spoke up. “We're just… so happy that you're here.” Jihoon hummed in agreement.

You felt your heartbeat quicken. You looked at two lovers, your two lovers, with a full heart. And you were damn happy to be there.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

A/N I really just wanted some CheolHoon in my life. I'm pretty vague about describing people's reactions so I'm trying to get better at that, but I hope I do a well enough job for now. Don't even talk to me about describing surroundings. Plans to expand upon this lil au. Moments with Seungcheol, Moments with Jihoon, make out sesh, bc they don't actually kiss in this, and that's kinda criminal.

But anyways, Thank you for reading! If you liked it, tell me in reblogs or comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

140 notes · View notes

keopihaus · 3 days ago

Text

Grab a cup of coffee and settle in—newly added: Touching Yourself by @straylightdream

touching yourself

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: actor!yoon jeonghan x afb.reader

what happens when he finally achieves his dream and it isn’t what he thought it would be?

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, mutual pining, romance, comfort, angst, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): actor/celeb au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.7k

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: depression, anxiety, jeonghan is really going through it, severe stress from a job, alcohol consumption, crying, lots of emotions, mentions menstrual cycles

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: phone sex (multiple scenes) mutal masturbation, needy jeonghan, switch jeonghan, hand job, fingering, oral (both rec), sex via FaceTime, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, thumb sucking (Jeonghan rec), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, nicknames: honey, baby (hers) Hannie, baby (his)

𝐚𝐧: this story is directly connected with @gotta-winwin’s Joshua story “typo and error”. This is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. Please show the other writers love and support. Thank you so much @lovetaroandtaemin for this wonderful banner. Thank you @studioeisa for helping me navigate and beta reading this.

🎧: touching yourself - japanese house | no shame - 5 seconds of summer | like i need u - keshi

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

This is everything he has ever wanted, he repeats to himself over and over. Standing in a hotel bathroom. Today was hell. After shooting for fourteen hours he’s not sure if he wants to punch the wall or go to sleep. He’s absolutely physically and mentally exhausted.

Splashing water on his face he takes a long deep breath. Growing up this was all he ever wanted. All throughout high school and college he was in all the theater productions he could possibly join. Being an actor has always been his dream. So why is he absolutely miserable? This his second show he's filmed and this one just seems so much harder.

hannie: are you awake?

honey: you know for a big time actor that text really gives frat boy energy.

hannie: it’s not a booty call text.

honey: then what would you call it mr. superstar?

hannie: it’s more of ‘I’m lonely and need a friend to remind me why I do this.

There isn’t even time to set down his phone before it starts ringing. The nickname “honey” he gave you back in college appears on his phone with a photo of him with his arms wrapped around you pops up.

“Hello,” his voice is low. He sounds like he’s on the verge of crying.

“Hannie, what’s wrong?” His mind feels like it’s a million places at once. With his back resting against the wall he slowly slides down. His butt hitting the white marble flooring. A heavy sigh passes his lips as he pushes his finger through his long hair. “I don’t like that you’re not saying anything.”

“I wanna go home,” he whispers.

“You’re almost done filming. You have only seven days after this.”

“This show is so much harder than the last one.” Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath desperately trying not to cry.

“Hannie-“

“What time is it where you are?” He needs to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about this show or how long he’s stuck here.

“It’s three in the morning.” He can tell you sound sleepy. He shouldn’t have woken you up.

“I shouldn’t have texted you.”

“Hannie, I told you when you left I was here no matter what time.” The night before he left he stayed at your place. He stayed up all night telling you how stressed he was about filming this movie. “What are you doing?” Your voice sounds so soothing to him.

“Sitting on the bathroom floor trying not to have a breakdown.”

“What time is it where you are?”

“It’s midnight.”

“Are you dressed for bed?”

“I was going to take a shower so I’m just in my boxers.” Leaning his head back against the wall he takes another deep breath. “I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there with you.”

“I always said this was my dream. Why am I miserable?” A salty tear slides down his cheek.

“It’s harder than you thought it was going to be, and that’s okay. Things will get easier.”

“If I buy you a ticket, will you fly out here in the morning?” He knows this is a crazy request but he needs to see you.

“Hannie.”

“I know it’s insane to ask. Your job lets you work from home. Maybe bring your work computer and you could work from the hotel room.”

“A plane ticket at the last minute is expensive.”

“Baby, I don’t fucking care. I need you here with me.” He’s never called you baby before. And for some reason it just feels right to call you that. Maybe it stems from the fact that he’s always wanted you to be his.

“Okay–“ you practically whisper into the phone.

“I'm gonna hang up literally long enough to book you the first flight I can get you on tomorrow and then I’m going to call you back.” Reaching up he pushes away the tears that have stained his cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll start packing now. I’ll send an email to my boss and put in for some PTO for tomorrow when I travel. Maybe take a shower and call me once you’re in bed.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, honey.”

The phone call ends and he pushes himself off the floor. He leaves the bathroom and grabs his laptop. Wasting no time, he booked you a flight for eleven in the morning. He emailed all your flight information to you.

Walking back into the bathroom, he strips off his boxers and steps into the hot water. Just knowing you’ll be with him in a little over twelve hours is a relief. Leaning against the cool marble wall as the hot water washes over him.

Hopping out of the shower he towel tries his hair and wraps a towel around his waist. He doesn’t bother getting dressed, he just lays in the king size bed still in a towel.

It’s been about forty minutes since he hung up the phone. Picking up his phone he goes into his favorites and clicks your contact info that’s listed first. On the fourth ring you answer the phone.

“Hannie, I got your email.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Hannie, I just wanna see you happy.”

“Honey, you make me happy.” It’s true. He doesn’t think anyone has ever made him as happy as you do. “Do you mind that we’ll have to share a bed? Or I could book you your own room?”

“I don’t mind sharing a bed. I might ask you to cuddle since I’m flying to a different country for you.” The sound of your soft laugh makes him smile.

“I’ll never complain about cuddling.”

“Did you get dressed for bed?” You asked. He glances down at his towel that is still wrapped around his waist.

“No.”

“Hannie, what are you wearing?” Your voice sounds a little more upbeat.

“Just a towel.” He hears movement and assumes you’re laying back down in bed.

“I didn’t expect you to basically be naked on the phone with me.” A soft laugh echoes into the phone. Jeonghan can’t help but smile.

“Am I allowed to ask what you are wearing?”

“I don’t know if you will like my answer.” You have definitely piqued his interest. He just lets out a hum. “I’m wearing your baggy shirt you left at my house and panties.”

Glancing down at the towel Jeonghan can feel himself starting to harden. “Do you normally sleep in my clothes?”

“When did you leave your shirt here? It started when I found it.”

“Like two months ago?” His fingers start to toy with the edge of the towel. “I like that you sleep in my shirt.”

“What are we doing here, Jeonghan?” It sounds weird you calling him his full name. Since you became friends in college he’s called you honey instead of your name and you call him Hannie.

“I’m not sure. But I like whatever this is.” He can’t help but sigh leaning further back on the pillows. “We can stop right here if you want. We can hang up the phone and pretend this never happened.”

“I don’t want that,” your voice is so soft.

“What do you want to happen?” He swallows loudly.

“Will you take off your towel?” You're both crossing a line you won’t be able to go back from.

He puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the bed next to him. Undoing the towel he lifts his hips and tosses the towel to the foot of the bed. Evening being alone on the bed he feels suddenly very exposed. Taking a deep breath he drags his fingers down his stomach. “Can you take your panties off but, leave on my shirt?”

“Of course.”

“This isn’t the first time I’m touching myself to the thought of you.” This is the first time when he cums thinking of you he won’t feel guilty.

“I think about you often.” You sigh.

He starts fully hardening in his hand as he pictures you touching yourself. He focuses on the tip spreading the precum that’s started leaking. A low moan passes his lips.

“I bet your cock is pretty,” you moan.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m already so wet. I get wet just thinking about you.”

Closing his eyes he imagines you laying next to him. His breathing is already unsteady. “I bet your pussy tastes sweet just like you.”

“You’ve never even kissed me, Hannie,” you tease.

“When you get here tomorrow, I’m going to kiss you like I need you to breathe. And once we’re alone I’m going to strip you naked and devour every inch of you. I’m going to eat your pretty pussy like it’s my last meal on this fucking planet.”

“Hannie–“ you don’t even try to hold back your broken moans. He tightens his grip on his painfully hard cock. “I’m playing with my clit but it’s not enough. I feel empty,” you whimper.

“Baby, do you have any toys you can fill your little pussy with?”

“I have a dildo-“ you sound so shy suddenly.

“Can you use it? Pretend that it’s me filling you up.”

There is a moment of silence before Jeonghan hears a squelching noise. Your moans echo through the phone. “Fuck- Hannie-“

Biting his bottom lip he fights back moaning too loud. His hand continues to pump his length. He’s not going to last long and he knows it. “Baby, go as fast as you can handle.”

“Can you go fast too? Imagine I’m riding you.”

His imagination goes wild picturing you on top of him riding him.

The phone call is filled with the sounds of moans and whimpers. Jeonghan brings his finger towards his chest. His long index finger slowly toys with his nipple as he gets closer to the edge.

“I’m close—“ he can’t wait to hear how you sound as you fall apart.

“I’m going to cum—“ he responds.

“Hannie—“ you moan as you find your release.

“Honey—“ he moans, painting his hand and stomach with thick ropes of his milky release. “Fuck-“

There’s a few beats of silence as you both ride out your highs. “Did you still want me to come see you?”

“Of course I do, baby.”

“We should both probably get to sleep. I’ll probably arrive while you’re on set.”

“I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up from the airport and the front desk will have a key ready for you.”

“Okay. What happened to your text wasn’t a booty call?” You let out a little laugh.

“It wasn’t planned to be. I just really wanted to hear your voice. I missed you.”

“I always miss you. Goodnight Hannie.”

“Goodnight honey.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The whole time Jeonghan is on set he can only really think about you. He lights up when he receives a text from you.

honey: I just got to the hotel.

hannie: the front desk has a room key for you. please let me know when you get inside.

honey: I just got in. Omg this bathroom is huge.

hannie: my mental breakdown started in that bathroom.

honey: I don’t want you to stress anymore. I’m here now.

hannie. I think we’re wrapping my scenes in an hour.

honey: how does you arriving back to the room and finding me naked in the bath sound?

hannie: amazing. I’m now going to try my best to not get hard on set.

honey: just one more hour and you can do anything you have ever wanted to me.

hannie: I should say this in person, but I’m a little scared. We can’t go back after this. I want you so badly I can’t just be your friend.

honey: that’s good. I don’t want to be friends anymore. I want to try to be more.

hannie: please be naked when I get back.

The moment that cut was called on his scenes his assistant was following him as he practically ran to his trailer.

“Jeonghan, you have an interview scheduled for tomorrow at 10am. It’s going to be in the conference room of your hotel.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Jeonghan goes to grab his clothes hoping to get out of this costume quickly.

“I’m assuming since you have company you won’t need my assistance with anything tonight?” His assistant sounds hopeful they might fully get the night off.

“Ben, I don't need you tonight. Can you just have a car ready to pick me up in ten minutes? And just make sure you’re there before my interview tomorrow.”

“Okay, Jeonghan. Have fun with your friend.” Ben pats him on the back before exiting the trailer.

Jeonghan doesn’t think he's ever left a set faster in his life. Getting into the car he’s checking emails trying to keep himself distracted. That’s until a new message from you pops up.

honey: are you on your way?

hannie: I should be there in ten minutes.

honey: I’ll start the bath now.

Walking into the hotel room, he shuts the door and locks. The moment he enters the bathroom his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you naked sitting in the large bathtub.

“Hi, Hannie.” You give him a soft smile.

“Hi, Honey.” Without another thought he instantly starts removing his clothes. The moment he is fully naked he joins you in the bath. He sits opposite of you with his legs on either side of yours. Just the sight of your breast just below the water has him hardening.

“I missed you.” You whispered.

He takes a deep breath trying his hardest to calm down. “God, I have missed you.”

Reaching out you start to draw aimless circles on his knee. He can’t help but smile as he watches you. “Hannie, you’re not going to give up on acting right?”

“No. I was just lonely and stressed.”

“I don’t want you to be lonely anymore. I’m always here for you. You can call me anytime at night or day. We can just talk or we could have more phone sex.” Your ending comment earned a smile from him. If someone would have told him that when he left to film this series you and him would be here now. He would have told them they were crazy.

“You still haven’t kissed me?”

“Come here.” Leaning forward you both meet in the middle. Reaching out, he rested his hand on your cheek. “You’re so pretty.” God, he could spend hours just admiring you.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” He instantly smiles at your sweet words.

The moment your lips finally touch he feels a sense of warmth take over him. His hands hold your face as his lips move against your. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his oxygen deprived lungs. How on earth has he gone his whole life, not knowing how you taste.

His stomach is filled with butterflies just like it always is when he’s around you. Even back in the day when you were freshly eighteen. From the moment he met you Jeonghan knew you were going to be special to him.

Pulling away you rest your nose against his. “This feels so right.”

Leaning back, you close your eyes and smile. How did he ever get so luckily to have you in his life? You feel like sunshine on a rainy day.

“How long can you last in this bath without properly touching me?” You’ve always loved to tease him.

“Maybe two more minutes.”

Without saying a word you stand up. Getting out of the tub you walk naked across the bathroom. Grabbing a towel you slowly start drying off. Jeonghan’s eyes are locked on your body. Snapping out of his lust filled haze he gets out and grabs a towel. Silently you both stand there drying off.

“I think it’s time you fuck away all your frustrations.” Walking towards the door you hold out your hand. Workout saying a word he laces his fingers with you.

Taking your hand he pulls you towards the bed. “Do I need to get us condoms?” He realizes he definitely doesn’t have any in this room, and he didn’t ask you to bring any.

“I’m on birth control. Remember you took me to my appointment to get my IUD?” Oh, he remembers that vividly. You got it because your ex wanted to stop using condoms and Jeonghan was trying his hardest to be supportive. But the idea of that loser getting to fuck you completely raw had him seeing red.

You stand at the foot of the bed. You push your fingers through his dark hair. You can’t help but admire how pretty he is.

“I don’t want to assume anything.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, when was the last time you had sex with someone that isn’t your hand?” It’s embarrassing that you know too many details about his sex life, or better yet lack thereof.

“It’s probably been a year. I’m so busy with work.” Unfortunately his hand has been his best friend when it comes to finding any sort of release these days.

“I’m clean, I got tested after Jay and I ended things six months ago. I haven’t had sex with anyone other than my toys and my hand. Jeonghan, if you want to do this, we can. I trust you more than anyone I have ever been with before. Hell, I care about you more than anyone else.”

He definitely loves you, even though he wouldn’t be bold and say those words right now. He most definitely trusts you as well. Going bare the very first time you have sex means a lot.

“Are you sure?” You release his hand and take a small step back.

“If you don’t want to go bare Jeonghan, we can get condoms. I’m just giving you the option.”

“God, I want to feel you completely bare.” He pushes his finger through his hair. He feels like he’s going to go insane if he can’t be inside you. “Lay on the bed, honey.”

Crawling onto the bed Jeonghan watches you. “Spread your legs, baby. I believe I made a promise that I want to eat you out.”

The moment his head is between your legs he eats your pussy like he’s a man starved. Your finger tangled in his hair holding him close. He practically makes out with your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He never tasted anything sweeter as he felt you fall apart against his tongue.

The moment he’s hovering over you staring into your eyes as he pushes into you for the first time he realizes this is what it feels like to feel whole. That empty feeling in his chest no longer existed. Your hands claw at his back holding him close. His lips touch anywhere they can reach. His pace starts out slow but deep.

Your moans and whimpers echo off the walls. You move his face so he’s looking down at you. Running your thumb across his bottom lip he opens his mouth. Slowly you slide your thumb in, pressing down on his tongue. He’s lost in a haze of lust.

“So good for me,” you moan.

Pulling your thumb out of his mouth he smiles down at you. “Did you like that?”

“Fuck—“

Reaching down he moves your leg so it’s resting on his hip. “Faster.” You plead.

His pace picks up and the moment he feels your orgasm hit you hard he practically sees stars himself. He’s never come nearly as hard as he did right then. His salty release paints your walls milky white. Sitting back on his knees he’s still snug inside you. The sight of you squeezing him is something he’ll ever get over. Ever so slowly he pulls out. Watching as his release slowly leaks out in a glob. Without even thinking he runs his fingers through your folds pushing it back in.

“Fuck—“

“Is that all you can say?” You can’t help but tease him.

“You might have broken my brain.”

Hopping off the bed he runs off to the bathroom in all his naked glory. He comes back holding a warm washcloth. He gently wipes away the mess he made.

Crawling back into bed he pulls you close. He hopes he can do this with you forever.

As your head lays on his chest he can’t help but think about what happens next between you. All he knows is being able to properly hold you feels perfect.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s another long day for Jeonghan. He spent the morning doing interviews, and now he’s on set for three hours filming. He’s fully focused on work, but there is a little thought in the back of his mind that is reminding you’re waiting for him at his hotel room.

Once he’s finally back in the hotel for the night he finds you lying in the bed dressed in nothing but one of his baggy shirts and cute little thong. You're focused on watching something on your phone. You don’t even notice he’s back, until he clears his throat.

Laying your phone on the nightstand you smile at him. “Hi, Hannie.”

“Hi, honey.”

“How does ordering room service and cuddling sound?”

“Perfect.”

That night was perfect for him. He told you about his day on set while you shared a pizza. You turned on some romantic comedy you had been telling him about. He doesn’t really pay attention to the movie. He’s too focused on the way you’re curled up against him. He doesn’t feel as lost knowing he has you by his side.

The movie finally comes to an end and at that point the only thing either of you can focus on is each other.

Laying on your stomach, Jeonghan has a pillow under your hips. He’s pressed up against your back. Your thong has been pulled to the side as he slowly thrust into you. This new angle has him hitting spots he hasn’t hit before. He’s kissing his way across your shoulders moaning sweet praises against your skin.

You fall apart together before you both drift off to sleep.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been two weeks since you flew out to meet him on set. You haven’t fully labeled your relationship, but you’re clearly together. At this point, you’re apart more than you’re together. Phone sex has become a staple of your relationship.

A part of being famous that Jeonghan hated was he had to hide parts of his private life. His one goal was to keep you away from the public eye. He refused to watch you get hate or to hear that people are spreading gossip and lies about you.

Laying down in another hotel room, his mind wanders to you just like it always does. Closing his eyes, he pictures you.

hannie: are you awake?

honey: that sounds like a booty call text.

hannie: I miss you.

honey: do you miss me or just my pussy?

hannie: I miss everything about you.

honey: did you want to talk on the phone?

hannie: please.

Two seconds later the phone rings. This time, your contact photo is a picture of him kissing you.

“Hi, Hannie.” Your voice is as sweet as honey.

“Hi, baby.”

“What are you wearing?” You instantly ask.

“I’m laying here in boxers. What are you wearing?” He’s already starting to get hard at just the sound of your voice.

“A tank top and thong.” His brain instantly starts picturing you.

“Can you get naked for me?”

“Of course.” He hears the sound of rustling of fabric. He takes this as his opportunity to remove his boxers. “Should I get one of my toys?”

“Do you have a vibrator you can use?”

“Yes.”

He starts stroking his length thinking about your naked body on display. The buzzing sound lets him know you have found your vibrator.

“Fuck— Hannie—“

He starts pumping his length faster. Before you Jeonghan has probably had phone sex once before. Now he can’t get enough of it. The idea that you’re on the other side touching yourself to his voice is intoxicating.

“Baby, can you pump two fingers in you?”

“Yes,” your voice is needy and high pitched.

“I wish this was you touching me.” He focused on his sensitive head knowing that it would easily push him over the edge.

“Do you miss my mouth or my pussy?”

“I miss everything about you.”

He misses being able to touch. The moment he’s home, he doesn’t think he’ll let you out of his sight.

“I need more.” You whimper.

“Add another finger.” Just the thought of you naked in bed has him close to falling apart.

He focuses on sensitive tip, knowing he’ll fall apart with little effort.

“Honey—“

“I’m so close—“ You’re a whimpering mess.

“Hold the vibrator against your clit baby.”

He moves his hand up and down his hardened length. His orgasm is getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Hannie—“

“Cum for me baby.”

“Fuck—“ your voice is a high pitch whine. Falling apart on your fingers is not the same as being filled with Jeonghan’s length.

His breathing is uneven, practically ragged. Salty cum paints his hand and stomach milky white.

“God, I miss you.” He pants.

“I miss you too, baby.” He can’t help but smile at your response.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been three weeks since he’s been home from set and in that time he’s been taking every opportunity he has to spend it with you.

Many days have consisted of you staying at Jeonghan place. You’ve brought your laptop and you have been working from Jeonghan’s kitchen. He takes this time to just enjoy your company and spend as much time as possible with you.

Today, you had to go into the office and Jeonghan had a meeting he didn’t want to attend.

Jeonghan hates the days he has to go into the office. Sitting in the conference room he’s listening as Wonwoo the CEO, Seungcheol the talent recruiter, are talking about a new star that has signed on. He’s not even sure why he needs to be here for this.

A heavy sigh passes his lips earning a glance from Junhui, the legal intern who is sitting next to Wonwoo.

“Jeonghan, we need to talk about your press tour. You need to start soon,” Wonwoo says.

“My show wrapped last month.” The idea of doing press makes him want to scream. His goal for right now was to just spend time with you.

“Well, we think it’s a good idea to do a few interviews talking about upcoming projects.” Joshua chimes in. “It will be good for your social media presence.”

“What upcoming projects?” He instantly sighs, leaning back.

“We have another role we want you to start filming next month. It’s a romantic drama. The new actress we booked will be starring with you.” He was hoping to get a longer break between projects. The idea of filming a romance isn’t his favorite idea right now.

“I didn’t know I booked another role.” So much for the break he thought he was getting.

“We have one more thing to discuss,” Jihoon the head of HR chimes in. Jeonghan instantly has a sinking feeling. He has an idea about what they’re going to bring up.

“What is it?” He sighs, pushing his finger through his hair.

“We’ve heard you’re in a relationship.” Jihoon says.

“Nothing in my contract says I can’t date,” Jeonghan glances over at Junhui. If anyone in this room fully understands his contract, it’s Junhui.

“We aren’t telling you you’re not allowed to date. We’re just asking that you don’t go making this relationship social media official. For the company’s sake and for the press of your upcoming movies, we’re asking you to keep your relationship private.”

“My goal is to keep my relationship private. I don’t want the public bugging her.”

“Filming a romance series, people will probably link you with your co-star. I wouldn’t exactly deny you’re not together but don’t confirm it.” The idea of a showmance made Jeonghan feel sick. It almost feels as if he’s cheating on you. “I can tell by your face you made you hate that idea,” Wonwoo says. He instantly notices that Joshua seems quite irritated suddenly. Maybe this has something to do with the new girl he’s been working social media for.

“When do I start filming this?” Jeonghan has grown tired of this meeting and just wants to go home.

“You leave for Jeju in three weeks.” Soonyoung the head of marketing chimes in.

“Okay.”

He thought after finishing this last project he would be happier with his career choice, but he’s still sad. Maybe that’s because he knows it means he’s going to be lonely once again. Maybe going away will feel different this time knowing that he has you. Maybe you’re the change he truly needed in his life.

Standing in the elevator, he decides to text you. He’s hoping he can see you tonight.

hannie: are you busy tonight?

honey: I’m finishing a work project and I’ll be free after five.

hannie: sleepover?

honey: your place or mine?

hannie: mine. I’ll order your favorite thai place for takeout.

honey: oh look you truly know the way to my heart.

hannie: thai food is the way to your heart? Not my amazing head game?

honey: that’s the other way to my heart lol

hannie: it’s good to know I know both ways to your heart.

honey: I got to go back to work but I’ll see you at 5 baby.

You calling him ‘baby’ will always give him butterflies.

When five twenty rolls around, you let yourself into his apartment. From the moment he moved in here, he gave you the code to the pin pad. He made the choice to make the code your birthday.

He smiles at the sight of you dressed in a pair of leggings and baggy shirt. The shirt looks extremely familiar. At some point you’ve definitely stolen it from him. He realized you had stolen more of his clothes then he noticed you had.

“Hannie, if you planned on getting laid tonight, I’m on my period.” Walking over you sit on the couch next to him.

“I didn’t call you over just for sex. I like spending time with you.”

“Okay.” You give him a soft smile.

“My period sucks. I’m extra emotional and I’m horny.”

“Well, if you want to have sex I have no problem doing it. We can fuck in the shower or put towels down.” Jeonghan isn’t disgusted at all at the thought of period sex. If it’s something you’re comfortable with he would do it.

“Can we just cuddle tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

Things have always been so easy with you. Jeonghan can truly feel like himself. He’s not an actor that people desperately want to get to know. He’s simply just Jeonghan, or better yet he’s your Hannie.

Curled up in bed he loves that you’re dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of panties. There is something about you wearing his clothes that he loves. Since college, he’s called you a clothing thief, but he’ll never complain. He always smiles when he sees you wearing one of his baggy shirts.

“Honey?” He’s laying on his back, your head is resting on his chest. He’s slowly running his fingers up your spine, tracing the details of your skin.

“Yes?”

“You’re my best friend.” He nuzzles his face in your hair. The sweet scent of your mango shampoo, that reminds him of warm summer days.

“Are you friendzoning me?” You knit your eyebrows together confused by what he means.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you.” There is a long moment neither of you say anything. Your hand rests over his heart. Closing your eyes, tears slowly slide down your cheek. “Baby, are you crying?”

“I have loved you for so long.” You can’t even look at him. You just nuzzle your face against his bare chest.

“Honey, I’ve loved you for years and I will love you forever.” Slowly you finally look up at him with glossy eyes. He gently rests his fingers under your chin. ”I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Being with you made everything feel like it’s falling into place.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming this new romantic drama has been going fine. He’s a lot happier than he was during the last series he filmed. He knows his new relationship with you has helped with that lonely feeling that just kept eating away at him. There is something nice about knowing he can just text you telling you he loves you. Or just being able to call you and say he wants to hear your voice.

This shoot has been a whole different experience for him. Well, there has been one issue though. Jeonghan has grown to have a nice friendship with Vi, his romantic lead in the series. From the beginning he told her all about his relationship with you. Vi has been a great sense of support on the set. A few times the two of them have gotten dinner together with some of the other crew.

From the first day on set it’s been very clear that him and Vi are only friends. She often even asks about your relationship. All the crew knows he’s taken, but for some reason Joshua doesn’t seem to understand that. Jeonghan learned immediately after seeing his new costar interact with her social media manager something was up. Joshua is clearly not the actor of the two of them. That man for the life of him couldn’t hide his feelings for Vi. Joshua wasn’t able to hide his hatred towards Jeonghan either. Whenever he and Vi would film a kiss scene Jeonghan could feel Joshua’s hatred radiating off him.

It’s another day on set that has been absolutely exhausting. Jeonghan can feel Joshua’s eyes burning into him. This day on set is long enough and the scenes Jeonghan has been filming are emotionally draining. He looks over Vi and she seems completely oblivious to Joshua glaring.

“Hey, can we talk?” He taps her shoulder.

“Sure.”

“Can you tell Joshua to get his shit together? Joshua is clearly in love with you and he’s really starting to piss me off with the dirty looks.” Jeonghan is already miserable wishing you were here with him. The last thing he needs is a grown ass man pissed at him because of another woman.

“What?”

“Vi, please don’t play dumb right now. Joshua Hong, your little social media boy, is obsessed and in love with you.” He paused for a moment. “And don’t get me wrong you’re great but I think everyone on this set knows I’m in love with _ _ _ _.”

Vi lets out a soft laugh and looks over at Joshua who’s eyes soften the moment he stares at her. “Is it obvious he loves me?”

“Yeah, and please make it obvious to him neither of us are interested in each other.”

He watches as Violet walls off towards Joshua.

Heading off to his trailer he can’t stop thinking about you. He opens his phone and instantly goes to text you.

hannie: are you working?

honey: yeah but I can text you right.

hannie: I hate Joshua.

honey: what did he do now?

hannie: all he does is give me dirty looks and I’m tired of his lovesick idiot act. all he does is bitch and moan when I’m around.

honey: have you told violet?

hannie: I told her he’s clearly in love with her and I’m with you so she needs to tell him to knock it off.

honey: he’s probably not a fan of watching the girl he’s in love with kiss someone else.

hannie: I’m not a fan of having to kiss the girl he’s in love with. Are you okay with me having kissing scenes?

honey: I knew what I signed up for when we started this. It’s a part of your job.

hannie: can I call you tonight?

honey: of course. I should be home around 8. When do you stop filming?

hannie: I think the call sheet says 10.

honey: I’ll be waiting for you.

Laying on the bed in his hotel room he stares at his lockscreen for a long moment. It’s a photo of the two of you together. He’s kissing your cheek and you have the biggest smile on your face. Opening his favorites contacts he presses your name.

“Hi, baby,” your voice is gentle.

“Hi honey girl.” He puts the phone on speaker, setting it on the bed next to him.

“You’ve called me that since we were eighteen but you never told me why.”

He can’t help but smile thinking back to when you were both eighteen. He stands up and pulls his shirt off. “Because from the moment I met you I thought you were sweet as honey.”

“Am I still sweet as honey?”

“You’ve only gotten sweeter.” He unbuckles his belt.

“Do I taste as sweet as honey?” Your voice sounds intoxicating as you ask this.

“You taste sweeter than you could ever imagine.” He starts to push down his pants.

“Hannie, are you changing?”

“I’m in my boxers.”

“Can you get naked for me?” You sigh.

“Absolutely.”

“Can we facetime?”

“Yeah we can baby. Can you get naked for me?” He desperately wanted to see you.

Slipping off his boxers, he stands fully naked. He’s already starting to harden at the thought of seeing you. Propping his phone up he switches the call to a video.

Suddenly, you appear on screen in all your naked glory.

Your fingers toy with your perk nipples. Your glossy bottom lip is captured between your teeth.

“Tell me what to do Hannie.”

Laying back on the bed he takes his length in his hand and slowly starts stroking himself.

“Baby, spread your legs for me.”

Silently, you follow his command. Your legs are spread wide with the camera angled perfectly to see your glistening folds.

“Play with your sensitive clit.”

His eyes stay focused on the screen watching as your finding makes quick circles on your puffy clit. He keeps a steady pace pumping his cock. Your bottom lip is captured between your teeth, attempting to hold back moans.

He starts focusing on his blush colored tip that’s leaking precum. He doesn’t bother trying to hold back his broken moans of your name.

“Can you come from just playing with your clit?” He knows you can, but he wants to hear you respond.

“Yes—“

“Pretend it’s my fingers and come for my baby.”

He tightens his grip chasing his release. His eyes are lust blown, watching you through the screen. Tilting your head back, your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out his name. He can tell by your movements you’re cumming.

“Honey—“ he moans your name, painting his hand and abs with his milky release.

Both of your breathing is heavy. He can’t help but smile as a fucked our giggle passes your lips.

“You know, if you were here, I would make you take a shower with me.”

“I wish I was there to take a shower with you.” He looks down at his stomach that’s covered in a sticky layer of his cum.

“I can’t wait for this series to be done, and to have a break from seeing god forsaken Joshua Hong.”

You can’t help but laugh at his disdain for his co-star’s social media manager.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming is finally done and he’s just returned from a month of traveling promoting his newest project. Jeonghan can take a break and just spend time with you. He wants nothing more than to spend the week just lost in your presence.

He practically moved into your apartment. He wants to spend every waking moment with you.

He is sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee with you.

“I don’t think I want to film another romance series anytime soon.” He lets out a sigh, his fingers fidgeting with the lavender cup.

“I support whatever you want to do.” You give him a gentle smile.

“Can I ask you something that’s probably insane?”

“Yes, should I be scared?”

“No. You can work from home, right?” He knows this is a big ask.

“Yeah, I realistically only have to go into the office every couple months.”

“Would you travel with me to film my next series? It’s in five weeks and we will be staying in a beach town.” The idea of having you with him the whole time he’s filming sounds like a dream to him.

“Are you being serious?” You definitely weren’t expecting him to ask that.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what you want?” You look down at your own cup of coffee for a moment.

“I don’t feel as lonely as I did before. But I want you by my side the whole time.” He honestly wants you by his side for everything he does in life now.

“Then I’ll go with you.” A smile spreads across your lips.

“I love you, honey.”

“And I love you, Hannie.”

Jeonghan knew if he was going to pursue his dream sometimes it would be hard and there would be times he’s lonely. He knows now that no matter what you’ll be by his side. Whether you’re physically with him or you’re just a phone call away.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming his new series had been a dream knowing you were there with him. Every day after filming no matter how late it was he got to spend time with you. Some nights you would explore the beautiful beach town together and then other nights you would spend locked up in your hotel together, naked and exploring each other's bodies.

Jeonghan was the happiest he had ever been filming. After a long day on set he picked you up and took you to the beautiful restaurant his co-star told him about.

Hand in hand you walked near the beach after eating dinner. He can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.

Pulling you in by the belt loops on your jeans his lips crash into yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you roll your body into yours pressing yourself against him. His tongue moves along your bottom lip, earning a sinful moan from you.

“Baby, we’re in public.” You tease him by pulling back.

“Then I need to take you home.” He smiles.

The moment you enter your hotel room he’s stripping off your clothes with a sense of urgency. There is a trail of fabric leading to the bed. Smack in the middle of the king size bed, you’re completely bare. He’s sitting on his knees thrusting into you at an incredibly slow but deep pace. One of your legs is hooked over his arm. While his other hand rests on your mound toying with your puffy clit. You’re already one orgasm deep, and he’s clear he’s working on pulling another one out of you.

Your fingers grip the expensive cotton sheets below you. Eyes roll back as the white hot wave of your second orgasm hits you hard.

“Hannie—“ His name is nothing more than a broken prayer.

“You’re made for me—“ he moans watching you with a look of wonder on his face.

“Please.” You aren’t even sure what you’re begging for. You aren’t sure your body could handle another orgasm, but you want more. His thumb never stops playing with your clit.

“Close—“ He lets out his own broken moan.

Your orgasm is barely finished when another hits you hard, this time triggering his own release. His hips slam into you at a quicker pace. His thick white release fills you to the brim. Pulling out slowly he watches as his release slowly leaks out.

Closing your eyes a fucked out smile plays across your lips. You look absolutely beautiful like this. To be honest, he thinks you look beautiful every moment of your life. He quite literally might be obsessed with how much he loves you.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Everything feels as if it’s collapsing in on him. Opening twitter, he didn’t expect to find photos of you and him spread across his timeline.

He’s hit with a wave of nausea at the nasty things being said about you. Random strangers are nitpicking every little detail about you. He hates that they know your name, and how “inside sources” are telling people you met in college.

The bathroom door opens. Looking up he can see by the look on your face something is wrong.

“Hannie—“ You sound upset and he already knows why. “Chaewon called and said photos of us are spreading all over online.”

“There is a photo of us kissing last night.” He tosses his phone on the bed. He knows this happened because he wasn’t careful. He hasn’t thought twice about going on public dates with you. He didn’t bother worrying about the fact that someone could have seen you kissing after dinner. This all happened because he was careless.

“We can figure this out.” You step closer to him.

“I think you should go back home.” The look of disappointment on your face feels like he’s being stabbed. He’s trying to protect you and all he’s doing is hurting you.

“Hannie—“ Tears start sliding down your cheeks.

“I think it’s best we aren’t spotted together anymore here.”

A laugh passes your lips. “This is so fucking stupid. Why does it matter if they know who I am?” He’s making you feel like he’s ashamed to be with you.

“I want what we have to be private.” He pushes his fingers through his dark hair. He starts pacing the hotel room anxiously.

“I’ll go home, but Jeonghan—this is the first time you’ve ever truly hurt me. I think we need to take a break. When you’re home and ready to talk you know where I am.”

He stops in his tracks. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed. A wave of nausea hits him like a ton of bricks. Without even trying, he’s broken your heart. He’s done the same things he’s seen too many men do to you. He swore to himself up and down he would never hurt you, and here he is asking you to go home.

“Honey—“

“I’m going to pack now. Can you book me a flight please?”

He sits on the bed booking you a flight, all while tears slid down your beautiful face as you packed your bag.

Three hours later a taxi takes you to the airport. He doesn’t get to kiss you goodbye, he doesn’t deserve to.

The moment the door shuts he lets himself finally break down. The hollow feeling in his chest is back.

There are two more weeks on set and this is going to be absolute hell.

The following days are filled with unanswered text from him. He knew you wouldn’t answer but he wished you would.

hannie: I’m sorry. I love you and miss you.

hannie: I shouldn’t have sent you home.

hannie: I hope you’re sleeping well.

The more time you were gone the harder filming felt for Jeonghan. Long stressful days left him sitting in his hotel room missing you. Any time anyone invited him out, he made excuses. The idea of having fun while you were home heartbroken made him feel sick.

hannie: one week left. I forgot how hard this is.

hannie: I’m sorry.

hannie: I love you.

hannie: I’m sorry. I messed up.

hannie: I’m coming home tomorrow. Can we please talk?

honey: yes.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming has wrapped, and the second Jeonghan’s plane landed he took a taxi to your place. Logically, he should have stopped by his apartment to drop off his luggage. All logical thoughts have left his head. The only thing he can possibly think about is getting to you. With his suitcases in tow he took the elevator up to your apartment. These last few weeks have been absolute hell. He never wants to go this long not being able to see you.

Walking up to your, door an anxious feeling is eating at him.

Normally he would put in the key code to enter, but that didn’t feel right. Knocking he patiently waits for you.

Moments later the door cracks open and there you are standing on the other side. A smile tugs on his lips at the sight of you. God he’s missed your beautiful face.

“Hi.” He awkwardly says giving you a little wave.

“Come in.” You step aside.

He wheels in his luggage. Leaving it by the white table by the door where you have always stored your keys and your purse. He kicks off his shoes. He stares at you for a long moment studying how you look. There isn’t the normal sparkle behind your eyes. You look sad, and he knows it’s because of him. Taking a deep breath he follows you over to the couch that sits under a big window that looks out into the city. He remembers the first time he made love to you on this couch after coming home from filming that series that changed everything between you. That was the first time he almost told you he loved you. Maybe if he would have been brave enough to admit it then things could have played out differently.

Sitting on the couch next to you, things feel weird. He hates that he caused this. In the years he has known you, things have never felt awkward.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says.

“Jeonghan, you hurt me.” You look down at your knees.

“I know. I was so scared that people online were going to hurt you with the cruel things they would say, that I carelessly hurt you—“ he paused. “I shouldn’t have sent you home. We could have gotten through this together.”

Reaching over you, you rest your hand on his knee. “We're a team, we can figure out this stuff together. This is all uncharted territory for us. But we can learn together.” You’ve always been the most level headed of the two of you.

“Please forgive me honey.”

“Promise me you’ll never hurt me like that again.”

He rested his hand on top of yours. “I won’t ever hurt you again. I love you so much.” He’s willing to do anything to prove to you that he’ll never hurt you again.

“I’m fine if people know who I am. I don’t care about what the internet thinks about me. I love you, Hannie, I don’t need them to love me. I just need to know that you’re always going to love me.” Your words earn a smile from him. Leaning over he rests his head on your shoulder.

“I’ve loved you since college and I will love you forever.”

“We can figure out how to navigate the world knowing who I am together.”

“I guess this means you can go to a red carpet event with me now. My company hasn’t bothered denying the photos or rumors.”

Pulling away from you, he looks into your warm eyes. Leaning forward pressing your lips to his for a gentle kiss.

“My company just said they don’t comment on my personal life.”

You can’t help but smile and press your lips to his again for another quick kiss. “I guess I can get red carpet ready.”

“We’re back together right?” He needed to know.

“Oh, Hannie, we were never broken up.”

“I’m so glad I fell in love with my best friend.”

“That’s good because I fell in love with my best friend.”

Things aren’t always going to be easy for Jeonghan, and being an actor isn’t exactly what he thought it would be. But he likes his job, and he’s glad he’s always going to have you by his side no matter what.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

#keopihausnet #group: seventeen #member: seventeen jeonghan #smut #mdni #r: ☕☕☕☕#actor au #friends to lovers #mutual pining #5-10k #oneshot #straylightdream

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swiftiesbuddie · 10 months ago

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3dmanswhore · 2 days ago

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just checking in | y. itadori

word count: 1.1k

content: fluff, friends to (lovers?), suggested romantic feelings but technically nothing that’s explicitly romantic kind of idk, lowkey a set-up for a part two but i’m so lazy and inconsistent it might not happen mb

summary: your best friend yuuji is having trouble sleeping after having a nightmare about you so he sneaks into your room to check up on you

a/n: he’s literally so freaking underrated it’s lowkey making me mad that there’s so few fics of him so i’m determined to just make them myself. i already have some ideas for a part two but it’ll have to wait until exams are over for me until i can really focus on writing a worthy pt. 2 so i proooomise to try and write one but sorry in advance if i end up abandoning it

also why the heck do like all of my fics take place in a bedroom??? i think it’s a sign i need to leave my house

you were awoken to a loud thud coming from your bedroom window slamming open.

immediately sitting up, you squint through foggy eyes, blinking rapidly as your heart races while you watch a figure struggle to climb through your window.

the sound of a familiar voice groaning as he falls onto your hardwood floors, just barely catching himself, eases you as you realize it’s not a burglar or cursed spirit.

“yuuji?” your voice comes out groggy and slightly whiny as you rub your eyes, leaning over the foot of your bed to look at the boy kneeling in front of your window.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you”, he says calmly as he stands up and dusts his pyjama pants.

you blink slowly, what did you mean to do?

“what are you doing, yuuji?”, you groan, leaning on your wall as you glare at him, trying to hold onto the last bits of sleepiness.

“your door was locked”, he shrugs, his eyes scanning your room as he walks towards your bookcase, taking one of the books and skimming through it as he sits down on the edge of your bed, his back facing you.

you nudge him with your foot slightly but he just ignores you, “have you read this?” he asks as he flashes the book to you, so quickly you couldn’t even make out the title.

“yuuji.“

he lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning backwards against your calves as he places the book on the floor. “can’t a guy just come over to check on his best friend?”

“not at, like, 3 in the morning. but if it’s so important: i’m doing great, yuuj’. can you go back to your room now?”, you ask as you sway your knees slightly, causing him to move along with the movement.

he stays quiet, pushing his head through your knees as he now lays on your stomach, his arms loosely wrapped around your thighs like those handles on rollercoaster rides. “can i sleep here?” his voice is soft as he leans his head back slightly to catch your eyes with that innocent puppy-dog look on his face.

you let out an overdramatic groan, whining out his name in annoyance as he just gives you a sheepish smile. “i really need a good night of sleep”, you plead as you mindlessly brush fingers through his soft locks.

“i won’t bother you, i promise”, he says in a muffled tone as he’s turned to lay on his stomach, his chin resting painfully on your abdomen.

“you’re already bothering me”, you roll your eyes, trying to ignore the tingles you felt from his voice vibrating against your stomach.

he stays quiet, turning his head sideways as he lightly picks at your waist with his fingers, probably assuming if he just falls asleep right here and now you’ll have no choice but to fold and let him stay.

“you’re not sleeping here, yuuji”, you flick the back of his head, adjusting your position to try and push him off politely.

he gets up awkwardly, grabbing a pillow from your bed and setting it down on the floor, “look, i’ll just sleep on the floor. please?”

“no, yuuji! and that’s my favorite pillow, you can’t just take it”

“okay then give me the other one”

“it’s also my favorite…”

“then i’ll sleep without one. please, y/n, i had a nightmare. i don’t wanna be in my room”, he finally admits, and you’re sure you’d see red covering his face in embarrassment if the room was lit up enough.

you let out a sigh, throwing yourself back to lie in bed, turning to face the wall as you mumble out a “fine.”

“here, take your pillow”, you feel the object nudge your back.

“no, keep it”, you say quietly, already falling back into a deep slumber.

he lets out a gasp, “you’re giving me your favorite pillow?”

“i don’t have a favorite pillow, yuuji.”

he lets out a disappointed ‘oh’ before wishing you a good night and going to sleep himself.

or, i guess, trying to.

you listen to him restlessly move around and shuffle for at least ten minutes. you turn to face him, your eyes closed, just because the position is more comfortable.

and the shuffling stops, so you inch your eyes open to check if he’s finally fallen asleep, but nearly scream out of shock from the sight.

he’s practically sitting, only leaning on his elbows as he stares at you with furrowed eyebrows.

you jerk back, causing him to stumble too as he quickly lays back down, pretending to be asleep.

“yuuji, why the hell are you watching me sleep!?” you practically scream and he just yells out a ‘sorry!’ without explanation.

you lie in silence, questioning the universe what it was you did in a past life that was so horrible you were now stuck with this weirdo with no sense of boundaries or personal space.

but then you scoot closer to the wall, patting the space next to you, “come.” you call out like to a dog and following a brief pause he stumbles into your bed, grinning happily as his shoulder rubs against your own. “was your nightmare about me?”

you feel him freeze up slightly as he nods quietly.

you purse your lips, “do you wanna talk about it?”

he shakes his head.

“did i… die or something?”

you were well aware of the types of horrific nightmares that tend to haunt sorcerers. you had them, too.

he doesn’t respond but his silence is an answer enough.

you lean on your left elbow, facing him as he silently watches you reach for his hand resting on his stomach and lead it to the left side of your chest, pressing his palm against your ribcage engulfing your beating heart which now thumps slightly faster than usual.

“alive and well”, you say with a soft smile, dropping your hand from his but his stays put, then travels up your neck, then your hot cheek - grazing it softly as he pushes your hair back, his eyes never leaving the area he’s inspecting as if he’s making sure you’re real and you’re fine.

your eyes close as you ease into his touch, lying on your side as your head sinks into the overly soft pillow while his fingers still brush through your hair.

you don’t even realize the moment his touch puts you to sleep, or the moment he leaves the next morning. you only notice the void he’s left in your bed, and the want for him to cup your face again and graze your cheeks, chin, nose, lips, with his calloused fingers once more.

the next day he’s acting normal, and it’s not like he shouldn’t be. after all, nothing weird happened last night, nothing to directly ruin your friendship or stir things.

but it managed to stir you. and you realize you can no longer be friends with yuuji.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk itadori #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu itadori #itadori yuuji #itadori x reader #yuji itadori x you #jjk yuuji #yuuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #yuuji fluff #friends to lovers

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 4 days ago

Text

Back When You Left Me

Jason Todd one-shot

Pairing: Jason x Reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW/

Tags: mutual pining, slowburn, childhood crush, age difference, mentions of abuse, class differences, glow ups, sexual tension, emotional smut, reunions, sex, thigh riding, first kisses, first time, virginity,

Episode 1 - Your Apartment

The malfunctioning fan at the corner of your living room rotated from side to side, occasionally providing a faint breeze in the heat.

Spring swept by in a blink, and June came in with full steam. Baby hairs that have fallen out of your braids were sticking to the sweat of your forhead. In your lap was your graduation gown, in your lips, a pair of pins. Needle held carefully in your fingers, you threaded the design of a flower onto the blue gown that once belonged to your older brother. There was no point in buying a new one. Almost everyone in your eighth grade class had an older sibling whose graduation gown was passed down to them. It was cheaper that way.

Every once in a while, you glanced at the tv screen, watching the pretty reporter sitting in an air-conditioned studio and announcing the latest updates.

Another building had been demolished. Third time this month. Purchased by a millionaire and destroyed to be rebuilt into his own luxurious complex. Its tenants displaced and sent to social services.

You recognized the building. One of your classmates, Rose, had lived there with her family. You wondered what was going to happen to her now. Would her parents find another place to stay? Should you offer yours? Doubtful. Rose had four siblings, and you barely had enough room with your mother and brother in the two-bed you shared.

Shawn dropped out of school to get a part-time job and help your mother with rent. When you offered to do the same, you were met with screams of "over my dead body" from both of them. So you did your best to keep your grades up. For their sacrifice.

A clutter came from the your ceiling, drawing your attention from the TV. There was screaming followed by a door slamming and footsteps heading down.

Your upstairs neighbour, Mrs. Todd must have been in another one of her moods. Either that or her boyfriend was on another drinking binge. Those two gems did all they could to rid the entire complex of any peace and quiet.

Sure enough, a moment later, your door opened and in walked mrs. Todd's son.

Tall, broad, and brooding as always, Jason gave you an acknowledging look as he headed straight for the fridge.

Your heart spiked the way it always did whenever he was around, but you schooled your features with a tight-lipped smile.

Jay was a junior like your brother. Short and messy black hair fell onto his forehead just so, above blue eyes you could see from across the room. His beautiful face was usually always cut or bruised, and he wore a piercing on his left ear.

Unlike Shawn, Jason didn't drop out. He had received a scholarship in his freshmen year and kept the grades to maintain it throughout. But that didn't mean he attended every day.

Like Shawn, Jason worked to help pay rent.

Standing by the fridge, he leaned down to inspect the contents.

"Ah," he said when he found what he was looking for, pulling out all bags of frozen chicken and plopping down at your kitchen table, holding it to his eye.

Grease stains clung to his rolled-up sleeves, the fabric stretched tight across arms you tried not to stare at. Tried and failed.

Your friends and classmates had already begun dating. And despite everyone at school knowing your brother's reputation and protectiveness, some had even asked you out. To no avail. You politely declined invites to dates, saying you weren't interested.

But really, they never stood a chance.

Since the first time you saw Jason stumbling into your apartment, all scraped up elbows and torn jeans, it was over for you. He got in a fight that Shawn pulled him out from and brought him to you to get stitched up so that he wouldn't have to go to the hospital.

Your hands had shaken too much. You were used to sewing clothing, not bleeding skin. Ironically, Jason was the one to calm you down.

There were two many people in the room, too much noise, he asked the to leave because they were distracting you. When it was just you two left, he spoke to you in a calm town, even though it must have been hard with his torn shoulder.

"You're okay, kiddo." He'd whispered to you, sitting up on the couch. "This is just like one of your designs. Same technique."

You'd sniffled. "I-i don't know, Jason. We should call the hospital. What if I mess up? You could get hurt–"

"Are you kidding? I've seen that bird you sowed onto that ugly French thing you like to pretend is a hat."

"The beret you mean? That's a very popular style all around the world."

"It can't be."

"Jason!" You giggled. "Don't make me laugh right now."

"You're right. You're right. Im sorry." He said, wincing as the wound on his shoulder pulsed with blood. "But what I'm trying to say is I trust you. You can save me, darling, I know you can. Please try..."

You swallowed, staring at the wound. "Okay," you said, keeping his words in mind. "Okay,"

You did what you were used to, cleaning the wound and slowly, carefully stitched him up. By the time you were finished, Jay was pale, but his breathing had calmed. The bleeding stopped.

He took a painkiller as you wrapped gauze around his shoulder, and he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.

Since that day, you developed a crush that held you in a vice like grip.

Jason played dumb, but it was a defense. You’d seen the glint behind his eyes when he solved problems. And he was kind. He tutored the neighbourhood kids and brought groceries to your elderly neighbours. He took care of his mom, even though she didn't deserve it. He worked hard. He cared about his friends. Enough to join a brawl for them, no questions asked.

Sure, he only saw you as his friend's little sister, and sure, each time he brought a girl home, it hurt like a punch in the chest, but some part of you hoped that one day...

"Ah!" He hissed, drawing you from your thoughts. You looked to where he'd placed the frozen chicken on the table, shaking his hand as if it he burnt it.

"Here," you stood up from the couch, setting your sewing kit on the coffee table and made your way to him, bare feet against the hardwood flood.

You wrapped the chicken in a paper towel and held it gently to his eye.

Even seated, Jason towered over you. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, leaning into your hand. This close, he smelled like a mixture of sweat and cheap cologne. He smelled like home.

You lifted the pack off his face and studied the damage. The skin around his eye was beginning to bruise. You pressed the cold towel softly to it.

"Jay," you spoke softly. "Did your mom–"

"Is Shawn around?" He cut you off. His voice raw, like he was holding back a growl. One look at his clenched hand confirmed he was trying to calm himself down. Before you could stop yourself, your other hand rose to brush his hair away from his eyes.

He stilled. But his hand unclenched, and he took a calm breath.

"He went out to the store earlier." You said. "He'll be back soon."

He hummed.

Your phone buzzed, the screen flashing with a message from your classmate.

Parlour tn?

You quickly grabbed your phone and shoved it in the pocket of your shorts. Maybe he didn't see it?

"So, you're going to the parlour." Jason asked.

"Yep." You muttered.

"You know people go there to drink and hook up."

You snorted. "Oh my god, what?" Then rolled your eyes. "Are you gonna tell my brother?"

"Of course I am."

You shook your head, grinning. "Whatever. You guys were my age when you started going there."

Jason was quiet. "Just be careful. All men are dogs."

"Not all," you grinned, your eyes catching a hole in his shirt. Right at the seam above his left shoulder. Was that new?

"Do you want me to fix this?" You asked, fingers brushing the ripped material.

"Nah, don't waste your threads." He gave you a smile, despite his voice sounding tired. He must have taken extra shifts at the shop. "I'll ruin it the next day anyway."

Your heart clenched from the exhaustion in his tone.

Of all the people who you knew at the slums, if anyone deserved out. It was Jay.

Episode 2 - The Parlour

The parlour was in full swing. The skate park was covered in neon graffiti. Discarded bottles and solo cups lay around as skatebords, bikes, and Rollerblades glided across concrete to rock music blasting from the speakers.

You sat on a ledge overlooking the river, enjoying the brush of summer wind against your skin.

Swinging your legs in the air beneath you, you hoped your jean skirt and t-shirt combo was enough to keep you warm.

You eyed the construction site a block away. A new condo was being developed. A month ago, it was another old apartment building.

"I wonder what the view would be from the top of that crane." You mumbled.

"Okay, that's enough of that." Your friend Emma giggled while taking away the bottle of... something wrapped in a paper bag you'd been holding. "I know you like climbing, but it's not exactly the tree in our school yard."

You chuckled.

As the night went on, you went from drink to drink, from person to person. You weren't sure how you ended up in the construction site, wandering your way to the crane.

You heard low voice behind you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You froze, turning around to see him. The bruise around his eye had lightened.

You closed your eyes, lifting your hand to your heart. "Jay, you scared me."

"You scared me." He folded his arms in front of his chest. "What are you doing at a construction site?"

"Don't know... ," Your gaze veered to your surroundings. "What do you think they're building here?"

He shrugged. "Who cares?"

You turned around. "I do."

He kicked a piece of debris, leaning against the side of the crane.

"And you do too." You informed.

His lip quirked up in amusement. "You know me that well, hmm?"

You took a step towards him. "I know you like to act like you don't give a shit."

His jaw ticked as you got closer.

When you reached him nervously and slowly, you lifted your gaze up at him.

Jason gazed down at you. His expression unreadable.

"I know you don't like the people that are kicking our friends out of their homes." You said. "I know you're a good guy. You punched Billy Vincent for saying his shoes cost more than our house."

He blinked. Blue eyes narrowing at you. "How do–"

"Shawn told me." You raised a brow, risking a step closer to him. Your hand lifted to his cheek–

He backed up. "Don't. Don't do this–"

"Why?" You asked. "Would it be so bad?"

"Yes!" He looked at you in disbelief. "You're your Shawn's little sister!"

"Who cares?" You argued. "I know what I want."

"You want me, then. Yeah?" Suddenly, he turned an interrogating gaze to you. "With all my baggage?"

"I do." You lifted your chin. You loved everything about him, why couldn't he see that?

Jason shook his head. "Trust me, you'd be better off with guys like Freddie Fletcher."

You were taken aback. What did this have to do with your classmate?

"Dont bother." Jason shook his head. "He told everyone the two of you slept together. Shawn almost killed him."

"He's lying!" Anger rose in your chest. "Nothing happened! I never even had my first kiss!"

"... you haven't?"

His smirk made your skin burn.

Folding your arms, you looked away from him and at a pebble on the ground.

"I mean, I could have." You kicked the rock. "Several guys at school have tried..."

You risked a glance at him, seeing the faint amusement on his smirking lips.

"But...?" he prompted.

"... But they weren't you." You admitted.

Ocean blue eyes wavered. Then he began walking towards you.

Your pulse spiked, breath catching as he got closer and closer.

For some reason, the silence felt suffocating, and before you could stop them, the words spilled out of your mouth. "I dont care what Shawn or anyone else thinks. I'd choose you over any of them–"

Then his mouth was on yours. Dry lips, soft breath, years of memories collapsing into a single exchange. You made a sound like a half gasp, half sigh — as your fingers threaded through his thick hair, tugging just slightly.

He tasted like cigarettes and gum.

When he pulled away, his breath hitched. Like he hadn’t meant to go that far.

His gaze was locked on yours, black pupils blown wide. You had to look away, afraid you’d say something too weird. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

"You are... not a good kisser." He chuckled behind you.

Seriously?

He was laughing at you?

After your first kiss...

You spun around, heat rising in your face.

"That's not what Freddie Fletcher said." You snapped.

His expression shifted. One brow lifted — not in surprise, but calculation. Like he didn’t like hearing that name in your mouth.

"You're right." He drawled, ocean blue eyes teasing. "Fletcher said you rocked his world. And now I know he lied."

Before you could tell him to go fuck himself, his lips covered yours again.

Episode 3 - The Batman

You were standing over the kitchen stove, stirring the contents of the chicken soup for your mother. She came home from work sick a few days ago, and since then, things haven't improved.

Your phone flashed with a text from Shawn.

Not gonna make it for dinner. Hitting up town with the boys.

You replied "Be safe."

While the food cooked, you cleaned up around the house, gave your mother medicine, watched some TV, and flipped the channels until you found a romcom to watch.

A few hours later, your front door opened, your brother and his friends stumbling in, sweaty, and breathless.

Jason wasn't with them, likely he went straight to his mom's.

You looked at them, confused by their disheveled states. "What the hell–"

Your brother turned to you, bewildered. "We saw him. The fuckin' Batman!"

Your mouth dropped.

You were little when rumors began. A masked vigilante man doing the work the police were too powerless to do. It made the people in your neighbourhood happy. Finally, someone was punishing Gothams criminals and gangsters. Maybe their children will have bright futures.

At the same time, though, you found him terrifying. You heard stories. Gang members beaten to a pulp and tied up for the police to find like presents, scarred and broken beyond repaid and too petrified to move.

"We were at the shop when we heard a crash. Went to see what happened, and it was him. Cape, bat ears, all that shit." He chuckled. "He made the whole gimick look badass. Oh! And he was in this huge, fucking tank of a car– holy shit you should have seen it!" Shawn shook his head.

"Anyway, he ran into Montana's convenience store– Apparently they're hiding guns for the Hell hounds–"

"What?!" You blinked. Aubrey Montana was one grade above you. Her dad always seemed so nice...

"Listen, listen!" Shawn urged. "The batman, he's busy fighting those guys, right? We all look at his car, then at each other. And we have the tools. So we get to work."

They what?!

Your hands shot to the top of your head. "Are you insane?"

"Okay, maybe we had a little too much beer." He laughed.

Not finding it funny, you urge him to tell you what happened.

"Jay figured out how the car worked — magnets or something. We tried to strip it, but Batman caught us mid-heist. He was pissed. I've never run so fast in my life."

"Oh god," your hands covered your mouth.

"But he shot us with some stun gun or something. Kept us there and interrogated us until someone confessed to figuring out the whole magnet thing in his car. We kept our mouths shut but then Connor, damned pussy, breaks out and cries that it was Jay."

You swallowed, listening with anxiety as he went on. You couldn't wait for this dumb story to end.

"Anyway, batman's threatening to keep us there til the cops show up and arrest us. But then Jay stands up and tells him he'll fix his car if he lets us go."

"... and?" You whispered, fearing the inevitable.

"He gave him this whole speech. ‘we’re not criminals, just poor’ blah blah. Batman looked like he might puke."

You don’t laugh. "So?"

"He let us go. Kept Jay."

That landed like a gunshot.

You urged. "Shawn. The atman kills people!"

"He does not."

"Okay, he doesn't. But he hurts them! Badly! We have to go after Jay!"

Something about Shawn's expression shifted.

"Relax," he sneered. "Your boyfriend's gonna be fine."

You stilled. "He's... not my‐"

“He told me you two kissed,” Shawn muttered, bitter. “Guess I was wrong about you being smart.”

You froze. “Excuse me?”

“Jay doesn’t stick around, you know. Not for anyone.”

You considered his words, knowing they were cruel and that you shouldn't believe them. So wiping your nose, you ran into your room and closed the door behind you, not caring that you were acting like a child.

You weren't sure what kept you awake that night more. Your brother's words or your worry for Jason's safety.

Episode 4 - His Asence

Jason didn't come home that night. Or any night after. Everyone assumed the batman did arrest him. But no one actually knew what happened to him until months later, when he made his first appearance on TV as Bruce Wayne's new ward.

The rumor going around was that Jason went to Juvie and got out. Worked odd jobs until eventually scoring a gig at WayneTech.

It was really impressive, considering he only had a high school education.

You were partly relieved. When he didn't come back, you'd assumed the worst. So seeing him healthy and happy on TV, surrounded by heiresses and models, was... bittersweet.

You remained in the slums with your sickly mother and your brother, who was falling deeper into a life of crime.

It was clear Shawn resented Jason. Accused him of abandoning his best friend for the privileged life.

"You abandoned him first." You once reminded him, annoyed by his 40th rant of the week.

Shawn didn't like that.

"Or maybe he had nothing worth coming back to." He spat at you.

Your eyes swam with tears, and you stormed out of your apartment.

Years went by, and you got accepted into a good fashion program, worked to help provide for your family. But you soon realized that the pay wouldn't keep up with constantly rising rent.

Your friend helped you get a second job at a high-end bar uptown. The usual crowd were Wall Street types or rich college kids, so you earned more than your fashion internship from tips alone.

That's where you met Selina.

She was a beautiful woman, confident, elegant, and resourceful. She never paid for herself.

Grateful the bathroom walls muffled the deafening music, you washed your hands when silky voice spoke up behind you. "You should act more interested in what they have to say. That'll get you bigger tips."

You looked up at the mirror to see her standing next to you. Tall, athletic, and lithe, she filled out her dark blue dress perfectly. Instinctively, you straightened your back to tred to stand tall, but you were still quite scrawny next to her in your cheap black tank top and skirt.

"Is that what you do?" You asked.

Her lips widened into a grin, and slowly, she walked up to the mirror, reapplying her lipstick.

Your eyes were glued to her. Every movement was precise, almost artistic.

"The shade is called Royal Red. Dior." She said, puckering her lips. "And before you ask, no, I didn't pay for it."

You frowned at the comment.

The way it was phrased made you think she stole the product. But she most likely meant that it was a gift from one of her admirers.

Then she turned to you, raising the lipstick to your face. Caught off guard, you gasped, then stood still and let her brush the red across your lips.

When she was done, you turned to look in the mirror, your eyes widening. The deep crimson on your lips was enticing.

"Red looks good on you." She was smirking.

It did. You looked... kissable.

"It's about the fantasy," she was smiling behind you. "You dont have to do much. Just make them think you're interested. Attainable. And let them pay for the rest. Also, clothing goes a long way. The tighter, the better." She winked.

You nodded, marking her words.

The following day, you used your tip money on that months rent. And whatever was left you took to the fabric store.

If Shawn had a problem when the shopping bags you'd brought home, he didn't say anything about it. That evening, you pulled out your sewing kit and some old clothes and got to work.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror and experimented with different makeup and hairstyles.

The following night, you showed up to work in a tight leather skirt, knee-high boots with five inch heels, and a silk red top that clung to you like a second skin.

You felt ridiculous at first, but then the makeup and clothing almost acted like armor and a mask. The looks you got boosted your ego, and your movements and behavior came naturally with it.

You batted your eyelashes, bending over extra slowly when putting down drinks at a table with a bunch of businessmen.

Your tips tripled.

"Love the choker." Selina sat at the bar in front of you, sipping a martini.

Your hands rose to your neck, fingers brushing the velvety material of the collar-like necklace that had a single charm dangling in the front. It was shaped like a gun.

You smiled to yourself, and lowered to whisper to her. "I got it at hot topic."

She laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "As long as it's their money, you're spending."

You developed a new routine, working, spending time with friends, talking to Selina, taking care of your mother, avoiding your brother, and soon enough, Jason left your mind completely.

Episode 5 - Back When You Left

Strobe lights distorted your vision as speakers blasted techno from all sides. The effect was made to make everything seem like it was in slo-mo.

Used to it by now, you easily maneuvered your way through the crowd with your tray.

You suddenly clashed with a tall man in what looked like a brand new Armani suit. "Oh, im so sorry!" Your hands brushed his arms. "Are you okay?"

He blinks down at you, pupils dilated as they devour your dark red sleeveless top and matching colored skirt. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

You made sure your voice was extra breathy. "I can be such a kluts when they turn on the strobes."

His eyes were soft when they landed on you. "Y-you're alright, sweetheart."

You offered him a smile before brushing past him, his expensive cufflinks safely hidden in your left palm. He was left none the wiser.

It was a game you and Selina invented when days were particularly uneventful. You competed to see who can get pickpocket the most expensive object. She usually won. But she was the master. It took you a few weeks to be able to tell high fashion from cheap knock-offs. And a few more weeks to learn slight-of-hand.

"You're not bad with your fingers," she once said. "It's good you know how to sow."

It took you some time to grow comfortable with the entire idea of stealing. But Selina said something that changed your mind.

"You think these guys care that their gold came with money they got from kicking people out on the treet?"

You thought of your friends back home. Your mother, brother. How they worked tirelessly to be abke to afford living in squalor. Suddenly, you lost all sympathy for Gotham's one percent.

The key was to move your fingers quickly while distracting them. Selina had taught you moves in her flat. Demonstrating on the clasp of a bracelet, she swiftly removed it from your wrist before placing it on her own for you to try. It took a lot of practice, but eventually, you got the hang of it.

You weren't sure what she liked about you, but you were happy she did. She was like the big sister you never had.

You quickly stashed away the cufflinks in a makeup bag of you keep behind the bar before you're called to table 5.

"It's a bunch of trust fund kids." The host, Felix, grinned at you before making a gesture with his hands like he was making it rain dollar bills.

You laughed and made your way over the booth, planting your hand on your hip. "Good evening, boys. What can I get you–"

You faltered when a pair of ocean blue eyes met you gaze.

The last time you saw those eyes was the night you got your first kiss.

He sat surrounded by friends, huddled over a game of cards.

He wore a white button-up with a gucci pattern. The top few buttons were undone, offering a view to the expensive silver chain hanging off his neck and down his pronounced collarbone. His breaches, Hugo Boss. Sleeves drawn up to his elbows, tanned skin contoured in muscle and scar tissue. The Rolex resting around his left wrist was the last accessory you registered before your eyes shot up to his face.

Sharper now. Angular. Almost aristocratic features. The black stud he used to wear in his ear was replaced with a small golden hoop.

He was bigger now. Not overly so, but definitely bulkier. Like he'd been regularly working out. Like he had a healthy diet.

You wanted to hate him. You should hate him. For stealing your first kiss, making you fall for him, and then abandoning you. No goodbyes, no explanations, nothing.

But you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything other than heartache.

He looked good. Happy and healthy. There were no bruises around his eyes or cuts on his lips.

Of all the people who you knew at the slums, if anyone deserved out. It was him.

Jason’s own gaze was wide with shock. Then, slowly, his eyes traveled from yours down your body.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks – hopeful it was hidden by your make-up.

It was ridiculous. You flirted with billionaires, playboys, and bachelors like it was a game. And yet, one look from him undid you completely.

Someone's hand was circling your waist drew your attention to your side. Jason followed the movement on your hip with a gaze that could burn his buddy's hand.

"Hey gorgeous," the trust fund brat holding you said. "I know my boy's quite the looker–" he tilted his head in Jason's direction, "–but I told you my order twice now."

You blinked. He did? When?

Trust-fund-brat put his free hand on his heart. "You're gonna break a poor man's heart like that, baby."

Oh, god.

You masked your grimace with a shy giggle.

Trust-fund-brat looked at your mouth.

"Sorry, I thought I recognized him from somewhere." You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Glancing at Jason, you saw his dark brows drawn together in confusion. He was wondering why you had just lied.

"Please repeat that, handsome?" You asked the trust-fund-brat, and he repeated his order with a triumphant grin, then they all went one by one.

When it was Jason’s turn, he almost looked nervous. And he masked it by looking unhappy.

Hand rubbing the back of his neck, he cleared his throat. "Uh... Macallan 18."

Your heart ached once more a how he had changed. The Jason you once knew would beat up anyone with a pretencious drink order like that.

Nodding, you wrote down his order, meeting his eyes one last time before turning to the next guy.

He looked unhappy still.

Sweetly pulling out of the trust-fund-brat's hold, you promised you'll be back soon before heading to the bar.

"What the was that?" Selina asked, wide-eyed when you returned to mix drinks.

"What?" You mumbled.

"Don't play dumb. That boy with the Rolex had you practically drooling."

"It was a really nice Rolex." You lied.

Selina lifted her brow. "You know him, don't you?"

"No."

"So you wouldn't care if I went over there and introduced myself?" She raised a brow.

The thought of her going anywhere near Jason made your teeth vrind together.

You loved Selina like a sister, but Jason wasn't like one of those men she took advantage of.

Was he?

Something about your reaction made Selina laugh.

"Come on, who is he?" She asked, eager. "Your ex?"

"I have to work." You said, balancing the tray in your hands.

She popped a cherry in her mouth. "It's okay, I'll wait until your shift is over. I'm guessing he will, too."

Ignoring her, you headed to the booth and handed the drinks out without any more "drooling." It was quite easy, actually. All you had to do was avoid Jason.

The rest of the night, you were on high alert, feeling a weird vibration in your side, coming from that booth.

Eventually, your shift had ended, and you headed to the staff room to pack up. As you were getting your bag, you heard the door open and closed behind you.

Turning around, you froze in place. "What are you–"

"You," he rasped, voice gravel and heat, "What the hell are you wearing?"

You blinked, pulse thudding in your throat. "You’re one to talk." Your voice came out shakey. "I almost didn’t recognize you without the grease."

Jason’s gaze dropped, dragging along your body like it hurt him to look. "You’ve changed."

"So have you," you snapped, finding your confidence at last. And then, because you couldn't help yourself, you added. "I guess all those yacht parties with supermodels–"

He backed you toward the wall of lockers. Two fingers lifted your chin up before his lips claimed yours. You let them. You hated that you let him.

He pressed you back. His thigh slid between yours as he crowded into your space, making you forget the rest of your sentence.

Feeling an unbearable rush of need, you let your hands rise to his face, your fingers threading into his hair.

Jason let out a strangled breath, like he’d just been punched.

You understood the feeling.

His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the bench behind you. You parted your legs automatically to keep him close.

His thigh pressed up again, and you gasped. That felt good. You wanted to feel it again.

Pulling him back into a kiss, you leaned back on your hands, rocking your hips against him the way Selina once described.

But it wasn't perfect. It was clumsy. A little awkward.

Jason didn't tease you.

What he did surprised you even more. He cupped your face gently. "Slow down," his voice was quiet. "Let me show you."

Then he pulled you closer and guided your rhythm, hands firm on your waist, breath in your ear.

The friction was delicious. Maming your breathing uneven.

Is this how you take charge? You could almost hear Selina's voice chastising in your mind.

He was leading the whole thing.

And you liked it.

And that's when you understood. None of it mattered. All this time spent working, studying, enjoying life, and not thinking about him. It wasn't real. You had always missed him. He was entrenched in your skin.

The door pushing open had you two drawing apart.

With impressive speed, Jason maneuvered you to stand behind him, blocking you from the person who had entered the room.

"Oh! Sorry." You recognized the gasp of one of your coworkers, Stephanie.

"No, it's my bad," Jason let out a charming chuckle, hand coming to scratch his head in a shy gesture. "Thought my girl would find this type of thing romantic."

He tightened his hold on your wrist, leading you out the door behind him. You cast your gaze down, hiding behind the fallen locks of your hair until you two were in the safety of the dance floor.

Your heart beat louder in your ears than the beat of the music.

You tried to slide your hand out of his hold and escape but he wouldn't let you. Instead, he pulled you to his side, sliding his hand possessively around your waist, leading you around the room towards his booth.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Jason called out to his friend. "Montgomery, can you pass me my jacket?"

Your old friend, the trust-fund-brad, turned in Jason's direction, his mouth dropping oce he took in the view of you in Jason's arms.

You were in quite a shock yourself.

You risked scanning the room until a pair of Cheshire eyes locked with yours. Again, you attempted to twist out of Jason's hold, only to be pressed further against him.

Help-me you mouthed to Selina.

Dont-be-so-dramatic she mouthed back.

You turned back just as Jasons grabbed his jacket from a slack mouthed Montgomery, threw a bill on the table, and flashed his friends a wink. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

He didn't wait for their reactions, pulling you to the exit. But you didn't miss their laughter and cheer, and Montgomery's silence.

The next few minutes were a blur. You registered sitting in the passenger seat of a fancy red convertible. Jason drove. There was no conversation.

You remembered the entrance of a fancy high rise in a part of town you've only seen on pictures. Taking the elevator. Somewhere around this time, you seemed to regain some of your self-awareness.

This was Jason's fancy new apartment.

Smooth hardwood floors, leather furniture, floor to ceiling windows with a view of the harbourfront and walls with paint that didn't chip. Slack jawed, you stood at the entrance, taking it all in.

"Nice place," you finally found your voice.

His thumb brushed against your jaw like he was scared you’d disappear.

"I used to dream about you," he murmured, like it embarrassed him. "Every night. I’d see you in that pink dress— the one you made..."

"With the black stitching on the hem?" you asked, voice caught in your throat.

He gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That one. You’d wear it and… it was over for me.”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Even after everything, that tiny confession broke you in the best way.

"Jason what happened?" You asked him. "Did he arrest you? The batman?"

His gaze softened. "You could say that... but he also bailed me out."

"So then why didn't you come back?" Your voice broke.

"I couldn't, sweetheart." The admission looked like it hurt him to say, like he was reliving a bad memory. "She'd kick me out for getting in trouble... or hit me or I don't know. I couldn't go back ther–"

Unable to take the pain in his words, you rose up on your tip toes, claiming his lips.

It was slow. A little shaky.

Memories. Regrets. Longing. His hands were held your waist like it was a lifeline.

His lips were warm on your skin when he murmured. “You must hate me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t. I can’t. I’ve tried.”

Jason’s lips claimed yours again, lifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing. This kiss was more intense, deeper, with the intention to go further.

"God, I've missed you." He breathed. "You're the only thing that felt good back then. Still are"

You didn’t realize you were trembling until he pulled back and looked at you.

"Whats wrong?" he asked, brushing his nose against yours.

"Nothing."

A beat passed.

"Wait, Jason…" You felt your cheeks flush. "I’ve never…"

He froze. Just for a second. Then his brows softened. His voice went quiet.

"We don’t have to," he said.

"I want to," you whispered. "I just… thought you should know."

He smiled softly, looking at you like you were something precious. "I’ll go slow."

He kissed your forehead first, then your cheek, then the edge of your mouth. His hands moved to your back, warm and wide.

Clothes came off one by one. Not rushed. Slow. Just fingers finding zippers, mouths, and meeting skin. You were certain your heartbeat could be heard through your skin.

He pulled you onto his bed.

He looked like a boy sculpted into a man. Same messy blacm hair, same sharp jaw, same challenging gaze. But everything else bigger. Broader. His chest was smooth planes and definition, trim waist, dark happy trail below the waistband of his jeans. You used to daydream about what was under his shirt. Now you were seeing it — and it was better than a dream.

When his mouth moved down your neck, your hands tangled in his hair.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he whispered, lips against your collarbone.

You nodded, and he kissed your chest, wide shoulders flexing as he lowered to kiss your nipples, your stomach, your thighs. His actions were seductive but calming at the same time. Worshipful in a way. Like tasting your was a privilege.

Everything he did had your thighs rubbing together, moisture slowly building up in between.

He rose to hover over you, lining himself up, his eyes locked with yours.

"This okay?" he asked.

You nodded, heart in your throat.

But the moment he pushed in, your breath hitched. Your hands grasped at his sheets. The pain flared hot and bright.

You bit your lip from the pain. "Jason–"

"I know, I know," he whispered, kissing your temple. "I’m right here. Try to relax around me. Just breathe."

You whimpered, trying to follow his instructions.

His hand slipped down between you, moving in slow, practiced circles over your clit. You had become so sensitive, and the feeling his hands was... unbelievable! The distraction served you well. Slowly, your body adjusted to his size. Your hands came to clutch his biceps, grounding your in his warmth, his presence, his whispered reassurances in your ear.

"You’re doing so good, sweetheart," he murmured. "God, you feel so fucking good."

The ache gradually softened. Pleasure started to curl around your body like a rush.

You moved your hips experimentally, and Jason groaned low, his restraint weakening.

"Fuck," he rasped, "you sure you’ve never done this?"

"Actually," you said, breathless. "Now that I think about it, Freddie Fletcher–"

He laughed, forehead against yours, rolling his hips deeper.

You gasped — not from pain this time.

That friction of his fingers on your clit. That stretch. That feeling of being filled and wanted and with him.

Your crimson painted nails clawed at his back, pulling him closer.

You just wanted him. Like you always did. Always would.

"Jason!" You cried as your body shook from your orgasm.

Jason’s fingers wrapped in your hair, tugged on it with a hint of desperation as his hips met yours, each movement had his hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

As exhaustion invaded your senses, you felt yourself held steady in his arms.

Episode 6 - Crimson

"So he disappeared just like that?" Selina interrupted you mid story. "No goodbyes, no nothing?"

You sighed, sipping your coffee. "Pretty much. He always wanted out of there. So when he saw his chance he took it."

"Leaving you behind."

"It's not that simple." Even now, the need to defend Jason was something like a second nature. "I was safe with a loving family."

"And Shawn." She added.

"Again, not comparable." Your head was shaking before she even finished speaking. "Shawn may be annoying and mean but never raised a finger against me."

Silena had a contemplative expression on her face. Studying you again.

"I'm extremely lucky." You added, feeling the need to fill the silence.

"Poverty can make people mature way before their time." She mused before raising her own coffee to her lips. "Anyway, I hope you gave him a tongue lashing back at his place..."

"Wel..." The back of your head felt suddenly itchy, the contents of your cup fascinating. Anything involved not meeting her gaze and admitting you let Jason take your virginity. And then make sure it was gone one more time that morning.

Selina was rolling her eyes when you risked a glance at her.

"Was it at least good?" She drawled, but there was a smirk.

You nodded eagerly, conjuring up images of last night. Grasping hands, sliding hips, lips on your skin, smoldering blue eyes.

"Oh my god, pull yourself together!" She threw a sugar cube at you, grinning.

"I can't!" You whined, your face dropping to the palm of your hand. "I've tried... it's him!"

Selina was quiet for a long moment. Peaking between your fingers revealed her looking out the window, reminiscing with a longing expression.

You cleared your throat. "You said you wanted me to repair something?"

That drew her out of her thoughts. "Correct." She pulled a black garment out of her bag and let it fall on your kitchen table. It looked like a bodysuit.

You inspected the material, taking in wear and tear. The material was strong... There were rips, dirt, ashes?

"What is this for?"

"Dont ask questions, darling." There was a glint in her eye. "Just name your price and do whatever you can to mend it."

That got a chuckle out of you. "Yes, boss."

As you got to work, Selina watched you carefully. The gears in her mind are already turning with ideas and plans.

One thing was for sure, if her color was black. Yours would be crimson.

#batman #batboys #smut #fluff #angst #nsft fic #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fluff #protective jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #friends to lovers #age difference #emotional smut #batboys x reader #slow burn #mutual pining

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princessbumbles-blog · 2 days ago

Text

ꪮꪊ᥅ ᦓꪻꪖ᥅ᦓ

ᴡʟғ!Aʙʙʏ × ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Content: fluff; Friends that like each other but are too dumb; Abby and more Abby

June, 2039

Pt. 3 - Afections

You were sitting on your rooms floor, Your back against your unmade bed, feeling your hands shake slightly against your will, when the door opened and closed.

"Dumbass" Abby's voice reaches you, together with her strong footsteps.

She went down those couple of stairs to your side of the room and stopped, staring at you.

"Did you really need to hide in here?"

She is joking, using that usual voice tone for moments when she is unsure about what to do.

"What happened?"

You really didn't want to speak, not because you were mad but because it felt like torture to make a sound. Any vibration seemed to make your anxiety worse.

"The usual" you manage to say.

"Which one"

"Don’t make me talk, Abby" you ask and the silence lingers.

You focus your eye's attention on the animals down there through the window in front of you. You loved them, the cows and the shep, they were so simple yet sometimes difficult to deal with, but it was the kind of trouble you feel grateful for having.

If nature is your biggest problem then your life is good.

"Nick told me you were out there and..."

"Maybe I should change positions" You interrupt her "And work on the farms"

Abby frowns. "You would hate cleaning their shit," she smiles, trying to strike one in you.

But It doesn't work.

"Better then having to kill a fucking kid" you say, in a monotonous voice tone.

You feel Abby's eyes on you, waiting for more explanation, but you can't, so you just bite the inside of your cheek.

"So, Nick said you encountered Scars and it all went to shit" Abby says "What happened?"

"Nothing"

"Why don’t you talk to me?"

"Because I don't want to!" You raise your voice. "I dont want to remember what happened"

Abby notices your shaking hands and looks again into your eyes. Glossy. You want to cry, but, like usual, you are trying too hard to block it.

She crosses her arms in front of your chest. "Get up"

You roll your eyes.

"Get up" She insists "You know what's going to happen if you don't"

You sigh, annoyed, blurting a "for fuck's sake" before aggressively getting up from the floor.

"Here, happy?"

"{Your Name}...." She calls your name softly.

Your eyes avoid hers, looking everywhere. Your hands find your arms whose skin is picked by your nails, a sign that you are either nervous or anxious, maybe both. Abby keeps her eyes on you, knowing it will eventually break you.

It took a while to figure out how to make you open up to her, after a lot of insults from you. Abby hates it in some part, because she always cries like a baby in front of you, melting instantly, but you are built like a rock.

She wants to make you melt too, so she repeats your name, gently, again and again before she starts to see the tears forming in your eyes.

"You can tell me. You know that. I'm here" she says.

A knot forms in your throat. "I...hm...I...the kid tried to....you know" a tear falls "he tried to ....so I ...shot him. On the head"

More tears fall and you hug yourself, still avoiding your friend's eyes.

"Then my hands started to shake and I.....I lost it."

"You had a panick attack?"

You nood, fast, trying to controll the huge wave of tears that were threatening your voice.

"I killed a kid, Abby I...a fucking kid for fucks sake. I killed a boy" you start to rumble, scratching your arms like your skin was bothering you.

Abby's hands flew to your wrists "Hey, hey...I know, I know" and she squeezed them, pulling them off your arms. "I'm sorry that happened. It's alright, you didn’t mean it. Unfortunately, it is the most common thing around here."

"It shouldn't be"

"Yhea, but....think that maybe you did a favour to that kid. He is at peace now, and not hiding away with hammers and wars"

You swallow, anxiously trying to find some relief on Abby's words, but the sensations on your body where corrupting your thoughts, disseminating panic everywhere.

"I feel sick" you cry out.

"It is just the anxiety" Abby says, but she knows dam well your fear of vomit is something irrational and extremely overwhelming.

"I feel so sick, Abby ...I'm scared." Your hands began to shake again under Abby's grip. "I'm so scared....Abby....Abby.."

"Shhh, I know. Breath in and out, it is not real"

Your lower lip trembles. Fuck, it is so rare to see you like this, Abby's chest tightened.

"Abby..." your voice breaks "What if I..."

"Nothing is going to happen" She says, with a determined tone "Come here"

As you feel your friends arms around you, you let yourself cry out the panic. Abby smeels the same, pine, so familiar.

"Everything's fine, nothing is going to happen" She repeats like a mantra, just like her father used to say. Like she wished someone had done that to her after his death.

But now, she had someone she wanted to protect, and it gave her a sense of comfort.

The next day, Abby was at Isaac's office, frustrated.

"She is too good. We need strong soldiers out there, strong, " Isaac repeats himself.

"Fuck that" Abby says "She did enough. You have a lot of strong soliders. Put her on the farms, she will be useful"

For some reason, Abby couldn't bear the thought of you out there again, dealing with shit that had nothing to do with you and ending up like last night.

"She will remain on ground coverage, end of story"

"I can take her shifts!" The girl exclaims

But Isaac just sighs.

"Is this friendship going to bring me trouble?" He raises his voice "There’s already you and Owen. Now, this?"

Silence.

"You better focus on your responsibilities, Abby, or do I have to intervene? I need loyal soldiers, not brats. Are we clear?"

Abigail stares at him, feeling the anger rise up and down her chest.

"Yes, Sir"

She had no other option.

"Good."

It was unfair. So unfair. Abby walked down the hallway with strong steps, frowning so deeply that people moved out of her away faster than usual.

She never cared for the injustices of the system Isaac had put up, but she was alone before and her goal occupied all the space in her mind.

But now, you existed. Your friendship started as something casual but it developed to something stronger, even tho Abby didn’t like to admit it.

You became an essential part of her life, like you have always been there in the first place.

"Hey Abs," Owen's voice makes Abby stop on her tracks.

There is only two people on that place that call her by the nickname her father used with her: You and Owen.

Him because he always did, and you because you started using it naturally, with such care and happiness that it actually gave Abby some sense of familiarity she hadn't felt in years.

"Hey" Abby says, turning around.

He stared at her in silence for a couple of seconds. "Bad day?"

Abby sighs, nodding with her head. "Isaac's being a dick"

Owen scoffs. They walk together with their shoulders bumping on each other. Too close to Abby’s liking, but she can't resist.

"It really sucks," Owen says after hearing what happened to you.

"Yhea, I'm really scared for her"

"She's a big girl. I'm sure she will be able to handle herself"

"She will, but...He could give her a break. I don't understand why he refuses"

"I mean, no one should receive special treatment"

Abby looks at Owen with a frown. His words were too direct and too brutal.

"Why are you being so mean?" She asks, automatically stepping away from him.

"I'm not trying to be mean. I just understand that if Isaac starts making favours like these to everyone, people would take advantage of that. He needs to give everyone the same treatment and opportunities, and that's on us to manage it"

Abby keeps staring at him, up and down, judging his words, trying to understand if he was being serious.

"Gosh, don't look at me so suprised!" He complains, with a smile.

"For someone so liberal and unhappy with your life, you sounded like a true loyal fucking soldier" The big girl crosses her arms in front of her chest, making Owen roll his eyes.

"C'mon Abs, I may be unhappy, but that doesn’t mean that I don't understand what Isaac needs to do to maintain a place like this functioning"

"So it is okay to ignore his soldiers' struggles?"

"No, but keeping this perception in mind helps me to not freak out. Like, I'm the only one who can make my life easier. " He opens his arms a little, like it is the quote of the year,"Maybe it can help {your name} too"

The girl remains in silence, digesting it, while he observes her. It's been a while since they had spent proper time together.

"You two are inseparable now" He comments "Is she that good of a friend?"

"What type of a question is that?" Abby laughs.

"Is she better than me?" He teases, bumping his elbow on hers.

"You are such an idiot" Abby says, just a tease she always does to him...like old times.

"Alright, but answer me. Do I have competition?"

"Holy shit Owen " She takes some steps foward, challenging "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "Please. I know nobody is better then me"

"Careful, your girlfriend may interpret this wrong"

"Always using the girlfriend card, uh?"

Both let out some laughs, like old friends catching up. But it wasn’t like that.

Owen was feeling weird, he hated it, how jealous he actually was because before you, he was the only one deeply close to Abby, but suddenly you appeared out of nowhere.

He had a girlfriend. He liked her. He and Abby were past now, it didn't work. But he hated the feeling of losing Abby. He hated that maybe you making her feel the way he used to make her feel.

However, he doesn't really hate you. He actually respects you, for being able to crack Abby open.

"She's weird, in a good away" Abby says, quietly "she makes me feel less alien, and she is also cool to be around"

It was a very short version of what Abby could actually say, but she didn't feel comfortable telling Owen about it.

"Good. That's good, Abs"

Later, after work, Abby entered the cafeteria that was buzzing with voices and laughs. She approached the usual table with some food, sitting by your side.

"That's why there's no really true Americans" Manny was saying, with his mouth full of food.

"Of course. We all are a mix of communities ...or nationalities, if you want to call it like that." You speak, giving Abby a quick smile.

"But if you were born in America then you are American" Nick says, sitting by Manny's side.

Abby nooded to some people passing by. That place was full, a little unsual, but maybe it was summer lightning up people's modds.

"Yes, but we sre discussing the blood argument. Like, what the fuck does being a pure American mean? Being white and dumb? We are a mix of people from everywhere. Oh, we are descendents from...shut up. Even cow's shit goes on the equation" You argue, angrily shoving some rice into your mounth.

Abby arches her eyebrown. "What hell are you three talking about?"

"Your girl here is throwing her intellectual knowledge at us," Nick mocks you, throwing a bit of rice at your arm.

"I'm just communicating the facts," you defend yourself. "You know, some of us actually read books, not just patrol schedules. STOP THROWING THE RICE AT ME GOD DAMMIT!!"

Manny and Abby laugh. "We heard Robert say some problematic shit earlier," Manny says. "She is calling him a fascist," he points at you.

"And isn't he? Oh wait, Nick, do you know what a facist is?"

"You are so fucking funny, aren't you?"

Abby's gaze stays on you, admiring the smile adorning your face as you tease Nick. It was so good to see you alive again. Your version from last night had nothing to do with this fierce and stubborn girl. Your eyes were shinning.

When she turns her head back to her plate, she notices Manny staring with a grin.

"What?"

"Nothing"

After eating, Abby slapped your arm slightly, signaling for you to get up and get out of there.

"Are you sleeping on her room again?" Manny asks, making her look between him and Nick awkwardly.

"Yhea?"

"Just checking. If I'm lucky I will be able to bring that nurse with me tonight" He blinks at Nick who laughs proudly at his friend.

In your room, your roomate, Max, was already sleeping, so you and Abby layed down on your bed, reading your books in silence by the lamp's light on the bedside tables.

After half an hour, you two put away your books and turn the lights off, staying in the silence of the dark, laying on your sides, staring at each other.

"How was your day?" Abby whispers.

"Good, I guess. Maybe just normal. And yours?"

"Normal as well"

You lift your hand, tracing the sides of Abby’s arm, like you do so many times.

"Can I braid your hair tomorrow?" You ask

"Sure"

Your fingers dance on her skin, building that nice sense of comfort in Abby's chest. She closes her eyes for some seconds, enjoying the feeling.

You drag your hands up her face, tracing the lines of it with your fingertips, slowly, feeling every inch, every curve of her nose, every bit of texture. Then, you slip one finger over her lips and she is quick to bite you.

You laugh, covering your mouth with your other hand to muffle the sound.

"Idiot" you whispered, and the only thing in response was Abby's muffled laugh.

Suddenly Abby's fingers are on your face, doing the same thing. It was not the first time, and probably wouldn't be the last. You two didn't know why you were doing it, it just felt too good to stop.

You closed your eyes as well, like if you focused enough, Abby could feel all the love you felt for her with her touch.

When her fingers reached your lips, Abigail was expecting some revengeful bite, instead, you kiss them, gently and lightly. She doesn't react, just stays there with her hand, and you kiss the knots on her fingers again, and again.

It was during nights like these, in the dark of your room, when the two of you would perform acts of affection, like it was natural. The limits of friendship didn't seem to exist, or maybe you two just didn't need it. Deep down, you wanted to share this kind of intimacy, and doing it with each other seemed...right? None of you judge the other, and together, you slowly explore, crossing the line step by step, without saying a word about it.

However, It was so confusing to you. On one hand, it happened too naturally and it felt too good to need to name it, but on the other hand, questions would rise.

Was this wrong?

Suddenly, you join your toungue, licking her fingers and making Abby pull them away. You muffled another laugh as Abby makes indignation sounds.

"Ew!!" She laughs "you are so dead"

You feel her hands grabbing you and her body coming closer so you scream silently, fighting Abby away but failing miserably, receiving her toungue licking your cheek in a pretty nasty way.

"Abigaillll!!!" You complain, using the sheets to clean your skin.

"Someone got what she deserved" she mocked you.

Abigail loved these nights, where she felt so free and careless. Without any pressure, any responsibilities or drama. It was just the two of you, laughing around, feeling good.

She never really questioned these acts of affection. At least not yet.

The two of you drifted into sleep, still tangled in the warmth that lingered after your playful clash.

In the morning, you woke up naturally, with your eyes opening slowly as though stirred by a breeze.

It was rare, but this morning, your body felt truly rested. Abby was still sleeping beside you, unmoved by the world, so you stayed still, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing.

Her hand, as always, had found its way towards you in slumber, reaching, half-curled, almost touching. Did she know her hand sought you, even in her sleep.

So, you took it quietly, weaving your fingers with hers, tenderly, careful not to wake her. Her hand was so broad, calloused by the weight of life’s demands, but still pale and oddly delicate in your grasp. You thought, for a heartbeat, about kissing her knuckles again, but the thought drew too much of the world back in, and so you stayed still.

Everything, in that moment, was perfect. Despite all the violence you had to face every day, Abigail somehow made it all feel distant.

You smirked quietly to yourself. Manny truly did deserve a life changing head in for bringing her into your orbit.

With a sigh, you nestled just a little closer, forehead resting against her shoulder and her hand still curled in yours, now resting gently against your chest.

It felt so good.

Suddenly, Abby’s body shifted in her sleep, rolling towards you, and in one smooth, unthinking motion, she wrapped herself around you, pulling you tight like a child clutching a stuffed toy.

You froze.

Never had the two of you slept like this before. It was… intimate in a way you hadn’t dared imagine.

But Abby didn’t stir beyond that so it must’ve been an accident. Of course it was.

You tried to shift but Abby weighed like a fallen tree so you surrendered with a sigh, already spiraling through the thoughts of how impossibly awkward this would be when she woke up. Yet the heat of her body was an inviting weight. Your eyes began to flutter closed not out of sleep, but surrender, and gently nestled your face against the curve of her neck.

God. She smelled so good. Like something sweet and quiet.

Like the smell of a newborn soft and innocent and warm. You knew that scent. You’d once held a baby in the maternity wing of the base. But Abby also smelled like sunlight.

You’d only seen the sea once, on a rare warm morning where the waves met a meadow strewn with tiny white flowers the kind used in chamomile tea, you’d later learned.

She was that exact memory: brightness and breeze. And here you were, face buried against her skin, drowning in the scent of home.

Minutes passed like mist. Then, slowly, Abby stirred.

Still heavy with sleep, she shifted. Her brow furrowed faintly when she realized her arms were around something. She looked down and found you tucked there, but she didn’t jolt or pull away. She just yawned, adjusted her limbs, and let her eyes fall closed again.

How could this not mean something to her?

“Good morning,” she mumbled, voice cracked with sleep.

“Good morning,” you whispered into her neck.

“Sorry. Rolled right over you.”

“It’s fine.”

She shifted again, the weight of her arm draping back over you. “You’re so warm,” she said not annoyed, “I should get up, but you’re making it really hard.”

You laughed, though something cold unspooled in your belly. “You’re the one who tried to smother me in your sleep.”

At that, Abby deliberately collapsed her full weight on top of you just long enough to make your heart spike in panic. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she rolled away and sat up, leaving you alone under the sheets.

She stretched, her long, sun-worn hair cascading down her back.

“Have you been having any nightmares?” you asked.

“Nope,” she replied casually, already rummaging for her usual pants.

“So I’m officially anti-nightmare,” you teased, making Abby turn to shoot you a playful grimace.

Once dressed, she ran her fingers through her hair in a quick sweep. “Weren’t you supposed to braid this?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. Come here.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, and you moved behind her, kneeling, your fingers already parting strands with practiced care. You started the tight, perfectly symmetrical braid she wore every day, and if done wrong, could break the day before it even began.

You day unrolled separately. Isaac wanted to catch up with you, witch made Abby nervous, while she was sent to the medical wing to help to carry boxes of new found stuff.

It was boring, but definitely better then going outside. She was not in a mood for that.

"So, how's the married life been?" Max, your roomate, asked.

Max was a very versatile girl. She could be doing anything. Teaching children how to read, fixing the jeeps or helping with an amputation. Somehow, she had multiple jobs, and today she was giving a hand together with Abigail.

"What?"

"I'm just kidding," She smiles. "I just noticed you have been sleeping a lot in our room"

Abby puts down a box with a loud bang. "Yhea, I mean, It is better then sleeping in the same space as Manny"

Manny was always the best excuse.

"Mhm, I see. If I had a very close friend I would probably have sleepovers every night as well. I guess I understand"

Abby noods, hoping it to be the end of the conversation. Oh, but she does't know Max.

"Actually" She goes again, opening a box and taking a bag of something Abby doesn't pay attention to "I can't spend that much time with my friends, I always need some alone time to recharge, ya know? However....I don't mind being with my booboo everyday"

"Your what??" Abby blinks, confused.

Max laughs. "Your face is so funny. Booboo is what I call my....crushes? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Romantic interests? My special person? You know, that one person we can't get enough of"

The way Max is smiling, like she knows something or is accusing Abby of something she can't quite grasp.

"Right...yhea...I guess" Abby says, not sure what to say or even think.

"Don’t you get tired of {your name}?"

"Hum...No?"

After putting down one more box, Abby realizes Max's smile is even bigger.

"You are acting crazy, dude" Abby notes, looking her up and down. "Stop smiling like that!"

"Do you know {your name} likes girls?"

"What the...yes, I do, Max"

"Hmh. I'm just checking. I have had some friends like that too, you know, close friends. But we always ended up making out"

And with that piece of information, she grabs some medical stuff and turns around, happily disappearing through a door.

Abby stayed behind, frozen in place, realizing just now what Max was trying to imply.

☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆

Note: It's been hard to express my ideas into English. Sorry if some parts are more developed than others. And sorry for the mistakes.

@lia-winther

#lesbian #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #friends to lovers #ourstars

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