#Quit hovering around my peripheral

[thxgrxmrexpxr-archive]

“That wasn’t an invitation for one of you to start messing with me by the way.

I’m not above snapping someone’s neck on “this side”or whatever you want to count the place where all the monsters and murdered a get drafted.”

[harbours-lighthouse]

INK-DIPPED AFTERNOONS

— PAIRING: Jason Todd x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: Spending the afternoon with Jason is rare, but it’s warm and gentle, and the books keep you company.

— AN: Something from my drafts; Jason in soft, mundane moments is my Achilles Heel, I fear.

cw: none, fluff wc: 740

THE AFTERNOON SUN spills across the living room floor, the winter chill settling in the frame of your apartment like the dust along your books. You loiter near the bookcase, hips shifting as you lean your cheek against the water bottle you grasp in one hand, your other hand pinching a book with your fingers at the bottom of the spine. Out of habit, you read the first few pages of any sort of book that catches your interest, and if it hooks you the most, then you promptly tuck into it as if you were settling in for a meal.

Slowly, as if dazed, you carefully move towards the couch where Jason lays, your eyes focused and flitting across the printed out words as a scene unfolds. You’re thoroughly pulled into the story, and you don’t want to tear yourself away from it. You hardly even notice Jason's eyes glancing you up and down, hidden amusement concealed in the slight creases around his mouth.

Hovering, not quite reaching your destination—as if the book were keeping you from moving far—Jason sighs softly to himself and reaches forward, his hands a heavy weight around your waist as he pulls you onto the couch beside him.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, but his voice carries that gentle sort of tone that mothers use when their child doesn’t listen very well, but remains entirely endearing. Briefly, you’re snapped back into focus, and you send him a small smile.

“Sorry.”

Jason doesn’t say anything else, but rather pulls you closer to him and lightly pries your water bottle from you, placing it on the table beside the couch. He’s warm beneath you, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your skin.

It’s a stark contrast to the usual leather jacket he wears, which is often cold to the touch—soothing in some situations, but mostly chilling. To you, it’s a great representation of who Jason is; a man who wears a cold front outwardly, but inwardly encases a heat that most people want to gravitate towards.

Lucky for you, Jason doesn’t isolate you from that heat he carries with him—the red warmth that vibrates from his personality like simmering waves on a desert’s horizon.

“What book did you choose?” Jason asks you softly, pressing his chin against your temple.

You smile, “An old one. The Apprentice by Tess Gerritsen.”

His nose creases in slight disdain, and you catch the movement in your peripheral vision. Laughing lightly, you tilt your head up to him.

“What?”

“That’s one of those sickening detective thrillers.”

“It’s apparently very good.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

Your head lulls as you roll your eyes fondly, the book in your hand limp against your chest. Jason takes your movement to his advantage and places featherlight kisses to the column of your neck.

“You’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover,” you murmur.

Jason gives you an unimpressed look, dark brows raised.

You pause. “Okay, maybe sometimes.”

His quiet huff through his nose holds a short chuckle and it rumbles against your back, and you’re reminded vaguely of laying on a purring cat’s belly.

“Do you want me to read it out-loud?” you offer, and for a moment, you see Jason’s head jerk softly in refusal, before he pauses and thinks for a moment. You’re somewhat surprised when he nods his head.

“Okay.” His voice is low as he settles farther back against the couch, cushioned by the dented throw-pillows.

Shifting inside the circle of his arms with your back flat against his chest, you skip through the book’s acknowledgements and dedication, and start at the first chapter. Jason’s hands remain clasped at your middle, thumb occasionally stroking against the fabric of your shirt.

Your voice is a gentle hum in the living room, bars of golden light shining through the blinds and slashing across the couch. The dishwasher rattles faintly from the kitchen, and the pipes in the walls rumble with the slosh of water as you read out-loud.

Best of all, Jason’s soft breaths flutter the hair at the crown of your head, and your body moves with each rise and fall of his chest. Warm and safe, you fall into the story with Jason behind you, as if he’s keeping you from falling too far—keeping you grounded in reality. A reality where Jason Todd is alive, holding you as if you’re made of silk and fragile memories.

Thank you for reading! God bless <3

top divider credit: @/saradika-graphics © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[aquarius-johnny]

hey. i wanna say that i'm obsessed with your blog, like i love the way you portrait johnny in your works, it's really good to read. i don't know if your are taking requests but can you do something with johnny at the gym related? as a gym rat (hehe), i would love to read something like this

“reps and romance”

aimee’s reply 💬 : you’re very sweet for sending this to me, thank you! not quite working out related, but gym related fore sure. I hope you enjoy!

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff, fem!reader, creepy men encounter, johnny is protective and a lil shy at the end, strangers to lovers (maybe? i guess? yeah?)

m.list navi

being hit on at the gym is something that you’ll never really get used to. especially when men don’t take the hint.

“hey.”

you look up to find the man you’ve been trying to avoid since you walked in. you give him a silent nod before continuing to stretch.

“haven’t seen you in a while.”

silence.

“don’t wanna talk?”

silence.

before he could respond to your silence, a tall man appears in your peripheral view.

“hey, sorry to bother. do you mind spotting for me real quick until my friend returns?” a tall man asks. you spot his tattooed arm, sweat glistening against his skin, telling you he’s well into his workout at this point.

your eyes flicks between the two men, opting to help the stranger you just met over the creep who won't leave you alone.

standing up, you walk with the stranger to his spot, him occasionally turning to look at the man you’re avoiding.

“do you know that guy?” he asks, purposely blocking the creep’s view of you.

taking notice of his actions, you give him a grateful smile. “not really,” you sigh. “he always tries to talk to me when i’m here.”

he nods. “i’m johnny, by the way.” he extends his hand and you quickly grab it, introducing yourself to him as well. “are you planning on doing a set, too?”

“i was, but considering that guy is lingering, i might just leave after this.”

“i can stay until you’re done, i don’t think it’s fair you have to leave because of that loser.”

“would you really?” your eyes light up the offer, causing johnny to smile. “what about your friend? would they mind?”

johnny chuckles. “i came alone. i noticed how uncomfortable that guy was making you and thought that he’d leave you alone if you were busy,” he turns to see the guy still waiting around. “but he clearly isn’t.”

“that’s nice of you, thank you. i’ll gladly take your offer, if you don’t mind.”

he nods, a small chuckle part his lips. taking his position to continue his workout, you place yourself near the barbell and your hands carefully hover over his movements as he lifts the bar with the weight plates attached to the ends of the bar. he does it with ease, easily impressing you.

when he’s done, he helps you finish your workout in return. he occasionally blocks your view from the creep, who shamelessly tries to get a better view of you from different angles. when he gets uncomfortably close, you see johnny’s frustration spill over.

“can we help you?” he snaps, eyes narrowing at the persistent pervert who just can’t seem to leave you alone. “if not, fuck off.”

“i just want to talk to her.”

“no, not a fucking chance.” johnny retorts, towering over the incessantly bothersome man.

you sit up, watching as johnny continues to block you from view. a worker takes notice of the commotion and quickly defuses the situation, escorting the gym creep out the door.

you thank the man you met that night. “you really didn’t have to, but i appreciate it a lot.” grabbing your gym bag, johnny does the same, following you out the front doors.

"did you drive here?" he asks, looking around. "i can walk you to your car, if you'd like."

you pause for a moment before taking up his offer. “seriously, thank you for tonight,” you let out turning to the tall man next to you as you both walk to your car.

he smiles, the street lights illuminating his tired features. “do you come here a lot?” he asks, hand gripping tighter on the strap of his gym bag.

you nod. “all the time,” you giggle before you stop in front of your car.

johnny’s mind tugs back and forth, debating on asking what he wants to ask you but a few seconds later, he clears his throat. “where’s your phone?”

you pull your phone out of the front pockets of your gym bag, looking at johnny in confusion.

without a word, he quickly airdrops his number with you.

“if you need someone to come with you to the gym or if you’re wondering if i’ll be there, feel free to text me.” he pauses. “just in case, y’know?”

your heart swells with joy, although you try to hide it with a kind smile. you don’t protest.

that’s how it started.

since that night, you’ve been going to the gym with johnny. the men who hit on you slowly dwindle to the occasional one or two guys who quickly leave you alone when they notice you’re with johnny.

after every work out, johnny walks you to your car without fail.

tonight you notice his demeanor change ever so slightly, almost as if something is weighing heavy on his mind.

“are you okay?” you ask, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i’m fine.”

you stop in your tracks. “are you sure? did i do something wrong?”

johnny lets out a small laugh. “no, not at all.” sharply inhaling, he pulls you aside. “i’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“sure.”

“please forgive me if i have my wires cross,” his voice trembles a bit. “i’ve been really enjoying coming here with you and the texts here and there.”

your body fills with anxiety — your heart races and you begin to lightly pick at your nails, unsure of where he’s going with this conversation.

“i was thinking, if you’re okay with it, maybe we could hang out outside of the gym.” johnny avoids eye contact, something you’ve noticed he rarely does.

a breath of relief leaves you. “like a friend hang out or a date?” you ask.

“i was hoping for more of a date,” he clears his throat. “but if you don’t want that, i get it. we can just hang out as friends. that’s totally fine.”

“when and what time?”

“tomorrow night? how does 7 sound?” he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, something you notice he does a lot.

you grin up at him, heart fluttering with happiness. “it’s a date.”

[sceletaflores]

A Small Favor.

part one!

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: the stress of his new job is taking a toll on mike. he did such a good job helping you out, so you decide to repay the favor.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: 18+! MDNI! oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal fingering, handjobs, heavy on the praise, munch!mike always.

authors note: the heavily heavily HEAVILY requested part two is finally done. (quite literally wrote this instead of listening to my bio lecture) i still can't believe that fic has gotten so much traction, i hope this one measures up! it got waaaay more angsty near the end than i thought it would hehe also i decided to include everyone commenting under part one requesting part two in the taglist of this fic so you're welcome lol mwah <3

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It had been one week and three days since the couch incident, which is what you’ve lovingly taken to calling whatever happened between you and Mike. One week and three whole days of Mike dancing around you and the elephant in the room.

The morning after the couch incident he practically ran out the door taking Abby to school when you tried to bring it up. The next time you attempted to have “the talk” he stuttered out an excuse before retreating to the safety of his bedroom, so you gave up.

You know that there’s something between Mike and you that crosses the line of just friends, you both felt something change that night, but getting him to face his feelings and actually admit that will take work.

It's another night of sitting on Mike's couch mulling over what to do about the whole situation when you hear the front door open. You're shocked at first, usually you're asleep by the time Mike gets home. Sure enough when you check the clock it reads 6:33 in bulky red characters. Apparently, time flies when you're obsessing over how to get your friend turned complicated-accidental-one-night-stand to admit they have feelings for you.

You try (and fail) not to listen in on every move Mike makes in the kitchen, fighting to keeping your gaze trained on the TV as he makes his way to the living room.

In your eyes peripheral vision you see him begin to make his way to the couch, but he hesitates when his eyes fall on you. He awkwardly hovers between the two rooms for a few seconds until he takes a breath and walks over to the couch.

Mike sits next to you on the couch with a soft grunt. You wrestle with the need to look at him fully, but you can see out of the corner of your eye he's taken off his work boots and vest. His hair is sticking out at weird angles, curls frizzy and unruly. Your hand twitches against your thigh with the want to run your fingers through them.

You can feel your heart beat faster, struggling to sit still in the thick tension surrounding the two of you. You flick your eyes back to the TV in a vain attempt to focus on anything other than Mike.

Eventually, you lose the fight with your screaming inner monologue and chance a sideways glace in his direction. You're beyond surprised to find him already looking at you.

You stare back, a deer caught in headlights. The dim light coming from the TV highlights his eyes. Mike opens his mouth to seemingly break the silence but he stops himself short of actually speaking. You can see him fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt.

It’s silent for a beat before you decide to speak up.

“Hi.” You say, it's a whisper but you might have well just yelled with how it cuts into the air between the two of you. Mike lets out what might be laugh, it sounds forced. "Hi." He replies stiffly.

"Home later than usual." You point out, fidgeting with your nail. Mike's home a little after 6: everyday, him being home 30 minutes late is odd.

Mike nods, he lets his head fall onto the back of the couch allowing his eyes to slip closed as he does. "Yeah," He replies, the position of his head allows you to get your greedy fill of his sharp jawline. "Jobs been hell."

You don't respond, but you know. Mike's been haggard recently, and not just because of the couch incident. The bags under his eyes have gotten worse, he's been forgetful, not to mention how much more neurotic and paranoid he's been.

Mike has been a wreck these past couple of days, and you want nothing more than to help him feel good. If not for just a few minutes.

You take a chance, and move to let your hand rest over his jean clad thigh. Mike tenses up immediately but doesn’t move to run or push your hand off.

"I could help you,” You say quietly, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. Mike's wide eyes flit rapidly between your eyes and lips. “Help you relax…” You trail off, voice barely above a whisper.

Your offer hangs heavy in the silence that settles. Mike just stares at you, after a while you start to regret making such a bold move. There’s an apology’s on the tip of your tongue, but when you start taking your hand off Mikes thigh he quickly grabs your wrist.

Your eyes snap back up to meet Mikes. His pupils are blown out, black encompassing warm brown. His tongue comes out to swipe across his bottom lip.

“You can...” Mike says simply, guiding your hand back to his thigh. Only he places it much higher up, high enough that you can feel the rough metal of his zipper brushing against the tip of your pinkie. "I need it." He breathes out desperately, eyes big and pleading. You allow yourself a second to just watch Mikes face before you start to move with a purpose.

You snake your hand lower, finding the already hard length of his cock through the rough material of his jeans. Mirroring what he did to you those ten days ago, you start to grind the heel of your hand against him.

Mike shudders, eyes fluttering shut at your touch. You can physically see tension slowly exit his body, leaving him slack and relaxed enough to sink deeper into the couch cushions.

The sight of him at ease and comfortable lights a fire in you. You feel a deep primal need to care for him, to make him feel good.

Patience wearing thin, you reach for the button of his jeans. Even in your arousal induced haste, you take a beat to appreciate the swell of Mike's cock pressing up against the denim. If this was any other time, you'd want to draw it out. To tease Mike until he can't take it anymore, but now is not any other time.

You pop the button to Mike's jeans, dragging the zipper down swiftly and pulling the flaps of his jeans open to frame his lewdly tented boxers. You can hear Mikes breath hitch, unable to keep from squirming under your intense gaze. The thin material leaves nothing to the imagination, the length and girth of him on display. There's a growing wet patch near the tip that's turned the light blue fabric dark and slick. An ache starts deep in your core, anticipation making you feel warm all over.

Slowly, you tug his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free and smack up against his stomach. "Ah! Shit," He hisses, hands balling up into fists by his sides.

Mike's dick is perfect. A nice length and girth you know will have your jaw aching in the best way later. The tip a soft pink color, and steadily leaking a stream of pre-come.

"I want to blow you," You say softly, getting close to Mike so your lips brush over his ear with every word. He shivers, mouth dropping open in a quiet moan. "Will you let me?"

Mike nods his head frantically. "Please," He pants, chest rising and falling quickly. "Please, I want it."

His begging is music to your ears.

You slide off the couch, kneeling between Mike's spread thighs. His straining cock makes your mouth water in anticipation. Holding the base in your hand, you lean forward to lick a board stripe from root to tip. Moaning at the heady taste and velvety feel of him on your tongue.

"God." Mike groans at the feel of your tongue.

You pull off with a slick pop, breaking a small thread of saliva trailing from the head of Mike's dick to your lips with your tongue. You lave over the tip, looking up to find Mike staring at you flushed and dark-eyed. You keep the eye contact as you sink back down, beginning to build up a rhythm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mike raise his hands before hesitating, and dropping them back down to the couch cushion. You can tell he wants to touch you, but he’s unsure of himself. You take his hands in yours, and place them on the top of your head.

At first he just sort of holds your head, overthinking what to do even with your permission. You’d laugh if you weren’t so busy preening over the feel of his unfairly big hands holding your head delicately, like he might break you.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Mike whispers, his words trailing off as he watches your lips work over his throbbing cock. His confidence grows, finally allowing himself to run his fingers through your hair and gather it in a loose fistful. Your moan of encouragement has him tightening his grip just a touch.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes quietly, you give him a lick underneath the head of his cock in response. "Fuck. Feels so good.”

You hum in response, working Mike's cock faster to draw out more of those whimpers that he can't hold in. Hollowing your cheeks and sinking down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slick slurping sounds.

Mike's noises have gotten progressively louder by the second, you can feel his pulse beating wildly against your tongue through the vein running up his cock. You know he's close, and you're desperate to make him come.

You give him one long languid suck, swirling your tongue over the head as you pull off. His cock is slick with your spit, pulsing warningly. You use the wetness of your saliva as a makeshift lube to start stroking over him slowly.

"How's it feel, Mike?" You purr sensually,

When you sink back down, you don't break eye contact. Mike's eyes roll back into his head, the way his lips part on a sharp gasp, how his back arches off the couch, how his fist tightens even more around your hair.

Above you, Mike grunts, "Oh fuck, baby," His back arches, a rough gasp torn from his throat. The hand in your hair tugs sharply as he chokes out, "Gonna come, shit, gonna fucking come."

Mike shouts hoarsely, hips stuttering as he starts to come. His cock gives one final twitch in your mouth before he pumps load after load of warm come into your mouth. You moan loudly at the taste of his release coating your taste buds, swallowing what pools on your tongue routinely.

You continue to work your mouth over his cock, bringing Mike through the aftershocks of his orgasm, reveling in the broken sounds he keeps making. You lave your tongue over him savoring the taste of him, until he's tugging at your hair to pull you off his sensitive cock.

"C'mere, c'mere." He whines desperately. You’ve barely come up for air before Mike is bodily dragging you into his lap and kissing you like he needs it more than air.

His hand darts down your body and into your sweats. Mike moans in your mouth at the feel of your lacy panties absolutely soaked with your arousal. He wastes no time in finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over it with his thumb drawing a loud moan from your lips.

"Shit," You exclaim, nails digging into Mike's forearm. Your hips buck up into his touch, chasing his touch. "Mike..." You whine, needing him to do more.

"You drive me fucking crazy," He whispers roughly against the side of your face, sliding his pointer finger through the slick wetness of your folds. "I can't stop thinking about you."

“Oh god, Mike.” His fingers feel amazing, rubbing you in all the right places, his words lighting a fire in your stomach.

Mike gathers your wetness before pushing his thick middle finger in your tight heat. Your own moan gets drowned out by his guttural groan at the feeling of you clenching down on his finger.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He moans, thrusting his finger in and out of your aching pussy slowly. "You're so perfect, so perfect for me." Mikes lips trail kisses down your jaw as he adds a second finger into your dripping pussy, brushing against the spot inside you that sends white hot sparks of pleasure zinging up your spine.

"How's that feel?" He asks roughly, throwing your earlier teasing back in your face. You moan wantonly, hips moving grinding down as you ride his fingers in earnest.

Mike angles his hand in a way that lets his fingers thrust into you, hitting your g-spot all while the palm of his hand grinds into your clit

“I’m gonna come, Mike,” You whine desperately, hips stuttering as you tip over the edge. “I’m coming.”

"Yes, come for me." Mike whispers, lips brushing over your cheek.

Your chest heaves as you come down from your orgasm, collapsing against Mikes chest. You're an absolute mess, thighs shaking and sweat dripping down your back. A hiss escapes your mouth as Mike eases his fingers out of your twitching pussy. "Sorry." He whispers softly, kissing the top of your head tenderly.

You allow yourself to lay on his chest with his strong arms around your waist, keeping you close. So close you can feel his warm breath puffing out against your neck.

You don't want to let it, but reality sets in. "Are you gonna run away in the morning?" Your voice is so quiet you don't know if Mike even heard, and you can't force yourself to look up at him.

It takes him a second to register your words, you don't have to look at him to know he's wincing. "I," Mike starts, trying to find the right words. "I don't know." He admits, lips brushing against your hair.

The anger mixed with shame and embarrassment is quick to come, you scoff pushing off Mike's chest so you can go home. "Of course." You spit bitterly.

"Wait!" He rushes out, arms tightening on your waist to stop you leaving.

"What?" You bite out bitterly, whipping your head around to stare daggers at Mike. It backfires on you almost immediately, forcing you to stare into his big sad dumb eyes. He falters, mouth opening and closing as he fumbles to say anything.

You can't help that the look in his eyes tames your anger ever so slightly. The way he's silently pleading with you to stay, his brows drawn in concern and lips pulled down in a frown. Your steely resolve crumbles pathetically.

"What?" You repeat quietly. Mike flounders for a second more, before he finally gives in. "Please stay." He exhales softly, hands planting themselves on your hips, giving them a light squeeze..

Maybe it's your shitty resolve, maybe it's the post orgasm afterglow clouding your judgement, maybe it's the earnest look in Mike's eyes that keeps you from pushing out of his grip and out the door, but you just can't bring yourself to leave.

You stare back at him wrestling with your thoughts, but it's a losing game and you know that.

"Okay," You whisper slowly, settling yourself back down into his lap. "I'll stay."

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i could NOT figure out how to end this, but maybe i could do a part three? would literally anyone want that?

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @mfdxz @mikeschmidtgf @lee-inthebox @sunny-deary @ncqari

extra taglist!

@ballorawan740 @slasherluvrrr @importantgalaxyrunaway @iwantsleepplz @theaterhoefornewsies

[604to647]

The Craft Market (a Safest with You story)

1.8K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: A stranger at the craft market recognizes your and Din’s dogs.

Warnings: None! Just a silly peek into Din and Pretty Bird’s very happy life 😊 Nicknames, obviously; one (1) full name reveal. Paz's dating shenanigans.

A/N: Just missed these guys so here is a little something about nothing 🥹 Takes place after The Epilogue.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻 / Series Masterlist

“What do you think their problem is?”

“Hmmmm?” you hum noncommittally at Rory while looking through a table display of handcrafted rings, “Who’s got a problem, babe?”

“There’s this group of girls following us from table to table, hovering and whispering.”

“Are you sure it’s not a coincidence?  The market is pretty crowded - they’re probably just browsing at the same pace as us, trying not to miss anything.”

Rory grits her teeth, “No, they keep looking at us before they huddle.”

“Did you maybe have a bad bridal consult with one of them?”

“I don’t have bad bridal consults,” deadpans Rory, then pretending to be offended, she looks pointedly at you, “and as of recently, I’ve only had one difficult bride.”  Lovingly, you stick your tongue out at her.

Feeling a wet nose nudge your hand, you turn and kneel, cooing, “Well, maybe they’ve been dazzled by these magnificent beasts!”  In a singsong voice, you continue to praise and make lovey dovey faces to Al and Lisette who have accompanied you and Rory to the outdoors craft market today, giving both pups vigorous ear rubs and laying big smooches on their snoots.

“Oh finally!” Rory smirks, “one of them grew a pair and is coming over.”  She proceeds to cross her arms and adopt what you know is her “Stance of Evil”; it’s an interpretation of the “Dad Stance” you’ve all seen Din use when he’s annoyed with the junior boxers at Mando’s, though Rory’s version is somehow more menacing and intimidating than that of the former professional fighter.

A girl you’ve never seen before calls out as she approaches, “Hi!! Are these your dogs?”

Ignoring the roll of Rory’s eyes in your peripheral, you reply, friendly, “Yup!  This is Alfredo and this is Lisette.”

“Oh my gosh, they are soooooo cute!  Have you had them for a long time?”

You have to think about it for a moment, “Well, I’ve had Al coming up on five years now.  My boyfriend and I adopted Lizzy in Spain last year.”

“YOUR BOYFRIEND?!?!” the girl’s exclamation is so unexpectedly incredulous that both you and Rory take a step back, confused, “Um, yes?  Well, I guess he’s actually my fiancé now.”

This somehow is even worse. “YOUR FIAN-” she chokes out, then spins around to yell to the still hovering group of friends who have been watching your entire exchange, “HE’S HER FIANCÉ!!!!!!!!!”

The group of girls comes tearing over, one of them in apparent distress, “So it’s them? It’s Al and Lisette?”

The first girl nods furiously and you look between them, concerned, “Uh, how do you know my dogs?”

“OH GIRL!” the newly arrived girl looks at you, eyes wide and regretful, “I’m so sorry, but I’ve been talking to your man – I promise I didn’t know he was engaged!  We met on a dating app and have been messaging for a few weeks now.  He took me out last Saturday and brought the dogs – that’s how I recognized them when I saw you today.”  She finishes her story by awkwardly petting both Al and Lisette on the head, as if they might be judging her for her indiscretions.

“Oh!” This girl is clearly quite distraught, and, as far as you can see, being so completely earnest that you don’t know how to tell her that what she’s said just isn’t possible.  Din’s loyalty and devotion to you is incontrovertible, and frankly, he just isn’t the type - infidelity and Din are like oil and water.

“That’s absurd,” states Rory.  Or you could have just said that.

The girl is practically in tears now, “I know it’s really hard to hear, but I swear it’s true!  I’m not the type of girl who goes out with guys that aren’t single – cheating is such a big deal to me, it makes me sick to my stomach!  I’m so, so sorry!”

Your urge to comfort this stranger is almost overwhelming, “Oh gosh, please, don’t work yourself up – I promise you there’s been a misunderstanding.  You see, you couldn’t have gone out with my fiancé last Saturday because Din and I were out of town, together, the entire weekend.  He surprised me with a couple’s package at a spa resort.”

“Who’s Din?”

“My fiancé?  Father of these two furballs?”  You pull out your phone and swipe to a picture taken of you and Din at Jimmy’s prize fight earlier this month.

“I don’t know that man,” though no longer frantic, the girl hardly looks relieved.

Smile warm, you shrug kindly, “That’s what I figured!  See?  There’s no cheating!  You’re okay!”

“I don’t understand… these are the dogs I met,” the entire group of girls still look so confused.

Suddenly, something clicks for you, “Is this who you went out with last week?”  You swipe to a picture of Din and Paz from the same evening.

The girl’s mouth drops open in shock, “Yes!  That’s Paz!  Why would he… is he some kind of sociopath?  Who the fuck lies about having dogs?”

Next to her, Rory is doubling over in laughter, Stance of Evil abandoned.

You sigh and give the girl an indulgent look, “Let’s get to the bottom of this right now.”

---

“Oh look, your wifey is calling,” grins Paz, holding up his phone for Din to see the caller ID from across the table.

The two best friends are at their usual table at their usual restaurant; Paz having already decided on the same thing he’s been ordering since him and Din started coming here in their teens, while Din has been squinting through his reading glasses and muttering for the last five minutes about how the print on these new menus is too small.  He peers over the offensive laminated sheet, “Well, don’t keep her waiting.”

Smile getting even wider as another old age joke comes to him, Paz answers on speakerphone, “Hey, Lil’ Lady!”

“Pasquale Jamal Vizsla.”

“Oh shit,” the two men wince in unison.

Having heard Din’s voice in the background, your tone softens - lilt rising to a sweet song, “Hi Din!”

Now it’s Din’s turn to beam while Paz stews, “Hey, pretty bird! How’s the craft market going?”

“It’s great, baby!  I found a nice birthday present for Brian’s girlfriend and picked up some new martingales for the dogs.”

“The dogs have enough collars, sweetheart.”

“That’s right - they do now,” you counter, smiling; there’s never any bite to Din’s reprimand about how much you spend on Al and Lisette – he spoils them ten times worse anyways.

“Can’t wait to see everything when you get home,” purrs Din, clearly taking pleasure in watching Paz squirm nervously in his seat, “Say hi to Rory for me.”

Hi Din! echoes from somewhere in the background – apparently, you’re using speakerphone as well.

“Paz,” your voice drops to a register so serious, Paz swears he can feel the withering stare that accompanies it, “do you remember that conversation we had about using pictures of my dogs on your dating profile?”

“Sure, Lil’ Lady,” the mob enforcer treads carefully, “it’s fine?”

You prompt him, “As long as…?”

“As long as,” sighs Paz, head hanging like a school boy caught cheating on an arithmetic test, “I’m clear that they aren’t my dogs.”  For a few seconds, nothing can be heard but Din’s stifled laughter; silence while you wait for some kind of follow-up confession.

Instead, Paz goes on, “I don’t really see the harm in letting it be, at least for the first few dates?”  Din drops his face in his hands, groaning and shoulders shaking in amusement as he listens to his best friend continue to hang himself: “Like, it’s kind of weird to just bring up right away that the dogs in those photos aren’t mine?”

“Um, no?” your tone bewildered, “what’s weird is pretending to own dogs that aren’t yours?”

“I mean, I’m not saying they’re mine… I’m just not… not saying they’re mine?” even Paz looks confused at his words, eyes screaming at Din for HELP.

“And to answer your earlier question, Paz - the harm is that when you don’t tell the truth about something so minor, something that no sane person would ever think you might lie about, I end up meeting… hang on, sorry babes, I didn’t get your name? …meeting Cassie at the craft market who Hey Girly’d me thinking that she went on a date with my fiancé last weekend?”

Din is in hysterics, wheezing at the ridiculous notion, “Pretty bird, I would never.”

Somewhere in the background, Rory shouts, “She never doubted you for a second, Din!”

Once again, your voice softens and fills with affection when addressing your man, “I know, baby - I was fine.  But poor Cassie here thought she had unwittingly been involved in a cheating scheme and it stressed her out!  Paz, I think you owe her an apology.”

“Aw fuck, you’re right, you’re both right.  Cassie, I’m sorry – I promise I’m not a serial liar and I was being genuine about everything on our date except this.  I thought it was harmless, but there isn’t an excuse for any type of dishonestly… please forgive me.”

There’s a muffled discussion that neither Din nor Paz can make out no matter how intently they try to listen, each shoving the other’s head out of the way while trying to lean closer towards the phone.  Finally, after what feels like forever, a voice Din doesn’t recognize comes on the line, “Ok, Paz.  Your friend convinced me that you’re really a good guy… so I forgive you.”

“Thanks, Cassie.  I promise I won’t let you down – call you later?”

The voice giggles, “Ok.”  Shuffling of the phone is heard before your voice comes back on, louder and clearer – you’ve taken yourself off speakerphone, whispering hurriedly, “Dude!  Sorry to ambush you!  Obviously, while I don’t condone lying for any reason, the dog thing isn’t really the end of the world – just dumb? But Paz, she was so upset!! I had to make a big deal out of it and call you out on the spot so you could be a good guy and apologize right away in order to salvage this thing!!”

Paz breathes a sigh of relief, “Thanks Lil’ Lady, you’re a good wing woman.”

“I’m the best!  Promise me no more stupid lies!  Love you both, bye!”  You hang up after you hear Din’s sweet Love you more, pretty bird.

Both men laugh and exhale loudly, shoulders relaxing at the final turn of the phone conversation.

“Brother, I thought you were cooked when she pulled out your full government name,” cackles Din, eyes crinkled in mirth.

“Same.  Your wifey can be scary.”

“I know,” a dreamy look passes over Din’s face before morphing into a stern gaze, eyes narrow, “Leave my dogs out of your love life.”

“Geez Louise.  You’ve got bigger problems, old man – do you need me to ask the waitress for a magnifying glass?” quips Paz, too busy laughing at his own joke to duck the incoming sweetener packet that hits him square in the forehead.

[honeydippedfiction]

Wait For Love {qh43}

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Summary: Sometimes love takes a long time to blossom, especially when that person is your childhood best friend.

WC: 11.8k

Warnings: childhood friends to lovers tropes, angst, longing, repressed feelings.

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

A/N: Thank you Luther for the inspo💖

Knowing love the way I do

I can say for certain that it's true

There's a chance for me and you

The streets of the city feel colder than usual tonight, the winter air biting sharply at my cheeks as I walk. My hands are buried deep within the pockets of my coat, seeking refuge from the chill. The city hums around me—a constant buzz of life, from the steady rhythm of passing cars to the distant, indistinct chatter of strangers, to the occasional honk of a horn, a sharp interruption in the night. But all of it fades, becomes little more than background noise, a steady drone that barely registers against the weight of my thoughts.

My feet know the way; they’ve carried me this route countless times before. But tonight, the familiar pavement beneath me feels like nothing more than a stage for my restless mind, and it’s racing, circling back to one thing, over and over again: Quinn Hughes.

I’ve always prided myself on my independence. I’ve spent years learning to be comfortable in my own skin, growing into the woman I’ve always wanted to become. The girl I used to be, the one who hid behind walls of self-doubt, is long gone. I’m strong now, capable, the kind of person who doesn’t need anyone else to feel whole. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But there’s this quiet, persistent ache—a feeling that settles heavily in my chest whenever his name comes to mind. Quinn.

I surely feel like the time is near

The picture in my mind is very clear

I think love has brought us here

Quinn has always been there. He’s been my friend since childhood, the one who knew me before I knew myself, the one who saw me through the most uncertain parts of my life. For years, I carried a quiet, unspoken love for him, never daring to voice it. I told myself it was just a phase, something I’d eventually grow out of. But the longer time passes, the more I realize that it’s not something I can simply wish away. It’s not a passing infatuation. It’s something deeper, something that refuses to be ignored. 

I remember not too long ago

I was just a lonely person with a lonely heart, yeah

And I was hoping there could one day be

Be a chance for me to...

I remember not so long ago, feeling... lonely. Not in the conventional sense—no, I had people around me, a family who cared, friends who made me laugh, a life that others might envy. But despite all that, there was a space in me that felt hollow, like something was missing, some piece I couldn’t quite identify. I used to tell myself it was just a phase. I was waiting, I thought, waiting for something—someone—but I didn’t know who or what. I nodded and smiled whenever people talked about love, about romance, the things I should want. But in the quiet of my own mind, it was always Quinn I was waiting for. I just didn’t have the courage to admit it, not even to myself. And so I kept silent, burying that truth deep inside, afraid that speaking it aloud might risk the one friendship I held most dear.

But I’m not that lonely person anymore. Not entirely. I’ve grown. I’ve evolved. The emptiness that once hovered around the edges of my life, like an ever-present shadow, is mostly gone. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. Yet, even as I move forward, carving out a life that feels fuller, there’s a part of me that hasn’t changed. A part of me that still longs for something more—something deeper. And I’d like to think I’ve buried it, tucked it away beneath the surface, convinced myself it’s a thing of the past. But tonight, as the city lights blur in my peripheral vision and the crisp air fills my lungs, I realize I can’t pretend any longer. I can’t ignore it. Not anymore.

Get the love that I'd been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

For a long time, I thought it was just about impatience. That yearning for something I didn’t have. But now, with clarity settling in, I understand it’s not about impatience at all. It’s about timing. About waiting for the right moment, for the right person. And tonight, my heart tells me that the time has come. 

I don’t know what Quinn feels. I don’t know if he’s ever felt the same, or if he ever will. But one thing I do know is this: I can’t keep walking this path of uncertainty. Not anymore. I can’t continue down this road without facing the truth. I’m ready now. I’m ready to risk it all, to finally unfold my heart and see where it leads. I think... I think it's time.

But wait for love and you're gonna get the

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

Oh my

The memories of those summers are so vivid, so close, yet distant in a way. It feels like they could have happened yesterday, but when I reach for them, they blur at the edges, like pages worn with time. I can still picture the lakehouse, nestled in the heart of the woods, its weathered wood and moss-covered roof blending seamlessly with the towering pines that surrounded it. The scent of pine trees hung thick in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of damp soil and the crisp bite of fresh water. 

The sound of the lake’s gentle lap against the shore was a constant, comforting backdrop, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire pit where we roasted marshmallows until they were charred and sticky, the taste of burnt sugar still lingering on my tongue. That lakehouse was more than just a vacation spot—it was our second home, the place where Quinn and I spent every summer, and where the bond between us solidified, becoming something unshakable.

We were inseparable, our families so close it felt like we were part of one large unit. Summers in that little cabin were days filled with adventure and laughter, and I was always right there beside him. It didn’t matter what we were doing—whether we were scaling trees to build makeshift treehouses that were more daring than structurally sound or wielding hockey sticks like swords, pretending we could conquer the world with nothing but our imagination. 

“Watch out, Quinn! I’m coming for you!” I’d shout as I charged, hockey stick raised in mock defense.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Quinn would laugh, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted ahead, the wind whipping through his hair.

We’d race across the yard, our hearts beating fast with that pure, carefree energy that only childhood could provide. The park was our kingdom, and we were always racing to it, even when the air was freezing and the world was dusted in snow. We’d slip and slide across the ice, our fingers numb, our breath swirling in the cold air like fog.

“Think you can beat me this time?” Quinn would tease, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he skated circles around me.

“You wish!” I’d reply, pushing myself harder, though my legs ached from the effort. 

It was in those moments, when the world seemed so simple, that everything felt perfect—like we were two kids with nothing to worry about except our next race or our next adventure.

When you take the chance on love you see

It's not a waste of time if you truly believe

The impossible can be

I can still see him, sitting across from me by the fire, the glow of the flames casting shadows on his face as he spoke about his dreams. His voice always had that eager, passionate edge when he talked about hockey, about one day going pro. His eyes would light up, that spark of ambition shining bright, and he was unstoppable. 

“I’m going to make it, you know,” he’d say, his voice steady, eyes focused on the flames. “I’ll get there. Just wait and see.”

I’d nod, my heart swelling with pride for him. “I know you will. You’ve got the skills. The drive. You’ll make it big, Quinn.”

But deep down, there was something else that stirred in me. A yearning for something more—something he’d never say out loud, and something I could never admit.

“You really think so?” he’d ask, looking at me, his face softened by the firelight. 

I’d swallow the words, knowing they would betray me if I said them aloud. “Of course. You’ve got everything it takes.”

But inside, I wondered: What if he saw me differently? What if he saw me the way I saw him?

He never seemed to notice how my heart would race every time he smiled at me, that small, knowing smile that was reserved just for me. It was a smile that could disarm me in an instant, yet I could never quite figure out if it meant anything at all. Was it just a friendly gesture, or was there something more behind it? 

I couldn’t tell, but I cherished those moments anyway. Even though they were like daggers to my heart, each one a reminder that I was just his best friend, I kept them close, buried in the deepest parts of me. I couldn't bring myself to risk the possibility of losing him, of ruining everything we had, by admitting how I truly felt. 

“Come on, you’re not seriously going to eat that much candy, are you?” Quinn would joke, as I stuffed another handful of sweets into my mouth, a sugary grin on my face. 

“I can handle it,” I’d say through a mouthful, laughing at his disapproving look.

“You’re going to have a sugar crash later,” he warned, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” I’d reply, secretly thankful for the moment, even if it was just about candy and nothing important.

Quinn never seemed to notice the way I looked at him, the way my eyes lingered on him when he wasn’t paying attention. He cared, of course—he was always looking out for me, always the first to notice when something was wrong. He was protective in the way only he could be. There were so many times when I’d find myself leaning against him, his arm casually around my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth. 

“You good?” he’d ask, looking down at me with that concerned frown, his hand brushing my hair back. 

I’d nod, even though there was a weight in my chest I could never explain. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Quinn.”

To him, it was just a comforting gesture, something simple. But to me, it was everything. It was moments like that when I convinced myself, for just a fleeting second, that maybe he saw me as something more. Maybe, just maybe, he could one day see me the way I wanted him to.

So hold on tight if you think you're right

'Cause nothing hurts as bad as when you see

You gave up too easily

But the truth was harder to face as time went on. Quinn never saw me like that. He didn’t look at me the way I looked at him, and I could feel the reality of that truth settling deeper into my chest. I wasn’t just his best friend—I was the person who knew him best, the one he could always count on, but nothing more. 

“Hey, you okay?” he’d ask sometimes, when I caught myself staring at him for too long, when my mind wandered off into places it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I’d answer, quickly looking away, pretending I wasn’t just lost in the feeling of wanting something more.

Now I remember spending all my time

On a dream that kept me wishing that you could be mine, yeah

Even now, the memory of our late-night talks stays with me. The nights we spent under the stars, lying on the roof of the cabin, making promises that no matter where life took us, we’d always be there for each other. I can still hear his voice, soft and steady, his words filled with the certainty that our friendship was a bond that nothing could break. For him, it was just that—a promise of always being there. For me, though, it meant something more. It meant I could keep holding on to the hope that one day, maybe, he’d see me as more than just his best friend. 

“I mean it,” Quinn would say, his voice serious, as we lay back, staring up at the stars. “No matter what happens, we’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.”

“I know,” I’d reply, my heart tightening at the weight of the promise, even though I knew what it truly meant. "I know.”

But even now, after all this time, that spark of hope refuses to die. I still find myself wondering, sometimes, if maybe—just maybe—one day Quinn will realize what’s been right in front of him all along. Until then, I’ll hold on to what we have, the quiet moments, the laughter, the promise of always being there for each other. It’s everything... and yet, it’s not enough.

And I was hoping there could one day be

Be a chance, whoa, for me to...

It’s strange how time works, how it stretches and folds over itself, and how some things remain unchanged no matter how much we grow. Here I am, in my early twenties, settled into a career I’ve worked hard for. My life is full in a way that makes sense to the world around me—busy with work, friends, the occasional weekend getaway—but still, every now and then, my mind wanders. More often than I’d like to admit, it drifts back to him—Quinn. I catch myself thinking about the way he used to be, the way he is now. Even with all the space between us, it feels like he’s always just there in the background of my life. 

I remember one of the last phone calls we had, months ago. The sound of his voice still brings a familiar comfort, even through the miles that have grown between us. 

"Hey, you busy?" Quinn asked, his voice like it always had been—casual, but with that spark of enthusiasm that never seemed to fade. 

“No, just working on some stuff. What's up?” I replied, trying to sound relaxed even though the simple act of hearing him made my heart race.

"Just thought I’d check in. It’s been a while," he said, a soft chuckle on the other end. "How’s everything on your end?"

“Good. Busy, you know—same old. How’s the NHL life treating you?” I asked, my voice a little lighter than I felt. 

He laughed, and I could almost picture the grin on his face. "It’s insane, honestly. Some days, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I never imagined I’d be here, you know?”

“I don’t think any of us imagined it,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “But I’m proud of you, Quinn. You’ve worked your ass off for this.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softening just a little. “It’s crazy to think about. Sometimes I wish I could share all of it with you… like we used to.”

Get the love that I'd been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

And just like that, I was back there, sitting next to him by the lake, watching the water shimmer beneath the moonlight, listening to his dreams about making it big. Those moments were so real, so full of possibility. Now, it felt like everything was a little more distant.

“I get it,” I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “You’re living your dream now. It’s amazing to see.”

"Yeah," Quinn said, a brief silence stretching before he added, "But it’s not the same without you around."

The words stung in the best way, and I forced a laugh to cover up the way my heart was twisting. “You’re just saying that. You’ve got a whole new world now.”

"I’m not," he replied earnestly. "It’s not the same, you know? It feels like we should be out there, still making those stupid bets at the rink or building treehouses, like we used to."

For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the memory of those days wash over me—the laughter, the freedom, the feeling of knowing exactly where I belonged. But the more time passed, the more I realized how different things had become.

“I know. Those were the days.” My voice was almost a whisper, heavy with unspoken words. “But you’re doing great, Quinn. You’ve got the world at your feet.”

“I guess,” he said, though the uncertainty in his voice made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “But I still wonder, you know… if I could have had something more. Something like we had.”

More? The word echoed in my head. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Or was it just another reminder of how I’d always been in the background, a permanent fixture in his life but never more than that?

Before I could respond, he broke the silence. “Anyway, I should probably let you go. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said, my chest tight. “We’ll catch up soon, okay?”

“Definitely. Talk soon,” he replied, his voice soft, like he didn’t want to hang up. But the call ended, and I was left with nothing but the echo of his words. 

We’ve kept in touch over the years, of course—texts, the occasional video call—but it’s never quite the same. We’ve grown into different people, leading different lives, and I suppose that’s how it’s meant to be. Life pulls us in different directions. But Quinn? He’s never truly left. In some ways, it feels like we’re still those kids—building treehouses, sneaking into the frozen park to play hockey at night—but now, when I hear about him, it’s not just the kid who passed me a hockey stick and shot me that mischievous grin. It’s the captain of the NHL Canucks. The man who has achieved the dream he used to talk about so fervently when we were younger.

I still remember that one text from him a few months ago. He had sent it late at night, a simple, two-word message that had stopped me in my tracks: "Miss you." I stared at the screen for so long, trying to figure out what it meant, why it made my heart beat faster. What did that mean? Was he just being nostalgic? Was he reminding me of the old days, the times when everything felt simple and easy?

I’d typed a response, then deleted it. Typed again, and deleted it again. I finally settled on something casual: “Miss you too. Hope everything’s good.”

He’d replied quickly, as if he’d been waiting for my response: “Yeah. It’s good. But sometimes, I wish we could go back to those days.”

I almost told him that I did too. That I never stopped wishing we could go back to the way things were, to the way we were. But I didn’t. I kept it inside, like I always did.

I’m proud of him. So proud. I watch from the sidelines, cheering him on as he rises to the top of his sport, a star now in a world I can only observe from a distance. I remember sitting beside him on the dock, listening to his hopes for the future as he stared out at the water. I can still hear his voice, full of ambition, imagining himself in the NHL, playing for a team, leading them, making his mark. I never imagined it would happen, not really, but here he is, living that dream. And there I am, just a little further away than I ever expected to be.

But no matter how far he’s gone, no matter how famous he’s become, there’s a part of me that still sees him as that same kid—the one who spent summer after summer with me, the one who would laugh so hard that he couldn’t breathe, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I’ll always see him like that, even when the whole world calls him a hero. He’s a star now. But for me, he’s always been more than that. 

I’ve waited for so long. The years have stretched into a blur of "almost" and "maybe." Each time I think I’m ready to tell him how I feel, to finally let those words slip from my lips, the hesitation comes crashing in. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if everything we’ve built over the years crumbles? What if this whole thing I’ve built up in my mind is just that—a fantasy? Maybe it’s not even about Quinn at all. Maybe it’s about love in general, the idea of it. Maybe I’ve romanticized this so much, projected all my hopes and desires onto him because it's easier to do that than to confront the terrifying uncertainty of what love really is.

I catch myself at odd moments, reminding myself that love takes time. That waiting isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s about finding the right person, the right timing. “Sometimes love takes a long time,” I tell myself, over and over, like a mantra I need to believe. The doubt always lingers, of course. The wondering, the fear that maybe it’s all for nothing, that this waiting, this yearning, is just a cruel exercise in futility. But then, somewhere deep inside, there's this small, stubborn belief that it’s not. I can’t let go of the feeling that it’s all leading somewhere. Maybe it’s not now. Maybe it’s not tomorrow. But I have to believe that it’s leading somewhere.

I still think about Quinn, about us, about the bond we’ve always shared, the way it has always felt undeniable. Even when it was buried under layers of time, distance, and different lives, it’s always been there—this pull between us, something constant, something that’s never quite gone away. There are moments, fleeting and soft, when I’ll catch myself smiling at a memory of him—of us—and I wonder what would happen if I just let go of the fear, the doubts, and told him the truth. Would he feel the same? Would he be surprised? Would we even be able to go back to what we were before? 

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what will happen between us. But deep down, there’s still this quiet part of me that refuses to give up, that still clings to the belief that love—real love—is worth waiting for. That maybe, just maybe, Quinn will look at me one day and see me the way I’ve always wanted him to. Maybe we were always meant to be more than just friends. 

And so, I wait. Not because I have to, but because, somewhere deep inside, I believe it’s worth it. That one day, somehow, the timing will be right. And when it is, maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally see me for what I truly am: someone worth loving.

But until then, I wait.

But wait for love and you're gonna get the

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

Oh my

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

I hadn’t planned on seeing Quinn anytime soon. Sure, we’d been catching up sporadically through texts and calls, keeping the connection alive from a distance, but the reality of actually seeing him in person again felt like something out of reach. It had been years since our paths last crossed face to face, and I had almost convinced myself that it was fine—life moved on, and so had I. The occasional messages, the brief updates about his career, about his rise to fame, had to be enough. I had accepted that. 

But there I was, walking into the charity gala, no expectations, just there to mingle, network, and maybe enjoy the night. I’d dressed up, made my way through the crowd, smiling and exchanging pleasantries, all while silently wondering if I was missing something, someone. Then, in the middle of it all, I saw him.

Across the room. As if fate had pulled some strings just to make sure we met again. It took a few moments for my mind to process the sight of him, standing there in his crisp suit, as effortlessly confident as I remembered. But before I could think, before I could even move, our eyes locked.

For a second, time seemed to stand still. The noise of the room—the laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into the background. I couldn’t hear anything except the sudden, rapid beat of my own heart. His gaze met mine, and in it, I saw something I wasn’t quite prepared for. The recognition was there, of course. He knew me, I knew him. But there was something else now—a depth, an intensity that hadn’t been there before. His eyes seemed to search mine, as though measuring the space between us, as if he was seeing me in a way he hadn’t before.

And then, like a breath of fresh air, he smiled—the same smile that had haunted me for years. That little upturned corner of his mouth that always made my heart skip a beat. It had always been his signature, a smile that spoke of inside jokes, shared memories, and a connection that ran deeper than anything we could say out loud. But now, as he smiled at me, there was something more to it—a hint of something uncertain, like he was waiting for me to do something, say something, make the first move. I watched as his eyes lingered on mine for just a little longer than they should have, and my pulse quickened. 

I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it just me imagining things, or was there really something there? Was it wishful thinking? Or was Quinn… was he looking at me differently? I couldn’t say for sure, but the way he stepped forward, just slightly, made my heart race with the possibility. Was this the moment I had been waiting for?

He didn’t break the gaze. Instead, he gave a soft laugh, his voice like warm honey as it reached me across the room. 

“Well, well... Look who it is,” Quinn said, his words smooth, as though he’d been waiting to say that for years. 

I took a step toward him, my body betraying the nervous flutter that had settled in my stomach. “Quinn,” I breathed, almost forgetting how to say his name, the familiarity of it making me feel suddenly small. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

The moment was oddly casual, but I could feel the tension creeping in, a familiarity now laced with uncertainty.

His smile deepened, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, same here. I didn’t think I’d see you again like this. But... I guess life’s full of surprises, huh?”

I laughed, though it came out a little breathier than I’d intended. “Definitely full of them.” I paused for a moment, unable to stop myself from adding, “You look... great. You’ve come a long way, Quinn. I mean... captain of the Canucks? That’s huge.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual modesty taking over. “Yeah, crazy, right? But I don’t know... I kind of feel like I’m just a kid in a grown-up suit sometimes. It’s hard to believe. And you? You look just like... like you always have. Still got that smile that could light up a room.”

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words, a blend of pride and something deeper, something that made my chest ache with memories. “I haven’t changed that much,” I said, though my voice had lost the usual steadiness. “Life’s been busy, but good. A little different, but... you know.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied, his gaze never fully leaving mine. “So, what’s new with you? What have I missed?”

It was such a simple question, but it carried so much weight. The past few years, the things we’d both experienced—it felt like we should be catching up on all of that. But even as I started to speak, I found myself stumbling over the words. 

“Not much, really. Just—well, you know, work. Same old stuff. But yeah, I’ve had a few changes, a few milestones.” I laughed, unsure if I should dive into the bigger things. But he was waiting, his eyes encouraging me to share. 

“I see.” Quinn’s voice had dropped slightly, as though the conversation had shifted in tone, something more sincere threading its way through. “I’m glad things are going well for you.”

There was a pause, a beat where we just looked at each other, and in the silence, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t name. Something unspoken passed between us, and for the briefest moment, it felt like we were the same as we once were—those kids who sat by the lake dreaming, talking about the future. But then reality seeped back in, reminding me that so much had changed. 

“I missed this,” Quinn said suddenly, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’ve missed... us.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I smiled. “Me too, Quinn. It’s been a long time.”

We stood there for a moment, the noise of the gala around us fading as we settled into an unspoken understanding. The past, the memories, the history between us—it was all still there, lingering just beneath the surface. But something else was there too—a connection that had always been between us, one that hadn’t been fully explored, one that I now realized might never be if we didn’t take the chance. 

“So, what now?” I asked, suddenly more aware of the distance between us. “How does this... how does tonight go?”

He shrugged, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Well, for starters, we actually enjoy ourselves for once. No more distance, no more ‘maybe someday.’ How does that sound?”

It felt like an opening, like a door waiting to be walked through. I hesitated only for a moment, before a small, genuine smile pulled at the corners of my mouth.

“That sounds like exactly what I need.” 

And in that moment, the air between us shifted, like a weight had been lifted. The tension didn’t disappear, but it felt like we had moved past it, past the years and the silences. Maybe this was the moment I’d been waiting for, the moment when everything could finally fall into place.

We exchanged a few more words, our conversation now flowing freely, but the undercurrent between us hadn’t changed. It had deepened. 

I didn’t know where things would go from here, or if it was just a fleeting moment, but as we stood there together, talking, laughing again like we used to, I knew one thing: the timing felt different now. Maybe this time, things would fall into place. Maybe this time, the connection we’d always shared would become something more. 

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe it.

I never stopped believing there could one day be a chance

For me to…

I couldn’t shake the conversation with Quinn. It was like a small ripple in my mind that only grew larger with every passing hour. The sound of his voice, the way his eyes lingered a little too long, the weight of his words—it all felt so heavy, but in a way that was different from anything I’d ever felt before. I tried to push it aside, focusing on the mundane, letting the night pass like any other, but it followed me.

I tossed and turned in bed, replaying every glance, every smile. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, his expression, that smile that felt both like a memory and a promise. The hours drifted on, and with them, the clarity I had briefly felt began to dissolve, replaced by doubt. Was I misinterpreting everything? Maybe this was nothing. Maybe Quinn still saw me as just his best friend—the girl he’d known forever. 

But then I thought about the way he looked at me, as though searching for something in my eyes, like he was seeing me for the first time. Was it just me, or had something shifted?

I pulled out my phone, thinking about the text he’d sent earlier that evening, casual and lighthearted. Was it just that? Casual? A little friendly banter between old friends? Or was there something more hidden between the lines? I stared at the message, but my thumb hovered over the reply button, unsure.

Was I supposed to make the first move? What was he waiting for? It was hard to know. The magnetic pull between us was undeniable. Every glance, every word, felt charged with some invisible energy. But he never took the step. Was it up to me? Was I the one who had to make it clear? 

The thought gnawed at me. And yet, even the thought of confronting him felt like standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying. 

I flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The more I thought about it, the more I doubted myself. The years apart could’ve clouded my judgment. Maybe I had built this connection in my mind, had let old feelings trick me into thinking that there was still something between us. After all, we were adults now. Nostalgia and memories often led us to romanticize the past.

But then, just when I thought I had this all figured out, the memories came rushing back—clear and vivid, like a tide reclaiming the shore.

Get the love that I'd been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

I was fifteen, reeling from my first real breakup. The weight of the world felt like it was pressing down on me, and I had no idea how to escape it. I remember sitting on the swing in the backyard, my knees pulled to my chest, tears slipping down my face. Everything hurt—every thought, every breath. It felt like my heart was shattered beyond repair. And then Quinn had appeared, as quietly as ever, standing there in his flannel shirt and worn jeans.

He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t ask me what was wrong or try to comfort me with empty words. Instead, he just sat down beside me, and without hesitation, wrapped his arms around me—just a little too tightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low and steady. "You okay?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. But he didn’t push. He just pulled me closer, letting me rest my head against his shoulder. 

I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a silent promise, one that said he was there, that I wasn’t alone, even if I couldn’t find the words to explain how lost I felt. The moment passed without either of us acknowledging it, as though it were nothing. And yet, it had stuck with me, like a soft, lingering touch.

Was that a sign?

I pulled back from the memory, but others came flooding in—times when I was feeling down, lost in my own doubts. There he was again, always quietly showing up, always knowing exactly how to pull me back from the edge. When I was overwhelmed, when the world felt too heavy to bear, Quinn was always there. His presence was a quiet reassurance. He never asked for anything in return. I hadn’t realized until now how often he had been my anchor, how often his proximity had made everything feel a little more bearable.

I sat up, running my fingers through my hair. The night was quiet around me, but my thoughts were loud. And then, I couldn’t ignore the nagging thought in the back of my mind: Had he always known? Had Quinn, all these years, understood the depth of the bond between us? Had he seen something I couldn’t fully admit to myself?

The memory of our conversation that evening crept back into my mind, clear as day. 

“You look great, you know?” Quinn had said, his voice warm with sincerity. “It’s been too long.”

I smiled, my heart fluttering in that familiar way. "You look just as I remember. Same old Quinn, huh?"

He'd chuckled softly, the sound like a gentle breeze. “I try to be. But... I dunno. It feels like a lifetime since we last really saw each other.”

The words hung in the air between us, and for a split second, I wondered if I had heard something more than what was said. He hadn’t just meant “seen” in the literal sense, had he? Maybe, like me, he was remembering more than just the time apart. 

And then, as if everything had clicked into place, I understood.

For so long, I had been waiting—waiting for the perfect moment to tell him, waiting for him to make the first move, waiting for everything to line up in some kind of ideal way. But in all that waiting, I had missed the point. 

What was I really waiting for?

I thought about the times we’d shared, the things we’d said without saying anything at all. How many times had we danced around the idea of more without ever fully stepping into it? How many opportunities had I passed up, thinking it wasn’t the right time?

I had spent all these years trapped in my own hesitation, constantly doubting myself, unsure of whether this was something worth pursuing. But now, standing here in the quiet of my thoughts, I realized something important: I had been too afraid. Afraid of confronting the depth of my feelings. Afraid of the uncertainty. Afraid of what it would mean if Quinn didn’t feel the same way.

But then another thought hit me—what if he did? What if, all along, the reason we had so many moments like that swing, like those quiet exchanges, was because there was something more there? Something both of us had been afraid to confront?

I stood up, pacing the room. I can’t keep waiting, I thought. Waiting for the stars to align, waiting for the perfect timing—those were excuses, defenses against something real and raw. Real love wasn’t about waiting for a moment of perfection. It was about taking a leap, even when the world wasn’t quite ready for it.

I had wasted enough time in this uncertain space, caught between what could be and what might never come. If I kept waiting, I would spend my life wondering, and that was the worst fate of all. I needed to know. I had to tell him.

No more hesitation. No more second-guessing.

The outcome, whatever it may be, no longer mattered. What mattered was that I couldn’t live with the doubt anymore. The fear of never knowing would always haunt me, far more than the fear of being vulnerable.

I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over his name. It was time.

I texted him: Quinn, we need to talk. Can I see you tomorrow?

The moment was now.

But wait for love and you're gonna get your

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love that you been missing

A few weeks ago, Quinn had invited me to the lake house in Michigan. He’d said it would be just like old times—his brothers, their friends, and me, all gathered together in the place where we used to spend our summers. I couldn’t help but wonder if this invitation was his way of trying to bring everything back to how it used to be, before we grew older, before life became more complicated. But another part of me, one that I was afraid to acknowledge, dared to hope that maybe this time, things could be different. Maybe this time, I would finally get the chance to tell him everything I had been holding inside for years.

The nights at the lake house were quieter than I expected, especially after everyone else had gone to bed. The fire crackled softly, sending flickers of light across the porch, the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls of the house. The crisp scent of pine filled the cool night air. It felt like a dream—the kind of night where everything is calm, but there’s an undeniable tension in the air.

Quinn and I were sitting side by side, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet not so close that it crossed the line between friendship and something more. It felt… intimate. The kind of intimacy that made my heart race in anticipation, and fill me with the kind of fear that comes from facing something unknown.

I tried not to think too much about it. I tried not to think about how much I had missed the sound of the water lapping at the shore, the familiar feeling of being with Quinn and his family. The memories hit me hard as I sat there beside him. The laughter of us all together on the boat, Jim teaching Quinn how to drive, Ellen and I sneaking off for girls’ days while the boys did their own thing at the country club. Jack asking for advice on girls, Luke pulling at his curls with frustration and me helping him tame them. 

So many summers spent together, countless memories etched into my heart. But now, those memories felt like they belonged to another life, one where we were all still children, and everything was simpler.

The boys had grown up. So had I.

And yet, Quinn was still the same. Still quiet, still observant. Still the person who could make me feel seen in a way that no one else ever had. The years between us, the time apart, hadn’t changed that. It had only made the feelings I had for him stronger.

I glanced over at him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire. He was staring into the flames, his expression unreadable. My pulse quickened. This is it, I thought. I can’t keep it in any longer.

“Quinn…” My voice faltered as I tried to find the right words. He turned his head toward me, his eyes meeting mine. 

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice soft, patient.

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. About us, about how things have changed.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly, the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I don’t think it’s just us that’s changed."

I nodded, a nervous laugh escaping me. “Yeah. Everything’s different now, right? It’s not the same as it used to be.” I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the sleeve of my jacket. “But some things... they’ve stayed the same. And I don’t think I’ve realized that until now.”

Quinn was quiet for a moment, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. The words rushed to the tip of my tongue, and before I could stop myself, I spoke. 

"I never stopped believing that there could one day be a chance for me to get the love I’ve been missing," I said, my voice quieter than I had intended. The words felt heavier than I could’ve imagined. I swallowed, my throat tight with emotion. "I’ve always had feelings for you, Quinn… and I’ve been afraid to speak them aloud."

The silence that followed was deafening. It wasn’t just quiet—it was thick, as though the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. My pulse pounded in my ears. I could feel the warmth of my confession hanging in the space between us, the weight of it pressing down on my chest. I had said it. I had said the thing I had been too scared to speak for so long.

Quinn didn’t say anything at first. He was quiet—too quiet. His eyes met mine, searching, but I couldn’t read his expression. It was as if the firelight flickering across his face obscured everything. His features were soft, but his gaze held something else. Confusion? Understanding? It was hard to tell.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, careful, as though he were choosing his words with the same caution I had used. “I’ve always valued you, Y/N. You’ve been my closest friend,” he said, his words slow, deliberate. "But now... now, I’m seeing you in a new light. And I think… I think I’ve felt something too. Maybe I didn’t recognize it at first, but it’s always been there. I’ve just been scared.”

My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing him correctly, or if this was just some dream I hadn’t yet woken up from. His words, so carefully chosen, matched the vulnerability I had just shown him. I felt my heart swell in my chest.

He shifted slightly, facing me more fully now. "I think I’ve been scared too," he continued, his gaze steady but soft. "Scared of ruining what we have. But now I see... I see that maybe we could have something even more. Something real."

I blinked, my mind racing to catch up with what he was saying. Could this be happening? Was this real?

Quinn let out a soft breath and smiled, a genuine smile that I hadn’t seen in years. "I’ve been holding onto what we had for so long, afraid to risk it, but now… now I think maybe I don’t need to be afraid anymore."

Sometimes love takes a long time

But wait for love and you're gonna get your

The space between us no longer felt like it had before. The air was different now—charged, full of possibilities. What had once been just a quiet friendship, built on years of shared memories and unspoken understanding, had suddenly evolved into something more. Something neither of us could ignore anymore.

The foundation we had built over all these years—the trust, the connection, the way we just knew each other—was the very thing that had made this moment possible. The love I had waited for wasn’t something that needed to be discovered; it had been there all along, buried deep inside both of us, waiting for the right moment to be recognized.

"Quinn..." My voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion. He turned to me again, his gaze locking onto mine, unwavering. I could feel the weight of everything unsaid between us, the years of shared history now leading to this moment. "I never thought we’d be here. I never thought I’d be able to say this out loud, but... I think I’ve been scared of it too."

His hand reached out, brushing lightly against mine, the touch sending a rush of warmth through me. 

And in that moment, everything shifted. Together, we were ready to face whatever came next. The fear that had held us back, that had kept us both standing on the sidelines, was gone now. It was time to take the leap.

For the first time in years, I didn’t have to wonder anymore. What had once been a dream—this love I’d been afraid to name—was finally becoming a reality.

“Me too,” Quinn murmured, his voice just above a whisper. And that was all we needed to hear.

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love that you been missing

The moment hung between us, suspended in time, as if the universe itself were holding its breath. We had both said the words—the confessions we had kept buried for so long. The feelings we had been too afraid to acknowledge for years were finally out in the open. The silence that followed felt like a heavy cloak, but strangely freeing, as though the weight of everything unspoken had finally been lifted. I could feel it then—the tension between us, like a taut string vibrating with all that we had just revealed.

For a long beat, neither of us moved. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of us, the space between us charged with an intensity I had never felt before.

Quinn broke the stillness first. His voice was barely a whisper, raw with emotion. “I didn’t expect this… not now. But I’m glad it’s happening.”

I nodded, feeling the same uncertainty mixing with something so pure and sure that it left no room for doubt. “Me neither,” I whispered back. “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

He shifted, his eyes dark and searching. “Why did we wait so long?”

I shook my head, a small laugh escaping me as I wiped away a stray tear. “I don’t know. Fear, maybe? Life got in the way? We were scared of ruining what we had.” The vulnerability in my voice matched the feeling in my chest—raw, exposed, but also strangely freeing.

Quinn’s gaze softened, and he took a small step closer, his body heat sending a warmth through me that steadied my racing heart. “I was scared too. Scared of losing you.” His voice wavered just slightly. “But now... now, I can’t imagine not taking this chance. Not with you.”

The sincerity in his words made something inside me flutter, and without thinking, I reached out, closing the distance between us, my hand gently resting against his chest. “Quinn, I—”

And then, without a word, he leaned in closer.

My breath caught in my throat. For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. It wasn’t just the sound of the crackling fire or the soft night breeze against our skin. It was just him. And just me. A quiet space, where the rest of the world—everything we had once been afraid to face—melted away, leaving only this moment.

Sometimes love it takes a long time

But wait for love and you're gonna get your

And then, finally, our lips met.

It was soft at first, tentative, like we were both waiting for some kind of confirmation that this was real, that it wasn’t just some dream we had been living in for so long. My pulse quickened, my hands trembling slightly as they hovered in the air, unsure of where to place them. But Quinn seemed to know. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, grounding me in this reality, in this moment that felt like a lifetime in the making.

The kiss deepened slowly, tenderly, a quiet exploration of everything we had been afraid to touch. It was as if we were savoring the very thing we had both waited for—our first kiss, yes, but also the culmination of all those years of longing, of hesitation, of what-ifs. His lips pressed against mine, a warmth that spread through my entire body, and I melted into him, letting go of the uncertainty, letting go of the fear that had kept me distant for so long.

When I pulled back just slightly, our foreheads rested together, my eyes still closed, feeling the rush of my breath as my chest rose and fell in time with the steady beat of my heart. A quiet laugh, filled with disbelief, escaped me—a soft exhale of pure joy, mixed with the realization that this was no longer just a dream.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, yet the weight of everything I’d kept hidden all these years was in those words.

Quinn’s thumb brushed gently across my cheek, the movement soft and tender, his other hand still holding me close, not wanting to let go. His gaze was full of warmth, his eyes darker in the low firelight, but filled with something undeniably genuine.

“So have I,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with the kind of tenderness that matched the kiss we had just shared. It was the most honest thing he had ever said to me, and in that moment, I knew—knew without a doubt—that everything had changed.

For a long moment, we just stayed there, holding each other, letting the afterglow of everything finally falling into place wash over us. I could hear the steady rhythm of my heartbeat in my ears, a reminder that this was real, that we were here, together.

Finally, the silence was broken, but this time, it was different—no longer awkward or uncertain. It was calm, peaceful, and full of meaning. 

“You know,” I began, lifting my head to meet his eyes again, “I used to wonder if love would just... happen, you know? If it would just be some big moment where everything made sense. I thought I had to find it, chase it.”

Quinn smiled softly, his hand finding the back of my neck, pulling me close again, his lips brushing mine once more in a soft, lingering kiss. "Sometimes love doesn’t need to be chased," he murmured against my lips. "Sometimes it just... happens."

“I guess I needed to learn that,” I said softly, as if the words were a revelation. "That love doesn't always come when you're looking for it. Sometimes, it comes when you're just... ready." My voice dropped, barely a breath. "And maybe I was finally ready."

Quinn’s thumb found the curve of my jaw, the touch gentle but firm. “I think we both were. All those years… it was all just leading us here. To now.”

And as the night stretched on, we stayed close, holding each other. My heart was no longer filled with doubts or what-ifs. We had crossed that line. There was no more waiting, no more wondering. There was only the future ahead of us, uncertain in its own way, but certain in one thing: we would face it together. And that was enough.

I shifted slightly, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes, and a soft whisper escaped my lips, barely audible over the sound of the crackling fire.

“Sometimes love takes a long time,” I said, my voice barely a breath. It was a realization that had never quite made sense to me before—not in the way it did now. But as I gazed up at him, as I felt the warmth of his embrace, I understood.

I had waited for this love for so long, and it had been worth every second.

Quinn’s hand found the back of my neck, pulling me close again, his lips brushing mine once more in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was the beginning of everything. The beginning of our journey, together. 

And in that moment, I finally understood: love doesn't always follow a straight line. Sometimes, it takes its time. But when it arrives, it feels like everything finally clicks into place.

And we were ready for it.

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love that you been missing

Things were different now—better, but different. Quinn and I had finally taken the leap, crossing the line we’d danced around for so many years. It felt like we had unlocked something, as if all the years of quiet longing, uncertainty, and self-doubt had been leading us to this moment. There was a sense of peace that came with it, the kind that settles deep within your chest when something you’ve been waiting for finally falls perfectly into place. But even with that peace, we both knew there would be challenges ahead.

Quinn’s career in the NHL was demanding, to say the least. As the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, his schedule was grueling. It felt like he was always on the move, always in the spotlight, always under pressure to be the leader his team needed. There were long stretches when he would be away for days—sometimes even weeks—traveling for games, handling media obligations, and preparing for matches.

I understood it. I truly did. I knew this was the life he had chosen, and it was one he was dedicated to. But understanding didn’t make it any easier. There were times when I would sit in our empty apartment, thinking about how much I missed him, wishing we could share just a little more time together. 

One evening, when Quinn had just left for a five-day road trip, I sat in the living room, feeling the quiet of the apartment press in on me. My phone buzzed on the coffee table. 

"Miss you already," the text from Quinn read.

I smiled softly and texted back, “Miss you too. I’ll save you some dinner.”

His response came almost instantly. “I can’t wait. Counting down the days until I’m back.”

I leaned back in the chair, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee mug. I could almost feel the distance between us, and for a moment, it felt impossible. But then, I thought about how we had always made it work. And we would continue to do so.

I had my own career, my own dreams, and sometimes those dreams took me down long hours at work—late nights spent hunched over my computer, diving into projects that had nothing to do with the love story we were building. But that’s the thing about relationships, isn’t it? It’s never just about the big moments. It’s the little ones, too—the ones that happen when you’re both in the same space, sharing your day, laughing over dinner, or curling up on the couch to watch a movie you’ve both seen a thousand times.

I told him once, "It’s not just about the grand gestures, Quinn. It’s about those small moments that make it all worthwhile. Like when we’re just sitting together, you know?"

He smiled at me, his face softened by the low firelight. "Those moments mean the most to me, too."

Sometimes love takes a long time

But wait for love and you're gonna get your

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love...ooh yeah

Navigating the balance between our professional lives and this new relationship wasn’t always easy. There were days, many of them, when I felt like we were ships passing in the night—when the weight of everything else would threaten to pull us apart. And there were moments when I hated the way distance crept in, that quiet space between us that was the result of too many days spent apart. 

There was a night when he came back from a trip, exhausted, but as soon as I saw him walk through the door, the flutter in my chest was back. It was like we were falling in love all over again. He pulled me into a tight hug, burying his face in my hair.

"I missed you," he murmured.

“I missed you too,” I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. “It’s crazy, right? How a few days apart can feel like forever?”

He chuckled softly. “Crazy, but it’s worth it every time I get to come back to you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, and I knew—no matter how much time we spent apart, we would always find our way back to each other.

It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t always easy, but I learned something important during those early days of our relationship: love, the kind we had, takes work. And it was work I was willing to put in. 

We made time for each other when we could. Even on the days when he was worn out from travel or I was buried in deadlines, we carved out moments that belonged only to us. We would share quiet evenings at home, just the two of us on the couch after a long day, exchanging soft smiles, and the kind of tender words that spoke volumes without being too loud.

One evening, after a particularly long day, I snuggled into his side on the couch. He kissed the top of my head gently, and I sighed, content. "These moments, Quinn... they make everything else seem like it’s worth it."

He smiled down at me, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “I feel the same way. I’m glad we’re here.”

And when he returned from a trip, it was like falling in love all over again. That flutter in my chest—the same giddy excitement I had felt when we were kids—would hit me every time. It reminded me of all the years we had spent apart and how precious each moment together was.

We made it work because we knew how to support each other’s dreams, too. I cheered him on before every big game, sending him messages of encouragement, holding my breath through every goal and every loss, knowing how much it meant to him. And he did the same for me. He would listen patiently to my work stories, ask about my day, and offer unwavering support, whether it was through words or just a quiet hug. It wasn’t always grand gestures or showy declarations. It was in the little things—the small moments that made the biggest difference.

One night, as we were lying in bed, I turned to him, my hand resting on his chest. “I don’t know if I ever told you this... but I’m really proud of you, Quinn. You work so hard, and I see it. I see how much you give to the game, to your team.”

He kissed the top of my head, his voice warm. “Thanks, babe. That means everything to me. But you... you inspire me, too. You’re always pushing yourself, always chasing your own dreams. I admire that.”

Over time, I saw Quinn make more of an effort to prioritize us. He would plan visits around his games, carving out time for us, even when his schedule was packed to the brim. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was waiting anymore. I wasn’t waiting for the right moment to come, or for him to realize what we could have. It was already here. It was real.

Sometimes love it takes a long time

But wait for love and you're gonna get your

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love that you been missing

Looking ahead, I couldn’t help but imagine the future we were building together. It wasn’t just about the love we shared now—it was about the life we could create. The possibilities were endless. There were adventures waiting to be experienced, places to go, and moments to share that we hadn’t even thought of yet. And in the deepest part of my heart, I knew that whatever challenges came our way, we would face them together.

As I looked over at Quinn one night, his face relaxed in sleep, I whispered softly to him, "Whatever comes next, we’ll do it together, right?"

Quinn stirred slightly, his lips curving into a sleepy smile. “Always, babe.”

And in that moment, I knew everything was exactly as it should be.

We had found each other after all these years. And now, there was nothing left to wait for.

It was just the beginning of our journey. And I couldn’t wait to see where it would take us.

Sometimes love takes a long time, yeah

But wait for love and you're gonna get the

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love, woo, that you been missing

As I walk through the city, the cool night air brushing against my skin, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe. The quiet hum of the streets, the soft glow of the city lights, and the rhythmic sound of my footsteps—everything seems familiar, yet so different. It's as though I’m standing in a dream, unable to fully grasp how far we’ve come. My mind drifts to the journey that brought me here.

I think about those days spent at the lake house, building treehouses with Quinn, laughing over silly childhood games, and dreaming of a future we couldn’t yet imagine. Back then, love was a distant thought, a far-off possibility that we never dared to chase. Now, standing here in the heart of the city, with Quinn by my side, I realize just how much we’ve both changed, how much we've grown together. The distance we've traveled—both emotionally and physically—has been more than I could have ever imagined. What we have now, this love, it feels surreal.

It wasn’t always like this. There were days when doubt clouded my thoughts, when I wondered if love, our love, was something that would ever materialize into more than just a dream. But then, I remember the moments we shared, the way he would look at me—his quiet, steady gaze that spoke volumes. 

A memory pops into my mind—one from a few months ago, during a late night when we were sitting on the couch together. He turned to me then, eyes wide, as if searching for something.

"You ever wonder, you know, if we were always meant to be here?" Quinn had asked, his voice a little uncertain.

I smiled, leaning into him. “I think we’ve always been here, just... waiting to realize it.”

He chuckled softly. "I’m glad we finally did."

And now, here I am, walking through the city, reflecting on just how far we’ve come. In so many ways, the path to love has never been straightforward. It hasn’t been a series of romantic gestures or fairytale moments, but something much deeper, something rooted in the quiet understanding we’ve always shared. The silence, the waiting, the uncertainty—all of it was part of our story, and it wasn’t in vain. It was all about timing, patience, and the unspoken belief that the love I had been hoping for was always there, waiting for us to see it.

I used to wonder if it was worth it, whether the long stretches of distance, both physical and emotional, would ever lead me to where I wanted to be. There were so many moments of doubt, of fear that maybe I had been waiting for something that would never come. But now, with Quinn, everything feels complete. The pieces have finally fallen into place, and it’s as though all the doubts and fears I once had have been washed away in the calm of knowing this love is real.

As my mind wanders through memories, I smile softly, thinking about how far we’ve come. Our love wasn’t just a fleeting dream; it was the steady, quiet love that had been there all along, waiting for us to recognize it. Now that we have, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of peace. There’s nothing we can’t face, nothing we can’t overcome. We’re in this together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future holds. And the future looks bright—brighter than I ever imagined.

Sometimes love takes a long time

But wait for love and you're gonna get the

Chance to love - wait for love, wait for love

And you get the love...

Then, my thoughts turn to a moment from just a few days ago. Quinn had taken me out to dinner, a quiet evening just for us, and as we sat across from each other, his gaze soft and steady, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. It was a simple touch, but the way he looked at me, like I was everything he had ever wanted, made my heart swell.

“Can I tell you something?” Quinn had asked, his voice gentle.

“Of course,” I’d replied, feeling a little thrill run through me.

He looked at me for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re everything I never knew I needed. And I’ve waited so long to be sure of this.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a warmth through me. My smile widened, and I squeezed his hand. “I feel the same way.”

Then, just as we finished our meal, he took my hand in his, his eyes filled with something deeper than love—something raw, vulnerable, and real. He had been holding back for so long, but now, in this moment, there was no doubt. Quinn had always been the one. And when he whispered, “Will you marry me?” my heart stopped.

My hand instinctively pressed to my chest, and tears filled my eyes, the moment overwhelming. I didn’t need words to answer him—my heart was already shouting yes. The emotions flooded through me—relief, joy, peace—all blending together into one perfect, simple moment.

It was everything I had waited for. Everything we had been working toward.

The tears that welled up in my eyes were the only response I needed to give. I had waited for love—for this love—and now I was certain that it was mine, forever.

The familiar melody from an old song floats into my mind, as if the universe itself is reminding me of the journey we’ve taken. “Wait for love, wait for love, and you get the love you’ve been missin’.”

I smile, my heart full. I’ve waited, yes. I’ve waited through the years of uncertainty, through the moments where it felt like we were miles apart, even when we were right next to each other. But now, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. The love I’ve been missing is finally here. It’s worth every moment of doubt, every hesitation, every heartache. Because sometimes, love takes time. And when it finally arrives, it’s exactly as it should be—perfectly timed, perfectly ours.

As I walk through the city, the light from the street lamps reflecting off the pavement, Quinn’s presence lingers in my heart. I feel his hand in mine, even though he isn’t physically here. The future we’re building together is just beginning, and I know this love will last. No matter what comes our way, no matter the challenges ahead, we’ll face them together.

And as the city buzzes around me, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. The journey hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been ours. And now, there’s no more waiting. The love I’ve been searching for, the love I’ve always dreamed of, is finally here. And it’s more than I ever imagined.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see Quinn’s name on the screen. I smile as I answer. 

“Hey,” I say, my voice light.

“I was just thinking about you,” Quinn’s voice comes through, warm and steady.

I laugh softly. “I was thinking about you too.”

And just like that, even in the hustle of the city, I feel like everything is exactly as it should be. Perfectly aligned. Perfectly ours.

Sometimes love takes a long time

Wait for love

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic scenario with Ghost (Simon Riley) from the Modern Warfare reboot? Can you also amp up the horror in this scenario 👀?

I'm assuming you mean from the newest Modern Warfare 2 so I'll do that! I have no played the game but I have seen the story. I'll try my best to amp up the horror but I'll have to see how well I executed it, it depends on what you wanted. I had to scrap my first draft as it wasn't going anywhere so I decided taking it in this direction would be better for horror. You may need to be more specific next time ^^; Sorry if it came out shorter than intended....

Phantasm

Yandere! Simon "Ghost" Riley Scenario

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Murder, Gore/Blood described, Breaking and entering, Implied forced relationship, Stealing, Dubious touches, Being watched while you sleep, Isolation, Toxic behavior.

Like a phantom, Ghost hovered around your life. He haunted your presence and you barely had a clue. He watched you with the skill of a soldier who's hidden in the shadows all his life.

Ghost didn't care if inserting himself into your life was wrong or not. In fact he barely even was part of it. Ghost always kept his distance, he always lurked in the shadows.

In a way it was like you were being haunted. If you caught sight of him in your peripherals he was usually gone the next time you looked around. He lurked and watched... but never revealed himself to you.

Ghost liked to watch you. He's quite the silent person due to having his fair share of stealth missions. Hiding in the dark and being quiet has become an important trait of his.

While you may not know much about his existence, he knows just about everything on yours. He knows what you do, he knows how you act, he knows who you have contact with.... It wasn't all that hard for him to hack into various spaces online to obtain info.

Ghost has an influence on your life despite not fully being a part of it. He wishes he could be closer but that would have to wait. For now, be keeps his spot open.

Those who get too close are inflicted with the curse that is Ghost. If he feels someone is too close to you, the one he's so fascinated about, he deals with them. There's no need to be so gorey, he could end their life easily with a silenced weapon after luring them away.

But there's a certain satisfaction when their blood covers his gloves.

He could use a gun and get things over with quickly. A knife allows him to see the life leave their eyes at his hands, however. It allows him to show how much power he has over the. It's... satisfying.

The disturbing part is that the people he removes from your life are typically close with you. Friends and possible lovers are usual picks. Your siblings or parents are considered but he holds himself back.

Removing rivals already strains you enough as is.

Ghost often finds himself holding back when it comes to you. Isolating you socially often eases the sickly concoction of jealous envy within him... but then he watches you mourn. He often ends up telling himself it's too soon to intervene.

Ghost is often there, even during your worst moments. He sees every mournful cry that he knows damn well he caused. He sees every little twitch and mumble in your sleep. He even sees all the things you do when you think you're alone.

It's all so cute... he loves the fact you're so unaware.

Ghost takes after his name when it comes to you. Like a ghost he slips into your home in the late hours of the night occasionally. He watches you as you sleep, maybe even lightly stroking your skin as you slumber away.

Ghost takes small memorabilia to take with him. He's always quiet, completely silent as he leaves with little implication he was there. The only thing you wake up to is you possibly misplacing some items and a breezy window.

Ghost prefers to keep things this way. As much as he'd like to barge in on your life to comfort and love you like he wants, he can't. He has to be patient and slowly tiptoe around your life.

The most you know of his presence is slight glances and ghostly touches at night. The smell of metallic blood sometimes greets your nose and it chills you to the bone. It's even worse when you get word someone close to you has gone missing again.

Ghost is aware him manipulating your life like this only hurts you. The murder, the stalking, it all makes you paranoid and terrified. He's hurting you for his own selfish gain.

Yet he justifies it by telling himself he'll be closer to you soon.

For now things will be soft touches while you're unaware. For now he'll resort to dirty work to keep others away. For now he'll haunt your life like a ghost until the time is just right.

Even now as he slips into your window again to kneel beside your body, he thinks of the future.

Soon he'll no longer be a ghost to you. Soon he'll introduce himself and become close to you. He'll try to take things slow but will take what he wants if he feels he's losing you.

The future between you holds so much potential in his eyes. As he watches you quietly while you sleep and quietly slips his hand into yours, he thinks of it all. You two could be great for each other.

Soon... he won't just have to be a phantom in your life. You won't have to question if he's really there or not. You'll know he's with you.

Unfortunately, you may then know everything.

You'll know the murder he's done. You'll learn why you smell blood on him and why you're so alone. He'll scare you like a ghost if he doesn't play things right.

The fear of pushing you away keeps Ghost from giving into his desires fully. He can't get ahead of himself. Even if he wants to take his chances and kiss those lips of yours or lay next to you... he knows better.

Ghost above all else is a tactical soldier. He can't rush things until he has a plan. Watching you and barely being a part of your life will have to do.

A barely audible sigh leave him as he strokes your cheek. Afterwards he backs away and makes his way back towards your window. Like a phantom, he's gone in an instant.

Only he knows he'll be back the next night to watch you...

Perhaps even the next few nights after that... all until everything's perfect and he can claim you as his.

[mud-o]

[ Detailed Thread ] I've seen lots of debate but here's lists of reasons why I personally think Wriothesley is visually impaired/blind to a certain degree and hope that he is :)

This is listed down based on my understanding/research so if there's anything wrong pls do correct me

Firstly we need to know the term 'Blindness', i know you may be wondering like , uh what? But a lot of people are quite misinformed of what being 'blind' is. Blindness is the inability to see or a lack of vision. Meaning that Blindness is a SPECTRUM. Each person's experience of blindness is unique. 93% of blind and vision-impaired people can see something. It is very rare for someone who is blind that cannot perceive anything at all. Some people may be blind in their peripherals - some in the center, some can see colours and blurs while others can perceive light and shadows better. It varies. A LOT. Quote from an article on Blindness and its spectrum. "These visual impairments don’t all work the same. Macular degeneration, erode the central vision without affecting peripheral vision. Narrowed field of vision- central vision is fine but the peripheral vision is limited. Others include photophobia (inability to tolerate light), diplopia (double vision), visual distortion, and difficulty with visual perception."

Ok so now we've made that clear- here's why Wriothesley being blind isnt as farfetched as you may think , with the way he is acting in the Fontaine trailer. 1) So i've heard everyone say that he is teasing Sigwienne, but let's just go back, why does Sigwienne - put the cute beverage in front of wrio in that manner? Why is she putting the taller cup in front of him where it's simply closer for him to reach for in the first place? You can argue that she did that so wriothesley takes it, but why not just hand it to him then? If you observe the scene - the tea was already there beforehand, which means wrio has either prepared it himself or has even already drunk from it and placed it there. He knows there is a 'cup' on the table. It could be very much logical to assume Sigwienne wanted wriothesley to mistakenly reach for the taller cup she placed there. There would be no point in deliberately placing the cup as if with the intention to 'trick' him into taking it if he could very well see her place it there.

2) The visible jolt of his hands when he hovers over the tall drink that sigwenne places there. And the CLOSING of his eyes, as if to concentrate. On what? Here we can tell the drink clearly looks like a cold beverage, so when his hands hover on top of the cup , it'll make sense to have a reaction based on the wrong temperature registered to his hands - as tea is hot. He glances to sigwenne after , as if amused, only to look back to rotate the smaller cup of his tea. And even when 'rotating' , his actions seem purposeful - carefully interacting w the cup with his hands draping around the handle before holding onto it. As if again, he's mostly feeling around it. If he were to see perfectly well, why would he close his eyes - hover around the tall drink, and seem to jolt by reaction of registering what the object is? His eyebrow even raises up. It makes less sense as - if he were intending to tease her, he'd simply hover alternatively between the two without interacting w them purposefully but instead focus more on the reaction of Sigwenne from the start - and not After he seemingly 'felt' what the glass he is reaching for firstly is not his own cup of tea, but the beverage Sigwienne wanted him to take. Also added point, if you really take notice, while touching and rotating the tea for its handle, his eyes are set straight, not towards the cup.

3) paper argument - again brings back to my point about blindness being a spectrum. Some blind people can read if they really focus and if the object was near enough, and even more that they just show him holding the paper, his eyes were never shown 'scanning' it. And furthermore, we are not SHOWN the paper, it could be braille for all we know. 4) but he looks at sigwienne first before she places the cup - again , blindness is a spectrum. Many blind people can register vague figures of people based on combinations of colour, light, and shadows or other ways depending on the individual. 5) Lyney's dialouge - as we know, genshin loves littering clues and symbolisms around in the trailers. Here's the quote we got while transitioning to Wrio's cutscene. "But what you see, is not real. It's all a show. And every part of the show is carefully controlled" Here we've already got a literal connotation for 'sight' from "what you see" , and connotations of 'acting' what if he was just acting out that he is not 'blind' to the outsider's point of view, so it is shown that he has less of a 'weakness' to others? Covering his disability under a guise so no one knows how to use it against him? It may be a reach - but it is an interesting idea to think about. Esp with the entire theatre play theme surrounding Fontaine and us/people being the audience of the big show.

6) wolf motifs and inspiration - It is quite easy to see Wriothesley is very heavily wolf motifed. Wolves are known for their sharp senses and acute hearing. They rely much more heavily on scent and hearing compared to their sight. Sounds familiar? It would be very neat if wriothesley has heightened senses as he can't rely on his eyesight as much, thus being easily able to tell when Sigwienne moves around and puts the cup in front of him. 7) gameplay - having a disabled character can make interesting and unique ideas on their kit and mechanic. I'll leave most of it for imagination, but something such as a passive that could auto-link enemies aggro-ed for aoe skills? Many many more possibilities. 8) It will simply be good disability representation in media , we've already had collei with the chronic illness of Eleazar, Xiao with chronic pain from karmic debt, Yoimiya's father short of hearing due to working with fireworks etc. It'll be an amazing addition for irl people with disabilities to feel more seen. 9) there's literally a scar under one of his eyes what more can i say if not it being more of a hint. His beta concept designs even had a scar on his eyebrow along with heterochromia? Which can also be seen as being blind in one eye with the 'white' colouring. Also the eyepatch beta design? Yeah.

Also this slipped my mind, but do also note Braille was originated and introduced in france - invented by Louis Braille in 1824. And well, what do we know of where Fontaine is based of? wink wonks

My conclusion, live laugh love hc wriothesley w vision impairment <3 even if it turns out not being canon and just some weird coincidence of everything.

(also please do not steal this as i plan to post this myself on twt too, and again this is just a THEORY on why I PERSONALLY think he's such. You are free to disagree )

[chronically-ghosted]

First Base.

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5212

summary: you agree to his every precaution. he's not going to kill you, just bite you, a little bit. You hope a lot.

warnings/tags: making out, talking in bed while half-naked, max comes with his own warning, blood but only a lil, the discovery of a new vampire ability (this is so self indulgent), established friends with benefits situation but not a relationship, #pedrostories1k, @pedrostories

a/n: i've only got two parts written. lemme know if you'd like more!

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The instant he heard the term, Max was obsessed. He’d whisper it in your ear in the hallways. He’d growl it into your throat as he split you open on his mattress, fingers wrapped like iron around your wrists – those were times he had to be especially careful. He’d leave notes addressed to you at your desk, or in the apartment kitchen, with it written across the top. He’d even occasionally put “my” before it. Hell, it was your name in his phone’s contacts. 

Monsterfucker. 

Monster. Fucker.

Monsterfucker. 

His little monsterfucker. 

My monsterfucker.

Does my monsterfucker like that?

You’re being so good for me, little monsterfucker. 

I’m gonna come on your chest now, you monsterfucker. 

Was it an unhealthy nickname that he said far too often around the office and dangerously close to your coworkers? Yes. Did you regret showing him that tweet and explaining what it meant? Absolutely not. Because you were. His. And a monsterfucker. 

Unfortunately, outside the truly staggering stamina he displayed, an occasional nip at the kitchen counter after a particularly long bout of mind-blowing sex, and a flash of a toe-curlingly long tongue he gave you only after you’d begged for it for hours at a time . . . Max was often more an annoying, smug fucker than a monster to fuck. Which is to say, the fangs rarely made an appearance. Only recently had he started leaving bags of blood in your apartment’s refrigerator and even those were wrapped up in special bags that prevented freezer burn, as if to say, nothing special here. He still wouldn’t eat in front of you, always more eager to pick up dinner and watch you eat, as if the memory of human food alone would satiate him. 

He resolutely hadn’t let his fangs out anywhere near the bedroom. 

And that monsterfucker in you was finally starting to be annoyed by it. You’d done everything you could think of, short of drawing a bullseye around your jugular vein. For being a vampire with enhanced peripheral senses, he really couldn’t quite take a hint.

“Max?”

“Hmm.” 

“Can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Sure, baby, what is it?”

“I want you to bite me during sex.” 

His fingers pause in their path along the curve of your waist, over the knots in your spine. You face away from him, having just woken up, and you hope that by posing this question so early in the morning and so bluntly, it might unsettle him enough to at least consider it. His hand hovers just above your ribs, before sliding forward into the soft skin between your bones, and he chuckles.

“No.”

You scowl and sit up, glaring down at him over your shoulder. Shit, maybe asking him first thing in the morning was a bad idea. Hair perfectly tousled in a deadly combination of post-sex and sleepy morning bedhead, Max grins up at you, his right arm tucked up behind his head, giving you a full display of his solid biceps and carved chest. You’d never seen him once lift anything heavier than a stapler. Well, except for the one time he picked up your couch with one hand because your earring had rolled underneath it. 

And whoever said vampires don’t sleep was only partially correct. Max didn’t sleep, he went unconscious. Trying to wake him up before he was ready was like trying to crack open a boulder with a rubber hammer. 

You twist your mouth down to perhaps look more serious than you actually are to hide your recklessly ogling. But the instant he sees your naked torso and your tits he is the one staring shamelessly. 

“Why not? We’ve been dating for almost a year now and you hardly even let me see your fangs, much less feel them.” 

“I bit you last week on the couch when we watched that one movie.” 

“You bit me to scare me and didn’t even break the skin.” 

Max’s eyebrow jumped. Arching slightly, he settles deeper into the pillows, a small smirk dripping across his lips. His hand skims up your knee, over your thigh, his intention very clear. 

“And you want me to break your skin, baby?” He purrs.

“Max, stop. I’m serious.” 

“What were we talking about?”

“Max!” You toss his hand off your thigh and he chuckles again, far too pleased with himself. With a big sigh, he stretches, long arms spearing through the slats in your headboard, toes curling under the sheets, before dropping his hands over his stomach, shivering. He reminded you so much of a cat sometimes, it was sinful. You wouldn’t be surprised if one day you blinked up at him and his eyes were yellow. 

The sheets are frightfully low on his slim hips.

“Baby, look, that kind of shit is dangerous. It’s not that I don’t want you to see that side of me – you’re welcome to look as much as you want –,” he lifts his hands as if to demonstrate his own personal work of art, “but it’s not a joke. It’s called bloodlust for a reason. I’ve worked hard to control it, it’s not always that simple.”

Softly, he drags his fingernails over your knee, more affectionate than sultry. 

“And despite my cool and aloof exterior, I would be pretty bummed if anything ever happened to you.” That easy, devil-may-care smile fades from his face and his wide palm flattens across your knee. When he looks up at you, his eyes are soft, concerned. You rarely get Max’s vulnerable side and when you do, it makes you immediately go gooey on the inside. “Especially if it was me who hurt you.”

You sigh and thread your fingers through his. “And that’s exactly my point, Max. I know you would never hurt me. This is about trust as much as it is about the . . . bloodlust, or whatever. I feel safe with you. Safe enough to try this.”

Together, the two of you had tried pretty much every other kink, toy, or play out there and to you, this was no different. Double penetration would take on a new meaning. You didn’t let yourself even consider triple. One thing at a time.

Max’s thumb rubs thoughtfully over the meat of your hand. “We’d have to work up to it, if we’re going to do this. Make sure I remain in control.”

Your heart picks up speed. “Yes, of course. Same rules as always.”

Max pouts. 

“But I’ve been wanting to change our safe word for a while now.” 

You bring your knotted hands up to your lips and gently kiss every one of his knuckles. “If we do this, you can pick our next safe word.” 

Quick as you can, you slip the nail of his thumb into your mouth and nip him just a bit. His eyes go dark.

“That’s cheating. You’re manipulating me.” 

“Just helping my case along. But what were you saying about working up to it?” You can tell he’s losing focus, that it’s only a matter of minutes before he pulls you into his lap, but this is when he’s most pliable. He had the manic attention span of a dog tempted with a squeaky toy. You kiss the back of his wrist. “Max, c’mon.”

“We’d have to start slow. I’m talking high school, baby leagues. Making out. Light petting, then maybe heavy petting.” 

You shift closer to him, breaking your hands apart as you put an arm over his chest to the other side of the mattress. Instinctively, his hand slides up your inner thigh. His gaze watches your breasts as they swing in movement. 

“Damnit Janet . . . but okay, then we’ll go through the bases.”

“Mhmm hmm . . .” 

You brush his hair back from his forehead and he puts both hands on your hips. You have seconds now. “So, we start with first, go up to second, which is under the clothes stuff. Then third. Oral. But that’s for both of us, right?”

His thumb traces your nipple. “Totally.”

“So that just leaves home plate, right, baby? That’s it then.”

You’ve got your hand around his cock and you stroke once. His mouth parts and his eyes flutter. “What’s it?”

You laugh out your nose.

“You’re impossible, Max Phillips.”

First Base.

“Is this entirely necessary?” 

“I’d prefer you in a snowsuit or nun’s habit, but this will have to do.” 

“At this point, I’ll take the Bugs Bunny onesie you wore for Halloween.” 

Max smirks, lighting the last candle in your bedroom. He shakes out the match until it smokes and he turns back to you. You’re pouting in the middle of the bed. 

“I’m gonna sweat my tits off in all of this.” 

As part of his rules, he made you put on thick woolen socks under your straight-legged jeans. In addition to a black bodysuit as the base, he told you to wear:

A long sleeved turtle neck

A sweatshirt

A jean jacket

And a scarf

His aim was to minimize any open and available skin except the bits you intended to use or for him to bite, but the scarf you refused. It was the middle of summer for god’s sake!

But in the end, he had agreed. He was going to bite you during sex so if you had to roll around naked in a giant bubble for two weeks to get to that, you were more than willing to forgo some comforts. In addition to all but wrapping you up in a burlap sack, Max also insisted on a few extra precautions. 

The first one being that a chain of silver is within reach, next to the bed. Max drained a bag of blood about thirty minutes ago so the hunger wasn’t all consuming. A box of Chips Ahoy cookies sat on your dresser for afterwards, along with a bottle of Gatorade, a brown bottle of disinfectant, a bag of cotton balls, and some bandaids. 

“Are we making out or am I donating blood?” you teased. 

But Max only shrugged. “A bit of both, actually.” 

He also laid out an enormous white towel on your bed. You’d offered to do this in his apartment, but he wanted you as comfortable as possible, to which you frowned.

“You weren’t anywhere near this nice to me when we did anal for the first time.”

He hadn’t even dignified that with a real response but just a swat on your ass. 

But, to your enormous surprise, Max Phillips was a romantic at heart. The candles were to set the mood. 

“Plus,” he says as he crawls onto the bed with you, “it’s very gothic, isn’t it?”

“What, porking by candlelight?” 

He rolls his eyes and swoops in to kiss you on the mouth. 

“No, you little slut. Biting you. Feeding on you. So very Dracula.” He playfully raises an eyebrow. 

“Like you ever once picked up the Bram Stoker novel.” You blink owlishly at him. “In fact, I didn’t know you could read.” 

He wrinkles his nose at you and pinches your cheek.

“Of course, I didn’t read it, but I did see the Coppola film strictly for Winona Ryder. What a babe.”

“Would you make her wear five layers of clothing in the dead heat of summer?” 

“Nah, I’d just eat her outright.” Max snaps his teeth just under your jaw. He is only playing, but it sends a shiver down your spine. He chuckles at your reaction. 

“It’s too easy, baby. Sometimes I think you only like me for my fangs.” 

You bite your lip in thought, as you lean forward, draping your arms over his shoulders. His hands cup your waist.

“Well, not only. The Jag’s a nice perk too.” 

You bend your head to kiss him again, but he draws back, his hand against your cheek, gently stopping you. His dark eyes are serious. In the candlelight, they look almost gold. Despite the almost stern expression, you see something else, but you so rarely see it on him, you aren’t sure you recognize it at all. Fear. Max is genuinely fearful he was going to hurt you. 

“What are the rules again?” 

“Use the silver if and only if you don’t stop when I use the safeword.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere as long as it touches your skin.” Your stomach knots. You know it would hurt him, burn him, and you can’t imagine doing that. But he wants you to have that kind of power over him.

“Keep going.” 

You huff, knowing exactly what he’s after, that verbal confirmation. That agreement on your end as much as his. 

“We’re only going to make out. No groping, licking, or grinding.” 

“That’s right, missy, and you better be home by nine.” 

You bend over and tug his ear lightly with your teeth. But that same sincere look is on his face when you settle back again. He taps your chin with his thumb, eyes watching your lips. 

“What else?”

“After you bite me, if I start to feel dizzy or lightheaded, I also say the safe word immediately. 

Max nods, his thumb moving to anxiously skim against your cheek. “I’ll be taking less than what you’d donate to any blood drive, but it might be faster than you’re used to, so I’m not sure how you’ll react.” 

His gaze searches your face as if you are about to crack and crumble under him. The mere suggestion that the boardroom-schmoozing, bad-boy-batman, bloodsucking bastard Max Phillips is this apprehensive over a little bite is almost mesmerizing to you. He’s never been one to handle you delicately and this is the first and only time you’ve seen him so ill-at-ease.

“Baby, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” You scratch your nails into his hair just above his neck, a place that usually has him oozing into relaxation, but not this time. 

He frowns.

“No, I want to. I really, really want to. It’s just . . .” He swallows, further separating you from him and only letting his hands touch your knees. He seems to be on the verge of something and he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “It’s just . . . it can be harder to control it, for a vampire, when they have a connection with the person they’re feeding from.”

You huff. “Max, of course, we have a connection. You’re my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for months now and –,”

“An emotional connection.” If he could blush properly, he would. “A deep emotional connection.”

“Oh.” 

Is he really saying what you think he’s saying? And he’s telling you now? 

Sometimes it’s rather shocking. That an immortal creature of the night can have the emotional intelligence of a six year old. 

With a gentle sigh, you inch towards him and hitch your leg across his thighs. His eyes widen momentarily before you sit down on his lap. You card your fingers through his hair. His hands hover just over your hips. 

“Do you trust me?” 

He nods without hesitation.

“Well, I trust you too. Quite literally with my life. This is just the first step, Max. But it can be the only step if it’s too much. I won’t bring it up ever again, I promise. You’re not alone in this.”

It’s like your words are a balm to a sunburn. He nods again, closing his eyes. 

He goes up to your neck with his hand, but waits for you to initiate. Your heart threatening your throat with swelling emotion, you fold over him and gently, with care, press your lips to his. 

The hand at your neck pulls you in closer and you turn your head to deepen the kiss. 

It stays like that for a minute. Your hands just resting on his shoulders, his fingers cradling the back of your head, and the other hand sitting contently on your knee. The kisses are almost innocent in their sweetness, curious, as if you’ve really never touched each other before. They smack of puppy love and cotton candy and necking under the bleachers. They’re lettermen jackets and prom-posals. Carving names in trees and promising forever with cheap rings in the shape of hearts and hands. 

But sweet is not what you came here for. 

At the first nip of your teeth, his mouth parts instantly, and all but sucks your tongue against his. You take him in long, rich, wet swipes, tasting the heat gathered in the cup of his mouth, in the muscle of his tongue. You think you taste the faintest hint of copper and you do your best not to shiver under his palms. You remind yourself to not let your tongue go searching for sharper things.

Your hips hitch forward and down, off your knees and into his lap. You’re already warm and despite the layers, you know he can feel it. He groans, air rushing out his nose, the hand in your hair tightens down, and his arm curls up against your lower back to pull you even closer. Your fingers knot into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp just the way you know he likes, your heart already pounding, your thighs clutching his waist. He claws at your back, pressing you harder against him, but beneath the layers, you can barely feel his touch. You whine at the growing heat between your legs and the lack of sensation. You have to feel him. 

With a tug, you jerk off the denim jacket, sweat already sprouting against the valley of your spine. He whines, this time a sound of protest. 

“Baby, don’t–,” he pants, your mouth inches from his. He claws at you and the jacket, needing you nearer and distant all at the same time. “It’s for your own good–,” 

“Just one layer. Please, I’m burning up,” you beg. He relents, letting out a breathless frustrated noise. You hurl the jacket off your arm and onto the floor.

He lifts you both then, hands digging into the back of your thighs, your hands going to his collar to keep the seam of your chests pressed together, and he turns to bury you in the mattress. Despite the countless times you’ve been in this exact position, it somehow manages to feel like the first time you made out with him. That same frantic heat, that buzzing energy, that need to touch and explore but not wasting a second to linger. A pulsing warmth swells between your legs and your hips jerk up a fraction of an inch, but they keep from making contact with the seam of his jeans. He’d never do this again if you broke his rules. 

Showing him where you want him to go, you nip his earlobe as he pries your thighs apart with his hands around the back of your knees, out of habit more than anything. You suck down on the back of his jaw, the smell of his hair and aftershave scratching against the rough of your insides to burn you a little bit hotter. Your teeth worry his skin just to the right of the knot in his throat and he jerks, moaning. He shifts his weight down, his pelvis tilting into the cradle of your hips and you eagerly receive him. You’ll go as far as he’ll willingly allow, but you want him to know this isn’t all on him.

“Color?” You tear your mouth away from his, hands nestled around the backs of his ears, you push back to look him in the eye. 

He answers you a second before he lunges in to kiss you again. “Green.” 

“You wanna keep going?” Don’t grind, don’t grind, don’t grind. 

He nods, eyes closing for a second. “‘m okay, I’m okay. Put your hands up my shirt.”

You blink up at him, chest still heaving. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” So you do. You rub your palms up under the lip of his shirt, smoothing them against his sides, his chest, his stomach, which tenses as if your hands are cold. With a gasp, he drops his head into the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot, almost burning. You wonder if his fangs are out. He shifts, pressing up against your chest, deeper into your neck, rocking his hips once, and he sucks on that soft place beneath your earlobe, making you keen.

“Can I see them?” You blurt out. “B-before–,” your voice catches and you swallow the desire in your throat. “Before you bite me.” 

Max’s shoulders still. You’re both breathing heavily and you stare up at your ceiling, afraid to meet his horrified face. Maybe you’d gone too far. Asking to be bitten was one thing, but maybe he didn’t want you to actually watch when he –

“Really?”

He peels back from you, his elbows locked out on either side of your head. He meets your gaze with trepidation and . . . awe.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes, please. I even want to–,”

He’s staring at your mouth like if he thinks hard enough, exactly what he wants to hear will come out. 

“You wanna what?” His voice is deeper than gravel, lower than the graves of the earth.

“I want to touch them, Max.” You’ve never felt more exposed beneath him as he stares down at you. His hair is mussed, as if as shocked as he is. 

You think his jaw drops in surprise, but in the glint of the candlelight, you see them shine. White, glistening fangs. Slowly, he parts his mouth even more, jaw opening, and his upper lip raises a quarter of a fraction of an inch. 

In the far back of your mind, in your undeveloped lizard brain, the thing that squeezes out primal, dripping fear when confronted with things unknown, it’s pumping adrenaline. It’s working overtime. It’s going to catch fire. It’s screaming, begging, sobbing at you to run. To run fast and as far as you can because this? This thing that has you pinned beneath him – is a predator. It’s an apex monster at the top of the food chain, a precise killing machine designed specifically to prey upon your weaknesses. You can feel your muscles tighten, adrenaline roaring in your veins, you actually see his face better in the dark light as your pupils dilate, every fight-or-flight instinct you’ve ever possessed knotting together in a snarling, hissing, petrified void, all saying one thing:

Run, you idiot, run. Run. Run! 

But you don’t. You can’t. 

When you first discovered that Max was a vampire you asked him if he’d ever hypnotized you and he said no. And then you made him swear on point of stake that he would never, ever do that to you. 

You wondered vaguely if now he had broken his promise. Because you cannot look away. 

You exhale shakily, blinking up to his glistening wet mouth. With a trembling hand, you reach for his cheek, sliding it along his jaw, over the top of his upper lip, and then down. Down a single white fang, an obscene mockery of your own canine teeth. You’re surprised to find it smooth, just as hard as any of your own teeth, but you continue your thumb down to the very point of it. 

“Careful–,” he warns, the sound garbled, and a second too late. 

You prick your thumb on the razor edge of his fang. He shudders, head dropping between his shoulders. 

Wide-eyed and mortified, you immediately suck your thumb into your mouth at the first well of blood. 

“Max, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I–”

“No,” he says gently, but his voice is hoarse. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He lifts his head, eyes unreadable, but the candlelight brings color back to them, as if they had been consumed by shadow. “It’s okay.” Gently, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, easing your thumb out of your mouth. Watching you for any hint of rejection or fear, Max guides your thumb, wet with your spit and a dribble of blood, between his lips, between his fangs, and smears his tongue across the wound. He tries to maintain eye contact, but he groans, eyes fluttering, his hips swinging down. The noise he makes sends static directly into the pit of your stomach like a hot flare. You can’t fight it; you clench down on nothing. 

Holy fuck, maybe this was a bad idea. 

“Max,” you whine softly. He hums around your thumb, tongue lapping at the tip, eyes still closed as though he was drunk and trying to get the room to stop spinning. Finally, he parts his lips and removes your finger from his mouth. You can feel his rock-solid erection pressing into your pelvis. 

He breathes, slowly, as though he was focusing on every molecule of air entering and leaving his lungs. Finally, Max lifts his eyes to you again and, again, you feel that white hot spark down between your legs. His fingers around your wrist loosen, thumb and forefinger catching around the cuff of your sleeve and slowly push it down. 

“Color?” He husks, his breath coasting over your exposed wrist.

“G-green,” you stutter out. You know it can’t be helping him but your heart is pounding, rushing, vibrating behind the thick wall of your sternum. That same adrenaline that told you to run before has now locked you flat on your back, a different kind of instinct taking over. Your thighs ache to drop open around him. Take me take me take me.

He lowers his head to your blue, pulsating vein and lets the skin rub against his smooth incisor. Your back arches just off the mattress as if he’s fucking you with his tongue. 

“Is it going to hurt?” 

He’s not looking at you now, every sense within him entirely anchored to your wrist. But he shakes his head steadily, as if staving off sleep.

“I won’t let it.” 

A prick. Nothing more. Nothing more hideous or crude than a shot in the arm. And yet you know it’s deeper, closer to bone, through flesh and sinewy muscle, into the deep thready vein. You know it’s deeper because a red ribbon of blood trickles down the flesh of your forearm. You watch it with fascination, your vision going a bit blurry as a sense of peace and ease rises up and greets you. You’re not lightheaded, but there is an ease, a delight, as if something had dulled your senses to the world. Your face breaks into a smile, even though you don’t feel your cheeks moving. 

His licks are gentle, curious, tongue a little cold against your flesh. With your other hand, you stroke his neck, then tangle with his hair. You scratch him like you would the family dog.

“Good boy, Max, you’re such a good boy.” 

And then the noise that’s been hovering at the edge of your awareness ratchets so loud you can’t ignore it any more. A buzzing, a humming, as though a thousand heartbeats were all racing in sync with one another. You don’t know where it’s coming from or what it is, but you don’t mind it – it’s soothing, sweet, peaceful. You ease your hand from his hair, back down his neck, to the knot of his spine and –

“Max, are you purring?” It’s undeniable. His entire chest is vibrating as if powered by a jet engine. 

He muffles a response into your wrist, tongue more forcefully pressing into your skin. 

“Oh my god, you are! Vampires purr?” You giggle. “If we do nothing else, figuring out you’re capable of purring has been entirely worth it.” 

Again a muffled grunt. Your heart beat skips for a moment – what if he doesn’t stop – and then another pinch and you hear the faint chunk of his fangs retracting. The humming from his chest softens, quiets smoothly, fading to silence, as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. You giggle louder, that pleasant, sweet feeling still cradling you like a cloud, as he sits up from the bed. 

“Okay, now I’m kind of offended you never purred when I sucked your dick. Or that time I put on that strap-on! Or –,”

“Quiet you,” he grumbles with a bit of a smirk as he kneels down beside the bed and using the white towel beneath you, he wipes your wrist clean. Then, with his head hung down, he swipes his thumb against his mouth again. 

“What are you–,”

The pad of his thumb bright red, he gently brushes his blood over the two pin-prick holes and, to your utter shock, the skin knits itself together. You watch, transfixed, as any evidence that he ever bit you slowly disappears. With the wounds sealed and gone, Max presses a kiss to your wrist. He stands up and goes to pour the disinfectant on your dresser into one of the cotton balls. You sit up and you emerge instantly from that cloud of serenity. You’re clear headed and awake, that adrenaline rush gone. You rub your wrist, the dried blood making the skin there tacky and sticky. 

“That was . . .” You swallow. You know you didn’t orgasm but you still feel that lingering pleasantness, that almost syrup-y haze. 

“How are you feeling?” Max asks over his shoulder, his frown serious. He sits back on the bed and gently takes your wrist from your fingers. His gaze keeps flickering from the dried blood to your face as he cleans your wrist and forearm. “Any pain? Dizziness? Nausea? Do you want to eat something – or drink –,”

“Max.” His mouth snaps shut, his brown eyes open and pleading and concerned. Something dislodges from your chest and pricks your eyes. This is only the first step in getting to what you really want, but you feel infinitely closer to him, like you’ve peeled back a layer and found something as warm and as comforting as sunshine. “Max, honey, that was perfect.”

You all but fall into him, your hand tugging on his collar to bring him into your atmosphere, your orbit, and you kiss him with fervent urgency. He groans in relief, in surprise, his hand cradling your jaw. You pull back, actually a little dizzy, but you’re quite sure that has nothing to do with blood loss. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your lips and you nod before kissing him again. He smiles, his thumb petting your cheek as if to calm you. “Good. That’s really good, baby. You did so well.” 

You scoff. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less of a participant in something so sexual.”

His eyebrow arches. “You got off on that?”

“Fair question. I guess you have to ask . . . since I wasn’t the one literally purring with delight!”

He rolls his eyes, huffing. “That’s actually the reason I didn’t want to do this. You’re never going to let this down.” 

You pout at him, tilting your head. “Aw, poor pussy.” 

He plucks a kiss from your cheek and snags the cookie box from your dresser. You realize how starving you are and you nearly tear open the box.

“So you’re really good, with everything?” 

You nod, waiting until another time to ask him about that rather orgasmic haze you found yourself in. 

He bites his lip as he watches you lick chocolate from your bottom lip.

“Then it’s off to second base we go.” 

Next | Series Masterlist

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 2: Then I Heard a New Voice Inside

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only ruined it all.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: T, Angst like whoa, insinuations of creep behavior, misunderstandings, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: The outpouring of love for this series has made my entire month, I'm so glad y'all are along for the ride. Especially when it's about to get interesting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

There’s a hand on your face, a thumb stroking small circles on the line of your jaw. Opening your eyes, you’re at first confused by why you’re looking at the ceiling. Then the dull ache of an elbow, the cool press of floor tiles, and the murmur of voices grows as you shake the blur from the edges of your vision.

“There we go, you’re back with us. Can you hear me okay? Can you see me?” A calm-voiced woman wearing dark blue coveralls and purple nitrile gloves says soothingly at your side. A steel gray medi-bot hovers at her side, offering a tray of diagnostic tools. When you move to sit up she firmly presses you back, checking your eyes and asking you question after question. When your answers strengthen she backs off slightly, typing a code into the medi-bot’s chest compartment. 

“Have you ever fainted before?” she asks, clipping a heart rate monitor on the tip of your finger. The question turns rusty gears in your brain, and awareness of the hand cupping your face rockets back to the foreground.

Jack.

You turn your head, pillowed on something folded between your skull and the floor, and there he is. Not a feverish dream, or a willful thought. Jack Daniels is kneeling beside you on the café floor, torn between looking down at you and nodding to the paramedic. The sharply anachronistic cowboy hat shades his knit brow, red flannel soft under your fingers when you wrap them around his wrist. He looks down at you, relief washing his face.

“Hey Sugar,” he murmurs, a nervous smile softening the concern. “Sorry for the fright.”

Your movements are molasses slow as you’re helped to your feet by the paramedic and Jack. Words drip from your lips - must have been the sun, not enough to eat, to sleep, don’t worry - and the paramedic walks you through what symptoms mean you should go to the hospital. The medi-bot prints out a neat sheet of emergency numbers the paramedic hands to you, checking you over one more time before her tablet pings with another call. You nod and manage a tight smile, all while watching the red blur in your peripheral. His hand ghosts your elbow.

The paramedic and medi-bot exit, and soon even the onlookers thin out. Then it’s just you and Jack.

Well, not quite. You and Jack and the anger boiling up inside your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already walking away, gathering up your bag and tugging on your shoes. Following with that puppy dog look that accentuates how big and brown they are, he hovers over you.

“Sugar, I know I’ve got a lot to explain.”

“No,” you snap, coming to a hard stop in front of him. The ache in your body to touch and be touched is a quiet cry behind the roar of your rage. “You have more than a lot to explain. I knew seeing you again would ruin that weekend, but holy shit, I didn’t think it would ruin every fucking thing about you.” You shake your head, your chest hitching at the sob you’re holding back. Jack’s face cracks, confused brow now crinkling into pain. 

“Sugar, what…I don’t…I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he stammers, lowering his voice from curious onlookers. 

“What did you mean, then?” you query, folding your arms. The pressure across your chest steels you more. “Were you going to call me up? Ask me out to dinner? Woo me over coffee?” You don’t let him answer, striding past his broad frame and out onto the sunlit street. The rays are blinding now, hot across your face like a slap. A second jingle of the door and Jack follows, hands hovering over your arms but now hesitant to touch.

“Let’s talk somewhere, please. Let me explain everything.”

If this all wasn’t so appalling you would find his earnestness endearing.

“I don’t need to hear anything from you. You should be ashamed of yourself for what you’ve done.”

Jack’s brow crackles back to confusion, and he finally lets his fingertips graze your skin. It’s electric, raising the hairs on the back of your arms, but you squeeze them tighter around your middle to dash it away.

“What I’ve…?” he asks, your incredulous laugh only mystifying him more.

“Pretending you’re a fucking host? Gallivanting around Westworld like some romance novel hero seducing unsuspecting guests? I gotta hand it to you, you did your homework, you had me fooled. I thought…” You stop, your throat closing up, but press on. “And the fact that you’re pretending like it’s not, like it’s some Hallmark movie bullshit meeting like this, means you really are delusional. Stay the fuck away from me,” you snap, storming off before the hot tears burning behind your eyes can escape. 

He was a liar. Of course he was. You were so fucking naive to think something wasn’t up. And now your skin feels too tight, the memory of his touch itching to be scraped off. You’d file a police report, get his ass locked up for whatever law “lying about being an android to fuck you” would fall under.

Suddenly you’re yanked into an alleyway, stumbling up against Jack’s solid chest again. His hands curl around your biceps, holding you still while you pull back against him.

“Let me go, you fucking asshole, or I’ll scream,” you hiss hoarsely, fists coming up to beat against his chest. He holds fast, waiting for your defiant gaze to come back to his face. When you finally look at him, it’s relief etched into his features. Your arms go limp in his hold, heart hammering and brain grinding at this strange turn.

“Fuck me, Sugar, you sure know how to break a man’s heart,” he says, wonder watercoloring his tone. Your jaw drops to scream bloody murder when he speaks with a calm assurance that steals your voice.

“I am a host. Always have been.”

Your eyebrows knit together, hands coming up to your chest. Jack strokes your arms, waiting for your response.

“You’re lying.”

He smirks.

“I don’t think I could formulate a lie right now if I tried. I thought of a million ways this could go, and you still surprise me and do the one thing I never considered.”

“Hosts don’t exist outside the parks, that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“You think I’m some computer genius who hacked a global empire to pull one over on you? Seems like a very complicated way to make your acquaintance.” His mouth twitches up a fraction. 

It does sound far-fetched, but the implications twist your stomach in knots. 

“You’re a human asshole who lied to me.”

“I’m not, Sugar. I’m not human.” He pauses for a moment. “I lied to you once. At the train station.”

Silence hangs over the two of you, the world flowing by the alley entrance without you.

“You asked me a question and I told you what you wanted to hear.”

What does this look like? 

A polaroid photo of an impossible world, uncomputable to any host.

I need to know what you see, before you say anything else.

“But it was a lie. First one I ever told.”

It doesn’t look like anything to me, sweetheart.

Your vision swims again, but this time you grip Jack’s shirt and hold on as the wave passes. He cradles the back of your neck with his large warm palm, searching your face as you regulate your breathing again.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you choke out, stepping back. Jack lets you leave his space, eyes pleading as he drops his hands. “You can’t be here. This…this can’t be happening.”

“Please don’t go fainting on me again, I’d hate to call that paramedic back,” he says, just the smallest mirth in his tight voice. A loud, ugly sound bleats out of you, something between a laugh and a sob, as you shake your head.

“You can’t be real,” you repeat, and Jack’s face shatters and falls. 

“It’s me. I promise you, it’s Jack.”

Head pounding against the onslaught of emotions - to go to him, to run away, to study every pore and hair for the truth, to throw caution to the wind and damn the consequences - you hold firm. His mouth sets in a thin line, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes tight. Clearing his throat, he meets your eye and there’s a depth of sadness that chokes you. 

“There’s so much I want to tell you. But not here,” Jack says, fishing around in his pocket. You watch numbly, hands shaking as he pulls out a little scrap of paper. “My phone, and my address. Let me tell you what happened and then you can decide what you think. But please, give me a chance to show you.”

You hold the paper in your hands, unable to conjure up even a “fuck you” to the man standing in front of you. Your eyes burn, your hands tingle, your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks thickly to the roof of your mouth. Jack waits, watching your lip quiver and you struggle to suck in air. When you meet his face again it’s resigned, a parting squeeze to your arm before he steps away from you.

“I hope you’ll call,” he says, backing out of the alley and into the bustling street. One more regretful look at you, his jaw ticking and his soft eyes dropping to the ground, and he melts into the crowd. 

You call out of work, voice shaking so badly your supervisor barely questions it. You consider walking back to your apartment but your eyes blur up with tears at the drop of a hat, so you take an rideshare instead. Climbing into the hovering driverless vehicle, bile rises in your throat.

Jack’s here, outside of the park. A human or a machine, both options equally terrifying. He’s occupying a world so much different from the one you both met in, one of technology harnessed for peak comfort and luxury. It spikes your stomach, the idea that he might feel more kinship with this vehicle than you, made to service silently and without memory. Or he’s more dangerous than that, a human manipulative and secretive, but to what end? To possess you? To make your pain a cruel joke to laugh about with other men? 

Why now? Why today? And most importantly, as you shed your layers and bury yourself in bed, why you?

More tears slip out, weak sobs buried in your pillow until sleep takes you. Your dreams are fitful, black and white. A room of men and women freezing to take their faces off, circuitry beneath. A saddled horse clopping delicately through a business lobby. Brown eyes that look at you like you’ve broken their heart. 

PREVIOUS NEXT

[sugacookees]

lovebug again

✩ boo seungkwan x reader ✩ high school setting, fluff, mutual pining, mentions of death  ✩ w.c. approx. 7.1k ♫ this town - niall horan; lovebug - jonas brothers; for lovers - lamp; forever&more - role model; la la la that’s how it goes - honne; falling for you - colbie caillat

I hate being sick.

Everyone does, but some people enjoy the special treatment they receive from loved ones. But in my household, that is never the case. When I get sick, it always seems to be my fault. Too much time on my cellphone, not enough sleep, going out with friends too much—every leisure activity that could be blamed except for the fact that it actually happens.

Teenagers get two to four colds a year on average. But maybe I’m not a teenager after all since my mom says I should never catch a cold. Only weak people do. And annoyingly so, I kind of agree. As president of the class and of the school council, each day is vital. So, being sick is totally not on schedule and ruins everything. The time I’m spending lying on my bed staring at my ceiling could have been time for me to finalize our plans for the fundraiser and the booths for the upcoming school festival. But no, the universe decided that I should become the most helpless human being on earth at the time I'm most needed.

I couldn't even check my phone for updates or messages from other school council members. My mom is convinced that my phone single-handedly caused me to catch a virus and that it should be kept away from me. She even went out of her way to wrap it in a drawstring bag so my sister wouldn't get sick like me. I tried to do some schoolwork in advance, but I felt like my head was about to fall off, so I quickly abandoned that plan. 

It was a day ago in Chemistry class when I started feeling ill.

“Okay, here are five chemical equations to balance. I’ll give you a couple minutes to accomplish this and then we’ll get right to checking them.”

I look down right away at my notebook and copy the equations. By the second one, the numbers and letters are starting to jumble and lose sense. I feel like I’ve been reading the same number over and over again. I look up and around at my classmates to see if I’ve just been looking down too much, but I quickly regret it as soon as I see Jisoo’s head in front of me turn into three. I clutch my head and shut my eyes closed, hoping it would go away. Nevertheless, I go back to my problem set and attempt to accomplish it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking to my right, where the voice is coming from, I see Seungkwan, who looks concerned. I quickly reassure him that I’m fine and that it’s probably just the heat. He nods in agreement, but does so hesitantly. Anyhow, I couldn’t find it in me to reassure him further as another wave of pain hits my head, and right at that moment I think I would just like to be hit by a train and be done with.

As I am looking down, I see a peek of navy blue hovering by my peripheral. I slowly turn my head towards it and see a jug held by Seungkwan, still with his worried face.

I’ve known Seungkwan for years. Our parents know each other way back from their childhood as we live just about 7 houses down by each other. It’s a small town too, so we go to the same market, same bakery, same school, and same dainty old cafes and restaurants. On holidays, we exchange meals and gifts, and simple hellos and goodbyes.

I remember the time before Nari was born. Seungkwan and I would always run around the house and play together. He invited me to his birthday parties, and I did too. Though, when we grew up and my father passed, I found myself forever changed. Seungkwan and I started to drift apart as a result of that, among other things.

Seungkwan has always been the most extroverted one in the room, and me, well, I’m completely on the other end of that spectrum. Wonwoo and Jiheon have always been quite introverted as well so we quickly got along. Surprisingly though, Wonwoo had also made friends with Seungkwan along with a few other boys. We would all be together from time to time at the park, the boys playing sports, and Jiheon and I, along with the other younger siblings of the boys, playing a definitely more beginner-friendly version of whatever game they were playing. All in all, we all got along well. Seungkwan and I would exchange conversations every now and then, but we weren’t as close and playful as we were before.

But I must admit, I have, and always will, hold a special fondness for Seungkwan. He was always sweet and kind, and even loved by all the elderly people in town. I recall the time I was out to buy some bread for our house, I saw him happily chatting with Chan’s grandmother. I say chatting, but more like gossiping by the way they were hunched and shifting their eyes. He would always make sure everyone in class was included, and he would always make everyone happy with his jokes and skits that he, Seokmin, Jisoo, and surprisingly, Jihoon, would act out. Seungkwan would also unhesitantly offer assistance to the student council during major projects. Sometimes, he would even stay late with me, saying, “So you have less to do tomorrow, and more time to rest!” He would then walk me home, and never forget to greet my parents and wish them well.

Seungkwan is lovely. And he is even more lovely now as he offers his water to me. Our drinking fountains have been under maintenance recently so, if I take up his offer he’ll have to wait until he gets home to get a drink again. He sees me hesitate and about to reject his offer, so he firmly places his tumbler on my desk and turns back to his notebook, offering no space for compromise.

In perfect timing, Mr. Hyun announces that the time is up and it’s time to check our answers. I pick up the tumbler, open it, and drink. I turn to Seungkwan quickly and smile. He smiles back.

By the next day, the headaches still come and go, but I keep it to myself and head to school anyway. During our break time, Wonwoo and Jiheon notice my weakened state and urge me to go to the school clinic.

“I’m fine! Just sleepy, that’s all.”

They share a look and thankfully leave my table.

But my peace is soon ruined as Jiheon slams a piece of paper on my desk. A clinic slip. The loud thump gathers the attention of the class, and they take notice of the much familiar white paper that occupies my desk.

“Oh my god, class president is sick?!” Soonyoung exclaims while exaggeratingly covering his mouth.

Usually unconcerned Hansol, Myeongho, and Junhui jerk their heads in my way with horrified expressions.

“I’m not sick! It’s just a small headache. It’ll go away soon.”

“It won’t.” Wonwoo says firmly with his arms crossed. “You’ve been having them since yesterday. Go to the clinic right now or else I’ll drag you there myself.”

Now, I'm usually assertive and tend to win in situations, but when I remember how Wonwoo once dragged Mingyu down the stairs by his backpack down the stairs because they were running late, I decide to sign the slip. I definitely don't want to be dragged like that.

On my way out, Jeonghan and Jisoo give me a few applauses with matching devious smirks.

I point at them accusingly and say, “Unlike you, I’m not pretending just to get out of class.”

Now here I am, at home, holed up in my room, bored out of my mind. Until, I hear a knock on my door and see Nari peeking in.

“Unnie, your classmate’s downstairs. He’s talking with Eomma. Come quickly.” She says hurriedly before rushing out.

I wonder what’s Wonwoo doing here. He usually sends me a text if he’s coming over. Well, he’s been one of my best friends for years, and he has come over a lot, so it’s not like my family has no idea of his existence, and maybe, he thought that sending me a text would end up in me stopping him from coming over. Probably.

Knowing it's only Wonwoo, I skip glancing at the mirror to fix my appearance; after all, he's seen me worse. Still feeling a bit lightheaded from lying down for hours, I make my way downstairs.

“Yah, Wonwoo. You couldn’t even se-“

I halt and gape at the man in my living room who is definitely not my best friend with fifty-eight centimeter wide shoulders (we got bored in class).

Seungkwan stands there in his collared navy blue sweatshirt, holding a basket of tangerines, looking at me with an alarmed face, then gives me a soft smile. It is at this moment I truly realize how much the universe hates me. I probably look like absolute shit right now, and Nari’s sly smile only confirms that further. That little girl.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude or whatsoever. I hope it’s okay. I’ll just drop this off and go, I’m sorry again.”

My mom quickly butts in, “No, no! It’s alright Seungkwan. The gesture is much appreciated. And I know this one has been dying for a familiar face that isn’t ours.” She gives me a look, which I have no idea what it even means, and smiles. She takes the basket and heads to the kitchen bringing Nari along.

In the living room, Seungkwan and I find ourselves standing awkwardly, a noticeable gap between us. It's evident that he wants to say something, but he seems hesitant, perhaps fearing that he might not be welcome. Unable to bear the silence any longer, I take the initiative and speak up.

“Thank you for coming by the way. And for the tangerines too. Those are my favorite.”

“I know.”

His response catches me off guard, and my surprise seems to have unconsciously shown on my face, prompting him to explain further.

“In middle school, we were asked to bring our favorite food. You came in holding this single medium-sized tangerine. And you know, my family has a farm so I brought one too. I was really embarrassed because Seungcheol had brought this full-blown meal and everyone was gathered around him. But then you saw me, approached me and told me-“

“‘Tangerines are cuter anyway.” I finish.

We both share a laugh and in between our laughter he asks me, “What the hell does that even mean anyway? How could tangerines be cute?”

I look at him fondly and answer, “Well, they just are.”

There’s a pregnant pause that follows our laughter as we gauge what to do next. As I’m about to ask him what made him drop by, he already answers me with a sheepish smile, “I, uh, just seeing you pale and weak in class, and you not showing up today just really had me worried.” He scratches his head and looks away. “So, I decided to check-up on you to see if you were alright.

Despite my disheveled bed hair, crusty and pale lips, and being dressed in Anpanman pajamas, I confidently say that I'm doing well.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be coming to school tomorrow.”

He gives me a worried look, like the one he gave me a day ago in Chemistry. “Are you sure? I think you should rest more. The council’s doing alright with the prep anyway.”

Feeling my stomach flutter at his genuine concern, I try to brush it off, blaming it on my feverish state, and reassure him that I'll be okay.

“I’ll be fine, Kwan. It’s just a cold.”

Kwan. I hadn’t realized I used a nickname for him I gave him years ago until I had said it. Either he didn’t notice, or doesn’t really care as it doesn’t seem to have caught him off-guard, seeing that he still seems to worry about me.

“If you say so…”

Ever the worrywart, but undeniably cute.

?!

“Well, it’s about to get dark in a while so I should head home. It was good seeing you. I hope you feel better. And if you ever decide not to come to school tomorrow that’s a hundred percent just fine, and I’ll take care of letting our teachers and the council know.”

I chuckle and walk him to the door.

“Thank you, Seungkwan. For coming by, and for the tangerines. I really appreciate it. Be safe on your walk back, and see you in school tomorrow.”

A few steps away from the door, he turns around, now walking backwards, with that charming smile and says, “I mean this in the nicest way possible. I hope I don’t.” As he walks away, that smile still on his face, I wave goodbye, returning the gesture with a warm smile of my own.

Subconsciously admitting that I do feel a little under the weather, I retreat back inside, hoping to get more and better rest.

Nearing the staircase, my mom stops me, and Nari hovers behind her with a smile that makes me feel uneasy.

“So,” she starts, annoyingly elongating the ‘o’. “I haven’t seen you and Seungkwan together for a while.” I quickly try to jump to correct her until she interrupts me. “I mean, you know, conversing. Especially with him coming here to our home.”

“Yeah, conversing.” Nari butts in, also, elongating her vowels. I roll my eyes at them.

“Tell that sweet boy he should come over often like the old days. Makes me feel younger.” My mom yells.

Don’t think I’ll be doing that, but like the good daughter I am, I say okay anyway and go back to my room.

My head pounds as I struggle to wake up, attempting to open my heavy eyes. The blaring alarm in the background adds to my discomfort, and I quickly move over to silence it. Another second of that noise, and my head might just explode. Despite feeling weak, I gather the strength to stand up, determined to get ready for school

Looking at my state and the fact that I can’t even tie my shoes right without getting lightheaded should be enough reason for me to garbage the idea of going to school. But then, I remember all my missed classes and the council preparations. I can’t miss one more day.

During breakfast, I try my best to act normal and perfectly healthy. Nari gives me a side eye every now and then, waiting for a moment to catch me red-handed; pretending not to be sick. Fortunately, my mom is preoccupied with getting ready for work and preparing our lunches, so she doesn't pay strict attention to my condition.

So far so good.

I collect my things and head out. As I open the door, the sun blares right at me so I cover my eyes with my hands and take a few steps forward to get into the shade. As soon as I remove my hand, I jump out of surprise at the sight of Seungkwan.

“Yah! Are you trying to kill me?! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry! I just..” He trails off and leads me into confusion.

“You just…?”

“My mom!” He screams frantically, and I jump in surprise again. “My mom also knew about you getting sick, so she asked me to accompany you to school to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, well, she really didn’t have to. I’ll send her a text that I’m alright-”

“No!” He screams again.

“Seriously! Why do you keep screaming so early in the morning?!” His agitated state isn't exactly helping mine, and the never-ending screaming is starting to make me lightheaded again.

“I’ll do it. I mean- you don’t have to send her a text. I’ll tell her myself later. Don’t. Send a text.”

“Okay, alright!!”

I turn towards the direction of the school and start walking. He quickly follows and walks beside me.

Trying to make small talk, he asks me, “Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah I am.” Well, technically, yes I am better. I didn’t say anything about feeling totally okay, so I’m totally, technically, not lying.

“That’s good,” is all he says.

He doesn’t make further small talk and we make our way to school in comfortable silence. Even if we hadn’t maintained a close friendship all these years, I can never feel uncomfortable around Seungkwan. Somehow, he always knows when I am in need of a cheery conversation, or time to be left alone. He also supports me in any endeavor I take on, like running for class president, and school council president. He even went as far as taking Soonyoung and Seokmin to the crafts store, buying materials to make a ton of banners and posters for me. I thanked them by treating them to Chan’s grandmother’s restaurant.

As we arrive in our classroom, our arrival makes some commotion.

“Oh? Class president, hello! Seungkwan-ah… hello to you too.” Soonyoung greets, adding a wink for whatever reason at the end.

As we walk to our seats, I feel lingering eyes following our every move. I look back and see Seokmin and Soonyoung whispering to each other. I raise a brow at them, and turn back to my seat shaking my head.

“Sorry about Soonyoung. I guess he missed you.” Seungkwan says beside me as he settles on his seat. “We all did…” He adds.

Wonwoo and Jiheon approach me asking about how I was and if I was feeling better. I fed them the same remarks (not lies) as I did Seungkwan. Wonwoo looks at me accusingly but decides to brush it off and keep to himself. If I don’t want to be sent home, I should really look out for Wonwoo. He might smell my bullshit about being okay from a mile away.

I made sure to bring a lot of water, using the big jug my mother uses on family trips. And also, to avoid Seungkwan offering his, and ending up infecting him. After all he’s done for me, I really don’t want to do that to him.

I excuse myself and head to the restroom to take a pain reliever, so a headache wouldn’t come over and torture me during class. After doing just that and trying to get myself together, I head back and continue as normal.

At lunch, Wonwoo and Jiheon eat with me. As I open my lunchbox and pause, both of them point at me accusingly, “Aha! I knew it! You’re still sick aren’t you?”

I guess my reaction, or lack thereof, to seeing my lunch was a dead giveaway that I don’t feel so up to par. Usually, I would get excited and eat right away, leaving no crumbs for Jiheon to steal.

“Ugh, but I feel better now. I promise!” I beg, mostly to Wonwoo. “Help me here Jiheon, please?”

“Sorry, I’m with Wonwoo on this one. You’ve been overworking yourself these days and coming to school today will just make your fever worse. You need to rest. It’s okay to, y’know?” She says.

I lean back on my chair, any appetite I even had, gone. I appreciate my best friends’ worries, but I really can’t afford missed days. But maybe they’re right. I can rest, and if I push myself harder I’ll miss more school days than I should.

Wonwoo pulls out an all-familiar slip and pushes it towards me. A clinic slip, all filled out and ready for me to bring. “We’re only worried about you. It’ll be better anyway if you were here in perfect, healthy condition, than physically being here but your mind—no offense, helpless.”

I take the slip and put it in my pocket. And since I don’t have any appetite, nor will I be in the classroom, I offer my lunch to Jiheon, which she accepts excitedly. Wonwoo shakes his head.

I leave the room and head to the clinic. On the way, I really start to feel my fever taking a toll on my body. What even possessed me to leave my bed and get ready? I should have stayed and slept all day.

When I get to the school clinic, they take my temperature and quickly assess that I should be sent home (again) for better recovery. Nurse Yang tells me she’ll ask someone to bring my stuff over for me.

After waiting for a bit, the sound of the chimes by the door brings my attention to Jisoo who is wearing my backpack.

“Thanks, Jisoo.”

“No problem. Though, I’m kinda jealous.” I smack him square on the shoulder. Nurse Yang gives us a side-eye glance. “Kidding. Obviously.” He heads out the clinic, but not before shouting, “Get well soon, our president!” I chuckle at Jisoo’s antics. “Sorry about that.” I tell Nurse Yang, to which she only shakes her head at.

“Your mother says she’s near, you should go to the gate now. Get well soon, dear.”

“Thank you, Nurse Yang. Hopefully you won’t see me back here anytime soon.” I really, genuinely, hope that.

I meet my mom, who is visibly mad, at the school gate. As soon as I get in the car, she gives me a lecture. I drown it out, and use my headache as an excuse to nap, even for a bit.

As soon as we get home, she orders me to stay on the couch for dinner and to drink some ginger tea. Even though the couch might not be as comfortable as my bed, I still snuggle in and nap.

The sound of the doorbell wakes me up. Despite being just a few feet away from the door, I refrain from standing up to get it. I know my family understands my current sickly state, and they will likely get it themselves. I hear the door open and my mom’s delighted gasp.

“Ah, Seungkwan!” I jolt upright and check if my ears heard that right. I look at the door, and there he is, right outside, holding a paper bag and smiling sheepishly at my mom. I contemplate whether I’m dreaming or not, but with Nari tapping my chin, I guess I’m not.

“A fly might go in, Unnie.” She teases then runs away before I give her one.

Seungkwan greets my mother back. “Hello! Just wanted to drop by again and give this samgyetang Eomma made. I also just wanted to check if…” He points at me, on the couch, “…is okay.” He smiles, and waves at me.

“Oh! How kind of you Seungkwan. Come in, come in!” My mom ushers him hurriedly inside, and takes the paper bag from his hands.

She looks at me pointedly, “Make some space for him!”

Seungkwan, alarmed, quickly blurts, “Oh no, it’s okay! I can just stand here...”

Despite his protests, I move my legs off the couch and move off to one side. I look at Seungkwan, who has a look of horror (and a bit of shame) on his face, and pat the very vacant seat beside me.

“Seungkwan, it’s okay. Lying down for so long isn’t great anyway.” I reassure him.

“Well, I won’t be here long. I just wanted to check if you were okay. But also, I felt a bit guilty that I didn’t notice that you were sick this morning.”

If I thought my head pounding was painful, the rapid and loud beating of my heart in my chest is quickly overshadowing that pain. Kind, charming, sweet seat mate and friend Boo Seungkwan, who offered me his water bottle [despite the fact that he can’t get a refill throughout the day], dropped by my house afterwards to give me a basket of tangerines, came to my house early in the morning to accompany me on my way to school [even if he was closer if he were to walk from his home], brought homemade samgyetang, and now says he feels guilty for not noticing I was still feeling sick. I think I might just melt into this couch, actually.

Thinking of nothing to respond, I switch the subject and ask him how his family is doing.

“They’re doing pretty good. My sisters miss seeing you. They always liked you ‘cause they could dress you up and talk about girl things I probably can’t understand.” He laughs.

“Well, I miss them too. Being an elder sister to Nari makes me want one too. I’ll make sure to visit when I get better.”

To that, he merely nods. We’re left in awkward silence again. Running out of things to say, I impulsively invite him over for dinner.

“Oh, no it’s alright, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

My mom overhears him and quickly excuses him (more like begs him with pleading eyes), “No, Seungkwan. It’s alright. We would love to have you over for dinner! It’s always just us three, so another would make great company.”

“Eomma’s right, Kwan.” 

Kwan. The nickname again. I silently hope he doesn’t notice. And instead of dwelling on why it felt so natural to call him that, like in the old days, I beg him to stay.

“It’s the least we can do for all you’ve done for us, for me. The visits, the tangerines, the samgyetang, your water… Please stay.”

He looks at me to my mother, in deep thought. He fumbles with his hands, and I take notice of how slender and pretty they are. He takes a deep breath as he answers, “Okay.” My mom cheers and shouts my sister and I’s names, telling us to set the table and help her in the kitchen.

“Let me help!” Seungkwan says loudly, standing up from his seat.

“No.” We say in unison. Seungkwan gives up and sits back down with a huff.

During dinner, the atmosphere in our cozy kitchen is delightful, with lively conversation filling the air. A table for four, an antique lamp hanging right above our heads, and a lit candle on the counter. Seungkwan seamlessly fits in, right here beside me, engaging in cheerful chatter with my family. As we lock eyes occasionally, we can't help but share sheepish smiles.

In the middle of Seungkwan telling a story of how his sisters dressed him up for Chuseok last year, a sudden and powerful thunderclap reverberates the room and takes us all by surprise. Nari drops her spoon in surprise and latches on to our mother. As my mom consoles her, I look over at Seungkwan and see him deep in thought.

Oh right, he still has to go home.

“Oh, that must be the rain. Before it gets any stronger, I should probably go…” He says, looking down, afraid to disappoint my mother.

Out of concern (and concern only), I butt in. “What if it gets stronger as you’re walking home? Even with an umbrella, the walk home will still be pretty dangerous.” My overthinking self proves to be quite resourceful at this moment in concocting excuses, even though, in reality, it's not even raining yet. Despite that fact, I continue, “It’ll be better to wait it out, here, where you’re safer.”

I look to my mother in hopes she would agree with me. Her brows are raised but she relaxes them back as soon as I nudge mine for her to interject.

“Oh, yes. Agreed. Definitely. It’s time we took care of you, don’t you think?”

We all look to Seungkwan. An uneasy expression settles on his face. So, to assure him that he isn’t overstaying his welcome (I don’t think he ever can), I place my hand on his arm and smile softly.

“Please?” I squeeze his arm a bit. “I don’t want your family to get mad at me anyway for sending you home drenched.”

He chuckles and places his hand on top of mine. It’s warm. Where is this heat coming from? My fever? My naturally sweaty hands? My hand being sandwiched by his skin? The candle? Or maybe, it has something to do with the loud, fast rhythm my heart is going.

“Okay, okay. You convinced me.” He says out loud. His hand still on mine.

As dinner ends, my mother tells me to put on a movie in the living room to pass time in waiting out the rain. Seungkwan and I make offers to help with the dishes, but my mother is sure she can handle it and doesn’t let us forget that, actually, I’m still sick. Seungkwan, as if hit with this revelation, looks to me with shock as if he had also forgotten why he had come in the first place.

He rushes us back into the living room, settling on the couch, and picking a movie to watch.

“How about that one?”

“The Mimic?! Are you serious?! I’m sorry but no.” He says to me, as if very offended.

“But they said it’s good!”

“How about this one instead?”

The Lover’s Lake, flashes on the TV. I look to him in surprise. I should’ve known he was a rom-com guy.

“See, look. 5 star ratings! This is definitely the one.” He says excitedly. With this much excitement coming from him , I find it impossible to say no. He celebrates shortly, then stands up to dim the lights, setting the perfect mood, and then settles back down, wiggling around to find a more comfortable position. And this said position seems to be at a spot closer to me than he was previously.

I have this thing where, if the movie is good, I tend to instantly fall asleep. And that is just what I did. My eyes were getting heavy about just 20 minutes in. I had felt myself slowly leaning onto Seungkwan, and continued doing so until my head rested on his shoulder. He had not said a word about it, and continued to watch the film.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but he had leaned onto me too. Though, I wouldn’t be so sure about that as I had drifted off to sleep by then.

“Okay, now just pull the bunny ears you’re holding. Pull them tight.”

Following his instructions, I pull tight and successfully tie my shoelaces. His face contorts in delight and breaks out in a big smile.

“See! You did it! Not that hard, right?”

“It was hard.”

He laughs and picks me up in his arms.

Giving me a big smooch on my cheek, he tells me, “I’m proud of you anyway, my love.”

“Thanks, appa.” I say, and hug him tighter.

“Now go back down and show them.”

I run down the stairs excitedly. Today’s my 4th birthday and my family and friends have come to celebrate with me. There’s people towering over me everywhere. Finding my way to my mom to show her my recent feat, I maneuver through the crowd the best I can, but in doing so, I bump into someone.

“Ow, my head!”

As the voice screams out, I instinctively reach for the spot where we bumped, trying to figure out who I even bumped into.

It’s Seungkwan!

“Seungkwan!” He greets me back with the same enthusiasm, both of our pains ebbing away.

“Look!” I point to my shoes and he looks down to see what I’m even excited about.

His jaw drops a bit at the achievement usually only 6 year olds can achieve. “You did those?!”

“Yep.” I say with a proud smile. He continues looking at me in shock and he looks down at his shoes.

Velcros.

I laugh heartily but stop immediately when Seungkwan looks back up at me with an annoyed face.

In an attempt to make him feel better, I ask him if he wants to go get sweets with me. He puts up a bit of a fight before agreeing, but says yes anyway as if it was his last resort.

I take his hand in mine as we weave through the crowd towering over us. He squeezes my hand every now and then, when someone bumps into him and he’s lagging behind, afraid I’ll leave him behind. I tug on his hand.

After what felt like the world’s most grueling journey, we arrive at the kitchen. The sweets are on the counter, but they are really, really high up—way beyond our reach.

Seungkwan and I share a look.

He gives me a nod and I return a look of confusion. He nodded at me like I knew what he was about to do, or that we’ve been through this a million times. He really needs to stop watching those spy movies.

He leaves for a moment and comes back with a stool. As he takes a step on it, it wiggles a bit and I clutch onto him immediately. I look up at him and he merely says, “Oops.” I furrow my brows at him in annoyance.

“Let go of me! I’m so near!” He whines while gently pushing my forehead.

I sigh in defeat and let him go.

He takes another step, both feet on the stool. The added leverage enables him to see the array of sweets on the counter, which, judging by his reaction, is a pretty damn lot.

“Woah! There’s bungeo-ppang, chocopie, songpyeon, and-” He pauses and lets out a gasp.

“What? What is it?! Tell me!” I beg, tugging on his shorts.

He looks at me to create suspense, and then screams in glee, “HOTTEOK! Our favorite!”

In utter surprise and excitement, I pull my hand away from Seungkwan and start applauding. But it seemed like I did it too quickly, causing him to lose balance. From the first wobble, I start screaming his name repeatedly.

“Seungkwan! Seungkwan!” I say it repeatedly, and too fast, that by some point (yes, at this point he is still pretty much wobbling, putting up a good fight) all anyone would hear is, “Kwan! Kwan! Kwaaaan!”

He falls.

I rush to his side and ask him if he’s okay. He stays on the floor, with his eyes closed. After a beat of silence, he starts laughing. I look at him in confusion, wondering if he hit his head too hard. Seungkwan is now crazy and I have to say bye-bye forever.

He opens his eyes and stops laughing as soon as he sees my expression.

“You sounded so funny. ‘Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!” He says, mimicking my voice.

I smack him square on the shoulder.

“Sorry. Here-” He tries to sit up and hands me something. A single piece of hotteok. “Happy birthday!”

I take it from his hand saying, “Oh. Thanks!”

“What happened here?!”

We both look up in surprise at the horrified voice. It’s my mother.

In fear, Seungkwan starts apologizing frantically. “Sorry! We just wanted some sweets but I fell down. Don’t worry they’re still fine! I just got one hotteok though.”

My mom sighs deeply and helps Seungkwan up. She returns the stool from where it came from and reaches for something on the counter.

“Here. One for you, since you fought so valiantly for it.” She says, ruffling his hair. Someone from the living room calls for her. She gives us a smile and walks away.

Seungkwan and I exchange amused glances and burst into laughter. Amidst our laughter, I manage to take a bite of the hotteok now and then, only to continue laughing with my mouth full. Seungkwan playfully teases me, "You hotteok addict! At least wait for us to stop laughing!”

I smack his shoulder again, which seems to urge him to tease me further. “Hotteok addict! Hotteok addict!” He starts mimicking my voice and my rushed tone from earlier, now saying, “Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“What does that even mean?!”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. What does Kwan mean?!”

“Your name is SeungKWAN, stupid!”

“Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!”

“Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“Yah!” We both look at the booming voice, and see my dad towering over us with his brow raised. Seungkwan and I look at each other and nod. Then we start running away in laughter.

A loud thunderstrike jolts me awake.

Huh. My 4th birthday. That was the last time my dad celebrated my birthday with me, and the last time Seungkwan ever saw him alive. What a bittersweet memory.

I try to raise my head but feel a weight on top of it, stopping me from doing so.

My cheeks heat up at the realization. Seungkwan fell asleep too. And, he’s leaning on me.

In a state of panic, I try to make him more comfortable, but only lead myself to move my head and realize how stiff my neck is. I wince in pain which jolts Seungkwan awake. He looks around, feeling heavily disoriented.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you.” I say.

He looks at me with his mouth slightly open, his hair all floofed up in different directions, and a faint red mark on his left cheek where he was leaning on me.

He gains a bit of composure and says, “No! If anything, it’s my fault. Sorry for falling asleep on you. It must have been uncomfortable.” He scratches the back of his head, feeling a bit ashamed.

With no intention of lying, I agree with him. “Yeah, a bit. But it’s alright.” I say, laughing a bit towards the end to make him more comfortable.

“Well, it seems like the rain has stopped. I should head home…”

My mouth opens to say something, but the words seem to escape me, leaving me with a simple, "Oh."

He stands up to collect his things and prepares to leave. I stand and go to the door before he can, then Seungkwan appears in front of me.

I open the door and gesture my hand for him to step out first. He smiles shyly and heads out, with me following right after.

“So, uh, thanks. For coming by today. I really lo-liked having you here.”

“Me too.” He responds promptly. It seems to be a vague response so he adds, “Thank you, I mean. Thank you also for the great dinner and letting me stay for a while. Sorry again for… sleeping on you…” He looks away.

I laugh and tell him, “Kwan, you apologize too much y’know. Honestly, tone it down.”

He lets out a blissful sigh. “Well, I won’t keep you out here for too long. Goodbye.” He wistfully says, saying my name at the end.

“Goodbye, Seungkwan. I’ll see you in school.”

He starts walking away, towards his home, away from me. And for some reason, I wait. I wait for him to do something. Not exactly sure what. But I just feel like I don’t want this to end.

So I rush back inside the house and reach for something below the shoe rack. I run after Seungkwan, shouting his name.

Alarmed, he looks back immediately in shock. I stand before him tired and panting with my hands on my knees.

“What are you-”

“Here-” I hand him an umbrella. It’s pink and has flowers. “You should use this. Y’know, in case it- umm, rains again.”

He appears hesitant, almost ready to decline, but he stops himself and settles for a simple, kind, and gentle, "Thank you. You didn't have to do that.”

We stand in the middle of the street, just staring at each other with soft smiles. Just two people who have been gravitating around each other, now seemingly refusing to be apart.

He breaks the silence and says, “I’ll go now. For real this time,” while pointing a finger at me. We share a laugh.

Feeling a bit ashamed, I look down and say, “Sorry.”

“Ah, it’s alright.”

He smiles at me, and in response, I smile back and nod, silently indicating that I have nothing else to say to hold him back from going home.

“Get well soon, Tteokki.” He says, ruffling my hair. I say nothing about the nickname, like he did all those times before, and keep smiling.

Seungkwan finally turns back and walks towards the direction of his home, and I do the same.

Before I step inside, I can't help but glance back at him. Seungkwan continues walking with the umbrella hanging on his wrist, swinging it along with his arms. I keep my eyes fixed on him until his silhouette fades away.

With a sigh, I turn back inside, unaware that a certain round-faced boy had momentarily halted his walk and looked back, his thoughts mirroring mine. Just for a moment.

After an exhausting day of essentially doing nothing, I plop down on my bed. I fluff my pillows, get under my covers, and hold onto my teddy bear, hoping for the best sleep ever.

However, just as I close my eyes for about three seconds, I hear a notification sound from my phone. Unable to ignore it, I reach over to my bedside table and check the notification. The curiosity of not knowing what it is would surely keep me from sleeping soundly anyway.

It’s a message from my mom.

Confused, I swipe to open our conversation and see that she has sent me an image. It hasn’t fully loaded yet so I click on it and wait.

When the image loads, my heart starts beating quickly.

It’s a picture of me and Seungkwan sleeping on the couch. My head on his shoulder, his head on top of mine. My brows aren’t furrowed like they usually are. I look relaxed; at ease. I don’t look like I’m sick at all. And Seungkwan looks the same.

I zoom in behind us and see Nari smiling wide holding up a peace sign.

I shake my head and react on the picture with an angry emoji. Before I turn off my phone, my finger hovers over a button.

It doesn’t take much resistance from me to go ahead and click it, so I do.

Then a pop-up notification appears on my phone.

Image saved.

I smile to myself, then turn off my phone and head back to sleep.

Maybe I don’t hate being sick anymore.

a/n: loosely based on a dream I had of seungkwan! fun fact: that dream was the reason he ultimately became my bias T__T i miss u boo! Be well, always <3

[tryskomys]

Wet Sand

Stone Gossard x OC

Chapter 2 - I’m On Fire

Summary: Let’s meet in our dreams.

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

notes: chapter two has arrived! i hope it's not too eccentric and confusing to read, it's the only way i know how. hope you enjoy <3

tw: weed, swearing, psychedelic-headache-inducing imagination. you know those dreams that feel like you've taken a hit of acid and fuck up your day before you can say “these edibles ain't shit”? yeah, there's that.

songs:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

A flash of ruddy hair appeared in her peripheral as she felt his warm breath tickle the back of her neck.

“This is my room,” he mumbled in her ear and led her inside a strange place with four walls, a ceiling and a floor. It didn’t look like a room at all.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it seemed to be made of something similar to cotton clouds, corporeal and see-through at the same time.

In the furthest corner, there was a single bed with bright pink sheets and a small tea table. It had a cup of coffee on top, along with a pocket weed pipe.

Her body twitched when he put his hand between her shoulder blades and extended his other lanky arm to point an extraordinarily long finger at the wall in front of them, landing right on a shiny sunburst Les Paul.

“This is my guitar,” he whispered again, his cold aquiline nose nudging her cheek. She wanted to turn around to take a peek at him, but she felt like she was frozen in time, gliding through the room as he gracefully pushed her further inside.

The walls expanded and shrunk over and over again, swirling like the smoke that was eerily sizzling out of the glass pipe.

“This is my bed,” he snapped her out of her dissociation again, his fingers wrapping around her waist. He led her towards the comfortable-looking mattress.

She didn’t protest when he spun her around and lifted her off the floor as if she were made of feathers.

She was looking right through him, unable to focus on his features, yet she knew exactly where to touch to caress his cheek. She could feel a few small freckles under her fingertips.

He hummed as he laid her down on the bed and straightened up again, reaching for the small transparent pipe crammed with green clumps.

His cheeks hollowed as he took a long, deep drag and then leaned on his knees, puffing the smoke right into her face. There was something inexplicably vulgar about the scent.

And as his hair fluttered under his exhale, it was as if she was simultaneously standing in a field full of wild strawberry bushes.

“This is my handy little grass pipe,” he breathed out the remnants of smoke, his voice low and stoic. Just when his features finally started to take shape and colour, he moved again and blurred into an unrecognizable tall figure climbing on top of her, knees at the sides of her hips.

He hovered above her as he swept her tangled hair out of her face, his Adam's apple moving up and down while he hummed an unidentifiable tune.

The melody was surprisingly delicate and gentle, contrasting his shameless indecency. When she subconsciously tried to look away from his scrutinizing stare, he swiftly caught her jaw in his hand, tutting.

"Nuh-uh. This is my dream, too. Don’t be a killjoy,” he mumbled, somewhat crass. He softly tugged on her chin to turn her head back to face him and when she did, his features finally took shape.

His eyes were impossibly big. Half-lidded with wildly dilated pupils, irises an unidentifiable, harsh shade of green. Encircled with smudges of messy black eyeliner, swirling through her brain like a head-spinning drug.

His lips curled into a cocky grin when a breath hitched in her throat. She reached up to run her hand through his red-tinted hair, but she grabbed nothing but air. He tutted again and slowly shook his head as if he was deeply disappointed in her naivité.

Suddenly, a shrilling high-pitched beep echoed through the floating room and wormed into her ear, pounding her brain like a sledgehammer. Her heart burst into rapid beats when he bent down to her face, a smug smirk still dancing on his angled features.

His phantom lips shivered over hers like a weightless quill, bony ribcage brushing against her chest as he let out an airy chuckle. His words were laced with condescending amusement.

“Oh, right. This is my alarm clock. It always seems to ring by the time we get here. What a shame…oh well. Tommorow, same time, same place. Don't you forget...”

His voice melted and got lost in the loud beeps as the room around her dissolved. Keeva let out a pathetic whine and she waved her hands in the air, trying to grasp onto his shoulders so he wouldn’t disappear with it.

It didn’t work, so she swiftly sat up in her bed, still grabbing the air around her.

When she realized the source of the noise was a blue alarm clock that sat on the coffee table next to her, she grabbed it and threw it against the wall with a childish grunt.

It stopped beeping, but its plastic container broke open and the battery fell out, rolling along the floor and stopping right at her feet as if to mock her.

She huffed, feeling a rush of blood pool in her cheeks as the fresh memory of her dream erased the ugly noise from her mind.

Huh. What the fuck…

She was extremely puzzled as she looked around her flat, finally grounding in reality. One room, that’s all she had, with a tiny kitchen counter and an even smaller bathroom.

Her window led to the street, though, so whenever she crawled out of her bed, she could open it right away and breathe in the frigid winter air.

She rubbed her eyes and looked out, watching as lone cars passed through the mist that settled above the dim streets of Seattle. She smiled to herself.

Could be a worse view.

Getting up, Keeva stretched and grabbed the alarm clock off the floor. She put it back together, finally looking at the time.

5:30. Fuck. That’s late.

She sped up her routine, clumsily slapping on mascara in the bathroom before quickly digging through her suitcase to fish out a clean shirt.

A month in and I still haven’t unpacked, what a well-mannered lady.

She couldn’t find anything, so she frantically looked around the room, kicking a rag and a bra out of her way. Her eyes fell on a white t-shirt that was thrown over the single chair next to her table.

She walked up to it and folded it open, revealing a round-shaped photo of an Indian man with a huge beard, long hair and sunglasses, circled with big words that spelled SOUNDGARDEN.

Oh. Oh, right.

The picture of the unruly guy from her dream finally fully materialized and her already heated blush grew even brighter when she realized that she did, in fact, not make him up.

Fuck. Beanpole.

“So you haven’t been to a gig here yet? God, that’s grim. Soundgarden is a great place to start, though. It’s a bit of everything, but mostly kinda metal-based. The U-Men are playing next week, if you’re into more punky stuff, ” Stone rambled and waved his hands around, which was clearly something he did a lot.

His strides were long and brisk, so she was a bit out of breath as she tried to catch up with him.

He had a big suede jacket on and a fuzzy knitted beanie with a big puffy ball on top.

Keeva had to giggle at his unusual visage, she couldn't put into words what made him so damn endearing, but he had an irresistibly charming skip to his step.

Now that he was in motion, he reminded her of a cub that hadn’t fully grown into its paws yet, his huge feet slapping against the crunching fresh snow, bony fingers wiggling through the air as he enumerated the upcoming week’s concerts.

Keeva threw the t-shirt on and quickly wiggled into her ragged denim overalls, cursing when the fuzzy brown sweater she stuck her head through made her hair stand up and crackle with static.

She promptly looked over at her clock again and tied her boots, grabbed her wristwatch off the table and put it in the pocket of her leather jacket.

As she skipped down the long stairs of the apartment building, she wrapped a long woollen scarf around her neck, scratching her forehead when a piece of cotton lint stuck to her eyebrow.

She hurried to the bike rack in front of the building, clumsily throwing her backpack on while trying to untangle the leather strap that tied her bike to the metal pipes. When she finally loosened it, she quickly grabbed the lock that hung on it, moved the three number buttons in the correct order and took it off.

She stuffed all of it in her pockets, too and hopped on her bike. And then she could finally set off to work, letting memories flow through her head.

“Stoney! Hey, Stoney! Stoked that you made it! Matt shed a few tears when he didn’t see you in the pit,” the seemingly intimidating guitar player called after the two of them, finally hopping off of the stage and excitedly waving to get their attention. He had a bushy black beard and hair messier than a bird’s nest.

Keeva tried to gather some courage by straightening her back and nudging Stone. He seemed to sense the tension in her muscles, so he delicately placed his hand on her back, putting in just enough weight to assure her that he was there.

“Oh, so it is your real name! Tough shit,” she mumbled as they moved through the crowd, earning a hearty chuckle while he answered various calls of 'Hi, Stoney', 'What’s up, Stoney', 'Hi ya, Stoney', 'Stop by for a shot, Stoney' and a bunch of other greetings. “Seems like I’m hanging with the popular kid, that’s an unexplored territory for me.”

“Chill out, you’ll fit in just right. The starving artists of Seattle generally respond well to greenies and you're undoubtedly irresistible.”

Irresistible.

That’s the word that occupied Keeva’s head as he locked her bike to the rack in front of a parking lot with the leather strap and lock she fished out of her pockets, but then she noticed there was another, bigger bike next to hers, similarly battered and covered in stickers.

Mötorhead, Butthole Surfers, Nets…

She frowned, took out her watch and checked it before finally tying it around her wrist.

Where did this thing come from? I’m supposed to be starting the shift. Weird.

She sank her ears into the fluffy scarf and headed towards the Raison D’Être. When she turned the corner and reached the door of the artsy café, she took a bundle of keys out of her backpack to open up.

But the key didn't go in, as there was one already slotted in from the other side.

“The hell…” she sighed and pressed her nose against the frosted glass, trying to decipher any signs of life. She knocked and heard an unintelligible answer before a figure rose from behind the counter and walked up to the front.

When the door opened, Keeva found herself in front of a tall guy wearing a bizarre furry hat and a sleeveless basketball jersey, an interesting choice for this kind of weather.

Pearl earrings were hanging out of his ears and his face lit up with a wide cat-like grin. He towered over her, just like…

Dammit, get out of my head, beanpole.

“Can I help you?” the guy mused, leaning against the doorframe. He wore a ring on every finger and multiple beaded necklaces of different sizes and colours dangled from his muscular neck.

What a character.

Keeva chuckled and rattled her key bundle in the air.

“Can I help you? You seem awfully suspicious,” she shrugged and mirrored his stance. He giggled.

“You must be Keeva. I’m Jeff, really a pleasure to finally meet you,” he stuck out his hand and waited for her to shake it. Just as she reached out, he gently took her fingers and kissed the cold knuckles, old-fashioned style.

She huffed, but couldn’t help a little blush.

“Uh, that’s me. Great to meet you…Jeff? Oh, yeah! Rod told me about a Jeff on sick leave,” she said and silently thanked him as he motioned her to come inside. “Glad to see you on two feet! Word has it that you got injured in a freaky water polo accident or something.”

Jeff laughed and the youthful energy around him only intensified. He locked the door again and jogged to catch up with her, helping her out of the leather jacket like a proper gentleman.

He had a pleasantly light cologne, mixed with the scent of coffee beans as he was just in the middle of grinding them. And a faint hint of weed that was nowhere near as arousing as her dream made it out to be.

“Yeah, I busted my knee. Playing basketball, just to clarify.”

“I mean, there’s a ball and there’s a net, right? The only basics that matter,” Keeva wiggled her index finger at him and grabbed the barista apron he offered her. It had a bright psychedelic print on it, almost hypnotizing. Jeff snorted.

“Jeez, thank god my friend Stoney isn’t here, he’d fall in love with you on the spot,” he mused and her smile fell a bit, eyes wide.

Oh.

Her cheeks grew red, she tried to play it off by nonchalantly scratching her forehead.

“Would he now?” she smirked and Jeff nodded, leaning against the counter as he lousily wiped it with a damp rag that he took out of his back pocket.

“With that smart-ass-will-o’-the-wisp-punk thing you got going on? Madly,” he looked Keeva up and down and gave her another disarming grin. “Fortunately he’s at work, little baker boy at Grand Central.”

“Let me guess…”

She folded her arms and put on a thoughtful frown. She hoped that Jeff’s comment was supposed to compliment her.

“About yay high,” she raised her hand as far as she could, “…bad dye job, ridiculous scrunchie…” she counted on her fingers and Jeff’s jaw dropped, laughing as she continued.

“...bug-eyed, punchable face…”

Stone smirked as the bearded man patted his shoulder a few times after greeting him and before he could ask about his female company, another man joined them, a mane of curls flowing around his face like a sea of black seaweeds. He had a linen shirt on, opened all the way to his navel. The singer.

“‘Sup, Stoney? The guys went for a blunt but they’ll be right back. Who’s your little friend?” he mused and then stopped in his tracks for a second before slapping the bushy guitarist's stomach with the back of his hand.

“Kim, that’s Keeva. As in Kiki. No way,” he whistled and the guitarist, Kim, raised his eyebrows with a surprised nod.

“Oh! Oh, right! Jesus, hi, we were wondering when you’ll show up! I’m Kim, pleasure,” he extended his hand and Keeva bashfully shook it, her cheeks full of a crooked smile.

The singer chimed in with an introduction, almost cutting off his well-spoken friend.

“I’m Chris, so nice to meet you! We’ve heard about you shredding your way through this shithole, but you never showed up! We were starting to think you’re just an urban legend!” Chris ruffled her hair and giggled as if he was a genuinely happy child receiving a new toy for Christmas.

Stone chuckled, flicking her nose for the sixth time that evening.

“See, I told you you were a fucking cryptid.”

“Sylphs are known to migrate to America during this time of year, Stone. No wonder you dropped out,” Kim added, theatrically widening his eyes as Keeva rolled her eyes and scratched the back of her neck, grinning.

“Cool, so I don’t have to introduce you,” Jeff giggled and adjusted his hat. “When did that happen?”

“Last night. We met on the way to the Off Ramp. We were running late but he took me through a shortcut,” Keeva shrugged, walked behind the counter and hopped up on it.

She grabbed a small blackboard propped up next to the cashier and started writing down the Monday special - Hazelnut espresso.

Chris was a very attractive man, no doubt about it. He was even taller than Stone, but he filled the space around him, whereas Stone seemed to poke out. Even though Chris’s mane of curls had twice the volume hers had, Stone’s hair was somehow messier. Chris’s eyes were a cold shade of blue, but they felt warm and comforting. Stone’s saucer eyes made her want to look away, despite having an inviting golden hue.

He was everywhere, sticking out no matter who he stood next to.

“He, uh…he left an impression, that’s for sure,” she mumbled and cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the choking grip that was his face behind her eyelids.

“Like you wanted to slap him?” Jeff squinted, grinning again when she vehemently nodded.

“He’s good. A smart-ass for sure, plus there’s his whole chess club thing. But he’s kinda a brother by now. Oddly hot, chicks dig him. But don’t tell him I said that,” he wiggled with his finger when she gasped. “Doesn’t play ball, though, so that’s a little dent in his coolness.”

Chicks dig him, huh?

Oh, and of course he plays chess. Perfectly annoying.

“Depends. I mean, I personally never really got the appeal of sports. I’m more of a cheerleader,” Keeva smirked as Jeff’s smile grew even wider.

“Oh man, talk about two peas in a pod,” he muttered under his breath and disappeared into the back room for a moment before emerging with two big mugs.

“Fuck, I almost forgot. I kinda knew you were coming, so I made this when I opened up. Just a little welcome surprise,” he shrugged and handed her a warm cup of tea with milk. “A small piece of home, right? Hope you’re not allergic to milk or something.”

Christ, is everyone here a sweetheart? Talk about culture shock.

“Fucking hell, thanks so much, Jeff,” she pouted, humming when she took a sip. “Oof, it tastes better than my gran’s.”

“Maple syrup, that’s the secret ingredient,” Jeff winked and sipped on his coffee as well. “So, how did ya like Soundgarden?”

“Phew. It was breathtaking, seriously. I’ve never heard anything like that. And everyone was so nice, too. Stone introduced me to the band and stuff. We had a couple of beers, it was great…” she rambled and waved her arms around excitedly.

“How old are you? Can I even buy you a drink?” Chris chirped, squeezing her nose. Keeva grinned at his friendly gesture.

“Relatively fresh nineteen,” she retorted, her voice coming out as quacks as he still held onto her nose. He gasped.

“My god, you’re a baby!”

“Right?! Found her in a corner, too,” Stone chimed in, scoffing when Chris reached up and pulled his nose as well.

“Shut up, Stoney. You’re just jealous that you’re not daddy’s favourite child anymore,” he quipped, let go of them both and put his arm around Keeva’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart. He may be barely legal but he still doesn’t know proper etiquette.”

She chuckled.

“Well, I don’t have citizenship yet and I’m fully legal in England. Therefore, there's technically nothing to feel bad about as I don’t exist in the federal records,” she shrugged and Chris laughed, the curls bouncing around his face like little black springs.

“Oh, Stoney, she’s a little minx, too. Now you’re in trouble, friend,” he slapped Stone’s scrawny shoulder and ruffled his hair. Stone shooed his hand away and shook his head, hoping his red hair would make the furious blush blend in.

Jeff clapped his hands like an excited kid.

“Wicked! Wait, are you even old enough to drink?” he teased and Keeva rolled her eyes.

“…and then everyone was like ‘Man, thank god Jeff isn’t here, he’s a fucking asshole.’” she added, making him laugh again. “I’m nineteen.”

“Jesus almighty, you’re a baby!” he exclaimed with a gasp and she closed her eyes, shaking her head.

Baby, we’re in the same boat here…

The words echoed through her head as a vicious cue to make her throat tighten once more.

“Here it goes again. Come on, you can’t be that much older!” Keeva crossed her arms and he straightened up proudly.

“I’m twenty-four,” Jeff retorted, but it definitely sounded like a kid trying to sell their age as grown and wise. That made her grin.

“Okay, big guy, I’ll believe that when I see your ID.”

Jeff was about to protest and reach for his wallet, but a firm knock on the front door made them both jump.

Keeva didn’t turn around, instead, she instinctively looked at her wristwatch while Jeff set off to check.

Hm. We open in an hour. Who’s -

“Dammit, Ames, I knocked like four times. If you want a new guitarist, just tell me. Making me freeze to death a bit overkill.”

The nasal voice from her dream created a wave of heat inside her, running through her body like someone dumped a bucket of scorching coffee on her head. She looked over her shoulder and there he was, in the flesh, right in front of her.

He had his big brown jacket on, a puffy checkered scarf bundled around his neck and a neatly tied burgundy bandana. His comically large hands were poking out of woollen fingerless gloves and he rubbed them together, slightly shivering.

When he saw her, he cracked into a wide crooked smile that made tiny little dimples appear on his frostbitten cheeks.

Irresistibly smug.

“Oi, cheerio, Baby! Beautiful morning, innit?” Stone chirped, putting on an atrocious accent again. Keeva narrowed her eyes.

“Well, look who it is. Are you stalking me, beanpole?” she hissed, the corner of her mouth twitching when he chuckled.

“You wish,” he raised an eyebrow and took off his backpack. “I came to welcome my rhythm section buddy Jeff back to the world of dead-end jobs.”

He mindlessly dropped the backpack on the counter and Jeff cursed, pushing it down to the floor.

“Dude, I just wiped it!” he frowned. “Did I miss something? What’s up with the baby?”

“She’s tiny, annoying and says ‘fuck’ like she’d just learned how to swear. Do the math,” Stone shrugged and flicked Keeva’s nose. She slapped his hand away.

“Give him a break, Jeff. It just makes him feel like a big boy,” she retorted and Jeff leaned against the counter, darting between them for a few seconds. Then he let out a huge sigh.

“Oh dear god, there’s two of them now.”

Keeva felt another wave of blood creep up her cheeks as Stone stared her down. He wasn’t wearing eyeliner this time, but his eyes were nonetheless overpowering.

Maybe even more so, strangely glowing in the dim morning light, seemingly lightened by the snow outside.

I don’t have time for this.

She stuck her tongue out at him, hopped off the counter and put the blackboard next to the cashier before turning her back to him. She began rearranging the to-go cups by size to occupy her brain with anything else but him.

He just smirked and loosened the top layers of his scarf.

“Andy’s not here yet?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since he brought me lunch three days ago. How was the gig?” Jeff questioned while he wiped off the snowdrops that fell on the counter from Stone’s backpack.

Stone leaned his elbows on it and rested his head in his hands, palms squishing his patchy red cheeks.

“Badass. The EP sounds even more incredible live, now that you have a comparison. There were, like, a ton of new people. Chicks everywhere, like mosquitoes. Hiro got hit in the face with a fucking bra. The whole of Sub Pop was there, too, all four of ‘em.”

“Were the guys there?” Jeff asked after a few moments of silence and the room suddenly filled with strange gravity. Keeva frowned a little and took a sip of her tea, trying not to eavesdrop. Stone sighed.

“Steve was. We kinda waved at each other, but we didn’t speak,” he shrugged and scratched his temple. He coughed to get rid of the strain in his voice.

“I met Baby, though, so that was significantly more stimulating. Intellectually, of course,” he mused and Jeff snorted, looking between the pair.

“Bet.”

Keeva turned around and hummed, still clutching her cup.

“Glad to serve, beanpole. When do I get to see the two of you play, anyway? I’ve heard that you’re hot shit and I’d love to confirm slash deny that,” she nonchalantly crossed her arms but tensed when she saw the sombre look exchanged between them.

Bad move.

“Actually, we just broke up. About a month ago,” Jeff mumbled and tucked the rag into his back pocket again. Stone’s expression turned serious again, hardening like a statue.

“It was for the best of all of us, we weren’t going anywhere.”

He didn’t sound as sure as he probably wanted to. He bit his lip and looked at Keeva as if he was waiting for her reaction. She let out a heavy sigh.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy or anything,” she mumbled and Jeff shook his head, softly patting her back.

“No, no, it’s okay, we sort of initiated it, anyway. Musical differences and all that.”

“They told us to go fuck ourselves because we were careerists,” Stone chimed in and emphasized the word with bitter air quotes, clearly hurt by the sentiment.

Jeff smacked his lips and frowned at Stone, obviously trying to draw a thick line under that conversation. Keeva bit her cheek, thinking of something to say.

“To be honest, you do seem like little gold diggers,” she sighed and they both chuckled, which was a relief. “No, but seriously. Nobody’s punk enough to enjoy cleaning tables and swiping floors and scrapping for food. And if they say they are, they’re lying.”

Jeff and Stone exchanged a small content smile, obviously glad that someone was on the same page with them.

“Yeah. Sounds good if you have three warm meals and a comfy bed secured at home. Like Stoney here. He has a little trust fund, don’t you?” Jeff poked Stone’s chest.

He began to turn red in the face and once again, Keeva caught a rare awkward crack in his facade. She opened her mouth wide and gasped.

“Aw, you have a loving family, Stoney? That’s not very punk rock of you,” she tutted and shook her head, grinning widely when he reached over the counter and squeezed her nose.

“Shut it, Baby. I’m a working struggling artist just like you…fuck!” His eyes widened. “What time is it?”

She promptly checked her watch.

“Quarter to six.”

“Uh, yeah, gotta run. The baguettes won’t bake themselves,” Stone explained, tightened his scarf and grabbed his backpack off the floor. He turned his attention to Jeff. “Be back for lunch, the usual time. My treat today, I’ll bring some grub. Got any grass?”

“Dude, come on. You’ll ruin me. This is the last time, I'm telling you, you’re buying next. I only have enough left for three spliffs, anyway,” Jeff firmly shook his head and shooed Stone away.

Keeva chuckled, trying to shut down her embarrassing thoughts.

She was afraid that Stone could hear them, observing himself puffing a thick cloud of illicit smoke in her face from an obscenely small distance.

He certainly looked at her like he was seeing it as well, a pompous grin plastered on his face as he raised his eyebrows, innocently questioning why she was so flustered.

“Well, you're free to keep my share, weed stinks like a sweaty ballsack. Always, no exceptions,” she added the last part to convince herself. She would’ve succeeded if it wasn’t for Stone’s loud wolf whistle.

“Would you look at that, Ames? We got a good catholic schoolgirl on our hands,” he chirped. Keeva mocked a laugh and gave him a middle finger, using her offensive gesture to obscure the patchy blush on her face.

Jeff giggled, reaching for the coffee mill next to him.

“Leave her alone, dude. I wanna catch a jam with her before she gets a restraining order against you,” he affectionately patted Keeva’s head.

“Don’t care, I’ll corrupt her sooner or later, that’s a cross I have to bear. Are you two free today? Parents are out of town, so we can get that jam off our chests. I get off at five.”

“That’s weirdly specific,” Keeva squinted at him, still red in the face. Jeff’s cheeks puffed with a throaty laugh as Stone tried his best to keep the corners of his mouth down.

“Depends. If you’re good enough, I may cut it down to four, just for you. Now, fetch me a keg of cappuccino to go, fair maiden!”

She gasped and flung her arm to slap his head, but he managed to jump out of her way. Jeff’s chirpy laughter echoed through the room as he raised his arms to keep them apart.

“Okay, Tom and Jerry, knock it off.”

“I’ll fetch you a cappuccino when you fetch me a breakfast croissant, baker boy,” Keeva hissed and Stone broke into a smug grin, skipping away to the door.

“Deal. Be right back,” he waved and walked right into a coathanger. He caught balance pretty quickly, though, and slung the backpack over his shoulder.

“Don’t threaten us,” she called back at him and cackled at his stumble. He blew each of them a theatrical air kiss and backed out of the door, disappearing into the light snow around the corner. Keeva chuckled, staring out of the window for a few more seconds.

The faint cloud of his strawberry shampoo lingered in her head, along with the sweet freezing air that emanated from his clothes.

Keeva had heard some girls swooning over Chris when she and Stone made their way through the crowd after the show. She wondered if girls talked like that about Stone at his band’s gigs.

Considering the amount of chicks that greeted him with the affectionate nickname, the ghastly purring giggles already rang in her ears.

She fixed her dissociated gaze at no particular place in front of her. Chris led her through the small venue to the bar, answering greetings from all sides.

“Hey, you ok?” he questioned and he squeezed her shoulder. She jerked, realizing he was probably speaking to her the whole time. Stone chuckled.

“She does that a lot, just zones out to make contact with the Mothership.”

“Har har, beanpole. Sorry, I’m just…getting a bit tired, I guess. Long day,” she shrugged and gave Chris an apologetic smile.

“It’s past Baby’s bedtime, you see?” Stone patted her head and she frowned, elbowing him in the stomach.

“I’ve spent basically my whole evening talking to you, Stoney. No wonder I’m falling asleep,” she put on a sarcastic smile and emphasized what was apparently the only correct way to address him.

Stone was just about to return the jab when Chris interrupted them with a hearty giggle.

“Shit, didn’t you say you’ve just met? Like, today? Can’t wait to see you twenty years of marriage deep,” he grinned and ignored their heated cheeks as he ordered a round of tequila shots.

After a few seconds of staring through the glass door, Keeva noticed Jeff in the corner of her eye, studiously watching her.

She did a double-take between the street and his smug smirk and frowned.

“'Sup?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he raised his arms in surrender with a small wink and then started grinding coffee again, humming. When she disappeared into the back room with a suspiciously bright grin, he added the lyrics.

“So this is love, mmhm hmhm…”

[lgcbk]

⸻ BACK FOR MORE ( @lgcichika )

When the group is told they’ll be attending the Legacy Chuseok dinner - the Chuseok dinner, the one he’d been hearing about since his first year as a trainee - Byeongkwan can’t help but feel a bit of excitement. This was the very same dinner that fueled endless rumors and envy among his peers, and he’d been hyping himself up for days in anticipation of a night full of...

Well, just dinner. No dancing on tables, no music blasting. Just a simple dinner with the other debuted artists and plenty of familiar faces. Disappointing? A little. Byeongkwan found himself quietly hovering around his groupmates, an unusual phenomenon for the usually boisterous trainee. He'd blame nerves ( Him? Nerves? Unheard of - ), or maybe his hesitance to make a fool of himself in front of BLAZing's Honey. Whatever the case, even he was surprised that he hadn’t found some sort of mischief to get into the moment he stepped through the doors - not that there were many opportunities under the watchful eye of the staff.

So instead, he drifts around the room, floating from conversation to conversation between trips to the large spread of food in the back of the room. He's already polished off his third small plate before he notices Ichika in his peripheral.

“Hey! Been a while - ” he greets casually at first, catching himself quickly before dropping his head into a polite bow. “Finally quit my day job,” he added with a chuckle, referencing their long running inside joke ( or at least, it was on his side - what was he this time? A taxi driver? Staff? He couldn’t quite keep track anymore ).

[halfmoth-halfman]

little treasures, life's pleasures

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Now that Soap knows when to pay attention, he realizes you and Ghost aren't as subtle as you think you are. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part three. part four.

You don’t use your married name, Soap discovers.

Honestly, he gets it; Simon Riley is allegedly dead to the world with a seemingly endless list of enemies who’d love to get their hands on anything they could use to bring down The Ghost and, based on what Soap saw in your file, you’ve acquired quite the list of enemies yourself. If he were in either of your shoes, Soap would probably do the same.

He stands to the side, leaning with his back to the wall as Price talks about…something? Soap knows he should be paying attention- he had fully intended to, he swears- but then you and Ghost showed up, sitting down right next to each other. There’s an appropriate amount of distance between your chairs, but at the top of the meeting, Ghost folds his arms and leans back, long legs spread just wide enough for his knee to lightly tap against yours, and Soap immediately loses all interest in everything else. 

He keeps his eyes on Price, giving the illusion that he’s listening, but angles his head just enough to see you and Ghost through his peripherals. You’re both staring straight ahead, fully focused on whatever Price is talking about, but every so often Ghost shifts just so and nudges his knee against yours. It’s a subtle movement, not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it, and happens once every fifteen minutes or so. 

Around the forty-five-minute mark, Price asks you a question and you lean forward, answering to the best of your knowledge. Ghost shifts, sitting up a little straighter, watching as you and Price go back and forth. When you’ve finished talking, and Price is satisfied with your answers, you lean back in your chair and Soap sees Ghost's knee nudge against yours once more. He catches your quick glance over to Ghost, though he’s back to paying attention to Price, and the way you try to hide your smile by pretending to scratch the tip of your nose. 

The next time Ghost shifts, you meet him in the middle and set your knee against his, staying that way for the remainder of the meeting. 

-

If Soap thought Ghost's hovering was bad when you were recovering from your leg injury after Las Almas, he doesn’t want to know what Ghost will be like after this.

He’ll probably move his bed into the infirmary, Soap laughs to himself as he wraps bandages around your poorly patched head. The ambush had taken the team by surprise, with a private quickly ushering you away for safety. Unfortunately, “safety” turned out to be in the direct line of an oncoming grenade and the ensuing explosion knocked you head-first into a nearby humvee.

You don’t remember much after that. At some point after the fight, you're picked up, then placed in the passenger seat of the humvee. Someone orders you to talk Soap through bandaging the bleeding slice on the side of your head before Soap appears holding a roll of gauze and a canteen of water.

(Soap assumes it’s to give you something to concentrate on so you don’t fall asleep and worsen your concussion, but you know it’s so Ghost can find the private in charge of your safety and give him the dressing down of a lifetime.)

“You’re wrapping my eye, Soap,” you groan, leaning slightly away from him. He curses under his breath, unraveling the last loop of bandages.

“Sorry, Doc. Not as good at this as you,” Soap jokes. 

“You were doing fine until you tried to turn me into a pirate.” Soap scoffs in mock offense and playfully nudges your shoulder. He readjusts the bandage near your left ear, moving it up just slightly when he sees the thin black lines peeking out from the bottom. Curiosity overtakes him, as he “adjusts” your bandages again, lifting the bottom to reveal a simple outline of a skull he knows all too well tattooed in black ink just behind your ear. 

“How’re we doing?” 

Soap slides the bandage back down at the sudden sound of Ghost’s voice as the Lieutenant approaches the humvee. 

“All good to go,” Soap says, clapping his hands and stepping back. You feel around the bandages, humming in satisfaction.

“Not bad, Soap,” you smile at him, “keep practicing and you might put me out of a job.” You give him a wink before pushing forward to stand on your feet. You stumble only a little, using the humvee door for balance and Soap doesn’t miss the slight way Ghost’s hands flinch to help you before you right yourself.

“Five minutes and I’ll be ready to move,” you nod to Ghost.

“I’ll hold you to that.” There’s a brief moment, where Ghost’s intense gaze focuses directly on you, eyes moving back and forth between your head wound and your face. His shoulders tense, hands flexing into fists before he looks towards Soap and the moment’s gone. 

“Let’s go, Sergeant,” Ghost calls, walking past Soap towards the other vehicles. Soap follows, turning back just once to see the private who had been with you approach you sheepishly, eyes cast down at the ground. You set a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, saying something Soap’s too far away to hear, and turn to lead him back to your vehicle.

-

It isn’t his intention to end up in the infirmary first thing in the morning, but Soap’s day seems to be off to a particularly shitty start as he wakes up with the mother of all migraines. He’s tempted to power through it, but as soon as he sits up the world spins, and feels so nauseous he considers it a miracle he didn’t immediately puke right there. 

It takes him a while to make his way to the infirmary, but he gets there without incident. One hand rubbing his temple, Soap leans forward to push the infirmary door open. It swings open before he can reach the crash bar and he nearly falls forward, almost colliding into Ghost. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap curses, stepping back to allow Ghost out of the infirmary.

“You alright, Johnny?” 

“‘m fine, Lt,” Soap sighs, giving Ghost a half-smile and lazy thumbs-up. Ghost doesn’t seem to believe him, but then again, Ghost’s face is just like that so Soap’s not sure if his excuse works. “Just wanted to say mornin’ to the Doc.” 

“Right…” Ghost’s eyes travel over Soap, narrowing slightly as he looks back up at Soap’s face. His eyes seem darker, Soap thinks, and when he looks closer he notices the crease of fresh paint on Ghost’s eyelids. They stand for a moment, silently scrutinizing each other before Soap breaks the tension. 

“You been up a while?” Soap asks even though he knows the answer. It’s not uncommon in their line of work to have uneven sleep patterns, but Ghost has one of the most fucked up sleeping schedules Soap has ever seen; Soap isn’t sure he’s ever actually seen Ghost sleep for more than a thirty-minute power nap. 

“For a few hours. The Doc needed my help with something,” Ghost shrugs, “heading down to the practice range now, if you care to join?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Ghost nods, starting down the hallway, “Take your time,” he calls back towards Soap, “no sense in rushing. We both know I'm the better shot anyways.”

Cheeky fucker. 

Soap rolls his eyes, pushing the infirmary door open and stepping inside. He finds you at your desk in the back, sorting through reports, and sipping from a small mug filled with steaming tea. 

“Mornin’, Doc.” You look up in surprise, smiling as Soap pulls up a chair on the other side of your desk.

“Good morning! Something I can help you with?” 

“Got anything for a migraine?” 

“Ouch,” you grimace at him, “lemme see what I got for you.” You down the rest of your tea, setting the mug back on your desk as you begin rifling through the drawers. Soap exhales in relief, scrubbing a hand down his face and pressing into his closed eyes to try and distract from the pain. He opens one eye as you hum, but you’re still looking through your desk, picking through pill bottles. 

Soap takes the time to look over your desk; you have a system of organized chaos composed of stacks of folders, sticky notes, two mugs, an impressive collection of colorful paperclips, a pile of labeled pens, and-

-Wait. 

He looks back, checking to make sure he isn’t seeing things, and, yes, two empty mugs are sitting atop your desk. He knows which one is yours- it’s the same one you always use- the adorably round one painted to look like a sheet ghost (a joke Soap is just now getting), but the solid black one next to yours is unfamiliar. 

“Aha!” You find the bottle you’re looking for and hold it out to Soap. “Take two of these, and grab some food. It should kick in in about thirty minutes to an hour.” Soap reaches to grab the pill bottle, but his attention is pulled towards your hand that appears to be smeared with a black…something? He takes the bottle and examines the faint black fingerprints staining the orange plastic.

“What happened?” he asks, nodding toward your hands.

“Oh!” You examine your hands, rubbing some of the excess stuff off. “One of my pens broke and the ink got everywhere. I thought I got all of it, sorry-” Soap shrugs noncommittally, “-guess we’re both having one of those mornings, huh? Here, let me get you some water to take those with.” You stand, grab both mugs, and disappear to the other side of the infirmary. Soap pops the pill bottle open, eyes roaming over your desk as he fishes out two of the chalky blue pills. 

With the mugs gone, he has a better view of the right side of your desk and, more importantly, what had been sitting behind them: an opened and well-used circular tin of standard-issue black camouflage face paint. He doesn’t know how he didn’t put two-and-two together as soon as he saw your hands, but he’ll blame the migraine in this case. 

The Doc asked me to help with something, my arse.

-

It’s one of the hottest days on record so, of course, it only stands that today would be the day for the A/C to go out. 

You’ve had more people coming in and out of your infirmary in the last six hours than you’ve had in the past six months. Handing out ice packs like candy on Halloween and treating multiple cases of almost-heat stroke, you’ve been nothing short of slammed since you walked into the infirmary this morning. Like everyone else, you’re miserable in the sweltering heat, your jacket hanging wide open and sleeves rolled up above your elbows. It does little to help. 

“Got a delivery for you, Doc,” Soap calls out, waltzing into the infirmary during the first lull you’ve had since morning. He holds out a tall thermos, shaking it so you can hear something sloshing inside. He’s abandoned his ACU jacket, standing there in a black cotton beater, smiling widely, but you can see the beads of sweat rolling down his face and collecting on his collarbone. “Ice water, fresh from the mess.”

“John MacTavish, you are my hero.” You snatch the thermos from his hands, gulping down the chilling water and letting out an obscene groan. 

“Well, it’s nice to finally be appreciated,” Soap winks. You hum, flopping down into an empty chair and leaning back to take another swig from the thermos. 

“Any word on the A/C?” you ask between frantic sips. Once you’ve had your fill, you hold the thermos loosely in your hand as you lean back in your chair.

“Nothing yet. Price said…” Soap trails off as you grab the collar of your own beater and pull at it in a poor attempt to fan yourself. It’s not so much the action that catches his attention, but the small metal chain around your neck with two solid black rings hanging from it. Soap’s never been married before, but he knows a wedding ring when he sees one. Though the fact you’re wearing both rings only leads to more questions. He supposes Ghost has never seemed the type to wear jewelry. Then again, Ghost never seemed the type for marriage, either. 

“Price said…?” 

“Huh?” Soap snaps his eyes back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t just caught him staring near your chest, but you have your head leaned back with your eyes shut tight and the frigid metal of the thermos pressed against your forehead. 

“You said, Price said…and then stopped?”

“Right! Right, yeah, he said it should be fixed by this evening.” You groan in disgust and sluggishly sit up in your chair. You move the thermos from your forehead to your neck, sighing as the chilled metal meets your overheated skin, but all Soap can focus on is the necklace that now hangs outside of your shirt. The rings clink together softly as you move, setting the thermos down and wiping the sweat from your brow. 

“I-”

Soap turns as the doors swing open and another medic rushes in. “Incoming, Doc: two more passed out on the practice range!” 

Soap turns back to you and finds the necklace tucked back into your shirt as you chug the last of your water. You toss him the empty thermos with a thankful smile. 

“No rest for the wicked, eh Soap?” 

-

Missions don’t often go wrong for the 141, but it does happen on occasion. However, they’ve never had a mission end with this many injured before.

You already dismissed Price, his injuries treated with strict orders for three days of bed rest, at least. Gaz had been a bit more extensive and, while you were tempted to keep him overnight, he assured you he was fine enough to sleep in his own cot. You let him go but stressed that if he felt off in any sort of way, to hightail it back to the infirmary. 

Which left Ghost and Soap. Between the two of them, it took you and two other medics a full thirty-six hours to finally get them stable and it was another full day before either of them woke up. You let them rest, waiting until they’ve gotten enough strength to be relatively back to normal before you tell the other medics you’ll take over and they can worry about other patients. 

You wait until the three of you are alone to lay into them, a week’s worth of built-up frustration, stress, and worry spilling out of you. 

“Why is it always you two? I swear, every heli Price gets in is shot down and crashes in some fiery explosion, and still, you two manage to outdo any injury he’s ever gotten!”

Soap, at least, has the sense to look ashamed as you pace around the room, airing every grievance you can think of. Ghost’s eyes follow your every step, but he says nothing, taking every insult you throw. Your rant lasts for nearly an hour before you collapse into a chair and cover your face with your hands, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids. They can hear you taking deep breaths, counting backward from ten under your breath. 

“Sorry for worryin’ ya, Doc,” Soap speaks softly. You sigh, dropping your hands to your lap.

“S’alright, I just…want you to be more careful.” You don’t look at either of them as you sit up, one hand coming up to massage your neck. Guilt crawls up his spine as Soap takes in the deep bags under your eyes and the weighted hunch of your shoulders. “Try and get some rest, both of you. We’ll see how you’re feeling in the morning.” With that, you head back to your desk, busying yourself with catching up on reports. 

He isn’t sure what wakes him, but when Soap opens his eyes, it’s nearly pitch black with the clock reading 3:11 a.m. in bright red. He shifts, trying not to tear his stitches as he gets more comfortable, and turns to his right to check on Ghost. He finds the curtain between their beds drawn just enough so that he can barely see Ghost’s head from where he’s laying and a soft light from one of the bedside lamps glowing behind it.

“Two’s the perfect number, in my opinion.” That’s your voice, murmuring softly from the other side of the curtain. Quietly, and carefully, Soap pushes himself up further in his bed, sitting up so he can angle his head to see around the curtain. When he does, he immediately sinks his teeth into his cheek to keep from making noise.

Ghost is sitting up, propped up by an army of pillows and you’re sitting on a low stool on the right side of his bed with your back to him so you can stretch back and lay your head in his lap. His right hand is draped over you, lightly running his fingers over the set of rings on your necklace as you talk.

“I think three would be too many, plus then we’d have to deal with the whole middle child syndrome thing.” 

…what are you talking about?

“Two’s it for you, huh?” Ghost asks, the tiredness evident in his already gruff voice. 

“Yeah-” you turn your head and smile up at him, “-a boy and a girl. Not sure about names, though. For a girl, I was originally thinking Kate, after Laswell, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am about it. Then I was thinking we could name her after one of the guys, but the only one whose name would even work would be Kyle’s; we could turn that into Kylie. What do you think?” There’s a long silence as Ghost stares down at the rings sitting against your chest. It lasts so long, Soap starts to think Ghost has fallen asleep when the man suddenly gathers the rings in his hand, staring down at the black metal in his palm. 

“Spent a lot of time thinking about this, have you?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he calls your name, quiet but firm, and you sigh. 

“It’s just a fantasy,” you whisper, ”like how people talk about what they’ll do when they win the lottery.”

“So, you don’t want-”

“With you, of course, I do.” One of your hands slides gently up his torso, stopping at the extensive bandages wrapped around his chest, while the other absently fiddles with the hair on the left side of your head, skirting over the scar left by the humvee. “But do you honestly think we’ll live long enough for it to happen?”

The room lapses into silence, the only sound a soft echo of the ticking clock beside Soap’s bed. I shouldn’t be listening to this, Soap thinks to himself. He carefully maneuvers himself back down the bed, going even further to lay facing away from the curtain, and you, and Ghost, and any talks of children and impossible futures. He squeezes his eyes shut in a futile attempt at sleep, but his mind is going a million miles a minute and Soap knows he won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.

Several long minutes pass by in the quiet dark, before Ghost speaks again, “What would you name him?”

“Hm?”

“The boy, what would you name him?”

Your answer is instant.

“Thomas.”

[ykiwrite]

i'm not in love

[bad] description: Wednesday pays you a visit in school

"And this is how you do differential equations guys. Any questions? Do i need to explain it again?" asked the professor of your beloved subject math, sarcastically of course.

"No, no we get it" shouted the entire class collectively already ready to leave in hopes of finishing earlier than intended despite understanding close to nothing before being interrupted by a gem amongst stones.

"Yes, actually can you repeat that part where…"

At that very moment you and every single being in that room let out a disappointed and annoyed sigh. Muffling out every noise surrounding you along with your vision going dark as you rested your head between folded arms acting as a pillow. Might as well take a rest since your phone died meaning no music, no music meaning no other options left except sleep to pass the time.

The bell rang and you were pretty sure everyone right now wished to be people speeding down the hallway heading out. 

"Guys, silence please. Listen to me for a minute, this is very important which i forgot to mention. We'll finish quickly and you got your break."

His rambling, although you were detached from everything could be present up until it got quiet out of the blue. Raising your head and adjusting your vision wondering what's the reason behind the silence until you spotted the reason and made eye contact with it.

Quite impossible to miss the one and only, from head to toe wrapped in black Wednesday, your Wednesday Addams.

"I am sorry for interruption sir, i considered since the bell rang the class is over therefore i may come in."

"Well uh, yes you can but i didn't finish my lecture yet."

"Would you mind if i were to take a seat in the back of the class until it's finally over? I planned on waiting for someone from this class in front of the school but your lectures allegedly prolonged."

"Yes of course, go ahead." said the man whose voice you swore was trembling at one point as he turned around to bring a lecture to an end. "Where were we?", hand hovering above the board pointlessly moving in circles in order to remember. Great, now she even confused him which will make this even longer.

As Wednesday made her way to you, swiftly moving in between rows of desks and chairs people kept turning around once they were out of her vision. Both peripheral and the center one, it's better to play it safe.

"I see how you pay attention in class." was her first words of the day spoken to you when she sat next to your empty seat. Looking at your as well empty white notebook page you couldn't defend yourself.

"Wow, not even a hi and how are you for your beloved girlfriend?" you said faking a disappointed flat tone. "Besides, what are you doing here? I can already see 90% of people in this class won't sleep tonight because of you. I can't afford to pay for therapy bills." 

"That's entirely not my problem. The reason i visited is because Enid told me you didn't answer her text messages." 

(That definitely was not the reason but you let it slide)

"You mean your text messages? I know when you use her phone, Enid doesn't use proper grammar. It screams 'Wednesday'. Also my phone died so that's why."

"Hmmm" she muttered looking you dead in the eye as if interrogating with hope you will break and confess. "I'll take that as an excuse."

"Okay but what about the real reason you're here?" You said giving her a playful smile.

"What are you implying?"

"Just say you wanted to see me so, oh so desperately. It's normal, nothing to be ashamed of. Couples do that in case this is your first time hearing about it." You gave her a wink knowing it will make her roll eyes.

"Dude, is this your friend?" ruined the moment by a guy sitting in front of you that was quiet up until now, unfortunately.

"I mean-"

"I'm the girlfriend. Why?" 

Seeing both of your sour faces he was brave enough to push forward "Listen, i always had a thing for like goth girls so i was wondering if you're free but since you two-"

"Alright guys, class is finally over. I apologize for making you stay longer, i'll make it up to you by shortening next class. See you tomorrow and have a good day."

All of the class shuffling drowned out his attempt for a small talk as both Wednesday and you thanked whatever is lurking out there for cutting it short. Wednesday was visibly close to falling apart from that interaction and it's for the best you leave as soon as possible to prevent any unwanted injuries. Clearly on behalf of the guy.   Eventually getting through the crowd and out in open felt like a wish come true.

"Looook, it's snowing right? The first one this year" you commented eagerly while looking around the sky that's getting darker and darker by each second.

"It's just snow." looking over to your side she feels like you shapeshifted into a child in those few seconds she looked away. She wasn't familiar with this type of werewolves but there's a first time for everything.

"It's also Wednesday today! It must be a sign." you claimed.

"Sign for what?" asked Wednesday completely clueless.

"Oh you know, the "first snow" traditions." quoting with your hands.

"The first snow traditions? If it's something coming from the things you read on the internet or you and Enids highly intelligent conversations-"

"No it's not! It says you're supposed to kiss the loved one on the first snowfall of the year." Looking back to her, asking you "Really?" just above a whisper. She was still wary but how could she not trust you. It's you after all.

Taking a deep breath in she turned to you fixing your winter hat and dusting of snow that has fallen, hands naturally finding their own path down to your face as she allowed herself to relax around you. 

"This better be true" merely an inches of space between two of you. In fact, she wouldn't mind if it weren't the truth.

time skip

"You lied."

"About what are we talking about?"

"About the snow tradition. I can't believe i had to hear it from Enid and her computer that there is no concrete evidence behind the snowfall and a kiss." said Wednesday bringing up your last weeks made up fact.

"And what are you complaining about exactly?" provided no answer. You won against Wednesday, congratulations. 

notes: for the sake of the story pretend you don't attend Nevermore and Wednesday can roam around freely (also no offense for math lovers)

fun fact also: i accidentally deleted this after writing it for hours i almost deleted the app

[bonesofapoet]

Fall

[ jason todd x you ]

author’s note : pls behold my accidental possible series about an informant!reader digging up details on criminals for jason while questioning every life choice they have ever made. if you’d like to see more of them, pls do let me know! requests are open too <3 tw for casual strong language and implied anxiety

word  count : 1985

The diner floors were stickier than yesterday. 

The place smelled like bacon grease and syrupy sweetness, a familiar balance to a fresh pot of coffee, strong and sharp, brewed only moments ago. A regular continued his weekly ritual of breakfast for dinner, an interesting contrast to the classic cheeseburger and greasy crinkle cut fries littering tables across a cozy hole-in-the-wall on the outskirts of Gotham City. You never complained, not when it shook up the agonizing monotony of faces blurring together - tourists, mainly. People passing through. Most locals didn’t come this far out just for a burger, or a fuckin’ cup of coffee -

Except for him, this one. Jason Todd.

Red Hood.

And, more often than not? His criminal of the week usually had goons slinking around your alleys and open booths to boot. They ordered before a shift. Topped off after a shift. Came through in pairs, small groups, ordering enough food to feed a small fucking horse.

They talked loudly, too. Not usually anything worth hearing, thanks to the ones with a little more awareness in the old clunker upstairs, but. Tourists never wanted to get involved, and the few regulars that lingered sure as shit knew better. But you. . .well, no one ever suspected the waitstaff, after all. Not when they were tipped well enough it was an obvious incentive to forget anything they could have heard, on the off chance.

But Jason Todd paid you better.

Nerves seemed to be getting the better of you this evening - but the routine of a Thursday kept you grounded here, in the present. The scrawl of your pen to pad, the sound of ice clinking in the bottom of a glass before the iced tea hits. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

It was enough - at least until they arrived, anyway. Night was fast approaching. It was almost time.

“Hey,” your name is called from the far end of the counter before an empty mug slides through your peripheral to stop, magically, right in front of you. “Top me off, if you don’t mind. You look like you need something low-risk to do.”

The laugh that falls through your lips is uneasy. Strained.

“Is it that obvious? Because I thought I was hiding it quite well, actually. No one else,” you emphasized, the splash of coffee on ceramic glaze filling your pause. “Seems to have noticed. Except you.”

You slide the mug back to Jason, swirling the last of his french toast in the last puddles of raspberry syrup. He smirks, of course, no doubt about to gift you with another one of his charming quips, he seems all too fond of. “Well -”

Here we go.

“I imagine no in here was trained to see these things -”

“- by the world’s greatest detective.”

“- by the world’s greatest detective.”

“Oh, you left it out this time.”

Jason snorts into his coffee. “Left out what?”

Your eyes roll, feet bringing you to stand before him. The chances of being overheard here were, again, highly unlikely - especially this close to the kitchen where the radio was always loud enough to spill quietly through the window - but, alas. Precautions.

“‘Not to mention, everything I’ve picked up on my own.’ Hm?”

It was your turn to smirk, when Jason paused, steaming mug hovering just above the countertop. His eyes narrowed at you, who had an eyebrow quirked and an expression that was becoming - no, that’s not - no. He’s too good at this, as you so kindly reminded him. Trick of the light made him read you wrong for a second, that’s all.

He recovers just as quickly - you hadn’t noticed anything amiss - and sets the mug down. “I haven’t said it that much.”

“Ah, but you know you’ve said it often.” it’s warm, the laugh that follows. Matches the grin growing across your face like a ray of afternoon sunshine. Jason tightens his grip on the mug and slips on the mask of a sardonic smile -

The bell over the door jingles.

Your smile slips. Body tenses. Eyes slip down to glance at Jason, whose demeanor has changed right along with yours.

“You got this,” he says. It’s barely audible over the music, over the casual chatter that just entered the diner. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Promise.”

“Even if shit gets dicey?”

“Why the fuck would it get dicey?”

“Just covering my bases.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Jason mumbles something you don’t quite catch.

Smile. Project.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite group of misfits. Sit anywhere you like, guys.”

A salute is sent your way with a Thanks, darlin’ called over the endless stream of conversation. Complaints. Schedule conflicts. Somethin about missing my daughter's birthday party for this job. A fuckin’ Saturday, can you believe it?

“Not off to a great start,” you mumble. Menus find their way into your hands.

“Is it ever?” Jason asks.

You snort. “Father of the year.”

Jason chokes.

The next hour passes in a flash. It’s nothing major so far - minor league tips you’re able to fish out from the small talk, piecing together bits and baubles from the growing list of random - yet important, apparently - chunks of conversation you’ve collected over the past few weeks. It’s the most stressful part of your evenings, when they arrive. An afternoon of quiet ease and a languid pace trades itself in, seamlessly, for quicker steps and an even brighter smile. You don’t rush, as much as pick up your pace. You don’t beam, but you do provide extra banter. You don’t lurk, but you linger. No one thinks twice about weaponizing hospitality - at least, not in a diner.

The most important part, you’ve learned, is that questions aren’t needed. Jason gave you a few tips in the beginning, and you were quick to pick them up.

They trust themselves around you, he said once. It was hushed, noted in-between sips of strawberry milkshake, while he watched you refill sugar packet baskets - while you watched them from across the floor. In two minute intervals.

“How can you tell? I assumed they were too prideful or too dumb to know when to keep their mouths shut.”

“Well,” Jason offers you a crooked smile. Slurps the rest of the milkshake. “That too. But not those guys. See their posture? They loosen up when you go over there, and they don’t immediately can it, either.”

You snort, eyes glued to the task at hand. “Well. I’ve noticed, but - why assume I don’t know who they are though? That still sounds really fucking careless.”

That’s the question, he said. Isn’t it?

The memory hit you like a fucking brick the second you picked up their change and hid their hush money in a lock box in the back. It felt like all the air had been knocked out of you for a second, and it was - it was - fuck.

It all made sense now, the bits and pieces that had been so important to Jason.

His eyes were on you, when you came back out. Felt them trailing you all the way back to their empty table with cleaner and a rag. You didn’t dare look anywhere other than forward.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The bell over the door jingled a departure.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Hey - you good?”

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in -

Your name sounded harsh, louder near your face. The rough shake of your shoulder jarred you back into the present, the now, the here, the holy fucking shit.

The world started spinning again.

“What? Oh- yeah. Yeah, yeah I’m-”

Eyes drifted downwards, and it seems you had been rather aggressively scrubbing the table so hard the salt and pepper shakers tipped onto the floor.

“Just - lost in my head, apparently.” The waitress - she was new to the city, new to this type of clientele - stood in front of you, brows falling together. She was nice, and had a contagious laugh. There was a broom in her hand. You reached for it. She pulled it back. 

“You sure? You see a ghost out here or somethin’? Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A strangled laugh dispelled some of the tension growing within you, before it snapped. “Long night,” you reached for the broom again. “I’ll clean it up-”

“Actually,” she took a step back, effectively out of reach. “That guy you always chat with? You know - the cute one? He left a bit ago. Looks like he left you a solid tip this time. I wouldn’t leave it sitting there if I were you.”

You glance towards Jason’s stool at the counter, and - she was right. He was gone. “Right. Hey, listen - I’m uh, gonna take a breather for a sec - out back? Yell if you need me.”

“Sure thing. Wait, you know what? I wouldn't be surprised if you found his number tucked into a wad of cash one of these nights. . .”

You didn’t stick around to hear the end of that sentence.

—--

Gotham was a force of nature when night fell.

Sirens approached the diner, gift wrapped in a blanket of mist and muted neon lights. Flashing colors shimmered and echoed through alleyways and front windows alike, while sounding close enough to keep your eyes open, yet far enough away you weren’t worried. Especially here, shrouded in a sliver of darkness choked with fog and a bricked up dead end to your left.

The fog shifted through a breeze, and the damp chill engulfed you in a grounding, bitter hug. A wave of calm was, as always, quick to follow. “I think I need a fuckin’ raise, Todd.”

“Yeah?” Jason emerged from the gloom, stopping in front of you. “What makes you say that?”

“I got something. It’s - Jesus. Have you ever seen me like this?”

Jason pauses. Looks at you the best he can through the haze, but the dull glow of a shitty lightbulb by the back door doesn’t give him much to work with, though he’ll still see enough. He always does, even when there is no light.

He looks away, eventually. Expression unreadable in the shadows. Unreadable, probably, by design. “No,” he says.

That’s all he says. You may not be able to read his face, but you sure as shit can read the tension setting in his shoulders and settling in the way he clenches his jaw.

“Are you - you’re okay to go back in? I shouldn’t be seen in there so soon, but you need to be. If it’s too much, I can buy you ten minutes to -”

“I can do it. Just needed to - shit, I don’t know. Question my life choices, I suppose. Plus you left, and you only pay me up front when you’re lurking back here waiting for my break. So.”

Jason huffs a laugh, handing you the copy of his bill with an address scratched on the back. “You’ll get your raise.”

“See you soon, then.”

He nods. Doesn’t say anything, but takes a step towards you. Took a step into what little pool of light you have, muffled though it is through the fog. He hesitates, in this little pocket of quiet, but pushes through it anyway. Pushes through the memory of that look he thinks you gave him earlier, and -

Panics.

Fucking jumps ship.

“See you when you’re done.”

Jason turns, and the night swallows him whole.