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kedsandtubesocks · 2 months

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seasons of you (year 1 - spring)

Farmer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you leave

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a new farmer & has a family but no physical description, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s) very light use of gendered language, handyman & farmer!Joel, grumpy!Joel, wound tending & blood imagery, discussion of family loss with light navigation of grief, Ellie being Joel’s daughter, secret softie!Joel, alcohol consumption mention, use of nickname, budding romance

word count: 5.4k

a/n: our first ‘Joel’ fic for our stardew AU series! Here’s to starting this new aventure with y’all! I couldn’t have the strength to post this without @swiftispunk @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy @burntheedges @perotovar you angels don’t know how much I appreciate y’all and am so grateful for you babes…and to you, if you read this - I’m so thankful for you too ♡

No one in Pelican Town hates you more than Joel Miller does. George, the crabby older elderly man in town, might be a close second, but Joel has him beat by miles.

For someone so incredibly handsome, almost beautiful in a rugged wilderness way with his misty mountain gray hair and sharp lovely nose, his glare could wither your entire family farm’s field.

“He’s just an ass sometimes.” Your Dad had told you with a sigh over the phone. “Been that way even when your gramps was around.”

At first you didn’t want to fully admit it but yeah, Joel is a prickly cactus of a man.

He owns a farm further down the path from yours. You love walking by it when you take the long way home and getting to spot all the sheep roaming around his fields. He’s also the town’s handyman.

“A jack of all trades, more like it.” Pierre, the main store owner, snickered that to you while Joel was in the store fixing a light fixture.

After that Joel helped you set up your first fencing gate. Then he fixed your sink. And then your water heater.

It’s been a lot and you know it. You feel guilty at how bad you can’t seem to get a hang of this new life yet. Your grandpa did it, thrived even. You can too, or you hope you can.

Until Joel glares at you like you’re a bug ready to squash, then you feel incredibly small.

Once you physically and accidentally ran into him walking out of the blacksmith’s shop when he was heading in. You sputtered out an apology, but without a single word Joel walked past you as if you weren’t even worth his time.

One night you went to the town’s saloon hoping to maybe mingle and get to know everyone better. But simply seeing him sitting inside made you turn on your heels and scramble out.

From that point on you’ve been avoiding him.

But now unfortunately, a few paces away from Joel Miller’s farm, your hand bleeds out a bit aggressively.

“Shit.” You hiss, slipping off your backpack to search for your mini first aid kit.

Yesterday you stubbornly tried fixing your fence and accidentally scrapped your hand pretty bad against the wood. Earlier you believed you wrapped it good enough but now the blood soaking through the bandaid mocks you.

“You alright?!”

The sharp accented drawl rings out loud in the early morning and fear collides into you.

Of course Joel hadn’t left for the morning.

You yell back that you’re fine but scramble frantic now trying to find the damn first aid kit.

“Is that blood?” Joel snaps, sounding closer, as his boots rush against the dirt.

“No, I spilled paint.” You grumble to yourself annoyed.

“M’old but I fuckin’ heard that.” Damn.

He’s much closer now, so close his shadow falls over you but you refuse to look at him.

“What happened!?” He barks confused.

Sighing, you give up hope on finding the poor elusive first aid kit.

“Just cut my hand, that's all. It isn’t deep. I’m fine.” You reassure him.

Joel sighs angrily.

“Come on.”

Now you turn and discover his soil eyes stare at you with such a steeled intensity you almost want to scurry away.

“Fixin’ this up inside.” He doesn’t even ask or let you leave. With one yank Joel Miller pulls you towards his farmhouse.

“I’m fine.” You snap back.

“What? Just wanna let it bleed ‘n get everywhere?” An edge in Joel’s voice silences you.

Any argument you wanted to hiss out immediately floats away the moment you cross the threshold into his house. Your eyes go wide. You never once thought you’d ever see the inside of Joel Miller’s place.

It’s larger than your grandpa's.

Joel deposits you into his kitchen. The lingering smell of breakfast, possibly oatmeal with its warm cinnamon notes, hangs in the air. Yet you feel like a caught feral cat that doesn’t know how to react being inside a house for the first time.

So you let your eyes wander.

Beautiful wood cupboards line the walls. A fridge is covered with various papers held up by sweet colorful cartoonish magnets you never would’ve expected from him. A worn cozy, well loved, couch peeks out from the slight view of the living room you spot being inside the kitchen.

Joel’s house seems knitted together by a rustic weathered comfort. Yet, there’s a hollowness to the house, like it’s waiting for more spirit to fill the halls. You can’t pinpoint or describe the stillness here in this place, but you sense it.

After rustling around a drawer, Joel yanks out a rather impressive medical kit. Largely bulky and intimidating, like him, it’s no surprise a handyman and farmer has such a first aid kit.

“How’d it happen?” Joel asks gruff and quiet as he rummages around the bag.

You tell him and his seasoned face scrunches up frustrated.

“Why didn’t ya call and have me go fix it?”

You thought about that. But you couldn’t handle the thought of asking him to help again, to deal with his frustrated sighs and gruff annoyance. He barely said a word to you last weekend when he went to check your sink again.

“Don’t need you to fix everything.” You tell him composed while Joel pulls out various things to wrap your wound.

“Besides, I can fix things on my own.” You add firm.

“Not all the time.” He replies.

You stay quiet and watch his hands, large and callous, gingerly dab away all the crimson from your cut.

He’s never been this close to you. You catch the faintest smell of wood and of something clean crisp, his laundry detergent maybe. It threatens to fog your senses knowing he smells this lovely.

“Y’dont ask for help and shit like this happens.”

Your face hardens at Joel’s words. You even childishly want to yank away your hand and storm off.

“Look I get it, you barely tolerate me and think I can’t do shit. I know I’m still new, but this was an accident. It happens.” Your words come out harsher than you intended, sharpened scythes that cut through the room, and Joel freezes.

“I don’t think that.” He replies clear as a spring blue sky.

You want to bark a laugh of disbelief, but instead you simply stay silent.

Joel sighs, keeping his eyes on the medic tape he readies.

“And I… tolerate you.” He sputters like he’s trying to muster the words out.

A moment passes. Then Joel sighs, ancient and heavy.

“Don’t mind me. M’just some grumpy old fuck-”

“Hey you’re not old. You’re just grumpy.” You interrupt trying to ease the mood and your heart jumps hearing him snort.

“M’old.” He clarifies. He is older, older than you, and that fact creates a strange flutter in your chest you don’t want to explore just yet.

“And…don’t want ya feelin’ like shit.” He continues with a curt softness.

You never knew his voice could sound this layered, so tough but tender.

“Just tryin’ to look out for ya like your gramps asked me too.”

There’s a strange apology shaded in his words but you manage to catch it. A rush of emotions drown you in their current.

“You were close with my grandpa.” You comment with a curious question lingering below the surface.

“Yeah,” Joel answers low now tenderly moving to wrap your hand. “His ol’ ass used to keep me in place.”

You smirk fondly. That sounds like your gramps.

“Miss seein’ him walk by this place and hearin’ him complain that he likes the sheep more than me.”

Joel’s fond and aching voice digs its hooks into your soul. You miss gramps too, so much.

“Used to fish a lot together out by the lake.” He adds.

This is the most Joel Miller has ever spoken to you and you worry the sun might fall out of the sky soon.

“I bet he out fished you.” You tease soft.

Joel snorts. “Damn right he did.”

You can almost picture it clearly, your gramps and Joel laughing together, having a friendship.

“He’d be proud of ya.” Joel mutters but his words chime clear.

Your attention flickers to Joel. He keeps his focus steady on your hand. However his words crystallize deep in your heart and you blink away tears. You ever expected Joel Miller to almost make you cry like this.

“Thanks…means a lot.” You truthfully tell him while you swallow back the heartache and love threatening to spill over.

“He’d also say you’re a fuckin’ stubborn thing for not askin’ for help.”

You snort at that.

“Well you knew the old guy, it runs in the family.” You reply.

Joel chuckles.

It’s small - like the faint flash of seeing a cardinal in the trees. But you heard it, his amusement, and it’s lovely for a man quietly layered as him.

“Alright, all fixed up.”

The wrap is tight, secure, and speaks of his many times previously doing this before.

“Thank you Joel, appreciate it.” You do.

“Can't be a handyman if I can’t fix up people sometimes.” He shrugs but there’s a deadpan charm to his words you’re slowly catching now.

“Doctor and a handyman, no wonder the town keeps you around.” So you dryly joke back.

This moment isn’t much. Yet it feels like gaining a good step in the direction of something right and solid.

Gathering your things, you decide to head out. Even though curiosity claws at you to take in a few more moments being inside Joel Miller’s home, you have seeds to buy.

“Where ya headin’’ to?” Joel asks.

“Pierre’s.” You huff. “Need more parsnips.”

He hums a noise of acknowledgment.

Back outside the mid morning sun’s warmth soaks you in its gaze. Maybe you could fish for a bit before you head to the store. After all, the weather is so nice.

“Hey.” Joel barks out and before heading back on the road, you turn to him.

He’s a sight on his porch. You think of the typical romance movies of the handsome farmer trying to woo the newcomer in town and how right now he puts them all to shame.

Hands crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders seem like mountains against the doorway, so striking and large taking up the entire focus.

“Don’t hesitate to call y’hear? Don’t fuckin’ care what it is or what it’s for, call me.” Joel’s face is hardened and serious, reflecting the unwavering tone in his voice.

Something heated crawls up your throat and makes you dizzy. You blame it on the blood loss.

“Besides, s’what neighbors are for, right?” He adds a bit awkwardly.

It hits you. He’s the closest homestead to you. You are neighbors with him.

“Alright will do, promise.” You nod and mean your words.

“Thanks again neighbor.” Those words tingle on your lips.

Joel nods and with that you head out.

You’re on such a strange high you simply float straight to the pier and fish. It’s comforting being among the crashing waves, the sea breeze, and the wonderful weather. You also think of your gramps and Joel here.

But by the time the sky starts to turn into a ripe tangerine you realize in horror you forget to buy more seeds.

You almost scream in anguish when you find Pierre’s doors locked. Accepting momentary defeat, you head home.

When you reach your porch, there against the steps a bundle of parsnip seeds and a small pack of bandaids sit waiting for you.

- ☼ -

Your hope to quietly enjoy the egg festival, your true first event here in the valley, is diminished when Mayor Lewis practically drags you into the egg hunt saying it’s a rite of passage.

His deadly polite politician smile said there was no way you could worm your way out of participating. So you simply start the hunt thinking of the strawberry seeds you can’t wait to plant once this is over.

You’re not overly competitive, but these eggs are getting harder to find. You want to finish at least with some dignity.

Besides the area around Stardrop Saloon you scan every inch like a hawk. Someone coughs, clearing their throat, and it catches your attention.

Under the shade of the building, nursing a cold drink, Joel slightly turns towards you.

Now instead of a hawk you feel like a surprised field mouse caught in his gaze.

Without saying anything Joel flickers his eyes a couple of times towards the corner of the building. Is he giving you a hint?

Heading to the spot his eyes vaguely guided you to, you discover a colorful egg.

You almost want to keep it as proof this happened. Joel helped you.

By the time the egg hunt ends everyone already seems to be packing up and the mysterious Mr. Miller has vanished from the commotion.

Abigail wins the egg hunt and you aren’t even upset. In fact you walk home feeling like a champion.

The next morning on the help wanted and errands bulletin board in town you spot Joel’s name. Below it is a request asking for a small pack of wood.

You readily answer it and drop off the bundle eagerly, a way to help pay him back for everything.

The pretty decent payment he gives you is nice but the crooked soft hint of a grin on his face when you arrive to deliver the request is worth iridium.

A few days after that he mails you a recipe. The letter is so simply Joel - a straightforward recipe then a scribbled JM below it. You hang the letter up proudly on your fridge.

Spring blooms more and more before your eyes.

You decide to take advantage of it by foraging for the day.

“Where y’heading?”

You’ve been taking the long way to the forest these past few weeks in hopes of seeing him again. Now that you’re not actively avoiding him, you discover, small town or not, Joel is a surprisingly busy man.

When you catch glimpses of him, instead of glares being thrown your way, Joel Miller simply nods acknowledging you. Comforting as it is to know he doesn’t outright detest, you don’t like how much you hope to run into him more.

Now he’s here sliding on his backpack while moving to lock his gate.

“Just heading to the forest, gonna forage and walk around for the day.” You answer him.

“Works out, hafta head that way myself.” Joel explains falling into step besides you.

Alone with Joel Miller once again.

The small talk comes - asking each other how your days have been, anything new or interesting happening. The heat is starting to pick up announcing summer’s close arrival. Thankfully it’s still not unbearably hot as you and him fully enter the woods.

Cindersap forest is tranquil. A beautiful glimmering evergreen haven you enjoy simply strolling through. You never thought you’d ever be here with Joel.

“No new crops coming in?”

“Nothing exciting.” You shrug. “I’m more upset that I didn't plant any tulips this season.”

“Those your favorite?” Joel asks, surprisingly curious.

“Not mine, my gramps.” Your memories of the farm might be hazy, but you always remembered fresh tulips in the kitchen.

“They’re for the fairies.” Gramps would tell you with a wink.

You were bummed after realizing Pierre had flower seeds and it was too late to see them bloom in your kitchen.

“Damn,” Joel sighs. “Ain't your fault. Pierre’s an ass and hides all the good shit, flower seeds included.”

You’re almost positive Pierre doesn’t do that, but you burst out laughing.

A giddy twinkling glee consumes you and fills you buoyant. He’s trying to comfort you in his own Joel way. And it’s dangerous how fast you’re growing to enjoy the company of this grumpy cactus of a man.

You move to snag a few dandelions and wild horseradishes. You make a face at one that smells a bit ripe and decide to leave it for the forest.

“You can eat those y’know.” Joel comments.

“Yeah so I’ve heard.” You tried your first ever daffodil this month. “A wild horseradish might be a bit too much right now though, but who knows. Maybe one day I’ll try ‘em.”

“My kid used to eat these all the damn time. Never took a likin’ to ‘em myself.” Joel grumbles kicking the disposed horseradish.

Kid.

“You have a kid?” You ask curiously.

Joel blinks to you and there’s a gleam in his earth eyes of something reserved slowly revealing itself.

“Uh… yeah. A daughter. Ellie.”

A daughter. He’s a dad.

It fits him in a way that you never would have expected.

“She doesn’t live here?” You ask but then quickly apologize for pressing the subject. Joel waves you off, casual and unbothered.

“She did, just graduated highschool this year. Wanted to do the whole college deal. She lives out west now.”

So he’s an empty nester.

Delicately, wanting to know more about him and his daughter, you ask about her.

Joel inhales deep then exhales slowly, as if an immovable weight on his shoulders rattles deep to his bones.

“She’s a headache, my Ellie.” Fondness trickles out of Joel a steady stream.

“Stubborn, damn near impossible to argue with cause she’s so fuckin’ smart. Got a good heart. Good head on her shoulders too, wants to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut?! That’s incredible!” You exclaim in brilliant excitement.

Like the proud dad he is, adoration tugs at Joel’s lips.

“Yeah, been wantin’ to be one for years. That’s why she’s going to school.”

“She sounds incredible, Joel. You must be proud.” You earnestly tell him.

“I am…” His voice is thick, and you don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over distant and misty.

You decide not to press the subject any further. He instead does it for you.

“She loved livin’ here until the damn flower festival rolled around. Then she’d swear up ‘n down about how much she hated this town and was gonna leave the second she could.”

The flower festival is just days away. The town swirls in a controlled chaos for its arrival.

You laugh warm. “I’m guessing she’s not a fan of dancing.”

“Takes after me.” Joel nods.

“Ahh…so guess that means you’re not asking anyone to dance this year.” You comment lightly and Joel snorts.

“Ain’t danced with anyone in a very long time.”

A wistful ace now twists your heart thinking of Joel alone in his home, alone watching the others in town pair off.

“You gonna ask anyone?” Joel turns the question around to you and you almost choke on an inhale.

Not wanting to get flustered or react wildly you focus on the wild springs among the lush forest.

“Uh no. Don’t think anyone wants to dance with the newbie in town. Which is fine.” You answer.

There are lovely and gorgeous people in town. Some have caught your eye. However, you didn’t feel brave or interested enough to ask anyone to dance. And no one seemed intended to ask for your hand in the dance, and you find you’re not too upset about that.

Joel hums low, a sign you’re catching on means he’s listening without having to reply much.

“Hopin’ someone will ask ya to dance?” That question takes you by surprise.

You shrug not wanting to fully answer the question either.

Someone suddenly calls out to Joel from behind. At the edge of the forest leading back into town stands Maria, the town’s legal counsel and assistant mayor.

“Caught playing hooky, busted.” You snicker and Joel scoffs.

Maria yells out Joel’s name again.

“Can you come back to town and help us with something? Thought you’d be at home seeing how it’s your day off today. I’ve been trying to call ya but nothing went through.” She yells.

The service here in the forest was awful compared to the town, a hard lesson you’ve learned quickly.

But you also don’t miss Maria’s comment.

Joel had today off. Yet he decided to stay a bit with you. That thought has teeth and you can’t stop their bite from sinking into your heart.

Joel groans but doesn't hesitate to head towards where the assistant mayor stands. Maria of course spots you and a wonderful grin lights up lovely her face.

“It’s good to see you.” She calls out.

“You too!” You reply back thankful your voice is level.

Joel glances over his shoulder to catch your eye.

“Good luck foragin’. Don’t eat any weird shit.”

You sputter out a squawk at his casual comment.

“Next time I see you, I’m giving you a wild horseradish!” You playfully snap the ridiculous reply before you can even stop yourself, but Joel thankfully rolls his eyes unbothered.

Maria’s eyes however flicker curiously between you and Joel. Too many emotions heat up your skin now. So bidding Joel and Maria a quick goodbye you stomp back into the forest to continue foraging.

Now along in the woods, your thoughts still think of Joel. The bag of parsnip seeds, the bandages, and the recipe, come to mind. You never once discussed any of it with him or him with you. It’s something you keep locked in your heart, just like today will be.

Soon the day melts into early twilight. You snag a couple of dandelions and a few other forageables before deciding to head home.

Joel’s farm house looms quietly still with no lights. You can’t bring yourself to open the gate to his farm and walk up to the house.

So instead you place a few dandelions along with a nice fresh large wild horseradish on top of the mailbox by his gate then head home.

Even when you unwind for the night, you mind still feels like it’s snagged on Joel Miller, still there with him foraging in the forest.

- ☼ -

The flower dance, as strange of a custom as it is, is rather ethereal. So many vivid floral arrangements decorate the space with dynamic colors and the air even smells fresh.

The flower dance honors the legacy of celebrating the final days of spring. But it also is a celebration of love blooming.

“It has roots dating back to fertility rituals.” Demetrius, ever the town scientist, told you while you were chatting with him and his wife.

He was right of course. The flower dance is the opportunity for someone to extend a hand of romantic feelings towards another. Those who hope to participate in the couples dance, or possibly win the crown of Flower Queen, are dressed in glorious attire. Soft light fabrics and flowers woven into crowns create a scene conjured out of a fairy’s kingdom.

Compared to the others in lovely attire with flowers in their hair, you didn’t even dress up or change out of your messy dirt covered jeans. And the only flowers in your hair are actually twigs and leaves from cleaning up more of your property.

With no need to worry about someone asking you to dance, you instead simply enjoy the various foods prepared for the occasion.

“Be careful, the salsa actually has a pretty good kick.” You’re about to go in for a second helping when a gentle accented voice floats out to you.

Besides you is a man with the kindest eyes you’ve seen. Faintly you recognize his face and can recall seeing him around town.

“Tommy Miller.” He reintroduces himself seeing your slight hesitation and your eyes go big.

“Oh, Maria’s husband!” You fully remember her introducing him to you. But now something else clicks.

He’s Joel’s brother.

“Yup.” He grins proud at his wife’s mention.

You apologize profusely for not remembering him sooner and with a kind understanding smile Tommy reassures you it’s fine.

“Been a busy first month for ya, I get it. You’re a tough cookie handlin’ it all.”

Even though his twang mirrors his brother’s, Tommy already radiates a much different energy than Joel. He’s warm in a way that reminds you of a soft summer day welcoming everyone with his vibrant energy.

You thank him earnestly. “The town’s been good to me.”

A part of you wants to add Joel has been good to you. Weeks ago, you would’ve laughed at just the idea of Joel Miller showing you an emotion other than annoyance. But now you and him seem to slowly be warming up to each other.

“Don’t go stealin’ all the good stuff, y’little shit.” Joel arrives with a gruff grumble of a voice and quickly nudges Tommy.

Yet his eyes remained glued on you.

You also seem to notice how striking Joel looks in the crisp light jean button up shirt he wears.

“Speak of the devil… was just about to ask our new farmer here if ya haven’t scared her away yet.” Tommy jokes.

Joel’s face flickers with a scowl fighting to form but he keeps himself surprisingly composed.

Guilt sinks in your gut. You know he’s hard to read and you even feel bad for thinking he’s mean. Because you’re learning fast Joel is earnest in his own way.

“Nah,” you tell Tommy, answering for yourself and Joel almost. “His sheep are actually scarier than he is.”

Tommy busts out laughing and you grin. Your eyes flicker to Joel but see he isn’t grinning. Instead Joel’s handsome aged face stares at you guarded and you can’t read the emotions shimmering in his eyes.

Shit.

You might have overstepped and upset him. So to physically stop yourself from saying anything else you take a bite out of the delicious cornbread on your plate, wave a weak goodbye to the Miller brothers, and scurry away.

Now alone under the shadow of one of the lovely cherry trees, you’re aware of how new you still are, a fresh bud still trying to foster roots in this new ground. You wonder how your gramps dealt with this every year.

Soon enough, the music starts and Mayor Lewis claps excited ready to begin the dance.

At least this will be over soon.

The couples slowly sway to the soft melody then rustling arrives at your side. Gently your eyes turn to the source and you almost collapse seeing Joel move in besides you.

His eyes though stay on the couples dancing among the blooms.

“Could’ve at least picked better music to dance to.” He mumbles bored.

Your lips press hard trying not to smile ridiculous and wide.

“Could you imagine if someone played the wrong song?” You whisper back. “Like, some heavy metal rock song suddenly started screaming out?”

Joel snorts, masks it with a few coughs, but you did it. You made him laugh.

Golden soaked triumph fills you and it feels like the first morning you woke up and found a sprout peeking up from the dark tilled soil.

He’s a complex man and you’re barely even scratching the surface of him. But it’s a tender start you want to continue kindling.

For all the commotion and production given to the festival, the dance only lasts a few moments. It’s over thankfully fast.

“Bit anticlimactic.” You mutter under your breath.

“Yeah it’s dumb.” Joel deadpans.

Your lips fight from letting out a laugh.

Everyone claps joyously at the couples concluding their dance. You wonder, even as silly as this is, if one day maybe you’ll dance with flowers in your hair. But you don’t give that thought too much attention. Just imaging yourself next spring already seems so far away.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous meadow.

“I’m kind of tempted to maybe see if I can steal some of the leftovers but yeah, I’m heading back.” You reply.

“Tell me which food you’re eyein’ and I’ll grab it. No one will tell me no.” He offers and you laugh.

“Tempting as that is, I’m just gonna go home.” You wish Joel a warm good night.

He continues walking alongside you.

Your heart jumps until you realize he lives in the same direction. The chatter from the festival still lingers in the air even while you walk further away from the meadow.

“How do you deal with that every year?” You ask with a sigh.

“Alcohol.” Joel dully answers and you snicker at his reply.

“Maybe one day you’ll be dancin’ out there.” Joel comments like he’s trying to continue the small talk. But the suggestion makes you skin itch for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

You only reply with a simple ‘maybe’ and a shrug.

“I’d pay a hundred bucks to see you dance though.” You joke, but also quickly imagine Joel a picture of softness with a flower behind his ear resting beautifully among his silver curls and it makes your knees weak.

Joel however rolls his eyes.

“Next year we’ll just sneak in and take over the music. See what happens.” You offer.

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Joel agrees gruffly.

It sounds like a promise.

You bid him good night until his eyebrows crinkle so classily grumpy Joel.

“Whadya doin’? Ain’t lettin’ ya walk home alone, sprout. Now come on.”

He continues walking as if nothing while your mind tries to recover being tilted on its axis for a bit.

Joel is walking you home.

And he called you sprout.

You want to cradle this new nickname so tenderly in your hands.

Joel quietly asks about your plans for the upcoming season, almost as if he’s trying to keep you focused.

To settle your flutter heart, you manage to ramble about the new incoming seeds you’ve heard about. You talk about your hopes of going to the beach more, not just to fish but to simply enjoy the ocean.

Among all that discussion, in a blink you’re back at your farm.

Instead of Joel rushing home, he lingers.

He checks your porch almost like he’s making sure the thing still stands.

“Hope one day to see that dang greenhouse up ‘n runnin.” He points to the broken greenhouse and you can’t help but sigh at the sight. You hope so too.

Then Joel moves to stand next to you on the land.

It feels different seeing him here.

Just a few weeks ago he was shouting every profanity known to man trying to fix your ancient water heater. He also glared at you the entire time.

Now he stands next to you suggesting on what to grow for the upcoming season.

“You could plant the tomatoes over on this side, give ‘em more shade to grow.”

Joel already reminds you of a back alley cat, one that hisses and refuses to let others near until he decides when to warm up to others. And, like a fresh new sprout, you want to soak up this warmth of him up.

“Also… Don’t forget to plant flowers.” He adds with a soft grumble.

“I won’t.” You grin impressed he remembered.

When you bid him goodnight and thank him again, you almost want to promise you’ll stop by with coffee tomorrow morning.

However that feels too much, like you might make the wrong move and spook him. But you do want to know if he makes it home okay. You can’t even bring yourself to ask him for his phone number.

So you watch Joel leave until your thoughts move fast and you blurt them out.

“Wait how will I know you made it back?”

Joel suddenly stops then glances back to you.

A very soft twinkle comes over his face and he gives you a crooked grin. It colors him with such a boyish expression. This new face of Joel feels sacred, special, and it steals your breath away.

“Hang outside for a bit. I’ll give ya sign, don’t worry.” He nods then melts into the darkness.

You stay frozen on the spot, not wanting to miss whatever it is. You wait, hoping he makes it back safe. Then out from the darkness, far down the path, you see it.

A light from Joel’s house blazes alive.

Then it flickers on and off, like someone flipping the switch a few times. The movement of it against the darkness even feels like a wave of some sorts.

You wish so badly to wave back.

Reassured that he’s home, you head back feeling as light as a feather.

Stepping onto your porch, something catches your eye.

Resting on the main railing barrier are a batch of tulips that were not there when you left.

Your heart jumps into your throat. You didn’t even see Joel place them there.

Delicately placed, the tulips so brilliantly colored sit warm and bright for you - the most beautiful end to your spring.

Though, in your heart, these blooms feel like something closer to a beginning.

#I blame this on the Stardew valley update and thinking of sheep farmer Joel and here we are lol #but wow this au means so much and im so grateful to write this and if you read this me & Joel love you & are giving you a stardrop #joel miller x f!reader #farmer!joel miller #Joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller x you #stardew valley au #seasons of you fic series #Joel 🤎#pedrostories

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fcwoso · 7 months

Text

Beret season · Leah Williamson

Summary: reader tries to prove Leah a point (fluffy)

MASTERLIST

Leah was known for her grumpy face. She would unintentionally furrow her eyebrows, making it appear as if she were in a constant bad mood. It was something you often teased her about, saying that she would regret it once she’s older. In reality, you loved the lines around her eyes and wouldn’t mind admiring them for the rest of your life.

‘’There she goes again.’’ You chuckled while you two were roaming in the streets of London. Leah’s hand held yours tightly, hair dancing in the wind, but the grumpy expression still present on her face. ‘’What do you mean?’’ She asked in a serious tone, completely oblivious to your remark. She pressed a firm kiss on the back of your hand as she waited for you to answer her question. You shook your head, a teasing grin growing on your face. ‘’Nothing.’’ You replied, returning the kiss on her hand.

Autumn had finally arrived. The first thing Leah did was pull out this box full of berets she had hidden in the back of your shared closet. To say she was excited was an understatement, she was ecstatic. You loved seeing her wear them, you really did. The thing is, she looked like a grumpy grandpa when she wore them. ‘’You’re just jealous, aren’t you. Not everyone can pull off a beret.’’ Is what she would reply, and you happily agreed, there’s no way you’re putting a beret on your head. That’s her thing.

‘’Let’s take a look.’’ You suggested, dragging Leah by the hand. You weren’t interested in buying a new mirror as the store was literally full of them. No, you wanted to prove your lover a point. ‘’Baby, you didn’t tell me you wanted a new one.’’ Leah said, tracing circles with her thumb along the skin of your hand. As you continued walking, you stopped in front of a large mirror, both of you looking at yourselves in its reflection. Your dopey smile mostly fixated on the blonde that was standing next to you. ‘’I didn’t know you were this egocentric; this mirror is huge.’’ Leah laughed, checking out her outfit and of course, adjusting her beret. ‘’Says you.’’ You mumbled, continuing, ‘’Anyway, love, look at yourself.’’ Your hands encircled her waist and Leah couldn’t help but lean into your warm touch.

‘’What about me? I look fine?’’ She replied, admiring your form instead, making you playfully roll your eyes. ‘’Hmm, you look great.’’ You said. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she finally realized what you were trying to show her, just when you were about to pull away. The pout on her lips was visible, making you giggle. ‘’Oh, I see it now.’’ She quietly admitted. A sad expression was plastered on her face, visible in the mirror’s reflection in front of you.

You turned her around and put your hands on the sides of her face, resting them on her slightly cold cheeks. ‘’I still think you’re adorable, that won’t ever change.’’ The soft kiss on her nose was to reassure her, the following kiss on her lips was to make the pout disappear. And you succeeded. The slightly taller blonde had to hunch over a bit to meet your touch, her pout transforming into a subtle smile making her dimples appear. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around her neck and draw her closer to you, leaving a few soft kisses along her jaw.

‘’I know, I’m your favorite.’’ There’s no way you could argue with that. The taller blonde rested her forehead on yours, sparkling eyes locked onto the ones that were staring right back at her. Suddenly, you felt something resting on your head. Something warm, something soft? ‘’Leah.’’ You said sternly without moving an inch. ‘’What?’’ She innocently asked, a cheeky grin replacing over usual serious face. ‘’Take it off of me.’’ She let out the biggest groan and took a step back, looking back at her reflection while placing the hat on her now disheveled hair. ‘’You better cover that mess up, Williamson.’’ You snorted while making your way out of the store. The blonde was still busy attempting to hide her messy bangs and huffed, ‘’Whatever, you’re just jealous.’’

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso soccer #woso x reader #woso community #woso #leah williamson one shot #leah williamson imagine

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withleeknow · 6 months

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fujifilm x100v.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff which i haven't written in a hot minute @.@ so i actually can't tell if it's that sweet but i hope it is lmao note: a spontaneous blurb written in one sitting because the message below gave me soft boyfie brainrot again lmfao thank you wifeu for sending me down a mini spiral

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

your fujifilm x100v, minho always says he hates the thing.

whenever you raise the camera to your face to look through the viewfinder in search of your boyfriend, he would glare at you like a disgruntled grandpa, though he never moves out of the way or diverts your lens elsewhere. he'd let you take your pictures, the cat-like frown still apparent on his face, and observe as you smile fondly once the shot has been snapped. sometimes, if he's feeling particularly generous, he would throw the camera a half-assed peace sign.

ah, your favorite muse.

"stop," he'd groan with an eye roll full of affection, "you have enough photos of me."

he'd complain like this every time you try to immortalize your moments together with your camera, but you know he secretly loves it.

how do you know this? because when you examine the pictures afterward, you would always spot a faint blush painting his face and the top of his ears.

"that's impossible," you'd tell him, then watch as the rosy flush returns to his skin until it matches the tint on the half-flustered minho in your camera. "i could never get enough of you."

the shade only deepens adorably when you press a kiss against his cheek before you show him the picture. he'd smile ever so subtly as he studies his photographed self, captured through your eyes. a smile that would be inconceivable if you weren't an expert on all things minho. his eyes would soften, almost glazed over with an absolute adoration only reserved for you.

love is gentle like summer rain.

love is synonymous with minho.

it's true what you always say to him - that you could never get enough. you could snap a million and one pictures of him and it still wouldn't be sufficient. you want to capture every second of every day with him. every soft dimpled smile. every laugh that takes over him entirely and turns his eyes into crescent moons. every grumpy frown whenever the alarm clock goes off and launches him away from saccharine dreamland. every petulant pout, every cute and harmless scowl, every display of sparkling boba eyes.

everything. every single thing.

your fujifilm x100v, minho always says he hates the thing.

but he was the one who got it for you in the first place.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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meraxesmoon · 8 months

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Ok but imagine the adventures of Daemons Bastard!reader and grumpy grandpa Balerion!!!!

I’m seeing reader coming out and spending her first nights with Daemon and his fam sneaking out to gramps and curling up against him and just crying silently until she falls asleep😭😭😭

Then some random losers one day make fun of reader in the palace courtyard for being a bastard and gramps just pokes his head in and is NOT amused

Gramps just sensing when reader wants to leave somewhere and just yoinks her out of whatever situation she’s in

note: pap pap balerion supremacy

warnings: yandere content, but like, centered around bastard! reader and her dragon, if you squint readers mother is a sex worker, first time dragonrider, I'm obsessed with bastard (name), like she's my daughter tbh

┍━━━━━━━ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗━━━━━━━┑

She absolutely hated Dragonstone, or whatever this cursed place was called.

It was dreary and cold, but she supposed that the weather matched her emotions perfectly. She had a good life before the Targaryen's entered it. She had lived peacefully with her mother and two younger brothers. They had a small hut away from the city, and it had been beautiful. Her mother had a love for plants, so they had a gorgeous, yet humble garden at the back of their home. (Name) thinks that she misses her cat the most, and her brothers.

Mostly her beloved mother.

Her sick mother, who could barely work and provided for them via means she did not appreciate. Everything had been fine until he had shown up. The day (Name) met her father was the worst day of her life. She had been looking after her younger brothers when a white-haired man showed up on their doorstep, and the way her mother's face contorted at the sight of Daemon should have been her first warning that the night would end up terribly.

And it absolutely had.

She had been devastated when she was dragged away from her mother and brothers, and she had been horrified when he loaded her onto his dragon Caraxes like it was nothing. It was, obviously, her first time seeing a dragon, and Caraxes had been huge, both in size and personality.

It had been horrible the rest of the night, because Daemon had forced her to meet his wife and children. Seeing Aegon and Viserys reminded her of her younger brothers, so she had wandered off to the shore once dinner was done to sob about the predicament she had found herself in. (Name) had always been tough, her mother would call her that all of the time.

Now she just felt vulnerable.

Feeling alone, she collapses against a mount of rocks, her small body shaking as she thinks about the circumstances that had led up to this. Except... the mountain of rocks started to shake and make odd sounds. (Name) shoots up from her leaning position and tries to look for a quick escape. Instead, she breathes heavily as the mountain of rocks becomes a very, very large dragon. He was about ten times larger than Caraxes, and he was so dark that the only clear thing she could see were his smoldering eyes, slitted and narrowed at her.

Now, (Name) may have not been around dragons her entire life, but everyone knew about The Black Dread.

"Oh, Gods..." she mumbles, her lips turned downwards in a nervous manner. (Name) looks at the ginormous creature in front of her and can't help but take notice of how beautiful he was. Once her eyes got accustomed to the darkness of night, she could see his black scales and his large snout. Balerion's nostrils flare as he glowers down at the small human before him, she was so tiny that she looked like an ant to him.

Wiping the tears from her cold cheeks, (Name) wonders why this fearsome creature hasn't burnt her to a crisp yet. She had woken him from a nap, and she knew how unpleasant that could be. Not only that, but she had heard that Balerion was the oldest dragon, even more old than the Queen of Dragons, Vhagar. He was well past two hundred at this point, and (Name) was surprised to find him here of all places.

Though... Daemon had mentioned something about his older brother dying recently and that the king was a good man. King Viserys had been Balerion's last rider, so maybe the dragon was just trying to find somewhere to rest. So, this had been her uncles dragon, (Name) realizes as she stared at the majestic creature in front of her.

Balerion lets out a loud sound, one that sort of reminds her of a sound a cat would make when excited, and he bumped her with his nose, knocking her over immediately. (Name) let's out an 'oof' before falling on her behind. However, a giggle left her lips as she did so, finding the whole situation quite funny. This dragon, who was about fifty times her size, just booped her with his huge snoot.

Balerion adjusts his weight, and his huge, battered wing comes down next to (Name), and he lets out another sound, this one more whistle-like. His crimson eyes connected with (Name)'s, and she freezes when she realizes that she can understand what he wants from her. It was like something just connected in her brain, chaining her consciousness to Balerion's.

Hesitant, she grabs onto one of the many horns sticking out of him and she starts to climb up Balerion's wing, her skin tingling as she felt his scales. Balerion had many scars and blemishes on his body, showing how experienced he was, and (Name) found that amazing. She makes it up to his back finally, and settles on a saddle, which was much too big for her. Her small hands gripped the steering straps and she nervously wraps them around her wrists, just to make sure she wouldn't go flying off.

(Name) didn't know High Valyrian, but she remembered something Daemon had said before Caraxes had started flying.

Steeling herself, (Name) shouts out the word.

"Soves, Balerion!"

And they fly.

i just made this a lil drabble of the first night, I'll do more parts bc i love this concept ♡ also I love dissecting how the bond between a dragon and rider works, it's so interesting to me

tbh vhagar being claimed by aemond is my favorite scene

#cw: yandere content #cw: yandere blog #cw: yandere #yandere daemyra #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere team black #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere content #yandere #kay writes #rhxegal

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kiankiwi · 4 months

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What would Jacob be like as a dad? I love him sm :(

FINALY SOMEONE ASKED ABOUT JACOB!

I'm gonna do hc's because I miss writing actual fics!

from the moment he finds out your pregnant, he's understandably scared bc DUH but he's also OVER THE MOON

he's constantly talking to the bubba and rubbing your belly (with your permission because he knows you might not always want to be touched bc of how much your body is changing)

Whenever we go to the store for ANYTHING, he has to take a detour to the baby section to grab the bubba a "present" and even if we're like "baby, we don't need to get all this" he gives us his famous puppy dog eyes that ALWAYS works on us and he KNOWS it does so he abuses that power whenever he can

He is SO grumpy whenever he can't make it to a sonogram appointment due to scheduling and filming and stuff so we make sure we're allowed to FT him during the appointments so he can still be "there"

I picture him being on the saltburn set during the anatomy scan (I don't see us doing a gender reveal party, we just find out at the appointment because jacob is so excited and can't wait) and when he finds out it's a girl (he's so girl dad coded) HE DOES THE NATE SCREAM (BUT IN A GOOD WAY) and he just walks around a bit screaming and cheering and we're like "don't make me laugh! I'm gonna pee! don't make me laugh!"

And because he's so excited, he goes to the store on the way home and buys ALL the cutest girly onesies and we have cupcakes in celebration

I feel like he'd LOVE old-timey names like Theodore, Arthur, Elanor, all the grandma/grandpa names lol

He turns into handyman Jacob and keeps the nursery a surprise from us and he does the whole thing himself so that we don't have to worry about it

That's the thing about Jacob as a dad, if he can do something to help us or take something off our plate so we don't get stressed out, he does it! Even when baby is born

Throughout our entire pregnancy, Jacob was reading all the books and researching all the things including how to help during labor and when we finally go into labor, he's a SUPERDAD. He distracts us, he asks us all the right questions and holds us and when it gets way too intense, he puts his face close to ours so the only thing we can focus on is his face

We're DEFINITELY scared to give birth because Jacob is a gentle giant and we're so scared to give birth to a baby giant ... spoiler alert, we're okay

JACOB IS SOBBING once bubba is born and is torn between focusing on us or the bubba

I feel like Jacob during our labor throws up from anxiety a few times because he's trying so hard not to show it but he's sooooo anxious

He takes ALL the nighttime feeds and changes and stuff, he calms the baby down whenever we need a shower or a nap, ANYTHING he can do to help us, takes bubba on walks while we go to the store and he gets us coffee and flowers and a card and stuff

He's basically the greatest dad

IMAGINE him babywearing that tiny bubba.... such a big boy and a tiny bubba napping on his chest while we do chores

God this was so fun! I hope you enjoyed. <3

PLEASE send me more Jacob dad thoughts !!!

@mooodyblue @arianatheangel-girl

#jacob elordi headcanons #dad!jacob elordi #dad!jacob #kiwiswriting #kiwisblurbs #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi x you #jacob eordi x yn

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eddies-house · 5 months

Text

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

Masterlist

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village. Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter. Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter. The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic. Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span. Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together. It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous. Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece. A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot. And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust. It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around. Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year. Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet. They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had. This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry. It just didn’t feel right. It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick. You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings. Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo. To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky. You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort. Not as much as you’d hoped anyway. It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart. It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples. No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being. You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room. There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone. You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right? It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself. You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s. You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair. Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible. How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor. Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board. You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time. You set it aside and pressed on. It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips. Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter. Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life. Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear. Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling. The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness. Something well deserved. You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts. That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen. There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now. It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud. There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies. At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks. They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face. You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place. Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit. The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm. His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting. Do you act concerned and start begging the questions: Did something happen? Who’s injured? Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state? It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.” He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.

“Help?” You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur. “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.” He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze. He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather. It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.” You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut. The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy. Disoriented.

“Come inside.” You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process. “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out. Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl. The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes. They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.” He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading. You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you. He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes. And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.” You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep. He looked so lost. “Eddie, it’s okay.” You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.” He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I don’t know why I even tried.” He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper. His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger. He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours. Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.” He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes. He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm. Not meanly. Never meanly. More concerned. Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help. Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage. You’d never know you committed such a crime. And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate. All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this. If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.” Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread. Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish. The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt. Scattered.

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response. Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables. It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them. Instead–” You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom. “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows. Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player. And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him. He had his own collection now, sure. But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched. It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-” He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle. “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face. You don’t ask them. An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music. As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.” You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can. “And Sugary Apple Goo.” A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie. “Kind of a…weird duo. Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Apple pie. The apple pie. At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.” You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.” He repeats. A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl. Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state. Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense. Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress. Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously. Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue. It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself. How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.” You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to. Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks. Not when you’re this kind. Not when you’re you.

“Okay.” He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.” You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving. But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay. And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish. Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags. Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?” Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat. His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.” A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish. So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans. He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss. In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.” You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight. It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of. Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.” He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open. And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!” Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room. She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates. Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected. In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard. The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo. Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything. Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately. Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter. Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.” She advises. “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance. They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets. When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him. There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got? Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.” Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.” He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat. Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?” You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.

“Oh, c’mon Eddie! You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.” Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder. “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven. Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”

“Sure.” You mumble. “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.” She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen. “But don’t go too crazy.” She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?” You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no. I’m good.” A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being. Prying wasn’t going to help. “”M gonna get a beer.” He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare. Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine. The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.

And then-they were all over him. Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features. It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed. His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!” One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!” Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.” A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room. You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.” Donnie interjects. “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!” She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.” You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.” Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral. Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing. Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.” Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.” You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.” He jokes, taking a swig of his beer. “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!” You defend. “We were a hot mess.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.” Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him. “What-”

“That’s okay.” You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best. Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.

“Actually-it’s not.” You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment. Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.

“What?” Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.” You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation. The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason. It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality. You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar. And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless. Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him. But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation? His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations. You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now. It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words. Only an expectant look. Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel. And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself. The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving. To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it. A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan. He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi. Stop following me around.” He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips. There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface. You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh. It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter. A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!” Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation. “I don’t have a jacket for you this time. Learn how to dress for the cold.” He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.

“I don’t!” You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world. Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him. You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation. You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.” A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail. His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you. Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.” You chirp. “We’ll taste all the wines. C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry. Drunk eating is the best.” You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now. He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood. Let’s go.”

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know. But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown. Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house. The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home. You think someone else could give you a ride back?” The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth. But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him. A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way. No one wanted him in that way.

“What?” You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for. “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow. He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that. And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity. If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth. Trailer trash. A nobody. That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi. You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you. You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!” You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is. “Can’t figure me out. What about you?! You’re the one no one can figure out!”

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense. Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” He states simply, monotone. It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough. If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah? Because you don’t wanna let people in?!” Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften. “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals! How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?! What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!” He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity. “No, seriously! I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying! I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!” He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest. It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up. Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.

“I wanted to. I want to.” Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out. He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in. You refuse to let him.

“Yes. Eddie–look at me!” You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him. He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears. You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that. Please.” You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent. The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth. Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in. Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.” He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what? You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you. And for what? It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you. You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged. And that is not something you wanted. You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it. No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever. Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!” Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any. That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!” You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse. “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone. Not on Thanksgiving.” Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face. He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving. You’re staying here.” He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him. The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over. Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low. Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand. If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck. Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar. His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open. Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe. You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move. As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.

“Stay.” You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred. He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him. Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much. You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.” You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat. With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck. A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly. The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime. If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold. Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up. And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire. Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone. And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would. Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson. It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him. He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you. And if you both got sick, so be it. A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated. His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so. His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features. Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it.

“Can I–can I kiss you?” He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place. But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.

“Please.” You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours. He’s slow with it, taking his time. As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.

“I can’t stop.” He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.” You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him. Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.” His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.” You protest against your better judgment. It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house. A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him. Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose? Snotty?” He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #smoke signals #eddie munson au #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

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harlowcomehome · 6 months

Text

Hazel and Jade's damn cat:

You were tired of having this conversation, ignoring your husband as you continued to chase what was left of your breakfast around your plate. You were trying to be quick and finish eating before the girls were up for the day.

Jack continued to talk, you drowned him out by mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

“Y/N” he spoke sternly, as he poured his coffee into a mug. Finally getting your attention, he was growing more and more irritated that you were so clearly ignoring him.

“Jackman, I said no” you sighed, putting your phone down on the glass table louder than intended.

“Why? Jade has been asking for months. It’s almost Christmas and Lucky is lonely” he pointed at Lucky who was asleep in his dog bed without a care in the world.

“The girls hardly play with Lucky!” Your voice was louder than you had meant for it to be.

“Cats don’t need that much attention!” He defended speaking to you in a booming voice that made you shift around your seat uncomfortably.

He took a deep breath, worried the girls had heard you both and realizing he had upset you.

“Urban's friend has to rehome their cat and Urban has it right now…” He walked over to you, ready to continue the conversation as he sat down across from you at the table.

Jade and Hazel both sleepily walked into the living room, likely awoken by the argument between you two.

You however were silently thanking your lucky stars, wanting to avoid this conversation, as you ran over to them to tell them good morning.

Jack tried to hide his obvious irritation, running his hands through his curls before standing up to give the girls a morning hug and kiss.

“Daddy made breakfast, I hope you two are hungry..”

“Hungry!” Jade giggled, jumping up and down.

Jack walked into the kitchen, meeting you at the stove as you put food on plates for the girls.

“You can’t avoid this conversation forever” he whispered behind you.

“Jackman. Please!” You snapped, evidently at your wits end. You pushed past him, putting the plates down at the table for the girls.

“I’m going to take a shower” you numbly stated, going to the bedroom hastily.

“Why is mom grumpy?” Hazel whispered to her dad discreetly.

Jack stifled a laugh, “I think she’s just tired today bug. Eat your breakfast. Grandma is going to pick you up in about an hour.” He checked his phone to verify the time.

When you were out of the shower, you got both of the girls ready for their day with their grandparents, styling their hair and helping them pick outfits.

“Grandma and grandpa said we are going to go see reindeer?” Jade questioned as you put her hair into a ponytail.

“Yeah, they are taking you guys to the reindeer farm!” You nodded as Hazel sat on the bed in Jades' room.

“Were you mad at Daddy this morning?” Hazel was always good at picking up on things, which made it hard for you sometimes.

“I wasn’t mad at Daddy, I was just having a rough morning but I’m better now” you smiled.

The doorbell rang and Maggie came to the door to pick up the girls, both you and Jack giving them tender goodbyes and reminding them to use their manners.

When the door shut, you were fully prepared to ignore him, still running off fumes from the conversation this morning.

“No, I don’t think so” he stood in front of you, blocking you from moving.

“Jack- please” you sighed.

“Just talk to me! Don’t do this, communicate with me” his eyes looked down on you with so much emotion, that it was hard for you to stay upset.

“We can go see the damn cat! As in look at it! That’s it!” You rolled your eyes standing in front of him with your arms crossed against your chest.

He grabbed you, holding you securely against his chest. You relaxed against his touch, both of you muttering apologies for how this morning went.

Jack called Urban as you finished getting ready, and let him know you’d be stopping by.

Urban knew you’d leave with the cat once you saw it, but humored both of your differing opinions anyway.

Once you got to Urban's house and saw the sphynx cat you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I can just hear Jade now. Ahhh! It’s a naked kitty!” Jack mimicked as he sat down on the floor to pet the cat.

You looked at Jack and then over to Urban who made eye contact with you and smiled.

“You’re the worst Wyatt!” You playfully pushed him, making him lightly stumble backward and chuckle in response.

“So, are you taking her?” Urban grinned, handing you the pet carrier he had.

“We’re taking the damn cat” you laughed earning cheers from both men.

“But you’re on kitty litter duty for life. You’re the one who wanted her!” You turned to Jack who threw his arms up defensively.

“Fine! You got a deal Mrs. Harlow” Jack smiled.

You held the pet carrier in your lap the entire way home, peeking through the screen at the sleeping cat inside.

“You already love her” Jack teased as he drove home.

“I just hope the girls do and don’t think her hairless body is…” You paused “off putting.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind! Plus she’s not pink and hairless! Those kinda look like chickens!”

“Jackman!” You snorted, not expecting him to say that. You pointed to the pet store that was near your house, asking him to stop.

“Urban gave us her bowls and everything, remember?”

“She needs a sweater! Our house can get cold” you responded to him like he should’ve known that which made him laugh as he turned into the parking lot.

“Want me to go in?”

“Stay with her! I wanna pick the sweaters” You smiled as you hopped out of the car.

“Sweaters? With an S?”

“She has to have variety!” You stated before shutting the door to the car.

“Looks like you’re officially a member of the Harlow family little kitty. Best of luck,” Jack smiled as he spoke to the cat and watched you run inside.

When you got home, you introduced Lucky to his new friend. Lucky continued to smell her for a moment, skittish when the cat stretched its body out.

You let the two get familiar with one another while Jack set up her bed and food bowls.

“I can’t believe I have a cat” You stood there with your hands on your hips as you watched Lucky and the new addition curl up together.

“Jade is going to love her though” he smiled, truthfully not initially crazy about the idea either.

After a few hours, the girls came home and Jack stopped them at the door. You were sitting on the couch, holding the cat in your arms.

“Mommy and I have a surprise for you both but you have to be calm and use nice hands” he looked at Jade with the last statement.

Hazel already saw the cat in your arms, promising her dad that she’d be gentle as she quickly ran over to you.

“What is that?” Jade hid behind her dad’s legs.

“It’s a naked kitty!” Hazel giggled as she held her hands out to hold her.

“Why is she naked?” Jade was confused, looking up at Jack with a worried expression.

You giggled at her reaction, “She’s hairless. That's just how she looks. Do you want to put a sweater on her?”

You stood up and picked up the sweaters, handing them to her.

Hazel sat down holding the cat like a baby.

“Jadey!! She’s purring!”

Jade walked over to Hazel and sat beside her, she was still hesitant but more relaxed than she was at first.

“She’s kinda cute. She’s just funny looking!” Jade giggled.

“You’re funny looking” Hazel mumbled to herself making Jack stifle a laugh.

You rolled your eyes at your husband, and helped Jade put a sweater on the cat who meowed loudly catching everyone off guard.

“What are we thinking about naming her?” Jack smiled, waiting for the answer.

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #Jack Harlow blurb #Jack Harlow fic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagines

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suzukiblu · 26 days

Text

WIP excerpt for ducksandswans behind the cut; Jason gets knocked up and accidentally goes home about it. ( chrono || non-chrono )

Jason tightens his grip on Pup Brother and Quiet Sister tightens her grip on him. He can smell the whole pack's scents–smell the whole pack's packscent–and he feels . . . good about that. He likes that.

He missed them. He shouldn't have stayed gone so long. Though now there's a pup, and maybe even more than one, so he supposes it was worth it.

And either way, he's home now.

Grandpa said.

“ETA on B?” Big Brother asks.

“Eighteen minutes, if they avoided the downtown traffic,” Big Brother’s mate says. Jason hums acknowledgment, then lets himself relax just a little more. More than he even thought he could, really.

It's nice.

It's really nice.

And they're all safe, too.

“Holy crap, is he purring?” New Brother mutters under his breath.

“He is definitely purring,” Loud Sister confirms. “Like a big grumpy motorcycle.”

“Pretty sure I've heard quieter motorcycles,” Big Brother's mate says wryly. “It's pretty cute, though.”

“It is so cute, oh my god,” Big Brother says in despairing delight. “This is bad enough, how are we gonna handle him being like this with an actual baby?”

“I think that's mostly a ‘you’ problem, Dick,” Little Brother says.

“That is definitely a ‘you’ problem,” Loud Sister agrees.

“For sure,” New Brother says.

“Very cute,” Quiet Sister hums, nuzzling the back of Jason’s neck and patting his shoulder. “Baby brother.”

“Thank you, Cass,” Big Brother says with a huff, folding his arms. “This is so adorable I can’t even stand it.”

Jason huffs, rolling his eyes, then just settles in and closes his eyes. It’s safe to. And he has a nest to let his scent seep into and through, and “bred” pheromones to let settle into and fill up the den. He’s early enough in his pregnancy that it’ll probably take a little while, so it’s past time to concentrate on putting those off and scenting the room. The nest’s all made, and Pup Brother and Quiet Sister are in it, and Grandpa’s by the door and Big Brother and Little Brother are just outside the nest, and Loud Sister and New Brother and Big Brother’s mate are all here too, so . . .

So once Alpha’s here, then everything will be perfect.

“He’s purring again,” New Brother mutters. “I literally did not even know he was physically capable of making that sound.”

“Capable of making it to motorcycle-shaming levels, apparently,” Loud Sister says with a laugh. “Damn, Jason.”

Jason doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he isn’t worried about it. If it’s important, someone will take care of it.

Everyone’s here, so of course someone will.

“Silence, all of you,” Pup Brother grumbles, sounding long-suffering but staying settled secure in Jason’s arms, which is good. Definitely. He should be there right now.

Jason nuzzles him some more, for obvious reasons, and then just concentrates on letting his pheromones spread through the room. His nest already smells like the pack and so does the den, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like pup-is-coming.

It needs to, obviously.

Someone’s purring. It’s not Pup Brother, but Jason’s not sure who else could be.

Well, it doesn’t matter, really.

Some of the others talk about some things, their voices soft and quiet. Jason doesn’t worry about it. It’s just little stuff, like patrol schedules and classes and appointments. Normal little things for a pack to talk about, and easy to settle into the background as white noise while he lets his pheromones fill up the room and makes sure Pup Brother’s eaten.

He eats some of the apple slices and peanut butter, himself. The pup needs to eat too.

It’s the same cheap, shitty store brand that he used to insist on as a pup himself.

“ETA five minutes,” Big Brother’s mate says eventually after checking her phone. Jason’s not sure what she’s talking about, but isn’t worried about that either. If it’s important, someone will tell him. Or handle it. Or both.

All he has to do right now is wait for Alpha to get here, and then everything will be fine.

Everything will be perfect, actually, once Alpha gets here.

The others talk a little more. Their voices are still soft and quiet, so Jason still doesn’t worry about it. He just stays curled up around Pup Brother and in Quiet Sister’s arms, and letting his pheromones fill up the den with bred and home-safe and all the usual things that are usually part of presenting a pup to the pack.

It’s nice. The . . . being here. It’s nice.

He missed it here.

He wonders why he missed it so bad. Has it been that long, or . . . ?

He just missed it.

But now he’s here, so he doesn’t have to miss it anymore.

Grandpa turns his head towards the door and pushes himself up out of his chair. Jason whines in disappointment. Is he leaving? Why’s he leaving?

“I’ll just be a moment, my boy,” Grandpa assures him, and Jason settles, a little. If Grandpa says it’ll be just a moment, then he means it.

Grandpa steps out into the foyer again and everyone else goes quiet all at once, and Jason realizes–oh. The front door just opened, didn’t it. He doesn’t hear footsteps, though.

. . . does that mean . . . ?

“Alfred?” Alpha says from the foyer, sounding just barely concerned, and something in Jason vibrates at the sound of his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Is someone purring?” Alpha’s mate asks curiously.

“Master Jason came home, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says.

“. . . he what?” Alpha says, his voice sounding–strange, just a bit. Jason isn’t sure why it does, but feels . . .

“Just–the living room, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says. “You should come and see for yourself.”

Grandpa steps back into view of the doorway, and Jason still feels unsettled and just a little bit uncertain, and isn’t sure if–

Then Alpha steps into view too, and Jason forgets everything else

#ducksandswans #wip: jason goes home #omegaverse

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 2 months

Text

Something There (Chapter 12)

6.8k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, references to smutty things, absolute fluffy fluff

Series Masterlist

A/N: This has... taken a while, lol. Honestly, I've been struggling with how to end this, mostly because I don't want to say goodbye to Roy and Bucky! But, all good (or at least halfway decent) things must come to an end. (Plus, I already know there'll be some blurbs featuring these two!) I hope you enjoy, and thanks for coming along for the ride ❤️

“What would you say is your greatest accomplishment?”

Roy nodded towards me and smirked. “Can I answer for her?”

Another “Manager Monday”. Apparently, people liked seeing Roy and me sitting together and answering questions. According to Keeley, the internet referred to us as the “Mum and Dad” of Nelson Road. It was weird and a little flattering, if I was being honest. And, frankly, getting to goof around and not-so-subtly flirt with Roy on camera during work hours was a pretty good deal.

“No, you cannot,” Keeley chuckled. “Go on then, greatest accomplishment.”

“Winning my Olympic Gold Medal,” I answered, elbowing Roy when I heard his good-natured snicker. “It was something my grandpa and I talked about for as long as I can remember. And he did come see me win it. After that, whenever he introduced me to people, it was always, ‘This is my granddaughter. She’s an Olympian.’” I smiled at the memory before turning to Roy. “What’s yours? That year you led the league in red cards?”

Roy’s smile had my heart doing somersaults. “You fucking know it.”

With lots of laughter and poor attempts to hide our flirting, we got through a couple more soccer-related questions before Keeley broached the topic we both knew she was dying to get to.

“So, the internet has been debating between two couple names for you two,” she announced mischievously. “‘Boy’ and ‘Rocky’. Which do you prefer?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Keeley,” he growled, as I snorted, “We’re not answering that.”

While we were more than happy to let our friends at Nelson Road know about our relationship and annoy them with our PDA, we had agreed not to make any big public show of things- at least not until the season ended. We were enough of a distraction when we were just a few blurry photos the night of the gala; we didn’t want to take away any more media attention from the club, not when our teams were on the verge of something great.

Keeley rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But once you two go public, you know better get used to those questions, alright? Because you guys are really fucking cute, and the internet loves you already.”

“We are pretty cute, I’ll give you that,” I chuckled, taking Roy’s hand and smiling at the grumpy coach- my grumpy coach.

In return, he leaned over and pecked my lips gently. “That better not fucking end up online,” he warned Keeley, thick eyebrows raised threateningly.

“We’d break the internet with that little kiss,” she teased, winking at me. “Better be nice to me, or I’m leaking that clip.”

“Careful,” Roy replied with a nod in my direction, affection sparkling in his eyes. “I heard this one’s got a mean right hook.”

Roy leaned on the doorframe, enjoying the view. Who would’ve thought that just watching someone put on makeup would make him so fucking happy?

But seeing her standing in front of his bathroom sink and applying that red lipstick had his heart skipping a couple beats. He liked this domestic thing, the sleepovers and the driving to work together and the making dinner and… everything. He wanted more of it, he realized. He wanted more of her. The word was on the tip of his tongue, the word that had been floating around in his head since they got together, since the gala if he was being honest. Maybe even before that, he didn't fucking know. But it was too soon, he knew. Things were already going fast enough and, although she was diving in headfirst just as hard, Roy was still worried about scaring her off.

Her playful eyes met his in the mirror. “Can I help you, Kent?” she teased.

He shrugged and pushed himself off the doorframe so he could stroll over casually. “Just admiring the view.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek. “I like when you wear that color.” Another kiss to her temple. “Especially when it ends up on my neck,” he hummed.

“Fuck off,” she chuckled, elbowing him gently. “Come on, let me finish getting ready. Otherwise, you’re going to be late to your game, Coach.”

“Fine,” he growled. “But after the match?”

She whirled around and grabbed his face gently, her eyes bright. “After the match, I promise my lipstick will be all over your neck.” She pressed her body close to his. “And maybe some other particular places.” Her red lips formed that smirk he loved, the one he couldn’t believe he used to find annoying. “But only if you win.”

Roy grinned, eyebrows raised at her appealing offer. “Well, lucky for me I’m the manager of a winning team.”

“That is lucky,” she purred, nudging her nose against his. “Now then, can I go put on my new Greyhounds kit?”

His grin widened. “You got a fucking Greyhounds kit?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’m part of Richmond. I like the fellas. And I’m pretty obsessed with their pain in the ass manager.” She smiled. “It’s about time I start rocking some Greyhound gear.”

Roy’s heart was soaring. He loved wearing her name and number on his back, even if it made their relationship obvious to anyone who was paying even an ounce of attention. And he’d be lying his ass off if he said he hadn’t pictured what she’d look like wearing his name on a kit. Granted, some of those pictures in his head were in his bed rather than at a match, but still. What a fucking dream come true.

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hurry up then, Coach.”

Roy probably would have skipped to the living room if it weren’t for this shit knee. With no one around, he didn’t bother hiding his stupid grin, the one he found himself wearing quite often these days. The internet had gone a bit wild with images of him wearing her name on his Whippets kit; he could only imagine the silly little fan edits and TikToks that would surely follow this match.

“What d’you think?”

Roy’s old man heart nearly stopped in his chest. The bright red and blue material hugged her figure perfectly, tempting him to rip it off of her and forget all about his match. The little Greyhound logo settled beautifully over her heart, just like the Whippets manager had weaseled her way into his. He was officially obsessed with the picture in front of him, he decided.

“Fucking perfect,” he hummed. He twirled his finger in a circle, eyebrows raised. He just needed to see one more thing. “Give us a spin, then.”

Her grin widened as she turned around, something mischievous in her eyes. Roy sat up a little straighter, unashamed to be so obviously excited to see-

“Does that fucking say Tartt?” he spat, pure disgust smeared across his bearded face.

Her laughter rang in his ears, almost magical enough to make him forget about this absolute betrayal. He narrowed his eyes at her as she turned back around, shameless amusement on her face. “What’s the matter, Roy?” she teased as she made her way over to where he slumped on the couch. “Don’t you think I look good?”

He reached out and tugged her onto his lap, doing his best to keep his stern expression. “I think,” he growled against her shoulder, pawing at the material, “that you need to take that fucking thing off.”

With a giggle, she grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch, reminding Roy of the night of the gala- their very first night. “Ah, no time to change, I’m afraid.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, careful not to leave any lipstick on his face. “Let’s go, Kent.”

Still grumbling and growling, Roy allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and dragged out of the house. When she wasn’t looking, he shook his head and smiled softly at her. Even with such a stupid name on her back, Roy still thought that seeing her in a Greyhounds kit was his new favorite sight.

He just couldn’t wait to rip the damn thing off of her.

“Let’s fucking go, Greyhounds!” I screeched, ignoring the way Keeley covered her ears.

After everything that had happened this season, both on and off the field, it was hard to believe it was coming to an end. Tonight, the Greyhounds were only one victory away winning the Premier League. And, after weeks of wearing Jamie’s name and other players’ names on my back just to mess with Roy (and the internet), I was proudly wearing his name and our number on my Greyhounds sweatshirt.

Keeley leaned close and held out her phone. “You’re already trending,” she teased, showing off a blurry photo of Roy and me entering the stadium, with me wearing Roy’s name and my signature red lipstick as I smiled up at the Greyhound manager. “And so is this.” There was Jamie Tartt, entering the stadium, wearing a fanny pack and, as usual, a hat. Unlike usual, this hat didn’t say “ICON”; instead, it proudly proclaimed “ROCKY”.

I rolled my eyes as the guys took their places on the field. “Is that a reference to that stupid ‘couple name’ thing?” I groaned. “Because you’re all supposed to be helping us keep quiet, you know.”

The sly way Keeley narrowed her eyes had me almost squirming. “Yeah. Because the way you two act during Manager Mondays and wearing each other’s kits is really discreet.” Suddenly, her suspicious expression turned somber, giving me a new urge to fidget. “How’s it all going by the way? You and him? The two of you seem pretty damn happy these days.”

“We are,” I assured her, not bothering to stop my wide smile from filling my face. “He’s… well, you know how he is.” I gave a soft chuckle as I looked down to the pitch and watched Roy lean over to say something to Coach Beard. Perfect, I decided. That was how Roy was; perfect. From the way he stood during games, shoulders squared and all business, to the way he always stole a quick kiss when our paths crossed at work, to the way his strong hands tenderly adored me in bed, to the lazy afternoons on his couch, to the phone calls and texts that flooded my phone whenever we were apart, to the way he made me laugh and smile in between all those moments. Roy Kent was fucking perfect. “He’s Roy.”

Keeley’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “I do know how he is,” she said carefully. The little clearing of her throat had me turning my eyes to her. Her eyebrows knitted together, as if she thought I would slug her at any moment. “And I hope this isn’t totally inappropriate, but we were talking last week- and he was saying he’s so fucking happy,” she quickly added, probably seeing my slowly raising eyebrows. “He’s just worried about being… clingy?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how completely apprehensive my friend looked. “Oh, Roy’s clingy as fuck,” I said. “But I like it.” I shrugged, my eyes returning to the gruff man on the pitch that had weaseled his way into my heart. “I… I’m clingy too,” I admitted. “I think that’s why we work, actually. We’re both pretty intense people, we both do everything at full speed, you know? So, one person’s idea of ‘too clingy’ is my idea of ‘absolutely fucking perfect’.”

The smile on Keeley’s face was filled with joy and a bit of relief. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “Really. He deserves the best and you-” She smacked a kiss to my cheek. “-are the fucking best, babes.”

The tips of Roy’s fingers tingled as he stared down Jamie, who was making a mad dash towards their opponent’s goal. There were only moments left before stoppage time ended in a tie and the match inevitably went to extra time, which had been a dangerous place for the Greyhounds all season long. If Jamie couldn’t beat both the clock and goalkeeper, it felt like their season would end in defeat. And Roy couldn’t have that. Not this season. Not when everything seemed to be ending so well, on and off the pitch.

Only one defender stood between Jamie and the goal. Roy held his breath as he watched Jamie move this way and that, doing a maneuver he knew Tartt hadn’t learned from any of the coaches on the pitch; he’d learned this particular move from the Whippets. And he’d apparently learned it well, because suddenly Jamie was in front of the goal, kicking the ball and-

“JAMIE TARTT SCORES!”

Less than a moment later, the familiar sound of the referee’s whistle had all of Nelson Road in pure pandemonium. Roy sprinted onto the field, not caring about his stupid knee, and was instantly swallowed by the swarm of blue that was his team. He grabbed and hugged whoever was close by, not caring to see anything other than their wide eyes and wider smiles. He wondered ever so briefly if anything in his career would ever live up to this moment; he knew nothing before ever had. And, if he was being quite honest, he could live with this being the happiest moment of his career.

He was hugging Jamie tight, mumbling something about being fucking proud of the prick, when he heard some of his players call his name in teasing voices. He knew those tones; he’d been hearing them a lot lately, caused by one thing- well, one person- every fucking time.

Sure enough, when Roy glanced over his shoulder, the sight made his smile grow.

There she was, clad in her Greyhounds sweater, running at him. He knew she’d regret this run in the morning- they’d probably spend the whole next day icing ankles and knees- but she didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she looked like she didn’t care about anything other than Roy.

She threw herself into his arms and let him envelop her in a tight hug, one far too tight for two platonic managers to share.

“I’m proud of you,” she huffed into the crook of his neck. “So fucking proud, Roy.”

He released her slightly so she could gaze up at him, her eyes full of adoration and joy. Deep in his chest, Roy held a hope that she would stare at him like this for the rest of their lives. “Fucking come here,” he murmured, his hands leaving her hips to cup her face.

At some point over the season, Roy had lost count of how many times he’d kissed this woman. There were some kisses that were irrevocably stamped on his heart- their first kiss while sitting on his couch listening to Sam Cooke, the kiss in the rain after he’d given her the Team USA football, the sweet kiss they’d shared after he asked her to be his girlfriend- but this was probably his favorite so far. It was soft and slow, and it made the roar of the crowd go silent in Roy’s mind. He knew there was no going back from this; there would be photos of this kiss in the papers, and he’d definitely be asked about it in the post-match press conference. They’d once again be the subject of rumors and speculation, with Twitter users trying to put together a timeline and reanalyzing every little interaction they’d had over these last few months. It was going to be pure fucking hell.

But thankfully, his own personal heaven was in his arms.

When they parted, she wore a wide grin, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. “Congrats on the win, Coach,” she chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “Can’t believe you guys beat us to it.” She kissed his lips effortlessly, as if she kissed him on the pitch every day. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”

Roy shook his head and tightened his grip on her. “Just means the Whippets get to be the grand finale.”

“Grand finale,” she repeated, giving his jacket a tug to pull him back to herself. “I like the sound of that, Kent.”

Roy could’ve stayed on that pitch forever, holding her and kissing her, finally able to show everyone how he felt about her and how she miraculously felt about him. The feeling of winning the whole fucking thing, and having his girl in his arms, and hearing his team shout and celebrate, it was intoxicating as hell.

But, as Keeley reminded him with a giggle, there was pomp and circumstance to get through.

His whole body shook with excitement as he stood by Rebecca’s side and received the trophy. In the smiling crowd, he locked gazes with those familiar eyes. Could his smile get any bigger? he wondered. Surely that would be the morning headline: Richmond’s Roy Kent finally knows how to smile. And damn, if it wasn’t something he wanted to keep doing.

Once things began to die down on the pitch, Keeley began herding him towards the press conference he still had to do before celebrating with the team. He kept an arm wrapped around the Whippet’s manager as he finally made his way through the halls, to the familiar door that led to the press room. He paused in front of it, thinking about all the less-than-stellar moments he’d had in there. Announcing his retirement. Watching Jamie have a meltdown. Throwing a chair at George fucking Willows after being asked about Keeley. Being asked intrusive questions about his love life and the drama of this season. Some crappy things happened in that room, he admitted to himself.

But today? Today he walked in with his head held high; for the first time in a long time, Roy Kent felt nothing but good about himself and his life. His team was officially the best in the Premier League, and he had the girl of his dreams to kiss after the match. He allowed himself a smile as he settled in front of the cameras, enjoying the surprise on the reporters’ faces when they caught sight of his expression. In the back of the room, Keeley gave him a thumbs up before wrapping her arm around the Whippets’ manager, who shot him a wink that had his stupid grin widening.

Yeah. This might be the best fucking day of his whole fucking life.

The clamoring began before he even sat down. Roy rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly for once, and pointed to a familiar face, a reporter he didn’t fully hate. “Yeah?”

“Coach Kent, how does it feel to lead the Greyhounds to do the impossible?”

Roy leaned into his seat, determined to at least look relaxed. “Feels fucking great,” he said. “And I’m going to ignore that ‘impossible’ thing.” He smirked at the tittering from the reporters. “Because honestly, this team is fucking incredible. And anyone who thought this was ‘impossible’ for those lads hasn’t been paying attention.” After answering a few questions about the season and the match, he could see the journalists beginning to get restless. It was clear what they would be asking next. He pointed to another raised hand. “You.”

“A certain coach had an… interesting way of congratulating you,” the reporter asked in a timid voice. “Anything to say about that?”

For a moment, he glanced to the back of the room. Not to Keeley, like he usually did during these things, but to the pair of eyes that gazed back with a beautiful mixture of adoration and teasing. Another wink encouraged him to lean forward on his elbows and ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “There’s a lot I can say about that,” he chuckled. “But, all I will say is this-” He looked directly at those bright eyes. “-I’m fucking mad about that woman. She seems to think I’m alright, which is nice. And she continues to be one of the most impressive managers I’ve had the honor of watching on the pitch. And I am looking forward to seeing her and the Whippets kick some serious ass next weekend.”

More questions were hurled at him, mostly excited and kind ones, but Roy didn’t really hear them. He was too focused on trying not to simply sit and stare at that pretty face that smiled at him and made him feel like he’d won more than the Premier League.

I pulled my dark blue blazer on and turned to get a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark blue blazer, white blouse, best jeans, hair up in a ponytail, red lipstick applied, necklace my grandfather had given me around my neck. This was it, I decided. This was the outfit of a Women’s Super League-winning coach.

“You look fucking amazing.” A pair of strong arms wrapped around me as a scruffy kiss smacked my cheek. “Like a fucking winner.” Roy smirked at me in the mirror. He looked damn good in his white Whippets kit, the number six on his back and something that kind of looked like love in his eyes. If my entire season wasn’t on the line, I’d be debating ripping off that jersey and throwing Roy onto the bed. “Gonna wear your gold medal?” he teased.

With an eyeroll, I slipped out of his grasp and sat on my bed. “Just toss me my sneakers, Kent.”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he moved towards my familiar Converse that sat perfectly next to the closet. “Wow, I get to touch the Match Day shoes? What an honor.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as I took the shoes from him and tugged them on. “I’m hoping your luck from last weekend rubs off on me and the Whippets.” I knew that underneath my joking tone, he could hear my nerves. Roy always seemed to know what was going on beneath the surface.

Sure enough, he sat down next to me and took my hand. “Oi.” His voice was as soft as his gaze. “You’re going to be fucking brilliant.” He kissed my forehead. “Your team is incredible. You are incredible. You’re Coach Bucky. World Cup winner, Olympic champion, NWSL Coach of the Year.” He shook his head as he rattled off my résumé with a smile on his face. “You’ve fucking got this.”

“I know.”

He raised his thick eyebrows at me expectantly. “But?”

“But…” I sighed heavily and let my head fall against his shoulder. “There’s just so much pressure,” I murmured. “It’s our first season. And with all of my personal drama…” I closed my eyes. “I have to win. I have to show that I’m a fucking winner. If I don’t, I’ll forever be that slutty American who slept with Roy freaking Kent.”

He gave me a light shove. “Oi, I thought you liked sleeping with Roy Kent.”

“Roy,” I huffed. “I’m being serious. I need to win today. I have to prove that I deserve to be taken seriously. Everything I’ve built this year is on the line. If we don’t do this, I don’t know-”

“Babe.” Roy shifted and lifted my legs until they draped over his lap. His arms felt like a warm blanket as they wrapped around my waist and tugged me close. “You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. You’re lightyears better at this job than I am-” A snort slipped out of my nose. “-and everyone knows it, no matter what happens today. You are brilliant and accomplished. And if it’s not this year, it’ll be next year.” He gave me a squeeze. “But I believe in you. Your team believes in you. Rebecca and Keeley and all the Greyhounds believe in you. Fuck what anyone else says.” He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “You can always just punch them anyways.”

Fucking Roy, making me laugh and forget my anxiety. As I smiled through my nerves and kissed his mouth, probably smudging my lipstick, all I could think was how badly I wanted him to make me laugh for the rest of my fucking life.

The feeling of pride in Roy’s chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life. The energy of the stadium vibrated through his whole body, and he couldn’t help the lump in his throat when he saw how absolutely packed the place was. He walked confidently into the owners’ box holding Phoebe’s hand tight. He smiled down at his bouncing niece, with her bright eyes and her own Bucky kit. She was talking a million miles a minute, reminding him of Keeley, chattering all about how well she knew the Whippets would do and asking if Roy was really going to take her onto the pitch after the match if the Whippets won. Her yammering only stopped so she could give Keeley a hug and take her seat next to the blonde.

“Ready to see your girl in action?” Keeley teased over Phoebe’s head as Roy took his seat.

His broad smile would have been enough of an answer. “She’s gonna be so fucking brilliant,” Roy laughed. “I can fucking feel it.” He narrowed his eyes at Phoebe’s expectant face. “Add it to my tab,” he grumbled.

To his surprise, Phoebe shook her head. “You get a free pass today, Uncle Roy,” she informed him earnestly. “It’s a very big day for Bucky and you’re probably very stressed.” She nodded, her demeanor comically matter of fact. “So, I’ll let it slide. Just for today.”

“Thanks, Pheebs,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. He nodded to Rebecca as she took her spot on Keeley’s other side. “Boss,” he greeted with a salute.

“Coach Kent,” she replied, a sparkle in her eye as she saluted back. “Beautiful night for a game, hmm?” Despite her calm tone, Roy could see the way her fingers drummed on her lap nervously.

He smirked at her. “Ready to be the owner of two winning teams?”

She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Not thinking about it,” she announced firmly. “I am just going to enjoy the match, cheer for our girls, and feel proud of them no matter what.”

Keeley, Roy, and Pheobe all just stared at her until a smile broke out across her face.

“Alright, yes, I’m fucking ready!” She turned her attention to the field, where the Whippets were beginning to line up. “Let’s go, Whippets!”

The quartet were joined in the box by Beard and Nate and Jamie, who looked quite comfortable wearing Kira Malone’s name on his back. There were deafening cheers all around as the Whippets were introduced. Roy’s whole body felt warm as he bellowed their names; even without being head over heels for their manager, Roy would feel beyond proud of these women. He’d watched them work all season long, through sweat and injuries and fatigue and the harsh media. And they’d done it all with smiles on their faces and their heads held high. They were impressive and inspiring, and Roy already knew they would win that trophy.

And they had ninety minutes to do it.

After the players were introduced, the Whippets’ coaches stepped forward to shake hands with the opposing coaching staff. Of course, every eye in the owners’ box turned to Roy with mischievous smirks on their faces.

Not that Roy noticed. He was too busy jumping to his feet so he could cup his hands around his mouth and bellow, “Let’s fucking go, Buck!”

With that colossal voice of his, no one was surprised to see the manager look up in their direction. Her red-lipped smile was clear as day, and they all oohed teasingly when they saw her blow a kiss up towards them.

“Obviously that was for me,” Jamie joked, turning around and winking at his manager.

“Fuck off,” Roy chuckled as he resumed his seat. He gave the striker a light shove before turning his attention back to the pitch. Fuck, how was he supposed to focus on the match that was starting when she was down there, looking strong and confident and powerful- not to mention gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her in her element, shouting excitedly at her team and reaching out for Luke’s hand every now and then. Some part of him wanted to watch her forever; the other part of him couldn’t wait for the ninety minutes to end so he could wrap his arms around her and celebrate her victory.

A stray piece of popcorn smacked him in the temple and diverted his attention.

Keeley shot him that shit-eating grin and tossed a fresh piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You’re drooling, Roy-o.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over Phoebe’s lap to steal a handful of Keeley’s popcorn. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he could manage. He smiled down at Pheobe, whose attention was rapt with the match in front of her. “Having fun?” he asked loudly, amused to find that her trance was just as intense as the one he’d just been in.

All the little blonde could do was nod, mouth slightly agape, as she watched the Whippets score their first goal of the match. The entire stadium was on their feet, deafening with their shouts and cheers as the players embraced. But of course, the only thing Roy could see was their manager and the way she looked up at the owners’ box, right at him.

Lucas was holding my hand so tight he was going to cause permanent damage to my blood circulation. Not that I cared; we had succeeded in keeping the game tied 2-2 all through stoppage time, and now Amanada Camacho had managed to secure a penalty kick. With my free hand, I gripped my necklace tightly, as if the little gold charm would somehow direct Amanda’s kick into the right direction.

The forward made her move, running towards the ball, and gave a powerful kick-

That sailed perfectly into the corner of the goal, out of the goalie’s reach.

In unison, Lucas and I let out sharp screams and crashed into each other’s arms, trading kisses on cheeks and foreheads. When the referee blew her whistle, we sprinted onto the field, greeting our mob of Whippets in a pile of hugs that evolved into a mountain of players and staff tumbling over each other. It was loud and chaotic- and beautiful. Somewhere in the reveling, tears had formed in my eyes, but they didn’t fall until I found myself face to face with Rebecca’s glowing smile and own teary eyes.

“Well done,” she said simply, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Well fucking done.”

I melted into her embrace- fuck, how was this woman so perfect that even her hugs were the best?- and finally let the tears fall. “Thank you for believing in me,” was all I could manage.

She shook her head. “That’s just the Richmond way,” she chuckled as Keeley approached us.

The blonde wrapped us both into a group hug, chattering about how brilliant the girls had been, how brilliant I had been, how we were going to have the biggest celebration ever once we left the stadium, how I’d better have brought a change of clothes like she’d instructed me so we could party properly.

But her excitement was drowned out by my beating heart when I caught sight of a pair of beautiful brown eyes sparkling at me.

“Kent!” I shrieked, breaking free of my bosses’ warm embraces. I sprinted towards him, this time under stadium lights and falling confetti rather than pouring rain, and launched myself into his arms. He caught me with ease, lifting me and letting me wrap my legs around him. With a couple of first place finishes under our belts, we were finally free to be as publicly insufferable as we wanted- which I planned on taking full advantage of. I figured a dramatic kiss on the pitch was a good start, and Roy seemed to agree as he attached his lips to mine hungrily.

“So. Fucking,” he huffed into my mouth between kisses, “Proud.” He held me tighter, pressing my chest harshly to his. “You’re amazing.”

I finally removed myself from the kiss so I could bury my burning hot face in his shoulder. He let me plant my feet back on the ground, but kept his arms firmly around me. “Roy,” I murmured, realizing I had something important to tell him. “I-”

“Bucky!” Phoebe jumped onto my back, nearly knocking me over.

“Pheebs!” I laughed, turning away from Roy so I could hug his niece. “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. “Your team wins a championship next, right?” When I glanced up at Roy over Phoebe’s head, he was already gazing at me, something soft on his face. He’d been doing that a lot lately, I realized as I returned his smile. This gentle stare that held something significant, something I felt sure one of us would break down and say soon. Something I’d wanted to say since I first ran out in the rain to him.

But I didn’t have time to think about that. Not when my team was calling for me to join them to be crowned the Women’s League champions and hoist the trophy in the air and beam with pride as cameras flashed in our faces.

I was still beaming as I held Roy’s hand in the club the Greyhounds and Whippets took over to celebrate both of our victories; Rebecca was something of a blubbering mess as she took the microphone early in the night and thanked both clubs for their hard work, thanked our coaching staffs for surviving the wild ride that had been our season (Beard raised his eyebrows in our direction, clearly remembering being frustrated enough to lock us in a shed), and above all thanked Keeley for being her partner in the adventure of establishing what she knew would be a great legacy of women’s football in Richmond.

By the time Rebecca finished and called me up to make my own speech, I was close to joining Rebecca in her tears; unfortunately, I knew I wouldn’t look as graceful as she did once my waterworks began flowing. So instead, I focused on smiling as I kissed her cheek and took the accepted the microphone from her.

“How’re we feeling, Richmond?” I was answered with cheers and shouts from our teams and their loved ones. “I’ll try to keep this brief so we can get back to partying- although my Whippets probably already know I’m not as capable of brevity as the Greyhounds say Coach Kent is.” The mere mention of Roy’s name provoked catcalls and wolf whistles from both squads. “Calm down,” I laughed, shaking my head when I caught Roy’s not-really-annoyed eyeroll aimed at Jamie. “I just want to say thank you,” I continued once the commotion subsided. “Thank you to the Whippets, for all of your incredible work and dedication. I think we made it clear to the Women’s Super League and all of England that W.F.C. Richmond has arrived.” Cheers again filled the club, as well as my heart. “Thank you to our fearless leaders Keeley and Rebecca, for believing in us every step of the way.” Keeley’s little bow alongside Rebecca’s refined wave had me giggling into the microphone. “A special thanks to our dear Greyhounds. It was an adjustment learning to work together-” Coach Beard’s exaggerated groan could be heard loudly over everyone else’s teasing hums. “-but we managed.” I shot Roy a wink that was returned with a blown kiss. “And, personally, more than anyone else I have to thank my right-hand man.” My eyes found Lucas’s. “Luke,” I sighed. “You formed me into the player I was so proud to be. You mentored me into the coach I’ve become. You were insane enough to follow me here for this adventure, you held my hand during every scary moment and picked me up every time I fell. We came here for greatness-” I shrugged, gesturing to the assembled group of champion athletes. “- and I think we fucking found it.” Both teams hollered in agreement, but still managed to hear my last few words: “Richmond on three! One, two, three-”

“RICHMOND!”

In a blur of cheers and hugs and kisses, I finally found myself back in Roy’s embrace, accepting the chaste kiss he pressed to my lips.

“Wanna sneak off for a moment?” he hummed in my ear. “After that, I need to give you a proper kiss. And if I do that here, I think Beard might actually be fucking ill.”

I leaned into his touch. “Can’t have that,” I teased back.

We wandered away from the bar, ignoring the eyerolls from our friends when they caught sight of our lovesick expressions. We had warned them early on; they were going to miss the days of our screaming matches and insults. These days, instead of walking in on arguments, they walked in on make out sessions. Jamie had more than a few times accused us of trying to make him go blind. Even Keeley grimaced when I asked if she wanted to continue Manager Mondays next season, clearly regretting asking us to be more affectionate once we were public.

All season everyone bitched at us about getting along. We were only giving the people what they wanted.

Roy clearly knew what he wanted when he found a dark, isolated corner where he could press my back against a column that hid us from view. His mouth melded with mine as his hands lazily stroked up and down my sides. I sighed against his kiss and snaked my arms around his neck, pulling him flush against me. My mind was filled with thoughts of the weeks ahead of us; sure, we’d have a shit ton of press, but once the circus was over, this was all I wanted to worry about. We’d floated the idea of going on some fabulous vacation together, turning our phones off and isolating ourselves in a little bubble of sex and food and laughter. I’d told Roy we could settle plans once the seasons were ended, which he had seemed thrilled about. Or at least as thrilled as Roy could manage. But as I kissed him harshly and melted in his arms, I briefly considered that spending our entire break locked in his house with nothing but takeout, movies, and his bed sounded just as good as whatever destination he had in mind.

Still, we’d worked hard and gone through a lot; we deserved a damn vacation.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he mumbled as he began to wander down my neck. “Seeing you on the pitch today… and up there with your speech…” He groaned softly and pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

My grip on him tightened as my body tensed up. Not bothering to hide my wide smile, I tugged at him until his face was inches away from mine. “You love me?”

His smile was sloppy and bashful, my favorite sight. “Fucking ’course I do,” he murmured as he brushed some hair out of my face. “You’re something special, you know that? I think I’ve loved you since that moment in the shed at the fucking retreat, hearing you say we were both going to win the whole fucking thing. Called it ‘fairy tale shit’.” He touched his nose to mine. “This right here, this is some fairy tale shit.”

“It is,” I breathed before closing the space between your mouths, pulling Roy into a tender kiss. Before I could deepen it into something a bit harsher, he pulled back, eyebrow quirked playfully. “What?” I chuckled.

“I love you,” he whispered, raising both eyebrows now.

I nodded, trying to hide the grin that was growing on my face. “So I heard.”

He rolled his eyes and took my face in his hands. “Anything you care to say to me, Coach Buck?”

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. He knew from the way I kissed him and the way I looked at him and the way I held him close whenever I could. He knew from the way we made love at night and made breakfast together in the morning. He knew from the way our fingertips brushed when we passed each other at work. He knew from the million little things we shared every day.

But sometimes, a fella needs to hear the words.

“Fine,” I huffed, all faux exasperation as I tugged his face back towards mine. “I guess I love you too.”

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