#I’ve been bullshitting his feet for so long

[munsonluhvr]

can you make a virgin! Eddie x experienced ! reader smut plsssssss I’ve been wanted to read to read a good story abt something like that yk 🙈 but ima not be picky sooo anything Eddie x reader would be good 😋

Ty I love your stories 💙💙💙

ANATOMY LESSON

contents: virgin!eddie munson x experienced! reader. smut! 18+. Eddie reveals to you, his best friend, that he's a virgin and you offer him a little lesson - but the lesson turns into a lot more then either of you expected. word count - 3.5k

notes: dear requester - I love you for requesting this. There were sooo many different scenarios I thought of writing for this request, and I totally ignored the pile of homework I have to do to write this immediately, but I hope everyone enjoy this. It was awfully fun to write.

“Wait, what?” you say, a laugh lacing your tone. You lay on Eddie’s bed, your sock covered feet digging into his bedsheets. “You’re so lying, you haven’t done it yet? How did I not know that?” 

Eddie doesn’t turn to look at you, obviously embarrassed by his admission. Finally, Eddie shrugs, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess we never talk about our sex lives with each other.” 

“Well, yeah, because there’s clearly not much going on in that department in either of our lives, but I did assume you’ve had sex for the first time by now.” You say, leaning up on your arm to look at Eddie. You were honestly shocked by the admission; how had Eddie not had sex, especially since he’s two years ahead of you? 

It’s the wee hours after you and Eddie have been released from school, opting to, as usual, spend time with each other. You and Eddie had been best friends for as long as you could remember, always bound at the hip. When you were younger, your parents had been friendly, pushing you and Eddie together. When Eddie’s parents left Eddie with Wayne, his uncle, your parents were quick to absorb Eddie into your family. However, you always made the distinction that you didn’t see yourselves as essentially siblings, everyone certainly knew that you two were the best of friends. Any free time you had you spent with Eddie, every secret you had Eddie knew. Eddie was your other half, and you were his. 

Again, Eddie shrugs. “Consider that assumption wrong,” Eddie says, turning away from you.

You can’t help but snicker. Eddie was the coolest, most confident person you know. He never cared about what others thought of him, he owns the title ‘freak’ that Hawkins titled him with utmost pride. Sure, Eddie had never had a girlfriend but that doesn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t had sex. 

“Do you want to?” You say, curious. Didn’t every young male want to have sex? 

Eddie lets his eyes flick to you; he frowns. “Y/n, I don’t want to talk about it, especially with you.” 

You gasp in an exaggerated fashion, leaning on your arm to place your free hand over your heart. “Why not? We talk about everything with each other.” 

Eddie rolls onto his side, facing you, mimicking your position. He shakes his head. “This is different. Guy and girl best friends aren’t supposed to inquire about each other’s sex lives.” 

You scoff. “That’s bullshit, it’s not a big deal, Eddie. It’s just sex, it seems ridiculous to make that the one topic we don’t talk about with each other.” 

Again, Eddie shakes his head, looking off into the distance behind you. “I don’t know, it’s just weird.” 

You can understand how Eddie must feel - embarrassed. For some reason, having sex, or talking about it in society is shameful but at the same time not having done it at all, especially as teenagers, is shameful. You decide to joke and make it lighthearted to encourage him to lighten up. It truly wasn’t a big deal. 

“Eddie Munson, are you the waiting until marriage type?” You say, laughing as you shove him lightly. 

Eddie groans, burying his face into his tattooed covered bicep. “Y/n, stop. Trust me, not having had sex yet isn’t a choice; I would have done by now if the opportunity ever occurred.” 

“Is there someone you want to do it with?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. Eddie hadn’t recently expressed having a crush on anyone at school but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a girl he has his eye on. 

“No,” Eddie says. He peeks up at you from his arm. “Okay, fine, yes.” 

“Eddie, what the hell,” you exclaim. “Are we even best friends if you keep all these things from me?” 

“I’m telling you now,” Eddie says, sitting back up. “It’s embarrassing; I like this girl but have no experience in that department whatsoever. I wouldn’t even know what to do if I got her back home.” 

You are dying to know who Eddie likes, knowing that whoever she is, she’s lucky. You’d love nothing more to encourage Eddie to pursue this girl, but you know asking who she is might be a bridge to far for Eddie in this moment; you decide to stay focused on the topic at hand. 

You’re silent for a minute, thinking over tips to help Eddie in the moment where he would have a sexual encounter with a girl – then a wild idea comes to your mind. 

“I’ll help you,” you say, sitting up. “I’ll teach you what to do.” 

Eddie frowns. “What? How would you teach me to have sex?”

You laugh, knowing what you’re about to say will shock Eddie. “I’ll have sex with you,” you say nonchalantly and as if Eddie should have understood that right away. 

“Y/n,” Eddie says, jolting up from his spot on his bed. “Have you lost your mind?” 

You shrug, starting to peel off your jacket you’re wearing. “Like I said, sex is no big deal. I can walk you through what to do so you know what to do when it happens with the girl you like.” 

Eddie crosses his arms, sliding himself off the bed to pace at the foot of his bed. Your head goes from side to side as you watch your best friend walk from one side of his bedroom to the other side. “No, I can’t have sex with you, you’re my best friend.” 

You hum. “To me, that’s exactly why you should have sex with me. Think about it Eddie, we have been in each other’s lives for as long as we can remember, we’ve done everything together and know everything about each other. We’ve always been there for and supported each other in any way the other needs; teaching you how to have sex is just another way I can support you.” 

The idea to have sex with Eddie, with the end goal being that Eddie is more confident with a girl, sounded insane to begin with and even suggest, but as you explain yourself– it didn’t sound that insane at all. 

Eddie laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair then crossing his arms over his chest. “This is a joke, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, it’s not. Here, I’ll prove it: I’ll show you my tits.” You say, tucking your hands underneath your t-shirt and letting your fingers dig underneath the band of your bra. 

Eddie yelps, covering his eyes. “No, y/n, don’t. Okay, I believe you.” 

You laugh, dropping your hands into your lap. “I’m serious, Eddie. We can take it slow; I’ll teach you everything and answer any questions you have.” 

Eddie glances at you, maintaining eye-contact as he mulls over a response to your question. Eddie is twenty years old, far passed the average age everyone at Hawkins has sex for the first time. Always, but more recently, he’s been worried about how his performance might be for the lucky lady and how she might expect him to be more experienced considering his age. Although he finds your proposition jarring, he decides to put the awkwardness aside and take up your offer. “Okay,” is all Eddie can manage to say. 

You clasp your hands, happy that your oh so thoughtful offer was accepted. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Are you ready?”

“You want to do it right now?” Eddie says, his eyes growing wider. A hot wave washes over him, instantly becoming nervous. 

You give him a curious look. “I mean, there’s no better time than the present, plus we didn’t have any other plans for later.” 

You watch Eddie as he turns into a nervous wreck, his fingertips digging into his already crossed arms. You can imagine how being told you’re going to have sex on the spot can make someone feel, so you lean forward on the bed, outstretching your arm to grasp onto Eddie. “It’s okay, we’ll take care of each other,” you say, offering a small smile. 

In response to your touch, Eddie lets his arms drop to his sides. He moves from the end of the bed to the side you occupy, getting several feet closer to you. “Okay, right now it is then,” Eddie says, nervousness lacing his words. 

And you begin your lesson. 

“Okay, so. Say you just took this mysterious girl that you like out on a date and things went so well, which she’s on a date with you so of course it would, that you take her back to here.” You say, gesturing towards his bedroom that you both stand in. “Once she gives you that look, a look that says, ‘I want to have mind blowing sex with you have to set the mood immediately.”  

“Set the mood?” Eddie says. 

You roll your eyes. “Kiss her. You have to start kissing her, Eddie. Feel her up a little, don’t be coy, I know you’ve watched porn before.” Eddie’s cheeks flush with embarrassment but you continue on. 

You scoot over on the bed, allowing space for Eddie to sit. You pat the open space, tugging Eddie to sit next to you. “When you start with kissing, it makes it easier to transition to stripping clothes off and ultimately have sex, you know?” 

Eddie nods, crossing his arms across his chest. You’re quick to uncross them, scooting closer to Eddie, the side of your leg touching his. “Okay, go, kiss me.” 

Eddie’s mouth opens and the closes, his mind drawing a blank. “Okay, no, that is a bridge too far.” 

“Eddie, did you really think I’d just let you dry fuck me without any foreplay? Foreplay is the most important part.” You exclaim, shaking your head. 

Eddie looks away and then complies. He leans in, his hands placing themselves on your cheek, drawing you closer to him. Your lips meet, letting your mouths intertwine with each other, tongues beginning to dance. You thought Eddie would pull away quickly, but he doesn’t, letting your mouth stay connected to his. You can feel the eagerness in his mouth, every movement begging for more. You take your lesson to second base. 

Swiftly, you lay back on Eddie’s bed, Eddie following you down. With ease, he arranges himself over you as you part your legs to let him rest on top of you comfortably. You lean your head back, letting your lips break away from Eddie’s. “Very good, now is when you start taking her clothes off – and yours.”

Eddie squirms nervously on top of you and you’re sure you feel his arms lightly tremble. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Never been surer about anything, Munson.” 

Eddie sighs, leaning back onto his knees. His fingers tempt the end of his t-shirt, lifting it up and off of his torso. You watch, looking at his tattooed covered body and noticing the necklace that has a guitar pick as it’s pendant that hangs around his neck. You roll your eyes; He loves that thing.

Eddie goes to unbuckle his belt, but you gently kick his leg. “Don’t take off all your clothes and then mine; make it a back-and-forth thing. You take your shirt off, then take mine off. It’s a joint effort, let her do some of the work too.” 

Eddie considers this, coming to an understanding on your principle. He places himself over you, his fingers twitching as he plays with the hem of your shirt, beginning to lift it up and off your body too. 

Eddie has never seen you naked, not fully at least. Sure, there was that one time you got caught in the rain and your shirt was so soaked that you stripped it off once you got to his house, opting to borrow one of Eddie’s shirts. He had seen your bra then, the way your breasts settled in your bra nicely, the raindrops dripping down your chest. There was also that other time he realized how comfortable you were with him when you stripped down to your underwear and bra on a hot Indiana summer day, unable to bear the feeling of your clothes on your body or against your skin. Eddie had tried, in both of those instances, to give you your privacy and not stare at your assets – but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were drawn to your silky, supple skin, your curves, and the way you were so close to being naked, revealing your most intimate parts to him, but he didn’t let himself think about you in that way – at least not then. 

Eddie tosses your shirt on the side of his bed, letting it drop to the floor. He realizes he’s holding his breath as he’s looking at your breasts, one of your nipples poking out from behind the bra. You notice that he’s analyzing you, taking in your bare skin. You don’t mind, you find yourself comfortable under his gaze. 

“Keep going,” you say, though it comes out as a whisper. Your hands travel to his crotch, your fingers beginning to unzip the fly of his pants. Once his jeans are unzipped, you and Eddie work together to shrug his jeans off. You kick his jeans to the side of the bed, letting the piece of clothing fall next to your shirt on the floor. Eddie is quick to attend to your pants, his fingers enveloping the band of your jeans, pulling your bottoms off swiftly. Your hands find their way to his biceps, steadying yourself as Eddie works to pull your clothes off. 

Eddie feels himself getting hard against your thigh, his arousal growing stronger but he’s quick to try and hide that fact. You lean up, your front pressing into Eddie as you reach behind yourself, unclipping your bra. Eddie almost cums in his boxers as he watches your breasts bounce out of your undergarment. Eddie doesn’t know what to do next, his mind in a whirlwind. He closes his eyes, looking away from you as he shrugs his boxers off, his cock bouncing out of its restraint, showcasing his arousal. 

You swallow hard, eyeing his larger-then-you-imagined cock. Eddie has never known if his cock is a decent size, never having anything to compare it to or someone to tell him so, but by the look on your face, he knows he’s just fine. 

Eddie waits a beat, waiting for you to pull your panties down but you don’t move. You want him to take them off. Eddie catches on eventually, hooking his two fingers on either side of your hips, pulling your panties off with ease. Deep inside, Eddie’s sexual hunger grows, wishing he could do away with your rules, letting his primal nature guide the exploration of your body. But he restrains himself, waiting for your instructions.  

You part your legs, revealing your most sensitive part and now it’s Eddie’s turn to swallow hard, beginning to imagine what’s to come. 

“And now?” Eddie says, his fingertips brushing your jaw as he pushes a strand of your hair that clings to your face. You watch him intensely, feeling the tension grow between you and Eddie rapidly. A pit grows in your stomach, the stimulation of Eddie de-clothing you causing a rush of emotions. You’re hoping this doesn’t turn out to be a mistake. 

You clear your throat. “I have a feeling you know what to do now.” In response, Eddie offers you a small smile, re-positioning himself on top of you. 

Eddie lines himself up with you, cock in his hand, and he inserts the tip in, pushing himself into you slowly. You gasp, biting your lip as you let your head fall back; the feeling of Eddie pushing himself inside of you igniting a strong sense of pleasure throughout your body and limbs. 

Eddie thinks back to the porn he’s watched, though he knows that’s not an accurate representation of sex or how girl want to be treated. He mimics some of what he’s remembered seeing, rolling his hips so that he pulls himself in and out of you rhythmically. 

You let your legs wrap around Eddie’s waist; Eddie glances down, noticing how he’s drawn into you further when your legs attached to him – he wishes he could have your legs around him forever, holding him in place. He shakes his head at the thought. 

“What’s wrong?” You say, your hands finding their way to Eddie’s face. Eddie continues to move in and out of you and a soft moan escapes your lips. 

“Oh, uh – nothing.” Eddie says, adjusting his arm that rests next to you. His new position brings you and Eddie’s chests closer, your nipples brushing his bare skin. Eddie finds himself not being able to concentrate. 

 Your hands move from his face, moving them to let your fingertips brush Eddie’s back. His skin his warm, your body feeling cold and exposed. Your body heats up when you acknowledge how Eddie’s cock bulges inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt to allow him inside of you. You had already had sex before, with two or three guys, but no guy was as big as Eddie – of course Eddie would have the biggest cock out of all the guys you’ve slept with. 

 While you’re thinking about how Eddie’s cock is painfully, yet pleasurably, big - Eddie is staring at your tits, wondering how they’d fit in his mouth. Just then, Eddie has no idea what comes over him. He suddenly has no regard for the concept of your ‘anatomy’ exercise, attempting to teach him how to have sex as his best friend – Eddie just wants to fuck the shit out of you. He wants to fuck his best friend. 

Eddie dips down to your chest, his large, ring-covered hand, clasping your breast. His mouth engulfs your breast, his lips puckering around your hard nipples. Eddie lets his tongue flatten against you, roughly licking your tits. You gasp again, your body arching in response to his bold act. Instantly, your fingers lace into his hair, pushing him further down against your chest. Eddie, emboldened by your response, moves to your other breast, copying what he had done just seconds before. 

Once he finishes with your second breast, Eddie keeps his mouth to your sternum, placing a trail of kisses from your chest up to your neck, leaving soft kisses underneath your ear. 

“Go faster,” You say, your thighs clenching around him. You knew it was wrong, the feeling you have growing inside of you as Eddie thrusts in and out of you. You wanted him bad, in ways you knew weren’t the ways you should think about your best friends. 

Eddie obeys, making his movements quicker, his thrusts rougher. Eddie loves the way he feels in this moment, the trembling of yours legs around him and the way your fingertips grip the roots of his hair. He never wanted this to end. 

“Am I doing it right?” Eddie says, mumbling into your neck. 

“You’re doing so good, that girl, whoever she is, is so lucky.” You say, a moan parting your sentence. “Fuck, this feels good.” Eddie smiles against your skin at your answer, his body moving smoothly against yours as if you’re two perfect fitting puzzle pieces.  

Eddie feels a burning sensation growing inside of him, his skin beginning to flush. He was about to finish. Obviously, Eddie had jerked off before, a lot actually, so he knew what feeling close felt like but this time feeling like he’s about to come while inside of you feels a lot different – it feels so much better. He doesn’t want to stop, enjoying the way he’s come to having sex with ease, as if he’s a natural at it, but he knows the inevitable and not something he can control entirely. 

 You, being just as wild as Eddie, pull his mouth back to yours, enveloping your lips on his. The action made everything much more intimate, so much deeper than just helping your friend out. Your lips nip at his, begging to be paid attention to. Eddie leans on one arm, letting his hand trail to your face, his large hand cupping half of your face. He leans into the kiss, glad to pay attention to your mouth. Eddie feels the intimacy grow between you, making his arousal even stronger, and he comes – instantly. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Eddie whispers, separating his mouth from yours. He looks down, noticing how specks of his semen are splatted across your inner thighs.  

You laugh softly, secretly wishing you could go for a second round. You mauver your body under Eddie’s top sheet, hiding yourself from Eddie. “And that’s how you have sex. I’ll give you an A-, you should pay more attention to foreplay when the real thing happens.” 

Eddie follows you, submersing himself under the sheets. “So, you’re saying I could use more lessons with you?” 

You frown, looking over at Eddie. “What? You want to do this again?” 

Eddie looks away, staring at his guitar that hangs on his mirror. His guitar is his prized position, a material object he finds so much confidence and security in. Eddie realizes it’s time to confess. “You know the girl you asked me about?” Eddie asks you. “Well, that girl is you.”

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

[corroded-hellfire]

My gorgeous soulmate. The love of my life. I can’t stop thinking about Reader waiting for a ride and accidentally overhearing Eddie talking to the Hellfire guys about some beautiful girl and how he’s afraid to ask her out. Reader assumes it’s someone else and leaves because she’s upset and doesn’t want him to see her. Bonus points for wingman Dusty Bun, but not necessary. Okay love you byeeeeee xoxoxo @munson-blurbs 💚

Hello, my darling dearest. I hope you enjoy this and I love you too! 💕

Words: 1.5k

Band practice ran late, but that didn’t matter one bit. Your older brother was always running behind to pick you up, leaving you the lone person sitting outside the school, waiting. Usually, you had a book with you, but you’d finished your last one and hadn’t gotten a chance to check a new one out of the library today. Honestly, the fierce autumn wind may have prevented you from reading anyway; the pages would be obeying Mother Nature, not you. The wind whistles and whips so viciously that you slide off of the brick wall you’re sitting on top of and seat yourself on the cold sidewalk, pressing as close to the wall as you can to avoid the harsh blowing.

Luckily, the gust eases up and you only end up having four leaves stuck to your clothing. As you’re picking them from your gray sweater, you hear the telltale squeak of the main doors of the school opening. Your brow creases in confusion because you didn’t realize anyone else was here this late. The dark evening has your mind floating back to the dozens of slasher movies you’ve seen that started with this very scenario. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, you tuck your legs up against your body as you hug your backpack to your chest.

“Damn Eddie, I’ve never heard you talk this way before.”

The voice is vaguely familiar. Nancy’s brother maybe? Right! He’s in Hellfire with Eddie Munson, who must be the Eddie he’s speaking to. An involuntary smile curls on your lips at the boy you’re head over heels for being just a few feet away. The closer they get, the easier it is for you to hear the thunk of the metalhead’s boots coming down the sidewalk. 

“Ugh, I know,” Eddie says, a hint of a whine in his happy-go-lucky voice. “But she’s so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The butterflies in your stomach sour, churning at hearing Eddie talk this way about some girl. He’s not doing anything wrong, and logically you know that. He doesn’t owe you anything. But irritation bubbles up in you as a defense from the heartbreak you’re desperately trying to run away from. Your fingers dig into your backpack as you squeeze your eyes closed to prevent the tears from leaking out.

“Ask her out!” That voice was Jeff’s—from your history class.

Eddie scoffs and you can just picture him shaking his head, his frizzy curls swaying back and forth. The thought of Eddie asking a girl out forces the hot tears to leak down your face, despite how tightly you’ve been keeping them closed. 

“Like she would want to go out with me,” he says. 

Now your heart also breaks for Eddie. Who could be so stupid as to not want to go out with him?

“Aww, I think you’re scared,” another voice goads. Probably the curly-haired boy that’s friends with the Wheeler boy. 

“I’m not scared,” Eddie says. “I’m just…afraid.”

“That’s the same thing!” Wheeler says before you hear a thump and the boy mutters an, “Ow!”

“Shut it, Wheeler. I don’t want to hear shit from you or Henderson on girls. Both of your girls live far away. Huh, kind of convenient, isn’t it?” Eddie asks. “They’re probably as real as the damn hair on top of Higgin’s head.”

“Hey!” Wheeler shouts.

“That’s bullshit!” the boy who must be Henderson shouts at the same time.

“You guys are letting him change the subject,” Jeff says. “When are you going to ask her out?”

Instead of giving an answer, you can hear Eddie grumbling under his breath the closer they get to you. It won’t be long now before they’ll walk past the wall and see you sitting on the ground. Waiting for a ride is easy enough to explain, but the tear tracks running down your face are a different matter. 

Before the group of guys can get any closer, you carefully push yourself onto your knees. Balancing yourself against the wall with one hand, you seek out somewhere you can hide. The corner of the wall is pretty far away, you’d never be able to crawl there fast enough. If you stand up though, you could walk that distance. Realizing crouching down so far is going to kill your back, you push up to your feet and keep your torso and head low as you speedwalk to the corner of the wall. 

Luckily, it’s just a grassy lawn on the other side of the wall, so you throw yourself down on it and catch your breath. Unluckily, you hear the piercing whine of your brother’s car pulling up towards Hawkins High. Fuck. Of course he comes now. 

You peek out from your safe space around the wall and see that Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang are climbing into Eddie’s van. A rush of breath leaves your lungs and you’re sure your adrenaline is about to come crashing down.

Your brother pulls up to the curb and you push yourself off of the grass and quickly slide into the passenger’s seat. 

“Uh, you okay?” your brother asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you huff. “Just go.”

Like the piece of gum you’d stepped in last week, the sharp pains in your heart stay with you much longer than you’d like. The next day, right before last period, you’re at your locker, switching out your books and hoping your eyes don’t look as puffy as they feel.

“Uh, hey.”

The voice makes you jump and drop your biology book. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is; you’d know that voice anywhere. It’s just never been so close to your ear before.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Eddie says as he bends down to pick up your book. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay,” you manage to say as you turn around to face him. “Thank you,” you say as he gives you your science book back. 

Eddie clears his throat and glances over his shoulder before looking back at you—or rather, your shoes. Curious, you follow the line of sight where Eddie had just looked, and you see the curly-haired boy from Hellfire peeking around the corner. Henderson. As soon as he notices you looking, he pops back out of sight. 

“I, uh,” Eddie says as he finds the courage to meet your eye. “Hey.”

“You said that,” you say with a shy smile. “But then I freaked out, so…hi.”

The smile Eddie gives you isn’t his biggest by far, but it still makes your knees go wobbly. 

“You’re in band, right?” Eddie asks, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. 

“I am.”

“Yeah. So, I was wondering if maybe after the game this Friday you might want to grab a bite to eat? With, um, me?”

The world freezes around you, time completely stopping. Your body is locked in place as you stare at Eddie with wide eyes. He just asked me out, you think. Why would he ask me out? He thinks that other girl is beauti—holy shit. I’m the beautiful girl he was talking about? This defies all that you thought you knew in the world. Is this a parallel universe where guys actually like you back? You realize you’ve just been staring at him since you spoke.

“Yeah. T-That sounds nice,” you say.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes light up and your heart comes to a halt inside your chest.

“Yes,” you say with a small chuckle.

“Wow. Awesome. Okay, wow.” His disbelief shocks you. How in the hell was he afraid to ask you out? You’re just…you. He gives you a wider grin now before tugging up the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Do you have a pen?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah!” You grab a pen from your locker and write down your number on Eddie’s pale skin, right below a colony of inked bats. 

“Great,” Eddie says as he pulls his sleeve back down. “Um, I’ll wait in the gym after the game?”

“Sure. It’ll only take me a few minutes to change and get everything put away.”

“Awesome,” Eddie says again, and seeing him acting this nervous just tickles you pink. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard him say “awesome” before and now he’s said it twice within the last minute. “I guess I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Oh, Eddie, wait. You’re going to go to the game?” You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. “I thought you hated basketball.”

“Oh. Well, I do,” he says with a chuckle. “Easier to take you out after the game if I’m there, though. And, uh, you know, Sinclair’s been bugging me to come see him play.”

“Right,” you say. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light red as he gives you a bashful smile. 

“See you later, beautiful,” he says. He doesn’t give you time to even react to his words before he’s heading down the hall. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. “I make Eddie nervous?”

A jovial giggle slips past your lips as you close your locker. You feel like you owe the Hellfire guys a thank you. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #request

[lure-of-writing]

His little sister: Did you plan on telling?

Summary: Azriel learns of your sparring incident with Cassian and this is his point of view of the day in question.

Word count: 2.8k

Warning: probably some misspelled words

Note: Ya'll I love this back and forth between Az's and readers pov. What do you think? But things are starting to get more intense 😬😧

Ever since the night Azriel had returned with you from the summer court he was for the lack of better wording intentionally been avoiding you. It's not like he wanted to ignore you, gods no. If anything he wanted to be near you as much as possible. Rhysand never explicitly told him to stay away from you but with the intensity level of your antics increasing and the protectiveness level of your brother also increasing Azriel decided it would be the best idea so steer clear of you for at least a little while. Even though the two of you live in the same house with Nesta and Cassian he made it a point to be out of the house before you woke up and only return once he was sure you would be fast asleep. 

Avoiding you wasn’t as hard of a task as one would think it would be since you tended to just roam around the house looking for something to pique your interest until you inevitably got bored and repeated the process. Not only did your free roaming habits help Azriel avoid you but he was still the spymaster of the night court and had his own duties and responsibilities to tend to. He had been gone for a week when he returned in the hours of the early morning. The sun still hadn’t begun to peak its ways over the horizon when his feet touched down on the roof. As wired as Azriel still felt from his flight back home, his body was tired. He decided to get some rest for a few hours before flying down to the river house to relay the information he obtained to Rhysand. 

When he woke, the sun had finally started to bless the city of Velaris with its light and warmth. Reluctantly he began to get ready for what he was sure to be a very long day. He knew that today Cassian and himself were supposed to demonstrate fighting techniques for Nesta and the other girls but Cassian would have to figure something else out. Never did he think Cassian's new plan of action would be leaving an imprint of his fist on your face otherwise he would have shown up. 

Azriel waited for his shadows to report back to him that you had made your way up and onto the roof to begin stretching with Nesta before he also made his way up to the roof so he could fly down to meet Rhysand. The goal was just to not get caught, which shouldn’t be too hard considering that he was a shadowsinger and very good at leaving places without being noticed. Just as he arrived at the top stairs leading to the unofficial training area that was the roof of the house of wind Cassian was talking about the importance of different fighting techniques. 

Azirel knew that he should leave before you caught sight of him and then marched your away over to him demanding to know why he was ignoring you, ensuring that you made a big scene before all the Valkyries in training. He was sure that wouldn’t end well for him. The only answer that he could possibly give you is “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”  which if he was being completely truthful was one hundred percent bullshit considering the fact that he's never been too busy for anything involving you. There have been times where he has been sleep deprived and littered with cuts and bruises and covered and blood and gods knows what and he still made time for you. He was sure that you were his fatal flaw. 

His daydream was abruptly ended at the sound of your laughter. He didn’t need his superior hearing to know that you were teasing his brother. He could tell just from your body language. The tilted head, bouncy shoulders, wide smile and loose body posture that told him that you were poking fun at the general. Azriel swore he could read you better then he could read any book. He watched for just a moment longer as the two of you got into the fighting stance and began to circle each other while throwing out a few fake jabs to get ready for the real deal. As much as he wanted to stay and see you kick Cassian's ass and put him into place he also really needed to speak with Rhys so with one last look he shot off into the sky and towards his high lord and lady. 

Azriel had just sat down in one of the overly large and plush chairs that decorated Rhysands office while beginning to retell the events of his latest quote unquote “adventure” as you would call it when Rhysands eyes clouded over. Someone was speaking to him mind to mind. If he had to guess, it would probably be his wife. Gods knows he did not want to know what they were talking about. A beat of silence filled the room before Rhys spoke. “It’s Cass. He wants me to go to the house.” The high lord rolls his eyes before going completely still. “What is it?” There hasn’t been many times in Azriels long history of knowing Rhysand where he got that look of dread on his face to say it was concerning was an understatement. 

“It y/n” Those were all he needed to hear before both males were up on their feet in a split second and racing to the front door to launch themselves in the sky. If rhysand ever asked why he was so quick to react he would say it was because you were his friend and rhys little sister and most importantly family. And family shows up for family. Luckily Rhysand was too preoccupied with getting out of the house to notice the sheer look of concern mixed with panic on his friend's face. 

There has been many times when Azriel had been faced with things that should have made his heart race and it didn’t. There were also times when he had faced things and it did make his heart race, but nothing could make his heart racing like knowing something had happened to you but not knowing what. It truly made his stomach churn and he felt like he just might throw up. And as the spymaster he has seen and done things that would make any normal fae sick to their stomach, but not once did he ever feel that way. His love for you was so overwhelming that even not knowing if you were ok could almost bring him to his knees. 

The less than five minute flight to the house of wind had never felt as long as it did in that moment. He could hear the beating of both rhysand and his wings and they propelled them to Cassian's waiting figure. As soon as both males were close enough they could see Cassian pacing back and forth and Nesta cradling your head while you laid on the ground. If Azriels heart wasn’t racing before then it sure was now. Once both him and Rhys had landed it knew Rhysand was questioning Cassian as to why his baby sister was laying on the ground looking as dazed as ever. But he couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from your body. A few moments passed before Rhysand was moving towards you and both he and Cassian followed. Finally he was able to pull his eyes away from where you laid to look at his other brother with an eyebrow raised in a silent way of asking what happened. Cassian's pained shake of his head and lack of verbal or physical response was definitely starting to concern him. 

As soon as Nesta removed her hand Azriel knew why Cassian didn’t answer him. The reason you were laid out flat on the ground not responding was because of Cassian. The rational part of Azriel knew his brother never meant to do his to you. He would never hurt any female let alone the one he considered a little sister who he helped raise. But the irrational part of him, the part of him that was your mate, wanted to beat Cassian to a pulp for ever thinking it was a good idea to use you for his demonstration. His eyes never left your quickly darkening bruise that was starting to blossom across your face while his mind ran through all the ways he would like to repay the favor to his brother. It took a few deep breaths for him to decide that duking it out with Cassian would look suspicious to not only Rhys but to literally everyone there so instead he focused on controlling his mind numbing anger he felt not only towards his brother but the situation he put you in. Plus somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that Cassian would have to deal with Rhysand and that wouldn't be pretty either. 

After pushing his very primal anger to the side he began to as gently as he possibly could, pull you into his arm. Azriel, just like Rhysand, has been on the other side of a punch Cassian can throw and just how much damage it can inflict. Whether or not he was trying to. Azriel could see the start of just how much damage you had been dealt with the fresh red, purple and dots of red where the force of the impact had popped the blood vessels in your face. The condition of your face was enough to warrant a visit to the inner circles healer. Hell getting punched by either one of the three males was reason enough to pay a visit to Madja. Once he had explained to Nesta just where he was taking you he was gentle when launching into the sky. Not wanting to cause you more pain then you were already experiencing. 

The flight to Madja’s clinic was a short enough one but every few seconds he couldn't help but look down at your face and evaluate the mark left on your face. It made him want to cry. He would never forgive himself for not showing up to training this morning. Even though you may not know that he was your mate. He did. And the day he found out, the moment he found out that he was your mate he swore that he would never let anything bad happen to you. Even if that meant sacrificing his life for yours. For you he would do anything without question. If you asked him to burn down the world he would and at the end he would deliver you the ashes pressed into a diamond just to make you happy. So knowing that his choice to skip training his morning was the direct result of the concussion rattling around your head and the very badly picked colors of the autumn court decorating your cheek made him disgusted with himself. 

The bell above the door of the healers clinic jingled as the Illyrian made his way inside. Usually the old fae was tucked away in some room helping with another patient but this time she was sat at the counter working with an apprentice when he entered. “Y/n?” The calm voice was coated in concern. She made her way over to where he stood in the middle of the room giving you a quick once over before beckoning for him to follow her into a room. As soon as he set you on the bed Madja was looking you over for any other injuries. “What happened to her?” As the inner circles healer Madja was used to fixing up the three males even sometimes Morrigan and occasionally Feyre but never had you become a patient of hers. “She was sparring with Cassian.” The shadowsinger didn’t need to say anything else for the fae understood exactly what that meant. 

Madja was in the middle of giving Azriel different tonics and potions that would help with the injury you had sustained when Rhysand walked through the doors. “Where is she?” the high lord cut a sharp look to his brother. “She's in the room resting. The apprentice is watching over her.” Azriel watched as Rhysands eyes moved from him to the healer. “And is she ok?” Madja gave a slight nod “She will definitely have a gnarly bruise for some time and a concussion but she will live. You should be thankful that Cassian didn’t put more power behind that hit otherwise we might not be having this conversation.” Madja picked up one of the tonic bottles and gave it a little shake. “But as I was saying before you came storming in here.” After all these years Azriel knew Madja was used to the theatrics of the inner circle and that's why she paid the high lord no mind when he barged in. For her it was just another normal day. 

Azriel stayed while Madja explained what each medicine did, how much to give and how often to give it. Just in case Rhys wasn’t able to do it. Not like that would happen but just in case. He stayed in the front of the clinic while Rhysand went to collect his sister. Eventually the three of you emerged into the streets of Velaris. One was holding your body and one was holding a bag of vials. He was the latter. Azriel hated the thought of Rhysand walking through the streets of Velaris with you in your current state but he also knew that winnowing would not be a good idea. So both males began the walk to Feyre and Rhysand’s house. Not a single word was said the whole walk home. Azriel pushed open the wide doors for Rhysand to fix through when Feyre appeared before him “How is she?” for a minute he didn’t respond instead he watched as Rhys walked up the stairs and turned down the hallway leading to his personal room. After Rhysand was out of his sight did he hold up the bag he was holding. “Madja said she will be fine, just in a lot of pain.” His lady let out a big breath of relief. 

Rhysand still wasn’t down from his room when he was finished explaining each tonic to Feyre along with how and when to give them so reluctantly he made his exit. That was not before sending his shadows to check on you. “She's still asleep. Comfort in bed. Resting. Rhys is looking over her.” Madja had given you something for the pain and in turn it put you to sleep. There wasn’t anything he could do. Rhysand would never let him close enough to care for you. Once when you were still a child you had accident cut yourself playing with a dagger Rhysand had specifically told you not to touch and when you eventually did get hurt Rhys was the one to tend to you, not allowing either him nor Cassian to care for you. Even when he was supposed to be training. You could have a paper cut and Rhysand would not let anyone other than himself look over you. You are his baby sister after all. That job belongs to him. 

Azriel knew that Rhys would keep you at the river house until you were ok enough to be flown back to the house of wind. In those few days Azriel fought of the temptation to fight Cassian every time the two males made eye contact and spent the other time looking for a mission to get away from his brother. Azriel had a feeling the murderous feelings wouldn’t subside until he knew you were one hundred percent better. So being sent out on a mission with Cassian was the last thing he wanted. 

They were currently sitting by a fire when Cassian broke the silence “So when did you plan on telling us that you were y/n’s mate?” Azriel felt himself choking on the water he had been attempting to drink mere seconds ago. “What?” his coughing fit was still ongoing when he managed to squeak out the one word. “I may not be the smartest one in the group but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.” Azriel swore he knew gave any indication that he was your mate to anyone. Hell he barely acknowledged it himself. “I am not y/n’s mate.” Cassian's laugh rang out into the open woods before echoing into the distance. “Sure you're not that why every time you looked at me for the past week almost, you looked like you wanted to kill me. I could tell you were avoiding me. I mean you're less than happy to be here with me.” the general took a big bite of his badly cooked dinner, not even bothering to eat it before speaking again. “You can deny it all you want but I would know because that’s the same way I was with Rhys when I had just an inkling Nes was my mate.”

Taglist:

@kemillyfreitas @lana08 @willowpains @username199945 @tothestarsandwhateverend

@kylaisra @lilah-asteria @nickishadow139 @br0klynbby @blacktreacle22

@amysangel

#acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #rhysand x sister!reader

[igotanidea]

Personal rhythm: Jason Todd x reader

Summary/request: Jason finding out that you've never slow danced before, and he goes out of his way to arrange a dance for just the two of you alone.

thank you @miraculous-panic ;)

***

„What do you mean never?”

‘Seriously Jason, it’s a five letter word. One of the most common used in English. With all the books on your account this is not the question you should be asking.”

***

It was a Saturday night.

Movie night.

Y/N and Jason facilely decided that after all week of working/vigilanting, some silly teenage drama to cool off and relax would be in place.

And that’s how they ended up watching „To all the boys I’ve loved before”.

Or rather - binging through the whole trilogy.

Or - in other words - giving commentary and laughing at every other silly, cliche scene.

And it was so good and so nice and so peaceful, finally not having a care in the world and just relaxing in each other’s company.

Any other guy would probably complain about the choice and force his way to Fast and furious or some Jason Statham action movie, but not Jason. Truthfully as long as they were both spread comfortably on the couch, his head on her lap, being treated with the most welcomed head scalp massage, he might have watched the Paw patrol or Dora the explorer and not say a word.

However-

All good things must come to an end.

After something around 4 hours they finally reached the prom scene. The choosing king and queen of the ball scene. And the slow dancing scene.

And that changed the serene atmosphere.

„Do you see that Y/N? Come on, this guy can’t even lead her properly. I swear if he was moving like that in a real life poor girl will have her feet trampled.”

„Guess they should have hired you for the scene.” Y/N laughed in response.

„Damn right they should have! After all you were the one to say I remind you of the guy who plays -- what was his name again?” Jason rolled on his back so he could stare up at his girlfriend.

‘PETER!” she laughed as if they didn’t hear that name like 100 times already

„Right! Right, Peter! Of course! Still think I’m way more handsome though-”

„Damn, you’re such a tease Todd!”

„You’re my girlfriend, you’re supposed to agree with me!” Jason sat up abruptly, turning her head back from him and towards the screen. „Now, watch it carefully and confirm my theory. He doesn’t know how to slow dance, does he?. Seriously, from a girl’s perspective. ‘’

„I --”

„Are you blind now?” Jason smirked at her indecisiveness.  

„Hey!” the punch on his arm did nothing to hurt him but was definitely a surprise

„Just admit it! Guys don’t dance like that! This is not the way a girl- a woman-- should be held!”

„How would I know?!” she finally exploded, her emotions pushed forward because of Jason’s obliviousness.

„What do you mean--?”

„I never slow danced!”

‘Never?” now that was shocking. Yes, they rarely dwelt in the past, especially the time frame in which Jason was absent, but how come he never knew about that?! shit, what else did she missed from the teenage/young adult years? And how the fudge he didn’t make it right yet?!

‘Do you want me to spell it out for you?” she rolled her eyes stopping the movie „N-E-V-E-R”

„you’re right it’s a five letter word. One of the most commonly used in English. But to me, in this context, it doesn’t make any sense.” he grabbed her hands pulling her forward to him and looking straight into her eyes, smirking. „That’s bullshit and I won’t be fooled.”

„You’re being fooled by not being fooled.”

„Huh?” damn that girl had some twisted logic on her. „the hell does that mean?”

„It means I’m telling the truth.” she blushed slightly despite her best effort to act cool. It was a bit embarrassing to admit to her boyfriend that she lacked in the experiences of youth.

„No shit!” he laughed

„This is not funny!”

„This is plenty funny!”

„Oh, like you slowed danced before!”

„I didn’t get to go to prom, cause as you might have noticed I’ve been dead at the time--’

„Like I could ever forget that.” she rolled her eyes in annoyance to cover up for the heartache she felt at the memory.

„- I did slow dance.”

„What now?! With who!? Cause definitely not with me!”

„Is someone jealous now?” Jason leaned forward

„You wish Todd!”

„Jealousy is a bad trait, you know. I’d advice you to stop it baby...”

„Or what?”

‘Or I might have to actually help you enrich your experience.”

„Oh really, and how --?”

That sentence was cut by a involuntary squeak as Jason pulled her to her feet, almost causing the girl to crash with his hard chest due to the force.

„Shit, sorry Y/N. Forgot how tiny and light you are.”

„I am--”

„Sh.” the tone of his voice and the gesture of putting his finger to her lips definitely couldn't stand opposition.  „don’t you dare saying another word, I forbid you. You are tiny and light. And now, I’m going to make you feel like a fragile princess in the arms of a handsome and brave prince.”

One of his hand found a way to her waist, the other to her shoulder blades, grabbing her firmly but delicately. For some crazy reason she actually did feel secure and loved in his hands. Like nothing wrong could happen as long as she was held like this.

As long as his eyes were focused solely on her.

And it was both terrifying and wonderful experience.

„You can touch me, you know. It’s not like you haven’t done it before....” Jason chuckled at the way her hands hung awkwardly by her sides

„You’re ruining the moment, dipshit!”

„You’re the one using invectives baby. Don’t get any silly ideas in your head. You’re not going anywhere. Not until you get that slow dance.”

‘I’m make-up-less and wearing sweatpants.”

„And you’re still the prettiest girl in the world ”

„We don’t have any music.” she objected almost causing Jason to groan.

„Here.” he grabbed her hand and put it to his heart „feel that rhythm?” she nodded „good. Very good. Now this is the only sound you should be focusing on. Cause it resounds for you. You hear me, Y/N?”

„I hear you....” she whispered

„It’s only for you, baby.”

„i thought you weren’t romantic....” his grip on her tightened as he pulled her closer to him, swaying gently right and left, their feet barely moving, but it was still considered slow-dancing for them.

„I’m not. But I can be for you....” he muttered against her hair, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head „You even made me dance, which is enough of a sign that I’ll do anything for you. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

„Can you just be yourself? The guy I fell for?”

„I suppose that can be arranged.” he smiled, even though she couldn’t see it with her face pressed to his chest.

And they would stay in this silence, moving to their own song for much longer if it wasn’t for their cat jumping on the couch, right on the pilot, and resuming the movie on the prom dance performance.  

Giving Y/N and Jason a chance to put that scene into reality and adapting it into her their lives.

First time.

With many more to come.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood fluff #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction

[andvys]

“i’m so sorry for everything i’ve said to you before.” / “you didn’t deserve that.” reader x eddie

i feel like eddie would definitely say things he didn’t mean because he was afraid of how reader made him feel.

I'll keep you safe E.M.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood, scars from the bats, fluff, happy ending

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

stranger things masterlist

-

The water feels cool against your skin, your feet are dangling in the water. It’s dark out but the moon brightens up everything around you. You hear the laughter of your friends as they sit around the fire, you excused yourself for a moment, needing a few minutes to yourself. 

You’re spending the week in a nice cabin by the lake, it belongs to Steve’s parents. It was his idea to come here, a little getaway is what you all needed after the fight against Vecna a few months back.

Three days have passed since you came here and it was nice until this morning. 

Eddie was acting weird around you all day, ever since you woke up in his arms earlier that day, he has been distant, avoiding eye contact and mumbling responses whenever you’d ask him something and it hurts. He was the one who pulled you into his arms in the first place, he was the one who refused to let you go after you fell asleep on the couch together during your movie night, you woke up around midnight and tried to get up and sneak out of the living room without waking him up but he put his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, 'please, don't go.' He whispered.

He was making things so difficult for you.

You care about him, just like you care about the others but with him, it’s just different. He means so much to you, he makes your heart flutter, he makes you smile, he makes you happy and god, you want him so bad but he clearly doesn’t feel the same. You always knew it but especially after today. 

He snapped at you when you tried to touch his hand after asking him if he’s okay, he slapped it away and told you to leave him alone, his face was red and his eyes looked dark and filled with anger, when he yelled, ‘stop getting on my damn nerves, girl! I can’t stand your bullshit sometimes!’ 

Your bullshit, he meant your kindness, your sweet smiles, your caring side that you especially have for him.

It wasn't the only thing he had said to you but it was what had hurt the most.

You looked shocked and terrified when he yelled at you, you were too busy processing his words and the anger that was directed at you to notice the guilt in his eyes after he had spoken those words. 

He pushed past you afterwards, he left you standing there with tears in your eyes. Steve was there, he saw it all. Your first instinct was to run away, feeling too ashamed that someone else had witnessed that scene but he didn’t let you, instead he pulled you into his arms and let you cry. 

He knows that feeling all too well, when people call you bullshit, when they ask you to leave them alone after they make you care. 

Your eyes well up with tears again as you think about him. 

You hear footsteps approaching, sighing, you wipe away the tear that rolled down your cheek. 

“I’m fine, Steve,” you mumble, “go back to the others.” 

When he sits down beside you and you smell his cologne, you realize that he is not Steve. He’s the man that you have been avoiding all day since this morning. 

You turn to look at him with a frown on your face. The anger in his eyes is long gone, his face doesn’t look tense anymore, he looks apologetic. 

Eddie stares at you, noticing the glassy eyes right away, the smile that hasn’t been there at all today, all because of him. He feels guilty and horrible for what he said to you, for what he did. 

He can’t stand himself for hurting the person that means the most to him. 

His feelings for you were always there, from the moment he first saw you, he has loved you. He never thought that you could ever feel the same though, to him, you are this perfect girl with a bright future, one where he doesn’t belong in but then you got closer and he saw the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him, the way you loved him. 

And then, you almost died for him, you took the scars that were meant for him, you were bleeding out on the cold ground, waiting for death to take you and when Eddie scooped you up into his arms, you still smiled at him because you knew that he would be okay, even if you wouldn’t be. 

You would give your life for him and it scares him, your love for him almost killed you and he hates it, he hates how far you would go to keep him safe. 

He doesn’t feel worthy of your love, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it in any way and he is also scared of his feelings for you, he has never loved anyone the way he loved you. He is scared of messing things up not realizing that he is already doing so. 

As he looks at you, his heart begins to hurt in his chest, how could he hurt you? 

You tear your eyes away from him, blinking a few times as though it will do anything to keep the tears away. You take a deep breath before you pull your feet out of the water and push yourself up but before you can even place your feet against the wood, Eddie places his hand on your arm, “please don’t go.” 

Your eyes flash with confusion as you look down at his hand before you look back into his eyes again, even in the darkness you can see the sadness in them, the regret. 

You should go, you know you should but you can’t, you can never walk away from him, so you sit back down and stare at him. 

He lets go of your arm but he places his hand on top of yours, squeezing your hand gently. 

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve said to you before,” he whispers as he looks into the eyes of the girl that stole his heart, “you didn’t deserve that.”

Your quiet sniffles break his heart, he knows you try not to cry, that’s why you turned away from him just now. 

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you whisper, “you can go now.” 

His shoulders slump and his face falls, he fucked up, he knows he did. All because he's afraid of his own feelings. 

“No…” 

You wipe your tears before you turn back to him, “I’ll stay away from you, I’m sorry that I’ve been so–” 

“Stop,” Eddie sighs as he scoots closer to you, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, surprising you with his touch, “please just stop, I don’t want you to stay away from me.” 

“But you said–”

“I know, I was lying. Everything I said was bullshit, sweetheart,” he mumbles, shaking his head at himself, “I just– after this morning, I-I’m just so… scared.” 

“Of what?” 

“You.” 

Your brows knit together and you draw back, staring at him confused. 

“Me?” You whisper, “but why?” 

He smiles at you, for someone so attentive and observant, you sure are clueless when it comes to his feelings for you. He caresses your cheek, opening his mouth to speak but then he chooses to do something else. 

He kisses you. 

You whimper in surprise, staring at him wide eyed as he kisses you softly. It takes you a moment to respond to the kiss. Your heart is racing, your skin feels hot, your lips feel tingly already. 

Just as he is about to pull away from you, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. 

Eddie smiles against you, heart fluttering when he finally feels your lips moving against his. It feels so good, you feel perfect. He lets his hand slide down to your waist, grabbing you tightly, he pulls you on top of him. You tighten your arms around him and kiss him deeper until you are both out of breath. 

“I love you.” 

You open your eyes and look into his, you see nothing but honesty in them. Happy tears and a smile resting on his face. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he admits, he squeezes your waist, “you’re perfect and I’m just–”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, interrupting him, “everything about you is perfect, Eddie.” 

His gaze softens. 

“I don’t deserve you, especially after this–”

“I love you too, Eddie. I love you more than anything,” you whisper as you press a kiss to his cheek, “I understand why you are so scared, I’m scared too.” 

“You don’t have to be,” he says, “you’re safe with me.” 

“You don’t have to be scared either, Eds, you are safe with me.” 

He knows, you have done everything to prove it to him.

He runs his fingers over the scars on your left arm as he pulls you in for another short but soft kiss. 

“I’m so sorry, I was so awful to you.” 

“It’s okay, you can make it up to me,” you whisper as you put your head on his shoulder. 

He smiles, putting his hand on the back of your head, he plays with your hair. His heart feels at ease again but the guilt is still deep inside of him. 

He will make it up to you. 

“I will, sweetheart. I promise.” 

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble

[bungalowbear]

Wolves of Tokyo: Savage Good Boy

Pairing: alpha!Fushiguro Toji x omega!f!reader

Summary: Pressured to choose a husband, you make a rebellious choice after a stranger comes to your rescue.

Warnings: abo dynamics, misogynistic themes, some violence, creepy alphas, love hotel, smut (fingering, p in v, knotting), biting, mutual bonding, mdni

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Here goes my first nosedive into abo. This is going to be a whole series with different jjk men and their readers. First up is Hana! But even though I’ve given her a name it’s more to make writing/reading easier the further along we get. I try to be as inclusive as I can therefore there are no physical descriptions, so anyone can read and hopefully picture themselves. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist / Playlist

There are many wolf clans in the city of Tokyo. But the Gojo, Kamo, and Zen’in families stand above all others. Power, wealth, and status are the pillars that have supported them for generations.

Your family is less prominent, just one rung below, though sought after for its long history of birthing powerful and gifted offspring. A blessing, your father says, the heavens bestowed upon your clan. But you’ve only ever regarded it as a curse.

Not only do you have the unfortunate luck of being born a woman, but also an omega. You’re even more unfortunate to have been born to your father, the head of your clan and the one forcing you into an arranged marriage.

“Do you know how many omegas would kill to be in your position?” he asks, voice tinged with frustration.

“Probably, like, a ton.”

You’re upside down on the sofa, legs hanging over the back and face looking out through the floor to ceiling windows of the living room. Your father’s penthouse offers an enviable view of the city. Among the patchwork constellations of lit windows of office buildings, you marvel at Tokyo Tower, turned upside down from your position, shining in all her glory.

“And yet you treat this with such contempt?”

Your father’s voice interrupts your city gazing. You hear his heavy footsteps echo against the hardwood floors as he comes to block your view. You refuse to raise your eyes to him, already familiar with the image of his crossed arms and rigid posture when he scolds you.

“Forgive me, father,” the words roll off your tongue dry and indifferent, “for not being so eager to sell myself off like some prized cattle.”

“You can’t keep pushing this meeting off,” he argues. “The other clans are getting restless. Soon they won’t be asking, but demanding.”

You roll your eyes and sit up so your feet are planted on the floor and your head is upright again. This time you turn your gaze up at your father, not cowering under his stern expression.

“You realize we don’t care about any of this, right? Satoru and I have been friends since we were children, and we both agree this is so archaic. Choso spends more time at that animal shelter than at home.” Your hands clutch the edges of the seat. A sour taste settles on your tongue. “And I’d claw my own eyes out before marrying Naoya. He’s the only one you’ve all successfully indoctrinated into this misogynistic bullshit.”

Pushing off the couch, you stride past your father and plant yourself beside the window. You pull your legs against your chest and rest your head on your knees. Your father’s footsteps come closer. His hand reaches toward your head and gives you a gentle pet, but you shake him off and scoot further away.

“What am I going to do with you?”

You can hear fondness creeping in his voice, but you won’t allow it to sway you.

“How about not forcing me to marry someone I don’t want to,” you quip.

Your father sighs.

“Our clan has kept itself alive and thriving for generations through marriage pacts. If we—”

“Maybe we don’t have to anymore,” you interrupt, looking at him with imploring eyes. “It’s a new time, father. Things are different now.”

“Not for us.”

He looks at you like you’re a child again. A sad smile that suggests you don’t understand anything about the way the world works. But you do know, and it’s not a world you want to live in anymore.

You and Satoru talk about the changes you want to make within the top clans. And you’re committed, you want to see it happen, but sometimes it seems impossible. At times you feel so small and so lonely. As a male alpha, Satoru doesn’t fully understand your fears, just like you don’t his. And you know he gets insecure like you do. The only difference is that he has someone to confide in, to support him unconditionally. You don’t. Which is why it’s so important for your husband to be someone of the same mind as you. Not someone who will keep you trapped underneath his thumb.

“If mother was here she’d be on my side.”

You huff, burying your head in your arms. You feel the warmth of your father next to you as he comes closer again. This time when he puts his arm around you, you don’t move away.

“If your mother was here she’d want you to make a smart decision.” He speaks with a sorrow you can’t fully comprehend. You lost a mother, but he lost a wife. A mate. “She’d want you to be protected and provided for. Each of the clans is offering that.”

“Wouldn’t she also want me to be happy?”

He chuckles. “You’re just like her.”

You lift your head. He stares at you with glassy eyes.

“Beautiful and wise,” he says. A loving smile curves his lips. “And stubborn.”

Your father’s expression turns somber. You already know what he sees in your face, in every feature that composes your physical identity. You see it every time you step in front of a mirror. A near identical copy of your mother. A living, breathing reminder that she once walked the earth, long enough to give you her likeness.

“I miss her,” you say, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

“So do I.”

You make sure your father is asleep before leaving the apartment. You close the door carefully behind you and take the elevator to the lobby. It’s nearly midnight, the usual time you step out, and your neighborhood is as you anticipate, quiet.

The walk to the train station is quick. You tap your fare card on the reader and head underground to catch the last local train to Shinjuku. You’ll most likely have to take a cab home, but you’ll figure that out later. Conversations with your father always leave you mentally drained and the only thing you can focus on right now is getting your hands on some yaki udon.

Once you arrive at your station, you exit up the stairs and onto the street. The diner isn’t far so you keep your head down and let your feet lead you along the familiar route.

It’s a bit crowded for a Thursday but you don’t mind. You can blend in better. Disappear among the mixed scents of the other designations that crowd the sidewalk. You mostly catch the sweetness of omegas in the air. They travel in groups and you assume they don’t have mates of their own. It’s rare for an alpha to allow their mate to be out this late. Thankfully, you don’t have that problem. Not yet, at least.

You’re not sure how long you can keep stalling your father. You understand he pressures you only because he’s pressured by the other clans, but you don’t understand why he doesn’t just stand up to them and refuse. You don’t know what he’s so afraid of. He’s already been through the worst time of his life.

The death of your mother was the lowest point not only for you and your father, but also the entire clan. Only with her absence were you able to realize the influential woman she was and what she meant to the other branches of the family. Their support through your grief and your father’s brief depression, their unwavering loyalty and devotion, their presence the purest form of unconditional love, was the foundation your mother built that gave the clan a foot to keep standing on.

You and your father had endured your mother’s death with the clan by your side. When the mourning period ended you promised yourself you would be a leader worthy of your family name in return for their support. You’d be as resilient as your father, and as influential as your mother.

But the only way you can achieve that is through the right opportunity. Clearly your father won’t be the one to make one happen for you, so you have to find it yourself.

A voice calling out stops you in your tracks. As your mind clears itself of your previous thoughts your ears listen for the voice again. You look over your shoulder at the opening of a dark alley and wait. After a few seconds you hear the same cry for help.

You backtrack a few steps and peer into the alley. Cautiously, you enter and follow the whimpering sounds and scared scent of an omega. There are several overhead light posts lining the walls, and it’s beneath one of those lights you see a woman cowering beneath two burly men with her hand pressed against her red cheek. She peers between the two with tears in her eyes and finds your gaze, relief pouring out of her as if you’re an angel come to her rescue.

“Hey!”

You shout, too fast for you to think about the consequences. But it gets their attention and gives the omega the opening needed to get away. One of the men tries to grab her but she quickly evades him and sprints away toward the other end of the alley.

“Big mistake, girl.”

They turn to you and you realize too late that they’re both alphas. Angry and irritated alphas. And you’re alone with them.

You try to make your own escape, but a harsh grip on your arm pulls you back. You’re shoved against the wall and the space is too narrow to put any distance between you and the increasingly overwhelming spicy tang of their combined scents that fill your nostrils.

“What do we have here?” The one that holds you in place has shaggy brown hair. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes with a salacious grin. “Another little omega to play with?”

In the brief moment his eyes are shut, you shift your feet so that your right foot is slightly behind your left. Using all the force you can muster, you thrust the palm of your right hand up and into his nose. He steps back with a shout, hands flying to his face as blood trickles out between his fingers. The other man steps around his friend and roughly pins your shoulders to the wall.

“A feisty one, eh?” His bald head shines beneath the light post as he leans in close. He takes a good whiff of you. “Doesn’t matter. I can smell how scared you really are. A little sour mixed in with all that sweetness. Just how I like it.”

His nose inches toward the sensitive gland on your neck and your body revolts. You’ve acted mostly on instinct so far, but you’re intentionally defiant as you gather a pool of saliva in your mouth and spit it all out onto his face.

“What the—” He jerks back, wiping away your attack with the back of his hand. An angry growl crawls out of his throat as he raises a hand to strike you. “You little bitch.”

You shut your eyes, waiting for the sting of his palm to sharply make contact with your cheek.

But it never comes.

Your eyes open and your brow furrows at the hand hovering in mid air above your face. When your gaze lowers you realize it’s because another hand has it locked in place.

You didn’t hear him, couldn’t even sense him approach, but this new person is no doubt another alpha. Your lips part in awe at the size of him. He’s massive, towering over you and the others. His broad frame is intimidating and his arms and chest are barely contained beneath the fibers of his plain black t-shirt.

The bald alpha tries to pull away but the grip he’s in is too strong. In a flash, your savior turns him around with a yank of his arm and sends a powerful kick to his backside. The smaller man goes flying forward onto his hands and knees. His friend with the still bleeding nose helps him up from the ground, and they both turn back to the giant of a man now standing between you and them.

“What the hell, man?” the bald one complains. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Now it does.”

The deep timbre of your savior’s voice makes your knees shake. It suits his powerful presence and makes you thankful he’s on your side.

All three alphas seem to be locked in a staring contest. But while the two become visibly nervous the longer it goes on, their opponent’s cool expression doesn’t waver. He folds his arms and his muscles strain against the short sleeves of his shirt. The two others seem to come to a decision and start backing away. They spare you a quick glance, and your savior a scowl, before they turn and escape down the alley.

You watch from behind the alpha’s frame until the two round the corner and are finally out of sight. Letting out a sigh of relief, you step away from the wall. But it’s short lived when the remaining alpha turns his sharp gaze on you.

“Be more careful next time you decide to play hero, yeah?”

His shirt looks too small for him, and you wonder if it’s on purpose to show off his insanely fit body. You notice a hole in the left knee of his sweatpants that sit low on his hips and the white socks dusted brown with dirt slid into a pair of black slides. Your gaze snaps up to his face and zeroes in on the scar at the corner of his lip, then to the black strands of hair that fall in his face, shading a pair of emerald green eyes. You decide that despite his semi-homeless presentation he’s actually very attractive.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He looks down his nose at you, appraising you like you just did him. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth is meant to unnerve you, entice you, or maybe both. And you wonder why, since you run on instinct so much, do you go against your designation’s expectations and make so much trouble for your father.

“You hungry?”

He tilts his head. “What?”

“I was heading to a diner,” you say. “Let me buy you something. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes narrow for a second as he contemplates your offer. Though you already know what his answer will be.

“Sure.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever.”

You smirk and motion for him to follow you. The noise from the street is a welcome reprieve from the dark and quiet alley, but being back on the sidewalk means navigating through the crowds again. You’re so used to walking alone, swiftly weaving through bodies, that you almost forget your new companion. You look over your shoulder to make sure you haven’t left him behind and your brows rise at the empty space behind you.

He is only about five or six steps behind, but his broad build and being several heads taller than nearly everyone on the street makes them steer clear and create a path for him to walk unimpeded. Your eyes meet and he grins. The way his scar stretches and his eyes narrow make him look dangerous, and like he’s certainly aware of his presence.

You hum, curious about who this man is, and turn your head forward to continue walking. Several blocks later and a right turn onto a narrow street, the diner finally comes into view. Kanji characters glow in red neon above the entrance.

“It doesn’t look like much,” you say when you’re standing in front of the dark wood sliding door. “But they’ve got the best curry you’ll ever eat.”

He doesn’t say anything as you slide the door open and wave him in first. You weren’t close enough before to notice, but when he ducks his head and passes in front of you into the diner you catch his scent. Cypress with an underlying hint of spicy cinnamon fills your senses and you have to shake your head to keep from focusing on it too long.

You enter after him and slide the door closed. He looks over the menu options on the ticket machine to the left of the door while you peer past him to the long counter. The sound of running water in the kitchen stops and a familiar face appears from behind the corner. When Momo’s brother sees you he says your name.

“Welcome.” He smiles at you warmly. Then his eyes cut to the large man beside you, who doesn’t take his focus off the food options, and tilts his head in silent inquiry. But you shake your head and he understands that now isn’t the time for questions. “Sit anywhere you’d like. Momo will—”

He pauses, looking around the diner with a frown for his sister. It’s a narrow room with a counter that spans almost the entire length of the space with room on each end to exit through the doors. The right wall is lined with tables that seat two and leaves a small aisle in between for passage along the length of the diner. The back door leads to the restroom, which is a separate room in the alley with easy street access, and where you’re certain his sister is.

You chuckle, knowing when Momo reappears she’ll be in for a scolding. Turning your attention to the machine, you feed it several notes and select your udon and toppings.

“Get as much as you want,” you say.

Your companion doesn’t hesitate to start pressing buttons, choosing a bowl of ramen and the large portion of curry. After he selects an order of gyoza and tempura the money slot blinks green and you slide in more notes. He looks at you with raised brows, probably not believing your initial offer, before he makes his final selections of yakitori and two beers. You add another yakitori and a beer for yourself before accepting your change and fishing out the tickets from the dispenser.

“Let’s take a seat.” You turn to the alpha beside you. “I’m sure—”

Suddenly the back door slides open and all eyes are on the flustered omega as she enters the diner. She straightens the apron around her waist before swiftly closing the door, but not fast enough that you don’t catch the blur of white hair dash behind her. When she looks up you can see the smudge of gloss around the corners of her mouth and you have to hold back your giggles.

Her mouth splits into a wide grin when she spots you and hurries around the counter toward you. With a tilt of your head in his direction, the alpha follows your lead down the aisle and toward a table along the wall.

“Hey, Momo,” you greet your friend. You lift your hand and use your knuckle to clear away the stray gloss on her skin. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she answers, shyly averting her eyes. Her hands smooth down the front of her apron. “Really good.”

You raise your brows in amusement, lips parting to tease her, but Momo takes the tickets from you and tears them in half before scurrying off to the kitchen. You watch her go with a fond shake of your head.

“She’s cute.”

Your attention shifts to the alpha now seated at the table. He grins while making the observation. His gaze lingers on the entrance of the kitchen, where the low murmurs of Momo’s scolding reach your ears.

You take the seat across from him.

“Thank you,” you say, “for, uh, helping me back there.”

“You always pick fights with alphas?”

You think about your father and the clan heads, always aware of the power they hold. You’d learned about it all from Satoru growing up, your only confidant in this repeating generational cycle, and yet you refuse to give in. All your life you knew what awaited you and you took every chance to delay it. Ever since your mother’s death you wanted something more for yourself. You wanted a different future.

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself. “I guess I do.”

“Pretty stupid for an unmated omega.”

He scoffs. You roll your eyes.

“We’re not helpless, you know.”

“You got in a good hit, so maybe not helpless.” He chuckles, tilting his head down to narrow his eyes playfully. “Still a weak little thing though.”

“I literally made him bleed.”

The smirk he gives you makes him look less intimidating.

“You’re not like other omegas,” he says.

It’s not a question. Ever since you met him you’ve felt his calculating gaze on you. Not heavy or intense, but just there. A silent presence that maintains its patience, watching and studying and waiting for the right time to take action.

“Here you are.” Momo appears with your beers, placing them on the table with a steady hand. She looks from you to your companion. “Who’s your new friend?”

“I ran into some trouble,” you vaguely explain. “He was kind enough to get me out of it.”

She frowns. “Trouble?”

You wave off her concern. “It was barely anything.”

Momo turns to him, bowing her head in gratitude.

“Thank you for taking care of my friend. I’ll bring some dessert, on the house.”

“Momo, I can—”

You start to decline her offer, but the deep, rich voice of the man across from you cuts you off.

“I appreciate that, sweetheart.”

Momo perks up before flitting away with a promise of ice cream. You watch the alpha as he eyes Momo’s backside. You clear your throat.

“She’s spoken for. And your competition won’t fold as easily as those creeps in the alley.”

“Just lookin’,” he says, reaching for his first beer.

You take your own beer in your hands, bringing it up to your lips for a sip. You eye him over the rim, take in everything about him. His hair, his face, the bored expression he near constantly wears. The more you see, the more familiar he looks.

“So…what’s your name?” you ask.

“Why do you wanna know?” he counters.

“Isn’t it normal for me to want to know the name of my knight in shining armor?”

He laughs before taking a large gulp of his beer, slamming it down onto the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tilts his head to look at you through half lidded eyes. You’re sure he’s trying to be seductive, and you have no doubt he can be, but after countless alphas from various clans trying to attract your attention you’ve built up a sort of immunity to pretty words and manipulative men.

He pouts when you show no sign of wavering.

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffs.

“I think it does,” you insist.

Like with the alphas in the alley, you’re caught in a staring contest with the man before you. But after a minute of you matching his impassive expression he smacks his teeth. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What’s it to you anyway?”

You shrug. “You look like someone I know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You’ve got the same eyes.”

He hums.

“And the same hair,” you add.

He raises his brows. His green eyes light up in mock interest.

“Even got the same frown.”

“Wow,” he leans forward, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his large palm, “the same frown.”

“He’s like a carbon copy of you. Almost like you could be father and son.”

At this, he straightens up. His expression hardens and he eyes the diner warily, as if he’s been unknowingly lured into some nefarious den.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I asked you first.”

You wait for his answer, patient as you take another sip of beer. He clenches his jaw.

“Toji,” he finally answers.

“Family name?”

He hesitates. It seems any answer he has prepared for you won’t allow him to remain anonymous. But he could also give you a fake name, though something tells you he won’t.

“Fushiguro.”

He whispers the name, one you’re familiar with. You nod your head.

Before Fushiguro, he was Zen’in. Everyone knows the story of the alpha who deserted his clan after years of being ignored and put down by his family. An alpha who couldn’t shift into his wolf form was considered a blemish on the Zen’in name. But what Toji lacked as a shapeshifter he made up for in his human form. Physically stronger, faster, sharper than nearly any man or wolf, he made a name for himself as a hunter. You don’t know how you feel about him hunting other wolves, but from the stories you heard he was quite impressive.

“Okay,” Toji says, “so what’s your name?”

You tell him your full name, then add, “But my friends call me Hana.”

He scoffs. “So we’re friends?”

“We can be.”

“Why do your friends call you Hana?” he asks instead.

“Because they think they’re funny, dubbing me the blooming flower of my family.”

He chuckles, scratching at his chin. “So what’s the daughter of a clan leader doing sneaking around at night?”

“Needed to clear my head.” You trace a line down the side of your glass, breaking through the condensation. “I’m expected to choose a husband soon.”

“Right.” Toji nods. “Your family has the golden womb.”

You scrunch your nose at his wording. That’s all you are to any of them. A pawn. An object. You could just run away, you think. You’d ask Satoru to lend you some money until you get settled somewhere far away, then you’d live your life free of clan traditions. On your own terms.

But you know it’s nothing but a fantasy. Even if you ran they’d send someone to track you down and bring you back. Someone like Toji…

You lift your gaze to the alpha, and slowly an idea begins to form in your mind. You recall a thought you had: find your own opportunity.

“What do you think about marriage?”

“The first time wasn’t so bad.” Toji shrugs. “Second time was more for convenience.”

“You know,” you pause, gauging his expression, “they say third time’s the charm.”

His brows pinch together. He’s obviously puzzled.

You smile. “What do you say?”

“Marriage? To you?” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head back there?”

“Think about it. If we get married your family will have to bring you back into the fold. You’ll be bankrolled by them again and I’ll get to rub it in all the clan leaders’ faces that I found away around their ancient tradition.”

“What makes you think I want their money?” Toji frowns. “Or would even go back if they asked?”

“Well, word around the packs is that you’re a bit of a gambler, so whatever money you acquire on your own is yours to do with as you please,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “And if you don’t want to go back to your family then you can live with me. I’ll take care of your food, housing, and other essentials.”

“And be, what? Your sugar baby?”

“Essentially.” You chuckle to yourself. “Also, I’m sure they’ll want a stake in decisions about our children. That’s going to be so much fun.”

“Eh?” Toji scowls. “Now we’re talking about children?”

“Obviously we’ll have to have at least one,” you say. Avoiding children is hard in your position, but becoming a mother is not entirely out of the question. Having a mother like yours, a part of you had always been eager for your turn. “And I’m curious to see how they’ll turn out. I’ve heard stories about you. With your strengths and my “golden womb” perhaps our child will turn out to be very powerful. God, I can just picture the looks on the faces of those old men.”

Toji smirks. “You’re a spiteful one aren’t you?”

“Since I’m an only child, my father will pass on his business to whoever I marry.” You’re talking to yourself now, your future laying itself out before your eyes. “And after he does you’ll tell him you aren’t interested in running the company, then you’ll announce that you’re turning it over to me. I know everything about that place. I’ll keep growing the company, make sure the clan continues to prosper, and start making changes from the inside. Of course you’ll be free to do your own thing.”

You pause, really looking at Toji now and see a glint in his eyes as he stares back at you. You can tell he’s considering your offer.

“What about divorce?” he asks.

“You’ll have to sign a prenup, so there’s really no benefit for you if we get divorced. My father will also make sure that I have full custody of any children we have. You’ll essentially be right back where you are now. Just older.”

He’s silent as he rests his cheek in his palm.

“I’ll make sure you won’t want for anything.” You express the same sentiment your father did to you. How strange, you think, an omega offering protection and security to an alpha. “And if you want to see Megumi, I can ask—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” Toji pointedly avoids your gaze. “But we don’t have to involve the kid.”

Your heart clenches. You wonder if he’ll be this indifferent to your own children.

“Okay.” You extend your hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”

Toji’s hand is warm around yours as he takes it and gives it a firm shake. Momo comes back to your table with your small feast. You thank her and she’s off again. Toji already has chopsticks in hand, but before he can take the first bite you speak up.

“For my father to accept this betrothal we’ll have to show him we’re serious. That there’s no going back.”

Toji looks at you with ramen hanging in front of his open mouth. “How do we do that?”

You smirk.

“With a little bonding time.”

After your meal, you pay for a cab to take you and Toji to Love Hotel Hill in Shibuya. You’re dropped of at the entrance of the hotel, but before going inside you take hold of Toji’s elbow and turn him to face you.

“This is your last chance to back out,” you tell him. “If you walk through those doors with me there’s no going back.”

Toji’s head pushes back slightly. His brow furrows and he looks almost…offended. His lips part and he looks like he’s about to speak, but then his brows rise. His eyes scan your face and you wonder what he sees.

Does he see how hopeful you are? Does he realize that you’re both desperate for the same chance to change your lives?

“Don’t worry, omega.” He smirks, taking your hand that’s still touching his elbow. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist. A tingle zips through your arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief washes through you and you smile. You don’t think much of it as you wrap your arm through his, pulling you close to him as you walk through the automatic glass doors of the hotel.

The lobby is empty except for the reception desk where you know an attendant sits behind the opaque window. The rest of the space is finely decorated with warm overhead lighting, lush green plants, and a long leather couch placed against the far wall.

Your shoes tap softly against the tile as you and Toji step up to the board on the right wall lit up with pictures of available rooms to choose from. There are a few themed options, but you and Toji decide on a standard room for the night. So you choose a room on the top floor along with the “stay” option then go to the reception desk to pay. After you exchange notes for the key card a soft feminine voice bids you a pleasant stay.

After thanking the attendant you and Toji move to the elevator. He pushes the call button and you stand, your arm still around his, and wait. When the bell dings to signal the elevator’s arrival you prepare to step forward, but when the doors open a couple is already inside. The man removes his hands from the woman’s hips. He clears his throat and she giggles. You avert your eyes as you and Toji step aside for them to exit. When you’re inside and the elevator doors are closing you can hear the sounds of their infatuated exchange as they walk through the lobby and back out into the world.

You and Toji ride to the top floor in silence. The key card weighs heavy in your hand and you can’t help the racing of your heart as the numbers above the doors keep climbing. When the doors open you and Toji move at the same time to step into the hallway and toward your room.

Not only are you on the top floor but also in the north east corner. Although the walk to your room seems a mile long, it gives you the sense of greater privacy feeling so far away. There are no sounds from the other doors you pass that you can detect. Knowing Toji’s heightened senses, you wonder if he hears anything. You peek over at him but his face sits in the same flat expression.

When you arrive, you swipe the key card above the handle and enter the room. There’s a small area at the entrance where you both take off your socks and shoes. Toji is barefoot in less than a minute while you’re still bent at the waist working your shoes off.

Once you’re done and are upright again you stride further into the room. It’s not unlike any other pricey hotel you’ve stayed at with its marble counters and hardwood floors. The only difference would be that there’s only one window with the curtains pulled shut for privacy. You do, however, like the large circular bed in the middle of the room.

It’s on a raised section of the floor, and instead of hardwood the bed is surrounded by soft carpet. It’s sunken into the platform and dressed in white bedding. A round light fixture hovers directly above, like a spotlight on the main event.

It excites you. So you follow the feeling and waste no time getting everything prepared just the way you like it.

“Feel free to grab anything from the bar,” you say over your shoulder.

You hear the mini fridge open and close then the hiss of a bottle opening. You feel Toji’s eyes on you, watching as you flit around the room and grab towels from the bathroom along with extra blankets from the closet by the door. You toss them onto the bed and arrange them to your liking before jumping on top and rolling around your makeshift nest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. He takes a sip of his bottled beer.

“I want to make sure it smells like us before we get started.” You roll around a bit more. Spread your arms and legs out like you’re making a snow angel. “Come here.”

When he doesn’t move you crawl on your hands and knees and take hold of his arm. You try pulling him down to you but he doesn’t budge. Not a single inch. You try again, but are only met with Toji’s laughter.

“Told you already,” the smile he gives you is nothing short of mocking, “you’re a weak little thing.”

Your lips press together tightly, not appreciating the way he taunts you. So when your hand lets go of his arm and your fingers glide over to tease at the hem of his sweatpants you grin triumphantly when he jerks away.

“Oi!”

You giggle at the scowl Toji throws your way. He downs the rest of his beer and tosses the bottle onto the floor carelessly and it rolls away onto the hardwood. Your eyes follow him as he purposefully walks in an arc to get to the other side of the bed before plopping down onto it, landing on his back with a huff.

“You have to roll around so your scent gets everywhere,” you say.

“M’not a child.” He crosses his arms under his head, shutting his eyes. “Not gonna roll.”

“Fine.”

You surprise him for a second time by swiftly darting across the mattress and straddling his hips. His green eyes fly open and he looks at you like you’re absolutely insane. But you pay him no mind as you grab the edges of the blanket beneath him and fold each end over his front. You hold them closed tightly and sway him a little back and forth. You’re impressed with yourself that you can even manage that with how huge he is.

“Having fun?” Toji deadpans.

“A little,” you admit.

Next, you grab a towel from behind you and place it over his head, rubbing hair with it like you would if you were drying it after a shower. Toji says something but it’s unintelligible beneath the towel.

You pull it away from his face. “What was that?”

“Said it smells nice.”

“Really?” You give it a whiff. “What’s it smell like?”

“Like a plum. Tart with just the right amount of sweetness,” he says. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Smells like you.”

“You’re not going soft on me now are—”

You gasp when Toji’s hand shoots out to take hold of your arm. He presses his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. The intimate action makes your lower belly erupt with butterflies.

As if sensing your reaction, Toji sits up. His face hovers just an inch away from you and he holds onto your hips to keep you from scooting backward. Your noses touch, lips just barely brushing. Lust swims in the pools of his green irises and you see your own eagerness reflected in them. You spend several long heated seconds exchanging warm breaths before you lean in, closing the gap and pressing your lips to his.

It starts out slowly, both of you acquainting yourselves with the taste and feel of each other, before it picks up. You’re not sure which one of you initiated it, but when the kiss turns needier and hungrier neither of you protest. You moan when his tongue passes through your lips, the wet muscle hunting for more of your taste.

The heat between you starts to rise and your mind tells you that you’re both wearing too many clothes. Your hands scramble to the hem of Toji’s shirt and start tugging until he raises his arms and you pull it over his head. Your lips are disconnected for a moment, but find each other again when his torso is bare.

Your hands wander the expanse of his sculpted chest, fingers pressing into firm muscle hidden beneath hot smooth flesh. Your touch ventures further down to his stomach where you explore every dip and crevice of abdominal muscle etched to perfection. You pull a gasp from the alpha beneath you when your fingers ghost over where the thin trail of hair on his lower stomach disappears into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Toji growls into your mouth before taking the bottom of your shirt and jerking it upward, impatient in his movements. You lift your arms and he rips it the rest of the way off you, leaving only your bra to cover your chest. The shirt is discarded before Toji attaches his mouth to yours again, but he doesn’t stay there. Hot lips start making their way lower, leaving a wet trail down your throat until his teeth are nipping and teasing at the gland on your neck. You gasp at the sensation and feel the vibrations of Toji’s laughter against your collarbone.

“Asshole,” you say, breathlessly.

He smiles against your skin, not bothering to argue, as his hands settle on your waist and give a firm squeeze. “Stand up.”

It’s not an alpha command, but you move as if it is. Your feet sink into the mattress and you hold onto Toji’s shoulders for balance. He undoes the button and pulls down your zipper, and in one motion he has your bottom half completely bare in front of him. His face presses into your hip as he helps you get each foot free.

Now you stand only in your bra, watching as he tugs down his sweatpants to reveal himself to you. He’s half hard but you can already tell he’s definitely the largest you’ve ever had. While he works his pants off you reach behind and undo your bra, letting it fall off your arms before you toss it onto the floor to land with the rest of your clothes.

Toji’s touch is on you again. Warm, calloused hands brush up and down your thighs before hooking at the back of your knees. He pulls you down so you’re once again straddling him. He kisses you, briefly but with more fervor, before he leans his head down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

You bring a hand to the back of his head, fingers threading through the strands as you keep him close. A whimper escapes you as the tip of his tongue expertly traces circles around your sensitive nub. Your lower body clenches when he moves to your other breast, lips firmly attaching themselves and giving a light tug.

Your free hand reaches down between your bodies to take hold of Toji’s cock. His base is nestled among a patch of dark curls, and the more your hand works up and down his length the more of him you feel. Mentally, and maybe physically, you’re drooling at his girth. And the thick vein running on the underside of his shaft makes you eager to have him inside you already, so you pump him earnestly until he’s fully erect. You keep at it until suddenly he swats your hand away.

“Toji? What—”

Your words catch in your throat when his hand suddenly dives in between your legs. Toji’s fingers run through your folds, humming in satisfaction with how soaking wet you already are. He only gives a single teasing prod at your entrance before he plunges two thick fingers inside you.

Gasping, your hands clutch onto his biceps. You pant as his long fingers reach deeper than you ever could on your own. He sets a fast pace from the start, making you choke on your own moans as he finger fucks you without mercy. His fingers curl to find that special spot inside you that has you sinking your nails into his skin. And when his palm presses down on your clit your heart literally skips a beat. Every precise movement of his fingers has the coil tightening in your belly, has you teetering on the edge.

“I’m almost—” You let out a whimper. “I’m close.”

“Yeah, you are.” Toji pushes his nose against your cheek, tongue licking at the curve of your jaw. “Can feel how tight you’re squeezing my fingers.”

You’re almost there. Just a little bit more and then you’ll—

The tension, the heat. It’s gone. The end you were so close to capturing is suddenly ripped away. You stare at the pair of fingers that should be inside you, but instead are shiny and glistening before your eyes.

“Toji.” You whine as your bottom lip juts out into a pout. “Why’d you do that? I was—”

But your protests are silenced when Toji shushes you. He lowers his slick covered hand and you watch as he strokes himself. You swallow as he delves back through your folds for more lubricant. Your hips twitch at the contact and your pussy clenches hungrily around nothing as it waits for Toji to finish preparing himself.

“Don’t worry, omega.” Toji’s voice is barely above a whisper. A soft promise just for you. “I’ll give you what you want.”

You raise your hips as Toji lines himself up with your entrance, pressing his tip against you before slowly entering. Your breathing comes in short spurts as you try to adjust to his size. Each inch burns but it soon gives way to pleasure when he bottoms out.

You’re both panting when you’re fully seated on top of him. Toji leans back on his hands, green eyes staring up at you.

“Take it,” he says. “Take what you need.”

You lean forward, holding his face in your palms, and kiss him. When you lift your hips, you whine into his mouth and bring yourself back down. You plant your hands on his shoulders and set your pace. You pull back as you bounce on his cock, feeling the familiar tightness once again.

“That’s it. Keep going.” One of Toji’s hands comes to rest at the base of your neck, a subtle guide to your actions that barely registers in the back of your currently one track driven mind. “Doing so good, omega.”

He’s called you that several times tonight, but you can’t help clench around him when he says it now. Full of pride and encouragement. A primal instinct in you is reacting to this man, this alpha, and you like it.

Suddenly, Toji pushes forward and pulls you to his chest, one arm around your waist while his other hand takes hold of your chin and points it upward. His mouth hovers over your exposed flesh, over the sensitive gland on the side of your neck. He doesn’t need you to tell him when, you can feel the way you’re coming together.

You slam down onto him once, twice, and then you cry out as the tight coil within finally snaps at the same time Toji sinks his teeth into you. Sharp canines pierce your mating gland, sending a shiver down your spine.

Blood trickles out of the wound and Toji laps away at the trail of crimson, leaving none behind. You wrap your arms around him. You want him closer, as close as you can be.

You feel dazed, like the world has shifted on its axis. Your head drops as a fog clouds your mind, struggling to conjure up any other thought besides Toji. But all you feel is the hot aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as the familiar scent of cypress and cinnamon surrounds you.

The world shifts again and this time you land on something soft. You blink your eyes open, realizing you’re on your back now. Toji hovers above you. His broad shoulders take over your field of vision so all you see is him. His black hair hangs in sweaty strands down the sides of his face. Those emerald green of his eyes are locked onto you. It makes your heart flutter.

“Alpha.”

Toji’s expression softens when you call to him. Plead for him. He lowers his head to nose at the mark he’s just made. You flinch, still sensitive.

“Did so good for me, omega.” His praise makes you keen. You arch your back to touch your chest to his. “Now it’s my turn.”

He’s still hard inside you, not having found his release yet. He wraps your legs around his waist and starts moving. Like earlier, he doesn’t wait to set a quick pace. His hips pound into you as he chases his own pleasure.

Whimpers escape you as he bullies your sensitive pussy. He braces his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his back, keeping him trapped inside your locked limbs.

“I’m gonna…fuck,” Toji hisses in your ear. “Wanna cum inside you.”

“It’s okay.” You hold onto him tighter. “M’on birth control.”

After your admission his thrusts turn erratic. You feel the swelling at the base of his cock grow larger and larger. He’s hot and heavy inside you. All around you. He’s overwhelming but you don’t want him to stop.

“Almost there,” Toji grunts.

“Please, Alpha.”

Toji moans, both from your plea and the way you tighten yourself around his cock. Your body wants him. Can’t get enough. You’re his and now it’s time to make him yours.

One last powerful thrust sends Toji over the edge. His knot swells inside of you, sealing you both together, as his hot seed paints your walls. He sighs, heavy and satisfied as he continues to gently rock into you.

The haze of your mind is beginning to clear. Your body slowly becomes heavier even as small shocks of pleasure continue to jolt through your system. You raise a trembling hand to the back of Toji’s head. Taking a fistful of his hair, you sharply yank his head to the side and bite down hard enough to pierce the gland on his neck.

Toji grunts. His body stiffens as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. You smooth a hand down his back as you lick away any remaining blood, and his body gradually relaxes until he’s pressing his full weight on top of you.

You huff, trying to shift to get a better chance at not suffocating. But when you pull away a little too quickly, you both hiss when there’s a harsh tug at where your connected.

“Sorry,” you apologize. Your hands are quick to soothe, helping Toji adjust his body so you’re both comfortable. “How do you feel?”

Toji still has his face hidden in your neck. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Although the bonding isn’t as potent as it would be during your heat it doesn’t lessen the connection you’ve created with this man. You both cling to each other as you struggle to take it all in, anxious about how this decision is already changing you.

Instincts you’ve ignored until now are already clawing their way out of the deep pits of your subconscious. The urge to soothe, to nurture, to submit is nearly overpowering. It will completely consume you if you let it.

Toji’s large hand is splayed out across your rib cage, thumb caressing the curve of your breast. His mind races while his heart beats wildly as he clings to you. His actions aren’t lining up with who he’s been up to this point. He’s never been the type to attach himself to anyone or anything. Thankfully, you feel his building resolve to chip away at the unwanted bits of his new appetite as a bonded alpha.

You sigh, relieved you made the right choice, as you card your fingers through Toji’s hair until his breathing evens out and he’s fast asleep.

But you stay wide awake well into the early morning. How could you surrender to sleep with all your life’s new possibilities waiting for you to conceive of them?

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Dividers by @rookthornesartistry.

#catalog #wolves of tokyo #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #abo #alpha!toji

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 53

Part 1 Part 52

The days pass, blurred like the trees they pass in the car on the way back from every session at the lab. Each one makes Eddie’s skin crawl, even when Mama Byers can’t come so Wayne goes in her place, flanked by Hopper as usual.

The car’s always quiet on the way back. No one ever tells them anything, but Dr. Owens’ eyes look flinty when he analyzes the print-outs, gaze drifting to Steve more than Eddie likes. God, if only someone in the party was a fucking doctor.

But the NDA’s tied their hands on bringing in second opinions, and Eddie’s pretty sure that the guards they all pretend not to be creeped out by would stop them long before they make it to the outside world.

So, he sits in Wayne’s truck on the drive and stews.

Steve’s getting quieter after each visit, like they’re sucking something vital out of him. It makes Eddie rabid, a little. But all he does is turn the music up louder, singing along like his heart is still in it.

Steve smiles at him when they lock eyes in the rearview mirror. Eddie ignores the way Wayne huffs, just lets the warmth in.

It should be weird, now that Steve looks like The Hair again. Now that it’s long enough, Eddie knows the secrets of his hair care – bullshit expensive shampoo and conditioner, and a few sprays of farah fawcett hairspray. Steve spends obscene amounts of time hogging the bathroom mirror, making sure each strand lays just so.

It’d taken months to be let in on the process. Eddie’d sat on the toilet lid, watching transfixed as Steve puckered his lips in concentration and twirled his hair around his finger, spraying it lightly with hairspray until it held.

So, yeah. Steve The Hair Harrington is back with his lucious locks, but he’s huddled into one of Eddie’s oversized sweaters in the backseat of Wayne’s truck, so he doesn’t see much more than the same old Stevie who he’s shared a bed with for months on end.

It’s thanks to Eddie’s obsessive need to glance at Eddie in the mirror that he notices it so quickly. Steve’s eyes are vacant, zoned as he looks forward blankly. Eddie meets his gaze in the mirror and sees nothing there.

“Stevie?” he asks, turning in his seat to look into the backseat.

“He okay?” Wayne asks, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel.

Steve doesn’t react to either of them. Eddie unclips his seatbelt, tangling his feet in it as he crawls over the console and into the backseat, calling Steve’s name. He snaps his fingers in front of his face, and gets nothing. It’s like he’s a doll, and everything that makes up Steve has been sucked out of him.

“Steve, wake up!” Eddie says, slapping lightly at his cheek. Hoping, hoping hoping.

“What’s happening back there?” Wayne asks.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t register that the eingine has cut off until Wayne opens Steve’s door and peers in at them. Steve looks up at him, begging Wayne to help. Wayne looks down at Steve, frowning at his unseeing eyes.

“I don’t like this!” Eddie says, shaking Steve by the shoulders as tears spring from his eyes.

Wayne’s mouth twists, but he reaches down, grabs Steve’s wrist and digs his fingernails in, hard enough that it turns bloodless white. Eddie wrenches Steve back, looking down at Steve’s bloodless wrist, horrified.

But then Steve gasps. He’s crying before he even has time to breath. Eddie pulls him bodily into his lap as he shakes and sobs in a way Eddie’s never seen him do before. Never seen anyone do before.

“You’re alright, Stevie,” he says, hoping it’s true. “I’ve got you.”

He murmurs nothing’s into Steve’s ears as Wayne gets back into the truck and drives, trying to make safety out of words, shoring Steve up and bricking him in. It seems to work. Steve’s breathing slows, and his shaking stops.

He doesn’t say antying until they’re pulling in front of the trailer. Wayne parks and cuts the eingine, silence deafening them all. No one makes a move to get out.

“Sorry,” Steve says, like a fucking idiot.

“Nothing to apologize for, son,” Wayne says, far more diplomatically than whatever was about to make it out of Steve’s own mouth.

“What happened, Stevie?” Eddie asks, squeezing Steve where he’s still huddled on Eddie’s lap.

As if only just then noticing his pricarious position, Steve scrambles back and into his own seat, cheeks heating. He doesn’t say anything. Eddie sighs.

“Come on, Eds,” Wayne says, opening his own door. “Let’s get him inside.”

They do. Steve stays quiet, shrinking into himself like they won’t notice him if he makes himself small. They sit at the table, where all family meetings and important talks take place. Wayne fusses over tea as Eddie stares Steve down, unwilling to let this lie.

Steve breaks. “It just happens sometimes?” he says, lilting up like it’s a question.

Wayne sets a cup of coffee in front of them. Eddie sips his with a grimace, letting the warmth hit his stomach. Steve grips his tight in his palms, probably burning his fingers on the heat radiating off the porcelain.

“What happens, son?” Wayne asks.

Steve’s lip wobbles, but he looks up, glancing between Wayne and Eddie before looking back down at his drink. “It’s like, I blink and I’m just there sometimes.” No one has to ask what he means by ‘there.’ “But this time–”

His voice shakes, then breaks. Eddie cups his palm around Steve’s forearm and squeezes. Steve takes a shuddering breath and then continues. “This time, it was like something else was there.”

“A Demogorgon?” Wayne asks, the syllables stretched clunkily over the unfamiliar word.

Steve shakes his head, movements slow and shaky. “It was just shadows last time,” he whispers, looking off into the distance at something that isn’t there. “But this time, I saw it.”

When he doesn’t continue, Eddie asks, “What did you see?”

Steve finally meets his gaze, his pupils pinpricks. “I don’t know. It was just like a spider? But longer, and so fucking tall, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows, nods, tries to smile. It doesn’t work. He settles for squeezing Steve’s arm again, hoping it helps.

“You know,” Wayne interjects, waiting to continue until they both look up at him, “this sounds a lot like the same issues my buddies have had when they get back.”

Get back, in this case, doesn’t mean the Upside-Down. He means state side. He means war vets who don’t ever quite make it home. Friends who get lost staring at walls, bracing for explosions that will never come.

“They call it shellshock,” Wayne says, leaning forward to meet Steve’s gaze. “It gets better for most people. Over time.”

Eddie lingers on the word ‘most.’ What if that’s what’s in store for Eddie’s future? Days spent trying to bring Steve back into his body. What if being in hell, over and over and over, is what’s in store for Steve? Eddie slips his hand down, covering Steve’s warm hand where it’s still cupped around his mug.

Steve looks at Eddie, and he can tell that Steve doesn’t believe Wayne. And something worse wriggles its way into Eddie’s brain: what if it’s not days of Steve disappearing that they have to look out for? What if it’s not shellshock at all?

“Should we tell the lab people?” Steve asks, shaking Eddie’s hand off so he can take a sip of his coffee.

“Absolutely not!” Eddie says.

Wayne nods, thankfully in agreement. “I don’t trust those people to start sticking them nodes on your brain instead of jus’ your head.”

Steve grimaces, shivering, but thankfully he nods. Thank fuck.

After all, what if it’s not shellshock? What would a ruthless rogue faction of their evil government overlords do to control a threat of the size Steve was talking about? What would that do to Steve?

Eddie just hopes he never has to find out.

Part 54

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690

#steddie upsidedown au #my fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington

[cowgurrrl]

Sleeping on the Blacktop

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: guys we did it i wrote smut i actually like (ps this was edited but also not reread because I’ve been trying to write it for five hours so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t)

Summary: The Land of No Return [4.7k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, platonic expressions of love, the mortifying ordeal of being known, sexting, we finally get to know about reader's secret tattoos, smut, Joel the Menace makes his long awaited return with that dirty fucking mouth, mutual masturbation, phone sex (??(sure)), protected sex (no Miller babies for them) p in v stuff, June being indulgent with describing Joel Miller, anxiety, I think that's it??

Music floods the kitchen as you and Andie work on making the best "last supper but with women" possible. The lamps glow orange on the walls and create funny shadows when you dance together, pulling each other in and out to old jazzy tunes. You laugh when she throws a string of spaghetti at your fridge to test if it's ready a little too hard, and it splatters water everywhere. You, honestly, might be a little delirious. You're both in your pajamas, and you've been watching movies all day. You exchange what you remember from New Year's Eve and cringe at what the other fills in. You drink cheap wine from plastic cups and snack on chips as the food cooks. 

It feels like high school again, with all the girlish giggling and inside jokes you trade back and forth, except this time, instead of her going back to her house ten minutes up the road, she's going back to her apartment half the world away. No matter how long you get with her, it's never enough. Thousands of miles and different schedules will do that. Keeping long-distance friendships as an adult is just as hard, if not harder, than making new ones. 

When dinner is ready, you fix your plates and sit next to each other at your messy dining room table— the IKEA one she helped you build when Henry walked out with the first one— and eat. Paint stains the wood of the table, and half-finished works are scattered around the dining room, but you barely notice them as you talk. She tells you about the things waiting for her in Vienna: work, her cat, Oslo, and piano lessons. You don't have to pretend to be envious because you are. You have to go back to school and the Real World once you drop her off at the airport in the morning. You wish you could go with her. 

"Alright, c'mon. Spill it. What's going on with you and Joel?" She asks in between bites of garlic bread. You laugh and shake your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Bullshit. Tommy told me he saw you guys."

"Speaking of Tommy," you pivot. "What's going on there? You two seemed pretty chummy." You raise your eyebrows at her, and a big smile takes over her face. She takes another bite of food to buy herself some time, but there's no way you're letting her off the hook, especially after all her teasing about Joel.

"Nothing. We were just… talking." She finally says, and you give her a look. 

"Talking?"

"Yes. People talk. You should try it sometime."

"Was it talking like we are now or talking like Joel and I talked?" You hum, and she kicks her feet as she leans forward.

"So you and Joel did talk." 

"Well, we probably would've if somebody didn't come barging in."

"Goddammit, I told him to wait," she groans. "Sorry, girl."

"Yeah, me too," you say, and she laughs. You bump her knee and give her a look. "Alright, your turn. What's going on with Tommy?" 

"Nothing that could actually turn into anything." 

"Aw, c'mon. Don't count yourself out so early."

"It's not counting myself out. It's being realistic. I live in Vienna. He lives here. I'm not ready to come back to the States, and he seems content, so there's nothing that can happen," she shrugs. "It was a fling. A very nice fling, but a fling nevertheless." She seems a little too sad for it to have been just a fling. They exchanged numbers, and you've caught her texting him several times. She said she did kiss him on New Year's Eve (before she threw up), but they didn't go any further besides flirting the next morning. You watched them test each other at breakfast, and he seemed just as interested in her as she was in him. They'd be cute together. She sighs and pushes her pasta around in her bowl like a dejected character from a period piece.

"Tommy is very handsome." You comment, and she grabs your arm, animating all of a sudden. 

"Dude, I've been dying to talk about it. What the fuck are they putting in the water here? It's insane." 

"It's annoying, right?" 

"So annoying." She agrees. You laugh about it together and, finally, give her the details she's been waiting so patiently for. When you finish your story, her hands are over her mouth, and her eyes are wide. "Oh, my God. You have to get him back."

"I know, I know! He's driving me up a fucking wall." You say, taking a bite of food. It will get cold if you don't stop talking, but you also don't care. 

"You could surprise him with some lingerie or something." She suggests, and you groan. 

"God, I don't even remember the last time I bought lingerie."

"All the more reason to buy some." 

"I don't know. I feel like I could just show up naked, and he'd be happy with that."

"He sounds like a keeper then."

"Yeah, I don't know," you shrug. "I like him a lot. I just… don't know if it's sustainable."

"Why?" She asks. You almost want to gesture around your messy apartment and half-put together life as if it will answer her question.

"I mean, he's a good guy, and we're having fun, but for how long? His kid's gonna be in at least one of my classes until she graduates. Not to mention, he has another daughter who is in medical school. We both work full-time. And then there's the whole having to keep it a secret thing. It could get really old really fast." You sigh. 

"What if it doesn't?"

"What?"

"What if it doesn't get old? What if it ends up working out?" She asks. You take a deep breath. "You didn't even think about that possibility. Did you?"

"I just don't wanna get hurt."

"That's a very real possibility. Things could go wrong. He could break your heart. You could lose your job. Society as we know it could come crashing down, and you know what? The sun's still gonna come up the next day. The birds will still sing, and I will still be here," she says, putting her hand over yours. You purse your lips as you process her words. "You deserve nice things, kid. Don't count yourself out so early." She echoes your earlier sentiment, and you smile.

She's right. Of course, she's right. You don't let yourself think good things could happen because you're so focused on all the bad. She's known you for so long she can read your thoughts and know your habits before you can. What a horrifying and beautiful thing it is to be known inside and out like that. 

"Maybe you should've been a writer instead of a musician," you say, and she laughs. You squeeze her hand and sigh as you look at her. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"I'm really gonna miss you, too."

"I wish you could stay."

"I know," she says. "But you need an excuse to come to Vienna, and I need an excuse to come to Austin, and if I stay, we lose that."

"I guess that's true."

"Besides, if I stop making trans-Atlantic calls, I think my phone company would be concerned." She points out, making you laugh. You know she's telling you what she's told herself this whole time. She loves Vienna, but you know she gets homesick. You know she's trying really hard to convince herself to get back on that plane. You don't push her about staying again. You just indulge in her presence. 

"I love you." You say softly, and she smiles.

"I love you, too." She says. 

It means so much more than just "I love you." It means, "I love you, and I want us both to eat well." It means, "I love you, and I can't imagine doing this life without you." It means, "I love you, and I know you have to go." Never any buts. Always ands, because love like this knows no bounds. Not borders, not time zones, not lifestyles. 

You finish the dinner you made and clean the kitchen side by side before climbing into bed and staying up as late as possible to try and get Andie back on Vienna time. In the morning, you drag yourselves out of bed and sing in the car on the way to get coffee, and when the time comes for you to get her suitcase out of your backseat and watch her disappear behind glass doors, you hug her tight and tell her you love her again. She repeats the sentiment with another squeeze and deep breath that tells you how close to tears she is. Then, she turns around and doesn't look back to prove she's strong enough to leave. She doesn't need to prove anything to you. You always knew she was strong enough to do this.

The car ride back is emotional and lonely and tinged with the bass line of Ribs by Lorde, but your phone buzzes as you pull back into your apartment complex with tears staining your cheeks. 

Thanks for letting us meet Andie. She's a really sweet person. I'm sorry she has to leave today.

You don't remember telling him what day she was leaving, but she might've told Tommy, and Tommy told Joel. You smile and text him back. 

Thanks for taking care of us. She only had good things to say about you and Tommy. We'll have to all hang out again the next time she's home. 

And then.

Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it. 

Of course. I'm always a wreck when I have to drop Sarah off at the airport. I'm around if you wanna talk. Ellie's hanging out with some friends, and Tommy's on-site today.

You stare at the messages and debate your options. He basically just told you he's home alone and has nothing to do for the rest of the day. And yes, he is probably being sweet and really offering to talk if you're feeling lonely, but you also know how talking usually goes for you two. You smirk as you type out a message.

Just talk?

It seems like he can't type fast enough.

What else would you wanna do?

I think you made some promises you need to follow through on, Miller.

I guess I did. 

Come over and I can do just that.

Actually, I have some work to get done :( maybe next time?

You lock your phone and bound up to your apartment, conscious of the sudden lengthening of time between messages. It's fun to imagine him trying to come up with a response that respects your boundaries but also lets you know how needy he is. He may have started this little game, but you're gonna be the one to perfect it. Thus begins the days upon days of not sexting, but not not sexting. 

At first, it's just messages about how you miss him and wish he was around. He tries to find an excuse to come over, but you effectively cockblock him at every turn. Your response times get a little slower the more worked up he gets, so he has to figure it out on his own. You never would've thought Joel Miller, a man with gray in his beard and wrinkles lining his face, could be such a fast texter, but you figure there's nothing more desperate than a horny man. 

Messages quickly escalate to pictures. They start off innocent enough: a picture of the painting you're working on, but your bare legs give away the fact that you're not wearing pants, a picture of him stepping out of a hot shower, his bare chest slightly red and glistening from the water, a picture of you wearing the burnt orange shirt he sent you home in New Year's Day with no bra on underneath. Then, you get a little bolder. After a quick trip to the mall, you pose in front of the mirror in a short delicate white night down with pretty lace details on the top, the hem barely hitting the tops of your thighs and showing off the large tattoos hiding there. You look hot, and imagining Joel's reaction to you makes you flush and rub your thighs together to get some relief.

It's true that Joel would've been happy if you showed up to his house wearing (or not wearing) anything, but when the photo pings to his phone, he's never been more grateful for Victoria's Secret in his life. His breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly tucks his phone into his chest like someone is gonna come up behind him and see what he's looking at. He's barely glanced at the photo and he's already straining in his jeans. 

Goddamn, he texts back. You're so fucking pretty, baby.

You like it?

It's a dumb question, but you really don't care.

It's perfect.

What do you like about it?

Besides the fact that you're the one wearing it? I like that it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are, and I like that I can finally see those tattoos you've been hiding from me. 

Bingo, you think to yourself. He was able to catch glimpses of the large pieces hiding on your back and shoulders at the art gallery, and when he picked up on New Year's Eve, you caught him staring at them each time. You thought he was following the inky lines up your body, but you couldn't be sure. Now, he's giving himself away, and you're practically buzzing with excitement.

You turn around in the mirror and arch your back, perfectly showing off your ass and the intricate tattoo lining your spine, and snap a picture. It's one of the largest ones you have, and it's also the easiest to hide. Besides, you definitely didn't get it for your own enjoyment. You live for moments like this. You send him the picture and smile as you type.

Like this one?

Your phone rings not even two minutes after he reads the message. You giggle when he groans into the receiver instead of greeting you.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby." He says, his voice so deep you can practically feel it rumble against your ear.

"I told you I'd get you back." You say it like it's obvious, but he just hums. There's shuffling on his end, and all you can do is wait for him to say something else.

"What else have you been hidin' underneath all those little dresses, hm?" He asks. "Tattoos. The most fuckin' perfect tits I've ever seen. Anythin' else I should know bout? 'S your pussy as pretty as the rest of ya?" You didn't mean for him to hear you gasp, but he seemed pleased that he could pull such a sound from you without even being in the same room. Just like that, any doubt or reservation you had left flies out the window. You finally cave and slip your hand down your panties to glide your fingers through your folds. "Am I makin' you wet, sweetheart?"

"Fuck," you mumble. It's absurd how turned on you are by this whole thing. Your fingers slowly circle your clit, and your head gets so fuzzy you almost forget to respond to him. "Yes, Joel." 

"Are you playin' with yourself?" He asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Poor thing. I wish I could be there to help ya. I'd have you spread open for me so I can touch you however I want. Figure out what you like and what makes you cry for me." You put him on speaker and throw your phone down so you can focus on gliding through your wetness, your middle finger pushing into you slowly.

"What... what would you do?" You ask, breathless. 

"I'd start by usin' my fingers just to feel you out, and I bet you'd feel so fuckin' good. I'd play with your clit until you're beggin' me to put a finger inside you, and I'd slip two in slowly while kissin' your inner thighs and watchin' you squeeze my fingers," you moan as you listen to his raspy voice and fuck yourself to his words. You try to imagine what his fingers would feel like inside of you. How different compared to yours, how much better they'd feel. Goddammit. "Then, I'd use my mouth on you while my fingers move in and out. I'd lick you all over and feel you soakin' me when I suck on your clit." He says, and you return to rubbing said bundle of nerves, faster this time, as you become acutely aware of his labored breathing over the phone. 

Is he touching himself? The idea of him holding the phone with one hand and fisting his cock with the other sends a wave of heat down your spine, and you keen into your own hand. A shaky breath and muttered curse leave his lips, and then you know for sure what he's doing. Your head spins, and you'd be embarrassed by how close you are just from his voice if you weren't entirely focused on the pleasure clouding your brain. 

"Fuck, Joel-"

"I know, baby, I know," he coos sympathetically. Another lewd moan leaves you as you get closer and closer to the edge, stars threatening the corners of your vision. "Are you gonna come for me like this?" He asks, and you hum in the affirmative, not trusting yourself to form words. "Come on. Let me hear you. I wanna hear what you sound like when you fall apart." His voice is coming faster and breathier, a light growl at the end of his words. How are you to deny him that? 

The speed of your fingers on your clit increases, but it's his own broken whimpers that finally do it. Your back arches as the waves wash over you, and noises you didn't even know you could make escape your lips. You can vaguely hear a broken sigh accentuated by a particularly hot whine from Joel's end. Henry was never as vocal or talkative as Joel is. None of your past partners have been. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you have a quick passing thought that he might ruin dating for you. You might never want to see anyone else who doesn't treat you like this. You might be fucked.

"Joel," you say when you have control over your thoughts again. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck over here now."

Joel's house is on the other side of Austin. With traffic, getting to your apartment can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on how fast you're willing to go and how many red lights you can pass under. Joel gets there in fifteen. You're still in the flouncy dress you bought specifically to torture him, but by the time you open the door for him, you're much less interested in making his life any more miserable than you already have over the past week. 

He doesn't hesitate to charge into your apartment, grab your face, and kiss you like his life depends on it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open to him, clinging to him as his hands move from your face to the backs of your thighs to pick you up. You squeal in surprise and lock your legs around his waist to bring him closer and keep yourself from falling. Even though he obviously came over the phone at the same time you did, he's hard again and pressing against your bare pussy. He hisses when you grind against him, and his jaw clenches as he pulls away like he's in pain.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, wide eyes searching the hallway behind you.

"First door on the left." You say as you duck your head to kiss his neck. He sighs and indulges in the feeling of your tongue against his skin before he finally finds his feet and stumbles into your bedroom. You're halfway through marking him before he lays you down and immediately rucks his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and making you whine. 

"You okay?" He asks, stopping all movement to scan over your face for any signs of discomfort. You nod and reach for the buttons of his jeans.

"Yes. Just need you." You say. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Joel, I just came from the sound of your voice. Yes, I'm fucking sure." You say, a little frenzied as you pull at the hem of his shirt. He laughs as he pulls it over his head and quickly unzips his jeans. 

"Feisty." 

"Can you blame me?" You ask, and he shakes his head. He tugs his jeans and his briefs down at the same time and unveils all of him to you in one go. He's beautiful. You knew he would be, but seeing the graying chest hairs and the pretty happy trail leading down to his hard cock in between his strong, tan thighs is an entirely different thing. You reach for him, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands, but he stops you by slipping the tiny straps of your night gown down your arms. 

He carefully pulls the fabric down your body until it's pooled next to his clothes on the floor. His eyes fall to the black lines wrapping around your shoulders, and he draws his eyes to your collarbones and sternum, his breathing stuttering at the sight of you laid out under him. 

"So much prettier than I imagined." He murmurs as he ducks his head to kiss the valley between your breasts. You smile and run your hands through his curls as he mouths at your chest, leaving red marks in his wake and making you press him closer.

"How many times have you thought about this?" You ask. Has he always wanted you in the way you've wanted him? You're almost positive he has. There's no other way to explain the reverence with which he's looking at you. He's so wrapped up in you it's almost suffocating. Every time you glance at his face, he's staring at you with soft eyes and blown pupils. 

"Lost count." There it is. The confirmation. You grab at his ribs to bring him closer, pulling him over you to kiss him slow and deep. Despite the heat of him against you and the ache between your thighs, you both take the time to savor it. That is until his overthinking takes over. "I didn't bring a condom. Fuck, I was in a rush. I didn't think." He says quickly, like he's waiting for you to back out or push him away. You bring your thumb up to the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away, kissing his jaw.

"You think I would get you all worked up to not be prepared? C'mon, baby," you turn the nickname around on him, and he leans into your hand like a cat. "Top drawer." You say. He scrambles to your bedside table and grabs the first one he can find as you move onto all fours while he's distracted. You listen for the foil ripping and the subtle sound of the latex fitting over him. You can't stop the smirk from forming when he looks up and sees the sight in front of him.

"Fuckin' Hell," he mutters. Your back is arched perfectly, your hair gathered over your shoulder, and the tattoo you got done so many years ago is on display for him. "You are so goddamn perfect." He says as he presses his chest into your back and kisses your shoulder. He plants a few more kisses across your neck and back, making you wait longer than you already have, and just when you think you're going crazy, he slowly pushes into you and punches all the air from your lungs. 

He's big. Bigger than anyone you've been with before, and he seems to know that. He rolls his hips, and you moan, gripping at the sheets under you for stability as you adjust. His breathing is ragged behind you, and he groans when you involuntarily clench around him. "You okay?" He asks, his voice straining. His patience and self-control should be fucking studied. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." You assure him, and he nods. He starts to move slowly at first, but when you start whining and shaking under him, he snaps. You're both impatient. Months of following the rules and caring about what other people could think or say tumble out of your heads as he sets a rough pace. You've been dreaming about this and pushing it away since he walked into your classroom that day, and now that it's happening, you can't hide how desperate you are for him. You cry his name as he fucks into you deeply, no part of your bodies not touching, but it's still not close enough.

"You're so fuckin' good for me, baby. Jesus fuck," he moans into your ear, his uneven breaths echoing into your skull. "You feel so good." 

He sits back and brings you with him, changing the angle and forcing him deeper inside of you as his hand snakes around your waist and dips to play with your clit. You curse loudly and dig your nails into his forearm as bright pleasure courses through your veins. "'M gonna come if you keep doing that," you warn, your voice high and strained as he adds a little more pressure. 

"C'mon, honey, come on my cock for me. Please, I want it." It could be the slight whine in his voice or the fact that he's begging you for it, or the fact that the tight circles he's rubbing into your clit are making you see stars, but you come hard. You rely on him to hold you upright as he fucks you through your high, the slick between your thighs growing as his own orgasm washes over him, and he moans directly in your ear, an unexpected but not unpleasant gift. You think you could get off again just to the sounds he makes when he's coming. 

You stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other and breathing hard with him still inside you, before he finally finds the courage to slip out of you with only a tiny pained moan. He carefully guides you onto your back, your bones jelly, and kisses your cheek before he pads off to the bathroom to throw away the used condom. 

It's quiet again in the apartment, but it's not lonely anymore. He makes himself at home in your space, asking if he can get water and snacks from your kitchen and walking around naked as the day he was born. "I wanna make sure you've got enough energy for round two." He says, making you laugh.

"Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to take your time with me?" 

"Fuck yeah." He says, coming back to kiss your lips one more time before walking to the kitchen. It's like if he goes a few minutes without tasting you, he can't function, or at least, that's what he makes it seem like. You're more than receptive to the attention and can only watch as he walks around. Your trust in your legs is not strong enough to get up just yet. 

In the domestic silence, it would be easy for your mind to run rampant with rogue thoughts and anxieties, but when Joel returns to the bedroom with snacks, bottles of water, and those stupidly sweet eyes, they get pushed to the back burner. He gets under the covers and pulls you into him, his warm body grounding you to this moment and not letting your thoughts stray. He presses kisses to your hair and your face every so often as you talk about everything and nothing. 

Somehow, it feels natural, like you've been doing this the whole time or like everything was leading up to this. Maybe it was. Still, you'll need to talk about this. You know you will.

Just... not yet.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01

#hippies and cowboys #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller series #joel miller smut #tlou au #the last of us au #joel miller au #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel the last of us #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us

[emeline2020]

Everywhere, Everything - D.DIXON

DESC : You and Daryl, who have known each other since the start finally reunite in the Commonwealth after months apart.

CONTAINS : pure fluff, literally just fluf

SEASON 11

After months of what the Commonwealth soldiers called, ‘re-processing’ aka, tedious, unnecessary bullshit, you finally were given some hospitality in the town. An apartment of your own, which you hadn’t had at Hilltop. The privacy was a nice change, but right now you just really wanted to see your friends; your family.

You were informed slightly about all of the others from the Communites that had arrived before you. People that you had seen not that long ago at Hilltop, and some that you hadn’t seen in a little less than a year from Alexandria. A certain person in specific from Alexandria, that you missed horribly.

You settled your belongings in the small apartment, before heading down into the center of town. It was busy and bustling with all kinds of people. It reminded you so much of before the outbreak.

It took you embarrasingly long to realize it was Halloween day. Kids were running around, dressed up in little costumes carrying pumpkin heads or little bags filled with sweets and candy.

You continued walking around, taking in all of the little shops set up with games and things for the kids to enjoy. And that was when you spotted him. Daryl Dixon, swinging something on a string to your nephew, RJ.

You paused, staring as people moved around you, laughing and talking. He was smiling, laughing at the little boy in front of him.

The earth felt like it had stopped, because out of everyone you wanted to see, Daryl Dixon was at the top of your list. And now he was stood a little over 20 feet away.

You slowly approached him, a big grin on your face as you weaved through the crowds. RJ grinned as he saw you come closer, nodding to his uncle to turn around.

Daryl raised an eyebrow at his nephew, but turned and saw you stood in front of him. His eyes practically lit up, widening.

“Holy shit.” He murmured, leaning down slightly to quickly wrap his arms around your lower torso, lifting you up and pulling you into his body.

You giggled as your feet left the ground, smiling and wrapping your arms around his neck. You could feel the ends of his brown hair tickling your forearms. The feeling of his calloused hands wrapped around your lower back, one hand resting on each side of your hip sent butterflies to your stomache.

“Hi, Dixon.” You laughed over his shoulder. He spun you once, before carefully lowering you back onto your feet.

“Fuck, where’ve ya been? They didn’t hurt ya or nothin’, right?” He asked, his tone shifting from excitement to concern, as he released your waist and scanned your figure, his rough hands resting on the sides of your face and curving to fit on your jaw.

You laughed, your hands holding onto his wrists and giving them a gentle squeeze, “I’m good. Just got a bit caught in all that reprocessing shit.” You explain, nodding at him reassuringly.

He grinned at your response, nodding and pulling your head down and closer to place a kiss on the crown of your head. After he kissed your head, you just looked at each other for a few seconds, before RJ came running over, crashing into your ribs.

“Hey Junior. How ya been?” You smiled, sending Daryl a happy glance as you held your nephew.

“I’ve been okay.” He responded calmly, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he hugged you. He had gotten a lot taller since you last saw him.

“Okay?” You asked, raising an eyebrow with mock concern. RJ pulled away from you, nodding with another shrug, “Uncle Daryl’s not a good cook.” He explained. Daryl sent his nephew a look.

“Stop.” Daryl said to the boy, giving him a slight nudge. You snorted, smiling at the two.

“And he snores real loud.” RJ added on, Daryl made a humming noise, interrupting his nephew. Of course, you already knew Daryl snored from previous.. sleepovers with the man.

“Okay, ‘nough. Go play with Ezra.” Daryl said, pointing to Jerry’s band of kids jumping around on hay. Daryl give him a nudge in that direction. RJ turned, sticking his tongue at his uncle before heading over to join the other kids.

“Bad cook, huh?” You asked with a teasing tone, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow.

He scoffed, “Kids makin’ shit up.”

#Spotify #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon imagine #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader

[disenchantedif]

Oh my god, what if MC has issues regarding V-day because they and Luci used to do something really sappy and cute for it? So now seeing all the happy couples just makes them really upset/angry?

Lucien

You sigh, tossing your bag on the counter. Theo is still in class until this evening, so you have until then to stew. It’s stupid to hate Valentine’s Day so much, but you can’t help it. It a reminder of everything you once had, the life you lived before it all went to shit.

The last time you spent this day with anyone was Lucien. Lucien, who you had made homemade pizzas with and sat out on the balcony, watching the stars with only your shared body heat to keep you warm.

After you became Unchosen, after Lucien had left you, maybe you became a bit jaded toward the holiday. You once looked forward to it with sappy naïveté, and now you dreaded the memories it would dredge up.

Even now, with you and Lucien almost fully made up, you couldn’t stand seeing all the happy couples and hearts and love bullshit everywhere. It just…hurt. It hurt, and that made you angry.

Leaning on the counter, you contemplate ordering take out and just going straight to bed when there’s a knock on your door. It’s soft, hesitant, almost like the person on the other side kind of hopes you won’t come to the door.

You do, though. You pull it open and there stands the object of both your ire and yearning.

“Hey,” He says, sheepish, his wings twitching with his anxiety, “I wasn’t sure if I should come over…”

“You can come over whenever,” You say, your voice gentle despite your foul mood for the day.

After everything the both of you have been through, you don’t have it in yourself to cruel to him. Not even today, when the wound in your heart is raw and bleeding. You both have been hurt far too much, by one another and Lucien’s parents and far too many others to list.

You don’t want him to hurt anymore, not after you’ve seen the disastrous results. Besides, hurting him would only wound you more in the end. You learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I just…” Lucien shifts on his feet, pulling something out of his bag, “I know this is all still new, and I wasn’t sure if it would even be appreciated, but…here.”

It’s a canvas, you realize. He flips it over as he hands it to you, revealing a portrait of yourself done in watercolor. You’re smiling, a light flush of pink highlighting your cheeks, a golden yellow wash surrounding you as if he’d pictured you bathed in sunlight.

You take the painting with trembling hands, your wide eyes finding his.

“It’s not a lot,” He say softly, “But I…it’s my favorite painting I’ve done in a long time.”

It is a lot, though. It’s everything. You take a step inside to set the painting down gently on the counter before turning back to him. You take his hand and lead him inside, enthralled with the way he looks at you like you hung the stars in tonight’s sky.

“We can order pizza,” You suggest, closing the door behind him, “Watch a movie. I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“I don’t care if you use me as a pillow,” He says softly.

Four Valentine’s Days apart, wasted, and you probably should be angry about it. You were just moments ago. As you sit beside him on the couch, his curls tickling your neck as he rests his head atop yours, you find it hard to hold on to that anger. Perhaps you’d be happier if you let it go.

Dark brown eyes glance down at you, warm and utterly taken, and you decide that you’ll move on. For yourself, and for Lucien. It’s what the both of you deserve after so many years of suffering.

Lucia

You sigh, tossing your bag on the counter. Theo is still in class until this evening, so you have until then to stew. It's stupid to hate Valentine's Day so much, but you can't help it. It a reminder of everything you once had, the life you lived before it all went to shit.

The last time you spent this day with anyone was Lucia. Lucia, who you had made homemade pizzas with and sat out on the balcony, watching the stars with only your shared body heat to keep you warm.

After you became Unchosen, after Lucia had left you, maybe you became a bit jaded toward the holiday. You once looked forward to it with sappy naïveté, and now you dreaded the memories it would dredge up.

Even now, with you and Lucia almost fully made up, you couldn't stand seeing all the happy couples and hearts and love bullshit everywhere.

It just...hurt. It hurt, and that made you angry.

Leaning on the counter, you contemplate ordering take out and just going straight to bed when there's a knock on your door. It's soft, hesitant, almost like the person on the other side kind of hopes you won't come to the door.

You do, though. You pull it open and there stands the object of both your ire and yearning.

“Hey,” She says, sheepish, her wings twitching with her anxiety, “I wasn't sure if I should come over.”

“You can come over whenever,” You say, your voice gentle despite your foul mood for the day.

After everything the both of you have been through, you don't have it in yourself to cruel to her. Not even today, when the wound in your heart is raw and bleeding. You both have been hurt far too much, by one another and Lucia’s parents and far too many others to list.

You don't want her to hurt anymore, not after you've seen the disastrous results. Besides, hurting her would only wound you more in the end. You learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I just…” Lucia shifts on her feet, pulling something out of her bag, “I know this is all still new, and I wasn't sure if it would even be appreciated, but…here.”

It's a canvas, you realize. She flips it over as she hands it to you, revealing a portrait of yourself done in watercolor. You're smiling, a light flush of pink highlighting your cheeks, a golden yellow wash surrounding you as if she'd pictured you bathed in sunlight.

You take the painting with trembling hands, your wide eyes finding hers.

“It's not a lot,” She say softly, “But I...it's my favorite painting l've done in a long time.”

It is a lot, though. It's everything. You take a step inside to set the painting down gently on the counter before turning back to her. You take her hand and lead her inside, enthralled with the way she looks at you like you hung the stars in tonight's sky.

“We can order pizza" You suggest, closing the door behind her, "Watch a movie. l'll probably fall asleep.”

“| don't care if you use me as a pillow,” She says softly.

Four Valentine's Days apart, wasted, and you probably should be angry about it. You were just moments ago. As you sit beside her on the couch, her curls tickling your neck as she rests her head atop yours, you find it hard to hold on to that anger. Perhaps you'd be happier if you let it go.

Dark brown eyes glance down at you, warm and utterly taken, and you decide that you'll move on. For yourself, and for Lucia. It's what the both of you deserve after so many years of suffering.

#answered asks #luci rivera #short story

[theemporium]

Oh, please write for Mat! What about something fluffy with surprising the partner at home?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You were dragging your feet by the time you reached your apartment after work.

The exhaustion you felt went beyond lack of sleep and long days, it was set deep in your bones and made every part of your body feel ten times heavier than usual. Everything felt harder than usual. From falling asleep at night to getting up in the morning, from focusing in classes to paying attention during your shifts, from just pushing your body to work on some twisted sense of routine that made you feel like you were a robot completing tasks to the fact you hadn’t felt like yourself in a while.

It was tiring, it was exhausting and you didn’t know what to do about it. And coming home to a completely empty apartment didn’t help settle the unease in your chest, the one that had been bubbling since Mat left for a roadie over a week ago. 

However, being on the other side of the country only put a damper on your already shitty mood. By the time you could manage a conversation over message or call, it was late for you and you were fighting to keep your eyes open, even if you knew you would inevitably be tossing in your bed for a few hours trying to fall asleep. Though, you never did sleep well when Mat was gone.

Despite every cell in your body screaming for you to forget dinner and curl up in bed with the hopes that you could manage more than a few hours of sleep for your first day off in almost two weeks, you knew there was still so much buzzing in your mind for you to do and you didn’t even think the comfort of being home would help. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that it took three attempts before you managed to slot the key into the lock, turn the handle and shuffle inside. You hadn’t even acknowledged the extra pair of shoes by the door or noted the bag dumped a few feet away. 

You didn’t even catch on to any of it until you lifted your head and found Mat standing there, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and hoodie, with his arms spread open and a massive grin on his face as he stared right back at you. 

“Surprise!”

You blinked, your brain unable to even process the sight in front of you.

“We decided to take a late night flight because the early morning one got cancelled so we came home early,” Mat explained as he closed the distance between you, grinning at your silence thinking you were just shocked. “Couldn’t wait to get home to my girl.”

The second he was close enough, Mat wasted no time in winding his arms around your waist and tugging you close until you practically fell into his chest. He grinned down at you, so giddy and happy to just be back home with you that it took a few seconds before he noticed your silence, before he noticed the dark circles under your eyes and the glaze over your eyes like you weren’t fully focused, like you were disassociating. 

“Oh baby,” he murmured, his voice softer and quieter as he raised his hand to gently cup your face, to let his thumb brush over the apple of your cheek as your body instinctively sagged against his touch. 

“M’just a little tired,” you tried to wave him off, but this was Mat. This was Mat who wasn’t just your boyfriend but your best friend, the one who saw right through your bullshit and bad excuses. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his lips twitching upwards before he leaned down to place a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “And I’m glad I’m home too, can take care of my girl like she deserves.”

You sighed. “Mat—”

“Let me take care of you, baby,” he whispered, a glint in his eyes that made your heart race in your chest. “Please.”

“Just hold me.” You hated the way your voice cracked as you spoke. “I just really missed being in your arms.”

His grip on you instantly tightened as he brought you closer, as he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you close until your cheek was pressed against his chest, the smell of his hoodie so comforting and so him. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“Always,” he answered as he pressed another kiss along your hairline. “How about ordering from that Thai place you like?”

“I thought you hated it,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I like some of it,” he argued weakly but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Tonight is your choice. Tomorrow we can order something obscene I like that will make the trainers cry.”

You laughed lightly, and the sound made his grin widened. “Deal.”

“Good, now go get changed into something comfy,” Mat murmured as he pulled you away from his chest, lightly pushing you in the direction of your shared bedroom. “M’gonna put on that show you like.”

“And you won’t get offended when I ogle Damon Salvatore?” You questioned, mostly teasing as you took a few steps backwards.

Mat rolled his eyes, but still smiled as he placed his hand over his heart. “Scout’s promise, baby.” He paused for a moment. “Even if I’m much hotter than him.”

“No doubt about it, baby.”

.

#mat barzal #nhl #new york islanders #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal x y/n #mat barzal fic #mat barzal one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

[strawberrysturniolo]

never grow up part nine

summary: after the same back and forth for six months, sunny finally decides its enough, until she's given the same hopeful moment again

part eight

Chris and I will never see a day where we aren’t best friends. No matter what our relationship or our friendship levels out as, I know he would take a bullet for me, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t look for him first in a crowded room. 

Of all the people I meet in my life, it all goes back to him. Every friend I make, every boy I meet, every person I try to love, they will never be him. It’s not even comparable. It will never be a fair battle. It will always be him. 

The last six months have been eventful to say the least. 

I turned 22. I celebrated in Boston. Chris wasn’t there. Said something about wanting to come and making an effort to fly back out. Last minute he said he couldn’t because he had to work. I said whatever, got mad for a bit, then got over it and got drunk with my friends. 

I drunk called him, weeping some bullshit about how my birthday is never the same when he isn’t with me. Cried over how badly I wished he would move back home. He may have cried a little too, but I was too drunk to notice anything other than the pain in my chest from him being gone and the nausea coursing through my body as I held back every gag.

He apologized profusely, promising that he would make it up to me. The same broken promise I’ve lived with for three years now. 

I shouted at him and told him to stop lying to me. He insisted that he was being honest. He promised that things would be different. They never were. 

I slept with someone else. Had a short fling with someone that I thought could pull me out of the rut I was in, only to realize it was making me feel worse. Every time we fucked I imagined it was Chris. I then felt like shit because I knew it wasn’t fair to either of them, nor was it fair to me. I couldn’t move on. I was stuck on someone who couldn’t make up his mind. 

Chris kept promising that we would end up together. Maybe he was right. I was getting too dizzy and exhausted going around in that whirlwind to even let myself be optimistic about our future. 

I can’t keep waiting. I know he’s what I want, but I can’t put my life on hold for someone who isn’t sure of me. 

So, I called it quits. Told him straight up, I can’t do it anymore. No more back and forth. We go back to being friends and only friends. I cut the ties that he had knotted between us, forcing us to stay attached no matter how hard we pulled. I always fell to my feet and he dragged me through the fucking dirt and I got up, dusted my pants, and let him do it over again. I took the sharpest scissors I could find and cut it in half, sawed at it until my hands bled, and watched him walk away and leave me behind, because finally, I wasn’t attached anymore. 

I’ve managed to be okay with calling him my best friend with no underlying meaning. I’ve buried that higher level of us so low in myself that I can look at him across the country and feel nothing but friendship. I like it that way. 

I’m graduating today. 

Four years of college, stress, and long nights are over.

I let my mom curl my hair, let her pamper me and make me feel like a kid again before it all flies out the window. She puts gentle braids in my hair and curls the strands that fall down my back. She tells me to pucker my lips, and she swipes lipstick over them, making me feel like a little girl playing in her moms makeup again. 

“How excited are you for today?” she asked me with a smile.

I smack my lips together, coating the lipstick over every inch. “More nervous than anything. It’s awkward. I just want to get it over with.”

She frowns at me. “You’ll remember this day forever, I know it,” she promises, and I let her think she’s right. 

My mom and dad drove me to my school for graduation. I had one other ticket available, which I extended to Mary Lou, hoping she would make it. I grew up with her like a second mom to me, or maybe an aunt considering how close she is to my mother. Either way, she’s family. Always will be no matter how stupid her son can be at times. 

When I sat in a folded chair in the middle of an auditorium and waited for us to line up, I turned around and found an empty seat next to my parents. 

I for sure thought she would be here. She never missed an event for me. She was there for every sporting event, every birthday party growing up, everything. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like that. 

It was empty when I crossed that stage, and it was empty when I sat back down. 

I don’t know why it hurt so bad. Maybe she had something come up. Maybe she got stuck in traffic. 

All I knew is that I wanted at least one Sturniolo there. And I kept getting let down. 

The long day had finally come to an end, and I searched for my parents in the cattle of students and families trying to find each other after the ceremony. 

“At least one of us graduated.”

My feet halted. I froze, not even able to bring myself to turn around and search for the voice that I knew all too well.

“Do you think you could copy that paper?” he asked next. I turned around, and the first thing he did was take the book from my hands. He opened it up and inspected my diploma inside. “My mom would love to have this on her fridge. Oh! By the way. She couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous, like he wasn’t real.

He grinned at me, the same cheesy, childish, and adorable grin I’ve watched remain the same while the rest of his face aged as we grew older. 

“Give me a hug, Sunny,” he sighed. “I just flew the whole day away to be here. Think you can crack my back too? It’s killing me.”

My first instinct was to punch his shoulder, playfully of course. He let out a fake wince before grabbing my arm and pulling me into him.

My head nuzzled into his neck out of instinct. That spot was made for me.

“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out.

He laughed. “What a dumb question. I’m here for you, you goof. You thought I’d miss this?”

I pulled back, looking at him closely, like he was something from a dream. He straightened the cap on my head like he found all of this entertaining. “You weren’t here during the ceremony. I looked for your mom, and the seat was empty.”

“I got here on time. I promise,” he assured me. “I waited up top so you wouldn’t see me until now, but trust me, I got here and saw everything. I have pictures and videos to prove it.”

He pulled his phone out and swiped through his camera roll, which were screenshots of me walking across the stage while the rest of his family watched through FaceTime, cheering me on from home. 

My eyes welled up, unsure of my emotions at the moment. All I knew was I was feeling something, and crying seemed like the only logical answer.

He held my chin and pulled me to look at him, wiping my tears once my gaze settled on him. 

“I came, Sunshine,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re my number one girl, always.”

My lip trembled at his promise, seeing that he kept it. He shook his head at me, silently telling me to stop it, that him being here wasn’t supposed to make me upset. He wrapped an arm around me and led me to my parents instead, letting me stand awkwardly in photos with the three of them as they gushed and let out their excitement for me.

We all went to lunch after, nothing fancy, but we were together, and that was enough. 

Chris came back to my apartment with me, which was now boxed up as our lease was coming to an end. I managed to find somewhere for us to sit comfortably in the clutter and eat our leftovers for dinner in my home. 

We talked about the last six months – our lives, things we’ve done, what we missed out on.  

“Did I surprise you?” he smiled. 

I nodded. “Yeah, especially since I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

He sighed. “I’m trying, I really am.”

I shrugged, tired of this already. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t,” he insisted. He grabbed my thighs and turned me towards him, and I hate the way my body sparked when his hands were on me again. “I love you, no matter what, you know this. Stop making me feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

I don’t respond.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, now worried. His face softened enough to prove that. 

“You know I do,” I mumbled. “Stop making me say it. It upsets me. It hurts, actually.”

“Well it hurts me that you don’t want to say it to me, because I would do anything to make you know I love you.”

Something in me snaps, because his answer isn’t fully true, and we both know that. 

“Then maybe that’s all we know how to do,” I throw at him. “We hurt each other but promise to be with each other somehow for the rest of our lives. And you know what, Chris? I know for a fact I’ll be at your wedding, but the idea of being there in any other dress other than the white one I’ve had picked out since I was twelve keeps me up at night. And the idea of walking down the aisle and not being the one makes you cry makes me fucking vomit. So please, for me, make up your fucking mind. Stop playing these games with me.”

He kisses me after that, and I want to push him off, but my body has a natural reaction to him.

My hands find his cheeks and I pull him closer. My fingers eventually thread through his hair and pull on him until my back is pressed to the tile of the kitchen floor and his hands are on my waist, but we know it can’t go further because there’s nothing sexy about us fucking on my floor with boxes surrounding us. 

He pulls back, catches his breath, and says, “No more games.”

I believe him, and I regret how quickly I do. “No more?”

“No more,” he repeats. “You and me. That’s all that matters.” 

tag list: @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @sturnslcver @gamermattsgf @freshluv @flowerxbunnie @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @lacysturniolo @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @christinarowie332 @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @nicksbf @n6ptunova @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mangoposts @mattitties

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #Spotify

[colormepurplex2]

In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here

↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 13,558 ⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.

To the love of my life, For after the funeral Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.

So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings: Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer.  I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you. Love forever, Your Yejun

The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.

“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

💔💔💔

Two years later

“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.

You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.

“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.

Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”

“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”

In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.

Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”

If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.

“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”

“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”

It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat. 

The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.

It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.

“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.

It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.

Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.

The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”

Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.

Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.

You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.

It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head. 

After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.

The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.

The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.

Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.

But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.

You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.

The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.

A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.

“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.

“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.

“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.

She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.

“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”

Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.

“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.

Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.

She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.

You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.

“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.”

You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”

Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.

The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”

You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.

His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”

Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.

“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.

“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”

You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.

💔💔💔

The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.

As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.

You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.

“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.

“Good evening. Drive okay?”

You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”

“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”

His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.

You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.

“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.

“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”

You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive. He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.

As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.

That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.

“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.

The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.

“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun��s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.

The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.

Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.

“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.

Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.

Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.

Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.

Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.

Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.

In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.

Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.

“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.

Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.

Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.

You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.

“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.

“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.

Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.

He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.

Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.

“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.

“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.

“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”

“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.

“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”

“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.

Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.

You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.

💔💔💔

To the love of my life,   For if you haven’t moved on Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live. Love forever, Your Yejun

The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?

You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.

Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.

You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”

Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.

You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.

Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.

His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.

“I can’t do it,” you mumble.

“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”

A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.

“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”

Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.

But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.

The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.

With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.

There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.

The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.

It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.

Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.

This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.

There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.

Where do you begin?

You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.

With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.

As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.

“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”

“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.

She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.

“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.

Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.

Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science. 

The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.

“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”

Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.

“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.

Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.

Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”

A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”

“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”

Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.

“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”

The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”

Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.

“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”

Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”

That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.

“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.

“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”

“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.

“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”

“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.

“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.

“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.

You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”

“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”

“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”

Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”

“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”

All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.

“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”

Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.

A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.

Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.

He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?

They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.

He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.

The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.

That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.

A letter perhaps??

Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.

Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.

There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.

His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.

I’m home.

That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.

Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.

Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.

Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.

Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.

Please.

💔💔💔

As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.

But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.

You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”

“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.

“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was a fucking disaster.”

If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”

“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.

So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.

“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”

“Well, maybe he really—”

“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”

That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”

“I’m broken, defective.”

Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”

You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.

“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”

The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”

And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”

You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.

You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.

Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.

It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.

Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.

To the love of my life,             For after your first date Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly. I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much. Forever With You, Your Yejun

Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.

“You okay?”

You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.

“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.

“Hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”

“With whatever comes next.”

“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist  

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2

#taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #kim taehyung #bts non idol au #bts imagines #bangtanwhq

[creative-crybaby]

A Show of Gratitude

PAIRING: timeskip!Miya Osamu x fem!reader

GENRE: wee bit of angst/comfort | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: nipple play, light manhandling, masturbation (m and f), fingering, oral (f receiving), cum eating, praise kink, size kink (kind of)

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

SUMMARY: As a thank you for shining a spotlight on Onigiri Miya, Osamu invites you over for dinner (and dessert). All characters are 18+

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Osamu raises a brow at you, though more out of amusement than cynicism. It suits him even, the somewhat teasing lift complimenting the blank expression he usually carries. His lips form a subtle pout—it’s cute, you think. It sends heat to your face, and you clear your throat before smoothing down your skirt. Who knew someone with a large build and resting neutral face could juxtapose all of that with a miniature shift in expression—

It’s been quiet for too long, you realize. 

“I’ve only tried a handful of things on your menu,” you begin with a stammer, “but I still plan on trying some of the other stuff to add some suggestions for the readers. Plus, if you don’t mind, I could interview you. I’m sure you’re busy with getting everything in line, so whenever works for you works for me. You’ve only recently opened up your shop, so I’m sure me writing a piece on it could gain some attention, and—”

“Sure,” Osamu says, adjusting his cap. Your mouth snaps shut, the warmth returning, setting fire to your face as you wish nothing more than for the ceiling to crash down on you. “I already figured it’d help the shop, but I’m not too sure when I’ll be available for an interview.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and holds it toward you. “If yer fine with giving me yer number, I can message ya when I’m free.”

Your focus seems to care more about his Kansai dialect than his words, and you blink that pulling magnet away.

“Right, yes,” you reply as you hastily take his phone and add your number to his contacts. Your hands find each other as soon as you return the device to the handsome shop owner, twiddling thumbs dancing an anxiety-induced tango. 

“Great,” Osamu nods curtly. It doesn’t help when he glances down at his screen, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. His hooded eyes meeting yours seem to glue your feet to the ground as your knees threaten to buckle. “Ya should hear from me soon. Thanks, (L/N).”

With a mix between a nod and a bow, you leave in a hurry, teeth digging into your bottom lip to block the embarrassed squeal trying to come out. 

Most would know to introduce themselves first, regardless of their profession (or lack thereof). You know this. You have done so before. But not every potential interviewee you’ve met has broad shoulders to dig your nails into or large biceps that you wouldn’t mind holding you in a chokehold or pecs that could replace both of your pillows or a slutty little waist—

Professional, you call yourself. Bullshit.

But it’s a little too late to go back and delete your contact information from his phone. Your blog, a little something you do on the side, consists of new spots in your area you’d recommend your viewers to check out. Onigiri Miya opened not that long ago, and after finishing your umeboshi (and then ordering the tenmusu, katsuobushi, tarako—you get it), your stomach achingly sent your brain the message that the shop needed more recognition. 

You only caught sight of him after you asked one of the very few employees to fetch you the owner. Tired of making you more food than your wallet would appreciate, they offered a nod before heading to the back and returning with a towering figure dressed in all black, the uniform tee doing its best to remain in one piece as it hugs his body.

You didn’t notice the rice grains stuck to your cheek until he casually pointed it out. The exchange between you two after that involved more ogling than conversing on your end. And you didn’t give him your name until he gave you his phone. 

Dumbass.

All of this replays in your head as you attempt to come up with questions for him. And if you manage to shake the embarrassment away, you wonder if you’ll be able to avoid making a fool out of yourself when you interview him. 

Your eyes trail down to your phone on your desk. You could apologize for your behaviour, telling the ravenette something about having a lot on your plate that wasn’t his food. Maybe you should make up some excuse to back out before leaving the country with a completely new identity. 

These anxieties disappear like a popped bubble when the soft vibrating of your phone interrupts your spiralling thoughts. Fumbling to grab the device, you turn it on to see you’ve gotten a text from an unknown number.

Unknown until the message lets you know it’s the handsome shop owner from earlier that day (not verbatim, of course). With your heart in your stomach and throat at once, your thumbs do a jig above the keypad as you try to come up with an answer. You didn’t have to, at least not yet, as the ellipses appear on his end, and he gives you a time and day to interview him. 

After agreeing with him (and using too many exclamation points), you exchange your goodbyes. 

Those interview questions can wait: you need to scream into the void. A pillow will do, you suppose.

“For the love of God, do not make a fool out of yourself.”

You stand before Onigiri Miya’s entrance, muttering and clutching your notepad for dear life. Convincing yourself that being several minutes early was necessary resulted in you showing up about half an hour before the planned meetup. Waiting outside with your eyes glued to what’s visible of its interior makes you feel like a stalker. Truth be told, you want to see him again, catch his accent again, taste his food again, have his eyes bore into your nervous frame again—

“Yer early.”

A shriek almost escapes your throat at the voice, and your head snaps to follow the familiar sound. Osamu pokes his top half from around the shop's corner, lips pursed and brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“Ah, Miya!” You stammer, straightening your posture and adjusting your notepad. “Hi! I–uh, I know I’m sort of early. I guess I thought I’d take more time getting ready this morning than I actually did.”

The smile you offer him is supposed to be an easy-going one. Though, it’s difficult being convincing when your bottom lip occasionally wobbles and the corners of your mouth twitch at every pause. Some excuse, really: he probably doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you. 

Regardless, he nods. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. I was just takin’ care of some stuff out back. Feel free to come in. Might as well start early, if yer fine with it.”

You mumble a soft verbal agreement, too afraid your voice will betray you should you say anything more. Osamu approaches the entrance to his shop, waiting for you to enter first. With a deep breath, you do so, the owner following you soon after. 

It seems that the gods were on your side, even if momentarily. The interview went as well as any other one, with the exception of your not-so-subtle ogling. He’d tell you about his love for food and how he realized his passion for it over volleyball, as well as his relationship with his twin. Every bit of information you’d get, you’d fit perfectly into a mental draft, ready to type it all once you got home. Even so, your genuine curiosity didn’t shy away as he shared his story, admiring his dedication and pleased to hear about the support he received. 

When everything is finished, you exchange your thanks and let him know when the piece should be ready. 

“Feel free to message me if you have any questions,” you tell him as you both make your way to the exit. 

Osamu nods, offering you a half-smile that’s still enough to fluster you. “Will do. Thanks again, this could really help ma shop.”

You returning his expression with an even wider grin is only natural with the flattery he throws your way. While one of your hands subconsciously picks at the strap of your bag, the other waves him off. “Well, let me publish the piece before you go saying all of that.”

“Nah,” he hums, adjusting his cap. “I read some of yer work to see what I was gettin’ m’self into. Yer gonna do this place proud, no doubt.”

Your shoes become your source of interest. You can’t let the ravenette see how his words affect you: not unless you want the poor man to call the ambulance. Two sentences had your heart trying desperately to claw its way out of your chest, pounding in your ears and face melting from the heat. 

Still, when you straighten your back and look at him, you give him a smile and a nod. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Oh, look at that: you’re getting better at this. 

Osamu copies your actions. “Yer blog just got a new fan. Keep up the good work.”

Nevermind. You need to leave. Like, now.

The next time you show up to Onigiri Miya is about a week after you publish your piece on it. 

After doing everything in your power to not embarrass yourself, you found the writing process to be the easiest part of the entire process. Not only because you had more than enough information at your disposal, but you also got to isolate yourself in your apartment, free from distractions and attractive shop owners. Being honest about the well-prepared food and best recommendation depending on one’s tastes came easy when you tried a good portion of the menu; of course, you would do the place justice. (And, of course, you made sure you weren’t kissing too much ass in your piece during your editing process.)

Despite the shop being far busier than when you first arrived, your eye catches its owner before anything else. Behind the counter, Osamu sports Onigiri Miya’s uniform as he prepares an order, large hands moulding rice into a triangular shape with precision that shows his experience. It’s a silly detail to catch, but after the interview (and the countless ones before that), you know better than to dismiss their work as “just food.”

Your feet carry you to where the ravenette works his magic, and you’re about halfway there when he notices you. 

“Ah, (L/N),” he greets, offering a half-smile as you settle onto a stool. 

“You seem busy,” you quip lightly, trying to return his energy. At the very least, you deserve points for eye contact and not letting your voice waver. 

Osamu’s smile morphs into a smirk as he momentarily looks away to wrap the nori around the neatly-shaped rice ball. “All thanks t’ya.”

His words have you taking in your surroundings, barely having done so when you entered the shop. It’s more or less packed, for sure, the stool you’re sitting on being one of, if not the only vacant spot for you to take. A variety of customers flood the interior, with some more peeking in from the outside: a group of high school girls seated in the corner, giggling about god knows what, a mother and her son sitting only a few seats away from your spot, a few men in suits sitting by the windows seemingly gaining energy from their food. Not a lot of people you would assume to read your blog, though you wouldn’t exactly say you had a target audience in mind based on age or gender. Regardless, the compliment feels far-fetched, somewhat undeserving. 

You turn back to face him. “You’re too nice.”

“I dis’gree,” he counters nonchalantly. “I read yer work. You did this place proud.”

Heat returns to your face; if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were getting sick. 

“My blog is just a little something I do on the side for fun,” you explain. “It’s not famous or anything. Besides, you’re the one making the food here. Give yourself some credit.”

Osamu finishes the last rice ball before placing it on a rectangular plate, and an employee–a new one, you presume–takes it to bring it to a young couple sitting near the entrance. 

“I do make some pretty good food,” he muses, removing his cap to wipe his forehead with his forearm.

“That’s what I’m saying,” you chuckle. “If I’m not careful, my diet might solely consist of your onigiri.”

The ravenette huffs a laugh, wiping his hands with the white cloth on his shoulder before resting his arms on the counter and leaning closer to you. “I’m not just talking about rice balls.”

An innocent correction, really. But with the small distance between you two and how his voice dropped an octave, your palms growing clammy as you gulp deeply is beyond your control. 

Your fingers instinctively return to fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you attempt to find your composure. “I don’t doubt it.”

The former wing spiker pulls away with a satisfied smirk. “Great. I’ll cook for ya.”

You blink in confusion, brows slightly furrowed. “Huh?”

“Consider it a thanks for writin’ about ma shop,” Osamu explains as he gets back to working on another order. “Lemme make ya a nice meal. Not sure when it won’t be busy in the upcomin’ week, but I’ll let ya know and plan ahead.”

You don’t fully process his offer until he draws his attention to a customer. The scream that threatens to explode from your throat gets swallowed in time before you make a fool of yourself. He’s just returning the favour… to your favour… which isn’t how it works, but you’re certain he’s just being friendly. He loves food, and from what he’s seen from your blog, he knows you’re in the same boat as him. And with the soft yet genuine smile he gives to each customer he greets as they enter or as he prepares their orders, it’s tough to convince yourself his offer is anything more than one out of kindness. A tad disappointing, but it should ease your nerves for when the time comes. 

“All right,” you grin shyly. “I’ll take you up for it.”

Osamu pauses from wrapping the rice around the pickled plums to face you. He beams, quickly finishing his current rice ball to place away before returning to you. 

“Perfect,” he almost chirps before checking on the rice cooker next to him. “How ‘bout I make ya somethin now? Ya liked the tenmusu best, yeah?” Surprised he remembered your favourite, probably from your blog, you nod bashfully. “Great, it’s on the house.”

He winks at you before drawing his focus to your order. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees would’ve failed you.

Oh, you think, subconsciously smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’re doing this. 

Indeed, you are. And you showed up at a reasonable time (by that, you actually got there early and decided to drive around the neighbourhood for a bit until it was appropriate to park and enter the apartment complex). 

It took a few days before Osamu finally texted you, letting you know when he’d be able to close up shop early to have you over. Since then, you’d keep your phone on you or nearby more often than usual, every single notification catching your attention. You almost don’t care how quickly you responded, letting him know the time and day would work for you without even checking your own schedule to confirm. (You did so afterwards: you’re good, honey.)

Getting ready seemed to surpass all that on an anxiety-inducing level, you’re pretty sure. Dinner at his place sounds like a date, yes. But he never said it was a date. You can only interpret so many social cues, and trying to recall his body language and tone as you raid your closet for something appropriate to wear does no good to your sanity. You settled for a floral summer dress in the end; not the best for the nearing autumn weather, though it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix. Words of encouragement don’t do much convincing on your end as you do your makeup and assure your reflection that it’s not too much, but it gives you something to focus on. 

Those same words of encouragement, while they do make you knock on his apartment door, don’t fill the action with the enthusiasm you desperately need. Though, before you can redo it for something louder, the door opens, and there stands Osamu at his entrance. 

“Hey,” he greets, a subtle upbeat in his tone. You’re not used to seeing him out of his uniform: the simple baby-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves and black slacks combo on him does a number on you. Not a complete 180; he still appears in his element regarding comfort and accessibility for cooking. It doesn’t hurt that it hugs his torso and arms deliciously. And without his cap, you get a clearer view of his face. A full head of dark hair swept to his left, and his eyes, while a greyish colour, still carry an enticing glimmer you struggle to look away from. “Yer just in time. Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

Osamu moves aside to let you in. His home seems cozy, you think upon entering. Maybe less clean and more empty; a couple of couches and a coffee table with nothing but a tissue box on it, plus a dining table with four chairs. The kitchen seems to have most of the attention, not that it surprises you. It all makes sense for someone living by himself. He probably lives at his shop, you figure. This place is just a backup.

You thank him when he offers to take your jacket after you remove your heels.

“Ya look lovely, by the way.” His tone remains its usual steady tone, and you almost think he’s telling you what’s on TV. He’s glancing over his shoulder and placing your jacket in his closet as he tells you this, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and adding sincerity to his otherwise flat manner. 

“Oh,” your eyes struggle to meet his in fear of showing how much his words affected you. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

You don’t get to scold yourself for sounding ridiculous because Osamu tells you to follow him to sit at the table. A deep breath: calm down, enjoy yourself, don’t stare at his ass–not even a glance, damn it!–and follow him.

The table seems mostly ready, with dishes splayed across it carrying a variety of fresh food. A traditional Japanese dinner: nothing fancy, though with the intimacy of having dinner with a handsome acquaintance (client? Either way, handsome), you’re not complaining. 

“Hope this is all right with ya,” Osamu says from the kitchen. “Wanted to surprise ya with something ya’d like, but from yer writings, ya don’t seem like much of a picky eater.”

You shake your head, only to stop when you remember his back is to you. “It looks great, really. If it’s you making it, I’ll gladly eat all of it.”

He turns around with the last couple of dishes in his hands, a smile plastered on his face. 

“Means a lot t’hear that,” he hums, placing the teriyaki salmon with the rest of the bowls. Once he’s settled in his spot, you both give your thanks for the meal and dig in. You don’t hesitate to grab whatever your chopsticks soar towards, from the goma-ae to a generous chunk of salmon. Only when your mouth is full do you remember you aren’t alone, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet a grey pair. Osamu’s in no better condition than you, his bowl of rice half done with a couple of drops of soy sauce stuck near the corner of his lips. Even with his natural resting face, the stark contrast between his cheeks full of food with the hint of amusement in his gaze is nothing short of adorable. “Keep eatin’ like that an’ yer gonna choke.”

You swallow in one large gulp, much to your esophagus’ dismay. “Not my fault you make good food.”

Osamu chuckles. “Gonna add my home cooking to yer blog?”

You immediately shake your head. “I’m keeping this for myself, thank you.”

“Oh, so you want me to make you food more often?”

Your eyes gradually widen at his words, your hand mindlessly twiddling with your chopsticks. Your gaze switches from the dishes on the table to your date, who doesn’t keep his eyes off you as he continues eating his food. Even with his cheeks stuffed with food, he sports a smirk, one you don’t miss. 

You clear your throat before offering a nervous laugh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

He swallows down his bite. “So, no dessert afterwards, then?”

“I never said that,” you pout. “You’re enjoying teasing me a little too much, Miya.”

“Osamu.”

You stop yourself from bringing your glass to your lips, giving him a puzzled expression. “Hm?”

“I invited ya to ma home for dinner,” he states in between a large bite of the salmon. “No need ta be so formal with me.”

Several moments of silence are followed by you sounding out each syllable of his name to yourself. You suppose he makes a good point, though the intimacy that replaces the formality makes you fidget in your seat. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t comment. 

You meet his gaze. “You do the same for me, then.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

A natural conversation flows from thereon, from you explaining how your blog came to be to him sharing embarrassing stories about his twin. Even with each tale carrying a complaint about his brother’s behaviour, you don’t miss the fondness in the ravenette’s tone as he recalls the memories. He’s seemingly the calmer one of the two, yet he doesn’t fail to make you giggle at the expense of his counterpart. (“Don’t worry, ya can laugh,” he tells you when he catches you biting your lip.) The laughter soon evolves to commentary and jokes and entertaining stories of your own, and you don’t even realize how much more relaxed you are until you’ve both finished everything from your bowls. 

You exhale in satisfaction, placing a hand on your belly. “If I were rich, I’d hire you as my personal chef.”

Osamu smiles, picking up some of the bowls and motioning for you to sit back down when you move to follow his actions. “I’d gladly take the job.”

You feel guilty as you watch him move back and forth to clean up, but with every shake of his head, you find yourself obeying and keeping yourself glued to your chair.

“Because I’m your favourite customer, right?” you quip as a distraction. 

“That,” he takes both your cups, “and ‘cause ya’d be rich.”

Your date peeks over his shoulder to find you fidgeting with your fingers under the table. He hears you nervously chuckle when he returns to focus on cleaning the dishes. 

“So, does your brother know you use him to impress your dates?” The inquiry was more of a joke than anything else, but Osamu catches a detail you don’t seem to realize you added. 

“We’re on a date now, are we?” he muses.

Silence; it puts a smirk on his face. Seeing your reaction is more than tempting, but so is dragging out the tension. The former wing spiker doesn’t remember the last time he enjoyed teasing someone like this (aside from his brother, but that’s more taunting than anything else).

He only glances over his shoulder once more when he hears you pull your chair back. You stand next to the table, seemingly wondering if you should approach him or not. Osamu has to hold back his grin. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you state, glad your voice doesn’t wobble. 

“Ya didn’t answer mine,” he counters not a moment later, though the humour in his tone is evident enough. Your date turns off the faucet before removing the rubber gloves from his hands, plopping them onto the kitchen counter before striding towards you. He catches you clench your jaw, but you don’t budge. “Got a pretty sharp tongue on ya for someone so nervous not that long ago.”

You subconsciously straighten your posture as you inhale sharply. “Not gonna finish cleaning up? You were pretty insistent on taking care of things by yourself.”

He stops a foot away from you. “Nothing I can’t deal with later.”

His dark eyes bore into yours, though you’d hardly call it a staring contest. Not when your gaze would occasionally flicker down to his lips. Of course, nothing he misses. 

Another step forward. He places his index finger under your chin. 

Another step forward. He tilts your head up ever so slightly. 

Another step forward. He leans in, stopping mere inches away from your face.

No more steps for him to take. You barely catch the sound of the faucet dripping the occasional water droplet over your heart echoing in your ears. Can he hear it, too?

None of that matters as he takes your statuesque frame as a sign to pull away. You panic; grabbing onto his shirt, you yank him towards you to meet your mouth with his.

The subtle taste of dinner lingers on his tongue, not that you can complain. Your hands find their place on his cheeks while his own wander down to your waist. A lazy hum of satisfaction buzzes out from his throat, leaving a light tingle on your lips and causing your heart to pound in your ears. 

You pull away for air and from the shock of what just happened, your wide eyes meeting a droopy, lust-filled grey pair. 

“Look at ya,” Osamu pants, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh. “Yer real cute, ya know that? Couldn’t stop thinking about kissin’ ya for days now.”

Your lids fall to match his expression while your thumb mindlessly caresses his face. Your mind speaks before you can stop it. “Just kissing?”

That familiar glimmer returns in his gaze, and he gently squeezes your thigh. There’s a pull coming from his hold; nothing forceful, just light enough to give you a chance to withdraw. With little-to-no room left between you, you can only press your chest against his. 

“I’ve got a few other things in mind,” he hums as if pondering. “Wanna give 'em a try?”

You nod absentmindedly, your hands sliding down to wrap around his neck and play with his hair. “Please.”

His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before they reattach themselves to yours. He’s got you mewling in a matter of seconds, your fingers swirling around his locks and occasionally tugging them. Osamu groans, lightly grinding against you and making you gasp. 

The hand on your thigh disappears to slide your dress straps off your shoulders, and the ravenette pulls away to tug the top of your number down to expose your breasts. His mouth attaches itself to one of your nipples while his fingers tweak at the other bud, further drenching your underwear while your grip on his hair tightens. Your body feels hot, your hips rubbing against his bulge in desperation. You draw a blank, wanting to enjoy every second, but being all over the place. And you’ve only started. 

It’s when he eventually pulls away to remove your dress do you realize this is actually happening. The fabric drops to your feet, leaving you in ruined panties, and the cool air does little to fight the heat you feel all over. Large hands, roughened from years of volleyball, carefully hold you up to place you on the table, taking their time moving away from your exposed body. Those same eyes that seemingly hang in a drooping shape with indifference now do so in a hunger that has you subconsciously clenching your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Osamu rasps deeply, eyes never leaving your frame as he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside. You’re blessed with the sight of ripples and valleys of soft skin over hard muscles with small clans of stretch marks highlighting his upper arms and what little you can see of his hips. His belt disbands with a clink, and he’s panting when he removes his slacks. “D’ya have any idea whatcha’ do ta me?”

The Kansai in him seems to shine through when he gets needy; that thought flies through your head, barely giving you time to process it. You don’t care to, not when your date approaches you once more to hook his fingers past the waistband of your underwear. His gaze peers up at you, starving, but patient enough to check on you. Your response is the rising of your hips, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your trembling legs. 

Why are they doing that? Nothing you haven’t done before. Not something you do often, either. The last time you had sex was in… college? Last year of college. Yeah, with some guy in one of your classes. His pace wasn’t all that different from this one right now. You refrain from showing your displeasure when you recall how he thought penetration alone was enough to get the job done. (It was, just not for you.)

Why these memories are choosing to return, you don’t know. Maybe you feel out of practice, or because it’ll all be over before you know it, and the handsome shop owner who made the best onigiri you’ve ever tasted will probably just be that and nothing more after this. That latter possibility makes your stomach plummet, and you bite your lip. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a crush. Most of what you know about him came from an interview. 

You catch yourself looking at him when you realize he has yet to make a move. 

At first, you feared it was due to disgust. It isn’t until you find him zeroing in on your dripping cunt like a man starved does your body relax a bit. His calloused hands grab hold of your thighs, lightly squeezing their fat as he drops to his knees. 

“Gonna take care of ya,” Osamu mutters, seemingly more to himself than you, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and leaning in. “Gonna take real good care of ya.”

Settling your thighs onto his broad shoulder, the ravenette then licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, tasting your essence and flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit. You exhale shakily, which is enough encouragement for your date to proceed with his ministrations. 

“‘Samu,” you whisper, your fingers returning to his charcoal locks as his tongue’s movements against your clit increase in speed. You’re rewarded with a groan as you buck your hips into his face, and his hold on your upper thighs grows stronger to keep you grounded. With the added stability, you bring one of your hands to tweak at your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you mewl. 

Your eyes are fluttering closed until you feel Osamu’s tongue move to thrust into your cunt. You squirm in your spot with a gasp, eyes snapping open before your head drops to face the culprit. Pools of lust for irises greet you in a hazy connection, having been zeroed in on your expressions since their owner got his first taste of your essence. You’re already hot all over, head to toe, but the gaze you can’t look away from sets your face on fire—though that’s nothing new, now is it?

“Better than any meal I’ve ever had,” he mumbles against you before wrapping his lips around your puffy clit and suckling hard. Your head draws back as you wail, your hips failing to escape his grip no matter how much they writhe. That familiar build-up in your lower stomach makes itself known, causing you to whisper pleas and your date’s name repeatedly. He’s pressing his face further into your cunt, his mouth working overtime on your clit as your orgasm only hangs on by a thread.

And then, it’s gone. 

Your eyes–which were apparently closed–blink open as your brows knit together. Peering down, you see Osamu slip out from your hold on his hair, that same unbothered expression back on his handsome face (save for your slick coating his lips and chin, of course). 

“‘Samu!” you whine in frustration as you watch the ravenette stand up and brush the invisible dust off his knees. You don’t let his (very) noticeable bulge distract you from your stolen reward. “I was so close! What’re—”

He removes his boxers in one motion, letting them drop to the floor and wipe your brain clean of whatever you were about to ask him. Osamu observes you freeze from the sight of his girth, his face in its usual neutral stature while his gaze grows even heavier with lust and his chest and ego swelling with pride.

“Wanna make ya cum on ma cock,” he answers a little too casually, regardless of whether or not it actually answers your unspoken question. With his hand wrapped around his shaft, he swipes some of his precum, using it as lube as his focus lays on your naked form. “That all right with ya, princess?”

You nod mindlessly, your eyes never leaving his thick cock. Watching him touch himself, because of you no less, makes your hand wander south, gathering your essence and his spit before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You shakily exhale as you catch his dick twitch, and it’s not long until you add another digit to massage your insides. 

It’s also not long until a much larger hand grabs your wrist to make you pull your fingers out. Being so focused on his lower half, you didn’t realize Osamu approached you once you started pleasuring yourself. He brings your hand, wet with your slick cascading down your palm, to his mouth, languidly licking up the mess while his eyes burn a hole into your very being. 

“As much as I enjoy the show,” he drawls, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I made ma intentions pretty clear. Unless ya suddenly changed yer mind, yer cumming on ma cock, doll.”

With that, he gently pushes your shoulder, making you lie on the table. Not exactly comfortable, but you consider it worth it as you watch Osamu position himself between your legs with his cock aimed at your entrance.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and while you were worried about this night ending far too soon, you can’t say the feelings are still there as the painful stretch consumes your body. You appreciate him taking his time for you, though it only makes the process all the more apparent: every ridge and vein making itself known as they leave their mark inside you. It isn’t until his hips meet yours do you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

He says your name, and you peer up at him while slowly propping yourself on your forearms. With gentle hands resting on the apex of your thighs, your date leans down you plant a kiss on your lips. You return the affection, feeling yourself relax a bit and noticing the subtle taste of you on his tongue. 

You find your head following his when he pulls away, earning you a chuckle before bringing one of his hands to your crotch. Collecting your slick, he then rubs slow, tight circles on your clit. Your hips buck, and you sigh, whimpering his name in gratitude. 

“You can move,” you utter. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”

With a curt nod, Osamu grabs hold of your legs to wrap them around the small of his back. He thrusts gently, allowing you to accommodate and testing the waters to see what you like. You hum contently, though your eyes don’t seem to know where to look. Part of you wants to admire his face, but you worry about the intimacy behind the action. Marvelling at his physique, as fun as that would be, would probably make you drool; sex or no sex, you’d like to avoid that. Or, stare at where you two connect, but you’re certain you’d cum on the spot. You can’t do that. Was this always so difficult?

“Hey.” The ravenette glides his hands up and down your torso before finding their place on your breasts. “Easy. Want yer eyes on me, ‘kay? Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your gaze shyly makes its way up to meet Osamu’s, his eyes soft while he smiles down at you. With a deep breath, you let him know he can pick up his pace. That smile of his widens as he complies, morphing your insides into the shape of his cock as he reaches deeper. The air is knocked out of your lungs, your voice choking up as you cry his name like a mantra. 

“‘Samu!” you wail, tightening your hold on his lower back. “Feels good! Feels so f-ucking good! Don’t stop!”

That glimmer flashes in his eyes as you beg for him, and Osamu swoops down to crash his lips onto yours. This kiss was more tongue than anything else, and you moan wantonly as you messily taste him. 

You’re hot. Everything is like touching a sizzling stove. The makeout session, the cock splitting you in half, the squelching from between your legs. There’s fog between your ears, far from clearing and presenting any sort of rationality as your date finds your sweet spot.

“There!” you pull away from him to shriek. “Keep fucking me like that! More, more!”

He can’t deny you when you plea like that, and he holds you in that position to ram into you the way you need him to. Your throat hurts from whatever noises claw out of it, though it doesn’t stop you from slurring “moremoremoremoremore” as your orgasm bubbles in your lower stomach. Or maybe all that begging is playing on a loop in your head? You don’t hear yourself; all you know of is the ecstasy between your thighs and Osamu stalking through the windows of your soul. Open for him in more ways than one. 

“‘M close,” he grunts, his movements becoming sloppy. “Ya cummin’, princess? Can ya do that for me? Make a mess on ma cock like a good girl?”

You nod before processing, but you consider it the right choice when he breathes out a laugh and changes his position to lean on his forearms. There are barely a few inches between you two, and he’s quick to fix that problem by kissing you once again. 

You’re squealing against his mouth when your orgasm finally hits you, your body stiff as you clamp down on his shaft. You feel heavy, rigid as your senses kick into overdrive, and you’re floating, vision grows spotty. Your head is thrown back out of necessity, your lungs in desperate need of oxygen, and Osamu’s presence alone is dizzying.

He’s still messily pounding into you once you’ve calmed down, and your legs shake against him from overstimulation. 

“Too much,” you whine, “too much! ‘Samu—”

“I know, doll,” he grunts. “I’ll be done soon. Promise, I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a curse before hastily pulling out, wrapping a large hand around his cock and pumping until he cums on your stomach with a drawn-out groan. Through hazy vision and a complimenting puddle for a brain, you watch in awe as his jaw goes slack and eyes flutter shut with furrowed brows; he almost looks soft.

Now, you’re both spent, breathing matching in rhythm as you recall your surroundings. The first thing you notice is the pain in your lower back: sex on a wooden table will do that to you, you suppose. Worth it.

Then, you’re being picked up, your body limp like a ragdoll as you yelp from the sudden movement. “‘Samu!” 

The ravenette hums. “I’ve gotcha.”

Your arms, weak from carrying your weight, reach to wrap around his neck. All he does is sit on his chair with you on his lap, and he exhales.

“Is this what you meant by ‘dessert’?” you quip tiredly, leaning against him.

“Nah,” Osamu buzzes, rubbing your back soothingly. “I got somethin’ ready for after dinner, but this works, too.” You snicker weakly at his humorous tone at the end until it fades into a heavy silence. Not awkward, no, but relaxing doesn’t seem to quite fit the description, either. “It’s a date.”

You sit up too quickly, and you wince from soreness. Not that you could help yourself, what with his sudden comment. “Huh?”

“Tonight,” he clarifies, “I planned on it bein’ a date, since I think yer cute and ya helped me with ma shop—and don’t try ta argue otherwise. But with ya being so shy, I figured I’d let you decide, or maybe play into it if I thought ya were interested.” He pauses as if he were wondering what to say next. “All good if you weren’t lookin’ for that.”

You’ve never seen him blush before, and yet you find yourself regaining some energy when you catch the pink tint on his cheeks.

You giggle. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”

Osamu pulls you back into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. He tries to ignore the mess on your stomach pressed against his, though he couldn’t stop from wincing. “Guess so.”

More silence, though on the scale of comfort, it leans closer to a sense of ease.

“So,” you hum, “do you sleep with all your loyal customers or just the ones that’ll promote your business?”

Your date snorts, making the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Nobody else… yet.” He then pauses, pursing his lips as if to ponder. “Though ya just gave me a pretty good idea. Might help the business.”

You lightly slap his arm, earning a laugh from both of you. You try to sit up again, this time more slowly, and stretch. 

“We should probably clean up,” you remark, turning to look back at where you laid back and got your guts rearranged; it makes you shiver.

“I can deal with that later,” Osamu shrugs, shifting in his seat and looking down at the creamy white now on both of your torsos. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first.”

Your heart flutters as his tone softens, and when you look back at him, his eyes carry adoration. 

“And then dessert?” You ask sheepishly.

He smiles warmly. “And then dessert.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

#fanfic #fanfiction #hq #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu!! #smut #haikyuu x reader #inarizaki #miya osamu #osamu smut #osamu x reader #miya twins #onigiri miya #haikyuu smut

[honeymoonavsstuff]

part 2 of ‘How long have you been standing there?’ (part 1)

Summary: reader accidentally admitted her feelings for JJ infront of him, so they need to figure this out.

Pairing: JJx reader

Warnings: swearing, substances using and mean flirting.

A/n: so happy someone asked for part 2. again sorry for mh english and please send requests<3

When JJ texted you the words ‘i’m here’ you felt like you were going to throw up.

The butterflies in your stomach never left you alone all evening, even when you were almost crying when you couldn’t decide what to wear. Are jeans appropriate to make a fool of yourself on a date with the boy you swore you hated just an hour before?

You weren’t even sure if that was a date or just a way to torture yourself.

On the way between your house’s door and the twinkie it was as if you felt your feet sink into the ground. Meanwhile the blond was sitting at the wheel, with his gaze fixed on you. You were always so confident in yourself, why was it so difficult right now? Was it that your feelings had never been exposed for anyone before? No, you had to compose yourself.

So you opened the car door, his eyes still burning on your skin, and greeted him with a flebile ‘Hi’.

He smiled so sweetly and… there was the nausea again.

“You look pretty.”

“Oh,” that took you by surprise, “well thank you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that I look nice?” he teased with a smirk while turning the key in the ignition.

“But you don’t,” he did. JJ rolled his eyes playfully and started driving.

The only noises on that brief trip were the twinkie’s engine clearly struggling and the foot that you were nervously patting on the floor

“You nervous?” the boy quickly looked at you while the lights of the streets continued to illuminate his features.

“No-” liar, “you wish.” You heard him scoffing.

Another second of silence.

“Where are we going anyway?” you asked, playing with one of your rings to avoid looking at the cause of all your stresses.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“If you are going to kill me just tell me…”

JJ’s laugh filled up the awkward air and it was like a boulder had been taken off of your chest. You allowed yourself to smile.

“Nah, I don’t kill cute girls.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

He parked near a small pier where you could hear the small waves crushing on the rocks. JJ didn’t wait a second to take out of his pockets his most prized possessions and to get to work.

“Are you rolling a joint, right now?”

He turned your way, the filter in his mouth as he spoke.

“For you, to relax.”

“Not gonna work,” you felt like your heart could explode.

JJ lit up his joint and took a long hit. He looked so hot while he smoked.

“Just take it, it’ll make you feel better,” he offered you the smoke with his right hand.

“Nah huh” you tried to stop him, facing the other way.

“Oh come onnnn” he insisted, until you had to take his hand away with yours. Unfortunately the joint was already placed in your mouth.

You growled and took the hit, using your free hand.

“See? You’re chilling out already.”

“You’re exhausting, JJ” you shoot exasperated, “the most annoying person I’ve ever known.”

“That’s why you love me so much” he grinned in a cheesy way.

You decided to ignore the goosebumps those words provoked, you just wanted to punch him. Or kiss him? No, you definitely needed to hurt him.

“So you wanted to talk, so talk JJ.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted to figure out what this is” his body became dangerously closer. Did he move or did you move?

“What is what?”

“Uhm,” he used the index finger to indicate both of you,”this thing, you and me.”

“Oh no,” you shook your head in an exaggerated way.

“There is no ‘you and me’, you moron. You don’t even like me that way-I don’t even like you.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffed.

“I’m dead serious, you make me sick in my stomach, you-“ he was laughing. Then it hit you.

You traveled your gaze to see your fingers intertwined with his from your previous messy interaction.

You gulped, but your throat was sore.

“The fact that I’m still holding your hand doesn’t change anything I just said.”

“Oh please,” he started rubbing your palm with his thumb, “we would make a perfect couple.” You hated him so much you nearly melted at his touch.

“First of all stop doing that and second of all we will never-“ you were cut off. You didn’t realize that the blonde’s face was so close and now he was kissing you.

All the anxiety, the embarrassment and bad feelings just went away in that simple contact.

“What did you do that for?” JJ’s lips weren’t on yours anymore, but you wanted them to be.

“You talk too much.” You couldn’t stop looking at his mouth slightly parted, some of your lipstick colored his lower lip and that was the sexiest thing you ever witnessed.

“Do it again” you didn’t even believe yourself, but JJ did. So his lips were on yours again, at first just for a quick peck, but then you finally felt his tongue and his arms around your waist.

He was a good kisser, so good that you felt him everywhere. He tasted like weed and licorice. You noticed he wore cologne, just for you, and couldn’t contain a smile.

He sighed too and gently took your hands to position them right where he wanted them to be, on the back of his neck and in his hair. You liked touching him, it was new, exciting and incredibly soft. You wanted more.

You took advantage of your hands placement to bring him even closer to you, holding him so tight.

“If you squeeze me more than this I could suffocate” his whispers were hot on your lips. You were in heaven.

“Okay,” another sweet, sweet kiss,”I don’t care.”

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[grapejuicestyless]

Orange Juice

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: High school sweethearts, the picture perfect pair whose story crumbled as quickly as it started. All because of a reckless boy and his addictive nature and an emotional girl and her growing tiredness.(warning: Mentions of addiction(alcohol).)

“I need you!” He pleads, words broken and grass stuck to his knees as he stands from his spot on the ground where he lay face down, passed out in the front yard of the chateau once again.

He held her hands in his, pulling at her fingers until her knuckles seemed to stretch at his sheer force and determination to keep her put in place, to keep her with him.

“If that was true you would have stopped!” Her voice was shaky, tears burning into her cheeks and her throat constricting with each choked up breath. Still, she couldn’t look at him in the eyes, the same deep blue eyes that held her youth and captured her heart with nothing more than the twinkle of innocence and play.

She knew if she were to look back she would try to keep fighting it, and as much as she longed to always be there to help, it was obvious her help was nothing more than something that delayed his progress. JJ was his father’s son, whether they admitted it or not. No, he never laid a hand on Y/n’s skin, but when he drank his words shot to kill. He carried the same fire in his soul and a pent up rage that seethed through the cracks in his teeth each time he held a solo cup in his palms.

No amount of comfort or persuasion would stop the boy from sending himself six feet in the ground. He had drank them both dry and Y/n hated to admit that she had lost the fight, she had to throw in the towel. He wouldn’t get better until she was gone, and she knew it, even if he refused to admit that he needed to let the harsh slap of reality to beat him senseless for him to find his feet.

“You know it’s not that simple, baby! Please, tell me you know it, I’m trying, I really am. Please.” He cries, lips trembling all ugly as his nose runs and his cheeks become blotchy. He’s a mess, looks it and smells it too.

His boyish smell of sweet cedar and the sandy beaches covered with vanilla are masked with the stench of whatever he pours into his cup and day old cigarette smoke. His blonde hair isn’t messy in the cute way that he wore it when her hands would ruffle through each lock, but because he hasn’t made it to his bed in days, choosing to pass out somewhere from the front lawn to the living room if he ever makes it that far.

“Don’t bullshit me, Jay. You and me both know it, I’ve tried, and I’ve tried and we’ve wasted all that potential to get better and we’ve fought this before. We win the fight, but what about the war? What about me, the bed I sleep in and the pillow that doesn’t even smell like my fiancé anymore because he prefers to be face down passed out in our lawn!” Y/n rips her hand away from JJ’s like it’s poisonous, a bite that stings and slowly works its way into her blood.

Y/n’s not angry at him, her lover, her sweetheart fiancé. No, how could she ever be when even at his worst she can only ever see the good hidden deep inside of his abusive behaviors and dependence on all the wrong things.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long, so long JJ and you never come back anymore. You’re too far gone to even remember that theres a warm bed waiting for you.” She cries, eyes closing and head falling into the boy’s shoulder as she sobs out sentences aimlessly.

The worst part is that it’s his own fault. His whole life he tried so hard to finally break free of his family’s name, the bitter memories of his abusive father and absent mother leaving him with a motivation to be better than they ever could have been. Yet, here he is half drunk with the same smell stuck on his breath and some half-assed apology ready to spew out at his lover.

“I’ll get better, for you, I will. I’d do anything for you.” She pulls away, looking at him with big doe eyes and a scrunched up nose. He thinks he finally has a chance to change for a second, to fix all his wrongdoings until she shakes her head, looking down at her feet and stepping away from him.

“No, no. Jay, no.” Wiping her cheeks, Y/n seems to finally let go of the innocence that once masked all of his imperfections.

“Your heart has changed, your soul has changed and you aren’t the man I love anymore.” Watching how she fiddles with the ring on her finger breaks his heart, no it absolutely crushes it. Reality is a sour taste to be swallowed down and JJ just can’t seem to get it down now that it’s all right in front of him.

“And I’ll always love you, and if you ever need me I’ll still be here-“

“No, Y/n/n, no.” He tries to follow her, the ring in his palm burning a circle on his skin. A symbol of their eternal love that seemed to redefine what ‘forever’ really meant.

“But I can’t be the one you rely on anymore, it’s not healthy for you.” She tries to reason with him, but he doesn’t want to hear it, he only wants her to hold him again.

“I love you!” JJ tries to make her see it, how his blood only keeps pumping even when he should be dead by now because in his heart he knows he’ll feel her touch against his forehead in the hot summer mornings and her hips against his in the late afternoons that seemed to always slip away far too quickly.

“You’re not your father, Jay.” She reminds him, making JJ stop in his tracks where he debates whether or not to cry or laugh in relief or anger.

“So thats it?” He decides to be angry even if he really isn’t, even if it’s his own fault for driving the girl away. Even if they both recognize that she needs to go away for some time.

“You’re just going to go ahead and carry on? Leave me here alone like I don’t even matter? What, was I pulling you down? Was it just too much?” He spits it like fire at her heart and she tries not to take it too harshly. Y/n knows he gets mean when he’s tipsy, and the empty bottles hidden in the long grass tell her that he’s well beyond that point now.

“I need you to get better.” She begs quietly, looking down as she speed walks down the old dirt roads that lead to a better part of town. She feels naked without the ring adorned on her finger or the weight of her soul hanging over her shoulders.

Y/n swears she can hear his sobs from across town, the broken cries wondering where his lover went in the late afternoon and the even louder ones in the early morning once the fog clears and he comes to terms with his faults.

It’s all in her head, their friends remind her, and they send her photos of him in the mail to tell her how he’s getting better. But the polaroids become further and farther in between, and soon the eyes she swore she never wanted to leave her life became those of a strangers, a stranger who knew everything there was to know about her.

“I haven’t drank in six months, on the dot.” He leans over the kitchen table, indents from his rings and scratches from pen evident in the wood. His hair is just the same as it was when they first met, a blonde mop of waves that sit perfectly around his tanned face. Only now he doesn’t look so tired and he doesn’t smell so sour.

She can only smile at him, letting the crowd fill in around them and filter out through the door as time passes and the moon sets underneath the horizon. She still thinks about how light her finger feels without the handmade ring on her finger, the promise that was within the bent metal weighing more than any diamond any man could ever buy her.

“Can I get you a drink, to celebrate? Theres orange juice in the kitchen, bought it for our friends. It’s yours if you want it, just glad you could visit.” JJ doesn’t know about the piles of photos she keeps of him, the photos that she never had the heart to unpin in her room in the chateau. He’s acutely aware of the fact his friends had been sending the girl updates, he had even asked them to at some points, just so she wouldn’t carry so much worry and guilt as he put on her all those months ago.

“I’ve missed you.” He says it softly, hoping partly that the faint music and the dying chatter from the outside will drown out his confession of love for the girl in front of him, but the sad smile on her face tells him otherwise.

“Feel’s so empty here without you, like I’ve been waiting for you to come home.” He kicks the splintered wood, hands in his pockets and his eyes darting to the orange juice sat warming on the counter like it was placed there just for him. He knew it was, and he knew who did it too.

But Y/n started to cry before JJ could even begin to thank her for all she has done for him, for sacrificing everything just to see him get better.

Shes blubbering something about regretting how she just up and left him like that, how she keeps his memories with her and still wakes up smiling when she thinks of him in her sleep. But more importantly, she cries about how she doesn’t think that she can ever have him again.

Of course, it’s not her fault that she associates his condition with her. Each relapse happened in her company and each stage was only worsened by her staying. She had to leave for him to get better and now to her, it was evident it was for the best.

JJ knows she’s wrong, but how could she? It’s his own fault for what he’s done to her but it’s really not even his fault. Falling dependent on a substance that only ever caused harm was something he started to do for fun, he never intended to become addicted to it, to become mean. They were both just victims in an incredibly cruel situation.

“It’s like you said, Y/n/n, just like you said. My heart has changed, and my soul has changed, and this town has changed, and this world has changed!” He takes her hands in his, showering her his ring and offering a new beginning to their tangled love story.

“But I have not.” It’s so quiet when she says it, JJ almost misses it. She hesitates, flinching away from the ring and refusing to put it back on for the fear that the reoccurring nightmares she had conveniently left out of his condition would come true again.

“The last time you were drunk you were face down, passed out in our lawn.” She looks at him, closing his fingers around the ring and standing from the table.

“Theres orange juice in the kitchen, bought it for you. It’s yours if you want it, I’m just glad you could visit.” She admits softly, slipping past him as calm as she can keep herself, hoping that he can’t hear the way that her heart cracks with each inhale of air.

He whispers something about still loving her, and even though she never says it back, the fact that she’s just admitted to buying the drink specifically for him with the hopes of him showing up gives JJ hope, a hope that he secretly knows will only leave him more devastated in the long run, but one that keeps him going.

He pours himself a glass of the orange juice later that night, the crowd long gone and empty solo cups scattered along the lawn. The ring in his pocket weighs down his cargo shorts pockets and burns through the fabric to his skin, but deep down he knows that he’s changed, he’s been better.

Like she had told him the day it all came crashing down, he is not his father, so he will try and try until he can mend what he broke and the wound is nothing but a scar left behind to show his strength and resilience.

JJ prefers apple juice over orange juice, but as he takes a sip of the tangy liquid, he decides it tastes sweeter than usual, and he really likes orange juice better than any other drink.

#jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jjmaybankangst #maybank