#my wrist really shitted out after finishing the first one and you can tell with the other bishops LMAO
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maybe i’ll find myself smiling on that distant shore... maybe i’m not alone.
#16 / cultober “change”/”love”/”late, sorry guys”
#cult of the lamb#cultober#cotl kallamar#cotl bishops#cotl fanart#ox original#my wrist really shitted out after finishing the first one and you can tell with the other bishops LMAO#i wanted to try something like painting but this is how it came out. the first pic looks good and i love it but the second is . eh.#bur i finished it so take it please im done looking at it Forever!!!!#the 1 out of every 10 things i draw that i actually put lots of effort into lol
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play fighting with ony but y/n gets mad he's stronger and gives him silent treatment so he puts her in place
sb else sent something like this too i hope they see ittttt😩❤️
ony tries to refrain from play fighting with you, knowing that his strength would always overpower yours and you be quick to get serious after he hits you wrong.
“baby moveeee” he whined as you continued to kiss all over his face. sticky clear lip gloss smudging all over ony’s dark cheeks as you quickly moved from different spots on his face. he eventually just got tired of you a got up from the bed. you quickly wrapped your arms and legs around him so you didn’t fall, but ony had different plans, quickly grabbing your hips and throwing your body off of him as he got up. you landed on the bed with a “oomf” as you looked up at his irritated face.
“got me looking like a glazed donut” he mumbled as he walked to the bathroom to wash his face. you were in a giddy mood so you followed him, wrapping your small arms around his waist as ony rid himself of your lipgloss. “mama m’not finna keep playin with you. you bout to get these hands furreal” his voice was serious, but you didn’t care, doing the one thing he hated the most. you slowly slid your hands off him towards his back, running them up to his shoulders to give them a light squeeze. ony thought you were finally finished, relaxing into your touch. he couldn’t have been more wrong.
before he knew it your hands quickly slid from his shoulders to his ass, giving it a rough squeeze before you ran. “hell nah im finna whoop that ass” before you got far you felt your arm get yanked right back towards him. ony said nothing, letting his body do the talking as he quickly lifted you up high in the air, making you scream. “oh my god baby put my downn! put me down ony fore you drop meeee!” you yelled, scared shitless as your strong boyfriend held you over his head. “say you sorry first”
you rolled your eyes, quickly telling him what he wanted to hear so you can get down. “m’sorry m’sorry now put me downnn” now anyone in there right mind would put the person down softly, but your boyfriend was never in his right mind. he practically threw you, laughing as he watched you fall to the bed face first. in an instant you were on him. you didn’t even know what you were doing, but you knew you wanted to whoop that ass. smack after smack you tried to deliver on his arms and chest while ony blocked all of them. “bitch ass nigga”
his smile quickly faded as he looked at you with wide eyes. “aight watch this” before you knew it you were on your stomach, his strong arm holding your arms behind your back as he delivered a hard slap to your ass. it was so hard you felt the sting long after he hit you, even when you got back up and got back to fighting. throwing “punches” all over his body while chanting “bitch bitch bitch” with every one of them. you were winning, well that’s what ony wanted you to think. he was going to let you have your fun until you decided to drag it bite his shoulder.
“the fuck?!” he yelled before lightly punching you in your thigh and flipping you over so he had your wrists in his hands. “i told you about that biting shit mama ion like that. now cut it out fore i really get mad.” while he spoke you tried your hardest to get out of his grasp, but he was too strong. making you let out an exaggerated sigh as you rolled your eyes. “whatever nigga jus get off me” ony complied, quietly getting off of you before going back to his side of the bed.
“mad strong for no reason, big ass nigga don’t know how to play fight without hurting people” ony rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone so he could just ignore you and carry on with his evening, but you always had to push it. “next time you punch me like that ima cut your shoes up. dumb bitch” you glanced at ony, hoping that he heard you but you quickly came to regret that. brown eyes looking into yours with a deadly stare as ony carried a stern look on his face.
“whatchu say?” his voice was low as he continued intimidating you with his stare. you refused to repeat yourself, choosing to just shake your head “no” to keep from giving him the satisfaction of hearing your voice. “what did you say y/n. answer me” ony didn’t care about the shoes, but he’s told you many times how he felt about you letting that bitch word fly out your mouth. he let it slide the first time, but now you were in trouble. “so you don’t know how t’speak? cmere, i’ll make you speak”
you moved to walk away from him, thinking that leaving the room and giving him some space would help him, but you were unsuccessful. ony was quick to grab your arm, pulling you back to him on the bed. “what i said about calling me that? do i call you that?” you shook your, irritating him further. ony rolled his eyes, throwing you over his lap before pulling his shirt that you were wearing over your ass. you were in nothing but a thong, your brown skin sitting plump and ready for him to slap.
“s’not a reply mama talk t’me. do i call you that?” before you could reply a hard slap was brought to your ass, ony’s wide palm almost leaving a handprint on you. a small whimper left your lips, tears already welling in your eyes as you spoke in a shaky voice. “n-no” he let out a satisfied sigh, lifting your body off his lap before laying you on your back. “then why you keep saying it t’me when you know ion like it? take allat shit off”
within minutes you were fighting for your life. your hands were bound behind your back by one big strong one, ass just ricocheting off the defined stomach of your boyfriend as he fed you every last inch of his dick. “must think i’m pussy or sum” he mumbled. his hips never missed a beat as he tightened his grip on your wrists with one hand. his other hand was wrapped firmly around the back of your neck, making it impossible for you to run from him as he gave you everything he had. “who a bitch mama?” ony said in a taunting voice, his hand pulling you up slightly so he could hear your reply.
you were fucked out. drool calling from your lips as you stared deliriously at the headboard in front of you. “d-dunno daddy. i dun…..dunno” a smirk quickly made its way to your boyfriends lips at the sound of your fucked out, barely audible voice. he always knew just what to do to have you like this and instead of easing up he decided to give you more for your actions earlier. “oh now you ‘dunno’? you sounded real sure of yourself when you was saying it earlier.” as he spoke, ony made sure you push down a little on your wrists, making your arch deeper as he granted himself more access to your pretty pussy.
your lips parted instantly, a whine escaping them as you tried to move your wrists from his tight grip. of course you were unsuccessful, only making your boyfriend smile grow as he felt your pussy began to tighten around him. “oh you close now mama? tryna make a mess all on this dick?” your head instantly began to nod, a breathless “yes” flying from your lips as you began to rock yourself back into him. ony moved fast behind you, fucking you quickly with all of him. your pussy fluttered at the feeling, your orgasm quickly approaching as you felt some of your wetness begin to trick down your thighs.
before you knew it you were cumming all over him, your release reaching the sheets, your thighs, and ony’s lower stomach as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. your body shook in overstimulation, hands fighting with the right grip he still had on them as your boyfriend continued to fuck you at the same pace. “i c-can’t take n-no more daddy” you whined. when you turned around to look at him you were met with nothing but mischievous eyes, a smirk dancing on ony’s lips as he parted them to speak.
“ion care ma, we gon stop when we find that bitch you was talking bout. now stop whining fore i make you come ride me next”
#aot x black reader#onyankopon x black reader#aot onyankopon#onyankopon x reader#onyankopon x black!reader#aot smut#onyankopon smut#aot onyankopon x black reader#onyankopon x black y/n#aot onyankopon smut#aot onyankopon x black!reader#aot onyankopon x black y/n
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okay but Eddie’s face when you show him a nude you’ve taken for the first time? you cannot tell me he wouldn’t be so flustered from seeing you pose seductively in lingerie you picked out just for him.
18+ MDNI
“do you like it, baby? i thought black was your favorite color?” you tease, seeing his face redden at the sight of you in the photo.
“i— fuck i love it. i love it. you look so fucking good.” he stumbles out, eyes still roaming the polaroid that he holds oh-so carefully in his hands.
“oh good. i was worried the photo wouldn’t do that set justice.”
“it uh… it most certainly does.” he gives an encouraging nod, looking back and forth between you and the picture.
“well that’s kinda too bad. i mean, i wore it over here just in case so you could really see it. but if the picture is perfect then i suppose it’s not necessary.”
you continue to tease, pulling your shirt down to confirm that the lingerie is underneath your clothes.
seeing the black strap of the bra is all he needs to set the polaroid down and make his way over to you. you could feel just how hard he was through his jeans as he collided with you.
“you better fuck me better than you’ll fuck yourself to my nude later, Munson.”
“oh baby, you’re so much better than my hand.”
he rips off your shirt and jeans, leaving you in the black lace, before stripping himself down completely naked. you go to help remove your bra and panties but he instead reaches to pin your hands above your head.
“leave it on. god i mean, look at you?! fuck i could cum just at the sight of you like this.”
“yeah? you like seeing me pinned underneath you in nothing but a couple thin pieces of lace? you better prove it.”
with one hand still holding your wrists, he uses the other to pull your thong to the side and guide his cock into your wet hole.
he pushes in slowly at first, both of you moaning at the feeling after waiting what felt like an eternity. in actuality it was maybe 10 minutes, but the wetness that pooled in your panties begs to differ.
“fuck Eddie!” you whine out, feeling him bottom out inside of you and craving more friction. “please move.”
“so funny how the one who did all the teasing is now the one begging for more.” he smirks, looking down at the mess you’re making on him.
you start to grind your hips against him, urging him to move but he says strong. moving his head down to your chest, he licks your nipple through the mesh lace bra. the feeling makes you shudder, but still needing more.
“Eddie! please fuck me!” you moan out, feeling his cock pulsing inside of you. and with that last plea, he does. he fucks you hard.
his mouth continues to move up and down your chest and neck, leaving marks everywhere they linger. his strokes are hard and fast as he brings his free hand back down to your aching cunt.
using his fingers to hold your panties out of the way, he rubs his thumb against your sensitive clit. he rubs harder and faster as his strokes become more sloppy, a tell-tale sign that he’s close but wants you to finish first.
you can feel yourself approaching your climax, it’s growing more and more intense as he continues to fuck you harder than he has before.
“shit Eds! i’m so close!”
“cum for me doll, show me how much you love it when i fuck you in your little panties and bra.” you moan loudly at his words, nearly forgetting complete that this all started because of the photo you gave him.
but with one final pump, you finally reach your orgasm. he follows behind with a few more strokes, letting his warm cum soak your dripping pussy.
he removes his cock from you and releases your wrists from his grasp. you feel your thong get placed back to cover you up before you start to drift off to sleep.
he crawls up beside you on the bed, holding you close and his fingers roam your body softly as if to soothe you.
with a yawn you cuddle into him more, whispering to him that you’ll make sure to take more photos for him. and you will certainly have to if it means he’ll keep fucking you like that.
#hope y’all like this one :)#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie stranger things
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u know what i think about ALL THE TIME… carmy being like, REALLY pissed off and truly at the end of his rope while you’re one of his staff members. you guys have been friends for a while with some simmering tension building between you two, but it’s never been fully explored.
the two of you have been fighting all day and it reaches a boiling point where he all but drags you outside (presumably to scream at you some more), but INSTEAD he grabs the back of your neck and bends you over face-first onto some empty pallets behind the restaurant. “you don’t want this, then get up and walk away.” and you’d be mouth open gasping, but STAYING THERE cuz you’re tryna see what happens. after a beat of silence, he pulls your pants down and roughly fucks you right then and there. he’d still be angry, with some terse kind of “you still want to keep running your fucking mouth?” punctuated by sharp, deep thrusts that make you clench your teeth together to avoid screaming 😍🤸 and you’d have to walk back inside on shaking legs a few minutes later trying to pretend that carmy’s cum isn’t dripping down your thighs💕💕
anyway that’s all JDHSKDJSKSK
ANON????? OH MY GOD?????? IM FREAKING OUT OVER THIS??? Like you just put a whole blurb in my ask box I am so honored and flattered???? Expansion on this under the cut!!
Dude dude dude. Yes. So you’ve been working at the bear for a few months now. It’s been months of built up tension between you and Carmy. Carmy knows, and you know it’s more than just a simple friendship between the two of you.
Carmy tries to keep it professional. He really tries. But, his attempts make him more cold and blunt towards you, which culminates in the big fight. It’s over something stupid really, but he gets so fucking pissed because it’s been one thing after another this day. He flips out over you not having a “properly cleaned station”.
“Chef. How many fucking times do I have to tell you to clean up your goddamn station? Look at this shit. It’s a mess.” He yells, pointing to your station.
“Are you being serious right now? I’m in the middle of fucking prep. How the hell am I suppose to keep it clean during prep when I haven’t finished yet-“
Carmen cuts you off in the middle of your sentence. “Syd! Take over y/n’s prep.”
“What the fuck, Carmen?” He doesn’t answer your question, instead he pulls you out of the kitchen by your wrist. Once he gets you out the back door of the restaurant, you expect some kind of explanation for his behavior. “What? Couldn’t yell at me for no reason in front of everyone else?”
Carmy is on you in an instant. His strong hand engulfs the back of your neck, leading you to a stack of empty pallets before bending you over it. He stands behind you, hand still on the back of your neck, but not holding you down anymore. Your mind races, but one thing is clear. Carmy’s hard dick is pressing your ass.
“If you don’t want this, get up and walk away and we’ll pretend this never happened.” He leans down to whisper in your ear. Carmy’s voice is rough, full of desire. Your breathing picks up, but you don’t dare move. Instead, you whine when he rolls his hips against your ass. “Fucking knew you would want me like this. Such a fucking slut aren’t you?”
Carmy wastes no time to pull down your pants and underwear all in one go. You bite your lip, trying not to moan when his fingers run through your folds. “So nasty to be this wet in an alleyway for me where anyone can see.” You should be humiliated. Your boss has you bent over for him in an alleyway, but all you can do is beg for more.
“Please. Please please please.” You cry out, not even quite sure what you’re asking for. You hear the sound of him undoing his belt, and his cock enters you with no warning. He doesn’t go slow, filling you up to the hilt in one quick thrust. You cry out in surprise; he’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before. He starts fucking into you a second later, setting a quick pace with his hands digging into your hips. Your fingers dig into the pallets in front of you, desperate to find something to hold onto.
“Fuck- maybe this will teach you to stop running that mouth of yours and listen to me.” He practically moans out, thrusting deep and hard into you. “You need to learn to behave.”
“S-sorry chef. I’ll d-do better.” You feel his movements falter at the title, before he picks back up the pace, hitting even deeper inside of you. You’re already seeing stars, nearing your climax. “C-chef, please I’m so close.”
“Yeah? Going to come for your boss in a filthy alleyway?” One of his hands leaves your hip to touch your clit, rubbing fast circles with his callused fingers. “Go on then. Come around my cock like the slut you are.” He was losing himself too. His voice is rough and thin as he speaks.
It only takes a few more seconds before you come, biting into your hand so you don’t scream. Carmy’s pace falters before you feel him spill into you with a muffled groan.
He pulls out of you promptly without a word, stepping back to put back on his own pants. You stay in the same position, trying to catch your breath.
“Be back at your station in five minutes” Carmen says, walking back into the restaurant. You quickly pull up your pants, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of you. You don’t have any spare pants in your locker. You’re going to have to work through the rest of your shift with his cum running out of you and down your thighs.
You swallow your pride and go back inside to your station. Everyone else thinks Carmy just scolded you outside of the restaurant, so no one says a word when you return, taking back over your prep from Sydney.
Yeah let’s just say that’s not the last time Carmen fucks you in the middle of a shift. I’m thinking a nice fuck buddies relationship forms after this hehe.
#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto smut#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto smut#the bear fanfiction#carmen berzatto#the bear#ANON ILY#THANK YOU FOR THIS#LITERALLY WAS SCREAMINF WHEN I OPENED THIS#brain rot
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Game Night
NSFW Lee Minho x Reader 2,951k words
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, unprotected sex, oral, cursing, overstimulation, competing screams with you best friend in another room (idk i this is a warning but just dont want anyone uncomfy)
Imagine hating your best friend's boyfriend's best friend... Or do you?
Best to pick your Chan bias friend!
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“YOU LIKE WHO?!”
Your best friend about drops the wine glass in her hand as you both are cleaning up in the kitchen after another successful game night. A pretty common occurrence at the Bahng residence. The two of you catching up on the week while Chris and his best friend in the other room talking about their next record release. You looked forward to this all week every week. The ONLY thing that could make it better is if the man you hated wasn’t Chris’s best friend and roomate.
“Jesus Christ bsf/n, lower you voice! Chris and Min are literally in the living room…”
“Sorry, sorry! But like babe I thought you hated Minho? Just yesterday you said you hoped he walked into a vat of gasoline and then tripped on a match.”
“I can’t stand him! But he just, everything! It’s infuriating why does he need to be so god damn sexy with everything?”
“Why do you even hate him again?”
Bsf/n asked as you started to walk out of the kitchen to go grab your phone you left on the coffee table.
You cant even remember honestly when it all started. Maybe it was the cocky way he carried himself? Always so cold to everyone not really even giving anyone an opportunity to see a different side of him. But it wasn’t just you, he hated you too. Always acting like a school boy pulling at the things he knew would get to you. But after today, you were just confused. The looks he kept throwing your way. You caught him staring multiple times. His eyes following every little thing you would did, every slight move you would make. Which lead you to the conversation confessing that you may have breathed in every moment of him staring a little too much. That maybe, just maybe you wanted more.
Getting so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t have time to react to the tall figure colliding into, drenching you both in leftover punch.
“Fuck Minho, Im so sorry!” You waited a few seconds to be called a dumb ass or some rude remark, but it never came. He set down the punch bowl he had been holding down on the table you left your phone at. And within seconds had your wrist in his hand leading you to his room.
“Come on you can change into one of my shirts.” Thats all you heard before the door opened and you found yourself where you had never been before. But here you were back pressed up against the door, Minho inches from your face with an expression you just couldn’t read.
“The shirt Min?” Trying to break what ever tension was happening.
“Oh I’ll get to that, don’t worry. But first tell my how much I infuriate you. Go ahead kitten, if you can talk shit about me to bsf/n you can do it to my face.” Leaning with one hand above your head and the free hand brushing the little bit of hair falling in front of your face softly behind your ear.
“I….”
Before you could even form a sentence his lips were already crashing into yours, pressing your whole body further against the door. Your hands holding his face in an instant pulling him closer into the kiss, if that was even possible. It was painfully obvious as your tongues danced together the craving you both had for each other had reached its breaking point.
“Can I?” Minho gestures to your button down blouse. You quickly nod in approval. As he starts to unbutton half way down he pauses and takes in every inch of what’s in front of him. Making a mental picture of the way the black lace popping out from your bra perfectly accents the curves of your breast.
“Minnnnnn” You very impatiently whine out as he takes his time lightly peppering your collarbone with kisses, trailing his way done as he finishes taking off your shirt completely.
“Oh y/n, kitten relax youll get what you want but im about to take my time with you. Tell you what though I'll share a little of what i have planned. After im done getting my hands and lips on every inch of this gorgeous body, im going to have you on your knees so I can see if those pretty lips are good for more then just talking shit, and then im going to fuck you into tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”
Before you could even think of a response you felt his hands quickly lifting you up under your thighs wrapping your legs around his torso pressing you up against him, feeling how painfully hard you had already made him. With you safely in his arms, your hands behind his head pulling him into kiss after passionate kiss he made his way with you over to his nicely made bed.
Slowly setting you down on your back, lips never leaving your body but instead trailing down your neck right in the creek that made you fold as he gave little bites, blowing on each fresh red mark he created. Little squeaks and whimpers leaving your mouth was like some kind of overwhelming drug to Minho. Like a song he wanted on repeat in his ears forever. Trailing down your body further licking, biting, marking every free spot available. But he needed to hear more. He needed to know just want kind of noises he could pull from you. Finding your waist band he began toying with the elastic while looking up at you with the deepest brown eyes. You couldnt tell what exactly you were seeing as part of him was filled with such a dark lust that washed over his appearance but somehow he also was looking at you so softly something youve never seen him do.
“You know ive really wanted this for so long y/n but I never thought i had the chance. I want to make this body of yours mine.”
“Please, need you Min.”
“You need what sweet girl? Come on use your words.” His hand still running along the areas of your waist, using the top of his hand to softly brush up against you feeling just how wet you already were through your thin leggings. Your hips moving and wiggling slightly trying to feel more. His face so close you could swear the pressure of even his breath was about to set you off.
“I need you, I need you to touch me” the most pathetic sounds starting to pour from your mouth as you start to beg this man you thought you hated to finally fuck you.
“Please fuck me, do what you want to me, i need to feel you in me minnie please.”
“What a good girl finally being honest with me for once. Lucky for you im a man of my word.”
With that he pulled down your leggings to reveal matching panties to your bra. You hear a harsh hiss come through Mins teeth.
“Fuck you wear these fuck for me?” Minho was really taking in everything just like he said because with every step he took you in like a painting. Memorizing every detail to its fullest before continuing.
“You are so fucking perfect y/n” taking his hands and harshly grabbing your thighs, he truly thought every part of you deserved attention. While his hands massaged up and down your thighs his head was situated in perfect view giving your inner thighs the same licking, biting, kisses he was to the rest of your body. Kissing so close to where you needed him most causing you to cry out for more. With a a smirk and a slight evil giggle he flicked the side of your black lace to the side very eager to get a taste of you. With the first swipe of his tongue he looked up at you with a low moan.
“My god you taste incredible kitten.”
Pulling your panties fully off he went back down licking and sucking every part of you, holding your hips down while you squirmed.
“Now sweet girl you were making such pretty noises earlier why are you covering your mouth now?” He noticed once he inserted 2 fingers while continuing to give your clit the full attention of his mouth.
“bsf/n and Chris are outside I dont want them to hear”
“Oh but kitten i want them to hear, i want them to hear exactly what we are doing in here. I want you to scream so loud the whole city knows who owns you tonight”
“Fuck yes please” you more confidently moan out.
“There we go, thats my girl. Plus i guarantee they are playing the same game so why dont we play a little game back, called whos louder. Its only fair since it is still game night. Now baby grind on my face i can feel how close you are lets win the first round”
Obeying his orders you tighten your grip in his hair and grind against his perfectly sculpted face. Everything was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, the pace of his fingers, the way they were curling repeatedly i to the perfect spot, him sucking and licking perfectly. It was all going straight to your head making you dizzy. You could feel your high coming and listening to him loudly enjoying himself was exactly what you need to push you over the edge.
With a scream of his name, your legs tightening around him, your body broke through your high. But that didnt stop Minhos pace.
“Min, its too much, i cant. Please”
You couldnt tell what you were feeling but you felt like your body was about to snap. He didnt respond to your pleas with any words just a low growl between breathes. You felt a new high climbing but a different high. Something yould never before this and as your cried out his name for the second time in less then a minute you felt everything below you became soaked.
“God, fuck that was so perfect kitten.” Minho raising his dripping face up with the most shit eating grin. He threw in a few licks to cause your body to twitch at the over sensitivity.
“I dont know what just happened but im so sor..”
You were immediately cut off with him on top of you mouth back on yours.
“Sorry? Oh god for what? That was so fucking sexy i need that from you over and over again. I want to taste you like that every night. Fuck i need you even more. Did it feel good?” He was looking so deeply in your eyes.
“It felt incredible, ive never felt that good. Can i have more please. I want to feel you in me. Need to feel you in me now.” You beg as he removes his shirt still hovering over you giving your hands free roam all over his body. Every part of him is so stunningly perfect. How have you had the strength to go on this long not getting to touch every inch of him.
Using your nails a little to graze over his skin, watching goosebumps appear along his strong arms currently one on either side of your body holding himself up. Watching your movements, the look in your eyes silently begging for more. You reach down to begin unbuttoning his pants and he helps you by removing them fully letting himself bounce up against his lower stomach. Your hand reaching immediately to grab him, smearing his precum over the beautiful caramel tip. A little groan falling from his lips. And a shiver through his body finally feeling your touch. He had thought about it for so long, after a long day late at night. Alone in room with his thoughts. Thoughts about you, touching him, playing with him, how your mouth would feel around him, how good yould feel taking all of him thrust after thrust. Knowing this was finally happening was enough to make this once stern strong man to melt into a puddle. He was quickly taken out of his thoughts as you pushed him forward and switching him to the bed so you could bend down in front of him.
Now on your knees you take a moment to look up at the god like man in front of you. Perfectly chiseled body, and holding him so beautifully in your hand… it was enough to bring out a few pathetic whimpers from you. You were waiting to hear some type of overly cocky bullshit come from his lips but all that you heard were small moans as you rubbed your hand up and down slowly. It was a dangerously gorgeous sight.
Taking your tongue in replacement of my hand going up along the middle, bottom to glorious tip top. Taking in the feeling of every vein before circling around his tip and back down again. Stopping every few cms to give small kisses.
Starting to see impatience grow on the man groaning before you, you decide to give in and fully take him into your mouth swirling your tongue around and sucking when needed. He felt so fucking good as he slid towards the back of your throat, starting to buck his hips needing fuck your throat deeper.
“God fuck 자기야” groaning in between words louder and louder as he takes a fist full of your hair pushing your head as far as yould go.
“You are so fucking pretty like this. So fucking perfect. My perfect toy.” Drool dripping everywhere, running down your chin as let out the most pathetic noises. This was a vision of heaven for Min.
In between the sounds your mouth was making and Mins delicious moaning you could hear your friends in the other room playing the exact same game. The echoing of it all was making you dizzy. You need this man deep inside you now.
“Please Min, please fuck me”
Looking up at him with begging eyes, pleading for him to finally take you.
“Sweet girl i thought yould never ask.” His strong arms picking you up from the floor bringing you back to laying on the bed, him hovering over you. Something so animalistic about the look in his eyes while he brought his face closer to your so he could kiss you. More passionately then youve ever been kissed, his hands exploring every inch of you. Wanted to simply devour you in every way he can. While kissing and sucking at your neck he was perfect aligned to rub himself up and down your folds. Teasing you, causing you to gasp everytime he was close enough to enter. Little hip movements trying to get him inside you.
“My impatient little bunny” he let out a giggle as he slowly sank into you. With a slow pace back and forth, kissing at your face, and leaning into your ear.
“You are truly so beautiful. Absolutely made for me. I need you.”
You giggled as his statement.
“You feel so good, you have me right now”
“No, no y/n i need YOU. I need all of you. I need this every night. I need to wake up to you every morning. I need YOU.”
Wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper inside he rushed his pace.
“You can have me, i want you. Please take me and make me yours Minho.”
Nails digging into his back as he abused the perfect spot. You felt your body close to snapping at the incredible rush of feeling.
Loudly sputtering out syllables of his name.
“Yes come on tell me whos making you feel this good, scream for me.”
Your moans were pathetic loud but so were your friends. It was like a match between you and bfs/n to see whose man was making the other feel better. It was clear both men had the same idea on how tonights game night was going to go.
“I told you they would play too”
“Fuck Min, i cant take it please”
“Cant take what pretty girl? Come on tell me what you want. Tell our friends what you want. Go on scream for me.”
“Please i want to cum, i want to cum for you.” Moaning in a way you dont think youve ever moaned for anyone. Feeling your mind slip away into a state of pure bliss.
“Yes!” The only word coming out of your mouth over and over and over again. Holding on as long as you could because it felt so good.
“Go ahead 자기야 i want you to make another mess”
Min wanted it to continue but with as good as you felt clenching around him he knew he needed to let go with you right then.
As wave after wave rushed over you Minho grabbed your hand in his as he let his orgasm go with yours both bodys twitching while the most beautiful melody of moans from the both of you came together.
He stayed hovered above you for a bit his head in the crock of your neck. You could feel the smile on his face. Bringing his face up to yours giving him a gentle kiss on the nose.
“That was perfect Minho”
“No you're perfect y/n.”
The gentle kisses continuing into something more passionate. You could feel Min on your thigh harding all over again.
“It doesnt sound like bsf/n and Chris are quite done. And by the feel of it I dont think your done either I might have a little left in me.” Letting out an innocent giggle.
“Fuck it ill go all night with you.”
#smut#skz#skz smut#stray kids smut#straykids#bang chan smut#minho smut#lee know smut#enemy to lovers
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a damn poet - Connor Bedard
requested; @chericherilvr 💓
summary; Connor Bedard x reader
Connor is so busy trying to have his best season that he forgets about things that really matter. He needs to learn how to be a poet to save your relationship.
warning(s); angst! fluff, argument, maybe grammar errors
author's note; it took me hours to finish this one. It was an honor for me to write this request. ♡
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Deep in your heart you know how Connor feels for you. He wouldn't invite you over another continent, joining his world championship, if he wouldn't love you. But something inside you breaks. Seeing all these hockey couples with cute pictures, sending their girlfriend flowers and the players screaming from the rooftop how much they love their girlfriends.
Connor is not like this. He loves you, he cooks your favorite food and watches all movies you want to watch. He's so focused to play the best rookie year he could do and lost the focus on his private life. He doesn't want to post your relationship official, because of his fan base.
You're self-evident for him.
"Hey love", you smile with big eyebags, touching his shoulder as he walks in the hotel room. It's your first time after three days having a real conversation with him.
"Hi", his mouth is straight, kissing your temple and waking in the bathroom. You're exhausted from love-bombing him. You're so tired of being so upset.
"How was your day?", you ask him, hearing the shower. "I can do better", his voice echos back. "You're already enough, my love", you shout back and throw your body into the bed. You spread your arms apart, your legs are on the ground.
Connor comes out after a few minutes ago in a towel, his hair is still wet and he's looking fine.
"What is that?", he grabs a paper from the desk.
"So I hold onto your shirt, as I stain it with blood
Will I finally find my own peace?
Clear my mind out of my thoughts, then state that I'm in love
Tempted with the idea of dying in these sheets"
"I'm writing songs ", your voice shakes. Connor never noticed this because he's always busy and you're asleep when he comes home. You're working full-time in a job you don't like and at night you're writing songs. Hopefully to live from that one day.
Connor looks up from these lines, "since when?", he breathes in. Hid eyes get red. Red like crying. "over a year", you sit up on the bed, your arms are supporting your back.
"Why didn't you tell me, babe?", he sniffles.
Babe. How long didn't you hear this nickname?
"You were busy", you tell him the truth. Maybe he'll break up with you. Connor sobbs, "are you really feeling this way? Finally finding your own peace?", his blue eyes searching yours, you can see how much it burdens him.
"your lyrics are professional, they're so good", he cries and tries to hide it. Whipping his tears with his wrist, face to his bag with all clothes.
He's putting a shirt on, turning around. "I just need time to realize this, babe", he kisses your lips, you taste the salt from his tears.
"You have an important game tomorrow, I'm ok with that ", you response. He nods and lays down. Without a kiss, hug or this comfortable feeling.
He lays down and let you alone with all these thoughts in your head. He doesn't seem to care much about you. Maybe it's time to leave.
Next day Connor feels like shit, even in his hockey clothes, nice fans around his team. He slept surprisingly well, but feels like the night after silvester.
It burns in his chest, you don't feel happy. But why? Since when you're writing songs? as a good boyfriend he should know. What is he missing in this relationship.
He's not shitty boyfriend, he didn't know it's hurting you. He thought its okay that he's having a strict time schedule.
"Concentration, Bedsy!", his teammate hits his shoulder to wake him up from daydreaming. Like a robot Connor played his best game but the celebration feels like a crime.
"Yo Connor are you going out with us?", some boys asking him in the cabin to celebrate their win. "No", he wants to see you. He forgot how stunning you are. How hard working you are. You're a poet and he had no clue!
He walks in your hotel room, lights are out. Just some papers all over the bed. He grabs one paper, reading the lines.
'He grabs me by my neck
Puts a dagger to my heart
Tells me I'm a mess
That I'll never be enough'
Gosh, it hits him. You are more than enough. You're his safe place. He reads every paper, focused about what you feel. It's time to hear out what you need.
He grabs his phone, calling you.
"Hello?", your voice sounds happy. "Where are you, babe?", he asks interested. "I'm at the whirlpool inside the hotel, I'll come over in 5 minutes, okay?", you're scared he's mad when you're late. You thought he's celebrating with his team and won't come to bed until midnight.
You pack the stuff and walk back to your shared room.
The opened door shows you the sort out papers with your lyrics on your bed shelf.
Connor lays in bed, smiling softly. It's typical Connor, he's a clean guy.
He smiles. He smiles at you without talking about hockey. "Congratulations for winning, I'm proud of you", you stutter.
This view feels so surreal, having a relationship after months. Having a boyfriend waiting for you.
"You look beautiful", he grins angelic.
You stopped the last step, "what did you say?". Maybe you have issues with your ears.
"You look beautiful and I love you", he talks loud.
"Love you too?", your honest reaction. The last time he said it, he broke is jaw and was out of his mind because painkillers. Months ago.
"Uhm can we talk, please?", he pets your hand, when you lay down with him. It feels like home. Smelling his perfume, hearing his breath and touching you.
"Sure", you get insecure what's coming next.
"Ok it's not easy for me", one tear runs down his cheek. You're frightened, just able to nod.
"Why do you write songs with me as enemy?", his voice is distanced and cold.
"Oh I'm sorry I don't write lies!", you defense yourself.
"I'm a good boyfriend!", he argues, "you treat me like I'm self-evident!", you yell your frustration out of your lungs. So much pain inside your chest wants to come out of your mouth. So much unsayed words.
"No-", he argues back, more tears are coming out his blue eyes.
"Yes Connor! Yes, it's true! I love writing songs and I hate my job so much! I am crying every night because my boyfriend doesn't care about me and I'm all alone and you're hiding me from fans because you could have a ruined career, I get it!", you sob under choking your salty tears. You're outraged.
You take your pillow and lay down on the floor, Connor looks down, "come over".
"No", "god damn come over!", he huffs.
"You have practice tomorrow, good night!".
That's the last time you saw him for the next two days. He's busy. Semifinals are tonight and Connor posted something on Instagram, you're too upset to check.
One WAG comes to you at the game, giggles and tells you, "never thought Bedsy is a poet!". The game is already on fire but your fingers are like a magnet, they want to switch what he posted - even if he's an idiot.
He posted a picture of you reading a book in the garden, laughing at you without pressure, without hockey and in his caption;
"You can feel, when someone traces your skin
You can kneel, run, jump and also can spin
And when I close my eyes I wish I was just like you"
#connor bedard#connor Bedard x reader#connor Bedard imagine#nhl imagine#nhl x reader#nhl blurb#nhl hockey#Connor Bedard x you
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if you still write for carmen, would you mind writing something soft and sweet for him <3
omg anon i'm so sorry this was late 😭 i hope you can forgive me and i hope you like this!
warnings: language, mentions of cut skin and blood, mostly just carmy taking care of you :,)
“Honey, that knife is really fuckin’ sharp. Be careful, yeah?” Carmy warns from the sink.
You roll your eyes, pausing your cutting to look at Carmy pointedly.
“Yes, Chef,” you say exaggeratedly, waving the knife around to punctuate your words. You appreciated his concern, really, but you could handle yourself.
“You know I hate it when you call me that, hon,” he says, smiling softly at you.
You dismiss his protests with a wave of your hand and turn back to the onion you were cutting. There was one little slice of onion left. It was narrow, but you wanted it a bit smaller, so you carefully lined up the knife to split it two.
It all happened so fast you didn’t even process what had happened. It wasn’t until later that realized that you must have pushed the knife down a little too far to the left, and the blade of the knife had sliced cleanly into your left thumb instead of the onion. The blood had come out flowing more freely than drinks at a frat party.
“Shit, shit, shit!” you hissed quietly under your breath. You jerked your hand away, narrowly avoiding dripping blood onto the cutting board and onions slices. Carmy’s head whipped around, and his mouth dropped open when he caught sight of your hand.
"Holy fuck," Carmy exclaims, his eyes getting as round as a dinner plate. He tore off a couple paper towels from the roll on the counter, lifting your wrist with one hand and wrapping your finger with the other.
"Just hold that in place, honey, okay? Keep a shit ton of pressure on it," he instructs you, his voice muffling on the last sentence as he stuck his head in various cabinets. Where did he put that fucking first aid kit?
After finding his cabinet raid unsuccessful, his hands began to fly to the drawers in the kitchen island, jerking them open and not bothering to close them when he didn't find the kit. He frantically rummaged around until he finally found what he was looking for: gauze pads and medical tape.
"Okay, okay, I'm here," Carmy says, carefully unwrapping the now-soaked paper towels from your hand. "Is it still bleeding?"
"I don't know," you say, trying to prevent the lump in your throat from showing in your voice. "I know you said to put pressure but... it just hurt too much to keep pressing down on it. M'sorry," you finish, hot tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.
"No, no, no, don't apologize. It was an accident, hon. That's all it was," Carmy tells you, squinting at your thumb. He had wrapped the gauze tightly around your finger, and was now putting on the medical tape to keep it in place. "Is it too tight, honey? Is that okay?" he asks, rotating your thumb to examine it further.
You knew that if you opened your mouth to speak, your voice would falter, so you simply shook your head no, forgetting that Carmy's eyes were completely focused on your finger. When he didn't hear a verbal response, he finally looked up at you. And when he did, you sort of lost it. You shook your head again, but hot tears began to run down your cheek.
"Does it hurt real bad, honey?" Carmy asks, eyebrows furrowed with the utmost concern.
"No. I mean- yes, it hurts, but... Carm. You literally told me that the knife was sharp. And I ended up slicing open my thumb three seconds later. Like an absolute idiot," you say, your voice cracking with emotion.
"It wasn't on purpose, though, baby," Carmy replied, furrowing his eyebrows. His hands come up to rest on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "Hey. Can you look at me, hon?"
You're forced to lift your eyes up to meet Carmy's gaze, and when you see the amount of tenderness in his eyes, it makes the lump in your throat grow even bigger.
“Every single chef I know has sliced themself open at one point. And that’s how you know they’re the real deal. It’s like... it’s basically like a badge of honor. So don’t sweat it, okay?” Carmy says softly, kissing the top of your forehead. “You want me to finish these up for you?” he asks, gesturing to the onions.
“I don’t think you have a choice, Carm. I’m basically incapacitated,” you laugh tearfully, looking at your bloodied thumb.
“Okay,” Carmy chuckles. “Just sit tight. I should have this done in a minute. Do you want some Advil?”
"No, m'okay," you promise. "Although I think I'm developing an intense hatred for onions now. Fuck onions," you say, chuckling.
Carmy chuckled at that, using his knife to sweep the onions into the pasta sauce he was making. He made his way over to you, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Fuck onions," he said, smiling at you.
#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto blurb#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto fluff#onestopfanficshop
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subm!ssive series: Ango
MDNI, sexts, established relationship, EMPHASIZED mommy kink, whiny+submissive ango, soft dom reader, cunnilingus, cum eating, amazon position (click for illustrated reference), creampie
It’s the natural progression of your relationship for you to become the more dominant one. Ango is inexperienced in love so he’s prone to neglect you without realizing it. You, however, are not one to let a good thing slip away so when he gives you the cold shoulder or acts like a brat, you force him to verbalize what’s bothering him and stop taking shit out on you.
More often than not the issue is stress from work and fear that his enemies will hurt you, so you spend a lot of time “taking his mind off” these things and “helping him destress,” ;) which also helps him manage his fears. However, he’s never had the most creativity or confidence in bed, so things gradually turn to you becoming more dominant here as well.
You’re in bed when Ango gets home from work. The door slams shut behind him, his shoes and briefcase thump to the ground, and he quickly makes his way to your bedroom to find you.
You sigh happily, languidly smiling at him when he rushes through the doorway.
“Hi baby,” you say softly. “You’re just in time.”
He watches in awe as your sticky fingers gently pat your messy pussy, leaving trails of cum and wetness in the air between. He nearly falls to his knees right then and there seeing you all spread out and waiting for him.
“Come here,” you coo, holding your sticky hand out toward him. “I need you to clean this off.”
Ango rushes to your side, gently grabbing your wrist and holding it steady as he slips your fingers into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed and he moans softly as soon as the taste of you registers on his tongue.
“Good boy,” you say encouragingly, sliding your free hand up your naked body to caress your tit. You tug your hand away from him after a few seconds of his slurping and licking all of your slick off of your hand. He whines, trying to hold your wrist still.
“If you want a taste you need to use your words, Ango.” He opens his eyes and looks at you in his pathetic, tired, needy way, and you can already tell how this night is going to go. He’ll be putty in your hands the whole evening and crying by the time he finally cums.
“I want another taste of you, mommy. Please let me eat you out.”
“Of course. But you need to take your suit off first, and hang it up so it doesn’t wrinkle. I don’t want to have to iron it again.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, quickly shaking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He stares hungrily at your body-- especially at your wet cunt-- as he undresses and hastily hangs his suit in the closet and puts his dirty clothes in the hamper. When he comes back to the bed, crawling up to you from the foot of it, he’s completely naked, just as you are.
“May I please?” he asks, laying between your legs, his face right above your aching pussy.
“Give me your glasses,” you say, holding your hand out to him. He takes them off quickly and places them in your hand. You take your time inspecting them-- making sure they’re not cracked, not too dirty-- and folding the arms closed. You reach to the side and set them carefully on the nightstand, then turn back to him and reach down, pushing his hair back from his face.
“How was work?”
He whines loudly, shifting his crotch against the bed. He doesn’t want to talk about work, just wants to get straight into the action, but you love teasing him.
“[Y/N]--”
“Who?”
“Mommy…”
“Good boy. Answer my question, Ango. How was work?”
“It was fine,” he says, glancing from your cunt to your face. “I finished a heap of reports about the last incident with the Armed Detective Agency,” he answers absentmindedly, not really able to focus on explaining the mind-numbing tasks he spent the last 8 hours doing.
“That’s good. Did you have to save them from trouble again?”
Ango whines again, his lip wobbling slightly. He can’t take his eyes off your cunt now and he licks his lips before he answers. “I was cleaning up after them. They didn’t technically do anything wrong, but I had to… prove it… mommy, please,” he whines, acting like he can barely hold himself back. You can tell that the second you give him the OK he’s going to dive in.
“Please what, Ango?”
“Please let me eat you out now. Work was really boring, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to make you feel good, mommy.”
“Hmm…” You run your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in the way you know he likes. He nuzzles his head up into your hand and his eyes flutter closed again. You pretend to be thinking, humming a couple more times as you scratch his scalp. Finally, your hand stills and he looks at you.
“Okay,” you say, pushing his face down to your cunt. “Make me cum, Ango.”
His tongue immediately lunges out to taste a fat glob of your wetness and cum-- he knows you’d been playing with yourself before he got home; you’d been sending him pictures for an hour. He wants to know how many times you’ve cum already, but there’s no way in hell he’s stopping to ask you now.
He selfishly slurps up as much of your heat as he can before he finally points his tongue and starts flicking it back and forth across your clit. He’s very knowledgeable when it comes to your body-- he knows exactly what it can take and what it can do. By the way your hands tightern in fistfulls of his hair and your breath hitches and your hips buck up to meet his face, he thinks you’ve probably already come twice, and now he’s determined to give you your third orgasm.
“Mm, Ango,” you moan, grinding your hips up into his mouth. “Good… good boy.”
His face burns with a blush but he also feels prideful and driven because of your praise. He wraps his arms around your hips, locking them together over your stomach to hold you in place. One of your hands pets his while the other stays in his hair.
He flattens his tongue and draws fat, lazy circles over your clit and hood, making you whimper each time he flicks over a certain, extra sensitive spot. He notices almost immediately and targets that spot next, flicking back and forth relentlessly, trying to work you up fast so you’ll praise him again.
“Mm… Fuck… You’re so good with your tongue, Ango.”
He moans into your cunt and buries his face further, almost lovingly nuzzling into it, getting your juices all over his face from his nose to his chin. He moves back to your clit and slurps and suckles on it given that it’s nice and swollen from your previous abuse of it. Your moans turn high and whiny. Your nails dig into his hand and claw at his scalp.
Cum, he thinks. Please cum. Please, please, please.
It takes a couple more minutes of fast licking and suckling but you do cum hard, grinding up against his face which you hold in place with both of your hands. He loves being used like this, loves when you ride his face even when he’s laying between your legs. He’d let you use him for your pleasure any day, more than happy to make you cum as much as you want.
When you finally let go of him, he doesn’t immediately get up. He kisses your pussy all over, from your clit down to your taint and back up. He spreads his kisses around your inner thighs, then dives back in, unable to help himself. He once again licks into your cunt, trying to slurp out as much of your cum and wetness as he can.
“Ango, stop,” you whine, squirming. “I wanna fuck you. Get up.” You whine again. “I need to be wet to get your dick in me, you dummy.”
“You’re always perfect,” he mumbles against your pussy lips. “So perfectly wet and tight and warm. I don’t deserve how perfect you are.”
“Oh, hush,” you sigh, petting his hair. “Get up and wipe your face, pet.”
Ango gives your pussy one last kiss and greedy lick before he lets go of your hips and shakily gets to his knees. You immediately look to see how hard he is, and just as you expected, he’s not only hard but he’s already oozing pre-cum.
“I love how much you love eating me out,” you say to him as he sits on the edge of the bed and uses a tissue to clean his face. You reach over and trace lines between the moles on his back. “You’re such a sweet boy. I wanna make you feel so good, baby. You deserve it for being such a good boy.”
“Thank you,” he says, tossing the tissue away and turning to face you. “I love you.”
“I love you more. Come here and lay down.” You sit up and get out of the way so Ango can take your place laying in the middle of the bed. He does so, immediately spreading his legs and holding his knees up slightly, knowing which position you’re going to go for.
You kneel right against his ass, your thighs bracing his to hold them further up. You lean down over him and kiss him, also taking the opportunity to push your breasts against his flat chest, knowing that he likes the feeling of your heavy tits on him. You make out with him, both of you panting and moaning softly into each others mouths as you start slightly humping his ass, leaving a small wet patch against his skin where your dripping cunt touches his skin.
“I need you,” Ango whimpers against your lips. “Please fuck me, mommy.”
“I’m getting there, baby, I promise.”
You pull back from his mouth and look down at his cock laying against his belly. You hold it gently and spread his precum around his tip, getting him wet and messy as you start to drag your hand up and down his shaft. He moans softly, biting his lip as he watches you.
“That feel good?”
“Yes, mommy.”
“You want me to put it in?”
“Yes, mommy, yes yes yes,” he pants, eyes widening, his hands reaching out to caress your sides and help you balance as you finally shift so you’re on your feet, crouching above Ango’s cock. You take it in your hand and point it up and slightly back so you can lower yourself onto it. You throw your head back and moan with your mouth hanging open.
“Ango, fuck. You have such a nice, big cock. It fills mommy up so good.”
Ango moans too, hands tightening on your waist. “Thank you, mommy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He babbles on, thanking you for fucking him as you start humping him, using his cock as if it’s yours. You make sure to hold his knees up and apart the way he does to you on the rare occasion he takes control, basically folding him in half as you fuck yourself on his cock.
“Touch me, Ango,” you tell him breathlessly after a moan-filled couple of minutes of humping him. “I know you wanna play with my titties.”
“Yes,” he sighs happily, reaching out to cup both of your breasts in his hands. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, trying not to let them out of his hands as you keep fucking him. Your tits jiggle in his hands with every thrust and he feels his mouth watering at the sight of it. He wishes he could get them in his mouth, but it’ll have to wait for later.
You readjust your position, finally tired of squatting over him. You gently lower yourself onto your knees with his cock still inside you, making sure he doesn’t yelp or yell out or suddenly get hurt by the way your angle changes and makes his cock point down between his legs.
He only moans and keeps looking at you with love-struck pussy-drunk eyes, so you consider yourself good to continue. Now that you’re kneeling behind him, you can glide your hips back and forward as if grinding on him while riding, but since you’re behind him your thighs smack his ass with every thrust. You push harder, fucking yourself faster on his cock, making your skin slap against his, sending jolts through his whole body that have him shaking up and down on the bed from the force of your movements.
“Mommy,” he mewls, high and throaty. “Mommy, I need to cum. Please! I’m gonna cum. I can’t hold it in!”
“Cum in me, baby,” you tell him through gasping breaths. “Fill me up. Show me you love me and give me all your cum, Ango.”
By the time your hand has reached up to flick at his perky nipples, he’s already spilling deep inside your pussy, painting your walls milky white in thick spurts. He moans your name, and mommy, but mostly your name as he cums, and as he comes down from his high all he can whine is “I love you, I love you.”
You raise yourself up and let his softening cock slip out of your cunt. You both watch as his cum dribbles out of you and lands on the curve of his ass.
“Good boy,” you coo, swiping his cum up with your finger. You suck it into your mouth and taste him, humming happily. “You even taste good. That’s ‘cause you’re my sweet boy, huh?”
#ango x reader#ango smut#ango headcanons#ango bsd#ango bungo stray dogs#bungo stray dogs ango#bsd smut#bsd headcanons#bsd drabble#ango drabble#ango fanfic#bsd fanfic#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs fanfic#bungo stray dogs#smau#bsd smau#bungo stray dogs texts#bungo stray dogs smau#dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#akutagawa x reader
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school bus love (5)
synopsis: it’s high time to throw caution to the wind, don’t you think?
pairing: teen!toji fushiguro x teen!f!reader
warnings: none.
a/n: i just wanted to say that I absolutely adore all the comments saying this drabble series is making you nostalgic. besides me telling you all a bit about myself, the main goal really was to create a slice of life piece that makes people reminisce their school days xo
drabble series / part 4
today was momentous.
freedom was teasing her, dangling sweet summer fruits and the smell of sea salt in front of her. she gritted her teeth, her wrist aching as she frantically wrote the final few sentences of her last question. the clock was ticking, and it would all be over soon.
three.
two.
one…
“that’s it, everyone! time’s up!”
she had never packed up her things so fast in her life, practically shoving her way through the throng of students gathering outside the exam hall. all she could think about was feeling the warm sun on her skin and seeing the patches of blue between the jagged white clouds. today marked the final exam she had to sit, and she was now completely free for the summer.
in a exactly a week’s time, she would be sunning herself on the beach, swimming through crystal-clear waters, and snacking on crunchy slices of watermelon in the shade of palm trees with her best friends. in a week’s time, she would be back home for a whole month, a prospect that should make her buzz with excitement, if not for the nagging reminder of just one thing.
she wouldn’t be seeing toji.
they’d had a handful of conversations over the past three weeks, but nothing more had progressed. she still wasn’t sure if he really liked her, and she was starting to become convinced that she had to cut her losses. it was becoming exhausting overanalyzing toji’s every word, trying to decipher any hidden meanings in his messages and figuring out times when he might have been glancing at her too.
the chase was quite boring without much progress to show for it, and it was a hard pill to swallow that toji probably just wasn’t into her the way she wanted him to be.
she put her headphones and tuned out the world – and all thoughts of toji – attempting to bask in the sheer relief of having finished her exams, which had all gone relatively well. later that night, after pampering herself with an extra self-care routine in the shower, she called her friends for a celebratory gaming session. naturally, she aired out her frustrations about her gorgeous boy.
“i’m just worried the conversation is gonna completely fizzle out, ya know?” she ranted, rapidly clicking her mouse buttons. “it’s not like we’ll be on the bus together anymore.”
“oh my god, girl. i literally agree with your mom,” asa suddenly snapped, taking her aback in shock. “why don’t you just ask him on a date right now?”
“r-right now?” she sputtered. “i can’t do that.”
“why not? if he says no, then you’ll know if he doesn’t like you, and you can move on,” morgoth hummed, a rare voice of reason for once.
that was a whole lot easier said than done.
could she even do something so bold? she doubted she was courageous enough for something like that, and she was still clinging to her little girl dream of being asked out by a boy on her first date. her heart started to pound as it battled with her mind, her soul watching the back and forth she was having within herself.
suddenly, a thread snapped, and the raging waves stilled as if nothing had ever happened.
fuck it.
she left the game, earning cries of protest and anger from her friends, and whipped open her notes app on her phone. if she thought too much, she would chicken out and change her mind. after typing a dozen variations of how she was going to phrase the message, she finally settled on one and quickly copied and pasted it into their snapchat conversation.
hey toji, are you free by any chance to hang out tomorrow? x
and hit send.
oh…
she hit send.
she.
hit.
send.
“holy fucking shit,” she whispered incredulously, a sense of dread spreading from her head to her toes.
morgoth grunted, “what happened now?”
“i just asked toji out on a date tomorrow,” she replied, voice cracking with electric nerves.
her friends both sputtered and coughed at the same time. “fuck off, no you didn’t,” asa said, obviously shell-shocked with a hint of excitement. “tomorrow?!”
“what do you mean ‘fuck off’?! you told me to do it,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and rocking back and forth on her bed.
“hah! well, what did you say?”
“i just asked him if he wanted to hang out tomorrow, and i put an ‘x’ at end to kind of… i don’t know, flirt i guess?”
her friends both cackled, and heat rose to her chest and face.
toji fushiguro is typing…
she gasped, more so screamed, “guys, fuck! oh my god, oh my god! he’s typing.”
“that was quick,” commented morgoth under his breath.
toji fushiguro has sent you a chat!
another shrill gasp. “guys, he replied!”
“leave it!” asa giggled, his giddiness infectious and making her laughter bubble out of her chest. “don’t be a desperate bitch.”
“fuck you, he replied quick! I’m not gonna just sit here and wait.”
toji fushiguro: yeah should be free for a bit tomorrow, when were you thinking?
oh my.
oh my…
“what’s he saying, huh?” asa giggled again.
“something good, i guess. her breathing suddenly got quicker,” morgoth chuckled, his laughter reverberating through his microphone.
hmm not sure haha, whenever you’re free i guess, i’m free all day tomorrow
play it cool. play it cool, goddamn it.
toji fushiguro: yeah, what about some time in the afternoon sure?
yeah sweet, does 4 sound okay or is that too late?
toji fushiguro: yeah 4 should be sweet, sounds good
aight, where do you wanna go? i still don’t know the good places to go to lmao
toji fushiguro: tbh i have no idea, sure like let’s just see when we meet up what you’re feeling
“hehe, guys, he says it’s up to what i’m feeling.”
ahaha ok then, where do you wanna meet up then?
toji fushiguro: oh yeah shit, uh you know where like the big wheel kinda is at the seafront? we could meet up there if you want?
the ferris wheel ahaha?
toji fushiguro: yeah the big wheel ahahah, literally the most recognizable place i could think of in town
haha ok no worries, i’ll see you tomorrow then, i’ll text you when i get there :)
toji fushiguro: yeah see you tomorrow x
she wasn’t a physical being limited to the confines of her bedroom anymore. no, she was limitless and infinite, soaring with ravens among the indigo clouds of twilight, her heart leaping with every sudden dip of their wings. life was good, life was meaningful, and holy shit. toji fushiguro had agreed to go on her very first date ever with her.
“guys.”
“what?”
“he sent me an ‘x’, and we’re going on a date tomorrow.”
general taglist: @tadabzzzbee @wannapizzamymindposts @stromynight
school bus love taglist: @badbyeyoongi
p.s: fun fact, these are the actual text messages i sent to my boyfriend the day i asked him out :3
©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.
#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#toji x reader#toji x y/n#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu kaisen#jjk toji#toji zenin#toji fluff#jjk fluff#toji drabbles#jjk drabbles#toji fushiguro
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Zoro & Luffy (OPLA) reacting to you having severe daddy issues
A/n: Sorry guys i Felt a little angsty today and i put a little too much of my daddy issues into this lmao
Masterlist
Headcannons version (Not ready yet)
Plot: Basically reader is stressing about going back home because of her father because he's a shit head
Warnings; Terrible father, Anxiety attacks, Cursing,
LUFY; He knows a little bit more about your past than the rest; he's your captain; he takes that as his responsibility. So when he saw your entire expression change when nami said the next place they would dock was your home island he was worried . He wanted to talk to you about it but Usopp needed his attention.Later’ he told himself that he'd go into your room. Later he actually arrived when you heard a sudden knock at your door it caught you by surprise. When you opened it you expected to see nami or sanji but not Luffy he had a plate in his hand ‘Damn I missed dinner’. You looked at luffy in the eye and he had his serious expression “{Name} Could we talk?”. your heart drops to your stomach, you had prayed that no one would ask you that 4 letter question, you created your throat “Mhm- yea come in” He takes slow footsteps as he looks around your room looking for a place to set down the food he settled for the nightstand. He takes a seat on your bed while patting the space next to him. You go but reluctantly “What’s the problem captain” Luffy not one for beating around the bush and he wouldn’t do it right now “Is there something in your hometown that you fear {Name}?” You feel tears try to escape your eyes when you blink rapidly. You think about lying but it's Luffy he would find out anyways “Yes their is' '. He perks up at this “Well whatever it is i'm all ears.” so you spill everything along with you crying in the process. When you finished everything there were two things on Luffy's mind: How he was gonna kill this bastard and you didn't deserve any of that. you except luffy to say something but he doesn’t he use uts his straw hat onto you and hugs you and you basically jump into his arms and cry some more and he doesn’t complain he knows you need this and who is he to take this away from you “Shit i got my tears all over your shirt” After you separate from the hug “It’s ok i have more” You smile at him and he returns the favor. He gets off your bed and walks to the door “wait where are you going?” “Telling nami that we need to change where we’re docking”
ZORO; He never really knew about your past no one on the crew did. So when he found you crying in your room trying to stay silent it broke his heart. He didn't say anything as you tried to wipe your tears away from your red eyes. He just closed the door behind him and sat besides you in the corner of your room. He saw that you were shaking uncontrollably. He doesn't do emotions well but he would learn for you. He noticed you tried to speak but your voice but nothing went out “You don’t have to say anything {name}”. you looked at him in the eyes for the first time since he saw you “Thank you” Your voice was lower than a whisper only letting his ears hear it. You try to stand but you do it too quickly causing you to fast it causes you to fall back but zoro catches you “Let’s get you sat down ok” He carried you bridal style onto your bed laying you down gently. He goes to leave but you grab his wrist “Dont go please” He sees you silently pleading in your eyes so he stays he crawls into the bed with you he has you lay your head on his chest “Ro can I tell you what happened” “You don't have to” “I just need someone to talk to about it” He puts his full attention on you nothing else has his attention. So when you tell him everything His heart is hurting but angry No human deserves any of that “Do you feel better?” You nod at him “But tired” He gently grabs your face making you look at him “Sleep I’ll be here when you wake up” In zoro’s mind he was gonna kill that asshole
#tiajk#my boyfriends#😭#i cried making this#opla luffy x reader#opla zoro x reader#opla zoro#opla luffy#luffy x reader#zoro x reader
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Pickled Peña Challenge 2023
Good Impression
Pairing: Husband!Javier P. x GN!reader
Word count: 1.2k
Tags/Warnings: Nothing really, fluff, lil bit of angst (silly angst tho), reader and Javi have a dog, Chucho being hella cool, kissing, cussing, vivid descriptions of fried pickles, wifey being actually stupid
Summary: You really wanted to bring something for Chucho's new year's party...
A/N: Hey, y'all! This is my contribution to @goodwithcheese's Pickled Peña Resolutions Writing Challenge! It's kind of stupid but it's what I've got lmao. I can't wait to read everyone else's Peña stories (please feel free to tag me in them)! Unfamiliar with this challenge? Read more about it here! @pickled-pena
*****
“Shit!”
You curse as you watch a pickle slice splat wetly onto the kitchen floor, jumping back to avoid it landing on your bare foot. Max, your golden lab (who was oh-so-creatively named by your husband) is quick to clean it up not a second after it falls.
“Goddammit, Max,” you scold as you watch him scarf it down without shame. “That’s your fifth pickle today.”
Hell, it might be the sixth. You usually aren’t a super messy cook, but it’s a different story when you’re in a time crunch. You need to leave the house in about an hour, and the fried pickles you promised to bring for Chucho’s new year’s party are only half done.
Javier walks in then, chuckling slightly at the interaction he just witnessed. You give him a pointed look before getting back to the task at hand, smothering pickle slices in the flour mixture you had made up.
“Oh, come on now, sweetheart,” Javi says as he walks up behind you to glide his arms around your waist. “Don’t be like that, we have plenty of time.”
You roll your eyes and half-heartedly shove him off of you as you dip the first batch into the oil on the stove.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Javi, I still have to fry every single one of these slices, and then let them dry and cool before we can leave. Plus, I still need to change my clothes, and we have to pick up a gift for Chucho on our way there.”
Javi presses a kiss to the top of your head, humming in response to your explanation.
“I think we’ll be okay. Chucho isn’t going to mind if we’re a little late.”
“I know,” you whine. “But I still hate not being–”
“I promise you, baby. As long as I show up with ‘that pretty partner of mine’, there’s not going to be an issue.” He pinches your hip lightly as he quotes his father’s words from a few days earlier.
You can’t help the faint smile that crawls across your face at that reminder. You had been so worried about Javier’s family not liking you, but it turns out that they adore you just as much as he does, just from what he’s said about you. It’s nice to know you’ll be welcomed so warmly even though they had never met you previously.
The two of you had met in columbia by chance, hooked up, and things spiraled from there. As much as he tried, Javi just couldn’t tear himself away from you. A year later, the two of you were married, and a year after that, you both moved back to Javi’s hometown in Texas, where you’re now, finally, about to meet everyone you had heard so much about.
You had told Javi that it’s your new year’s resolution to make a good impression, but you doubt that’s going to be very hard. You’ve already made a good impression in their book just by marrying the man.
“How about you go ahead and get changed, and I’ll do what I can here?” Javi suggests.
You scoop out your pickles and lay them on a rack to dry before turning around and planting a kiss on Javi’s cheek.
“Thank you, baby. That would help a lot.”
“No problema, mi vida.”
He grabs your wrist to pull you in to press his lips against yours. You smile against him before pulling back and planting a final, light kiss on his lips.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” you tell him as you back out of the doorway.
***
It doesn’t take too long for you to get dressed. Javi is just finishing the pickles as you walk back into the kitchen.
“Should be all set,” he says as he wipes his hands down with a paper towel. You lean on your toes to kiss him again.
The two of you have everything cleaned and packed up within another few minutes. You glance at the clock, which tells you that you should be right on time by the time you’re walking out the door. You grab the container of pickles to take with you to the hall table by the front door.
Javi mumbles something from behind you and then walks into your room, patting his pockets as he goes. You almost laugh under your breath at his forgetfulness until you realize you left your keys in the bathroom.
You place the container down and walk down the hall, not noticing how precariously balanced the tub is left. You snatch your keys up at the same time you hear a crash. You gasp at the sound of what can only be a plastic lid breaking off to spill your hard work all over the floor.
Your fears are confirmed as you quickly make your way back to where you left them, only to find Javi hovering over the mess. When looks up and immediately catches your stunned expression, his entire body freezing as he does so.
“Baby,” he starts slowly. I swear it wasn’t–”
“Javier. F. Peña,” you seethe, each name spat out as its own individual sentence. ���You did not just knock that down,” you almost dare him to contradict you. There’s absolutely no way for you to make another batch right now. You don’t have the time nor the ingredients.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Javi retorts defensively, holding up his hands as he takes a step toward you. “What makes you so sure that it was me? I thought it was you until I got out here!”
“Me?” you gawk at him, offended. “Unlike some other people I know, I’m not that fucking clumsy!”
“Woah, you stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?”
Just then, Max slinks into the hall, drawing both of your attention to his guilty movements. His tail wags hesitantly behind him, his head ducked. The fact that he’s not all over those damn pickles tells you all that you need to know. You sigh in frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose.
You look back up at Javi, and you can’t miss the glint of amusement in his eye. A smile peaks out as you lean down to Max’s level. You don’t scold him, instead gently grabbing his collar to lead him to your room before shutting the door so you can clean the mess without interruption.
Javi’s already on it, sweeping everything into a dustpan. You lean against the wall as he finishes up.
“Guess we’re going to have to stop by that burger joint in town,” you say, sighing again. Javi watches you, sending you a sympathetic smile. He knows how much you wanted to bring something homemade, how much it meant to have something to offer, no matter how small.
“I’m sorry sweetheart. Maybe next time we can invite Chucho over for dinner next week, make up a big meal for him.”
You smile back at him. He always knows what to say. He walks into the kitchen to dispose of the contents in the dustpan, and you to your room to release Max before rejoining each other in the hall.
“Ready to go, my little chef?”
You roll your eyes at him with feigned annoyance as you take his hand.
“Let’s go, Peña.”
#pedro pascal#fan fiction#ao3#fluff#javier pena fluff#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javi pena#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#pickled peña#pickledpeña writing challenge#writing challenge#narcos#pedro pascal fluff#javier pena angst#javier peña x reader#javier pena fic#javier pena x you#javi p#pedro pascal angst#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic
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man with the plan (j.wy) - prologue
Summary:
"Don't forget Pretty, I'm serving life plus one. So if I get busted for attempted escape, I'll throw in a homicide in there as well with no problem, that’s like a parking ticket to me."
When your brother ends up in jail for a murder he didn't commit, the only thing left for you to do is to find a way to break him out. But after a perfect plan is set in motion, you don't expect a romantic variable to get added into the equation.
Pairing: jung wooyoung x fem. reader, jeong yunho x reader (but if u squint)
Status: coming soon (i hope)
Taglist: if you'd like to be added just reply below! c:
A/N: this is very obviously inspired by prison break ( my favorite show on planet earth), y/n will be very much inspired by michael scofield and i (unfortunately) don't own nor the show nor michael scofield. anyways! wooyoung is the love interest (surprise surprise) but the rest of atz will be present. please let me know if this is something you'd be interested in reading. if i do continue writing it, i plan for it to be written in 3 parts each consisting of 7-9 chapters!
MY MAIN MASTERLIST! // AO3
(prologue)
The buzzing of the tattoo machine is the only thing interrupting the silence in the dark parlor as the needle continues prodding at the skin of your shoulder and makes you grip the chair you sit on.
It used to hurt. A lot. Now, the pain is reduced to a light sting as you suppose you've gotten used to it.
"Almost done. Just finishing touches now." Chao comforts from behind you, soft breath hitting your exposed skin as he wipes away the excess ink.
You only nod in response, never having much to say to him despite his best efforts.
"You know, you've been coming here for almost a year and barely said a word." He comments while he works. "Asking me to work after closing hours and everything, I would've expected to at least get to know you better."
You try to hold back an eye roll as you give him a bland look over your shoulder, eyes coasting over the tattoo of a dragon curling around his neck and disappearing behind his long hair.
"That's why I'm paying you almost double." Is your only response as you play with the sleeves of the button up pooling around your waist.
"So, you're telling me that after tonight, you'll just walk out of here and I'll never see you again?"
"Something like that." You murmur and he huffs behind you.
"I've never done a tattoo this big on a girl before." He continues, always keen on talking even if all he gets is quiet 'mhm's and 'ah's in response. "For a first-timer especially. Usually, it's a name of a boyfriend which they later regret or something artsy but shallow, like a butterfly or some shit."
A smirk tugs on your lips as you peek at him over your shoulder again, "Are you really trying to tell me I'm not like the other girls, right now?"
He grins and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Chao was fairly attractive, handsome in that bad boy-ish type of way where you know he'll definitely put you through hell but you'd have fun with it.
It's unfortunate that you're not in the mood to think about anything like that anymore. You haven't been for the last eighteen months.
"You never even told me what the tatt was all about..." He trails off, bandaging your shoulder up and your eyes fall to the tiles below your feet. "I mean, look at all of this..."
You presume he means the tattoo starting from your lower back, curling around the shoulders and cascading down your arms, stopping at the wrists. The numbers laid over thin lines, intertwined with thicker ones, curling around letters like a snake and creating a piece that no-one can see.
No-one except for you.
It's about my brother's future, you think to yourself.
"It doesn't mean anything. Just thought it would look cool." You chuckle, sliding your hands through the sleeves of your shirt and working on buttoning yourself up, covering the tattoo from the artist who worked relentlessly to stitch it onto you. You turn to him, pulling your hair out from the collar of the shirt as you smile at him. "I guess I'm like all the other girls as well."
Chao stares at you in wonder before his eyes fall to the wad of cash you pull out from your bag and hold out to him.
"Thank you, Chao. You've done a great job."
He sighs again, "It would've been done a lot sooner if it wasn't for your constant nitpicking."
You grin at him while pulling on your jacket and slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What can I say, I'm a perfectionist."
Giving him one last wave, you disappear from the shop.
-
18 months ago;
The collar of your white button up feels like it's strangling you as the buzzer echoes through the stuffy room and two guards appear through the door, dragging him in and sitting him down in the chair opposite of you, making sure to cuff him to the table.
There is only glass separating you but it feels like he's miles away.
Jongho's eyes are dull when they meet your own, dark circles hanging below them and hair messy.
"Y/N..." You have to look the other way, to stop the ugly tears from falling as your heart constricts at his familiar voice.
You haven't seen him since the trial. Didn't have the courage to step anywhere near these walls.
A facility with maximum level security for the biggest scum that roamed your country and wretched chaos on innocent people, inflicted pain and sorrow, terrorized society in the worst of ways.
And now, your brother was one of them.
The person who raised you, took care of you when no-one else did, was serving a life sentence.
Finally gathering the guts to look at him, you clench your jaw and try to ignore the desperation in his eyes. The dark blue uniform engulfs him and is a deep contrast to his usually tanner skin that turned almost ghastly pale just after a week of being in there.
"Did you do it?" You whisper and Jongho looks at you like you just slapped him. His eyes water and he looks absolutely devastated but you have to know. You have to know.
"No." He answers firmly, voice cracking as he blinks away the tears, he never was much of a crier. "No. Of course not."
Of course not.
He says that like it's unimaginable for him.
It was unimaginable to you as well up until three weeks ago.
With a record of petty crimes and a bad temperament, he had a knack for getting himself into trouble that he always managed to get himself out of one way or another. Except this time.
You always knew Jongho was in some deep shit, hanging around people that were bad for him and barely being able to hold onto an honest job for more than a month.
But that's all he was. A petty criminal with offences that never went past bar fights and getting into discourses with police officers who stop his car for going over the speed limit, not a murderer.
You can't even stop the tear that slides down your cheek as you huff at an attempt to laugh, it comes out choked.
"What about all the evidence then?" Your voice is hoarse as you speak in a hushed tone, recalling the first time you've seen the tape in court.
"I...Y/N, I don't know...All I can think is that someone set me up because I didn't do it, I swear." Jongho stresses, palms laid against the table, desperate for you to believe him. "He was my boss, for fuck's sake."
"He fired you a month before that." You harshly interrupt and he sighs, eyes falling shut as you continue to sniffle with a crumbled face, "What were you doing at his house?"
"Someone told me to go there- I-I thought he was going to give me my job back..." Jongho stutters, his own tears threatening to fall as he presses his lips together. For his lack of excuse or proper explanation, he really does look sincere.
You both sit in silence for a moment, you can almost feel the time you have with him trickling away.
That's all you'll have with him from now on. One hour per week, for the rest of his life and that's only if your time here isn't shared with Yeosang, if he ever decides to muster up the balls to see him.
You're not sure if you're willing to settle for that.
"Swear to me." You finally say, staring at him dead in the eye as his brows furrow, "Swear to me that you didn't do it."
Without a beat, "I didn't do it." Jongho responds, not breaking eye contact. You keep your gaze planted on his face, observing it for any signs of dishonesty. But you fail to find any. "Y/N, I didn't do it. I swear to you."
You stare at him for a second longer before your gaze flies behind him, there are three guards in total in the room. One behind the counter, two by the door.
Your gaze returns to Jongho, who doesn't move a muscle, still looking at you in desperation and what you can only recognize as fear.
He looks a lot younger now, like the Jongho who used to shake every time you two would be on your way to a new foster family. The Jongho that you know was scared to the bones but never wanted to show it for your sake.
You can't lose your older brother.
"Okay."
-
You throw the keys into the bowl near the front door and with a tired sigh kick off your shoes before walking further into your apartment.
The shoulder Chao just worked on ached like hell but the pain almost felt good, served as a reminder that you can't afford to be tired right now.
So without further ado, you walk into your office that when you first moved into the luxurious skyscraper overlooking Han River, was used for working from home or more like, working after you came home from work.
Now, the office served a different purpose completely.
Your eyes sweep over the filled out wall and window, both covered in an array of information and yellow post-it notes; a product of your relentless work and research over the last eighteen months.
Your hands twitch, you don't want to get rid of it. What if you missed something? What if you made a mistake somewhere? What if something managed to sneak away unnoticed by you?
But having it here, in plain sight where anyone who walks in and is nosy enough to look can see it, can end up being more dangerous than something unforeseen happening. Heck, you already had Mrs. Kim try to enter despite it being locked a couple of times.
You needed to lose every trace or connection to that prison and the people inside of it, with the exception of Jongho, before Monday.
Besides, what would be the point of Chao and the reason you almost paid him thirty grand? If you don't get rid of this stuff, it would almost be as if you flushed the money down the toilet.
So you grab an empty garbage bag and with a shaky sigh, start ripping down paper after paper, photo after photo and filling out the plastic bag. Article after article flashes before your eyes as the sound of papers ripping fills the room.
'Chungju Detention Center: Level 1', 'Choi Jongho Final Appeal Denied', 'Choi Jongho Convicted To Serve Life For Murder of-', 'Body of Son Changkyu found in his home-', 'Governor's Son Wins Humanitarian Award', 'Life sentence for Kim Hongjoong', 'Park Ha-ru Myth Still Alive Despite Conviction', 'Killer of VP Brother to Serve a Life Sentence at Chungju-'
Once the window is clean and the wall is bare again, only tiny holes from the tacks left as evidence that anything was ever there in the first place and with three bags worth of garbage, you stuff it into the fireplace and throw a match in right after.
You watch the key to your brother's future turn to ashes.
-
The buzzer makes you look up from your hands and you smile a little bit once your eyes meet Jongho's through the glass but it quickly turns to a frown once you notice the enormous bruise running down his jaw.
"Hey." He greets with a stiff smile as the guard cuffs him to the table and turns to walk away.
"What happened?" You jump to question him immediately and Jongho rolls his eyes with a low groan.
"It's not a big deal."
"They beat you up."
"Hey, maybe I was the one who was beating someone else up." He defends trying to lighten up the situation but the frown on your face doesn't budge and he sighs. "I got in a fight with one of the guys in the yard, it's not a big deal, Y/N, shit like that happens here-"
"It can't happen, Jongho. From now on, it can't happen." Now it's Jongho's turn to frown and you sigh, "You'll get thrown into solitary if it gets any worse and then I won't be able to-"
You stop yourself, eyes fleeting to the guard behind the counter. There are no wires surrounding the visitors area due to the building being so old, you would know, you made sure it was the first thing to check once you got your hands on the blueprints. But you can never be too careful.
"I won't be able to see you if you're in solitary." You say, voice gentle and Jongho's eyes soften before he gives you a nod in response.
"Alright, no fighting back, I'll just let them beat me to a pulp then I guess." He shrugs and you roll your eyes. Typical.
"You know that's not what I meant but that smartass attitude is the thing that might be getting you in trouble in the yard in the first place." You quickly retort with a glare as he huffs.
"How's your cellmate?" You ask and Jongho, as he always does when you ask about his roommate, looks confused but today, it's something else as well.
"Oh, I'm actually getting a new one." You freeze at that, blinking rapidly a couple of times.
"What do you mean?"
"They're moving Jisung to the psych ward after he tried to off himself with his bedsheet." Jongho explains like he's talking about the weather and you gape at him, wondering just what goes on in there on the daily if a man trying to kill himself isn't anything out of the ordinary.
But then again, you're not all that worried about Jisung's mental health either but more for the fact that he's gone and now somebody else will take his place.
You can already see a small tiny piece of your tattoo being considered useless now.
But you can't let that bring you down. It's just a small hitch, nothing else.
"Well, do you know who's coming to take his place?" You ask, ignoring the way Jongho eyes you.
He shakes his head in response and your leg starts bouncing in anxiety.
"No, they're moving him in after lunch."
After lunch.
So, you won't know until...
One of the biggest pieces of the plan and it will be unsure until the said plan is set in motion.
Great.
You clear your throat, leaning closer and on instinct, Jongho copies you, "Listen, I won't be able to visit for awhile."
"Why?" Jongho questions, eyes boring into yours and you let out a small breath. "Are you going somewhere?"
"No." Your eyes stray to the two guards by the door, just a couple of feet away. "I just won't be able to visit you for awhile. Maybe. I'm working on preventing that but just in case I don't come next Friday, I wanted you to know."
Jongho eyes you suspiciously before he leans closer again, nose almost touching the glass. "Y/N, what the hell are you doing?"
You bite back a smile, amused that he just knows you, and that only makes Jongho more frustrated.
"Y/N, did you get yourself in some shit?" He hisses, looking over his shoulder to check if the guard is still by the door, "If you did, call Yeosang. He'll know what to do."
You scoff, "I'm not you to get myself in some shit. Relax, I got a new job."
"New job?" Jongho goes back to being confused, "Why can't you visit then? It's somewhere far away?"
You stare at him before nodding, "Something like that," You whisper.
"Oh, okay. I mean of course, your job is important." He nods and you feel your heart ache inside your chest at his slightly crestfallen face that he tries to cover up. "You're a structural engineer after all, they probably need you to design another fancy building, huh?"
You wish to tell him that you'll be there. You'll be closer to him than he thinks but you can't do any of that until you're properly inside those walls.
"Yeah." You nod, blinking away the tears. You clear your throat, glancing at the clock behind his head. "Hey, Jongho, remember how we used to talk to each other?"
He cocks his head in confusion.
"When we were kids, how we used to talk to each other. For example, when Soyoung was around and we didn't want her to understand."
Jongho's eyes gain some recognition but the confusion still remains on his face. Hesitantly, he bobs his head, "Yeah."
"Good," You nod, mouth perking up, "You might want to brush up on that."
Jongho opens his mouth to say something more but you're already waving over the guard.
You lean closer to him one more time, staring at his confused face through the glass to whisper;
"See you on Monday."
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Steve Harrington x reader
Steve has been getting headaches ever since his first encounter with the upside down. But luckily now he’s with you, and he’s learnt to be open if he’s going through anything. You’re going to make sure your boyfriend gets some rest when he’s hurting, or at the very least, not straining himself worse
The bell of Family Video rings, and you smile as you walk through the door to see your boyfriend Steve with his vest already off and his own jacket on, coming with a small smile of his own to the entrance.
You knew what time he finished today so you said you’d come meet him when he was done, join him in the car ride back, or tag along if he’d been called for any sort of help or errand while at work. Steve was relaibale and trustworthy and his friends, especially the kids, knew they could count on him. But it did mean Steve was usually the only one to be asked, to take on all that pressure, because he’d hardly ever say no in the first place. So changed plans weren’t unusual.
Already reaching your hands out for Steve, that smile never fades, having missed him for the six hours he was away. “Hey babygirl.” You called softly to him.
Steve’s smile lifted a little more at that nickname, but his voice was an odd kind of soft as he came closer. “Hey.”
You kissed his temple, right between his hairline and warm skin, as you slung your arm around his shoulders. Only for when you leaned your lips back, noticing Steve bowing his head slightly, looking up at you from below. This worried you.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” You stretched your fingers over his arm, pulling his wrist close gently to hold his hand, bringing it to rest limply between both your bodies. Although he held your hand back in his own gladly.
“Nothing... I’ve just been having my headaches again today.” Steve told you, his movements slow and tired. Steve got headaches occasionally. Ones that would last for hours, but he said he was so used to them, he just knew how to keep going on with stuff with them around. They’d only really started since his first interaction with the whole upside down shit.
You were just glad they’re weren’t an everyday thing, although you hated how effected your love had been from these things. Honestly it was surprising how okay Steve was day to day. And he was very honest with you about stuff like that. His feelings, what he was going through, any hurt physical, emotional, mental, whether past or present, or even fear of the future. Steve would tell you when something was bothering him now. And you couldn’t be more proud of him.
You gently run your hand through his voluminous hair at the mention of his headaches, holding the side of his head when you reach. Steve had told you your touch helped, so you knew it wasn’t only okay, but wanted. And just as you thought he might, Steve leant into your palm, resting his head there, like it had been so heavy until you came to help him hold it. And you can hear the small whine that leaves his lips as he finally rests in your hand.
It makes your own lips twist in concern, thinking, as you looked at Steve. Your thumb softly grazing his cheekbone, while you let him lay into you as much as he needed. “Well, did you have anything planned today?” You eventually ask.
Steve goes to nod, but after one tilt up, you feel more than hear his groan, with his lips moving and breathing against your hand, getting a hum of affirmation instead from Steve. His eyebrows were all pulled down, which you knew would only make his head feel worse, but it at least let you see the emotions on his face.
“Well Dustin walkied me about an hour ago, and I told him after work I’d pick the kids up. Which I guess is about right now.” Steve sighs, lifting his head from your hand and bringing his keys out his pocket, and you notice the lack of him swirling them around his finger, using the keychain you gifted him.
“Nope.” You take the keys out of Steve’s hand. Not even snatching them, he was just too slow to really react. You shake your head emphatically, something Steve can’t even do right now.
Instead he hums, his hands limp at his sides, as he turns to you slumped. Fingers lightly opening out towards your hand. “Baby...”
“And when did your headaches start? Before or after Dustin called?” You ask gently, already knowing the answer.
And Steve knew that too. As he looked at you, from where his head was tilting downwards yet again, sensing your upcoming disapproval, as he mumbled like he was too tired to get it out. “Before...”
“No honey, you need to rest.” You kiss Steve’s head, and he very un-stubbornly melts into that, like you knew he would. You knew Steve so well at this point, and he’d only helped you so bravely with that. His whole face, his body, relaxing as he leans into that small kiss.
“My poor Stevie...” You stroke his cheekbone with your hand, over and over. Making Steve nuzzle into it in response, closing his eyes, with a quiet sigh. You kiss between his nose and his lips sweetly, not moving his head any more than your gentle touches on his upper cheek.
“I’ll pick up the kids, right after I drive you home.” You tell him.
Watching as Steve opens his eyes, peering up at you with his big brown orbs, before he flits them back down again, lips turning down smally. “Baby...”
“No lovely boy, I’ve got to take care of you Stevie.” You speak at the same volume as Steve, maybe just slightly bigger. Stroking your hand up his face, before kissing his cheek lots. Holding his hand with your other free one, warmly keeping him grounded, with the metal of his keychain between both your fingers.
“I’m gonna get you in bed, with some water and some of your painkillers. Some food if you haven’t eaten.”
Steve’s tongue pokes under his lip, and you know that’s the case. But you don’t chide him, you just plan what you’re gonna get for him, so he’s not in the kitchen himself. Moving your hand back further to softly rub over the back of his head, through the soft hair there.
“I’ll even help take your shoes off, your shirt, your pants if you need it.” You smile lightly, circling the back of his head as Steve smiles too. You can tell he doesn’t want to move his head too much, it must be painful, but with even the tiniest of movements, you’re sure you know what he wants to do, so you brush your nose lovingly over Steve’s for him instead. “I’ll drop the kids off and I’ll come straight home baby boy.”
You keep your face close, kissing Steve’s cheek. “And you’ll be all comfy and ready for me when I’m back, to give you all the snuggles and love you need.” Gently, you move your nose again, nuzzling it into the hollow of his cheek.
You pull back to not strain Steve’s eyes, still holding his tanned hand, and your other remaining holding the back of his head. Which Steve tilts to look at you from. But he finally sighs, cracking a small smile as he keeps his warm eyes on you “Fine.”
You smile back, slowly raising your joined hands, because Steve’s muscles seemed so heavy, not to you, but to him, and you lovingly brushed at his thick lips, before bringing his hand back down between your waists.
“But if you really need me to-“
“Steve. C’mon.” You interrupt. Using his real name this time, you’re sure helping you get your point across. Which it does. Because Steve‘s brown eyes are straight on yours. “Let me take you home. I’d love that baby. You don’t have to do a thing, you’ve been working with those headaches today. It’s you time now. C’mon baby boy.”
And finally, you see that sweet smile back on Steve again. Hopefully to stay for a little longer. He removes his head from your hand with a sigh, as he just looks at you with such love. Such a feeling of safety, of upcoming relaxation, knowing it was gonna be better now. And Steve just lets you lead him. Keeping his hand in yours being the only thing he even thinks about, as he lets you walk him right out of the store by hand. Both of you waving at Robin who’d just come back from her break, blinking in surprise at realising everyone was here and already out the door before she could say anything.
But Steve just let you pull him to his car, smiling as he toddled along, and feeling warmth burst through his heart when you even open his car door for him. Placing your hand on his shoulder, and he can feel your hand cupping just at his hairs at the back, protecting his head as you sit him in the car. He doesn’t even do his own seatbelt. Doesn’t want to think about it. Just watches you through the front window, walking over to his drivers seat, to bring him home.
And Steve is so happy, not only because he’s with you, but because he’s in a place where he can feel happy letting himself be taken care of by you...
#Steve Harrington/reader#Steve Harrington fluff#soft!Steve Harrington#Steve Harrington#Steve Harrington x reader#Steve Harrington Drabble#stranger things#Steve Harrington fic#1.5k
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One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day
188. Electric Touch
For once in her life, she's not running late. In fact, there's a full hour until he's coming to pick her up, and she's almost completely ready. Her makeup is done. Her hair is perfect. She tried on five different dresses before settling on this one for their date.
Their date. She's going on a date with Lenny Bruce.
She exhales a shuddering breath and resists the urge to bite her lip; she doesn't want to ruin the lipstick she'd so painstakingly applied just right. She reaches into her jewelry box, pulling out her earrings and putting them on with slightly shaky hands.
She's tried to fall in love. And it has always fallen apart. She even thought it had fallen apart with Lenny after Carnegie. But then, just as she was leaving to try to find her way home in that blizzard, his hand had circled her wrist, somehow both tender and firm. And he just said, "Look, I'm sorry I yelled, but I care about you too much to let you fuck up your career."
She stared at him, trying to muster up indignation, anger with him, but he was giving her those sad puppy dog eyes, and she couldn't manage anything other than gratitude.
Because she knew he was right. She knows he was right.
He offered to sleep on the couch, and she'd rolled her eyes. "We're adults. We can share a bed." He looked nervous at that, but he nodded and gave her one of his shirts to sleep in.
They turned their backs to one another under the covers, and she remembers being unable to sleep for the longest time with him so close and yet so far away.
Eventually, though, she had drifted off to sleep and woken up facing the other way, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped around her.
"Huh," he murmured as he woke up as well. "This is..."
She waited for a moment for him to finish, and when he didn't, she swallowed nervously and then said, "Nice?"
He chuckled. "I was gonna say 'unexpected', but yeah...it's nice."
She gets up from her vanity and slips into her shoes before going out into the living room. The kids are with Joel, and her parents are at the theatre, so there's not even someone in the apartment to distract her at the moment.
Fortunately the phone rings, and she grabs it on the first ring. "Hello?"
"Jesus, you're fuckin' nervous," Susie grumbles on the other end.
She huffs at that. "I'm not nervous," she insists petulantly.
"Hey, you saw me stumbling over my words and forgetting who the fuck I was the first time I met him," Susie tells her, surprisingly comforting in this moment.
Midge furrows her brow. "Wow. You usually hate the guys I date. I expected you to fight this a hell of a lot more."
Susie scoffs. "Look, I'm not thrilled you're gonna date a comic, but at least this one's funny. You could do a hell of a lot worse than Lenny Bruce. Hell, you have done worse. You had kids with worse."
"My kids are great," Midge retorts.
"Yeah, are you sure they're Joel's?" Susie quips.
"Yes, I'm sure!" Midge squeaks.
Susie laughs in response. "I was fuckin' kidding, Midge! Shit."
The younger woman takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. "I know," she mutters. "I just...yeah, I'm really nervous. I really...I really want this to work," she admits, her voice quiet.
Susie groans. "Miriam, the guy's been in love with you for...well, basically forever. Just get your shit together. I don't think there's anything you could do to send him screaming into the night."
"Maybe show up in a wedding dress?" Midge asks.
"He'd just take you to fuckin' Atlantic City and call your bluff," Susie responds with a chuckle.
"Ah! Shit!"
Midge furrows her brow and looks toward the door. "What time is it?" She asks Susie.
"Uh, it's seven-thirty," Susie answers. "What, you don't have clocks in that fancy apartment?"
"He's not supposed to be here until eight!" Midge squeaks.
"Fuck, doesn't he know you're never on time?" Susie grumbles.
"I've been ready for thirty minutes."
There's silence on the other end. And then, "Fuck! You're already fucking in love with him!"
"Susie, I have to go," Midge says.
"You fuckin' f--"
She puts the phone down and smooths her dress before heading toward the door and opening it slowly, finding Lenny in the hallway, rubbing his knee with one hand and holding a bouquet of flowers in the other.
She tilts her head as she watches him, not yet aware of her presence, and she feels a wave of deep affection for him. "Chair jump out at you?" She asks with a grin.
His head snaps up at her, and he chuckles sheepishly. "Yeah, I haven't had the best luck with this building."
"Maybe I should move," she offers. "Wouldn't want to keep putting you in danger."
He grins and shakes his head. "Or maybe I should just stop pacing nervously because I was forty minutes early getting here." He looks down at the flowers in his hand before moving closer to her. He holds them out. "These are for you. Or your mother if I need to get on her good side," he jokes.
She grins and takes them, inhaling their scent. "They're beautiful, Lenny," she replies, opening the door wider and inviting him in. "So...forty minutes, huh?" She asks as he steps inside.
He shrugs, giving her a sheepish smile.
She heads toward the kitchen, inviting him to follow. "I'm usually ten minutes late for everything," she tells him as she pulls out a vase and fills it with water. "Tonight I was ready an hour early."
His anxiety seems to fade a bit, and he breathes, "Yeah?"
She nods. "Yeah."
He moves toward her then, and once she puts the flowers in the water, he reaches out and brushes a tendril of hair away from her eyes. He cups her cheek in his hand and gazes down at her for a moment before closing the distance and kissing her gently.
She melts immediately, the remainder of her nerves fading, and she wraps her fingers around the lapels of his jacket.
It's a long moment before he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers. "Hungry?" He asks. "I made a reservation like a responsible adult."
"Will you steal my food again?" She teases.
"You did say you love that," he replies, laughing quietly.
She smiles and nods, letting him take her hand and lead her toward the door, where she grabs her purse. As they head for the elevator, she thinks that this could either break her heart or bring it back to life.
She has a pretty good feeling it'll be the latter.
#midgelenny#midge x lenny#tmmm fanfic#the marvelous mrs maisel fanfic#midgelenny fanfic#mltswift#jackal fics#wow i can't believe i actually managed to write something today
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until the light shines through - quinn hughes
summary: it didn’t take very long at all for laurel to realise that the world of hockey was well beyond what she could handle. there was just something about quinn that made it impossible to stay away.
note: this is set in the 2021-2022 season because i started it almost exactly 12 months ago. i’m eternally grateful to @hock-ee & @farbutnevergone for being the sounding board in the beginning of this fic, and as always to @matthewtkachuk & @laurenairay for coming in clutch and making me feel like it was worth finishing. shelb gets extra credit for reading it all multiple times and helping me fill in some gaps and catch the times my sentences ended halfway through.
word count: 17,690
playlist: good love - shawn hook | i know places - taylor swift | closer - sleeping with sirens | feel like shit - tate mcrae | you're in love - betty who
“Your Uber is here. Don’t make him wait too long or your rating will drop.”
Laurel lifted her head at the sound of the new voice and the tattoo gun being pulled away from her skin.
“The Uber driver should be a bit more patient, or his rating will drop,” Annie, the tattoo artist said, lifting her head. “You aren’t even the Uber I ordered.”
The man who had walked in shrugged, taking a seat at the front of the shop. Laurel looked between him and Annie, waiting for something more than a joke about Uber drivers. Before Annie even offered an explanation, she was telling Laurel that she was going to start the gun again—the machine, that was something Annie had stressed when they were setting up.
Laurel couldn’t help but track the movement of the machine as it got to the final parts of the black cat outline being tattooed on the inside of her wrist. It was her first tattoo and she’d always been interested in the process and despite the sting of the needle she knew exactly why people spoke about it being addictive.
“Where’d you park?” Annie asked as she was covering the finished tattoo, having already taken a photo of it to post to Instagram. Laurel watched it disappear beneath the black wrap.
“A couple streets away; parking is shit.”
“If you can wait for me to sterilise the machine and everything and lock up, we’ll walk you,” Annie offered. “Won’t we, Huggy Bear?”
Huggy Bear agreed, then trailed off grumbling about the Huggy nickname.
Even while Laurel was waiting to leave, Annie and Huggy were happily chatting away. Most of the conversation went far over her head, despite their efforts to include her or provide context, so she stood beside the counter at the front of the shop and checked her phone until it was time to leave.
She laughed politely when it was appropriate for the conversation, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was laughing at, but the least she could do was pretend to be interested when they were helping to keep her safe.
“Have a great weekend,” Annie said when they reached Laurel’s car. “Just hit me up on Insta if you forget the aftercare stuff or have any questions. I’ll post the photo tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I really do love it. And thank you both for walking me to my car.”
Huggy raised his hand awkwardly and said something that Laurel didn’t quite hear so she just waved back before getting into her car.
“He really keeps staring at us,” Karina said, her face contorting in discomfort after she did another subtle glance around the restaurant to see if said guy had stopped staring. The wave he’d given her earlier hadn’t done much to assuage their unease, though it had led to lengthy conversations about which one of them might have known who he was.
“I don’t know if it’d be better or worse if he actually came over,” Laurel said, frowning down at her empty plate. “I just want him to stop staring.”
Karina waved the waiter down to get the cheque, saying that they’d be out of there soon. Laurel huffed at the audacity of men who didn’t understand what common decency was. She didn’t look back over at him and his friend, though she desperately wanted to, because she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested and risk him following them out of the restaurant to their next stop.
Their next step was just a bar, nothing special or interesting, just a quiet-ish place they could continue their drinking. A few other people from work were meeting them; Friday night drinks to end the week were never something Laurel would pass up.
“That’s the guy from the restaurant, isn’t it?” Karina asked, not even being casual in how she was pointing him out.
Laurel sighed, finished her cocktail, and stood up in a rush, only regretting it slightly when she felt the alcohol had gone to her head. She didn’t say a single word to Karina, who tried to catch her arm before she could get too far away and walked directly over to the guy that had been staring at her all night.
He was sitting with the man he’d eaten dinner with, and it was incredibly stupid for Laurel to confront him by herself when he wasn’t alone but Laurel’s pride often got the best of her.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” she said, not even waiting until they were looking at her. “What do you want?”
“I—uh—” the man stuttered. Laurel had to give him credit for maintaining eye contact even if he was sinking down into his seat.
“Can you stop? I have no idea who you are and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”
“We met—you were—Annie—the tattoo.”
“Oh, Teddy Bear,” Laurel said, amused by the memory, but mostly the nickname, as his face merged with the vague memory of the man who had shown up when she was getting the tattoo on her forearm.
The man sitting with him snorted.
“Huggy Bear but it’s just Quinn. Please call me Quinn,” he begged, sitting up a little straighter knowing that she at least had some recollection of him.
“Alright, Quinn, is there a reason you’ve been staring at me beyond recognising me?”
Quinn opened his mouth to answer, though nothing came out.
The man across the table, lanky and blond, stood up before Quinn could speak, and was already walking away when he announced, “I’m out of here before this gets awkward.”
Laurel watched him briefly as he left and when she turned back to Quinn his face was redder than before—though it wasn’t all that noticeable in the bar’s poor lighting.
He said, mumbled and incoherent, something that ended in pretty and Laurel had to fight the twinge that threatened to lift the corners of her mouth.
“You think I’m pretty?” she pressed, her hand resting on the back of the vacated chair so that she could lean forward just a little.
“Yeah, I—I wanted to send you a message on Insta after we met but I chickened out.”
It was reckless, probably, to say what she said next, but Laurel was a sucker for a compliment, “Would you like to buy me a drink, Quinn?”
He stood so suddenly that the table rocked, and Laurel had to catch it before the glasses toppled over. He took four steps towards the bar before hastily walking back to her to ask what she wanted to drink.
She followed him to the bar, too smart and too weary to let him just bring a drink back to her. She ordered a Tom Collins, Quinn ordered a beer, and as the bartender was making her cocktail, she leaned lightly against the bar and asked, “How did you know I was here? At the restaurant?”
Quinn’s eyes bugged and his shoulders squared, as he rushed to say, “I didn’t. I promise. I’m not stalking you—so many people would actually cut off my dick if I was.”
Laurel’s lip quirked up, wondering if it was the tattoo artist who made that threat. There was still a little part of her that didn’t trust that he hadn’t known where she was going to be but it was overridden by her interest in his awkward nature.
They weaved through the crowd of people back to their table, which was luckily still free despite their trip to the bar. Laurel sat down, leaning back in her seat and letting him lead the conversation wherever he saw fit while she enjoyed her drink.
“I’ve never had to try this hard to get a girl’s attention before,” he said, his hand running through his hair and messing up the careful mess it had already been.
Laurel tilted her head, saying, “That’s… a surprise to me.”
Quinn goes silent, instantly looking even more insecure than he already did. He coughed and said, “I suppose there are meaner ways to tell me I’m not attractive.”
“I actually thought you weren’t confident enough,” Laurel clarified, resting her elbows on the table so he knew how serious she was when she added, “I think you’re plenty attractive.”
The compliment did exactly what Laurel had been hoping it would, increasing his confidence tenfold. His chin lifting, his shoulders squaring and a smirk crossing his mouth. Laurel smirked back at him, making direct eye contact as she pulled her straw into her mouth.
Giving Quinn her phone number was an easy decision.
After waking up on a mattress comfier than she ever thought possible and smiling at Quinn who was already dressed and walking around the bedroom, Laurel enjoyed the water pressure in the walk-in shower.
When she’d walked into the apartment the night before (see: earlier that morning) she hadn’t paid any attention to where they were or what the apartment looked like. A long time had passed since she inspected apartments when she walked in; one too many had turned her off immediately and she’d rather not know until she’d had her fun. Quinn’s apartment however… she would not have had that problem based on his bathroom alone. The bathroom was always the worst.
She wrapped a towel around herself, delighted by its fluffiness, and walked back through Quinn’s bedroom so she could find him. The size baffled her, too, because the location was enough to cost a small fortune in rent each month—the thought of paying for multiple bedrooms, multiple bathrooms and a separate kitchen and dining area made her feel lightheaded. And he lived alone.
“Do you drink coffee?” Quinn asked when she found him in the kitchen.
“How often do you get a ‘no’ to that question?”
“It happens enough that I have to ask.”
Laurel’s lip twitched up in a smirk, waiting for Quinn to realise that he’d just admitted to bringing home women often enough that he had a decent sample size of those who drink coffee vs those who don’t—he was oblivious, though, just standing near the coffee machine awkwardly holding out an empty mug waiting for an answer.
She tightened the towel over her breasts and Quinn’s eyes flickered down before shooting right back up as if he hadn’t seen it all a matter of hours prior.
“I was hoping I could grab a shirt or something to wear first.”
He was startled by the question, taking a few seconds to put the mug down and nod at her. He led her to his bedroom and pulled out the second drawer in the chest.
“You can help yourself to whatever…” he said slowly. “Or anything else in here, I guess. I don’t know what you’d want.”
The twitching smirk was back, as Laurel pulled out what she expected to be a plain black shirt saying “Just a t-shirt is fine. Do you have something a bit less… colourful?”
The shirt she pulled out unfolded to show a black and yellow logo on it that very much looked like it belonged in the 80s.
“You don’t like the flying skate logo?” Quinn asked, taking it from her to stare at it in a way Laurel could only describe as longingly.
“The what now?”
“The flying skate?”
“Am I supposed to know what that is just because you’ve said it a second time?” she asked, bemused.
Quinn held the shirt to his chest, scandalised. “The Canucks logo? Hockey?”
“Oh, I’m from Florida,” Laurel revealed with a shake of her head. “I don’t know anything about hockey.”
She turned back to the chest of drawers and went about finding a plain black shirt. Hockey was something she heard about on a near daily basis but the people she spent time with regularly had long since stopped trying to convince her to give it a chance.
“I was born in Florida and I know a lot about hockey.”
Apparently, Quinn wasn’t going to let it go, though.
Laurel found a shirt, checked it for logos, and only moved back to the bed when she was certain it was in fact plain black so that she could drop the towel and go about putting on more clothes than just her underwear.
“Semantics are important here,” she said, trying to sort out of her bra on still slightly damp skin. “You were born in Florida, I’m from Florida. Where would you say you’re from?”
Quinn didn’t respond to her, just stared at her with his mouth not completely shut. Laurel cleared her throat because he was, much like when she’d walked into the kitchen, staring at her chest.
He cleared his own throat, focusing his eyes on her face, “Michigan, probably. Toronto, maybe.”
Laurel hummed as she pulled the shirt over her head, adding, when she could see him, “Both really into hockey, I thought.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Quinn twitched. “I could teach you about hockey. If you want.”
Laurel shrugged, tilting her head from side to side as she thought about it, before settling on saying, “I’ve never really been interested? Seems a bit barbaric.”
“It’s not,” Quinn said, firmly. He then hesitated and added, “Anymore.”
Laurel couldn’t help but smirk at his change of mind. She asked, partially because didn’t know but mostly because she didn’t believe him, “So, they don’t fight for the sake of fighting?”
“No,” he said, forcefully enough that Laurel’s mouth pulled shut, “there’s always a reason.”
“You’re, like, really invested in me liking hockey. Does this not go anywhere if I don’t?”
The beat of silence that followed probably only lasted three seconds but it was enough time that Laurel was working out how best to get her clothes and get out as quickly as possible. She was looking around for her top, aiming for surreptitious, when Quinn spoke.
“I play. For them. The Canucks. I’m on the team. My job is hockey.”
“Oh, no shit,” Laurel said, her laugh breathy and disbelieving. “And I just called it barbaric.”
“Does this not go anywhere because I play?”
Laurel rolled her eyes, closing the space between them. She cupped his cheeks, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She pressed up on her toes, touching her lips to his lightning fast.
“No. It doesn’t change that I was going to stay for breakfast and then give you my number.”
Karina would be so disappointed.
Christmas was finally over, another successful year of pretending it hadn’t happened, and Laurel was back to work after a lovely long weekend of ignoring the outside world. She hoped on Boxing Day that she could call Quinn for some fun, only to be told that he’d gone to Michigan to see his family.
And, honestly, what was the point in having each other’s numbers if he wasn’t going to be home?
Laurel wasn’t expecting to spend New Year’s Even with him either, she did have plans of her own, but she’d been hopeful she could leave just after midnight and be back in Quinn’s bed before the night was truly over.
He was in Seattle, apparently.
Two weeks after she left his apartment, Laurel was finally able to get back there.
“I thought, maybe, you were just really bad at ghosting,” she joked as she walked through his door, kissing him briefly and then leaning back in for a second one.
“My schedule has been kind of insane,” he said apologetically.
Laurel laughed as she shrugged off her coat, “Perils of being a professional athlete?”
“One of, I guess.”
“Did you win at least?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s waist and looking up at him hopefully. She didn’t have any real interest in the games themselves, but she could get on board with being interested in their success at the very least.
They did win, he told her excitedly. 5-2 was the score; Laurel kept it to herself that she thought the score was quite low. She’d had a passing interest at most in basketball but that was her frame of reference for how high sports scores should be.
It was early enough in the evening that they organised dinner to be delivered and Laurel was eager to agree because she was on the second day of a New Years’ hangover and knew that bruschetta and pasta would do wonders to get her over what was lingering.
They sat down to eat at Quinn’s dining table—Laurel was positive that he’d not used it in months because of the things he had to move to clear space for them.
She was loudly enjoying her bruschetta when Quinn’s face twisted just enough that she knew he was going to say something but second guessing himself. She, not wanting to talk with her mouth full, raised an eyebrow and nodded so that he would speak.
“You’re really from Florida?”
“Orlando,” Laurel answered with a smile. “I’ve only been here since I started college in 2017.”
“I started college in 2017.”
Laurel perked up, “At UBC?”
“No, UMich. Michigan.”
“That’s why you’d say you’re from there?” she asked, thinking it was a tad odd that he’d say he was from there just because he’d been to college there. She wouldn’t say she was from Vancouver after four and a half years.
“One of the reasons, yeah. I moved to Michigan when I was 15.”
“So, you were born in Florida, you’ve lived in Toronto and also Michigan and now you’re in Vancouver?” She tried to track the movement around North America in her head. “Lot of moves for a kid.”
“Boston and New Hampshire, too. I don’t remember anything about Florida or Boston, only have a few memories of New Hampshire—mostly my brother being born and my other brother being really upset about it.”
“What are their names? Your brothers?”
“Jack is the middle child and Luke is the youngest. Two years between each of us.”
“I have a brother, Artie. He’s like 16 years older than me, though, so I don’t know him that well. Are you close with yours?”
“Yeah, real close.”
Laurel smiled at him, happy for him, even as she wondered what it would be like to have a close relationship with her family.
“Luke probably won’t be around any time soon, but we play Jack at some point—he plays hockey for New Jersey—so you might get to meet him soon. I think you’ll like him.”
A light panic threatened to break her smile but Laurel was able to keep the smile on her face well enough that Quinn didn’t react.
The tension in Laurel’s jaw was causing her a headache. It had been hours since it set in—the tension and the headache—and the only thing Laurel wanted was the cheap vodka in her apartment. Her job was stressful on a good day, and she’d known that it would be when she started her Social Work course years prior. There were some days, though, where the planets aligned and the patients were inconsolable, the families were assholes and the hospital was letting everybody down. They were the days she could do without.
She had barely stepped foot into her apartment when her phone rang and she had to resist the urge to throw her entire bag at the wall. After a few deep breaths and letting the phone ring out, Laurel took out her phone and dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter as she passed it.
It started ringing again in her hand; Laurel inhaled for a count of five and then exhaled for a count of five just to stop herself from following through on throwing it into the wall. That was a sure-fire way to get on Hayley’s shitlist and Laurel had been pretty solidly off it for long enough that she had no intentions of ruining that.
Quinn’s name was on the screen and conflict bloomed through her entire body. It wasn’t immediately clear in her mind whether she’d be calmed by talking to him or if she’d take out her anger on him. The call rang out before she could think it over.
It buzzed again, a text coming through, and she lifted her phone to read it.
From Quinn: Call me when you’re home. Come for dinner 😊
Telling him she was home and ready at any moment was easy and did relieve the tension in her jaw just a little.
Changing out of her clothes felt like far too much of an effort; she’d put enough effort into her outfit that morning anyway. It was Friday after all and there was always the possibility that Friday could turn into Friday night so she liked to look a little more put together.
From Quinn: Stay the night at mine?
And then there was that.
She’d stayed the night at Quinn’s before, though it had just been the night they met and most definitely not planned in advance. Being essentially asked to pack an overnight bag was more preparation than Laurel had been expecting this soon into their… whatever.
Hayley walked into the apartment as Laurel walked out, her eyes immediately drifting to the bag slung over Laurel’s shoulder.
“I don’t even know,” Laurel said as she hitched it further up her shoulder.
“Be safe. Call me if you need me.”
They parted with a nod at each other, their relationship with each other existing almost solely on Girl Code more so than friendship.
If it had been any other day, Laurel’s walk to Quinn’s would have been fraught with overthinking about why he was explicitly asking her to stay the night—her day had been awful enough that she was still thinking about the father of one of her patients who looked her in the eye and told her that he wasn’t ever going to take direction from a little girl.
The frigid breeze was glorious for clearing her mind.
Her headache still lingered despite the tension releasing in her jaw; it didn’t stop the big smile that grew on her face when Quinn opened the door to let her in. His smiled matched hers and she let herself be swept into a hug before she was corralled into his apartment.
The smell of food was permeating the apartment, eliciting another smile from Laurel and an expression of confused delight. Quinn bashfully led her towards the kitchen and pointed to the stove where there was a pot of Napoli sauce simmering away.
“You can cook?”
She stepped into his space, her arms around his waist as she looked up at him, surprise and awe filling her body, and Quinn was standing a little taller than normal. A little prouder.
“I have a couple things up my sleeve.”
Laurel kissed him swiftly before hoisting up the bag that was falling down her arm; Quinn wasted no time in taking it from her and disappearing into his bedroom with it. Standing in his kitchen, watching him take her bag with no weirdness or second thoughts, Laurel wondered again just what she was getting into.
They ate on the couch, Quinn switching away from the hockey game that was playing—it was unclear if that decision was made before or after her face screwed up in disinterest—and Laurel singing his praises for the pasta with Napoli sauce.
“I leave for a road trip on Monday,” Quinn said when they’d cleared the dishes and were back on the couch, sitting right next to each other. “Don’t get back until the 19th.”
“That’s a long one. Where are you going?”
Quinn opened his mouth—the only thing that came out was a long ‘uhhh’—and pulled out his phone to bring up the schedule. He said, shamelessly, “I only know when I have to be at the airport because they told us at practice today.”
Laurel cuddled up to him so that they could look at the schedule together, asking a few questions about the vagueness of going to teams named after the entire state—“You’re just going to Florida, Carolina and Washington? As if that makes sense?”
“There’s a few of them,” Quinn said, his body shaking against Laurel’s while he laughed at her incredulity. She scrutinised the list of teams he brought up and finished the conversation mostly curious about the Florida team existing in a state with a second hockey team.
“They couldn’t just call them the Miami Panthers?”
“Their arena’s in Sunrise.”
Laurel scoffed, her eyes rolling, “Of course it is. Posers.”
Quinn’s body began to shake again, his laughter so manic that he wasn’t making any noise. Laurel contorted her body to get a better look at Quinn and was enraptured by the joy on his face at her silly joke.
Kissing him is the easiest decision she’s ever made, caught with an overwhelming need to just be pressed against him. He didn’t put up any protests, not that she’d expected him to, and within seconds Laurel was in Quinn’s lap, straddling his thigh. Her skirt fanned out around their legs and she revelled in the pressure of his fingers as he pressed his fingers into the meat of her thighs. She wished she hadn’t worn tights just so she could feel his skin against hers.
Nothing felt as easy as leaning further into him, getting as close as she could physically manage and rolling her hips just to get that little bit closer. Hearing the eager noises leave his mouth—the ones mirroring those leaving hers—made Laurel even more desperate.
“Take me to bed, Q,” she breathed into his ear, rolling her hips again for good measure and gasping when his bucked up to meet them.
He did as he was told, herding her towards his bedroom with his body pressed close against hers, making her giggle as he nipped at the parts of her neck he could reach. He didn’t let up when they made it to his bed, touching parts of Laurel’s body that she couldn’t remember being touched, kissing her skin and setting every nerve on fire.
Laurel tried to return the favour, though she was distracted by the way her body was reacting to Quinn and his touches so the best she could hope for was that he was getting pleasure just by giving pleasure to her.
Her legs were weak after multiple orgasms but she was able to make her way into the bathroom, Quinn following her in soon after. He didn’t take as long as she did, happy to just rinse off, kiss her lazily, and disappear back to bed with half-lidded eyes.
All of her toiletries looked strange sitting on his counter, taking up more space than anything else on there, but she was too sated and too tired to think about it any further.
Laurel slipped under the covers, rolling her eyes a little at how quickly Quinn had started to fall asleep; he was laying on his back with his eyes closed and the duvet pulled up to his chest. Laurel lied beside him, facing him and taking him in.
“What made you ask me to stay over?”
“Long road trip,” Quinn said, mumbled and half asleep. “Was gonna miss you.”
She didn’t know whether that statement was surprising or not, or if it was the honesty it was said with that made her heart squeeze in her chest. Laurel wormed her way under Quinn’s arm and into his side, raising her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw before she snuggled into him.
“You can call me. While you’re gone.”
He squeezed her.
“I will."
Laurel walked from her place to Quinn’s straight from work. He’d called during her lunch break to ask if she wanted to have dinner with him—maybe even stay over again—and Laurel hadn’t been able to refuse. They’d talked through his road trip mostly via text except for a phone call when he was in Florida to confirm that he was in fact not in Miami.
None of it really made sense to Laurel. Never had she been the type of person to be in constant contact with her… with the person she was seeing, but Quinn seemed to have no concerns about taking things too quickly or seriously.
She’d asked Karina for help after the phone call, desperately trying to figure out what it all meant, whether she needed to be thinking further ahead than the next day if Quinn was going to keep things the way they were.
“You’re worrying that he likes you too much?” Karina had asked, her disbelief playful but prominent. “I wish I had that problem at your age—hell, even five years ago I would have killed for that problem.”
“It’s too serious for being twenty-two.”
Karina’s laugh shocked Laurel, who truly had not been expecting it. “Laurel, sweetheart, none of this has anything to do with age.”
That didn’t help her at all.
There was no surprise home cooking waiting for her when she arrived at his door which she was quick to tease him for mostly because he had a very nice kitchen that it definitely was being wasted with him being away so often.
“I was thinking burgers and I can’t make them half as nice as the place around the corner,” Quinn said, watching Laurel from the opposite side of the kitchen counter.
She placed both her hands on the cool marble and narrowed her eyes playfully, “Are we eating here or are you taking me out, Huggy Bear?”
“I thought you’d forgotten about that,” he said with an eyeroll, his cheeks turning a nice shade of red.
“I’ve been thinking about it since that night at the bar. I don’t—why?”
“Hughes, the first three letters. It’s actually one of the more unique nicknames in hockey.”
“Are they all surname based?”
“Mostly, yeah. I should probably be Hughesy or something.”
“Not Quinny?” she teased, leaning further across the table.
“So,” Quinn said, taking a deep breath. “Quinn is technically a nickname—it’s short for Quintin.”
Laurel’s eyes widened, her head tilting ever-so-slightly as the corner of her mouth tilted up, and she said, “Is that a family name?”
“Yes,” he said, also around a smile. He then added, walking back towards his front door, “We’re going out for dinner.”
He extended his hand and Laurel didn’t think twice before she took it and let Quinn lead her out onto the street. He didn’t let her hand go when they made it onto the street like Laurel expected. She couldn’t put into words why she expected him to let go, just flexed her fingers around his and delighted in the way he swung their hands back and forth a few times.
Quinn didn’t let go until he found them a seat inside the restaurant but they sat beside each other on a bench seat, their legs pressed together tightly from knee to hip.
“Did you declare a major?” Laurel asked, midway through a story Quinn was telling about his college experience, when she realised that she hadn’t ever asked.
“Sports Management.”
Laurel hummed, “What does that let you do?”
“Become an agent, mostly, but it’d get you on the path to managing a team, too.”
“That’s what you want to do?”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug, Laurel watched him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. It took a while, a few fries being pushed into his mouth, before he finally answered, “I just want to play hockey.”
The conversation fell off there, Laurel just nodding even as her brain ticked over. Athletes and their short careers—their lack of preparation for life after sports—were a topic that fascinated her despite her general disinterest in sports. She recognised that if it was a conversation they were going to have, it needed to come much later in their relationship. Mostly for her own sanity.
Their otherwise quiet meal was interrupted by a birthday in the restaurant, and a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday was being sung to some poor man named Nathan who looked very much like he’d rather be anywhere else but sitting in front of a birthday cake.
“When’s your birthday?” Quinn asked when the noise settled.
“The third.”
A range of emotions crossed his face in a matter of seconds, and his voice was tighter than she’d heard it when he asked, “Of January?”
She smiled softly, placing her hand on his thigh reassuringly as she said, “Feb. It’s in like two weeks.”
The panic on Quinn’s face didn’t disappear, despite Laurel’s best efforts. “I don’t know if I’m going to be here.”
“I’m not worried about it. I don’t really do birthdays, so, if you aren’t here, it’s fine.”
Quinn checked his schedule, then, despite Laurel’s insistence that she didn’t care about her birthday, and radiated happiness and relief when it showed he’d be in Vancouver. She smiled at him, less sincerely than before, but at least happy that he was happy.
Quinn was home for her birthday.
It wasn’t something she’d given much thought to, really, because he’d been talking to her about plans for the Thursday evening—her actual birthday—and then for the weekend pretty consistently since he found out that her birthday was so soon.
It wasn’t until the week before her birthday, when he disappeared on a long road trip, that she realised that she was lucky he’d be around at all let alone be around for an entire weekend. If she had been born one week earlier, he would have been playing in Winnipeg.
When they’d spoken about it for the first time, Laurel had been telling the truth when she told him she wouldn’t have been bothered if he was away—that had changed when she realised that there was every possibility that he might have missed it. He’d made her excited for something she hadn’t cared about in years.
Laurel was dressed up nicely in her most expensive dress pants and a top that was probably too low cut—but it showed off the body chain she rarely got the chance to wear—and sitting on the bench in her building’s lobby as she waited for Quinn. Wherever they were headed to was within walking distance according to Quinn, but Laurel had no measure for how far he considered walking distance. She laid her winter coat over her lap and tapped her heels against the tiled floor.
Quinn waved at her through the glass door and she could see that his cheeks were slightly red from the cold despite the beanie on his head and the scarf around his neck.
“Happy birthday,” he said sweetly when she walked outside, and Laurel kissed him immediately, then tapped his nose because it was so cold against hers.
She tugged the scarf tighter around his neck, then lifted it up so it covered the bottom half of his face—resulting in a laugh as he spluttered bits of fluff—before she rushed to put her coat on before she lost all feeling in her upper body.
They started walking back in the direction Quinn came from, their hands linked, and Laurel bit back her comment about how she could have met him wherever they were going if he’d gone out his way, only because he’d insisted that it was a surprise.
And a surprise it was.
They arrived at Elisa and Laurel’s jaw dropped. Quinn noticed but only smiled at her as he led them inside.
It took a lot to make Laurel speechless, and Elisa could definitely be described as a lot. While it didn’t look overly fancy, not in the try hard way Laurel usually associated with fine dining, she still felt out of place as they were walked through the restaurant to a relatively secluded table.
“Have you ever been here before?” Quinn asked one they were seated and the waiter had disappeared to fetch a bottle of wine.
“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been here.”
Quinn was quite pleased with himself, judging by the way his lips turned upwards.
When the wine arrived, Laurel wished she had any appreciation for it. It was undoubtedly better—smoother, at least—than the various bottles she’d bought over the years, but she could see other people in the room swirling it in the glass before drinking it slowly. She took an inappropriately large mouthful and hoped nobody but Quinn saw.
Staring at the menu made her uncomfortable. The price tags next to them made her skin itch and her purse hurt at the thought of what the bill would be at the end of the night. Maybe Quinn would just let her pay for her meal and not expect her to split it evenly down the middle.
“Anything you like?” Quinn asked, his foot tapping the side of hers under the table to get her full attention.
“The cauliflower sounds nice,” Laurel said, trying to keep her voice steady but she was also trying to remember to breathe so it wasn’t very convincing.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Quinn asked, his eyes wide. “I should probably know that by now.”
“No, Quinn, we had burgers together the last time we saw each other.”
“Then you can be a bit more adventurous than a crispy cauliflower starter.”
“Quinn,” Laurel whispered, leaning forward so that nobody else would hear her, “this is the exact restaurant my college friends and I would joke about only being able to afford if we became sugar babies or gold diggers. I can’t afford anything else on this menu.”
“But I can,” he said, as if that wasn’t already abundantly clear to Laurel. “I’m not gonna make you pay for a date anyway, definitely not on your birthday.”
Still leaning forward, she frowned, “You’re just going to ignore the gold digger bit.”
“If you were with me for my money, I think I’d know it by now.”
Laurel wasn’t going to debate with him in the middle of Elise that six weeks was not enough time for him to know—it certainly wasn’t enough time for him to take her to Elise for her birthday. But they were there. It would be rude to walk out.
“Next time we go out we can get tacos or something,” Quinn suggested, sounding a little worried. “But I want you to order what you really want. Live your sugar daddy dream, or whatever.”
Relaxing back into her seat, she couldn’t help but laugh at Quinn’s statement, at the serious expression on his face as he said it. She clarified with him that he was sure that he could take back what he’d said up until she told the waiter her order. Quinn assured her that he wasn’t going to do such a thing, especially not on her birthday.
The weekend following Laurel’s birthday was the All-Star Game, and Laurel was resigned to watching more hockey than she ever had in her life. It wasn’t real hockey, Quinn explained, and she didn’t really watch but it was on in the background at Quinn’s place so it was unavoidable.
When it was finally over, they were cuddled on the couch watching Black Summer when Quinn’s phone interrupted them. Laurel pulled away from him enough to let him take it off the coffee table. At first it appeared that he was going to silence it, but as he leant back into the couch Laurel noticed the furrow of his brow when it became clear it was a FaceTime call.
“Can I—” he cut himself off and his brow got even tighter, the worry so evident on his face that Laurel felt worry well up inside her.
“Yeah, go ahead,” she said softly, pausing the show and putting her hand on his thigh and squeezing just to remind him that he was there.
He answered the call, holding his breath, and answered it with, “Should I be worried?”
The man on the other end was smiling, everything around him so loud that his greeting was barely intelligible. “I don’t know how to tell you this, bud, but I think Jack and Daisy are getting married.”
“They wouldn’t.”
The camera switched around on Quinn’s friend’s side, revealing what was undoubtedly a Vegas wedding chapel with a young couple standing at the altar staring into each other’s eyes so dreamily Laurel flinched. Jack and Daisy, presumably.
“You got any other ideas about what’s happening here?”
Quinn quickly started a screen recording, even if his fingers fumbled through it and accidentally turned low battery mode on and his flashlight in the control centre first.
“Did you know about this? Before today?”
“Yeah, I knew about it and didn’t even ask you if you were showing up for it. Of course, I didn’t fucking know,” Brady argued, only to promptly get shushed by someone sitting next to him.
Laurel reached over to mute Quinn’s microphone, so that she could say, “That’s Daisy? She’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, she’s always been pretty,” Quinn agreed, readily. Easily. “Still don’t know how Jack managed to land her, let alone keep her, let alone marry her. Mom’s gonna actually murder him. I might.”
Laurel—who had never been close to her family and always imagined that one day she would just see her family again with a wedding ring and a spouse—didn’t totally understand why Quinn was so upset. She’d heard him talk about his family enough to know that they were incredibly important to him but she still couldn’t wrap her head around it.
They watched in silence as the ceremony continued. It was generic and, truthfully, lacklustre as far as weddings went until Jack admitted that it wasn’t real, just a joke, and then landed on one knee. Laurel couldn’t hear anything from the phone that wasn’t just loud noises and the video itself was a nauseating combination of colours and movement.
“Fucking little shit,” Quinn mumbled under his breath, clearly relieved.
“Did you know he was going to propose?” Laurel asked. “Obviously not right now.”
“He got the ring about a week ago. Started planning it before Christmas but only picked it up last week. He told me he didn’t know when he was going to propose.”
Laurel hummed, leaning back into the couch as Quinn turned his microphone back on just as Jack and Daisy very much looked like they were seconds away from a full-on sex show in front of all their friends.
“I’m gonna send this to my mom,” Quinn said—Laurel wasn’t sure he could even be heard over the insanity on the other end. “I’ll call you later.”
With the call ended and the video sent to his mother, Quinn sat on the couch and stared blankly at the frozen zombie on the television.
“Are you happy, sad or mad?” she asked tentatively, giving his thigh another squeeze.
“Don’t know. I always knew that they’d probably get there before I did but didn’t really think it’d be before Jack was even 21.”
Laurel moved closer to him, pressing herself closer to Quinn; she had no idea what to say about him, about Jack, about marriage in general.
She was truly out of her depth.
Laurel was halfway out the door when Hayley stepped out of the elevator. Laurel waited at the door, holding it open so that Hayley wouldn’t have to get her key out.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess,” Laurel laughed, noting the flowers Hayley was carrying.
Hayley’s eyes fell to the bag hanging from Laurel’s hand. She said, cold and emotionless, “You have to give me notice if you’re moving out. You can’t just stop paying rent.”
“Did the money not go through?” Laurel asked, immediately reaching into her pocket for her phone to check her bank account. “I swear I saw it worked.”
“It did—calm down,” Hayley said, sweeter than she’s been speaking before. “Just—you’ve been spending a lot of time at your boyfriend’s—”
Laurel, hyper aware that she was heading over to Quinn’s yet again, hastily denied the accusation. “We haven’t been together that long. We haven’t even had the exclusive talk yet.”
“Just give me some time to find someone to move in,” Hayley said, slowly, and Laurel knew for certain that she wasn’t believed.
“Yeah, of course,” Laurel said, just as slowly, but more concerned. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
With a simple nod, and an instruction to have fun, Hayley disappeared inside and Laurel was left to walk to Quinn’s—left to overthink the specifics of her relationship with him and the possibility of those specifics being defined when she arrived at his place.
The bouquet of roses lying on the kitchen counter shouldn’t have surprised her as much as they did.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his smile proud.
Laurel picked up the bouquet as she passed it, her heart beating so rapidly and thunderously that she could hear it in her ears. She hadn’t expected anything at all—which she realised was silly after Quinn had gone all out for her birthday—after receiving nothing of the sort from any relationship she’d been in.
“Thank you, Quinn,” whispered, stepping into his arms with the bouquet carefully tucked between them. “Is it a stupid question if I ask if we’re exclusive?”
“I—” Quinn paused before he started laughing, the vibration running through Laurel. “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend.”
“You forgot to tell me, though.” She added, a little petulantly but mostly in a longing whisper, “You didn’t even ask me.”
Quinn asked, with all the seriousness of a fifteen-year-old asking their crush to prom in front of their entire class, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Warmth filled Laurel’s cheeks and she buried her face into his chest, unsure if she was embarrassed that she didn’t know or embarrassed by how giddy it made her feel.
It was late, much later than Laurel usually slept in even after a big night. She could tell it was late without even looking at her phone because her body always had a visceral reaction to waking any later than 8am.
Quinn was saying her name softly and Laurel hummed before her eyes opened—she was always instantly awake.
“You let me sleep in,” she mumbled unhappily.
“You need it,” he said softly. “I have to go to practice. You can stay here.”
“Practice?” Laurel asked, her eyes screwing shut in confusion. “It’s a Saturday.”
Quinn’s laugh was gentle and Laurel looked up to see his face soft; he didn’t have to say anything for her to know that she’d said something wrong.
“No weekends in hockey.”
“They should give you weekends.”
“I’ll give you the commissioner’s number and you can lodge a direct complaint.”
Laurel smiled at him, reeled him in by the hand and kissed him—he didn’t seem to have any complaints about morning breath but the hint of mint on his lips was a nice little zing to wake up to.
He left shortly after, unswayed by her attempts to lure him back into bed, and Laurel stared up at his ceiling wondering exactly how long he spent at practice.
She showered and then tried not to feel weird about raiding his kitchen while he wasn’t home; tried not to feel weird about being in his apartment while he wasn’t home.
Nothing in the apartment had been kept secret from her, so she didn’t think she’d get any major insight into Quinn’s life by snooping through the chest of drawers he’d been letting her pull shirts out of since the first day.
Laurel made a bagel with cream cheese, afraid to do much more lest she damage Quinn’s very nice kitchen and sat down in front of the television. As she ate, she opened her phone and noticed overnight she’d picked up a few more Instagram followers which she attributed to the photo of her birthday outfit.
Weirder were the random comments she’d gotten on a few of her older photos, all of which were the same person commenting on how chubby Laurel’s cheeks were. Prominent buccal fat ran in the family; there wasn’t much she could do about it.
Her attention was immediately drawn away, though, by a comment she saw on a new post of Daisy’s—Jack’s girlfriend who she’d followed after Quinn wouldn’t stop talking about her in stories from his life in Michigan.
She pondered it, forgot about it as she turned her attention to re-watching Desperate Housewives, and only remembered when Quinn walked through the door after practice, his hair still wet.
“Why is Elena Rubio commenting on Daisy’s Insta posts?” she asked, not even greeting Quinn properly. “Why are people acting like it’s normal? She’s really famous.”
Quinn leant down to kiss her, hovering above her where she was tucked up onto the couch.
He shrugged. “Jack played half a season with Elena’s boyfriend. She and Daisy kept in touch.”
Kneeling up on the couch cushion and leaning over the back of the couch, Laurel watched Quinn potter around for a few moments before her thoughts won out and she asked, “Do you know how insane that is? Elena Rubio has won Oscars. Plural.”
His head tilted. “Okay?”
“Is knowing famous people common? You don’t seem to think that’s a big deal.”
“Not really? People know people, and if they’re hockey fans then they’re easier to become friends with. Hockey players are sort of famous.”
“Well, yeah, in very specific circles but Elena Rubio is a household name worldwide. She’s like Angelina Jolie or Sandra Bullock.”
“Carrie Underwood married a guy who played in Nashville but I don’t pay attention to it—you could probably google it.”
Laurel did just that, sitting back down on the couch and opening her phone. The results were middling—Vanessa from the original incarnation of Gossip Girl was dating a player, there was something about a WWE Diva once being married to a player, a moderately famous model named Lola Faraday, and a bunch of other women who only loosely fit Laurel’s definition of ‘celebrity’.
The couch dipped beside her; Quinn peaked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.
“What makes it so interesting?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said truthfully. “You’re hot professional athletes in your physical prime, it wouldn’t have surprised me if there was a never ending list of players dating singers or models or actresses—the lists seem to be quite old, though, and filled with a bunch of celebrities I haven’t heard of.”
“Do you think I should go shoot my shot with a celebrity?” Quinn asked, tongue in cheek.
The panic that flared inside Laurel was unusual, a jealousy she couldn’t ever remember experiencing before. She hoped the panic wasn’t audible in her voice, “I can’t compete with a celebrity, so no.”
“You can compete.”
“Sure,” Laurel said with an unconvinced hum.
Quinn’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and he pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head instead of arguing against her. Laurel didn’t doubt that he believed what he was saying, even if she didn’t think it was the truth.
“Some people aren’t very nice to Daisy,” Laurel said, frowning as she scrolled deeper down the comments left on Daisy’s post. “They’re actually kind of awful. She’s not even remotely fat but they’re talking about her as if she’s literally a beached whale—that’s an actual whale emoji. Oh my god. She knows how to deal with this?”
“Uh,” Quinn hesitated. “Depends what day it is? Some days she fights back, other days she ignores it and Jack’s told me there are some days that are full of tears.”
“God, people are so awful,” Laurel sighed, turning off her phone and throwing it on the other couch so she would stop looking at it.
Settling into Quinn’s side was the only thing she could think to do, hung up on the idea of anyone going to the effort to be so unashamedly horrible.
“Do you want to come to a game next week?”
Laurel paused, putting down the knife in her hand, and turned to face Quinn. He looked as awkward as ever standing in her kitchen, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders up around his ears.
“Do you want me to come?” she asked carefully. “I’m not interested in hockey so if given the choice I will say no, but, if you want me there, I want to support you and I will go.”
Quinn’s face shuttered, his shoulders somehow raising even higher. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“Quinn,” Laurel said firmly, “do you want me to watch you play hockey?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, resigned. “Course I do.”
With her most convincing nod and her kindest smile, despite her intense disinterest, Laurel assured him, “Tell me when and what I have to do and I’ll be there.”
It was enough to relax Quinn’s shoulders, bringing them back to their normal position. “It’s against Jack on the 15th; you can sit with my mom and Daisy.”
Laurel’s shoulders ended up around her ears, instead, any pleasure she’d gained from making Quinn happy disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He was still watching her, no apprehension, completely unaware that his request was far outside of Laurel’s comfort zone.
“Your mom, Quinn?” She hesitated. “I don’t—do I have to?”
His discomfort returned, tenfold it looked like to Laurel though she didn’t have much time to read his expression before he was turning his back to her and walking towards his bedroom.
“I—I guess not,” he said, though it was muffled. With his back to her, she was only able to hear it because the otherwise silent apartment was suffocating. “I just thought it’d be nice.”
With careful footsteps, Laurel followed Quinn into the bedroom but stopped in the door and watched as he moved aimlessly. She couldn’t find a single intention to anything he was doing, just opening and closing drawers, moving things around on his nightstand and tidying the bed they’d already made.
“Quinn?” Laurel asked after a few minutes of stifling silence.
“Yeah?” He lifted his head; the false nonchalance he was projecting made her uncomfortable.
“I just think it’s a bit soon,” she explained in a whisper. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
There was no sign that it actually was okay just as there was no sign that he was going to engage in a conversation that might get it there, so Laurel sighed and left him to fiddle.
It was too early for her to head to work and she wanted some sort of resolution before she disappeared. There was a realisation that it might have been their first ‘fight’ but that didn’t concern her half as much as the thought that it might have been her first ever fight in a relationship—that, despite the short length of it, nothing had ever come close to what she had with Quinn. None of that was anything she wanted to deal with inside a hospital. The self-realisations and growth inside those walls were best left to the patients she was discharging.
Not that there was anything she could do about it when finishing up the fruit salad she’d been making for her lunch—she was already planning the conversation she would have with Karina while eating it.
Quinn didn’t reappear until the salad was packed away and the dishes were washed but he didn’t say a single word as he started moving around in the kitchen in much the same way he’d done in his bedroom.
“Are you going to be in a mood for the rest of the day?” Laurel asked, trying to keep the accusatory edge out of her voice. “I said I’d go to the game.”
“I don’t know any other guy who’s had to beg their girlfriend to come to a game.”
“You didn’t beg, you asked. You know I’m not into hockey.”
“And you won’t meet my mom.”
A burst of panic in her chest caused Laurel to freeze and she barely managed to ask, “Can I do one thing at a time?”
“I don’t know when she’s going to be back in town.”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Okay,” Quinn said shortly.
His phone started to ring and he didn’t hesitate to leave her standing in the kitchen. He mumbled something along the lines of Jack’s got it so fucking easy as he retreated back to his bedroom.
Laurel, at a total loss and about two minutes away from just leaving for the day, decided to drop down onto the couch heavily and check the notification she’d gotten on her phone when she was starting her cooking. It was another random comment from someone she’d never heard of, who she couldn’t see had any followers in common—this one wasn’t an attack on her cheeks but on the birthday post that people seemed to be most drawn to, on the outfit she’d felt very good about.
The comment didn’t make her feel as good.
Quinn returned much more sombre than he had been when he left. Laurel had expected a frosty remainder of the morning with minimal communication and even less physical contact before she left for work, but he sat down right beside her on the couch.
“I’m happy you’re coming to a game,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“Is everything alright?” Laurel asked, not even sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
He sighed, though it didn’t sound particularly sad, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just didn’t expect to hear from Jack today.”
Rogers Place was daunting and Laurel wasn’t prepared.
She was late, to start with, rushing from work and through a sea of people wearing Canucks jerseys, and incredibly flustered by the time she reached the security guard and had to scramble through her purse for her ID while he stared at her, just waiting for the moment he could tell her to turn around.
The crowd was raucous by the time she was standing outside the box she’d been led to—she’d shirked the security guard when they arrived, refusing to let him open the door before she was ready. That didn’t end up mattering, though, because as she was taking a deep breath and reaching forward to open the door, someone appeared beside her.
That someone she recognised as the woman who had tattooed the cat onto her forearm. Annie, who Quinn had told her would be waiting.
“Hey! Laurel, right? I didn’t think you’d make it,” Annie said, moving past Laurel to open the door and reveal the box, and the ice.
“Hi, yeah. Annie?” Laurel clarified, even though she’d be hard pressed to mistake the tattoos and lavender pixie cut. “I got held up at work.”
“Don’t worry about it; we’ve all been there. Come in and meet the gang.”
‘The gang’ was an assortment of partners whose names Laurel immediately forgot, and a few small children Laurel did her best to avoid. They were all very welcoming, at least, and yet she got the distinct feeling that they were putting on a show for her as the New WAG.
“Have you been to many hockey games?” Annie asked when they were sitting.
“No,” Laurel answered, probably too stiffly, and she forced her hands under her thighs. The wool tights she was wearing were too hot for the suite. “This is actually my first one. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Good first game to come to; you get to watch Quinn play against his brother,” said someone who wasn’t Annie—the captain’s wife, potentially. That as a name Laurel would definitely need to learn about later.
Annie added, “I even think Jack’s girlfriend is here.”
“Yeah,” Laurel said, focusing very hard on not sounding bitter. “She’s sitting with their mother.”
“You didn’t want to sit with them?”
The focus on trying not to sound bitter shifted to not gritting her teeth. The suite really was too hot, and the attention on her was only making it worse. Laurel wished that everyone would just turn around and watch the game that had started, but every eye was focused on her, waiting for an answer.
It bothered her enough that she rushed out her answer without really thinking about it, “It’s way too early to meet his mother, and I don’t quite know how to broach the topic of Daisy.”
“What do you mean?” Annie asked, looking out over the ice presumably to where Daisy and Quinn’s mom might have been.
The captain’s wife was leaning in closer, too, as if it was something she would need to deal with—or something she would need to report back to the captain. Laurel didn’t know; she could assume, though.
“I don’t know,” Laurel sighed. The flood gates of her annoyance were opened. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s more than one Hughes brother who’s in love with her.”
Annie scoffed, loudly, in horror, “Quinn would never. She’s basically his little sister.”
“That’s what he says but sometimes it’s just… I don’t know.” Laurel tried to shrug, not only was it hindered by her hands being shoved under her legs but it was just weak in general, her attempt at playing it off falling flat.
“You have to ask him direct questions about it. Hockey players aren’t that bright.”
“That’s a gross overgeneralisation,” Laurel said, her annoyance swiftly moving on. She didn’t take her eyes off the game, even if she lost track of the puck every other second and had no idea where Quinn was or if he was even on the ice.
“They’re not; they’ll tell you that,” Annie said, laughter in her voice. “Too many hits to the head.”
“Quinn went to college and he’s not the only one.” Laurel finally looked at Annie and didn’t want to think about the fire in her own eyes. “You shouldn’t just label them all as dumb like that. It’s really harmful.”
“It’s just a joke,” Annie said slowly—the fire in Laurel’s eyes clearly worse than even she’d expected. “One that they’re in on.”
“I think they deserve more credit. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
Laurel stared at herself in the mirror and let the faucet run with cold water she wished she could splash on her face. It wasn’t the first impression she’d been hoping for. All she wanted was to meet a couple of people, learn one thing about hockey and leave without any other fuss—it had been nothing but optimistic.
In lieu of using the water to cool down her cheeks, Laurel ripped off some paper towel, held it under the faucet before ringing it out and pressing it to the back of her neck. Goosebumps ran down her arms but the relief was incredible.
The very last thing she wanted to do was re-enter the suite and if she hadn’t promised Quinn she’d stay until the end of the game she would have made her way home. As it were, she had made that promise so she put on her bravest face, opened the door and found a seat at the back from which she could still see the ice.
She remained in that same seat until the end of the third period, not even moving for the intermissions. The final buzzer went, though, and Laurel was on her feet and out the door. Navigating the crowd on the way out was worse than on the way in.
Quinn had given her a key to his apartment after Laurel reiterated that she was not ready to meet his mother and would under no circumstances be doing that outside the locker room after the game. The key felt out of place in her bag and it was a relief to leave it on the counter as she passed through the kitchen.
By the time he got home Laurel was showered, changed into her pyjamas and once again reading strange Instagram comments. He wasn’t acting any weirder than when she left for work that morning, so she assumed nobody had told him about her Ice Queen routine. Or the comment she made about him maybe being in love with Daisy.
She was more willing to share one than the other.
“How’d it go? We won for you.”
“I noticed.” That was a little heartwarming, she had to admit. “Thank you.”
In next to no time, Quinn was undressed and laying beside her. He was nothing but sincere as he asked, “How was it?”
“I don’t think I made many friends.” She stared up at the ceiling, her phone left to fall somewhere beside her.
“Why’s that?”
“Annie made a comment about hockey players being stupid and I told her she shouldn’t make sweeping generalisations.”
Entirely unexpectedly, Quinn laughed. “To be fair, we are pretty dumb.”
Laurel sat up, already feeling the annoyance of earlier that evening returning. Quinn watched her with wide, confused eyes.
“You went to college.”
“For two years. I didn’t even graduate.”
“Graduating isn’t the only metric of intelligence,” Laurel said pointedly. She turned her body so that she was directly facing him, not just craning her neck.
“Going to college isn’t either. I didn’t go to college because I was smart, I went because UMich has a great hockey program.”
He reached out for her, to take her hand across the duvet, but she moved away to hold it against her chest.
Her heart had no reason to be thumping as hard as it was, yet she couldn’t deny the stress in her voice when she asked,“So you’re just happy to let people think you’re stupid? No debating it?”
“What does it matter if a few people think I’m stupid?”
“Isn’t Annie your friend?” Laurel questioned, baffled. If any of her friends had taken to belittling her intelligence behind her back, whether it was true or not, reconsidering their friendship would be instantaneous.
“Why is it so important to you?” Quinn’s voice was filled with a simmering rage that she hadn’t heard since their fight about her going to the game. “It sounds like being smart is the only important thing in the world.”
“I’ve watched really bright kids be pushed to the side because their parents decided that all their kids were dumb,” Laurel pressed, her own voice strained, “maybe because the parents themselves aren’t very intelligent. Maybe none of them were ever given the opportunity. I’m not saying that everyone is or needs to be the smartest in the room; I’m saying it’s harmful to just say that all hockey players are dumb because guys aren’t even going to try.”
Quinn’s brows pulled together, what he said next clearly very obvious to him, “They don’t have to try. As long as they’re good at hockey.”
The ire in Laurel’s body collapsed into sadness—disappointment, maybe—and she tried to convey her desperation to him with just a look. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
“Quinn, you know that this has to end. Some players will be out of hockey before they’re twenty-five, right? If they truly think they’re stupid because that’s what they’ve been told their entire life then what hope do they have of being successful in anything else? All they’re good at is hockey, right? What’s Jack going to do?”
“I don’t—” Quinn sighed. “This isn’t a fight I want to have, Laurel.”
Laurel shuffled down the bed, turning her back to him and pulling herself to the edge of the mattress.
“Okay.”
Laurel had, in a fit of guilt, agreed to spend time with Daisy while Quinn took his mother to breakfast. Jack was well on his way to the next city and Laurel didn’t want to be the reason that Daisy spent the morning alone, so she said yes to cooking them breakfast.
It was the only time Laurel could remember being ungrateful for the extra days off afforded to her at work.
Quinn didn’t even stick around to wait for Daisy to arrive so he could introduce them—though Laurel did expect that if he had, Daisy would have arrived with Quinn’s mom and defeated the whole purpose of the separate breakfast.
So, Daisy arrived shortly after Quinn left, and Laurel just stood to one side in the kitchen as Daisy talked a mile a minute, introducing herself and depositing a grocery bag of pancake ingredients and topping onto the counter.
She beamed at Laurel when it was all out and neatly organised: “Pancakes?”
“Pancakes,” Laurel agreed, much more subdued.
“I know Quinn tried to get you to sit with us last night,” Daisy said as she opened some drawers to find bowls and measuring cups that Laurel didn’t even know Quinn owned. “He shouldn’t have tried to put you in the middle of all that.”
“All what? Do you and his mother not get along?” Laurel asked, stunned at how casual Daisy was. “I don’t mean to pry, sorry.”
Daisy shook her head, “We get along great, emotions have just been really high since I—oh wow, this still isn’t easy to talk about. The—you know. Planned Parenthood and all that.”
Laurel paused. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say.”
“Oh,” Daisy said, though it didn’t seem that her own pause was because she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to. “Jack said you were together when they spoke last week so I figured.”
“No but I guess that explains why his mood shifted so suddenly that morning. Are you—are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just feel stupid that we let it happen in the first place.”
“That’s the word of the day apparently. It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but you aren’t stupid. Shit happens and sometimes it’s not fucking fun. You’ve just gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Thanks, Laurel,” Daisy said with a smile so sincere Laurel inwardly flinched. “It does mean a lot.”
Needing something to do with her hands and distract herself from the entirely unexpected seriousness of the conversation, grabbed at the lemons to cut them up and juice them.
Thankfully the conversation was kept light while they cooked—even lighter when the first pancake came out burnt in a phenomenon that upset them both because they agreed the test pancake is most definitely the best pancake.
Daisy was fine, Laurel decided. That did little to assuage her worries that Quinn was in love with Daisy, of course, but it was hardly Daisy’s fault if he was. The way she spoke about Jack made it clear that she wasn’t leaving him for anyone, though, which did ease some of the concerns.
They sat down at the dining table to eat, setting it with way too many toppings for the two of them, and Laurel got whiplash when Daisy jumped back into the heavy conversation without any preamble.
“Ellen doesn’t know yet—or she might now but she definitely didn’t last night. I just thought you didn’t want to sit with us in case you accidentally spilled the beans.”
“I’m not ready to meet his parents yet. We’ve only been official since Valentine’s Day—it’s been a month.” Laurel pushed a piece of pancake through the lemon juice on her plate without looking up.
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t really think about that. Jack and I were in high school, so parents were kind of unavoidable. I’ve never had to deal with it being too soon. They’re good people, Ellen and Jim. Helped me through a lot even when Jack and I were brand new.”
Laurel nodded, still not looking up from her plate. She didn’t have anything else to say; she couldn’t argue that they were bad people when she’d never met them. She also didn’t feel like spilling her life story to Daisy.
It wasn’t a problem Daisy had, though. She wasn’t at all bothered by Laurel’s silence, just filled it easily with the revelation that her mother had passed away when she was in elementary school. Until Ellen came along, Daisy said with the most well-adjusted ease Laurel had ever come across, she didn’t have a maternal figure to help her through the day-to-day aspects of growing up.
Laurel sat in place, stewing over her own mother being physically present but emotionally distant, and wondered, not for the first time, if it wouldn’t have been easier to run away to live with her father. Maybe his third wife would have been a better mother.
Things had calmed down quite considerably after Quinn was able to spend time with Ellen. Laurel decided that the pressure he’d put on her about them meeting stemmed more from him missing Ellen more than it did from being desperate for them to meet.
Laurel hadn’t been to any more games. Quinn didn’t put any pressure on her for the other games that week—taking her comments that she hadn’t made any friends in stride, saying that they could try again whenever Laurel wanted—and then he’d disappeared on a weeklong road trip.
She was really hating road trips, and not just because she had to return to the tiny apartment she shared with someone she only liked half the time.
Missing Quinn as much as she did hadn’t become normal yet, in fact it was getting worse every time he left.
She spent a lot of time on Instagram while he was gone—the influx in followers and comments was getting increasingly more aggressive, steadily rising each and every day. For someone who had never put too much stock into what other people did or said on social media, Laurel was taking them all very seriously.
Quinn caught on when he got home and his eyes had flickered to her screen more than a couple times. There was nothing for her to try and hide, so she hadn’t thought twice about him seeing what she was doing, or even telling him about the sudden uptick.
That was a mistake, though, she soon realised, when he immediately tensed up and said, “I’m calling Annie.”
“Why would you call Annie?” Laurel asked, turning off the screen and hiding the phone behind her leg as if he’d change his mind.
“Because they’ve found you and I don’t—I need—How long?”
Laurel hesitated to answer, and settled on a not-entirely-truthful, “It’s only been a few weeks.”
“Right. We’ll get them to stop.”
And so, Laurel ended up sitting in a very nice living of a very nice house, opposite Annie and her lavender hair, her tattoos and a resting bitch face that Laurel was actually quite jealous of. It was enough to put her on the back foot immediately.
“I know that I wasn’t the nicest or whatever, at the game. I’m sorry. I get preachy and a lot of people don’t like being preached at,” she conceded, her head hanging low.
“If it was a little less preachy,” Annie said, her voice much lighter than Laurel had expected, “we’d probably agree about most stuff.”
Laurel wasn’t actually sure if Quinn had briefed Annie on why he’d brought her over; he hadn’t said a whole lot while they were driving away from downtown and into the suburbs of Vancouver. The silence left her pondering exactly what Quinn had found so serious about it all, so serious that he couldn’t even tell her why he wanted her to talk to Annie.
“I kind of need help, though? If I’m not pushing my luck. I’m gaining Insta followers like crazy and I don’t know these people. They’re commenting on my photos and my stories and sending me messages. Quinn seems to think it’s a big deal.”
Annie bristled, her back straightening so immediately that Laurel flinched. Her question was filled with exasperation and defeat, “You have a public account?”
“Uh, yeah? Don’t most people?”
Annie sighed.
“First things first—make it private. Once it’s private, you block everybody you don’t know so that they unfollow you. The photos currently on the account are already out in the world but we can at least stop new ones from getting out.”
Laurel let the words sink in, trying to make sense of them as well as trying to make sense of how serious Annie looked—the resting bitch face had shifted to determined and a little frightened.
It frightened Laurel that she squeaked out, “Getting out?”
“Fuck, you really don’t get it. You’re a WAG now, so there’s a subset of fans who care about you and they care too much. Sometimes they’re just really nice and respect that you’re human and have feelings and then there’s the psychos who send you hate mail.”
As she was speaking, Annie opened up her own phone and Googled her name—the first results, predictably were related to her tattoo artist career but as she scrolled a little further she put her phone down on the table so that Laurel could see every link that followed that was slightly off-kilter.
It was all disjointed but exactly as Annie had said. Various photos of Annie were splashed across Twitter or Tumblr, with or without Brock, and the accompanying comments that moved between complimentary and taking cheap shots at how little Annie weighed, or the ever-changing colour of her hair, or the state of her tattoos.
It wasn’t dissimilar to some of the comments Laurel had seen on Daisy’s Instagram—or the one she’d seen on her own.
With her heart in her stomach, Laurel said, “They like to go for my cheeks.”
“Your cheeks?” Annie asked, her voice and face softening.
“They won’t shut up about how chubby they are, as if I don’t know exactly how much fat is sitting in my cheekbones.”
Annie laughed, humourlessly, “They always find the insecurity. They’re real fucking good at it.”
Together they went through the long process of clearing out Laurel’s followers, blocking them all one by one. The number had crept up a lot higher than she thought it had.
Rogers Arena was no less daunting the second time.
It was a very different daunting, though, despite Karina being by her side. She wasn’t making a beeline to the suites because nobody knew she was even at the game, but trying to get to their seats moments before the puck was set to drop was a stress Laurel didn’t need.
“You can teach me what’s going on, right?” Laurel turned to Karina in a panic while still halfway down the stairs
“Yes, Laurel,” Karina sighed, fond but exasperated, turning Laurel back around and guiding her to their seats. “Just like I told you I could when you asked me to come.”
“I know, I just—I want to surprise Quinn.”
Karina reminded her, again, that there was no way Laurel was going to learn all the ins and outs of hockey from one game—“definitely not when the Canucks are playing the Coyotes.”—as they sat down in their seats. The seats that cost far more money than Laurel had anticipated; good thing she was ready to fully commit to being a WAG who knew the sport.
Despite Karina’s insistence that the game was going to be lacklustre and nothing to learn from, the Canucks came out swinging.
Laurel knew enough from what Quinn had told her that multiple goal games weren’t all that common so seeing the Canucks score two goals in the first period was exciting enough. When they scored another four in the second, with only one minor interruption from the Coyotes she was ready to truly lose her mind.
The atmosphere was infectious. Not even her constant leaning in to check something with Karina was ruining her night—like when the Coyotes were penalised for ‘too many men on the ice’ or when Quinn was sent to the penalty box was ‘cross-checking’. Watching him on the box on the big screen above the ice was funny, Laurel couldn’t deny that even if the fans around her vehemently disagreed with the call.
“He definitely fucked up, right?” she clarified with Karina after the protesting had died down.
“Definitely. He’s just our guy, so obviously the refs are wrong.”
Laurel just hummed, bemused.
By the end of the game—when the Canucks had managed to score another goal for a 7-1 victory—Laurel had to admit that she was hooked. It would be different to sit down in front of a television and watch, even sitting in the suite wouldn’t cut it, because sitting amongst so many people who were utterly invested in the outcome was addictive.
Adrenaline was still coursing through every part of her body when she let herself into Quinn’s apartment. He wasn’t home, yet, and wouldn’t be for a little while longer she knew and had given her his spare key yet again. He knew she was spending the evening with Karina but, as had become increasingly common, wanted her to be there when he got home.
She wondered frequently when the key would be handed over for good.
With so much excitement in her veins, Laurel was still wide awake when he got home. Part of her wanted to reveal the secret right then and there, that she was at the game, that she saw him get numerous ‘assists’ and the two-minute penalty, but she managed to calm herself down just enough to keep it together.
Quinn stood in the doorway to his bedroom, his tie nowhere to be seen and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Laurel watched him closely from where she was sitting up against the headboard.
“I heard there was a big win,” she said, putting her phone down and letting the duvet covers pool in her lap.
Quinn smirked, the confidence rolling off his body not something Laurel saw everyday but it was definitely something she liked.
“Big, big win,” he agreed, stepping slowly closer.
Laurel’s heart rate picked up, not that she thought it possible, and she froze in anticipation while he walked closer.
“Jack’s boys lost, though.”
Truthfully, he may as well have thrown her into the Arctic Ocean with the speed his words ruined any sort of arousal.
She gathered the duvet and slowly slumped down into the mattress. She still tracked him as he walked around the room and changed out of his suit and mourned the mood he’d so sufficiently killed.
“That’s a shame.”
He continued to talk about Jack—about hockey, mostly, but sometimes veering into random pieces of their childhood that she tried to piece into what she’d been told previously. His family’s closeness would never cease to fascinate her.
She felt herself falling asleep, suddenly drained after the realisation that they weren’t heading towards orgasms of any kind and buried herself into the covers pulled up around her chin.
“We bought a house in Michigan so we can spend the summers together.”
Laurel blinked, taking a moment to determine that she’d heard him correctly. She asked, “the whole summer?”
“That’s the plan. It’ll be so good. We’ve got so many buddies from there or who spent enough time in Michigan that they can’t wait to go back—”
Nothing else he said mattered, not even to slot anything into his backstory, because all Laurel could think about was him spending the entire summer so far across the continent.
Any interest Laurel had in learning the game of hockey or the life that came with it disappeared with the knowledge that Quinn wasn’t wasting any time in leaving Vancouver when his season was over. And it would be over soon.
She didn’t know much but she did know that they weren’t making playoffs.
The plan as she knew it was for Quinn to fly to Michigan a week after their final game but she’d purposely been avoiding learning much about it because it only made her angry.
If Quinn had noticed the distance she was keeping, he hadn’t said anything.
Her visits to his place had been limited and it wasn’t even intentional. The final games of the season, some on the road, along with some team bonding meant that Quinn’s schedule didn’t have much time for Laurel.
That wasn’t helping matters.
Laurel stood outside his apartment buildings for a few moments, trying to compose herself before she buzzed the intercom to be let up. She had to talk to him about it because the internal speculation was driving her crazy, and she’d watched her mother ruin too many relationships due to lack of communication.
When she stepped into his apartment, it was clear Quinn felt the tension between them. He didn’t lean in to kiss like he normally would, just stood to the side and let her in; she moved far enough into the apartment to hover in the kitchen but didn’t go much further.
“Why are things weird?” he asked, so direct and abrupt that Laurel was caught off guard. “I haven’t seen you in like two weeks and you’re weird on the phone. What did I do?”
“I don’t know, Quinn,” Laurel said with a huff. “This feels like a really crucial time in our relationship and you’re just going to fuck off for the whole summer. More than the summer? Leave now and not come back until, what? September?”
The immediate attack was the wrong decision, it became immediately clear, when Quinn tensed up and his face closed off completely. It was the meanest she’d ever seen him.
“I was going to be back in about two weeks,” he said, devoid of any emotion. It made it hurt so much worse to hear the detachment in his voice when he added, “To see you.”
Laurel cowered, “Why are you going at all? Do you need a break from me?”
“It’s my brother’s 21st birthday, Laurel, and I’m not going to miss it. I was thinking about asking if you wanted to come but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No,” Laurel agreed, clenching her fists at her sides, “I don’t think it is a good idea. I don’t think we’re a good idea.”
The tension defused ever so slightly, Quinn’s mask slipping just enough to show shock and a little bit of hurt before he recovered. His voice was still quiet as he asked, “Do you really mean that?”
Laurel deflated, too; every insecurity she had about relationships came to the forefront of her brain. “Yeah, I mean, what do we have in common, Quinn? We’re Americans living in Vancouver? I don’t get what you do for a living but it’s also not even just what you do for a living, is it? It’s your whole life.”
Quinn took half a step forward, then froze. Laurel wanted him to be closer but didn’t make any effort to close the gap.
“I have a life outside of hockey and I thought it included you.”
“You don’t exist without hockey, Quinn,” Laurel sighed, her voice small, “and you don’t even see it. You’re here from September to May because of the hockey season, but you’re also on the road a lot and not really here, and I’m expected to just… accept and understand that and wait for you all the time. And then when the season’s done, you want to disappear for like four months and you expected me to just follow you when you asked at the last minute. I don’t have the luxury, Quinn.”
“I know that.”
“Why did you only give me two weeks’ notice? Why didn’t you talk to me about it at all? I get that your mom dropped a hell of a lot for your dad’s work and then your hockey careers and Daisy seems to be doing the same for Jack, but I didn’t grow up in hockey or even sports—I don’t get any of this and you’ve never really explained it to me. The life, not whatever happens on the ice.”
“That’s why I wanted you to sit with my mom and Daisy—they can explain it all to you.”
“But it’s not their job, is it, Quinn?”
“Laurel, they know what it’s like to be a WAG. I have no fucking clue what it’s like. The best people to help you are the girls who live the life you know nothing about but you just refuse to talk to them.”
“I—I spoke to Annie,” Laurel countered, knowing that it was weak.
“Once. I have tried so hard to bring you into my world and you fight me at every turn.”
“What about my world?” Her question came with a renewed fire, thinking of all the parts of her life Quinn didn’t know about; all the things he hadn’t taken the time to learn.
“You won’t let me in there, either. So, I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Maybe he couldn’t learn without her teaching him. Maybe he hadn’t asked.
Laurel didn’t know. All she did know was that her heart was slowly crumbling in her chest as she tried to put on a brave face and pretend it was the outcome she’d wanted by showing up in the first place.
She ducked her head so she could walk past him, saying coolly that she was going to collect some things from his room. There was no way she’d be able to remove everything of hers in one trip when she hadn’t even brought her overnight bag but if she could at least grab her expensive skin care items and her favourite clothes that would be something.
Quinn followed her, his footsteps dull and heavy, and she felt his eyes watching her as she moved around. She didn’t snap at him, didn’t ask him what he was worried she’d steal, just focused on fitting what she could into her purse.
“I went to a game, you know?” she asked as she carefully took a shirt from one of the hangers she’d co-opted and folded it into her purse.
Quinn huffed a disbelieving laugh. “The one I begged you to come to.”
“The night up told me you were going back to Michigan, actually,” she corrected. “Sat in the crowd with Karina from work and she tried to teach me what was going on. I was going to surprise you by learning how the game worked without you having to teach me.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it? You’re the one who thinks we should break up.”
“I guess I am,” she said, a sad smile stretched across her face. “I don’t know how this is where it ended, Quinn.”
“I wish you’d told me two weeks ago that you were mad at me. Probably could have avoided this.”
Laurel shrugged, half-heartedly, “I don’t know. This shit’s always inevitable for me.”
“It doesn’t have to be, you know that.”
“Bye, Quinn.”
She left him standing in the doorway of his bedroom and didn’t turn back around once as she left, fearing that she’d beg him for anything that made it better.
There wasn’t anything that could make it better.
Laurel knew the minute she accepted that the date was a bad idea. The one piece of advice her mother gave her for getting over relationships was that “a week for every month you were together” was the proper timeframe for getting over someone.
If Laurel counted from the day she officially became Quinn’s girlfriend, three weeks was plenty of time. Half a week too long, even.
If only that had assuaged her guilt enough to not ruin the night out Brooke had organised for them. Even if the night was drinks and dancing at the same dive bar where she’d met Quinn.
Drinks and dancing were easier than any other alternative that wasn’t just sex; it was clearly just a prelude to sex, regardless, and not even a very vague one.
Laurel could handle the pretence, though, because Brooke was proving to be enough of a difference from what she’d realised was her ‘type’ that Laurel had no issues pressing up against her on the dance floor or sitting in her lap when they stopped for drinks.
By the time a lovely haze was settling over Laurel—Tom Collins had leant his name to a very nice drink—it all came crashing down.
“Why do the Vancouver Canucks keep staring at us?”
She hadn’t noticed them, had been far too wrapped up in getting Brooke to take her home, before they were pointed out to her but, sure enough, Quinn was standing across the room huddled with more than a few guys from the team.
“I dated one of them,” Laurel said with a sigh, averting her gaze before she could accidentally make eye contact with any of them. If Quinn caught her, she would die in the spot.
“Yeah?” Brooke pushed. “Recently enough that they’re still staring?”
17 days.
But she wasn’t counting.
“It wasn’t a great breakup.”
“Damn.” Brooke paused. “Does he know you also date women?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then I can do this—”
At first, Laurel melted into Brooke’s mouth—the softness was something she didn’t realise she’d missed and Brooke’s fingers had crept under her top and were applying just enough pressure to really curl the heat in Laurel’s stomach.
The beat that followed replaced the heat with led, and Laurel pushed herself out of Brooke’s lap. She had enough of a mind to fix her top and then no mind at all when she turned to where Quinn had been and made the eye contact she’d dreaded.
17 days wasn’t enough.
Quinn was moving, then, weaving his way through his teammates and towards the entrance to the bar; Laurel didn’t even feel Brooke’s hand on her wrist as she rushed to follow him.
Laurel hated dive bars and all the people in them, each and every one stepping in and out of her path as she desperately tried to stay on her feet.
A cool breeze hit her like a wall when she stepped onto Water Street, enough of a shock that she flinched and stopped in her tracks. Someone was following close enough behind her that she was forcibly moved onto the sidewalk.
She locked eyes on Quinn, standing at the gutter with his phone in his hand. He looked up from it, presumably hearing her shoes on the contact, and sighed so deeply she saw his shoulders rise and fall.
“Quinn—I—”
“It’s fine, Laurel,” he mumbled, looking away from her and down Water Street, “we’re broken up.”
“I didn’t want her to do that,” Laurel stressed, reaching out to touch his arm. Quinn took a tiny little step and her hand fell away. She whispered; then, “Especially not in front of you. I’m sorry.”
“We’re not together. You can do what you want. I’m getting out of here.”
A car pulled up in front of them; Quinn was quick to open the door.
She touched his arm again, her fingers digging into the jacket he was wearing so he couldn’t shake her off, and she pleaded, “I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”
Laurel felt the ire pouring off him even though he barely looked at her over his shoulder, when he said, “You never let me tell you, so how could you?”
“Quinn—”
He shook his arm, forcibly dislodging Laurel’s hand. She teetered backwards as she stepped out of the way of the car door so it didn’t close on her—it really didn’t feel like that would have been a bad thing.
Instagram was a much quieter place after The Purge at Annie’s House and after months of not being with Quinn. The requests to follow her died down around July, she guessed because nobody could say they’d seen them together so she was no longer interesting.
Laurel couldn’t deny that she’d googled her own name a few times since Quinn left her on Water Street, curious to know what any of the ‘puck bunny' blogs had been saying about her—most updates post August were that she and Quinn were done. Quinn was officially back on the market.
Too many people were poking fun at her Instagram handle—��looks like @l0nelylaurel is l0nelier than ever’ and it was all hitting too close to home.
Truth be told, 153 days was no easier than 17.
A lot of that could be contributed to the angst of waiting for Quinn to show any sign that he was even coming back to Vancouver. The season was ten days from officially starting and he hadn’t even re-signed with the Canucks.
He was still in Michigan.
Or that’s what she thought—what she expected—until his post appeared on her feed.
6 more years.
The newly christened hockey fan in her was ecstatic.
The pining ex-girlfriend was… desperate. Maybe.
To Quinn: is it too late to apologise and tell you i’ve been learning about hockey?
The lack of context bothered her and she sent a follow up text soon after.
To Quinn: congratulations on the contract. i’m proud of you
She didn’t think that context helped her case, either, but at least it was a reason to be texting him behind just missing him.
Laurel wasn’t expecting a text back with any speed. Returning to her job after a week of vacation time was hard enough; having to sign a whole new contract and join the team after they’d already been through the bulk of their training and bonding wasn’t something she could comprehend.
That was mostly because she’d heard from various Canucks fans at work about how damaging it was to the team for him and Petey to hold out so long.
She brought up YouTube to mindlessly watch something so that she didn’t dwell on her texts to Quinn, but she hadn’t even picked something when her phone buzzed and his name showed at the top of her screen.
From Quinn: Maybe there’s a table free at Elise. Heard about someone who’s big trophy wife fantasy was getting dinner there 🤔
Her heart sank.
It was a reasonable leap for him to make, she couldn’t fault him for it even if it made her want to claw at her skin and disappear into her couch for the rest of her life—but not before she made sure he knew it wasn’t like that.
To Quinn: it’s not about the contract. just didn’t know when you were back in town
From Quinn: Bad joke. Come over tomorrow after work?
The relief that overcame her was almost painful in how good it felt. Her heart was no longer sinking but instead racing faster and stronger than she knew how to deal with.
To Quinn: 💕
There was a pleasant, refreshing chill in the air as Laurel made the walk from her apartment to Quinn’s.
Haley had questioned where she was going for no other reason than Laurel didn’t change out of the clothes she’d worn to work—almost every time she’d left the house since May she’d changed into something more appropriate for a bar because, well, she was headed to a bar. They still weren’t friends but Haley worried enough that Laurel had to assure her it wasn’t self-destructive.
The bars had been pretty self-destructive. Seeing Quinn was the opposite.
She hoped, anyway.
He must have been sitting at the buzzer with how fast he let her into the building, and he was standing in his open door when she stepped out of the elevator.
“Welcome home?” she said, tilting it into a question when it crossed her mind that she didn’t actually know where he considered home. Maybe he’d just left home.
He smiled, “It’s good to be back. Come on, I pulled a few strings and have some food from Elise coming.
“Quinn…” Laurel trailed off, concerned that she’d been invited over as a joke.
“It’s really nice food and I know you like it. I really would have taken you there but I know my joke didn’t land.”
Laurel nodded, short and still uncertain. He carried on, though, guiding her into his apartment. He was acting like nothing had happened, like the last two times they’d seen each other hadn’t been disasters.
She washed her hands, taking a little extra time in the bathroom to recompose herself. He was being far nicer than he should have. She hadn’t expected him to be horrible to her—even if she’d been half concerned it was all an elaborately cruel joke—she just hadn’t expected him to welcome her in with open arms.
They ate peacefully, Laurel rather overwhelmed by how good the food was, by how Quinn had remembered what she’d ordered on her birthday. Quinn interspersed their eating with some stories from Michigan, so tentatively that he was obviously testing the waters.
She listened, grateful to have him back in front of her, delighted by the familiar awkwardness with which he carried himself.
She tried to fill him in on what she’d been up to while he was away, coming up short as she’d had no time off.
Quinn, seemingly realising she was floundering, turned the conversation in an entirely different direction on a hair pin.
“I didn’t do enough to help you get used to hockey and the life it comes with.”
Laurel blinked, stopping her wine glass as it was halfway to her mouth and putting it carefully back on the table. She said, measured, “You weren’t the problem, Quinn.”
“Maybe we share the blame but I—everyone I know goes from zero to sixty in like three weeks,” he explained, his hands twitching around his knife and fork. “Jack and Daisy have been virtually married since high school and I need to stop comparing my life to his but it’s a bit depressing when my go-to example of a relationship is my younger brother.”
“At least it’s a happy one. Mine are every relationship my mom ever blew up. I do a pretty good job replicating them.”
A sympathetic look crossed Quinn’s face, one Laurel didn’t feel entitled to, but he didn’t continue the conversation. He let go of his knife and reached his hand across the table to hold hers. He simply squeezed it comfortingly and smiled.
It lit up her entire body.
By the time they were washing up, Laurel was settling into his apartment as if she’d never left. Nothing changed since May, almost definitely because Quinn hadn’t been home, and she found her ice cream in the freezer where she’d left it and pulled two spoons from the drawer. Quinn followed her easily to the couch.
She turned sideways on the couch, crossing her legs so that she was facing him and he sat at the opposite end and also turned to face her. The ice cream container was settled onto the cushion between them, teetering precariously.
“Did you really go to a game without telling me?”
She startled, “You remember that?”
“Pretty sure I remember the entire convo word for word.”
It was a pretty quick way to bring down the mood, even if it looked like Quinn hadn’t intended it to be, the flinch that followed his words clue her into his regret.
“I did, yeah,” Laurel powered on. “You won and I had fun.”
He smiled and she smiled back, caught up in the immediate happiness that replaced the regret. Despite the happiness, he was hesitant when he asked, “Do you think you’ll want to go again?”
“I’d like to,” Laurel admitted, still smiling. “I should probably know the game, right?”
“The Devils are in town next month. Daisy might come. Mom won’t make it this time.”
“I can handle Daisy,” she assured him. “That’d be really great, Quinn. I don’t have the equivalent for social work in a hospital, but if we plan drinks any time soon I’ll make sure it’s a day you’re free. You can meet Haley if you want.”
She moved the ice-cream from between them and leant sideways to put it on the coffee table. The only thing keeping her from falling off the couch completely were Quinn’s quick reflexes and his hand shooting out to press against her rib cage.
She held her breath at the contact, at the easy way he helped her back onto the couch, and then at the sincerity in his voice as he said, “I’ll meet whoever you’ll let me meet, Laurel.”
“Letting people in is hard for me but I really want it to be you who changes that.”
He’d barely gotten out “Me, too” before Laurel was moving across the now empty space between them to capture his mouth in a kiss.
The morning after the game against the Devils—a 5-2 defeat that almost wished she hadn’t been present for—Laurel and Quinn squeezed in breakfast with Jack and Daisy before Jack got on a flight to Edmonton.
Jack was… Not what Laurel expected.
His arrival was so loud and energetic that she glanced sideways at Quinn to see how he was going to handle their breakfast being interrupted by a fan, and she took a couple of steps back just to be out of the way. Her confusion grew when Daisy walked in behind him, rolling her eyes as Jack launched himself at Quinn.
“They literally saw each other last night,” Daisy said, hugging Laurel. “It’s like this every time.”
“He’s not what I was expecting,” Laurel admitted. “Quinn’s so quiet and you are, too, that—”
“Daisy? Quiet? You pull your body double in for the game?” Jack asked, stepping away from Quinn. “I’m Jack—Daisy’s conned you.”
“I know how to read a room.”
“I’m Laurel.”
Given Jack’s entrance, the hug wasn’t entirely unexpected. She made eye contact with Quinn over Jack’s shoulder, saw the pleased smile on his face and knew that everything was really going to work out fine.
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#quinn hughes imagine#quinn hughes fic#nhl fic#nhl imagine#hockey imagine#hockey fic#homemade fic#fic: canucks#one shot
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ᴇɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Warning(s): age-gap (reader probably in mid 20s or so); angst
A/N: Because I'm too lazy to write a full fic so here's literally a short piece of what I'm sure would've been something if I had the motivation
JOEL ALWAYS SAID THIS ABOUT YOU – born young enough to grow up in a world that had nothing to offer; you didn’t watch it decay like he did where it used to be half-decent and you could find your place in life before everything went to shit – had grown into something inhospitable and terrible and bitter to the core. No, to you, it was just rotten from the very beginning: broken dreams and scattered ashes littering the filthy ground, a bunch of "what-ifs" and "maybes" and no room for shades of gray when it came to seeing things in black and white because the darkness won out and snuffed out the rest of all that was light and good as the sickness descended like the goddamn Rapture; it wasn’t just the infected that remained – the only people left navigating the wreckage were those with cruel hearts and nasty intentions.
"Well, it's not all that awful," you say, murmuring into the opening of your thermos as you stare fixedly at the last the last few remnants of stew at the bottom. "You're here. I guess that sorta makes up for it."
His figure is hunched over the fire he recently smothered. Even though his back is facing you, the tension in his body is apparent. Rigid – the same way he stiffens up when danger's nearby. "Don't say that kinda stuff." (And it sounds just as serious as “Stay behind me,” or “Run,” whenever hell’s at your both of your guys' heels.)
But you keep on rambling anyways – Pandora's box cracked wide open like a gaping maw that spills secrets, ones that should have never been let out – won’t fucking shut up about it even if you can help it now. And maybe it's not fair to put this kind of burden on him; maybe it's selfish of you to tell him, no matter how wrong it is, but each day could be your last and getting this off your chest might mean one less stupid problem to worry about. It's not like he doesn't know. Not after what happened back in Colorado, anyways. That had made it clear as day if it wasn't already obvious before. "After everything we've been through, I bet you still think of me as that same kid that got under your skin when we first met," you say absentmindedly. It doesn't come out in an accusatory tone, just an observation.
The stress leaches into his voice, washing over every word. Joel's on guard. Walls up. He shakes his head slowly, like a warning. "You've got no idea what you're talking about."
You lean back, transferring your weight into your wrists. "So I'm not right, then?" you ask it innocently enough.
He's moving around, double-checking that all the gear's in place. Of course, he's avoiding any eye contact. "We've got to head out in ten. Now's not the time for this kind of conversation."
"Almost a thousand miles left. All we really have is time. Look, Joel whatever you've got to say, I can handle it. You don't need to spare my feelings.”
He’s fidgeting with his watch as if the strap’s suddenly too tight – a habit he doesn't indulge in often, but one that you've noticed once in a blue moon. Maybe he developed it because of you. Always so sure of himself, but you're the one person who's managed to upend everything. "Get your —"
" —guns are in my pack," you finish for him. It's routine at this point. He's predictable. You know what to expect. "Is it because—"
He cuts you off too. "It's a bad idea." There's a finality to his voice.
So he's thought about this before.
"We've had worse ones."
“People like you don’t end up with people like me,” he says. "Shouldn't."
And you’re taken aback because out of everything that you expected it most certainly wasn’t that.
The ticking of a secondhand, booming – can’t be his watch because that’s been shattered for years – off-rhythm, way too fast; it’s your heart thrashing violently behind the cage of your chest. You reach for him, fingers curling around his wrist. Your thumb meets his pulse point and you feel the constellation of tiny scars across the expanse of his weathered skin. He’s warm. Alive. “That’s not — Joel, c’mon, you don’t seriously believe that—”
His eyes flickers down to where the two of you are joined before dragging back up to meet your gaze. "I’m not infected like the rest of ‘em, but this disease turns men into monsters, corrupts them until they're the most twisted versions of themselves. I've done things that I'll never be able to come back from, and when we’re done here, you’re better off finding something else.”
As if you could ever. That's next to impossible. "I've seen all of the ugliest and messiest parts of you and it doesn't change a single thing. I still want you just as bad."
#not happy with either of these characterizations but oh well#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#the last of us#tlou
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