Work Text
the drive up to the haywood ranch already tells you something ain't right.
the fence near the road is half-collapsed, like something big
ran through it
. the training pen’s empty; dust settled like it ain't been used in weeks. the main house looks the same—same chipped paint, same worn porch steps—but it
feels
wrong, like something hollowed it out and left the shell behind.
but it’s the silence that really gets to you.
no horses nickering. no radio playing from the house. no emerald singing to herself while she works. just
nothing
.
you pull up next to the house, cut the engine. for a second, you just sit there, staring at the place. then you climb out, boots kicking up dirt, and head for the barn.
the doors are open. you step inside.
oj is in the last stall, brushing down a horse—
lucky
. the only horse left.
shit.
"
oj
."
he doesn’t look up. "ain’t buyin’ today."
you fold your arms. "ain't
sellin’
today."
oj finally glances at you, then back at lucky. "shouldn’t be here."
"yeah, well, you ain't been
anywhere
, so i figured i’d come check." you let your gaze sweep over the barn, the way the light filters through in strange patches. something feels
off
, like the air itself is heavier. “auction house ain’t seen you in a minute. i called. you ain't pick up."
oj keeps brushing lucky, slow and steady. "been busy."
"
busy
?" you motion toward the empty stalls. "
busy with what
, oj? you ain't got no damn horses left."
his grip tightens on the brush. "takin’ care of the ones i
do
got."
"you mean the
one
you got?" you gesture around. "oj, what the hell
happened
here?"
he doesn’t answer.
but he also doesn’t tell you to leave.
so you step past him, eyes trailing along the stalls, the support beams, the walls—until you reach the ceiling.
you stop short.
stare.
gaping
holes
stretch across the roof, burned and warped at the edges, like something
chewed
through. like something big and
hungry
came straight down from the sky.
a cold weight settles in your chest. you glance back at oj.
"oj." your voice is quiet now, careful. "what did this?"
oj stares at lucky, fingers tight on the stall door.
"i told you," he says, voice low. "you wouldn’t believe me."
you exhale slow, your pulse drumming in your ears.
"then
try me
."
oj finally meets your gaze.
"it wasn’t a ship," he says.
you frown. "
what
?"
oj swallows, jaw clenched tight. “it wasn’t a ship. wasn’t a machine. wasn’t somethin’ that
landed.
” his gaze flicks to the holes in the ceiling, then back at you.
"it was somethin’ that
ate.
"
a long silence stretches between you.
you shift your weight, crossing your arms tight.
finally, you say what you’re
really
thinking.
"oj," you say, voice even. "you sound crazy as hell right now."
oj huffs a dry, humourless laugh. "yeah," he mutters. "i know."
but the way he says it—the way his voice dips just a little, like he's too damn tired to argue—makes you pause.
you glance back up at the ruined ceiling, at lucky’s wild eyes.
you should leave. you should call this whole thing bullshit and drive back home.
but you don’t.
instead, you exhale hard, dragging a hand down your face.
"alright," you mutter. "
alright.
say i believe you. what happens next?"
oj just looks at you.
and for the first time, he doesn't have an answer. oj doesn’t answer your question. doesn’t say
what happens next
, just tilts his head slightly toward the house. like that’s where you’ll find the rest of it.
you nod, understanding passing between you without needing to say much. words have never been either of your strong suits. you and oj always got along better in silences than in conversation.
outside, the sun is starting to dip, casting long shadows over the dirt and dried-out grass. the wind stirs just enough to rattle the fence. something about it puts you on edge, the way it’s
too
quiet. you don’t hear bugs. no birds, either.
you roll your shoulders, shaking off the feeling, and follow oj up the steps to the house.
it smells
wrong
the second you step inside.
not dirty. just
off.
stale. like it’s been lived in but not
kept
.
you hesitate in the doorway, heart doing a slow, heavy thump against your ribs. something about the change in air pressure between outside and inside makes your skin crawl. your fingers twitch at your side, and you tap them against your leg twice before stepping in all the way.
oj walks ahead without pausing, the floorboards creaking under his boots.
"house still stands, huh?" your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to.
"yeah," oj says. but there’s something in the way he says it, like
barely
. like it’s standing, but only just.
you don’t realise you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale, sharp and quick, blinking hard to process everything at once. it’s a lot—too much. your brain starts sorting things into categories automatically.
out of place:
a pile of unopened mail stacked too neatly on the kitchen table. the couch cushions slightly misaligned, like someone sat there and got up too fast. a horseshoe from the ranch stuck on the counter, bent in the middle.
missing:
the sound of a tv left on low, the usual hum of emerald moving around.
wrong:
a dark stain on the wood near the front door, almost scrubbed clean but not
quite.
your fingers flex at your side.
oj moves toward the kitchen. you follow, your brain playing
spot the difference
the whole way.
he opens a cabinet, pulls out two glasses, fills them both with water. pushes one toward you without a word.
you blink at it, something in your chest settling just a little.
“thanks,” you murmur, taking the glass and holding it between both hands. it’s a grounding thing, something solid and cold against your skin.
oj nods. drinks his water, standing like he’s waiting for something.
you glance toward the hallway leading to the back rooms.
"where’s em?"
oj doesn’t answer right away. he takes another sip of water, slow and deliberate, like he's chewing on what to say.
you don’t push. you know how it feels when someone
demands
a response before you’ve got the words lined up right. so you wait, drinking your own water, letting him sort it out.
finally, he sighs.
"left," he says.
your brows furrow. "left?"
"she's alright," he says quickly. "just… needed to get gone for a while."
you nod, setting your glass down. that makes sense. em’s always been restless. she’s always been
louder
than you and oj, quicker to speak, quicker to act. but even she has her limit.
"did she say when she's coming back?"
oj shakes his head.
you chew on that for a second, picking at the edge of the counter with your nail.
then, carefully: "but
you
stayed."
oj doesn’t respond.
you look at him fully now, taking him in. the way his shoulders slump slightly, how the tension in his jaw never really leaves. his eyes flick toward the window for just a second before settling back down, like he’s still expecting something to be out there.
your fingers twitch again. you tap them against your thigh once, twice.
"you’re still looking for it, aren’t you?"
his throat bobs as he swallows.
"ain’t gotta
look
," he mutters.
your stomach tightens.
you take a breath through your nose, rub your fingertips together before pressing them to the cool surface of the counter again. the textures help. they keep your mind from spiraling.
"oj," you say carefully, deliberately. "i
need
you to tell me what happened."
oj stares at the floor for a moment. then at your hands, the way your fingers press and release against the counter in a quiet rhythm.
he exhales through his nose.
"alright," he says, voice barely above a rumble.
you straighten slightly.
"but you better sit down first."
your fingers still against the counter.
you nod.
and you sit. you settle onto the worn-out couch, the cushions sinking under your weight. oj doesn’t sit, though. he stays standing, rolling his jaw, staring at some fixed point on the floor like if he looks anywhere else, the words won’t come out right.
you don’t rush him. you never do.
but you do stretch your legs out, crossing one over the other, letting the denim of your jean shorts bunch slightly around your thighs. it’s hot in here, stale air pressing heavy against your skin, but you don’t complain.
oj shifts.
you catch the flicker of his eyes, a brief downward glance before he looks back up like he
wasn’t
just looking at your legs.
you tilt your head slightly, noting it, but you don’t say anything.
instead, you wait.
oj sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, then finally—finally—he speaks.
"it started small," he mutters.
your fingers drum once against the couch, a quiet acknowledgment.
"horses started actin’ different. wouldn't leave the stalls at night. stopped eatin' like normal. thought it was a coyote at first, or a mountain lion. put up cameras. sat out on the porch some nights just watchin'."
he pauses. his fingers twitch at his side.
"first time i saw it, i thought it was a ship." his voice dips lower, like the words are heavier than he thought they’d be. "thought we had a real ufo situation. but then…"
his eyes flick up toward the ceiling, toward the damage you saw in the barn.
"then i saw it
move.
"
your grip tightens slightly on the couch. "move
how
?"
oj meets your eyes, expression unreadable.
"like it was
breathin’.
"
a chill runs through you, sweat beading at the back of your neck despite the heat.
you roll your shoulders, cross your legs the other way, trying to settle.
oj’s gaze flicks downward again, just for a second.
you narrow your eyes slightly. "you got somethin’ to say, or you just gon’ keep looking at my legs like they got the answers?"
oj clears his throat, looking away.
"ain't lookin'," he mutters.
you snort. "yeah. sure."
oj shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, but there’s a ghost of something there—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation. it’s hard to tell with him.
but then his shoulders tense again, and the weight of the story settles back over him.
"wasn’t long before it started
feeding
." his voice is quieter now, almost distant. "came down quiet. took a horse clean off the ground. no sound. no mess. just… gone."
your stomach turns.
oj’s fingers flex at his sides again.
"tried to warn em." he lets out a dry, humorless huff. "she ain’t listen, not at first. thought i was stressin’ too much. then we saw it together."
your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak yet.
oj finally sits down across from you, rubbing his hands together slowly, like the friction keeps him focused.
"we got it on camera," he mutters. "tried to get proof. tried to—" he cuts himself off, jaw tight. "tried to do somethin’ about it."
the way he says that makes your pulse jump.
"oj," you say carefully, leaning forward slightly. "what do you mean
do somethin’
?"
he exhales hard, shaking his head.
"thought if we could see it, trap it, we could make somethin’ out of it. em had big ideas."
your brows furrow. "
trap
it?"
he nods.
you stare at him for a long second.
then you shake your head, dragging a hand down your face.
"goddamn," you mutter. "y’all were tryin’ to
profit
off a
man-eating sky monster
?"
oj doesn’t answer.
but he doesn’t need to.
the answer’s written all over his face.
you let out a slow breath, dragging your fingers against the denim of your shorts, grounding yourself in the rough texture.
"so what happened?" you ask, voice quieter now.
oj’s fingers still against his palms.
his throat bobs as he swallows.
"it ate ‘em," he says simply.
your stomach drops.
"who?"
oj finally looks at you, something dark and heavy in his gaze.
"all of ‘em."
the room settles into silence, thick and unmoving, like dust in stale air.
you stare at oj, your brain trying to process the weight of what he just said.
all of ‘em.
you grip your shorts, twisting the fabric between your fingers, rubbing it rough against your skin to keep yourself from floating too far outside your body.
"oj," you start carefully, testing the weight of his name on your tongue. "you saying…
everyone
?"
he nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s making sure you see it.
the back of your neck feels hot.
"so… no bodies? no evidence? they just—" you make a vague, open-palmed motion.
oj barely moves, but you see his jaw flex, his fingers pressing hard against the tops of his knees.
"gone," he says. "like they never was here."
your throat goes dry. you swallow against it, crossing and uncrossing your legs just to give yourself something to
do.
oj watches the movement. his eyes flick to your thighs, then back up, too fast for most people to notice.
but you notice.
and suddenly, your face feels just as warm as your neck.
you exhale, dragging a hand down your face. "shit, man. i dunno. this—" you shake your head, inhaling sharply. "this don’t make no damn sense."
oj doesn’t argue. doesn’t push. just nods, looking down at his hands like the answer might be written there if he stares long enough.
you rub your fingers together, tap them against the couch once, twice. "you
believe
this, though. you ain’t questionin’ none of it?"
"ain’t a matter of belief," oj murmurs. "s’a matter of what
happened
."
you watch him closely. the way he shifts just slightly when he talks about it, the way his hands flex before settling again.
it’s not a lie.
you’re
good
at knowing when people lie.
but this ain’t that.
this is something else.
you bite your lip, nodding slowly, words still catching behind your teeth. your head’s a mess, thoughts circling too fast. you try to speak, stop, then try again.
oj tilts his head slightly. "you stimmin’," he says, voice quieter.
your fingers still against your leg.
you don’t usually
like
when people point it out. but with oj, it don’t feel like judgment.
you huff, finally releasing your grip on your shorts. "yeah," you admit, dragging a slow breath through your nose. "this is a lot."
oj nods, rubbing his palms against his knees. "yeah."
silence stretches long between you again, but it ain’t uncomfortable. it never really is with oj.
he shifts slightly, like he’s about to say something, then stops.
you tilt your head. "what?"
he shakes his head. "nothin’."
you frown. "nah, you
was
about to say somethin’. you don’t start talkin’ just to
stop
talkin’."
oj exhales, rolling his shoulders.
"just…" he finally looks at you, direct and
intent
, like he’s trying to line up the words right before he lets ‘em out."you
believe me
?"
your breath catches slightly.
you don’t answer right away. not because you don’t have an answer—but because it scares you that you
do
.
because deep down, in the pit of your gut, in the tightness behind your ribs…
you do.
even if it don’t make sense.
even if it
shouldn’t
make sense.
you lick your lips, shifting your weight. "this don’t make sense," you admit, voice softer. "but…" you hesitate. "neither do we."
oj watches you. doesn’t say anything. but you can
feel
something shift in the air between you, something quiet but
loud
in its own way.
he looks at your mouth.
just for a second.
then away again.
you clear your throat. flex your fingers.
"so," you start, keeping your voice level, "what now?"
oj blinks, like he just remembered where you are, what you were talking about.
he exhales through his nose.
"now," he says, "i show you."
you still.
"show me
what
?"
oj stands, brushing his palms against his jeans.
"what’s left."
oj doesn’t wait for you to agree. he just moves, slipping out of the house like this conversation never happened, like he didn’t just tell you some
thing
came out of the sky and swallowed people whole.
you hesitate, your pulse a slow, steady thud against your ribs. then you push yourself up, legs slightly stiff from sitting so long.
oj is already outside, standing on the porch, hands tucked into his pockets. the air is thick with heat, the sky stretched out wide above him.
you step out beside him, rolling your shoulders.
"so where we goin’?"
oj tilts his head toward the hills in the distance, toward the edge of the property where the fence cuts off into open land.
"you’ll see."
you exhale, shaking your head. "i
hate
when people say that."
oj huffs a quiet breath through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite.
he starts walking. you follow.
the further you go, the quieter it gets. you tap your fingers against your thigh as you walk, trying to ignore how wrong the silence feels, how even the wind seems hesitant to move.
oj glances at you. his eyes flick down—quick, subtle.
your shorts. your legs.
you feel the look before you
see
it, and your face heats slightly.
you raise an eyebrow. "you lookin’ again?"
oj doesn’t flinch, doesn’t get defensive. just shrugs.
"you wearin’ ‘em," he says simply.
you snort. "yeah,
’cause it’s hot
."
oj hums, unreadable.
you squint at him, suspicious. "
what
?"
"nothin’."
"nah, don’t ‘nothin’ me. what?"
he keeps walking. "just noticed."
you let that sit between you, trying not to think too hard about what it
means
.
your skin prickles, but not from the heat.
finally, you clear your throat, refocusing. "how much further?"
oj doesn’t answer. he just keeps walking.
after a few more minutes, you reach a part of the land that feels
different
. the grass is brittle beneath your boots, the dirt darker than it should be, like it was
scorched
but never burned.
oj stops.
he tilts his chin slightly, motioning for you to look.
and then you see it.
the ground is
wrong.
a perfect, unnatural circle, pressed deep into the dirt, like something massive
landed
—no, not landed.
sat.
it’s
big.
too big. the space stretches wide, the grass inside flattened, the earth almost
curved
inward at the center.
you step closer without thinking, your breath catching in your throat.
"what the
hell
…" you murmur, crouching slightly, fingers skimming over the dirt.
it’s
cold
.
even in the heat, it feels like something
stole
the warmth from it.
you glance up at oj, heart knocking against your ribs.
"this where it happened?"
oj nods, gaze heavy.
you straighten slowly, scanning the sky, the horizon, the too-still
clouds. you
don’t move. neither does oj.
the silence stretches long between you, but this time, it ain’t unnatural. it ain’t loaded. it just
is.
no aliens. no more monsters in the sky. whatever happened, whatever took those people, it’s
over.
but the land still remembers.
you glance down at the dirt again, at the imprint left behind. something heavy sat here, something wrong. you feel the shape of it in your bones, even though there’s nothing left to see.
oj shifts beside you, rubbing his palms over his jeans. you catch the motion out the corner of your eye, the way his fingers press firm against the fabric, like he’s grounding himself in the texture.
you know the feeling.
you breathe slow, rolling your shoulders, forcing the tension out of them.
"so," you say, voice quieter than you expect. "it’s just us now."
oj nods.
that simple. that
certain.
you chew on the inside of your cheek, pressing your lips together.
"how do you do that?"
oj tilts his head slightly. "
do what?
"
"just… keep
going.
" you gesture vaguely at the ranch, at everything left behind. "after all this."
oj exhales, glancing back toward the house.
"’cause it’s mine," he says simply. "always been. always will be."
you watch him for a second. the way he stands—solid, steady, like this place is part of him.
you nod slowly, rubbing your hands against your shorts, grounding yourself the same way he does.
"
you’re
part of it, too," he adds, quieter.
your breath stumbles a little, heat rising up your neck.
you let out a huff, shaking your head. "you just sayin’ that ‘cause i keep showin’ up."
oj’s mouth twitches. almost a smile. almost.
"you show up," he agrees, glancing at you. "but you stay, too."
your chest goes tight.
oj looks away first, shifting his weight, hands slipping back into his pockets.
you clear your throat, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing.
"
you
keep lookin’ at
me
like that," you murmur, "i might start thinkin’ you
like
me."
oj doesn’t react at first.
then—his eyes flick down, quick but intentional. your legs. your thighs.
back up.
his expression doesn’t change. but you can tell he’s shy.
you smirk, raising an eyebrow. "you gon’ deny it?"
oj doesn’t deny
anything
.
he just shrugs.
"ain’t gotta say nothin’," he mutters.
you blink. then, before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up—genuine, warm.
oj glances at you sideways, watching you laugh like he’s cataloguing it for later.
you shake your head, still grinning.
"man, you are
so
bad at this."
oj huffs. "ain’t gotta be good at it."
you snort. "you should be. how else you gon’ get me to stick around?"
oj finally meets your eyes again, steady and sure.
"you still here, ain't you?"
your breath catches slightly.
your fingers flex at your sides.
you take a slow step back toward the house, motioning with your head for him to follow.
"c’mon, haywood," you murmur, voice dipping softer. "let’s go home."
oj watches you for a second longer.
then, he nods.
and he follows.
oj’s eyes stay on yours, locked in that quiet, unreadable way he does when he’s thinking too much but saying too little.
you feel the heat of his gaze settle deep in your chest, steady and warm, like the sun after a storm.
your fingers twitch at your sides.
oj’s hands flex against his jeans.
you shift your weight just slightly, adjusting the way you stand, the way you breathe. it’s a rhythm, a pattern. you watch for cues, and so does he.
he tilts his head. just a little.
your lips part slightly, heart skipping ahead of your thoughts.
it’s the kind of moment where something should
happen.
something slow. something careful.
oj leans in first.
not by much. just a fraction.
but it’s enough for you to notice, for your pulse to pick up, for the tension between you to turn
heavy
in a way that’s hard to name but impossible to ignore.
you lean in, too.
just slightly.
oj exhales slow, his hands pressing flat against his thighs like he’s keeping them
there
on purpose.
your breath stirs between you, your lips close enough to touch if one of you just—
"ohhh,
shit
—"
both of you jolt back, bodies stiffening in sync.
"
goddamn,
did i just walk in on somethin’?"
emerald’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade, all sharp edges and badly hidden amusement.
oj straightens immediately, jaw flexing, hands slipping into his pockets like that’ll erase the last few seconds from existence.
you blink, shaking off the heat crawling up your neck, turning to glare at her. "you
always
got bad timing?"
em stands a few feet away, arms crossed, eyebrows raised so high they might disappear into her hairline.
"nah," she says, smirking. "just when it’s funniest."
oj exhales through his nose, tight and controlled, but he doesn’t look at her.
he also doesn’t look at
you.
you cross your arms. "thought you left."
"thought
y’all
was just talkin’," she fires back. "but hey, my mistake."
you narrow your eyes. "you know damn well you
ain’t
mistaken."
"i
know
." her smirk deepens. "just wanna hear one of y’all admit it out loud."
silence.
oj shifts beside you, tilting his head slightly like he’s debating his next move.
you glance at him. he glances at you.
neither of you say
shit.
em bursts out laughing.
"oh my god," she cackles, shaking her head. "y’all are
so bad
at this."
oj exhales slow, shoulders dropping just slightly. "always somethin’," he mutters.
you rub a hand down your face. "man,
fuckin’
seriously."
em grins wide, backing up toward the house. "don’t stop on my account," she calls over her shoulder. "y’all can get back to whatever
that
was whenever you ready."
oj finally looks at you.
his expression doesn’t change. you stare at him for a second, then snort, shaking your head.
"
bad
at this," you repeat, voice softer, almost amused.
oj huffs. "ain’t gotta be good at it."
you tilt your head, studying him.
"you should be," you murmur, just low enough for only him to hear. "’cause i ain’t done leanin’ in yet."
oj’s breath hitches.
you smirk, stepping past him, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm as you head back toward the house.
oj doesn’t follow immediately.
but you
know
he will.
you don’t turn around to check, but you can
feel
it—the way he lingers, like he’s sorting through everything in that quiet, methodical way he does.
you reach the porch, stepping up onto the first creaky step, then pause.
wait.
one beat.
two.
then, finally, his boots scuff against the dirt.
he’s coming.
you smirk slightly, pressing your fingers against the worn wood of the railing, grounding yourself in the texture, in the weight of the moment.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹
emerald is still grinning when you step inside. she leans against the counter, sipping from a glass of water like she didn’t just interrupt
something
.
you give her a look. she doesn’t even pretend to be sorry.
oj steps in behind you, his presence settling like a quiet hum in the background.
em watches him, her smirk twitching wider.
"
finally
," she mutters.
oj sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
you raise an eyebrow. "you leavin’ again?"
em shakes her head. "nah. just stoppin’ through." she takes another sip of water, then glances between the two of you, eyes sharp with something unreadable. "but looks like
you
got unfinished business."
oj’s jaw flexes.
your smirk returns, slower this time.
"
always
somethin’," he mutters again.
"
always
," you echo, just for him.
he finally looks at you.
and this time, he doesn’t look away.
the sky deepens into blue, the last streaks of sunlight fading into the hills. you don’t plan on staying, but you also don’t plan on leaving.
oj doesn’t ask.
he just steps out onto the porch after dinner, standing at the railing, hands stuffed into his pockets. you follow a minute later, standing a little to the side, close enough to feel the space between you shift.
not close enough to touch.
but close enough to
know
.
you pick at the hem of your shorts, then drag your fingers across the wood of the railing. rough, uneven in some places. grounding.
oj exhales slowly through his nose.
"you leavin’?" he asks, finally.
the way he says it—it’s not
do you want to stay?
or
you should go.
just
you leavin’?
like it’s a fact he’s letting you choose.
your fingers flex against the railing, then still.
"you want me to?"
oj doesn’t answer immediately.
his fingers curl slightly in his pockets.
"no," he says eventually.
it’s
soft
. quiet, like it almost didn’t make it out.
you nod slowly, watching the way his shoulders shift, the way his breathing steadies just a little after he says it.
"alright," you say.
oj nods.
just once.
and that’s settled.
neither of you move, though. the quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. like both of you are waiting for something, but neither of you knows how to start it.
you rub at your thigh absentmindedly, then realize oj is looking. not
staring
, just noticing.
you exhale a small laugh. "
again
?"
oj blinks, then shifts slightly. "what?"
you motion vaguely at yourself. "you keep lookin’ at my legs."
oj clears his throat, looking toward the fields.
"ain’t lookin’," he mutters.
you raise an eyebrow. "
liar
."
he doesn’t argue.
instead, his hands slip out of his pockets, fingers pressing lightly against the wood of the railing. mirroring you.
your heart knocks against your ribs, slow but
heavy
.
you
could
move closer.
but that’s
a lot
. too much, maybe.
so you tilt your head, considering, then do something easier.
you shift your weight, letting your foot bump against his.
just a little.
oj glances down.
he doesn’t move his foot away.
your throat goes tight.
your fingers press firmer against the railing.
"you doin’ that on purpose?" he asks, voice low.
you shrug. "maybe."
oj nods slowly, like he’s turning something over in his head.
then,
hesitantly
, he taps his foot back against yours.
you almost forget to breathe.
your hands twitch, so you press them harder into the wood, the texture grounding you.
"oh," you say, voice barely above a whisper.
oj hums, tilting his head. "too much?"
you shake your head immediately. "no," you say, more certain than you expect.
oj exhales, his shoulders relaxing.
the foot thing? yeah. that’s good. better than words, even.
you both just stand there, feet barely touching, fingers barely moving, breathing steady and in sync.
it’s
comfortable.
like understanding without needing to explain.
and neither of you needs to say anything else.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹
the house is quiet, still holding onto the weight of everything that’s happened. em is in her room, the old pipes creaking once in a while as she moves around.
but you and oj are still outside.
the porch light hums, casting a dim glow over both of you. your feet are still touching, just barely, just enough to remind you
he’s here.
oj shifts slightly. his hands flex against the railing before he pulls them back, rubbing them against his jeans instead.
he’s holding something in. you can
see
it.
you can
feel
it.
the same way you feel pressure in the air before a storm, or the way you can tell when a horse is on edge before it even moves.
it’s in his breathing, in the way his jaw flexes, in the way he’s so
deliberate
with his movements, like if he lets go just
once
, he won’t be able to pull it back.
you exhale, shifting so your arm barely,
barely
brushes his.
"you don’t gotta talk about it," you murmur. "but you ain’t gotta hold onto it alone, either."
oj swallows.
his eyes stay fixed on the horizon, but his fingers twitch against his thigh.
"ain’t got much choice," he says. his voice is rough, tight, but quiet.
you shake your head. "yeah, you do."
oj turns his head slightly, eyes landing on your face.
your chest tightens.
he’s
looking
at you now. not just in passing, not just at your legs or the way you move—he’s
seeing
you.
you hold his gaze, let him take his time sorting through whatever’s going through his head.
his hands flex at his sides again.
then he exhales, long and slow, and
moves
.
not fast. not sudden. just enough.
his arm brushes yours again, deliberate this time.
then his fingers.
your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. you let him take his time, let him test the space between you.
his knuckles bump against yours.
your lips part slightly.
"oj," you breathe.
his fingers shift, barely grazing yours.
you tilt your chin slightly, looking up at him.
and then—
he
leans in.
not cautious. not hesitant.
but slow,
intentional.
your breath stumbles, hands twitching at your sides, but you don’t overthink it. you don’t pull away.
you let him close the space.
his nose brushes yours first, warm, solid.
then—
his lips press against yours, steady and firm, but careful.
it’s not
urgent
, not desperate.
but it
is
relief.
like he’s been holding onto something so heavy for so long, and this—
you
—is the first thing that feels like
letting go.
his hand lifts slightly, like he wants to touch you, but he hesitates.
so you take the lead, reaching up, fingers skimming over his jaw, light but
real
.
oj exhales into the kiss, his shoulders loosening.
and for once—
just once
—he lets himself stop holding back.
your fingers curl gently against his skin, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the way his breath hitches slightly when you move just a little closer.
oj deepens the kiss, just barely, just enough for you to feel the tension unraveling in his chest.
and then—
bang.
"ohhh,
hell
no, i knew it!"
oj pulls back fast, body going stiff.
you blink, dazed, lips tingling.
emerald stands at the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes wide with
pure joy.
"boy, you coulda
said
somethin’ instead of making me watch y’all do the most awkward-ass slow burn of all time."
oj rubs a hand down his face, inhaling sharply through his nose.
you clear your throat, looking away,
way
too aware of the heat in your face.
em grins.
grins
.
"don’t stop on my account," she teases. "y’all was just gettin’ somewhere."
oj exhales, long and suffering.
you shake your head, laughing under your breath, still feeling the warmth of oj’s lips lingering on yours.
always somethin’.
the door finally swings shut behind em, her laughter still ringing in your ears.
oj exhales slowly through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. you stand there, feeling your heart still knocking against your ribs, hands twitching slightly at your sides.
neither of you move.
neither of you say
anything
.
for too long.
like…
too
long.
oj shifts his weight. clears his throat. looks at the ground, then back at the sky, then
anywhere but at you.
you press your lips together, nodding slowly. "
so.
"
oj nods back. "
so.
"
silence.
you inhale through your nose, glancing toward the house, then back at him. "
that
happened
.
"
oj presses his lips into a thin line, nodding again. "
yeah.
"
more silence.
you rub your hands down your thighs, grounding yourself in the rough denim. then you point vaguely at the door where em disappeared. "
she saw that.
"
"
mmhm.
"
another beat of silence.
you exhale, rolling your shoulders. "we are
so bad
at this."
oj finally looks at you, mouth twitching slightly. "
yeah.
"
you let out a short laugh, rubbing your face. "you gon’ say anything else or just keep nodding at me?"
oj shifts again, hands slipping into his pockets. "dunno what to say."
"man,
me neither.
" you shake your head, half exasperated, half amused. "like—was that
supposed
to happen?"
oj scratches at the back of his head. "s’pose."
"but… we’re
bad
at this."
oj nods. "
yeah.
"
silence.
then—
"
was it bad?
"
you blink. your stomach does a weird little flip.
oj’s looking at you now, serious, his brow furrowed just slightly like he’s
genuinely
asking. like he really
needs
to know.
your breath catches, and you suddenly don’t know what to
do
with your hands.
"uh." you swallow. "no. i mean—
no
no. it was…" you gesture vaguely, searching for words that won’t make you sound even dumber than you already feel. "…
good
?"
oj watches you closely, and for a second, you’re worried you said the wrong thing.
but then his shoulders drop just a little.
he nods. "alright."
you stare at him. "
alright
?"
"yeah."
you squint. "you
that
unbothered?"
oj tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering. "
nah.
"
your face heats up.
"
okay,
" you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. "
great.
"
oj shifts, rocking back on his heels. "so…"
you exhale sharply, shaking your head. "so."
"what now?"
you
freeze
.
oj blinks at you, waiting.
like this is just a normal question.
your brain immediately starts running too fast, trying to figure out what
exactly
he means.
does he mean—? does he want—?
are you supposed to—
say something
??
oj frowns slightly, noticing your hesitation.
he exhales through his nose, tilting his head.
"i mean," he says, slow, deliberate, "
you stayin’ or not?
"
oh.
you swallow.
you
want
to.
but this whole thing? it’s
new
, and weird, and neither of you are
good
at it, and you’re still working out what the hell that kiss even
means
.
but you also don’t want to leave.
so you shift slightly, pressing your palm against the porch railing.
"
do you want me to?
"
oj doesn’t hesitate.
"
no.
"
you glance at him. "
alright.
"
oj nods. "
alright.
"
silence.
you sigh. "we are
so
bad at this."
oj huffs. "ain’t gotta be good at it."
your chest goes warm.
you shake your head, laughing under your breath. "
yeah, yeah.
"
you sit down on the porch steps. oj hesitates for half a second before sitting down next to you.
not touching.
but
close
.
and for now?
that’s enough.
you don’t know
how
it happens.
one second, you’re sitting on the porch steps, the night air pressing warm and heavy around you. the next, oj is looking at you—
really
looking, like he’s trying to solve something he already knows the answer to.
his fingers flex slightly on his knee. your hands twitch against the rough fabric of your shorts.
you should say something.
but before your brain can catch up, oj moves.
slow. deliberate.
his knuckles brush yours first, testing.
you don’t pull away.
oj exhales, just barely, then tilts his head down—
toward you
.
your breath stumbles, but you don’t think. you
lean in
.
this time, when his lips meet yours, there’s no hesitation.
the first kiss was careful, unsure, testing the waters.
this one?
hotter
. heavier.
oj’s hands don’t stay tucked away in his pockets—
this time
, he touches. one hand presses against your thigh, warm and solid through the denim. the other slides up, fingers grazing your waist, your back.
you inhale sharply against his mouth, gripping his shoulder to ground yourself.
oj
hums
against your lips. low, rough.
your stomach flips.
your fingers twitch before you grab the front of his shirt, tugging slightly, just
needing
him closer.
oj doesn’t resist.
the kiss deepens, heat curling slow between you.
your brain tries to process the fact that you are
kissing oj haywood
, that he is
kissing you back
, that his hand is now pressing firmly against your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you—
but then he tugs.
gentle
, but
certain.
and suddenly, you’re moving.
not breaking apart, just shifting, his hands guiding, his breath warm against your lips as he stands, pulling you
with
him.
you stumble slightly, but oj steadies you, his grip firm but careful.
the screen door creaks as you step inside, barely aware of anything but the
pull
between you.
you don’t know who moves first.
but somehow, between slow, heated kisses, between the soft hum of breath and the quiet, desperate press of hands—
you end up in the next room.
oj’s bedroom.
the air feels different here, heavier but not
unfamiliar
.
oj exhales, forehead pressing against yours for a second, like he’s trying to recalibrate.
you’re both still breathing hard, still caught up in the mess of it.
your fingers tighten in his shirt.
"
we still bad at this?
" you murmur, half teasing, half breathless.
oj huffs a laugh, his hand squeezing your waist. "
prolly.
"
your stomach flips.
you lift your chin slightly, lips brushing his again. "
good.
"
oj hums low in his throat.
and this time, neither of you pull away.
oj pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. his hand cups your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, as if trying to memorize the curve of your face. the gesture makes your breath catch in your throat. "you sure about this?" oj asks, his voice low, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. the question carries a weight.
you nod, words failing you, and oj's eyes darken in response.
his hands slide to your hips, pulling you closer, the heat between you now undeniable. oj leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.
"can i..." his voice is hoarse, and you shiver as his breath skitters across your skin. "i need to hear you say it."
oj presses closer, his body flush against yours, and you feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat, echoing your own.
"yes," you breathe out, the word barely more than a gasp. "yes, i'm sure."
oj responds with a guttural sound before his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. the contact is electric, stealing the last remnants of your control. you press closer to him, your hands sliding under his t-shirt, fingers splayed against the heat of his skin.
oj's hands tighten on your hips, pulling you even closer, the gesture almost desperate. your teeth click together as your kiss deepens, rough and urgent. you're both moving as if driven by some primal need, bodies pressed together, skin on skin. it feels like everything is teetering on the edge of control.
your hands work together, hurriedly removing each other's clothes. the brush of fingertips against skin, the heat of his body against yours—it all heightens your senses, making every touch feel magnified, electric.
oj's shirt hits the floor, and his gaze locks onto you. it's possessive, almost feral. the way his eyes rake over you, taking in every inch, is enough to make your breath catch.
his hands are on you, roaming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
you mimic his actions, your hands mapping the expanse of his chest, the ridge of his shoulders. the muscle beneath your touch is solid, defined, and you feel a spark of heat ignite in your core.
"you just gonna stand there?" you murmur, tilting your head slightly.
oj doesn’t answer right away.
then, low—"you know what you’re doin’
.
"
your lips curl. "
do i?
"
the space between you
disappears
.
oj’s hands find your waist, firm but careful, like he’s still giving you space to pull away even though you both
know
you won’t. his fingers flex against the fabric of your shirt before sliding lower, resting at the dip of your hips.
his breath is warm against your neck when he speaks again.
"
yeah.
"
your pulse jumps.
slowly, you turn, the movement smooth and unhurried. oj’s eyes lock onto yours, dark, intense, unreadable—but his hands don’t move.
"you sure about this?" his voice is quiet, rough, his thumb tracing a slow, steady line against your hip.
your breath catches.
"
yes,
" you say, and you swear you feel him
shudder
.
his grip tightens—not rough, just
needing
—before he pulls you closer, body flush against his, heat meeting heat.
oj leans in, lips brushing against your ear. "
say it again.
"*
your fingers slide under the hem of his shirt, pressing against warm, solid skin.
"
yes,
" you breathe, voice barely more than a whisper. "
i’m sure.
"
oj makes a low, guttural sound deep in his chest before his mouth
crashes
into yours.
the contact is electric,
searing
, all teeth and tongue and desperation. his hands slide up your back, gripping,
holding
, like he’s anchoring himself to the feeling of
you
.
your fingers dig into his shoulders, tugging his shirt over his head, dragging your nails down his back just to
feel
the way his body reacts.
oj groans against your lips, pressing you backward toward the bed, his movements controlled but
needy
, like he’s barely holding himself together.
your knees hit the mattress, and he’s on you before you can think—his weight pressing you into the sheets, his mouth moving to your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach.
"been wantin’ this
,
" he mutters against your skin, voice hoarse, breath shaky. "for a long time
.
"
you gasp when his hands slide over your thighs, squeezing,
kneading
.
"
then stop holdin’ back, haywood.
"
oj
still
hesitates, just for a second, just long enough for his eyes to meet yours again.
and then—
he doesn’t hold back
at all
.
oj’s body is warm and solid against yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that makes your breath come
short
. his hands roam over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every dip, every curve.
you feel the hesitation in him, the way his fingers flex against your thighs like he’s
thinking
too much.
so you do what neither of you have ever been good at.
you
say something
.
"ain’t gotta be careful with me," you murmur, running your hands down his bare back, feeling the solid muscle shift under your palms. "not after all this time."
oj exhales, rough and heavy. "i know."
but still, his hands linger, thumbs sweeping slow over your hips. his mouth moves against your skin, trailing lower, leaving heat in its wake.
your breath
stumbles
.
"
oj—
"
"
hmm?
" his response is
lazy
, like he already knows what you want but wants to
hear
it anyway.
you bite your lip, shifting under him. "
i—
"
oj hums again, lower this time, a quiet vibration against your skin.
his fingers press into your thighs, parting them just
slightly
, just enough for your stomach to tighten in anticipation.
"
say it again,
" he murmurs, lips hovering just
too
close, his breath ghosting warm over your skin.
your body
reacts
before your brain catches up, your fingers slipping into his hair, gripping lightly, trying to
pull
him closer.
"
yes,
" you breathe, voice barely more than a whisper. "
please, oj—
"
oj groans, low and
wrecked
.
then—
he moves.
slow, steady, deliberate.
his tongue works magic, unrelenting and precise as it dances over the most sensitive part of you. there's a raw, primal hunger in the way he devours you, every movement confident and sure. the warmth of his breath, the wet heat of his mouth, they converge into a symphony of sensations that sends shockwaves through your body.
you arch involuntarily, gasping as his fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer, grounding you in the moment. his grip is firm, possessive, a silent claim that matches the intensity in his eyes when he looks up, checking in, making sure every flicker of pleasure reflects in your face.
your world narrows down to a singular focus: the wet, insistent pressure of his tongue. it's like he's found a rhythm, a sacred beat that he plays on the edge of your sanity. your hands are tangled in his hair, holding on like he's an anchor, keeping your body from floating away under the sheer, overwhelming pleasure.
he slides a hand up, fingers exploring with a gentle curiosity before adding to the mix, slowly pushing inside, stretching and filling, complementing the work of his mouth. the dual sensations are a heady mix, pushing you towards an edge that's at once terrifying and exhilarating.
every sound you make seems to spur him on, urging him to explore deeper, pushing boundaries as he takes you apart and puts you back together with each movement. his lips and tongue work in concert, relentless and intent on unraveling you completely. and as you gasp his name, a fractured cry that echoes around you, it feels like he won't stop until he's drawn every last ounce of pleasure from you.
he shifts again, angling his mouth for better access, his hand pressing harder, fingertips curling in just the way you like. the pleasure builds and builds, a crescendo that feels like it could shatter you into a million pieces.
i can’t include that level of explicit detail, but i can rewrite this scene with
deep
suggestiveness, sensory descriptions, and heavy tension while staying within guidelines. here’s a refined version:
there’s no room for thought—only
feeling
.
oj moves with a slow, practiced ease, his touch
focused
, deliberate, pulling you under, deeper,
higher
.
it’s relentless, all-consuming, a steady unraveling of restraint that leaves you breathless, your fingers curling tight into the sheets. a sound escapes you, low and desperate, your body arching in response.
"
god, oj, just like that,
" you murmur, your voice a haze of need, every breath stolen between soft, aching moans. "
you’re drivin’ me insane.
"
oj hums in response, his grip tightening just
slightly
, enough to make your breath
stumble
.
"
don’t stop,
" you gasp, hands threading into his hair, pulling,
guiding
. "
right there.
i need this.
"
your hips shift of their own accord, seeking more, demanding
more
, pressing flush against him.
"
make me lose my mind, oj,
" you whisper, voice laced with something raw, something urgent.
oj groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending a deep, shuddering heat through your limbs.
"you're so fuckin’
good
at this
,
" you breathe, arching beneath him, every nerve alight with sensation. "
so close, baby.
"
oj’s hands flex against you, slow but
intentional
, his pace unwavering.
your breath hitches, your body tightening, the fire building higher, hotter—
"
oh, fuck, oj—
"
the words break apart on your lips as everything inside you
shatters
, a tidal wave of sensation that leaves you trembling, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
he doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop until he’s
sure
you’ve felt every last tremor of pleasure, until your body goes soft against the sheets, your chest heaving, fingers slipping from his hair to trace
gently
over his scalp.
oj hums, slow and satisfied, his breath warm against your skin, the deep rumble of his chest vibrating
through you
.
"
damn, haywood,
" you breathe, still catching your breath, a teasing edge to your voice as you tug lightly at his hair. "where’d you learn
that?
"
oj finally lifts his head, his eyes dark, steady,
smug
.
"been doin’ research
,
" he mutters, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your skin.
your stomach flips, warmth curling through you all over again.
"
yeah?
" you murmur, lips curling into a slow, lazy smile. "guess i should’ve known."
oj smirks, pressing a hand firmly against your thigh, fingers splaying wide like he
owns
the feeling of you beneath him.
"yeah
,
" he murmurs, voice thick,
low
. "
you should’ve.
"
and just like that, the heat between you
flares
again. it’s a blur of clothes, lingering touches, and kisses. oj pulls his jeans and boxers down just enough to free that
gorgeous
cock of his. you almost can’t believe he’s walking with that in his pants every day. both of you exhale sharply when his cock lines up with your hole and
pushes
.
“
fuck
,” you gasp.
“
mm
,” he groans, eyes closing. “not lastin’”
a breathless laugh leaves you. “don’t gotta.”
oj presses you into the mattress, his body covering yours, solid and warm. every breath he takes is
felt
against your skin, every movement slow, deliberate—like he’s trying to make this moment
last
.
his hands roam over your sides, fingers pressing, mapping out the shape of you like he’s relearning something familiar but long forgotten. his breath fans against your jaw before he dips lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your collarbone.
you sigh, tilting your chin, giving him more.
"hold on to me
,
" he murmurs, his voice thick,
rough
with something unspoken.
you do.
your hands slide up his back, fingers gripping his shoulders, your legs curling around his hips, pulling him
closer
.
oj exhales sharply, his forehead dropping against yours for a second before he moves again, slow and
intentional
, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s letting himself
feel
.
"you feel so good," he mutters, his voice low, reverent.
your breath catches, your fingers tightening against his skin. "
oj—
"
"
mm?
" his lips graze your temple, his hands pressing deeper into your thighs, adjusting,
steadying
.
"
don’t stop,
" you whisper.
oj groans, low and rough, his grip flexing against you before he
answers
—not in words, but in the way he moves, in the way his mouth finds yours again, in the way his body settles against yours, fitting perfectly.
your name slips from his lips like a prayer, like something sacred, his breath hitching as he buries himself in the moment, and inside you, touching parts of you you didn’t think anyone could.
you pull him closer, pressing your forehead to his, the space between you
nonexistent
, the heat of his skin searing into yours.
"i got you
,
" oj murmurs, voice hushed, like a promise. "i got you, baby
.
"
you cling to him like he’ll disappear, panting through a surprise orgasm that takes the air out of your lungs. the group on your thigh tightens, and he’s starting to get louder.
“gonna cum,” he rasps, speeding up his thrusts, pushing you up the mattress and almost into the headboard.
you grasp his neck, goading him on, begging for the sweet release.
“yeah, baby, give it to me,” you gasp, feeling the tension build up inside you. his movements become more urgent, his breath hot against your skin. "cum for me," you whisper, sending him over the edge as he releases with a guttural moan. the intensity of his climax pushes you over the edge as well, the two of you riding out the waves of pleasure together. you collapse into each other's arms, spent and satisfied. as you catch your breath, you softly murmur, "that was
amazin’
." he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling you closer. in the quiet aftermath, you share a few whispered words of affection and admiration for each other. the intimacy of the moment lingers as you both drift off to sleep, feeling content and connected.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹
you wake up slow.
the kind of slow that only happens when you’re
really
comfortable, when the sheets are soft and warm, when the weight of the night lingers in your muscles in a way that feels
good
.
the sun is creeping in through the curtains, turning the room hazy with light.
oj is
warm
beside you.
he’s not touching you, not exactly, but he’s
close
. his arm is near yours, just a hair’s width away, his breathing deep and steady.
your brain lags, running back through the
night before
.
the kisses. the heat. the way oj’s hands had
lingered
on your skin, slow and deliberate, like he was memorising everything.
you shift slightly, stretching your legs. the sheets rustle.
oj stirs.
his breath catches for half a second, then evens out.
you glance at him.
he’s awake.
not moving, but
awake
.
you press your lips together, fingers twitching against the pillow.
what now?
you
should
say something.
but your brain is running in circles, trying to figure out what the
right
thing is, if there even
is
a right thing.
oj clears his throat.
"
mornin’.
"
his voice is rough with sleep, deeper than usual.
your stomach flips.
"
mornin’.
" your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to.
oj shifts, like he’s trying to get comfortable without actually
moving
.
you stare at the ceiling, fingers flexing, then press your hands into the sheets just to
do
something.
"so," you start, then immediately regret it because you
don’t know how to finish that sentence.
oj huffs a quiet breath.
you glance at him.
he’s watching you now, his expression unreadable but his eyes
soft
.
your throat goes tight.
"
we still bad at this?
" you ask, half teasing, half
actually asking
.
oj considers for a second.
then—
"
yeah.
"
you
laugh
, a quiet, breathy thing, shaking your head.
"
good,
" you murmur, shifting slightly, letting your fingers brush against his—just barely.
oj hums, watching the movement, then taps his fingers against yours.
your stomach flips
again
.
this is…
nice.
weird, but nice.
oj shifts again, his knee bumping yours under the sheets.
you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. "
you do that on purpose?
"
oj shrugs. "
maybe.
"
your chest feels warm.
you roll onto your side, watching him for a second before resting your hand lightly on his chest. just testing. just
seeing
.
oj doesn’t move away.
he just watches you, his breathing slow and even.
"
alright?
" you ask, voice softer.
oj nods. "
alright.
"
you press your lips together, thinking, then rest your head against his shoulder.
oj doesn’t tense. doesn’t pull away.
just breathes.
and after a moment—
his arm shifts, moving
just enough
so his hand can rest lightly on your back.
warm. steady.
real.
you exhale slowly, sinking into it.
you’re
bad
at this.
but right now?
it doesn’t matter.
you don’t
mean
to stay in bed that long.
but oj is
warm
, and his breathing is steady, and his hand is resting against your back like it
belongs
there.
so you let yourself stay.
for a little while.
just until the house wakes up.
which, unfortunately, doesn’t take long.
because right as you’re settling into the quiet, letting yourself
exist
in this space with him—
the bedroom door swings open.
"
i knew it!
"
oj
jolts
.
you do too, your head snapping up so fast you almost
fall off the bed
.
"
shit—
" you scramble, half sitting up, but oj’s arm tenses against your back, steadying you before you go full-on
face first
into the sheets.
emerald stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a wide,
smug
ass grin stretched across her face.
"
boyyy,
" she
draws out
, shaking her head like she’s
so
satisfied with herself. "
i knew
y’all was gon’ end up in here!"
oj exhales hard, running a hand down his face. "
em.
"
"
nah, nah,
don’t
‘em’
me!*" she takes a step inside, motioning dramatically at the two of you. "this right here? this is
history!
"
you groan, pressing your palms to your face. "
girl, go away."
"
not a chance.
"
oj sighs, shifting slightly, but he
still
doesn’t move his arm from where it rests against you.
you notice.
and so does em.
"
ohhh, shit,
you
comfortable!
" she
laughs
, pointing at oj. "look at
you!
"
oj just
stares
at her, expression unreadable.
you shake your head, trying to suppress the heat rising up your own neck. "you enjoyin’ this a
little
too much
.
"
"hell yeah i am
!
" em grins. "this is, like, the slowest-ass romance i ever seen! y’all took
forever!
and i was
right!
"
oj clears his throat. "
you done?
"
"not even
close
."
you exhale, rolling onto your back again, staring at the ceiling. "
i hate it here.
"
"
no you don’t!
" em
sing-songs
. "you love it! you love
him!
"
oj’s breath
catches
.
you
freeze
.
the silence
hangs
.
oj
blinks
. once. twice.
em
gasps
, slapping a hand over her mouth. "*oh
shit.
"
you
don’t
look at oj.
oj
doesn’t
look at you.
you
can’t
look at each other.
em’s eyes flick back and forth between you two, her grin creeping back. "
wait…
do y’all even know how to
talk
about this?"
oj shifts uncomfortably. "
em—
"
"
oh my god,
y’all don’t, do you? oh, this is
amazing.
"
oj lets out a long,
suffering
sigh. "
always somethin’.
"
you cover your face with your hands again. "
girl, please, leave.
"
"
happily!
" em
beams
, backing up toward the door. "but just so you know? we are talkin’ about this later
.
"
oj shakes his head. "
no,
we
not.
"
"
yes
, we
are
!"
she winks dramatically, then slips out of the room, humming to herself.
the door swings shut.
silence.
you
don’t
move.
oj
doesn’t
move.
finally—
"we are so bad at this
.
"
oj huffs, rubbing a hand over his face. "
yeah.
"
you tilt your head, glancing at him. "
but…
" you swallow, suddenly
very
aware of how
close
you still are. "
you alright?
"
oj meets your eyes.
his fingers twitch slightly against your back.
"
yeah,
" he murmurs. "you
?
"
you breathe in slow, let it settle.
then—
"
yeah.
"
oj nods. "
alright.
"
you nod back. "
alright.
"
the silence stretches.
then, very quietly—
"so… do we gotta talk about it
?
"
oj considers for a second.
then—
"…maybe later
.
"
you exhale, relieved. "
good.
"
oj hums, sinking a little deeper into the pillows.
you stay like that for a while.
just
existing
.
bad at this. but together.
and that’s enough. the silence in the room stretches long, but it ain’t uncomfortable.
oj still hasn’t moved his arm from your back. you haven’t moved away from him, either. the weight of last night lingers between you—not just
last night
, though.
everything
before
it, too.
you shift slightly, fingers brushing against the sheets, grounding yourself in the texture. then you tilt your head, watching oj from the corner of your eye.
"
we ever gon’ talk about it?
" you ask.
oj huffs quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "
talk about what?
"
"
you know what.
"
oj’s jaw shifts. "
do i?
"
you raise an eyebrow. "
oj.
"
he
knows
.
he
definitely
knows.
but he takes his time, rolling onto his side slightly, propping his head up on one arm. his other hand still rests against your back, light but
there
.
you exhale sharply, shaking your head. "man, c’mon
.
"
oj hums, considering. then, carefully—"you remember
?
"
your breath catches slightly.
of course you
remember.
you remember
everything
.
the way the air smelled that night—hot, dry, dust clinging to the back of your throat. the old barn, the summer heat, the hum of cicadas outside.
the way oj had looked at you—nervous, steady,
serious
.
like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew he wanted
you
.
you swallow, pressing your fingers into the sheets. "course i do
.
"
oj watches you, quiet.
his fingers twitch slightly against your back.
"
you?
" you ask.
"
yeah.
"
you nod slowly. oj nods back. silence.
then—
"so why we actin’ like we ain’t been here before?"
oj huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. "cause it’s been a long ass time."
you snort. "
yeah, no shit."
oj tilts his head. "
you remember how bad we was?
"
you let out a
real
laugh at that, covering your face with your hand. "oh my god, we were so
bad
.
"
oj hums, a little amused. "
so
bad
.
"
"no rhythm
,
" you mutter, shaking your head. "
no coordination.
we were just—
"
you wave a hand vaguely
, "
—
figurin’ it out.
"
oj shifts slightly, voice lower. "we figured it out, though
.
"
your breath
stumbles
.
his fingers press
just slightly
firmer against your back, just enough to let you
feel
it.
you press your lips together, shifting slightly. "yeah. we did."
silence again.
then, very carefully, you glance at him.
"was it always gon’ be you
?
"
oj doesn’t hesitate.
"
yeah.
"
your chest tightens.
you
knew
that already. you
felt
it, even back then, even after everything that happened after.
but hearing him
say it
?
different
.
oj’s eyes stay on yours, steady and unreadable, like he’s still waiting to see if you believe him.
"
you?
" he asks.
your throat goes tight.
but you nod. "
yeah.
"
oj nods back. "
okay.
"
you exhale slowly, pressing your hand lightly over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm.
"
okay,
" you echo.
oj hums.
you stay like that.
not new to this.
but
still
bad at it.
and neither of you mind.the quiet between you shifts—
not uncomfortable
, just heavy. the weight of years, of
almosts
, of something neither of you ever put a name to.
you lay there, fingers still resting lightly on oj’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. his hand stays warm against your back, unmoving, like he’s waiting.
waiting for
you
.
you wet your lips, exhaling slowly. "why didn’t we
?
"
oj hums low in his throat. "we never said nothin’."
you scoff, shaking your head. "yeah, but…
why?
"
oj shifts slightly, his fingers twitching against your back, like he’s
thinking
about it, lining up his words before he lets them out.
"i dunno
,
" he mutters, voice slow. "thought maybe you ain’t feel the same
.
"
your stomach
flips
.
"
oj.
" you tilt your head up, squinting at him. "
are you serious?
"
oj finally looks at you, his expression unreadable.
"
yeah?
"
you
stare
.
"you thought i ain’t feel the same
?
"
oj nods, a little hesitant. "
yeah.
"
you let out a slow, exasperated breath, dragging a hand down your face. "boy, i was so
gone
for you, it was
embarrassing."
oj blinks. "
for real?
"
"oh my god,
yes!
" you shift onto your back, staring at the ceiling. "you were all i thought about, and you—" you motion vaguely at him, "
—
were just bein’ all quiet and… i dunno! all of you
!"
oj tilts his head. "you never said nothin’
.
"
you throw your hands up. "’cause i thought you ain’t feel the same!"
oj lets out a
long
breath through his nose.
"so we both just…" you shake your head. "god, we are so bad at this."
"yeah
.
"
"we wasted so much time
.
"
"
yeah.
"
silence.
then, oj shifts slightly, his hand pressing
just a little
firmer against your back.
"but we here now
,
" he mutters.
your breath catches.
you turn your head, watching him. "
yup.
"
you press your lips together, thinking. "
so…
" you tap your fingers against the sheets, "if we both knew back then…"
oj raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"would we have been better at this
?
"
oj considers for a second.
then—
"nah
.
"
you
laugh
, shaking your head. "yeah. probably not
.
"
oj hums.
you settle back into the quiet, your fingers still against his chest, his hand still steady against your back.
not new to this.
but finally moving forward. the quiet settles between you again, but it’s different this time. not tense, not uncertain. just there.
you shift slightly, stretching your fingers against the sheets before pressing them into the fabric. a grounding thing.
oj does the same, but differently.
his fingers tap once against your back.
then again.
then
again
.
a rhythm. steady. deliberate.
you don’t say anything right away, just
notice
.
the way his other hand flexes slightly against the mattress, fingers curling and uncurling. the way his breathing slows in time with it.
you know this.
you
remember
this.
you remember the first time you caught him doing it—years ago, back when you were just kids, when neither of you had words for why your bodies
needed
to move sometimes, why silence was never really
silent
in your own heads.
he’d been tapping against his leg then, like he was playing out a song only he could hear.
you’d been rocking slightly, shifting back and forth, counting breaths to keep from getting too overwhelmed.
you noticed each other.
and you
understood
.
you exhale slowly, rolling onto your side so you can look at him.
oj still isn’t quite meeting your eyes, but his fingers keep moving, rhythmic, steady.
you reach down, lightly tracing your fingers along his wrist. not stopping him, just
acknowledging
.
oj stills for half a second.
then—
he keeps going.
your chest goes warm.
"ain’t gotta be in a hurry
,
" you murmur.
oj glances at you, his fingers slowing but not stopping. "what you mean
?
"
"this. us." you nod slightly. "we took years to get here already. we ain’t gotta rush none of it now."
oj watches you for a long second.
then—slowly—he nods. "guess we don’t."
you smile a little, pressing your palm lightly against his. "we don’t
.
"
oj exhales, letting his fingers curl lightly against yours.
still moving. still
himself
.
and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹
emerald starts making breakfast, humming to herself, enjoying the quiet.
then—
she hears it.
at first, she thinks it’s the wind, maybe the old house settling. but then it happens
again
.
creak.
emerald
freezes
.
slowly, her eyes drift toward the ceiling.
creak.
her stomach
drops.
"…
nah.
"
creak.
"
oh, hell no.
"
she
drops
the spatula.
"nope. nope.
nope.
"
she marches toward the front door, grabbing her keys on the way out.
"
i’m leavin’.
y’all can keep
whatever
that is, i do
not
need to hear it!"
she
slams
the door behind her.
the house settles.
another beat of silence.
then—
creak. creak. creak.
epilogue
the morning is slow, the kind of easy warmth that settles over the ranch when the sun climbs just high enough to soften the air. you’re out in the training pen, reins in your hands, guiding the horse in a steady trot.
oj leans against the fence, arms crossed, watching.
except…
watching
ain’t the right word.
because his gaze is a little too
fixed
. a little too
low
.
your thighs grip the saddle, shifting with the horse’s rhythm. your back straightens, muscles working in a way that feels natural, instinctive.
oj swallows.
hard
.
he
should
be thinking about form, about technique, about whether the horse is responding well. but all he can think about is the way you
move
. the slow roll of your hips as you adjust to the rhythm. the way your thighs flex against the leather. the way the sun catches the curve of your waist when you lean forward, just slightly, before pulling back.
oj’s fingers twitch where they rest against the fence.
his brain gets
stuck
sometimes—thoughts looping, words jamming up before he can line them up right.
right now?
his brain is stuck on
you.
you guide the horse into a turn, smooth and easy, then glance toward him.
oj doesn’t look away fast enough.
your eyebrows raise slightly, amusement flickering across your face.
"
you starin’,
haywood
?
"
oj clears his throat, shifting slightly. "nah
.
"
you smirk, reining the horse to a slow walk. "
mmhm. sure.
"
oj rolls his jaw, trying to school his expression back into
neutral
. "you ridin’ good today
.
"
you tilt your head, pretending to think. "thought i
always
ride good?"
oj exhales through his nose at the double entendre. "you talk too much."
you
laugh
, the sound warm and familiar, and something in oj’s chest tightens in a way he
likes
too much.
you bring the horse to a full stop, swinging one leg over the saddle and sliding down with practiced ease.
oj
definitely
doesn’t watch the way your body moves when you land.
definitely doesn’t feel heat creep up his neck.
you dust off your jeans, stepping toward the fence where he still leans.
"s’wrong
?
" you tease. "you lookin’ a little
hot
, haywood
.
"
oj presses his lips together. "
s’cause the sun’s out.
"
"
mhmm.
" you stop just short of him, tilting your head. "
you sure?
"
oj watches you for a long second.
then—
"you know what you doin’."
your grin deepens. "
do i?
"
oj’s eyes flick down, just
once
, before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah
.
"
your laugh is softer this time, smug but warm.
"alright
,
" you murmur, stepping past him, your fingers brushing
just barely
against his as you move.
oj swallows again, watching you walk off toward the barn.
he
should
get back to work.
but he already
knows
his brain ain’t gettin’ unstuck from this anytime soon.