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cherrycola27 · 2 years ago

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A Glimpse of Us: A set of SIREN'S SONG Blurbs

Paring: Maverick x OC Daughter Harper Mitchell

Warnings: Language, mentions of periods, surgery, child birth, Angst for days. Dad Mav

A/N: So this set of drabbles tasks place in my Siren's Song universe. It is majors life events from Maverick's point of view. These were inspired with a little help from my Muse @dreamingathighaltitude and the Joji song "Glimpse of Us"

Day 1:

It was a hot morning on August 18th 1987 when Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was awoken by the ringing of his doorbell and the loud knocking at his front door. He quickly pulled on a shirt and went to answer the door. "I'm coming hold on!" He yelled at the stranger who had woken him up at an ungodly hour.

Maverick opened his front door ready to give whoever was there an earful for waking him up. But instead of finding a person he found something very unexpected. His eyes grew wide as he looked down on his front porch to find a baby in a car seat.

Maverick looked up and down the dark street for any sign of the person who left a child on his door step. The infant let out a small cry. Maverick quickly picked up the car seat and brought it inside his home. He placed the baby on the kitchen table and noticed a note and a few documents in the carrier along with the child. He quickly grabbed the note and read

"Maverick, I know it's been awhile since you've heard from me... fifteen months to be exact, but now I guess you know why. I found out I was pregnant not long after I left Top Gun. I couldn't bring myself to tell you because I knew after everything that happened a child was the last thing you needed in your life. However due to circumstances that are beyond my control, I have to leave the country and I am not sure if or when I will be back. So, the only thing I could do was leave our daughter with you.

Her name is Harper Ann Mitchell. Her birthday is February 1st. She is a little over six months old. With this note you will find her birth certificate, medical documents, pictures of her first few months of life, as well as the DNA test I recently had completed proving she is your child.

I'm sorry I had to do this to you Pete, I never wanted the first time you to met your daughter to be when I dropped her off on your door step. I'm sorry that I am not cut out to be a mother, my career has always been the most important thing to me, and I tried, I really did.

I hope that you raise her to be strong and caring just like you Mav, I don't know what you will tell her about me or why I did what I did, but I know you will find the words. I am so sorry. Please take care of her for me.

Love Always, Charlie"

Maverick raked his hands over his face. Not only was Charlie Blackwood gone forever, but she had left him with a baby... his baby... he wasn't ready to be a father... he flew jets for a living, what kind of life would that be for a kid? Maverick had no clue what to do or how to raise a baby, so he did what he always did during times of panic or uncertainty he whispered "Talk to me Goose."

He sat there for another moment and looked at the child in the carrier. She had a faint dusting of Maverick's dark hair, and that was definitely his nose... this was his daughter. He was a father. Like it or not, she was there. Seconds later Harper began to cry. He carefully picked her up and tried to soothe her but nothing seemed to be working, and then a light bulb went off in his head, Goose may not have been able to help him, but Carole definitely could.

He cradled Harper in one arm while quickly dialing Carole's phone number. "Bradshaw residence and you better have a good reason for calling this early" Carole said answering the phone.

"Carole, it's me Mav... I.... I need your help" he called into the phone as Harper cried louder.

"Pete, do you have a baby over there?" Carole asked surprised.

"Yes, um long story short, I um apparently have a daughter and Charlie just left her on my door step this morning and I have no clue what I'm doing. Please.... help." He sounded desperate.

"Let me me get Bradley ready and grab a few things from the storage closet. I will be there in thirty minutes, please try not to kill her before then." Carole hung up the phone and jumped into action.

Maverick began rocking Harper trying to calm her. "Shhh... everything is okay baby... Daddy is right here. I don't know how, but I promise everything is going to be okay."

First Word and First Birthday:

"Come on Harper you can do it... say Dada... say Dada" Maverick coaxed his daughter trying to get her to say her first word. Today Harper turned one, and Mav was determined for her to speak. She had been babbling, giggling, cooing, and laughing but no real words yet.

"Maverick, would you leave the poor child alone so we can have some cake. Babies talk when they are ready and at their own pace. And even though she is a Mitchell that doesn't mean she has to do everything fast" Carole chasted him while bringing in a birthday cake for the girl.

"Bradley, come give Harper her present and help her blow out her candles!" Carole called for her son. "Happy Birthday Harper! I made this just for you!" Bradley said showing her a drawing he had done. "See this is you, and me and Uncle Mav, and Mommy when we went to the beach!" He pointed to all the stick figures on the page.

"Do you like it?" He asked her. Harper clapped her hands and squealed with glee and she reached her arms out for Bradley to hold her. He gladly took his self proclaimed best friend and hung his picture up on the fridge.

"Those two are going to put us through it one day Carole... you know that right?" Mav asked as the two parents watched on.

"I know they are, but if they are anything like you and Nick, I know it's going to be a great friendship." She smiled giving him a hug. "Alright who wants cake?" She asked and the two children cheered.

"Okay Harper... open wide for the airplane" Pete said trying to feed her some cake. Harper opened her mouth but instead of eating. "Dada." She said.

Maverick's jaw went wide. "What did you say baby?" He asked his daughter not sure if he was hearing things or not. Harper looked back at him and smiled a semi-toothless grin. Her green-gray eyes shined bright. "Dada!" She cheered again clapping her hands.

"Oh my God she said her first word!" Pete cheered dropping the fork and picking her up. "Dada, Dada, Dada." She continued to babble as he spun her around. "That's right sweetie. I'm your Dada and I love you so much!"

The First Day of School:

"Okay honey are you ready for your first day of Kindergarten?" Pete Mitchell asked his daughter as she stood holding his hand.

"I sure am Daddy! I'm so excited to make new friends and go to school with Bradley!" She responded confidently. Harper was more than ready to start Kindergarten. She had been up early this morning ready to go. She asked her father all kinds of questions while he made pancakes and helped put her long hair into two pig tails.

"Remember Aunt Carole is picking up you and Bradley today after school. Listen to your teacher, be nice to the other kids, and if you need anything have your teacher call me okay honey?" Maverick told her not quite ready to let her go.

"I know Daddy! I will be fine!" Harper responded in a matter of fact tone. "I know you will baby. Now give me a hug and kiss before you go." Maverick crouched down and pulled her into a bone crushing hug. "Too tight Daddy... can't breathe" Harper said as she struggled against her father. He kissed her head as Bradley took her hand to walk her into school.

"You keep an eye out for her now Bradley!" Maverick called as they walked into the building. "I promise I will always look after my Wingman Uncle Mav!" Bradley said as they waved goodbye to their parents. Maverick turned away and walked back to Carole who was waiting for him with tears in his eyes.

"Pete, you big sap, it's just Kindergarten she will be fine." Carole said playfully punching him in the shoulder. "Come on let's go get some coffee so you can pull yourself together. Can't have you walking on a Navy base blubbering like that." Carole told him as he climbed into the passenger seat of her car and they drove away.

Her First Period:

It happened not long after she turned 13. "Dad.... dad.... Maverick!" Harper screamed from the upstairs bathroom.

Pete, hearing his daughter use his callsign knew that whatever Harper was yelling about it had to be an emergency. "I'm coming honey, what's wrong?" He asked climbing the stairs.

"Where are you Harper?" He asked searching for her. "I'm in the bathroom." Maverick went to open the bathroom door but found it locked. "Harper I can't help you if you don't open the door." Maverick told her.

"I'm scared for you to come in here dad.... I... I'm bleeding." Harper said with a tremble in her voice. "You're bleeding? Like how bad... and where from?" Pete asked panicking. "Um, a lot, and my legs I think." Harper called back. "Okay. Let me get my coat and I will take you to the emergency room. Let me call Carole and tell her we won't be coming over for dinner." Maverick said running down the stairs.

"Carole... we aren't going to make it to dinner tonight I have to take Harper to the ER" Maverick all but yelled into the phone.

"Oh no Mav what's wrong with her?" Carole asked.

"I'm not sure. She is up in the bathroom right now. She said her legs are bleeding and I'm not sure what's wrong Carole." Maverick informed her.

There was a pause over the phone followed by a laugh from Carole. "Carole Bradshaw would you mind telling me what is so funny about my daughter having a medical emergency?" Maverick huffed out.

"She doesn't need to go to the Emergency Room Pete, but you might want to head to the pharmacy." Carole told him.

"What do you mean. Do you know what's wrong with her?" He asked confused. "You really don't know do you Pete?" Carole asked him

"No I obviously don't or I wouldn't be calling you!" He retorted. "Oh my God, she started her period Pete!" Carole yelled into the phone.

"Oh... um... okay... so what do I need to get at the pharmacy?" He asked sheepishly. "Don't worry about it. I was just on my way out to pick up a few things. I will bring over what she needs and educate you for future reference."

"Thank you Carole. I don't know what I would do without you."

Her First Heartbreak:

"Go away Dad! I want to be left alone!" Harper sobbed as Pete stood outside her bedroom door. She had just had her heart broken by some Dylan kid and Pete wasn't sure what to do to help. "Penny... what do I do?" He asked his wife.

"Give her some space. She needs to have a little alone time. She's 17, and her first real boyfriend dumped her three weeks before prom. It's a lot." Penny told him. "I know but she's my little girl P, she's been my number one for the past sixteen and a half years. Every time she has been hurt I have been able to make it better... but I don't know how to fix a broken heart. Maverick confessed.

"You can't always fix it, but what you can do is listen to her, let her cry on your shoulder, and take her out for ice cream." Penny informed him. "Ice Cream makes everything better."

"Sweetheart." Maverick began slowly entering his daughter's room. "What Dad?" She choked out her voice thick with tears. "Grab your shoes... we are going for a drive." He told her. "Where?" She asked. "You'll see." He replied

Twenty minutes later the father and daughter duo were elbow deep in a giant ice cream sundae laughing like children. Maverick looked across at his daughter and for a fleeting moment, he saw Charlie looking back at him. As she had grown up Harper began to favor her mother more. He had explained to her as best as he could over the years of why she wasn't around. But Harper didn't seem affected by it. She loved her father, her step mother, and her step sister. She had also loved Aunt Carole. She didn't need Charlie. She had Maverick and that was good enough for her.

The First 'I Hate You'

"Harper honey you don't understand, you didn't hear the whole conversation!" Maverick yelled. He had been on the phone with Ice discussing Harper's recent acceptance into the Naval Academy and the topic of Maverick pulling Bradley's papers came up. Harper had heard him admit that he had done it and he was the reason the young Bradshaw wasn't in the Academy.

He had never seen his daughter so mad. She screamed, yelled, and cried all at the same time blaming him for everything that had happened to Bradley.

She called him a liar and a traitor, and maybe in a way he was. Then she said something he had never heard her say...

"I hate you Maverick."

Not Dad or Daddy, or Dada... Maverick. She used his callsign and that broke him. He had never meant to hurt her. She was his little girl... his pride and joy, but Bradley was her best friend whom she was closer too than anyone else. And Maverick had hurt him which in turn meant he had hurt her.

She ran up the stairs, slammed her door, locked it, and turned on loud music.

He thought about chasing after her but he decided against it. Pete hung his head and cried. He was utterly defeated because not only did his daughter hate him... he hated himself.

Top of the Class:

"And it is with great pleasure that I present the Top Gun Trophy for First in Class to Lieutenant Harper Ann Mitchell... Callsign "Siren".

The crowed erupted in cheers and applause as Harper accepted her honor. True to her word she and and Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw had attended Top Gun together and had graduated first and second in their class. Maverick and Penny found the two after the ceremony.

"I'm so proud of you Harper! First in class... that's something even your old man didn't do." Maverick said pulling her into a hug. "I'm also very proud of you Bradley. Goose and Carole would have been so proud of you too. I know your mother wasn't keen on the idea of you flying but she would be so happy that you're happy."

"Thank you Maverick. It means a lot to hear you say that." Rooster replied giving him a hug. "Alright kids... let's go celebrate. How does ice cream and pizza sound?" Penny asked the group

"Sounds great!" Everyone replied as the group left happy they were altogether once again.

The End of and Era:

"Harper, honey. I need you to sit down." Maverick told his daughter as she entered her home. She had just come back from a mission and had a few weeks of leave.

"Dad, what's going on? Why do you look like you're about to cry.... oh my God did something happen to Rooster? I haven't heard from him in a few days... is he okay?" She panicked thinking about her best friend

"What... no... Bradley is fine." He said calming her nerves. "Okay... then what's up?" Harper asked now that her heart had returned to a normal rhythm.

"It's you're mom... it's Charlie.... she um... she passed away a few days ago Harper. The Navy called me to relay the message to you. Her lawyers also called. She left you quite a bit of money.... she actually left you everything she had. They also sent over this letter for you to read..." Maverick said pushing an envelope towards her.

"I'm going to go in the living room for a bit to let you process everything. I know she did what she did but she did give birth to you... and apparently she wanted to make sure you were taken care of. I will be in the other room if you need me." Pete said leaving her alone in the kitchen. Harper opened the envelope and read

"To my dearest daughter Harper,

If you're reading this it means I am no longer on this earth. I wanted to start off by saying how sorry I am for abandoning you all those years ago. I was at a crossroads in my life and I didn't know how to be a mother. I chose my career over you and it is the biggest mistake I have ever made and it is something I have regretted every day of my life.

You didn't know this but I always kept tabs on you. Your father sent me photos and videos of you as you grew. You didn't see me but I was at your 8th grade ballet recital. You were a beautiful Clara in the Nutcracker. I was also at your High School and Naval Academy graduation. And I was so proud of you when I watched you receive the Top Gun Trophy.

I know I missed out on so much of your life while I was alive and I will miss out on even more of it now that I'm gone, but I want you to know that I never forgot you, and I always loved you. I couldn't give you the life you deserved. The best thing I ever could have done for you was let Maverick raise you and I think he did a hell of a job.

You have become an amazing young woman and I am so proud that you are my daughter.

Love Always, Mom"

Harper wept as her father came back and pulled her close to him. "She's right you know." She told him. "About what?" He asked looking puzzled. "She said the best thing she ever could have done was give me to you... and that is 100% true. I love you Dad"

The Day his World Stopped Turning:

"Who is calling this early?" Pete grumbled reaching for his phone.

"Hello?" He said answering the call "Hello is thid Admiral Pete Mitchell?" A voice said on the other end of the line. "Yes it is, may I ask who's calling?" He responded. "Yes sir, I'm sorry to wake you sir, I know it is early your time. This is Rear Admiral Smith. I'm calling to inform you that your daughter Captain Harper Mitchell has been in an accident." The man spoke on the end of the line.

Maverick immediately shot up out of bed waking Penny in the process. "What do you mean an accident? What happened is she okay? What's going on?" Maverick practically screamed into the phone

"Over watch made an error and missed an enemy plane during her return to base after mission completion. She took heavy fire and lost both engines. Captain Mitchell had to eject and suffered a partial parachute failure upon ejection. Search and rescue recovered her but she sustained several injuries. They have just finished up one surgery to stabilize her and she is being transported back to California soon. You should expect her back stateside in 18 hours. I'm sorry Admiral Mitchell." He finished and hung up the phone.

Pete Mitchell hit his knees and sobbed. Penny quickly jumped out of bed and wrapped her husband in her arms. "Pete... what happened... is Harper..." She couldn't bare to finish her question.

"Her plane... she was... shot down... she had to eject.... parachute failed... surgery... hurt... stateside in 18 hours... she... she..." he couldn't form complete sentences all he could do was sob. His baby girl was hurt. She had almost died. In that moment Maverick felt like he was Twenty- something again and had just lost Goose. Harper was his world and he had almost lost her.

18 hours later he was speaking with doctors about how she would have to have at least one more surgery and months of physical therapy before she could get back in a plane. 24 hours after that, he was by her side as she woke up from surgery number two. "Daddy?" She called out weekly opening her eyes.

"Hey princess. I'm right here." Maverick said kissing her head. Harper winced as she tried to sit up

"Just rest baby, don't hurt yourself." He told her brushing her hair out of her face.

"Everything hurts Daddy... I really messed up didn't I?" She asked fighting tears. "I know it hurts... and you didn't mess anything up baby. You saved your team, and you're alive. That's what I care about you're alive and with some therapy and some rest in a few months you will be good as new baby I promise." Maverick told her trying not to cry himself

"Okay. Thank you for being here Dad I love you." She said her eyes heavy as she fought sleep. "Dad can you promise me you won't tell Rooster. I don't want him to freak out. You can't have both your kids out of commission." Harper laughed then groaned in pain.

"I won't tell him baby, I will let you decide if and when you do. But don't worry about that... for now, sleep... I will be here when you wake up."

The Big Ask:

"Maverick, I need to talk to you" Rooster said sitting down on the couch next to him. Penny, Harper, and Amelia were taking a girls day full of shopping and self care which was perfect because Rooster had been dying to talk to Pete alone.

He and Harper had been dating and were very serious about each other. Rooster knew there was no one else for him, and being the traditional man he was he had come to ask Maverick for his blessing to marry his daughter.

"Okay Bradley? May I ask what about?" Maverick said taking a sip of his beer.

"Well, Maverick... sir, as you know Harper and I have been together for awhile. And I care about her a whole hell of a lot. Actually I more than care about her. I love her. I'm in love with her." Rooster began the speech he had prepared but his words were failing him.

"And well... I can't imagine my life without her. She is the best thing that ever happened to me... and I just love her so much. She means the world to me. So I wanted to ask, can I, would you, do I have your permission to ask Harper to marry me?" Bradley asked finally getting to the point.

Maverick laughed and patted Rooster on the shoulder. "Bradley, Harper is an adult and can make her own decisions... neither of you need my permission to do anything, however I know Carole raised you to be a traditional. So, if it really means that much to you, or course you have my blessing to propose to my daughter. There isn't anyone else I'd rather her be with." Maverick spoke truthfully.

"Thank you Pete, it means the world to hear you say that." Rooster told him pulling him in for a hug.

Her Wedding Day:

Pete Mitchell was not a man who cried easily especially not in front of people, but the day Harper married Bradley he was sure he could have died of dehydration from the tears he shed.

He remembers getting ready, doning his dress whites to perform his fatherly duty and walk her down the aisle. Maverick was a blubbering mess while he dressed. His hands were shaking so much Rooster had to help him with the buttons.

"You know Mav I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be the other way around." Rooster laughed clapping him on the back.

"I know, I know, I will get myself together I promise." Pete said wiping tears from his eyes. "Don't worry about it Maverick. I know it's an emotional day for all of us. I cried in the shower this morning just thinking about how beautiful she is going to look today." Rooster admitted as he slipped into his dress white jacket.

"We sure are lucky to have her aren't we Bradley?" Maverick stated as he helped the groom finish his buttons. "You better promise me you'll take good care of her, because if you don't do help me I will ship you off to Antarctica." Maverick joked to keep from crying again.

"I promise Maverick. I will spend the rest of my life making sure she is happy."

The walk down the aisle felt like the longest five minutes of Pete Mitchell's life. He knew one day his little girl would fall in love and get married, but it didn't make giving her away any easier. When Hangman later teased him about the tears in his eyes Pete quickly responded that it was just his allergies from all of the flowers, but both men knew that was a lie.

After the father daughter dance, Penny found him alone at a corner table with red rimmed eyes. She whispered words of encouragement to him and told him that everything would be okay. They sat in silence as they watched the newly weds dance the night away.

Bringing Him Home:

Without a doubt Harper was the most important person in Maverick's life. If she asked him to move the mountains or stop the sea, he would have found a way to do it, no mater how impossible the task seemed Maverick would move heaven and earth for her.

And right now moving the heavens seemed easier than the task at hand. Rooster, his son in law, her husband, and father of Mav's future grandchild was missing after being struck down on what was supposed to be a routine mission. Harper was furious at him for losing her husband, she was madder than when she found out he pulled Bradley's papers all those years ago but Pete couldn't worry about that right now.

Right now he had to find Rooster and bring him home. He couldn't let another Bradshaw woman be without her husband or another Bradshaw child grow up without a father. They had gotten his signal days ago and the jungle he and Hangman were currently trekking through was dense and unforgiving, but it didn't matter. He was going to bring Rooster home even if it killed him in the process.

The pair had been hiking for hours calling out for Rooster when suddenly Hangman stopped him. "Did you hear that Mav?" Jake asked signaling for him to listen "Maverick" they both heard it this time. Bradley, his voice, he was alive.

The men took off towards the sounds calling out for Rooster.

Maverick remembers the moment he held Bradley in his arms again. "You came back for me just like my dad said you would." Rooster told him.

Maverick almost lost his resolve right then and there. He held Bradley close as they flew back towards civilization thankful that he had kept not only his promise to his daughter but to Goose and Carole as well.

Grandpa Mav:

"Pete if you don't sit down this minute I swear you will be in a hospital bed too because I will put you in the ER myself!" Penny scolded him as he paced around the waiting room. Harper had gone into labor earlier that morning and it was was now the afternoon. He had been beside himself worrying if something was wrong but also excited to become a grandfather today.

"Penny I just can't help it, our baby is having a baby and I don't know what to do." He said finally taking a seat.

"It's a hospital waiting room Pete, you sit in uncomfortable chairs, read old magazines and occasionally go get some subpar coffee from the cafeteria... there isn't much else to do." Penny said taking his hand trying to calm him.

"Admiral and Mrs. Mitchell?" A nurse called out causing Maverick to jump to his feet. "Right here" he practically yelled. "If you'll follow me please." The nurse instructed as she led them into the Labor and Delivery wing.

"They're right in here. Congrats Grandpa and Grandma." The nurse smiled as they walked into the room.

Maverick slowly made his way in and saw the most precious sight. Harper was sitting up in bed against Rooster as they held a small bundle in their arms.

"Hi Dad, hi Mom!" Harper whispered as they came in. Rooster left her side to greet them with a hug.

"Alright who wants to be the first to hold their grandson?" Rooster asked calmly.

"Grandson?" Maverick choked out tears already in his eyes. "Yup, it's a boy." Rooster responded patting Pete on the back.

"You should hold him first honey." Penny told him.

"Come on dad... come meet him." Harper encouraged. She gently placed the baby boy in her father's arms. "Oh my God, he's so beautiful, you did so good honey." Maverick cooed.

"What's his name?" He asked looking at at Harper and Bradley.

"Nicholas Peter Bradshaw." Bradley told him.

"Nicholas ....Peter... Bradshaw..." Maverick repeated slowly. "You named him after Goose and... and...me?" He asked crying harder.

"Of course, we had to name him after to two best dads we ever could have asked for." Harper told him smiling. Maverick smiled at the couple and looked back down at the baby in his arms. Little Nick slept peaceful wrapped up in his blanket.

"Hi there buddy. I'm your Grandpa Mav, and I just know you are going to be the best wingman. I love you so much Nick. I love you Little Goose."

BRB crying. Hope you enjoyed this loves!

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @aless-megs @tallrock35

#top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell

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sailorhyunjinz · 4 years ago

Text

~ 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ~

Part I

All picture rights to their respective owners.

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥: Photographer!hyunjin, fem!model!reader, manager!Bangchan, stylist!Jisung, agedup!straykids, SMUT IN LATER PARTS, fluff, character driven story, strangers to lovers, summer au, mentions of insecurity, love at first sight.

𝕎𝕠𝕣�� ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3,5 k

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: I have never written a series before so please understand if it’s lacking heh... and yes the title does relate to the kooks song with the same title so do give it a listen because it’s really good and fits the story c:

also this starts slowly LMAO MORE FUN THINGS ARE COMING UP I SWEAR <33

If you have any feedback I’m more than happy to receive it! <3

Taking pictures of you - MASTERLIST

ONE｜TWO｜THREE

Working as a model was not easy. The complaining managers and the expectations by others was too much to handle. Heck, even getting to the shooting locations was a hastle most of the time.

You tilted your head against the window in the backseat of the taxi. It was a calm august wednesday. The late summer breeze made it’s way into the cab thorugh the window that was opened on the drivers side. Your phone screen lit up, multiple notification from Instagram.

“omg! slay bbygrl”

“her face is crazy pretty”

“beautiful”

You’ve heard these words too many times. If you’re told the same thing over and over again they eventually mean nothing. You scrolled through the other comments on your latest instagram post, a photo from your last photoshoot. A picture of you lying in a bed of white flowers, your skin glowing and your body covered by a white sheer dress that accentuated your neck. It’s not a bad photo but was I really worth the attention? “There are a thousands of other girls way prettier than me.” you though and with a sulken expression you watched life run by outside the window.

15 minutes later you arrived at your agency. You smiled your model smile at the taxi driver to which he smiled back and responded: “My pleasure, miss y/n”.

A big shadow was cast from the building in which the modeling agency was. The beige renaissance building was surrounded by green bushes and a black fence. The big oak entryway had golden lion knockers and an ingraved golden sign. “Eccellente Modeling Agency” it said with bold black letters, contrasting nicely with the gold plate. You rang the doorbell next to the sign and in a matter of seconds the oak gates opened with a loud creak.

“Y/n!! You look stunning as always!” said your manager Bangchan as he hugged you. The smell of his aftershave violated your olfactory sense as usual, making you scrunch your nose. He was always dressed business casual, his white polo shirt and light brown dress pants being a good example but today his poloshirt had a great amount of buttons unbuttoned.

The both of you made your way into his office. A room with a high ceiling and a chandelier worth more than your career. You sat down in the leather couch across the desk, Bangchan sitting on the other side of it.

“Give me a moment.... Just pulling up some files for the new photoshoot I’ve planned! I promise, you’re not gonna be disappointed.” he says smiling, the desktop screen reflecting in his brown eyes.

He turns his computer screen towards you. Your eyes scan the pictures that pop up.

“May I present to you the profile of Hwang Hyunjin. One of the most renowned photographers of this age”. Bangchan looks at you, reading your expression.

The pictures are truly beautiful. Everything, from the outfits to the lightning was perfect.

“Bangchan, you’re insane” you say, smiling widely as you made eye contact with the dark haired manager. “These pictures are so stunning!” you squeal. “How did you even get in contact with him?”

“Nothing for you to worry about y/n, I have my contacts. I’m a manager after all”. He scoffs whilst scrolling through the profile. The next picture getting better than the previous one.

“So... when is the shoot and what concept have you planned?” you say whilst your eyes are glued to the computer screen.

“Mr, Hwang works for a multitude of companies but Styliz needed a model for their new pastel collection which I immedietly snatched onto. We all know how beautiful you look in pastels y/n” he said attentively to which you smiled, adoring the interest he has for his work.

“Oh.. I also cheked your schedule and you seem free tomorrow so how about then?” he added.

“Yes! I’d love too” you said with a small nod.

“Not that you have much choice, Mr Hwang’s time is worth gold y/n” he laughed and reached for something in his cabinet drawers.

“Here, take this” he said while sliding over a light grey business card.

‘Hwang Hyunjin, Photographer’ was written in dark grey letters. A black border decorating the edges of the card.

♡

The morning sun shined thorugh the curtains blinding you temporarily. You felt after your phone on the nightstand with you hand, your eyes still closed. ‘8:05 am’ the screen showed against the background picture of your family.

You missed them, moving to a different city across the country at the young age of 18 was scary. You’ve aged, that’s for sure but you still missed them dearly. Dragging your lifeless body to the shower you hope for a day with happiness whilst the warm water hits your bare skin. It was a big day after all. A photoshoot with photographer Hwang Hyunjin. “Me... on Hyunjins work? It must be a dream...” you thought, grabbing the towel hanging on the cold, silver rack.

You dryed off your thick hair with a light pink towel with one hand whilst the other hand held your phone. “I have to look at his photos again” you thought, tapping on the Instagram icon and typing “Hwang Hyunjin” in the search bar, hoping and praying that his work was published on the social media platform.

“@ photographerHwang” was the first result to pop up and you tapped it instantly being just as surprised as you were yesterday of the beauty that his photos carried. Bumping into the table on your way to the kitchen you noticed a different photo on his feed. It didn’t look like any of the other photos because it was a selfie. You dropped your towel on the floor. No... it can’t be him... or could it?

His face looked like a work of art. Not only was the photo nicely edited with warm light emitting from your screen but the person was even more eyecatching. “It’s probably one of his models” you though as you placed your phone on the kitchen counter and grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge.

But what if it’s really him?

♡

You threw on a grey hoodie and biker shorts before you flew out to the taxi waiting for you outside the apartment.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting sir! Here!” you said while panting, quickly pulling up a text message you got from Bangchan sharing the location of the photoshoot.

“Please, Miss y/n! No need to apologize” laughed the middle aged taxi driver softly. You were now on your way to the shoot.

Your brain was scattered. One part of you hoped that Mr Hwang really was the boy you saw on his instagram. His long, blond locks slightly covering his sharp jaw. His skin clear as day and rosy lips plump like two rose petals. The other part shut everything down, convinced that it’s one of his models that happened to be to your liking.

You opened his instagram page again.

“He must be famous for his perfect features...” you said under your breath, staring at his lips.

The whole taxi ride was filled with thoughts of him, whoever he was.

“Soon there miss y/n” the taxi driver said after 10 minutes of driving. The taxi slowed down and looking outside the window you saw Bangchan standing infront of a building that looked similar to the agency building. You waved slightly and he waved back at you.

You turned around to the driver and said; “Thank you so much sir”, giving him a generous tip and exiting the vehicle. A warm breeze latches on to you, making your hair flutter in the motions of the wind.

“Y/n! Perfectly on time” Bangchan said and hugged you.

You hugged him back, asking him about his day so far to which he responded;

“Good but going to be even better after this legendary photoshoot is done and we have the most perfect photos taken by the most influential photographer!” he sounded like a little child in a candy shop.

Your ears heated up due to his words and you smiled slightly.

“Let’s go to the second floor and get your outfit and makeup ready. A introduction with Styliz manager won’t be needed since he already knows your delightful personality” he laughed at his corny remarks and you did the same.

“You seem even more excited than me” you remarked, pressing the elevator button.

“When you see the end result you will be floored” Bangchan said and winked at you.

The elevator clanged. “Second floor”. The metal doors slided open. The eyes of a dozen stylists and makeup artists caught onto you. A slightly potbellied man in a navy colored suit approached you.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see work with you again.” His voice was hoarse due to his age but his personality being the total opposite. You knew him well since Styliz’s chief was one of the first to offer you a modeling job in a foreign city, you only being a teenager with a big dreams at the time.

“Mr. Styliz! It’s lovely to meet you again” you smiled and sat down in a makeup chair, a girl with blond hair and big hoop earrings starting to brush powder across your nose. You saw Bangchans figure leave behind a door in the reflection of the mirror.

“Mr. Styliz, might I ask you a question?” You regretted the words as soon as the came out of your mouth. You didn’t need more information about the mysterious boy you saw on Hwang’s instagram page but you simply had to know who is was.

“Well of course y/n” said Mr. Styliz, his warm breath touched your cheek as he stood right by your side, smelling of morning coffee and looking at you through the mirror.

“Could I please get more information about Mr.Hwang?” you said, making eye contact with the old man.

“y/n, you’ll meet him soon! Then you can ask him how much you would like about his life but I must warn you... He is quite the secretive type”. The coffee breath was accentuated as he laughed.

You tried to play along, laughing a fake laugh as the hair designer started to brush out your locks. A wave of embarrassment washed through you.

The lights of the makeup mirror were getting hot, tiny sweat drops beading on your forehead which the makeup artist wiped off.

“We are done, Miss y/n” said the makeup artist, her earrings reflecting the light in the studio. You thanked her and saw Bangchan standing at the door where the cameras were.

“y/n, not much time left. Please go down the hallway and into the second door on your left, the stylist is in there fixing your outfit”. One reason as to why you loved Bangchan as your manager was his calm temper. Even in a time crunch, he always made sure to talk to you in a serene tone. After years in the modeling industry you still couldn’t get used to the ill-tempered staff. Too many times you had been forcefully dragged down corridors and streets whilst they muttered swear words at you. Even thinking about it sends shivers down your spine.

Your shoes tapped the white linoleum as you made your way down the narrow hallway, knocking on the second door to your left just as Bangchan said.

A familiar voice said; “Come in!” to which you turned the golden doorknob on the white wooden door. The tall figure was rummaging in a big plastic container filled with clothes but upon your arrival the figure greeted you with warm eyes.

“No way!! It’s y/n!” screeched Jisung. He pulled you in to a hug, his belt buckle hit your stomach through the grey hoodie.

Jisung was a stylist and worked closely with Mr. Styliz therefore you’d gotten close to him. Not only did you like him for his exquisite fashion sense which had a whole different concept each time you saw him but also for his friendliness, always being polite.

“I’ve missed you so much Jisungie” you said with a pout.

“I though it was onesided but I guess not haha”

“Don’t be silly! How could I not miss that smile of your Sungie?” you hit him playfully on the arm to which he blushed.

“Go behind that and I’ll throw some clothes for you.” he pointed at the wooden divider standing in the corner of the white room filled with clothes racks and colorful clothing.

You started undressing behind the divider and suddenly a pile of clothing was thrown on your head over the divider. You heard Jisung snicker at the yelp that came out of your mouth as you drowned in the clothes

“Jisung, you are so dead when I’m done” you said whilst putting on the last details to the outfit.

“I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry” he said pleadingly while laughing hysterically.

You stood on the podium infront of the full lenght mirrors in the room as Jisung observed you and pinned the clothes slightly.

“Not gonna lie, it’s looks really good on you. The pastels matches perfectly with your skintone.” Jisung looked on the pleaded white skirt you had on.

You looked in the mirror and shook your head in agreement. The pastel purple sweater with the white collar poking out made you look youthful and innocent. You had on patent mary jane shoes in the same purple color as your sweater. The white kneesocks were slipping down as you moved slightly, almost looking like a school girl as you bend down to lift the socks up.

“Do you like it?” Jisung looked at you through the reflection on the mirror, standing on the floor making him a head shorter than you.

“Yea! You’ve never given me a bad outfit Sungie, they’re always adorable. My favorite stylist but don’t tell that to Bangchan” you smirked to which Jisung laughed.

♡

“y/n, Jisung did a great job! You fit the concept to a tee” Bangchan stood infront of two wide dark green doors which led to the photostudio. He smiled shyly and pushed the doors open, a bright white light blinding you as you stepped in.

You squinted and held your hand infront of your eyes as you entered the studio, the air stuffy from all the white boxlights that have been working for a while.

“Miss y/n is here now, Mr. Hwang” Bangchan announced.

Your eyes felt blurry and the lights created a bokeh effect, your vision feeling like a filter. The first thing you saw was him. Hwang Hyunjin.

The shock froze your feet in one position. It was him. The selfie was Hyunjin. And he was hotter in real life.

A tall, slender figure stood on one foot, the other one behind his leg with the tip of the shoe pointing towards the floor.

“Are you ready, miss y/l/n?”.

His voice was sweeter than honeysuckle, you melted upon hearing him speak. Bangchan looked at you confused when you didn’t move, just observing the presence of the blonde boy infront of you.

“y/n?” Bangchan had a worried expression on his face as your face broke out in a massive blush.

“yeah..uh-mm..yes” you only managed to get that out before you were infront of the camera.

His willowy fingers wrapped around the black Canon camera, it fit perfectly in his hands as if it was made for him. You gulped upon seeing the veins that ran up his exposed arms, the white shirt bunched up by his elbows.

“Everything good miss? You seem distant” he said in that raspy but sweet voice.

“Uhm...yeah totally..” you looked awkward with your hands by your side as you saw Bangchan observing you with a confused gaze.

“Please tilt your head to the right and stand broad with your feet” Hyunjin commanded to which you complied. The flash of the big studio lights didn’t effect you as much anymore since you were used to this but what did effect you was how concentrated Hyunjin looked. Like a true photographer. It was obvious that he enjoyed his job by the way his eyes shined when he looked at the monitor and corrected every detail. Luckily you could stare at his figure all that you wanted since it looked like you were keeping eye contact with the camera and not him. Glancing over to the left of the photographer you saw Bangchan smiling his bright smile, signaling that he’s proud over you.

Flash

And another flash before Hyunjin looked at the monitor displaying the photos he just took, a smirk crept onto his face.

“Good job y/l/n. Could you please grab that chair over there and sit on the edge of it?” he said whilst pointing towards a small wooden stool. Reacting instantly to his soft voice and gestures you pulled the stool towards the x on the ground, making sure you were in frame.

“One leg over the other” Hyunjin said without even looking towards you, his pale veiny hands were now twisting and turning some buttons on both the camera and monitor. You shook your head up and down slightly in agreement before doing as told and as Hyunjin turned back his chocolatey brown eyes landed on yours. Now it was impossible to hide your burning cheeks, Hyunjin noticed since he laughed stiffly before grabbing the camera off the camera stand and going down on one knee to capture an angle from below. Numerous amounts of sparks from the big box lights were emitted and after every spark Hyunjin turned around to the screen which displayed your figure. Staring at him you smiled slowly, feeling your heart beat faster. Why do I feel like this by just looking at him? Your head was clouded with millions of other thoughts. Just as you started tuning out the room Hyunjin clapped his hands hard, the sound ringing in your ears. You jumped slightly which made Bangchan laugh.

“All done! Nice work everybody” Hyunjin announced loudly before bowing down to the other staff members in the room and to you as well. You returned his gesture by a slight bow of the head and quickly scurried of to Bangchan, your face hot.

“Are you sure you’re not ill?” Bangchan said softly before putting the back of his hand towards your forehead. Shaking your head from side to side you pushed his hand away.

“No, I’m fine... just so hot with the box lights you know?” you laughed fumblingly, not knowing where to rest your gaze.

You felt someone tap you on your left shoulder and you almost fainted when you turned around. Hyunjin was standing three footsteps from you, the scent of his cologne making you swoon. He smiled as he saw your shy expression and sparkling eyes.

“I though that it must have been hot, here have this”

He casually held out a waterbottle which you received with both hands as a gesture of thankfulness.

“y/n, I’m just gonna head off to Jisung to discuss something. Meet me at the changing rooms in about 10, ok?” Bangchan said, slightly leaning towards your ear.

“Yeah, see you in 10!” you said while the managers back disappeared through the broad doors of the studio. Turning back to Hyunjin his blond locks were draped infront of his eyes and as he spoke he tucked those light pieces behind his ear, revealing his small silver hoop earrings.

“I’m gonna pack up the cords now but it was a pleasure to work with you, miss y/l/n”

The corners of your mouth went upwards at his formality.

“Please, call me y/n” you said quietly, being too shy to look him in the eyes.

“Sure, see you around y/n” Hyunjin said as he lifted up his hand to shake yours. His lanky fingers were filled with bold rings, many of which were designer. A slight panic rushed through your mind as you didn’t want to scare him away with your clammy hands. The sweaty hands and the churning of your stomach was all due to Hyunjin nearness. Hesitantly you streched the tips of your fingers against the blond haired boy and his hand emitted warmth when being met with your fingertips. He smiled before turning back, his eyes forming into half moons as charming dimples errupted on his lean cheeks.

You bowed to the other staff members on your way out of the building on your way to meet Bangchan and Jisung in the changing room. The waterbottle in your hand almost slipped as you took another clunck of the fresh water and that’s when you noticed something. Stopping in the hallway where the stylists room was located you inspected the waterbottle and saw a black marker scribble on the wrapper around the bottle. Upon removing it your heart stopped. Your knees could give up at any moment from the sheer shock. Am I losing my mind? A number was loosely doodled on the white plastic wrapper and underneath it there was a message.

Call me

// Hyunjin

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@vogueinnie @that-anxious-bisexual @putmetogetheragain13 @hyunsluvv @lawleighette @meow-minho @minaamhh @ohmysparkle @hwangi @rindomo @fleeingreality @nycol-ie @jisungsplatforms

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yslkook · 4 years ago

Text

#deep dive (11)

#corporate masterlist summary: you receive some surprising news at work and you and jungkook go on your first mini-trip together in tokyo. word count: 11.2k warnings: cursing, alcohol, smut, a fight, discussions of mental health smut warnings- handjob, blowjob, fingering, guided masturbation, penetrative sex, overstimulation, a lil crying, excessive use of pet names lol a/n: another chapter that got away from me... our couple is moving along ladies!! as always ty @cutechim for ur inspiring enthusiasm!!

Surprisingly, after your outburst at work, you hadn’t been reprimanded at all. Despite being nervous to show your face to your boss and your coworkers, there was apparently no need to be nervous.

Because your boss was out on “leave”. Which, as Seokjin and Namjoon had informed you, was really just a way for the senior leaders to tell your boss and his boss to get their shit together.

Much more aggressively, of course.

You’re surprised to see your boss’s office empty and his boss’s office empty as well. And then guilt begins to seep into your bones- had you gotten them fired? It was hard enough to land a job these days, and had you done that to them?

Jungkook catches your forlorn gaze and squeezes your hand subtly as he walks with you to your cubicle. Your side of the floor is relatively quiet today, as many people were out of the office or working from home.

He sits with you in the chair in your cubicle and pulls his laptop out to do some work on this breezy morning. You quite like these impromptu working sessions with him- even if you’re (halfway) in love with him, you both know where to raise the lines of professionalism.

But you hold his hand for a second longer, and he squeezes once more.

“What if I got them fired,” You whisper, careful to keep your voice low.

“Even if they did get fired, they deserve it. For creating a toxic workplace environment,” Jungkook says, so full of conviction that you almost believe it.

“Okay,” You say uncertainly, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, giving you a sweet, bunny smile, “I’m sure.”

You nod, sighing heavily. “I’ll book a conference room, can you ping Sana and let her know we have to finish those deliverables for the workshop in August? So Namjoon can get his eyes on it…”

“Can’t believe it’s already May,” Jungkook mumbles, shaking his head, “Fucking crazy.”

“I know, right?”

You pack up your laptop and your notebook in your bag and gesture for Jungkook to follow you to the conference room. He walks behind you, wanting to catch a glimpse of the way your dark green pencil skirt hugs your hips and your ass.

Nice.

Midway through your working meeting with Sana and Jungkook, you receive a ping from Hae-Ri herself. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you when you stop speaking mid-sentence, your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity.

“Uh, I gotta step out for a few minutes. Can you two finish this off in the meantime?” You ask, pulling your green blazer on shoving your laptop in your bag.

“Yeah, I think we’re almost done anyway,” Sana says, eyeing you and Jungkook with suspicious eyes. She’s long suspected something was going on with you both. She’s not blind to the not so discreet heart eyes you both send each other, but she assumes you both are keeping whatever it is a secret.

Jungkook sends you a text right away. You tell him Hae-Ri asked to speak with you and that you’ll text him later.

Your heart is in your throat as you walk the two minutes to her corner office with a view but you keep your face as neutral as possible.

She’s already ushering you inside and closing the door behind her, telling you to take a seat.

“Do you want coffee or tea or water?” Hae-Ri asks, pouring herself a large cup of coffee.

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” You say, straightening your back as you try to calm your racing heart.

She sits in her big, fancy leather office chair (it looks like it costs more than the outfit on your skin) and she just looks at you, with her unnerving eyes. You say nothing, only meeting her gaze with the same intensity.

Hae-Ri breaks your impromptu staring contest first with a wide grin.

“So,” She starts.

“So…”

“Do you know why I asked you to come in here?”

You bite your tongue, wanting to ask her “how would I know why you called me in here” but you refrain. “No…”

“Being the head of business development means that I have visibility to everything,” Hae-Ri says matter of factly, “And I’m sure you know that Namjoon and Seokjin sing your praises every chance they can.

“The reason I called you in here is because there’s an opening for a new team that’s gonna be managed under both Hyo-Jin and I. It’ll be a hybrid approach for managing new products, submissions and being part of the business strategy. The position would have a direct line to Hyo-Jin but a dotted line to me. And we think you would be a great fit for it. It’s an associate director level position…”

Associate director? You can’t help your jaw from dropping, that’s three levels up from your current position. It’s a promotion on top of a promotion.

Holy shit. Nobody’s ever recognized you in this way. You swallow a ball of emotion down your throat- of course, you complain about work, about your shitty boss. But never in your wildest dreams, could you have imagined that two of the heads in this area would recognize and recommend you.

“It’s a lot to think about and consider. The position will be posted on the internal career portal in about three weeks to a month. It’ll be a challenge, but I think you’re up to the task. Of course, there is no pressure if you choose not to apply. But talent and leadership should not go unrecognized.”

When you tell Jungkook what Hae-Ri said to you in the safety of your car, he’s far more excited than you are. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your lips and you can’t help but laugh at his antics.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” Jungkook breathes, “About time these people got their shit together-”

“It’s a lot to think about,” You muse, “A promotion of three levels? That hardly ever happens…”

“That just shows how incredibly amazing my hot, sexy, girlfriend is,” Jungkook says, earning himself a swat of his shoulder by your hand, “And it shows how shitty your boss was to let you fly under the radar for this long.”

You give him a small smile. “I have a few weeks to think about it before it gets posted. Hae-Ri said it should be up in mid-June…”

“We gotta celebrate,” Jungkook insists, dropping another kiss to your glossy lips. You laugh, feeling a little giddy along with him.

“It’s not premature?”

“We’re only celebrating the mere possibility.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Let’s go for drinks tonight with our friends? But can we just keep it between us? I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“Yeah, it can be our secret for now,” Jungkook winks, his hoops shaking as he laughs with you, “Stay the night tonight?”

“Maybe, I’ll see if Grandma is okay,” You murmur and Jungkook nods. A squeal (one that you’ll later deny) leaves your lips when Jungkook pulls you into his lap and presses kisses up and down the column of your neck.

“Now lemme show my girl how proud I am of her.”

It’s another night, a warm sticky night in June, where Jungkook stays over your house for the weekend. You don’t like leaving Grandma alone, despite her insistence that you have your own life. Jungkook understands, and it was actually him who had suggested spending the weekend at your place.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him. He had a late Friday meeting and had told you he’d meet you at your house around seven or eight that evening, and had subtly squeezed your hand in your cubicle in goodbye.

That was a few hours ago, and Jungkook had texted you letting you know that he was on his way. He had stopped by to bring flowers, a bottle of wine and some pastries for you and Grandma. They were Grandma’s favorites.

Grandma had insisted on making dinner for you and Jungkook, despite your protests. Your favorite aromas linger in the air and you contemplate having a few bites before Jungkook even arrives. You try to reach for a piece of mandu but Grandma swats your hand away, admonishing you for trying to eat before your boyfriend and guest even arrived.

Boyfriend. What a strange word.

A series of knocks. You eagerly step towards the front door, ignoring Grandma’s not so quiet snicker.

“Hi,” You breathe out, feeling a little flustered. As if you hadn’t just seen him a few hours ago at work.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Jungkook says with a small upturn of his lips and you press a chaste kiss to his lips. It surprises him, how often you kiss him in front of Grandma. Even if they are quick, chaste kisses.

“You gonna invite him in or just stand there and let him get cold?” Grandma says from the dining room, peering over to you both with a hand on her hip.

“Yeah, you gonna let me get cold?” Jungkook asks with a wink and you groan. They always tag team you, but you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that your boyfriend and your only remaining member of your family get along.

You pull him inside and take his bag from him, finally seeing the flowers, bottle of wine and box in his arms.

“What’s all this?” You ask with widened eyes, “You didn’t have to, Jungkook…”

He always brings something when he comes over, and you always say those words to him.

“His parents raised him better than to come to someone’s house empty handed,” Grandma says in approval, making Jungkook’s heart soar. Whenever Grandma gives an inclination that she likes him, it makes him smile. It’s endearing. You rub his cheek with your thumb affectionately and he scrunches his nose at your touch.

“I’ll go put your stuff upstairs,” You murmur, rubbing his back warmly and leaving him with Grandma. Jungkook pulls the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows to help Grandma put the food on the dining table, and your heart constricts at how well he fits with you in your cozy home.

You return to find three glasses of wine filled and a plate already set for you across from Jungkook.

“Food’s so good, Grandma,” Jungkook moans, after nearly inhaling his entire plate. And then some.

“No thanks to your girlfriend,” Grandma snorts and shoots you a teasing smile when you protest loudly.

“Hey! You insisted!”

You pout at both of them when they laugh at your expense, but their laughter makes you smile. Grandma asks Jungkook how work is going, how his family is. You only smile fondly at both of them, taking a backseat from the conversation. It amazes you, how quickly he’s taken to Grandma. You thought it would’ve taken a little more to pull him out of his shell. But he surprises you, as he usually does.

You clear the table and pour another glass of wine for you and Jungkook, who’s turning on your television to browse what movies or shows are available for watching.

You sit next to him after dimming the lights, careful with the two glasses of wine. He’s careful about touching you, not wanting to offend or make you or Grandma uncomfortable.

It’s endearing. You only smile at him, pulling the blankets up to cover you both and lean your head on his shoulder. He tenses up immediately, wanting to reluctantly move away from your touch but you squeeze his forearm in reassurance.

Grandma says nothing as she watches you both, only casting a knowing look to Jungkook.

His cheeks flush at her gaze and he sinks deeper under the blankets, hiding his warm cheeks from Grandma. Grandma only chuckles to herself and you’re oblivious to both of them, eyes focused on the movie.

Grandma had long gone to bed, and you and Jungkook are cuddled under the blankets. Jungkook watches the movie raptly, oblivious to your stolen glances and almost touches. You sigh, wrapping an arm around his bicep and nosing at his neck. You absently push his hair away from his eyes, the pads of your fingers dancing over his scalp. It takes a few moments of you nipping his neck, your lips wet and warm against his skin for him to turn his gaze to you.

“Can I help you?” Jungkook asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah,” You breathe, “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

“But the movie,” Jungkook protests, his lips breaking into a wide smile at the furrow of your brow, “I’m only kidding. We can watch the movie in bed after all, right?”

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully but he acquiesces.

You get through all of ten minutes of the movie once you settle in between his legs in your bed. Jungkook’s chin is over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist loosely. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating right out of your chest. He holds you so easily, as if he was always meant to fit between the spaces of your body.

You’ve changed into your pajamas, just a shirt and some shorts and Jungkook has as well. Into an oversized shirt and his boxers.

Jungkook fully looks like your boyfriend, your baby, and it sends a wave of affection through you. Turning your head and shifting to look at him. His cut jaw calls for your attention and you press your lips there, to his neck and finally to his own lips.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” You mumble, running your fingers through his dark hair.

“Are you mine?” Jungkook asks, pressing his forehead to yours. A smart comment is on the tip of your tongue, but it disappears from your mind quickly. The way he’s looking at you, as if you hold all of his warmth, makes you curl further into him and drop another kiss to his lips.

“Yes,” You exhale and your cheeks heat up when you pluck the courage to run a hand over his chest. Jungkook finds your shyness endearing- for someone a little rough around the edges, he’s not surprised at your softness.

“Baby,” Jungkook murmurs, the term of affection still making your heart lurch, “You can touch, sweet girl. ‘M all yours.”

You swallow, a little nervously. “Me too,” You say softly, “Want you to touch me, baby.” You lean your head on his shoulder, tugging him down to you and meet his lips eagerly. You deepen the kiss quickly, a moan slipping out of your mouth without realizing. You could kiss him for hours, the soft feel of his smooth lips against yours is addicting. Flurries of butterflies erupt in your belly when he nips your bottom lip playfully and you moan again, the sound shooting straight through Jungkook.

He pulls away for a breath, looking at you with hooded eyes. You’re about to dip your head for another kiss but he ducks his head to plaster his lips to your neck. The wetness of his tongue slides along the column of your neck, before he gently kisses you behind your ear. If you were standing, your knees would have buckled surely. Jungkook cups your face gently, rubbing your cheek as he buries his face in your neck.

“Jungkook,” You breathe and he coaxes an unexpected moan from your throat when he sucks and soothes your collarbones.

Jungkook pulls away with reddened lips and you immediately push your lips to his without missing a breath. He’s itching to let his hands roam, to squeeze and hike your shirt up around your waist before peeling it off altogether.

You run your tongue over his bottom lip teasingly and press your chest flat against his. He’s been so patient with you, taking it as slow as you had needed to. Jungkook has been following your lead this whole time, not wanting to overwhelm you. But you’ve been ready for him to take the lead and teach you. The last thing he wants to do is make you feel pressured.

And honestly, all Jungkook wants to do is make you feel good. And learn what you like and don’t like. He doesn’t think you even know what you like. He has a feeling of a few things that he is excited to explore with you.

Jungkook is not surprised when you take his hand and pull it under your shirt. The pads of his fingertips, brush lightly against your sides. You gasp at the sudden spark of his hands against your skin and impatiently slide up against him for more friction.

His hands are so big, so much bigger than your own, dotted in tattoos. You can hardly believe these are the hands that are squeezing you so gently and adoringly. But you’re impatient, and you pull your sleep shirt up and off of your frame to toss it to the side.

You want more. You want more of him and you don’t want slow. You want soft, but you’re ready for something a little more.

“My pretty girl,” Jungkook purrs, thumbs flitting over your tits, “Does my pretty girl want somethin’?”

“Just want you,” You mumble.

“Tell me,” Jungkook murmurs, fingers tracing over your tattoos with a featherlight touch.

“Want you to touch me,” You nearly whine, and he grins in satisfaction. One of these days, he’ll teach you what it means to beg. But not today. He palms your breasts, moaning into your neck just at the feel of your soft flesh in his hands.

The sight of his tattooed hands on yours, his tattooed arms around you sends another bolt of arousal down your spine.

Your eyes close of their own volition when he pinches your nipple, a silent sound caught in your throat. And then his pliant mouth replaces his fingers, warm breath fanning over your chest. Arousal shoots down your spine and you squeeze your legs together without realizing it.

It’s clear that he knows what he’s doing- not that you had any doubt in your mind about that. He’s told you that he’s had two serious girlfriends in college and the beginning of graduate school. You’re certain there were hookups in between and after.

Your hips buck up, grinding into the air as you squirm in his arms. “Stay still,” Jungkook murmurs. You can’t help it, not really. But you try to listen anyway. “Open your eyes,” He coaxes you.

When you meet his eyes, they’re slick with desire and adoration. For you.

“Good girl,” He says, his voice low. The low timber of his voice sends a shudder through you and your eyes widen. Jungkook’s lips twist into a smirk.

“Will you let me make you feel good?” Jungkook asks, his hand ghosting over your thighs. Your hips jump at the sensation and he squeezes your waist. You nod eagerly. “Tell me, baby,” He says, his lips leaving trails of kisses down your chest and your belly.

“Yes,” You gasp, “Jungkook, please-”

He gives you a bright, bunny smile and your heart skips a beat. Adjusting you so that your back is flat against his chest, he kisses the back of your neck. His touch is constant on you- your belly, your waist, your breasts.

Jungkook palms your clothed pussy and you gasp sharply at the buzzing sensation suddenly filling your head. You reach behind him to wrap your arm around his head and tug on his hair impatiently as he rubs against you with quicker paces.

You wonder if he even knows what he’s doing to you. From the wetness staining your panties, he just might find out soon enough.

“Show me how you touch yourself, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice husky in your ear. You’re certain cotton is filling his brain, because there’s no way he just asked you that.

“What?” You ask, and Jungkook chuckles at your speechlessness.

“Didn’t hear me?” Jungkook says, “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You’re stunned into submission, peering up at him with hazy eyes. Keeping your eyes on him, you shrug out of your shorts and your underwear in one fell swoop, leaving you completely bare for his gaze. Goosebumps rise on your skin when he says nothing, only drinking you in with wide, thirsty eyes.

Jungkook swallows. “Fuck.”

“What?” You ask, beginning to panic at his lack of a reaction. You close your legs instinctively but he pushes your knees apart, giving him a view of your glistening folds.

“Had such a big crush on you in school,” Jungkook mutters, “You didn’t even know, baby. And now I get to see you like this. Because you gave us a chance.

“And you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” Jungkook says, tugging your jaw to him and dropping a deep kiss to your lips.

“Thought you wanted a show,” You quirk the corner of your lips up and he chuckles against your neck. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you feel something hard poking at your ass.

It makes your stomach flip. You bring your knees up to your chest and spread your legs wider. Jungkook’s breaths are staggered in your ear and he squeezes your tits as your hands slide down your chest to your pussy. You rub your clit, your hips jolting immediately and Jungkook holds you steady.

You tease yourself, your touch barely there as your clit throbs. “Look at you, pretty girl,” Jungkook murmurs. You circle your clit with your middle finger, gathering your wetness before Jungkook seizes your hand.

It appears he’s growing impatient, too.

His much longer fingers replace yours, the touch sending another bolt of electricity through you. You imagine what Jungkook’s fingers feel like against you almost all the time, but reality is so much better than your daydreams. He rubs you lazily and you whine, wanting him to go faster. You put your hand over his as he circles your clit.

You don’t even realize that you’re moaning and squirming, pushing back against his hard cock purposefully. “Be quiet, baby,” Jungkook whispers, nipping your earlobe, “Grandma’s only a few doors down…”

Jungkook makes you feel like you’re in your own world, thoughts filled with nothing but sinful honey and him. You whimper as he rubs your clit faster and faster, your thighs beginning to close to lock his fingers in place.

“Jungkook,” You moan, cheeks heating up at the pitchiness of your voice. Jungkook hums in response, only pressing his lips to your neck and his other hand to your chest. You push back against him harshly, back pressed into his chest as if you’re trying to mold yourself into him.

You writhe in his hold, not used to the feeling of his long, thick fingers rubbing your folds. Jungkook pushes a finger into your throbbing pussy once you’re slick and you shiver, a broken sort of noise escaping your lips. Your moans are loud, and Jungkook is pleased but he presses his lips to yours to swallow your soft noises.

Your grip around his wrist is tight, as if to tether yourself to him. “Hey,” Jungkook says softly, nipping at your earlobe again, “Look, baby. Watch me, look how your pussy was made for me. You’re so wet, sweet girl…”

Glancing down to where his fingers were gliding in and out of your wetness easily, you let out another choked noise. He slips another finger into your pussy and you let out a shuddering gasp of his name, your nails digging into his wrist. The lewd sounds of his fingers in your wetness fills your bedroom and if you weren’t so consumed by thoughts of him, you might be almost embarrassed.

“Kook,” You mumble, your hips grinding into his touch to feel as much of him as you can, “Kook, feels so good…” You snake a hand behind you to sink into his dark hair and tug lightly, pulling a soft groan from him.

“Good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, “My good girl, my dream girl-”

Another rush of wetness floods his fingers at his words and he smirks into your sweaty skin. Your ass is pressed up against his hardened cock, but he wants to make you feel good first. He can worry about himself later. He bucks his hips into your ass and you push back at the feel of his clothed cock against you.

Your thighs begin to shake, a coil beginning to snap in your belly. It’s more powerful than it’s ever been- your own fingers had never brought you to the edge like this.

“You’re close, right?” Jungkook nearly slurs, high off of the sound of your noises, “My pretty girl’s gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You tug his hair harder and nod furiously, hips still bucking into his fingers. It only takes a few more rubs of your clit and pumps of his fingers for you to gasp and arch your back off of his chest. Jungkook immediately plasters his lips to yours to silence the sound of you cumming.

He’ll have to hear them fully. He needs to. But not tonight.

You pull away to gasp for air and your chest is heaving, eyes wide at the force of your orgasm from just his fingers alone. “Jungkook,” You mumble, wanting to see him. You turn in his hold, finally facing him and he’s just as lust blown as you.

You give him a lazy smile and wrap your arms around him, nosing at his neck. Before he can say anything to you, you roll your hips into his, meeting his clothed hardness. Jungkook drops his head against the headboard, groaning softly. His hands are planted firmly on your bare hips and you seemingly don’t mind that he’s fully clothed while you’re not.

“Rock with me, baby,” He murmurs, burying his face in your chest. Your legs are on either side of his hips and you comply easily, your breath hitching when he kisses marks soothingly over your breasts.

You wonder if you’re about to have the pleasure of seeing Jungkook cum again- it’s always beautiful, like the rest of him. Your hips feel like home to him, he squeezes and swats your ass gently. You only grin at him, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes nearly close in pleasure but he keeps them open, wanting to see you moving with him. A wet spot forms on his boxers from both of your arousals and he knows he’s about to cum soon-

And you do, too.

“Y’r g’nna make me cum in my pants, like I’m fifteen,” Jungkook pants, eyes straining to stay open to watch you.

“Or like you’re twenty-one and you’re obsessed with your mentor,” You breathe, earning yourself a pinch to your waist, “Kook, ‘m close again…” You never cum this quickly after the first time. Jungkook brings out the best parts of you, it seems.

“Me too, baby,” He grunts into your skin, harshly covering your lips with his own. A spark blooms in your belly, slowly spreading and warming you up from within. It’s much slower and less intense than your first orgasm, but just as delicious. You’re sensitive as he rocks his hips into yours and you whine softly at the feeling.

You move to sit on his thigh and your hands shake for a moment before scratching his chest with your freshly done nails. Then his abs. Then his navel.

“Can I?” You mumble.

“Can you what, baby?” Jungkook asks, amusement still in his eyes. You huff. He’s really going to make you say it.

“Wanna feel you, baby,” You murmur, meeting his eyes, “Wanna feel your cock in my hand-”

“‘M yours, pretty girl,” He replies easily, taking your wrist in his hand. You palm him from outside his boxers and you both groan- you from how big he is, and him from how warm your hand feels against him.

You shyly dip your hand down the waistband of his boxers but he stops you for a second. He wordlessly moves you from his thigh to the bed to slip out of his boxers so that he’s bare to you as well. After all, it’s only fair.

You can’t stop the soft gasp that leaves your lips or the way that your eyes zero in on his leaking cock. He’s so big in your hands and you can’t help but lick your dry, parched lips. Your cheeks are warm and for once, you have nothing to say- no quip, no snarky remark.

You tug on his shirt impatiently- how had you allowed him to be wearing clothes for this long? Pulling his shirt off of him and tossing it to the floor, you allow yourself the luxury of letting your hands roam his honeyed skin. He’s somehow both cut and soft, tight and supple.

Despite the number of times you’ve seen him like this, you can never get used to it. Even if it’s not the first time his cock is hot and heavy in your hands, you can’t help but trace his tattoos with your free hand and feel a little in over your head.

“Kook,” You murmur, curling close into his side and drawing your knees up to your chest, “Baby, teach me.”

Jungkook groans, the sincerity in your voice making his stomach flip. He takes your hand and squeezes before guiding you to the tip of his reddened cock. You experimentally palm his cock, smearing his leaking pre-cum over his cock and he gasps, burying his face in your shoulder.

You stroke him slowly, watching and listening for his breaths. They’re heavy against your skin and he tightens his grip around your waist, trying to melt into you.

“Faster, baby,” Jungkook says, his voice wrecked, “‘m so close-”

You pump him faster in your hands, making sure to be gentle with your grip. Jungkook looks down, marvelling at how big he looks in your hands.

“Am I doing okay, Jungkook?” You whisper, dark eyes wide and unsure. With hooded eyes, he groans and kisses you, and you feel his moans vibrating through your body. He’s so close- he can feel himself starting to come undone, and with another few pumps, he comes all over your hand. Some of his cum splatters on his belly but he pays it no mind, only focusing on regulating his breaths. Without thinking, you lick at the tips of your fingers and swallow the little bit of his cum that landed on your hands.

“I’ll go get a tissue to clean you up,” You whisper, searching for your shirt. When you find it, you stand up on shaky legs, only for him to yank you back towards the bed.

“Jungkook,” You scold lightly, and he presses his face into your belly.

“You believe me when I say you’re my dream girl,” Jungkook murmurs, ignoring your noise of protest. He looks up at you with bright, sparkling eyes. You swallow nervously, unable to handle the sudden bubbling of adoration you hold for this man.

“Put your boxers on, Jeon,” You mumble, pushing yourself off of him. You hear him laugh fondly. He knows you too well, he knows you’re repeating his words in your head. You emerge from the bathroom, looking a little unsure but still determined. Your hands tremble a little as you attempt to clean him up and he covers your hand with his own to guide you. Jungkook watches you flit around the room before standing up and tugging his boxers on.

He stands up and wraps his arms around your waist, his hands dipping under your shirt. Being in his arms immediately calms you down in gentle waves. He’s become such a calming pillar, a welcomed force in your life. You don’t think even your wildest, most romantic dreams could have ever conjured up someone like him.

Maybe he’s your dream boy, too.

Jungkook drops a kiss to your cheek, walking you back to the bed and laying you on top of it. He pulls the covers up over both of you and is half on top of you. You lean in for a kiss, stars shining in your eyes as you look at him. His legs tangle with yours when he meets your lips and pulls you in close.

“Goodnight,” You whisper when you pull away, “I think you’re my dream boy that I didn’t know I was dreamin’ about.”

With that, you turn your head so he doesn’t see how flustered you are. Your cheeks meet the cool material of your pillow and you pretend not to hear his low chuckle. He only squeezes your waist and murmurs a soft ‘goodnight’ to you.

You’d submitted your application for the associate director position that Hae-Ri had recommended you to apply to. You’d already had the first round of interviews, with the person who would be your direct manager and with Hae-Ri herself. And then you had another interview with Hyo-Jin.

You felt at ease and it felt more like a conversation than an actual interview. Which Jungkook and Jin tell you is because you made the smart decision to get to know them both months ago, before you decided you wanted a shift in your career.

But then Hae-Ri dropped the bombshell on you after the series of interviews. To be in the position, she recommended you finish your masters program at the graduate school you dropped out of (or any grad school that had the same degree). She said the company would pay for it and you could do it while you worked.

But still. It left a sour, angry taste in your mouth.

Jungkook knows, somewhere in the back of his mind. That the words that are about to spill out of his mouth are going to upset you. But he says them anyway, because he thinks you need to hear them-

“If Hae-Ri said that she had a spot for you if you went back to school while working for her,” Jungkook says slowly, “Then isn’t it a no brainer? Your boss sucks, you complain about him and you deserve-”

“Back to school?” You scoff, “Everyone’s gonna be so much younger than me-”

“What does that matter? It’s just a year, and you’ll have your masters degree! Yeah, it’ll be hard to do it with work but you can-”

“I don’t wanna go back!” You exclaim (maybe a little childishly), and cross your arms over your chest. Annoyance seeps into you and you try your best not to get irritated at Jungkook. You know there is truth in his words but you don’t want to hear it just yet.

You’re not ready to face school again. You’re not ready to be at the same place that you had found out Appa had passed away. You’re not ready. Or are you?

“Why not! You don’t need to go back right away, Hae-Ri said-”

“I know what she said,” You say sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose with your brows furrowed, “You don’t need to repeat to me what she said, Jungkook.”

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook says flatly.

You start to notice his eyes losing its usual warmth, reminding you of the days when he would look at you so coldly.

You shiver. He instinctively reaches for you and you let him hold you close for a minute.

But the words come tumbling out of you, your cheeks blazing and ears burning, before you can stop them.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” You mutter and he drops his hand from your waist as if he’s been burned.

Ice crawls through your veins, dousing you in something cold and unforgiving. You’re hurting him (again), and you can’t stop yourself. You can hardly stand yourself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jungkook whispers, looking a little lost and a little heartbroken.

“It means you wouldn’t understand being too unable to take care of yourself to go to school,” You say, eyes narrow and jaw steeled, “It means everything’s come easy to you, Jungkook- fucking school, this fucking job-”

“That’s not fucking fair,” Jungkook says with a frown, “You’re deflecting and you’re being mean-”

You laugh. Mirthlessly. The hollowness seeping into your eyes makes Jungkook’s skin crawl.

“That’s me, baby. All I’m good at is deflecting and being mean. You haven’t caught on yet?”

“Stop,” Jungkook says firmly, hurt seeping into his voice as he levels his watery gaze at you, “You’re pushing me away. Stop it, baby.”

“Am I wrong?” You sneer, pressing your nails into your biceps. It hurts. You’re hurting him, it’s hurting you and you can’t stop running your mouth. You can’t stop the acid on your tongue or the daggers in your eyes.

You’re reacting this way just from the mere mention of going back to school. Pathetic.

“You have an opportunity to move ahead and you’re being stubborn about it because you don’t want to go back to school? I’m sure there are a lot of fucking hard memories associated with grad school but don’t take that out on me for wanting better for you,” Jungkook says coldly. While his eyes are icy, you still see the shine of unshed tears in them.

“I’m not being stubborn-”

“From all of this, that’s your response? That you’re not being stubborn?” Jungkook struggles not to raise his voice at you, feeling his chest burn with hurt.

“What else do you want me to say, Jungkook?” You throw your hands up in frustration, “I can’t make you understand-”

“I’m not telling you to make me understand,” Jungkook says, “I’m telling you to consider your future and your capabilities, you’re the one who fucking complains about work all the time-”

“Oh, well, sorry that we can’t be everyone’s fucking golden boy at work-”

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, then don’t fucking complain-”

“Seriously? I can’t complain to my boyfriend now?”

“You’re missing the point, baby,” Jungkook sighs in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I can’t talk to you right now, not when you refuse to listen, and when you’re being spiteful.”

“W-what? What does that mean?” You say, nearly all of the fire extinguished from your belly at his words. He starts to put his jacket on, unable to look you in the eyes because if he does, he knows he’ll cry.

“W-wait, Jungkook,” You mumble, tugging his hand but he pulls it back as if you’ve burned him again, “Baby-”

“I can’t-” He squeezes his eyes shut, not noticing a few tears leak out. Your heart breaks in front of you- clearly you were too wrapped up in your own spiral of defense to realize how much your words were hurting him. “I don’t wanna be around you right now. Not if you’re gonna hurt me like this.”

“I’m-”

“I know you didn’t mean it, but you said it for a reason,” Jungkook says. His words make you tear up. “We can talk when you figure out why.”

“Jungkook,” You mumble, wanting to touch him but afraid he’ll reject you again, “Wait, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

He looks at you long and hard, heart cracking a little bit at the sight of your sad eyes. But you did this and you need to figure out why you were so defensive over going back to school. He deserves better than you lashing out at him for the mere mention of it. He knows it and you know it.

Jungkook wants to kiss your tears away, but he’s hurting, too.

You want to ask for a kiss, for a text when he gets home. But you don’t, and he’s almost out of the front door before he turns on his heel and brushes his lips over your hair.

You feel salty tears drop from your eyes with his touch as he leaves you with an unspoken ultimatum.

You end up texting Jungkook an hour after he left your house, just wanting to make sure he got home safely. It takes him ten minutes from when you sent the text for him to respond with a simple ‘yes’ and you’re too nervous to text him anything other than a simple ‘okay’.

You hold your head in your hands and groan to yourself, rubbing your temples.

How could you say the things you said to him so easily, without regard for how it might hurt him? Just because the topic of school always set you off- and it always has for the last five years and change. No matter how much time has gone by, how far you’ve come in therapy… there’s always something.

You bury yourself under your covers and sniffle, finally letting yourself cry. A hole starts to unzip inside your chest and all you want to do is bury yourself in it. Your words to him, to the man who always has treated you with nothing but kindness and smiles, ring heavy in your ears.

He’s too good for you. He’s too good for you- he’s too golden and good for you. You’ll only bring him down, won’t you? With all of this baggage that he didn’t sign up for. There was no reason for you to verbally spit in his face like that.

His cold, hurt eyes are haunting. You can’t believe you put that look on his face. You’ve been on the receiving end of it because of your own actions too many times now.

It makes your heart ache and it makes you cry harder into your pillow. You don’t know how long it is that you lay there, but at some point, Grandma crawls into your bed with you and holds your head in her lap. She rubs your back as you cry and sniffle your heart out.

By the time Grandma gently coaxes you to tell her what happened, your chest hurts and your eyes are puffy and rimmed red. She only sighs and lays with you in silence, until she sighs again in that way that you know she’s going to voice her opinion to you.

“He only wants you to have a future that you deserve, even if that means confronting things you don’t want to confront,” Grandma says wisely, “Even if you don’t want to hear it for him.”

“I know. Shit, I know. I hurt him, I hurt him bad,” You mumble, fresh tears pooling in your eyes at the thought of his big, brown eyes looking at you in that heartbroken way.

Another forlorn sigh. “You can fix it. Just talk to him, sweetheart.”

“I know. I will. I don’t think he wants to talk to me right now. I think I should have a therapy appointment first,” You groan, rubbing your eyes, “I don’t know why the thought of school sets me off so easily. And Kook is the last person… I hate that I hurt him.”

“I think you know why the thought of school sets you off,” Grandma says, giving you a knowing look.

It takes you a few days of self reflection (and actively not spiraling into the very tempting black hole of self loathing) to finally understand your reaction to Jungkook suggesting you go back to school.

It’s not like you haven’t had a similar explosive reaction before- Jin has always tiptoed about it with you. And Grandma has stopped bringing it up because you always shut down when the topic arises.

Perhaps now is a good time to examine why- after all, you’d only hurt your boyfriend’s feelings so much that he can barely stand to speak to you apparently. You both have been speaking normally, sharing chaste kisses when you can but you can tell he’s holding back a little, to give you both the space you need.

It’s only been a few days but you’re so sad without him. Knowing that you hurt him the way you did.

Jungkook feels like he overreacted a bit. He doesn’t want you to figure this out alone- he didn’t mean to just leave. But he couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t stand how… mean you were being. Mostly, he couldn’t stand how he knew you were doing it on purpose, to get him to drop the topic.

He hopes you can come to an understanding with yourself. But he wants you to lean on him when you need to as well.

So when you text him asking if you can come over later that evening, he immediately says yes.

You don’t text Jungkook when you arrive, only knocking at his door. He greets you with surprised eyes and pulls you inside immediately, pulling you into a tight hug right away.

He feels as if it’s been forever since he held you last.

“Hi, honey,” You mumble, feeling tired with longing, “These are for you.”

It’s a bouquet of some of his favorite flowers, his favorite purples and pinks in your hands and he wants to kiss you in gratitude, but he follows your lead.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Jungkook replies and takes your bag after putting the flowers in a vase and takes your hand, leading you to his bedroom. You feel a little nervous, afraid of how much you might have hurt him. Afraid of what he thinks of you now.

But he pulls you into his arms and cradles your face in his hands, the tips of his fingers melting into the warmth of your skin. Your eyes well up with tears for no reason and it stuns you that this man affects you to this degree. Maybe you should be a little more surprised, but you’re not. Not really.

“Hi, baby,” He says quietly and your heart seizes. Jungkook says your name again and pulls you into his chest for another longer hug and you hum into the warmth of his torso. Your hands are hesitant, yearning to touch his arms, his chest, his face. But you have a lot you want to say before any of that so you pull away reluctantly and sit on his bed.

“C’mon, let’s lay,” Jungkook murmurs, pushing his black and grey duvet and squeezing your hand. You feel a little lightheaded but you follow his lead, relaxing in his embrace as he cuddles you from behind. His chin is hooked over your shoulder, arms tight around your waist, lips brushing over your neck. You hold his tattooed forearm, mindlessly drawing lines and circles over his skin.

“I have to say something,” You finally mumble after a few minutes and turn in his arms to face him. His touch is never too far, always around you- always gravitating to you and making you feel warm and safe.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, eyes wider than you’ve possibly ever seen him. You can’t help but want to kiss him, but you hold back. Just until you say what you need to say.

His hands are soothing over your back as he encourages you. So you tell him- you tell him how your last therapy appointment went. You tell him how you’ve reacted this way to anyone who bothered to bring school up to you whether it’s Jin or Grandma. You tell him how the thought of graduate school instantly takes you back to the day you were in class and you received a phone call from the hospital telling you that your father had passed away.

You tell him how sometimes it feels like you’re living in a movie, a never-ending reel of the worst thing to happen in your near 30 years of life. But…

“It doesn’t feel so terrible these days,” You murmur, “It feels like an ache most times. But not as overwhelming as before… I think maybe I didn’t- I didn’t handle my grief in the best way. And it took me this long to realize it.

“You know, I started realizing it when I saw you that first day. In the office. When I was such a bitch to you-”

Jungkook stops the self-deprecating spill of your lips with a chaste kiss.

“You… you’ve changed me in a lot of ways, Jungkook. And I know we haven’t been together all that long,” You whisper, your voice choked and low, “I always want to be better for you, with you-”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as your throat closes up. This is hard for you, to bare your heart out like this. But if there’s anyone you want to be vulnerable for, it’s Jungkook.

“What I’m trying to say is… you’re right. I can’t keep living in the past when I have opportunities to be better and it’ll be hard work to dissect those feelings but… I want to do it. And I’m sorry for what I said, for taking all of that out on you. You didn’t deserve that-”

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook murmurs, surprising you, “For telling you that you shouldn’t complain. Of course you should complain. And I want to be the one you complain to. I’m sorry for just… leaving when you were clearly going through something.”

“Jungkook, no,” You shake your head and push his hair back, thumbs gentle over his cheeks, “If you need space from me or for anything… you never need to feel bad or guilty for that.”

“Okay,” He says almost shyly, “I know it must have been hard to talk about this. So, I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, but… I want to make this work with you more than I’m afraid of facing those memories and fears. And just in general, I mean, I just want to try to be better. And you’re worth it, Koo-”

He holds your face in his hands, eyes drawn to yours- stars meeting stars and you sink into his sheets at the calm, welcoming fire in his gaze. His lips are on yours before you can blink, swallowing any potential noise of protest that might come out of your mouth.

It’s only been a few days but you missed Jungkook, you missed his warm smile, the heat of his hands, the comfort of his broad shoulders and the way he fits against you. His nose is pressed to your neck, large hands instantly floating under your shirt to feel as much of you as he can.

“Koo,” You mumble, pushing lightly at his chest, “Are we okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. He tastes a bit like his mango chapstick (his current favorite). He leaves his lips near yours, pressing his cheek to yours as much as he can. You thread your fingers through his hair, dancing along his scalp and he sighs contentedly. “We’re okay and I’m okay. I wanna be here with you while we get through this together. Are you okay?”

You hum in agreement and wrap a leg around his waist, suddenly feeling very, very tired. His shirt is loose in your grip- he can tell how exhausted you are. Because he’s exhausted, too. Jungkook only holds you close under his covers and waits for your breaths to even out before falling asleep, too.

When August comes around, the final workshop for the big submission does, too. The last workshop will take place in Tokyo, which you’re excited about. Because you and Jungkook had decided to go to Tokyo to spend the weekend together. Meaning you’d be leaving on Friday evening to reach Tokyo around 9:30 PM.

You’d made sure Grandma would be okay, insisting that she call you or call Seokjin if anything happened. She scoffs at you but reassures you that she will. She says she’ll be spending most of her time with her close friends in the area, anyway.

You’ve only been dating Jungkook for four or five months now, and teetering on the edge of something more for maybe six months. You wonder if it feels too fast- the speed with which you open your bleeding heart up to him should scare you, but it doesn’t. It feels natural with him.

You’ve both voiced your concerns to each other- fear that you were moving fast and would tire of each other. Or that you were moving too fast to properly assess your feelings.

But both of you agreed that you both felt comfortable and trusted each other enough to speak up if you were uncomfortable. So traveling together for a weekend didn’t feel terribly out of your comfort zone.

You were excited to be with him completely alone, too. Without the stress of work or Taehyung or Grandma to hear you.

Jungkook thinks you both need time alone, too. To see how you’d work as a pair.

You’d taken it upon yourself to plan a few things around Tokyo for the weekend. You wanted to take him to a few places that Appa used to take you to. Maybe it was too much for a fresh relationship, but you want him to see the parts of you that grew up here, too.

You feel incredibly exposed, your heart and soul on display as you hold Jungkook’s hand in yours. Old memories of Appa and of this park spill from your lips fondly and Jungkook only listens with wide, sparkling eyes. Vulnerability drips from your tongue and he swallows it up eagerly.

A light breeze ruffles through his hair and you stop him mid-stride to stand by the lake. The clear water glimmers with the sun, blue and purple petals floating over the water slowly. You lean over the railing and Jungkook encases you with his arms on either side of you, his chest pressed to your back.

“We used to fly kites here,” You say wistfully, “Right over there-”

You point at the other side of the lake where trees shroud the corners with brightly colored leaves. “And always get food from the food carts right outside the park.

“And this is where I was that one time we were here for the workshop. I came here before that happy hour, too.”

Jungkook kisses your cheek and you lean back, letting your head rest over his shoulder as his arms snake around your waist. There’s nobody around, even though it’s relatively early in the morning. The only sounds that can be heard are your own breaths, and the softness of the birds chirping and the wind whistling.

“The happy hour when the night before I hurt your feelings,” You murmur, “I’m sorry I said everything I said to you. And I’m so sorry I was so… mean and bitter to you in the beginning. You didn’t deserve that.”

You turn in his arms, wanting to see him, and cup his cheek. Letting your thumb trace the mole below his lip and over his cheeks.

“I’m scared,” You confess, “I’m scared that I’ll ruin you and break your heart. Because I’m still in pieces sometimes. I like you so much but shouldn’t I seek love from someone else only after I learn to love myself?”

“I can love you as you learn,” Jungkook murmurs, kissing your forehead, “Self-love doesn’t mean you don’t have to accept love from others, baby.”

Another strong breeze tickles your face, caressing Jungkook almost tenderly. “Sometimes I like to pretend like winds like that are Appa and he’s saying hello,” You say sheepishly with a watery laugh, “I think he likes you.

“I’m scared, Jungkook. But I want to be scared with you,” You exhale, tears dotting your eyes and a small smile on your face.

Jungkook pulls you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and rubbing your back soothingly. “‘M gonna take care of your heart, princess. You’re always safe with me.”

You immediately burst into tears, because you trust him with your soft heart and you believe him. He only smiles at you, tears rolling down his own cheeks as he thumbs yours away. Jungkook kisses you softly, squeezing your cheeks together and you can taste the saltiness of your tears on your tongue. You deepen the kiss quickly, pouring all of your trust and respect for him onto your lips.

He drinks you up easily and bends his knees a bit to scoop you by your thighs and lift you up, even spinning you a bit as his lips stay pressed to yours. You pull away first with a dazed, watery giggle and push his hair away from his forehead to press a kiss there.

You feel weightless and airy in his arms, your hands steady on his shoulders as he spins with you.

You could love this man- you already love his wide, crinkly-eyed smile, the way the tips of his ears turn pink when you fluster him, the way he is so considerate and charming.

“Jungkook,” You mumble, pushing his hair back again, “Take me back to our hotel, baby.”

Jungkook can’t keep his hands off of you, not with the dim lights of the hotel lobby making your hair shine, not when you stand in front of him in the elevator and lean into him as his arm lazily wraps around your waist to pull you closer. His nose tickles your neck as he drops kisses to your cheek, smiling against your skin when you laugh lightly.

The elevator dings. You both stumble out, holding hands as if you’re love drunk on each other and it’s not 7:30 in the morning.

You push him against the door once you key yourself inside, impatient and hands wandering. A choked noise escapes his lips but it melts into a moan when you press into him.

Jungkook can’t keep his hands off of you, not with the way you breathe his name out as if it’s spicy honey on your tongue. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he holds you by your thighs, his hands digging into them. You’re secure in his arms- the fact that he can hold you up so steadily, so easily has you rolling your hips into his and moaning into his mouth unashamedly.

“Shit,” Jungkook groans into your ear, a little desperate, “I want you so bad, baby.”

You hum in agreement, lips pressed to the spot behind his ear. The spot that you had quickly discovered in your relationship that he liked. He stumbles for half a second before dropping you to the large bed and hovering over you.

Jungkook impatiently tugs at your blouse, trying his best to unbutton it as carefully as possible. He curses under his breath, shooting you a playful glare when you giggle at him. He unclasps your bra easily and once you shuck it off to the side, his mouth is warm and wet against your bare chest. Your giggles turn into soft sighs of his name.

Ever since he had realized how much you like the feeling of his mouth on your tits, he couldn’t get enough. You’re so sensitive, almost all the time, and this time is no different.

You always try to push him away but coax him back for more.

Your small hands are ghosting over his chest, glazing over the ridges and dips of his abs and of his pecs. You tug on his shirt and pull it up and over his head, tossing it to the side to join your own clothes. His fingers are heated as you lightly scratch over the trail of hair dipping into his shorts from his navel, but you only tease him and palm him through his clothes.

You’re so impatient. You unbutton his shorts clumsily and gently yank his boxers and his shorts down his thighs, always surprised that he’s almost completely hard already. But it doesn’t take much for him to get hard with you.

You spit into your hands and wrap a hand around his cock, lazily stroking him.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, breaths staggered at the sight of your freshly painted glossy lilac nails around his cock.

“Koo,” You mumble, “So big, Koo…”

Your face is warm as you meet his darkened, lust blown eyes. Jungkook catches the sliver of determination in your own eyes as you continue to stroke him- you’re determined to have him in your mouth.

The last few times you’ve tried haven’t gone so well- every time you’d tried taking him in your mouth, you’ve always coughed and gagged heavily to the point of your eyes watering and Jungkook felt bad and told you that you didn’t have to blow him.

“You don’t- oh, baby,” Jungkook groans, biting his bottom lip and struggling not to close his eyes when you take him past your lips. You try your best to control your breathing through your nose and alternate between teasing him with kitten licks and stroking him.

You look up at him from your spot on your knees and take him a little deeper, just like he taught you. Your eyes are already watering, vision starting to go blurry but you’re nothing if not determined. Your hands are loose around his strong, muscular thighs and you squeeze.

“Like that, princess,” Jungkook mumbles, watching you with half lidded eyes, trying to stop himself from fucking your mouth.

But maybe you want that.

“More tongue, baby,” Jungkook encourages, “Don’t forget to breathe through your nose.”

You hum around his cock, the sound inadvertently causing him to thrust into your mouth. But you squeeze his thighs in encouragement, wordlessly telling him that he can fuck your mouth if he wants to.

“Mmm, you feel so good,” Jungkook moans, hand cradling your cheek and wiping a stray tear, “Look so pretty like this…”

“You can take me, princess,” Jungkook murmurs, and you take a few more inches of him down your throat without gagging, “Good girl…”

Your belly flips at his praise and you’re eager for more to spill from his pretty, reddened lips. Jungkook curses, his voice low as his thighs tremble with each stroke of your hand and each pull of your mouth. He can’t get enough of you like this, you on your knees with wide, watery eyes just for him. Just for him.

His dream girl.

Jungkook abruptly pushes you away from his cock, saliva trailing from your lips with a pop! You look at him in confusion but he unbuttons your shorts quickly and tugs your panties away, hardly appreciating the new pretty purple panties you’d bought specifically for this trip. You hardly have an opportunity to pout about it, before he sharply kisses you, molding his hips to yours.

He swipes his hand over your pussy, getting a feel for your wetness. You’re so wet already, just from kissing him and from having his cock in your mouth.

Jungkook groans into your neck, biting your skin lightly and you gasp when he slides into your wet warmth easily. Wrapping your legs around his waist and reaching behind him to squeeze his ass, you kiss moans of his name into his heated skin.

“Koo,” You mumble raspily, breath hitching when he stills inside you, “I want you-”

“Gonna take care of you, my dream girl,” Jungkook says softly, cupping your face. Your heart stutters in your chest at the sincerity of his kiss, the stars in his eyes and the adoration in his touch.

Something sweet is at the tip of your tongue but you swallow it down, instead losing yourself in his touch along your hips, your tits, your thighs. Anywhere he can reach you.

Jungkook presses his forehead to yours and rocks into you, again and again and again.

“One more, princess,” Jungkook says hoarsely, thumbing away your stray tears, “Gimme one more-”

You whine but it quickly turns into a broken moan of his name when he gently rolls his hips into yours and rubs your clit with his thumb. Your eyes are glazed over but focused on him, a thin sheen of sweat coated over your soft skin.

“I can’t…” You mumble, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and turning your face to the side. But you both know that you can. Jungkook’s eyes dip to the place where you’re both connected in between your legs and marvels at your puffy pussy. You widen your legs further despite the slight soreness already settling in for him to get a better look. His fingers ghost over your pussy and you shiver at the oversensitivity that his mere touch brings.

“Yes, baby, you can,” Jungkook says softly, “Nice and slow, just like this.”

“O-okay,” You reply, tipping your chin up for a kiss. You feel like jelly, like you’re floating on a cloud, with Jungkook right by your side. When you finally do cum, with soft, sinful murmurs of his voice in your ear, it’s quiet and warm. Leaving you buzzing from head to toe.

You clench around him, the feeling of his cock inside you becoming almost too much to bear. But you don’t want him to pull out, just yet. After all, your baby hasn’t cum and you can feel how hard he is.

“Koo,” You murmur, threading your nails up and down his very defined back, “Baby, you feel so good, make me feel so good…”

You won’t lie, sometimes the dirty talk feels clumsy to you as it comes out of your mouth. You think Jungkook is better at it than you are, and you’ve told him that, too. He only denies it.

You pull him down closer to you, your breath fanning across his cheeks. You squeeze around him despite your own sensitivity and he groans out loud, eyes closed. Jungkook sits you up and brings you into his lap with his cock still inside of you, throbbing with the need to cum.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers gentle against his scalp. You lean forward and nip his earlobe, giggling when his hips stutter. Your mischievous touch dips down his chest, scratching at his navel.

Jungkook abruptly cums into the condom, possibly harder than he ever has, with your gentle, feathery touches and your soft murmurs in his ear. He moans your name and holds you close, arms tight around you and keeping you plastered against his chest as he rides his high out.

“Holy shit,” You breathe with a slow smile. Jungkook hums and lays you on your back, laying with you for a second before pulling out of you and discarding the condom on shaky legs. You’d make a comment about how cute his ass looks, but you’re too tired to. You get cozy under the covers, watching him flit around the room with sleepy eyes.

It’s hardly ten AM and you’re ready to go back to sleep.

You must have drifted off at some point, because Jungkook is wrapped around you, his head on your chest. He’d cleaned you up, too and you drowsily kiss his forehead before slipping back to sleep.

After all, the rest of the weekend is still yours. Work doesn’t begin in Tokyo until Monday.

tags: @koo-zy

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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narukoibito · 4 years ago

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Heyyyyy.... first of all, Im in LOVE with YOU your STORIES!! So.... Do you think harry and ginny fight often in there married life? If so, for what would it be? (a bit angst)

@hphphphp12345678fan Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoy them!

I don’t think they fight often in their married life, but I do think when they fight, it can really escalate.

Harry tends to bottle things up and keep things to himself. While Ginny can sense that and knock him out of it, there are times when it can cause problems. There’s also Harry’s obsessive streak (how he gets really wrapped up in things and loses sight of important things). Ginny has issues letting herself need him more. After Riddle, she became fiercely independent. And also, there’s a part of her that thinks Harry’s had enough of people wanting things from him and doesn’t want to be another person wanting things from him.

But I mean…I also headcanon that they make a lot of progress on these things before they get married. From there, stressful situations might arise that lead to old issues cropping up or friction. Being in love doesn’t mean marriage is a smooth happily ever after. There could be all sorts of things, stress from their careers, raising children, keeping the romance and love alive. Things that everyone has to do, even if they are Harry and Ginny.

Not sure that’s a satisfying answer, so I ended up writing a little something for you.

The door slammed behind Harry. The loud ricochet fed a vicious satisfaction that propelled him down the steps and further down the street. His feet moved without direction, driven by the frustration that throbbed through him.

Damnit, he didn’t want to fight about this! He didn’t have the time — didn’t she understand the gravity of that?

He wasn’t sure how, but slowly, slowly the buzz of furious thoughts started to shift and quiet as an underlying uneasiness began to build in its stead. He slowed and stopped, a yawning dread rose.

Shite. What had he done?

Panic seized him, cold hands of anxiety clawing through him. The rush of adrenaline has him trembling, his knees weak.

All Harry can see is Ginny in the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her chest, her eyes shining with hurt and disappointment.

Fuck. And he had just left. How could he have left?

He swiveled around, unseeingly, forcing his shaky legs to move because he had to go back, he had to fix this –

Air rushed out of his lungs, coming out in a plume of white, as he collides into something. Harry was so dazed and unsteady, he initially believed the flash of red hair was a trick of his mind, only the blurriness comes to focus and it was her. Of course it was her.

The relief was so blinding, his knees buckled and he damn near bowled her over.

Except Ginny was already pulling away, and he stupidly thought that she looked so beautiful with the cold nipping at her nose, her eyes narrow and flashing with unholy fury, before she shoved something into his chest. He automatically reached up, blinking at the cloak – his cloak – in his arms instead of her.

“You don’t get to do that, Harry. You don’t get to run away when you’re upset. You don’t fucking storm out on me!” Her voice steadily gained in volume, and she gave him another hard push for good measure.

“Ginny–”

“You don’t leave in the blasted coldest August ever with nothing but a stupid shirt so that on top of being furious with you, I have to worry that you’re freezing your bollocks off! You don’t get to do that, Harry!”

She turned, seemingly intent on leaving him standing there in a stupor, but he caught her wrist and spun her back, enveloping her in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted, slightly panicked but sincere. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m so sorry.”

Ginny tensed and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

Please don’t leave me.

But instead she ducked her head into his chest, her hands tightening around his back.

“Prat,” came her muffled voice.

“Yes, I’m a prat,” he readily agreed.

“But you’re my prat,” she said, as if knowing what was going on in his head. “Officially. For better or worse.”

He let her words sink in. Not trusting his voice, he gave a small nod. They held each other for a moment longer, Harry savoring her warmth. Slowly, she leaned back to search his face.

“I really am sorry. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” Let a case consume him. “I’ll get better.”

He has to.

“And I shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m sorry too. Your work is important, and it’s only a game—”

“It’s not just a game—”

She shook her head. “I just…” Her gaze flickered down.

Ginny was pulling back, but he gave her an encouraging squeeze.

“I love all your games. I love watching you fly.” He attended most of them, whenever he could, but there had been games he simply hadn’t been able to attend. He would be wracked with guilt, but usually she didn’t mind unless — God, he really was a prat. “This one must be important.”

“It’s silly.”

“Clearly it isn’t,” he said softly, and she slowly met his gaze.

“I was excited.” A flush began to creep up her cheeks, and not because of the cold. “For you to be there when I fly out now that my jersey…”

It struck him hard.

“Potter,” Harry said, voice hoarse, that once long unnamed feeling surging up and overflowing inside him. They’d married during the off-season, so while everyone knows, she still hadn’t had an official game — he hadn’t seen her whip around the stands with his name blazed on her back.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, her eyes softening. “I was hoping you’d look like that.”

Harry wondered how besotted he looked. He leaned in and kissed her, pouring into her everything he could never say, all the love that he woke up with, amazed that this — she was his life now.

“I’ll be there,” he whispered against her lips when they finally part for air, his words swirling around them in a warm cloud of white.

“There will be more games.”

He shook his head, his grip tightening around her. “This one is special.”

“Yeah.” She raised on up on her toes and pressed another warm kiss against his lips. “First fight over?”

“First?”

“As a married couple,” she clarified, her lips quirking up.

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly, the word married still filling him with wonder. “Yes, it’s over.”

“Okay. Come on, put your cloak on.” Ginny took his cold hand in her warm one and led him home.

#hphphphp12345678fan #ask me anything #hinny #Harry/Ginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #married #fighting #i wrote a thing #all couples fight from time to time

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

Text

Protection - Chapter 1

Summary: Mia Makaruku meets her new neighbor, but he isn’t at all what she expected him to be.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

My muscles scream bloody murder, as I trudge through the hallways. Did coach Riley have to be so gruesome today? Goodness me, I don’t even know if I’m gonna make it back to my car. However, when I see the coach standing further down the hall, I quickly straighten my back and ignore the slight dulling pain I feel in my ankle and the rest of my leg muscles. ‘Mia,’ coach Riley says in a stern tone as I come closer to her.

Oh no, I think to myself. I did something terribly wrong. If she uses that tone after the first training of the week, it can only mean I’m in severe trouble. ‘Yes coach?’ I hesitantly ask.

Coach Riley’s looks indicate she is strict. Her blonde hairs are pulled back in a tight knot, a pair of glasses with a thick black frame rests on her nose and the eyeliner that hardens her eyes. While the indication is absolutely one hundred percent correct, you eventually find out she is a sweetheart deep underneath that hard exterior.

When I first arrived in Chicago five years ago, I had no idea what Thanksgiving entailed and I was ready to spend it alone in my apartment. She invited—correction: forced—me to spend time with her family, because she did not want me to sit alone in my apartment on Thanksgiving.

With my last foster family being everything but a great success, it felt good to be welcomed with open arms into a family. I’ve had my fair share of families and while they were all sweet, the last one was a total nightmare. Being slightly traumatized by the experience, it was good to be hugged by a grandma I had never seen before.

Hugs from grandma’s do wonders.

‘You did good today,’ coach says.

Great, now I know for sure I have severely fucked up. If coach Riley starts with a compliment, she is going to break some pretty bad news within a few seconds. I have trained with her for a little over five years. I know her and her odd and slightly crude way of communicating.

‘Okay?’ I say, waiting for the bomb to drop.

‘However, I want you to take it easy, so next training you’re going to train with Tristan on the side of the field.’

‘Come on, coach,’ I whine. ‘Why?’

‘Upcoming Saturday it’s the second to last game of the year. I need you top fit then.’

‘But I am top fit. Honestly!’

Coach Riley isn’t impressed, but to be honest: when is she ever? If this woman has made a decision, she’ll simply power through, no discussion possible. ‘You take it easy during tomorrows training and you listen carefully to Tristan. I noticed a limp on the field just now.’

‘There wasn’t a limp,’ I say. ‘I swear, it’s nothing to worry ab— Okay, I’ll take it easy tomorrow,’ I quickly say when I see her cocked eyebrow that does not bode well.

She finally smiles. ‘Good. Now scocch, I don’t want to look at your face any longer.’

Just when you think she is finally a little bit approachable and kind, she thankfully does this, because her smile was nearly creeping me out. I can’t stop my chuckle. ‘See you tomorrow, coach,’ I say, holding up my hand as I continue to walk through the hallways.

The closer I get to the exit, the colder it becomes. When I’m training, I somehow forget about the ice cold temperatures. However, when I’m not training, which is the majority of the day, I remember we are nearing the winterbreak and that handling these types of temperatures, is not one of my strengths.

I tense up when I step outside and if my ankle wasn’t slightly bothering me, I’d run to my car. When I reached the vehicle, I quickly step in and start to heat it up. My car, unfortunately, isn’t the most advanced and it takes quite some time before it’s even remotely warm. I shiver in the drivers seat. My phone peeps in my pocket and I pull it out, to check the notification that popped up on my screen.

Reminder to yourself: YOU NEED TO DO SOME GROCERIES. GET YOUR FAT ASS CAT SOMETHING TO EAT.

No, no, no, I forgot. I totally forgot. I curse morning-me for sleeping in today. If I had just done groceries this morning before practice, I could’ve go home now. Why was I lazy and chose an extra hour of sleep over doing something actually productive?

I drive off the parking lot, wave to some of my teammates and go to the nearest grocery store. If I have a clear idea of what I want before I go into the store, I can actually manage to do this pretty swiftly and then go home, so I can curl up on the couch to watch yet another cheesy Christmas movie. I desperately need to buy some food for my cat, some eggs and chocolate and… Do I need more?

This is why one makes shopping lists.

‘You idiot,’ I mumble to myself, as I park the car in front of the store. I get out and walk to the entrance. While I’m strolling through the aisles, to at least get the eggs, cat food and chocolate I do know I need, I hear some girls giggling behind me.

I look over my shoulder to my right and see two young girls standing at the produce section. When they look away, I see a glimpse of their red cheeks and notice they are both wearing Chicago Red Star jerseys. I can’t—and won’t—stop my smile. ‘Hi,’ I say to them, causing them to carefully wave at me.

They shyly wave back. ‘Are you Mia Makaruku?’ one girl asks when she finally found the courage to do so.

I nod. ‘The one and only.’

They look at each other and exchange some excited looks. ‘Can we get a picture?’

This has been my favorite part of the job so far. I mean, sure, I love soccer with all my life, however seeing girls this age cheering me on during the competitions and hearing about how they watch clips of me, so they can learn from my techniques, makes me realize I love that even more. They call me their role model and with the status I have, I can actually be one for them. It’s a job I should take seriously and I do.

When kids tell me they are going to try and watch the European Championship for Women’s Soccer, because I am on the Dutch National Team, I try even harder to be the best player of the competition and be a model for them to look up to. Be someone for them I wished I had when I was younger.

I nod again at the girls. ‘Of course. I love your shirts. Tell me: whose name do you have on the back?’

They start to laugh and turn around, showing the backs of their shirts. ‘Yours of course!’

◎ ◎ ◎

Life hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows for me. I just barely think about it nowadays, since it only leaves me with more questions than answers and I’d rather not wander in the dark like that. It’s weird to think about the things I do remember and don’t.

I do remember the second we skidded off the road. I don’t remember I had a mother or father or three brothers with me in the car. I do remember eventually taking the officer’s hand and despite repeating my name like mantra, kept asking him if he had heard my name correctly. I don’t remember any bodies on the scene, because there weren’t any and I also don’t know how their bodies disappeared.

It’s hard sometimes, knowing there is a memory inside my head that I simply can’t reach, but also not knowing what I’m missing in life. Did my parents love me? Did I have a good bond with my brothers? Was there a specific reason I wasn’t in the system? Why weren’t there other people with the same last name in the Netherlands who recognized me?

I moved from foster family to foster family, while trying to regain my memories by visiting multiple specialists. I went to a lot of places. To England, Ireland, France and Luxembourg, but no one could help me out. At the age of twelve, they simply stopped trying, because it was no use anyways and there was one family back in the Netherlands who insisted on me staying in one place for a change.

Thankfully they did, however I only stayed with them for four years, before I moved to my final family, that was a hell to put it mildly.

Finally, for the first time in yearsI wasn’t going from one specialist to another and there was one place where I was always—despite the family—welcome: my soccer team. In all those years of me visiting specialists, there was always one thing I looked for: a ball to kick around. Soccer was my love, my passion and the only thing I started to care about.

And now I have managed to not only make a name for myself in the USA, but also worldwide. When I was nineteen, I debuted in the Dutch National Team during the European Championship and my performance there was what caught the attention of the Chicago Red Stars. I could leave the small SC Heerenveen in the Netherlands behind and go to the USA. I had seen the American National Team. They were exceptionally good and now I got to play alongside some of them.

My first World Championship was when I was twenty one and the Dutch team was in the finals against the USA. Despite my two goals, the USA was too good and beat us with 4-2. Sure, I was disappointed, but still I was very pleased with the fact that the Netherlands became second and it was such a highlight in my seemingly short professional soccer career thus far.

I managed to overcome all these things and still be the person I am today. Since I can’t remember my past, I made it my mission in life to make the most of my future.

Don’t ask me how, but I managed to come back from the store with three full bags. Apparently, if you wander through the aisles long enough, you’ll find tons of excuses to buy crap you didn’t even need in the first place.

I’m finally back at my apartment building and the automatic doors slide open as I reach them. I walk towards the reception and I say with a smile: ‘Hello Harold, how are you today?'

Harold, the clerk behind the reception who is nearing his pension, greets me with his signature smile and I see the two familiar dimples form in his cheeks. ‘Hello, miss Mia, I’m doing splendid this Monday. How was your training today?’

I simply shrug. ‘It was okay, but I have to take it easy now.’ I can’t help but to roll my eyes. ‘According to my coach, I was “slightly limping” and she needs me top fit this Saturday.’

He scrunches up his nose. ‘But my dear, I think you are incapable of taking things easy. Isn’t your coach aware of that?’

I can’t help but laugh. I always like to talk to Harold, it’s so easy to strike up a conversation with him. ‘I think she just wants to bully me. Is there by the way any mail for me?’

‘There certainly is. Three envelopes for you. Almost makes you seem like a very important lady.’ He sends me a playful wink. ‘Oh, before I forget: I told you about the apartment next to you being sold, right?’

I nod. ‘Does this mean Mystery Person is finally moving in?’ I ask.

Harold nods. ‘He moved in today.’

‘Ah, it’s a man. Is he hot?’

He shrugs. ‘He is pretty stuffy and a bit authoritarian looking. I was hoping for someone as radiant as you. I think we need more people like you around here, not a copy of miss Thornhill.’

I throw my long brown hair over my shoulder. ‘Well, what can I say?’ I chuckle. ‘Not everyone is a ray of sunshine like yours truly. Is there mail for him as well? I can bring it to him.’

‘An envelope did arrive, indeed. I don’t think he will go down here to pick it up. We barely made eye contact today. I hardly even know if he is aware there is a reception, let alone that I’m the clerk.’ He hands me the other yellow envelope and says: ‘Are you sure you want to do this, miss?’

‘Absolutely positive. It might be nice to get to know my next door neighbor. Let’s hope he is not a gigolo. I really can’t use sleepless nights anymore. I have two important games coming up, I need my rest.’

‘Mister Toriello was quite the man,’ Harold laughs. ‘Thank you, my dear, for doing this.’

‘No problem, Harold. See you later!’ I walk to the elevator and hold my card in front of the scanner. The doors slide open and when I get in, I press button number nine. I look at the name on the envelope. It’s actually addressed with a sticker, no handwriting, which I find so impersonal.

A. Walker

A. Walker is probably the most generic name I’ve ever heard. This man could be anybody. Would he be bald, have a beer belly and burps all the time or would he be young, attractive and actually a chance for me to leave my forever alone status behind?

While that would be nice, Harold did say that the man was quite stuffy and authoritarian looking.

As someone with barely any date experience (none at all, actually), I’d say stuffy and authoritarian looking isn’t really my type, but never say never right?

The doors open and I step out on my own floor. I walk through the broad hallways and stop in front of apartment number 943. From behind the door, I can hear someone dragging furniture around the apartment and an occasional male grunt. I knock on the door and just hope that he can hear me. I don’t want to start banging on the door like an idiot.

Thankfully, he did hear me, because footsteps approach the door and when it swings open, my eyes widen.

The man standing in the doorway, does not match the generic sounding A. Walker name at all. He is tall, with broad shoulders and the shortsleeved shirt he is wearing, totally accentuates his muscled biceps. I mean, the body is a total A+ (I don’t think I have ever seen someone this buff, while still being proportionate), his face on the other hand… I mean, he does have a beautifully sculpted face and it looks rather perfect, don’t get me wrong, but he looks so angry with that deep frown between his brows and the mustache isn’t really my thing either. Kinda ruins his entire face, if I’m being honest. ‘Who are you?’ he asks, his voice monotone and already bored.

That is not a good start.

‘I’m Mia,’ I introduce myself with a smile, because smiles make people comfortable and this man does not look comfortable. ‘I live next door, in apartment 944. I brought you your mail.’ I extend my arm, so I can hand him the yellow envelope. ‘Thought it would be nice, since we’re neighbors after all.’

He rips the envelope out of my hand and is actually inspecting the seal on it. I am deeply offended. Why on earth would he think that low of me? As if I would snoop through other people’s mail.

After his thorough inspection, he looks at me again. His eyes take me in and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. The shirt has a slight v neck and is that a tiny bit of chest hair I detect?

I’m almost expecting something condescending leaving his lips (he seems like the type), but A. Walker doesn’t say a word. He simply stares at me and now I kinda regret bringing his mail with me.

He looks and acts like an utter asshole.

‘What’s your name?’ I carefully ask him. Despite him looking like an absolute dick, I do think this is a man you might want to have on your good side. After all, he is my neighbor, I don’t want him to hate me, especially since from the looks of it this man can break me in half with just his pinky, which is intimidating on its own.

‘August Walker,’ he says, tilting his head, as he seems to scan my entire face. ‘Aren’t you that soccer player?’

Before I can even stop it, a smile breaks out on my face. I always like it when people acknowledge the fact that I’m a soccer player. I worked really hard to get where I am now and when people recognize me as that soccer player, it makes me happy. ‘I am,’ I say with an even brighter smile.

Maybe he isn’t so bad after all…

‘I hate women’s soccer.’

I’m dumbfounded. Why on earth does he have to be so rude? What on earth did I do to him to deserve this? What a fucking dickhead. I can’t believe I was actually trying to make a good impression on him. Maybe I don’t want him to be on my good side. Maybe I sort of miss mister Toriello now, with his late night adventures with very noisy female customers. At least he was nice enough to bring me cookies every now and then, to apologize for the noise.

I highly doubt August Walker knows how to bake cookies, let alone buy some of them to apologize for the inconvenience, whatever that may be.

‘Why?’ I ask, as my expression falters.

‘It’s stupid,’ he simply states. To make it even worse, he adds a shrug, as if it’s a well known fact and not just some stupid opinion. ‘Not as advanced as male soccer.’

I frown, as I try to cover up the fact I’m deeply hurt. ‘Well, that’s okay. To each their own,’ I say to him. ‘If we are being frank here: I think your mustache is pretty stupid.’

He simply raises his eyebrows, while his eyes still look bored and annoyed. ‘You do?’ he asks me. ‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know. It makes you look like a pedophile, really. Have a good day, mister Walker.’ I walk towards my own door and barge inside.

Who gave mister August Walker the right to be this rude to me, someone who he barely knows? What a piece of shit.

My big orange cat Bobo walks up to me and he starts to meow, pulling me out of my racing thoughts.

The hairy companion makes me instantly forget about my new neighbor. ‘Hi, Bobo,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘I missed you too, little fella.’ I place the bags on the floor, before I lift him up, to press tons of kisses on his head. He purrs in my ear. ‘I bought you some food, so that means you can finally stop putting your head in my bowl and be a decent cat from now on.’

‘Meow.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x soccer player #henry cavill x mia makaruku #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #august walker x ofc #august walker #august walker x asian ofc #august walker x oc #august walker x mia makaruku #mia makaruku #asian ofc

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justlookfrightened · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday surprises

For the prompt: Jack secretly loves surprise parties

“So how did you celebrate Canada Day when you were growing up?’ Bitty asked, carrying the pie to the table. “Was it like the Fourth of July, with parades and fireworks and red and white bunting everywhere?”

“Sort of,” Jack said. “It wasn’t such a big deal in Montreal, because, y’know, Quebec. A few years ago they made it moving day in Quebec just to screw with the government in Montreal.”

“Moving day?” Bitty asked. “Wait just a second.”

He turned to the counter behind him and picked up a small Candian flag, which he stuck in the middle of the pie.

“Happy Canada Day!”

“Euh, thanks,” Jack said. “Moving day is when everyone’s leases end and their new leases start. So thousands of people are moving on Canada Day. There were always fireworks over the harbor, though. Sometimes we’d go see them if we were in town.”

“Well, then, happy moving day,” Bitty said. “So not much like Madison on the Fourth of July?”

“Bits, nothing is like Madison on the Fourth of July,” Jack said.

“I’m sure the fireworks aren’t as good --”

“I have very fond memories of the fireworks in Madison,” Jack said. “Best fireworks of my life. Are you okay staying here for the Fourth this year?”

Bitty shrugged.

“I guess so,” he said. “The shop’s just getting on its feet, and I can’t really take much time off yet, and that would mean flying down on the morning of the fourth and back the next day. And Mama and Coach said they’d come up to see us for a weekend before school starts down there. We can still go to the fireworks and all here on the Fourth, right?”

“Your parents are coming up?” Jack asked. “Do you know when?”

“Beginning of August,” Bitty said. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure their visit doesn’t conflict with your big birthday celebration.”

“My … what?”

“Your birthday?” Bitty said. “You’re turning 30 a little over a month from today. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“No, but a big celebration?”

“Oh, no, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “I meant ‘big birthday,’ like turning 30 is a big deal. Not a big celebration for your birthday. I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Jack said, looking down at his pie. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Unless you want my parents here for your birthday?” Bitty said. “I was thinking your parents might come, but … I’m sure my folks would be happy to.”

“No,” Jack said. “No, that’s fine.”

****

“I’m so glad you and Bits decided to do this,” Shitty said, taking another drag on his joint. “You guys aren’t usually around on the Fourth, but the rest of this summer looks crazy for me, and then you have the season coming up. I wouldn’t want it to be too long between visits.”

“Crazy this summer?” Jack said. “What’s up?”

“Work stuff,” Shitty said. “It looks like we’re going to trial against that chemical plant at the end of August, and it’s gonna be like seven days a week getting ready. I already told Lards to prepare for work-widowhood.”

“Yeah?” Jack said. “How’d she take that?”

“I’m not sure,” Shitty said. “You think I’m crazy enough to say shit like that when she’s awake?”

“Haha.”

“No, seriously, she’s leaving next week for a six-week residency at some artist colony in the Berkshires, and then she’s got a show to mount for the gallery at the end of August. I’m not sure she’ll even notice.”

“Come on, Shits,” Jack said. “You know she will.”

“I know,” Shitty said. “It’s just fucking hard sometimes, you know? I mean, it seemed like all the lawyers I knew when I was a kid had lunch and played golf all day. Plenty of time for fucking around. Too late I learned it doesn’t work that way in the public interest sector. And who knew being a successful artist was so time-consuming? How do you and Bits make it work?”

Jack shrugged. It was difficult, with his life consumed by hockey and Bitty’s time taken up more and more by a successful career in -- baking media? Jack wasn’t even sure what to call it, since Bits wasn’t just a baker, just a cookbook author, just an Internet and TV personality. He somehow did all of that, and just this summer had lent his name, personality, and talent to a new shop that sold both baked goods and baking equipment (toys for bakers, Bitty called them) in Providence.

“Remember Bits’ birthday in May?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Shitty said. “The big two-five. Remember how you wanted to throw him a surprise party? That was never gonna happen. Like that boy would ever let anyone else control the menu.”

“I guess you're right,” Jack said. “But I like surprising him. Remember Betsy II?”

“That was sweet,” Shitty said. “And the proposal at Faber, too, you romantic son of a gun.”

“Who told him about the surprise party in May?”

“Uh --”

“Was it you?”

“No.”

“Was it Lardo?”

“Um, she maybe told him not to make plans for that day? Because he was telling her he wanted to plan an overnight getaway because it was the only time it would work with your schedule?” Shitty said. “He took it from there. My understanding is that you caved under questioning.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess I did.”

“But don’t worry, brah,” Shitty said. “If I heard about a plan for a surprise party for you, I would totally warn you. I know you’re not into that.”

“Euh, okay?” Jack said. “But --”

“I got your back, brah,” Shitty said, giving Jack an exaggerated wink and nod just as Bitty and Lardo pushed open the sliding door and carried trays of drinks and snacks to the terrace.

“So what did we miss?” Bitty said. “Fireworks haven’t started yet, have they?”

“Nope,” Shitty said. “You’re just in time.”

****

“Jack?” Bitty asked, looking up from his laptop. “Do you know where you want to go for your birthday dinner?”

“Birthday dinner?” Jack said. “We’re not having it here?”

“Well, since I know you don’t like parties, and thirty is kind of a big deal, I thought maybe we should go out.”

“Who said I don’t like parties?” Jack said, pausing the tape of the last game of the Stanley Cup final.

“Please, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I used to have to beg to get you to show your face at a kegster, and your mama’s told the story about you hiding under the bed to get out of going to that banquet more than a dozen times.”

“I was six,” Jack said.

“I know, sugar, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Bitty said. Then his eyes dropped to Jack’s chest, and lower, and Jack suddenly felt warm. “Except in the obvious ways. I was thinking Hemenway’s for seafood or maybe Waterman Grille or Al Forno with your parents. But it might make more sense to go the night before. Hemenway’s at least is closed on Mondays. Then on the night of your actual birthday, we can eat at home. Steaks on the grill, maybe? Do you want to invite your parents for that, too, or have it be just the two of us?”

Jack wanted to protest that he could want a party even if he didn’t want the debauchery of a kegster, and he shouldn’t be judged by his six-year-old self not wanting to go to a stuffy banquet (even if he still didn’t like stuffy banquets). But the moment seemed to have passed, and really, what Bitty was planning was fine.

Maybe he would get a surprise party for his fortieth, when he wasn’t playing and his friends’ careers were more stable and everyone had more time.

“Any of them are good, but Papa really likes Al Forno,” Jack said. “And I guess they can come on Monday for dinner, as long as they leave early.”

“Now, Jack, that’s not very hospitable of you,” Bitty said with a smirk. “I almost think you have plans. Maybe once I finish making this reservation you can give me a preview.”

He pecked at the keyboard for a few more moments and then closed the laptop.

“Ready when you are, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack clicked off the TV and followed Bitty to the bedroom.

****

“Maman?”

Jack had put off this call until Bitty left for the market.

It wasn’t like his husband was a busybody or nosy. It was just that, what with Jack’s schedule, and the wedding, and Bitty’s career, they were still in the condo Jack bought for himself in Providence when he signed. It wasn’t really small -- it probably had almost as much square footage as the Haus, and only two of them living there -- but it was mostly open-plan and Bitty would know if Jack was hiding in the office to call his parents. Which he was supposed to have done two weeks ago.

“Jacky!” his mother said. “It’s been ages. I saw those pictures you posted from your beach excursion last weekend. It looked like the two of you had fun. But I didn’t know you got a dog.”

“We didn’t?”

“But Bitty --”

“Was playing with a dog in a lot of the pictures?” Jack said.

The dog had run up to their picnic blanket when they moved off the beach proper, into the shady park, for lunch. Jack wasn’t sure exactly what kind it was. It was black and brown, like he thought of a German shepherd being, but much smaller, with long, skinny legs, a pointy nose and floppy ears.

Bitty had immediately started cooing over and petting the creature, despite Jack pointing out that they didn’t know who it belonged to, if it belonged to anyone, where it had been, if it was friendly.

“You don’t know if this dog is friendly?” Bitty had been incredulous. It was pretty ridiculous, given that the dog was more or less washing Bitty’s face with its tongue while Bitty giggled. “And she has a collar. And a tag. Stand still, girl.”

Bitty had still been trying to read the tag, and Jack was still taking pictures, when a teenage girl ran up, a leash in her hand.

“There you are, Eleanor! I’m so sorry! She just jumped out of the car and took off as soon as I opened the door. Eleanor, come!”

“No worries,” Bitty had said, holding the dog while her person clipped the leash to her collar. “We’re always happy to visit with a friendly puppy.”

Jack had been thinking about adopting a dog ever since, if only to see Bitty giggle so much. A dog that could go on runs with him, and keep Bitty company when Jack had to be gone … it might be a good idea. But it wasn’t something to surprise Bitty with. If they adopted a dog, it had to be a joint decision.

“That was just a dog that got loose and came to visit,” Jack said. “Although now that you mention it, I wonder if Bitty might like to have a dog around. I’ll have to ask him.”

“Judging from those pictures, I’m pretty certain he’ll approve,” Alicia said. “Now, did you need to talk about something?”

“Euh, the plans for my birthday?” Jack said. “Bitty wants to take you and Papa to Al Forno on the second, and then cook dinner here on the third.”

“Bitty wants to?” Alicia said. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure why we need to do both,” Jack admitted. “Either would be fine with me. But he seemed set on going out to celebrate because it’s my thirtieth, and a lot of restaurants are closed on Monday. And he was equally set on celebrating on the day of. But he has to work early the next day, so it’ll be an early dinner.”

“You never did like a lot of fuss,” his mother said, not calling him on what he thought was an obvious … not untruth, exactly, Maybe more of a manipulation? “Grumpypants. Of course your father and I will be there for both.”

“I don’t mind fuss,” Jack said.

“Jack, mon coeur, when have you enjoyed people getting together to focus on you?”

“They had a birthday dinner for me at the Haus,” Jack said. “Before my senior year. Bitty made a pie and everything.”

“Were you part of the planning for this dinner?” Alicia said. “Did you even know about it?”

“It just sort of … happened,” Jack said. “But it was nice.”

“Jack, dear, was that the first time Bitty made a pie especially for you?” his mother asked. “Forgive me, but that might have more to do with your fond memories.”

****

“Jack, what kind of pie do you want for your birthday?”

Bitty was sauntering between the farmer’s market booths while Jack trailed along, watching Bitty more than looking at the produce.

“Pie?” Jack asked. “Don’t most people get cake for their birthdays?”

“Do you even know me?” Bitty asked, then turned to examine at a table full of cherries.

Jack accompanied Bitty to the farmer’s market almost every Saturday in the summer. It was an errand, sure, but some weeks it was also the closest they got to a date.

Bitty would probably scoff at that. What did they need with dates, now they were an old married couple? Neither of their schedules permitted a regular date night most of the time, anyway. But in the summer, at least, they had Saturday mornings at the market.

“If you know me, you know what kind of pie I want,” Jack said.

“Maple-crusted apple,” Bitty confirmed, then shook his head sadly. “Have you seen these cherries, Jack? Or the blueberries? There will even be decent peaches up here by the beginning of August. Apples won’t be in season for another six weeks or so.”

It was a familiar argument with no heat in it.

Jack shrugged.

“I like what I like,” he said. “And there are always apples available. You know you’ll make it for me. And something else for whoever wants it.”

“See, you do know me,” Bitty said. He stopped in front of the booth with honey soap but paid it no mind. “Jack, are we becoming old and boring?”

“We always were old and boring,” Jack said. “From the beginning of time.”

“First, speak for yourself, old man,” Bitty said. “Second, I’m not sure whether that was a chirp or flirting. Don’t you know you had me at ‘Eat more protein’?”

“That’s not what you said then.”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “I mean, you don’t have to have the same thing for your birthday every year. Branch out a bit. Maybe a pear tart?”

“I wanted to do something different for your birthday, but then everyone went and told you,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I would have gone along with it and pretended it was a surprise, but I had to get out of other plans somehow. And people did want to eat. Good food.”

“By which you mean your food,” Jack said.

“I like to think I have a reputation to uphold,” Bitty said, stopping to examine some melons. “Truthfully, I kind of wish I hadn’t found out. You give good surprises.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, you moose. You know I would have married you after you bought me Betsy II,” Bitty said. “Too bad parties aren’t your thing. Could you imagine a party with all your mom’s A-list friends and your hockey uncles, plus your team and Kent and all? It would be the talk of Providence.”

Jack shuddered.

“Definitely not my thing,” he said.

“I know, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “Besides, celebrating on our own has its advantages. Catch.”

He tossed Jack an eggplant with a smirk

Jack groaned. “Really, Bits?”

“Sorry,” Bitty said. “That was bad. I have what I need. Ready to head home?”

****

Jack was set up and sitting at his computer, half-listening to Bitty going on about whether his deadlines for the next cookbook were remotely reasonable, when the call from Tater came through.

“Zimmboni!” The image of Tater on the screen waved. “Hey, Tater,” Jack said.

“Is that little B?”

Tater’s face moved, like he was trying to see around Jack.

“Yeah, Bitty’s here,” Jack said, waving a hand to get his husband’s attention. “You want to say hi?”

Bitty leaned over his shoulder.

“Hey, Tater! You look good. How’s the family?” he asked.

“Everyone is good,” Tater said. “My mother and my sister Tatiana want to visit this year, so they can meet the baker I’m always talking about.”

“I’d be honored and delighted,” Bitty said. “Don’t forget those recipes you wanted me to try, alright? We can work on them together. You translate and I bake.”

“You speak better Russian you think!” Tater said.

“That’s what you think,” Bitty said. “I have to go to the shop. ПοКа!”

“Bye, Bits,” Jack said. “So, Tater, how’s the conditioning? You keeping up with it?”

“Of course,” Tater said. “Russian training every day.”

“And Russian home cooking every night?”

“Of course,” Tater agreed, grinning.

“How’s everything else?” Jack said. “When are you heading back?”

“Not long now,” Tater said. “No plane ticket yet, but early August, probably. We have dinner then, yes? To celebrate you becoming an old man.”

“Uh, we can have dinner,” Jack said. “But it doesn’t have to be for my birthday. Just to celebrate getting ready for a new season is enough.”

“Why don’t you celebrate?” Tater said. “I hear from Marty, Snowy, Thirdy, all the guys, that Jack is having a big birthday and didn’t invite them to the party. I say, ‘You know Jack. He probably isn’t even having a party.’ And they say, ‘You’re right, Tater. Jack hates parties.’”

“I don’t hate parties,” Jack said.

“You were not at Marty’s daughter’s party,” Tater countered.

“That was a kid birthday,” Jack said. “And Bitty had to go to New York for work that day, so I went with him.”

“Right,” Tater said. “But Bitty would be here for your party.”

“I’m not having a party,” Jack said.

“But you could if you want,” Tater said. “So you don’t want. So why do you hate parties?”

Jack ignored the question in favor of saying, “Just let me know when you're coming in, and I’ll pick you up at the airport if you want,” Jack said. “As long as you shut up about the party.”

“What party?”

****

Jack put on the new blue suit that Maman and Bitty had agreed (insisted, more like) that he should buy. He hesitated over the tie: stripes? paisley? miniature hockey sticks that Papa would find amusing?

No. If he couldn’t be sentimental on his birthday, when could he be? He picked up his pale blue tie, the one Bits told him brought out his eyes on his graduation day, and slid it around his neck.

Bitty was already ready, he knew, in a charcoal grey suit that he got from Jack’s tailor. Getting to see Bitty all dressed up almost made it worth it to Jack to put on a suit on a Sunday in the summer. Well, that and the look that Bitty gave Jack when he emerged from the bedroom.

“You always did clean up nice,” Bitty said. He picked up two boxes of baked goods -- a pie in one, and a couple of kinds of cookies in the other.

“You’re taking food to a restaurant?”

“No, of course not,” Bitty said. “The cookies are for Lauren downstairs. She has a shower to go to and she wanted to bring something. They’re shaped like … you know.”

“Babies?”

“No, a bridal shower,” Bitty said. “A lingerie shower.”

At Jack’s blank look, Bitty muttered something under his breath and said, “A party where they give the bride-to-be sexy underwear and tell naughty jokes.”

“So the cookies look like underwear?” Jack said, all innocence.

“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “They look like dicks, okay?”

“What about the pie?”

“That’s for your mom and dad,” Bitty said. “We’re supposed to meet them at the hotel. They can drop the pie off in their room and then we’ll go to dinner.”

That meant going inside the hotel, probably. Which meant parking and then retrieving the car, and pleasantries in the hotel lobby, and …

“Are you sure we’ll make our reservation?” Jack asked. “I’d hate to get all dressed up for nothing.”

“Aw, sweetpea, I think I can guarantee that won’t happen,” Bitty said, reaching up to pat Jack’s face and give him a peck on the lips. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Jack pulled up at the hotel valet stand, and when he got out, said, “We’ll only be a few minutes. Keep it close, eh?” with a twenty-dollar bill folded into his palm.

“Your folks said they’d meet us down here,” Bitty said, heading into the lobby. His head swiveled and stopped when he caught sight of Jack’s parents at the hotel bar. Both had drinks in front of them. Great. They’d want to finish, and there might be a bill to settle, too.

He followed as Bitty picked his way across the lobby, exchanged a half-hug with his father while his mother swept Bitty into her arms, and then traded places.

“Jack, you look wonderful,” Alicia said, finally letting go and holding him at arm’s length. “You both do. This summer has agreed with you.”

“Thanks, Maman,” Jack said. “You look great too. Um, are you two almost ready to go?”

“The pie, Jack!” Bitty said.

“Oh, and I have something upstairs to show you, Bitty,” Alicia said. “Come up with me and we can leave the pie in the room.”

“Fine,” Bob said. “That’ll give me time to watch the end of this round.”

Jack looked at the TVs above the bar. He couldn’t mean the golf tournament? Who knew what time that would end? But it was that or … competitive cornhole?

“Only a couple more tosses,” Bob confirmed. “If this one pushes that bag in, they’ve got it.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jack said.

“Oh, come on, Jack, relax.” Bob said. “It’s fun. Sit down and tell me about your summer.”

“It’s been more Bitty’s summer than mine, with the shop and this new book he’s working on,” Jack said. “He’s been busy.”

“I remember those days,” Bob said. “When I’d finish the season so tired I didn’t know how I’d even haul myself upstairs to the bedroom, and by the time I was ready to face the world again, your mother would be on location on the other side of the world somewhere. I always wondered why our schedules couldn’t align.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Jack said.

“Of course not,” Bob said. “Any more than it was mine. Hockey season is hockey season, and filming schedules are filming schedules, and cute little shops on streets popular with tourists open during the summer.”

“No, I know,” Jack said. “I wasn’t complaining.”

He stopped at the look his father gave him.

“Okay, I was complaining, but not about Bitty,” Jack said. “Just the way things worked out this summer. I was thinking we could maybe have a party for my birthday this year --”

“You haven’t wanted a birthday party since you were eight!”

“Not a big party,” Jack said. “Just a few people. But Shitty’s in the middle of preparing for a big trial, and Lardo’s off being an artist in residence somewhere, and Tater’s not back yet. Bitty’s too busy to plan anything anyway, and no one would let me plan it.”

“Get it all out, son,” Bob said. “Before your mother and your husband get downstairs. Even if Bitty didn’t plan a party, he did plan this evening for you, and it doesn’t do to feel sorry for yourself on your birthday. Especially when you have someone who thinks the sun rises and sets on you like he does.”

“I know,” Jack said, then caught sight of the time on one of the TVs.

“Oh, no. We’re late for our reservation.”

“We’ll make it.”

“No, we’re late. Already. Maybe I should call them?”

He was picking up his phone when he saw Alicia, carrying a large shopping bag, and Bitty crossing the lobby from the elevator. Bitty was on the phone. Of course he had it handled.

Bitty did not have it handled.

He hadn’t said anything about the reservation to Jack on the way to Al Forno, just squeezed Jack’s hand on the console as they pulled away from the hotel.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight,” Bitty said.

They left the car with the restaurant valet and headed straight into trouble.

“Bittle-Zimmermann, party of four,” Bitty told the maitre d’. “We have reservations.”

The maitre d’ scanned his sheet, made a face, and looked up at Bitty.

“This reservation is for thirty minutes ago,” he said.

“I know,” Bitty said, “And I’m sorry we’re late.”

“Surely half an hour can’t be a problem,” Bob said, trying to shoulder his way into the conversation, folded bill just visible between his fingers. “We promise not to linger. It’s my son’s birthday.”

“Papa!” Jack hissed, tugging at his father’s sleeve like he was eight years old again. “Let Bitty handle it.”

“Yes, Bob,” Alicia said, drawing herself up to full height and looming over the desk. “My son-in-law, Eric Bittle-Zimmermann, has this under control.”

Jack took a moment to be pleased that his mother knew Eric’s name would have more clout than theirs in a restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” the maitre d’ said. “But we gave that table away not five minutes ago. We didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“We can wait for another table,” Bitty said.

“Not tonight,” the maitre d’ said, looking truly regretful. If Bitty had liked the dinner and mentioned it on his vlog, that would have been very good for the restaurant. “We have a large private party coming in. I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”

Bitty’s face fell and Jack’s heart clenched.

“It’s fine, bud,” Jack said. “We have the food for tomorrow at home. We can go make dinner, and then head to the store in the morning. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Bitty said. “It’s your birthday. I planned this dinner, and it’s my fault it got screwed up. Your mother wanted to show me your present and I got to rambling on … and why can’t I pay more attention? I’m sorry, Jack. I spoiled your birthday dinner.”

“Bitty, it’s okay, really,” Jack said.

“Perhaps next week?” the maitre d’ suggested.

“But then it won’t be Jack’s birthday anymore,” Bitty said.

“Perhaps the gentlemen would take a coupon for their next meal here?” the maitre d’ said. “For the inconvenience.”

“That’s not necessary,” Bitty said. “It was my fault.”

“I insist,” the maitre d’ said.

Jack took the offered envelope and slid it into his jacket pocket.

“Come on, Bits,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

He ducked closer and whispered, “At least we can get out of the suits, eh?”

“Jack!” Bitty said, giggling through his frown. “Your parents are here!”

“Not what I meant, bud,” Jack said, but he grinned, because he’d gotten a laugh from Bitty.

“Need anything before we go home?” Jack asked while they waited for the car. “Or do you want to just pick up dinner on the way?”

“I think we have all the food we need,” Bitty said. “Maybe a bottle of champagne? Shoot, no, it’s just after six.”

“Just after six?” Bob said.

“Rhode Island law,” Jack said. “No packaged liquor after 6 p.m. on Sundays.”

“So unless you want to drop me at home to get started and drive to Attleboro, a champagne toast will have to wait for tomorrow,” Bitty said.

“We don’t need champagne,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s head home.”

Jack drove again, Bitty in the passenger seat next to him, his parents in the back. It was completely normal, and that thought struck him as odd. Here he was, 30 years old tomorrow, married to Eric Bittle, the love of his life. His parents loved Eric, too, and were here to celebrate with them, and in a few weeks he’d be getting ready for training camp for next season. He wished his 18-year-old self could have seen this future. It was better than anything he’d ever expected.

He would have liked to celebrate with Shitty and Lardo, Tater, maybe Marty and Gabby and Thirdy and Carrie, but this was good, too. Better than he had any right to expect.

He stopped at a red light and glanced at Bitty, who was also looking at him, a sly grin on his face.

“What?” Jack said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s your birthday,” Bitty said.

“Not until tomorrow,” Jack said.

“You know what I mean.”

Jack took Bitty’s hand in the elevator when they got back to the building and held it for the whole ride up. He was still holding it when he got to the door and opened it.

He dropped it as the crowd shouted “Surprise!”

“What the --”

“Surprise, sweetpea,” Bitty said, reaching up to whisper to him. “You can still change out of your suit if you want.”

“Jackabelle!” Shitty was there to claim a hug. He wasn’t dressed in a suit, but he was dressed. Jack probably should thank Lardo for that. And there she was, hanging back, talking to Gabby.

So Marty was here somewhere -- by the pool table, talking to Tater while Snowy lined up a shot. Thirdy was in the corner, deep in conversation with Coach Bittle, and there were Suzanne and Carrie bringing more napkins in from the kitchen.

The island was covered with catering trays from … Al Forno, and Jack could see a maple-crusted apple pie among a selection on the kitchen counter. There was also a cake and some cake pops (for the kids? Were they here?) and it looked like someone (Shitty, probably) had been serving drinks from the bar. There was a bottle of champagne chilling.

Jack’s mother slipped past him to deposit the gift bag on the hall table with the other gifts.

“Happy birthday, Jacky,” she said. “When Bitty said our job was to help distract you, I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. I thought you might insist on leaving for the restaurant too early.”

“You were in on this?” Jack said.

“Everybody was,” Bitty said. “Even the maitre d’ at Al Forno.”

“But the gift certificate …”

“A gift from me to you,” Bitty said. “For when we can have dinner, just the two of us.”

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of conversations and congratulations. Marty and Thirdy’s kids were there, hiding in the guest room, watching gamers play Animal Crossing on YouTube and coloring, but they came out to help blow out his candles.

“What about your trial coming up?” Jack asked Shitty. “And your residency?” he asked Lardo.

“Those are both real,” Lardo said. “But a funny thing about being an artist in residence: They don’t lock you in. And Shits needed a break for a little while.”

Coach Bittle looked tickled to be sharing a room with so many professional athletes, and Suzanne helped Bitty shuttle food and dishes in and out of the kitchen.

“Told you they’d want to celebrate your birthday,” Bitty said. “They flew in this morning and Shitty picked them up at the airport. They were waiting around the corner for us to leave.”

“You do like parties!” Tater boomed at Jack before leaving. “I knew it! But it took your husband to invite me.”

“That’s because it was a surprise, Tater,” Bitty said. “Jack didn’t know.”

Once everyone was gone -- not too late, because it was a Sunday -- Jack helped Bitty stow the leftovers and wash the dishes.

“How’d you know?” he asked Bitty.

“Know what, hon?”

“That I wanted a party,” Jack said. “A surprise party.”

“Jack, sweet pea, you’ve been moping around this house for weeks,” Bitty said. “All woe-is-me because your friends were busy this weekend. Of course you wanted a party. And you wouldn’t have tried to plan a surprise party for me unless you at least didn’t hate the idea.”

“How did you do such a good job planning it?” Jack said. “I really didn’t know.”

“You don’t have a suspicious mind?” Bitty said. ”Now come on. It’s nearly midnight. Let’s get to bed and you can have another birthday surprise.”

****

Jack groaned when he opened his eyes the next morning. It was late, later than he usually slept anyway. But he’d been up late the night before.

He could hear Bitty in the kitchen, opening drawers and moving plates and cookware around. Coffee was ready, probably.

He got up, dragged a T-shirt over his head and tugged on a pair of shorts, and wandered down the hall.

“Morning, bud,” Jack said.

“Jack, happy birthday!” Bitty said. “Breakfast’s almost ready, and I put all the cards and gifts from last night on the table.”

Jack worked his way through them, shaking his head at Shitty’s selection of boxer briefs emblazoned with the logos of female superheroes and grateful for the small painting from Lardo. There were restaurant gift certificates and a tie from Papa (“You always wear that old blue one!”) and reading glasses from Marty.

Then he opened his mother’s gift. It was a flat box, and it held a red leather leash and collar, along with a gift certificate for adoption fees from the animal shelter.

The enclosed note said, “I think this will be a good gift for both of you, but of course I’m not about to surprise you with a puppy. Take your time deciding which dog to adopt. In the meantime, know that there was also a $10,000 donation in your name to help support all the animals.”

“Bits,” Jack said. “Did you have any plans this morning?”

“Nothing in particular,” Bitty said. “Maybe see my parents at some point. D’you mind if they come for dinner?”

“Of course not,” Jack said. “But do you think we could go to the animal shelter?”

#jack zimmermann turns 30 #zimbits #omg check please #omgcheckplease #my fic

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driversmutbucket · 4 years ago

Text

Kitten X

I can’t, and i can’t stress this enough, believe this frivolous ho has written a 10 part series. I mean, granted, a lot of it is straight porn. But still. I love these two. Lets marry them. Yes i did cry writing this because i am ridiculous and emotionally attached.

To catch up on this series please refer to my master post.

(this looks like a wedding photo right?!)

Kylo Ren AU x Reader Warnings: disgusting levels of fluff, mentions of pregnancy, NSFW

9 months later

“Better late than never!” Your mom smiled as she laced up the back of your gown.

“Oh come on, I’m hardly an old maid at 34 mother.” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“I know, I know darling, we are very happy for you, your father and I. We were just worried we would be in the grave before you ever settled down” She patted your shoulder, “you look lovely.”

Your parents were old school. You were their only child, and they had you later in life after a long battle with infertility. Had they planned your life things would be very different. They had found your focus on academia and career baffling, failing to understand how it was more fulfilling than settling down and starting a family.

They meant well, they really did, and despite your contrasting beliefs on many matters, you remained close.

Kylo had survived a family Christmas, your mom was particularly smitten with him. He had survived 1000 questions, photo albums, extremely dubious political chat and constant hints about grandchildren. Every night you had apologized profusely, he just chuckled and told you they really weren’t that bad.

Kylo proposed in mid-January, booking out the entire the Italian restaurant you had your first date in. You had accepted through sobs, as the staff all clapped and cheered.

It was now August, and the leaves were changing colour, the days slightly cooler and shorter.

You had planned an intimate wedding in a downtown Hotel that you both loved the historical architecture of. In attendance were a handful of friends and family, uninterested in a big showy affair, you had opted on quality rather than quantity.

Your metallic silk gown made you feel beautiful. The corset design accentuated your figure, and the deep v neckline was sexy yet tasteful. The gown evoked 1920s glamour, and you had your hair styled and makeup applied to echo the era.

Your father even became misty eyed when he saw you, “Like an old-hollywood beauty, you look lovely sweetheart.” He said gruffly, trying to discreetly dab his eyes.

Heart pounding, you waited outside the doors of the small ceremony room clutching your father's arm.

Cat Power - Sea of Love began to play softly.

You were already blinking back tears as you stepped through the doors, Kylo’s head snapping up from where he stood at the front of the room.

He didn’t, for one second, take his eyes off you as you made your ascent up the aisle.

Kylo shook your father's hand when you made it to the front, he then placed his hand on the small of your back and leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“Y/n, babe, you look fucking incredible, so beautiful, Kitten.”

“Thank you”, you beamed, “you look so handsome.”

He did. In a classic tuxedo, Kylo looked very dapper. His eyes shone with emotion.

Time seemed to go at warp speed as you tried to soak everything up, remember every detail. How Kylo couldn’t take his eyes off you. How he whispered ‘my wife’ into your ear every so often, like he was in disbelief. How your mom and Jan clutched each other and dabbed their eyes during your vows. How Luke beamed at Kylo and clapped him on the back, expressing his pride.

As Kylo took your hand for the first dance, your heart swelled as the opening notes of Into my arms by Nick Cave played. You had told Kylo to pick a song and not tell you what it was.

His arm circled your waist and pulled your body to his.

I don't believe in an interventionist God But I know, darling, that you do But if I did, I would kneel down and ask Him Not to intervene when it came to you

Your eyes swam with tears for the upteenth time as he kissed the top of your head before resting his forehead against your own.

“Don’t cry Kitten.” He teased, his own eyes glossy.

You sang the words of the next verse softly to him.

Oh, not to touch a hair on your head Leave you as you are If he felt he had to direct you Then direct you into my arms

As the chorus played tears were running silently down your cheeks now, as happiness, gratitude and love overwhelmed you.

Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms

Kylo wiped the tears away with his thumbs as he cupped your face, kissing your lips softly.

And I don't believe in the existence of angels But looking at you I wonder if that's true

“My angel.” He hummed, before pressing another kiss on your lips.

But if I did I would summon them together And ask them to watch over you Both to each burn a candle for you To make bright and clear your path And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love And guide you into my arms

Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms

Other couples joined you on the floor, there weren’t many dry eyes to be seen.

You chuckled softly, nodding towards Jan “you better dance with Jan after this baby.”

Her face was blotchy from crying, as she looked on, radiating so much joy that Kylo couldn’t help but grin.

But I believe in Love And I know that you do, too And I believe in some kind of path That we can walk down, me and you So keep your candles burning Make her journey bright and pure That she'll keep returning Always and evermore

“Perfect song choice.” You sighed, as it came to a close.

Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms, oh Lord Into my arms

You blinked and it was over.

The honeymoon suite in the hotel was yours for the night.

“Let’s go consummate this holy union Mrs Ren” Kylo murmured playfully into your ear as you both walked into the elevator.

You giggled, buzzed on the champagne coursing through your veins.

“I can’t believe I have a husband.” You grinned, running your fingers down the lapels of his jacket.

“Can’t believe I bagged such a fucking hot wife.” He mirrored your grin, eyes dancing with mischief as you slapped his chest in mock shock.

The elevator dinged, and Kylo led you to the door of the suite.

“Can’t wait to kick these shoes off.” You sighed.

“Can’t wait to rip your dress off.” He replied, opening the door.

“Rip this dress and I will divorce you, Ren.” you deadpanned.

“You wound me, Kitten.” He winked, shrugging off his jacket.

You quickly stepped into the bathroom and slipped out of your dress. The lingerie beneath was as important as the dress. White and luxurious, the delicate lace bustier and thong accentuate your curves, stockings were held up by straps connected to the bustier. You primped your hair slightly before re-emerging and leaning against the door frame.

“So what- oh fuuuuuuuuuck!” Kylo stopped dead, midway through undoing his cuff links.

You raised your eyebrow with a smug smile, “what were you saying?”

“I was going to ask what you wanted to do…. if you wanted some more champagne.” He gestured blindly at the bottle next to the bed, eyes drinking you in.

“What I want,” you began walking toward him, as he sat on the edge of the bed, “is for my husband to make love to me,” You purred, stopping in front of him and bending over, resting your hands on his thighs, “then yes, I will have some more champagne, preferably in a bubble bath.”

“Babe, right now you could ask for anything and I would give it to you.” His voice a bit deeper, as you stood back up, his fingers ghosting down your sides.

You did a slow twirl, “do you like?”

He nodded dumbly, like his brain was short circuiting.

Clutching your waist he pulled you between his legs and kissed along your collarbone.

You loved how far his hands were able to reach around your waist, you felt so safe in those big hands.

You sighed happily as his mouth moved down, teasing your covered nipples with his tongue.

Reaching for his shirt you began fumbling with his buttons, as his hands slid down and cupped your bottom, squeezing gently.

“Lay on the bed.” Kylo murmurs against your skin.

You make a show of crawling into the middle of the plush mattress, wiggling your ass before laying down and propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Fucking hellllllllllllll, that is my wife!” His smile devilish and smug and he strips off his remaining clothing.

“Kylo?” he pauses and looks up, just as he is about to pull down his trousers. “I’m not on birth control anymore.”

You chew your lip nervously as it dawns on him what you are insinuating.

“Do you want to-” he began, eyes wide.

“I mean, only if-”

“YES, yes! Fuck! babe, are you serious?” The hope and glee on Kylo’s face was enough to make you melt into a puddle.

“I want nothing more than my husband to put a baby in me.” you couldn’t help grinning at how those words sounded coming out of your mouth, kind of ridiculous but kind of...erotic?

Apparently Kylo found it very bloody erotic. He was buck naked in seconds and crawling over you, caging you beneath him, his rock hard cock prodding your stomach.

You arched your back as he dragged his nose down into the valley between your breasts, burying his face in between them with a soft moan. He unclasped your bra, tossing it off the bed while he admired your breasts, as they sat naturally.

“Perfect tits.” he murmured, tweaking a nipple, you gasped- then whimpered as he quickly soothed the sting with his mouth.

Gripping behind your knees, Kylo pushed your legs up and out beside your torso. He kept his hands there, spreading you wide, running his mouth over the lace of your thong as you desperately tried to thrust.

“These panties are very damp Kitten.” He breathed, finally letting go of your legs. “Hold your legs up for me.” You replaced his hands with your own.

He tugged the flimsy fabric aside and pressed a kiss on your clit.

“Fuck.” You hissed.

He pushed one finger, then another into your sopping cunt, scissoring them slightly to stretch you out.

Keeping his fingers inside you, working you into a fit of whines and whimpers, Kylo scaled your body, seeking your mouth with his own. Hot and heavy kisses as his fingers continued pumping, your hand wrapped around his hard length.

He removed his fingers and positioned you on your side so you were leaning into your elbow. He straddled your bottom leg and pulled the thong aside, pushing into your warmth with a grunt and he settled behind you. You twisted back so your mouths could meet again as his hand found your breast.

It wasn’t fevered fucking, it was passionate and luxurious love making. His hand roaming your body, tracing your curves. His mouth kissed you, peppered kisses down your neck and over your shoulder.

“My wife.” He murmured in your ear, on more than one occasion.

You whimpered and moaned, the position meant he could get deep inside you, hit your g spot relentlessly as he thrust his hips.

You came with a cry as his fingers expertly worked your clit, he followed soon after as your whispered sweet sentiments in his ear.

The second he pulled out, he was elevating your hips, shoving pillows under your butt.

“Ahh...what the fuck are you doing?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Keeping my cum in you.” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You barked out a laugh, but he was deadly serious, “stay there and i’ll run the bath.”

You watched with an amused smile, from your ridiculous position as he grabbed the champagne and glasses and disappeared into the bathroom.

As Kylo led you into the bathroom you gasped, there were candles on every surface and a small table next to the large bath held a bunch of roses, the champagne, strawberries and a gift bag.

“Did you organise all this…” you looked at Kylo in wonder.

He just nodded silently, studying your face as if to gauge your reaction.

“This is beautiful, thank you.” you said softly, pressing a kiss on his lips.

He began to undress you, pulling off the remainder of your lingerie before helping you into the large tub.

“Oh my god this is heavenly!” you groaned, sinking into the hot water. Your aching feet from a day in heels soothed.

Kylo pulled you into him and you rested your head back against his chest with a happy sigh.

He reached and pulled a red box from the bag next to the bath.

“Kitten, for you.” he smiled, as you hurriedly dried your hands and took the box.

“Kylo! Jesus Christ!” you breathed, recognising the unmistakable design of the jewellery box as that of Cartier.

You opened it slowly, revealing a beautiful gold necklace. The round pendant was inlaid with what was surely diamonds. You gaped at it, silently.

“Is it ok?” Kylo sounded slightly worried.

You handed it to him blindly, “can you put it on me please, baby?” your voice wobbling.

You traced the circle gently as he fastened it, before turning around completely, “what do you think?” you asked.

“Perfect.” he smiled adoringly.

“I love it, but i didn’t get you anything! I feel-!” you fretted.

“Y/n, you married me. That’s enough for me, forever.”

“If you could stop making me cry that would be really great.” you sniffed, wiping your eyes, “I’m dehydrated from all this crying.”

He grinned, pulling you into his lap and handing you a glass on bubbles.

“Drink this and stop blubbering, silly Kitten.” he teased.

You flicked water at him.

You ate room service in fluffy robes at 2 in the morning, before collapsing into the bed, exhausted from the day.

You snuggled into the warmth of his body, right when you were drifting off Kylo began thinking aloud.

“We need to get you on prenatal vitamins babe, and i’ll find ask the board who the best OBGYN is, we should really get you in there as soon-”

“Baby, i love you, but please shut up and go to sleep.” you mumbled, sleepily.

-----

Tag list: @reyloaddict55 @candycanes19 @jediminddicks1000 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maybe-your-left @thegreenmatt @morby @sydneyssmut @contesa-lui-alucard @millenialcatlady

#K&K get married #Kitten #kylo x you #kylo ren x reader #reader insert #kylo ren au

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bauslut · 4 years ago

Text

as you are | i.

word count: 2.235k

warnings: mentions of sex trafficking, sexual assault, cursing, mentions of child sex trafficking, rapists, arsonists, and serial killers

a/n: hiiiii everyone! so this is a fic that’s been on my mind for the past week or so now, and i felt really inspired to write it! the title comes from the song “as you are” by the weeknd, which will later tie into later chapters. i have watched numerous episodes of criminal minds in the past, and just recently started the whole series over again. so, my apologies if any terminology is incorrect! i hope you all enjoy :))

p.s. - huge shout-out to my best friend @sapphicstars for always listening to my rambles & the advice along the way. thank you <3

“did you know that today is a very significant day in history?” a young man nudged his coworker, his blonde-toned brunette locks a disheveled mess, “jj, it’s august twentieth.”

a slim blonde let out an exasperated sigh, “what is so important about today?”

“in 1866, president andrew johnson declared that the united states civil war was officially over,” his voice was smooth, brimmed with confidence, “it was a new beginning for america, as the slaves were abolished, but as we all know, there was still much discourse present within the country--”

“spencer,” the blonde sucked in a breath, “there is someone else in the elevator with us. i am sure she doesn’t care about the civil war, nor the fact that it’s august twentieth. after all, it’s been over for centuries.”

“i don’t mind,” a brunette cleared her throat, fidgeting in her boots, “good morning, to you both. i’m rowan rivers.”

“rowan rivers,” the blonde’s eyes narrowed into icy slits, “i don’t know why, but that name seems oddly familiar.”

“it’s because she’s the newest member of our team,” the man cut in, his hazel eyes alight with excitement, nearly toppling the blonde over, “rowan. adaline. rivers. wow. i’ve read so much about you.”

“what did you hear about me? i’m quite curious.” a smirk painted the brunette’s lips.

“you were exceptional in your work with columbus p.d.,” he gushed, “y-you were able to infiltrate the sex trafficking rings and apprehend numerous suspects. and god, your methods are just so pristine and concise. you were able to almost completely obliterate child sex-trafficking in the city. i gotta say, i’m kind of star-struck right now.”

“reid,” the blonde’s tone was firm, “let’s not bombard her. it’s her first day.”

“i don’t mind,” rowan’s eyes shone, alight with amusement, “thank you, dr. reid. maybe we can sit down for a coffee sometime and i can share everything that i can about those cases. it wasn’t easy, but it opened new doors for me in my career. your words are too kind, though. i’m no celebrity.”

“you’re welcome,” his lips curled into a shy grin, “maybe i’ll be the one to give you a tour of our office.”

the elevator doors slid open, the sterile light cascading into the tiny space. rowan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding to jj and reid, “after you, please.”

“she’s so polite,” jj’s words were barely audible as she mumbled to reid, “and cute.”

“she’s not cute,” reid countered, “she’s beautiful. a very beautiful, very intelligent woman.”

“well good morning,” a man strolled up to jj and reid, his bright white teeth flashing, “we got a lot of work ahead of us today.”

“shit,” reid muttered, “when’s hotch calling the meeting?”

“oh there’s no meeting,” the man shrugged, his gaze falling on rowan, “i was referring to our newbie.”

“good morning,” rowan offered him a little wave, “i’m--”

the man stepped forward, “oh, i know. you’re miss rowan rivers.”

this newcomer was handsome, an african-american man with warm, bright, mocha eyes. wrinkles etched the skin around his eyes, rowan’s interest piquing as she gazed at him. he must laugh a lot, or even smile often. therefore, he had a more playful personality. perhaps he was the jokester of the team, constantly playing pranks on other members or upholding a constant banter. his hair was cleanly shaven, the light reflecting off of his shiny scalp.

even if his arms were folded across his chest, biceps taut, constrained to the fabric of his plain t-shirt, his aura was kind, only teasing rowan in order to possibly intimidate her.

and boy, was she eager to fire back.

“does everyone know about me?” rowan huffed, her lip quivering into a pout, “i thought that i was going to be able to introduce myself but maybe i won’t have to. i’ll just be this mysterious presence for the rest of the way, lingering about. this phantom that you all seem to know already, but truly know nothing about.”

“shit,” a laugh erupted from the man’s lips, “you got me there. hiya sweetheart, i’m morgan.”

“i would have hoped to at least give everyone five fun facts about myself first,” rowan chuckled, shaking morgan’s hand firmly, “but it appears there’s been quite the buzz in the air.”

“we’re just excited to have you on board,” morgan placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone gentle, “i feel like we’ve all spent so much time around one another lately. it’s nice to have a fresh face.”

“i see that our newbie has arrived,” a new voice cut in, more distinguished, edged with a rasp.

rowan shifted, her throat tightening as an older man made his way towards the group, a smug smile plastered on his face, “h-hi.”

“well hello to you too,” the man let out a chuckle, sticking out his hand, “good morning, ms. rivers. i’m supervisory special agent rossi.”

this face was familiar. one rowan knew all too well. the infamous retired bau agent, a prolific writer and behaviorist, david rossi. even if he was older, and far wiser, he was by far the least intimidating individual rowan had met thus far. his hair was dark, strands of silvery grey prominent. he bore a quaint, kind, smile, his introduction light-hearted.

almost like a father greeting his daughter.

“good morning, agent rossi,” she returned the gesture, “i-i’ve read your book.”

“it seems as if everyone has,” rossi shot her a wink, “so, are you guys going to give her a tour or are you going to make the old guy do it? i mean, i wouldn’t mind, but i have to let hotch know she’s here.”

“hotch?” rowan’s lips parted, “there are more members of the team?”

“you haven’t even met garcia, prentiss, or hotch yet,” morgan remarked.

“and i haven’t formally introduced myself,” the blonde from the elevator piped up, “i’m agent jareau, but you can call me jj.”

rossi murmured a few words to reid before parting from the group, wandering off. rowan’s mind buzzed, anxiety coursing through her veins as jj spoke to her, the sound white noise drowning in her ears. her heart thudding against her rib-cage, palms beginning to clam up.

“i’m so sorry,” rowan placed a hand on her temple, “where’s the bathroom? i just need a second.”

jj blinked, brow furrowing, “a-are you all right rowan?”

“i just need a minute,” the words could barely make it out, the panic setting in.

“i’ll show her,” reid’s voice was hushed as he offered rowan his elbow, “it’s this way.”

roman’s lip trembled, her vision beginning to blur, “o-okay.”

step by step, reid escorted her to the bathroom, the agent even offering to come in with her. rowan accepted, allowing him to follow her into the enclosed space, locking the door behind her.

“you know,” reid cleared his throat, “it’s okay to be nervous, rowan.”

rowan shook her head, tears brimming her lids, “this… this is all so different from columbus.”

“i know,” he murmured, “but we were all nervous on our first day here at the bau. i promise that morgan isn’t that rude and that rossi isn’t a narcissistic asshat. they both come off that way, but they mean well. hell, you haven’t even met hotch yet. he can be cold, but that’s just how he is. you’ll like garcia, i have a feeling the two of you will get along.”

“reid,” rowan exhaled, his name shaky as it tumbled from her mouth, “thank you.”

“please don’t cry,” he pleaded, “profiling is in our nature. i don’t want them to overwhelm you with questions or why you may be upset. things will only get worse and i don’t want them to taint your first day.”

“i’m actually having a wonderful first day,” a giggle bubbled up, echoing off the walls, “you guys all are so welcoming. far better than how i was introduced to columbus police department. they really threw me to the wolves there. the second i set foot in that building, i was thrust into the case. i don’t mind taking things slow.”

“i’m glad,” reid beamed, offering her a wad of toilet paper, “here, blow your nose. also, pat some damp paper towels underneath your eyes. it helps with the puffiness, especially if the water is cold.”

“thank you, again,” facing herself in the mirror, rowan sucked in a deep breath, in an attempt to clear her mind, to soothe the anxiety.

“you look great, by the way. i like the docs.”

“oh,” her gaze fell to the thick black boots, the white laces and seams brighter than ever in the dim light, “i forgot i was wearing them, honestly.”

“a lot more comfortable than heels, right?”

“definitely,” rowan nodded, “my little sister let me borrow them and is never getting them back.”

“they suit you.”

“i feel as if it’s the only way i can really express myself,” rowan shrugged, “i mean, here i am, clad in my cropped dress pants and blazer, white button up freshly ironed, yet happily donning a pair of doc martens on my feet.”

“you know what they say,” reid’s eyes were warm with sympathy, “conformity is boring.”

“quite. i’m ready to meet the rest of the team.”

“good!” reid sprang to his feet, hazel eyes glimmering, “come on, i’ll show you around.”

slipping from the bathroom, rowan clung onto reid as he strolled about, chirping greetings to numerous individuals as they passed by. the ringing of phones, the flurry of papers, and indistinguishable voices bounced off the walls, filling the space around them. the office was bustling with people, all working together for one cause.

working together to profile, pursue, and apprehend the bad guys. anyone from serial killers, to rapists, to arsonists.

some did the paperwork, while others answered the phone. some were the liaisons for the media. some were the agents. some were specialized in the technology department, but here, everyone was unified under that same singular cause.

“so here is where our desks are located,” reid’s voice flooded rowan’s ears once more, his arm sweeping out to gesture to the array of desks, “i think we have a desk set up for you, name tag and everything.”

“we have name tags?”

“on second thought,” reid’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as they scanned the cluster, “maybe not. i’m not sure. if you don’t have a desk by tomorrow, you can always just share mine. i barely use it anyways. i’m a bit mobile during the day: floating around, listening to tapes, watching footage, bothering hotch.”

“you guys keep mentioning this hotch guy,” rowan pursed her lips, “i’m aware that he’s the leader of the team, as well as a supervisory special agent, but where is he? is he so overloaded that he can’t even bother to say a quick ‘hello’ or ‘welcome to our team’?”

“oh rowan,” reid chuckled, shaking his head, “you have a lot to learn.”

“now what is that supposed to mean?”

“by the way,” rowan snorted as reid avoided the subject, his gaze flickering over her head, “if you’re so eager to meet hotch, he’s over there.”

rowan arched a brow, swiveling on her heel. following reid’s line of sight, her breath hitched on her throat as her eyes fell on the sight of him.

he was standing near morgan and jj, a hand grasping his chin, brows scrunched together, as if he was deep in thought. his dark hair, almost an inky black, was recently trimmed, yet there was a hint of stubble that ghosted his skin. his complexion was fair, jawline framing an utterly handsome face. in the light, rowan couldn’t quite distinguish the color of his eyes. were they a deep coffee brown? a flint grey?

a jet-black suit spanned across his broad shoulders, a red patterned tie around his neck. underneath the jacket was a clean, freshly pressed white shirt, not a wrinkle in sight. his shoes were polished, clicking against the floor as he made his way over to rowan.

aaron hotchner towered over her, no trace of a smile or grin apparent. his aura exuded nothing but authority, his badge clipped to the front of his suit, file in his grasp. yet, his voice was deep, flowing so smoothly from his mouth.

“you must be agent rivers.”

rowan swallowed thickly, “yes, i am.”

his dark eyes locked with hers, his head cocked ever so slightly. her heart lurched as she distinguished the hardened chestnut hue of his irises. the emotion gleaming in their depths was unforgiving, cold and cruel.

“i don’t care if you’re fresh to the unit and this is your first day. wear a different pair of shoes tomorrow.”

“but--” rowan began, desperate to formulate some sort of response.

“hotch,” reid interjected, his tone firm, “you can’t be serious. it’s her first da--”

“and i don’t care,” rowan flinched at the venomous barb laced in the words, “agent rivers, wear a different pair of shoes tomorrow. i just received word from jj about a new case.”

“oh,” reid’s tough exterior crumbled, “well, what are we going to do about it?”

“start with a meeting,” he responded coolly, “as we always do.”

“yipee,” the reply was barely audible under rowan’s breath, hotch’s attention returning to her once more.

“you’re welcome to join us. and you better not trip on those on your way there.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @sapphicstars @colorlessfl0wers

#hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #criminal minds fic #hotch x oc #hotch fluff #nc-17

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

The Convenient Groom: 9/14

Here we are - the double date on Liam’s boat! Will Emma pass Liam's "test"? I know, the chapter count went up. I was originally going to put more in this chapter, but then I surpassed 3,000 words. Plus, I just felt like I hit the perfect sweet spot of a chapter ending. I also promised some green eyed jealousy a couple of chapters ago, but I ended up moving that to a different place in my outline. It felt like Emma and Killian needed to get closer before that could be believable. So let's commence with some hurt/comfort in this chapter, shall we?

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Words: 3,500 and some change

Also on Ao3

Tagging:@snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“Ask me another one,” Emma called out from the bathroom, her words garbled by the toothpaste in her mouth. The words were followed by the sound of her spitting into the sink, and Killian winced. Emma Swan was a mess - literally. She left dirty clothes all over her bedroom floor, left wet towels in a heap in the bathroom, had a bad habit of kicking off her shoes wherever she happened to sit down, and at this very moment he knew there was toothpaste flying all over the sink and the mirror above it.

And God help him, he loved her more now than he had when he first agreed to this charade.

“Okay,” he called back, clearing the emotion from his throat with a short cough, “port and starboard.”

Killian grabbed a bag of pretzels from the pantry and tossed them into the waterproof tote with the rest of their food. He could hear Emma gargling down the hall, then spitting again. He shook his head thinking of all the little splashes he’d soon have to scrub from the mirror.

“Um . . . okay, port is the . . . left side of the boat. Right - I mean, correct?”

“When facing which way?” He turned to the fridge as he spoke, gathering up a six pack of sodas and another of beer.

“Facing . . . the bow. Which is the front of the boat?” Her face was scrunched up in a hesitant expression as she walked into the kitchen, her arms above her head as she twisted her hair up into a messy bun.

An adorable hesitant expression.

“Good job, love!”

Emma beamed even as she gave him a nonchalant shrug. “So that means starboard is the right side of the boat when you’re facing the bow.”

“You got it!”

“I don’t know . . . “ she trailed off hesitantly. “Ask me another one?”

Killian closed the lid on the cooler and stepped close to her, resting both hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be fine. Liam isn’t going to be giving you a pop quiz.”

Emma arched both brows. “You sure about that?”

He couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching, but he forced a smile upon his face nevertheless. “It’ll be fine.”

“You sound so convincing,” Emma muttered as she slipped into a pair of flip flops that she had kicked off underneath the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t wear those.”

“Why not?”

“They aren’t safe for the boat, plus you could easily lose them in the water.”

Emma sighed like a teenager. “Fine, I’ll wear my BOBS.”

She shuffled down the hall, and Killian shook his head. Her voice floated back to him with a muffled sound, and he could hear a clunking sound as shoes hit the floor.

“Ummm, Killian! Have you seen my BOBS? The navy ones?”

“The back porch, love!”

Emma scurried past him as he hoisted up the tote and the cooler. He followed her out the back door, and Emma grabbed his bicep as she hopped into one shoe and then the other.

“How did I ever find my shoes without you?” she asked him with an innocent smile.

She turned away from him to snap Smee’s leash onto his collar and then grab the second tote filled with their towels and sunscreen. Killian felt frozen in place at her words, though he knew she meant nothing by them. He watched her jog down the back steps, the sea breeze tugging at her hair, and smiles for the dog whose tail wagged in adoration at the newest member of the household. The only thing he could think was that he would gladly spend the rest of his life helping Emma Swan find her shoes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma felt slightly dizzy, her stomach churned a bit, and she wasn’t even on the boat yet. She was tough and adaptable, so she wasn’t really worried about not having sea legs. The nerves in her stomach were all about the captain of this vessel - a very overprotective and suspicious big brother named Liam Jones.

She would feel a lot better if she and Killian had been able to take the Jolly Roger out a few times before today. But between work and several July thunderstorms, it had never happened. Oh, and there was the one Sunday that her menstrual cramps had her in the fetal position with a heating pad. Oh well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but hope that sailing101.com was sufficient to pass Liam’s test because despite what Killian claimed, that’s what this was - a test.

The August sun was so hot and bright that Emma squinted even behind her sunglasses. She looked over at Killian’s boat which was sleeker and smaller. It was also a sailboat as opposed to the trawler motor boat that Liam owned. Emma would have called it a yacht before sailing101.com, a mistake Killian assured her would not have gone over well with his brother.

It sure looked like a yacht to her.

“Ready to come aboard?”

Emma tilted her head up. Liam stood at the boat’s edge with his hand out to help her up. She chewed on her lower lip as she eyed the edge of the dock nervously. She’d sort of been expecting a ramp or something, and that looked like a pretty big gap she had to cross. Thankfully, Killian appeared at her side and put one hand firmly at her waist and the other at her elbow. She tried not to wobble as the brothers helped her onto the boat. Smee jumped up without preamble after her, and she had to grasp the railing as the dog almost knocked her off her feet.

“We’re so excited you’re here!” Elsa exclaimed as she hurried down from the boat’s upper level. Emma felt herself relax slightly as the other woman embraced her. “Here, let me take that,” she continued, reaching for the bag looped around Emma’s shoulder.

Elsa took Emma to the bow off the ship where there were comfortable padded benches for sunbathing. She lifted one to reveal a storage area and tucked their swimming gear inside. Smee came bounding up, sniffing at the opposite bench.

“Oh no you don’t,” Elsa laughed, “that’s not for you.”

She pulled Smee away by the back of his doggie life vest, which Emma couldn’t deny was adorable in a funny sort of way.

“I’m guessing there are treats in there?” Emma asked. “Of the human variety?”

Elsa nodded. “There’s a cooler in there with drinks and a tote with munchies. There’s a kitchen in the cabin, and all the lunch stuff is in there, but it’s nice to have snacks up here.”

“Where are Anna and Kristoff?”

“Oh, Anna hasn’t exactly been a fan of the boat since she got pregnant. I don’t know if it’s physical or psychological, though. The day she put two and two together was on the boat. She never gets seasick or motion sick of any kind, but that day she spent most of her time bent over the railing.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Elsa laughed. “Agreed.” She plopped down on the padded seat and patted the spot next to her. “Relax, Emma, and enjoy the sun.”

Emma glanced nervously over her shoulder. Killian was untying the ropes from the dock while Liam steered the boat and shouted instructions.

“Should we be helping?”

Elsa shook her head. “Those two enjoy pretending they’re sailing the seven seas. I only help Liam when it’s just the two of us.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s the only time I want to strangle the man. He takes being captain way too seriously.”

Emma sank down onto the seat next to her. “Then I’m glad we could come along.”

“You have no idea!” She glanced up at her husband, then leaned closer to Emma and lowered her voice. “And don’t take Liam’s gruffness too seriously. He’ll figure out how good you are for Killian sooner rather than later. Admitting it, however, may take a bit longer. If you haven’t noticed, stubbornness runs in the family.”

Emma shrugged her shoulders. “That’s okay, I’m pretty stubborn myself.”

Elsa grinned as she reached over and fished two beers out of the cooler. “So am I, Emma. Liam needed someone stubborn to put him in his place.” She handed one of the beers to Emma. “So here’s to stubborn Jones wives.”

Emma grinned back as she clinked her bottle with Elsa’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma reached into the mini fridge in the boat’s small kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water. She then pressed the cold plastic first to her forehead, then both cheeks. Her hand trembled slightly, and she took several deep, slow breaths. Everything had been fine at first. She’d enjoyed drinks at the bow with Elsa, talking and laughing together. The sea breeze in their hair and the sun on their faces had been exhilarating. The men had stayed by the controls talking about whatever boat lovers talked about as they skimmed over the waves.

After laying anchor, the four of them had jumped into the water. Emma had tired out more quickly than was normal for her, but she still had a great time. The ocean water was a pleasant and refreshing change after all of the sun. She’d gotten out and toweled off before anyone else, and she had braced herself for criticism from Liam. Surprisingly, it never came.

It wasn’t until lunch that Emma felt that churning in her stomach again. She thought at first she just needed air and had convinced everyone to take lunch up on the bow. It had helped, even though her stomach had still protested a bit at the food. She’d ended up nibbling at her sandwich and only grabbing three or four grapes. Luckily, everyone was so busy talking, no one really noticed her lack of appetite.

Emma leaned over the sink to steady herself as the boat swayed a bit more than it had been a moment ago. She unfortunately didn’t hear Killian making his way below until it was too late.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked with concern as he came up behind her. He placed his hand on the middle of her back and started to rub gently.

“I’m fine.”

“You look pale, Swan, maybe we should head back to shore a bit early.”

“You know we can’t do that,” she hissed under her breath.

“If you’re not feeling well, I really don’t give a shit about what my brother thinks.”

Emma straightened and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Well I do. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, I’ll be fine. I took some Dramamine with my lunch when no one was looking.”

Killian’s face was still lined with concern but he nodded. “Okay, but if you don’t get any better, let me know.”

Emma fanned her face. “I think I need some air.”

She rushed for the ladder to get back up above, her stomach lurching and heat flaming along her cheeks. Things didn’t improve once the cool ocean breeze hit her face. If anything, her equilibrium was even worse on deck, and she knew immediately that what little she’d eaten at lunch was about to come back up. She ignored Elsa’s concerned inquiries and raced to the railing. She leaned as far over as she could, retching violently. She moaned, her arms shaking as she continued to vomit.

“Killian, get up here,” Elsa shouted below. She rushed over to Emma’s side and rubbed her back much like Killian had done. Emma moaned again, this time in embarrassment. At least she’d worn her hair up so she wasn’t vomiting in her hair.

Killian was at her side quickly, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. She pushed him away, not because she wasn’t touched by his kindness, but because she was retching again. God, she hadn’t eaten that much today. How could she still be puking?

“Motion sickness,” Liam said flatly, “well, that’s strange. I thought you said you two were out on the water all the time?”

“Shut your trap, Liam before I shut it for you,” Killian growled, “and this seems way too severe to be motion sickness.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Elsa teased.

That only made Emma dry heave until she remembered her period from two weeks ago. God, that would suck if she was knocked up by Walsh. Emma reached out a shaky hand for the cool cloth Killian had brought her and used it to wipe her mouth.

“I think it’s passed,” she whispered, her strength completely drained. If Elsa and Killian hadn’t been there, she would have collapsed to the deck. Blessedly, Liam had already moved to pull up the anchor. She couldn’t help a whimper escaping when she thought about how long they had sailed before stopping. All she wanted was her bed.

“Would you feel better up here or down below?” Killian asked her.

“Up here I think. The breeze helps.”

Elsa helped her to the benches on the bow while Killian assisted his brother in preparing the boat for the return trip. Emma laid out on the bench with the damp cloth over her eyes. She must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she knew, Killian was gently shaking her.

“Emma,” he said softly. He pressed a hand to her forehead, then gasped. “Darling, you’re burning up!”

The next thing Emma knew, Killian had scooped her up into his arms. The sun made her head pound, so she closed her eyes and pressed her face into Killian’s collarbone. She could hear Smee’s excited breathing and the tinkling of his tags as he bounded around Killian’s legs. Despite the dog and the unsteadiness of the boat, Killian carried her smoothly to the deck. He didn’t seem winded in the least as he headed across the sandy path to their house, nor did his arms shake beneath her weight. She wasn’t really surprised at his strength and stamina considering he spent all day doing physical labor. What surprised her was how much she liked it. She let herself relax against his warm chest, telling herself it was just because she was sick.

Sooner than she had expected, she heard the screen door squeak open.

“We’re home,” she whispered thankfully.

“I should have done this sooner,” Killian told her as he shifted her weight so he could open the kitchen door.

“Do what?” she asked, looking up into his face.

He grinned down at her. “Carry you over the threshold.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she turned her face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like a mixture of sea salt, sunscreen, and sweat. It was a great smell. Yankee Candle Company would make a fortune if they made that into a candle. The sexy sailor candle. Emma chuckled into Killian’s skin.

“What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing.” He started to carry her to the bedroom. “No, the couch.”

“I can’t let you do that, Swan, you’re sick.”

“But the tv will take my mind off feeling like shit.”

Her logic seemed to satisfy him, and he turned around and deposited her gently onto the couch. He covered her with a blanket and handed her the remote. Emma leaned back on the pillows, thankful to be off the boat, even though her stomach still rolled like the waves.

Killian returned with a thermometer in his hand and a pot under his arm. He set the pot in Emma’s lap. “This is for if you get sick and don’t think you can make it to the bathroom.”

Emma looked first at the pot, then back up at him. “Please tell me you don’t cook with this.”

He chuckled and palmed the back of his neck. “Um, no, it’s the puke pot.”

“Puke pot?”

“I know, it sounds disgusting. When Liam and I were kids, our mom bought a dirt cheap soup pot at a discount store for when we got sick. It got dubbed the puke pot.”

Emma wrinkled her nose and looked down into the empty pot. “You don’t keep this in the kitchen, do you? Like, I don’t want to accidentally make pasta in the puke pot.”

“Of course not, love, I keep it under the sink in the bathroom.”

“Thank God,” she muttered.

Over the next forty-eight hours, Emma would come to understand the beauty of the puke pot. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so violently sick in all her life, and not having to leave the couch when the nausea hit was a blessing. There was also something about being able to grasp the handles as she hugged it to her chest. She just felt awful for Killian, who had to clean it. Awful and humiliated.

She kept telling him how sorry she was. She apologized when he held her hair back while she retched. She apologized when he pressed cool cloths to her forehead. She apologized every time he helped her sit up and sip Gatorade. He kept telling her she had no reason to be sorry, but she kept saying it anyway.

Killian never left the house once in forty-eight hours. He was always there when she needed him. She’d never had anyone take care of her like that before, and on the second evening, as he pressed yet another cool cloth to her forehead, she suddenly began to cry.

“Are you alright?” he asked in alarm, pressing the back of his hand to each of her cheeks to check for a fever.

“Why are you doing this?”

His brow furrowed. “We’re married.”

“Not really.”

“Emma, listen to me,” he said, his voice serious, “regardless of what our relationship is

or isn’t, I care about you. I won’t stand by and watch you suffer alone.”

Emma nodded, unsure how to respond to his sincerity. As she so often did, Emma deflected by changing the subject.

“So, um . . . I’ve been wondering. You and Liam have British accents, but you said mom and you called it a puke pot. Aren’t those American words?”

Killian gave a soft laugh and nodded his head. “Aye, they are. My mother was American. Dad hated some of the American words we picked up from her. Puke being the worst, in his opinion.”

“Well, puke pot does have nice alliteration.”

He laughed even harder at that. “Yes, it does.”

She searched his eyes, and realized how much she wanted to ask him about his childhood. He spoke of his mother with affection in the rare moments he mentioned her. His father, on the other hand, rarely came up. Yet asking him about that opened the door to questions on her beginnings, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.

“Thank you,” she finally said, “for taking care of me.”

He brushed a strand of hair gently away from her damp forehead. “I’ll accept a thank you, but no more of this I’m sorry business, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered softly. She buried herself in the blanket he had brought her earlier, her stomach settling just enough so that she hopefully could sleep. Killian took the pot off her lap and set it within reach on the coffee table. Then he tucked the blanket under her chin before flipping off the lights. As she drifted off, her last thought was that a girl could get used to this.

Whatever virus Emma had caught was evidently a 48 hour bug, because the next morning she woke up with an appetite for the first time since before the trip on the Jewel. Killian shooed her out of the kitchen, however, reminding her that she was still weak. When he brought her breakfast, it was plain toast and more Gatorade. She pouted up at him.

“Dry toast? Can I at least have a bagel?”

He frowned down at her, his arms crossed at his chest. “You need to ease slowly back into eating, Swan. Just see if you keep that down okay, and we’ll go from there.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, reaching for the remote. She had rescheduled all of her sessions for the rest of the week, wanting to be sure she wasn’t contagious. She was relieved since her short walk to the kitchen and back to the couch had left her surprisingly winded.

Killian came back in with a mug of coffee in his hands. The smell of it made her crave some, but she doubted Killian would go for that. “So,” he said after taking a sip, “would you be alright on your own here today?”

“Absolutely,” Emma said as she nibbled on her toast, “I feel so much better - you have no idea. And I know you’ve got to be behind on work at the shop.”

“Good,” he told her with a genuine smile, but then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Can I trust you to take it easy and not to eat anything heavy?”

“Yes, Dad,” she assured him with a roll of her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m off then.”

He bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek before heading out the door. It wasn’t until he was already gone that Emma dropped her toast, paused the episode of Gilmore Girls, and cried out, “What the hell was that?”

#cs ff #cs modern au #marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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daughterofdessalines · 4 years ago

Text

MISOGYNY/ Misogynoir in 2020 looks like Cardi B. being encouraged to return to her cheating husband the 1st time he cheats and then ridiculed/blamed when she decides to file for divorce.

It’s looks like Celina Powell be dismissed & ignored immediately after coming forward about her affair with Snoop Dogg...

BUT WHEN A BLACK WOMAN DOES IT... August Alsina is depicted as a victim by social media after he comes forward about his consenual relationship with a married woman in order to promote his upcoming album 😒

MISOGYNY/ Misogynoir in 2020 looks like Roman Polanski winning the highest honors for Best director & Best Adapted screenplay at the 2020 Cesar awards. In 1977, Polanski was arrested and charged with drugging and raping a 13-year-old girl. He pleaded guilty to the lesser offence of unlawful sex with a minor....& then skipped town ...but that did not stop him from being a world - celebrated director. A similar controversy did not stop the career of Woody Allen who at 57, who had an affair with his adoptive daughter Soon-Yi Previn, then 21 (who he went on to marry) the story actually went public after his ex-wife accused him of sexually abusing his 7 year old adoptive daughter. I’ve seen more uproar today over a Female director’s depiction of young girls ... than a Male director’s ACTUAL ABUSE of young girls.

Maïmouna Doucouré’s film is being called pedophila when the story is actually from the perspective of a young girl reacting to hyper sexualized world.. In comparison “Lolita,” - a film in which a middle-aged pedophile preys on his stepdaughter - is told from the perspective of a grown man. In the film he actually tries to convince us that she’s the seductress ...but the child is never given an inner monologue of her own.... that film however, is considered a classic in Hollywood.

I watched the 1978 film Pretty Baby, in which a 12-year-old actress played a prostitute, and had a nude scene. Despite the initial controversy, the film was nominated for a Palme d’Or and went to Cannes. Brooke Shields the child actress (who says she still doesn’t regret the role) went on to become a huge star in the 80’s.

BUT WHEN A BLACK WOMAN DOES IT.....

I remember being in school watching over a dozen boys in the school yard rapping “ Cause she ain't nothing but a bitch to me.. And y'all know, that bitches ain't shit to me” (which was Kurupt’s verse in the 1993 song Ain’t no fun) My generation grew up with 2 Live Crew and Too Short ...they are considered pioneers in the game for their raunchy style of rap.

BUT WHEN A BLACK WOMAN DOES IT ...

When Cardi says “Beat it up, catch a charge/Extra large and extra hard/Put this pussy right in your face/ Swipe your nose like a credit card.... How is that more obscene than watching Nelly actually sliding a credit card down the ass crack of a stripper on BET after dark?? But it appears to be my generation denouncing younger sexually explicit female rappers.

In 2020 I’m watching Kanye West get away with behavior Azealia Banks was dragged & dismissed for. He was still supported by the Black community after siding with Trump but Chrisette Michele said she was shunned & blacklisted for an appearance at the Trump Inaguration. I watched the murderers George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery be arrested after nationwide outrage but the same level of indignation resulted in half -hearted attempt to pacify us by arresting only one individual responsible for the murder of Breonna Taylor. In the words of Naima Cochrane. MISOGYNY/ Misogynoir in 2020 looks like.. “we gotta arrest somebody for something ... but it can’t actually be for killing the Black Woman.”

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danceworshipper · 4 years ago

Text

Tessa Chiva HPHM - Profile [Redone]

(information is as of sixth year - same universe as Gracie and River)

Identity

Name: Tessa Gracie Chiva

Gender: Female

Age: 16

Birthday: August 17th, 1973 at 3:37 am (leo)

Species: Human/Witch

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Lawful Good

Ethnicity: White - German, English

Nationality: British

Residence: Chiva Manor, a heavily warded house in the wizarding part of the English countryside

Personality Type: ISFP-T (the adventurer - that's ironic)

The Mage

Wand: 13 1/4 inches of cherry wood encasing a dragon heartstring, flexible. The wand is dark red and slightly thicker than the average wand, with a smooth handle molded precisely to her hand

Animagus: Sparrow Hawk

Misc. Magical Abilities: Legilimens, moderate strength, with weak Occlumency

Boggart Form: Gracie, angry and coldly saying that she'll never love Tessa because Tessa is weak and beneath her

Riddikulus Form: Gracie deaged to a toddler, saying the same words but meaning them less

Amortentia (how she smells): Tessa would smell like sugar, strong deodorant, and salt water

Amortentia (what she smells): Tessa smells metal, strawberry kiwi drinks, and nail polish (River)

Patronus: Lioness

Patronus Memory: the first time she and Gracie were ever allowed to go wandering in the woods on their own. They found a creek and spent the afternoon barefoot, eating berries and splashing each other

Mirror of Erised: Her family together and happy as if nothing ever happened

Specialized/Favorite Spells:

- Aguamenti

- Vermillious

- Orchideous

- Visus Aqua (a spell for Quidditch to see in the rain)

- Revelio

Appearance

(picture made using the zepeto app)

Height: 5'6"

Weight: 124 lbs

Physique: Skinny, slightly wider hips than Gracie. More physically muscular than her sister as well

Eye Color: Army green

Hair Color: Dark brown

Skin Tone: Pale but human looking. Has spattered freckles around her nose

Body Modifications: Two piercings in each earlobe and a cartilage piercing in her left ear

Scarring: Various small scars on knees from childhood, nothing major (yet), will end up with faint scars all over from the final fight with R

Inventory:

- Her wand

- Her father's old watch, not worn but kept in her purse

- Around twenty Galleons

- A poem about her from River folded in her pocket

Fashion: Tessa is willing to sacrifice comfort for fashion. When not in her uniform, Tessa is usually in a skirt of some kind with a cute fitted top and possibly a stylish jacket. She wears either flats or wedged shoes. Her hair is kept in two braids or low pigtails. When she's being athletic, she wears black fitted tracksuit pants and either a loose tank top or a Slytherin sweatshirt, with her hair in a tight messy bun. She wears small gold hoop earrings and a gold cartilage stud, and in later school years a peridot ring that was a gift from River. For makeup, she only wears lip gloss and mascara.

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Affiliations/Organizations:

- Chiva Family

- Black Family

Professions:

- Current student and Slytherin Quidditch Captain

- Future Quidditch Player for the Montrose Magpies

- Future advocate for creature rights

Hogwarts Information

Class Grades:

- Astronomy: O

- Care of Magical Creatures: O

- Charms: O

- Defense Against the Dark Arts: E

- Divination: E

- Flying: O

- Herbology: E

- History of Magic: O

- Potions: O

- Transfiguration: O

Quidditch: Chaser, team captain from fifth year on

Extra Curriculars:

- Dueling Club

- Assistant for Kettleburn

- Weekly Legilimency lessons from Snape

Favorite Professors:

- Professor Kettleburn: Tessa adores his wacko personality and enthusiasm for creatures. He's encouraged her whenever she feels hopeless and is a surprisingly good listener

- Professor Flitwick: The number of times Tessa has nearly cried in his class is insane. She used to be worried about being too unskilled at magic and her nerves made her fail a spell at first, but Flitwick was gentle and talked her through it until she was one of the best in the class. Her bad nerves left in third year, but he's still more gentle with her

Least Favorite Professors:

- Professor Trelawney: Tessa is good at Divination. She enjoys Divination. What she does not enjoy is Trelawney acting like a freak and driving people out of the class. Tessa learns much more from her textbook than from the professor

- Professor Snape: Yes, he's her head of house, but he's an asshole. He's insulting to her and many others and makes her feel more worthless than she already does. If she didn't have Gracie and Penny to help her learn outside of class, she would have failed his O.W.L. Her Legilimency lessons are the worst part of her week

Relationships

Twin Sister: Gracie Tessa Chiva

- Gracie is only eight and a half minutes older than her, but Tessa sometimes feels like Gracie is years older

- She regrets quitting the vaults because she feels like she and Gracie are different people now

- Tessa still blames herself for Gracie's curse. She can't remember the incident, but her wand was two inches from her hand when she woke up and she had no injuries besides the concussion that she thinks is just from falling, so she believes she failed her sister

- Tessa desperately wants her sister's approval and doesn't realize just how much her sister loves her

- She wishes she could do something to protect Gracie for a change

- They were super close as kids and grew apart in the later school years

- All Tessa wants to do most of the time is latch onto Gracie and never let her go into danger again

Older Brother: Vance Riley Chiva

- This bastard

- Vance always favored Gracie

- Tessa still loved him, but she would sometimes feel excluded

- Vance did in fact leave her a few memories, but they were locked in the same box with Gracie's and when Tessa saw how many more Gracie got, she refused to watch hers

- When Vance is freed in fifth year but leaves again without seeing her first, Tessa shatters the picture of him, her and Gracie. It's repaired the next morning, and stays fixed until the end of sixth year when Gracie shatters it too

- Tessa hates Vance

- When he dies in place of her, she realizes she never hated him. She loved him and just wanted him to love her

Younger Cousin: Aiden Carter Darkling

- Aiden is the son of Rachel Chiva, Jason's sister. Rachel and Aiden's father divorced while he was still young, but it was relatively amicable and he comes around for holidays

- Tessa never payed the kid much attention when they were younger, but after he started Hogwarts she took him under her wing a lot

- Aiden comes to her for advice when he has his first crush, when he's nervous about a test, or simply needs a hug. Tessa gets to be a big sister and she loves it

- She's way closer to Aiden than Gracie is, and Aiden isn't hesitant to tell Tessa that he likes her far better. It makes her feel good

Mother: Clarissa Vanessa Black

- Tessa loves her mother, but she doesn't agree with her on a lot of things

- She tries her hardest to make her mother proud, because she knows she's the only "decent" child Clarissa has left

- She actually suggested a contract marriage in hopes of making her mother happy. She was really confused when Clarissa forcefully shut the idea down, not realizing all that her mother went through in her own past

- When Tessa is in her coma in seventh year, she hears her mother go insane (it's what wakes her up) and realizes just how much Clarissa loves her

- Tessa takes much longer to figure out Clarissa and Margaret than Gracie does

- She keeps better in contact with her mother throughout her adulthood than Gracie

- Family dinners are awkward but hey, they're still family

Father: Jason Harvey Chiva

- Tessa, like Gracie, admired Jason a lot as a child

- She only visited his Auror office a few times, because while she thought it was cool she wasn't interested in it as a career

- Tessa didn't see him murder their family friend and didn't believe it when Jason's partner Thomas came to tell her and Clarissa

- She still can't quite believe it, and she misses him a lot, which is why she carries his watch with her *cough cough daddy issues cough*

- The day Gracie has to kill Jason, Tessa destroys the watch

- He tries to kill Margaret in front of Tessa's young daughter Octavia, and that's when Tessa fully believes that Jason lost his mind

Ex Boyfriend: Barnaby Lee

- They met in first year (obviously, they're in the same house), but Tessa never paid him any attention

- It was only in second year when she and Liz were allowed to start getting early lessons from Kettleburn that she started noticing him

- Barnaby was a character during these early lessons

- He hadn't actually signed up for them, but he heard Liz talk about them and just assumed they were open to anyone

- Kettleburn didn't care obviously, he's a bit unstable anyway

- Barnaby would always carry the heavy stuff and Tessa's raging puberty hormones took one look at the muscles and said "heyyyyyyyyy"

- Then of course she actually started talking to him, and dear fucking god was he dumb. But then she talked to him more and he actually wasn't? He was kinda smart in a weird way? And really really nice?

- She never told him she liked him, and by the end of the year he was starting to slip under Merula's control

- Tessa was the one to try and get him to think for himself in year three. She's also the one who dueled him, and she lost miserably, but she stood back up whenever he knocked her down and he admired that. A few weeks later, he asked her out to Hogsmeade

- Gracie was pissed but Tessa didn't care that much

- They were a super cute couple and all of Slytherin (besides her dorm mates) shipped them so hard

- They ended up growing apart in fourth year and deciding they're better off as friends

Love Interest: River Mund

- As of sixth year, they are not together, though it's pretty obvious they both fancy each other

- River is an exchange student from Ilvermorny who arrives the same day as Alanza. Tessa is made to be their tour guide, and while showing them around she can't help but notice that this (very handsome) new boy seems really stressed out. She assumes it's from being so far from home and tries to be encouraging, but he doesn't say a single word the entire time

- River ends up staying in the Slytherin dorms, and Tessa watches him all the time (just out of curiosity of course). He almost never talks to anyone, and is very jumpy when someone gets too close

- After about a month of this, Tessa decides to sit down at the same table as him while doing homework. He seems almost scared of her, but after a week it becomes normal, and she hears his voice for the first time when he asks her for help on his CoMC essay. Another week, and when River packs up his things to go to the dorms, he leaves her a folded up piece of parchment containing a poem he wrote about her

- Tessa starts noticing how often River sneaks into the Forbidden Forest, and gets curious enough to follow him. This is how she discovers he's a vampire - a rarer subspecies theorized to be stemmed from partial vampire breeding together

- River is horrified and thinks she'll hate him since he hates himself. He wasn't born a vampire. His family illegally paid a vampire to break into the hospital and change him to save him from cancer without any input from him. It's why he wanted to come to Hogwarts, to get away from them

- Tessa is scared, obviously, but she tries her best not to show it because he had just started to open up and she didn't want to lose the progress they had been making. When she tells him she's not scared of him River doesn't look like he believes her, but he's so relieved she's trying that he hugs her

- They very quickly become much closer after that, and Tessa realizes that she might be in too deep when she shoves her wrist in his face for him to drink from when he weakly confesses he hasn't had any blood in two weeks without a second thought

- He buys her the ring during January. He claims it's for being such a good friend, but Tessa hopes it's because he likes her (they're both so oblivious)

- They'll get together in seventh year over Christmas break. They both stay behind at the school, and end up confessing while sitting in front of the fire in the Slytheirn common room

Best Friend: Liz Tuttle

- Tessa and Liz met in first year, the first night in the dorms

- Liz, being her awkward self, asked slightly too loudly if anyone wanted to discuss the Fwooper

- Tessa did indeed want to discuss the Fwooper

- Boom, best friends

- Tessa tries being vegan like Liz but can't take it, and reverts to being vegetarian. She's not exactly good at that either, but she never eats meat in front of Liz (at home is fair game)

- She and Liz spend a lot of their free time outside, sneaking into the forest even

- On an assignment from Kettleburn, they accidentally discover the Room of Requirement and now spend free time during bad weather in there

- Liz constantly reassures her that she's not a bad sister for stepping back from the vaults

Rival: Skye Parkin

- They may have been teammates, but Tessa and Skye HATED each other. It really threw off the team dynamics for a while

- Tessa almost quit because Skye made practices miserable for her, and this is when she and Erika ended up friends. Erika convinced her to stay on the team and make Quidditch miserable for Skye instead, and even helped train her

- Orion picking Tessa as his successor and not Skye (who was a year older and more experienced) made Skye so mad she broke her broom and quit. Tessa couldn't help being happy about that. Skye brings out her inner pettiness

Enemy: Vance Riley Chiva

- Tessa is just so sure he's lost all humanity

- She's mad at him for getting them into this mess in the first place

- She swears the next time she sees him, she's going to smack him

- She doesn't get the chance, nor does she get to say anything at all

Dormmates:

- Gracie Chiva

- Liz Tuttle

- Rowan Khanna: they're friends, but very casually, as Rowan is Gracie's best friend

- Merula Snyde: they're not friends, nor will they ever be, but they try very hard not to argue for Gracie's sake

- Ismelda Murk: they too are not friends, but they study History of Magic together because they have similar studying styles and both find the subject interesting

- Colette Belrose: see below

Pets:

- Ruby, the family Crup

- Clara, Vance's toad (she's more Gracie's pet)

- Elaura, a shared owl

- Lemmy, a moke

- various creatures in the reserve that Tessa and Liz coparent

Closest Canon Friends

- Chiara Lobosca: the werewolf quest? Tessa did that. She adores Chiara's kindness and resilience, and frequently uses her Animagus to accompany her on full moons

- Diego Caplan: he helps train Tessa's magical strength. He was totally into her at first, but he calmed down and now they hang out a lot in and out of the Dueling Club

- Erika Rath: Training buddies with a healthy Quidditch rivalry. Tessa has even gotten Erika to come over to her house so they could hang out over the summer

Closest Noncanon Friends

- Gracie Chiva (Jacob's sibling canonically has no other siblings)

- Rosalie Sonnenschein: A German model one year older than her who attends Durmstrang. A first generation part Veela with a very strong natural allure that has men (and women) swooning

- Kyle Orchan: the Squib son of one of the shopkeepers at the clothing store Tessa frequents. He's the best listener Tessa has ever met and loves hearing about her magical adventures. He does sometimes get very sad hearing about this world he'll never be a part of, but he's too nice to ever mention it

- Colette Belrose (@gcldensnitch): Tessa met Colette their first night in the Slytherin dorms. Granted, Tessa spent most of that night talking to Liz, but she went to bed relatively early so Tessa struck up a conversation with Colette. They're super similar and plan to go on a tour of Europe one day. Colette helps Tessa step back and remember to breathe, and she loves her for it

(Storyline has to be in a different post because of tumblr's dumb text limit)

Future

Marriage and Children: Tessa and River get married at the age of twenty one, and almost immediately Tessa gets pregnant with her oldest daughter, Octavia. Her body reacts very negatively and she almost dies while giving birth, so she and River agree to not have any more children. Six years later, Tessa accidentally gets pregnant with twins, Meredith and Alexander. It's a terrifying experience, but all three of them live and the twins are healthy

Career: At the age of twenty two, Tessa is recruited for the Montrose Magpies after one of their scouts watches her casual group's practice. She takes a short break years later to have the twins, and they welcome her back when she joins back up. Her replacement was shit. Tessa gets better at International Apparation so that she and River can spend time in America, England, and Germany without interrupting their work schedules. After she eventually resigns from the team, she uses her "fame" to bring more attention to the petitions for creature rights

The Second Wizarding War:

- Tessa isn't in the country for the most part when the war starts up, though she stops bringing the kids when visiting her mother after it starts getting bad

- After Bill's attack she and River temporarily stay in England for their friends, having her kids stay with Merula and her and Gracie's kids

- She doesn't fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. She's too scared for both herself and Gracie, as if Tessa went to fight Gracie would follow

- Tessa finally discovers all of what happened when Gracie joined R, and how much she truly was one of them for a little while when Olivia Green suddenly enters the picture. That takes her a while to get over, but she's able to

Old Age and Death: Tessa dies at the age of 120 of natural causes, after Gracie, River, Liz, and basically all of her friends. When she gets too lonely, her soul gives up

Personality

- ambivert

- horribly insecure, not so much about her looks but her strength, both magical and physical

- a wee bit of a masochist, constantly pushes herself too hard

- has a good memory

- is good at strategy

- very very kind, even sometimes when someone doesn't deserve it

Misc Information

- Tessa is bilingual, fluent in both English and German

- From all her practicing, Tessa is an amazing cook/baker - River's drinking buddies absolutely love her for it

- She can sing beautifully, and can play simple songs on the piano

- Tessa's depression never quite goes away, but it never gets very bad

- She has pretty bad misophonia, which developed around age nine and got worse with the anxiety and depression

- She ends up with a doll collection that River is terrified of, so much so that she has to put charms around each one so he can't see them unless he focuses

- Tessa is a massive pasta hound

- She hates any drink that fizzes. It's very inconvenient considering she frequently attends parties with things like sparkling water and champagne

- Tessa likes pineapple pizza

- Her favorite color is green

- She's left handed like her siblings and her mother

- She loves thunderstorms

- Her favorite season is winter

- She loves going stargazing

- She has a weird obsession with water. If she's upset, the best thing to do is draw her a bath, and sometimes she'll fill a bowl and stick her hand in it while studying or reading

- She sweats a lot, both from being active and from unlucky genetics (hence why she smells like strong deodorant)

- Tessa doesn't exactly believe in aliens, but she's pretty sure we're not alone in the universe

#hogwarts mystery #tessa chiva #character profile #hphm mc #zepeto

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soysauceharry · 5 years ago

Text

all the things yet to come: four

five years shared between two people: you, a psychology doctoral student, and your advisor, Dr. Harry Styles, PhD. (also known as ‘post doc harry’)

word count: 19.3k

[contains mature sexual content.]

Year Five: August

One perk of living in the mountains is the view offered from the incredibly crafted homes that are nestled into the steep hills around downtown. You would love to own a home like this someday, one that peeks through bare branches at the end of a long, winding driveway. Brick and stone, you suppose, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the valley side and an unlimited amount of sunrises and sunsets painting the interior walls.

August is consumed by breezes carrying away the last dredges of humidity away from the elevated town. The neighborhood you’re currently in overlooks the rest of the city—you can just see the tip of the belltower on campus. You’re glad you brought a cardigan as the air has turned a bit chilly. The skirt of your dress blows gently around your calves.

The sangria tingles your tongue as your take another sip. Your eyes are still trained on the landscape as your mind wanders. The faint murmurs of the other guests fade into the background. You’re lost in your fantasy.

Exposed wooden beams across a lofted ceiling. An open-concept living room connected to a kitchen. An island, because you’d never have enough counter space. Two bedrooms—no, three. Bunk beds. His and hers sinks. A step stool in the kitchen.

“Darling?”

Everything comes back into focus. You look over your shoulder and spot Harry peeking his head around the doorframe. “Everything alright?” he asks as he steps onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

“Just needed some air,” you say to him softly.

“They want you to come inside.”

His actions contradict his request as he slots himself behind you. The weight of his body gently presses you into the railing. You’re reminded of all the other instances he’s been pressed against you like this—tonight is nothing but innocent.

“I’m enjoying the view.”

“I know.” He turns you around by your shoulders and takes your glass of sangria out of your hands, setting it down on the flat marble surface of the balcony. His hands rub up and down your arms. “Dr. J’s been asking for you. She has some people for you to meet.”

“The networking never stops,” you say. Harry chuckles, pulling you forward. Your head finds its resting place on his chest naturally. You wind your arms around his waist and exhale a deep sigh, allowing your eyes to close.

This is the fourth time you’ve attended this get-together at Dr. J’s house but the first time you’ve done so with someone on your arm. Her house is currently full of all doctoral students, except the incoming first years. But tonight isn’t about research and academics and analysis. Tonight is about enjoying each other’s company as friends and colleagues.

Every interaction you’ve had has been tainted with bittersweetness. This is your last time attending as a doctoral student. You won’t be working with these people you’ve come to call friends in a year. Dr. Johnston has become somewhat of a guiding light for you—beyond just a committee chair or a mentor. You’ve valued her presence over the last few years, fully believing she’s had a pivotal role in the development of your career as a researcher.

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry’s chest rumbles underneath your cheek. The sensation makes you press closer to him, nose digging into the fabric of his button-up. “Nothing important,” you murmur. “Just enjoying the quiet.”

“You don’t want to talk to anyone, do you?”

“No, it’s not that.”

You turn your head to rest your chin on his chest so you can look up at him. You blink through the haziness that’s settled over your eyes from the drinks. It’s still light enough that you can see your reflection in Harry’s glasses.

“Don’t you feel a bit… I don’t know. Scrutinized?”

“Regarding what?”

“Us.” You don’t bother disguising what plagues you, what made you come outside for a moment of contemplation alone. “Coming here together as a couple. It feels…”

Harry licks his lips and squints. Your eyes flick away for a moment as you search for the appropriate word to describe how you feel. How it feels to have shown up at Dr. Johnston’s house with Harry on your arm, not as colleagues, but as partners. How it feels to be asked how long you and Harry have been together then being told oh, I could’ve sworn you’d been dating for ages with the way you move around each other. Only ten months! Like two ends of the same string, you are.

“Can I tell you something Dr. J said to me?” Harry cuts in before you can finish your thought. You nod. “She said… she felt like I looked different. Like I’d suddenly woken up after being asleep for a while.”

“Interesting observation.”

“It kind of makes sense.” As an afterthought, he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes as his lips linger against your skin. “I don’t know if I can verbalize it. But it makes sense to me.”

There’s a level of conviction in his voice that stops you from questioning him. Like he was awake again—as if someone had cast a drowsy cloud over his life and you were the one to blow it away. The complexities of Dr. J’s comment go beyond your understanding of the way she regards you two together—you still remember when she found out you and Harry were in a relationship.

It wasn’t that long ago, actually. Just a few weeks prior, after you’d returned from your mini-vacation to visit your family. You two had grabbed coffee and decided to take a walk through the arboretum to take advantage of the cooler weather. Something about the way you two could exist together simply in a little bubble of your own made you touchier than usual—fingers tangled together, shoulders bumping, kisses stolen.

Then an Australian shepherd had suddenly appeared without an owner holding its leash. Harry had crouched down immediately to give the dog some attention, and you watched as Dr. Johnston and her husband emerged from around the corner, out of breath. Angus loved to roam free, they’d explained. You accepted wet kisses from an excited Angus after kneeling down to say hello.

You stood and, without thinking, laced your fingers through Harry’s again. It had only taken a split second for the knowing grin to spread across Dr. Johnston’s face. Your cheeks were in flames; Harry’s weren’t faring much better. But the simple you know, I always had a feeling about you two was the unofficial stamp of approval you hadn’t realized you needed from here.

Even after nearly a year together, you’re still wary of maintaining some semblance of professionalism around Harry when you’re both at work. But now, you can let your guard down a bit—enough to make Dr. J notice a shift in Harry, it seems like.

“You know… she’s really the reason this all happened.”

“How do you mean?”

A slow grin spreads across Harry’s face. His arms tighten around you instinctively as he says, “She was in charge of the advisee assignments the year you started. If it weren’t for her…”

He leaves it unsaid, but you know exactly what he’s thinking. If it weren’t for Dr. J, you may not be here right now with your arms wrapped around the love of your life on a balcony overlooking the mountains. You may not have been able to fall in love at the pace of honey falling from a spoon, getting your fingers sticky with affection and adoration. It’s because of her that you’re able to rise onto your toes and slot your lips with his in a dizzying kiss without a single worry about who could be watching. Let them watch, you think to yourself.

“Networker, matchmaker, dinner host…” you say with a light laugh once you’ve broken the kiss. “Is there anything she can’t do?”

“Make a bad sangria.” He licks his lips before ducking down to kiss you again. This time, his tongue dips into your mouth for a split second. He hums, murmuring a quiet tastes good in between kisses. The nape of your neck feels warm under his palm as you open your mouth to give him a bit more access. Your hands come to cradle his cheeks; he pushes forward, making you lean back as he kisses you deeply.

It’s entirely too much and hardly appropriate but you don’t pull away. The only reason the kiss doesn’t deepen is because of a knock on the window. You’re the one to pull away, lips parting with an audible smack. It’s a bit comical to see Harry’s lips still pursed in the air, brows furrowed from how hard he was concentrating while kissing you. The sound of the door creaking open makes you look over, eyes widening once you realize who’s likely caught the tail end of your kiss.

“Lovebirds,” Dr. Johnston greets teasingly. It feels weird, like she’s your mother and has walked in on you kissing your teenage boyfriend. “Buffet’s on. Why don’t you join us?”

“We’ll, ah—” Harry coughs into his fist, clearing his throat. “We’ll be right in, Dr. J.”

You tuck some hair behind your ear when Dr. J’s eyes fall onto you. The playful grin on her face doesn’t dim. Her left eye drops in a wink, then she pulls at the door knob to shut the door, retreating inside.

Wordlessly, you both look at each other again. Harry cracks first, bursting into laughter with his head thrown back. “I’ll be hearing about that in the faculty meeting, no doubt,” he says as he pulls you into his chest.

You dig your nose into the space between his pecs, willing the heat in your cheeks to dissipate. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leans back. The sunlight makes his eyes look especially green, even behind the wire frames he’s wearing today. It’s the pair you picked out for him a few weeks ago, you realize. “C’mon,” Harry says quietly, dimple making an appearance. “Those deviled eggs are calling my name.”

As he pulls you inside, you glance back at the valley one last time. The sun is starting its descent behind the furthest mountain. The entire balcony is bathed in golden light—reassuring, warming, brilliant—not unlike the person tugging on your arm right now. Suddenly, you can’t wait to find out what comes next.

-*-

Year Five: September

You flip through your calendar to look at the date again. Third week of January. Circled in bright red permanent marker with lots of exclamation points around it.

Your dissertation defense.

It’s still months away but you know it’ll creep up on you insidiously, silent and hidden until its suddenly the week before your defense and you’re scrambling. Right now, however, you’re in an all-too-familiar position: legs crossed on the armchair in Harry’s office, hair pushed back, and your document staring back at you through your laptop screen.

Friday evenings in the department building offer the perfect studying environment—not as quiet as your apartment and still accessible through your keycard. Plus, you get to keep Harry company tonight as he grades midterms from his undergraduate lecture. The two of you have been working steadily for the last few hours. The custodial staff has come and gone, bidding you a pleasant weekend as they locked you into the building.

You tap your pen against the side of your laptop, eyes fixated on the date. You often envision what it’ll be like to stand in front of your committee and present your research. This paper is nearly five years in the making—it has to be perfect. You know it’ll be worth something in your field, already having plans to submit it to journals for review.

That is, if you pass your defense.

“You know, staring at the date won’t make it disappear.”

You look up. Harry’s leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. One corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s the third time I’ve caught you staring at it today.”

With a huff, you flip your planner shut. “I know. I’m just—it’s a lot of pressure, is all.”

“It’s months away, love.”

“Yeah, Harry, but I can’t help it.” You don’t mean for the snappiness to come out in your tone, but it slips anyway. The past few days of not making progress are starting to catch up with you. “Sorry,” you sigh, closing your eyes for a second. “I’m a bit stressed.”

The wheels of his chair scratch along the wooden floors as he stands. He pushes the sleeves of his henley up his forearms. “I can tell,” he murmurs. He kneels once he’s reached the chair, balancing himself by holding onto your knees.

A few seconds of pensive silence pass. You concentrate on the feeling of Harry scratching his nails lightly against the exposed skin of your lower thigh. The tension is rolling off you in waves, threatening to pull you under into a fit of anxiety and worry. And Harry’s right—it’s far too early to be concerned about the content of your paper when you haven’t even finished writing it. So is the plight of a sleep-deprived doctoral student.

“Is there anything I can do?”

His fingers dig in slightly as they start massaging more than scratching. “Keeping that up would be nice, actually,” you say, letting your eyes drift closed. It’s easy to draw your focus toward Harry’s soothing ministrations. You feel him shift so he can get his other hand on your other leg. The soft swipes of his fingers are lulling you further into a relaxed state.

Harry pulls at your legs until both of your feet are on the ground. He pushes your legs apart, wordlessly letting his hands travel up toward the tie of your cotton shorts. It isn’t until you feel his lips brush the inside of your thigh that you say anything.

“Harry.” You peek one eye open. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He purses his lips against your other thigh, sucking on the skin lightly. “Relieving some of your stress,” he mumbles into your skin in between kisses. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s smirking like a giddy fool. There’s something to be said about the boyish glint in his eye that appears anytime you two are about to have sex. Such a stark contrast from his normal laconicism; you love entertaining that side of him whenever it emerges.

Right now, however, you have no choice but to stop him before he gets carried away. Your fingers comb through his hair from his forehead to the crown of his head and give it a tug, making him look up. His pout emerges instantly.

“D’you not want me to?”

“It’s not that.” You smile regretfully, one side of your nose crinkling. “That time of the month, is all.”

Harry squints one eye and pulls at the skin of your thigh with his teeth. “Bugger.”

Still, when he leans back he pulls you off the chair with him. He sits back and settles you on top of him, your legs on either side of his waist. You fall into a kiss before you can even find your balance. A breathy laugh of surprise leaves your lips before Harry covers your mouth with his own. He leans back on one arm and grasps your waist with the other as you clutch his cheek and hum into the kiss. His lips move against yours like the last days of summer lumbering away from the town—slow, languorous, simmering with something warm underneath the surface.

You break apart with a light smack. Harry’s glasses are slightly crooked on his nose.

“You’re sweet.”

He grins, leaning forward to nudge your nose with his. “Am I?”

You nod. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as your eyes fall to his lips again. It’d be so easy to lose yourself in his mouth, say goodbye to your concerns and anxieties about your paper and spend some time entertaining yourself with the careful, articulate flicks of Harry’s tongue against yours, the way his hands angle your face in an unspoken direction to bend your will to his lips. You’d surrender yourself every second, every hour of the day for the rest of your days if you could.

He kisses you again. The insistent way his hands press you flat against him leave no question as to what he wants. Clearly, work has left both of your minds. You’d like nothing more than to be laid back on the carpet and get more rug burn on your elbows, to be taken out of your head for a little while.

“How’s your back doing?” Harry asks once you’ve separated once more. “Do you want the heating pad?”

His fingers drag upward along the curve of your spine. The attentiveness makes your heart thrum. “No, I’m alright,” you reply. “Took some meds for my cramps earlier.”

By now, the urge has deepened. Not for you to find some physical relief, but to provide some form of diversion from your paper. And with the way Harry’s letting his lidded eyes drift over your frame sat across his lap, you decide to do something about it.

Your head drops forward again, the tip of your nose skimming his teasingly. He nudges it with his own, foreheads knocking as your bottom lip touches his. You inhale a quick breath as Harry’s mouth parts—an unspoken request hangs in the minuscule space between you. You tease him a bit, pulling back when he pushes forward, just missing your mouth. The barest trace of his dimple appears. He understands your game now.

“Baby, don’t be like that,” Harry says lowly, the grit in his voice unravelling something deep in your abdomen.

“Be like what?”

You start to trail kisses down the slope of his cheek, following the line of his jaw down. The unmarked skin of his neck calls out like a blank canvas to a starving artist but you know he has a presentation later this week so you refrain from marking him up. Instead, you place open mouth kisses as you keep moving down, burying your hands in his hair and tugging on the shorter strands gently.

“You’re making it really—fuck—hard to…” Harry loses his words when your hands drift down his torso. You reach the button of his trousers—his abdomen jumps underneath you.

“Hmm?”

“I—” You pull away from his neck. His brows are pulled in, the tight purse of his lips indicative of his anguish. You meet his gaze, wary of the teasing smirk threatening to make its way onto your face. “Darling,” he sighs, tilting his head slightly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You can’t help but chuckle at your words repeated back to you. “Relieving my stress,” you state with a raised brow.

“Sweetheart...”

“Let me get my mind off things for a bit,” you press, leaning forward in his lap again. His eyes nearly go crossed as they stay glued to your mouth. You’re basking in this newfound position of control, feeling a burst of energy you’ve never felt before. Harry’s like putty in your hands, like a lost puppy being guided home. You tilt your head to nip at his full, rosy bottom lip.

He surges forward then, air blowing out of his nose sharply when your lips collide. You grasp his cheeks as he straightens his posture and spreads his hands across your back to keep you pressed against him. He groans when your tongues meet in between hurried kisses. The sound reverberates through your chest. It’s unhurried but heavy—deep, languid kisses that make your chest tighten with every soft sound.

You shift so you’re sitting fully across his hips with no inch of space between you. Harry kisses you like he needs something, so wholly and fully that you don’t know if you could stop him even if you wanted to. Every swipe of his tongue has you tightening your fingers in his hair; every roll of your hips against his has you wanting more.

So you resume your previous task, hands drifting downward again with intent. Harry only notices when your fingers deftly undo his trouser button. “Babe,” he mumbles in between kisses, but you’re quick to quiet him with a sharp bite to his bottom lip.

“Let me distract myself,” you whisper against his mouth as you ease his zipper down. You can already feel him hardening in his trousers. “I’m stressed, baby. Will you let me?”

He clears his throat and shifts. His legs have gone wider, giving you the room you need to get his zipper down all the way. “Am I worthy of being a distraction?” he quips, though the breathiness in his voice undercuts the humor.

His eyes are glued to you as you lift off his lap and shift backward on your knees. You settle in the space between his legs, urging him to lift off the ground so you can pull his trousers off. The line of his cock is pressing against his navy briefs. You trail a light finger down his length, watching his reaction. Harry inhales sharply, throwing his head back and running a hand down his face. A muffled groan escapes his lips when you scoot back farther and lean down.

“You’re my favorite distraction,” you murmur, eyes glued to his cock.

The angle is less than ideal for your already aching back but none of that matters as soon as you pull his length out of his briefs and give it a few experimental pumps. Harry’s stomach visibly tightens—a spark of satisfaction runs through you. You’ve always been in awe of how responsive he is, how his back arches and his brows knit together when you get your mouth on him. The grunt that leaves his lips when you tease him with your tongue, the clench of his jaw when he comes—it’s become an addiction.

When you lick a stripe up his cock, Harry grits his teeth. “Lean back,” you instruct as you shuffle on your knees to find a better angle. He anchors his weight onto his elbows and runs a hand through his hair. You can see the way it’s starting to affect him, pink-cheeks and bitten lips as you suck lightly on his tip. He’s fully hard now, and with the way his legs have fallen open you’d think he’s gone boneless.

You push his shirt up to expose the planes of his stomach. Your nails dig into his thighs as you start trailing kisses along the crease of his thigh, across his hip bones, up toward his lower abdomen. It’s your favorite way to rile him up. You’ve been together long enough to know his favorite spots to be kissed, how he likes to be worked toward an orgasm. The teasing from the outset, the steady increase in stimuli from all five senses—lips brushing across his navel, satisfying moans falling from you lips, the heady smell of sweat and sex, the visual of your lips parted around the head of his cock. The taste of him on your tongue, of you on his tongue, of everything in between.

It’s been a while since you’ve been able to take your time with him, the situation usually being reversed. You’d never been with someone who was as carnally obsessed with making you come as Harry. Sometimes, though, you had to switch things up. Even in the current circumstance, an encounter so illicit and completely against the rules, you’re more than enthused to let your professional boundaries drop in the dim light of Harry’s office. Something about the fact that you’re the only two in the building, locked in with no chance of anyone else coming in—it spurs you on more than anything.

So you finally get your mouth on him, taking his length down as slowly as you can while making eye contact. Harry’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip so sharply that it’s turning white. You hollow your cheeks and let your tongue run along the underside of his cock. He breathes heavily, chest heaving with a groan as he throws his head back again.

You hear his muffled words. “Fuckin’ killin’ me, darling.”

“Jesus—fuck—”

“Like that, yeah, like that—”

You swallow him down as far as you can, wary of how full you feel with the weight of him on your tongue. You can feel the downy hair of his upper thighs underneath your fingertips. Pulling back to suckle at the tip, you watch as his face contorts into an expression of rapture.

It’s too much for him. “Come up here,” he says breathily. He cups your cheek and nudges you back until his cock fall from you lips with a pop. “Fuckin’ sinful, you are. Come here.”

He grips your arms and pulls you up with enough force to send you sprawling over him. “Need to kiss you,” Harry grunts and doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before he’s guiding your face down to his.

You know you taste like him. You know he can taste it with every swipe of his tongue. And yet, he’s undeterred, nose digging into the side of your cheek as he angles his face so he can lick into your mouth. Your hand trails down the line of his chest and finds his cock, easily picking up where your mouth left off.

“A bit dry, love,” he mumbles, nose crinkling at the contact. You pull back and make sure to hold his gaze as you lick a stripe up your hand and swirl your tongue around your index and pointer finger. The gesture is lewd, bringing about a wave of embarrassment that you try to squash down. The way Harry’s eyes are glued to your mouth as you suck on your fingers makes this brief departure from your normal behavior during sex worthwhile.

You grasp his cock again—the slide is much easier this time. “Better?” you ask, catching his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Ye—yeah.”

Harry is unabashedly vocal as you pick up the pace. He kisses you again and holds you against him with a hand laced through your hair. The noises leaving him echo through the room—if anyone were to walk by, they wouldn’t have any question as to what was happening inside.

“Fuck me, I’m gonna come,” he pants into your mouth, accent thicker and voice deeper than before. “Darling, wait—”

You ignore him, already shifting back down his body. “Don’t want to make a mess,” you say, blinking up at him coquettishly. “This carpet’s too nice for you to bust your load all over it.”

Harry honks out a laugh. Some of the tense atmosphere lifts, replaced with a familiarness that you’ve come to associate with your sex life. Never too serious, always a bit of lightness. While this new exploratory side of you isn’t unwanted, you’re grateful for the reprieve.

Still, all traces of humor disappear when you take him down again. This time, you’re relentless— you want him to come and you want to watch it happen.

“Love, I’m gonna come—fuckin’ hell, your mouth—”

Harry cuts himself with a choked moan that only grows in volume when you bob your head and suck him harder. You reach up and palm his balls, reveling in the way his moan turns into breathy pants. Pulling off, you kiss wetly down his shaft and along the sweaty skin in the crease of his thigh.

“C’mon, H,” you murmur, stamping one last kiss to his pubic bone before pumping his cock a few more times. The faint ache in your jaw is forgotten in favor of sucking a mark into the milky white skin of his thigh. “So close…”

“Yeah, I’m—close, oh, shit—”

You get your mouth back on him just in time for him to throw his head back and let out his throatiest groan yet. His hand in your hair tightens borderline painfully as he shoots into your mouth. Through watery eyes, you watch his face—the furrowed brows, the clenched jaw. The slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, the berry tint of his lips. Everything encased together in one beautiful image of euphoria that’s all yours to witness.

He comes down from the high a good ten seconds later, body finally relaxing from its spasmodic state. You pull off when he starts going soft in your mouth . He looks a bit absurd with his cock hanging out like that, briefs and trousers still bunched around his thighs but you can’t bring yourself to care as you wipe the corners of your mouth clean.

“Good?” you ask, voice sounding a bit winded.

Harry gives you a silent nod. He’s still breathing quite heavily as he leans back onto one elbow and reaches his other arm out toward you. You crawl toward him and collapse onto his chest, sending both of you sprawling onto the ground.

Harry laughs as he winds an arm around your back. “So good,” he sighs airily. “You’re unreal.”

Silence descends upon you and the rest of the room comes back into focus. Your breathing slows, eyes drifting shut. Your mind is quiet—exactly what you’d hoped for. Awareness dimming, subconscious retreating, you can finally hone in on the comforting sensation of Harry’s chest moving up… and back down.

Three more cycles pass. On the next inhale, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His smell is sharper here, accented by the faint traces of sweat that linger in the dip of his collarbone.

Harry brushes some hair back from your forehead. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“M’awake, I swear.”

Lifting up onto your elbow, you smooth a hand down the plane of his chest. His shirt is wrinkled, pants still undone and bunched around his thighs. The sight of his soft cock resting against his leg is almost comical given his normally cultivated appearance.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hello,” he says through a chuckle. He cranes his head upward and you meet him in the middle, lips connecting in a soft kiss. He holds it for a few seconds before pulling away. “No longer stressed?”

You hum contentedly, a dreamy expression crossing your face. “Nope. Just what I needed.”

He snuffles a laugh, sponging another set of quick kisses on your lips. “Anytime, darling,” he says, reaching up to brush a few hairs out of your face. Then, he adds, “Next time I’m stressed, I’m gonna distract you for an entire weekend.”

-*-

Year Five: October

It’s frigid.

That’s the first thing that pops into your mind when you hop out of Harry’s car. You pull your coat tighter around yourself in an attempt to trap some heat. It feels like fall lasted about three seconds before winter decided to settle over the town.

“Nippy, isn’t it?” Harry says as he walks around the front of the car to meet you. He blows into his hands and rubs them together. “Didn’t think it’d be this cold. Probably shouldn’t have chosen an outdoor activity.”

“We’ll just huddle together like penguins, it’s fine,” you say with a chuckle. His gloved hand finds yours quickly and you give it a squeeze. “Let’s not get on the swing carousel, though.”

“What, don’t fancy a little frostbite?”

You dismiss his sarcastic remark with a shake of your head. “I can’t wait to have fried oreos. Oh, and the Krispy Kreme burger! You have to eat it—it’s a rite of passage.”

“That sounds… horrendous.”

His terrified expression only emphasizes the pure disgust in his voice. But you won’t let him get out of it. You’re fully committed to making sure Harry’s first experience at the state fair was textbook.

Somehow, luck had made sure you two wouldn’t have to search high and low for something to do on your one-year anniversary. A busy week had prevented you two from making it to the fairgrounds until tonight. Though it’s the last night of the fair, the parking lot is completely full.

As you walk toward the entrance, hands clasped together tightly and shoulders bumping with each step, you wonder if Harry feels the same nervous energy in the air. You wonder if he can feel your blood simmering in your fingertips at the thought of you two, present and in this moment. Your one-year anniversary. An entire twelve months of having Harry as your own, two equal halves of a whole. An entire twelve months of him pumping so much feeling into your heart that even the thought of telling him how you feel threatens to make it burst.

You want to tell him. You’re going to tell him. You have to—it’s been a year. That’s long enough, right?

You’ve been in love before. Once, with someone who didn’t deserve it. Someone who didn’t value your mind and body with the same reverence that Harry does. Someone who took and took and took but never gave.

But Harry—Harry gives so much you wonder how he has anything left. It’s not something you’ll ever take for granted. That’s why you have to tell him tonight.

If your nerves let go of your throat, that is.

“I’d like to go see the animals,” Harry muses as you line up to get your tickets. “They have baby ones, right?”

“There’s a little petting zoo inside,” you confirm with an eager grin.

“Brilliant.” You can’t help but giggle at the way his face lights up at the thought of petting little chicks and piglets. He looks down at you with an unabashed smile. “What? Don’t laugh at me!”

“I can’t wait to take videos of you with baby chicks. Your sister would love to see those.”

His eyes instantly narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The teasing sets the playful tone of the night. As soon as you cross the gates into the fairgrounds, you’re swept up in the neon-bathed atmosphere. Families, couples, college students—every kind of person criss-crossed around you as you make your way through the various stalls. Harry buys you both a tray of fried oreos and cotton candy the size of your heads. The oreos are even better than you remember.

Pretty soon, you forget about the fact that you can’t really feel your fingers or toes. Instead, you focus on the sensations around you—Harry’s hand in yours, squeezing tightly every time he sees something that excites him. The thudding of your heart as you secretly record him picking up a baby chick and holding it so close to his face you’re worried for a second that it might peck his eye out. The sweet, sticky kiss you two share after splitting a funnel cake and a milkshake, lips and tongue coated in sugar and chocolate syrup.

You end up at a ring-toss stall. There’s an incredibly large stuffed bear in the corner that Harry spots and then promptly turns around to say, “I’m winning that for you.”

“Are you now?”

He nods determinedly. “Let’s pretend we’re teenagers on a first date. I’ll win it for you and you can reward me with a snog under the bleachers tomorrow at school.”

He’s wiggling his eyebrows like a fool and you push him away so he can’t see the way you’re failing to bite back a goofy grin. “Absolute idiot. You owe me another milkshake if you don’t win it.”

He pays the girl manning the booth the two dollars to get the five rings. “It’s all about the technique,” he says, eyes bright as he lines up the first shot. “Just a gentle, easy toss forward…”

The ring clatters off the lip of the bottle.

“That one doesn’t count.”

“I think it does, babe,” you say, hiding your shit-eating grin behind your fingertips. Harry looks back at you and is fully disgruntled, pout out in full force. “It’s okay. You just need four to get the grand prize.”

His determination makes warmth bubble in your chest, the feeling of fondness consuming you thoroughly. Harry lines up the next shot and tosses it, letting out a noise of triumph when it makes it onto a bottle. “Just needed a warm-up throw, you know?” he says. He bites his bottom lip in concentration as he prepares to take the next shot.

It lands on a bottle yet again. He lets out a little noise of triumph. “Get in,” he mumbles, already reaching for the next ring.

The fourth ring also manages to hit its target. By the time Harry’s lining up his last shot, you’re convinced he might actually win the bear. “No pressure or anything, but if you don’t make this I’ll be supremely upset,” you quip. You sneak a glance at the girl behind the booth—she’s definitely fighting a smile.

“I’m making this, darling. Let me focus.”

“I think I want the peanut butter chocolate milkshake this time.”

He turns back to look at you, unimpressed. “Okay, if I make this shot, you have to buy me a milkshake.”

“If you keep stalling, the fair is going to close and neither of us will get a milkshake.”

Harry narrows his eyes at you. He turns back to the booth and readies himself. Unbeknownst to him, however, you pull out your phone and start recording as he lifts his arm to throw the ring.

It’s like it moves in slow motion. The ring leaves his hand and soars through the air in a perfect arc toward the middle of the group of bottles. All of you—the girl included—watch with bated breath as the ring hits the edge of a bright blue bottle…

...and slips off, falling to the ground below.

Harry lets out a loud groan just as you burst into laughter. He turns and notices that you’ve got your phone up and you’ve just captured everything on video. “Oh, cheers, love,” he grunts with a shake of his head. Your shoulders are shaking with giggles, and he turns back to the girl in the booth. “Any chance I can still get that teddy bear?”

The girl is doing a poor job of concealing her own laughter. “Not without another two dollars, sorry.”

“Bugger.”

“Harry, it’s fine,” you chuckle. You put your phone away and wrap your arms around his frame, though he still keeps up his faux-upset attitude. “I’ll still buy you a milkshake, hm?”

His lips curve upward. “But I didn’t make the shot.”

“I know.” You roll onto your toes and stamp a kiss to his cheek. “You can make up for it later.”

You start to pull him away from the booth and toward the truck with the milkshakes, though you spare a quick glance to the girl in the stall. She mouths a ‘so cute’ to you with a nod in Harry’s direction. You grin cheekily, thanking her before starting off toward the truck.

The area has cleared up significantly. Most of the families with younger children have left, leaving quite a few of the rides with no lines whatsoever. You spot the entrance to the ferris wheel and pull on Harry’s sleeve. “Do you want to leave or can we stay for a bit longer?”

He hums, thinking. “We’ve got nothing to do tomorrow. We can hang around.”

“I want to go on the ferris wheel.”

“Might be best not to do the milkshake, then. Get a bit queasy with heights.”

In no time, you’re being directed into the open gondola. The less than enthused attendant shuts the door and steps back to the control panel. With a whir, the wheel starts moving and lifts you up into the sky.

It moves slowly enough to where you can easily let your eyes trace the horizon. The twinkling lights of the local neighborhoods flicker back at you, like little waves of hello in the darkness. Harry wraps his arm around you and pulls you back so you can settle against his chest. He nudges his nose against the side of your head and takes a deep breath before planting a kiss there.

The thought pops back into your brain. Now is as good of a time as any to tell Harry how you feel, but there’s still something holding you back. Maybe it’s the fear of your feelings not being reciprocated, but you have to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. He would never treat you the way he has over the past year if he didn’t feel anything close to what you’re feeling. So why can’t you cut away the ties on your vocal cords and just say it?

You shift a bit so you can lean your head back on Harry’s shoulder. Letting out a sigh, you reach over to grab his hand and pull it into your lap.

“Good?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

The chair creaks a bit as the Ferris wheel comes to a stop. Your gondola is right at the top, giving you the perfect view of the surrounding mountains. The cold wind bites at your cheeks but the warmth in your chest dulls it a bit.

“Thank you for today.”

“You’re very welcome.” You can detect a smile in his voice. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course,” you murmur. You turn your head to plant a soft kiss on his jawline. “Always have fun with you.”

As the Ferris wheel starts spinning again, you try to arrange your thoughts coherently. You make it through nearly another full rotation before speaking.

“Did you ever think we’d make it here?”

You feel the purse of Harry’s lips against your temple. “Make it to the Ferris wheel? Yeah, I guess.”

“No, you dope.” You half-heartedly backhand his chest. “I mean us. Together for a year. Did you ever think it would happen?”

He doesn’t reply immediately. You straighten up and turn your body face him. He looks inquisitive—wistful, almost. You wonder if he’s shifting through the last four years, reflecting on all your shared moments like you’ve been for the last few days. How you came together so gently, falling headfirst into something unknown yet blatantly clear.

“I think we were always meant to be something,” he finally says. With a shrug, he adds, “I think I was meant to have you in my life some way or another. It feels too inevitable to me.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “The last time I was in a relationship this long… I didn’t feel nearly as much as what I feel for you at this point.”

“And what would that be?”

It’s the chance you’ve been waiting for. Somehow, Harry knows it too—the way he’s looking at you right now makes you want to bare your soul to the entire world.

As the Ferris wheel comes to stop once again, you take a moment to look around you. The stillness of the night brings a steady calmness you’ve desperately needed. You fill your chest with air and hold it in for a few seconds before letting it all out.

“You make me feel… happy,” you start, voice barely rising over the sound of the wind around you. “You make me feel like I’m the strongest, most capable person in the world. You… you make me better, I think.”

The arm that’s resting on the back of the chair comes to your face. Harry runs his thumb along your cheek. His face carries nothing but fondness and affection. You still yourself with another breath and close your eyes for a split second. “You make me feel loved,” you say quietly. “So unbelievably loved.”

Being so candid and open and honest makes you want to hide. But Harry wouldn’t let you do that, not after the progress you two have made as a couple. When he tilts your face upward with the hand that was on your cheek, you close your eyes.

“Darling, look at me.”

As you open your eyes, you feel the gondola wobble with Harry’s move to get closer to you. He’s in your space suddenly, encompassing and consuming all of your immediate senses. There’s a hint of a smile on his face that releases some of the tension in your shoulders. He nods at you, cups your cheek and leans forward so your foreheads are touching. It’s grounding. It’s the tether you need to say the words.

“I love you,” you whisper. It’s quiet enough that the declaration remains in the space between you. “I’m in love with you.”

Harry’s hand traces a line from the corner of your lips to your hair, tucking a few wayward strands back. He sighs—even from your angle, you can see his smile start to grow. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, tilts your face back so he can look at you fully.

His eyes dart across your face. Finally, his dimple pops and the most breathtaking smile erupts.

“I love you, too,” he replies, as easily as saying hello. “I reckon I love you quite a bit. Have for a while now.”

In a rare moment, he holds nothing back. You know exactly what he’s thinking. And you wonder how you could ever doubt how he feels for you, how it could ever be anything but this. This, the thing you’ve been missing. This, the thing that’s been waiting for you to arrive.

You kiss him as the Ferris wheel starts moving again. The world continues to turn, and you’re happy.

-*-

Year Five: December

From your position on Harry’s bed, you toss yet another crumpled up tissue into his wastebasket. Just like the last five, it floats to the floor sadly. Ivan, Harry’s cat, follows the movement with his eyes from his position at your feet.

An ugly, garbage disposal-like sound emerges from your throat as you cough into your elbow again. Your laptop lays off to the side, discarded in the midst of your sneezing and coughing fits. This horrible cold descended with a vengeance yesterday—you’re convinced you caught it from a sleep-deprived undergrad in your seminar class who refused to miss a day of class when he was so clearly ill.

You’re swaddled in blankets with wool socks on and one of Harry’s thickest sweatshirts serving as a barrier to the ice-cold room. At least, it’s cold to you—Harry’s been wearing short-sleeved shirts and shorts in the apartment with how high you’ve set the heat. He’s been so gracious to keep you at his while your immune system wages war against this virus. He even slept on the couch last night preemptively, so he wouldn’t disturb your inevitable restless sleep.

Thinking of Harry reminds you of why you’ve taken a break from your already pitiful attempts at working on your dissertation. “Babe,” you call, though it’s more of a lamentable croak with how congested you are. “Where’s the Dayquil?”

“I’m coming, darling.”

You hear his footfalls approaching through the open door. His head pops around the corner a few seconds later. Instantly, his brows pull in and his lips drop into a pout. “Oh, my love. You look worse than before.”

You cough into your elbow again. It feels like you’re hacking up a lung. “Just what I want to hear,” you grunt, flopping onto your other side so you’re not facing Harry anymore.

“Fuck—I didn’t mean it like that.” He appears in the corner of your visual field as he rounds the bed and comes to kneel at your side. The sympathetic expression is still on his face. “The soup didn’t help, did it?”

“No.” You glare at him and haughtily pull the blanket back over your head. You voice comes out muffled when you say, “I changed my mind. I want the Nyquil so I can go to sleep.”

“It’s only 6.”

The amusement in his voice has no place in this conversation. You wrestle the blanket out of the way so you can see him again. There’s a grin on his face that you want to smack off.

“This isn’t funny. I have so much work to do and I’m too sick to do anything.”

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Ha-rry! I just want my Nyquil, please.”

“Alright, alright!” Harry chuckles and dares to lean down to peck your sweaty forehead. You don’t have the energy to swat him away. “I’ll get you your meds. Can I take your temperature before you go to sleep, though?”

A thermometer in your mouth is the last thing you want to happen right now, but you give him a vague grunt of approval. He disappears down the hall to get your things. Ivan hops up from his spot and leaps off the bed, the bell on his collar jingling as he follows Harry out. Turning back over, you halfheartedly try to gather your papers and shove them into your folder before shutting your laptop and shoving everything onto Harry’s side of the bed.

But the exertion of all this has left you a bit winded. You cough again, the phlegm making a horrid sound in your throat. You hate being sick—you’re the worst patient and everyone in your life knows it. In the back of your mind, you hope you aren’t bothering Harry excessively with this nonsense but he’s the only person who’s willingly taking care of you right now, so you figure he can’t mind that much.

When he reappears, he’s got the thermometer under his arm, the NyQuil in one hand, and a mug of something steaming in the other. He sets everything down on the side table and sits down gingerly by your side. Your peer up at him through bleary eyes.

“Hi, there,” Harry murmurs. He pushes a few sweaty hairs back from your forehead. “You poor thing.”

“I feel shitty.”

“I know you do.” He grabs the thermometer and helps you sit up. You end up leaning the majority of your weight on him as he sticks the probe in your mouth. “Hold that there,” he instructs.

He uncaps the medicine and pours the appropriate dose into the little measuring cup. Once the thermometer beeps, you spit the probe out of your mouth. Harry tuts like a mother hen. “A little elevated, but it’s going down.” He holds the cup out for you to take. “Hopefully your fever will break overnight with this,” he comments as you take it back like a shot.

You make a face at the taste and immediately swap the cup for the mug. It smells like Harry’s sleepytime tea, and though your stomach rolls a bit at the thought of consuming anything with flavor, you know it’s probably a good idea to take. “Thanks,” you mumble. You shift back to lean against the bed frame with your knees bend. You hold the mug to your face, hoping the steam will alleviate some of the congestion you feel.

“Try to get some rest, yeah?” Harry kisses your kneecap and lets his chin rest on top for a moment. “You’ll be okay if I sit in the front room and get some work done?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“You want me to keep Ivan out?”

“No, that’s alright,” you say with a shake of your head. “He can cuddle me if he wants.”

He sponges one more kiss to your blanket-covered knees then stands from the bed. “Sleep tight. Yell if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”You take a tentative sip of the tea. It’s warm enough that you can feel it trickle down your throat. A deeper, more visceral warmth spreads through you. You glance up at Harry and give him a half-smile partially hidden by the mug. “I love you. Thank you.”

“Love you, too. Sleep now, yeah?”

The tea compounded with the NyQuil is already lulling you in a drowsy state. You watch through lidded eyes as Harry heads for the door. He steps out of the room, shuts the light off, and pulls the door so just a sliver of the hallway light is visible through the crack.

You take a few more sips of tea before setting the mug on the side table. A shiver runs through you when your arms leave the warm confines of your blanket. You settle back after fluffing your pillow, making sure the blankets are tucked all around you. As soon as your head hits the pillow, your breathing levels and you drift off to sleep.

-*-

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you can breathe through your nose.

The luxury is not lost on you. As soon as you blink your eyes open, you take a deep, fulfilling inhale. The stale smell of your skin filters through your nose, but even that can’t dampen your spirits. The pounding in your head has also disappeared, along with the seemingly impermeable chill that had taken over your body for the last two days.

In fact, you feel quite sweaty now.

With a groan, you attempt to sit up underneath the heap of blankets and quilts on top of you. It’s already light outside—you’ve slept for at least twelve hours. You can tell by the way your body feels less like it’s being dragged through the mud.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur when you spot Ivan by your side. He lifts his head and blinks sleepily at you. You scratch under his chin and smile when he starts to purr. “Where’s your daddy, hm?” you say to yourself. The other side of the bed is empty with the sheets and pillow still in their place from last night. Harry must have slept on the couch again. You frown, thinking of the state his back must be in.

“Harry?” you call, voice still hoarse. You cough a bit to clear up some of the phlegm that’s built up overnight. “H, where are you?”

You suddenly realize he could still be asleep given how early it must be. Looking over your shoulder at the clock on the side table, you see that it’s just past 7. Harry’s usually awake this early, even on days off.

In a brave effort, you swing your legs over the side of the bed in preparation to get up. It takes an embarrassingly long time to actually muster the strength to push yourself up onto two legs. You’re unsteady, and for the first time you can feel the toll this virus has taken on your body.

It’s more of a shuffle than a walk as you head toward the door. You concentrate on making sure you get one foot in front of the other as you make your way out of Harry’s bedroom. It leads right into the kitchen—it’s empty, though there’s a full pot of coffee on the counter.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Harry’s sitting at the kitchen counter on one of the barstools. His laptop is open and he’s got some papers out in front of him. There’s a pen tucked behind his ear.

“How are you feeling?” He’s up and out of his seat in an instant, not even giving you a chance to speak. His brow furrows when he reaches you, immediately pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Feels like the fever’s gone,” he notes. “I was just about to come check on you.”

“I feel a lot better now,” you tell him earnestly. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and drags fingers down your arm before tangling them with yours. You’re pulled over to the counter, directed carefully into the barstool before Harry rounds the counter again and goes to the fridge.

“Breakfast?”

“Please.” You finally feel like your appetite is back. “And tea.”

“On it.”

Harry starts on breakfast just like he’s done countless instances before. As he cooks, you look over at his computer screen to see what he was working on. His email is open—you see a few messages from Dr. Johnston, some more from his colleagues in the department. One subject line catches you eye.

RE: Assistant Professorship Offer

Your eyes widen. “Harry?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Are you being offered tenure?"

A pause.

“Oh, my god.” A surge of excitement rushes through you. “Are you being offered tenure?!”

“I have… been approached,” Harry starts as he sets the spatula down. He sets the cover on the eggs and adjusts the burner before turning to face you. “Dr. J’s been dropping hints.”

“I’d say this is more than a hint.”

The corner of his lips quirk upward. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I may have gotten a preview of an initial contract.”

“Harry!”

“It’s all still very preliminary!” he insists, though you can tell how exciting this is for him based on the way his eyes have lit up. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. The department is still waiting to hear back from another person before making their decision.”

You roll your lips into your mouth to prevent yourself from shouting out in pure elation. Tenure is… tenure is huge. A tenure-track position for Harry means he’ll be permanently employed by the university until he retires. The possibilities of everything he could accomplish flit through your head at hyper speed. The research, the grants, the opportunities… the job and financial security. The chance to start putting down real roots.

“When would you start?”

“Next fall.”

You purse your lips in thought. “‘Dr. Harry Styles, Assistant Professor’ has a nice ring to it, though.”

Harry’s mouth quirks. “You think so?”

You hum, nodding with a smirk. “Then associate professor…. Then professor.”

He’s clearly embarrassed. You take pride in the flush that’s starting to spread over his cheeks. “The titles are arbitrary,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Probably still going to be ‘Dr. Styles’ to everyone.”

“Not to me.” You hop off the chair and make your way to him. His arms uncross immediately, gathering you to his chest as you press yourself against him. “So much more than that to me,” you murmur.

“I appreciate that, darling.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.” He pulls back and lets his hands drift down the curve of your spine. He digs his fingers into your muscles gently. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I just didn’t want to jinx anything.”

“Understandable. This is huge—I’d want to be sure of it before I said anything, if it were me.”

Your eyes fall to his lips. He licks them, tongue poking out of the corner for a brief moment.

“I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Me, too,” he murmurs. “But you’re still sick.”

You level him with a petulant look. “I’m not that sick.”

At that instant, you throat feels ticklish. You step back and cough into your arm a few times. It’s less of a garbage disposal sound this time, but it still feels harsh coming out of your chest.

Harry looks on knowingly. “You were saying?”

You clear your throat and wordlessly shuffle back to the barstool. Harry’s snickers are audible. You’re fine to wait for a kiss if it means keeping Harry like this: happy, surrounded by a careful but excited air of anticipation. He hums to himself as he cooks up a healthy batch of scrambled eggs and another brew of tea for you. You’re content to sit and watch in silence, though there’s a dreamy smile on your face the entire time.

When Harry’s setting down a plate of steaming eggs and a warm mug of peppermint tea in front of you, you speak up. “We could stay here. If you got tenured, I mean.”

“I know.” He sits down next to you and hands you a fork. He adds, “I’ve thought about it already. Even asked for a ballpark salary figure from Dr. J.”

“And?”

He shrugs, scooping some eggs onto his fork. “It’d be enough.”

“For what?”

“A house. With a mortgage, maybe.” He stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he takes his time in washing it down with water, all the while watching your face carefully for a reaction. You silently urge him to continue. “Could start looking at those places instead of just sending each other links to properties all the time.”

You’re sure your cheeks are on fire by now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies easily. He smiles a bit, almost to himself. “Yeah,” he mumbles again, legs tangling with yours.

-*-

The next night, you’re resting your head against the lip of the tub, eyes closed and breathing slow. The water is just borderline too-hot—exactly what you need now that you feel relatively back to normal.

You focus on the feeling of humidity against the back of your neck, the wet hairs plastered against your skin. There’s a hint of lavender in the air from the essential oils you’ve added to your bath. A Louis Armstrong song plays from your phone. The door to the bathroom creaks open as a trumpet solo begins.

Harry steps in and nudges the door shut behind him. He’s carrying a glass of white for you and red for himself. “How’s the water?”

“Good,” you murmur, automatically sinking deeper into the tub so the tip of your chin touches the water. “Much needed. I already feel so much better.”

“Can I join?”

“Please.”

He’s quick to strip out of his old college sweatshirt and fleece shorts. His glasses stay perched on his nose and he sets your wine on the floor next to the tub. You sit up and scoot forward so he can slide in behind you. A bit of water splashes over the edge as he settles in, chest warm against your back. You’ve adopted this position many times before, Harry’s tub being the perfect size to accommodate you both.

You reach down and grab the wine, handing him his glass. He takes a deep pull, humming appreciatively.

“Good?” you ask as you lean back against him.

“Yeah, cheers.” He clinks his glass against yours and lets his other arm drift across your stomach, holding you to him.

The water in the bath settles. Your wine glass steadily empties as Louis Armstrong continues to croon lyrics of love in the background. Time has slowed to the tempo of the jazzy drum beat. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is weighed down against Harry’s in the most satisfying way. You could fall asleep, Harry’s gentle humming acting as the perfect lullaby.

When both your glasses are empty, you take his and place them both on the ground. With an exhale, you settle back against Harry’s chest and turn your head into the crook of his neck. Your nose skims the skin there. He smells like a hint of cologne, woodsy and rich, nostalgic and familiar.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

Harry’s chest moves with a deep breath. “I got it.”

Your eyes snap open. You sit up in an instant, water sloshing as you shift to look at him. For a moment, neither of you say anything. The song ends and a new one begins—it’s a Nat King Cole track now.

“The offer came?”

“Dr. J just sent me the official word. It’s mine if I want it.”

You expected it to take much longer for him to find out whether he’d gotten the tenured position or not, but it appeared the department was further along in their negotiations than Harry was letting on. If he took the job, he could start to explore different research projects, different veins of study to explore within the field. He could build a true legacy at the university. It’s everything he’s ever worked for being handed to him on a silver platter.

Your heart bursts with pride.

“Congratulations,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth pulling upward. “Assistant Professor Styles.”

He snuffles a laugh, looking down and shaking his head. You lift one of your hands out of the water and brush some of his curls back, letting the backs of your fingers slide against his cheek. Harry glances up at you through his lashes with a small grin on his face.

“D’you think it’s a good idea?”

“Of course I do,” you reply instantly. “You have to take it.”

“I’d be here permanently.”

“I know.”

“And you’d want to stay?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Harry.” You hope he can feel the sincerity through your words. This is a big conversation, you realize, one that has only been skimmed at the surface very briefly in the past. Now that Harry’s future is solidified, you can begin to think about what the next five years look like. However hazy they may be, you’re certain he’ll be by your side throughout them. “If you stay, I stay,” you tell him simply. “If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.”

“And what about what you want?”

“I want…” You pause for a moment, eyes searching his. He looks nervous, head tucked back and bottom lip drawn between his teeth. You lift your hand and thumb at his bottom lip to get him to release it. The sensation of his skin under your fingertips alone solidifies your answer. Whether it’s premature or not, you don’t know. Nor do you care, if you’re honest.

“I want to build a life with you,” you say quietly, barely being heard over the music playing from your phone. “I want to start our life together.”

There’s a split second when you don’t know if you’ve gone too far, if the mention of your future as a couple has come up too soon for his liking. But then his features soften, the earlier tension melting away in an instant. He leans forward and kisses you suddenly, lips pressing against yours in the gentlest of touches. Your eyebrows furrow as your kiss him back, lips parting with light smacking sounds that echo through the bathroom.

He pulls you into him and you follow. Water splashing carelessly, you’re hoisted into his lap and grip his cheeks in both hands. Harry takes deep, languid licks into your mouth that have your head reeling. You squeeze his hips with your knees and press yourself against him, bare skin to bare skin. Goosebumps erupt.

When your lips separate for a moment, Harry whispers, “You want to build a life with me?”

The genuine awe in his voice sends a chill through your spine. You hide a smile against his mouth. “I’ve wanted that for a while now.”

Your smile can’t take its full form because of the way he launches forward and kisses you again. He handles your face with such tenderness, in such stark contrast to the fierceness of his mouth. You can feel his cock start to thicken up against your thigh and subconsciously grind your pelvis down against him. The water moves along with your rocking motions.

A moan escapes you when he starts trailing his kisses down the side of your neck and across your collarbone. You feel as though he’s pushing his feelings onto you, physically trying to make sure you know the thoughts racing through his head. They’re probably not that different than your own—overwhelmed and bombarded with fleeting images of your lives together. No longer is there uncertainty; instead, a clear picture of the two of you now exists in place of a fuzzy ideality of the future.

Etta James is singing about Sunday dreaming when Harry spreads both his hands across your back to push you against his chest. Your arms tighten around his shoulders as your lips work against each other’s. Your fingers follow the curve of his neck, the broad planes of his chest, the smoothness of his abdomen. You reach his cock and take the heavy weight of him in your hand, rubbing him against your folds a few times. The pressure makes your eyes roll back into your head.

He grunts when you finally guide him into you. Lips stuttering, your rhythm faltering, a choked sigh falls from you as you sink down onto him. If you could stay full of him for all of eternity, you would.

“Baby… please.”

Your eyes open. Harry’s are glassy green, bright and yearning. He pushes your hair back behind your shoulders so nothing hides your face and he can look right at you. Right into you, more like. His eyes hold a weight in them that you’ve never seen before.

You move with the swell of the music. Back and forth, without haste, letting the movements of the water guide you into a rhythm that has both of you clenching your jaws with how bone-deep the pleasure hits. Harry’s hands drift to your ass and grip it tightly as you move above him.

Everything hits just right. The smooth glide of Harry’s skin under your fingers, the heat of his cock inside you, the gentle groans and grunts swallowed by your mouth. It’s not a crashing wave—more like a gentle tide rolling to shore.

You’re barely making any noise, a stark contrast to the usual pants and moans and whines that Harry usually pulls from you during sex. Foreheads pressed together, breaths intermingling, you two bring each other to your highs gradually rather than in a burst of pleasure. When you finally come, you let out a high-pitched, stuttered whine that Harry swallows into a kiss. His movements halt as your body twitches a few times and you bury your face in his neck as you come down.

Heart thudding loudly, you tighten your arms around shoulders. “Come,” you murmur groggily, teeth catching on the skin of his collarbone. “Come inside me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just—” You cut yourself off when you clench, squeezing down on him. “I want it, please.”

“Fuck, baby—” Harry’s hips jolt up into you, making a breath whoosh out of your lungs. “I love you, love you so—”

His fingernails dig into your spine, most likely leaving tiny half-moon indentations on your skin. Grunts hit your damp skin almost rhythmically with every thrust of his hips as he comes. It lasts a while, longer than you’re used to. You touch your lips to his temple as his heart beats away in his chest.

It’s silent. Not even the water moves as you both settle after your highs have worn off. The amount of love radiating between you doesn’t require words. The two of you hold each other to the sound of sweet jazz until the water runs cold.

-*-

Year Five: January

The room is steadily filling up as the clock inches closer to ten. You hardly expected more than five people to show up, but the first four rows of the lecture hall barely have any seats left. Dr. J and the rest of your dissertation committee are mingling around the table at the very front, but you haven’t left your spot by the podium since you arrived half an hour ago.

You can’t believe the day has finally arrived. The culmination of nearly five years of effort, barely enough sleep and too much time spent staring at your computer screen. It feels like just yesterday that you were sitting in Dr. J’s office explaining to her the premise of your study. Now, here you are after completing a nearly seventy-page paper summarizing your results. It doesn’t feel real.

You fiddle with your notecards and keep your gaze fixed resolutely on your computer screen. If you don’t pay attention to the slowly growing crowd, maybe your nerves won’t shoot through the roof. Everything has been rehearsed to the point of memorization, every slide has the appropriate animations, every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed. At this point, you just want to get it over with.

Harry’s sitting in the very back of the room, insisting he didn’t want to be up front so as not to distract you. Though you told him it wouldn’t be a problem, you’re thankful for it now. You haven’t said anything to him since arriving, choosing to keep to yourself so you can stay focused. He must sense how nervous you are since he hasn’t left his seat.

The clock hits noon and instantly, Dr. Johnston turns to face you. “Are you ready to start, dear?” she asks.

You nod after a few seconds, steeling yourself with a breath. It’s now or never. You take your place behind the podium and looking out toward the audience.

Eyes blink back at you but you don’t recognize most of them. There are a few people from your cohort in the front. Elena’s wearing a smile that takes up her entire face—when you make eye contact, she shoots you an enthusiastic thumbs up. You try to give her some semblance of a grin in return, but it feels more like a grimace. Your stomach rolls a bit as the committee takes their seats with Dr. Johnston front and center. They straighten their papers, align their notepads, and pick up their pens. Dr. J nods at you, and you begin.

“Hello, everyone. I’d like to thank you all for coming,” you speak, addressing the room. “I’d like to present the results of my investigation into the affective processing of loved faces.”

You click your keyboard to start the presentation. Your title slide comes up.

TO BE LOVED.

“My hypothesis stemmed largely from work I had done during my master’s. Specifically, I had a heightened interest in the physiological responses that occur when you and I—” you gesture to yourself and the committee, “—look at the ones we love. Those we care about, those we admire. Allow me to start with a brief introduction into what currently exists in the field of study…”

You dive into a summary of your literature, presenting all of the factual evidence that exists regarding your proposal. It’s easy to get into your flow that you were able to find when practicing your presentation. Every question that comes your way is met with a diligent, coherent answer.

You’re able to get through the first third of your presentation with minimal hiccups. The few instances you’ve spared a glance at Harry, he’s been rapt, fully focused on your delivery. But now, you watch as he stands quietly and heads to the back of the room and slips out the door.

Your brows furrow. You try not to dwell on it as you keep moving through your slides, but as you take a moment to sort through your notecards, you find yourself perplexed.

During your explanation of the methods of your study, the creak of the door hinges makes you pause. Harry mouths a ‘sorry’ and hurries into a row with a few people toward the back. The waxy paper of the bouquet of roses he’s holding crinkles as he sits down. The smile that spreads across your face is hard to contain, but you will yourself to remain focused. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the screen and continue speaking.

“The skin conductance and heart rate monitor were used to measure basic physiological responses. Any additional tools might have given me too much data—I wanted to stay with simple measures that could still provide significant results.”

“And why those two in particular?” You look back to the table. Dr. Song is tapping her pen thoughtfully against her chin. “Surely those are two of the most primitive tools to use. You could have obtained permission to outsource for methods that would give you clearer data with less noise.”

It’s a valid point, but it’s something you already anticipated being asked about. “I had considered it,” you tell her truthfully. But then you pause, letting your eyes drift to the back of the room. Harry’s eyes are fixed on you, gaze attentive. It feels a little ironic when you say, “But what’s clearer than sweaty palms and a racing heart when you look at someone you love?”

A murmur spreads across the room. You don’t know whether to interpret that as bad or good, but seeing as Dr. Song gives you a nod of approval after jotting something down, you figure your answer is sufficient.

It’s the perfect moment to take a quick sip of water in between slides. You expect the bulk of your questions to start coming during this part of your presentation. Twenty-five minutes in and things have been fairly tame so far. You swallow another sip before setting the bottle down and navigating to the next slide.

“Overall, we found many significant differences within the subcategories of photos shown to the subjects,” you start, highlighting the data with your cursor. “These categories included romantic partners, parents, siblings, friends, and pets.”

On the next slide, you have your summary statistics. This is the slide that you spent hours making sure was perfect. You take a deep, relieved breath when everything loads properly. “The results indicated higher levels of physiological arousal when the subjects looked at photos of family and romantic partners versus friends and pets. I was curious if I could achieve a higher level of granularity between familiars, and it turns out…” The next data table appears on the screen with giant red boxes indicating your results. “Romantic partners elicited the highest amount of physiological arousal in both measures, surpassing all of our expectations.

“We can easily make assumption after assumption as to why this is,” you address the room as you walk out from behind the podium. “Controlling for extraneous variables and keeping the selection process for photos as unbiased as possible was absolutely necessary. But regardless—why do we react so strongly to those we love in a romantic sense?” Your eyes find Harry’s once again; it feels like you’re speaking directly to him when you say, “Why do we feel sparks when we’re in love?”

Harry had posed a theory one day when the two of you were wrapped up in his blankets. It was a rainy Sunday, the clouds having descended upon the town abruptly and canceling your outdoor plans. With the comforting weight of Ivan sleeping against your legs, you had listened as Harry’s voice barely carried over the sound of rain against the window.

“I think we exist to be in love. We’re primitive, you know? We’re driven by our bodies’ reward system. And that feeling of initial attraction kickstarts it. The sparks, the euphoria—it’s all a part of our brains saying, ‘Oh, this is right. This is what you want. You want to feel like this forever, with this person.’”

“I can postulate a few reasons,” you say to the room now. “But the psychology of affective processing goes beyond measurements and statistical inference. It’s obvious from these results that looking at the faces of those we love produces an overwhelmingly strong, positive response. It can’t be explained by familiarity, proximity, or emotional or physical arousal.”

“Then what can you truly conclude from these results that isn’t purely conjecture?” Dr. J asks.

“I think it’s fairly simple, actually,” you reply. “We crave romantic love, both in a psychological and a physiological sense. And when we receive it, our bodies react in a relatively definitive way. To be loved is to be gifted with the thing our brains want the most.” You shrug and send a soft grin in Harry’s direction. “It’s what we’re made to do.”

In the silence that follows your concluding sentence, a few things happen. You and Harry don’t look away from each other, and when you see his lips form the words ‘I love you,’ your stomach clenches with the overwhelming urge to run to him. It’s ironic, really, that you’re overcome with the exact feeling you’ve been researching for the last five years. How extraordinary is it that you can dedicate so much time to something that’s so instantaneous, something that becomes second nature once you’re inundated with it?

Dr. Johnston sets down her pen and clasps her hands on the table. “Thank you, dear. We’ll have your decision by the end of the week.”

You nod at the entire committee and smile gratefully. “Thank you all. I appreciate your time.”

Amidst the smattering of applause, you can feel the tension dissipate from your shoulders. Harry is standing and clapping while wearing a blinding smile that takes over his entire face. It’s contagious. You’re elated with the fact that you’re done—you’re finished with your doctoral dissertation. And yet, it feels like you’re just getting started.

-*-

Year Five: March

The email is a blaring alarm, a red warning light, an emergency siren. All of the above. The anticipation leading up to this moment isn’t gone—if anything, it’s only gotten worse. Your poor nails have already been bitten down, but you still chew on your thumb as you scroll through the email. It’s the absolute worst timing in the world.

A job offer. Three states over.

You exhale through pursed lips and sink further into the couch. Ivan lifts his head from his position by your side and blinks at you lazily. Oh, to be a cat, you think as you scratch behind his ears. No worrying about the future, no anxiety about what your partner will say when you tell him this is the only option you have for continuing your research.

You’d applied on a whim back in November, fully not expecting to receive a call to set up a Skype interview. After speaking with some of the faculty members, you found yourself doing more research about the benefits and department resources. But the minute Harry had received his tenure offer, you’d completely written it off as a possibility.

But now, in March, with no word from the other places you’ve interviewed, this feels like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over your head.

Harry’s taking advantage of the warm weather and has gone for a jog, leaving you and Ivan to your own devices. Part of you is glad he isn’t here, but you know the minute he walks in he’ll be able to tell something is wrong. If only you could compartmentalize well enough to distract yourself until he gets back.

You decide to take a shower to clear your head. The hot steam does wonders for the tightness in your neck but little for the stress pervading your brain. How are you supposed to bring up the possibility of you moving away? After going to countless showings of starter homes and picking out a new mattress, how could you tell him you might not be able to have any of that? You might not be able to have any part of your shared life after all?

Palms against your eyes, you try to calm your breathing. The text of the email sits at the forefront of your brain as if it’s being projected on the backs of your eyelids. The salary, retirement benefits, and research grant opportunities are pulling you in one direction, and Harry’s pulling you in the other.

The door to the bathroom creaks open. Your head whips up as Harry’s voice carries over the sound of the water. “Can I join you, darling?”

“Ye—yeah, of course.” You cringe at the pitch of your voice. Harry pulls back the curtain, fully nude with a sheen of sweat tinging his skin. “How was your run?” you ask, hoping you sound casual.

“Good—long, but needed.”

He steps in and you move so he can get under the spray. He washes his face and gets his hair wet quickly. While his back is facing you, you try and formulate something to fill the awkward silence that’s incredibly evident.

He turns and you hand him his shampoo. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pops the cap and squirts some into his palm. “You alright?” he asks. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m alright,” you say, though the words sound hollow to your ears. You turn away from him and grab the body wash, quickly squeezing some into your palm and starting to soap up your body.

It’s too quiet. You’re both usually more talkative in the shower. You’re not even touching each other, though you’d like to attribute Harry’s lack of words to him being tired after his run. And though you’ve clammed up, the words are crawling up your throat at an insidious pace.

“Can I rinse?”

Harry moves out of the way, switching spots with you. Even the scalding water can’t startle the anxiety out of you. You make quick work of washing the soap off your skin before letting Harry get under the spray so he can rinse out his shampoo.

The words rear their ugly heads. Your brain works automatically, foreboding feelings ignored.

“I have to tell you something.”

Harry cracks an eye open while rinsing his scalp. “Yeah?”

You swallow. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “I got a job offer.”

His hands still. “No way?” He pushes his hair and back runs his hands down his face so he can open both of his eyes to look at your. Your stomach twists when they light up. “That’s amazing. It’s about time, really—”

“—It’s not the one we wanted.”

It’s instant. The smile is wiped off this face and replaced with an impassive expression. His eyes lose their light, brows coming together and lips turning downward.

“The one in…”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

He nods slowly. His face gives nothing away. The first prick of frustration itches at your spine. It’s the uncertainty of his reaction that has you feeling unnerved. Too tense to say anything, you stay quiet as you watch Harry carefully. His lips part once before snapping shut again. Then, he shakes his head.

“I figured you’d withdrawn yourself from consideration.”

You hate the way his voice has gone hard. “I didn’t,” you say truthfully as much as it breaks you. “I don’t know why I didn’t, but it seemed like a viable option.”

“So you’re saying you might take it?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” you say again, firmer this time. “I only just got the email today.”

He exhales a sharp breath through flared nostrils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth and nods once to himself. “Right,” he mutters. “That’s brilliant, then.”

Abruptly, he pulls the curtains back and grabs a towel from the rack before stepping out of the shower. Your mouth drops when the cold air of the bathroom hits your bare skin. He stalks off after wrapping the towel around his waist without another word.

His reaction is worse than you could have ever imagined. You feel a bit petrified—you’ve never seen Harry angry before. And this version of him—quiet, impassive, almost unemotional—is so unlike the Harry you see on a daily basis. This unfamiliar territory makes your nerves shoot through the roof.

You fumble with the knob on the wall to get the water to turn off. In a flash, you’re out of the shower with your own towel fastened under your armpits . You nearly slip on a wet patch on the floor, feeling equal parts ridiculous and desperate as you hurry into the bedroom. “Harry, please listen to me,” you say with an edge of distress.

Harry’s back is facing you as he rifles through his dresser. He pulls out a pair of briefs and drops his towel, stuffing his legs into them before shutting the drawer with a loud thud.

“Can you look at me, please?”

He turns. His jaw has gone tight, the lines on his forehead more pronounced. “What do you want me to say, love?” he asks plainly.

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

He scoffs out a laugh—your chest burns. “I’m thinking this is kind of a kick in the teeth for me,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I really thought you wouldn’t even consider moving away.”

“It’s not intentional, H. This may be my only choice—”

“—This shouldn’t have been a choice in the first place!” he cuts you off with a wave of his arm. “I have to stay here. We planned to stay here. What was the point of going to all those showings for houses, then? What was the point of all that?”

It’s not often that you two blow up at each other like this—in fact, you can’t really remember the last time you two have fought at this level. The explosion in the tone of his voice makes you want to cower away. “You’re being irrational,” you tell him, urging yourself to remain calm. “Nothing is set in stone, it’s just an offer.”

“But you have no other offers as of yet. Clock’s ticking, darling.”

Your mouth drops. He looks completely unbothered by what he’s just said. “You’re being a dick about this,” you grit out.

Harry lets out an exasperated laugh. “Can you blame me?” He pauses, looking down at his feet for a moment. You hug your towel closer to you as a shiver runs through your body—whether it’s from anger or the cold, you don’t know. Finally, he looks up again—this time, he’s traded his clenched jaw for a grim purse of his lips.

“All I want is for us to get our life started together,” he says quietly. He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, his tell for when he’s stressed. “How are we supposed to do that if you’re three states away? I can’t live in a house with empty bedrooms or sleep in a bed by myself. And everything we talked about—the cars, the dog, the kids… How are we supposed to have that if you’re gone?”

A few moments of tense silence [ass. Harry’s words hang like dead weights in the space between you. You exhale a shaky breath, willing the pressure behind your eyes to disappear. “I just don’t know why you’re reacting like this,” you say thickly. “I haven’t even said yes.”

“But you haven’t said no.”

Harry’s dry smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Your lips part with the intention of stopping him as he stalks out of the room, but nothing comes out. You’re acutely aware of the chill that’s settled over you, but you wish you could attribute it to the cool air of the room. When the first tear falls, you wipe it away.

-*-

Sleeping in your bed is strange.

You can’t remember the last time you slept in your apartment alone. The thought sends a pang of grief through you. Two days at your own place, in your own solitude and solemnity and you’ve nearly reached a breaking point. You haven’t spoken to Harry since you told him you were going to spend a few days at yours.

That feels like a mistake now.

You’ve tried and failed to fall asleep so you turned your bedside lamp on and are now attempting to read a book. It’s one Harry recommended—a book about neuropsychology case studies. You were hoping the denseness of the subject material could take you out of your head for a bit, but you had tossed the book aside after the first chapter. Now, you’re staring at your ceiling fan as it rotates aimlessly. Your eyes follow the movement until your gaze goes unfocused.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You lean over on one elbow and pluck it off the table. As soon as you see the name, you bolt upright into a seated position.

I’m outside.

Harry knows you hate the sound of your doorbell and how loud it is, hence the text that signals his arrival. His courtesy leads you to believe he’s not here for any reason other than to talk. The thought of clearing the air after two painstakingly alone days is what lifts you out of bed and toward the front door.

Before unlocking the door, you take a steadying breath. You pull it open to reveal Harry in a similarly rumpled state. His sweats are wrinkled, hair flopping over his forehead. His glasses are crooked and do nothing to conceal the redness of his eyes.

“Hi, darling.”

You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe. “Hi,” you murmur, appraising him carefully. You don’t want to make any sudden movements, unable to gauge where you two stand.

Harry swallows and licks his lips. You bite the inside of your cheek. The silence between you two is deafening. Even the chirping of the crickets seems too loud.

“Can I—”

“Do you want to—”

You both stop in the middle of speaking. “You first,” Harry says, gesturing toward you.

Suddenly posed with the opportunity to express how you’ve felt over the last few days, you clam up. You’re not even sure if how you feel is valid at all given how quickly the argument had progressed. You still haven’t quite been able to make sense of it.

So, instead of wrestling through a muddy apology, you hold a hand out. Harry’s gaze flickers between your face and your hand a few times. He finally takes it after a few seconds and you lead him inside.

He trails after you as you head for the couch. You only let go of his hand when you move to sit down. He takes a seat across from you, leaving a healthy amount of distance. You hate it. Instead of reaching out for him again, you grab a pillow and hug it against your chest.

Harry angles his body towards you. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For letting me in, I mean.”

“I would never turn you away,” you reply with a shake of your head.

“I’d understand if you did.”

The dry laugh that escapes him makes your lips turn downward. You sit up straighter and tuck some hair behind your ears.

“All I want is for us to be honest with each other,” you start. “And I felt like… I felt like you weren’t even listening to me. You’re not like that.” After pausing to take a breath, you continue. “What happened, Harry?”

He shifts a bit toward you, bending his knee so he can rest his leg on the cushion. He looks down at his clasped hands for a few seconds as if gathering his thoughts. You can sense he has more to say so you stay quiet.

When he looks up again, he seems determined. “For a while, I didn’t think I’d get this. This stability, this comfort… it’s all very new to me.” He pauses and makes an aborted gesture with one hand. “I never thought I could love someone so fiercely and have them love me just the same.”

A bit of you breaks at the forlornness in Harry’s voice. You want nothing more than to crawl into his lap and hug him so tightly against your chest that he’d be able to feel how your heart races any time you’re around him. But you can tell he needs to get this off his chest. You settle for digging your fingers into the pillow.

“And when you said you could be leaving… I guess I panicked?” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t think I was prepared for the possibility of you leaving. I reacted so poorly that I was terrified you’d leave anyway.”

“I could never,” you insert quickly, shaking your head. “I love you, Harry. Regardless of what happens with my job, I would never just abandon you.”

He looks at you pensively, eyes narrowed and brows pulled downward. You shift forward, knees touching now. You reach out and grab one of his hands, interlacing your fingers and squeezing tightly. He nods to himself and says, “I love you, too. What I did was shit. I’m sorry, my love.”

For the first time in two days, your smile doesn’t feel weighed down. Some part of you knows Harry’s ability to rationalize through these types of situations is probably the reason why you two are as strong as you are. Even as shitty as you’ve felt, you know this is an important roadblock for you two to navigate through together.

“The job offer I got would be really beneficial to my career,” you say truthfully. “But I haven’t given them an answer yet. The offer isn’t binding, and I still have places I’m waiting to hear back from.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “Whatever happens, I want you to do whatever is best for you.”

“Even if it means moving three states over?”

He cracks a grin. “I have enough frequent flyer points to cover the flights.”

A chuckle leaves your lips. “And the house? The dog?”

“Maybe not now,” he says, “but definitely in the future.”

“Kids, too?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. He pulls on your hand until you get the message. Tossing the pillow aside, you crawl over to him until you get your knees on either side of his hips. His hands come to circle your waist.

“I can’t wait for all of it,” he murmurs, eyes falling to your lips. “Even if we have to push it back a few years. I want everything with you.”

-*-

A week later, you wake up to an email from the university one town over. It’s a job offer: a research position with a minimum five year commitment. You send a screenshot of the email to Harry. Within seconds, there’s a reply.

Can we name our dog Maslow?

-*-

Year Five: May

Your mom fusses over your lipstick yet again. “Honey, it’s smudged,” she insists, licking her thumb and gesturing toward your face. “And your hair is all over the place, just let me fix it—”

“Mom, I got it! I’m gonna be late, I really need to go,” you tell her quickly, moving out of the way. “You guys have your tickets, right?”

She pats her purse and nods. You quickly try to slip your feet into your heels but the straps slip from your clammy hands. Plopping on the ground rather ungracefully, you work as fast as you can to get your shoes buckled and secure on your feet. The last thing you need is to break an ankle tripping across the stage.

“Oh, and Harry’s mom is sitting with you, too,” you tell her as you grab your robe and hood. “She’ll meet you at the arena.”

“Is she riding with Harry?”

“Yeah, they’re coming separately.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” your mum gushes.

Her enthusiasm makes your lips quirk upward as you straighten your dress. After making sure you have everything, you kiss your mom goodbye and rush out to your car. Traffic is sure to be a nightmare and you don’t know if you’re going to make it on time.

Luckily, most of the lights are green so you’re pulling into a parking spot just under ten minutes later. There’s a steady stream of graduates and their family members making their way to the arena. You’re glad you came alone, trusting your parents enough to be able to navigate to their seats on their own. Once you make it to the designated entrance where the doctoral candidates are lining up, you send a quick text to Elena to let her know you’re here.

It’s a bit overwhelming. Everything has moved so quickly that you haven’t really had a chance to take a step back and visualize everything that’s led you to this moment. Surreal is the word that pops into your brain. Five years in one place is a long time. You’re surrounded by people who have spent around the same time as you studying their passions and nurturing their intellect. And now, in one short hour, it’ll all be over.

Elena tackles you from behind a few moments later. “I’m so late, I’m so late,” she wheezes, pulling you toward the other members of your cohort. “I couldn’t find my damn shoes. You look stunning, by the way.”

By the time you two have found your places in line, the sunlight has started to make you sweat. It doesn’t help that your robe is three times as thick as the one you wore when you graduated from your masters program; this one nearly swallows you whole. The inside of the arena isn’t much cooler. The heat only seems to exacerbate the nervousness.

From your seat, you crane your head to try and find your family. Just as the dean of the graduate school starts to speak, you spot them on the right. Your mom and dad have bouquets of flowers in their arms. You can see the way your mum is clutching the program so tightly that it’s crinkled. Harry’s mom is right next to yours—your heart swells when you see a matching expression of pride on her face.

When the dean announces the beginning of the conferring of degrees and the hooding ceremony, you perk up. A line of advisors walk across the stage and each candidate’s name, department, and thesis project title is called out. The candidate is then hooded by their advisor before walking off the stage. You’re quite far back in line so by the time the psychology department is called, your nerves have only intensified.

You want to be wholly consumed by this moment. Five years of your life have been dedicated toward this integral event, this celebration of your passion and intellect. But it’s more than that. Five years ago, you only expected to complete the final stage of your academic career. You didn’t expect to find your life partner in the process.

Your line takes its place by the stairs. One by one, the program advisors take the stage. At the end of the line is Harry, donning his powder blue and navy robes with the matching hat and golden hood. You’ve never seen him in his robe before. Your stomach clenches at the fact that you’re about to have a matching one.

Elena steps onto the stage in front of you as her project title is called and Meredith steps forward to greet her. They shake hands and Elena turns to face the crowd. She bends her knees a bit so Meredith and the dean can put the hood over her head. They shake hands, and she leaves the stage.

You hold your breath when your name is called.

“...receiving a Doctorate in Behavioral Psychology. Hooded by Dr. Harry Styles.”

Harry steps forward. Your legs carry you across the stage automatically. Amidst the recognizable hollering of your mother and father, as well as some of the other members of your cohort, your focus is only on the way Harry’s absolutely beaming as you walk toward him. You hand him the hood and try not to react when your fingers touch.

You stand in front of him and face the arena. The hood passes through your vision for a quick moment. There’s applause and a photo taken. And in the middle of it all, you feel Harry’s hand brush your own. That’s when the smile erupts across your face.

-*-

“I feel different.”

Harry pauses from swishing his wine around in his glass. He pushes his glasses up his nose before asking, “How so?”

His knees bump into yours when he turns to face you. You take a quick look around the room while contemplating your answer. The wine bar is lively tonight with a live band playing soft music, the gentle hum of the patrons filling in the gaps between songs. You can see the entire room from where you’re sitting at the bar against the wall.

Gaze flitting back to Harry, you shrug. “It’s a bit weird. I’ve been in school for the last… twenty-six years of my life. And now I’m not.”

“I’d say that’s something to celebrate, love.”

“True,” you murmur, fingers dragging absentmindedly along the back of Harry’s hand that’s resting on the table. “I guess I’ll miss the structure of it all.”

Harry hums, nodding. He looks down briefly, tapping his toes against the footrest of your barstool. “You have a new job to look forward to, though.”

“That’s right, I do.”

“And a wonderful new house with a freshly signed lease…”

“Indeed,” you say through a giggle. You reach for your wine and take a quick sip. Your lips smack and you grin, savoring the taste of the sweet rose on your tongue. “Decent roommate as well,” you quip.

Harry makes a face, nose scrunching and brows pulling in. “Hey,” he whines, kicking at your stool softly. “I’m more than decent.”

You hide your grin in your wine glass. Though the entire day had been filled to the brim with congratulations and well wishes from your family and friends, this is the moment you’d really been looking forward to. The reception after the ceremony was all painted-on smiles and firm shakes of hands, though Harry’s comforting grip on your waist had served as a grateful anchor as you made your way through the fold.

Dinner with your parents and Harry’s mom had also been a high point of the day. You couldn’t help but feel something settle within you as you watched your families interact seamlessly. It was evident Harry felt the same way—you didn’t miss how his eyes lit up when your dad spoke directly to him, engaged him in multiple conversations, made him feel welcomed and assured. Each time Harry’s hand had squeezed your thigh under the table, the smile on your face had grown bigger. Your cheeks still hurt.

And now, with a quiet moment to yourself after a taxing day, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted. Maybe it’s the way Harry’s been touching you since the ceremony ended—tangling your fingers together, smoothing his hand down your spine, kissing your temple or your forehead. Little gestures of love that have left a near-permanent heat in your cheeks.

“Did you have a good day today?”

“Yeah,” you say, your lips involuntarily quirking upward. “Definitely top five.”

“Oh?” Harry perks up, intrigued. “What are the others?”

You think for a moment. You know today was in your top five because of the way you’ve felt—weightless, walking on air, looking through everything through a crystal-clear lens. You rifle through your memories to find other days that have embodied those feelings.

“Let’s see… tonight is on there,” you start, counting them off on your fingers. “Getting accepted into this program. My parents’ vow renewal. The state fair...”

Your voice trails off. Harry lifts his brows in question. “What’s the fifth one?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You shrug, letting your hand drop back down to the table. “I like to think I still haven’t lived my best day.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle but he stays quiet. He shifts forward so he can link your fingers together on the bartop. You two take more sips of your wine, draining your glasses. Harry pays for the tab and checks his watch. “Can I take you somewhere?” he asks.

You blink. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he says, checking his watch again. He taps the screen of his phone, too, then jumps up from his seat. “Come on.” He pulls your arm until you stand. “I wanna show you something.”

Perplexed, you gather your things and follow him. His sudden nervous energy has you confused. It’s nearly eleven at night, and though the streets of downtown are fairly crowded, you’re both too exhausted to go out dancing. But your confusion only heightens when he starts pulling you down the road toward campus.

“Where are we—”

“Just hold on, love.”

He pulls you down the brick sidewalk closer to the department building, walking so quickly that you’re nearly tripping in your heels. There’s a faint glow coming from just past the arboretum gates. You don’t pay much mind to it but then Harry’s directing you through the entrance and your confusion grows. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“Almost there, I swear.”

You follow the path to the open field. The glow grows bright until you see them. Fairy lights—hundreds, probably. Strung across every single tree to create an awning of sparkles. Your mouth drops and you stop in your tracks. “What… Harry, what is all this?”

Harry turns to face you. He pulls two tiny envelopes out of his back pocket. “I have two things to give you.” There’s a grin on his face as he makes a deliberate show of shuffling the envelopes before taking one in the other hand. He holds his fists out to you. “Pick one.”

You glance between him and his hands a few times—his face gives nothing away. “Okay… this one.” You point toward his left hand.

One eye squints. He tilts his head to the right. “Pick the other one.”

“Okay, the other one,” you laugh. “Why does it matter?”

In lieu of answering, he flips his hand over and opens it. “Take it,” he encourages, nodding toward the envelope.

It doesn’t feel too heavy. You make a show of shaking it a few times and holding it up to the light in an attempt to gauge what’s inside. Harry shakes his head at your antics. Finally, you rip the flap open and shake the contents out.

It’s a five dollar bill and some change. Your eyes narrow, brows knitting together.

“What is this?”

Harry rocks forward on his toes and taps your palm with his index finger. “That…” He sighs—it makes you look up. For the first time, you realize he’s genuinely nervous about something. “That’s the Uber fare I owe you.”

You blink. Your lips part as you stare at the money in your hand. “Are you serious?” you ask him, words tinged with incredulous laughter. “It’s been—God, I can’t even remember...”

“Three years. Bit more, maybe.” Harry closes your calm around the money and pushes it toward you. “I said I’d pay you back, yeah?”

Strangeness aside, you can detect something else in his voice. Harry is never one to go halfway when it comes to romantic gestures. Ever since your first date you’ve learned just how carefully detailed he becomes when he’s crafting your dates. This feels different, somehow. More intentional, like he has a specific purpose for bringing you to the arboretum.

“Okay,” you say, deciding to play along. “Three years ago I paid for your Uber. And you’ve decided to pay me back today.”

“Correct.”

Your eyebrow raises in a challenge. “It appears as though you also have another gift for me. Inference suggests it has something to do with you owing me something.”

Harry’s grin widens as he steps forward. “You’re turning this into a thing.”

“I want to make it a thing,” you push back. You pocket the money and then take Harry’s hand. “What else do you owe me?”

Harry doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he gives you a look, one that’s just as unreadable as the way he looked on the day you met him. The careful scrutiny, the tactful patience. Everything you’ve grown accustomed to through the various ways you’ve come to know him suddenly fades and is replaced by the phlegmatic Dr. Styles.

“You’re being weird.”

“Am I?”

He squeezes your hand and presents you the second envelope. You take it—this one feels slightly heavier. Something solid and small, maybe the size of a quarter. Harry releases your hand so you can slip your fingers under the flap. Once it’s open, you upend the envelope and shake its contents into your palm.

Your fingers fly to your chest. A gasp leaves your lips.

“Oh, my god.”

Like a textbook procedure, Harry takes a step back. Your eyes flicker back and forth between him and the ring resting innocently in the palm of your hand. He presses his lips together, dimple popping. Then, he drops to one knee.

“Oh, my god.”

Harry holds a hand out. You feel like your arm moves through mud as you reach out and take it with the hand not holding the ring. He gestures for it—your eyes watch the way it glints in the dim light as he takes it from you.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

It’s almost laughable. You’re having a difficult time processing the image of Harry on one knee in front of you. It’s a moment you knew was coming, but didn’t expect it to happen. You’ve never given yourself the luxury of imagining it—never thought about what it would be like to give someone the promise of forever in the simplest question.

Harry holds the ring against his chest. It’s a stunning pear-cut diamond on a simple band. It’s perfect—you’re entranced by the way it looks in his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and opens his mouth to speak.

“I owe you… so much.” His voice is almost reverent. You can’t look away from him. “So much that I can’t even begin to put into words. You came into my life at such a pivotal moment that…” He cuts himself off with an incredulous chuckle. “I mean, there’s no way it couldn’t have been fate, you know?

You do know. You know exactly what he means—from the moment he swung his office door open, you knew.

The first tear falls. Harry tilts his head, his eyes softening. His thumb rubs your knuckles soothingly and you squeeze his hand in response. “You okay?” he whispers. Your heart nearly breaks at the attentiveness.

“I’m good, yeah,” you whisper, throat feeling thick. “Keep going, please.”

He squeezes your hand again. “You told me something about sparks. How you always wanted to find them. I’d hoped the same for myself.” You watch as he licks his lips, trying and failing to keep the emotion out of his voice. “I found them with you.”

You want to ask him if he’s sure. You want to make sure this is real, that he wants you, that he wants this life with you. The moment feels so fragile that one jarring movement and everything could dissolve. But its perfection lasts—you can’t find the words to reply, so you settle for a jerky nod.

He nods back. Clearing his throat and straightening up, he presents the ring to you. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips and you want nothing more than to see it in full force. “So, after extensive and diligent study, our evidence concludes the following.”

Your fingers come to your lips as you try to control their trembling.

“I love you.” His smile breaks. Your vision starts to grow blurry at the sound of his watery voice. “I’d be honored to love you for the rest of my life.”

Before you can think, you start nodding. Harry breathes out another laugh and shakes his head, almost to himself. You feel the same—you can’t believe this is happening, either.

“Darling,” he murmurs, his voice as soft and gentle as the quiet hello he gave you on the day you met him. “Darling,” he says again, softer this time. “Will you marry me?”

Yes, yes, yes.

The word never comes, but your heart bursts all the same. Your breath hitches as your hand comes to cover your mouth. You’re clutching Harry’s hand like a lifeline and as he looks up at you, fairy lights reflected back in his dewy-eyed gaze, you find them. The sparks.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Everything happens all at once. He slips the ring on your shaking fingers. Pushing himself off the ground, he cradles your face between his hands, whispering sweet reassurances and promises and thank you’s. You don’t register the sounds of your families and friends around you, having hidden around the bend with their cameras pointed at the two of you. You don’t think about the five years that have passed that have led up to this point. All you can do is close your eyes when Harry kisses you and think of all the things yet to come.

__________________________________________

thank you to @stylishmuser @smokeinherperfume @fireawaynjh @stylesdobrik and @almondharry for helping me salvage this part.

the rest of the thank you’s will come later.

there will be an epilogue.

tag list: @slayer79 @drunkbyynoon @shhh-you @beingsenseless @younghearts-stories@hxxefics @socraticjunkie @belladonna-styles @complicatedbabyhoneyfreak@hardcandydrippingonhazza @flooome @infinitiae @stylesfics-xx @clorenafila @190624 @stylishmuser @staceystoleyourheart @angelicamariaaa @quintessentially-weird@adoremp3 @heart4harreh @craic-head-horan @harriexstyles @mellamolayla @thelittlemia @aweebitofharry @gucciwoodnymph @monpetitchouchou16 @justsaying20 @haroldsaintlaurent @mumplans @steppingonoranges @galsingold @haz-e-styles @4arry@feel-like-gold @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @velvetbebe @stockholmharry @meetmeinthehollway @dreamsandthoughtsincolor @wild3flow3r @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss @loviestyles @miraclesoflove @22cupsofcoffee @softyprince @harryinsweats @havethetimeeofyourlifee

#1dff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #......i just finished post doc harry #i will be traveling when this posts and won't get to asks until friday-ish #but i am SO nervous and cannot wait to hear what you all think!!!!#this is not the end for our babies pdh and mc

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slippinmickeys · 5 years ago

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Release Valve (1/10)

This is the first fic I wrote when I came back to the fandom last year--it had been almost 20 years since I’d written my last X-Files fanfic. I plan to release it here, one chapter per day.

This takes place directly after Fight the Future, and goes AU after that -- meaning S6 and on do not exist in this universe. I do have a sequel planned, but have not yet had the time to sit down and write it.

It had been five months since Antarctica, and he could still feel the sharp cut of cold air in his nose, the crunch of snow under his cheek as Scully held him close, half his clothes gone, half himself protecting her. It was August in DC, the air hot and thick with car exhaust and pollen, the humidity at 100%, and there were still times he thought he might never be warm again. He leaned back in his chair at his seemingly permanent temporary desk in the BCU bullpen and picked up his phone, bored. Muscle memory dialed the number for him and she picked up before the second ring. “Mulder, I have a class starting in less than ten minutes,” she said, without so much as a hello. “You know this.” He sighed into the receiver. “I’m bored,” he said. “Yeah,” she replied, the touch of frustration gone from her voice, replaced with a casual empathy. “Me too.” “Want to get lunch later?” “I can’t,” she said, then added, “Skinner’s assistant called me this morning. I have a meeting with him at 1:30.” “Today?” He asked, incredulity creeping in. “Yes, Mulder. Today. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve got students coming in. I’ll call you after class.” She hung up without saying goodbye. He tipped his chair back as he hung up the receiver and looked up to a familiar hulk approaching his desk. “Agent Mulder,” Skinner said, giving him an assessing look. “Sir?” “I’d like you to come by my office at 1:30.” “Today?” Mulder said, once again. Boredom turned him peevish. “You have somewhere else to be?” “No, sir.” At that Skinner nodded and stalked off. So. Both he and Scully had been called in. This was either really good, or really bad.

When he came into the anteroom outside Skinner’s office, Scully was already there waiting and there was a maintenance worker in the process of removing Skinner’s name tag from the door. He and Scully shared a look of raised eyebrows and he plopped down next to her on the couch with a touch of petulance, the wind coming out of his sails. Maybe this wasn’t a good news meeting after all. At that moment a young agent came walking in, nodding at Kimberly.

“I’m supposed to see him at 1:30?” He said to her. He had a short, choppy haircut and thick preppy glasses. He pulled at his tie like he wasn’t used to wearing it as Kimberly directed him to a chair opposite Mulder and Scully. He plopped down and gave the armrests a little drum, clearly not a kid who was used to sitting still. Skinner popped his head out of his door then. “Agents?” He said expectantly. All three stood up and Skinner turned to the third man. “Stone?” “Yessir?” “Give us a minute.” “Yessir.” He plopped back down. Mulder and Scully exchanged another look and followed Skinner into his office. “I have some news,” he said once they were all settled. “The OPR recommendation finally came down.” “Don’t keep us hanging,” Mulder said, trying to keep the glibness out of his voice. “The X-Files are being reopened,” he said. “I’m sensing a ‘but,’” Scully said, leaning forward. “Less of a ‘but,’” Skinner went on, “more of an ‘and.’” “And?” Said Mulder. Skinner looked at them a moment without saying anything. Assessing or deciding, Mulder couldn’t quite figure out. “Your budget has increased,” He finally said. “You’ll have two more full-time agents assigned to the unit.” Scully’s face fell, and Mulder leaned back. “Not to sound ungrateful,” Mulder said, holding up a hand, “but our recent experience working with other agents on cases associated with the X-Files has not gone all that great.” He remembers the five o’clock shadow scrape of Krycek kissing his cheek. Shoving Spender into a wall. The latent smell of cigarette smoke and a basement full of ash. Skinner leaned back. “I’ve been promoted,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “To Deputy Director. I’ve been given authority to shape and oversee the X-Files unit.” Skinner let that sink in a moment before going on, his tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation. “Agent Mulder will be the X-Files SAC. You’ll be giving the orders to the agents under you and will have hiring and firing approval.” Mulder shot a look at Scully. “What about Agent Scully, sir?” “Quantico has requested she stay on there to teach.” Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but Skinner raised a calming hand. “Technically, she would be an instructor in residence at Quantico, but assigned to the X-Files as official consult. Able to take leave from teaching whenever needed in the field or at the Hoover.” He gave Scully a pointed look. “The decision is obviously hers. Quantico wants her, but so do I.” “So do I,” said Mulder quietly. Scully tucked her chin to her chest, her eyes to the floor. Neither of them had been quite expecting this. Skinner leaned back and gave them a moment. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he finally said. Scully looked at Mulder. “I can’t speak for Agent Mulder,” she finally said. “You can,” Mulder said with confidence. Off his look, she continued. “But I’d like nothing more than to continue our work.” “Great,” said Skinner, “It’s done, then.” He rose. Mulder made to get up too, but Scully spoke. “Sir,” she said, “what about the X-Files? The actual files, sir. The ones destroyed in the fire?” Skinner resumed his seat. “Kimberly had begun digitizing them months ago,” he said, off of Mulder’s surprised look. “She was able to save most of them to a secure server. She said the only ones she hadn’t gotten to were those from the last year or two.” Scully looked at Mulder. “I should have those on my computer,” she said to Mulder, “you should too. After the most recent Executive Order, we’ve been required to keep digital copies of all reports since almost that long ago.” “My laptop was in my office when it burned,” Mulder said flatly. “If I’m not mistaken, yours was, too.” Scully gave a pinched look and Skinner once again stood. “About that,” he said, walking to his office door and gesturing outside. The young agent who’d been outside waiting walked in and Skinner pointed him to an empty chair around his conference table. “This is Agent Stone,” he said, “He works in Computer Sciences and Crimes – he’s been working to restore the destroyed computer units from your office.” Off a surprised look from the X-Files agents, Stone shrugged. “Standard procedure. Evidence conservation and protection.” “Were you able to save any of our work?” Mulder asked. Stone looked at him. “I was able to save all of it,” he said. “And I want in.” XxXxXxXxX “I don’t understand,” Scully said at last. Skinner nodded his head at the young agent. “He’s here for a job interview. He’d like to be one of your two new X-Files agents.” Stone sat up, animated. “I’ve obviously read all the files on your computers,” he said, “and when I was done with those, I read all the digitized files.” He looked at them both keenly. “I’ve read every single X-File. It’s fascinating work. I want to do it. I want in.” Scully raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read every file on a secure server?” “I, uh, may have hacked it,” he said, momentarily sheepish. He nodded toward Skinner. “I came to the Assistant Director with my concerns on just how secure it is. I can help you with that. I can help with a lot. I know I’m pretty green, but I’ve read your files back to front and I know I can help you.” Skinner looked to Mulder. “Your discretion,” he said. “Your unit.” Mulder appraised the young agent for a moment and turned to Skinner. “I’ll want a full background check. If there’s so much as a hint of Morley smoke anywhere in this kid’s past, he’s gone. He doesn’t come near the X-Files OR our computers. If he passes that,” he turned to look at Stone, “trial basis. As short or long as I see fit. This isn’t a tenured position.” Stone sat up straight, smiling. “Yes, right. Sweet. Awesome. Yes.” XxXxXxXxX These men. These men who would do anything for a hairsbreadth of power. She’d been kidnapped, micro chipped, infected with a malignancy. They’d taken her ova and her career and the love of her life more than once. She couldn’t watch the news without seeing their malevolent machinations in every third disaster. Don’t even get her started on Colony Collapse. If she could kill every one of them and film it, she’s convinced snuff would become her kink. But maybe… Maybe they had a chance now. To bring down the Syndicate. To bring down the Smoking Man. Cautious optimism was still a pretty generous name to put to it, but she finally felt if not a sense of hope, at least not the Sisyphean doom and gloom from months before. She looked over her glass of wine at Mulder. He’d shown up, energized, practically bouncing up and down at her door, bearing pizza and Chianti. “I’m surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight on Stone,” she said. Mulder shrugged. “Maybe it was the high of getting the X-Files back, but I also don’t want to look a gift Skinner in the mouth, if you know what I mean.” “I know what you mean.” The terms of getting back the X-Files was best case scenario. It was probably too good to be true. “He seems young,” she added. “He IS young,” Mulder said, “I went over his file this afternoon. Graduated at 20 from MIT and recruited straight out of graduation. He’s only been a full agent in the Bureau a little over two years.” “Any field experience?” “None.” “Oh boy.” Scully took another swig. “What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm,” Mulder said. “I’m hoping I can train him up my way.” “The suits are gonna just love that,” she deadpanned, and Mulder smiled. He leaned back on her couch and fished an errant piece of pineapple from his shirt collar. “How you can eat that on pizza, I’ll never understand,” Scully said, standing and bussing their plates back to the kitchen. Instead of taking the bait, Mulder blew out a sigh, his mind elsewhere. “I don’t even know where to start on finding someone for the other position,” he said. “If we’re not careful and don’t do it our way, we’re going to end up with another fucking Krycek.” Scully winced and made her way back to the couch, tucking her feet under her on the other end. She tried not to look at the space by her door where Melissa died. “I may be able to help with that,” she said. “Oh yeah?” Mulder leaned forward. “I have a student,” she started. “Not another baby agent, Scully,” Mulder said, “we don’t have the budget for a nanny.” “She’s new to the Bureau, yes,” Scully went on, “but was a beat cop and made detective extremely fast. Ten years with the LAPD before she went Fed. She’s smart, Mulder. She asks all the right questions.” She waited a beat. “She reminds me of you.” “Devastatingly handsome and hard to love?” Scully tucked her chin to her chest, not meeting his eyes. She made a decision then, hard and fast. “I’ve never found it hard to love you,” she said quietly. XxXxXxXxX There it was. They hadn’t talked at all about what happened in Mulder’s hallway before Antarctica. Mulder wasn’t even sure she remembered it and it had been too awkward to ask. “Scully,” he said. She still hadn’t looked up, so he reached out a finger and swept it gently down her leg. She looked toward him and rested her cheek on her knee. “You deserve to know,” she said, “after everything we’ve been through.” Her voice was husky. His pulse started to race. His finger was still on her leg and he fought the urge to skim it higher. “You know, if you’re officially stationed at Quantico, it’s not fraternization,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he came off glib or flirtatious. He wasn’t sure of anything. Scully reached for her wine and took a measured sip. “Are you coming on to me?” She said. Flirtatious. Jesus. His throat bobbed. “I’m coming over with wine more often, is what I’m doing,” he said, reaching for his own glass to cover for his nerves. “En vino veritas?” Scully said. “The veritas has always been our problem, Scully. Maybe the vino is the solution.” XxXxXxXxX “Mulder,” she said, rising up on her knees. She reached up and ran a hand lightly over his cheek. She’d never just come right out and said how she felt about him. Before the bee thing in his hallway, a surveillance chat about root beer and iced tea was as close as they’d come. Enough, she thought. She wanted to kiss him, but the timing didn’t seem right. This was too profound a moment for them. She knew if she kissed him, she’d be outside herself instantly and right now she didn’t want to miss a thing. He seemed to push into her hand slightly, leaning into her touch. His eyes never left hers. His cheek was sandpapery under her fingers and she remembered that fingertips have more nerve endings that most places on the body. Most. “Let’s get our unit put together,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Almost six years of ghost hunting, she thought, and flashed on the industrial smell of hospital sheets, the acrid tang of gunpowder. Mulder loping off on his knight’s quest to find his sister, Scully the squire at his side. He was six feet of rumpled suits and taut muscles and she’d fallen in love with him years ago. Hopelessly, stupidly, embarrassingly in love with him. He cracked bad jokes on stakeouts and mumbled her name in his sleep – of course she wasn’t going anywhere. XxXxXxXxX She leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek. He tried not to let his disappointment show. “Yeah,” he said, his voice husky, too. “Yeah.” He leaned back, banking the fire on the moment. She grabbed the glass out of his hand, which he hadn’t realized was empty, and took the rest of their meal detritus into the kitchen. He rose. “Send me the file on your candidate, would you?” He said, making his way to her door. He took his time putting on his coat and lingered in the doorway. She came over slowly and stood in front of him, close. “Scully?” He said, his hand on the doorknob. He leaned forward so their foreheads were almost touching. He needed to say it before he lost his nerve. “I love you, too.” He practically ran outside then, his blood thrumming. It took everything he had not to crow triumphantly at the moon. XxXxXxXxX Jasmine Isaacs. 36 years old. African American. California native. Highly decorated detective with a great solve rate. Single, no children. The kid thing grabbed Mulder by the collar first thing. It was good to have no kids. Just another thing to use against you. He leaned back in his chair and blew out a sigh, his thoughts turning depressive. What a fucking way to think, he thought. That children -- most people’s high point--were just another tool in the arsenal of the Consortium. The basement office felt different. The smell of paint fumes still permeated the space. It was a different shade of grey than the last one, off by just a touch, which grabbed Mulder’s eye every time it strayed from the file in front of him. He’d gotten a new I Want To Believe poster from the same place on K Street where he’d gotten the first one, a throwback to a simpler time. They’d done a bit of work on the office in the refurbish – got rid of the wall leading to the annex and managed to squeeze three small desktops into the space. He thought Scully’s should be bigger than the other two and considered clearing off a different area to make it more senior looking. She had her own office at Quantico and it was probably twice the size of the entire basement. Good, he thought. She deserved that. He turned back to the candidate’s file in front of him. She looked promising. Had a high solve rate. Nothing in her background suggested an ulterior motive, nor highlighted a weakness the Consortium could exploit. So far, so good. If Scully wanted her, so did he. Stone seemed into the paranormal shit. Isaacs could be the level-headed counterpart. He wanted to get them both into a room and see what happened. Isaacs graduated from Quantico next week. Scully walked in then, the smell of the street still on her clothes. Hot dog vendors and fresh air, the amniotic petrichor of the Potomac. He could hear the elevator doors close as she sloughed off her coat. “How goes it?” She said as a greeting. He flipped the file closed and casually tossed it on his desk. “What a time to be alive,” he said.

#the x files #fanfic #post FTF #MSR #my fic #chapter one #casefile #casefic

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allmidaddies · 4 years ago

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how to get the girl.

The room stood still when your eyes fell on the tall figure that walked through the door. Your hand was somewhere between letting the wine glass between your fingers drop to the floor or gripping it so tightly that it shattered.

No. Not here. Not now.

“Mat it’s not enough anymore!” You cried, angrily wiping away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks.

“How?” Mat asked, his voice equally as distressed as yours.

“Because,” you shook your head, swallowing hard to try and steady your voice, “You can’t keep hurting the person that you love and think that words alone will be enough to fix it. You’ve pushed me away for the last time, Mathew.”

His mouth fell open, shocked at what you were saying to him. In one fell swoop his world was crumbling around him and he had nothing to hold onto. He’d always kept you at arms length, afraid of giving everything up too soon in his life, carefully throwing in ‘I love you’s’ whenever he felt you slipping. He never imagined that one day you’d let go.

“I think you should go to New York,” you said quietly, “And you can do all of those amazing things that you always said you would. And I’ll still be proud of you, but I just won’t be there. You can’t hurt me anymore Mat.”

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice more intense than either of you were expecting. Mat recoiled.

“Don’t say you didn’t mean to. You knew exactly what to say just to keep me close enough.”

Mat stared down at his shoes, he knew that you were right.

“You wanted your freedom, Mat? Well now you have it.”

This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Your best friend Sarah and her longtime boyfriend Max were getting married, finally tying the knot. Realistically you should have expected Mat to be there. He’d been an integral part of your friend group all through high school, and even while everyone went off to college, or to start their career, or, in Mat’s case, to become a professional athlete, you all stayed in touch.

Over the years, though, you had managed to avoid him at nearly every possible interaction. Whether you were on vacation with your family when he came through town or you were off visiting college friends, there was always the perfect excuse to avoid him.

You should have known it would have caught up to you at some point. You had just hoped it wouldn’t have been here. You were foolish enough to hope that maybe he would already be back in New York, considering the wedding was happening in late August. Maybe training camp would already be well underway, season just a few weeks away. But you knew better. He was one of Max’s closest and longest friends. He wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

So there he was. Standing in all his glory. His skin was golden from having spent the summer out in the sun and he had that charming smile on his face as he pushed his dark hair off of his forehead. Because it was only the rehearsal he was dressed casually, donning a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt to beat the late summer heat. Somehow he still looked like a dream. You hated that he somehow looked even more attractive than in high school. Back when you thought he was the love of your life.

All throughout high school the two of you had been the couple that everyone wanted to be. At least, on the outside. Everyone gushed over how the two of you, so young, had managed to keep a long distance relationship alive.

“The way you look at each other! I want someone to look at me like that!” Girls would sigh dreamily as they leaned against the lunch tables.

In the beginning Mat was attentive and showered you in affection. It was easy because the two of you had been friends for a while before you ever started dating. But then his hockey career started to get more serious and he moved away to pursue that dream. And you had been nothing but supportive. You spent countless weekends driving back and forth from Seattle to Coquitlam, just for a few hours with him. And for a long time it was worth it. You thought.

Until you realized he was keeping a lot of things from you. Not that he was cheating, but that he didn’t share as much of his life with you anymore. Phone calls were shorter and farther apart. You stopped going to as many games, only making the drive when he explicitly asked. Which wasn’t often. It was like he was phasing you out. But every now and then he’d remind you that he loved you. He’d surprise you for your birthday, or send you train tickets to come visit him for your anniversary.

Then one day you’d had enough. You realized that you had to stop settling for bread crumbs and start looking for the whole damn cake. Mat wasn’t enough for you anymore. It was only a few short weeks after he had been drafted by the Islanders. He was going to be moving across the continent from you and there was no way you were going to give up everything to move there with him. Not when he was becoming so distant.

So you broke up with him. And it crushed you, both of you. You weren’t sure if you had ever cried so much in your entire life as you did that night, standing on his front porch. It didn’t surprise you that he had expected you to wait for him to figure it out. It did surprise him that you weren’t willing to put up with it anymore. Knowing that he was going to have to move forward with his life without you. All the dreams and goals he had set to achieve with you in mind, he’d have to do on his own.

Mat’s eyes didn’t miss your figure standing across the room from him. There weren’t many people there to hide you from his view, with it being just the wedding party and all. You looked amazing, like you’d just had the most refreshing summer of your life. Last he had heard you had graduated college and were taking the summer off to have a break. Good for you, he’d thought. He always did tell you you worked too damn hard, burying your nose in your textbook.

He had intended on being at your graduation but then the season went longer as they got closer to winning the cup. When the season ended he regretted not having at least sent you flowers or a card. Worst ex-boyfriend of the year award. Not that there was such a thing. But if there was he would’ve won it for that, he was sure of it. If you even noticed his absence. Probably not. You’d been avoiding him for so long he’d be surprised if you even remembered what jersey number he wore.

Mat was pulled from his trance when Max was ushering him to line up so they could partner all the groomsmen and bridesmaids off for the walk down the aisle.

“Don’t hate us too much for this Barzy,” Max grinned, patting Mat on the back as he gently pushed him towards the line. Mat only had enough time to throw him a confused look over his shoulder before he almost stumbled into the groomsman to his right. He caught himself just in time, straightening up and turning to face the familiar laugh that had arisen from his poor excuse for balance.

God he wanted to kill Max. Mat just might’ve, if it wasn’t for tomorrow being their big day and all.

You had your bottom lip between your teeth, an awful nervous habit he had tried to get you to quit.

“Hey,” he breathed, uncertainty flashing through his eyes as he leaned in for a hug. You obliged, forcing a shy smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. There was a wave of comfort and nostalgia that washed over him.

“Hey Barz,” you greeted, voice quiet in his ears. Chills rushed down his spine at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t heard it in years.

The only time the two of you had truly crossed paths since you broke up when you were 18 was the summer after your freshman year of college and his rookie season with the Islanders.

The air was hot and heavy and there were far too many people in the house for you to breathe so you pushed your way out onto the back patio, taking a seat on the steps that led down to the water. All you wanted was a quiet moment to yourself. But a shadowed figure stepped into your sight, nearly making you scream.

“Holy fuck!” You gasped, trying to dry off your legs from where you’d spilled your drink out of fright.

“Sorry, sorry,” the figure spoke, the all too familiar voice reaching your ears. Mat.

“It’s fine, Mat,” you sighed, reaching for the railing to pull yourself up.

“Wait,” he stopped you, now standing on the step below you, crouching down to your level.

“What?” You asked, your voice harsher than you intended. You just hadn’t realized he was back in town yet.

“How have you been?” He laughed gently. The porch light was only illuminating half of his face now, but even in the poor lighting you could tell just how much his face had matured in the year since you saw him last.

“Fine,” you answered shortly, staring down at the remaining liquid in your cup.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Mat chuckled, “You just had your freshman year of college. You’ve got to have something more than that. I don’t believe your life has been that boring.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment. He knew you too well. You leaned back against the step above you, finally lifting your gaze to meet his for the first time.

“It was fun, really fun, but probably not quite as exciting as your year has been. My college friends didn’t believe me when I told them I dated the kid who won the Calder,” you teased, bumping his shoulder with your knee.

Mat laughed, one of his real genuine laughs.

“Congratulations, by the way,” you said quietly, “Sorry I never called. I didn’t figure you would want to hear from me.”

Your confession hung in the air as Mat’s face scrunched into one of confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I want to hear from you?” He asked.

You shrugged, not really sure what to say. Did he forget the last time the two of you talked?

“Because we broke up?” Mat raised his eyebrows at you, laughing to himself before reaching out to squeeze your thigh, “Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing your voice.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand, looking down at him.

“I like hearing your voice too Mat, how come you never call me?”

Mat chuckled, scratching that back of his neck awkwardly,

“C’mon now, don’t turn this on me.”

“I’m just asking,” you tease lightly. Mat’s eyes scanned your face, taking in just how much you had grown up in the last year. You looked the same just...older. Your hair was shorter and even though the dark made it hard to see he could tell that you’d dyed it. It looked nice. You looked nice. You looked like home.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked suddenly, his voice slightly shaky.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked. Mat shook his head, pulling his keys from his pocket and dangling them in front of you.

“Okay,” you nodded, letting him take your hand. The two of you snuck around the side of the house, not wanting your friends to stop you and lecture you. You both knew where this was going.

Mat opened the passenger side door, allowing you to climb up into the cab of the pickup. Sliding into the leather seats of his dad’s truck brought a wave of memories flooding back to you. When Mat climbed into the driver’s seat you were already plugging your phone into the aux.

“Didn’t even give me a chance,” Mat teased, pulling out of the driveway.

“When have I ever,” you smirked, turning on your country playlist as he sped down the highway. You didn’t even have to ask, you knew where he was taking you. There was a viewpoint only a few minutes down the road from the house you had just been at. One that you and Mat had frequented when you were together. The tension was rising as he got closer to the turn that took you up a dirt road. You subconsciously leaned against the center console. Mat shifted hands on the steering wheel, letting his right hand fall on your thigh. You didn’t flinch and that told him everything he needed to know.

As soon as he had the car in park the two of you were scrambling for the back seat. Mat pulled you into his lap as your lips connected, moving together as his hands gripped your waist, guiding you to grind down against his core. Before either of you could truly process what you were doing, you were naked on top of him, sinking down on his hard length. A quiet whine fell past your lips and you leaned down to bury your face in his neck, gently sucking on the skin of his collarbone. Mat groaned beneath you, thrusting his hips up to meet your painfully slow movements. It had been a long time since either one of you had been with anybody, and certainly a long time since you’d been together. But you remembered his body better than you were proud to admit.

It took no time for him to bring you to your high, his own right behind you. The windows were fogged up from both of your panting breath, struggling to hold on. Almost immediately after he spilled into you, you felt regret creep into your chest. You both stayed there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Though, your heart never settled. Even after he had passed you your shorts and he had helped you pull your shirt over your head. Both of you were wordless as he climbed into the passenger seat, starting the truck again. It was like you were thinking the same thing.

What the fuck were we thinking?

Neither one of you reached out after that night. You left on vacation with your family and then moved back to college after you got back, gone before Mat was even fully moved back to Vancouver for the off season.

You tried your best to look at him as little as possible throughout the rehearsal but you caught yourself staring over at him as everyone stood up at the altar. He was stifling laughter with one of your high school friends, the two of them glancing at Max and then back at each other, mumbling words you couldn’t make out.

You allowed your mind to drift, wondering what life might have been like had you and Mat stayed together. For starters you wouldn’t be showing up date-less to this wedding. God, what if Mat had a date? He wouldn’t...would he? If you were still 18 maybe, but somewhere along the way you had to assume he’d matured. Not that it would be immature to bring a date to a wedding, but just that...well...he knew you were going to be there. You were Sarah’s best friend after all. The only reason you weren’t the maid of honor was because she had four sisters. Kind of hard to compete with that.

You had heard through the grapevine that Mat had dated off and on while out in New York, nothing serious. Certainly nothing that had resulted in bringing home a girl to meet the family and friends, the true testament to whether the relationship would last or not.

“Did Barz bring a date?” You heard one of Sarah’s sisters ask another. As much as you wanted to resist eavesdropping, you couldn’t help that your ears perked at the question.

“No, he’s been single and wheeling for a while now,” she replied, only for another to pipe up.

“Not even wheeling,” she shook her head, “He said he’s been laying low, I heard it from the devil himself.”

“You did not,” the first sister rolled her eyes, you almost laughed but you pretended to busy yourself with admiring the architecture of the venue.

“I swear! Ask him yourself. I have it on good authority he’s holding out for someone,” she smirked. If you hadn’t been staring so intently at the window panes, you might have noticed her nod towards you, all four sisters turning their attention to you.

Mat could hear their whispering from across the altar, his cheeks threatening to burn red. He could tell you were pretending to ignore their comments. Nobody was that interested in the framing of the windows. He was just grateful you weren’t paying attention when four sets of eyes fell on you.

You managed to avoid Mat for the rest of the night. It wasn’t hard when Sarah and the other bridesmaids pulled you along with them for a movie night and face masks in order to unwind before the big day.

But you knew that come morning you would have to face the music. Luckily you had plenty to keep you busy as you got yourself ready before heading up to Sarah’s room to help her get ready as well. You had to admit, she did a good job choosing bridesmaid dresses. It looked gorgeous against everyone’s skin tone and was perfect for a summer wedding. And while you certainly planned on wearing heels for the ceremony and reception, you were wearing a pair of flip flops up until the last possible minute. Blisters and sore feet did not make for great dancing partners.

You had found yourself so consumed by last minute touches and helping Sarah that you barely even noticed that it was nearly 2pm. Time to start.

“Shit,” you cursed to yourself, running barefoot through the hallways of the lodge to get back to your room, holding your sandals in your hand.

“Holy shit!” Mat’s voice was just as startled as your own scream as you nearly ran him down when you turned the corner.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” you apologized, barely processing that it was him. Until you managed to lift your gaze from the broad shoulders and un-fog your mind from the burning touch of his hands.

He was dressed in black, three piece suit, white button down. His hair looked so soft and perfectly styled you physically had to keep yourself from touching it.

“Are you okay?” Mat asked, his hands still on your waist. He was very much aware that you had not moved away from him yet. Maybe that was a good sign.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “Just-I didn’t realize what time it was and I have to change my shoes.”

His eyes fell on the sandals in your hand and a laugh fell from his lips,

“Yeah, I don’t know that those are up to the dress code.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head,

“Probably not.”

You stepped around him to head down the hall and he fell into step with you,

“I’ll wait for you. Can’t leave my partner without someone to walk down the aisle with.”

For some reason his words left a sick feeling in your stomach. The same feeling you had had only once before, when you broke up with him.

Mat had always been the person you thought you’d walk down the aisle with. Except, you’d be the one in a white dress and he’d be in a tux and his hand would be in yours, thumb brushing over the wedding ring he’d just slipped onto your finger.

He watched from the doorway as you slipped into your heels, stepping into the bathroom to get one last look and adjust your hair.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” he said quietly. You caught his eye in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat as you watched him look at you.

“Thank you. You do too.”

“I look beautiful?” Mat teased, earning an eye roll from you.

“Yes, Barz, you look beautiful.”

“I don’t hear that everyday,” he chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist as the two of you headed down the hall again.

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” you said, your tone light and teasing, though deep down you wondered if that could possibly be true.

“Wouldn’t matter, if not from you,” Mat smirked, glancing over at you as he pressed the button for the elevator.

You chewed the inside of your cheek the rest of the walk over to the ceremony and up until it was your turn to walk down the aisle, Mat’s arm in yours. There were tears threatening to spill and while you would tell everyone it was because you were watching your two best friends get married, you knew that it was only because you were realizing that this was still what you wanted with Mat. But you had been impatient and let him go all those years ago. And then you’d been so full of pride that you couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him.

“Come on Y/N, everyone is going,” Sarah whined as she stretched out over the couch in your living room.

“Exactly, everyone is going. Which means the one person I can’t see is going to be there,” you argued.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. So you guys broke up, it was three years ago. It’s not like the wound is still fresh,” Sarah sighed.

“You’d think huh,” you huffed, momentarily forgetting that nobody knew you were still in love with Mat.

“What?” Sarah sat up, staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

“What?” You countered, hoping she wouldn’t press.

“Are you….” Sarah trailed off, eyes searching your face for answers.

“Am I what?” You laughed nervously, reaching for your water to avoid eye contact.

“Oh my god you still have feelings for Mat!” Sarah cried, a wide grin on her face as if she’d discovered something wonderful, not something gut wrenching.

“So what!” You deflected, tugging at your hair.

“No no no, this is good. This is so good!” Sarah said, scooting closer to you and wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

“How?” You scoffed.

“Because Mat is totally still in love with you too. He asks about you all the time. Especially in the summer.”

“Being in love and having feelings are two different things,” you shook your head, “Besides that’s probably not true anyway. If he was still in love with me he would have called by now.”

“Except that he’s still convinced he’s not man enough for you,” Sarah shrugged, letting her arm drop.

You rested your chin in your hand, feeling the guilt in your chest. You’d really done a number on this poor kid. What did you expect of an 18 year old who just got drafted into the NHL? Of course he was gonna be a little all over the place. Maybe it had been a mistake.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore. He lives thousands of miles away and I’m going to school and we never see each other so what’s the point?” You sighed.

You decided against going to the get together that night. You somehow convinced Sarah to tell your friends that you were babysitting for your neighbor. She didn’t want to lie for you but you were desperate. You just couldn’t see Mat. It didn’t stop him from texting you though.

Mat: you don’t have to keep avoiding things just because I'm going to be there you know.

Mat: I thought we were at least still friends.

You never replied.

The ceremony was beautiful, you were crying almost the entire time. Partly from the love between Sarah and Max and partly because of your own selfish emotions. Mat had offered you his handkerchief before the two of you parted ways at the altar. When he stepped up to you to walk you back down the aisle he gently rubbed his thumb over the skin of your arm. Something he used to do when you were back in high school and he could feel you growing anxious or sad or tired. Sarah’s words from that night nearly over a year ago crept into your mind.

“He’s totally still in love with you.”

What if he was? What if you were both pining after each other despite the years of little to no communication? What if the reason you couldn’t find anybody to settle down with was because you had already found that in Mat?

Mat leaned his elbows back against the bar as he watched you dance with the ring bearer, pretending to let him lead and trying your best not to flinch whenever he stepped on your toes. God, he was so in love with you. Still. He’d always imagined that one day the two of you would have kids of your own. Honestly he had imagined it would happen quite early on. Maybe if he had gotten his shit together earlier.

It was probably foolish to think that you had any form of feelings left for him. But, for someone who could barely look him in the eyes when he said hi you sure had no problem keeping eye contact with him during the exchanging of the vows. He wasn’t even hearing Sarah’s voice, it was all echoing in his head with your tone.

Mat’s eyes never left you as you stopped back at your table, finishing off your wine before making a break for the back door. Against his better judgement he took off after you, brushing off Max’s brother as he tried to get him to do a shot with him. He had more important things to take care of.

You finished off your glass of wine, setting down on the nearest table before slipping out of the reception. The air outside the barn was significantly colder than the air inside, thankfully so as you had desperately needed a breath of fresh air.

You hadn’t expected it to affect you so much. Certainly not four years later. But, Mat was the person you had always seen yourself marrying. Every other guy you had ever been with after him was just a placeholder. As foolish as it was, you had been waiting for him to grow up. And he had, after all these years. But that didn’t mean that he wanted you now.

You hiked up your dress, stepping carefully across the path that led down to the water. The sun was still above the horizon, though the sky was turning orange as it sank lower.

You kicked your heels off and climbed up onto the large, flat rock half submerged in the water. The material of your dress pooled around you as you stared out over the view, trying to calm yourself down. You just had to get through tonight. And then you could go back home and never see Mat again. You’d been avoiding him for years and successfully so. What was a few more months of summer and then he’d leave again and this time you’d find someone new before he came back again. You’d move on. Simple enough right?

“You look like a Disney princess, sitting out here,” Mat’s voice interrupted you. You bit your lip to keep from smiling at his comment, though the heat in your cheeks might have given you away.

“Says the Disney prince standing in golden hour,” you teased. You hated how easy it was to fall into flirtatious banter with him.

Mat chuckled, climbing up onto the rock beside you, groaning when he sat down.

“What are you doing out here? There’s a lot of free alcohol back in the barn, I don’t know if you heard.”

“I just needed a second,” you said honestly, looking back out over the water.

“You and me both,” Mat sighed, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You?” You looked at him skeptically, “This sort of thing is...well it’s your thing.”

Mat grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes as he averted his gaze.

“Just didn’t think it would hit me this hard.”

Your ears perked up at his confession. Mat noticed your shift, looking back at you as he spoke again,

“I mean, you’d think I’d be over it after four years. But I guess not.”

He laughed quietly. You nodded,

“Me too.”

Mat looked at you hesitantly. This was the first time you hadn’t run from the sight of him in a long time. He took it as a good sign, as an opportunity to finally say what he’d been dying to say.

“I swore up and down I was going to marry you one day,” Mat said softly, “I still think that sometimes, as foolish as it sounds. I know I should move on, and believe me I’ve tried. And it’s not like you’ve given me anything to hold onto, you know, I mean you’ve avoided me very tactfully over the past few years.”

You could help but giggle, shaking your head to yourself. Mat’s lips curved up in a half smile as he continued,

“But I kept thinking that eventually you’d see that I was enough for you now. It was selfish of me to expect you to wait for me to get my shit together, but I wish you would’ve.”

“Who says I didn’t?”

Your voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear you over the sound of the water splashing against the rock.

“What?”

“I thought we’d end up married too, you know,” you said, “I just never thought you had your mind in that place. Certainly not when we were teenagers.”

“I didn’t then, I can’t lie,” Mat said honestly, “But I did love you. I do love you. So if a second chance is something you ever think about...”

“You love me?” You asked, finally looking into his eyes, “Present tense?”

“Present tense.”

You felt a fresh wave of tears fill your eyes,

“Barz, don’t you dare make me cry right now.”

“Tell me I’m stupid for still feeling this way,” he said, reaching out to catch the stray tear that was rolling down your cheek.

“You are stupid,” you said, sniffling as you leaned into his touch, “But that makes two of us.”

“You mean…”

You nodded, smiling up at him,

“I never fell out of love with you, even though I tried for a long time. But I guess there is no point in fighting it anymore.”

“And here I thought I’d scared you off all these years,” Mat smiled gently.

“I scared myself.”

“Max and Sarah are going to be so mad we chose their wedding night to reconcile,” Mat laughed.

“We’ll tell them in a few days,” you laughed.

“So where do we go from here?” Mat asked. You shifted so you were facing him straight on now, taking his hands in yours.

“We have all summer to figure that out,” you reminded him, smiling up at him. The sun was coloring his eyes like honey.

“I just hope you know I don’t plan on leaving this town without you again,” Mat said.

“Better not Barzal,” you smirked.

He chuckled softly before leaning forward, pausing briefly as if to ask for permission. You resisted the eye roll, sliding your hands behind his neck and pulling him in to press his lips against yours.

Took him long enough.

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