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matwith1t · 4 years ago

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A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

“It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

“You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, “Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

#Mat Barzal #Mat Barzal fic #Mat Barzal imagine #Mat Barzal fluff #Mathew Barzal #Mat Barzal writing #Mat Barzal x Reader #Mat Barzzal Oneshot #Mat Barzal one shot #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal angst #mathew barzal fic #mat barzal new york islanders #new york islanders #mathew barzal new york islanders #honest to god why is tagging a thing sdlkjf hopefully i tagged all the right things!! ta!!

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taestefully-in-luv · 4 years ago

Text

The Hero's Countdown | PJM (One)

Summary: Soulmates: The one you are bound to. In this world, you feel everything they feel. Their joy, their pain, everything. Once day you feel the most excruciating amount of pain only to find out your soulmate has died. What happens when the God’s of Time offer to turn back time so you can make things right and save your soulmates life?

Pairing: Jimin x Female reader

Genre: soulmates au, Gods au, fluff, smut, angst, crack

Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: swearing, suicide, mentions of sex, oc is kinda a bitch

Notes: And the first chapter is finally here! Sorry it took so long!! I don’t know why I have been so nervous to post this…but It’s going to be a fun journey! Send an ask if you want to be added to a taglist or if you just want to chat:) (Remember this is all fictitious)

Taglist: @mawwnsterr @fancycollectormoon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 21

Pain. Excruciating pain. You feel it in your chest first, then the intense feeling travels from your beating heart to the tips of your fingers. You choke on air trying to compose yourself, but the pain is so unbelievably powerful that you struggle to catch your breath. Something’s wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Your hand goes to your chest, you pull at your shirt as you try to breathe and then suddenly it stops. Just like that. Something happened. Something happened to him.

Soulmates: Two people with the soul connection who feel they are linked on a soul level in a significant or extraordinary way. In this world that means the person you are bound to. When you meet you feel an incredibly intense pull of instant recognition and intense attraction followed by intense emotions. And you feel everything they feel. Their joy, their pain, just everything if it’s considered intense. Physically and emotionally. And that doesn’t stop until you officially “connect” with your partner. What does that even mean? Connect? Does that mean fucking? That sounds like it means fucking. It probably means fucking. You don’t believe in all this bullshit though. The universes predestined bullshit can kiss. Your. Ass.

You’ve learned the hard way that even destined soulmates can’t always make it work…and leaving it up to fate leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. So you ignore fate. You do the very opposite of what fate wants. Fate is strong though and very hard to ignore. It pulls you in the direction of your soulmate constantly—quite literally. Whenever you get the urge, like urge to do something—like out of nowhere get the idea to visit the new bookstore down the block…even though you don’t care for reading. Yeah, that’s a sign that fate is trying to work its magic but you resist that god damn urge and do your own thing. And that’s just one example.

Feeling all your soulmates feelings wouldn’t be so horrible if the man you are destined to be with wasn’t so god damn emotional. Fucking Park Jimin. Yes, you’re well aware who your soulmate is…how else do you know how to avoid him so perfectly? As much as you can at least…considering… But he doesn’t seek you out either—thankfully. But you know he wants to. You can quite literally feel it…his yearning is so powerful it makes you nauseas. But he agreed to stay away. So now you live your life however you please! You have an amazing job that you love, a fantastic group of friends and a hot man you sex up on the regular. Things are good!

The only thing that isn’t good is that you still haven’t bought Isabelle a gift for her birthday party tonight. You’re walking on the sidewalk back to work from getting a coffee on this breezy Monday afternoon when you are hit with realization that you are the worst best friend ever. She always goes above and beyond for your birthday but you can’t even think of a decent gift for her! You listen to the click clack of your heels hitting the pavement as your mind wanders…what could you possibly get her that she doesn’t already have?

You feel your phone buzzing and speak of the devil.

“Hello?” You bring the phone to your ear and your coffee to your lips.

“Please tell me you didn’t invite Julio to my birthday event? Because I just got a text from him asking if he needs to bring anything.” You hear your frazzled best friend on the other line.

“He’s my date tonight.” You say nonchalantly. “Come on, when you guys drink together you…kind of…get along.” You shrug even though she can’t see you.

“Good lord, y/n. You know I can’t stand him. I know he’s got “that good dick” but couldn’t we have went one night without him.” she whines into the phone and you chuckle.

“I’ll make sure he behaves.” You promise. “Now tell me,” you stop at a cross walk and wait for the little person to light up. “What the hell do you want for your birthday?”

“…classic y/n.” Isabelle sighs out, “Just do what you did last year and buy me yet another scarf for my collection.”

“Okay I’ve only bought you like three scarves.” You defend with a pout.

“Four actually, but okay.”

“I’ll just figure it out. See you tonight boo.”

“Fine, see you tonight.” And then you’re bringing the phone down and clicking the end button. Isabelle and Julio (your fuck buddy) don’t necessarily get along. They’re both too similar, you think. But neither will admit that. You’ve been seeing Julio for a few months now, it’s nothing serious of course. He has yet to meet his soulmate and you’re just totally against soulmates. So it makes for good sex.

You walk up to your building and take a deep breath, time to get back to work. You love your job, you really do. But you constantly put your job before your sanity. Because—

“Oh hey.”

Him. You felt him before you even saw him…that’s how strong the pull is. Fate is a funny thing. It brought you to this job, and it brought you to him. But instead of purposely choosing another path and avoiding him like the plague you chose to endure. Because you fucking love this job.

You write scripts for video games and it’s the most fulfilling thing in your life right now…yes even more fulfilling than Julio’s dick. But seeing him 5 days of the week and feeling how he yearns for you is really fucking your head up.

“I said don’t talk to me, remember?” you say with a tight smile. “Seeing you is hard enough.”

Jimin’s eyes soften as he looks at you and he offers an apologetic smile.

“Goodbye, y/n.” and he’s walking past you as he decides to take the stairs while your lazy ass waits for the elevator.

Pain. You feel his pain. And you wince at the overwhelming feeling. But you have to endure and move forward!

“Afternoon y/n.” Your boss comes up to you as you both wait for the elevator. “You got that new script ready for me?”

“Yes sir, I’ll bring it up to your desk before I leave work today.” You offer him one of your sweeter smiles and he brightens.

“Great!” he chuckles wholeheartedly and pats your back, then he’s walking forward once the elevator arrives.

You sigh out in relief that he didn’t question you further…because in truth, that script is not ready and you’re about to have to work your ass off for the rest of the day.

~~~~~

It’s pretty chilly for being an evening in the summer but hey, you won’t complain. It’s better than the blistering heat from a few days ago. You have the address on your phone for the restaurant you’re meeting Isabelle at for her birthday bash. The streets are busy as usual since the city never rests. You walk towards a group of people when you suddenly are hit with an intense feeling of…despair? God, it hurts. But it’s over just as quickly as it started. You compose yourself and continue walking…a few worried looks from strangers but you brush it off.

“She’s finally here!” Isabelle slurs out, “My best fucking friend bitches!”

“Oh my god who let her get drunk before dinner?” you ask, scratching the top of your head as Isabelle rushes to hug you.

“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want.” She drunkenly giggles. “Hurry, hurry.” She ushers you to take a seat and you do. You plop down in the spot next to her, setting your birthday bag down on the ground.

“Another scarf?” she teases, pointing at the bag.

“And if it is?”

“Then I’ll love it you predictable bitch.”

“Hey gorgeous.” You feel a pair of lips kissing your cheek and you know just who they belong to.

“Hi.” You breathe out, “just getting here?” you ask and Julio nods his head yes.

“I didn’t want to get here way earlier than you…I wouldn’t have a friend to hang out with.” He playfully pouts, “But you’re here now.”

“Yes, now you have a friend.” You wink.

You’re about to speak again when another wave of pain hits you. You throw a hand over your racing heart and breathe out heavily.

“Hey, you okay?” Julio rubs your back, “y/n?”

And then it disappears as quickly as it came…

“Yeah, yeah.” You gasp out, “Jeez, wow.” You whisper. “I’m fine.”

Julio gives you a look of concern before he’s nodding his head slowly and turning his body to grab a drink.

“If you say so.” He mumbles.

You try to shake off these strange feelings, and try to have a good time. Isabelle is throwing back drink after drink and after dinner you join her. You begin to loosen up, the alcohol working its drunken magic on you. Isabelle is dancing on a table as the restaurants staff tries their best to get her down, you just watch and laugh like a maniac.

Everything is going good, really good…until pain.

“y/n? y/n?” You hear Julio call out for you desperately as you try to even out your breathing.

“Hey, you okay?” his voice sounds so distant, like he’s getting further and further away from you. “Get out of my way!” You now hear Isabelle’s voice, she’s pushing through the crowd that surrounds you. “I said, get out of my way!”

Then finally she’s at your side, you are heaving, you are struggling to breath. You feel your cheeks wet from the tears that managed to escape your eyes unknowingly.

What the fuck happened? What’s happening?

Finally, after several minutes of gasping for air, you manage to relax.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” Isabelle looks at you with worried eyes, her hand on your back as you straighten yourself.

“Isabelle…I think something happened.”

“What?”

“It’s Jimin, I can feel it.”

Isabelle’s eyes widen and she nods her head in understanding. “Let’s get you home.”

“You have reached the voicemail box of…” you slam your phone down on your coffee table and sigh out in frustration. You have called Jimin maybe 10 times now but it just keeps going to voicemail. What the hell happened? Is he okay? This feels wrong, you feel wrong. You feel empty for some reason like someone stole your life away, like they sucked it right out of your body. You feel weak. You are barely able to move from the coffee table from how fucking weak you are.

You decide to call it a night, you will just confront Jimin at work tomorrow and ask what the hell happened. You drag your weak, weak body to your bed and try your hardest to fall asleep. But all you can think about is Jimin, he’s taking over your mind. Like, you can’t control it. You see images of him and images of his life, maybe you are just imagining it? But you’re sure these are images of his life…is that something soulmates can do? You toss and turn for hours, until finally you see the sky turn a dark blue and eventually the sun is rising.

You decide to just say fuck it, and get up. You’ll get to work early today. You have so much trouble getting ready, you feel ill. Like, a demon sucked you dry of your energy. But you endure because you really need to see Jimin today.

You grab a coffee on the way to work when you feel yourself being pulled into the direction of your office—Jimin must be there. You walk a little faster and when you finally reach the building you notice something is off. There’s groups of people gathered around the building and police officers inside, you walk in and see your boss talking to one of the officers.

“Oh y/n!” your boss calls out to you, his hand raised up to get your attention, and then he’s waving you over.

“Yes?” you look between him and the officer, “What’s up? What’s going on?”

“Did you know Park Jimin?” The officer gets straight to the point.

“I…do…” your eyes scan the inside of the building and you notice a couple of women that work in your office crying into each other’s arms.

“Do you know if something was going on his life? Something that could lead him to commit suicide?”

“C-Commit?” you look around the room again, you notice your boss looking antsy and the couple of women crying did happen to work in Jimin’s department.

“Yes mam, we understand this is difficult. But any information you have could be crucial. We need to make sure we can rule this out as suicide and not something more serious.”

“He loved his job.” Your boss cuts in nervously, “So it’s not because we didn’t treat him well or something…”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “Commit suicide?”

“We found Park Jimin’s body this morning in his apartment. Overdose it seems. His elderly neighbor usually brings him breakfast in the mornings and when he didn’t answer she got concerned. She was shocked to say the least.”

“He-He’s dead?” you blink at the officer repeatedly, “He died?” you are in a state of shock yourself. There’s no way…you just saw him yesterday…but…but those waves of pain you felt then that huge wave that felt like…death itself.

“I think you’re wrong.” You say, in a state of denial now. “Jimin was just here…I just saw him yesterday.”

“Time of death is some time last night.” The officer confirms. “That’s her!” you hear the voice of a woman scream out. “That’s that bitch!” you turn around in a daze, trying to find the source of the screams.

“You fucking bitch!” you see a woman charging at you, screaming at the top of her lungs with her finger pointed in your direction.

“M-Me?” you point at yourself in confusion.

“He just…why couldn’t you give him a chance?” The woman breaks down, falling to her knees in front of you. “You’re his soulmate for fucks sake. This is all your fault!” She cries out, defeated.

You stand here, confused as hell. He told people? And how is this your fault?

“H-He’s not gone.” You say weakly, your shock still very fresh. “I’ll call him.” you quickly grab your phone from your pocket and dial Jimin’s number.

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

You gulp, trying again…

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

And again.

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

Fuck, why isn’t he answering? You start to panic now. You blink back growing tears, your body seems to be growing weaker and weaker.

“He’s just…”

“He’s dead!” she screams out, looking up into your eyes, her own eyes bubbled over with tears. “And it’s your fucking fault!”

The officer is helping the women off the floor and escorting her outside the building. You stand here in complete shock still, your body about to give out on you. There’s absolutely no way Jimin is dead. And there’s absolutely no way it’s your fault. Right?

~~~~~

Your limbs are so overwhelmingly heavy as you are draped over your sofa. You are unable to move. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat. You are unable to form sentences at this point, you feel drained. Completely drained. You still can’t believe the news. Jimin is gone. You don’t want to believe it but you do feel heartbroken…you feel so lost and empty and incomplete.

You close your eyes, hoping to drift off into a deep, deep sleep.

“We should let her sleep…”

“No! Girl needs to wake up and we need to get this show on the road!”

“Jin…”

“What? The more time she sleeps the more time she wastes.”

“We literally control time we can let her sleep for 5 more minutes.”

“Exactly, we control it so you know how precious it is, Namjoon.”

You swear you hear voices but you’re too fucking tired to open your eyes, they sound so far away…

“Listen I’m only letting her have these 5 minutes because girl needs her beauty sleep. Do you see those horrible dark circles?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Okay, she has like 30 seconds left and we are waking her ass up.”

“Fine.”

“Hey! Hey!” your shoulders are getting fucking rocked as somebody tries to wake you. “Wakey Wakey, hands off snakey!”

“She doesn’t have a snakey dude.” You hear another voice.

You slowly begin to open your eyes when you see a man with his hands on your shoulders. You scream. You scream bloody murder.

“Hey, woah, woah!” The guy puts his hands up in surrender. “Not going to hurt you!”

“We’re just here to talk.” The other voice cuts in, you snap your head to the side and notice another man. You scramble on the sofa, getting into a defensive position as you scream again.

“Have ourself a screamer, don’t we?” the first man winks, “Huh? Huh?” he opens his arms wide and shakes his head around. “No? Tough crowd.”

“Who the hell are you two? Take what you want! Please just leave me alone!”

“We don’t want anything and leaving you alone isn’t something we can do.” The second man says, he sighs out and crosses his arms. “Look, we need to talk.”

“Oh!” the first man quirks a brow, “We don’t want to take anything…no offense, maybe a little offense, but your apartment isn’t that ni—”

“Jin, now is not the time.”

“What the fuck is happening?” you yell out, “Who are you two?”

“Right.” The first man says, “Introductions. Should we just say who we are or should we do our little number that you refuse to rehearse?”

“We aren’t singing as our intros, Jin.”

“Why not? So unfair, Tae and Hobi do it.

“They’re a special breed.” The second man releases a long breath, “I’m Namjoon.”

“And I’m Jin.”

“And we’re—”

“The Gods of Time!”

You blink at the two psychopaths in your living room with your mouth wide open. What the fuck?

“How did you two get in here?!” you ask, deciding to ignore their little introduction.

“Walked through the front door.”

“But it’s locked—“”

“No, like literally.” Jin states, “We walked through it. Because we’re you know, Gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Did you just tell a God to shut the fuck up?” Jin grins, “Brave girl.”

“We have an order of business.” Namjoon rolls his eyes at Jin, “We need to talk.”

“We aren’t talking until you tell me how you got in my apartment! And what you fucking want!”

“He told you already,” Namjoon sighs, “We walked through the front door and we want to talk.”

“You walked through? Because you’re Gods? Right, like I’m supposed to believe that.” You huff out and Jin lights up with an idea.

“Here.” He’s suddenly handing you a knife. “Stab me.”

“What the fuck?” You hold the knife in your hand, where did he even get a knife so quickly? “I’m not going to stab you!”

“Just do it!”

“No!”

“Yeah, just do it.” Namjoon encourages you with a tired face.

“No!”

“Come on just a little stabby wabby.” Jin sings, “Come on!”

“Fine!” you stick the knife in Jin’s leg and he starts screaming in agony.

“What the hell!!!! Why would you really stab me?!?!? Oh MY GOD?!!!”

“YOU TOLD ME TO?!?!” you stand up in panic, rushing to his leg and seeing if it’s something serious.

“YOU MANIAC!!!! YOU REALLY STABBED—” then he’s laughing hysterically as Namjoon just claps his hands with an unimpressed face.

“Great performance Jin, but can we get to the point?”

“Performance?” you stutter, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m a God. You think a little human knife can hurt me?”

“Wait, wait, wait! You really are okay? I stabbed you! Oh my god,” you start spiraling, “I stabbed someone.” You whisper. “Oh my god. Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

“Once again, we are God’s.” Namjoon states matter of fact. “Human weapons do not hurt us.”

Your eyes widen in complete shock, you look between the two men and start shaking your head—spiraling even further.

“God’s? God’s of what?” you breathe out. “This is…this is impossible.”

“God’s of time.” Jin snaps his fingers, “and do we have an offer for you.”

“W-What offer?” you plop down on your couch, your face has gone pale. What the hell is happening?

“Your soulmate, Park Jimin…” Namjoon begins. “Committed suicide last night.”

“And full offense girly, but it’s sort of your fault.” Jin chimes in. You feel your entire body go weak again.

“But we want to offer you something. We will roll back time by one month. Giving you the opportunity to make things right and save his life.”

“Turn back time?” you mumble, “That’s impossible.”

You watch as Jin rolls his eyes and with his pointer finger he’s making small circles.

“Turn back time?” You mumble, “That’s impossible.”

Suddenly you’re hit with Déjà vu. “Wait, didn’t I just say that?”

Jin grins and making small circles with his pointer finger again.

“Wait, didn’t I just say that?”

Your eyes go comically wide. “Woah. How did you do that?”

“God’s of Time, it’s literally our specialty.” Namjoon says.

“This girl really don’t listen.” Jin sits down on the couch next to you and you try scooting away.

“Okay…say you really can turn back time…why one month? And why are you giving me this chance?”

“One month because that’s how long it will take to change Jimin’s mind. And because…” Namjoon’s eyes slide to the side…”We were sort of pressured into this.”

“By who?”

Ding Dong

“Great, they’re here.” Jin whines, “I was hoping we would have more time with the human by ourselves.”

“Who’s here?” you start to panic, “Who pressured you?”

“Pressure? That’s not very nice to say.” You hear a new voice and it startles you. “Hi there.” You look up to see two new bodies in your living room. “We are—”

“Great, they’re going to sing.” Namjoon sighs. “On with it then.”

“Taehyung and Hoseok!” They say as melodically as possible, “God’s of Fate!” You swear you can see flowers and hearts and stars surround them.

“And we are not happy with you!” Taehyung dramatically pouts while pointing at you, “We have set up such a nice life for you but you always do the opposite. You really hurt our feelings.” Hoseok smiles a huge ass smile, ultimately confusing you further.

“God’s of fate?” you stand up and shake your head frantically. “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

“If you would have followed our path—the natural path—then you and Jimin would be happily together right now.” Taehyung lightly scolds you.

“But instead…” Hoseok begins, “You did the opposite of what we wanted and now look what happened.” He says with a smile still. “You messed with the natural order of things.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault? That Jimin is…”

“Didn’t I literally say it was your fault?” Jin questions and Namjoon swats his arm. “It’s okay though girly, we are offering you a chance to fix this. You can save his life.”

“He’s right y/n.” Namjoon walks closer to you, “You can save his life.”

You can save Jimin? How is this even possible? Suddenly, you hear faint knocking on your front door.

“Oh man. They’re here.” Taehyung looks towards the door.

“Well, we knew they would show up.”

“Who? Who?” you ask, clearly not ready for more guests.

“May I?” Hoseok gestures towards the door, asking if he can open it. You just shrug at this point.

Hoseok walks to the door and swings it open, revealing two more men.

“Oh if it isn’t mister sunshine and sunshine Junior.” The shorter man says under his breath as he walks past Hoseok and Taehyung. Another man following closely behind.

“We actually like those nicknames.” Taehyung says with a smile. “But yes, what are you doing here?”

“You know why we’re here.” The taller man smirks. “We have a soul we don’t intend on returning.”

“Who the fuck are you two?” you grit out, clearly tired of everyone at this point.

“Yoongi.” The shorter man states like he’s bored.

“And I’m Jungkook.”

“Okay? And?”

“Introduce yourselves properly you fools!” Jin yells out.

“Right right.” Yoongi nods his head subtlety, “God’s of Death.”

Your eyes widen in terror. God’s of Death? “So you kill people? Oh my god…you killed Jimin…”

“Okay, one… we don’t kill people.” Yoongi states and Jungkook jumps in.

“But we do like it when they die.” He says with big doe eyes and Yoongi’s expression changes like the realization has hit him.

“Yes,” he admits. “We do like that.”

“Actually we love it.” Jungkook pipes in again.

“Yes, we do love it.” Yoongi comments nonchalantly.

“And two… Jimin offed himself, we just wait to retrieve his soul.”

“His soul is all we’re interested in.” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “That’s all.”

“Oh? Is that all?” Taehyung mutters underneath his breath.

“Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on and why you all are in my apartment?”

“Damn girl, you really don’t listen.” Jin puts a hand on his hip.

Namjoon steps closer to you again and pats you on the back, urging you to take a seat.

“Taehyung and Hoseok are the God’s of fate, they want to bring you and Jimin together for your epic love or whatever…Jin and I may owe them a favor. So here we are, the God’s of Time…offering you a chance to turn back time and save Jimin’s life. But the God’s of Death over here…” he gestures towards Yoongi and Jungkook, Jungkook looks at you with a wink, “…don’t want that. They’re here to stop you so they can keep their soul like the soul hungry bastards they are.”

The other 5 men nod their heads in agreement as you look at each of them incredulously.

“And you expect me to believe this?” you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and sigh out heavily, not believing a word.

“Should you stab me again?” Jin offers with a grin, showing you his little human knife you just stabbed him with earlier.

“What??” Jungkook slumps his shoulders, “Jin got stabbed and I missed it?” Jungkook frowns, “I always miss the good stuff…anyway, I vote you stab him again.”

“No!” you’re quick to yell out. “No more stabbing.”

Jungkook physically deflates once again, clearly disappointed.

“y/n…” Namjoon puts his hand on your shoulder, “Make your decision. Do you want to save Jimin or not?”

Of course you want to save Jimin…you don’t want someone you know dead, like come on. But what does it mean to save him?

“Follow our path.” Taehyung whispers to you, “The natural path.”

“You mean your predestined bullshit?” you spit out and Taehyung and Hoseok frown.

“It’s not bull…” then he whispers, “shit.”

“You can say cuss words sunshine junior.” Yoongi smirks, “come on, say ‘fuck’ just once.”

“No!” Taehyung whines

“Stop trying to make our Taehyungie do bad things!” Hoseok stands in front of Taehyung, defending him.

“I’ll say ‘fuck’.” Jungkook looks around the room raising his hand, offering his foul language.

“You already say it all the time, doesn’t count.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Get sunshine junior to say it though and I’ll give you 5 bucks.”

“Come on bro, say ‘fuck’ let me get 5 dollars.” Jungkook begs.

“Human money literally means nothing to us?” Jin questions.

“I still like to collect it.”

“Collecting souls isn’t enough?” Namjoon deadpans.

“I’m a collector, leave me alone.”

“More like a hoarder…” Yoongi cuts in, sighing out.

“Okay!” You stand, “Enough!”

“Finally, someone with some sense.” Namjoon says, “So are you taking us up on our offer? Going to save Jimin’s life?”

“Listen girly, take the offer. Be a hero. Because right now you’re technically the villain.” Jin says matter of fact, his hip poking out as his hand rests on it.

“Or live the life you want. It’s not your fault lover boy offed himself.” Yoongi walks closer to you. “He basically gave his soul for free.”

“You know Jimin was a good person…” Hoseok tells you, “You could feel it.”

You feel yourself grow guilty…this should be a no brainer right? You may not like the idea of soulmates but Jimin doesn’t deserve…this. He deserves to live.

“I’ll do it. I’ll make things right with Jimin, I’ll save his life.” Your firm voices echoes throughout the apartment and Jungkook scoffs.

“You think you can change his mind in a month? He’s set in stone, sweetheart.”

“One…gross, don’t call me sweetheart, and two, I can try.”

“Have fun trying with us by your side.” Yoongi states, a scowl taking over his face.

“She will have us buy her side as well.” Taehyung offers, “We will guide her every step of the way. You can rely on us, rely on fate.”

You roll your eyes, you don’t want any of these guys by your side.

“Is this your final decision?” Namjoon asks, he looks at you with a serious expression and you shudder.

“…Yes.”

“Did you hear that besties? Girl has made her final decision. Shall I do the honors?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. When you wake up y/n…it will be one month ago yesterday. Are you prepared for that?”

“Will I be aware?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Remember you have 30 days to make things right.” Namjoon reminds you and you nod your head.

“Okay, here we go!” Jin spins in circles and you all watch him …it’s lasting for several seconds too long, you grow confused. Jin keeps twirling around, doing little curtseys and now he’s doing the fucking robot…until Namjoon stands up.

“For heaven’s sake.” He uses his finger to spin in circles and things start fading to black, time slowly turning backwards.

May 21

It’s morning. You check your phone and it’s around 7am on Friday, May 21st. What the actual hell. It worked? You went back in time, right? This isn’t just some really incredible, elaborate prank right?

“If you’re thinking if this really happened…it did.” You hear Namjoon speak up from across your room.

“And if you’re thinking ‘wow these two super handsome guys really did that?’ we did.” Jin says hovering over you in bed. You can’t help but yelp, still surprised of their presence.

“Why are you guys here still?”

“Oh honey, it’s not just us.” Jin says matter of fact.

“It’s us too!” Hoseok says cheerily.

“Hoseok and Taehyung too?” you question slowly, your eyes scanning the room.

“Please,” Taehyung throws a hand over his heart, “Call us Hobi and Tae.”

“It’s just you four—”

“You really need to go grocery shopping.” Jungkook walks in the room with an apple in his hand, he brings it to his mouth and takes a crunchy bite.

“And as expected of the human world, the TV is trash.” Yoongi walks in after him, throwing your remote on your bed.

“Why the hell is everyone still here?” you yell out, grabbing at your hair. “I thought I was on a solo mission now!”

“Oh baby girl, it’s not just you anymore” Jungkook smirks, taking another obnoxious bite of his apple—your apple.

“Okay, if I didn’t want to be called sweetheart what makes you think baby girl is gonna pass?”

“I don’t know, thought I’d give it a shot.” He shrugs.

“Anyway,” you roll your eyes. “What do you mean it’s not just me?”

“You insist on saving Jimin’s life…we insist on keeping his soul. We have opposing goals here.” Yoongi explains, a bored expression drawn on his face. “We are going to make sure you are not successful. We can only interfere so much though.”

“And we,” Hobi cuts in, “Are here to make sure you are successful. You see, we are here to guide you on your little journey.”

“Think of us as your friends.” Tae grins at you.

“Yeah, I’d rather not.” You deadpan.

“And you two?” You point at Namjoon and Jin. “What is your purpose?”

“To make sure you don’t fuck up, to put it simply.” Jin states. “You do that a lo—Ow!” Namjoon hits Jin in the gut.

“What Jin is trying to say is, we are giving you a total of 3 mess ups. Once you strike through all 3, you’re on your own. We won’t manipulate time any more for a human like you.”

“A human like me?”

“I just mean, a human in general.” He clarifies and you relax.

“Can others see you?” You ask, quite curious. This whole thing is curious actually. You have 6 God’s chilling in your room right now and you are surprisingly chiller than you thought you’d be.

“They will…” Hobi’s eyes slide to the side. “Listen,” he sways on his feet. “We are going to be spending a lot of time together this next month so let’s all get along.” He smiles that big ass smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yes, let’s all get along!” Tae chirps, “Except maybe not with these two.” He points at Yoongi and Jungkook. Jungkook narrows his eyes at Tae and slumps his shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you to say ‘fuck’ sunshine junior, mark my words.”

“Not likely.” Tae narrows his own eyes before he’s spinning on his heels to face you again happily. “y/n.” he sings out, “Our new companion!” Hobi joins in on his song, they both start humming and whistling and suddenly Hobi is rapping. It’s all too much, really.

“Yo yo yo, Jin is in the house too—OW!”

“Anyway,” Namjoon brings a small book from his pocket. “There’s rules. Just a couple.”

“Rules?” you mumble, “What rules?”

“Rule number 1,” Jin starts, “You can’t tell Jimin you’re aware of his suicidal thoughts—this can just have more negative effects. Keep his little secret.”

“And rule number 2,” Namjoon closes the little notebook. “You can’t tell anyone about us.” He gestures towards all 6 of them. “You have to swear on this book.”

“What happens if either of those things happen?” You ask.

“Oh they won’t girl.” Jin shakes his finger at you. “Once you swear on a God’s book…you are bound to secrecy. You will literally not be able to talk about it. Your mouth will physically shut.”

“Jin’s right.” Hobi says, “That’s the law of the God’s promises.”

“And you are promising to us.” Tae adds in.

“That’s just the way it is.” Yoongi comments nonchalantly as he picks at his nails.

“Fine, fine. I get it. I’ll swear on the book.” You get up from bed and walk towards Namjoon, you eye his little notebook and then you look at him incredulously.

“Book of the God’s my ass! You can buy this exact notebook from the dollar store!”

“I like human objects too.” He mumbles shyly, “But it is property of the God’s so…are you going to sign it or not?”

“Do I…do I have to like sign with my blood or some—”

“—Yes.” Jungkook says.

“No, no. Stop that Jungkook,” Namjoon pulls out a pen from his pocket. “Just a regular pen. Also probably from the dollar store you speak of.”

“Okay, I got it…” you grab the pen from him and sign your name to the paper. The notebook starts shining a bright gold, almost blinding you. Then the glow fades and you see your signature in gold letters.

“It is done.” Namjoon says, nodding at the others.

“We are going to be with you as much as possible.” Taehyung smiles at you, “So please take care of us.” He bows his head towards you and you wave him off.

“You guys do realize I still have to work right?”

“Oh,” Namjoon’s eyes slide to the side, “We are prepared for that.”

“How are you prepared for—”

~~~~~

You sit in your little cubicle in complete and utter shock, your jaw literally on the floor.

“And this is our new team of writers, editors, and soundtrack producers. They’ll be working on a new game that is still under wraps.” Your boss gestures towards 6 men. The same fucking 6 men that were just in your apartment. Can you even call them just men? They are God’s!

“Please introduce yourself to the rest of the staff.”

“Right, I am Namjoon in charge of writing along with my partner Jin—”

“Jin is me, yes hi. Call me Worldwide—Hey!” Namjoon swats Jin’s stomach. But Jin recovers quickly, blowing a kiss around the office.

“I’m Tae.” Tae brightly waves at everyone, “In charge of editing scripts. Please take care of me.”

“And I’m Hobi, also in charge of editing! Let’s get along everyone!”

“Yo. Names Yoongi.” He quietly says, waving like a shy child.

“I am Jungkook, I am single and I—”

“They’re in charge of soundtrack production.” Namjoon cuts in. “Nice to meet you all.”

The office starts to quietly applaud, nodding their heads in approval as you sit here with your jaw on the floor. There is no way…absolutely no way this is happening.

“Ah, y/n!” Your boss calls out for you, he’s already walking to your desk. “Namjoon here says you all know each other, so I would like for you to help get them get settled in.” The group of 6 men follow behind him. You look at Namjoon like he is absolutely insane.

“Help them how?” you ask quietly. “Like, show them where the coffee maker is? Oh, look. Its right over there.” You point to the left of you. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh y/n! You’re so funny!” Jin slaps his knee, “I need help with some formatting on the first script I have…apparently you know a thing or two about that.” He grins at you and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t worry…” Hobi begins, his eyes looking around the office. “We won’t just rely on you for help around here…ah! There he is!” Hobi nudges Tae shoulder. “Jimin!” he begins waving the man over.

Jimin looks around the office as if he isn’t the only one with that name. He points at himself and mouths ‘me?’ Hobi and Tae smile widely and nod their heads in unison as they wave him over.

“Yes?” Jimin walks up to you all, his eyes on you…he feels himself grow nervous. “Can I help you?”

“Actually yes.” Tae starts, “Boss man here says you’re an editor just like us, maybe you can show us the ropes.”

“Ah.” Jimin slowly nods his head with his mouth slightly open. “I see.” Then he is nervously looking at you again. “Is that okay? For us all to be working together?” he looks at you while asking this and you scoff.

“I don’t control your life Jimin, do what you want.” You spit out and Jin hits your arm.

“What she means to say is, yes of course we can all work together!” he sings.

You release a long breath, remembering you are on a mission. You muster the fakest smile you can and make eye contact with Jimin.

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” You continue to grin and Jimin scrunches his brows as he slowly nods his head again.

“O...kay…”

Hobi jumps in excitement and repeatedly hits Tae’s arm, like he just got an amazing idea.

“Why don’t we all go out tonight to celebrate?”

“What are we celebrating?” you deadpan but Jin hits your arm again and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Remember…fate is guiding you. Do as they say.” He says through a tight lip smile.

“Yeah…” you find the energy to say, “Sounds fun…let’s do that.”

You hate this. You are only barely talking to Jimin but you can feel the pull intensify with every word you say to him and every word he speaks to you goes straight to your heart and your fucking vagina.

To call Jimin attractive is an understatement. He is beyond that…he is beyond handsome, beyond cute, beyond gorgeous and beyond sexy. He has a charming way about him, his sharp jawline, his smile with those full, full lips, his eyes. He is effortlessly beautiful…and it drives you absolutely insane.

You remember the first time you saw Jimin…love at first sight? Also an understatement.

He was blonde then. His hair swept across his forehead, you would almost think that was his natural color because it looked that god damn good on him. Now his hair is black and holy hell, it is also his color. But you might think any color is.

“Celebrate how?” Jimin speaks up, his eyes going to Hobi.

“Drinks!” Tae chimes in, “But only one because we all have to work in the morning.” He chuckles and the rest of the boys join in.

“I don’t believe in hangovers.” Jungkook says with his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk gracing his features.

“You literally had one like 3 days ago.” Yoongi comments, “You also said ‘I’m never drinking again’”

“That was a different Jungkook.” Jungkook snaps his fingers, “I’ve matured since then.”

“Yeah, right.” You laugh. “Also you guys realize tomorrow is Saturday…”

You actually laugh and the 7 boys snap their heads towards you and smile. All but Jimin…and kind of Yoongi.

“What?”

“You can laugh!!!” Jin takes your hand and high fives himself with it. “Amazing.”

“And you laughed because of me!” Jungkook cheers. “God, I knew I was fucking hilarious.”

“Chill out, kid.” Yoongi shakes his head.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “There’s a bar in the building next to us. We can meet at 7.”

“Actually let’s meet right after work, we can all walk together.” Hobi looks at you knowingly and you roll your eyes.

“Right. Okay, after work then.”

“Sure…” Jimin says slowly, “I will meet you guys here then.” Then he’s taking one last look at you before walking away back to his side of the office.

“Are you guys fucking insane?!” You whisper shout towards the 6 gods. “You work here now?!”

“We have to keep an eye on you and make sure everything goes smoothly…” Tae pouts, he messes with his neck tie nervously. “I even bought these cool human clothes…I thought maybe you would notice.”

“Yeah, yeah. You look nice.” You gesture towards his body and you swear you can see puppy dog ears and tail wagging behind him from how happy he is.

“What about me? What about me?” Jin motions towards his own body as he winks at you.

“You? Fine you look nice too.”

Jungkook slowly walks in the middle of your circle and shows off his outfit to all of you, spinning in a few circles.

“And me baby girl?”

“Call me baby girl one more time and I swear I will kick—”

“Jeez, no need to be aggressive!” Jungkook puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll take the L for now.”

“Namjoon, please say something as the only person here who is sane.” You turn to face Namjoon and he is looking down at his own outfit.

“Human clothes are so boring.” Is all he says.

You can’t help but groan…then you feel it. Eyes on you. Not just any eyes. His eyes. You follow the feeling until your eyes meet his, he immediately looks away and you feel a sense of guilt. Jimin is going to kill himself? And it’s supposedly your fault? Can you fix this? Can you change his mind? Can you save his life? Can you?

~~~~~

The bar is quiet, well it is only like 5pm. But you assume in the coming hours it will be booming thanks to it being a Friday night. You are seated between Tae and Hobi as they fill your mind with thoughts of Jimin while he is in the bathroom.

“Can’t you just feel how badly he wants to sit next to you? His jealousy that you’re between us?” Tae giggles. “I can’t technically feel his yearning like you can but dudes, it’s so obvious.”

“I get it, I get it.” You groan, “So what’s the plan?”

“Oh that? You are going to ask Jimin out on a date.”

“A d-date?!” you feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Not at all…” Hobi takes a sip of his beer with a fucking straw. “Trust us.”

You’re really about to trust mister sunshine and sunshine junior? They are drinking their beers with straws. Fucking straws.

“ You don’t owe Jimin anything.” You hear Yoongi’s voice from behind you. “You don’t want to be here y/n. Why are you forcing yourself?”

“She just wanted to hang with me.” Jungkook nudges Tae out of his barstool seat and takes it.

“Heeeey…” Tae pouts as he is left standing, watching Jungkook take his chair. “I was sitting there.”

“Say ‘fuck’ and I’ll give it back.”

“You’re mean.”

“Anyway,” you cut them off before they can continue, “Why do you want his soul so bad? Aren’t there more souls out there?”

Yoongi for the first time curls his lips upwards and smirks at you.

“Jimin is a pure soul. It’s worth more. And he gave it for free, his own will. That much more worth it.”

“Pure soul?” You raise a brow, is Jimin really that perfect? You can’t help but scoff.

“He’s a really good person, y/n.” Hobi says softly, “You know you can feel that.”

He’s right. When you first met him and you had that instant recognition, you could feel just how good he is. It hurt even more, considering how things went…

“I have shots!!!!” Jin comes up to you 5 with a tray of shots, “As the kids say, I am trying to get lit!”

“Barely anyone says that anymore dude.” Jungkook frowns, “Which is unfortunate because it… was…lit...”

“Where’s Jimin?” Namjoon asks, grabbing a shot from the tray, he takes a sniff and fake gags.

“Jesus Christ, I told you anything but Tequila, Jin.”

“He’s in the bathroom…” you say, your head falling in your hand on the bar top. You stare at all the bottles on the shelves and wish you could drown yourself in each one.

“I’m back.” Jimin says from beside you and Jungkook.

It looks like he washed his face with cool water, his bangs slightly wet. He’s nervous, you can quite literally feel it…that’s how intense it is.

“Jimin…” you say his name and it sounds and feels so weird on your tongue, his head whips in your direction with wide eyes and he tilts his head to the side.

“Yes?”

You two lock eyes, his gaze is intense. You can’t help but feel like you’re falling for some sort of spell as you stare at him. The pull between you two only grows…you find yourself leaning in closer to his direction before you’re shaking your head, clearing your throat and looking towards the other boys.

“Uh, there’s shots.” You point at the tray Jin is holding. “Let’s hurry up and take them.”

A few hours pass and your group is collectively drunk. Jimin seems to be the only somewhat sober one. Even Yoongi is shimmying to whatever song is playing! You look at Namjoon who is smiling at Jin as they talk to one another and you wave them over.

“I thought human things didn’t effect God’s? Why are you all so drunk?” you laugh, slurring your words.

“Alcohol is alcohol baybey!” Jin throws an arm around your neck as he continues to dance.

“Jin is right.” Namjoon points at him, “Alcohol is the same for us.”

You only nod in response as you eye the bar, Hobi and Tae are dancing with Jimin and he actually looks like he is enjoying himself. You stand from your stool and walk to the dance floor and join them, surprising Jimin.

“Came to hang out with the fun go—guys?!” Hobi moves his body expertly as he speaks.

“Just came to talk to Jimin…” you admit shyly and Hobi and Tae nod in understanding with their eyes wide.

“Good idea.” Tae yells out, “We will keep Yoongi and Jungkook distracted.”

“Thanks…”

“You want to talk to me?” Jimin says over the music, “Me?” he points at himself and you chuckle.

“Yes, you.” You reach down to grab his hand and fuck. You feel like you are being shot with electricity. “Uh,” you quickly drop his hand and gesture for him to follow you. “Come on.”

You and Jimin walk outside the bar, the night is a little chilly, even for May.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks nervously, he sways back and forth on his heels and you can feel his anxiety and it’s making you nauseas.

“Go on a date with me.” You blurt out.

Jimin is silent. His eyes harden as he stares at you and he breathes out roughly.

“You’re drunk.” He states.

“Don’t be difficult.” You begin, “Go on a date with—”

“No.”

“No?”

“You think I can’t feel it?” he asks quietly. “How much you…hate me…?”

You automatically get hit with a wave of guilt. He releases a few shaky breaths and continues. “You are forcing yourself…I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable around me.” He gives you a sad, soft smile and turns around to head back inside, leaving you out in the chilly May air.

“I thought you guys were fucking gods? I did what you told me and he fucking rejected me?!” you slur out angrily. Tae and Hobi exchange awkward glances before smiling for you.

“You have to put a lot of effort. Remember…you are working hard to change his whole mind. It isn’t going to be easy y/n. Even with us helping. We lead you on the right path but ultimately you humans do have free will.” Hobi says quietly, he looks around the bar to make sure no one can hear.

“And like Jungkook said…at this moment, Jimin is set in stone. It’s going to take some convincing.” Tae finishes. He messes with his neck tie some more before he is loosening it all the way. “And you better hurry to talk to him because he is with Yoongi and Jungkook. Who knows what nonsense they are feeding him!”

You look over your shoulder and Tae is right, Yoongi and Jungkook both have an arm draped over Jimin’s shoulders and chatting away. They both have sly smiles as Jimin nods his head in drunken concentration.

“Help me get rid of them…” you roll your eyes as you begin walking towards the God’s of death and their meal.

“You got it!” Hobi yells out brightly. “Let’s go TaeTae.” He grabs on to Tae’s arm and drags him towards the death gods. You follow closely behind eyeing Jimin carefully.

It’s a lovely spring day, the flowers are in bloom and the sky is blue with splashes of pink now that the sun is beginning to set. You finally found your dream job that you start in 2 weeks and an affordable apartment. It’s not thaaat much nicer than your previous place but still, an upgrade nonetheless.

Today you woke up feeling…different. Fuller, more whole. Something completely unexplainable. Once you stepped outside even the world looked more beautiful, colorful, vibrant. Your chest is warm and buzzing and you can’t help but fall in love with the feeling. What is going on?

You walk the streets in your restless city and you feel it. The pull. The pull is practically dragging you around without you totally realizing. You just walk the streets in a daze, the pull becomes more and more intense the closer you get to the main park downtown. You realize you don’t visit this park often which is such a shame because it is beautiful.

You stroll around, feeling yourself being pulled closer and closer to this gigantic tree in the center and then you feel your insides burst. Your eyes land on a figure, you can only see his back but you just know. He must feel it too because he is quickly turning his body around and facing you. His eyes find yours immediately and holy fuck.

You know him. As soon as your eyes meet you feel like you fucking know him. You feel yourself being drawn to him like there is spell you are both under. You don’t stop your feet from moving as you walk closer and closer. He only stares at you with wide eyes until his thick lips curve up into the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. Little did you know, this would be the only time you will see him smile like this.

Love at first sight? He is the most gorgeous human being you have ever had the pleasure of your eyes landing on. His blond hair swept over his forehead, his piercing eyes, his full lips, his entire figure. His beautiful, beautiful smile. He has charmed you. And it doesn’t help that you feel that instant attraction. That recognition and the intense, intense burst of love you feel.

But it is not your love that you are feeling. It is his. Because you feeling love for a someone you don’t actually know is impossible…that this is just some forced, predestined façade. And you are hit with the reality and the truth. You feel your insides turn from a gooey mess to hard. You feel yourself grow angry, you feel hatred grow within you and it must be intense because Jimin must feel it too. The way his smile drops and how his face goes pale. He takes a hesitant step away from you and looks at you with so much question. He feels how you loathe him.

You continue to look at Jimin as you walk closer and closer to him in the bar, Tae and Hobi pulling Yoongi and Jungkook off his body as you make your way over. Even walking closer and closer to him you feel all of your confusing feelings. You hate him yet you are drawn to him.

“Jimin.” You say his name, it comes out rough and breathless and he pinches his brows together.

“Yes?” he asks softly, he walks closer to you as well. “Is everything okay y/n?”

You swallow down your pride as you stare into his eyes. They look sad…empty even.

“Date…” you murmur. Jimin’s sad, empty eyes flash with a sliver a hope before they turn dark again.

“Why?” he finally asks…he walks just a bit closer to you and you step back, feeling suffocated. If he gets any closer you…

“I want to make things right.” You admit between a few breaths, “I want to get to know you.”

You aren’t lying, you do want to make things right. He doesn’t necessarily know what you mean but that’s okay. “I haven’t been the nicest to you but I want to change that.” You mumble.

“You want to know me?” he gulps, “You want to…spend time with me?” you can feel how nervous he is and you can’t help but chuckle just a bit.

“Coffee? We can start there.” You say, feeling your own nerves spiking. Who knew talking to your fucking soulmate could be this hard.

Jimin bites down on his thick bottom lip, his cheeks warming up as they turn a lovely shade of pink.

“Okay….” He says, trying to hide his growing smile “Coffee.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin angst #gods!au #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #the hero's countdown chapter 1

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kamyru · 3 years ago

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can you make an Irresistible Mistake MC headcanon?

Oooo. That's interesting. It's actually harder than do headcanons for LIs, because MCs are somehow self-inserts of the reader. Probably, I put something from me in these headcanons too. Yet, I hope you'll still like them. Enjoy! ❤️

Headcanons for: Toshiaki Kijima, Shunichiro Tachibana, Natsume Asaoka, Toma Kiriya, Yukihisa Maki

Irresistible Mistakes MC Headcanons

Growing up, she was a little closer to her father than to her mother.

At least once, during her school years, she accidentally put her homework and books on fire while trying to combine cooking and studying.

Moreover, she nearly put her parents' restaurant on fire while she was little. Her parents tried to ban her from the kitchen but reconsidered it.

While she was still in university, she used to volunteer for pet shelters because she couldn't afford to have a pet back then.

When she started to live alone, she didn't know how to use her income wisely. So, at least once, she lived on instant ramen because that was all she could afford after spending money on useless things.

As a student, she smoked a few times. As an adult, I think only in two cases did she try to smoke ever again. She begged Shunichiro to let her once when she was very stressed. In Jun's case, she stole a cigarette from him, then had to listen to his lectures about how bad it was for her health. She tried to pull something like this with Toshiaki but thought that he would be disappointed in himself for making her feel like this, and she gave up.

The first few times she slept with her lover, the man got hit at least twice a night.

Also, she is a blanket hog.

MC doodles her boyfriend's face on her notebooks. In every single route, the men in her storyboards somehow look like her lover. That's one of the ways Shun understands whom she is dating.

Besides the fact that she has a very gentle way of expressing her thoughts, she is also soft-spoken. Go was the first one to observe it. He tried to teach her how to sing because of this.

The only time she can be rude is when she is drunk. But even then, she's not more than an angy kitten.

Speaking of kittens, she sneezes like a kitten. Her baby "ah-choo's" are a running meme in the company.

She has a list of snacks and sweets that she has eaten so much that she can't look at them anymore without having the urge to puke.

She tried to learn German and French by herself after she had found out in Yukihisa's route that he speaks them.

Sings in the shower or when is bored. That's also a sign that MC feels comfortable near someone.

MC wants a dog, yet she knows they need more attention than cats. So, she can't take one.

Probably the first time she had ever asked her lover to buy her pads was after they married.

She is the type to pack lunch for work, forget about it, and find it all rotten three weeks after.

The only bitter thing she can eat/drink is Mira Black Coffee. So, in other routes besides Toshiaki, she probably doesn't eat bitter food.

MC has a scratch map, where you scratch the countries you have visited. Probably after her honeymoon, the number of countries scratched reached three-four.

She is the type to talk more often with her brother's girlfriend than with her brother.

She has a ton of books about art and museums.

Can't identify when people are flirting with her. She'll ask her partner jokingly: "Are you trying to romance me?" And he'll be "Finally!".

#irresistible mistakes #yukihisa maki #shunichiro tachibana #jun araki #toshiaki kijima #rei kamiki #toma kiriya #keita mitsuura #taku hayama #natsume asaoka #go okubo #voltage inc #asks

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stressy-enby · 4 years ago

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Hi is it ok to make a enimes to lovers tenya iida?plzzz with a grung y/n???

Yes yes yes YES YES YES

So, as I’m typing this, I’ve got a Google tab with pictures of grunge fashion behind my Pages document because I had no idea what it was before and now I’m obsessed. I can totally see Iida falling for someone with this type of style, it’d be so cute!

This ended up being really long skjfguanspdifhaosdi

Hope you like what I whipped up!!

Never Hated You

Masterlist

Prompt List

. . .

“(L/N)! Get your feet off of the desk this instant!”

You groaned loudly as the class rep marched up to your desk, a stormy look painted across his face.

“Iida, chill out.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your ankles on top of the desk. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

“Be that as it may, I will not stand for the disrespect of school property!” Iida blustered. “Do you have any idea how many great people have sat in your desk, learning to carry on the mantle of hero? How can you sit here and put your feet up on-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude.” You rolled your eyes again, making a big show of putting your feet down. “There, happy?”

“Quite.” The bespectacled boy bristled, not looking happy at all.

You chuckled, waggling your fingers in farewell as Iida returned to his own desk. Kirishima, in the seat in front of you, leaned back. “You sure do like riling him up, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta teach him that not everything needs to be taken so seriously.” You shrugged. “Besides, he’s kinda hot when he’s angry.”

“Dude!” Kirishima laughed in surprise.

“Am I wrong?” You snorted, gesturing to the boy in question, who still looked very irritated, and very handsome.

Did you find Tenya Iida wildly attractive? Yes, yes you did. You were very vocal about that and you found no shame in it. That being said, did you also find him a little annoying? Yes. So he was not saved from your constant teasing and pestering.

At the beginning of the year, you realized that you seemed to be the epitome of everything Iida detested. You were brash, not afraid to pick a fight, and always had some witty remark to make. You never wore the complete uniform, opting to leave your gray blazer at home, replacing it with your favorite leather jacket. The prescribed neat little shoes had been swapped out in favor of your old combat boots. Iida had just about had a conniption fit when he’d first met you.

Realizing that the overly serious boy was constantly up your ass, and that he was in point of fact very cute, you made it your personal mission to annoy him to the ends of the earth.

It worked spectacularly. Sometimes a little too spectacularly.

On multiple occasions you pushed too much, resulting in boorish lectures from the much taller boy that you could’ve slept through, if not for the decibel at which he gave them. It never seemed to deter you though. The next day you’d come back with a self-satisfied grin on your face as you plunked your boots up onto your desk. He was too cute for you to stop.

Over time, you stopped teasing him just for the sake of being an asshole. Though you’d never admit it out loud, Tenya Iida was starting to grow on you. You lightened up on the torture, only to spend more time actually trying to get him to talk to you. He always seemed suspicious of you though, to no fault but your own, you figured. So you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Hey, Iida.” You leaned against his desk after class one day. “Think we could get together over the weekend and do homework? I’m having a little trouble understanding the math stuff.”

“You want me to help you with homework?” Both of the class reps eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“Yeah, man,” You affirmed, chuckling. “Who else would I go to?”

Yaoyorozu. Midoriya. Todoroki. Iida listed in his mind. All of them are doing exceptionally well, and you don’t make yourself the bane of their existences.

“It’s just,” Iida pursed his lips, organizing his thoughts. “I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you if you really need it. I didn’t think you liked me very much, though.”

“And I didn’t think you liked me, but here you are, telling me you wouldn’t mind helping me out.” You chuckled, and smiled sadly. “I’ve never disliked you, Iida.”

. . .

To say you confused Iida would be the understatement of the century. You appeared to him as someone who didn’t care one bit about structure or rules. But as he sat next to you in a coffee shop, explaining quadratic functions, you seemed to really care. You poured over your homework, a pensive look on your face, turning to him every time you came across something you didn’t quite understand.

“I don’t get it.” He said quietly as you scribbled away at your worksheet.

“Really? Cause I’m just starting to.”

“No, not the homework.” Iida sighed, staring at you.

“Then what’s up?” You put your pencil down, matching his gaze.

“Why do you go out of your way to aggravate me so often if you don’t dislike me?”

The question caught you off guard. You glanced away, almost guiltily.

“At first, I did it just to get a rise out of you.” You admitted. “I guess I started getting fond of you though, and I realized that annoying you was the only way to get you to talk to me.”

Now Iida was the one to be caught off guard. “Y-you just wanted to talk to me?” He repeated.

“Yeah, and I thought I had ruined it.” You placed your head in your hand, and swirled your drink around in its cup with the other. “I thought I had provoked you too much by the time I realized I wanted to be your friend. I honestly thought you hated me.”

“Never!” Iida was shocked by the idea. He very rarely hated anyone. When his brother had been attacked, that was the first time that he had ever felt that boiling pit of rage in his stomach. “You irritated me to no end, yes, but I never hated you.”

“Hey, I’ll take it!” You conceded with a laugh.

Iida found himself laughing with you. He watched as smile lines etched themselves onto your face as your grin widened.

“(L/N), what say we start over?” He suggested. “I would like to be your friend, too.”

You gave the boy a disbelieving, yet giddy smile. “I would be more than happy to do that, Iida.”

. . .

Something very peculiar was happening to Tenya, and it seemed to be your fault.

When you playfully teased him, he swore his heart rate accelerated to five times what was normal. Whenever he said something that made you laugh, he felt like he was on top of the world. He felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach when you’d put your hand on his arm.

None of these feelings were bad, per se. In fact, they actually felt quite good. It was like a calm washed over him whenever he was in your presence. He felt more relaxed than he’d ever been when he was around you.

So, there was no problem with what was happening, but that didn’t stop Tenya from still being wildly confused.

The feeling also made him want to protect you.

This too was a mystifying thought. He wanted to keep all his classmates safe, of course, but somehow it was different when it came to you. But you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, you being an excellent hero. You had great control over your quirk, and you knew your limits. Not to mention you “kicked ass” in combat training, to use your words.

Tenya knew all this well, in fact he reminded you of it regularly during training. So why, when villains dropped into the clearing of the training camp, was his first instinct to get in front of you? Why did he grab your hand and pull you closer to him as you ran with your classmates back to the main building? Why did his hand linger on your shoulder even when you were inside and out of the danger?

You asked yourself these questions, too, but you didn’t complain. It’s not like Tenya Iida grabbing you and holding you protectively was a bad thing, but he looked too pale for you to resign yourself to not questioning him.

“You okay, Bub?” You asked, glancing up at the bespectacled boy in concern.

“What? Oh, y-yes, sorry.” Tenya separated himself from you, but you grabbed his hand before he could get too far, pulling him back to your side.

“This is scary,” You muttered as a way of explanation, your face heating up.

Heat rushed to his face as well, but he didn’t try pulling away again. He readjusted your grip so it was more comfortable. “Yes,” He murmured back in agreement.

You stood in silence for a moment, listening to the rest of your classmates chatter away in fear. You squeezed Tenya’s hand. He repeated the gesture.

“Tenya?”

The sound of his given name pushing past your lips pleasantly surprised him, but he quickly shook off his confoundedness. “Yes?”

“I was going to tell you something tonight, but I’m afraid my plans have been ruined.” A wobbly smile crossed your face, but it fell almost immediately after. “Once this whole ordeal is over, and we’re all back at school safe, remind me to tell you then, okay?”

“Why can’t you just tell me now?”

You shook your head. “Now is defiantly not the time.”

“Well, alright then.” Tenya squeezed out hand again. “Although I’m afraid you’ve made me quite anxious to hear what you have to say, (Y/N).”

You smiled weakly again at hearing your own first name. “Now you know what it feels like when a teacher tells you to see them after class, Mr. Class Rep.”

. . .

Tenya remembered your request as he was putting books on a shelf in his new dorm room. He stopped short, the conversation replaying in his mind. As much as he wanted to march himself over to your room that very instant, he resigned himself to waiting.

“I’m still not done settling in,” He muttered to himself, surveying the several boxes filled with personal belongings stacked neatly in a corner. “And (Y/N)’s probably still unpacking, too.”

A new-found vigor to his actions, Tenya found himself hurrying to complete his task. It had only taken the few days spent at home away from you and a quick conversation with his brother for him to realize that he had a crush on you. Reject the idea as he tried, it made a lot of sense.

He chuckled humorously to himself. What had you done to him? He used to see you as nothing more than a misbehaving delinquent who constantly went out of their way to get on his nerves. So what happened? What did you do?

You befriended him. You had looked at him with that sad, sincere smile, and told him that you thought you’d ruined your only chance of being friends with him. You’d heard him out as he heard you out.

It wasn’t a question of what you had done, not anymore. It was all Tenya.

He had given you a second chance. And he never regretted it for one moment.

He still didn’t regret it, even when you grabbed his arm and tugged him along with the rest of the class to survey everyone’s rooms. He still didn’t regret it even when they got to his room, and you put on a pair of his glasses, flopping onto his bed as you teased him for the shelves full of matching frames.

He especially didn’t regret it when they got to your room, where you proudly stood next to a wall of printed out photos of your friends. Tenya’s eyes drifted to a shot of you and him at the fair, both of you holding ice cream cones.

“Pictures taken moments before disaster,” You remarked, following his eyes and tapping the wall next to the photo cheekily. He smiled, remembering how mere seconds after taking the picture, you had tripped over his foot and fallen flat on your face, taking out not only yourself and your ice cream, but Tenya’s as well.

Ask them, he urged himself as the class headed back to the ground floor. The question never seemed to escape him, though. In fact, when he rushed back inside after he, Midoriya, Yaoyorozu, Todoroki, and Kirishima had been pulled outside by Tsu and Uraraka, you had already gone up to bed.

That’s it.

Tenya was a man of thought and intellect, not one of action. When the job called for it, he of course sprung to do his part, but not before carefully assessing the situation and weighing his options. So he surprised himself by going up to your room without a second thought, determined to get whatever it was you had hinted at out of you.

“Woah, didn’t I just see you?” You smiled coyly as you answered the door. “What’s up?”

“I wanted-” Tenya paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait, you still have my glasses.”

“Astutely observed.” You sighed, reluctantly handing them over. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I wanted to see how many days I could wear them before you realized they were yours.”

“You might’ve gotten away with it, if not for me being here now.” Tenya admitted, pocketing the spectacles. “I didn’t realize before.”

“So that’s not why you’re here?”

“No, during the training camp you said you wanted to tell me something, but that you wanted to wait until the… situation was over.”

You made a face. “I was hoping you had forgotten about that.”

“Why? Is it bad?” He asked nervously.

“No, just… weird. I only told you because I was scared we wouldn’t make it out of there alive, but now I’m regretting it.” You sighed. “Come on in, I may as well tell you.”

Tenya closed the door behind him, watching cautiously as you sat on your bed with a huff. “If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

You considered for a moment. “How long have you been holding onto this?”

He blinked in surprise. “A few hours. I only remembered this afternoon.”

“A few hours is all you need to get worked up about something. There’s no sense in me not telling you now,” You rubbed your eyes, looking both physically and mentally exhausted “especially if I promised you that I would.”

“Alright then, if you’re sure.” Tenya hesitantly sat himself next to you, now wishing he hadn’t bothered at all.

“Okay, so, uh, we’ve been friends for a while, and I’m really happy for that.” You started, rubbing your hands together thoughtfully. “And I don’t want to put that friendship in jeopardy, but recently my feelings towards you have changed, and I feel like you deserve to know.”

“Have they now?” Tenya’s heart pounded so loudly he worried you could hear it. He wondered if your feelings were anything like his.

“Yeah, they’ve gotten a little more… romantic.” You sighed heavily once again, seeming to resign yourself to your fate. “Okay, I’m gonna just say it: I really like you Tenya. More than as a friend. You’re stubborn, adorable, and always know just what to say, and every time I see you I just wanna kiss your stupid face all over and tell you that you deserve the whole damn world, because guess what? You do!”

Time seemed to tick to a stop. Tenya himself froze, his body stiff and his tongue limp in is mouth. Then his face exploded in color, and all at once, he gained control over his body again. His arm gestured frantically in his regular tic, and his words seemed to trip over each other in an effort to be heard.

“W-w-well thank you for your kind words! I greatly appreciate you telling me this. I have also recently c-come to the conclusion that I, uh, e-enjoy your company more than a friend should as well! I-I’m not sure what this means for us moving forward, b-but-“

You wrapped your fingers around the hand chopping the air wildly. You pressed your lips to his cheek, and rubbed your free hand up and down his arm in a soothing motion. You laughed lightly, but there was no mockery in it. “Thank you, Tenya.” You whispered.

The boy stiffened once more, before naturally relaxing, leaning into your touch. He mirrored your soft, loving smile, placing his hand not being held by you on your knee gently. “Of course, (Y/N)."

#mha #bnha #iida #tenya #tenya iida #iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #tenya x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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theasstour · 4 years ago

Photo

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕.𝟕𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

Tuesday, 13 December 2017

Tooley Street was always busy, whether there were a horde of people walking to and from the riverside and underground, or cars driving by at a ridiculous speed. London Bridge station on the other side of the road to where Y/N and the gang sat at Caffé Nero, looked like a small insect in comparison to The Shard that reached like a pillar above the partly cloudy winter sky. The blue painted brick building beside it, The Shipwright Arms pub, was a lively addition to an otherwise very bleak street.

The winter wind by the riverside was horrendous, but Y/N had offered to come with Annalise on her cigarette break, so she had only herself to blame for exposing herself to more of the biting cold than completely necessary. From where the two were sitting, they could just make out Tower Bridge behind them, bare trees rising up along the streets that indicated summer was long gone and winter had arrived.

Y/N had spent a lot of time just sitting outside the last few days. Whether it was on a bench by Regent’s Canal, in the grass at Shoreditch Park, or at a table outside a café with a coffee in hand. She had just been sitting there, staring out at nothing. Thinking. All she had been doing since finding that watch was think.

She had tried to find some kind of logical explanation as to why that watch had the coordinates for her family’s Newport cabin, but there was none. What kind of connection did George have to Newport? To that cabin? Had he just fucked her and left it there because he knew who Y/N’s sister was? And where was George now? She had not seen him since that night in October, was he still around? Or had Y/N just missed him when he had been, and this had all just been a huge coincidence. But Y/N somehow knew, deep down, that this was far from a coincidence and she should not treat it as one.

“You have to come to Monnickendam,” Annalise said, blowing out a puff of white smoke.

Y/N looked away from a man across the street who was arguing passionately with someone on his phone. Shoving the thoughts of the watch that was laid on her desk in her room, out of her head. She had not told anyone about it, this was not something she wanted everyone to know about because she had no idea what it meant. The only person that knew was Harry, and she would like to keep it that way.

“I’ve never been to the Netherlands,” Y/N said.

“Even more of a reason to come.”

Y/N smiled. “Buzzing. I haven’t travelled much in Europe, mostly been to Brazil with my family.”

“When you come to Monnickendam, we have to take the train to, like, Germany or France. Andorra is also so beautiful, I think you’re gonna love it.”

“Make a roadtrip out of it.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N’s smile grew. “Had you been to London before you came here for school?”

Annalise brought the cigarette up to her mouth. “Loads of times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we went here around Easter in 2012 the first time, and I fell in love. Went here four more times, then to an Open Day last year.”

Y/N nodded. “Was Helmond your first choice then? Did you like it the best?”

“No, Battersea was, but I’m happy I ended up at Helmond.” Annalise breathed out white vapour. “Helmond’s prettier.”

Y/N laughed. “The aesthetic is more important than the uni itself, innit? If you can’t take decent Instagram pictures there, what’s the point of spending the next three years at that place?”

Annalise laughed along with Y/N, taking a last drag. “I rarely use Instagram.”

“I used to. I loved to like document my life, to let all my friends and family know what I was doing at all times. But then I found Snapchat, and it’s just better.”

“You know that if you, like, save a picture or video in the Snapchat app, Snapchat owns it?”

Y/N blinked.

“At least what someone at home told me once.”

“Doesn’t Instagram do the same?” Y/N asked.

“Think so,” Annalise said, walking over to the litter and stumping her cigarette out in the ash tray on top of it. “Ground rule: don’t save anything onto social media. Anyone can save and see your pictures.”

“Basically,” Y/N mumbled, looking over at the man she had watched earlier. He was still arguing with someone over the phone.

“Ready to head back inside?” Annalise asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N got up and the two strolled back over to the Caffé Nero their three other mates were sat in. Thian, Hayden, and Chloe were all sat with their laptops in front of them and books in the centre of the table behind their screens. Chloe was talking animatedly as Y/N and Annalise approached, Hayden busy with something on the laptop in front of them while Thian sat with a book in his hands, looking at Chloe as she spoke. Y/N took off her puffer jacket, hanging it off the back of her chair as she sat down, adjusting her black V-neck jumper and loose denim jeans.

“…the problem isn’t that. The problem is the fact that they never clean up after themselves. That’s the problem,” Chloe said, groaning loudly. “And when I ask in the flat groupchat if anyone wanna be social, no one answers. I swear, all of them hate me.”

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Thian suggested.

“They always say that, but I know two of the boys are in Dave’s room playing something on that PlayStation.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Should I learn how to play FIFA?”

“You don’t have to impress them,” Y/N said, turning her laptop back on to finish the essay for Critical Reading that was due that Friday.

“No, I know. But if I want to hang out with anyone in my flat, I gotta do something. What games do you play in the PlayStation, Thian?”

Thian stared at Chloe for a second, mouth working before he mumbled, “I didn’t bring one to uni.”

“Alright, then what did you play at home?”

“Call of Duty.”

Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Isn’t that a war game?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I’m not into that.” Chloe grimaced, looking at something further away. “I’ve never really played PlayStation. One of the blokes I dated in college gamed a lot, but I couldn’t be asked to sit around and just watch.”

“The three in my flat play GTA,” Y/N said. “At least that’s what Nathan wants to play, Harry and Mason just go along.”

Chloe’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my word, Y/N. You have to make Harry teach me how to play something on the PlayStation.”

There was a slight pang in Y/N’s chest at the sound of his name leaving Chloe’s lips in that way. Y/N opened, then closed her mouth, then opened it again. “I don’t really hang out with them when they play it. I’ve had so much to do these past months.”

“That’s fine, Nathan can keep us company,” Chloe said, leaning back in her seat. “Make Mason come, too. God-“ She grinned, letting her head fall between her shoulder blades. “-Your flatmates are fit.”

“Harry’s fitter than Mason,” Hayden chimed in.

“No, definitely Mason,” Annalise said.

“I can’t choose. Depends on my mood,” Chloe mused.

Thian kept quiet, staring pointedly at his laptop.

“Can you do it? Make them teach me?” Chloe begged, sticking her bottom lip out at Y/N.

Y/N took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Chloe grinned.

“They might be busy, too. Might not get to it till after Christmas break.”

Chloe waved her hand. “That’s fine. I just want to hang out with someone from my flat eventually.”

Y/N glanced down at her laptop again, trying to forget the conversation she had just had with the other three. Chloe continued chattering on about something of no significance, Y/N did not care to listen as she wanted to finish her essay before she had to leave for home coming Saturday. Though her coffee was cold now as she took a sip of it, Y/N still appreciated the taste of caffeine. It woke her up, made her more alert and focused.

Ever since she was seven years old, her papai had made her coffee to drink. He always said “coffee is as vital to a Brazilian’s existence as tea is to a Brit’s” and she had drunk it ever since. She loved the taste of it much more than tea, but seeing as tea was much easier to make, she had come to resort to it here in London. Home in Nottingham, there was always a brew in the making or one ready for whoever felt like having a cup, made with a proper coffee machine that Davi had invested proper money in. He had bought it back in 2001, and it worked just as well as it did back then. Y/N, like her papai, loved the coffee from that old coffee maker more than anything else. She could not wait until she was home with her parents so she could drink proper coffee all the time without going to the nearest coffee shop to do so. The instant coffee Nathan often made smelled and tasted rank, Y/N would have no other coffee than her papai’s and a cup made at a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna go buy a muff,” Hayden said, getting up from their chair. “This essay is doing my head in, I need something to sooth the pain.”

“Oh, could you buy me a scone?” Thian asked, putting his hands together as if he was begging on his knees. “I’ll pay with five stellar knock knock jokes.”

“Make it six.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands and Hayden grinned as they looked at the other three. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Y/N and Annalise chuckled. “No thanks,” Y/N said, Annalise saying the same thing.

“No, I’ll just add to this,” Chloe said, patting at her stomach.

“Add to what?” Hayden asked.

“A belly.” Chloe gripped the little that was protruding from her tight denim jeans. “I’m trying to start working out for bikini season, to remove that extra uni weight, you know?”

Hayden looked absolutely lost, so did Thian, and Annalise looked to not be paying any attention at all. Y/N, however, felt a familiar pang in her chest. It was a small explosion she had felt before, one that would taint the rest of her day. Instinctively, she put her scarf around her chest, letting it fall over her stomach.

Hayden did not comment, instead they just walked up to the till, ready to tell the lady working there their order. The table fell silent, but not for the reason Y/N wanted it to. No, they were all just busy with their essays. Y/N knew that it would be impossible for her to concentrate on the assignment now that the only thing she would be thinking about for the rest of the day was Chloe’s comment. Chancing a look over at her friend, she saw her flicking through a book in her lap, completely unbothered, Annalise was cocking her head to the side as she wrote something on her Mac, while Thian was watching Hayden pay for their food. None of them had batted an eyelash. Which was nothing new, Y/N was used to no one picking up on covered up fatphobic comments.

She knew that Chloe had not said those things with her in mind, that the statement had been about her own body only. But Y/N could not help but feel the comment in her very soul. She could remember her mates from school in Nottingham making comments similar to that one, so hearing it wasn’t alien, but it stung as much as hearing it that first time.

“Here we go,” Hayden said, putting the scone down on Thian’s keyboard.

“Scones are so bloody good,” Thian moaned, taking a huge bite out of his. “If we had to fuck a food, I’d fuck scones.”

The table went quiet, all looking at Thian. He just continued on eating, humming some Alesso and Conor Maynard song that was always playing on the radio.

“Why did you just say that?” Hayden asked.

“Felt like sharing my thoughts with the class.”

Hayden raised their eyebrows before looking at the laptop in front of them. “The class did not need to know.”

Thian shrugged his shoulders and Annalise laughed, Chloe joining in after a little while. Y/N smiled at them, but her thoughts still drifted back to Chloe’s comments just a minute earlier. She spread her scarf out over her stomach, wishing she had worn something that wasn’t so tight fitted.

Friday, 15 December 2017

“Sorry we’re late,” Mason said as him and the rest of the rugby team streamed into the seminar room. Hayden, Y/N, Thian, Chloe, Annalise, Nathan, and Annalise’s two friends were all sat around one table, already having started a round of Uno.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hayden smiled. “I’ve put Uno decks on the other tables.”

“Cheers.”

Mason and the rest of the team sat down, all chatting amongst themselves and letting go of heavy sighs as they took their seats. It was clear that the last training session for the team this year had not only been cold, but also immensely tiring. They all looked very ready to travel home for Christmas break, and it looked like a few already had.

Y/N felt their struggle with the cold. She herself was wearing a mini linen skater dress in black. The skirt was loose, making it comfortable to hide her belly in – she had not stopped thinking about Chloe’s comment all week, but it would not stop her from looking really fucking good – and the waist was open, baring some of her skin and rib tattoo to everyone. Her skin protruded around the straps that were wrapped around her waist, connecting her skirt from her top, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she just tried to stay out of Chloe’s vision. The plunge neck revealed a very deep cleavage and skin, making it so Y/N had put on two silver necklaces to top of the outfit. The rest of the top had long sleeves and a nice collar, which was why Y/N had bought the dress. It was slutty, but in a modest way.

The rest of the gang around the table had also dressed up, ready to go out after this. They all had their last lecture of the semester today, meaning that their Christmas break had just started, and they wanted to celebrate before everyone travelled to their separate locations the next day. Chloe to Oxford, Thian to Bristol, Hayden to Sheffield, Annalise to Monnickendam, and Y/N back home to Nottingham. It would be weird not to meet up with them, to not go to lectures and stress about assignments for the next month. Then again, Annalise had made a Snapchat and Messenger group to ensure that the gang would talk every single day. And knowing her mates, Y/N was sure they would.

During a break between rounds, Y/N got up from their table after making sure that her polyamide shorts underneath her dress didn’t roll down her stomach. She wore them to prevent chafing, knowing that if she did not wear them underneath her skirt, it would be hard for her to wear anything the next day. She did the zip of her chunky sock boots before making her way over to Mason’s table.

“Alright, Y/N?” Mason said as she came closer, giving her a small smile.

“How’re you lot finding the society?” she asked, looking around the table, meeting Kai’s eyes.

Kai beamed. “Good, it’s nice to spend some time with the whole team off the rugby pitch.”

“You’re dressed up,” Mason pointed out. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uno Society.”

Mason smiled. “Trying to pull some rugby players, are ya?”

“No. No, rugby players.”

Mason only raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her, smile widening.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just as unbearable as Harry sometimes.”

“Nah, Harry’s worse than me.”

“Right.” Y/N took a big breath. “Chloe over there, the blonde,” Y/N said, motioning behind her with a nod of her head. Mason’s gaze immediately fell on Chloe. “She’s wondering if you and Harry can teach her how to play the PlayStation.”

Mason blinked, looking over at Kai as the bigger man clapped his hands together before laughing.

“Is that funny?” Y/N asked.

“No, it’s not. I just knew Kai would react like that,” Mason said. “But I’ll do it. After Christmas at some point.”

“Nice, I’ll tell her that, then.”

“Why does she need someone to teach her how to play PlayStation?” Kai asked, and though there was laughter in his voice, Y/N could tell his question was sincere.

“Some blokes in her flat never want to be social, they just stay in this one room playing PlayStation, and she’s kinda left out ‘cause she doesn’t really know how to play.”

“That might not work out,” Kai said, smiling still.

“Worth a shot, either way.”

“Maybe she just wanna spend time with this hunk,” Kai grinned, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Or the other hunk that’s not here.”

“Speaking of him,” Y/N said, putting a hand on her hip. “Not that I care, but where is he?”

Kai grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You don’t care? Not at all?”

“No, Y/N doesn’t like Harry much,” Mason explained, completely unbothered. “He’s working. The team’s popping by The Stag’s Head later to check on him since it’s his last shift and all that.”

Y/N nodded, suddenly remembering how Harry had told her that a few weeks ago.

“What’s the bellend done to you?” Kai asked.

“Another time, Kai. We’re in the middle of a round,” Mason said. “I’ll find a day that’s good for Chloe to come over.”

“Wicked,” Y/N smiled. “See ya.”

“Later, mate.”

Y/N walked back to her table, sitting down in her seat again. “Sorry,” she said when Hayden gave her a look. “Chloe, Mason said he could teach you how to play PlayStation sometime after Christmas break.”

Chloe squealed. “Really?!”

“Yeah, he’ll text me saying when.”

“Ahh! Buzzing!”

Y/N gave her a smile before the gang went back to playing.

Though she was physically present over the next hour or so, Y/N’s mind travelled back to the flat and the watch on her desk. Besides assignments, Christmas, and what Chloe said on Tuesday, that was all Y/N had spent her time thinking about. She would be in bed, about to go to sleep, then just get out of her bed and look at the watch, study it carefully. Maybe there was another message of sorts on it, maybe she was supposed to do something with it. But other days she did not want to touch that watch. There was something about it, something about how it had just been left in her possession so casually, something about the fact that she had not seen George since that night, that did not sit right with Y/N at all.

Throughout the rest of the night, after the Uno Society, while the gang was sat at a pub, and then dancing at a club later, Y/N could not bring herself to enjoy herself thoroughly. All her energy went back to that watch. She wanted to understand what it meant, why George had it, and what she was supposed to do with the information. Was she even supposed to do anything at all? It only made her want to travel down to Newport even more. She had to now. Her parents might think about getting rid of that cabin, but Y/N had to revisit it one last time before that happened.

Y/N did not drink that night; she was afraid of the conspiracy theories she would form if she did. She had one cocktail at the pub they went to, but could not do more than that, and her mates did not ask questions as to why she was not drinking, something she really appreciated. It was late when she announced she would be going home, and so she called Nathan and made him stay on the line with her as she took the tube back to Haggerston Station. Once she reached Orsman Road, she could hear his snores on the other end, and hung up halfway down the road to the flat. However, in the distance, she saw a stag’s head sign hanging out on a metal pole, protruding from the building opposite her flat building. She suddenly remembered what Mason said, and crossed the road, making her way over to the pub.

A small group of lads made their way out of the pub as Y/N reached it, the last one holding the door for her. She smiled and thanked him before walking inside. Now that she wasn’t affected by alcohol, Y/N was finally able to take in the pub properly without having the slight haze of alcohol taint it. The lights were comfortably dimmed, not too much so you could not read the menu, but just enough so that a person’s facial features would be a tad blurry. The red that ran along the wall behind the dark bar counter was subtle, giving the bar a sense of holding onto the secrets of each person who walked through the front doors, like a Victorian murder mystery. Y/N could see Sweeney Todd’s barber shop trapped in the same colours.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man walking out from behind the counter said, grey hair and broad shoulders. “We’re closed.”

“Oh,” she said, looking around the dark pub. “I… I thought I might find Harry here.”

The man narrowed his eyes a little. “He’s got a new girlfriend? So soon after the other ones?”

Y/N felt herself narrow her eyes back at the man. Girlfriend? Harry’s had girlfriends – plural – since he started working in The Stag’s Head? There was a very strange combination of a lot of different feelings that swarmed around Y/N’s body, suddenly making her feel seasick. She was about to abort her mission, to say she would just catch Harry at home, when there came a voice from the door leading out into the smoking area.

“Y/N,” Harry said, turning the lights off outside and closing the door. It looked as if he could not quite believe his eyes as he saw her standing there, like he had not thought she would ever show up to his work like this. Without seemingly able to help himself, his green eyes fell down to her green dress and her exposed legs. He quickly looked to his other co-worker, clearing his throat as he walked behind the pub counter. Y/N could swear she saw a slight pink hue to his cheekbones.

“I’ll leave if you’re busy.”

“No,” Harry said, the word coming out a little too quickly as if desperation got the better of him. “No. Not busy.”

The grey-haired man raised his eyebrows at Harry. He must have seen something in Harry’s demeanour, because he said, “You’ll be alright to close up on your own?”

Harry smiled. “It’ll be a nice way to end my time at Stag’s Head.”

“Nice,” the man Y/N now suspected was Harry’s boss, said. “Pop by with the keys tomorrow, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave both Harry and Y/N a smile each before he started on his walk up to his office. The pub was suddenly very quiet, not a single sound came from inside, just the distant siren outside and the low buzz of the city. A place that was usually bustling with noise, energy, and anticipation, was now left with the latter. Y/N looked around the place, unsure of what to do with herself now that it was only her and Harry there. Harry watched her, picking up the Cif spray from where it stood under the counter. She felt his gaze on her as she walked along the booths, touching the red velvet cushions, a rush of goosebumps travelling up her spine at the knowledge that she had his full attention.

She turned around, leaning her bum against a table as she took in the liquor behind Harry. He was washing the counter, looking over at Y/N again, eyes falling to her mid-area that was expanded slightly at the pressure the surface behind her was providing. He quickly looked away again, biting his lips together as he focused on the counter in front of him. Y/N could not help a small smile.

“What made you show up to my work, then?” he asked.

“Can’t a friend show up to another friend’s work?”

Harry let out a strangled chuckle. “Alright. That’s very nice of you, but I don’t buy that for a single second.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“There’s gotta have been another reason as to why.”

“Okay…? What’s that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulder, spraying more Cif onto the counter. “You were bored. You didn’t want to be around your other mates any longer. You wanted to see a delicious man with an irresistible Northern accent clean up a pub since it’s his last shift ever here tonight.”

Y/N let out a laugh, placing her hands on either side of the table beside her. “None of the above.”

“Alright,” Harry said, coming out from behind the pub. “What didn’t I cover?”

“You weren’t at the Uno Society meeting.”

The answer came so effortlessly, as if her subconscious had been holding onto the answer for Y/N until she was strong enough to know the real reason. Her hands instantly gripped the table harder, feeling embarrassed for admitting vulnerability so easily. She blamed how easy it was to talk to him, how he just seemed to throw a lasso around her deepest secrets, her most private desires, and drag them out of her.

Harry looked over at her from where he was cleaning the tables a bit further away in the pub. “Had work. Would’ve been there if I didn’t have to be here.”

She nodded, looking down at her black boots. For some reason, his words warmed something inside her. Hearing someone care about something she cared about made her feel special. Then again, someone she just met on the street could tell her they hated Marmite, something Y/N also did, and she would feel equally as fuzzy inside. Finding small bonds, small preferences, small somethings that connected you to other people, made you feel like you weren’t alone, but it also made you feel special, made you feel seen and understood. It was as if someone opened a door into their soul, and giving you a warm handshake, welcoming you into them and their life.

“The lads had a blast,” Harry said, now closer to Y/N as she had zoned out for a minute and some.

“They did?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to just sit down and relax like that. We don’t really get to do that.”

Y/N watched as Harry hovered by a table, leaning over it to clean it. His black tee shirt stretched over his broad back, his shoulder blades visibly working as he ran the cloth over the table in front of him. The outline of his muscles, the way they were so hard against the soft fabric of the tee shirt, made Y/N’s body feel very hot all of a sudden. He worked so carefully, sliding his hand holding the cloth so slowly over the table, paying it his undivided attention. She adjusted her position against her table, looking away from Harry as he stood back up, his black trousers that had been tight around his buttocks, slacking at the lack of pressure on the material. Get a fucking grip, Y/N screamed at herself in her head, focusing on the wall in front of her. She saw Harry look at her over his shoulder, gaze lingering on her for a few seconds. Y/N suddenly found it very hard to draw a proper breath.

“You’re mad I didn’t show up?” Harry asked.

Y/N was silent, her brain completely blank. “Didn’t show up…?”

She could see his smug smile in her peripheral vision. “Yeah.”

“To what?”

His smile widened and he focused on a table closer to her. “The Uno Society.”

She closed her eyes. Her checking out Harry while he had his back to her had not just made her forget the whole reason why she had showed up to The Stag’s Head in the first place. His body looking the way it did, him caring about the society, him teasing her to get a reaction out of her… Why the fuck did he have that effect on her?

“No,” Y/N said, refusing to look at him still. “I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”

Y/N could feel her hands instinctively grabbing harder onto the table behind her. “No reason.”

“You know,” Harry started, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “You can try all you want, but I still know you.”

She huffed. “You wish.”

“I don’t gotta,” he said, chuckling a little. “Don’t gotta wish when I already do know you. Wish I knew you better, wish you’d just open up to me like you did so easily before, but that’s for a later time.”

That made her look over at Harry, her eyebrows drawn together as she just watched him clean yet another table. He… Did he really think she would one day open up to him again and they would go back to being friends like they used to? Was he really that optimistic? Had he thought about it? About them and their friendship? And what a future with her alongside him at uni would look like? Her eyes landed on his bicep as it flexed, holding his body weight as he leaned against the table again. Her gaze following his arm all the way down to his hand, long slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, and the thick veins over the dorsal part of his hand made something in Y/N’s brain short circuit. That along with the casual way he was leaning his hips against the table, staring down at it with his head cocked.

What the fuck, Y/N said to herself again, looking away from him. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?! How was she supposed to stay neutral, to not find him attractive, to not want to sink right back into old habits when she allowed herself to study him and look at him like that. She had to stop. This was getting out of hand.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” Harry said, working slowly as he cleaned up the table in the booth beside the one she was stood leaning against.

“No, I’ve just got things on my mind.”

“What things?”

Your broad shoulders. Your hands. The way you stick your tongue out of your mouth when you are concentrating. But Y/N said none of those things, as doing so would sentence her to a lifetime of humiliation.

“Insignificant things.”

“When they’re taking up a lot of space in your head and preventing you from being present, they’re not insignificant,” Harry said, sounding a little serious all of a sudden. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing inherently bad on my mind, just… I’ve got a lot of… thoughts,” Y/N said, not knowing how else to explain it without giving something away.

“What thoughts?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Thought you did Architectural Studies, didn’t know you also had a degree in being Nosy.”

Harry let out a laugh, coming to stand in front of her with the spray and the cloth in his hands. “I’m very nosy.”

“Glad to hear you’re self-aware.”

“But right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bloody hell, Y/N thought, could he just fucking stop being so nice? So fucking adorable? And fit? It made hating him so much harder than it already was.

“I’m okay.”

He took a step closer. “What’s been on your mind then?”

“Just… life.”

“Has uni exhausted you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Harry took another step closer. Y/N’s palms were suddenly very clammy.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked again, a small smile on his lips as if he was challenging her.

“Maybe you just have to face the fact that I won’t tell you and you can’t figure it out on your own.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’ll figure you out.”

Y/N watched as Harry took another step closer, her heart suddenly beating very fast inside her chest.

“I just gotta…” He trailed off, now standing directly in front of her. Tip of his shoes against the tip of hers. Without a warning of sorts, he leaned closer, bending over her until his head hovered beside her own. Chest wavering above hers, touching as she drew in a precipitous breath and he did the same. Their bodies did not brush against one another again, an invisible, burning shield was built to keep them apart the second their upper bodies made contact. As if the universe was telling them that by touching like that, the world would go up in total flames around them.

Harry’s sudden closeness made her breathe in a little too harshly, she was sure he must have heard it but she simply did not care. The reaction her body was having to him being so close was electric, it made all the hairs on her body stand on end. She didn’t know what he was doing that close to her, thinking at first that he must have wanted to whisper something in her ear, to say something to her that would undoubtedly make her glad she was leaning against something solid for support.

But she heard the familiar sound of the Cif spray, and a second later, Harry reached his cloth behind Y/N’s back, cleaning the table. She felt his breath against her neck, triggering something radioactive inside her. The oud aroma of his cologne, with notes of cedar, patchouli, and spicy saffron filled Y/N’s nostrils. In those seconds when Harry hovered above her like that, his warm body inches from hers, breath fanning against her skin, his aroma, and aura mere inches from hers, Y/N was conflicted as to if she wanted time to speed up or slow down some more. She knew that if she stayed like that, with Harry so close to her, for much longer she would go absolutely mad and have an impossible time resisting him if he were to try something like he had done in the living room the week before.

No sooner had she thought that, he pushed off, face lingering just centimetres from hers. “I just need to take a look,” he said, speaking as if he did not mind if the whole world was watching them. He raised his hand, about to touch her chin. For what reason, Y/N did not know, but she didn’t ask any questions. However, he stopped, as if touching her was something he could not do. Y/N was glad he hadn’t, because God knows how her body would have reacted had he tenderly touched her jawline like it looked like he wanted to.

“Take a look?” Y/N mumbled.

“At you.”

A small breath left her lips.

“Maybe the answer to what’s been on your mind is somewhere in your eyes,” he said, eyes suddenly falling to her lips. “Or your lips.” He glanced at her forehead. “Or in the slight lines that appear between your eyebrows when you’re deep in thought.” He looked down at her hands on the table edge. “Or the way you’re gripping the table so tight right now.”

Jesus Christ, she was about to explode. Y/N let go of it immediately, standing up and forcing Harry to take two steps back. His intense glance lingered on her, falling to her lips as she opened her mouth to take a breath.

“It’s getting late,” she said, fingering the hem of her leather jacket as her heart continued to hammer away inside her chest.

“Wait for me, yeah?” Harry walked over to the next table to clean it, doing it way faster than all the other ones. Biting his lip and moving his hand with the cloth over the table as if to make up for time spent on something else, cleaning very slowly and standing too close to her.

“No, I can walk home by myself.”

“I know you’re capable of walking, but I don’t like you being out in the streets all alone late at night.”

Y/N looked over at Harry as he cleaned the last booth, seeing the determination to finish as quickly as possible.

“It’s just across the road,” she said.

“Please just let me walk you across the road, then.” Harry walked behind the bar counter, putting the cleaning supplies away.

“You make me sound like an old lady.”

“Just-“ He appeared from behind the counter. “-Wait.” He then disappeared into the backroom where he only stayed for a few seconds. Y/N would have thought that since he enjoyed working at The Stag’s Head, he would have at least lingered for a few moments to take in the last time he would ever be back there. But instead, he emerged wearing his coat, locking the door behind him, mere seconds later. He turned the lights off, and, walking over to where Y/N was standing, placed a gentle hand to her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the door that she could only barely make out in the dark. Goosebumps instantly ran up Y/N’s back and she inhaled at the pressure of Harry’s hand on her body. He held the door open for her and Y/N stepped outside, watching as Harry locked the front doors to The Stag’s Head for the very last time.

He looked around them after locking the door, checking up and down the three streets that came to a crossroad just outside the pub. Once his eyes finally met Y/N’s again he gave her the smallest smile, then motioned for her to lead the way back to their flat. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she could not find it in herself to do just that in that moment. Though it was just across the road, she very much appreciated Harry’s company back to their flat. Distance was nothing when the roads were dark and the faces of the figures walking past were left blurred by the dim streetlamps.

Harry held the door for Y/N once again, letting her be the first to enter the building. She strolled upstairs, unlocking their front door and watching as Harry gestured for her to walk on inside. The flat was dark, except for the warm yellow lights Nathan had twined around the railing of their terrace and the changing colours of the luminous Christmas tree in the living room. The kitchen was usually left in darkness, as was the rest of the flat, but since their eyes were used to night outside, it wasn’t hard to navigate their way to the stairs. They took their jackets off, and without her leather jacket on, Y/N was very aware of how much of her skin was exposed to Harry. Her dress showed off her legs, arms, and parts of her back to him, and she knew that, if he walked behind her up the stairs, he would get a good look at her bum.

She took her boots off and started up the stairs with her purse in her hand, hearing Harry make his way up them as well. If any man were to walk behind her up the stairs, Harry was one she trusted not to take the mick, to not look up her skirt and make her feel uncomfortable. But… after everything… she still didn’t want him to see her knickers. However, facing her door, she heard Harry walking up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face him once he reached the first floor. What happened next happened so suddenly that Y/N barely managed to wrap her head around it before the moment was gone.

She had just turned around to face Harry when he walked up over to her. Taking a step back at the sudden closeness, she felt herself breathe in sharply as Harry’s face lingered only centimetres from her own again. Though the person standing in front of her was a man, a completely different person, something inside her brain took her back to that night when they were 16. He hadn’t been this close to her since then, had not touched her or looked at her like this since then. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and then to meet hers, wet lips parting as if the anticipation was killing him.

And Y/N had to painfully admit, it was killing her, too. As much as she had tried to fight it, it was impossible to now. She wanted Harry to kiss her. Not tenderly kiss her like you would peck a person you were in love with, or to gently rub his thumb over her cheek as a show of affection, or to hug her tight when they met up for lunch. No, she wanted him to fucking kiss her. She wanted him to grab her face and kiss her hard; desperately, needily. She wanted them to fumble to take each other’s clothes off, and for him to make up for how bad that first time together was. There was absolutely no denying it, Y/N wanted Harry. She really wanted him. All these months, all those moments spent trying to push the thought away, she simply could not anymore. There was a hunger inside her for him, but only in the sexual sense. She could never fall in love with this man, she just wanted to fuck him. And she wanted to fuck him bad.

Her own lips parted, and she looked into his eyes with an expression she hoped he could read, because she needed him to understand. Once again, Harry raised his hand, hovering between them as if he were unsure what to do with it. Fingers twitching, she could see he was conflicted, whether he should touch her cheek as it looked like he wanted to, or if he should stop himself. Y/N let her eyes fall to his hand, to tell him she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel him somewhere, anywhere on her. Just looking at him, she could see he wanted the same as her. He wanted to feel her body, to explore it in a completely different way to last time.

Harry’s hand fell out of view, and just as Y/N thought he was going to let it hang limply, uselessly, at his side, she felt something on her waist. A warm pressure, snaking around the black linen of her dress. She waited for him to pull her closer to him, for their torsos to connect, but it never happened.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, eyes falling to her lips again.

She did not answer, instead just tilted her head so it would be easier for him to kiss her. With her eyelids hanging low over her eyes, her body language not showing any sign of protesting, and with her lips parted, Y/N hoped the message was coming across clearly. Harry leaned in closer, his nose almost touching hers. Her heart was beating so fast and hard it hurt. Her hands were clammy. All her attention focused on Harry and the electricity they created on that spot where his hand rested. He leaned down, lips hovering just over the crook of her neck, making her close her eyes. Breath against the hair of her shoulder, lightning shooting up Y/N’s back. He slowly leaned back out again, nose hovering beside hers. The anticipation was absolutely killing her.

“I…” But he drifted off, eyes falling to her lips again. She could feel his breath on her mouth, could smell his cologne. The tension was making her dizzy, she just wanted him to bloody kiss her already.

She was just about to do it herself when she felt his warm hand drop off her waist. She blinked, and the next second, Harry took a step back. He only looked at her, mouth working as if he was trying to find the right words to say, but there were none. So, as if blinking himself awake from a sort of dream, he took another step back. Suddenly, he opened the door into his room. He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Y/N. Again, he tried to say something that must have died on the tip of his tongue, because again, he did not utter a word. It looked like he physically could not say them out loud. Instead, he closed the door, leaving Y/N standing alone out in the dark hallway.

Y/N’s eyes rested on the door to the bathroom, trying to go over in her head where it had just happened. Had… Had Harry just walked away just now? Had he teased her in the pub, then done almost the same just now, only to walk away? What had gone wrong? Why had he not kissed her? What had made him step away? What had made him stop? Y/N could not answer a single one of the questions, and she doubted Harry would give her any. She closed her eyes, resting her head against her door behind her. This was exactly why she had not wanted to live with Harry, this was why she had not given in to his charms and flirts before. Now, because of what had just happened, because of how awkward that had just been, they were back to square one. Just living under the same roof as him infuriated her. She could not fucking stand Harry Styles.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 4th April, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

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erin-bo-berin · 5 years ago

Text

Sweet Cheeks

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request for a smut where Spencer and the reader have a Garcia and Morgan like relationship and boy was this fun to write. I think I got to around 3,000 words before I even got to the smut part so I might’ve gotten a little carried away. Happy reading!

Also, HUGE thanks to @multifandommandy for inspiration and help with Morgan quips in this. You’re the best. :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 5,056

“Last night around 2 am in Alexandria, Virginia, Desiree Armstrong was brutally murdered in her bed.”

Your finger pressed the button on the remote to bring up more images of the grizzly murder on the screen. You grimaced, looking away.

“Yeah, this is why I never look, kid,” your mentor Penelope Garcia said from the round table, her back turned towards the screen.

“It was definitely brutal alright,” Emily Prentiss commented.

“There’s so much blood, you can hardly tell what happened,” Derek Morgan piped in.

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, “The poor woman.”

“Has the autopsy report come back yet?” Jennifer Jareau—JJ for short—questioned.

“Yeah. She was stabbed 24 times with a-”

“Kitchen knife. It looks a lot like a Santoku knife. They’re similar to a chef’s knife, but they’re shorter and thinner with a flat blade instead of a curved one. Mostly, they’re used for mincing, slicing and dicing. You can tell because the stab wounds are slightly longer than a normal knife wound would leave,” Dr. Spencer Reid cut in.

You gave him an exasperated look.

“Okay hot stuff, would you like to come up here and finish my presentation for me?”

He grinned, looking back down at the file.

“Anyway, as I was saying. Her 18 month old Willow was missing from her crib when the neighbor found Desiree.”

“That means she’s been missing for at least six hours already,” David Rossi noted.

“Which is why we need to get a move on,” Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner said, “Let’s go.”

Everyone gathered their things, heading for the door.

“See ya later, Dite,” Spencer called over his shoulder as he headed to the door.

You grinned at his special nickname for you, remembering how the nicknames had all started between you two.

“You know how to reach me if you need me big boy,” you called back.

“You two sound like Derek and I,” Penelope chuckled from behind you.

“Well I did learn from the best.”

•

When you’d started at the FBI, you were placed in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Working under Penelope Garcia, their tech analyst as her assistant/protégée, you were anxious to learn as much as you could.

You were endlessly amused at the playful banter and nicknames Derek Morgan and Garcia had for each other. Although it appeared to be flirty, it was none other than just platonic teasing and banter. They just had the personalities for that.

To not be a profiler, Garcia sure could pick up on things as well as the actual profilers.

Like your almost immediate crush on Dr. Spencer Reid.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that it took you a few months to finally be comfortable around him.

You could do your job well, but not without awkward fumbling or the nervous voice cracking.

One time he actually thought you were losing your voice and suggested you drink some warm ginger tea with honey for it. He couldn’t see you through the phone, but your cheeks flamed from embarrassment.

Garcia had laughed for almost ten minutes when you told her.

“Loosen up Y/N,” she said, “He doesn’t bite.”

“I know,” you grumbled, “But he makes me nervous.”

“Well it never hurt anyone to be a little flirty,” she pointed out, “Try it sometime. Even if it’s not reciprocated it can go a long way for your confidence and helping you be more comfortable around him.”

You had to admit she had a point.

Thus, your nicknames for him began.

“Ready to help sir,” you’d walked into the briefing room where the team was sitting around the table, working a case.

“Okay, Y/N we need you to look up every male in a 100 mile perimeter of D.C. that owns a Lamborghini,” Hotch said.

“Well that’s gonna be like looking for a piece of hay in a haystack,” you mumbled.

As good as Garcia was, you knew broad searches were still tedious to comb through without other search parameters.

“Narrow it down to owners that are between the ages of 25 and 35,” JJ said.

“Are married or have just recently been married,” Morgan added.

“Okay, keep it coming,” you scribbled your notes on your notepad.

“Look for owners that have no children. Also, check their financial records. They might’ve come into a large amount of money recently,” Spencer said.

“Got it, sweet cheeks. I’m off to search.”

You left to head back to yours and Garcia’s lair, missing Spencer’s raised brows and slightly flustered and confused expression.

Morgan smirked at Spencer, holding back a laugh.

“Which cheeks?” he teased.

Spencer blinked slowly, looking quite dumbfounded.

“She means the ones on my face...right?”

Morgan laughed out loud at this as he stood to grab more coffee. He patted Spencer’s shoulder on the way out.

Pretty boy had a lot to learn.

Sure, the first nickname had kinda just slipped out. But Penelope was right. It kind of was enlightening to tease Spencer. It was amusing and adorable when he would get flustered.

What you didn’t expect was Spencer’s nicknames for you.

The phone rang and you hit the answer button.

“Y/N’s the name, researching is my game.”

“Wow, you sound just like Garcia,” came Spencer’s voice.

“She learned from the best!” Garcia called from across the room.

“I need your undivided attention, bright eyes.”

The pet name slipped from his lips so easily that you actually stared at the phone, making sure you were actually on a call.

“Y/N?”

“Bright eyes, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one with Garcia rubbing off on you,” he chuckled.

“Okay. I’m all ears,” you positioned your hands above the keyboard, ready to work, “Fire away, stud muffin.”

•

It’d been five years since you first joined the team. You and Spencer were now incredibly close and flirty nicknames were now an everyday occurance.

Even Garcia and Morgan were no match for your banter and here you’d thought theirs was crazy enough.

Maybe it was because you had feelings for Spencer, maybe not, but it didn’t faze the team much at all. They were used to Derek and Penelope, so it was just another day at work.

That didn’t stop their passing comments on the matter.

“Jeez, the sexual tension in here is so thick I can cut it with a knife,” Garcia once commented.

“Will you two ever just suck it up and date?” Rossi shook his head after listening to another every day banter.

“Can these two just fuck already or something?” Was a comment you’d accidentally overheard Morgan say when neither of you were around.

You weren’t exactly sure what to call you and Spencer, but he was a friend and that seemed to be how it would remain, regardless of your crush.

“Any luck in finding Willow’s father?” you asked Penelope as you scanned Desiree Armstrong’s documents.

“Nope,” Garcia huffed.

The two of you nor the team had any clue who would have done this to Desiree. They decided to start looking for a father, to see if he could be a suspect. So far, a search for him turned up nothing. He seemed to be a ghost.

Your phone rang and you answered it with a click of a key.

“Hey Aphrodite, I need your brains.”

Aphrodite or Dite was what Spencer had taken to calling you pretty early on. It was quite flattering considering what she was the goddess of.

“Well if it isn’t Hunky Brewster,” you commented, “And to think the genius needs my brains, I’ve never felt more special.”

“That you are,” he chuckled, “I need you to look into a neighbor: Evan Kelly. The victim’s sister said he had been bothering her for a while.”

“Gotcha,” you typed out the name, waiting for search results, “I’ll hit ya back when I got something.”

You hung up, beginning your research.

•

Spencer was in front of the murder board, studying it. So far, they only had Evan Kelly and the missing father.

He was currently on the phone with Y/N, going over the findings on Evan Kelly.

“Basically there wasn’t a window this guy hadn’t peeped in,” your voice came from the speaker.

“Any arrests?”

“Nope. Seems like this guy was just a creep.”

He sighed, rubbing his jaw, thinking.

“Any luck finding a father of Willow?” he asked.

“Garcia is still looking, but he’s just not there,” you said.

“Like not in the picture?”

“Like doesn’t seem to exist. We can’t find a record anywhere.”

“Look into adoption records, see if you can find out if she was adopted. She might not biologically be Desiree’s,” he said.

“Good point,” you said, “Now I know why you’re the genius.”

“I aim to please, pretty lady,” he smirked.

“I’ll get back to you in an instant, sugar lips.”

When he hung up, he turned to see Emily staring at him, jaw dropped.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head in exasperation before she spoke.

“What did you do to her?”

•

The team was back at headquarters, working hard to find the precious little girl.

You sat at the round table, working on the new lead the team had just discovered.

“So let me get this straight,” JJ said, “Willow Armstrong was adopted by Desiree Armstrong, although not through a legal company. As in, the company wasn’t legit?”

“More like it wasn’t done through any company at all. There was no paperwork, no legality, nothing,” Garcia answered, “It’s basically like the birth mother just handed over Willow and disappeared.”

“Maybe that was part of their verbal contract?” Rossi brainstormed.

“If so, then there might be an angry birth father out there,” Spencer thought out loud.

“And nearly impossible to find,” Derek sighed.

“Um, hello? Have you met me and my protégée here?” Garcia asked, motioning between you and herself, “We can find almost anything.”

“Any luck on finding an adoptive father of Willow?” Hotch questioned.

“No, there wasn’t a father,” you said, “Desiree was a single mother but her ex-boyfriend Scott Griffin knew she wanted to adopt apparently. I’ve contacted him and he’s willing to talk to you guys.”

“You never disappoint, angel face,” Spencer mumbled, still studying the murder board.

“Okay, Morgan, Reid you go speak to Griffin. We’ll stay here and see if we can track down the birth mother,” Hotch said.

“Got it. Thanks baby girl and protégée,” Morgan teased.

A moment later they were out the door.

•

“I hadn’t spoken to her in some time until just a few weeks before her death,” a bereaved Scott Griffin said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Morgan said sympathetically.

“Mr. Griffin, did Desiree ever mention the name of the birth mother?” Spencer asked.

Scott sat, thinking for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, she did. It was a unique name. Lorina something. Lorina Cano I believe. She wasn’t from here, but she lived around here she said.”

“What about the birth father?” Morgan asked.

“I never got a name, but Desiree said she claimed the birth father didn’t even know about the baby.”

Morgan and Spencer shared a look before turning back to Scott.

“Thank you for your-”

“Wait, there’s something else. I don’t know if it’s relevant, but the last time I talked to Desiree she said she thought there was a man following her. She caught him on her surveillance once.”

Morgan nodded while Spencer pulled out his phone.

“Thank you. We’ll see ourselves out.” Morgan said.

With a knowing look at Derek, Spencer hit your number, putting the phone to his ear.

You answered the call, putting it on speakerphone so Penelope could hear as well.

“Hola papito, how may I help you?”

You heard Spencer’s easy chuckle.

“Dare I ask what that means?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Garcia answered for you, not even looking up from her computer.

“Hot daddy,” she called.

If you could see him, you were sure he was blushing a bright red.

“I forgot to mention you’re on speaker, so keep it clean, both of you,” you chuckled.

“We need you to pull the surveillance from Desiree’s house. Scott Griffin said there was a man stalking her,” Morgan said.

“Okay will do. It’ll be ready for your viewing pleasure by the time you get back,” you said.

“Thanks Dite, you’re the best.”

“You know it, dreamboat.”

•

Half of the team were following other leads while you, Morgan, Rossi, Spencer and Garcia attempted to view the surveillance footage. It was slow going since it was pretty grainy.

Spencer stood in front of the big screen in the briefing room, studying it closely, his chin resting in his palm as he watched. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Honey, can you come here for a second?” he asked.

“Sure, sweet cheeks,” Morgan smirked, walking over to him.

Spencer looked at him, exasperated.

“Not you. Y/N.”

“Oh I see how it is. That hurts, kid,” Derek said, a hand over his chest mocking hurt.

You noticed Rossi’s lips quirked as you walked past him towards Spencer.

“Not. A. Word,” you mumbled to him.

“Do you see this car here?” Spencer pointed to the screen, “I think our suspect just got into it. Can you zoom in and see if we can make it out?”

This, he said to Garcia.

“On it, boo.”

He turned to you.

“I need you to see if you can find anything on Lorina Cano. If we can find her, maybe we can find the birth father.”

“Yup. My fingers are ready.”

You were back in your chair working on your task, Spencer watching from behind you.

“Okay, got it.”

You pulled up the page for him. He read it, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

“Not one bit,” he mumbled, still reading.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the screen. Your heart sunk when you saw the same thing he just had.

“Dammit,” he groaned.

“She’s been dead since last year,” you mumbled, feeling defeated.

“Well I guess we have to track down the mystery father another way,” Rossi mused.

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, feeling like you’d failed.

“It’s not your fault Y/N, don’t worry,” Spencer said, pecking your cheek, “I have an idea though, I’ll be back.”

You were still stunned from the kiss that seemed to come out of the blue. It took you a second to notice the other three staring at you, raised brows and amusement all over their faces.

Your gaze went back to the screen quickly, your cheeks flaming hot.

Derek’s amusing response made you blush even further.

“Reid never kisses me like that.”

•

“Guys, I think I got it!” Garcia said, rushing in with her laptop.

You had been lounging at the round table eating your dinner. She’d been sympathetic to your frustration and ordered you to take a break from your research to have some dinner.

“Got what?” you asked, slapping Spencer’s hand away from stealing more of your fries.

“Ow!” he pouted.

“Fine,” you groaned, putting one in his mouth.

You turned back to see, once again, the entire team staring at you two. Garcia especially.

“What’d you find, Garcia?” Hotch prompted.

“Right. Yes. Okay, so from the partial license plate I found who I believe is our unsub. His name is Noah Elliot and he works for a trucking company. I just spoke to his boss. Well, get this. We know the father didn’t know about the baby, right? Somehow he got clued in—whether by a friend, a family member, who knows—about little baby Willow and he was furious. So, he finds Lorina I’m assuming and finds out that she gave Willow up for adoption. Somehow he found Desiree and killed her, kidnapping Willow. If you think I’m done yet, I’m not, I have so much more! According to the boss, a truck recently went missing from the company, they haven’t been able to trace it. Noah hasn’t showed up for work in a week and the boss was cleaning out his locker since he was gonna fire him when he finally showed up again. In the locker he found this.”

Garcia turned her computer around. Pictures of Willow and Desiree had been hidden in his work locker, assuming no one would ever find them.

“He was stalking her,” Emily said.

“Yeah and hardcore,” Garcia said.

“Garcia is there a way for them to track that missing truck?” Hotch inquired.

“Yes, they’re working on it now and before you ask the address is being sent to your phones right now.”

“Let’s go,” he ordered, the team following behind them.

“Be safe!” you and Penelope called after them.

•

“I’m exhausted,” you sighed, plopping down in your chair.

In total, it had taken a little over 24 hours to find little Willow Armstrong, safe and sound. After managing to activate the tracking of the missing truck, Noah Elliot was located and caught trying to cross the Virginian border into North Carolina. He would be going away for a minimum of 25 years.

Willow would be placed in the care of Desiree’s sister. It was a bittersweet ending. Even though the child had been saved, it still upset you knowing that the poor little girl had lost her mother at such a young age. But, it was a win. Not all cases ended happily and you were glad this one had.

“Same,” Garcia mumbled.

You were waiting for the team to come back. Garcia had ordered pizza and everyone was going to relax and rewind before heading home. It was well deserved. They had been on the move almost constantly throughout this entire case.

“Good work today, bright eyes,” she smirked.

“Stop it,” you groaned.

“Aphrodite, Dite, Angel Face, Honey,” she replied, heavy emphasis on each nickname.

“Okay, so? You call Derek nicknames all the time. Spencer too and the others.”

“That’s different. I do it out of love and you know Derek and I just have that type of close, comfortable relationship,” Garcia pointed out

“That’s the same with me and Spencer. I don’t see your point.”

“Yeah because you don’t see all the flirting that happens around this office like we do,” Garcia gave you a look, “You were feeding him fries earlier for God’s sake! I wish you two would just do something.”

“Well that’s going to be hard to do considering it’s a one way street, Penelope.”

“You clearly don’t know the boy genius like I do,” she smirked, “He doesn’t...what’s the word for it? Flirt. Not like he does with you because he’s comfortable around you and likes you.”

“I love you Garcia, but you’re delusional,” you heard a noise in the hallway, “Say is that the delivery guy?”

You hopped up to go check.

“I swear Y/N, I will lock you two in a room if I have to,” she mumbled.

You turned around, an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she grinned innocently.

You walked out into the hall, Garcia at your heels and found Spencer carrying three boxes of pizza, a big smile on his face.

“Someone order pizza?”

•

You were the last to leave, so it seemed. You wanted to tidy up your desk and get some work done so you wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

You stood in the deserted hallway, waiting for the elevator.

“Late night for you too?”

You startled and turned to see Spencer exiting the BAU, walking towards the elevator.

“I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Sorry for scaring you, by the way,” he chuckled and you waved it off.

“Tough case, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, walking into the now opened elevator.

“You did some great work, Y/N,” he said, walking in behind you, hitting the button for the lobby.

“Hey, you’re the real hero here,” you smiled, “I just do computers.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t know what to do without you,” he said then quickly clearing his throat, realizing his mistake, “I mean we wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Well, thank you. That’s sweet.”

You rode in silence until a loud crash rang throughout the elevator, followed by a shuddering sensation. Suddenly, the elevator came to a complete stop.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” you gasped.

“Uh, well. This isn’t good.”

Spencer hit several different buttons with no luck. The elevator still hung between floors and you were stuck in here.

You were literally stuck in an elevator with Spencer.

With your feelings bubbling to the surface even more lately, especially during this case, this was your worst case scenario.

This was not good.

•

“So,” Spencer said, pocketing his cell phone, “Hotch said it would be at least an hour or so before he and the building engineers can get down here.”

“Wonderful,” you mumbled, pacing the very small space of the elevator.

You were sort of freaking out. Not because of the actual being stuck part, but because you were afraid of what you might do or might say. This was dangerous territory.

Of course, there was no way Spencer knew that and he obviously interpreted your anxiety as a reaction to being stuck.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay.”

He grabbed your elbow, stilling your steps in front of the metal doors. You slumped back against it, but at least you stayed still.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Studies find that the best distractions in stressful situations are meditation, helping others and-” he paused.

With a quick purse of his lips, his eyes glanced upwards nonchalantly and his brows raised just the slightest.

“Orgasms.”

Your eyes widened, sure you’d misheard him somehow.

“I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Your mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“What exactly are you saying?” you asked hesitantly.

“I think you know good and well what I’m saying.”

You were astonished and exasperated.

“Dammit Spencer, if you’re just messing with me, I swear.”

He was closing in on you now, a slight grin on his lips, tongue flicking over them in a quick movement, moistening them.

“I’m not,” he whispered.

Then his lips were on yours. It took a moment for you to get over the initial shock, but when you did, you were kissing him back.

His hand that rested gently on your cheek, slid into your hair, pulling your head closer to him. After a minute of pure heaven for you, he pulled away much to your dismay.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmured, lips hovering over yours.

“Yeah?” you whispered, eyes still on his lips.

You were on cloud nine and you just wanted his lips back on yours.

He hummed his response, pressing his lips towards yours again. His hand slid along your waist, pulling you into him. Your lips moved feverishly with his, your first initial soft kisses quickly gaining intensity.

“Hold on,” he said after parting from you again.

He shedded his suit jacket and your eyebrows rose. He moved to the opposite side of the elevator, tossing the jacket over the camera that hung in the top corner.

You bit your lip, trying to hide your giggle.

“Just in case,” he smirked.

It took about only two steps for him to be in front of you again, his mouth busy against yours once again.

You still hadn’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that you were currently trapped in an elevator, your back pressed against the metal doors, making out with Spencer. But then again, you didn’t want to focus on anything but him at the moment.

A small moan escaped you when he tugged your lower lip gently, teasingly. His hands had somehow made it under your dress, sliding up your bare thighs.

You broke away with a gasp when his touch ghosted over your nether region through your underwear. He pressed his lips together, pulling them inward, his dimple showing up because of the expression.

“Is this okay?” he asked, hand hovering near your pulsating core.

“Y-Yes,” you managed to croak.

You don’t know just how long you’d been lost to his kisses, but he had gotten you worked up and you could feel yourself throbbing with the want. All the sexual tension the both of you had shared was coming to the surface and you were craving every bit of it ten times more now.

His fingers traced a line upwards along the outer portion of the undergarment, his lips on your jaw, making a slow descent to your neck. He was taking his time with you and it was driving you crazy. His hands slid up, pushing your dress up with them.

You reached out for his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down. Other than your heavy breathing, the only sound was the slow grinding of the zipper as you pulled it down slowly. Your anticipation and arousal were making you short of breath and Spencer pulled back, eyes searching your face.

“I’m sure,” you answered his questioning expression, firmly.

That was Spencer. Always making sure to think of the other person first. You knew he wouldn’t have continued if you weren’t comfortable with it.

His own arousal had grown to match yours, though his was obviously more apparent. You pushed his suit pants down, his underwear following.

Before you realized it, he’d hoisted you up and your high heeled feet were crossed behind him. His hand reached down, pushing your underwear to the side with a determined roughness as he kissed you. Then he was inside you.

Your hand tangled in his hair as he thrust gently to begin with, his eyes locked on yours. You felt a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach that wasn’t caused by your desire.

The way he was looking at you was giving you extreme butterflies. It was as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world to him.

Your hips moved in time with his and you bit your lip, whimpering from the pleasure. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned lowly, sending your body aflame even more so than it already was.

Never would you have thought that Spencer moaning in your ear would be so hot, but it was.

The more he thrust into you, the more your moans became less restricted, flowing freely from your lips.

“Spencer,” you moaned, gritting your teeth, “Harder.”

If he wanted to fuck you as hard as he wanted against these elevator doors you’d be totally okay with it.

He obeyed your wishes, his body rocking into yours, one hand behind your head to keep you from hitting it. You briefly register the thought that even during a situation like this he was caring enough to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.

“Y/N, shit,” he grunted, the sound sending shock waves down to your core.

As much as you loved his nicknames for you, you couldn’t help but love hearing your name fall from his lips in such extreme pleasure.

You grinned slightly, his nose pressing lightly against your cheek as he pulled you closer to him, his thrusts becoming uneven. He was on the brink of losing it, you knew it.

“Come on Spence.”

Your hand gripped his hair and he lost all control his groan rippling through you. You had trouble realizing that you were the one having this affect on him.

But he wasn’t done with you, yet.

If he’d told you once, he’d told you a thousand times that he knew how to be a gentleman.

You reached down to finish yourself off but his hand moved yours out of the way, thumb landing on the bundle of nerves that sent an electrified feeling through your veins when his touch reached it.

“If you don’t know me by now, Y/N,” he grunted, his thrusts coming hard and fast.

“G-Gentleman. I know,” you moaned, your head lolling back against the metal doors.

His lips ravished your throat, his combined efforts releasing the fire in the pit of your stomach. You completely let go, your breathy moans filling the elevator, your back arching away from the doors.

When the intense feeling had subsided, your eyes opened to find him watching you. Your cheeks heated as you realized how out of control you must’ve been the entire time. But instead of being horrified or regretful, Spencer was smiling at you.

He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you gently, igniting the butterflies once again. It was this that truly confirmed that you’d fallen and fallen hard for Spencer.

After parting, you readjusted your clothing in silence, not exactly sure what to say.

“So, uh, wow,” he laughed a bit as he pulled his suit jacket back on.

He’d retrieved it from over the camera shortly after you’d disconnected from one another.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Your legs were definitely feeling like jelly at this point and you were pretty sure he could tell. It had been pretty amazing sex.

“I know this is kinda backwards from how it’s usually done,” he chuckled, suddenly timid, “But could I take you to dinner sometime?”

Your hand found his and his fingers automatically threaded through yours. You kissed his cheek before answering.

“I’d love nothing more.”

The whirring of the elevator startled the two of you. Ironic how it was just in time, it seemed.

The elevator arrived back to the floor of the BAU and you were surprised to see Garcia and Morgan in the hallway.

“What are you guys doing here?” Spencer asked, stepping off the elevator, you at his side.

“Hotch had a thing he wanted us to do,” Garcia explained lamely.

“Like getting us out of the elevator?” you asked, suspicious.

“Yes! That’s it.” Garcia said, eyes flickering to yours and Spencer’s joined hands.

She was heading back to her lair when you heard her call.

“See Morgan? I told you stopping the elevator would work!”

Spencer’s jaw dropped and you gaped after Penelope dumbfounded.

Derek laughed heartily at your matching reactions before following after Garcia, calling over his shoulder to Spencer.

“Hope you had fun, sweet cheeks.”

Tag List: @dreatine @reid-187 @groovyreid @reidslibra @suvikamahes98blr @fuckthealarm @whatspunispun @iamburdened @cindywayne @thomasfoockinshelby @tinyminy88 @theitcaramelchick @missprettyboy @hushlilbabydoll @sammy-jo1977 @theonlyone-meeeee @haileymorelikestupid @lemonypink @multifandommandy

#spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fics #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid fics #dr spencer reid gifs #dr spencer reid smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fics #criminal minds gifs #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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justmypartner · 3 years ago

Text

Still Breathing: Chapter 6

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: Hi!! Oh man am I excited about this chapter. It’s sweet and flirty, but also pretty angsty, so you’re welcome and I’m sorry? I’ve hit a good spot with writing this story, so I will probably be posting more often. I still can’t promise weekly updates, but I will do my best. Thank you so much for the kind words on this story. It truly means a lot. I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 or below

“Hailey?”

“Hello?”

It wasn’t until a coffee cup was being raised in front of her face that she pulled out of her absent stare.

“Sorry,” she shook her head, blinking her eyes back into focus. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile as she reached out to grab the cup.

Everything had been a blur since that last dance with Jay the night before. When the song ended and she finally worked up the nerve to pull away from him, she desperately tried to swallow down her emotions with the rest of the bottle of wine. Not long after, when she couldn’t get her mind to shut off, she told him she was beat and asked him to drive her home.

She then spent the rest of the night stuck in that moment in his arms, debating whether or not she was falling in love with him, or the moment. Then, every time she closed her eyes she saw his beautiful emerald eyes and his infectious smile and she knew the question was rhetorical.

She woke the next morning with a text from him asking to meet at what had become their coffee shop. She had the weekend off. She knew he knew that, so she had no real excuse to blow him off. So, she compartmentalized everything that happened the night before and agreed to meet him there.

“You okay? You seem off this morning,” he posited, taking a sip as he eyed her from the opposite end of the table.

There he was reading her like a book, the way only he seemed to be able to do.

“Yeah, no matter how much red wine I have, I always feel it the next morning,” she lied, taking a large swig of her coffee as he nodded, eyeing her carefully as she did so.

“Sorry,” he offered, the slight pout on his face expressing his empathy.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly.

“So, I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to run something by you.”

“Okay…” she said, a resistance in her voice.

“How would you feel about sneaking into a college party with me tonight?”

“Why on Earth would we do that?” she breathed out a laugh with the question.

“I’ve never been. It’s on my list.”

“You’ve never been to a college party before?”

“Nope. I enlisted right out of high school, then my active duty filled the education requirement for the academy. Never even stepped foot on a college campus until I was a cop and needed to for a case,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not missing much. I only went to maybe one party in my undergrad years, wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah well, my brother spent all of his college years partying. Figured I ought to see what the hype was all about. I was waiting for fall to come around so I could blend in with of all the incoming students, but I only want to go if you agree to come with me.”

“Fine, but only because it’s on your list… You’re going to have to do something about this look though,” she said, waving a hand in front of her as she gestured to his outfit.

“My look? What about you? You’re the one who dresses like a cop.”

She scoffed, taking one of the sugar packets on the table and flinging it in his direction. He flinched, a sneaky grin on his face as he laughed at his own joke.

“I can still wear my hat, right?” he asked once the laughter died down, a serious look overcoming his face.

“Yeah. I actually think I still have a U of C one you can borrow.”

“Cool.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a hat.”

“You don’t want to. The chemo has thinned my hair out so much. I just haven’t had the courage to shave it all off yet.”

A sad look overcame her face, and she quickly adjusted it when she noticed his eyes dart away timidly.

“Actually, I have been wondering since we met, are you a brunette or a red head?” she questioned, trying to divert the mood.

“Oh, that’s a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his now intentional pattern of aloofness.

“One day, I’m going to be the one to surprise you.”

He gave her a disbelieving nod as he brought his cup to his mouth, concealing the smile she knew was breaking out across his lips.

— — — —

Later that evening when she had just finished clasping the back of her last earring, there was a knock at the door. She made her way downstairs, hurrying to answer it.

Jay stood on her doorstep in a maroon button up, dark jeans, and his usual ball cap. In the time she’d known him, it was always t-shirts and henleys, so to see him more dressed up had her heart racing in an entirely new way.

As distracted as she was by his appearance, it didn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes trailed up and down her body. She wore black jeans, black leather boots, and a silky blue tank that cut a little low. It certainly wasn’t her typical attire, but she knew it was basic enough of a look to blend in with every other college girl at whatever party they wound up at.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his mouth falling slightly agape as he seemed to force his eyes to train on hers.

“Wow yourself,” she told him, stepping aside so that he could come in.

Once the door was closed, they stood before one another in her foyer, both still silently gawking at one another for a minute longer.

“So, what do you think? Do I look like I should be at a college party?” he asked after clearing his throat, holding his arms out as he sought her approval.

She pursed her lips to the side as she eyed him up and down, taking a little more time to do so since he had granted her his permission.

“I don’t know I feel like it just needs-“

Her eyes fell to the top of his shirt where the top button was secured. She stepped forward, her hands moving to unbutton it and expose a little more of his chest. Her breath became shallow with the proximity. She pulled the collar out a little more once the button was popped. Doing so exposed a gold chain she’d never noticed before, one with a small medallion attached that rested in the contour of his chest. She noticed the way his jaw tightened as her fingers brushed his skin when she picked it up to inspect it further. She rubbed a thumb over it in her hand, an inquisitive look on her face as she did so.

“Do you always wear this? I’ve never noticed it before.”

“It’s my brother’s. He gave it to me a few weeks ago. It’s St. Luke, the patron saint of doctors and surgeons. My mom gave it to him when he first told her he wanted to be a doctor. He thinks it’ll somehow help me, I’m not so convinced, but it reminds me of her so I wear it,” he explained, only his mouth moving as she still inspected the small medallion in her hand. She smiled, releasing it as she took a step back, folding her arms over her chest.

“You know, the more I learn about your brother, the more I think I might like him more than you,” she told him smugly.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he spat, squinting his eyes at her jokingly.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, let me go get your hat.”

She momentarily disappeared upstairs, pulling the hat from her closet before descending the stairs once more.

“Here,” she told him. He grabbed it, holding it in his hand as he peered over at her with a look of patience.

“Right, um let me get my things and we can head out,” she said, turning around to grant him the moment he was silently asking for. When she came back, his hat was swapped out and he wore a shy look on his face.

“Thanks,” he told her, and she knew it wasn’t just gratitude for the hat.

— — — —

Even a block down the street from the house they could hear the music and voices of a hundred or so college kids. It was enough to send shudders down Hailey’s spine, a reminder of why her first college party was also her last.

“You sure you wanna do this? Can’t we just go get plastered at a bar and call it a night,” she offered, looking up at him in the dim light of the street.

The look he sent her was one of both amusement and certainty, and she knew his decision on the night’s plans was unwavering.

“Fine, but you’re my designated driver. The only way I’m getting through this is with booze running through my veins,” she sang.

“I didn’t plan on drinking anyway.”

The comment was enough to stop her in her tracks. She sent him a look, silently questioning the statement as a smirk grew on his face.

“I mean I’m going to have a beer or something, but I’m not supposed to get hammered or anything. I’ve already got enough chemicals in my body trying to kill me.”

She nodded, and they continued their slow pace towards the house. Another reminder of what seemed like many lately that he was living on numbered days. She just wasn’t sure what that number was. Her face fell, and she focused her attention on each step she was taking, trying to pull herself out of the instant sullen mood she’d fallen into.

“Alcoholic,” he mumbled under his breath, causing her to kick at him playfully with the tease. It was just what she needed to smile again, but not quite enough to keep that reminder from plaguing her thoughts.

Once inside, they were met with the overwhelming smell of beer, musk, and weed.

“How many of these kids do you think are underage?” he whisper yelled into her ear as they brushed through the crowd blocking the entrance.

“All of them,” she returned, shaking her head at the thought of a time when she was one of the many carefree kids they were surrounded by.

They found the drink table. Jay went for a can of cheap beer and Hailey poured herself a couple of shots of tequila. The smitten look and prideful smile he gave as he watched her down the first two were enough to make her do a third. It was going to be a long night with him looking the way he did, let alone with him looking at her like that. She knew she needed to be loosened up to get through it.

By her fourth shot she was in the middle of a crowd of people, her hips doing most of the work as she danced to whatever song was playing through the speakers. Jay opted out, claiming he was much more a slow dancer than a party dancer.

She’d been alone for a while, a couple of young guys dancing alongside her before getting the cold shoulder and moving on. Even when the guys approached, it didn’t stop Jay’s eyes from keeping a determined stare. She pretended she didn’t notice, but he kept a watchful eye as she swayed to the rhythm of the absurdly loud music.

About an hour had passed. Hailey watched as Jay broke his stare, moving to play a few rounds of beer pong. She laughed when she watched him swap his beer for soda water when the other guys weren’t looking. Not that it mattered considering how good he was at the game. Hailey had kept her eye on him every so often as she danced with various groups of soured sorority girls.

Eventually, the strands of hair by her face were stuck on with sweat, and she had lost sight of Jay for about 15 minutes. When she finally found him again, he was leaned against a wall, some young college girl standing only inches away from him, hung on his every word.

She blamed it on the booze, but it sent a heat rising in her. She couldn’t blame the girl, he looked damn good, but she couldn’t help but envy how oblivious the girl was to what it meant to be close to him.

She watched from the other side of the party, the low light seeming to only shine on the two of them in that large room of people. Her jaw was clenched and she thought about going over and pulling him away, being close to him in a way that had been stuck in her mind since the night before.

She then watched as he said something that sent the girl running, and a smile came across her face. She made her way over to him, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.

“You must really know how to sweet talk a girl,” she teased, practically having to scream over the noise.

“You would know,” he said it in a way that caused her cheeks to become even warmer than they already were.

“What’d you tell her?”

“She asked if I would go to her um… what’d she call it? Formal or something? She said it was some sorority thing. I told her I couldn’t because I have chemo that day. She thought I was kidding and then, well you saw the rest,” he chuckled, both of them looking over Hailey’s shoulder as the girl found some other guy to mingle with.

“You look like you’ve had fun,” he told her, instinctively bringing a hand to brush the slightly damp waves out of her face. “Why don’t we go outside for some cool air?” he offered. She nodded, grabbing a bottle of water on her way out.

The backyard was unexpectedly empty. It was a charming little courtyard with a few tiki torches keeping it dimly lit, and a big porch swing hanging from the large tree in the corner. Hailey made her way over, plopping down on the swing less than gracefully as she opened the water, her weak attempt at sobering up a bit.

“What do you think of your first college party?” she asked him as she tried to settle herself onto the swing.

“Overrated,” he said simply.

“Told you,” she returned, swallowing down a large gulp of the water.

“I kinda like seeing you like this,” he told her, laughing at the way her short legs swung back and forth to move the swing.

“I kinda like seeing you in general,” the words came out before she could fully process, and she squinted her eyes closed tightly, cringing at how forward her boozed up brain was making her.

He leaned against a tree across from her, crossing his arms as he snickered at her words. She laughed too, shaking her head as she took another pull from the water. He brought one of his hands up to readjust his hat as he watched her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. The pop of his collar, the way his eyes were still so vibrant in the low light. He was a sight to be seen, but it seemed like every time she looked at him like that lately, it only reminded her just how short her time with him could be.

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her veins, or maybe it was that thing that the shooting awoke in her, but she felt like she needed to tell him how she felt. No matter how much time they had left. Then her brain dwelled on that. Time. What did his prognosis look like? She’d never asked him. Never had the courage to ask him. But in that moment? Hammered Hailey was just about ready to ask, do, and say anything.

“How much time do we have left?” she broke after a few moments of being lost in her jumbled, tequila ridden thoughts.

“If you’re ready we can go if you want. We don’t have to sta-“

“No. I mean how much time do we have left,” she repeated, her eyes glossing over in a way that made the sight before her look like the view through a rain coated window.

His face was twisted in confusion, then it softened as he realized what she meant, and dropped immediately into a pain inducing look of sorrow. He walked over, grabbing the swing to stop it from moving before falling down next to her. He let out a sigh, bringing an arm to rest on the bench behind her back as she felt him looking over at her. She sniffled, fidgeting with the bottle in her hands before she brought her eyes to meet his.

“Why now? Why wait until now to want to know that?” he asked, the words coming out benignly.

“Because I want to tell you something, and if I’m going to tell you, I need to know first.”

“If I tell you, will the answer change your mind about whatever it is?”

“Maybe,” he kept his eyes on her, somehow knowing she wasn’t being truthful, somehow pulling the truth out of her with one look. “No,” she looked down into her lap, took a breath, and reset their gaze. “I just need to know.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes moving to stare straight ahead as she kept hers on him.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, taking a beat before continuing. “If this chemo does what it’s supposed to do, if it shrinks the tumor enough, I have surgery, go a few more rounds of chemo, and I could be in the clear. If it doesn’t? Things only get worse, and… I don’t know exactly how long, but the doctors give me a 30% chance of 5 more years.”

Silence fell upon them. Her gaze pulled away from him. They both looked straight ahead, not even daring to look at one another as Hailey let the news simmer. There was a pain in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the sadness that plagued her body. It was a heaviness that started in her chest, extended up into her head, and burned the back of her eyes with a pain she hadn’t experienced before. She pinched at her temples with one hand as she kept the tears from streaming down her face. The only sound that surrounded them was the loud bass and indistinct voices coming from inside the house.

“Change your mind?” he finally asked. She could tell he’d turned his head back to face her, but she couldn’t find it in her to look back.

She shook her head, her stare still avoiding him as she closed her eyes. The tears that had built up spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. She groaned, those tears falling down hopelessly despite her best intentions.

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, his voice was hopeful and quiet, and it only broke her heart even more.

She shook her head again, sniffling as she wiped the tears away.

“It’s a surprise,” she eventually told him, her voice raspy. She finally turned to face him, forcing a smile through her hurt as she jumped from the swing.

“Hailey-“

“I think I am ready to go home,” she told him, resting a hand on his knee briefly before making her way around the house and out to the street, not even glancing back to see if he was following her.

The ride home was quiet. His eyes kept tied to the road, and hers roamed out the passenger window. The same magnetic like force that seemed to always pull them together was somehow pushing them away in that moment. She finished the rest of her water. It wasn’t enough to sober her up completely, but she wasn’t quite as foggy as she’d been back at the party.

When he pulled up outside of her place, he told her a short and quiet goodnight as she hopped out. She returned his farewell, flashing him a fake smile as she closed the door and headed up towards her place.

She walked up to her stoop, trying to focus on her steps to keep from stumbling over. She was still somewhat drunk, but she was also just overwhelmed by the emotions weighing her down. Her brain kept replaying what he said. A 30% chance of 5 more years with him, or an unknown chance of a lifetime. The idea of each scared her for different reasons, but there was only one that seemed impossible to accept.

There was the sound of a door shutting behind her, and she spun around. Her face fell into a frown as she saw him jogging towards her. He got dizzy just from standing, the last thing he needed to be doing was running after her.

“Jay, woah,” she called out, reaching her arms out towards him when he was close enough to touch.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he assured through winded breaths.

“Did you forget something or-“

“Look, I don’t know what you were going to tell me earlier, but I have something I need to tell you,” he interrupted, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to restabilize his breath.

She looked up at him, a blend of confusion and expectation on her face. His head was tilted toward the ground, and she could just make out his eyes from underneath the brim of his hat. They were glossed over and they avoided hers as he seemed to prepare whatever it was he had to say.

“I don’t know how much time I have left. That’s my truth, and it’s scary and frustrating, and probably a little unfair, but every time I think about it, all I can think about is how I want to spend every minute of whatever it is with you. It sounds crazy because we haven’t even known each other that long, but… there’s something here. It’s something I’ve known for a few weeks now, but if I’m being honest it’s something I knew somewhere in my mind from the moment I stepped on that damn elevator,” he said it with a sense of urgency and passion that broke her heart in an entirely new way that night.

That pain of holding back her tears returned as the words cut straight to her heart. Then he reached out and wrapped his hand around her forearm, allowing it to slowly slide down until it was grasping her hand in his. She shuddered at the touch. At the electricity that seemed to jolt through her body with his fingers against her skin. There was a reluctant and almost fearful look on his face as he did so, and she just squeezed his hand back, allowing him to know it was okay. He then grabbed their joined hands with his other, stepping forward as he brought them to rest on his chest.

“Hailey, I need to tell you this, and I hope it doesn’t scare you off I just...” he cut himself off, his eyes falling to the ground once more. He inhaled sharply, bringing his eyes back up to hers and peering into them with the same desperation and fire she carried in hers.

His mouth parted and the words left his mouth as if time had slowed down. It was one sentence, six simple words, but she could have sworn the world stopped spinning when he said them.

“I’m falling in love with you.”

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic #justmypartner fics #collection of Em’s fics

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firefly-in-darkness · 4 years ago

Text

Smooth

Pairing → Sam Wilson x Reader

Characters → Marvel

Summary → Y/N has to fight off the smile and laughter at Sam Wilson’s chat up lines throught their relationship but here are a few of their milestones.

Word Count → 3.7k

Prompt → Trope: 5 Things Plus 1 for @bonkywobble challenge - congrats on your follower milestone lovely!

SSB2021 Square Fill → Posted at the end of the story as it’s a spoiler // @star-spangled-bingo

Warnings → Fluff, sweet, tooth-rotting fluff. Cheesy chat up lines.

Betas → @daydream3r-xo // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my first proper Sam Wilson fic - I have done one in the past but there was more platonic - so I hope you enjoy this story!

Firefly’s Masterlist

Sam Wilson couldn’t believe his luck, he’d signed up to the right gym, that’s for sure. There was the most beautiful woman standing at the opposite wall with a group of women. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as she instructed the class. It was like he was hypnotised, but at least he was happy about it. Her figure was strong, and she commanded the attention of the women with ease and a stunning smile that made her eyes sparkle.

He dropped his bag onto the floor and folded his arms, as he watched on in wonder while she instructed them to loosen up with various stretches. The way her body bent and twisted into the poses was enough to make him stir under the belt.

Lost in his daydream, Sam didn’t realise the instructor had turned away from the class and walked in his direction. Lost in the sight of her plump lips and then he realised that she was looking at him. No, not just looking, her lips were moving. She was talking to him. He snapped out of his haze and apologised for not hearing.

“Are you here to assist with the self-defence class?” Her eyebrow raised at him, slight confusion on her face.

Now that she was in his personal space, Sam felt nervous. He was usually so quick and an absolute charmer with women. Well, with most people, young and old. He’d get himself out of any situation and this is when he needed his wits about him.

“Uhm- No, I think there’s something wrong with my eyes.” Sam wrinkled his nose and cringed at his train of thought.

The woman looked at him with widening fear and reached out to take his arm, “Right, okay, what do you need? What’s wrong?”

The feel of her soft skin warmed his arm in an instant, a tingle bloomed across his cheeks. Then he refocused back on his plan, even if it could potentially end badly, he wanted to charm her.

“I just can’t take them off you.” Sam grinned, but it dropped when he saw the scowl, she was giving him.

Suddenly the most beautiful sound came from the woman, the laugh that fell from her lips made him feel like a cloud, completely soft and weightless. And the sight of her head thrown back brought the grin back to his face. It worked.

“But I am more than happy to help out with the class.” Sam’s smile didn’t drop but his heart raced at the thought of his offer being rejected.

“Oh, you are definitely helping out now.” grabbed his bicep and brought him to the front of the group. “Now ladies, this is-”

“Sam” He waved and gave them a lopsided smile. “Sam Wilson.”

“Sam is going to be our test dummy for today’s session.” Y/N grabbed a [added vest and handed it to him, “now put this on and be a good boy so these Ladies can practice kneeing someone in the stomach.”

“What? I thought you were going to wrestle me or something.”

“Nuh-uh, good luck sugar.” She grinned.

“Wait, do I get to know your name?” Sam asked as he pulled on the vest.

“You can call me Boss Lady.” She replied and returned to the group of women.

Sam didn’t miss the teasing smirk she sent his way as she walked away and discussed the techniques with the women that were lining up to practise their recently learned moves on him. He was glad he had this padded vest and years of training in the army to deal with the blows about to come his way.

At least he got to meet her, see that stunning smile, and hear that beautiful laugh. It was all worth it.

Y/N stroked her fingers through her hair, a failed attempt to tame the flyaway while giving herself a once over in the pocket mirror. Nerves swirled in her stomach as the Uber approached the Italian restaurant. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, she hadn’t been on a date in over a year and she had only known this guy for a few weeks through an online dating app.

The maître-d took her coat then led her to an empty table, leaving her to browse the drinks menu. Y/N wasn’t fazed by being here before him, she was a little earlier than planned and decided to order a glass of wine.

Yet, the minutes ticked by. Y/N sipped on her drink, eyes focused on the entrance for any sign of her date but after twenty minutes and an ignored message, she decided to ask the waitress to clear the reservation and bring over the cheque for her wine. She wasn’t going to sit there any longer, waiting for someone that wasn’t going to arrive.

Feeling scorned by being stood up, she left the restaurant in a flurry but tried to remain composed and swiftly began to walk down the block to the busier part of town to hail a taxi. But before she reached the end of the sidewalk an illuminated sign across the street caught her attention. Compound. It was the place that Sam had mentioned to her earlier in the week when they were at the gym.

They’d formed a good friendship over the last few months and with a few of the other regulars at the gym. Sam had invited Y/N alongside Bucky and Nat who were personal trainers at the gym. Y/N knew them well but had declined the invite to the bar that was now opposite her. She made up an excuse, unsure as to why she lied about needing to go to her parents.

But now that she was here, she might as well put the time she had in getting ready to good use. She could just think of some other excuse and pretend like the evening hadn’t started as badly as it did. With a renewed surge of confidence, she skipped across the street and entered the bar.

It was busy but considering it was a Friday night, most people ventured further into town for a night out. She spotted Bucky and one of his best clients, Steve, at one of the pool tables in the corner. Bucky had just broken the set and Steve moved to take his shot. That’s when Y/N saw that Natasha was here too, almost hidden from view by the muscular giant that was Steve. Y/N was sure that Natasha never looked less than radiant, she never looked out of place anywhere. She was perfect.

Y/N removed her coat and hooked it up, uncertainty starting to worry her about turning up unannounced. She shook it off and walked over to the bar to grab a round of beers to take over to the table, she couldn’t go over there empty-handed.

At the sound of her name being called, she turned around to see Bucky, his signature smile on his lips and arms opened wide to welcome her in a light hug.

“Hi Buck, parents didn’t need me so thought I’d gate crash.” Y/N grinned and held up the bottles, “And I have beers.”

“Always welcome. But we need one more.” Bucky gestured over to the table, the new addition at the table was Sam.

An unexpected rush of butterflies assaulted Y/N’s stomach as she ordered the remaining beer and walked over to the bar with Bucky in tow. She greeted everyone, pausing as she approached Sam. This was the first time she’d seen him in something other than gym clothes and she appreciated the form-fitting shirt that hugged at his muscular arms.

“Somebody call the cops because it’s got to be illegal to look that good!” Sam bellowed out and held out his arms, gesturing up and down her body.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that erupted and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was glad that her date had stood her up because now she was able to enjoy the night with friends that wanted her to be around. Plus, who doesn’t love a confidence boost from a handsome guy?

Even though Sam used the most ridiculous lines to get Y/N’s attention, something was charming about him. It was a confidence boost for sure and when later that night, he asked her on a date, she secretly hoped that it was going to lead to something more. Even if the rational voice in her head told her not to get attached too soon.

Sam couldn’t believe his luck; they were on their fifth date and Y/N had invited him up to her apartment for coffee. Of course, he hoped it was code for sex. But honestly, he didn’t mind if that didn’t happen, he just wanted to spend more time with Y/N. She was great company, had a wicked sense of humour and was genuinely fun to be around.

Nerves bubbled in Sam’s stomach while he waited for Y/N to return with their drinks. He had sat on the cosy couch that was adorned with plush cushions and the softest blanket he’d ever felt but he needed to distract himself from the butterflies somersaulting in his stomach. A display of photographs and memorabilia adorning one of the walls caught his eye and he wandered over.

Several photographs of Y/N with different groups of people; at festivals, out for dinner, on vacation. Some of the frames had ticket stubs tucked into them, the other frames had ornaments hanging from them or polaroids stuck to the corners. It was a collage of happiness and colour. He couldn’t help the smile that formed as he thought of all the possibilities of their dating heading towards making memories like this, together.

Sam returned to the couch and Y/N placed the cups onto the coffee table. He noticed the change in her body language; she smoothed down her skirt several times, a coy smile played on her lips as she sipped on the drink. He grinned, she was on the same page as him and maybe just as nervous.

“We don’t have to do anything.” Sam’s voice gained her attention, “I’m happy to wait and see where things go if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled, she looked as if the weight of the world had been taken off her shoulders and then she plunged towards him. Their lips met in a heated kiss; Sam was shocked at the sudden change of pace, but he couldn’t resist the need to feel her body pressed up against him.

They both pulled back for air, and Sam brushed his knuckles against her cheek, “I guess that means you do want to do something.”

Y/N bit her lip and shuffled backwards, straightened up and gestured for him to follow her to the bedroom. Sam kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie in the doorway, completely enamoured by Y/N while she removed her heels.

“Sam, can you help?” Y/N looked behind and pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing the zip that she couldn’t quite reach the top of the dress.

Slowly, the zip glided down, showing a hint of the black lace underwear. Sam looked up to the ceiling, thanking God for the beauty before him. She turned around and began unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers delicate and features focused on the clothing. But there seemed to be an air of nervousness coming from her.

Sam tipped up her chin before she could finish undressing him. He kissed her lightly, in hope to ease her, comfort her.

Their lips parted and he rested his forehead against Y/N’s, “as I said, we don’t have to do anything.”

Y/N nodded and guided him to the foot of the bed to take a seat, “I’m okay. It’s just been a while.”

Sam was in a similar situation and didn’t want his nerves to add to the concern that was already laced on her features as she stood in front of him, “We’ll do this at your pace.”

She nodded, a smile now taking over her features as she removed her arms from the sleeves of her dress and letting it pool at her feet. Sam’s mouth dropped agape as he took in her all beauty; the soft skin that curved and dipped in exquisite ways.

His hands rubbed at his thighs and looked back up to the woman who approached cautiously, a smirk on his face, “I hope you know CPR because you are taking my breath away.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip and straddled his lap, “I think I’m pretty good at mouth to mouth.”

Sam held her waist with one hand, the other exploring and massaging the exposed skin of her thighs, her hips and stomach before he reached for her neck. Their lips crashed together, and they shuffled up the mattress, exposing more of their bodies and letting passion guide them through the remainder of the night.

The episode of The Big Bang Theory played in the background, Y/N was too occupied with painting her toenails, her feet rested on the coffee table as she tugged up her sweatpants for the fifth time in the hopes to not smudge the polish.

Sam had been in the bedroom for ten minutes, putting on an outfit that he needed Y/N’s approval on. At least they’d ordered food before he went in there because otherwise, Y/N would have consumed everything in his fridge which didn’t consist of much other than a block of cheese and a bottle of vodka.

The buzz at the intercom made her jump but luckily there were no smudges to her newly pampered feet.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N shouted from the lounge of Sam’s apartment and headed to the front door to wait for the delivery person. She handed the guy some bills and a little tip before hitting the door shut with her hip.

Y/N held onto the pizza boxes and bottle of soda tightly and cautiously made her way down the hall. She waited for Sam to appear, but he still hadn’t come out of his bedroom. It was getting a bit ridiculous now.

“Sam, hurry up or your food is going to go cold.” She called and poured out the drinks.

“What do you think?” Sam asked as he entered the room, arms wide as he twirled slowly.

Sam was in a crisp white shirt, smart black trousers, and a suit jacket. The bowtie was a little crooked, but it made his sheepish grin all that more endearing to her.

“A little formal for movie night don’t you think?” She smirked and dipped an onion ring into the garlic sauce.

“Thought it might impress you.” Sam grinned at her, “Thought it would bring a bit more class to the charity gala. We need to raise money for the community centre.”

“Well, I think you look rather handsome and I’m sure someone will bid a lot of money on you.” Y/N’s eyes squinted at him, for being reminded that Sam was being auctioned off alongside Steve and Bucky for dates to the rich women of New York.

Y/N knew they weren’t exclusive, but she knew they weren’t dating other people, they just hadn’t talked about that. It had only been a couple of months since their first date and as much as Y/N was enjoying Sam’s company, she didn’t want to rush into anything or mistake how she felt and that it was unreciprocated.

“Do you know what my shirt is made of?” Sam walked towards her and knelt to be at her eye level, “Boyfriend material. Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

Sam pressed a kiss to her cheek then stood back up to return to the bedroom while Y/N remained glued to the spot, eyes wide at the way he’d casually pulled off another cheesy line and quietened her insecurities in one swift movement. She was falling, hard.

Sam pulled the van into the driveway, feeling giddy at the sight of Y/N standing on the porch with their realtor. The sun beamed down onto Y/N’s skin, an ethereal glow as she spoke animatedly with Phil, probably talking his ear off about the cost of hiring a van themselves in comparison to hiring a removals company.

It had taken them a while to get here but Sam was over the moon to be where they were now. Everything came into alignment, apart from the odd bump in the road. But after many sleepless nights, a last-minute scramble for cash and only a few days to pack up their separate lives; they were finally moving into their dream home.

They had talked about this for months, both unsure to take the leap when viewing different houses until this one came along. The minute they walked into the place, it felt like home. It was vacant and they were able to imagine what it would look like with their belongings; where the sofa would look best in the lounge or which room should be the guest bedroom or office space.

Of course, the kitchen was Sam’s favourite place, it was open planned and the best for socialising and he couldn’t wait for everyone to come round for a barbecue as the French doors opening onto a patio that stretched into a neat lawn. Perfect for hosting their friends this summer.

“Did you get lost pumpkin?” Y/N smiled at him.

“Never, I’m like a homing pigeon when it comes to you.” Sam chuckled, “are we ready now Phil?”

The middle-aged man that had a childlike spark, gave him a curt nod, and headed into the property, “Right this way.”

The papers were signed, and all that was left was to be handed over the keys so that they could begin unloading their belongings. The atmosphere was charged with excitement as Phil placed a set of keys into Y/N’s hands.

“Be careful with those.” Sam gave her a lopsided smirk and a raised brow.

“I’m not going to lose them!” She retaliated.

“Yeah, but this one,” Sam pointed to one of the keys, “is a special one.”

Y/N turned to him, brows knitted together in confusion, “what are you going on about Sam?”

Sam placed his hands on her shoulders, focusing her attention on him. His face lined with seriousness, “It’s the key to my heart.”

Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him.

“Nailed it!” Phil said as he high fived Sam, “Now, I will leave you lovely pair to get acquainted with your new home.”

Y/N placed the keys onto the kitchen island and looked out onto the garden. Sam’s arms wrapped around her waist; his chest pressed tightly to her back.

“We did it, baby girl,” Sam whispered into her ear and lightly pecked her cheek.

“That we did.” She turned her head to capture his lips with her own.

Y/N grabbed the plates, shoving them into the dishwasher while Sam waved Steve and Peggy off from the front door. It was a good date night, regardless of the lack of wine. Peggy was almost ready to burst with the twins that had wriggled constantly in her belly. They’d finally decided on a name but refused to tell Y/N or Sam.

“Anything else I need to do, baby girl?” Sam asked as he returned to the kitchen.

“All done in here.” Y/N yawned, “Think it’s time for bed.”

Sam’s face dropped for a split second, but Y/N spotted it. She wandered round to his side of the room and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers massaging the back of his head.

“What’s up?” She asked, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

A grin formed on his lips, the warmth spreading to her in an instant, shared happiness was a beautiful feeling.

“I was just thinking that I don’t think there’s anything I’d like to change about you.” He swayed your body to the music that filtered through from the music dock in the living room.

“So why the grumpy face?” Y/N pouted and squeezed his cheeks together; lips mushed into a dramatic grimace.

“Because I realised there was something I’d like to change,” Sam mumbled through your hold on his face.

Y/N pulled away instantly, her hands dropping to her side as anger began to bubble under her skin, “excuse me?”

Sam tugged her by the waist, keeping her close, “Let me finish.”

She relaxed the tension in her body and placed her hands back on his chest, the annoyance still simmering but less noticeable. Sam’s fingers traced soft lines up and down her back until she gave in and placed her head on his shoulder.

“Now, where was I? Ah yes, the one thing I’d change about you.” He spluttered as Y/N hit him on the arm, lightly but still effective. “The only thing would be your last name.”

Y/N cringed at the chat-up line and pulled away, breaking their hold in favour of turning out the lights in the kitchen before re-joining him but he was nowhere to be seen when she turned around. The sudden silence had her on edge as she headed to the lounge to find Sam kneeling in front of her, his hand raised with a velvet box.

She gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth, he was being serious. He wasn’t using some cheesy chat-up line, well he was, but he was doing this! Y/N squealed internally, the sudden realisation that Sam was talking had her snapping up to his eyes.

The gorgeous brown brimming with tears as he told her how much he loved her, “I want you in my life always baby girl, will you be my wife?”

“Yes!” she responded, throwing her arms around his neck as he spun her around the room.

Y/N pressed kiss after kiss to every place she could, their salty tears mixing in with their passion. Sam pulled back with a chuckle, he took her left hand and placed the sparkling ring onto her finger.

He might have used his cheesy pick-up lines to get to this point, but Y/N loved every single one. Especially this one.

The End.

SSB2021 Square Fill → Proposal // @star-spangled-bingo

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @wedonttalkaboutitenough / @courtneychicken

Marvel Tag List: @natasha-danvers / @little-baby-vixen / @stuckonjbbarnes / @starlightcrystalline / @nekoannie-chan / @hailhydra920 / @vollzeitliebe / @fitzsimmons-is-forever / @ladyacrasia / @emmabarnes

#Sam Wilson x Reader #bonkyshalfwayto1k #SSB2021 #Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson Fic #Star Spangled Bingo #Sam Wilson Fluff #Sam Wilson Fanfiction

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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

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pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

#heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #ivan x fedyor #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #(in repayment for the pain i have inflicted on you with the lighthouse au)#(ahem)

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lillywillow · 4 years ago

Text

Papa Bird

Summary: When Sam’s oldest daughter is chosen to represent her dojo in a state-wide taekwondo championship for her age group, she requests that her mother take her to the fight, leaving Sam home to take care of his youngest daughter

Word Count:1871

Square Filled: Next Generation Fic

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, breaking objects, protective/ proud father

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

That morning, Sam was busy helping his wife prepare their daughter for her upcoming tournament. He was kind of sulking that Darlene wouldn’t let him come with her.

“Remind me why I can’t go again...”

“Daddy, I love you but sometimes you can be a little bit... extra. Remember when I won the finals?”

“Can’t a father be proud of his daughter?”

“You can be proud but you celebrated so loud, they had to escort you out the dojo... Oh! And remember when I lost that spelling bee final? You threatened to beat up the judge...”

“Hey, you and I both know they were cheating,” he countered.

“Daddy...”

“Sam, you know your daughter has a point. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to spend some time with Amelia,” Y/N stated, pointing to the small girl who was happily enjoying her Cheerios. Sam smiled and kissed her head.

“You wanna hang out with daddy today, kiddo?” Amelia nodded and offered him some of her Cheerios which he took making her give a cheeky grin.

Sam couldn’t help but smile in return before helping Darlene get her stuff ready to go.

Once Amelia was done eating and the breakfast stuff had been cleaned up, Sam went to say goodbye to Darlene and his Y/N.

“Say, bye, mama.”

“Bye, mama,” Amelia cooed, opening and closing her small hand in a wave.

“Bye, Darlene. You go out there and kick some major a-butt,” Sam caught himself before he swore in front of Amelia and after seeing the reproachful look from his wife. Darlene grinned at her father and got in the car.

Sam watched with Amelia as they pulled out down the drive.

“What do you want to do now, pumpkin?”

“Red Wing?”

“You wanna play with Red Wing? Okay, let’s go play with Red Wing...”

A few moments later, Sam was controlling the drone while Amelia gleefully chased after it, squealing in delight. He got a little carried away and accidently knocked a vase from its perch and shattering on the floor as a quasi-violent reminder as to why he was not to use the drone inside the house. This time, Sam did let out an expletive.

“I tell mama!”

“No, no, no! Don’t tell your mother! Here, let’s get you a cookie. Do you want a cookie?”

Sam ran to get a cookie for Amelia which bought him a few moments of silence as he cleaned up the broken fragments of the vase.

“Okay, let’s go to the park instead. You wanna walk to the park?”

“Yeah! Park!” Sam smiled at her and went to prepare her little outing bag.

...

At the park, Sam watched Amelia run around playing and giving him a rest for a while.

“Hey, man...” Sam looked up to see Clint standing there, coffee cup in one hand and Lucky’s leash in the other.

“Hey, Clint. What are you doing here?”

“Taking Lucky for a walk... and your missus wanted us to check on you,” Clint replied, getting his phone and showing Sam the group message and sitting next to him. Sam grumbled a bit.

“She just wants to make sure you’re not driving yourself crazy... So, Darlene has a tournament today, huh?”

“Yeah... I am so proud of that girl. She’s already got her red belt and almost up to her next...” Before Clint could respond, a shrill scream filled the air. The two heroes jumped to their feet in preparation for danger only to see Amelia tearing across the yard.

“Doggy! Doggy, doggy, doggy!” Amelia was so excited to see Lucky.

“Amelia, what do you say?”

“I pat doggy? Pwease?” Amelia looked up at Clint with her big brown eyes and melting his heart.

“Yeah, you can pat Lucky,” he smiled. Amelia threw her arms around the dog’s neck and snuggled him. Lucky licked her head in return.

Clint let Lucky off his leash so he could go off to play with Amelia.

“That girl’s gonna be the death of me,” Sam sighed and sat back down. Clint laughed and sat back down next to him.

“Takes after you...”

“I know and that’s the bit that scares me...”

The two men continued talking and catching up when they were suddenly alerted Lucky’s frantic barking. They looked up to see Amelia had climbed up a high piece of playground equipment and was about to jump down to a lower platform. To the older and bigger kids, the jump may have not been so bad but to a child as small as Amelia, it could be disastrous.

“Amelia! Get down from there right this instant!” Sam bellowed, getting up to stomp over to her.

Amelia gave her father a sidewise glance before deciding she was going to make that jump anyway. Sam managed to get there in time just as her feet launched from the surface, catching her midair.

“Again, again!” she cheered.

“No, no more,” Sam breathed, walking back to Clint. “I think we’re going to go home for lunch. Besides, one of us needs a change of diaper.”

“Not me! I big girl! I use potty!” Amelia stated as a matter of factly.

“Right, just daddy then...” Clint laughed and called Lucky over to him.

“Listen, you won’t tell her mother about that little incident, will you?”

“Hey man, I won’t bring it up but if she asks, I’m not gonna lie,” he grinned.

“Great thanks,” he grumbled. “Anyway, see you later.” Clint said goodbye and headed off as Sam packed up Amelia’s things.

“Daddy mad?” Amelia asked her little lip stuck out in a pout.

“No, daddy’s not mad. You scared daddy.”

“I sowwy.”

“It’s okay, baby girl. What do you want for lunch?”

“PB ‘n J sammich?”

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I think that can be arranged.”

...

After lunch, Sam put Amelia down for a nap which gave him the chance to complete a few chores without being interrupted by an enthusiastic three year old. He never thought he’d be suited to the quiet domestic lifestyle but he settled into it reasonable well. One thing Sam could never say was that it was dull. His daughters always kept him on his toes. When Darlene was Amelia’s age, she was just as mischievous and spirited. Sam wouldn’t trade his girls for the world.

An hour had passed by the time Amelia woke up from her nap and wandered out into the living room and by now, Sam was watching some trashy day time TV.

“Hey, Milly. Did you have a good sleep?” Amelia nodded, climbing up onto his lap and cuddling close to her father’s chest.

“Daddy, I hungwy.”

“You’re hungry? Let’s see what we can do about that. You want some... frog’s legs and wine? No? I thought all kids liked that stuff. How about some coffee and caviar? Not that either? What about...” Sam continued listing ridiculous food/ drink combinations that he knew a child wouldn’t eat as he made his way to the kitchen with her.

“Cheese! I want cheese!” she blurted out before he could get out the next combo.

“Oh, you want cheese... Should have guessed, huh? Let’s see if we have some,” he said, going to the pantry.

“Hmm... well, it doesn’t look like we have any. Guess you’ll have to have broccoli and green tea after all.”

“Daddy,” Amelia whined, pointing to the big bag of string cheese, her face visibly pained.

“Look at that. We do have some after all. Guess you’ll want a juice box with that?” Sam laughed at the eager way she nodded her head.

Once Amelia had finished her snack, Sam went back into the living room and changed the channel to the one that was locally streaming the tournament. Darlene’s division wasn’t yet up but it was coming soon. As he watched, Amelia got up and wobbled in front of the TV, ‘punching’ and ‘kicking’ like the big kids. Sam smiled and took a video of it to send to his family and friends later. He was sure that they were getting a little annoyed with the amount he could send in one day but he didn’t care. Sam loved each and every one of his girls’ achievements no matter how big or small.

Finally, Darlene’s age group was up. Sam watched as she stepped up to the mat. From his seat at home, he was cheering her on as if he was there. Amelia cheered too, not entirely sure why but daddy was happy so it had to be good.

Round after round Darlene won until it got to the last round. Darlene’s opponent was a girl much taller and bigger than her. Sam was on the edge of his seat as the match commenced. The girl was good but Darlene was better. It lasted a little longer than the others but in the end, Darlene won. Sam jumped up with a loud cheer.

“Yes! She won! Darlene won!”

“Yay!” Sam picked up Amelia and spun around with her. “Sissy won!”

Sam felt his eyes tear up a bit as pride swelled in his chest. He quickly wiped them away and continued celebrating with Amelia. Sam couldn’t wait for Darlene to come home.

...

Later that night, Sam had just given Amelia her bath and was putting her to bed when he heard the sounds of the front door.

“I think mama and your big sister are finally home,” he smiled.

“Yay!” Amelia ran to meet them, her little legs going as fast as they possibly carry her.

Darlene scooped her up as soon she got close enough.

“Hey there, baby sis!”

“Sissy! Sissy! I saw’d you won! Watch me! Watch me!” Darlene put Amelia back on the ground so she could show her some of the ‘moves’ she had learned earlier in the day which included an attempt at a headstand for some reason.

“Oh, wow! So good!”

In the meantime, Y/N walked over to Sam, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him. Sam smiled against her lips.

“Hey, handsome. Had a good day?” she smiled.

“Pretty good. We went to the park this morning, came home for lunch, Amelia had her nap, then we watched Darlene kick some butt,” he grinned.

“I see... you want to tell me why the vase in the hallway is no longer there?”

“I would very much not like to...” Y/N could help but chuckle and shake her head. She looked over at the girls who were happily playing together.

“We made some pretty awesome kids, Mr. Wilson,” she smiled.

“We sure did, Mrs. Wilson,” he smiled back.

For Sam, every day with his daughters was a new adventure as he watched them become the amazing people they were growing into. Sam loved every second of fatherhood and he couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow’s venture would bring.

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thisisthehardestthing · 4 years ago

Text

Habits, 18+

For: Nyki

Dear @linestrider , Merry Christmas, Blessed Yule. I wish you all the best and lots of love and wishes in the new year. I love you <3

Dabi x fem!reader

warnings: not sure, mention of future death, mutual pining. I got some praise in there. Overstimulation in a different way than sexual.

authors note: This is the first thing I have written in weeks because life has been... quite crazy. I hope you like it Nyki.

Goes with the theory that Dabi is Toya for like a second.

You don’t know how long you’ve been running for. It could be days, minutes, years. But no matter how far you flee, you can never escape that magnetic pull back to him.

He follows you like a shadow; a constant presence crawling over your skin until the goosebumps are permanent hills marked upon your skin. Even if he’s not there, you can still feel the fire of that night burning across your chest, your arms and legs as though he is next to you. Holding you.

Fuck, you shake your head, closing your eyes to shut out the familiar flickering city skyline. It’s too late --or too early—but you still can’t sleep. Not peacefully. Not anymore, and not without him.

Somehow, you find yourself in Tokyo. You didn’t mean to come back; it’s only been a year. Although you can’t see it, you know exactly where his house is. Or was. He doesn’t live there anymore.

Toya Todoroki. Now going by Dabi. Very fitting. You whisper the idiom under your breath, dabi-ni-fusu, cremate the body. He always burned hotter than the sun, whether it was his quirk he was still learning to control, or his touch during the cold nights that he spent in your dinghy apartment. Sometimes, the staples on his palms left little welts on your thighs, but you didn’t mind it back then. The scars now, however, leaves you in a mix of emotions that you can’t bring yourself to face.

You take a deep breath, and turn back from the balcony and walk into the motel room on the outskirts. It’s safer than one in the city. He knows you’re back, you’re sure of it. He can sense you the same way you feel him.

The glass door slides shut behind you, and you try to sleep.

***

There’s a bar you know down the street, where the lights are dim, the air is smoky and the company inside is raw. The wood is chipped on the counter, decorated with thin garlands, and the bartender gives you a lopsided smile when you slide onto the green leather stool.

“It’s been a while,” he says, placing a smoked whisky tumbler in front of you and pouring the liquid out by eye. You smile in return, swallowing back half the fiery liquid with a grimace.

“Not long enough.”

There are a few moments of silence between the two of you. You notice how his eyebrows now have speckles of grey, his hairline thinned out and his eyes still wrinkles and wise.

“He comes in here from time to time, you know.”

You cast your eyes down, staring at a cross etched into the wood. “I know.”

Every muscle in your body wants to turn to face the door every few seconds, just to see if he would enter. There’s no way you would want him to see you already looking for him if he walks in. So, you take another sip, a smaller one, and close your eyes to listen in on the low chatter around you.

But there is none. It quietens down as the small bell above the door chimes and familiar light footsteps walk in. Suddenly, the entire room smells like a midsummer barbeque in the woods, the temperature raising by a few degrees even though it is the middle of winter. You swear the twinkling decorative lights dim when someone stands behind you.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” a gruff voice murmurs, the words slipping under your sweater and trailing down your back. You repress the shiver.

“Christmas was two days ago,” you respond, keeping your eyes on the bottles stacked haphazardly on the shelves.

“Same shit.”

He falls down onto the stool next to you, elbows leaning onto the counter as he looks at you, knees spreading so that they bump against yours.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he says as he reaches for your glass and drinks the rest. You glance at his scarred hands as they reach over to grab the bottle left on the other side of the bar.

“I wasn’t going to.”

You can feel his grin, the way it stretches over his tight skin, without looking at him.

“But you missed me too much, I get it.”

“No.” You turn to him, eyes narrowing, voice unwavering. You’ve had a lot of practice in not letting the things he does get to you. “I’m not here for you.”

“Oh dollface, you know I love it when you lie.”

You grab your glass back and take a sip without looking away from those piercing blue eyes, before turning back to look at the bottles, ignoring him. Dabi sighs, warm hand touching yours that began picking at the carvings in the wood. Your quirk reaction is instant, your sensitive skin going into overdrive, trying to absorb all the heat from his palm. You jerk away, but you can still feel him on you. And it’s wrong. Something is wrong.

He gives you a wry smile while you search his face for any indication to confirm what you just felt. You find it when he nods.

“How long?” you ask, feeling that flame tickling up your forearms still, down your spine and into your gut.

“Who knows? I don’t really care when it happens.”

“Oh Dabi, now you’re the one lying.”

His smile drops, face stoic as you strike a nerve. You always could read him. You throw the rest of the whiskey back, making up your mind then and there.

“Come on then,” you push away from the counter, standing and walking to the door. He follows wordlessly.

The night air is cold, but the walk back to the motel is short. The trees decorated in festive lights illuminate the path that the shadows that the streetlights don’t reach. Dabi’s hands are in his pockets, and you can tell he’s just itching to say something, but he’s quiet. Nothing comes from him when you walk up the narrow stairs, when you jingle the key in the door, and when you flick on the lights to the small room.

He doesn’t even speak when you take off your coat. He just does the same, throwing it onto the cheap chair by a small coffee table and your open, unpacked suitcase. It’s only when you push your sweater sleeves up your arms does he open his mouth, eyes hard as ice.

“I don’t need you to do this.” Ofcourse he doesn’t. He would never admit to needing anything.

“You’re in pain.”

“Nah, not really.” Another lie.

“Then why’d you come?”

His smile returns, the cocky one that follows with his crossed arms and popped hip.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, now take your shirt off.”

He can say what he wants, but Dabi always listens to you. The feeling your quirk provides too addictive not to. His white v-neck drops to the floor, a few more holes in the fabric than the last time you saw it. He should really get a new one. You know that he expects a gasp, or some kind of reaction when your eyes gaze upon his scarred and patched together chest, but when nothing happens except for you to take a step closer, he rolls his shoulders to relax. You reach out, fingers twitching, hovering right above his skin in hesitation. It’s been a year since you’ve done this for him. A year since you’ve felt his body in your own hands. And you are scared, if you’re honest. Because in that year, you never stopped thinking of him, and you’re worried that now, you never will even long after his quirk kills him.

“Stop being a pussy.” He snaps you from your thoughts, and you pull your stare from his chest to glare at him.

“I’m not.”

You take a deep breath, and with a slow exhale, your fingertips gently press into the mottled skin. They glide until your palms lays flat, one against each breast. Each nerves ending ignites, sparks as energy floods into your body, dragged from his. The heat is unbelievable, bordering on unbearable, as it’s sucked into your bones and veins. He wraps calloused hands around your wrists to pin you in place, his head falling back with a groan. It’s a sound of relief.

He once described how his quirk felt to you, during the early morning hours when intimacy felt natural. He has hellfire living inside him, burning him slowly with each use, like a furnace building heat with no escape, no space to let out the pressure. It made sense why you were, are, drawn to each other. Because you’re so empty, your skin wanting to suck everything inside yourself to fill up the cold, dead space between your cells.

“Dabi,” you whisper, sweat beading on your forehead and trickling down your neck as you fill with warmth.

“Please, just a little more,” he almost begs you. You comply, the sweet sound of him needing you spurring your tolerance a little higher. You vibrate with the stimulation, toes curling in, hips swaying, your spine feeling like a xylophone as it pings to life and your vision blurs into white.

You break through, the pressure dropping suddenly like strong winds dying down and your knees fall with it, hands sliding from his pecks down to his stomach, wiping the sweat across his body that had collected. He chuckles, fingers coming to your hair to smooth it from your forehead. You catch yourself before leaning into his touch. It’s too easy to fall back into old patterns.

Without the overbearing heat of his quirk, you can feel him. How his skin is soft and rough as it changes, how his muscles flex with each inhale, and how your body vibrates with being fed of energy, slowly swirling around, filling up your womb and your stomach and chest and head. He kneels in front of you, resting his forehead against yours in a silent thanks. A dangerous move, because his hands are still in your hair, one moving to your shoulder, the back of your neck. All it takes is muscle memory now, your lips tingling with newfound energy to sing, to feel slotted against something.

It happens without thought, as it always has between the two of you. His mouth attaching to yours like a magnet, flooding you with a different feeling to his quirk, one that is a mix of passion and desire. He’ll never admit how much he wants you, but his kiss tells all. The rational part of your brain talks, telling you it might lead to more, that you don’t want to get into this with him again.

But he’s dying, another voice chimes in. Do it, for old time’s sake.

Your arms find themselves slung over his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss as you follow that magnetic pull and absorb him into you. He wraps his around your waist, hands tucking under the sweater to feel the unmarred skin your back. Before you know it, he’s lifting it over your head. The air in the motel is cool against your warm body, still humming as you stand with him, falling backwards onto the bed for him to cage you in, lips attaching to your ear, trailing down your neck. Your breath catches in your throat as he sucks into your collarbone.

“This is,” you gasp, “the last time.”

Your eyes roll back as hands slide under the cup of your bra to fondle at your breast. Dabi hums into your skin.

“Sure thing, babe. Last time.”

You can tell he doesn’t mean it, and you might not either, but for now, that agreement fuels you, pushing at his shoulders until he lifts and rolls over. You straddle his thighs, watching his eyes light up when the bra drops from your body, your hands finding the belt to unbuckle and then unbutton his jeans. You shimmy down his body, tugging at the pants until they bunch around his ankles, catching on the boots he never took off. He chuckles, the sound breathy and deep in the room. Dabi sits up while you stand, taking off your own pants and underwear, leaving him to let his shoes clatter to the floor and kick his clothing off.

“Fuck,” he says, gaze drifting over your body ravenously. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, pain, Dabi is addicted to a lot of things, and that includes you. “Come here.”

You smirk, crawling back onto the mattress, a hand pushing at his chest until he’s on his back again. The tent in his briefs bouncing with the movements until you grab at the elastic band and move it over, letting his cock spring free.

If you’re doing this, you do it on your own terms. Your knees press into the comforter, hands into the hard muscle of his pectorals where you can feel the strong thump of his heart rhythmically pulse into you. He grabs at your hips, thumbs rubbing circles over the bone almost soothingly, an exact opposite to his usual demeanour. They travel down the side, until fingers grab at your inner thighs, squeezing the soft muscle. You grab the base of his cock, feeling how firm and hard and hot it is in your grip.

You line yourself up, and wait. Staring into his eyes while he raises his eyebrows expectantly. The anticipation of sinking down onto him again has your walls tingling, clenching and relaxing almost impatiently. It’s been too long since you’ve had sex, too long since you’ve felt this need to be satiated once more. Your thumb travels over the head, spreading the little bead of pre over his slit, watching as his eyes flutter slightly.

Memories of his face of pleasure flash through your mind, and you’re overcome to see it again. You tap your lips against the shaft, letting it nestle between your folds, sliding slowly inside. Your hand on his dick slips to the mattress by his ribs as you prop yourself up to avoid collapsing down, your head falling forward, thighs quivering. It takes a lot to sheath him with one movement, instead choosing the savour the journey down. You rock slightly, inching lower with each tilt of your hips, your jaw slackening and chest deepening with every inhale.

A different kind of pressure builds, one that demands to split you open and crumble around him, one that wills you to move. So you do, sliding up, feeling the drag of his dick snug inside your velvet walls. His grip tightens on your hips, fingers leaving possible bruises in the morning that you’ll try hard to ignore when you’re alone again. Your descent has you gasping, feeling the head kiss your cervix lightly, angling your hips so it rolls into a special spot. Then, you repeat. Riding him methodically, eyes closed, focusing on the way he charges up your body, warming you from the inside, spreading you thin so that you begin to lose momentum.

“Fuck, you know exactly how to move,” he moans, hips twitching up to match your rhythm, hands rising to grab at your breasts.

“Yeah? You like that?” you whisper back, letting yourself fall so that you nestle your lips against an ear, strangely not burnt, to suck on the lobe. He murmurs a yes, hugging you tightly in his arms, the staples in his skin scratching at you lightly. The new angle has each breath stuttering, until the bump of his hips begin to overcome yours, taking control, rolling on top of you.

You can’t keep your eyes open when he begins to thrust into you, a leg hiked up over his shoulder, the other holding down your head as he leans in close, spreading you open for him. There’s a burn in your hamstrings as you’re stretched, mimicking the lava churning in your gut as he pounds into you.

Each jostle brings forth memories, the touches of before, the words he would confess into the night air, the time he went too far, not far enough, and you feel it building under your skin, your palms where they press into his scarred back. He’s getting too hot again, and you’re sucking it all in. Every piece of him is yours, in that moment.

“Dabi,” you moan, digging your nails into the skin, clinging onto him and the power flooding your body.

“Feeling good, doll?” he smirks, picking up his pace, fingers traveling to your neglected clit that only felt brushes up until now.

Colour explodes behind your eyelids, fireworks in dazzling colour that show you the brink of your orgasm. You tighten, enough to pull a groan from his throat, to make his hips falter before his balls slap harder against the mounds of your ass and you drag red lines down his back. He might be bleeding when your nails caught against an old scab. You don’t care, neither does he. Your skin hums with the electricity of his quirk, sweat tickling the underside of your breast, his breath panting in your ear.

“Say my name again,” he demands, fingers circling your clit harder and your chest arching into him, the leg on his shoulder bending at the knee to pull him deeper.

“Dabi.”

You say it over and over, like a prayer, or a mantra, like if you stopped, he might. There’s no more thought, no more memories, only touch and ecstasy as the volcano erupts from inside you and lights the room on fire with your scream. You clench around him, coaxing him, deeply and with enough force that he spurts the hot liquid into you, hips halting.

All movement in the room still, only panting breaths fill the air with noise, and the smell of sweat and sex and burnt wood fill your senses. Your arms drop from his body, as he pulls out and collapses next to you. The beige ceiling imprints all the emotions flooding your chest into your cornea’s. You didn’t plan on fucking him, and even though there’s no regret, there’s shame, because you fell into the same pattern.

“You should go,” you whisper, not looking at him.

“In a minute, sweetheart. Let me catch my breath.”

And like that, you know he’s not leaving tonight. Old habits are hard to kill.

#dabi #dabi x reader #claudia writes #bnha #boku no hero #fic #mine

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