#but i do love lists..... come back to me in a weeks time about this maybe

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friends drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

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Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors and the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your yees from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stifling hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[hl-obsessed]

WARNING! it's a long one - 54 fics listed! 🙈💕✨

•°•°•°•°•°•

✨💎 Lend Me Your Broken Parts by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 2,4k)It's been five years, but when Lottie doesn't know what else to do to console a hysterical Louis, she calls Harry.

And despite everything, Harry comes.

Look How Well I Play the Bare Truth by Missbeautifullywritten17

(NR, 8,7k) When recently single (to the general public, of course) Harry Styles gets nominated to an Oscar for playing a gay policeman in the 1950s he thinks it is the most wonderful and, at the same time, painful thing it could have happened to him. How is he supposed to say how much Tom and Patrick's story means to him without revealing he is being closeted himself? How is he supposed to go on with his life after receiving the most important award there is for simply playing the bare truth? Well, maybe the rainbow dress he is wearing would be enough of an statement...

Or, the one where Holivia stunt ends, dwd flops and My Policeman gets lots of oscar nominations. Now, it is March 2023, Louis can't be there with him even though his bearding relationship with Eleanor and bbg are already done and he is in the process of coming out himself (apparently, coming out was one thing, but them being a couple... that was perjudicial for their careers and shall remain hidden). So what he does instead is a rbb photocall with the one and only Niall Horan while they watch Harry on the TV screen.

Meanwhile, Harry Styles remembers his past and finds himself on stage with an oscar in hand and, perhaps, his only chance to be free.

Cigarettes and Fuckin’ on the Windowsill by carmelstyle

(NR, 2,4k) Harry comes back from Italy after filming “My Policeman” and stunting. Louis isn’t happy about that last bit.

Or: Sex in front of a window.

Rest in Peace by @stfustucky

(M, 2k) Sometimes, when he looks back on things, there’s a small, angry part of Louis that wishes he’d never met Harry. If he’d just missed that audition, if he’d just stayed in bed, he never would have fallen in love with curly hair and bright green eyes and dimples he’s never gone a day without kissing since. Most times, when he looks back on things, Louis blames himself. The very solar system revolved around Harry and Louis had the closest orbit, flying close enough to feel that warmth in every atom of his body. He should have been paying closer attention, should have opened his eyes and stared into the sun and seen what was happening.

Harry has inoperable brain cancer at the age of 26. Louis watches the love of his life slip away.

guide you home by @nauticalleeds

(G, 0,8k) It’s been a while since Harry’s been able to appreciate the night sky, been a while since his life wasn’t full of hectic schedules and interviews and jet lag. He looks at the sky a little longer, watches the stars blink back at him and thinks about another bright presence he’s been missing.

Taking out his phone from his pocket, he thumbs at his screen to open a new message.

Full moon tonight, he types, and presses send. He keeps the app open, expecting the message to come instantly.

It does.

the peace ring is back in louis' ass? by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,2k) peace ring adventures with harry and louis! probably not what you expect!

Singing My Name Like Your National Anthem by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(T, 1k) “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Louis just scoffs at that, dismissing Harry quickly yet lovingly in a way that only he has ever seemed to manage. “Good luck getting me to be anywhere else love.”

Harry sighs. “Louis you can’t afford to get sick too. Your album release is next week, you’re booked solid.”

Louis just shrugs. “And if I get sick then we’ll rebook all of it. Or damn it all to Hell for all I care. As much as I want my fans to hear the album, there is nothing more important to me than you.”

✨ Second Time's A Charm by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 4,7k) “Harry?” Oli Wright said nervously into the phone. “Um… How… how’re you doing?”

Harry’s heart was already picking up speed because there was only one reason Oli ever called him after midnight.

“I’m alright,” Harry answered. “What’s going on? Is it Louis?”

“Uh… yeah,” Oli admitted. “There’s been an accident.”

OR

The one where Harry finds out Louis broke his arm. For the second time in one year.

A Boyfriend for Christmas

(G, 5,5k) Louis' co-worker, Gemma, asks Louis to be her date for Christmas dinner. She needs a fake boyfriend to keep her family from harassing her about her singlehood. Louis adores her, so he doesn't mind helping out--until he meets Gemma's handsome younger brother.

Feeling It Now by @ireallysawanangel

(E, 7k) When Louis hooked up with a hot guy in the bathroom at a music festival, the last thing he was expecting was for that guy to be one of the headlining acts at the festival.

✨ Seal The Deal by @itsnotreal

(NR, 2k) Harry’s been getting Louis Tomlinson’s mail for months, even though he told the mailman that he lived in apartment two and Louis lived in apartment eight.

✨ It's Thursday. Let's Get (un)Dressed by @bananaheathen

(E, 9k) When Louis is peer-pressured into downloading TikTok over the holidays, he fully expects to hate it. And he does hate it. All of it. Well... except for aspiring OOTD influencer, @ harrystyles.

Your Silhouette Over Me by orphan_account

“Alright don’t forget the mission, get Louis laid,” Louis shouted over the music.

“Don’t know who Louis is, but I support it.”

Louis turned towards the contributing voice and saw the bartender leaning in front of him, his elbows resting against the lip of the bar. He had brown hair that fell in loose curls just above his collar bones which were perfectly on show due to the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his abdomen. The shirt’s sleeves were cuffed up along his inked bicep and the pattern was something that Louis would expect a dad on vacation to wear, not a young bartender.

“He’s Louis,” Zayn said, jutting his thumb in Louis’ direction.

The bartender nodded approvingly, “then I definitely support it.”

~~~~~~

Or the one where Louis went out one night after work, wanting to get laid, and then ended up meeting a bartender named Harry Styles.

you drive me wild (you know you do) by @missandrogyny

(E, 6,6k) Their management informs them that they have an interview right before the ARIAs, and it isn't until he's in a suit, seated on a couch between Liam and Zayn, that he gets the idea.

The interviewer, Angus, smiles at them, right before the cameras roll on, and a metaphorical light bulb goes off inside Louis' head. He's perfect. Well, not as perfect as Harry, but enough. He's attractive, attractive enough to drive Harry crazy, and he doesn't even think of the consequences of his actions, just decides right then. It's all Harry's fault anyway. Louis should be allowed to have a little fun.

(or: Louis flirts with the Australian interviewers and Harry gets possessive.)

Love In Conversation by @hellolovers13

(T, 4,9k) King Arthur Baking Hotline.

Your bread fell flat. Your cookies crumbled. Who do you turn to? The King Arthur Baker’s Hotline.

or

Louis has a severe baking breakdown.

Thankfully, he gets help from baking-hotline operator Harry.

✨💎 i've secretly always wanted to be yours (and for you to be mine) by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,6k) Harry has just presented. Louis needs to know that he's okay.

Only you by @germericangirl

(E, 4k) Harry comes home from filming a particularly intimate scene for My Policeman. Louis is jealous, Harry doesn’t understand why. They talk it out, more or less…

✨ Whoever, However by @brooklyn-babylon / @twopoppies

(E, 8,9k) Louis could feel his heart rate pick up as he positioned the camera and Harry slowly stood up. They both knew what came next –– it had been clearly outlined in the advert Harry answered. The studio Louis worked for was filming a new series of camboy videos. Louis’ job was to make it look like amateur porn –– sweaty, sensual, dirty –– but well lit and edited. He was an artist, thank you very much.

—-

Or: Louis has a much better day at work than he’d expected.

home at last by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,9k) Harry turns, a wide smile on his face. Louis stands in the doorway to their shared bedroom, his right arm held close to his body and in a makeshift sling.

He makes sure not to fully ram into his husband, but it’s been almost one month, so sue him if he’s excited.

Everything by @tommokat

(E, 4,3k) He’s got a job he loves, fans he adores, friends to call on and family to claim. He’s traveled the world, broken records, set new ones. He’s 13 years into a relationship with the love of his life, the man he can’t wait to start a family with. He’s a three-time Grammy award winner getting railed by his husband in the back of a SUV in the middle of LA traffic. He’s got everything. What more could he want?

or

Post Grammy’s SUV Celebration Sex

Devil in my brain, whispering my name @lunarheslwt

(E, 9k) Or, Louis, a demon, shows Harry, an angel, just how good it can feel to give in to temptation and sin.

Only You, Always by @larryficwriter

(NR, 5,5k) “Hey Haz,” Louis says, tensing because he can tell that something is wrong. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Liam hurriedly busying himself with the Xbox.

Harry walks over to Louis, eerily calm. Louis’ gulp is so loud he’s almost sure that Niall and Zayn could have heard it. He leans down, his breath tickling at Louis’ ear. Honestly, Louis can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine

“Bedroom.” Harry practically growls into Louis’ ear and then he walks away, just as calm.

For a second Louis is frozen. Just the tone of Harry’s voice has Louis twitching in his trousers. Louis knows what’s about to happen, he can just tell. And it is a far cry from the fight that he had been expecting. Louis gulps again, looking over to Liam. The tips of Liam’s ears are flaming and Louis’ about seventy-three percent sure that Liam had heard what Harry had whispered. Liam is specifically avoiding Louis’ gaze. And then it hits him that he should be up; he should be moving.

or how Harry reacted to the "Lilo Kiss" incident

Won't You Please Come Around by @allwaswell16

(M, 5,8k) Harry has lived in London for a month, and so far the only friend he's made is his sister's cat, Mr. Whiskers. When the lock on the window breaks, Mr. Whiskers begins exploring his new neighbourhood a bit too thoroughly and brings back mementos of his escapes.

Or a Valentine's Day story where Harry has a really fit neighbour, and his cat is a thief.

I Hope You Choke (on those words) by @imogenleewriter

(E, 3k) Harry Styles had been head of security for concert venues for over eight years.

Never in his career had he seen a musician as reckless when it came to personal safety as Louis Tomlinson.

After making his job a living nightmare, Harry decided he needs to talk some sense into Louis.

If only there were some way to shut him up.

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 3,6k) Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight.

Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing.

(Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

You Can See It with the Lights Out by @larryatendoftheday

(M, 8,6k) In a universe where you know as soon as you meet your soulmate, Harry's been shaking hands his whole career, waiting for the one.

Things Unsaid by @londonfoginacup

(G, 4,4k) Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

✨ If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 6,3k) "Is Harry with you?" Louis blurted out, his free hand tapping anxiously against his knee.

"Louis?"

"Yeah. Is Harry with you?"

On any other occasion, Louis knew Niall would have yelled at him for calling in the middle of the night. But Niall must've sensed the urgency in his tone, his voice immediately taking on a lighter touch.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's been staying in the spare room. Why? Do you want me to get him for you?"

"No!" Louis panicked. "Just- check on him please? Make sure he's breathing and everything?"

✨ My Arm Might Be Broken, But I Won't Be Broken Down by @boosbabycakes28

(T, 2,4k) Louis broke his arm for the second time and he is bored out of his mind. He has nothing better to do than mess with his husband.

✨ Together We're the Greatest by @hellolovers13

(E, 4,6k) “How the fuck does this always happen to you?” Louis huffed, pulling Harry's limp body into the half fallen apart car he'd borrowed for this. Well, he didn't intend to give it back, really, but insurance covered theft, did it not? And this thing was basically held together with duct tape and good faith, so really, the former owners should thank him for taking it off their hands.

-

It's not the first time Louis has to stitch Harry back together, but Louis will make sure it is the last

With the Bomb Lighting by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 4k) “Hey mate, sorry for the delay. Pop divas I swear…”

Harry’s eyes jolt open with record speed and he notes in horror that the man that had been filling his fantasies mere seconds ago is now filling his laptop screen.

“Holy shit, is that your dick?”

(Or the one where Harry is doing Zoom interviews to promote his new album, but his time management skills are lacking. Louis is the writer interviewing Harry for Rolling Stone when he accidentally gets an eye full. They figure it out).

the sweetness of your words knows no bounds in making my heart leap by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,4k) At the end of his heat, Harry writes a letter.

At the beginning of his rut, Louis writes one back.

Meant To Be (Arse First) by BayouSexual

(T, 4,8k) Zayn groans in response, and Louis can hear the slow rustle of his bed sheets in the background. “Is it another ‘you woke up in the back parking lot of a Tesco’s with no pants and I need to come get you before the cops do’ panic or more of a 'I can stay in my bed and lend you an ear’ kind of panic, because I drank a lot more than you did last night, Lou.”

“Uhh,” Louis replies eloquently, “more like an 'I have two giant, blood red handprints on my naked arse, and no, they aren't from a good shag’ kind of panic.”

------

Or the one where your soulmate mark appears on your body where they first touch you and stays there until they touch you for the first time.

Aka the one where Louis's soulmate must like bums.

Makes Me Feel Alive by @itsnotreal

(E, 8,3k) Louis hated when people came in to get tattooed and couldn’t sit still— bunch of fucking squares is what they were. If only that had been the issue for his newest client.

Completely Oblivious by @itsnotreal

(G, 1k) “Are we dating?” Harry looked very confused.

Louis huffed, “That’s what I’m asking you!”

Or an interaction with a stranger helps these two finally figure their shit out.

✨💎 Your secret's safe with me by @lightwoodsmagic

(M, 7,4k) He knew almost everything about Haz, considered him his best friend. He knew his favourite movies and books, how he liked his coffee, knew how many pets he had and what he was most afraid of. Louis knew how to calm him down when he was panicking, and that he’d lost his virginity to his ex-boyfriend when he was 17. He knew that Haz had curly hair, green eyes, that he was tall and considered himself slightly awkward. He knew his Instagram account that only had aesthetic pictures or ridiculous jokes, but in the all the time that Louis had known him, he’d never learnt, or been allowed to know, Haz’s full name, what he sounded like, or what he looked like.

Louis didn't care.

Or, when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time. It's not until he's at Royal Variety that he swears he can hear it again.

✨ Let The Ocean Worry About Being Blue by @greenblueish

(E, 5,6k) In a society where young adults go through the so-called Colour Test which determines their affiliation to a Colour - Blue, Yellow, Red or Green - and thus where they'll live, work and socialise for the rest of their lives, Harry is finally about to take the Test. Born and raised in Yellow, he met his boyfriend when he was still a teenager - against the government's recommendation. Louis, however, changed from Yellow to Blue two years ago. The problem: Harry needs to receive a Blue Test result as well, because a relationship between two people who live in different Colours is forbidden.

The Touch of Your Hand by @larry-hiatus

(E, 8,2k) Louis has decided to bite the bullet and get himself a dick piercing. He knows it’s going to hurt, but what he doesn’t know is how to calm down when he finds himself on the brink of a panic attack in front of the incredibly attractive piercer, Harry. Luckily, Harry is really sweet and offers to help ease his nerves.

You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight by @neondiamond

(G, 2k) Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

✨ In Jest by @londonfoginacup

(T, 4,8k) Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top.

Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it.

Harry would really like to know which.

✨ you give me feelings that i adore by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 7,6k) Harry doesn’t mean to fall in love with Louis’ scent when they first meet after the Alpha joins Harry's study group, but after Harry leaves a sweater behind by accident and it comes back smelling like Louis, he can’t really help it. Nor can he really help continuing to leave his things behind in hopes that Louis will take them home and drench them in his wonderful, mouth-watering scent. He just has to hope Louis will play along.

Or, 5 times Louis scents Harry's things and the 1 time Harry returns the gesture.

We All Scream for Ice Cream by @wishingforloushair

(M, 3,1k) Harry snatched the flyer back off the noticeboard, waving it at Liam. “BJ in your PJs?” he repeated.

“What? I’m not giving you a blowjob, Harry,” Liam said, looking slightly affronted.

“See?” Harry rounded on Niall. “No one thinks of Ben and Jerry’s when they read BJ.”

“Well, they should,” Niall said, snatching the flyer back. “Not everyone is a disgusting heathen like you two.”

“It says BJ in your PJs?” Liam asked, sounding aghast. “On all the flyers?”

“You told me it was catchy!”

When Resident Advisor Liam left his boyfriend Niall, and Niall's roommate Harry in charge of advertising the end of semester ice cream celebration for their hall residents, he should've expected it to end in disaster. Niall created an entirely inappropriate flyer, offering a very different experience than what they were planning to offer. When distributing the flyers, Harry meets Louis, an older student studying Drama, who is far more interested in BJs that doesn't involve Ben and Jerry's.

AKA crack/fluff with a bit of smut, based off of that one viral poster 'BJs in your PJs'

✨💎 Odds Are That We Will Probably Be... by @lululawrence

(NR, 0,6k) From the moment Louis learned no one would survive past the evening, the only thing he knew was that he had to get to Harry.

✨ I Knew From the First Time by @lululawrence

(NR, 6,1k) Or the one where Harry definitely doesn't take a sneaky pic of Louis on the Tube. Absolutely not. (Except maybe he does.)

All You Want's Under Your Nose by @wishingforloushair

(E, 3,5k) Louis decides to treat himself to a new sex toy, but is perplexed when he sees a man in the shop placing each vibrator against the tip of his nose and sneezing. Curiosity gets the better of him, and it turns out the man, Harry, is a sex-god who knows far too much about sex toys and promises Louis that if a vibrator makes him sneeze it will definitely make him come. Of course there's only one way to find out for sure...

On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13

(T, 1,6k) Harry Styles: a day in the life

☑ Stuck in a dress

☑ Abandoned by his best friend

☑ Date with hot neighbour

All in all, not the worst day ever

If Life Is a Photograph by @allwaswell16

(T, 2k) Harry gets plucked out of the crowd to take Louis’ crew pic on stage in Guadalajara.

It Was Electric Touch by @allwaswell16

(E, 2,2k) Harry, assistant to The Snuts' manager, has been indulging in fantasies about the headliner and founder of the Away From Home Festival, Louis Tomlinson. He gets the chance to indulge in the real thing at the after party.

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen

(E, 5,1k) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Now, all of a sudden, big channels are asking him to cover their red carpets and premieres. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

A Late Summer Day by @gettingaphdinmomo

(NR, 0,5k) Today

I realized

you are home.

I almost told you

I love you.

Figure This Out by @haztobegood

(E, 2,4k) Louis is everything Harry could have imagined when he’d typed “silver fox enthusiast” into his Grindr profile. Too bad he's probably scared Louis off by giving him too many expensive gifts.

✨ Booked and Busy by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 9,2k) Booking the Away from Home Festival is the biggest opportunity of Harry’s up-and-coming career to date. It’s just an added bonus that the festival is hosted and headlined by his longtime celebrity crush, world-renowned rockstar Louis Tomlinson.

Despite his excitement, doesn’t expect Louis to watch his set. Or to visit his dressing room ahead of his show to wish him good luck.

Or to flirt with him.

But seeing as this is the most monumental night of Harry’s life to date, he might as well make the most of it.

***

A fluffy, smutty PWP where Harry performs at AFH 2024 and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

.🌸🌸🌸.

✨ you gave me a ring, lad! by @theeliampayne

(G, 0,2k, Liam & Louis) In which Liam visits Louis at a concert and "give me a ring, lad!" is taken more literally than Louis intended.

like air to me by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 5,3k, Louis/Zayn) Five times Louis’ smoke break brings back memories of Zayn and one time it brings him back to Zayn’s doorstep.

.🌸🌸🌸.

🌿 part 1 (+50k) 🌿 part 2 (30-50k) 🌿 part 3 (10-30k) 🌿

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 11

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: this is a direct result of the power of commenting/reblogging an author's work. someone said they were sad they didn't think i was going to finish this, and i realized i hadn't finished it, and i have some time for once, so i decided to be skibidi sigma. (gen alpha brainrot is starting to come out unironically. i work with middle schoolers. sorry.)

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

previous part | series masterlist | next part

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

When the judge tells you, “Mrs. Y/N L/N-Barnes, you’re a free woman,” you let out a sob and feel yourself yanked into a firm chest that you’d recognize anywhere: Bucky.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re coming home.”

—

You would think that months working for the enemy, followed by months locked up in a cell, followed by a month of trial, that finally ended in your freedom and return to your family would bring you peace.

It doesn't.

Sure, finally sleeping in your own bed again and cuddling up next to your husband was amazing, hugging your daughter again was amazing, having privacy again was amazing... but freedom and its perks don't erase trauma. You get to lie in your own bed again and cuddle up next to your husband, but you can't sleep lest the nightmares come. You get to hug your daughter again, but you're always looking over your shoulder, worried someone will snatch her away from you again. You get to have privacy, but you never trust that you're truly alone.

After everything that has happened, you realize, you will never be able to go back to how things were. You're a different person than you were before you and Becca were taken. You're a murderer now, not a hero. When you look at your hands, all you see is blood, and when you look in the mirror, all you see is a shell of the woman you once were.

—

The first week back home as a free woman is spent making amends, as per the recommendation of your court-mandated therapist.

"Steve, I am so sorry for trying to kill you. I... I don't even know what to say. If it weren't for Bec, I wouldn't've, but-" You say, throat dry, palms sweaty as you wipe them on your pants.

"Hey, it's okay. I understand. I forgive you. If anyone is going to understand turning on a friend to protect someone they care about, it's me." Steve gives you a comforting smile, his tone so earnest. "Just ask Tony and Bucky."

You crack a smile.

After Steve, came Fury and Coulson, the late presidents' family, the families of the many politicians you killed... the list felt unending as you worked your way through it.

It takes months to track down the loved ones of all the people you hurt while with HYDRA, and by the time you're finished with it, you're more exhausted than when you were literally locked up and starved while in HYDRA's custody.

With a huff and a frown, you flop onto the couch. You fall over the arm of the couch and land on your back. Bucky laughs a little as he watches your dramatic display, walking over and leaning over you, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

"Tired?" He asks.

"Yeah. This making amends stuff is exhausting. Don't know how you do it." You flop an arm over your eyes.

"Slowly but surely," he says. "And it helps that I have a super hot and supportive wife to encourage me when it feels like too much." He reaches over the couch and pokes your stomach. You giggle and squirm.

"I don't know that the 'hot' part helps the amends," you say pointedly.

"Maybe, but it doesn't hurt."

You smirk but say nothing. Bucky watches for a moment.

"Well?" He asks finally.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to say it back?"

"Say what back?"

"You know."

"I don't know."

"That having a super hot and supportive husband makes making amends easier," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. You lift your arm off your face to look at him; he's wearing a shit-eating grin.

"I guess it does help a little," you concede.

He jumps up, throwing his arms in the air in victory. It's a little out of character for him, but it makes you laugh. He's been going out of his way to make you laugh, even when it includes him doing things that feel unnatural to him. Bucky Barnes wants his wife back, yes, but he is also aware that after everything that you went through, you won't be the same. Things won't go back to normal: there will just be a new normal. In the meantime, he just wants you to laugh a little while you figure out what your new normal is.

—

At some point, you fall asleep on the couch. Bucky leaves you there, afraid to move you lest you wake up. Ever since your captivity with Frost and HYDRA, you've been having nightmares that Bucky worries rival his. Any nightmare-free sleep you get is rare and needed.

Bucky had lain a blanket over you before putting Becca to bed and heading to bed himself, and even though he'd deny it, he was exhausted, too. So when your nightmares start, he doesn't wake up.

The nightmare starts out slow, and you toss and turn in your sleep, pitiful whimpers leaving your lips. Though, it doesn't take long for the nightmares to progress. Soon, you've tossed the blanket onto the floor and your whimpers have turned into screams. Bucky doesn't hear, but Becca does.

The 4 year old walks through the apartment, leaving her room quietly in search of her screaming mother. She's scared; she's never heard you scream like this. While locked up, she heard you scream in anger—she still remembers how you screamed and pulled the chains out of the wall—but she has never heard you scream in fear. Until now. Her mommy has always been the bravest person she knows, and that's even braver than her daddy—he said so himself.

Clutching her stuffed rabbit in one hand, she slowly walks into the living room where she can see you flailing and screaming on the couch.

"Mommy?" Becca calls out softly, nervously. When you don't answer, she tries again, moving closer still. "Mommy, wake up."

Again, you don't answer. You're still deeply asleep. Becca walks up to the couch and stands right beside you. Tentatively, she places the hand not holding her rabbit against your shoulder and shakes.

"Mommy, wake up."

When you still don't wake up, she shakes your shoulder a little harder and speaks up a little louder.

"Mommy, wake up! Mommy, it's just a dream. Just a bad dream. Wake up!" She gives a good push to your shoulder with the last 'wake up' and you sit up quickly, swinging your arms in a punch. You hit Becca, and she stumbles back, loses her balance, and falls, hitting her head against the coffee table.

You start to fully come to. You're looking around the room frantically, breathing heavily, and, slowly, you realize you're in a familiar place. Slowly, you recognize your living room. Slowly, you realize your daughter is bleeding on the floor.

You do a double take. Becca is sat against the coffee table, her bunny abandoned at her side. She's holding her head, but blood is still dripping out from the sides of her small hand, and she's bawling.

"M-m-mommy, I'm s-s-sorry!" She cries.

"Becca! Oh, no, no, no!" You quickly stumble off the couch, sitting on your knees as you hover your hands next to Becca's head, trying to assess the damage.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Mama's so sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

The commotion is loud enough that it wakes Bucky up and he slides into the room, panic staining his face.

"Y/N, what's going on? Are you okay? Is Becca okay?" He says worriedly, rushing over to you and kneeling beside you.

Noticing that you're not actually touching Becca or trying to help, he pushes you out of the way, pulling Becca's hand away from her forehead. He grimaces as he gently swipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. He lets out a relieved breath.

"It's not that bad. It's okay. You're okay, sweetheart," he tells Becca, kissing her forehead.

Bucky turns to see that you've backed yourself into the corner of the room, as far away from him and Becca as you could possibly get. You're holding your head in your hands, crying, and muttering "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to," over and over.

"Doll, she's okay. It's just a small cut. You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky reassures you, scooping Becca in his arms as he speaks. He was piecing together that you'd hurt her in a post-nightmare haze (he was familiar with them).

You just shake your head frantically.

—

Bucky gets Becca cleaned up and put back to bed. When he returns to the living room, you're still huddled in the corner, but you've stopped crying. Instead, you're staring blankly at the wall. He walks over.

"Doll? Hey." He gently tilts your chin towards him. "Bec's okay. She's not mad—a little rattled—but mostly worried about her mama. You didn't do anything wrong. You know that, right?"

You shake your head and he sighs.

"She's asking for you."

You finally make eye contact.

"No. I don't want to see her; I can't see her. You have to keep Becca away from me, Bucky." Each word that leaves your mouth is deadly serious. Bucky's mouth is slightly agape as he takes in your words.

"Sweetheart, she's okay. You can see her," he tries.

"No, I can't. I'm a danger to her, Bucky. I hurt my baby." Your voice cracks, and the pain in your voice breaks Bucky's heart.

"Promise me you will keep her away from me," you beg.

He nods reluctantly. "Okay."

You nod and turn your gaze back to the wall. It's silent for a few minutes.

You stand abruptly and Bucky quickly mirrors the action.

"What is it?" Bucky asks.

"I'm going to kill Frost," you say at the same time.

A beat. Bucky stares at you.

"I'm going to hunt that son of a bitch down, and I am going to make him pay for everything he has done to this family." You make direct eye contact with your husband. "Everything."

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansource @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom @scatteredstardustt @babysbreathbabes @ordinarylokix @lilstarfish88 @ordelixx @shizukestar @filmsbyblair

[toji-sweetheart]

9 with Satoru?

18+ only content - mdni

prompt list

tags: fem reader + explicit smut + breakup to makeup sex + squirting + modern au

This shouldn't be happening.

It was against everything you were telling everyone.

You and Satoru broke up months ago taking a once throbbing heart to a shattered one, all the pointless arguments piled on along with the daily grind and somewhere you lost each other in the storm.

Somehow after that, it seemed like you kept seeing him around, at every corner you turned there he seemed to be waiting to pounce seeing that you both still worked together and saw each other daily.

"Suguru is throwing a party." His voice stopped you in your tracks this time instead of ignoring him as usual, he smiled when you took the bait and slid his hands into his pockets leaning in with a smirk.

He loved your eye roll knowing what he was getting at.

Something akin to tradition the four years you two were together, every time Suguru threw a party you would hook up in the bathroom.

Later that night you ended up going with one intent and that was to tell Satoru nothing was going to happen until you saw him, butterflies erupted like flowers from the dirt in your belly catching his attention.

It felt like the whole room went silent when you locked eyes with him watching as he stopped his conversation to come over smiling.

"You came." He murmured with a knowing grin leaning back on his heels with his hands clasped behind him.

"Not yet. Let's go." Satoru grinned even bigger now as he took your hand and led you upstairs thankful that no one was paying attention.

The last thing you wanted to do was have anyone catch wind that you two were back together but it seemed that everyone was preoccupied with their own plans to even worry about you and him.

Hand in hand you felt something tug in your heart as you followed after glancing around when you got to the top stairs Satoru guided you into the bathroom that held a lot of fond memories.

The room was already cramped with how small it was and having Satoru there didn't help, he had to bend at the waist because he was too tall to stand straight which meant his face was inches from yours.

You shared a single breath before leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. "I came to tell you that we can't keep doing this, it was a one-time thing when I was lonely. I'm not anymore."

"Oh, we both know that's not true so I'm not sure why you're lying to me." Satoru hummed wiggling his eyebrows catching your mask slip.

He knew you were putting on a front, after all, he knows you the best out of everyone you know. "That one-time thing had you creaming and screaming on my cock about how much you missed it, missed me." His vulgar words had you scrunching your nose with a huff.

No matter how much you tried to deny it, you did miss him even with the arguments because with them you both still sought each other's arms for comfort and to be held amidst a bad day.

Your eyes locked with his again as you grasped his shirt pulling him in for a heated kiss that was filled with longing and passion, it's been weeks since you've touched him like this and soon you got greedy.

Satoru chuckled when you slipped your hands under his shirt to tug it off before moving to take your own off. "So needy for me." He teased.

It felt like you couldn't breathe as he dropped to his knees tracing the seam between your thighs that were squished together, the silky plush flesh pebbling from his touch as he leaned in closer.

He grabbed your ankle and lifted it up watching as you gripped the edge of the sink for dear life as he kissed your ankle and calf. "Please, baby.." You could hear the desperate tone and the dominant, humiliating fire in their gaze promising something sinister after.

You sighed feeling your pussy grow a second heartbeat, the throbbing in your clit was too much and you parted your legs.

It didn't take Satoru long for your panties to be stuffed in the back pocket of his pants and his face to be between your thighs, licking and kissing your cunt until he couldn't get enough of your taste.

If anyone were to come in they'd see Satoru with his head under your skirt eating you like you were candy that was going out of stock, his hands gripped and groped your ass massaging as he moaned softly.

Pushing your skirt out of the way you grabbed a handful of his hair tugging on it with a soft whine, each stroke of his tongue left you in shambles as you struggled to stay upright feeling your orgasm rise.

Two long slender fingers probed at your slick entrance before pushing into the last knuckle making you gasp loudly and arch your back, Satoru knew what he was doing to make you all his again.

"Wait!" You tried to push him off when it got too intense but he held you still devouring you whole while his fingers repeatedly hit the spot that had your toes curling and cramping when you squirted.

You weren't sure how many times you chanted Satoru's name weakly bucking your hips feeling like mush as he stood to hold you in his arms. He kissed you sweetly like you were the breath he needed.

"I know no one can make you feel like that." He teased making you roll your eyes and slap his chest playfully before hugging him tightly.

feedback such as comments and reblogs are highly appreciated, those kind words mean a lot and encourage me to do more writing ♡

[bloodsalted]

lil update. some medical stuff, just so ya know! (long winded. sorry!)

// soooo. now that everything is settled and fine. i just wanted to pop a message up to say thanks to everyone for being so patient with me this past month. i had a pretty big health scare that i didn't really talk about unless it was privately to a handful of people. i'm talking about four. and barely anyone offline. most of which happened about a week before the final test because i don't like people worrying about me. it was the kind where a biopsy is done and all that jazz. waiting from one test to another and the results was a mental mind fuck to put it bluntly. with my ocd and anxiety/panic disorder being triggered mainly by my health? uh. it was a wild ride. i was up and down in my moods and carrying on as normally as possible but my brain was pretty much nonstop--that.

but!!! everything is clear and non-threatening and how my gut kept telling me it'd be. ahh mental health working against you tho. it's a bitch! took me even a week or so after the good news to start getting back into my head correctly! a nurse told me it was the adrenaline built up in my kidneys and leaving my body making it so tired! this week i'm FINALLY feeling back to my normal self. with a bit more of an appreciation for my family, friends and all my loved ones. and you guys and gals and non-binary pals, too! the dash was a blessing to occupy my time with. even if i wasn't writing. reading your posts always makes me happy. so if you're on my follow list? and part of my day to day?

this is just me saying thanks. i appreciate you all more than you know. and man. don't take your health for granted. take care of yourselves. get your check ups. and do what's right for your body. cause i love ya. i'm cleaning today off and on. but i'm planning on binging some supernatural and some spooky stuff once everything's how i want it and dusting off my writing brain as i go! did a lot of video gaming to try and fill up my brain when i was being quiet, too. but it's not the most creative thing in the world! so!!! catch up is coming! much love!

ps. it took me a while to post this cause i'm so so so freaking never wanting to give peeps a reason to worry. but i really wanted you guys to know what's up and why my activity has been so sporadic/focused on a small amount of things. give ya the ol' heads up. i know none of you expect a reason or whatever. i just thought i'd share. and give ya all a reminder that you're important.

[tgmsunmontue]

Never knew I was missing you 2/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE

CHAPTER TWO

                Despite everything, PinballWizard is funny, dry and sarcastic with his humor, but definitely a nerd of the highest order. As well as being able to talk about pinball machines, he also knows a lot about naval aviation, can rattle off facts that even Jake hasn’t heard before but when he goes and looks them up, they check out. Jake assumes it’s how it ties into the model plane making. Obviously the guy is a fan of Bradley Bradshaw, imitation being the highest form of flattery or whatever it is, but Jake is wondering whether he can get an actual photo of him.

                He’s not too proud to admit that he’s a little vain, or a lot vain depending on who you ask. They’ve been chatting for a week now and Jake can’t believe how much he’s actually been enjoying it. Getting to know him, learning that he apparently lives with his two closest friends that he’s known since high school, enjoys swimming to keep fit but will do other things if he really has to. Grew up in California and has been coerced into doing all sorts of things because he loves his friends and would do anything for them. Jake has talked about being in the Navy and flying, both of which he seems incredibly knowledgeable about, which just makes him more convinced that it’s definitely not actually Bradley Bradshaw. Because while Jake doesn’t consider himself a huge fan, he’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if Bradley Bradshaw had any ties to the US Navy.

>>If you don’t believe me then why do you keep talking to me?

>>Well, even with your weird hobbies I find you more interesting than the people who are just sending me dick pics or only want to fuck.

>>Great to know what your priorities are.

>>Hey. Just telling it like it is.

>>Just be glad I’m not reporting you to the police for pretending to be someone you’re not.

>>I’d like to see how successful you are with that.

>>More successful than you.

>>Why are you talking to me when I don’t believe you?

>>Because I enjoy talking to you.

>>Yeah well, ditto.

>>What would it take for you to believe me?

                Jake sighs, because they’ve gone around this in circles once already, PinballWizard sending a new photo which Jake is pretty certain is simply stolen from the deep recess of the internet, somewhere like Pinterest or something. And sure enough another photo comes through and it’s definitely a candid shot, the stubble isn’t something he’s used to seeing in pictures, just the moustache, which he’d grown for a part and then found he liked it enough to keep it. Jake’s glad, he’s a fan of the moustache for sure. It does disappear for some parts, but Jake is always relieved when he sees it growing back. This photo though has an almost beard, and not a closely trimmed one, patchy in places and he wonders if maybe PinballWizard actually has access to Bradley Bradshaw’s private Instagram account or something.

>>You just grabbed that off the internet. It’s fine. Whatever.  Don’t send me a proper photo. You’re probably some pot-bellied guy in his 50s living in his parent’s basement mending your little machines…

                He knows he’s being an asshole, but he’s hoping to provoke him into at least something real. Knows what he’s typed out is at least half lies, PinballWizard talked about his friends too easily to make Jake think that they weren’t real, and he’d have to live with other people given the cost of rent. Then his phone chimes and the next photo that comes through makes him choke and cough, because holy shit, definitely not pot-bellied or in his 50s. There’s no face this time, but written on a piece of paper, very clearly, is Fuck you Brad2lover andif he’s not mistaken it looks like the guy is trying to give him the finger. His arms are nicely muscled, and his stomach is flat and there’s a hint of abs and he doesn’t think PinballWizard is even flexing. Holy shit.

>>Holy shit PW, why are you lying about who you are when you have a body like that?

>>Not lying, but you won’t believe me so we’ll just have to agree to disagree.

>>Damn you’re stubborn.

>>Yeah.

>>With good reason.

>>So are you.

                Jake laughs and shrugs, despite the fact that no one can see him.

>>My name’s Jake.

>>Share your name at least.

>>Call me Brad.

                Jake rolls his eyes.

>>Fine.

>>Brad it is.

…            …            …

                “Your flyboy checks out,” Ron says, taking a sip of coffee and Bradley looks up.

                “What?”

                “I did a background check. Plus I asked Ice to have a look. He’s squeaky clean.”

                “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Bradley states, even though he understand the necessity of it, he doesn’t have to like it.

                “No, you didn’t. You shouldn’t have to because it’s part of my job and I’m not letting your delicate sensibilities of wanting to find out about the person organically put you at risk again.”

                “Yeah. Fine,” Bradley says with a sigh.

                “I’m not telling you anything else. Just… you can trust him. Open up and share things.”

                “Well, he doesn’t believe it’s me he’s talking to anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.”

                “Huh. That’s not a problem I thought we’d have.”

                “Yeah well. It’s the problem I have.”

                “You like him?”

                “Uncle Sli, it’s hard to like a guy who thinks I’m lying to him.”

                “Taking that out of the equation, do you like him?”

                “I’ve been talking to him every day all week.”

                “Am I meant to extrapolate my own answer from that?”

                “Fine. Yes. I like him. Happy now? He makes me laugh. I don’t think he’d care about the fame, if he actually believed it was me. But he doesn’t.”

                “Hmm,” Sli hums, his eyes narrowing and Bradley shakes his head.

                “No. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but the answer is no.”

                “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

                “Do? Maybe not. But you can’t say anything either. Not to Mav, and not to Ice.”

                “Well, too late. Ice already knows, because he wanted to know why I was asking.”

                “Of course he did,” Bradley says, rubbing his forehead. God. This is going to turn into a huge mess. Maybe he should just cut his losses and stop chatting with Jake. “Please tell me you haven’t mentioned it to Mav at least…”

                “Nope. I haven’t. But you really want me keeping secrets from my husband?”

                “I want you to remember who pays you and that you’ve got a confidentiality clause you’re meant to stick to.”

                “You know very well he’s exempt…”

                Bradley sighs, because he’s right, because Mav decreed that he should know everything. Which of course has led to Bradley trying to keep even the smallest thing from him, and Ice lording it over him if he ever finds out something first.

                “Please. Don’t share anything with him. There not yet anything to share. He has no self-control, so please don’t tempt him with it…”

                “You know him so well.”

                “My whole life,” Bradley mutters, used to this refrain between them and prepares himself for the sappy rejoinder, ready to pull the face Sli expects him to make despite the fact that he wants what him and Mav have.

                “And the rest of mine.”

                “Gross. Go visit him. I’m not going anywhere.”

                “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

…            …            …

                Jake isn’t sure why he’s persisting with Brad, and he wonders if he should maybe do a little digging, but isn’t sure whether he can do about Bradley Bradshaw, or about Brad. He isn’t tech savvy enough to hack into anyone’s account, but he can ask harder to answer questions. Maybe see if he can get something concrete.

>>So, real talk.

>>Worst relationship?

>>Creepy stalker woman.

>>Any relationship that ends up having to involve the police is the worst.

>>Well shit, I was just going to say getting broken up with while deployed.

>>Yeah. That would suck.

>>Yeah. But still better than getting cheated on. Cause that sucks worse.

>>Ouch. Yeah. Been there too.

>>When did dating or finding someone get to be so hard?

>>I know my parents didn’t have it this hard.

                Bingo. Jake knows that Bradley Bradshaw is an orphan, his father dying when he was young and then his mom when he was a teenager. How has never been covered, questions deflected away carefully, but Brad is talking about his parents.

>>I mean, I can’t ask them, because they’re dead. But even my godfathers seem to have had it easier.

                Well shit, the guy clearly knows Bradley Bradshaw pretty well. Back to the drawing board it is.

[milliesfishes]

Hi my love!!! I just absolutely love your writing 🥹 The way you write all the characters is just so unique and good 🤌 I was wondering if I could request something with Alex pls ? Something where the reader is like a pre-medical student and just stressed over classes and stuff and doesn’t think their good enough for it and Alex is just there to comfort and motivate them ??? I’ve been so stressed with classes and everything and you writing something like this would just make everything 100x better ❤️

(to both anons MWAH🫶🫶🫶🫶) ꣑ৎ౨ৎ𝓪𝓵𝓮𝔁 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵꣑ৎ౨ৎ 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓪𝓵𝓮𝔁 𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓼𝓮𝓷

The words on the page in front of you were blurry but you pushed through, able to make out the fundamentals. Your handwriting had become progressively messy over the past few hours, and you knew you'd regret it when it was time to study later. In between paragraphs you debated filling your empty coffee mug but your feet remained tucked underneath you, sleeve of your sweatshirt covering your fingers as you leaned on your hand.

It was a gorgeous Saturday that you wouldn't know anything about since you hadn't left your room all day. There were people coming and going all around your apartment, chattering loudly but you paid them no mind. Your phone had buzzed about a thousand times where you'd left it on the counter, and you ignored that too. No distractions. This was a study day.

Truthfully, all the thoughts in your head were making it terribly difficult to focus. They raced a million miles an hour, rattling off endless lists of things you still needed to do. And with each lap, the pit of dread in your stomach grew heavier. There was an essay due next week, reading that needed to be done the next day. And to top it all off, midterms were in ten days, poking at your back like a hot poker.

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. Just a few more minutes, just a few more pages. And then maybe you could do something relaxing, like highlight your notes. Yes, that would be good motivation. Opening your eyes, you stared determinedly at the book, scanning and rereading paragraphs. Not much information was being retained, and you found yourself stuck on the same page as before.

A frustrated noise escaped you, and you picked up the book, setting it upright. Maybe the new angle would make things better? You stretched your legs out in front of you for a second before putting them back where they had been before. Finally, you were able to turn the page.

There was a knock on the door but you didn't look up. "It's open!"

The hinges creaked and you heard heavy footsteps enter the room. Still, you kept at your reading, even when an arm wrapped around your collarbone and a kiss was pressed to your hair. "Hi," you greeted absentmindedly.

"Hi baby." Alex knelt beside you, reaching a hand up to your cheek to turn your head in his direction. He smiled when you met his eyes, raising his eyebrows and giving you a look. Recognizing it, you dutifully leaned forward and gave him a brief peck, turning back to the textbook immediately.

You could practically hear the frown in his voice. "How long have you been like this today?"

"Awhile," you murmured, blinking tiredly. "There's a lot going on."

"Hmm." His hand was on your thigh now, warm through your leggings. "I feel like you've been studying nonstop since school started."

"Me too." You turned to him, clenching your jaw to avoid crying. For nearly a week you'd constantly been on the verge of tears, suppressing it for the sake of productivity. But the concern in his bright blue eyes nearly sent you over the edge. Looking away again, you stared at the page number of the book. "It's fine."

"Uh huh." Alex didn't sound convinced. He was rubbing your knee now, the gesture soothing. You melted a little, risking a look back up at him. He reached for your hand with his other one, clasping fingers together on the desk. "Maybe you should take a break. Aren't you...?" He furrowed his brow in thought. "You're on your period now, right?"

"I haven't gotten my period yet," you said quietly.

"Tomorrow's the first."

"Yeah."

Looking at your joined hands, you inhaled softly. You could only imagine what you looked like right now. It'd been days since you'd showered and you hadn't bothered to do more than finger comb your hair today and then pull it back. The sweatshirt you were wearing happened to be one of his, but it was the third day in a row you'd thrown it over your leggings, his scent comforting you as you studied.

Alex flattened his lips together, squeezing your hand lightly. "Maybe you should take a break. We could go grab some dinner. When's the last time you ate?"

"I can't stop now, I've only got twenty pages left," you protested, turning away and ignoring the fact that you hadn't eaten anything other than a few granola bars scattered between assignments. "I'm fine."

"Baby, you're stressed," he tried, squeezing your hand again. "C'mon, let's-"

"I can't stop!" you burst out, yanking your hand away. "There's too much to do and I'm behind and I don't even know why I'm studying because I'm gonna fail anyways and-" you swallowed, feeling tears rise in your throat. "And..." water was welling up in your eyes and you blinked rapidly, feeling the corners of your lips turn down fast as a landslide.

He was pulling you into his arms just as quickly, sitting up on his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist. You sniffled, sliding from your chair to the floor with him and burying your face in his neck, feeling all the emotion you'd put off come flooding back. Now you were crying and you didn't know how to stop.

Alex rubbed your back, kissing your hair and starting to rock back and forth. "Shh, I know, I know."

"I'm gonna fail," you sobbed, practically shaking in his arms.

"You've been working so hard," he murmured, smoothing a strand of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail. "You're gonna be okay."

That only made you cry harder, and he started rubbing your back again. "You're gonna take a break for tonight, okay? How's that sound?"

"I can't," you said miserably, hiccupping on your own words. "There's too much to do."

"It'll all still be here when you come back," he assured you. When you looked up, he smoothed your hair and gave you a little smile. "It's okay to take a break. In fact, I think it's highly encouraged by medical professionals."

You sniffled again, lightly nudging his chest. "You're not pre-med."

"No, you are." His smile was warm, and you felt a little of the weight alleviate. "And you can stop looking at pictures of insides for a few hours, I promise. The supreme doctor of the universe isn't going to come find you."

That got a little giggle out of you through your tears, which were staggering now. You reached for his hand again, nuzzling into him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"You're under pressure right now, I get it," he murmured soothingly, fingers gliding slowly up and down your back. "But you still need to take care of yourself."

It had been a long time since you'd heard that, and even longer since you'd told it to yourself. You took in a sharp breath, nodding hazily and croaking, "Okay."

"Atta girl." Alex thumbed your chin. "D'you wanna go get dinner? Or we can bring it to my place?" You noticed how he didn't say to bring it back here, and there was a little spark of warmth in your heart. He wanted you to get out of the space intoxicated with your stress and let it clear for awhile.

"Your place," you decided, turning and kissing his chest. He stroked the top of your head affectionately and started to stand up, bringing you with him.

"Alright, let's go!" Alex lifted you up in his arms, spinning you around once and starting to walk away.

You laughed, holding onto his elbows. "Wait, I wanna shower first."

"Nope! You can shower at mine." Tugging you to the door, he only put you down to let you squish your feet into your shoes and grab your phone, putting it in his pocket. "C'mon. You can shower and I'll go pick up dinner."

True to his word, Alex dropped you off at his apartment with the promise that he would have food in twenty minutes. You felt much of the pressure alleviate as you stepped under his showerhead, washing your hair with his soap and just letting yourself relax/ The more time you spent here, the more you realized why he hadn't let you stay where you'd been. With your homework in the next room there wasn't any way you'd be able to calm down.

It was miraculous how well he knew you, better than you knew yourself.

He arrived bearing rustling takeout bags that smelled like Chinese food as you were toweling off. Poking his head into the bathroom, he smiled at the sight of you, hair wet and clinging to your cheeks. "Hungry?"

"Starving," you countered, tucking the end of the towel under your arm. He stepped fully in, big hands finding your cheeks as he kissed your forehead and you swore you had never felt more at home.

Ten minutes later you were nestled into a fresh sweatshirt of his and a pair of his boxers, munching on an egg roll. It was the happiest you'd been in a long while. You were on his couch under his arm, careful to catch any crumbs on your plate. The silence was comfortable, like a cat curling up all warm beside you.

"Want to put a movie on?" he asked casually, taking a bite of chicken. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, nodding. It'd been quiet so long that now you were thinking about all the stress from before again, and how you could be doing homework right now, and-

Alex took your plate from your lap, setting it beside his on the coffee table and pulling you into his lap, legs over his thighs. He took the remainder of your egg roll from your hand. "Open." You let your mouth fall open and he popped it in, waiting until you swallowed to push you against his chest so your head was on his shoulder.

You mumbled, "The food's gonna get cold."

"I'll make the whole damn apartment smell like sesame chicken microwaving it if I have to," he retorted gently, rubbing your back. "Just let me hold you for a minute."

Whatever thoughts of dread for the upcoming weeks you'd had dissolved as he trapped you in his warm embrace. Leaning back and forth slightly, Alex whispered, "You've been doing such a good job staying on top of things. You deserve a rest." His words nearly brought tears to your eyes again.

You snuggled into his chest, closing your eyes for just a moment. Your life was always on the go, never time to stop and look around. He put your world on pause, let you just be. That was how it had always been.

"I can rest," you repeated, looking up at him.

Alex stroked your hair lovingly. "You're always 'on' for other people. Let me be the one you don't have to be for." He kissed your nose. "I love you. Every version of you."

A smile started at your eyes and spread to your mouth. You pushed his hair back and his eyes sparked with adoration.

"Alex Nilsen, there is no world where I couldn't love you."

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Seven

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 18k (mad)

Chapter Warnings: ok so me and @h1sch13r were having a conversation about the girl with the list (iykyk and if you don't, don't go looking) and I had to put it in here because it was too funny of an opportunity not to (s/o to Rory for the inspo and the trauma where she told me a woman's brain shrinks in pregnancy who knew!!!) so there's some pretty gross things in here about pregnancy and babies lmao, also poppy has well and truly lost the plot tbh but this is why we love her she is nothing if not delusional, mentions of judgemental parents and weak family relationships, talk of pregnancy, babies and thoughts/feelings around the two topics, talk of childbirth kind of but not in depth, sort of angsty but not like ANGSTY!!!!! do you know what I mean? very much moreso on the fluffy side though. a bit of hurt/comfort. poppy is an anxious mess, nico is... nico (I say with love and affection this time I promise)

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Six)

A/N: I feel like the speed in which I wrote this is a testament to how much I love writing these two and this story and I LOVE YOU GUYS AND THE WAY YOU LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH IT MELTS MY WEE HEART I just wanna spend my days reading all the nice things you send me I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! 💖 the ending is a little bit rushed but I can't keep going back and forth on it or I'll lose my mind

Poppy

Despite having the invitation stuck to her fridge for 6 weeks, and knowing about the event even further in advance, Poppy’s cousin, Elsie’s, baby shower could not have come at a more ridiculous time for her. 

She knows she can’t expect everyone else’s world to stop turning just because her own life is spiralling way out of control, but a baby shower is just downright cruel.

Especially when she hasn’t even taken a test yet.

It's been 3 days since she had spoken to Katja Hischier at the signing event. 

She had gone straight to the pharmacy once she had finished work, had picked up every single brand of pregnancy test she could find and had swallowed down the embarrassment when the girl behind the counter had looked at her like she was insane.

And she had spent that whole evening sat staring at the bag in which she had stashed them, not even daring to get one out.

The next day, she had gone to work, and had gone straight back to pretending like nothing else was going on in her life - only this time, she had a little trashcan beneath her desk dedicated to the nausea that rippled through her all day like some sort of sick constant reminder of her situation. It was a gross counter measure, but it stopped her having to take constant trips to the bathroom and rousing any sort of suspicion. 

If anyone else were to come to the same conclusion Nico’s mom had, and confront her about it, she would have burst into tears on the spot.

The day after that was Saturday, and of all the things she could have done to distract herself from what was going on, she had gone shopping for a gift for her cousin in Manhattan. With her mother.

She had spent the day looking at cribs, and changing tables, little tiny wardrobes to keep little tiny clothes, and God all the little tiny clothes were so small it made her tense up.

On the upside, it was like her body knew better than to get sick in front of her mother - she’d never hear the end of it.

She was getting enough of a backhanded lecture about her cousin’s pregnancy, never mind the potential of her own.

“I can’t believe she’s having another baby out of wedlock,” Priscilla had scoffed as she and Poppy were first checking through the gift registry in Macy’s, “Your father and your Uncle Peter think she’s an absolute disgrace.”

“They’ve been together like 7 years, Mom, that’s stronger than a few marriages I know of. She’ll be fine.”

“It isn’t about how long they’ve been together, Poppy,” her mom swats at her hand as she scrolls a little too fast down the list, “It’s about securing the best future for those children. The man is a glorified construction worker, she could have chosen better in life.”

Elsie’s partner Jared is an architect, but she couldn’t find any use in arguing that point with her mother in the middle of a department store. 

If she found out Poppy could maybe be carrying the baby of a hockey player, who she would never marry and wasn’t even in a relationship with, she would have a cardiac episode right in the middle of the shop floor.

“Is it not about her being happy?” She had asked, and the look her mother threw her way was all the answer she needed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She can’t possibly be happy in that little bungalow with no college education and no ring on her finger. Believe me.”

Elsie’s bungalow had been designed by Jared when she was pregnant with their first son. They owned everything outright from the 4 acres of land it sat on to the final tile Jared had laid in the roof, himself. The house is a labour of love, and every time Poppy visits, Elsie has a smile on her face like she has the whole world at her fingertips.

It has always been something she has envied. 

And she thinks it’s envy that creeps up on her in the third day, when she and Nia arrive at the bungalow with their gift bags in tow, and Elsie and Jared answer the door like the picture of once in a lifetime love.

She’s absolutely glowing, mostly through her third trimester now, her bump round and low, her cheeks puffy and her eyes gleaming with unadulterated joy. And Jared looks at her like she’s the only woman in the world.

Yeah, it’s definitely envy.

And maybe a touch of pride at her cousin for sticking it to their family.

“I can’t believe Elsie’s onto her second kid and me and you are glorified spinsters,” Nia comments as she picks up a handful of finger sandwiches.

“I don’t think you can be a spinster at 25, Ni, that’s a little overdramatic.” Poppy responds, swallowing down the arising queasiness at just the sight of devilled eggs on the table set up for food. Elsie is pregnant, for God’s sake, she thinks, she shouldn’t want to be around any kind of eggs.

“Maybe we should just suck it up and marry each other, we’d make cute babies.”

“Again, not how that works.”

“Well obviously you’d carry it. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m ever pushing a little cantaloupe sized head out of my lady parts, I hurt just thinking about it.”

Poppy wants to say tell me about it. It’s all she’s been thinking about herself the last few days, and the last thing she needs as she’s trying to avoid thinking about it is to be surrounded by constant reminders.

Like the little tiny plastic baby clinging to the straw in her lemonade that it takes everything in her to resist launching across the room, or the giant stack of diapers shaped into a four tier cake that sits on the end of the table that she wants to tear apart.

She usually loves babies. 

She loves fawning over little boopy noses and squealing at all the cute slogans on their little onesies - like I’m berry cute with a little embroidered strawberry beside it or a little printed dinosaur that says, I’m a-roar-able!

She loves when they get the hiccups, and their wide eyes go round like they don’t know what the hell is happening to their bodies. 

She loves when they have those little self-satisfied smiles in their sleep, and everyone argues over whether it’s gas or not.

But as much as she loves all those things usually, right now they are terrifying her.

Every single thing she tries to lay her eyes on to take her mind off of everything is baby themed. Pink floating balloons with teddy bears weighing them down, a message board with a bunch of baby grow shaped cards pinned to it, a bowl of lollipops that are shaped like pacifiers. 

She can’t escape it no matter where she goes or who she speaks to, and so all she can do is hover round Nia like a wordless zombie and wait until there’s a group event where hopefully some normal conversation gets flowing.

Only, expecting any kind of normal conversation at a baby shower is delusional at best.

“Oh my god, a snot sucker! I was just telling Jared how much we need one of these!” Elsie exclaims as she pulls the little box out of a gift bag covered in little rainbows.

“A what-now?” Nia’s face is the picture of disgust, leaning into the circle to get a better look at the present Elsie had just unwrapped.

“Babies can’t clear their own noses when they get congested,” Elsie’s friend, Gina, who had gifted the device, pipes up from across the room, “So you put the little tube up there and suck on the other end. The snot gets stuck in the middle and you just wash it out. It saves you having to suck it out with your own mouth.”

“Oh God, I’m gonna be sick,” Poppy chokes out, bringing her hand to her mouth in what the rest of the group assume is mock disgust, but she can literally feel her stomach turning.

“Me too,” Nia mimics her, “Does the girl with the list know about this? That you have to suck the snot out of your baby’s nose?! Who would even think of doing that in the first place?!”

Poppy jabs her elbow into her side, wincing at the thought and trying to fight the urge to vomit. The last thing she needs is to be reminded of the girl with the damn list. The last time that had come across her feed, she’d added on there that being pregnant can cause your sweat to turn blue. What if she can never wear white again?

“It’s one of those wonderful motherly instincts, you don’t even think about it being gross when it comes to relieving your baby, like sniffing their diapers or fishing their crap out of the bathtub!”

Poppy pushes herself up from her place on the couch, and makes a dash for the nearest bathroom, hearing Nia excuse her with, “She probably shouldn’t have come, she’s been sick all week. Tell me more about the bathtub thing though, is that like a regular occurrence? You just live in constant fear like that?” 

When she’s safely inside, she presses her back to the other side of the door, her shaking body calming as she takes deep breaths and fights past the nausea until she no longer feels the need to throw up.

She tries to think of other things. Clean things. No bodily fluids involved. Fresh laundry and Coconut Breeze candles. 

It takes a good couple minutes before she feels okay again.

When she finally opens her clenched eyes, she realises the bathroom she had stumbled into is not in fact the guest bathroom, but the one Elsie and Jared had assigned specifically to their son - and Poppy’s god-son - Jensen, who was given his mother’s maiden name, but Poppy has always told him he was named after her.

There is sailboat wallpaper, rubber ducks with different costumes lining the bathtub, a little plastic step up to the sink with Paw Patrol characters on the side, and a cabinet covered in stickers.

God bless her cousin for not raising a beige baby, she thinks.

When she gets a closer look, she realises the stickers are little cartoon versions of Harry Potter characters, and she can’t help the little smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth as she smooths her fingers over one of them, making sure the edges stick back down and don’t start to peel. 

Nico would give his kids Harry Potter stickers. He’d let them leave them all over the house, would probably let them stick them to his practice gear and his old sticks. He’d play rubber duckies in the bathtub, give each one a little unique voice and would ingrain each character to his memory for every bath time, and blow bubbles at them until they erupted into little dimpled giggles. He’d stand in front of the sink and brush his teeth beside them, singing a 2 minute song he made up in his head so they’d learn to brush them for longer.

It would all come so easy to him.

Oh God.

She should not be thinking about this. Not in her godson’s bathroom, at least, in the middle of her cousin’s baby shower.

There’s a door off to the side, hooks on the back with a couple hooded bath towels - one that looks like a frog and another that looks like a dinosaur - and she finds herself reaching for the handle before she can think too much of it, pushing the door until it opens into Jensen’s room.

He’s sitting on the floor beside his bed, surrounded by little plastic pieces and trying to make sense of the booklet in his lap, and when he hears the door creak open, he looks up in surprise.

“Hey, Auntie Poppy.”

He would usually shoot up when he sees her - would run and jump into her arms and squeeze until he gets bored, would ask her, is that enough? And she would always tell him no so that he would squeeze her again.

It’s their thing.

But he stays sat, this time, his attention diverting immediately back to the Lego bricks in front of him. 

“Hey, bud, you okay in here? What are you doing on your own?”

“I’m just playing.”

Jensen never plays on his own. He usually has the attention span of a gnat, and jumps between every activity he can think of, all while clutching the nearest adult’s hand and dragging them along for the ride.

Poppy lowers herself onto her knees beside him, careful not to push down into any of the bricks, and leans onto the palm of her hand. “You mind if I play, too?”

“Sure! I’m building Ron’s car from Harry Potter!” 

He shows her the box, that reads Flying Ford Anglia, and she gives a reminiscent smile as she says, “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s my favourite! Mommy says if I can do this one she’ll get me the train for my birthday.” She doesn’t even let her mind go where it wants. She’s putting a temporary ban on thinking about him until she’s in the safety of her own home, where her mind can’t wander at the sight of tiny pairs of sneakers sat beside matching big ones and baby grows that are no bigger than her forearm. “I’m gonna be 6.”

She knows that. She remembers the Thanksgiving dinner 6 years ago where his mom had announced to their family that she was foregoing college because she was pregnant at 18. She had never been prouder of anyone in her life, if not for taking centre stage at Jensen Thanksgiving, then for the way she had so casually gone back to eating Turkey legs like it was no big deal while both of their parents argued amongst themselves.

“That’s awesome, how can I help?”

“Could you read it to me? I can read, but I can’t read and put it together at the same time. I’m not an octopus.”

Poppy chuckles, taking the little instruction booklet from him and biting her tongue to save from telling him he wouldn’t need more hands to do both things, he’d just have to put the booklet down.

She observes him mostly as he puts the figure together, blue bricks stacking up until they eventually resemble the car in the picture, and he attaches them with a tiny tongue poking out the side of his mouth that reminds her of his mom. She does the same thing when she’s baking, following instructions left in a book by their grandmother and trying to measure things out to the gram. 

He isn’t as chatty as he usually is, and she takes a stab in the dark as to what might be the matter. 

“Hey, how cool, you’re gonna get to teach your baby sister all about Harry Potter, too!”

Jensen shrugs, a pensive frown on his face as he stays focused on the Lego. “Mommy says she won’t be able to watch movies with me.”

“Not for a little while. Babies just eat, sleep and poop for the first couple of months, I think,”

“Gross,” he turns his nose up, but his eyes flicker up to Poppy’s in amusement. She may not be a mother, but she knows the surefire way to a kid’s good graces - mentioning poop. It works every time.

“Super gross. But eventually, you’re gonna get to teach her about all the cool stuff you like, and she’ll probably love things just ‘cause you do. When I was a kid, I wanted to do everything my big brother did. We went as Ash and Pikachu for Halloween 3 years running, and I’d spend all my allowance on Pokemon cards for his collection.”

“You were a baby sister?” He asks, and she swallows down the hurt at the fact he doesn’t really know his uncle Oliver. Or his first cousin removed, whatever it is that they are. Oli’s eldest, James, is only a year older than Jensen, and they barely know of each other’s existence, just another name in a Christmas card they’re too young to read.

Their family is a minefield of hidden feuds and bad communication skills, but she’d like to think Elsie is attempting to break the generational patterns.

Maybe she could do that.

“Yeah,” Poppy chuckles, clicking the tiny brick into another and checking it against the picture in the booklet. She hasn’t felt like a little sister in a long time. “We’re not all that bad, as long as you’re nice to us.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty cool.” Jensen nods, and he smiles so big that Poppy notices for the first time that he’s finally missing a tooth. 

“Your sister will be pretty cool too,” she tells him, resisting the urge to tell him about a few other guys missing teeth that she knows. 

“Yeah, when she stops pooping all the time.” He giggles.

“Definitely.”

He continues building his car for a second, until he asks, “Hey, Auntie Poppy?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“How is she coming out?”

“How is she-,” her mouth flops open in shock. Of all the things in the world he wants to come to her about, he has to be joking with this. Talk about timing. “Your mom hasn’t handled that one?”

“Nope. And she won’t tell me how she got in there.”

“Yeah, that’s not really my area of expertise, kid.” If only he was old enough to understand irony. “How do you think she’s gonna come out?”

“I think they’re gonna have to crack mommy like an egg.”

“Oh, that-,” Sounds like something the girl with the list might be interested in, Poppy thinks, her mind going places she hadn’t yet dared to let it go. “That actually makes sense.”

“I knew it.”

Poppy hadn’t realised she had spent the better part of 90 minutes on Jensen’s bedroom floor with him, but it was the only place that felt safe - building Lego cars and skirting around the question of, if my mommy is my mom cause I grew in her belly, then how is my daddy, my dad?

That had genuinely stumped her.

How do you explain genetics to a 5 year old without getting too graphic about it?

She hadn’t been able to argue with the validity of the question - the kid is curious, God help his parents, and she thinks she might have to turn her phone off later to avoid angry calls from Elsie and Jared about why their son is asking them about DMA and Jeans.

She tried to tell him that he was made up of parts of each of them. That he had his mom’s eyes, and her mouth and chin, but he had his dad’s curly hair and his pointed nose. But that had just caused a whole other slew of questions.

And a whole other bunch of thoughts that she was actively trying to fight.

Thoughts of a baby with chocolate brown eyes and hair that goes a little lighter in the sun. Little pudgy arms that cling around broad shoulders, and soft, tiny lips that press wet kisses into a stubbled jaw and giggle at the way it tickles them.

Thoughts of little clumsy legs that will learn to run before they learn to walk, and, when given the chance, will always run straight into muscled arms and a tattooed bicep curling around their tiny frame, a deep laugh ringing in the air between them and dark eyes meeting hers over a mop of fluffy hair.

Thoughts of 6-foot-something someone sitting on the floor with an almost 6 year old, building Harry Potter Lego trains and patiently directing them on what goes where.

For most of those 90 minutes, she hadn’t felt sick. She hadn’t felt nauseous, or panicky or anxious.

She had felt longing, and hopeful, and full.

And as soon as she had left that room, those feelings had swirled into dread again. 

At least Nia had herself a good time. 

She had won the game of Baby Bump Balloon Pop, which Poppy is glad she had missed - if she had to watch a bunch of exploding baby bumps, she might have had a heart attack - and had used her almighty eavesdropping skills to thrash everyone at Don’t Say Baby - ending up with 16 clothes pegs and winning herself the esteemed prize of a bottle No-secco, which she has been ranting about the whole drive back to Poppy’s apartment.

“I get that it’s a baby shower, but come on, the rest of us can still drink! When did Elsie become such a bore,” she whines as the two of them make it through the front door, Nia throwing her jacket onto the coat rack and Poppy making her way straight over to sit down. “Hey, I thought you said you were feeling better,”

“I am,” Poppy feels okay to know that it’s only a half-lie. She does think she caught some kind of food poisoning initially, and the sweats and shivers had subsided since last week, but she can’t find anything to subdue the queasiness at every strong smell or icky thought that crosses her mind. 

“Then why did you flake on me at the party?”

“I didn’t flake, I told you, I was hanging out with Jensen. He was a little down. Also that conversation about snot was too much.”

“Okay, but you were being weird before that. And you’ve hardly spoken the whole way back here.”

“I’m fine.”

“C’mon, Pop, out with it,” Nia sighs as she throws herself into the couch beside Poppy.

“Out with what?” She huffs in response as she works at unzipping her boots.

“Whatever’s got you wound up tighter than a drum, you’ve been acting super weird all day.”

“I haven’t been super weird.” Poppy frowns, throwing the boot she’s just shucked off with a little more passion than is probably warranted, doing little to disprove her best friend’s point.

“You didn’t crack a single joke about how Elsie’s giving her kid a pornstar name. Mia Moore. She’ll be getting bullied for life, Poppy. Even Jared says it with that stupid Italian hand gesture.”

“Maybe I’ve matured,” she shrugs, pushing herself up from the couch and making her way over to the refrigerator, hoping that sticking her head in there for a second might disguise the fact that she is still turning green from waves of nausea. 

“Not likely,” Nia obviously follows, slamming the door shut before Poppy can even adjust her eyes to the light. “You’re being weird.”

“Am not, you are.”

“Oh yeah, real mature,” Nia rolls her eyes before narrowing them at her best friend. “You’re being quiet, and you’re clearly freaking out about something, so why don’t we cut out your very obvious internal meltdown and you just tell me what’s going on?”

Poppy swerves around her, reaching out to where a grocery bag sits on top of her counter, and empties the contents until they scatter across the surface in gentle, staggered thuds. 

“Holy shit.” Nia breathes out, carding through each box as if she’s taking stock. “You know you only need one of these, right?”

“I didn’t know which one was the best, so I got all of them.”

“I think pregnancy tests are pretty universally reliable, Poppy.”

“Yeah, well, they’re non-refundable, so I’ve decided I’m doing every single one and working out the average.”

“Oh my god, the vomiting,” Nia gasps, as if the situation is only just dawning on her - never mind the multiple boxes of tests Poppy has just unveiled on her kitchen counter. “And you had to change your dress earlier, ‘cause it was making your boobs hurt!”

“I didn’t buy these for a fun evening experiment,” she quips, sarcastically, “My period should have been last week, too.”

“Oh my God!”

“But I also can’t be pregnant,”

“Why not?”

“Maybe because then I’d be carrying the baby of a man who wants nothing to do with me?” 

“Okay, calm down, Mrs Theatrical.”

“My karma can’t be that bad. I recycle, I adopt a whole pride of lions in Kenya and my $5 a month contributes to them being safe from poachers! Poachers, Nia! I donate to charity, I don’t steal, I don’t lie, I love thy neighbour,”

“I think you loved thy neighbour a little too much,” Nia cracks, swiftly catching the box that Poppy throws straight at her. “What? You laid that one straight out for me!”

“This is not the time for jokes.”

“You’re right, it’s the time for you to put on your big girl pants and go pee on some sticks.” She holds out the box that had just been launched at her, and Poppy swipes it with a levelling glare. “You’re being ridiculous, Poppy.”

“Fine,” she grunts in displeasure, “But I’m gonna remember how unserious you were about this when it’s your turn for a scare.”

“I have an IUD babe, some of us practice caution when we take hunky men into our beds!” She calls out after her, and Poppy hates how she can still hear her laugh when she slams the door of her bathroom.

“Oh, thank God,” Poppy lets out a sigh of relief once the line forms clearly, the lack of a second allowing her heart rate to slow to a bearable speed and the device in her hands feeling a whole lot lighter than it had a minute ago. “It’s negative!”

“Poppy,” Nia yanks the test from her grip, beyond caring at this point where the piece of plastic has been, and throws it into the pile on the table, “Delusion isn’t going to work for this, that’s one out of fourteen. You know damn well you’re pregnant.”

“But all the boxes say they’re 98% accurate! What if this is the only right one?”

Nia swats at her boob, and Poppy clutches at her chest as the pain merges into the ever-present ache she has felt there for the past week-or-so. 

“Ow, don’t do that, I told you they’re sensitive right now!”

“Oh, I wonder why!” She contends, “Poppy, you’ve taken like $100 worth of tests here, how many more do you need to do until you come to terms with the fact that you have a baby growing in there?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you should try one!”

“Pop, come on-,”

“No, seriously, because what if I bought a bunch of bad ones? Like placebos or something? And if you get a false positive, then we would know!”

“Why would they make placebo pregnancy tests?”

“Duh, for money! Big pharma, Ni! It’s a real thing!”

“You have to be joking,” Nia throws her arms up in exasperation, “Poppy, you’re vomiting,” she holds up her thumb, “Your boobs ache,” she adds a finger, “You should have had your period by now,” and another, “and I don’t even have enough fingers to take into account how many pregnancy tests have told you so, you’re pregnant! The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can be serious and figure this out!”

Poppy picks out a fresh test from the last packet and pushes it into Nia’s chest, a stern look on her otherwise panicked features, “Go pee.” She demands, and when Nia levels her with a look back, she adds a desperate, “Please?”

“Fine,” she grumbles, before wagging an authoritative finger at her friend, “But this is the last one either of us are doing, okay? And because you’re being ridiculous, I get to gloat when it’s negative.”

“Yeah, fine,” Poppy shrugs with feigned nonchalance, and as soon as Nia disappears into the bathroom, Poppy starts refilling her bladder for the last test in the packet.

“You are unbelievable,” Nia sighs when she returns a minute later to find her chugging at a bottle of water. She snatches the last unopened test away, stashing it down her bra where Poppy won’t be able to get it.

“What? I drink when I’m nervous!”

“Yeah, tequila. You’re stressing me out. We’re gonna set the timer on this and while it’s going down we’re gonna talk about it.” Nia throws her own test onto the empty side of the coffee table before she gets her phone out and starts a timer for three minutes. “Sit down, and for the love of God, give me that bottle.”

Poppy sits, surrendering the drink to Nia with a frown and throwing herself down onto the couch in child-like stubbornness. 

“You’re pregnant. We can sit here all night and take a thousand tests, and they’re all gonna tell you the same thing,”

“Not all of them-,”

“Shut up. Do you want to have a baby, yes or no?”

“Nia,” Poppy whines, “It’s not that-,”

“Yes or no, Poppy?”

“Fine, yes!” It almost shocks her how easy the answer comes out.

“Do you want to have this baby?”

“Yeah,” she pouts, tears pricking at her eyes as she accepts her reality for the first time since the thought had so innocently been forced into her mind by Nico’s mom. 

She wants the pudgy armed, brown eyed, giggling ball of joy she had conjured up in her brain earlier.

She wants to wrap it up in fluffy animal themed bath towels, pull the hood up just above its eyes and take a million pictures, and tickle at the back of it’s chunky little legs until dimples form in it’s puffy cheeks and her apartment is filled with the sounds of squeaky little laughter.

And she knows that it isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. She knows she’ll never sleep a full night again, knows she’ll never have free time to do what she wants or that she might lose every ounce of sanity she has left, but she feels like the good stuff outweighs the bad.

“Then why the hell are you going crazy, Pop?” Nia sits right beside her, arm wrapping around her to console what could potentially be a weeping, hysterical shit-show.

“Because it’s a gigantic mess, Ni!” She whines, “My hormones are going apeshit, and all I want is to go to Nico, and to tell him what’s going on, but he doesn’t want me, and this is gonna ruin everything! He’s gonna hate me, he’s gonna want nothing to do with me, and I’m gonna have to quit my job, and then I won’t be able to afford living here and raising a baby on my own, so I’ll have to move back home, and that means this poor innocent clump of cells inside me is gonna grow up in a house with my mother because it’s own mom is hopeless and then the baby will resent me because I can’t do this on my own!”

“Poppy, slow down, breathe,”

She knows she’s hyperventilating, but she can’t stop. Can’t slow down until she gets it all out.

“Nico’s gonna hate me. He’s gonna think I’m trapping him, and he’s gonna think I’m crazy and obsessed with him and maybe I am, you know, maybe this is all my fault and deep down a part of me wanted this to happen because who in their right mind doesn’t even stop to think hey, you probably shouldn’t be coming inside me when we haven’t even talked about it,” she sees Nia wince somewhere out of the corner of her eye, “and he’s gonna blame me for getting in the way of his perfect life with his pretty girlfriend and she’s gonna hate me-,”

Nia squirts her with the bottle, underestimating the spout and pretty much covering Poppy’s entire face with water until it’s dripping from her eyelashes and she has to huff it out of her nose.

“Nia, what the fuck?!” Poppy frowns, looking down at the mess of water that covers her legs and is dripping onto her couch.

“You’re going insane! I didn’t know how else to get you to stop aside from slapping you, and I can’t hit a pregnant lady!”

“But you can waterboard her?!”

“Oh my God, how dramatic can you be?”

“Uh, I think I get a pass right now!” Poppy scoffs, swiping at the droplets running down her face and splashing them over at Nia in retaliation. “You’re not being very helpful.”

“That’s because you’re being stupid.” Nia levels, “You’re not hopeless, Poppy, you’re the smartest, strongest person I know. If that idiot can’t see that, then it’s his own loss, and if he wants nothing to do with you then you’ll be fine. You don’t need him. We can figure this out, you and me together. We can find a place and we can live together again, I’ll be the dad, I’ll take care of you.”

“Ni, I can’t ask you to do that,”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you.” She asserts, taking Poppy’s still wet hands in her own, “And I’m also telling you that as mad as I am at him right now, Nico isn’t the type of guy that would let you do this on your own, Poppy. You know for a fact that I won’t let a man make a fool out of either of us more than once, so I know I’m not wrong when I say that he is not going to hate you, he isn’t going to blame you.”

“He still doesn’t want me.”

“You don’t know that, Poppy.” Nia tries to reason with her, “You didn’t let him tell you what he wanted.”

The shrill sound of Nia’s alarm interrupts the moment, and Poppy sniffles as her best friend reaches for her phone and picks the test up while she’s there.

She hands the test to Poppy, who sighs as she looks over the result, and rolls her eyes before huffing out a jeering, “You win. Congratulations, you’re not pregnant.”

Nia is too busy typing away at her phone to respond, and after a minute of Poppy glaring at her - annoyed that her focus has diverted elsewhere and more annoyed that she has to be right all the time - her face breaks out in a celebratory grin.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” she huffs out a breathy chuckle, the grin widening with every passing second. 

“What? What could possibly be funny about this?”

Nia turns the device in her hand so Poppy can see the screen - a picture of a small dusting of what looks like crushed black pepper. It's one of those websites that compares the size of a baby in the womb to different foods.

“Your baby is the size of a Poppy seed,” Nia’s face settles into a soft, loving smile, her eyes rounding in awe as she awaits Poppy’s reaction.

Poppy reads the description below.

At four weeks, the foetus is about 2mm or 0.3 inches long, and weighs less than a gram but is growing rapidly in your womb!

“Holy shit.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up with you?”

The inside of Nia’s car is warm and comforting, the heat cranked so high that Poppy doesn’t want to leave into the cold, even if it’s just for the few seconds between the vehicle and the entrance to Nico’s building.

It’s nothing to do with the nerve-wracking conversation she is about to have.

Nothing at all.

“I’ve got to put on my big girl pants, remember? Let him tell me what he wants before I decide it in my head.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” she pats Poppy’s thigh in consolation, “And if I need to come up there and kick his ass, just give me a call.”

“I will.”

“Good luck!”

Poppy shuffles out of the car and holds her jacket tighter around her as she makes her way over to the doors of the apartment building, harsh winds whipping at her face and causing her to grimace before she makes it to safety, the doors pressing closed behind her in a gentle thud. 

She’s surprised to see Lionel still sat at his desk, a little later than he normally works, but the familiar face gives her a little bit of reprieve, and the friendly smile he flashes her way calms her rampant heart.

“Hi, Poppy,” he stands to greet her, “You here to see the boys?”

“Nico, actually,” she responds, and watches as he presses his button for the elevator without question, typing something else while he waits for the notification it’s on its way down. “You’re here late.”

“So are you.” He gives a knowing smile back, looking at her over the top of his glasses and causing her skin to turn warm. “Our night guy, Evan, just had a baby, I stick around until he can do bedtime with his wife.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She ignores the lump in her throat at the mention of babies. “I bet it’s nice of him to still get that time in the routine.”

She wonders if that’s something Nico would do - fight to make it home for every bedtime, getting one of the guys to pick up his media responsibilities after a game so he could give their baby an evening bottle and a kiss goodnight.

“He makes sure I have coffee and a donut waiting for me on the desk when my shift starts in the morning, so I can’t complain.”

“Oh, wins all around then,” she chuckles, and thanks him as he walks with her to the elevator.

“It sure is, you have a nice evening, Poppy, I’ve sent Mr Hischier a message that you’re on your way up.”

“Thanks, Lionel,” she hums, appreciative that she isn’t springing a visit on him entirely out of nowhere, now. “Get home safe!”

Lionel presses the buttons for her, and gives her a cheerful wave as the doors close between them, leaving her to her own anxiety for company. 

The elevator ride up is torturously slow, the numbers rising at a mocking pace, and she can feel her heart hammering with every second that passes. When the doors open, she doesn’t immediately step out, and has to reach a shaking hand to stop them closing again and going back down.

As much as she is dreading this, she needs to get it over with.

Once she has told him, it’s done.

He can tell her what he wants and she can just live with it.

No more running through every nightmarish scenario in her head, no more imagining the other side of conversations and mentally booking flights to faraway countries to get away from her problems.

She will tell him she’s pregnant, and then the ball is in his court. Or the puck is in his rink. Whatever.

Her feet feel heavy as she moves toward his apartment, and when she’s stood in front of his door, she raps her knuckles harshly against the wood before she can convince herself not to.

And then she waits.

And waits.

And continues to wait until it starts to frustrate her, knocking again with the side of her fist in jerky movements that rattle the surface.

He’s definitely home, she thinks - she’d shamelessly stalked him on Find My Friends. Lionel had sent the message she was coming up. He has to be home.

Unless he’s down at Jack and Luke’s place.

She isn’t telling him there. God knows what those two would have to say about it.

What if she’s there?

Oh God, she hadn’t even thought about that. 

What if he isn’t answering because he doesn’t want Talia to see her there.

Shit.

Before she can duck and run, before her brain can even send out the direction to get the hell out of there, the door swings open, and she clumsily stumbles back with a surprised gasp.

Nico stands on the other side, skin dripping wet, steam coming off him like something out of a movie, and a towel clutched with a tight fist around his waist that also has a grasp on his phone. His hair is soaked, slicked back out of his face and her eyes are drawn to a droplet of water that trails down from his jaw, beneath a gap where the gold chain he is still wearing doesn’t quite sit flush against the base of his neck, and she watches it disappear into the tuft of dark hair that has grown in the centre of his chest.

“Poppy,” he’s breathless, like he’s just booked it down the hall to get to her, no doubt leaving a trail of soggy footprints in his path, “Hi.”

“S-sorry,” she stutters, making a serious mental effort to keep her eyes on his face. “Is this a bad time?”

“No!” He exclaims, eyebrows shooting up in panic, “No, you’re fine, come in.”

“Are you sure? I can come back,”

Nico steps back, giving her space to come in and tilting his head in a silent invitation. “Positive,” he watches as she takes a cautious step into his apartment, and he closes the door softly behind her. “Let me just,” he gestures to his body as if she isn’t actively trying to avoid looking at it, and she presses her lips together to save herself from audibly gulping. “I’ll get dressed. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a second.”

Jesus Christ.

If Poppy’s heart wasn’t about to beat into oblivion before, it sure is now.

He rushes off down the hall toward his bedroom, and she steps a little further into the open plan of his apartment, casting her eyes in a quick glance across the room.

She can’t help herself - one of the few traits inherited from her mother - if she’s invited into someone else’s home, she’s going to be nosey.

She hasn’t spent much time in Nico’s apartment, before. Back before Summer last year, most of their time together was either spent out or round at her place. He had always said it was for convenience - he would rather be the one that had to drive home, and her place was closer to everything else so it just made sense - but she still thinks in the few times she had seen it, it looks different.

He’s rearranged the furniture, he has a new couch, his kitchen has a new coffee machine. He used to have a couple pictures of his family around, but she can’t see them from where she is.

In fact, she can’t really see anything personal.

If she compares it to her own cluttered space, his apartment looks fresh out of a catalogue. Stone walls, grey fabrics, brown leathers, random red pieces like the odd book and some candles, like he’d picked a page out of Bachelor Pad Weekly and handed it over to a designer with the sole instruction to copy and paste.

There’s a floor to ceiling shelving unit that seems to act as a separator, and it has random sculptures and trinkets she can’t see him picking out for himself. 

She tries not to think too much about how his place differs from her own. How she still has pictures of the two of them scattered in every room.

Guys don’t put as much thought into stuff like that.

She tells herself as much as she’s reading the spines of some of the books that line the shelves - hardbacks that look more like decoration than anything he would actually read - and she finds herself fiddling with the bunch of plastic in her pocket to ground herself.

There isn’t a single feminine thing about the place - almost like he’s scrubbed clean any trace of a woman ever living with him, which shouldn’t ease the tension in her shoulders as much as it does.

She isn’t here to worry about his choice of decor, or who may or may not have had a say in it. 

She isn’t here to question why she sees him in every corner of her home and she is nowhere in his.

She’s here to talk. 

“Sorry,” Nico returns, and she swivels where she’s stood to take him in. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, a slight gap between those and the hem of the t-shirt that sticks to his every muscle like second skin. A towel held up to his head to try and drain out the excess moisture. “I wasn’t expecting company so I hopped in the shower, I was ignoring the knocking until I saw the text to say it was you.”

“Yeah, I,” her tongue swipes at her parched lips, and she blinks away the daze he always seems to cast upon her. “I figured we need to talk.”

He takes an eager step forward, gesturing over to his couch and waiting for her to perch down uncomfortably on the edge before he sits on the cushion beside her - keeping a respectable distance between the two of them.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he seems nervous, and it makes her chest feel tight. “I wanted to apologise for the other day. I pretty much cornered you when you asked me for space and I didn’t mean to push you. Especially when you weren’t feeling great. If it helps, my mom laid into me when I drove her back to her hotel.”

“It’s alright,” she squeaks out, meekly, thinking that maybe if she lets him off the hook for that, he’ll let her off the hook for this.

“It’s not. I’ve dealt with this whole thing so wrong, I need you to know I didn’t mean what I said that night in your apartment. Y’know, about-,” he shakes his head as if trying to gather his thoughts, “About what we did. I don’t think we made a mistake. I made one, with how I handled everything after, I-,” she knows she shouldn’t let him ramble on, shouldn’t let him think she needs him to beg for her forgiveness before he knows the full extent of what he’s asking, but she’s spent 4 weeks imagining what he might want to say to her, and she wants to hear it. “You were right the other day, I haven’t been a good friend to you, Poppy, I was selfish and you deserve better. You deserve to make your own decisions and I’m sorry I took that from you.”

Poppy is usually better at catching herself before she cries in front of anyone else - the warning signs of an ache at the back of her throat and the corner of her eyes stinging coming up in advance - but this time, her lip starts to tremble before she’s able to get a grasp on her emotions, and a sob racks through her before she throws her head into her hands.

“Whoa, hey,” she feels a large, warm hand stroking at her back, and feels the couch dip as Nico shuffles closer to her, their knees knocking and his arm swinging around her shaking body. “Please don’t cry,”

“I’m so sorry,”

“No, Poppy, you have nothing to be sorry for-“

“I don’t want you to be mad at me.” She cries, her voice strained as if she’s choking back another sob as she looks up at him, arms cradling herself for a slight reprieve of comfort.

“Why would I be mad?” He questions, his arm still rubbing soothingly at hers as she unravels in front of him. “What’s going on, Poppy? I’m worried about you,”

“Do you promise me you won’t hate me?”

“Mohn,” Nico sighs, running his spare hand through his still-damp hair and making sure it stays slicked back. 

“Please?”

“I could never hate you,” He assures her, and, as resolute as he sounds, she tilts her head, urging him to say what she wants to hear. “I promise.”

She takes a second to even out her breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, until she no longer feels like she’s about to implode, and Nico waits, watching with his own bated breath.

“I uhm,” she takes a shaky inhale, trying to build the courage to come out and just say it, but her mouth just bops open like a fish, the words refusing to come out. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the handful of tests she had haphazardly stashed in there, before reaching forward and dropping them carelessly onto the coffee table - the plastic scattering across the surface and making a clattering sound against the solid wood.

Nico’s eyes drop to the sticks that are splayed out in front of him, his own words failing him as if he daren’t speak them into existence. His eyes close a few times in forced, hard blinks, as if he’s trying to determine the reality of the situation, and he reaches out to take one of them in his hand before she presses her shaky fingers to his arm in an attempt to stop him.

“I peed on those, I wouldn’t touch ‘em.”

He ignores the warning, picking up another, bringing them up to his face so he can read what he must already know they all say. The dim light of his living room does little to mask the shock on his face.

“You’re-,” his words drift off, and his eyes flicker back to the two tests left.

“I’m pregnant.” Her voice cracks as she says it, holding back a choking sob that strains her throat. She can no longer stomach the thought of not saying it out loud.

Silence lingers between them like a rubber band, ready to snap. She can feel every liquid ounce of blood rushing through her body, can probably hear the whoosh of it, too, if she focuses hard enough, and she thinks she can see a vein pop in his neck.

“Please say something.”

“It’s mine?”

Their eyes meet, his round and concerned, her’s glassy and afraid, and all she can do is nod.

She doesn’t take offence to the question, knowing he has every right to ask what he needs to. She’s spent the last hour trying to prep herself for the possibility of what he might ask, for an onslaught of potential accusations and finger-pointing.

Even if she only took the tests today, she’s had days to think about this. To ask her own questions, fathom her own feelings, she owes him the leniency to do the same. 

She and Nia had gone through some pretty serious breathing exercises before she drove Poppy out here just to calm her down in preparation for it all. 

“I haven’t been with anybody else.”

“I didn’t use protection,” he stares blankly ahead as he speaks, as if he’s running through the events of that night in his head, the tests still clutched between his thumb and fingers. She shakes her head, and hopes he can see the action in his peripheral, because her tongue currently feels like a paperweight in the dead centre of her mouth, and she probably couldn’t speak if she tried. “And you’re not-,” he seems just as much at a loss, “Protecting yourself?”

If it were anyone else asking her that kind of question, she thinks she’d be a little more on edge, but she knows he isn’t asking to shame her. 

Still, she can’t help the guilt that racks through her entire body. “I was trying a new birth control last year, and it uhm-,” she exhales a shuddered breath, “It didn’t really work for me, so I stopped. I was due back to see my doctor around Christmas, but I pushed it back, and then I- I forgot.” Tears line her eyes again, glossing them over completely until a fat droplet falls straight down her cheek and drips down onto her leg.

“Holy shit.”

She can’t exactly blame him for that response, either. She had said the exact same thing. Nia had even reacted the same way.

“I’m so, so sorry, Nico,” she tries to suppress a sob, but can’t stop the onset of tears, now, her head falling into her hands as her body begins to tremble.

Nico pulls Poppy into him immediately, his arms wrapping around her shaking frame, and he presses his head into the top of hers. Large hands stroke comfortingly up and down her back, trying to hold her as tight as is comfortable so she knows he’s there for her, shushing her and taking slow, measured breaths in the hopes her body instinctively copies him. 

Her body melts into his, soaking up his warmth until it eases all the tension in her muscles, and all she tries to focus on is the rhythmic motion of his touch on her spine.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mohn,” he mutters into her temple, pressing his lips in a gentle kiss to the skin there. “It’s gonna be okay, please don’t cry.”

He sways her gently, lifting a hand to stroke her hair and keeps her in his hold until she starts to properly calm down - sobs becoming sniffles, tremors becoming the occasional shake, and her breaths evening out so she no longer seems like she’s hyperventilating.

Somewhere in her panic, she had taken to clutching at his shirt, the fabric bundled up so tight between her fingers that they start to ache, and she can feel the sharp press of her own nails in her palms. She lays them flat against his chest, ignoring the growing sting she feels when she applies pressure to the crescent-shaped indents, and uses him for leverage to push herself back a little - only going far enough that she can still feel his arms around her, even if they’ve loosened up a little.

She must look a complete mess - lips swollen, nose snotty, eyes red-raw - but he looks at her only with concern rather than any kind of disgust. He brings a hand forward to swipe at the remaining dampness on her cheek, and keeps it there to cup the side of her jaw, stroking tenderly at her face just as he had done the other day, when she had felt like she was floating out of her body and he had grounded her.

“You took those today?” He gestures towards the sticks that are still on the table, the others that had been in his grasp before discarded somewhere into the cushions of the couch when he had taken her into his arms. She nods, meeting his dark eyes and watching as they flicker between the features of her own face. “You didn’t know when we spoke the other day?”

She shakes her head, vehemently. “I wouldn’t have tried to push you away if I’d have even thought I could be pregnant Nico, I swear. I thought I was just sick.”

“You would have had every right to push me away, Poppy.” 

“I came here as soon as I knew for sure.” She places her hand over his, her thumb swiping over the knuckles on his hand and her fingers curling around his own digits. “I mean, I was kind of losing my mind so it took me 13 positives to know, but-,”

“You took 13 tests?” When she takes note of his face, he seems like he’s trying to fight a smile. She hadn’t even realised before. 

13 positives to finally convince her, and a baby the size of a Poppy seed, it was always meant to be.

“14 technically, but one was negative,” her lips twist then in slight embarrassment. “I even made Nia take one.”

“Nia knows?”

The would-be smile drops immediately, and the frown that forms on his face almost stops her heart in its tracks. 

“I needed somebody to hold my hand, Nico.” She reasons, head tilting and trying to meet his eyes again, his hand drops from her face, hers falling limply with it, and the look he gives her back is one of resigned acceptance. 

“It should have been me,” he mutters, and when she parts her lips to respond, he shakes his head, “I know I’m the one who hurt you and pushed you away, Poppy, I just-,” he sighs, he isn’t trying to blame her, he’s trying blame himself. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

She threads her fingers through his again, bringing their hands between them and holding his firmly in her lap. “I would have come to you, Nico, I just didn’t want to stress you out if it turned out to be negative.”

“Even after what I did?” His voice is the one that’s strained, now, and the sound plucks straight at her heart strings. 

He had hurt her - she knows he understands that - but she doesn’t want him to hurt. She’s never wanted that for him. And with the regret in his eyes and the conflict in his tone, she sees that they’ve both been hurting regardless of what she wanted, so she nods. 

If she had been left to her own devices, earlier - if the baby shower hadn’t conjured up so much anxiety that she erupted on her best friend - she would have ended up in this exact spot. Poppy knows that with everything in her. She would always have come to him.

When she had had her not-so-mini meltdown with Nia earlier, it was his reassurance she craved. 

“You wouldn’t have stressed me out.” He tells her, squeezing back at her hand, and she knows he isn’t putting on a brave face just to make her feel better. “In fact, I feel weirdly calm right now.”

“Yeah, I think you might have calmed me down, too.”

His constant touch, his serene demeanour, he’s done everything in him to make her feel relaxed.

He hasn’t raised his voice, hasn’t pushed her away, hasn’t blamed her or shamed her or made her feel like she is a burden in any way.

He’s just held her in his arms and told her it will be okay, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to show him how much she appreciates it.

She had made herself entirely hysterical with an abundance of what ifs and hypotheticals that she knew in her heart he would never live up to. 

If she had been thinking rationally at all, earlier, she’d have known he wouldn’t get mad, wouldn’t hate her, wouldn’t react in any way other than the way he has. With tender-hearted acceptance and love born from empathy and the long-withstanding trust they share for each other.  

Her mind had spiralled so far beyond the realm of possibility that it had created a version of him in her head that he would never be. One that would have shut her out, left her to deal with her emotions alone. Even when he’d pushed her away the last time, she had been the one to shut the door.

“I-,” he starts to say something, but is interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the coffee table. “Why is Nia calling me?”

“Shit,” Poppy curses, shooting up and dropping his hand in the process, “She’s waiting downstairs for me, she was gonna drive me home.” She pats around her pockets before realising her phone isn’t in them, and it dawns on her she must have left it in the passenger seat of Nia’s car - a really useful spot for it to be.

“It’s alright,” Nico focuses more on consoling her than answering the call, and it rings out before he remembers he should probably have picked it up. “She’s parked on the street?”

“Yeah, right out front.”

“Wait here,” he commands with gentle authority, a hand on her shoulder pushing her softly back down onto the couch. “We need to talk about this, I don’t want you to be home alone, you can stay here tonight,”

“Maybe I sh-,”

“I’ll go down and tell her,” he says with finality, leaving the living area in search of a hoodie he can shrug on. 

“Nico, she isn’t exactly your biggest fan right now,” Poppy warns, following him toward the door to his apartment with a slight bout of panic.

If he goes out there, there’s no telling what Nia might say to him. She’s been on one for weeks about how disappointed she has been in him, and he could be marching straight into the firing line without a clue as to what is waiting for him out there. And he might return with his defences raised.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes, just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

He doesn’t really give Poppy much of a choice before he’s dashing out of his apartment, and she doesn’t exactly have the energy to chase him.

She steps back around the couch, feeling a little out of place again as he has, for the second time in one night, left her to her own devices in his space.

She starts to pace, feet padding softly around the pattern of the rug, focused entirely on matching up her steps to the patches within the fabric until she starts to get dizzy.

Then, she finds herself looking around again. Snooping around shelves, eyeing up the cabinet where he keeps odd bits of Devils memorabilia, newspaper cut outs of his biggest games and even a patch of a Switzerland jersey framed in dark wood. 

The rest of the space is minimal, as she had taken notice of before. A couple generic pieces of artwork, nothing too personal anywhere other than that cabinet. A large mirror hung on the wall, that she doesn’t really want to look in, through fear of catching sight of her ghastly reflection, but something else captures her attention in it, entirely.

She turns quicker than she probably should, and her lips part as she steps closer to the wall that had been behind her.

She’d been too focused on her thoughts before - hadn’t noticed it in her initial snooping.

A landscape canvas, framed in the same dark wood as everything else he had in the room that had been a personal touch, large enough to be the only artwork on that wall - a focal piece in the heart of his apartment.

A patch of dainty red flowers seemingly waving in the breeze beside a picturesque coastal view, peaceful waters and some tiny sailboats in the background.

And beneath it, a small plaque just above the base of the frame that reads; Childe Hassam. Poppies, Isles of Shoals, 1891. 

Nico

Nico has never really given much thought to having children, before.

He doesn’t have any problem with kids - he enjoys his mentoring sessions, loves meeting the kids who come to games donning his name on their back and looking at him like he’s their hero, and will always go out of his way to meet fans if he hears there’s a bunch of kids excited to meet him.

But being a part of one of the youngest teams in the leagues means he doesn’t exactly have a lot of dad friends. Sure, a couple of the guys have kids - they bring them to games, to team events and he’s met his fair share of them at family skates, but he isn’t that actively involved in any of their lives.

Whenever he pictures his future, it’s really just hockey. It’s captaining his team all the way to lifting the cup, it’s winning gold in the Worlds or the Olympics, representing his beloved home country and succeeding at the top level with his friends.

And if he’s ever thought about anything outside of that, it’s just been experiencing as many new things as he can before he doesn’t have those kinds of opportunities anymore. Travelling, flitting around Europe with his friends back home, climbing mountains, going to festivals, trying his hand at whatever sport he can. 

He’s never had any inclination for that to change.

Until the thought of having children with Poppy fell into his lap. Or onto his coffee table in the form of a handful of positive pregnancy tests.

And once the initial shock had subsided, once his brain had comprehended the switch between missing her and screaming not to let her go, he had found comfort in the concept of knowing that something about his future was now an almost-certain.

Poppy will be a part of it.

And he will be a part of hers.

It’s with the conviction of those facts that he finds himself jogging across the street to Nia’s Mazda with misplaced confidence. 

Poppy had tried to warn him that she wouldn’t be welcoming and he had shrugged it off, knowing already how pissed her best friend was going to be with him.

A couple nights after she had kicked him out of her apartment, in the depths of his despair and on a lonely evening in a hotel room in Tampa, all he could think of doing to make himself feel better after a loss was to check up on her. Every time he had tried to see her at the Rock the first few days that week before they had gone on the road, she had practically ran the other way, and so as he lay in his hotel bed, muscles aching, mind racing, heart hurting, he had taken to stalking her instagram to see what she had been up to while he had been away.

Her story had been of Nia, the two of them had gone together to get their nails done, and when Nico had clicked on where Nia was tagged in the hope that maybe she had posted a picture of Poppy, it had taken him to a private account he no longer had the privilege of following. 

She had removed him. 

And as he raps his knuckles against her car window, he can see why. 

She’s angry.

“I didn’t call you so that you’d come down here, I called to check on my best friend.” She snaps, the brisk winter air invading her car and making the annoyed huff she gives come out in a misty cloud.

“She’s fine, she’s gonna stay over-,”

“Like hell she is,” she goes to unbuckle her belt, and when she reaches for the handle of the door to open it, Nico promptly pushes it back shut. “Let me out.”

“Come on, Nia,” Nico sighs, “Poppy’s okay, I got her to calm down and we need to talk about things, I don’t want you having to wait out here all night until we do.”

“Right, ‘cause the last time you two had a sleepover, it turned out so well for her.”

Nico finds himself clenching his jaw, not in anger but in shame. Yet another reminder from another person just how much he has messed this all up. 

“I’m gonna wait here until I know this is what she wants to do,” Nia holds out Poppy’s phone, and Nico takes it, immediately thrusting it into the warmth of his pocket. “You make sure she texts me so I know you’re not holding her hostage up there. We have a code. If she doesn’t send it to me in the next five minutes, I’ll literally scale your building to find you and make you hurt in ways you can’t even comprehend.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

He misses the way Luke had subtly threatened him back in the locker room. That was a lot less violent, and while he had taken it seriously at the time, he was a lot less scary than Nia.

She narrows her eyes at him, and he tries to morph his face into one that reflects the gravity of the situation.

He has no intentions of ever making her sad again. He knows that. Hell, Nia probably knows that deep down.

“Thank you for being there for her.” He knows it’s a risky thing to say - Nia and Poppy have been friends since their childhood, there would never be a question over her being there for Poppy - but he’s hoping that she understands what he’s trying to get at. “With the tests and all, holding her hand. I’m glad she has you.”

“You won’t be glad if you don’t get back upstairs in time,” she shoos him away with the flick of her hand, and before he can fully jog back across the street, she calls back out to him. “Hey Nico,” he turns and watches as she leans out of her window a little, voice shouting out as if she has no worries about the repercussions of threatening him so brazenly, “If you ever make my best friend cry again, there isn’t a corner of this Earth that you’ll be safe in, do you understand?”

“I understand.” He nods, before he dashes back into the safety of his building. 

Despite the visceral way in which his life has just been threatened, he finds himself walking with a newfound spring in his step, bounding through the lobby and sending Lionel a friendly salute as he passes him, the old man shaking his head fondly in return.

The elevator flies straight up to his floor, and he’s back inside the warmth of his apartment in no time - all that much warmer now that he has his favourite girl back inside.

“Have you ever seen the movie Taken?” He huffs as he pulls off his hoodie, his head popping out of the neck of the garment in a way that makes his hair fluff out. “I’m telling you, Nia could give Liam Neeson a run for his money. She’s scary.”

He finds Poppy stood in his living room, staring at the wall - not exactly where he had left her but she’s never been one to sit still for too long.

“Poppy?”

“I like your painting.” Her voice is much softer than it had been, before. A little deeper, less strained, like she’s found comfort and isn’t as anxious to speak anymore, which delights him just a little. The energy in the room has shifted since he had left, and what he has returned to is comfortable and serene.

He steps in line beside her, eyes cast upon the canvas she is admiring, and he feels his lips twitch upward. “My mom got it for me,” he chuckles, stepping just the slightest bit closer. “She said my place lacked character.”

She had said some other things, too, about how she’d seen the painting and it had immediately reminded her of him and how it would bring some much needed colour to his apartment, and make it feel more like home but saying those things feels like overkill, and he thinks he’s shared enough for now.

Plus, Poppy knows what the painting means, she doesn’t need him to spell it out for her.

He needs to keep some of his dignity in tact.

“Sounds about right,” Poppy mutters with an astute smile.

The silence that falls between the two of them is one of familiarity and understanding, and he nudges playfully at her side before stepping away.

“I told Nia you’d be staying here. She says you need to text her your code before she murders me.”

“How long did she give you?”

“Five minutes,”

“Dang,” she checks the time quickly on the screen, “I think I might have forgotten it.”

“You’re not funny, Poppy.” He responds, but he’s sure the fond shake of his head and the way he battles the oncoming smile gives him away. “You have a minute left before I’m snatching that back and assuming your code is please don’t kill my baby daddy.”

“That’s a good one.” The smile she gives this time is tired, and for the first time all night, he takes in just how exhausted she looks. Shoulders slumped, shadows under her eyes, slow blinks every time she looks up at him. 

He watches as she types her message to Nia, a feeling of contentment settling in the pit of his stomach despite the intensity of the situation.

She’s here. She’s making jokes. She’s looking him in the eye and smiling like he never hurt her.

She’s carrying his baby.

However small it might be, a part of him is growing within her, and she doesn’t seem all that perturbed by the idea.

He knows that there’s a lot more to talk about, for him to think about even, but he’s content for now just knowing that.

“I think you should get some sleep,” he suggests, his tone comforting and his cadence smooth, “We can talk more tomorrow, but you look beat, Poppy.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really been sleeping right lately.”

“You can take my bed,” he offers, “My mattress is like sleeping on a cloud,”

“No, I can’t kick you out of your bed,”

“I’ll sleep in the spare, it’s fine,”

“No, I’ll sleep in there, I don’t mind!”

“I shoved a kit bag in there before we broke up for All-Stars, before I got the chance to get it washed, I don’t think you’ll get on too well with how that room smells, Poppy.”

“Oh,” she pouts, an adorable frown forming on her face as Nico finds himself almost blushing at the sight of it. “Gross.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “Do you want me to make you anything before you go to sleep?”

“Were you gonna eat?”

“No, I was gonna head to bed early, I have an early morning training session with a couple of the guys. But I don’t mind cooking for you if you’re hungry,”

“No, that’s fine,” she shakes her head, looking up at him with a soft smile, “Nia and I ate before she brought me here. Are you sure you want me to stay if you have plans?”

“Yeah,” he answers with shameless urgency, “I’ll be back early, I can bring you breakfast.”

She bites at the corner of her mouth like she usually does when she’s thinking too much, and he reaches out to swipe his thumb at the side of her chin to pull her lip from the clutches of her teeth.

“I want you here, Poppy. I want to talk about this properly, after you’ve had a good night’s rest and you’re not upset.”

“Okay.” She breathes, “I’ll stay.”

“C’mon, I’ll find you something to wear to bed.”

He holds out his hand, expecting her to swerve it and grasp at his arm instead, but she slides her fingers between his and lets him guide her through his apartment to his bedroom. 

When they’re both inside, he manoeuvres her to sit on the edge of his bed while he looks through his closet, and comes back out with some boxers and an old t-shirt. Poppy always wears shorts when she’s at home, and he figures she’ll be more comfortable in these than any sweatpants he could find. “Here you go, I promise they’re clean.”

“I trust you,” she snorts as she takes the garments from his clutches and stands to change in his en-suite. 

Nico follows her in, and when she turns to question him, he opens up the medicine cabinet above his sink. “I don’t have a toothbrush for you but I have spare heads for mine,” he offers one out to her from the pack, one that has a blue band at the bottom so she’ll be able to tell the difference when she takes the head he uses off.  “There’s soap in there too, and clean washcloths if you wanna take a shower. But if you need anything just let me know and I can pick it up for you on my way home in the morning.”

Before he can step back to head out, Poppy throws her arms around him, discarding the clothes he had given her to the floor and pressing her body firmly into his. 

His own arms circle around her waist, tightening around her frame as his large hands press into her back to keep her close. She’s raised up on her tip toes, her face is shoved into his neck, and he presses his lips to the side of her head, closing his eyes to bask in how good it feels and taking a deep breath of the faint smell of her coconut shampoo.

She pulls away after a minute or two with a quiet sniffle, but only puts a little distance between them before she looks up at him with tears brimming her eyes again.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Poppy,” he reaches a hand to wipe at a stray tear, “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“I was really scared earlier,” she hiccups out, “I was driving myself crazy, I was driving Nia crazy, and I-,” her lip trembles, and she shakes her head as if to rid herself of the onslaught of emotions, “I should have just come straight to you. I’m sorry you weren’t the first to know.”

“Hey, no,” he gently grabs either side of her face, stroking at her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, “You have nothing to be sorry for, I mean it.”

“But I-,”

“I like how you told me.” He affirms to her - and as much as he had wanted to be the first person who knew, earlier, he knows he means it. Nia is Poppy’s person, if there was one other person in the world he would be okay with knowing over him, it would be her. As much as he likes to think he would have been able to make her feel better in the moment if she was panicking, he doesn’t entirely know if he wouldn’t have panicked himself if things weren’t already confirmed. If he would have slipped up and made her feel worse or said something stupid. “You throwing your little pee sticks down onto my coffee table like some kind of performance art and telling me not to touch them after I already had. It’s kind of funny.”

She giggles, glassy eyes crinkling in the corners until they push a tear that runs into his thumb.

She places her own hands on top of his. “You still haven’t washed your hands, by the way.”

“Shit, sorry,” he grimaces, immediately taking them off of her skin. “I’ll let you get ready, I’m across the hall if you need anything, and I should be back before 11. I’ll bring you whatever you’re hungry for.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to vomit everywhere in the morning while I wait for you to come home.”

Come home. His feels like his heart does a somersault in his chest, bouncing off of each rib that protects it in its place, and the feeling reverberates throughout his entire body.

“I appreciate that.”

He takes a hold of her face again, his fingers tucked behind her ears as he pulls her head to his lips, pressing a firm and affectionate kiss to her crown, just like he used to whenever they said goodbye.

And in a way that melts his thumping heart, she does the same, bringing his face down to her lips to press them into the warm skin of his forehead. 

“Goodnight, Nico,” she hums, her eyes sparkling and her lips spread into a fond smile.

“Sweet dreams, Mohn,” he replies, feeling the press of the dimples in his cheeks and the rush of blood to his head.

When he retreats to his spare bedroom, and collapses onto the firmer-than-he-would-like mattress, he can’t stop the surprising curve of his lips, a soft smile etching itself into his features that feels like it could be a permanent fixture.

He should be terrified. His heart should be beating out of his chest, he should have broken out in a cold sweat and not been able to form words. He should be panicked out of his mind and sick to his stomach.

But there’s a girl he loves more than anything laying in his bed in the room beside his, she’s wearing his clothes, her head is on his pillow, she is wrapped up in his sheets, and she is carrying his baby.

And despite never picturing much of this part of it before, he can see a glimpse of his future ahead of him. 

A future where Poppy’s belly grows round and presses into his whenever she’s close enough that he can pull her into him. A future where tiny sticky hands press into one side of the plexiglass while he’s out warming up on the ice, and his  large, gloved hand presses to the other. A future where he comes home to find her battling sleep with a snoring baby held to her chest, highlights playing with lowered volume on the TV, and they’d snuggle up together until they both pass out, and he gets up to do the middle of the night feed-and-change so that Poppy gets her rest.

And all those worries he had before about never being enough for her fade to nothing, because now he has no choice. 

If Poppy can grow a little human with a tiny beating heart, who is half of him, and half of her, then he can step up for her. 

Whatever she needs him to be, whatever she wants him to be, he’ll be it - and he’ll be it with this same lovesick smile that he now can’t shift. 

So with a content sigh, and a deep longing for the girl laying not even 20 feet away from him, he falls asleep for the first time in 4 weeks at peace with his actions.

—

Over the last four weeks, Nico has spent way too much time retracing his steps to the point where he had so royally screwed things up with Poppy that she had wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. So when he wakes up the next morning before the sun shows any signs of rising - when he quickly gets himself ready to head off to practice, sneaking through his room to go brush his teeth, planting a minty kiss to the sleeping girl’s forehead and making sure she has something to drink for when she wakes up - he places a note beside the glass of water on his nightstand, in preparation for when she wakes up.

This time, he won’t leave her to wake up without him without some sort of explanation. Without an assurance that he’ll be back as promised, and that he can’t wait to see her, and that she should text him when she wakes up and let him know what isn’t going to turn her stomach and he’ll get it for her.

Which is why, when he checks his phone after his training session at the arena gym finishes at 9:30, his heart drops to the pit of his stomach when nothing is there.

It’s still early, he tells himself after a quick shower. She might still be asleep, he thinks as he packs up his toiletries, sets his things aside to be washed and tries to act like his thoughts aren’t eating him alive. She might not have seen the note, he convinces himself as he does a quick round of the grocery store - grabbing her some essentials and replenishing some of the basics he knows he is low on anyway. She wouldn’t have left, he thinks as he watches the numbers go up in the elevator, his feet tapping against the floor nervously as he awaits his stop. 

And when he makes it into his apartment, and she isn’t on his couch, isn’t in the kitchen, isn’t in the bed where he had left her that morning, he starts to panic - until he hears something through the closed door of his bathroom. 

“Poppy?” He asks softly before pushing the door open to see her sat on her knees on the floor beside his toilet, sticky hair matted to her paled skin, and bleary eyes looking weakly up at him. He sinks down beside her, perches himself on his knees and pushes the strands of hair off her forehead and out of her face. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“My phone died,” her voice is strained, and he doesn’t need to look into the toilet bowl to know why. “I tried to find a charger but I couldn’t get up without feeling sick.”

He hadn’t even thought to get her one when he had left her in here last night. “I’ll get you one,” but when he goes to push himself off the ground, she wraps her shaking fingers around his wrist.

“Could you just sit with me for a little?” She asks, “I know I’m gross but I just need you to hold my hair if it happens again, I didn’t bring a hair tie.”

“Of course,” he lowers himself back to the ground beside her, “C’mere,” he swings an arm over her shoulders, pulling her body into his until her head falls weakly into the crook of his neck. He strokes at her hair gently, tucking it behind her ears where she can and trying to soothe her into some sort of comfort. “Have you been here all morning?”

She nods, and he lowers his other arm to tuck his hand under her legs, unbending them as best as he can and stretching them out over his own so that she won’t loose the feeling in them. 

They stay like that for a while, her taking deep breaths to alleviate the nausea and him stroking tranquilly at whatever parts of her he can reach. The soft skin of her thighs and the outsides of her knees with one hand, the slope of her neck and the curve of her shoulder with the other. One of her arms stays bent between them, but the other stretches out in an attempt to touch him back, languidly resting on his torso and occasionally her fingers dance lightly across the fabric of his t-shirt with just enough pressure to make his stomach clench in anticipation.

“You should take a shower,” he suggests after peeking down at her to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep. “You might feel better.”

“Am I that bad?”

“Doesn’t feel right to chirp a pregnant woman, Poppy.”

The laugh she gives him in return feels like a cherished gift, and his chest swells with pride when she looks up at him and her eyes glimmer under the overhead lights. 

“I got you some things from the store.”

He had spent almost 5 minutes trying to find coconut scented shampoo and conditioner, unscrewing several bottles and trying not to get caught, but he won’t be telling her that.

“And here I was counting my lucky stars you have such an extensive hair wash routine all morning.” She jibes, pointing over to the toiletries inside Nico’s shower. “If you were a 5-in-1 guy I would have seriously reconsidered our friendship.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about that, wait here.”

He goes to retrieve one of the bags he had discarded when he got in, and takes it back to Poppy in his bathroom before emptying it out onto the counter beside the sink.

Shampoo, conditioner, a hairbrush, a new toothbrush, deodorant, some face wipes, an unscented body wash, and a packet of anti-nausea medication he had specifically asked the pharmacist for with the assurance it was okay for pregnant women. 

“Oh wow, I must be that bad.”

“Not at all, I just wanted you to feel more comfortable.” He reassures her, and opens a drawer below the sink to get her a washcloth and a fresh bar of soap. “There’s clean towels in the cupboard behind you. And if you want to raise the pressure of the shower, it’s the dial at the top, temperature at the bottom.”

“Got it. Thank you, Nico,” she smiles, and Nico smiles back at the sincerity in her eyes.

“I’m gonna put together something to eat while you’re in there. You don’t have to eat if you don’t feel like it, but is there anything you think you can stomach?”

“Something cold,” she requests, swiping at the packet of medication and curiously reading the label, “That doesn’t have any kind of smell.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he chuckles, “I’ll put some fresh clothes on my bed, just call out if you need me, yeah?”

Poppy nods, and gives him a little salute with a pill packet between her fingers. 

Something cold that doesn’t have any smell.

He had got her fruit from the store - strawberries and pre-cut watermelon, Pink Lady apples because he knows they’re the only kind she will eat - as well as yoghurt, some cereal, some bagels and some eggs and bacon. The eggs and bacon are out of the question, as much as he’d want to make himself a decent breakfast bagel after his training session, but the rest of it seems pretty safe.

He cuts up the fruit anyway, even if she won’t eat it now, he can always send it home with her later. He puts the yoghurt in the fridge so it will stay as cold as possible - he had gotten her coconut flavour, remembering how she had once said it was her favourite, but only the greek type that has the taste of coconut but not the texture. He leaves the bagels to the side, thinking that toasting them and potentially burning them is a little too risky without asking her first, and lays the boxes of cereal in a row on his counter so that she has her choice of the bunch if she wants some.

The pharmacist had recommended ginger shots to help with the sickness, but Nico has tried one too many of those on their own before, and they would make even the healthiest person gag, so he had bought some pre-made smoothies to mix them into. He decides he’ll leave her to pick, and blend it over some ice when she isn’t looking.

And as he flits around his kitchen without giving any of these things a second thought, he feels for the first time in a long time like he has thing figured out.

He can so do this. He can look after her like it’s just second nature to him. He can pick up whatever she needs from the store without panicking down every aisle and googling what is or isn’t okay for her. He can sit and hold her hair while she pukes her guts up and not get freaked out by it even in the slightest. He can go to practice, go to training, go to games, and come home and care for her like how she deserves.

He can do it with his hands tied behind his back, he feels.

He’s full of bravado, and hope, and excitement, and it’s a tornado of feelings that plough straight through whatever he had been feeling before - doubt and anxiety and insecurity.

The only thing that remains is regret.

Regret for what he had done to her, what he had said, the way he had ended things. All of it seems so stupid now. It seems so impulsive and he feels like he had been so blind. 

Blinded by uncertainty, blinded by self-doubt, blinded by the poison spewed by Talia that he wasn’t good enough for anyone.

He should have listened to that tiny voice within him that had told him he could have been good enough for Poppy. Then he would never have hurt her. Would never have spent 4 weeks longing for her and hoping things could be different. 

“You’re gonna have to get me a key cut,” her voice rings down the hall before she appears on the other side of his kitchen island, donning sweatpants that she has had to fold at the waist and a sweatshirt where the arms hang beyond the tips of her fingers. Her hair is damp, her feet are bare, and she looks like she belongs. “I don’t ever want to use another shower in my life.”

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles as he leans down onto the countertop, watching her as her feet pad closer, “I sometimes just stand in there for a good five minutes when I’m done, the pressures nice when I’m all achey after a game.”

“I bet, if I didn’t feel hungry for the first time in 2 weeks, I would have stayed in there for like an hour.”

“You feel better?”

“So much better.” She smiles up at him, leaning over the counter and cupping his face with both hands. “You, Nico Hischier, are a gift from God for those pills.” 

She pulls him further over the island and plants a big, wet, somewhat minty kiss on his head, and he finds himself closing his eyes and breathing her in while she’s so close.

Where he expects to smell the coconut shampoo he had searched high and low for, he breathes in something different. Something familiar for an entirely different reason.

She smells fresh, like citrus-bergamot, and a little woody like cedar and musk.

She smells like him.

“The girl at the pharmacy said they should help short term until you can get in to see a doctor.” He tells her as he shakes himself out of whatever spell she had just cast on him.

“Thank you, Nico, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, straightening up and moving some of the fruit he had prepared to the counter between them. “I technically caused all of your problems.”

Her lips twist, and he watches as she lifts herself onto one of the stools, swivelling until she’s facing him properly and reaching out to take some of the watermelon. He makes his way over to the refrigerator while she chews on a piece.

“Did you get any-,” and before she can finish her sentence, he brings out the pot of coconut yoghurt and puts it down in front of her. “You’re good.”

“I know, it’s weird.” He leans back down and watches in amusement as she dips her watermelon into the yoghurt. “I was stressing a little on the way to the store about what I could get you, and then as soon as I got there it was like my legs just knew where to go.”

“Maybe you’re gonna be one of those sympathy-pregnancy kind of dads,” she smirks, and his knees start to feel a little like jelly at her use of the word, “Like your boobs will start to hurt and you’ll get all hormonal and cry at everything.”

“I don’t have boobs, Poppy.” He chuckles, reaching out to try watermelon dipped in yoghurt for himself. 

“You know what I mean.”

Poppy works her way through quite a bit of the fruit before she hangs in the towel, and he decides not to subject her to the ginger shot quite yet - her nausea having subsided enough already that it’s probably an unwarranted form of torture at this point.

She helps him put everything away, and the two of them work around each other in the kitchen like a well oiled machine. It feels completely normal to have her in his space. He doesn’t feel the need to busy himself with mundane tasks to occupy his hands or his mind, and she makes everything seem so easy - cracking jokes and making conversation like nothing else is happening in their world.

He could have had it this good this whole time, he thinks.

He could have it this good forever.

The reality of it dawns on him when they eventually make their way over to the couch, the pregnancy tests still discarded where they had left them the night before, two sticking out from the couch cushions and two remaining on his coffee table. He plucks one out from between the seams of his couch, still not caring much for where it has been before, and stares down at the two lines with the kind of smile that makes his cheeks hurt.

“Have you ever thought about it before?” Poppy asks, and as he watches her lean into the back of the couch, he gets the sense she’s starting to build her guard up in anticipation of a blow. “Having kids, I mean?”

“No,” he replies, honestly. “Not properly. Not beyond thinking, like, it might be nice.”

“Do you still think that?” She chews at the corner of her lip, “Is it something that you want?”

“It is now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.” He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I think it’s that I could never picture it happening, before. I’ve never really had anyone I could see myself doing it with.”

“Not even Talia?”

He cringes inwardly at even the mention of her name. “God, no.”

“Really?” She seems as if she doesn’t believe him entirely.

“She’s not-,” he starts, “We weren’t-,” he tries again, and his mind races with a hundred ways to say what he wants to say without Poppy thinking he’s an asshole. “I don’t know.”

“Nico, I really need you to be straight with me here.” She sighs, sitting up straight and shuffling a little closer to him.

“I’m always straight with you.”

“No offence, but I don’t think you are,” she says, and before he can even give a rebuttal, she adds, “It’s not that I think you keep things from me maliciously, but you don’t always give me the full picture, and I,” she takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to prepare herself, “I jump to conclusions super easily, and I end up hurting myself when you don’t say whatever it is that you mean. And I think we can avoid all that if we’re just honest with each other. I don’t want us to get into dumb fights and it get in the way of us being friends again.”

He feels his heart come to a thunderous stop. Friends.

“If we’re gonna do this co-parent thing, we need to be honest about what we think and how we feel.”

Co-parents?

“Okay,” he responds, and it comes out like he’s on auto-pilot.

Okay? 

“I know she’s back in the picture, you don’t have to keep pretending.”

“Back in the-“ He shakes his head, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. “What?”

“I heard you talking to her, before you left my apartment after we-,” Poppy gestures to her belly, where both nothing and everything has changed all at once, and Nico’s eyes get stuck there as she carries on. “Y’know, and then you broke things off, it hardly takes a genius to add it up.”

“Poppy, no.” He doesn’t remember ever being so direct with her. “No, no, no, that wasn’t-“ She had heard him? “I’m not-,” he takes a deep breath to alleviate the swirl of panic. He needs to be straight with her. “She got herself into some stupid mess, and she thought it was my fault but it wasn’t. I had to help her out, but she’s gone, she isn’t back in the picture, Poppy, I promise. I don’t even know if she was ever in the picture, I-.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

His eyes dart up to meet hers, and where he holds his breath in the anticipation of seeing how much she has been hurting, has been assuming the worst of him and thinking the littlest of herself, he sees everything he loves about her shining back at him. Patience, generosity, forgiveness. 

“After I left you without a word, and came back and ended things before they even began, would it have mattered?”

“Nico, this whole time I thought you shut things down because you wanted to be with her but you just-,” she shakes her head like she can’t bring herself to say the rest, and his throat starts to feel drier by the second.

How could he have ever been so stupid? He had thought he’d been miserable the past 4 weeks, second guessing his choices and wanting nothing more than to just talk to her, and she’s spent that whole time thinking he had discarded her like a used toy and gone back to someone else. Someone who could never compare to her in any universe.

“I really fucked this up, huh?”

“Yeah,” she nods, her lips twitching as the silence settles between them for a second.

He watches as she thinks for a second. Watches her brows furrow and relax, her eyes dart around to different spots between the, her bottom lip get tugged between her teeth, and released into a pensive pout, all before she says, “You can make it up to me,” and she gives a gentle and reassuring smile, reaches out for his hand and presses the soft pads of her fingers to his knuckles before pushing them through the spaces in between. 

Although it pains him to say it, he tells her, “You have to stop letting me off so easy, Poppy.”

“Trust me,” she says, “I won’t be letting you off easy. Us Jensen women are super scary when we’re hormonal. Super demanding and bratty.”

“I’ll take it.” He promises. “And I’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need.”

“Right now I just need to know that you’re in this with me,” she requests, so vulnerable in her tone that is makes his chest ache.

He reaches up with his free hand and cups his palm around her soft cheek. “I’m in this,” he whispers, leaning into her and pressing his forehead to hers. “I can't begin to tell you how much I want it, Mohn.”

“Okay.” She whispers back, and when her eyes flutter closed at the proximity, and she surrenders to his touch, Nico gives in to his instincts.

Entirely caught up in the intimacy of the moment, he leans in, and when his mouth presses to hers, he feels the culmination of 4 weeks of longing, of missing her, of regretting everything, of anticipating seeing her, of worrying, of needing of wanting, explode into something vibrant and loud and inevitable.

It’s like a fireworks show, sparks of anxiety, of excitement, of hope and doubt and insecurity clashing together in pops and bangs and fizzes, raining down on him in a mixture of colour and sound. 

“Mmph-,” she squeaks out a protest as his lips meet hers, and despite his primal instinct to persevere, to give her a second to adjust to the kiss and to eagerly accept his advances, to bask in the beauty of it all like he is, he pulls straight away with a furrowed brow, eyes meeting hers in concern as he creates an inch of space between them. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think we should do that,” her eyes dart down, lashes fluttering as she avoids his gaze chasing hers back.

“Do what, kiss?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?” He doesn’t even feel ashamed at the way he practically whines when asking.

“Would you want to kiss me if I wasn’t pregnant?”

How could she possibly even doubt that? He thinks.

“I always want to kiss you, Poppy.” Again, it’s pointless to second guess those feelings. He’d told her something similar after the first time he had done it, and he had meant it as much back then as he does, now.

“Would you want to be with me?”

That isn’t a matter of want, but this time, he hesitates.

He’ll always want to be with her. 

He’s wanted nothing else the last four weeks they haven’t been talking. For the last few years he has known her. He wants to be with her when he’s alone in his apartment, when he’s away with the team, when he’s back home with his family, he has always wanted that.

And especially now that she’s carrying his baby, as minuscule as it currently may be, it’s going to grow in her belly with eyes that sparkle when it smiles and a brain that thinks exclusively in razor-sharp wit and biting sarcasm. 

“Poppy, I,” he sighs, knowing he can’t undo the damage he had caused that night in her apartment all those weeks ago. Even after clearing up her misconceptions on what was behind it, it doesn’t change what he said. That was never about not wanting her. It was about not wanting to hurt her. But every time he tries to explain it - to her, to Luke, to himself, even - he just sounds like an idiot. “I don’t know.”

He does now. Of course he knows, but something within him tells him that she won’t believe him this time when he tells her. There’s only so many excuses he can give for what he did.

“We can’t just be together because I’m going to have your baby, Nico, that’s not-,” she takes a shuddered breath. “I don’t want you to want to be with me because it’s convenient.”

“That isn’t what this is.”

“I don’t think you even know what you want,” she says, her tone light and comforting despite the harsh reality check being served, “And that’s okay, but I’m not gonna be a guinea pig for you to figure it out. That isn’t fair to me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that sometimes you make decisions in the heat of the moment when you might not mean or want them.”

Nico lets her words dawn on them for a second.

If only she knew how much that were true.

“I don’t say that to be an asshole, either, I just,” her tongue darts out to wet her lips, the ones he had pressed his own to barely a minute ago and hadn’t savoured enough while he was there. “Rushing into things is what got us into this, and I don’t want to,” her eyes meet his again and he holds his breath in anticipation. “I don’t wanna get hurt again. Especially not now.”

He wants to say he would never hurt her, but he can’t make promises like that when those are the thoughts that caused such a mess in the first place. 

He had hurt her before whether he intended to, or not, and what’s to say he isn’t going to fuck this up again along the way.

“I want this, too. I want it so much it drives me a little crazy, but it feels right. And I think there’s a way that we can do this where it might hurt a little now but it stops us hurting later down the line, where it has the potential to do some serious damage. Does that make sense?”

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe they can do this another way. A way where neither of them are left disappointed.

He gets his friend back, and she gets hers.

And they both get a baby.

A baby that has two parents who love each other more than anything in the world still. Who share so much of their lives together, but might never take that final leap into something more.

He nods, wordlessly. 

“I’m not saying that we can’t go back to how we were before, but we both let things get too intense, and I know I’m probably at fault for that, but I think we’ll be better off if we just take things slow.”

“Slow.” He repeats, like he’s trying to get a taste for the word. He doesn’t entirely like it, but he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would.

“Yeah, like being a little more cautious of how far we take things. We start as friends and see how we get on with that.”

“Like baby steps,” he mutters.

Poppy smiles. It’s the slow kind, that builds from something soft to something beaming, something beautiful, and turns into joyous laughter like music to his ears. It’s vibrant and wonderful, and it makes his heart ache all the more. “Yeah,” she lets out a breathy chuckle, “Exactly like baby steps.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[bteezxyewriter12]

Mine

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Word count- 6.9k

Includes- Pussy eating, fingering, blow job, deepthroating, cum eating, sort of threesome- Namjoon and Hobi come to play too, cock riding, sort of gangbang or orgy?, voyeurism, missionary, fluff during sex, angst, multiple orgasms, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Gif Credit- jung-koook

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝Yoongi Masterlist

J POV

I moan from the pleasure I’m feeling

Yoongi’s tongue is working me good and getting me so close

His tongue is sliding on my clit so fast and so fucking good

He takes my hand, putting it in his hair

“Pull”, he demands

I do as he asks and pull on his hair

He groans in my pussy, the sound vibrating through my body

The keyboard and knobs of his sound mixer are pressing into my back

As soon as I walked into his studio he took my clothes off, putting me on his desk

He kissed me hard, while I got him naked in a second

Then he pushed me down, opened my legs, his tongue on me and he’s been there ever since

He’s so fucking amazing with his fucking tongue

He knows where to lick, suck and bite to make me orgasm hard, how to tease me, which I hate

He’s been teasing me our whole lives, albeit in other ways

I met Yoongi when I moved to Daegu from the U.S. when I was four

We met at school and just clicked

Best friends instantly

I was devastated when he left for Seoul but I supported his dream one hundred percent

I thought he’d forget about me but he never did

He called me almost every day, texted and hung out when he could

He also didn’t forget me when BTS became huge

And when he bought his apartment he asked me to move into it

I said no, it was his, he should live there

He said he was going to be living in the dorm for awhile and he wanted me to move to Seoul to be closer to him

It took a lot of convincing but I eventually gave in

When one of BTS’ hair stylist left, Yoongi asked me to take the job

So I did and now I get to see him all the time

“C'mon baby. I want your cum. I haven’t had you in a week and I need it”, he whines

I decide to tease him to make him give me more

“It’s not my fault you can’t make me cum”

His eyes snap to mine and narrow, “Fucking take that back”

“No”

“Joanne. Take it back. You know I can make you cum so easily.”

“Then why is it taking so long?”

“You’re going to fucking regret saying that when you can’t fucking walk tomorrow”

Hell yes

Exactly what I want

He’s done it before and the sex was so fucking wild

I loved it

“You think you can do that again?”, I say provoking him

“You know I can fucking do it again”, he growls

“Then do it”, I challenge him

“I fucking will”

Thank god

His mouth closes on my clit and he sucks fast

“Holy shit”, I yell, pleasure crashing all over me

I never thought I’d ever have sex with Yoongi

He’s my best friend

But our relationship became sexual six months ago

He came to his apartment to hang out

We we’re both really horny and before we knew it, clothes were ripped off and we had sex

Fucking mind blowing sex

All night

After that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other

So we decided to become best friends with benefits

And sex with Yoongi is fucking incredible every fucking time

But I just had to be stupid and fall in love with him

Yoongi licks me again, making me snap

“Oh fuck! Yoongi!”, I scream, coming in his mouth

“Yes, fuck yes”, he moans, still running his tongue all over

His licking is building up another orgasm

Fuck he can get me to cum so quickly again

He slides his tongue inside and I shout, coming instantly

“So fucking good”, he mutters

He sucks on my clit again when I hear his door open just as another orgasm takes over

I pull his hair, holding his mouth on me while coming

“Fucking best thing I ever tasted”, he moans still licking

“What the fuck?”

Shit

Yoongi’s head shoots up, looking behind him at Hobi and Namjoon

Who are staring at us

I snap my legs closed and put my hands on my breasts

I blush, feeling my skin turn red

“What the fuck what? What are you doing?”, Yoongi snaps

“We…we came to talk to you about the rap line song”, Hobi stutters

“We didn’t uh know you be….uh”, Namjoon says averting his eyes

“Eating”, Hobi blurts, then widens his eyes and turns red

“So you just stand there?”, Yoongi snaps again

“I uh we…just…uh..”

“You just what? Want some?”

What?

From Yoongi’s voice I can tell he’s smirking

“What no!”, Namjoon says just as Hobi says, “Yes”

What the fuck is going on?

Namjoon looks at Hobi surprised

“What? Yes?”

“Yeah”, Hobi answers, “Don’t look surprised, you know you want her too”

Seriously?

“So what do you want? To eat her out or sex?”, Yoongi asks

Is he fucking serious?

“Both”, Hobi answers

“Yeah both”, Namjoon repeats

Oh god

I watch Yoongi shrug

“It’s up to her”, he says

The way he so casually says it, the ways he’s ok with me fucking his friends hurts

I mean I knew there was no chance with him but to hear him like this, like it doesn’t matter….it kills me

“Do you want them Jo? You wanna be with Namjoon and Hobi too?”, Yoongi asks

The way he’s acting, like I’m just some kind of sex toy, pisses me off

If he doesn’t care, then I don’t either

“Yes”, I answer

Yoongi’s eyes widen for a millisecond before the “I don’t care” attitude is back

I’m not even sure I saw it

He has no idea how much he just hurt me

But whatever

I put my best smirk on for Hobi and Namjoon

“Take off your clothes”, I say

Namjoon and Hobi look at each other unsure

Fine, I’ll do it I just have to let go all of my feelings and just have fun

I get off of Yoongi’s desk, walking over to them

Namjoon’s eyes widen when I get to him, scanning my body

I have to stand on my tip toes to wrap my arms around his neck

Then I pull him closer and kiss him

His arms automatically go around me, pulling me against him

He’s already hard

I move my hands down, getting to his jeans and unbuckling his belt

Next the button and zipper, then I pull his pants and boxers down

He’s breathing heavily, making me smirk that I can get him so worked up easily

My hands go back up his body taking his shirt off

Jesus he’s fucking beautiful

“Damn Joonie”, I mutter, making him blush

Pulling him down for another kiss he kisses me back

I let go of him and turn to Hobi, who moved away

His mouth is hanging open, eyes wide in disbelief

“Come here Hobi”, I call

He immediately walks over to me

Hobi is shorter than Namjoon so I don’t have to reach up so high to kiss him

I also don’t have to do that because he immediately bends down, his lips on mine in a second

I get Hobi’s clothes off in a few seconds because he’s helping me

It’s like he can’t wait to get out of his clothes

I like the feeling it gives me

He wants me that much

It’s nice

I take a look at him and my eyes pop out of my head

“Holy shit Hobi!”, I gape

He’s so fucking hot

But even though they’re both gorgeous, they don’t compare to Yoongi

Not for me which shows how stupid I am

Hobi shows his excitement much more than Namjoon

Hobi hasn’t stopped kissing me or running his hands on my body

His hands are soft and warm

They feel nice

When Hobi starts kissing my neck I look over at Namjoon

He’s just watching

“Come here Joonie”, I call holding my hand to him

He comes over, taking my hand, going behind me

When I put his hands on my body, he starts touching me everywhere, moaning softly

Leaning my head against his shoulder, he bends down, his lips on mine

He slides his tongue in and I just enjoy the feeling of kissing him

He’s a good kisser

Not as good as Yoongi but then no one compares to Yoongi

Not for me

Again, I’m a fucking idiot

Hobi moves down, putting his mouth on my nipple and sucking

“Mmmm”, I moan in Namjoon’s mouth

Hobi’s other hand plays with my other nipple, while one of Namjoon’s hands slides all the way down my body

He touches me, making me moan again

He starts playing with my clit and it feels so fucking good

Hobi switches to my other nipple licking, sucking and biting as Namjoon slides his fingers inside

“Fuck”, I moan when he starts moving them in and out

“So wet”, he moans in my ear

His fingers brush against the spot inside that drives me crazy

“Shit”, I yell my legs buckling

Namjoon and Hobi instantly put their arms around me holding me up

“There Jo? You want me to touch there?”, Namjoon teases

“Yes, Joonie. Yes”

“Ok, whatever you want”

His fingers move harder, making me so wet, getting me so close

“C'mon Jo, cum on my fingers”, Namjoon moans

Hobi sucks on my nipple just as Namjoon’s fingers hit my spot

“Fuck fuck”, I yell, tightening on Namjoon’s fingers, coming all over them

My legs give out but they’re still holding me up

Hobi drops down to his knees

His tongue licks me, just as Namjoon pulls out his fingers

“Fuck Hobi, God”, I shout, his tongue feeling so good

But I wish it was Yoongi’s tongue

Stop it

Yoongi doesn’t care

Stop

Namjoon puts his fingers in his mouth and sucks me off him

“Fucking good, holy shit”, he whispers in my ear

God damn

That’s the second person who told me I taste good

I guess I do?

Hobi moves my legs open more, making me lean more against Namjoon

Hobi sucks on my clit, making me yell in pleasure

“Oh god, oh god”, I yell

Namjoon turns my head, kissing me again, his hands playing with my breasts

My hand goes in Hobi’s hair, pulling

“Fuck yes”, he groans

He just has to keep doing what he’s doing and I’m gonna cum soon

Really soon

“Don’t stop Hobi. Fuck don’t.”

He sucks faster while his tongue glides over my clit

Pleasure washes over me as I orgasm

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, I shout, feeling so good

Hobi moans in between my legs, turning me on again

Hobi stands up, “You taste fucking amazing”, he tells me

Jesus

I want to make them feel good too, so I start to go on my knees

“Jagi”, I hear Yoongi call me

I look at him

He looks….annoyed?

Why?

He doesn’t care, so what’s with the face?

“I made you cum first remember?”, he asks

He did

I guess he feels like he should get it first

“What do you want Yoongi?”, I ask smirking at him

“You know what I want baby girl”, he answers

I bite my lip and tilt my head a little

It’s drives him crazy when I do that

“You gonna be a good girl and do what I want?”, he demands

I know what he wants when he calls me those names

I guess he wants to show Namjoon and Hobi his dominance?

I don’t know but I’ll always do what he wants, give him what he wants

I love him and I’m such a sucker

“Yes daddy”, I answer

“Fuck me”, Namjoon gasps

I straighten up, walking to him

Yoongi is the shortest of the three and he’s the perfect height for me

Because of course he is

I kiss him, putting my arms around his neck

When he puts his arms around me, pulling me against him, I get so happy

Stupid heart

“I want you baby”

“What do you want? Tell me and your baby will do whatever you want”

“Goddamn”, Hobi exclaims

“You know jagi. Stop playing”

I nod, “Daddy wants his baby girl’s mouth on his cock”

“Mother of god”, Namjoon whispers

“Yeah jagi”, Yoongi answers

I nod, then kiss him again

I kiss his neck, then his shoulder, trailing kissing down his body, his skin shivering under my lips

I love that I’m making him feel like that

The lower I kiss, the lower I go until I’m on my knees

Kissing down his cock, I pull him in my mouth when I get to his head

“Fuck”, he moans

I start bobbing my head on him, just feeling him in my mouth

I can’t believe I actually love it

It’s insane

I just love him, all of him

I’m such a loser

I slide down more on his cock, until he’s all in my mouth

I wasn’t able to do this when I first started having sex with him

But we’re together all the time and I love giving him blow jobs

So now I can put all of his huge cock in my mouth and throat without it bothering me

He loves it and I do it for him

Like I said, I’m stupid, so whipped for him

“Good baby. You’re such a good girl”, he moans

Moving back and forth, I suck and lick him all over

I pull back until just his head is in my mouth, then I start licking his sensitive underside where he loves it

Just like I have a spot, this is his

He can cum so quickly if I keep licking him there

“Oh Jesus, fuck”, Yoongi whimpers, “Jagi….ccc…can I…”

I nod

He puts his hand in my hair and pulls me on his cock, until he’s all in again

He starts moving his hips, fucking my mouth

He feels good going in and out of my throat

I don’t know when this became pleasurable for me but it is

It’s so hot, turning me on so much

His pleasure turns me on

I can cum from this and honestly I’m almost there

“Baby girl…I….are you?”, he pants

Nodding, he slides all in again, coming hard, making me shake and cum too, screaming on his cock

His cum fills my throat and mouth, tasting so fucking good

I swallow over and over, while he still moves, yelling

“Fuck jagi, oh my god, yes”

When he’s done, he slides out and I swallow again, making sure I got everything

Yoongi takes my hands, pulling me up

He kisses my cheeks, over and over, “My good girl”, he murmurs

I lay my head on his shoulder, feeling tired, his arms around me, running his fingers in my hair

“Did she just cum from blowing you?”, Hobi yelps

Yoongi turns to him, smirking, “Yeah”

“What? How? What?”, Namjoon questions

Yoongi shrugs, “I don’t know. It just happened once and since then it happens almost every single time”

“She’s fucking amazing”, Hobi says looking at me with lust in his eyes, “Can I have her?”

I stare at Yoongi, willing him to say something, say that he wants me now and they can leave

Yoongi stiffens but all he says is, “Ask her”

I’m disappointed again

I wish he’d say no

“Can I have you Jo?”

Looking at Yoongi, I see a look of indifference on his face

It’s like a knife to my heart

I look back at Hobi

“Yes”

Fuck Yoongi

If I’m just a sex toy to him, then I don’t need to worry about him

Leaving Yoongi’s side I go to Hobi, immediately kissing him

He kisses me back, his tongue going in my mouth right away

Pulling away, I take his hand and lead him to the couch Yoongi has in the studio

Pushing him down, he sits while I climb on him

“You want it Hobi?”, I ask, smiling at him

“I want you”, he answers

Slowly I sink down his cock, making him moan

Fuck he feels good

He’s big, but not as thick as Yoongi

No one feels as good as Yoongi

Sliding up and down his cock, he yells in pleasure, arms around me, his face in my neck

Moving faster, pleasure runs through me. I put my arms around his neck, my hand sliding in the back of his hair

“Fuck you feel so good. So fucking tight”, he moans

Hobi’s hands slide to my hips and he starts slamming me up and down his cock

“Fuck”, I yell, the pleasure increasing, “Hobi fuck”

He goes harder, his cock slamming into my spot

“Oh god! Shit. There Hobi. Fuck there”

“Ok Jo. Whatever you want”, he moans

“I want more!”, I yell

He moves from my neck, biting his lip as he moves me faster, over and over and over again

I’m right there, just one more

I get slammed down again, losing it

“Hoseok!”, I scream, exploding all over him, my legs shaking

“Oh my fucking god! Oh fuck”, he shouts, keeping me on him as he cums, “Holy shit, yes!”

When we both finish, I collapse on him, so fucking tired and sleepy

Hobi holds me in his arms, kissing my face

“Jo, can I have you too? Please?”, Namjoon begs

I’m tired but I can’t say no

I gave it to Hobi, it won’t be fair to Namjoon

And I do want him

“Yes Joonie”

I feel myself being lifted off Hobi and onto Namjoon’s cock

He goes in so easily, feeling good

He’s big too, thicker than Hobi

“Fucking hell, she’s so tight. How is she this tight?”, he moans

“I don’t know but she feels so good”, Hobi agrees

He puts my arms around his neck

“Hold on Jo. I’m gonna fuck you good”

I smile at him, then lean in and kiss him

He kisses me back, while he leans back, keeping me sitting up

He puts his hands on my hips, then thrusts up into me

“Fuck!”, I yell getting so much more wet

“Fuck she just soaked my cock”, Namjoon moans

Namjoon keeps thrusting up and soon I’m bouncing on his cock because of it

My breasts jiggle hard from how hard he’s fucking me

“God yes, yes, Namjoon!”, I yell

I suddenly see Yoongi sit down next to Namjoon, watching me

Looking upset

But the pleasure Namjoon is giving me is taking over and I don’t care

All I want is to cum

And sleep after

“Joonie..”, I whine

“Yeah Jo?”

“I wanna cum Joonie. Make me”

“I will Jo. Don’t worry, I will”

He thrusts up, so hard, pleasure exploding over me

“Joonie, fuck, Namjoon!”, I shout, climaxing again

I lost count of how many times I came

But it still feels so good

“Jesus Jo. Fuck”, he moans, orgasming too

I climb off him and lay down, which happens to be on Hobi’s lap. His hand goes in my hair, running his fingers through it

I love it

Playing with my hair can put me to sleep in under a minute

I close my eyes, breathing hard

I feel Namjoon and Hobi’s cum leaking out of my cunt

Like a slut

I’m too tired to move right now

Then I feel a tissue on me cleaning up everything

It’s a little embarrassing having someone do that

I don’t want to open my eyes to see whose doing it

Then I’m picked up and put on Yoongi

He’s half sitting, half laying on the couch and my head lands perfectly on his chest

“You tired jagi?”, Yoongi asks, kissing my cheek and moving my hair from my face

I am but I want Yoongi

We weren’t together yet and I want him

So much

I nod, “But I want you Yoongi.”

“Yeah baby? You sure you’re not too tired?”

I shake my head

I’m never too tired for Yoongi

“Ok jagi. I’ll help you sit on daddy’s cock baby girl.”

He lifts me a little, moving himself right there

Then he pushes me down on him

I sigh in pleasure when he’s inside, so happy he’s there

My muscles automatically tighten on him, keeping him in

I love having Yoongi inside my pussy

He’s perfect, filling me so good

Sex has never felt so good as it does with him

It sounds stupid, but he has the perfect cock

“Good girl Jo. Always tight and wet for daddy”

I nod, moving my head and laying it on his shoulder, my face buried in his neck, smelling the scent that is only Yoongi

I feel him thrust up causing pleasure to explode everywhere, making me moan

“Feels good baby?”, he asks

I nod

“Good. You feel so good too”

He keeps thrusting harder and harder the more he moves

His arms are around me, holding me to him while he runs his fingers up and down my back

I shiver from his touch

Yoongi always knows how to make me feel good and I’m close again

“Good girl baby. I feel you getting tighter. Is my baby gonna cum on daddy’s cock?”

I moan and nod

“Good baby. You know how much I love when you cum on me”, he murmurs

He snaps his hips up again, hitting the right place

I moan his name so loudly when I cum on him

Yoongi’s breathing gets faster, “Yes baby. Fuck, it feels so good”

When I finish, Yoongi asks, “Baby, can you bounce on daddy’s cock? Please, for me?”

“Yes”, I agree

I’ll never say no to Yoongi, because I love him

I sit up and look down at Yoongi

He’s looking at me, biting his lip, hands running all over my body

“You’re so fucking beautiful Joanne. So perfect. My perfect girl”

Happiness bursts in my dumb heart

“Holy shit”, I hear one of the guys whisper

I ignore them and so does Yoongi

I lean down, kissing him, loving his soft lips against mine

Then I sit back up and move

“Fuck. Good girl. My baby always gives me what I want”

“Always Yoongi”, I say softly

I lean back, putting my hands on his thighs, bouncing on him

His cock feels so fucking incredible going in and out

He touches all the right spots without even trying

“Fuck Yoongi, you feel so good.”

“Not as good as you jagi”, he answers

I’m so fucking tight on him, it feels amazing when he pushes through

I squeeze harder making him gasp

“Fuck baby, yes”

Slamming down on him, my body shakes and cums again

“Daddy! Fuck daddy!”, I moan, ecstacy exploding all over me

“Good girl, my good girl. Fuck, so tight”, he yells, “Don’t stop baby girl”

He starts thrusting up again, slamming right into my spot

“Fuck!”, I scream

His fingers play with my clit while he keeps pounding my spot

“Yes! Keep coming baby. Scream my name baby. I want to hear you”

“Yoongi I-”

“You can”, he demands, “I need it baby. Please, I need you”

“Fff…ffffuuu…”, I struggle to speak as my body shakes violently against the ecstasy

“Now baby. Give it to me. Now!”, he pleads

He hits my spot right when his fingers flick my clit

Stars burst in my vision as I cum so hard

I feel Yoongi’s arms go around me, keeping me from falling over

“Yes Jo, yes. I love it jagi. So much”

When I finish, Yoongi moves, putting me on my back on the couch

Hobi and Namjoon scramble to get up

Yoongi puts my legs around him and starts moving slowly

Pleasure blinds me for a second and when my vision comes back into focus, I see Yoongi’s beautiful face

He’s smiling at me, then leans down, his lips on mine in a gentle kiss

“Mine”, he whispers, running his fingers in my hair

I nod, my arms going around his neck

“Only mine?”, he asks

Is he…jealous?

“Yes, just yours”, I answer

The smile that bursts on his face takes my breath away

He’s so beautiful

“Mine?”, I whisper back

He nods, “Always”

He moves harder making everything feel so amazing

He’s sweating, his skin wet against mine

I don’t care, I love feeling him on me

He’s everything

I’m getting close again from his slow but deep strokes, his pelvis rubbing against my clit each time

“Yoongi”, I moan

“Wait baby girl. Please. Wait for me”, he asks

He’s never asked that before

He usually cums after I do

But I’m not going to say no

“Ok baby”, I answer

Yoongi kisses my neck, moving faster, my pussy throbbing so hard around his perfect cock

“Jagi”, he whispers after a minute

“Yeah, baby?”, I ask

“Yeah”

I stop holding back and just let go

Fireworks go off in my vision when I orgasm, shaking under him and holding him inside tightly

“Yoongi, oh, my Yoongi”, I moan

Yoongi cums at the exact moment I do

I can feel him while he does, his cock throbbing, his warm cum filling me perfectly

And fuck, it feels so good

“My jagi, my baby girl. My Joanne”, he moans too, kissing my neck and shoulders

We both grip each other so tightly to one another while orgasming together

This is the first time that’s ever happened to me with anyone

I love it

I love that it’s with Yoongi

I want to tell him I love him so much but I won’t

I can’t

I’m not ruining our friendship

I know he was saying sweet things to me but it was during sex and he could of just said it in the moment

I can’t take the chance of asking him and ruining everything

Of getting my heart crushed

So I just lay with him on me, in my arms listening to him breathing

I close my eyes, so tired from all the orgasms I had

I’m half asleep when Yoongi moves

“Huh?”, I groggily say

“Shh Jo. It’s ok. You can sleep. I still have to finish a few songs so you can sleep. I’ll be here with you”

I nod, listening but ready to pass out

I feel a blanket being put on me, then Yoongi’s lips on mine in a quick kiss

I hear him talking, to Hobi and Joonie I guess, before I fall asleep

--------------------------------

Yoongi POV

I put the blanket I always keep here for her on her, then kiss her lips gently

My poor baby is so tired

I grab the pillow I keep here for her too

Gently lifting her head, I put the pillow under her head

She’s in such a deep sleep already, she doesn’t wake up when I move her

I take a second to look at her gorgeous face, running my fingers in her hair a few times

I can’t help but smile watching her

When I stand and turn around, Hobi and Namjoon are staring at me in absolute shock

I roll my eyes

“Put your fucking clothes on”, I snap, walking past them to my own clothes

Once I have my clothes on, I sit in my chair, looking at my computer screen

“We can talk about the song now. She’s really tired so she’s not going to wake up”

“Yoongi”, I hear Namjoon say, “Do you-”

“Yes”, I cut him off

“Does she..”

“No and I’m not going to tell her”, I answer

“Why?”

“Because I can’t handle the rejection she’s going to give me and I’m not going to ruin our friendship”

I don’t want to talk about this

It’s not gonna happen so I just need to forget

“Yoongi, I uh, I think she loves you too”, Hobi says

I snort, “Of course she loves me. I’m her best friend”

“No I mean like the way you love her”

I wish

But she doesn’t

If she did, she wouldn’t have slept with him and Namjoon

“No she doesn’t”

“Yes she does”, Namjoon replies

“No”

“Yoongi she does. You don’t notice it but I do. It’s the way she looks at you. The way you two were together. Like there’s nobody else in the world except you two. Trust me she loves you”

I wish I could but I can’t

I know she doesn’t love me

“Drop it. She doesn’t and that’s it. Talk about the song or leave”, I snap

“Fine but your being blind and stupid”, Namjoon snap

Whatever

They stay for half an hour talking about the song, our parts, the lyrics, the music

“Yoongi”, she murmurs

“Shit we woke her up”, Namjoon says

“Yoongi, no, I don’t want the dinosaur”, she mutters

I can’t help but smile

She’s fucking adorable

“What?”, Hobi asks confused

“She talks in her sleep”, I answer

“She what? Really?”, Namjoon asks

I nod, “Yeah, she’s been doing it since we were kids. Scared the shit out of me the first time it happened”

“That’s…kind of creepy”, Hobi states

I glare at him, “No it’s not. It’s cute. She’s always talking about dumb things like dinosaurs, pokemon, food. It’s cute to listen to. And she doesn’t do it as much as she used to”

“No dinosaur. I want…I want…”, she trails off, then is silent again while she sleeps

I love listening to her talk in her sleep

And sometimes if I answer her back, she’ll answer too

It’s fun to fuck with her because when she wakes up I tease her about the conversations we had

“Well I guess we should go”, Namjoon says, “You coming back to the dorm?”

I shrug, “I wanna finish this, then I’m gonna take her home. I don’t know if I’m going to come back here”

“Ok we’ll see you tomorrow”, Hobi says, then they leave

I glance over at her

She’s snuggled in the blanket, still asleep

I smile, then go back to work

--------------------------------

I stare at the ceiling thinking about what happened tonight

After the guys left I worked for another hour

Then I brought her home

She wouldn’t wake up, so I dressed her and carried her to her car

I drove her home, changed her into her pjs and put her in her bed

I didn’t want to leave

I just wanted her

I always want her

Sometimes I sleep at the apartment with her if we have sex at night

I know she won’t care if I stay, so I did

I kept my shirt and boxers on, then laid down next to her

And that’s where I am now, laying next to her, holding her and staring at the ceiling

I knew I loved her from months ago but I kept pushing it away

I made myself believe I didn’t

That’s why I said ok to Namjoon and Hobi being with her

But actually seeing her with them pissed me off and made me jealous

Hearing her yell their names when she orgasmed enraged me

I realized how stupid I’ve been

I wanted to rip her off them, tell them she’s mine and kick them out

But I couldn’t

She doesn’t love me, not like that

If she did I don’t think she’d have been with them

I wish she did

She’s everything I could ever want in a girl and more

She’s my best friend, she’s known me our whole lives

She’s seen the worst of me and she’s still here

She helped me with my depression and anxiety, she supported me through everything with BTS

She was there when I had no one

There wouldn’t be any awkwardness, no getting to know you, no shyness, no waiting or wondering if I’d say or do the wrong thing

She knows me completely, inside and out

And I know her the same way

I’m one hundred percent sure she’s perfect for me

And I’m perfect for her

If only she loved me too

All these thoughts are running through my mind when she starts moving around

She always wakes me up with how much she moves but I never get mad

“I don’t want to”, she mumbles, talking in her sleep again

I laugh and decide to fuck with her a bit

“Don’t want to what Jo?”

“Don’t want you. I want him”

Jealousy flares through me

Him?

Who him?

“Uh who Jo?”

“Him”

“Him who?”, I ask

She turns in my arms, facing me, still asleep

How she can sleep through all this moving and talking I don’t know

It’s kinda worse tonight than it’s usually been

Just when I think she’s fully back asleep, she speaks again

“Yoongi. I want Yoongi”

Me?

She wants me?

“Not you. Yoongi”

Who the hell is she talking to in her dream?

“Why do you want Yoongi?”, I ask her, feeling dumb saying my own name

She murmurs something I can’t hear

“What Jo?”

“I love Yoongi, not you ”

My heart stops

She….no she can’t

And I can’t trust what she’s saying now anyway

“You love Yoongi?”, I ask again

“Yeah..I..I..”, she trails off, breathing evenly again

I don’t know what to think

Does she love me?

Or is it just a dream?

“Love Yoongi”, she mutters

I look down at her to see if she’s playing around and she’s really awake but she’s not

She’s dead asleep

So I take a chance and ask her, “So why don’t you tell him?”

“No…he doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what Jo?”

Why am I asking these questions?

Even if she says what I want her to say, she probably won’t remember it in the morning

“Doesn’t love me”

“Yes I do Jo, I love you so much”, I blurt

"And the dinosaurs. Want the dinosaurs"

She snuggles closer to me but doesn’t say anything else

How am I supposed to sleep now?

All I’m going to be thinking about is what she said

I sigh, preparing for an all nighter and pulling her closer to me

--------------------------------

I feel fingers running through my hair

It feels good

When I open my eyes, her beautiful face is in my vision

She smiles at me, “Hi Yoongi. I’m sorry I woke you up. You can go back to sleep”

Just looking at her smiling at me, fills me with love

“I love you”, I blurt

Shit

Why?

My stupid mouth has to run before I can get fully awake

Her smile fades and she raises an eyebrow

Might as well tell her

“I love you so much Jo. I want you. I want you to be mine. Just mine”

She sits up

I do too, facing her

“But Yoongi…if you love me…then why didn’t you say no to Hobi and Namjoon when they asked to be with me? You looked like you didn’t care at all. I kept waiting for you to say no the whole time but you didn’t. How can you love me when you let your friends be with me too?”, she asks looking upset

What?

She was waiting for me to say no?

“I….I”, I trail off

Why didn’t I say no?

I mean I know why I didn’t the first time but the second time Hobi asked to have sex with her I knew I loved her but I didn’t say no

I should of said no

“I….I made myself believe I didn’t love you. That’s why I said ok the first time they asked. But after watching you with them, I was so angry and jealous. I finally accepted that I was in love with you. But I didn’t think you felt like that for me and I couldn’t tell you what to do. So I didn’t say anything. I wanted to say no so much and I should have but I didn’t”

“Yes you should have because I love you too Yoongi”, she says

“You do?”, I ask, hoping she’s serious

She nods, “When you didn’t say no and looked like you couldn’t careless, I just went with it. It hurt that you didn’t care and I figured if you did you wouldn’t let it happen. But you didn’t stop anything so I just went with them. If you would of said anything, if you would of told me you didn’t want me to be with them, I wouldn’t have done it. I just wanted you. I always just want you”

I’m such a fucking idiot

I had her the whole time but I didn’t know

And she was telling the truth last night

“I kept looking at you hoping you’d say no or stop everything but you never did. You…you looked like you couldn’t give a fuck”

I should of paid attention

I should of noticed her looking at me

I should of read her face

Fuck, I’m stupid

“I did care Jo. I do. But I thought you didn’t love me because I thought you wouldn’t be with them if you loved me.”, I explain

“I do love you Yoongi. So fucking much. You’re the only person I’ve ever fallen in love with.”, she says, her eyes averting to the wall

“You’re the only person I’ve fallen in love with too. And I’m happy about it. I always thought I’d be terrified of being in love but I’m not. Because it’s with you.”

“So now what? I already slept with your friends. No one wants a slut for a girlfriend”, she sighs

She didn’t just call herself that did she?

No fucking way

She’s the furthest thing from a slut

“Joanne, you’re not-”

“Yes Yoongi. I fucked three guys last night one right after the other. That’s what a slut does.”

I gently move her face so she’s looking at me

“Don’t you ever fucking call yourself that again. Do you hear me? You are not a slut. I never want to hear that word or anything like it when it comes to you. Ok?”, I demand

I never want her to think that about herself

She’s no where near a slut

She’s my everything

She’s still looking at me, “Ok Yoongi”

“Jo, look last night happened ok and we can’t change it. I don’t care about it. All I care about is right now. I want you so much. I promise I’ll treat you like my princess because you are. You’re my everything, you have been for awhile. You said you just want me, well I just want you. Only you. Please be mine”, I ask

She nods, “Yeah Yoongi. As long as you’re mine too, I’ll be yours”

“Yeah Jo. I’m yours. Just yours, I promise”

“Ok Yoongi”, she smiles, taking my breath away

Leaning to her, my lips touch hers, her arms going around my neck

Gently pushing her back, she lays down and I hover over her, just kissing her

I move down to her neck, just feeling her soft skin under my lips

“God, I love you so much”, I murmur against her skin

“I love you so much too Yoongi”, she answers

I know I’ll never get tired of hearing her say that

“Yoongi”, she moans

“Yeah baby?”

“I want you”

“Again jagi? Yesterday wasn’t enough?”, I tease

“Never Yoongi. I can never get enough of you”

Fuck me, she’s the best

I’m so lucky I have her

“Good baby. Because I want you all the time”, I answer

I pull her pj shorts down, getting them off in a second

I feel her hands pulling down my boxers, so I help her get them off

“I need you now Yoongi”, she moans

Fuck, she’s turning me on so much

Opening her legs, I thrust inside, both of us yelling at the same time from the fucking amazing feeling

Leaning over her, I kiss her again and start moving

“Yes Yoongi, fuck”, she yells

I absolutely love how much she loves me inside her

She pulls my shirt and rips it off me

Still moving, I pull her up, taking her shirt off immediately

“You’re so fucking sexy Jo. Fuck I love looking at you”

She blushes

“Baby, you’re beautiful. Don’t think otherwise”, I tell her

“Ok baby”, she says softly

I feel myself getting close

I wanna cum with her like last night

That was the best orgasm I ever had because it was with her

The girl I love

So I hold back, moving harder into her, making her tight little pussy cream my cock good

She’s so beautiful, just looking up at me

Her hands are running all over my back, feeling so good, loving her touching me

“Yoongi!”, she moans, right there

“Baby”, I whisper, thrusting again

“Fuck Yoongi”, she screams, tightening on me so much, her body shaking under me when she cums

As soon as she starts, I let go, coming at the same time

“Joanne, Joanne, Joanne!”, I scream, just feeling the pure pleasure she’s giving me

“Oh my god, oh my god”, she shouts

“Holy shit, fuck, fuck”, I yell

Jesus Christ, it’s fucking amazing

When we both finish, I lay on her, not able to move

My head is on her chest and I hear her heartbeating rapidly

I kiss her right where I hear her heart and her arms tighten around me

She starts running her fingers in my hair, feeling so good

“What are you doing today?”, she asks me, “Were you able to finish the songs last night?”

I shake my head

“Not all of them”

“Oh ok. So you’re gonna do that, then practice right? You wanna come here after?”, she asks

She’s crazy if she thinks she’s not coming with me today

“What do you mean? You’re coming with me today right?”, I ask

“I am?”

“Yea. I don’t wanna be without you. I want you with me. If you want.”

“Yes, I want to. I didn’t know if you wanted me to go today”, she says

“Of course I want you too. You’re my girlfriend. I want you with me all the time”

“Ok Yoongi. I’m good with that”, she answers

“Good baby. I love you”

“I love you too Yoongi”

I smile at her, pulling her into a kiss

I’m so happy, I got the girl of my dreams

[socksandbuttons]

hi!!!

i saw ur bean eclipse au and was wondering if theres a masterlist or some sort of lore list for it? its rlly interesting and i love the concept, +dadcode and bean bloodmoon

Fjdojegd no. I dont have a master list for anything yet.

It is all under the tag #bean eclipse au for easy finding tho

[lonestardust]

.

[jayybugg]

nurse

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost avoids you but it's not what you think.

Warning: Slight Time Skips, Kinda Asshole Ghost?, Smut (18+), Use of Y/N, Language (?).

Word Count: 4.6K

Note: Now, I know in my master list I said that right now I would only be writing for the Slytherin Boys......but I have spiraled back into my Call of Duty, specifically Ghost. Now this is just an experiment, I don't know how this will go over but if you guys like it then maybeeee I'll post my other fandom fics that I have.

Also! This is a birthday gift for my beautiful gem, @slytherinslut0 , so everyone thank her and wish her a happy birthday. As always, @cafekitsune is on the banner.

Taskforce 141 didn’t pay any attention when they were told that they would have a new nurse on the base. They assumed it would be another male, just like everyone who got employed here.

So, only one could imagine their shock when the base’s doctor, Dr. Moscaw, introduced a pretty little thing like you to the team.

“This is Y/N. She will work under me. Your first point of contact for anything medical-wise.” Moscaw spoke, “Don’t go scaring her off, boys.”

There were grumbles and protests as Dr. Moscaw left you with the team. You cleared your throat as you gave them all a nervous smile. All their eyes were on you, surveying you almost like prey. A certain man with a skull mask being the most intense one. “Um, right. You all desperately need an annual check-up. So, whenever you all have a moment, please stop by the medical ward. I would love to update your records and meet you all.”

Before any of them could say anything, you had scurried off.

Over the next few weeks, they all came in one by one. Introducing themselves as you went through updating their records.

First came Captain Price. You liked to think that he came in to lead by example and not to get out of his mountain of paperwork. Then Kyle came in the next day. He begged you to call him “Gaz”, saying that nobody on base ever calls him Kyle.

Not long after Gaz came, Johnny waltzed into your office. He was flirty but overall friendly. Johnny, just like Gaz, begged you to call him Soap like everyone else. He was the one who referred to you as a breath of fresh air amidst the testosterone-filled air. Often, he and Gaz came to your office. They always claimed to be checking up on you, but you knew it was because they were hiding from their duties.

“Where is…. um, Ghost? Or is his name Simon? It’s two first names on this file.” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of information in his records. Soap chuckled, glancing up from his phone to you. “Ghost is the name he’s gonna give ‘ya. It’s the name that we all know him by.”

“A field name, I assume?” You asked, looking up from your computer. Gaz and Soap nodded. “Yep. His name for plenty of reasons, but that’s neither here nor there.” Gaz waved his hand dismissively.

“Well, is he going to come in for a check-up? He doesn’t have another doctor or anything listed.” You sighed. “His medical record is empty. There is nothing on here, other than his name and height. No birthday, no past medication history, nothing.”

“Of course, that’s all that’s on there. That’s all anyone knows about him.” Soap laughed. “He’s not gonna come in here for a check-up.”

“What? Why not?” You asked, closing your computer.

“Too much information.” Gaz shrugged. “Nobody knows anything about him. It’s a shocker that he even allowed his real name to be on those records.”

“So, nobody knows if this guy even goes to the doctor?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “That’s insane.”

“Ya may be right, but that means nothing to Ghost.” Soap said.

“And insane is basically his middle name. The man does whatever he wants.” Gaz added.

“Do you think he will come in if I just ask?” You pondered to the men.

Gaz and Soap glanced at each other before shrugging. “If you bat those pretty eyelashes at any man on this base, they’ll be eating out the palm of your hand,” Soap said.

“But Ghost isn’t like the average man. He’s not easily swayed like most.” Gaz added, “But I mean, it won’t hurt to try.”

With the encouragement from Gaz and Soap to just try to ask him, you spent the next few weeks attempting to track Ghost down. Unfortunately for you, he lived up to his name very well. It was like every time you went looking for him, everyone had “just seen him.”

Eventually, you found him, by pure coincidence. You were walking to your car, getting ready to leave the base for the day when your eyes landed on a 6’4, muscular man who donned a skull balaclava. You hadn’t seen him since the day that Price had introduced you to the team. He seemed bigger and a bit more intimidating than before, but your determination outweighed your nervousness.

You walked up to him, clearing your throat. Ghost stopped fiddling with his motorcycle to drag his eyes up to your face. His eyes were dark and analytical as he scanned your face before tracing down your body. You felt self-conscious of his wondering gaze.

“Whatcha ‘ya want?” His voice was deep, his accent coming out heavier than you thought it was.

“Um, I’m the new nurse.” You squeaked out before clearing your throat.

“I know.”

“Right.” You took a deep breath. “Your medical records are empty and you’re the only one who hasn’t come in for a check-up.”

There was a brief silence between you two as you waited for him to say something, anything. When you got the hint that he wasn’t going to say anything, you decided to just push forward and ask.

“Will you come in for one? And maybe introduce yourself a little more?”

Ghost stared at you a little longer before turning back to his motorcycle. “No.”

Your eyes widened at the blatant refusal. You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Do ‘ya not know what ‘no’ means? Aren’t ‘ya educated?” Ghost grunted; his back still turned to you.

“You can’t just…. You must fill out these records somehow!”

“No, I don’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at Ghost, huffing slightly. “It’s mandatory to at least get an annual check-up.”

“So, I’ve heard. Don’t care.” He spoke again, throwing one leg over the motorcycle. He started it up, gripping the handles. His eyes focused on your face again as he revved the engine.

“But-”

Before you could even think about responding, Ghost had sped off, leaving you in the dust.

“And he just sped off?” Soap laughed. Gaz smacked his arm, giving you an apologetic look.

“Ignore Soap. He has a terrible sense of humor.” Gaz rolled his eyes. “But we told you he was hard to sway.”

“I just don’t understand why he doesn’t want to come in.” You groaned, “Maybe he just doesn’t want to get to know me?”

“It’s Ghost, you aren’t supposed to understand him.” Gaz shrugged. “But I doubt it’s you that he’s against.”

You let another groan, causing the two men to chuckle.

“Hell, Darlin’, you might just make the man nervous as hell. As you can see, we don’t have many pretty females around here.” Soap leaned back in his chair, grinning at you.

“Me? Make Ghost nervous? Please.” You raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes. Soap shrugged, “You never know, he could be.”

“You never know,” Gaz said, agreeing with Soap.

“Whatever.” You muttered, ending the conversation.

Weeks had passed and Ghost gave no sign of even considering stepping into the medical ward or trying to talk to you. He evaded you any chance he got. You told Dr. Moscaw and Price about the predicament with Ghost. Both waved it off and said, “He’s Ghost, that’s just how he is.

When your official first three months of working on the base had come around, Soap and Gaz had invited you out to the bar to celebrate.

“It’ll be everyone. Cap, Laswell, König, hell, even Ghost said he would come.” Soap smiled at you. You scoffed slightly at the revelation that Ghost was going to show his masked face at the bar. “Are we sure he’s coming for me, or rather, the drinks?” You asked, your eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you.

Gaz chuckled. “He refused to go until we said it was a celebration for you.”

“Funny that the man that evades me wants to come to my celebration.” You muttered.

“You know, he’s probably around you more than you think,” Soap said, causing you to look up at him with a raised eyebrow. Soap shrugged, continuing, “I mean, he’s known for being around without others knowing, hence the name Ghost.”

“Like he sees me, but I don’t see him?” You asked. Soap and Gaz nodded.

“Think of it like he is collecting information on you. The poor guy lives and breathes our missions and the military. It’s all he knows. It works with the idea that you make the man nervous.” Gaz said, patting your back as he and Soap filed out of your office.

Gaz’s and Soap’s words stuck to you. Maybe you had gone about approaching Ghost all wrong. He was quieter than Gaz and Soap and obviously more secretive, given the blank medical record and the mask. Maybe you should let him approach you, let him feel you out to see if you’re trustworthy or not.

When the night of the celebration rolled around, you promised yourself that you would not pester Ghost. Despite the growing need to get to know him and your nursing instincts to make sure he was healthy; you were going to let him come to you.

You walked into the bar, tugging slightly at your dress that rose from sitting in the taxi. Your black mini dress hugged your curves and had a low neckline that showed off your cleavage with your matching strappy heels. Although Soap and Gaz had to you to come dressed up, you debated calling the taxi back and going home to change. You were going to be with your co-workers, who were most likely going to be in jeans.

You sighed, pushing open the door to the bar. Your eyes snapped over to the large table in the back of the bar where all your coworkers sat. “Y/N!” Gaz yelled, jumping up from his seat. He grabbed your arm, escorting you to the table. Everyone shot you a smile, except König and Ghost, who both donned a balaclava. Although, you could tell from the crinkle in König’s eyes that he was smiling at you.

“The guest of honor is finally here.” Laswell smiled at you. “Congratulations on sticking it out at the base for three months. I must admit, I thought these boys would scare you away by now.”

“No, I’m tougher than I look.” You joked, “Plus, everyone is nice. I felt welcomed.”

Gaz and Soap gave Ghost an unmistakable side eye that you caught, and if you caught it, then everyone at the table caught it. You also didn’t miss the narrowed eyes that Ghost gave back to Gaz and Soap.

“A round of shots! For our new family member.” Price winked at you, giving you a warm smile.

That’s how the night went on, chatting and drinks getting passed around. It didn’t take you long to get buzzed. You kept true to your promise to yourself and didn’t go looking for interactions with Ghost.

However, you felt his eyes on you. It was like they never left you, always following your every movement.

It felt familiar.

Ghost stayed quiet the whole night, not cracking a chuckle at any jokes or taking part in the conversations. His eyes wandered the bar as if he was looking for any type of escape. Whenever your eyes met his, he looked away, his eyes hardening in the process.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You said, feeling the alcohol finally run through you and back up your throat. Although everyone was too occupied with their conversations to hear you. You stumbled your way to the bathroom, pushing open the door. You wasted no time, bending over the toilet and vomiting what little contents that were in your stomach.

“I knew I should’ve eaten before….” You whispered to yourself.

“Yeah, ‘ya should have. Not very nurse of ‘ya.” A deep voice echoed behind you.

You jumped, turning around, clutching your chest as your eyes landed on Ghost. He stood behind you, arms crossed, as he leaned against the stall door.

“God, when the fuck did you get in here?” You asked, your eyes traveling down his figure. This would be the first time that you had ever seen Ghost in civilian clothes. Even on relaxed days on the base, Ghost wore full tactical gear. Tonight, he opted for a compression tee and black sweatpants, as if he was planning to go to the gym after all of this.

Which wouldn’t be surprising for Ghost.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos.” Your eyes landed on his sleeve, which seemed to move as he unconsciously flexed his muscles.

“I know ‘ya didn’t.” Ghost said, offering his hand out to you. You took it gratefully, standing up to your two feet. Ghost handed you some mouthwash and gum, along with your purse.

“Didn’t want nobody shifting through ‘ya stuff.” Ghost said when he saw the look that you gave him, “Also thought ‘ya might want to touch up ‘ya make up.”

“Thank you.” You gave him a small smile. He nodded, turning on his heel to leave out the bathroom. You swigged the mouthwash around, spitting into the sink. You freshen up your makeup before popping the piece of gum in your mouth.

You made your way back to the table, sitting down when a waitress came and dropped a personal pan of pepperoni pizza in front of you with water. “Oh,” You looked up at her, “I didn’t order this.”

“One of your friends ordered it for you. Told me to bring it when you came back to your seat.” She smiled and walked away. You glanced down at the pizza with a smile. Pizza was your favorite greasy food; it matched the rumbling of your drunk stomach perfectly.

You looked up at Soap and Gaz, the only two people who would know about your guilty pleasure food. Soap was leaning against the table flirting with another waitress while Gaz made bets with Price on football games. You decided you would thank one of them later when they weren’t busy.

4 am finally rolled around, causing the night to end. Gaz had called you a cab, walking you out as everyone said their goodbyes. Ghost had already mounted his motorcycle and sped off into the night. Once Gaz got you settled in the backseat, you smiled at him. “Thanks, Gaz. Oh, and thank you for the pizza, too.”

Gaz raised his eyebrow. “What pizza?”

“The pizza you ordered me when I went to the bathroom.” You clarified.

“I didn’t order you a pizza, hell, I didn’t even know you went to the bathroom.” Gaz said before chuckling a bit with a mischievous smirk, “The only person who ordered food was Ghost.”

Before you could ask anything more, Gaz tapped the roof of the car and your taxi pulled off.

You went even longer without seeing Ghost after the bar. It was almost as if he had just disappeared into thin air. You tried to question Gaz and Soap, but they claimed they knew nothing about it. Saying that it was probably a “lucky guess” but if anything they had told you about Ghost was true, nothing he did was just a lucky guess.

You pushed all your questions to the back of your mind, as you knew you weren’t going to get any answers any time soon. You were cleaning up the office as your day was ending. 141 were out on a mission, a relatively relaxed one, so your office was quiet and easy to pack up rather than having to tell Soap to stop touching stuff every 5 minutes.

You hummed to yourself, not taking notice that your office door had swung open.

“You’re terrible at being aware of ‘ya surroundings.”

You jumped, a squeal falling from your mouth. “You have to stop doing that!”

Ghost stood at your door, in sweatpants and a hoodie. His arms crossed as he stared at you through his mask. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. You suddenly felt small like the room was closing in on you due to Ghost’s tall frame.

“What are you doing here?” You asked. Ghost’s eyes seemed to widen, as if he wasn’t sure why he was there either.

“Give me a check-up.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, glancing over at the clock. It was 7:35 pm, and the base was basically empty.

“It can’t wait til tomorrow?” You asked. Ghost took a step closer to you, “I thought you wanted to get to know me?”

“I do but-”

“Then give me the check-up.” Ghost grunted, sitting on the bench. His large frame made the normally large bench look small under him.

You sighed softly, getting out your equipment to start his check-up. You stay silent as you slip on your latex gloves after washing your hands. “So, I’m guessing something happened on the mission.”

Ghost looked over to you, his eyes coated in a small dose of confusion. “What?”

“I mean, you seemed very adamant about not getting a check-up before and now you’re here after a mission. I just assumed maybe something happened.” You clarified as you moved to check his heartbeat.

It took everything in you not to let your hands wander across his chest as you pulled away from him to turn to your computer and record the data.

“Nothing happened. Just built up some confidence.” He said, getting off the bench to stand behind you closely.

“O-oh…. confidence for what?” You took a deep breath, your eyes focusing on the computer screen.

Ghost didn’t answer your question, instead, he grabbed your shoulders and spun you around to face him. “You’re very annoying, you know that?”

“What?” Your eyes widened.

“You’re always around, smelling good. In these scrubs that hug your body tighter than any other scrubs I’ve ever seen.” Ghost muttered, “Always laughing at Soap’s stupid jokes. Always getting pizza when you know you aren’t supposed to.”

“I try to avoid you and ignore you, but you just crawl your little ass into my mind anyways. All mission…. just thinking and wondering what you’re doing.” Ghost continued.

“Is this your way of admitting that you’ve been thinking about me?” You asked.

Ghost stayed silent. His eyes stay trained on you, no words or sounds coming from him. His hand moved to take a piece of your hair and twirling it around his finger.

“Um, we should finish the check-up so we can go.” You spoke softly. Ghost ignored you, dipping his face into your neck. He took a deep breath. “God, you smell heavenly.”

“Ghost....”

“I need you.” He grumbled, “I need you all around me. I’ve learned everything I can about you and all I can think about is how I need to feel about you.”

“How I need to ruin you.”

You felt a knot in your stomach at his words, heat pooling inside you. “R-ruin me?”

“Beyond belief.” Ghost confirmed, “Give me the green light.”

You stayed silent as Ghost pushed his knee between your legs, pressing his knees gently against your core, causing a whimper to fall from your mouth. He lifted his mask to reveal his lips, pressing against your neck in soft, wet kisses. “Y/N. Answer me.”

“I….” You gasped for air, “P-please…do it.”

Ghost didn’t need to hear anything else. He lifted you easily, throwing you on the bench. He yanked your top off, groping your breast. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about these since the bar. So soft and plump…” Ghost grumbled, pulling your bra down and latching his mouth to your nipple.

A small moan fell from your mouth at the actions. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he pulled away with a slight “pop”. He left a trail of kisses down your chest to your naval. He tugged down your pants, throwing them in the same direction as your top. He groaned at the sight of the wet spot in your panties.

“So wet and ready for me. Huh, love?” Ghost said, blowing softly on your clothed clit.

You whined softly, nodding your head. He slapped your thigh, his eyes looking up at you. “I want to hear use your words. Let me hear that pretty voice that has been plaguing my mind for these past few months.”

You let out a sigh as Ghost pressed the pad of his tongue to your slit through your panties, teasing you. “Yes…. I’m wet and ready for you.”

“Good fucking girl, Lovie.” Ghost chuckled, moving your panties to the side to latch his mouth to your clit. He sucked and lapped at your clit harshly, your moans becoming uncontrollable as he ate you out like a starved man. His tongue teased your slit, flicking his tongue up and down.

He gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you closer to him. His nose pressed against your clit, stimulating you more and more. “Oh God, fuck, Ghost.” You moaned, your hands reaching out to grip the top of his balaclava.

“That’s right. I want you moaning my name like it’s the only thing that pretty little mind knows.” Ghost muttered, slipping two fingers into you as he kept lapping up all your juices. Your thighs tightened around his face as you felt your climax coming.

Ghost groaned at the action, his cock twitching with anticipation. You tossed your head back as pleasure coursed through your body. “I’m about to cum, fuck, I’m s’close.”

Your words seem to push Ghost further into sending you over the edge. His tongue moved faster against you as his fingers matched his pace. Your mind was blanking from the orgasm that rushed over your body. Ghost pulled his fingers out slowly as he pulled away from your swollen clit. His mouth was covered in your slick as he smirked. “Taste so sweet, Angel.” He spoke.

He pushed his two fingers into your mouth, groaning at the warmth of it. You suck on his fingers, tasting yourself on them as you swirled your tongue around. “Such a good, eager girl. So happy to taste yourself on my fingers.” Ghost whispered, pushing them down your throat so he could hear your gags.

Ghost pulled away, yanking his sweatpants and boxers down. His cock sprang out, revealing its large length. It hit his abdomen; the tip leaking with pre-cum. Your eyes looked down at him, eyes widening at the sight. “My God….” You whispered.

Ghost grabbed the base of his shaft, jerking himself off slightly before pulling you to the edge of the bench and wrapping one of your legs around his waist while propping the other one on his shoulder. “I need this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock, taking every inch of me.” Ghost growled. He rubbed his tip up and down your slick, coating it in it.

“Tell me how much you want this, Lovie. How bad do you want me to fuck you?” Ghost demanded; his eyes focused on you. You let out a whiny moan, looking up at him, “Please fuck me. I want your cock so bad.”

Ghost pushed into you, filling you up slowly but surely. Ghost groaned, sinking into you until he was fully inside you. “S’fucking tight. Gonna fuck this pretty cunt until it’s molded to only take my cock.” Ghost groaned, snapping his hips forward for a forceful thrust. A guttural moan fell from your mouth, as Ghost gripped your throat with both hands, pounding into you at a ruthless pace.

“M’been dreaming of this since the day I laid eyes on your fucking application picture.” Ghost muttered, “Such a pretty fucking girl. Batting your eyelashes at everyone.”

Ghost’s hands moved down to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Your moans were drowned out by the loud slapping of your skin. If it wasn’t for the way that Ghost was viciously railing you, you would be concerned that someone would walk past and hear you.

“Such a fucking whore. Getting fucked in your office…. you like being railed after work? Hmm?” Ghost hissed out as you clenched around him.

“You look s’pretty being full of my cock.” Ghost muttered, leaning down to kiss and nip your neck. You whined, feeling another knot form in your stomach. You clenched around Ghost, making him groan. “M’close…. s’close…” You spoke in between moans.

“Go ahead and make a mess on my cock, baby. Cum all over this cock like the slut you are.” Ghost demanded. It didn’t take long for your legs to shake and for Ghost’s cock to be drenched in your climax. He slowed his thrusts, pulling out of you. You whimpered at the lost feeling.

“Get up, Lovie. I want to cum all in that pretty mouth of yours.” Ghost said, pulling you off the bench and to your knees. You looked up at him as he pumped himself. Slapping his cock against your lips, you opened your mouth to let him slip in.

“S’fucking warm. Fucking made to take my dick in every fucking hole you have.” Ghost muttered, his hand snaking around the back of your head to shove his dick further down your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you tasted all your juices that drenched his cock. Saliva trailed down your chin as Ghost thrust in and out of your mouth at an unforgiving pace. “A fucking slut you are, taking my dick so well. Fuck.” Ghost groaned as his hip stuttered slightly. His cock twitched in your mouth before ropes of cum shot down your throat.

Your eyes screwed shut as Ghost stayed deep in your throat, making sure you swallowed all his cum. He pulled out, bending down to level as you looked up at him. “So, this was going through your mind all this time.” You spoke breathlessly.

“Shocked, Lovie?” Ghost smirked, lifting you back to your feet.

“A little.” You nodded. Ghost tilted your head back to press a rough but gentle kiss to your lips. “Well, I suggest you get used to it because there will be more of that.”

“So, you made your move, huh?” Soap grinned wickedly at Ghost, who sat further down the table. Ghost’s eyes shot to Soap’s as he narrowed them at the man.

“Don’t even try to deny it, LT.” Gaz said, his eyes staying trained on his phone. “All the talk around the base is how a certain skull mask-wearing lieutenant is attached to the hip of the pretty little nurse.”

“She must’ve really made you nervous if it took you almost three months to make a move on her.” Soap teased.

“I did more than make a move on her, Sergeant.” Ghost spoke, “That pretty little nurse is now my pretty little nurse.”

Ghost smirked underneath his mask as he looked between Gaz and Soap. “So, it would do you both good to watch your hands the next to you hug her. Would hate to have to break your fingers off for wandering too far for your own good.”

Without another word, Ghost sauntered out of the meeting room, leaving Soap and Gaz dumbfounded.

“Hm, I was wondering when that boy was going to make a move.” Price hummed from his spot, “All that begging to hire her to this base and took nearly four months to even talk to her.”

“Wait, what? Ghost knew about her before she even got to base?” Gaz asked.

“Ghost was the one who pulled her application.” Price said, “Said ‘his future girl’ had applied, and I needed to get her on base.”

Gaz and Soap looked at each other before sighing. Of course, Ghost knew you before you knew him.

Because it wouldn’t be Ghost if he didn’t.

[darlingletters]

gorgeous girl ln4

lando norris x fem!reader ( fc: sabrina carpenter )

in which y/n y/l/n breaks up with her cheating boyfriend and fans are rooting for her and lando norris to get together.

warning: swearing, fluff, the timelines of song releases and races are not in order, cheating with multiple people, breakups, relationships, some spelling errors or grammatical errors. lemme know if there’s anything I missed xx

an: I’ve never done a face claim but I wanted to try and see how it works out. I might not do one again but I am not sure yet. ALSO I am very unsure about the name of this cause I feel like it sounds cringe, so I might end up changing it.

driver list navigation

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, y/nfan14 and 334,567,13 others

yourusername over it 🎀 album coming soon loves <3

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user gorgg

user ALBUM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

yourusername liked this comment

user so prettyyyyy

user MUSIC?

⤷ user omg I am so readyyyyy for an albummm

landonorris beautiful as always

⤷ yourusername 🤍 thank you loveee

⤷ user ARE YALL DATING?

⤷ yourusername only friends xx

user please date lando

user that’s it love!!! he ain’t with your time

user I’ve been listening to espresso and please please please on repeat

yourusername liked this comment

⤷ user SAME

user I LOVE YOU

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music.f1gossip

liked by y/nbiggestfan, espressolover and 55,622 others

music.f1gossip are lando norris and y/n y/l/n dating?

it’s known that y/l/n’s recent breakup was one that didn’t end happily because of her ex boyfriend’s infidelity. y/l/n made a story a few weeks after the breakup stating “he had three different side pieces during the whole relationship” which left fans absolutely shocked.

her ex has been getting a lot of hate from y/l/n’s fanbase to a point where he blocked his comments. he has been flaunting around his new girlfriend since the breakup all while texting y/l/n to take him back which we saw because y/l/n posted their messages on her story as seen above.

however, her next story was one with lando norris which was captioned “my saviour fr” which many speculated it was a mention to norris supporting y/l/n during the breakup and defending her from hate comments that she received. she then made a story showing she was at the miami grand prix.

norris and y/l/n have been best friends for quite a while now and many always thought that they’d end up together, however, neither of them have announced anything about their relationship.

in recent times, norris has been so called ‘flirting’ with y/l/n in her instagram comments which has left both their fans going crazy.

now, do you guys think y/l/n and norris are dating? or they just good friends?

let me know in the comments xx

view comments

user that change up is scary

user damn

user lando’s better anyway

user 💀 I love you right after he called her a bitch is crazyyy

⤷ user frrr like what is this guy on?

user THATS ONLY FOR LANDO

⤷ user HE CALLS HER GORGEOUS GIRL

⤷ user they’re so datinggg

user I love themmm

⤷ user SAMEEE

user SAVIOUR!!! it’s actually so cute how he defends her all then time and even promotes her music

⤷ user THEY’RE cuteeee

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainzz55 and 456,822,821 others

yourusername P1 BABY!!! I am so proud of you lan more then you will ever know. congratulations love, you truly deserve this 🤍

tagged landonorris

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landonorris thank you gorgeous, couldn’t have done it without your support ❤️

⤷ yourusername ❤️❤️

⤷ user they’re so in loveee

user so cuteeee

user dating!!!!

user please be dating

carlossainz55 you never did this when I had my first win 😔

⤷ yourusername I AM SORRY

landonorris you look so gooddd

⤷ yourusername I am not in the photos

⤷ landonorris yeah but you’re in front of me

⤷ user OMD

user the way he’s shamelessly flirting now, he ain’t even try and hide it.

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“LAN! YOU CAN’T BE SAYING THAT!” she tells him sternly, looking up at him.

he had a boyish grin on his face as he looked at her, “what? can’t tell people that my girl- oh sorry best friend looks good right now?”

“you just exposed our relationship. we agreed to wait three months before saying something.” she spoke softly, standing up as she placed her phone down on the coach.

“I can’t wait that long. I want everyone to know that after eight years you are finally my girlfriend.” he says with a smile as he shrugs his shoulders.

“you’re an idiot.” she replied as she tried to hold a serious face which soon fell into a blushing smile the more she looked at him.

“yeah but i’m your idiot.” he says smugly as he pulls her onto his lap to straddle him.

she places her arms around his neck and rests her forehead against his as she strokes the back of his head whilst he keeps his hands on her hips, using his thumb to lightly stroke her hip.

they stay in silence for a few more moments, letting themselves enjoy a rare peaceful moment before she breaks the silence, “I am really proud of you lan, you really deserved that win today.” she says softly, looking into his eyes.

“thank you baby.” he smiles.

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landonorris

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 453,722,763 others

landonorris P1!! got a win and a girl (ive been her’s for two months now. be jealous)

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user BEEN HER’S!!!

yourusername really?

⤷ landonorris you’re very beautiful

⤷ yourusername 😐

⤷ landonorris gorgeous girl

user just saying what we already knew

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danielricciardo proud of you 👍🏼

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user thought they’d never get together

user TWO MONTHS

user I love you y/n

⤷ landonorris I love her more

⤷ user I’ve been with her though girl meets world. don’t try me norizz.

yourusername liked this comment

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[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[highvern]

When in Rome

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, cheating, nudity, mentions of drug use, explicit sexual acts (unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral, swallowing)

Length: ~24k

Note: excited to have this for the @svthub world tour collab! thank u to @gyuswhore for helping, @wonuvs for fact checking my shitty italian, @the-boy-meets-evil for making sure i actually finished this fic bc i live to torture her and everyone else who contributed to this over the months it took me to finally write it!

this is from cheol's pov which was a new challenge but i loved it (i will never do it again). i'll be out of town when this goes up but can't wait to read everyone's feed back!!!

Summary: After months of no contact, Seungcheol isn't sure what to expect when he sees you again at Jeonghan's wedding. He's prepared to apologize, to grovel, to bear the weight of a cold shoulder. Whatever it takes to have you back, his best friend since diapers; or whatever will ensure the last third of your trio has the best day of his life. But when he overhears the most recent development in your relationship, he must come to terms with something he was never prepared for, or risk losing you for good.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

There are fewer places Seungcheol hates more than airports. Dentist offices, his grandparents’ house during the holidays when they ask about grandkids, and even the time he ran into his elementary school science teacher the first time he was buying condoms at the pharmacy, all were more favorable than the hustle and bustle of an international airport. 

Seungcheol likes to be straightforward and direct. Something that becomes seemingly at odds with the average person traveling because at the one place everyone has somewhere to be, they act as if they have all the time in the world.

But the simple thought that it's all temporary, that his personal ninth circle of hell is the only thing standing between him and a week in Italy is enough to grin and bear it. 

On the other side of the terminal, his best friends are waiting for him. It’s not as if they haven’t seen each other for long; Jeonghan and Sofie were at bar trivia last week as their last hurrah before tying the knot. As usual they wiped the floor with everyone, rousing several allegations of cheating that Jeonghan deserved. But Seungcheol is about to watch them get married and it makes him a little misty around the eyes because he loves his friends more than anything. 

The only concern, which is less of a concern and more of a titanic size anchor sinking in his gut, is that you’re one of Sofie’s bridesmaids. And you haven’t spoken to him since New Years when you revealed you were moving to New York with your boyfriend, Johnny.

Another place Seungcheol dreads, right next to the airport, is anywhere Johnny happens to be. He’s everything you aren’t: abrasive, arrogant, catty, disorganized. And those are just the traits at the front of the alphabet. 

You had a plan. A list of criteria he had to listen to over and over again after each failed date. Even the guys Seungcheol set you up with after carefully vetting didn’t seem to make the mark. It was respectable, commendable. You wouldn’t settle for anything less than “perfect.” Whatever that meant to you. 

At a bar, three years ago, Johnny approached you. Seungcheol watched from across the table as you mentally ran over your checklist. Johnny met the physical ones: tall, good hygiene, well kept appearance. The other things would need more investigation. What did he do for work? Was he close with his family? Kids? Opinions on cheating at bar trivia?

The more Seungcheol learned about Johnny after your detailed debrief from a few dates the more confused he became. Johnny worked in banking. You hated finance bros and called them scum of the dating pool. He was an only child and only talked to his parents on holidays and birthdays. You had grand dreams of close grandparents and houses full of cousins. He didn’t want kids. You did. He didn’t think bar trivia was that serious. Seungcheol watched you threaten Jeonghan’s life on more than one occasion over the use of Shazam during the music round. Johnny was everything you said you didn’t want. 

And then you followed him across the country after two years of dating cut with three breakups. 

It didn’t make sense. 

When Seungcheol pulled you aside after you announced you’d be moving, trying to figure why you thought living with the man who once asked if you really needed to wash bath towels if you only use them when you’re already clean, you told him to mind his business. Later that night, after enough drinks to make everything blurry, you two got into a screaming match on the sidewalk with your shared friends attempting to play referee. It was the last time you two spoke. 

In over twenty five years of friendship, founded on the backs of elementary school shenanigans under a reign of terror of one Jeonghan Yoon, you and Seungcheol’s real fights can be counted on one hand. 

The sixth grade field trip where you and Jeonghan left him out, senior year of highschool when the girl Seungcheol took to prom argued about his parents taking more pictures with you than her, and junior year of college when Seungcheol caught you making out with his frat brother after ditching him under the guise of having a stomach bug. That was it. Three fights, all of which were resolved within a week because as stubborn as you both are, you’re best friends. 

Five and a half months of not speaking, except when you called Seungcheol in the middle of the night without leaving a message and when he tried calling you back in the morning you didn’t answer. Not until a month later when he finally swallowed his pride and texted a half hearted apology to which you responded with a quarter of forgiveness. That was it. 

But Seungcheol won’t dwell. He refuses to make things awkward for Jeonghan and Sofie during the most special week of their lives. Knowing you, you’ve probably already come to the same resolution. The only person you’re closer to than Seungcheol is Jeonghan with Sofie a close second. If there is anyone you two will agree to put aside an argument for, it's them.

The sun has already begun setting when he makes it through customs and out towards the Arrivals, painting everything in buttery yellow. 

“SEUNGCHEOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!” Sofie screams, hands cupped around her mouth.

She’s half outside the cherry red sports car. An Intermeccanica Italia Spyder because Seungcheol knows three things in life: expensive watches, expensive whiskey, and expensive cars. Sofie’s family happened to have plenty of the last and Seungcheol assumed the first two as well.

When Sofie became his study partner in law school she ended up following him on Instagram. He assumed from the way she carried herself, perfect posture with tailored clothes and an ‘air of society’ as you called it, that she was well off. But then, during a late night gossip session, you and he did a deep dive and found out Sofie wasn’t just well off. Her family had more money than God. 

But everything on the surface was a contrast to who Sofie really was. Heiress to a fortune but studied more than anyone in their class just to graduate second. Perfect posture and tailored clothes are a stark contrast to her favorite bar where she’d outdrink anyone, and cheer when the prize for trivia was cheap plastic margarita glasses.

Or right now, where she belts Seungcheol’s name again like some drunk frat boy while sitting in a car worth more than his life.

Seungcheol jogs to where she waits, already smiling. 

“I would have brought a ‘Welcome back from rehab’ sign but my mom thought you’d be embarrassed,” Sofie says as she hugs him over the console. 

“At least make it ‘welcome home from prison’ so people won’t walk in my way.”

“I’ll make sure Jeonghan remembers you have a preference,” she calls over the wind. 

Technically, the house (which is really a mansion) is almost an hour from the airport. With Sofie’s driving it only takes twenty minutes in which Seungcheol thinks he might need to start going to church. 

The pebbled driveway crunches underneath the tires as they approach the imposing building he’d call home for the weekend.

In the evening light, the house is more daunting. An imposing stone facade rises from the ground, akin to a small castle than an actual home. Smooth stone with detailed carvings, windows with huge shutters, and on the top floor, a balcony, fenced with wrought iron, juts out.

Even after years of seeing pictures, Seungcheol still can’t believe his friend grew up here. He can’t believe it actually exists and isn’t some set from a historical drama.

Sofie throws the car in park right in front of the door before jumping out. 

“By the way, there were some issues with one of the rooms.” Sofie drops her voice, “My aunt and uncle are fighting again, so I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

Seungcheol knows most of the guys coming to the wedding. Worst case scenario he’s stuck in a twin size bunk bed with a weird cousin. And with how busy he’ll be as best man, his room will be for sleep and not much else. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Perfect! Just leave your stuff, everyones out back.” Sofie pushes him as hard as she can manage which isn’t much at all given she’s five foot nothing. 

The garden is filled with bodies upon bodies crowded together, some old, some young. Seungcheol recognizes a few faces in the mix: Soonyoung, Joshua, Seungkwan. More friends from law school. Jeonghan’s sister waves from across the way. Everyone seems to be paying attention to whatever is happening at the iron garden table. 

And then, like a scene in a movie, everyone parts for a second and time freezes. 

Seungcheol would recognize you anywhere. Even if he can’t see your face, he knows it's you. The curve of your shoulders, the tilt of your head. The bark of laughter as your chin drops forward. He knows it's you and the weight in his stomach lightens and leadens in an odd cycle.

He missed you.

Then everything comes back into real time. Wine and cards. Then he sees the chips on the table, your stack to the side significantly higher than anyone else's. 

Months of ruminating over what he’d do when reunited fly out the window. Seungcheol doesn’t waste a minute as he approaches, hand on the back of your chair as he peeks over your head to sneak a glance at your hand.

“Who let you talk them into poker?”

You’re already smiling when you tilt back to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Oh, how he missed you.

“She said she didn’t know how to play,” an old man grumbles from the side. 

Seungcheol doesn’t recognize him but he’s got the same expression as all the people you’ve sharked before: mildly impressed and slightly murderous. Two other guys sit at the table, one old enough to be his grandfather looks almost proud. Seokmin fills that last seat, head in his hands at being swindled so easily. 

“I said,” you start, throwing your gaze to him. “I hadn’t played in a while.” 

You look back up at Seungcheol for some kind of support. Eyes round and innocent in a way you both know you’re not. Pool, cards, darts, any game a man a few drinks in could beat you at was easy fodder for your con. Usually it ended with free drinks, sometimes money, but mostly it’s Seungcheol playing referee for the disillusioned guys you swindled while wearing a bright grin. 

Tossing a few chips towards the three men at table with a smart ‘don’t spend it all in one place,’ you rise and throw your arms around Seungcheol like everything is normal. 

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck.

Seungcheol’s hands are already curled around your waist, pulling you in tight. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

Seungcheol doesn’t think to question the sudden rush of familiarity after months of silence. Every fight in your long friendship ended this way; you both stew and stew until one day things snap back to normal. It’s how it’s always been.

“I see that you can’t even greet your best friend.” Jeonghan coughs from the side.

Seungcheol squeezes you tighter at the jab. It’s Jeonghan’s wedding but Seungcheol saw him last week when dropping the couple off at the airport to come here. He’s far more interested in dragging out his reunion with you as long as possible. “I’m in the middle of that actually.”

He scoffs in response, walking away. “Whatever, I see too much of you anyway.” 

There’s glasses of wine waiting when you break apart. Seungcheol keeps closeby, not that you seem eager to go anywhere. His staring is obvious but he doesn’t care. You’re really here and the cold shoulder he expected to find is nowhere to be found.

Another two hours of celebrating, filled with drunken toasts and more card games with Sofie’s family that only end with you digging into their pockets even deeper, fly by before the exhaustion of a day starting in one continent and ending in another catches up to him. You’re too busy arguing over if Jeonghan cheated in the last round to notice Seungcheol slipping away from the table and towards the door leading inside.

Sofie is in the kitchen just beyond, another bottle of wine sloshing in hand as she talks animatedly on the phone. “Okay, look. I am on vacation. I’m about to get married. I literally left notes for everything I'm not working on during my wedding week. Figure it out. Bye.”

She hangs up without response, tossing her phone on the counter before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Good?” Seungcheol asks.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. I leave and suddenly no one knows how to do their job.” Sofie rolls her eyes. “What’s up? Need another glass?”

She raises the same bottle and the thought of more wine nearly turns his stomach.�� 

Seungcheol brushes her off, moving to the sink and rinsing his glass with finality. “I think I’m gonna crash for the night.”

“Really?” she asks. “But the party just started!”

“For you maybe, some of us have been cramped on a plane all day.” He feels it. In his back and knees. The cramp in his neck from passing out halfway through and waking up bent at ninety degrees. And the hours he spent agonizing through emails with the inflight WiFi because even on vacation he can’t sit still for more than one minute. But now it’s a ticking time bomb before he curls up in a chair and passes out until morning.

Sofie snatches his glass before shooing him away from the sink and taking his place. “I forgot you’re an old man now.”

“You’re the same age as me?”

“Anyway,” she sings. “I know we promised you’d have your own room but—”

“That’s fine. I really don’t mind rooming with one of the guys.”

“Well… you and Y/N were the only ones not sharing and she said she wouldn’t mind for the weekend.”

“Huh?”

“I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal! Seokmin and Kwan agreed to share and room with Josh so things are pretty tight but I can see if we can switch things around and—”

“No, if she’s okay with it then it's fine.” Seungcheol says. “We just haven’t talked since, you know?”

Sofie seems to soften at that. “I know. But it looked like everything was fine outside.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs. “I missed her.” 

“I know she missed you too.”

“She said that?”

“Oh please, neither of you have to say anything, you’re both pathetic,” she says while pouring another glass. “But I think this weekend will be good for you guys! Like old times.”

Old times. Before the fight. Before you moved away.

“Yeah, just like old times… At least we aren’t sharing a bed, right?” He jokes. 

“Actually,” Sofie grimaces. 

The one solace Seungcheol is gifted is the bed is massive. Almost the entire room is dominated by the plush mattress, a dresser, and a chair in the corner. He considers sleeping in that instead for all of a minute before realizing you probably wouldn’t let him and the absolute torture it’ll do to his neck. 

At least the forced proximity won’t be awkward since you’ve silently agreed to leave the past behind you. He can’t imagine Sofie would consider this solution if you were still mad at him, even if it was her wedding week. The realization lightens the weight on his shoulders an ounce more.

Seungcheol throws his bag down at the foot of the bed. It’s no big deal; sharing a room with you. Childhood sleepovers had been the norm, a few nights in college you’d shared a clunky old twin bed when you both were too drunk to find your ways home separately. Your first apartment together, when you two had to share a mattress on the floor for the first weeks because all your money went into paying rent, flash in his head. Old times.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, Seungcheol heads back downstairs for a glass of water before bed.

He remembers where the kitchen is after Sofie’s short tour, trapezing through the huge house easily. Behind different closed doors he catches glimpses of pre-sleep conversations: couples spitting harsh whispers to each other, a few cartoonish voices reading bedtime stories to an audience of childish giggles. But when he reaches the threshold of his destination Seungcheol stumbles into an entirely different atmosphere.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“No. I didn’t feel like the kind of thing to say over text,” you whisper.

“Well you could have called him!”

“And say what? ‘Hey Cheol, I know we haven’t talked in months because we got into a huge fight about my boyfriend but Johnny and I–’”

Seungcheol strains his ears to hear the rest of your sentence but fails to decipher anything before Jeonghan’s voice cuts in. Whatever ‘it’ is, you seem keen on keeping it a secret.

“Just tell him.” Jeonghan says through a mouthful of something. “I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

His mind races with a million possibilities, all related to Johnny, all things you wouldn’t have told your best friend of over twenty years because of some stupid fight. Something you don’t know how to tell him over the phone, something you need to tell in person.

The realization strikes like lightning.

You and Johnny are engaged.

Thirst forgotten, Seungcheol turns back the way he came. He thinks through the new information as he stumbles up the stairs.

How could you not tell him? How could he make you feel like you couldn’t tell him? How long have you been hiding this? And why did Jeonghan and Sofie know before he did? Was everyone in on the secret and he was the odd man out?

You and Johnny weren’t even that serious when you moved away; or, that's what Seungcheol thought. In all honesty he fully believed it was some joke when you told him. A drunken practical joke taken too far but you didn’t laugh when he did. There was no punchline to share. The boxes were packed away and then the moving truck came and you left with it. 

Everything else hits him in the seclusion of the bedroom. Your shared room. He doesn’t even have the luxury of coming to terms with your latest surprise in private. 

Seungcheol isn’t happy. He is, but because you’re you, argument aside. The past few months are the longest you’ve ever gone without each other and seeing you again lifted a weight off his chest he’d come accustomed to in months of silence. 

It’s an easy decision. If Johnny makes you happy enough to tie your lives together then Seungcheol can bite his tongue. You’re his best friend and by default he’d never think anyone was good enough for you but if you loved Johnny, if you were this serious about him, then Seungcheol would support you.

Even if it meant there would always be a Johnny sized ravine between you.

Seungcheol wakes far before the sun breaches the horizon. The room still washed in the shadows of early dawn grants him some peace to think over his own conflicts with the news, your quiet snores a backing track from across the bed.

On your side facing him, Seungcheol gets the first good look at you in what feels like forever. Even with the size of the bed barely a foot of space separates your bodies. You hand twisted in the hem of his shirt like even in your sleep you can’t stand to be apart more than necessary.

You look ridiculous; hair a mess and limbs splayed. But your face is soft in sleep, eyelashes fanned on your cheeks and lips in a pout. 

There’s an odd flutter in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he said he missed you. But now things are complicated. 

He hadn’t slept at all last night; mind constantly replaying the conversation he heard in the kitchen, formulating his reaction when you finally let him in on the ‘surprise.’

Perhaps under different circumstances he wouldn’t struggle with news. Seungcheol wants you to be happy. Johnny is the problem in the scenario. They never got along, barely spoke outside of the few times forced circumstances required them to. Seungcheol was polite. Johnny was polite. 

Seungcheol wanted to kill him and he’s certain Johnny felt the same.

Relationships naturally take priority over time but Johnny seemed to creep in and choke Seungcheol out of all the places he’d been firmly planted for years. Another reason he isn’t happy.

Monday night Bachelor? Canceled, because Johnny plays beer league softball with his friends and you started going to that.

No more sleepovers at Seungcheol’s after a night out because ‘it makes Johnny uncomfortable.’ Fair complaint. Seungcheol wouldn’t appreciate his girlfriend sleeping over at a guy's house after drinking if the roles were reversed. But Seungcheol isn’t some guy and you were his best friend before you were Johnny’s girlfriend.

Traditions at Christmas felt hollow without you. The first one you spent meeting Johnny’s family in Minnesota you texted Seungcheol the entire time about how cold it was, how they were a 5k on a holiday type family despite the fact there was three feet of snow outside. 

All small details that mean everything to Seungcheol, never meant as much to you. 

And that’s why he doesn’t like Johnny. Because he made Seungcheol realize that.

It’s not that you and Johnny didn’t work. Seungcheol just couldn’t wrap his head around why you wanted to overlook all the glaring differences to make it work.

But pointing that out left him with a cold shoulder lasting six months so he plans to keep his mouth shut.

You tried talking to him before bed but gave up when he pretended to be asleep. It took everything he had not to give in and talk into the early morning. Six months was more than enough ground to cover for you two to catch up; he was promoted, you had an entirely new life in another city that he wanted to hear all about. His insane neighbor from across the hall, who you both are sure sells drugs, is actually a preschool teacher (mysteries of the universe). And he knows you probably have kooky neighbors of your own in New York.

But, in all honesty, he didn’t want to hear stories with Johnny’s name attached. Wasn’t ready to hear you say you’re engaged. It’s one thing to know it. But the second the words leave your lips then it’s real. Then Johnny is here to stay and it's only a matter of time before you two are arguing again.

Especially when everything said months ago was still fresh in his mind. Words he’d stand by no matter what. But Seungcheol has figured out that there are conversations he’s allowed to have with you and ones that should never see the light of day if your friendship is to survive. Johnny is one, the other is a memory from college that remains vivid no matter how hard he tries to forget.

But this weekend wasn’t about you and him, it's about Sofie and Jeonghan. If Seungcheol can dive into focusing on them, maybe he’ll survive.

Today is the one day reserved for sightseeing before ‘the inevitably disorganized shit show of an Italian wedding’ as Sofie puts it. 

Seungcheol has already seen some of the big things thanks to his study abroad in undergrad: the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon. So for today, he'll stick by whatever you want to do. You’re the building nerd architect.

When he finally finds the willpower to roll away, carefully extracting your grip on him before ducking from the sheets, you stir enough to release a sleepy whine in protest before burying back under the blanket. 

It’s odd but he notices you’re not wearing a ring. Seungcheol looked closely if you took it off before bed but nothing stands out in the bathroom or on the dresser. He assumes you took it off to make the weekend about Sofie and Jeonghan rather than yourself. It’s something you would do. Or maybe it’s at the jeweler’s for repairs. Maybe Johnny had gaudy taste and bought a ring so flashy you refused to wear it. 

Seungcheol doesn’t know but it strikes him as strange.

The kitchen is already bustling with life even at such an early hour. Family and friends trickle in one by one, joining Seungcheol at the table with cups of coffee and munching on fruit and biscuits as their hangovers ebb. Quickly, the peace he preserved in the early quiet melts into loud laughter and a million buzzing conversations.

You melt into the chair beside him, eyes barely open as you snag his cup and scowl after finding it already drained.

“Coffee?” you mumble.

Seungcheol pushes his plate of unfinished fruit and a half finished pastry you way. “Sofie’s mom is brewing more. But it’s strong.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say around a mouthful of jam and dough. “I drank a full cup the first day I got here and felt like Sonic.”

“That’s how you know it’s good.”

“You’re insane.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“So there's this church, the Santa Maria Sopra della Minerva. It’s near the Pantheon!” you ramble, peeling another orange. “It’s just beautiful and it's got a statue by Michelangelo next to the altar and the design is incredible.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm. A city filled with ancient buildings and history is right up your alley. 

He remembers how you pouted when he came back from his trip in college after yours to Venice was canceled due to ‘not enough student interest.’ The only thing that managed to quell your anger was all the pictures Seungcheol took with you in mind. Close ups of the tiniest details about ancient designs tour guides pointed out to disinterested business majors but he knew you’d care if you’d been there. If you were there then you’d probably be leading the tour yourself whether the guide liked it or not.

“Mind if I come with?” he asks over his fresh cup of coffee.

“Duh,” you roll your eyes with a smile. “I waited for you to get here to go.”

Sofie’s uncle, the one not under threat of murder by his wife, agrees to drive you both out. He drives at full speed from the second he hits the gas pedal. With the windows down. The breeze is as nice as a wind tunnel and cuts off everything Zio Berto tries to point out except for his screams at other drivers. 

On the other side of the back seat, you’re turning green. Seungcheol is glad the window is already down because if you get sick, he will too. And Sofie would refuse any payment for the cleaning fee, Seungcheol is morally opposed to ruining such a nice car with vomit.

The city whips past outside the windows, cobblestone streets slowly growing more crowded as the car edges closer to the center city. Berto finally slows down to avoid pedestrians and mopeds but only by a fraction. He doesn’t seem to share Seungcheol’s concern about body fluids clashing with the car design.

Finally, after what feels like a century, the car jerks to a stop. You don’t even pretend to be polite and exit immediately, hands on your knees while dry heaving for air.

“I’ll be around. Have fun!” Berto calls from the driver's seat. “Call me when you’re ready to head back.”

Seungcheol waves him off and when he turns back where you were standing, you’re already gone; circling the elephant obelisk in the center of the cobblestone courtyard.

“Isn’t it so cool?” You gush, snapping photos.

The exterior of the building is unassuming. Flat sandstone brick without much detail but you see the things that are important. In a few minutes you’ll be in tour guide mode, pointing out the smallest crack no one would see unless they already studied the church's history in depth.

“Soooo cool,” he jests. He appraises the statue with you, turning his head this way and that. 

You slap his shoulder, “Don’t be a jerk!”

“Okay, okay. Give me the tour.”

“It was built on the ruins of a temple of Isis.”

“Okay, and why the elephant?”

“The obelisk was taken from the Church of San Stefano del Cacco down that way,” you point. “It's originally from Sais in Egypt but got moved all the way here. The elephant was commissioned by the pope to display it based on a book that was popular at the time.”

“Interesting.” 

You point at the inscription on the plinth before continuing, “that’s from the book.”

Sapientis Aegypti insculptas obelisco figuras ab elephanto, belluarum fortissima, gestari quisquis hic vides, documentum intellege robustae mentis esse solidam sapientiam sustinere.

“Whoever you are, who sees here the figures of the Egyptian wise man carved on the obelisk carried by the elephant, the strongest of wild animals, understand the symbolism to be that a strong mind supports firm wisdom,” you translate. 

“I didn’t know you read latin.”

“I don’t. It’s in English on the other side,” you laugh. “But I do know, the guy who designed the statue made it look like it's farting because the pope told him to change the design from what he originally wanted.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He said having it stand on four legs was dangerous so the sculptor added the saddle and a cube at the base, but he also made its butt face the convent so the friars would have to see its ass every time they came out.”

“Wow.”

Seungcheol circles the statue and sure enough the tail is angled to look like it's blowing wind.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a lie but I’d like to think people were that petty hundreds of years ago. Now all people do is subtweet and post vague Instagram stories. I want someone to hate me so much they design an entire statue just to minorly inconvenience me each morning.”

You’re fully of facts Seungcheol would never know. It’s one of the best parts of visiting places with you. It’s not just some building or some random statue. You give the architecture a new life.

Seungcheol’s mind flashes back to the first time he accompanied you and Johnny to a monument back home. In the five minutes you’d been there, he realized Johnny truly did not care about your interests.

The look on your face that day told him you realized Johnny didn’t care either.

It’s the same pact everyone that moves to D.C. makes to visit all the museums and monuments and landmarks. Good intentions with zero realistic goals. Except you’re stubborn and the drive to say you did something means Seungcheol has tagged along to thirty out of the one hundred and fifteen on your list. Johnny missed most either from work trips or some other excuse and the one Seungcheol missed had been the only one Johnny came to because of the flu.

Safe to say the first time visiting together was a shit show. Johnny didn’t pretend to evaluate the ‘important’ parts, didn’t ask questions or bother reading the placards detailing events of significance, raced through the entire thing to leave you and Seungcheol behind. It’s not like you or Seungcheol were overwhelmed with beauty and needed hours but Johnny finished his round after less than thirty minutes and told you to text him when you were done. 

So Seungcheol did the only thing he could to get back at Johnny without upsetting you: walked as slow as possible, pointing out things he knew you’d know more about, and dragging things out so Johnny was stuck waiting in the frigid winter wind outside to suffer.

You knew what he was doing, obvious from the way you hook your arm through his and give an affection squeeze. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes but you both pushed through.

Thank whatever powers be that Johnny wasn’t here now.

“See the windows?” you ask, pointing to the three different sized circular windows hanging over the main doorways. 

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Well you can’t tell from here but they’re rose tinted.”

Seungcheol tries to see what you’re talking about but the windows are dark and covered in some kind of lacquer that makes them look gray and dusty rather than pink.

“And why is that important, Professor Y/L/N?”

“Because it’s the only medieval church in Rome like that!” 

You continue rambling off facts, talking a mile a minute as your point at different things and walk Seungcheol around the exterior. A few other people's ears perk up as you go on about how the details had been done over and over; first Romanesque, then Gothic then, some guy named Carlo Maderno added Baroque designs inside, and friars who put in stained glass windows.

By the time you take a breath, the crowd has taken a closer interest in the windows and the elephant statue due to your brief history. A few look at the flood plaques which are some of the best preserved records the city has.

Seungcheol hangs onto every word. He doesn’t care about the old church, it’s an interesting bit of history sure but he could be outside any church in Rome and have the same reaction. He cares about the church because you care. And your passion about old windows and flood markers make it the most interesting place in the world right now.

“Go stand on the steps so I can take your picture,” you demand.

“Do I have to?” Seungcheol jokingly complains.

“Just go.”

Seungcheol poses as you direct, flashing a few silly poses you laugh at. He manages to wrangle you into taking a few photos as well. Ones that will probably be sent to your mom and never see the light of day other than her Facebook. Your Instagram is reserved for, in order: buildings, animals, food, and the rare picture of you with friends at some sort of occasion (wedding, graduation, the time Jeonghan broke his leg drunk on a city scooter and ended up in the ER). 

You’re in the middle of pretending to hold the Leaning Tower of Pisa when someone approaches Seungcheol.

“Would you like us to take your photo?” an elderly woman asks. She is a quintessential tourist: fanny pack, camera around her neck, sun burnt around the ears. A man in a matching shirt approaches with her, donning the same gear and pink tinge. Seungcheol recognizes them from a few minutes prior when you gave your lecture about elephant butts and petty sculptors.

“Sure, thank you.”

He hands over his phone and joins you on the steps. You both pose like normal adults, smiles plastered on your face while Seungcheol gives you bunny ears and you pull his hair.

“Beautiful couple!”

“Oh, we’re not…” You both object.

“We’re on our second honeymoon.” The man croons at his wife, chuffed when she rolls her eyes and focuses on the camera screen. “You two?”

“We’re here for a wedding.”

“Wow! Married in Rome,” the wife gasps. “How romantic.”

It isn’t the first time you two have been mistaken for a couple. Anytime you’re with him or Jeonghan someone assumes you’re dating. Occasionally, you’d play it up, make an entire story about how you met, how long you’ve been together, biting your tongues the entire time as each detail is more ludicrous than the last.

Jeonghan takes the cake as the most ridiculous. Two tornado chasers that ran into each other ten years ago and never let go. Him and Seungcheol, not you. Which really threw the waitress off. Never mind the fact you all were sophomores in college, high as kites and stuffing yourselves full of hashbrowns in a greasy spoon diner for Seungcheol’s birthday.

“Did you two meet here?” the husband asks.

“Oh no, we actually met in a competitive bowling league,” you fib, wrapping your arm through Seungcheol’s.

What the hell?

“Romantic!” The wife belts like she actually believes nothing could inspire love like sharing shoes with countless strangers and cheap beer.

Seungcheol would take the piss under any other circumstances. Except this time you’re actually engaged and the last time you two pretend to be a couple was when you fake proposed to him in a fancy restaurant to score free champagne and dessert to celebrate the end of law school.

“Would you mind taking a few of us?” the man asks.

You snap a few pictures on the wife’s phone and after more coos of ‘romantic!’ and a few thank yous they melt into the crowd.

“Alright, let's go inside.”

“Lead the way.” Seungcheol feels more awkward than before, cheeks red but not from the sun beating down

Upon entering the church, he discovers the inside is much more interesting than the outside. Holy water stoups are held up by marble. Two statues flank the entrance. There’s more things to see than Seungcheol’s brain can handle but he follows behind you, mind lingering on the scene outside.

“‘My husband’?” Seungcheol asks.

“What? We won’t see them again. Who cares?”

Probably your own fiancé but just as Seungcheol opens his mouth a priest silences him with a sharp, “SHH!”

Passing through a high stone archway, you enter the nave. The ceiling, cobalt and gold with motifs of  biblical figures and cherubs, rises high above. 

“Look!” you whisper. “Isn’t it cool?”

Your point at a marble Jesus wearing a bronze loin cloth.

Cool isn’t the word he’d choose but he goes with it.

“Michelangelo started it but two other people had to finish it for him.”

“Oh.”

“But people still call it Michelangelo’s statue because it’s more impressive. Besides, he did most of it before his apprentice took over.”

He observes the paintings and statues, the stone work that bulges from the walls like they’re trying to come alive and escape their immortal capture. There’s even a tomb and shrine with incredible detail. 

It takes two hours to see everything and another thirty minutes to make your way out of the church because you both keep catching missed signs or there's some tiny piece of the ceiling with an odd detail.

He missed this.

Outside, you open your phone and look at the message from Sofie. She made the recommendation to come down here and gave an extensive list of everything else to be done in the area. There’s so many options it would take at least a week to see half of them.

“This hotel has a rooftop restaurant that’s supposed to have a good view of St. Peters,” you say.

The restaurant would have a great view of the city, if it wasn’t shut down for renovations. The staff don’t even let you near the elevator before you’re both swept outside and back on the street.

“Well…” Seungcheol starts.

“Should we call Berto?”

He doesn’t want to. Partially because Berto’s driving might kill him and also because he doesn’t want to end his time with you just yet. One of the things he missed about you living in the same city was weekends in museums for hours. Now that he has it again, he hesitates to cut the time short.

“Wait, I think we’re near one of the parks we visited when I came in college.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp sarcastically. “Did you study abroad? I never knew!”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol pulls out his phone and dials Berto’s number. “Hey, Berto. No, we're good, everything is fine. But I was wondering how far away is Villa Borghese from us? Oh really? Would you be able to come drop us off? Awesome. Thanks man.”

“Well?”

“He’ll be here in five.”

Five minutes turns into fifteen and in that time Seungcheol burns out. Jetlag and the dull thrums of city streets make him sleepy. You sit in front of him on a bench outside the church. He thought he was better at hiding it but he’s pretty sure if he sits down, he’ll fall asleep.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask once Berto arrives. “We can go back to the house if you want.”

There’s an unofficial official itinerary for today.

Anything before four is fair game. After that there is a welcome cocktail party at a fancy restaurant in the city one of the De Luca’s family friends own.

If Seungcheol doesn’t go home now then it’ll be a close call to nap and shower in time. Not that Sofie is exceptionally punctual about things like that but Seungcheol is.

“I don’t want you not to see stuff just because I’m tired.”

“Cheol, I’ve been here all week with Sofie and Han. I promise this was the only thing left on my list of stuff to do. Anything else would have been a bonus.”

“Only if you're sure.”

“We can always come back again. I’m pretty sure Sofie’s mom is decorating a room for me.”

Yeah, because most men are fine with their fiancée taking international trips with another man. Not that you’d listen or Johnny has the balls to say something about it. But Seungcheol knows the chances of coming back here together, like this, are slim to nonexistent.

“Alright. But you can’t bring it up in an argument.”

“I can and I will.” The corner of you mouth twitches as your head shakes before opening the back seat for him. “Now get in the car, old-timer.” 

Seungcheol falls asleep on your shoulder in a blink. Berto is quiet (or the open windows drown him out enough that Seungcheol can pretend) and the heat of your body next to his lulls his heart. It’s not a peaceful rest and his neck is killing him by the time Berto pulls into the driveway, but it’s nice.

Seungcheol beelines for the bathroom while you slip into the kitchen. Something about centerpieces or napkins or tablecloths; he isn’t really sure but Sofie’s mom says it's urgent so he goes upstairs alone, showers in record time, and dives under the covers.

His dreams are filled with blue and gold elephants, He wakes to the sound of your voice blended with the sound of water.

You’re singing. More so humming some off key melody that bounces off the shower tiles and echoes straight into his brain. It drags him in that liminal space between waking and dreaming where anything is possible. Maybe he’s still dreaming. Of you and him, back when you shared an apartment and things weren’t so complicated. When there weren’t secrets and omissions and he didn’t have to bite his tongue.

His eyes stay closed, refusing to budge until the last minute.

The shower turns off but the humming continues, louder now that you’re out of the bathroom and collecting your things.

You must think Seungcheol is still asleep because when his eyes slit open, only enough to decipher your hazy silhouette, you’re in nothing but a towel. A very very tiny towel that hides nothing but the necessary bits and even then only barely. 

He can’t wake up now. Not when you bend over to look in your suitcase for Seungcheol closed his eyes just in time. But it doesn’t stop his brain from latching on to every sound in the quiet of the room; the humming tickling across your lips, the wet thump! of your towel on the ground. Oh god, now you’re not even wearing a towel. 

Seungcheol won’t be that friend. He never has. Or has always tried not to be. But teenage hormones make a young boy’s brain untamable so it’d be a lie to say he’s never thought of you like that. But despite his feelings, Seungcheol has made sure they never became a factor in your friendship.

Even though there is a peace of his soul that will always belong to you.

So he pretends to be asleep, forcibly controlling his breathing while you shuffle around the room none the wiser to his rising predicament.

Finally, you disappear back into the bathroom to change and Seungcheol’s lungs stretch with air until they burn.

You look pretty. Objectively. You glow in the late afternoon sun pouring in from the window, a ditsy floral print dress of orange and cream that hugging your figure; delicate collar bones on display under the flimsy straps and the column of your neck bare save for the necklace you’ve worn everyday since your parents bought it for your sixteenth birthday.

“C’mon sleepy head,” you whisper.

Seungcheol is thrilled his gawking is easily disguised as jetlag.

He changes in the bathroom. Taking a moment to grip the sink, his reflection stares back in the mirror. It’s the exhaustion and dehydration making his brain muddle. Nothing to do with you or him.

It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fine.

The downstairs foyer is in complete chaos but Sofie commands the room like she always does from the top of the stairway.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?” She yells like a WWE announcer.

Cheers rise up from the gaggle of adults. Cousins, friends, parents, aunts and uncles. Most of them Seungcheol has never seen before and is pretty sure neither have Jeonghan or Sofie but it’s fine. The more the merrier.

Except when different cars end up filled to the brim and you end up sitting on Seungcheol’s lap instead of a seat.

His heart leaps with every bump, yo

ur hair flying into his face and leaving the sweet smell of perfume to flood his senses. Seungcheol can’t even think about that because Sofie’s Zia Linda puts her husband's driving to shame.

At some point you nearly fly out the open window–Why does no one believe in keeping the windows up?– and Seungcheol is forced to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from ending up a part of the cobblestone road.

“Sorry,” you say. The squeeze at his arm tells him your thankful at least something is stopping you from becoming roadkill.

“It’s fine.”

If you notice his strained breath, you don’t say anything.

The rooftop restaurant is gigantic but with everyone it feels small and crowded. Below, all of Rome spreads out. Lights twinkle in the distance and the moon is heavy overhead, ready for a night of revelry. It’s a welcome party so things are casual, finger foods and drinks flow heavily while everyone mingles.

Sofie and Jeonghan laugh at their own table, holding court with family and friends that flood in and out with congratulations. They’re good at it. Jeonghan ventures on the more introverted side but Sofie could have a meaningful conversation with a pile of rocks. 

You're off at another table, talking with Soonyoung and Seungkwan, a second glass of wine in hand. Laughter rings out and he feels drawn to it like a siren call. It was foolish to worry that the scar from Johnny wouldn’t heal over eventually. All you two needed was time.

Seungcheol barely leaves your side during the party. You dance and drink and dance some more until you’re both left in a heap at the same table by the dance floor. Soonyoung and Seokmin provide ample distraction, taking to the floor to do…something Seungcheol hesitates to call dancing because it resembles a child's idea of a circus. 

Dancing, food, and wine leave him feeling loose and sleepy. You’re not much better, head on his shoulder and hand tangled with his across your knees.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

His shirt is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled high. In the back of the car on the ride home, you trace the muscle of his forearms draped over your waist until it lulls him to sleep.

Back at the house, you, Sofie, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol throw out sleepy goodnights and I love you’s before retreating to your separate corners of the house. Jeonghan is technically staying in a room in the same wing as you two (Sofie’s house is big enough to have an east and west wing which still shocks him). Something about family tradition and bad luck for the wedding but Jeonghan follows his fiancée like a shadow to her room at the opposite end of the house without theatrics.

And then there’s just you two.

You lean on each other the entire walk up, like you need the other support or you’ll crumble to the floor and sleep there. Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Seungcheol has slept in worse places.

The stairs present their own challenges. You go first, Seungcheol right behind in case you fall backwards which has happened enough times that it’s become a habit to walk this way when alcohol is involved. But it doesn’t solve the issue of you tripping up.

Which you do with an effortless lack of grace on the last step.

“Oh, shit!” you giggle.

Seungcheol laughs so hard his knees buckle and he flops on the floor next to you like a dying fish.

“Shhh!” you slur, finger pressed to his lips. “People are sleeping.”

But you're cackling now and he can’t breathe from the painful quaking laughter rooting in his belly. He’s on his back, and you prop up on your arm to loom over him. Twin smiles breaking your faces, eyes watering with drunken mirth.

You go silent first, tracing his features silently like they must be committed to memory. Seungcheol does the same. You’re exactly the same as the day you left. Except for the vacation glow from being here for the past week. He recognizes all the parts of you he’s known for a lifetime. The silver scar on your chin from learning to ride a bike and crashing into a tree. The color of your eyes. The blush of your mouth.

The finger pressed to his lips traces along the plump flesh, then his chin, then it circles the back of his head and you’re ducking down.

Alarms go off in Seungcheol’s head screaming: 

DANGER! DANGER! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS DO! DANGER!

“Wow, it’s late,” he laughs horsley as he rolls away and to his feet. 

You jump away, dazed for a second before laughing as well. “Yeah, let’s um…let’s go to bed.”

He can’t quite read your expression. Several  emotions swirl across your face but Seungcheol can barely look at you without feeling his face heat so he doesn’t linger. 

Seungcheol takes the bathroom after you finish, rushing through his night time routine in sober silence. 

You're drunk. That’s the only reason you’re trying to kiss him. Or he had something on his mouth and you can’t find the words to tell him. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse of judgment that didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t even a fraction of an almost kiss. Your noses barely touched, it doesn’t count.

When he comes back into the room, you’re curled up on the bed in your pajamas asleep.

Seungcheol circles to the other side, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. The room feels smaller after what just happened. But it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing happened. You both were drunk and missed each other. You never would have kissed him.

Despite the fact the first, and only, time you two kissed was in very similar circumstances.

Rolling over, you find him and cuddle into his chest. Seungcheol opens his arms for you on instinct. 

“Did you have fun today?” you ask into his collarbone. The vibration of your voice tickles but it’s dulled from Seungcheol’s heart thudding wildly.

“Yeah.”

His hand smooths the back of your hair, down your back. You readjust, throwing a leg over his own and pulling him in tight.

“Good,” you say around a yawn. “Me too.”

Seungcheol tamps down the piece of him that wants to indulge in this. Just holding you, pretending things outside the door don’t exist and it’s just you and him and no one else. 

But he can’t do that.

“You know,” he starts. “I’m happy for you no matter what, right? You and Johnny…I’m happy for you.”

Seungcheol waits for a response that will never come because you’re out cold, snoring against his chest.

You’re still asleep when Seungcheol wakes around noon. Sometime in the night you shifted to the far side of the bed, taking the blanket with you. He doesn’t try to wake you, still confused at exactly what happened last night.

Seungcheol isn’t naive. He knows what women look like when they want to be kissed, when they're thinking about how his mouth will feel against theirs. Usually he revels in it; loves the flare to his ego, the chance to tease before giving in.

But to see the expression on your face sent him into a panic. He’s seen it once before, indulged in it, and it ruined his life for the better part of college. Lips parted, eyes glassy as you stared. All the telltale signs were there: the lift of your chin, hands twisted in his shirt, eyes drooped low.

And the worst part was you did all that despite having a fiance waiting back home none the wiser. Even if Seungcheol couldn’t stand Johnny, he’d never do that. Never allow you to do that. 

Even if he wanted nothing more than to feel your lips on his.

He heads as far away as he can. Turns out it’s down stairs for breakfast. Sofie is at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop.

“Morning,” Seungcheol croaks.

“You look like shit. Wild night?”

“Just some old timers thinking they’re twenty one again.”

“What assholes.” She laughs. “How's Y/N?”

Seungcheol freezes like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Sofie couldn’t know what almost but certainly didn’t happen in the hallway last night. “She’ll probably need an exorcism but she’ll survive.”

“By the way, I meant to give her this last night but everything was crazy. Can you pass it off? Jeonghan and I have to take my grandma to lunch and she’s already called twice sooooo…”

“Yeah, go. Have fun.”

Sofie is up and out before he can blink, a tiny piece of cardstock left in her place.

Kira Long

Artisan Jeweler

Her social media and number are at the bottom but Seungcheol doesn’t need more information.

He hides around the villa most of the day. Catching up with the guys around the pool, feigning fatigue when you come out to join. The gardens are big enough for him to disappear into for a few hours before he needs to go and get ready.

Unfortunately, that also means you are getting ready. 

A leg.

That’s all Seungcheol sees when he opens the door.

Your leg specifically, propped on the dresser while you apply lotion in nothing but that damn skimpy towel designed to torture him.

“AH!” you shriek, shocked by his sudden entrance. 

“I’m sorry!” he shouts.

The fabric unravels around your chest and suddenly you're naked and Seungcheol is not looking. 

“What the fuck? Have you ever heard of knocking?”

He’s not.

“Why are you naked?”

The ceiling is very interesting. 

“Because I wanted to scare you.” you scream sarcastically. The door to the hallway is still open. Seungcheol either stays in with you or goes back out because it can’t stay open much longer. He makes the fatal mistake of locking himself inside with you. “Because I thought you’d knock, you fucker! Jesus fucking Christ, turn around.”

Seungcheol saw you naked. 

He hides in the bathroom like a wimp until it’s time to leave.

—

It’s a short walk to the church down the street for the rehearsal ceremony. It’s all a blur given the million and one things flying through his brain; most of them you. You in your towel. The fact you’re engaged. You looking at him like you’re dying to be kissed. The fact you’re engaged. How everyone has assumed you’re a couple this entire weekend and you’ve played along. The fact you are engaged to a man that isn’t him and Seungcheol can’t help but feel bitter about it for a completely different reason than he ever thought he would be. 

Luckily, the ceremony is only planned to last less than an hour. He knows he isn’t subtle but he tries to grin and bear it for his friends. He can see the same sentiment in you. Your smile doesn’t quite fit but Seungcheol can’t think about what it could be about. 

“Do you take this man…”

Was it his rejection? It wouldn’t make sense if it was. You’re his best friend but not even that dictates cheating. You weren’t the type; in your own words cheating was more pathetic than ghosting someone as a form of break up. 

He doesn’t get it.

“I always love you even though you sleep like a princess, my love,” Sofie gushes.

“And I’ll forgive you for snoring like an old man, love of my life.” Jeonghan fires back.

They’re saving their real vows, the one Seungcheol helped Jeonghan with, for the ceremony. Even with all the confusion swirling in his head, he can’t wait for Sofie to hear what Jeonghan has in store.

The priest is less than impressed but moves forward like he can’t wait to have them out of his congregation as fast as possible.

“Okay, and you two leave and the wedding party follows…”

Seungcheol offers his arm to the Maid of Honor, Maria, guiding her back down the aisle where Jeonghan and Sofie bicker. You follow with Seokmin, break away the second it's polite with some excuse about needing the bathroom before you dissolve into the crowd.

The dinner is back at the house. The outside is lined with chairs crowded around tables covered in exploding bouquets and candles. Family members and friends weave to and fro, drinks and food flowing heavily.

You’re talking to Seokmin in the corner of the courtyard, a glass of wine already in your hand as you laugh along to whatever the other man said. 

“So Sofie said you’re a lawyer?” Maria asks. 

“Yeah, that’s how we became friends. I actually was the one who introduced her and Jeonghan.”

“Wow, so you’re a lawyer and a matchmaker.” 

Seungcheol laughs at the compliment. Introducing Sofie and Jeonghan had been a complete accident with unintended consequences. “I wouldn’t say that. I thought Sofie would strangle him the first time they met.”

“Oh, I heard all about that. When Sofie told me they started dating I thought she must’ve meant a different Jeonghan.”

Maria makes good company through the first rounds of drinks before dinner is served. She takes his focus away from you, how your leg presses against his under the table. She grew up down the road, went to school with Sofie all the way through undergrad. Her boyfriend, Jihoon, is a surgeon back in Seattle while she works in marketing. Unfortunately getting time off for a second year resident verges on impossible so he couldn’t come to the wedding.

“You two are so cute together, how long have you been dating?” Maria asks before taking a swig of her drink.

“Oh we’re not together,” Seungcheol corrects swiftly.

You give a tense nod of agreement. 

“Really?”

“Yep. We grew up together. She’s like my sister.” 

He sounds like an asshole. The words are bile but there can be no room for incorrect interpretations. This weekend had been nothing but confusing so far. Seungcheol needs to set himself straight on where he stands with you.

“Oh,” Maria nods. “Okay. So Y/N, are you dating anyone?”

“Actually I—”

Your response fizzles out because Jeonghan’s dad rises from his seat for a speech.

“I want to take a moment to express my deepest appreciation to everyone here this weekend to celebrate Sofie and Jeonghan. I remember the first time he told us about her, how happy he was and thought ‘oh this poor girl doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into’.” There’s a smatter of laughter throughout the room. Sofie leans into Jeonghan’s shoulder and he places a kiss on her temple. “But then I met Sofie and I can say, without a doubt, there are very few people more perfect for each other than those two. Sofie, welcome to our family.”

Dinner passes, course after course and more wine until Seungcheol physically can’t have any more. You and Maria hit it off, rambling about Jihoon’s two cats and the abandoned kitten that hangs out around his work he’s trying to bribe into coming home. You barely look at him during the conversation but he prefers it.

Dessert comes with coffee and then everyone dissolves. Some stay around the tables to chat and drink and laugh, others help clean up. But Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and the groom's party head for the back gardens, Seungkwan already queueing up the song for one last practice.

It’s tradition, in southern Italy at least, for the groom to serenade his bride-to-be the night before their wedding. Seungcheol couldn’t believe Jeonghan was planning to go through with such tradition but he’s seen the man do more for Sofie than he thought he was capable of so it shouldn’t come as a shock.

The warm summer air does good for his mood, as does laughing with the guys when Soonyoung and Seungkwan get into a wrestling match after debating if they step-shuffle for three or four counts. But they all agree with four because it’s easier to remember.

The top floor balcony at the front of the house turns out to be Sofie’s room. The light floods out of the open doors, and two sets of giggles pour down to where they stand.

Jeonghan cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Juliet, Juliet! Let down your hair!” 

“That’s not the saying.” Seungcheol corrects. 

“Shut up, I’m talking to my wife.”

“That’s not the saying!” Sofie laughs from above. 

You and Sofie peek over the side of the iron terrace, grins already splitting your faces. You knew what was happening. It’s why you whisked Sofie away with whatever distraction you could think of while the men gathered outside for a quick last minute dry run. Something about broken heels and needing to borrow a pair of shoes.

“Sofie Cosima De Luca, you are the love of my life.” Jeonghan yells. He’s drunk on love (and a lot of champagne). “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow. I just hope after this you still want to marry me. Hit it!”

The obscenely large speaker Seungcheol carried out starts humming the instrumental to Sofie and Jeonghan’s song. The very one Jeonghan drunkenly serenaded her with in a dingy bar, back when she didn’t believe he could handle a serious relationship and he was hopelessly wrapped around her finger.

“I’ve got sunshineeeeeeee on a cloudy day…” Jeonghan croons.

“Oh my god,” Sofie cackles.

Everyone else joins in, harmonizing in the back along with the choreo Seungkwan and Soonyoung came up with. A simple side step with occasional jazz hands (much to Soonyoung’s tipsy dismay). “I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way?” 

“MY GIRL,” Jeonghan belts his line, smiling dumbly.

You’re watching the shenanigans unfold, smiling as well. But while you're looking at everyone else, the only person Seungcheol can look at is you; the way your eyes gleam in the moonlight, your chin tipping back to laugh when Jeonghan’s voice cracks. You’re breathtaking. For a brief moment, barely a passing thought in the roaring river of his brain focused on his cue to sing and side step when needed, Seungcheol imagines what it would be like if you two were the only ones around.

Chalking it up to the moment, Seungcheol thinks about anything else as they finish the performance.

The music dwindles away and all that's left is Jeonghan staring up at his future wife as the rest of the group takes exaggerated bows. Other guest peek from windows or the edge of the drive way, cheering loudly.

“Bravi! Bravissimi!” Sofie cries as you both clap. “Can I make a request?”

Jeonghan nods like an eager puppy in response.

“Sing the Thong Song!” you both request through giggles.

“That's for after the wedding.” Jeonghan winks.

Time for Seungcheol to do his best man duties and prevent Jeonghan from making a complete ass of himself. "Alright Casanova, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jeonghan calls over his shoulder, fighting against everyone ushering him away.

“Don’t be late!” Sofie demands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

After returning Jeonghan to his room for the night, Seungcheol heads back to his completely unprepared to see you again. Too many feelings swirl in his head. Feelings he thought he finally left back in college.

He remembers only a few key events of his early childhood. When he lost his first tooth, when he broke his arm for the first time, and his soccer game at four years old when Jeonghan and he rubbed dirt in each other's faces and rolled in the grass instead of playing. But other than that, his life has been distinctly divided into two parts: before you, and after you. He remembers when you marched into the first day of second grade with a sparkly blue bookbag much too big for your little body. You went to the front of the class, introduced yourself loud and proud, and then looked around the room like you were daring anyone to say something back. 

And like any other childhood friendship is made, you sat at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s table and asked if they wanted to be your friend. Without even considering the options, they both agreed. From then on out you’d always been Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and YN. Friends in elementary school, all through middle school, and even into the far reaches of highschool when Seungcheol played sports all year while you and Jeonghan did theater. It never occurred to any of you to be apart. Until Jeonghan stayed home to attend university in your hometown. And then it was Seungcheol and YN. Jeonghan came to visit when he could and vice versa. But at university it was you two against the world.

The first time Seungcheol realized he liked you was in third grade after you dumped chocolate milk on Jeonghan’s head because he put a bug in your lunchbox. He married you on the playground and made mud pies to celebrate. And then in high school when Seungcheol realized you weren’t just a girl but a pretty girl and the hormones of his teenage body latched onto that fact and plagued his dreams with the information. 

And he never did anything about that crush because he knew it wasn’t worth losing you to act on those silly notions. They passed just like he thought, melted away as time went on and you both dated other people. 

But that night freshman year of college…

It doesn’t matter. 

Because you have a fiancé and Seungcheol is happy for you.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom as Seungcheol enters your shared room. At least it delays the inevitable awkwardness. 

Or he thought it would.

“Hey, Cheol?” you call from the door.

“Yeah?”

“I forgot my clothes. Can you bring them to me?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Seungcheol scrambles for the pile of clean pajamas at the corner of the bed, snatching them up and stepping closer to the door that separates you. “Here.”

Mind caught on other things – like not remember that he caught a glimpse of you make last night, barely a second, no real detail except creamy skin and details his brained filled in on its own accord to his own chagrin – Seungcheol trips over his own feet and slams into the piece of wood head first.

The only thing stopping the door from flying straight into the wall is you.

“Shit!” you exclaim following a ricocheting ‘thump.’ “What the fuck, Cheol?”

Clutching his forehead, Seungcheol is oblivious to the tangle of limbs you’ve both collapsed into. 

“Fuck, sorry.” He blinks against the stark brightness of the overhead light. You’re clutching at your face, hands cupped around your nose and eyes filled with tears. “Here let me see.”

Your eyes crack open enough to glare at him, narrow and rimmed red. As if he didn’t feel awful enough.

Without a second thought, he strokes across the curve of your knee soothingly. “I won’t touch it, I just wanna make sure it isn’t broken.”

A hand shakenly falls away to unveil your perfectly fine nose. Seungcheol tips your chin up, moving in for a closer look just in case. But everything is fine. You’re not even bleeding, just a runny nose that definitely hurts worse than it looks. 

The initial rush of panic ebbs only to be replaced with awareness. Seungcheol is kneeling between your legs, your towel is definitely too short, and the beads of water caught on your collarbone are down right taunting him. He needs to get away.

Now.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, moving back.

Your face morphs into horror at his tone. “What?”

“You’ve got a huge bat in the cave.” Seungcheol rises to his feet, offering you a hand up while ignoring the way your chest struggles against the tie of the towel as you come to your feet as well.

“Fuck you,” you laugh, pushing him away. “Give me my clothes and get the fuck out.”

Seungcheol does just that. As the lock latches back he’s left alone with nothing but thoughts of you.

He remembers. That night you two have never spoken about. And probably would never discuss even under the threat of life and limb. A drunk kiss, in the stuffy bar that didn’t care if your IDs were fake as long as you had money.

Seungcheol remembers the way you felt in his lap, the taste of your mouth, the breathy whine against his lips when he first pulled away from the kiss. Maybe that last detail was a hallucination but it felt real. The heat of your body haunted Seungcheol for the week after it happened. 

Not even Jeonghan knew about it. 

And he’d rather die than open that can of worms. The first time Seungcheol had a crush on you in high school, he swallowed those feelings and never let them see the light of day. Because you’re his best friend, his longest friend, and if it was between the risk of losing you from his feelings (that he was certain would fade eventually despite the fact they never have) or keeping you in his life, then he’d stay silent if it killed him.

It’s your turn to disappear the next morning. You’re side of the bed is long cooled by the time Seungcheol’s alarm goes off, a piece of him gone with it. 

His dreams hadn’t helped. A faceless woman, not even sounds or sights or tangible things he could identify. But he knows the feeling. That alluring warmth of a body firm against his own, the kind that leaves him aching when he wants up. Seungcheol knows it's you. It’s the same images that have plagued his subconscious since adolescence when he’d wake up to messy boxers and the inability to look you in the face for days after.

Feelings he’s long suppressed came out last night. Seeing you in the window, in the bathroom, it’s all too much. And now it chases him into sleep; the one place he thought he might have peace.

Luckily your absence means there's no awkward explanation of why he’s hard. The trip to the bathroom is more of dejected desperation than eager need. Seungcheol hops into the shower and takes care of it, careful to keep his thought as abstract as possible or risk you popping up in his fantasy. Dreaming about you is damning enough. He doesn’t need to add to the guilt weighing on his conscience.

The rhythm of the water lulls his brain into a cycle. He can’t do this. He can’t go another minute 

He can’t even survive Jeonghan’s wedding. How he will sit through yours with a grin will be a true test of his acting ability.

But that is future Seungcheol’s problem. Right now he needs to get through today and then tomorrow and after that he’ll be on a plane back home where he can ruminate in the isolated confines of his apartment. 

He just needs to focus on one thing at a time. 

Right now, it’s getting downstairs in the next ten minutes or risk losing tee time with Jeonghan and the other groomsmen. 

There’s only two people he’d ever turn to in a time like this, except he can’t talk to either of them because one is the problem and the other is getting married in a few hours. The last thing Jeonghan needs is to hear about an issue between his two best friends.

Which is why he’s the first to pick up Seungcheol’s mood. 

“You look like shit,” Jeonghan greets. 

The other mill about the kitchen, snagging leftover pastries and fruit. Usually Seungcheol is the first to show up, not the last. But Soonyoung still seems to be missing.

“Thanks.” 

“Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well if you’re tired you can always join the girls at the spa.” Jeonghan offers. “Sofie said they’re doing mud baths.”

The wedding isn’t until this afternoon leaving the entire morning free. So the boys play golf while the girls go soak in mud.

“That sounds…horrible.”

“I know,” Jeonghan nods. “Alright gentlemen, let's head out.”

Seungcheol eats shit the entire morning. He usually scores around seventy five but he’s destined to break well over a hundred today and even Jeonghan pretends he doesn’t notice. 

“Do you ever think about why nothing happened between you and Y/N?” Jeonghan asks right as Seungcheol prepares to swing.

Kicking a man when he’s down is more of a guideline for his best friend rather than something to avoid.

Seungcheol’s shot flies wide, straight into a fairway bunker a good thirty yards behind everyone else’s ball. He watches for another solid minute, deflating.  “No.” 

“If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.” Jeonghan chides, setting up his own tee.

“I’m not lying.”

“Humor me. It’s my wedding day and I’m trying not to freak out.” 

“You’re freaked out?” 

“Dude, of course I’m freaked out. We’ve never gone more than a few hours without talking since we started dating and I haven’t seen her since last night. So just let me focus on something else,” Jeonghan sighs.

Seungcheol thinks about his next words wisely. Jeonghan can smell bullshit a thousand miles away, and playing mind games right now feels a little unfair. “I don’t wonder why nothing happened anymore.” 

“Lying again but whatever.”  Jeonghan grabs for his drive and lines up the shot.

“Why are you asking?” 

“I don’t know. Everyone thought you two would end up together eventually and then you didn’t. I’ve got a lot of people asking and I wanted an official response because you’re not exactly subtle and she isn’t stupid.”

Jeonghan’s shot lands square on the first cut, fifty yards ahead of Seungcheol’s ball. 

“Yeah, well.” Seungcheol huffs. “If she noticed, she never said anything.”

“Okay but did you ever say anything?” 

Jeonghan hands his club over to his catty before they start towards their respective zones. Seungcheol and his friend trailing behind.

Seungcheol argues. “You just said I wasn’t subtle?”

“You aren’t,” Jeonghan snorts. “But Y/N is about as impressionable as rock.”

“Did you think something was gonna happen?”

Seungcheol reaches his ball first. All the other guys are further ahead but Jeonghan sticks by.

“No.” Jeonghan says. “But I know you kissed her.”

Seungcheol turns to the other man, mouth gaped in shock. “How the fuck did you know that? Did she tell you?”

“I KNEW IT.” Jeonghan points at him like a little kid tattling on his friend. “ I fucking knew it! Sofie owes me fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Y/N is a better liar than you, I’ll give her that but I knew something was off that first week I came to visit. I knew you didn’t have the balls to sleep with her so I must have been something else.”

Jeonghan asked you if you remember the kiss. Jeonghan and Sofie know you kissed. You remember the kiss. But you never said anything. If that doesn’t solidify Seungcheol firmly in the friendzone then nothing else would.

“You made a bet with your fiancée on whether your best friends kissed or not?” Seungcheol shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’ll understand when you have a successful relationship.” Jeonghan touts.

The catty hands over Seungcheol’s driver. He looks about Seungcheol’s age, maybe younger, and by the look on his face he’s trying very hard to pretend he isn’t listening to the unfolding drama. 

Another person to witness how hopeless he is. Great.

“It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake.”

“You never know,”  Jeonghan shrugs, following his catty further up the fairway and ending the conversation.

Back at the house, you’re nowhere to be seen while Seungcheol showers and changes. It’s for the best. No sleep, a horrible golf game, and now all the feelings that returned over the weekend have left him with nothing but a foul mood. 

Every step is dragged out so he doesn’t have to pretend you two are fine. He can’t afford another blow out right now because today is meant to be for Jeonghan and Sofie. Even if Jeonghan thought he should talk about it, Seungcheol couldn’t do it anymore. He wouldn’t do it anymore. But the time it takes leaves his head spinning out of control.

You’re pretending nothing is wrong. Cuddling up to him, calling him your husband. You nearly kissed him. You would’ve if he didn’t stop you. You always said cheating was worse than heartbreak but now here you are, capitalizing on his feelings for whatever satisfaction you selfishly crave; using Seungcheol to hurt your fiancé in secret. Who you seem dedicated to pretending doesn’t exist. 

It’s a nasty cycle. Feeling used, disbelief of who you’ve turned into in months away, that piece of him that always craved something more with you flowering only to wilt because it’s not real. 

You don’t want Seungcheol.

You never have.

The wedding party gathers outside the church. Sofie is tucked away in a private room until her grand entrance. She wanted everyone to be surprised, leaving her bridesmaids to mingle with the groomsmen until it was time to for the ceremony to start.

The lavender bridesmaid dress is nothing special. A tie at the top keeps the entire thing up, the front void of any details. The open back adds a flash of skin but other than that there isn’t much to it. But you’re wearing it and Seungcheol can feel his heart jerk as the fabric flows around your curves. The universe is taunting him with what he’ll never have.

He doesn’t stare despite the fact that every time he blinks his gaze automatically searches for you. It’s hard to ignore the only person he sees in a crowded room. Even if he’s pissed at you.

You excuse yourself from Seokmin, creeping over to where Seungcheol stands with a grin. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” he nods.

“Is something wrong?’ 

A shot of annoyance flashes through him. Now is not the place. Last time he felt like this, you two got in a screaming match on a snowy sidewalk. “No.”

You shake your head, hand coming to rest on his arm in an act of comfort. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird.”

Betrayed by his own body. Half of him wants to get on the next flight home and block your number so he can forget all of this. It wouldn’t work. The times tried anything remotely of the sort only leave him in circling thoughts day and night.

The other half of him wants to wrap you in his arms and take whatever you're willing to give him. The half that could act like Johnny didn’t exist, at least not in this little bubble where nothing else exists but you and him. Because he's selfish and he’s been in love with you for years and he would never expect something in return for his feelings but he can’t take it any more.

But he can’t pretend anymore.

Pretending he’s never been jealous of your boyfriends, and that the night in college when you kissed meant nothing. That it didn’t flood his brain everytime he looked at you; that it didn’t leave more questions than answers. He’s been pretending everything has been fine, that seeing you asleep on his chest doesn’t make his heart hurt, and that he was stronger than the temptation to kiss you last night.

He remembers that night with clarity despite how drunk he was. Thought it meant you felt the same way he had for years.

“Cheers to finally being adults!” you scream, tequila shot raised over head.

Seungcheol laughs. Nothing is that funny but he’s nineteen and drunk in a dingy college bar with his best friend . “Adults!”

Someone passes by and knocks you forward, straight into Seungcheol's chest where you keep laughing as you look up at him.

You’re close. Closer than ever before. He could count all your eyelashes if there weren’t four of you floating in his vision. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to see clearly. Not when you’re already kissing him.

He’s kissing you.

It’s sloppy and drunk but his brain doesn’t think in big picture. It’s all feeling. Your hand in his shirt, a sweet sigh against his chin when you break away for a second just to come right back. Your mouth tastes like alcohol and lime and he’s never had anything better sweep across his tongue.

Thank god for the booth because you’re in his lap now, grinding against the seam of his jeans until he’s hard and when you finally realize you say his name.

And then Seungcheol pulls away, turns his head, and vomits before blacking out.

He hates that he thinks about it. He thinks about it all the time. What if? But there’s no more what ifs. There's only right now. Just you and him and the widening space in between that's become unnavigable. 

“I’m acting weird? I’m not the one rubbing herself all over me, calling me her husband to strangers, and trying to kiss me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t believe you would do something like this. Why would you put me in this position? Do you think it’s funny?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m happy for you, really. I just think it’s best if we don’t talk for a while. I think you need to sort things out with your fiance.”

Now that seems to get your attention. “Seungcheol, what—”

The music swells from the organ inside, cueing the ceremony and effectively silencing your questions. 

Good. It’s better that way. Seungcheol is weak for you in all the ways that matter and he knows if he had to stand there for another minute then your hurt expression is all it would take for him to fold and pretend he never said anything.

You join the other bridesmaids and Seungcheol ducks inside the church after the wedding planner opens the doors. One by one the other groomsmen walk in: Joshua, Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and finally Seokmin. Each line up further down Jeonghan’s side. Then the bridesmaids follow. 

Sofie’s cousin, who Seungcheol met once, glides down the aisle followed by another taller cousin who looks nearly identical. Then it’s Sofie’s roommate from college, Mona who Josh had been trying to get with all weekend.

You walk up the aisle, a smile plastered on your face but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You won’t look in his direction. 

Everything is slipping through his fingers and you both have to pretend they aren’t.

Everyone turns to watch Maria, and then Sofie. But the only person Seungcheol is paying attention to is you. 

The ceremony flies by. Sofie cries, Jeonghan cries. 

Sofie cries even harder when Jeonghan recites his vows in Italian. It’s odd, watching his two friends who usually are the couple laughing in the corner, be so vulnerable. Declaring their love for each other in front of a few hundred people.

“Sofie, sin dal primo momento in cui ti ho incontrata, sapevo che ti avrei voluta nella mia vita per sempre. Che tu mi amassi o odiassi, per me andava bene, perché significava che avresti pensato a me tanto quanto io pensavo a te. Mi hai dato il privilegio di chiamarti mia, e non posso aspettare di farlo per il resto delle nostre vite.”

Six months of using Seungcheol as practice, along with Sofie’s cousin, and he sounds decent. Jeonghan wouldn’t win any awards for his language skills but everyone’s faces melt around the room. Even the people that don’t know a word of what he’s say can feel the earnest dedication he has to Sofie. Even Seungcheol gets misty eyed.

“Io, Jeonghan, prendo te, Sofie, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita.”

“I, Sofie, take you, Jeonghan, as my husband and promise to be faithful to you always, in joy and in pain, in health and in sickness, and to love you and every day honor you, for the rest of my life.”

Then they kiss and Sofie screams something along the lines of “we’re married, bitches!” much to the priest demise before exiting the church. 

From there it’s chaos. 

The entire wedding party is corralled for endless pictures while everyone else heads back to the villa for the reception. You don’t look at him and Seungcheol refuses to acknowledge you until your parents are forcing you two together for awkward pictures like its high school prom.

By the time it’s over and he gets to the reception, the party is in full swing and the sun is setting.

Dinner is a blur. He makes his toast, short and sweet like Jeonghan told him to. The night progresses and people flood the cleared area serving as a makeshift dance floor in the center of the courtyard.

Seungcheol sips his wine. Three glasses in an hour because he isn’t sure what to do with his hands when his obligatory dance with Maria is over and he’s avoided being dragged on the floor by one of Sofie’s more zealous aunts because she herself demands a dance.

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Yoon?”

Sofie turns to watch Jeonghan twirls her great grandmother. Or more like Nonna Cosima leads him. She’s surprisingly spry for someone pushing triple digits. “I think he’s gonna be a great first husband.”

His gaze settles on you, Seokmin leading you across the floor in a ridiculous fashion. The younger man is trying hard to make you laugh and it seems to be working.

“She thinks you’re mad at her,” Sofie says.

“Maybe I am.”

“Care to share with the class?” She prods but Seungcheol doesn’t break, using the ending of the song to find a table at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. “Fine, but I feel like if you’re gonna pout at my wedding I should at least know why. Especially because I owe Han fifty bucks because you can’t lie to save your life.”

Seungcheol is mad. But mostly at himself. For tricking himself into thinking maybe, just maybe, there could be something more. That in all the improbable universes you returned his feelings, this would be one. 

And he did all that knowing you’re dedicated to someone else who is so entirely wrong for you.

“What did she tell you?” Seungcheol asks. 

“That’s not how this works. No pay, no play.”

He studies Sofie for a minute. She’s good at keeping her cards close but she knows about you and Johnny. It wouldn’t be a far leep to assume she knows about everything else.

“God, you sound like Jeonghan.”

“Have you and Y/N talked? Like, really talked, since you got here?” There's a weight at the end of that sentence but Sofie doesn’t elaborate. 

“Care to be more specific?” he asks, grabbing for another glass.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Sofie takes the seat beside him.

His chest tightens. This is it. 

“About her and Johnny?”

“So she did say something…” Sofie fishes.

“No she didn’t. But I heard you guys in the kitchen the night I got in.”

“You did?” she gasps. “And you didn’t say anything to her about it?”

His jaw ticks in annoyance. “What’s there to say? ‘Congrats on your engagement, you’re too good for him’? I don’t think that's what she’d wa—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sofie throws her hands up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. All around the party continues. “You think Y/N is engaged? To who?”

“Johnny! Who else?”

Her drink sloshes over the sides of her wine glass, narrowly missing the white gown and falling to the cobblestone. “Oh my god, you’re an idiot!”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s not engaged, you dipshit,” she goes on. “Oh my god, you’re both so stupid. I told Han, I told him we should’ve said something.”

“What?” he says quietly.

Sofie continues as if Seungcheol hasn’t spoken at all, “I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

“She broke up with him!”

She broke up with him. She (you) broke up with him (Johnny). You and Johnny are done. It’s like he’s hearing the news from underwater.

“She broke up with him.” He repeats dumbly.

Someone cheers and then applause follows but Seungcheol is lost in his mind. You and Johnny aren’t engaged. You two aren’t even dating. Haven’t been. 

“When?”

Sofie’s face softens. She knows. The first time he introduced you to Sofie she assumed you two were dating. She didn’t like Johnny for a lot of the same reasons Seungcheol did, but also because she thought you two were meant to be together. “A week after she moved.”

That phone call the week after you moved. It must’ve been something to do with you and Johnny. But why didn’t you answer messages the next morning? Why would you break up with Johnny and then refuse to tell him? Why would you let Seungcheol think he was being used as the other man?

“So this entire week…”

“She was supposed to tell you. I told her to tell you months ago but does she listen to me? Nope.”

“Do you know why?”

“Now that is something she needs to tell you.” Seungcheol looks where you're dancing with Seokmin. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes but you laugh when the man dips you almost to the floor and struggles to lift you back up. “But first you need to apologize.”

“Is it that bad?”

“When I imagined someone crying at my wedding it wasn’t because of you.”

Seungcheol winces, “She cried?”

“Yep. You owe me a nice ass wedding gift for that one.”

“Sofie, I’m sorry I—” he tries to apologize. 

“Cheol, don’t worry about it.” She pats his arm. “It was actually a nice distraction from the insanity this week.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It really is.” Sofie rises from the table, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my husband owes me a dance. And Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“You should tell her how you feel.”

Seungcheol takes his chance at Sofie’s departure. With the change in music Seokmin bows out and you're left on the dance floor alone. Cast in the soft glow of garden lights and candles, you’re tragically beautiful. Soft around the edges in a dreamy haze. Seungcheol feels like he’s intruding by approaching you but he needs to apologize before you both return to your separate corners of the country tomorrow night.

“Hey,” he greets.

You look at him apprehensively, eyes dark, before speaking. “Hi.”

You’re just as petty as Seungcheol so he knows if you’re speaking to him then there's some kind of hope he hasn’t completely ruined your friendship. But it could also mean you’re about to rip him a new one in front of everyone for not the first time in his life.

Hopefully, it’s the former.

“Mind a walk?”

“We’re at a wedding.”

Jeonghan and Sofie curl tightly around each other at the center of the courtyard. It’s clear from the way both their faces soften, lax grins reaching their ears, that the world has stopped spinning just for them.

“I’m pretty sure we could light them on fire right now and they wouldn’t notice. Besides, Sofie gave me her blessing,” he jokes but you don’t laugh.

“Fine,” you say before stalking towards one of the paths leading to more secluded parts of the house.

People drape across different parts of the villa as you two walk in silence to find some privacy. The gardens are full of chatting elders, kids running around in the dark or falling asleep in some adults' holds. After ten minutes with no luck at seclusion, Seungcheol has half a mind to go back to your room and talk it out but he doesn’t. The idea itself freezes his blood.

It’s not until you're deeper into the maze of shrubs and bushes that the voices and music fade. The silence is so tense he might shatter under the pressure.

You whip around to face him, still five paces ahead. 

“What did you want to talk about?” you deadpan.

Seungcheol thought through every thing he wanted to say, all the questions and whys and what ifs he’d collected during this trip but they abandoned him now that they have the chance to be answered. Instead, all that comes out of him is a shaky,  “I’m sorry.”

You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. He’s apologizing for more than he could put in words and he’d list them off until the sun comes up if he starts now.

“Okay. Is that all?” you ask.

“Sofie told me about Johnny.”

You blanche. “She did?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“What did she tell you?” your arms draw tightly around your center. Like you’re holding your heart from spilling out your chest. 

Seungcheol regurgitates the limited facts Sofie shared, which is that Johnny hasn’t been in the picture for months and you never deemed him worthy of that information.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I tried. But you didn’t answer your phone and I felt so stupid afterwards and… I just couldn’t do it.”

It hits a nerve deep in his heart. How could it have been easier to spend months pretending he didn’t exist then tell him your relationship ended? More anger slips through. The nasty kind that makes him say things he doesn’t mean but Seungcheol tries to reign it in.

“So you just ignored me and thought that’d solve all our problems?” 

“No!’

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I moved cities for a guy I didn’t even like that much! I changed my entire life for him just to prove a point. Because you were right about him and I was wrong and only took a fucking week to realize that after I screwed everything up. I should have listened to you but—”

“So you lied to me because you didn't want me to say ‘I told you so’?” Seungcheol fumes. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t lie to you!” you object.

“Yes you did! You stopped talking to me for months! Months. I can’t even remember we went a week without talking but you dropped off the face of the planet,” he rants. “I thought you were happy in New York with Johnny but apparently I’m the last to know anything. If you had just told me I wouldn’t have said anything. I would have gone up there and moved you back home myself.”

“I don’t want you to fix my mistakes!”

“Then what do you want? Because from where I’m standing I have no idea. All week you’ve been acting weird and because you didn’t tell me I thought you were using me to cheat on your boyfriend. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I didn’t mean to. Things just kept happening and I got swept up before I could tell you.”

Seungcheol was nothing more than a meaningless distraction, a rebound.

“So it didn’t mean anything to you?” he asks.

“No!” you cry. “I was just distracted.”

“Distracted? Are you serious?”

“You know what? Forget it. You don’t want to listen to me, you just want to be mad and yell.”

You’re right. Seungcheol does want to be mad and yell and pull his own hair out because what you’re saying isn’t helping untangle the knotted mess of his brain. It’s making it worse. Your confessions are watering that seed of hope in his chest despite the fact he knows nothing will ever happen. Even with Johnny out of the picture.

“Why did you break up with Johnny?”

“I—” Your eyes close. Pulled tight like you’re finding the courage to tell Seungcheol some dark secret. “He…” you swallow. “I broke up with him because…”

Seungcheol tenses, prepared for the absolute worst. You moved your entire life for the guy and broke up with him a handful of days later. There had to be a reason. “Because why? Did he do something?”

“No!” you correct. “I wish he did, I probably wouldn’t have felt like such a bitch but he didn’t do anything at all. I just realized we didn’t work.”

“You didn’t ‘work’?”

I told you so, indeed.

“Yeah. It’s kinda difficult to be with someone when you're in love with someone else,” you reply.

Suddenly, Seungcheol wishes he never brought it up. Another guy. One that isn’t him. Again. He’s the other man. Those gut feelings, the nagging voice at the back of his head that reminded him time and time again you couldn’t feel the same has its own ‘I told you so’ moment.

But that’s not what makes him feel horrible. He’d suffer from overthinking as long as needed just so you wouldn’t look so ashamed. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Seugncheol waits for you to elaborate. More silence except for the crunch of your shoes across the stone walkway. A bench comes into view and you slip into one of the spots before speaking again.

“I…I always wondered why those dates never worked out. Like, I would like someone but then they didn’t want the same things or they’d want the same things but I didn’t want them. And I guess Johnny was my last ditch effort because maybe if I knew from the beginning things weren’t gonna work out then I’d never be disappointed.”

Seungcheol isn’t sure what to say so he stays quiet.

“And I thought I could just live with it. Knowing I didn’t have what Jeonghan and Sofie have. Like who actually gets that in their life? But…”

“But?”

“But then I realized that there was only one guy my whole life that’s actually been everything I wanted and I was comparing everyone to him.”

“Who?”

“You.”

Him. You’ve compared every guy you’ve dated to him. He’s the person you want, the man you’ve measured everyone up to and found them wanting.

You’re in love with Seungcheol. You broke up with your boyfriend for Seungcheol.

You love him back.

“It’s fine, if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m okay with it. I wasn’t planning to tell you because I expected anything. I just… part of the reason I didn’t say anything is I know you don’t think about me like that but this week I thought— I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“You…what?”

“Let’s just agree to pretend this never happened, okay? We should get back to the party.” You move to rush past him but Seungcheol hooks an arm around your torso, light enough you could break through if you really wanted to but you stop all the same.

There is no way in hell you drop that bomb on him and leave him to deal with the aftermath alone.

His voice is unrecognizable to his own ears. “You broke up with Johnny because of me?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. You refuse to look at him, focusing on the neatly clipped grass your heels sink into.

“Because you’re in love with me.” 

You flounder. It isn’t a question. It’s a fact.

“How long?” Seungcheol presses.

“What?”

“How long have you been in love with me?”

“It's always been you.”

Seungcheol’s heart detonates into a million pieces.

“You?” His pulse is sprinting. You’re in love with him. Have been. Maybe as long as he’s been in love with. Impossible for it to be longer because there's no moment in time when Seungcheol didn’t carry his feelings for you like an old friend. “You didn’t say anything.”

Your eyes are wet again, more tears he wants to brush away but he can’t do anything but stare. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he whispers back.

“What's supposed to mean?”

Your nose brushes along his, eyes soft as you glance at his mouth. 

Seungcheol won’t let himself kiss you yet. He can’t. The first time he feels your lips on his in years has to be in private because he shakes at the idea of it, a part of him chips away from just imagining even the most chaste brush. But mostly because he’s terrified that once he starts, he knows he won’t be able to stop.

“Do you remember that night in college?” he asks. You’re stunned speechless by the abrupt shift in topic but the words fall out of his mouth before he can think of a better way to say what needs to be said. He continues, “when we did a million shots and you kissed me?”

You snap back, slapping a hand on his chest and nearly teetering to the ground. “You bitch! You kissed me!”

“So you do remember!”

“Of course I remember,” you declare. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

You remember. You remember how his mouth tasted, how you ground into his lap, the feeling of his hands on your ass. All of it sticks with you like it stuck to him.

“Trust me, I remember.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?” you huff.

“I was going to but you told me you started dating whatever-his-name before I could.”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back!”

“I’ve liked you since the first day I met you.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve said something.” The admonishment means nothing. Not with the way you smile at him. It makes his heart soar, hope bursting at the seams. 

“I didn’t even know you realized I was a dude until college, why would I say something?”

“Trust me, I knew you were a guy way before college.”

“And we’re back to the original question: why didn’t you say anything?”

It's ridiculous. Utterly comical and unimportant of who said what when because they’re being said now and Seungcheol never has to pretend he isn’t hopelessly in love with you ever again.

You cozy up into his chest, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. “Wow, barely five minutes we’re already fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.” His lips burn the word into your hairline, arms wrapping around your frame so his fingers can finally, finally, trace the bared skin of your back.

“Oh really?” You laugh. “Then what are we doing, oh wise one?”

“We’re having a spirited conversation over the fact you kissed me and never said anything.”

“And now we’re fighting over whether or not we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“You’re exhausting.” Your eyes roll. He can’t see it, not with how you duck into his neck, but he knows you did it. Because Seungcheol knows you better than anyone else.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And you kissed me.”

“Well then there's only one way to settle this.”

“Which is?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. If Jeonghan could be lit on fire and not think of anyone but his wife, then the world could fall to dust and the only thing on Seungcheol’s mind is the way your mouth feels against his.

It’s light at first. Airy because you’re both still laughing over arguing if you’re fighting or not. But then Seungcheol loses his balance and you help by curling a hand around his shoulder but refuse to stop kissing him and the world blinks out of existence for a second.

All the cliches start making sense. Two halves of a whole, puzzle pieces slipping together, all the things poets could say in a million more eloquent ways than him.

But Seungcheol feels at home for the first time in his life.

It’s not easy maneuvering a full grown woman up and into his lap. It’s especially not easy because you’re you and you’re more stubborn than anyone he’s met in his life which means you object to every step, huff and puff at a brief second of broken contact, but the second he spins you around and drags over his lap you melt.

Your tongue glides along his, sending a tsunami of want through his bones. You whimper. Or maybe he does. Seungcheol can’t tell what's up and what's down right now. He finds the open back of your dress and relishes in the arch of your spine, the choppy breath he can feel beneath his palms.

The silk bow holding your dress up teases his hand as Seungcheol traces the notches of your spine. No one would see. No one except him and the moon and the stars who’ve all stopped to watch. He wants to. God, he wants to but he doesn’t.

You tug at his hair and your name floods his tongue like a curse. 

Draped across his lap in nothing but thin satin, you can feel all of him. How his cock hardens against the back of your thighs, shaky breathes in his lungs wrecking into your own chest. You're not wearing a bra. None of that tape or the sticky thing you’d leave hanging in the bathroom when you lived together. Seungcheol knows because he thumbs over the soft swell of your chest and you respond with a rock of hips that leaves his mouth watering.

The last time he kissed you, that fateful night freshman year of college, Seungcheol thought about it every night for months. He thought about it in the shower, in his bed. His mind would wander towards the memory during class and when he walked around campus.

Now he’ll think about this for the rest of his life.

A shrieking laugh almost sends you to the ground in haste to break away, but Seungcheol catches you in time. 

“Um…” you choke. Your lips are swollen, eyes a little dazed.

“We should go back inside.”

“Yeah.”

“Just, give me a minute.”

“Why?” Your smile grows steadily as you press more firmly into his predicament.

“I have an issue right now.”

“What kind of issue, Cheolie?” you stare at him through your lashes, finger tracing down the front of his shirt until you reach the button of his pants.

“Oh God,” he grunts as the heel of your hand rocks into him. “You’re actually evil.”

Your lips trace over his jaw, sucking and nipping at the lobe of his ear until he shudders. “Don’t you want me?” 

“I do,” he breaths. “Shit.”

His hand squeezes across your ass, your breasts, mindful of how much freedom you’re giving him. To feel you like this, to touch you the way he’s wanted to for years. 

“Then have me,” you moan. 

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to fuck you right here.”

“But I do want you to fuck me.” Your hand is in his pants. “Right.” A tight squeeze on his cock. “Here.” He ruts into the next one.

His insides spark with a hot kind of electricity at the idea of you jerking him off where anyone could see. But he wants to touch you. And that he doesn’t want anyone else to even imagine. He’s shared you enough with the world. 

Seungcheol wants a piece of you that's just for him right now.

“Fuck, okay. Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re going back inside.”

“Oh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t give into your obvious goading. It’ll just waste more time. Give you another chance to wring him out to dry and he knows if you get his pants down far enough it’s game over for the both of you. 

He rushes you through the garden, all but dragging you behind him in his haste to get you somewhere secluded. He’d settle for a broom closet at this point. Anywhere he can have you alone.

But you won’t go down without a fight.

You slow to a near stop, whining, “My feet hurt.”

Seungcheol leads you back over another stone bench, immediately kneeling and grabbing your ankle. The pebbles of the path dig into his knee but the slit of silk revealing your bare legs is a good distraction.

“Alright, Cinderella. Let’s get these off,” he jokes. The buckle is delicate and keeps slipping from between his fingers no thanks to your help.

“I can do it myself!”

You try to kick him off but Seungcheol catches your calf easily. Instead of focusing on the teasing stretch of skin, he watches the way your nose wrinkles indignantly after thwarting your attempt to catch him off guard. You’re cute. Probably because he’s in love with you and the rush from knowing you love him back has him feeling a million miles tall.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

Pulling your foot into his lap, Seungcheol brushed his fingers against the knob of your ankle. The tiny buckle that refuses to come undone. Your shaking doesn’t help much.

“Cold?” he asks.

You nod furiously. Warmth hangs in the air but Seungcheol won’t assume your comfort; the silk you're wrapped in doesn’t provide much coverage against the elements. It doesn’t provide him any protection from a wild imagination fueled from years of pining. Without a thought, he shakes off his jacket and hands it to you before moving back to your shoe.

Looming over him, Seungcheol feels your breath hit his forehead. He wants to look up but you’re too close. Too tempting. 

He finally undoes one shoe, then the other. But you don’t say anything and neither does he from his spot between your legs. It’d be easy. So easy to bunch your skirt around your waist, part your legs, and make you cum on his finger. Then his mouth. Then his cock.

You’re thinking the same thing. A hiccup of breath rustling the hair on his forehead, your hands stroking the muscles of his neck give you away. 

But when he starts, he knows he won’t be able to start. He’ll want nothing less than all of you. Give all of himself to you. If you’ll have him.

But a hard stone bench isn’t the place to worship your body the way you deserve. He’d be a gentleman. Even if it killed him to wait any longer. You were worth waiting for. Seungcheol would wait a million more lifetimes if he got to feel like this again.

No shoes means he’s carrying you the rest of the way. He’s done it before and you’re not that heavy but he’s been drinking. And then there's the matter of all the blood in his body heading south, so he struggles more than usual.

“You’re sure you’ve got it?” you cling on for dear life when he nearly stumbles under the first step.

“Sorry, I haven’t been carrying a lot of full grown women around lately.”

“I thought you were looking a little small,” you goad.

“Small?” he objects.

“Yeah, small.” You squeeze over his biceps and his chest like you two aren’t sneaking around a packed mansion where anyone could stumble by. His resolve slips further out of reach at the dig of your nails. “Been skipping the gym lately?”

He feigns dropping you, laughing when you scramble for hold under threat of falling flat on your ass.

“Asshole!” you laugh.

Things fizzle back to comfortable silence. Your companions are far off laughs and the loud music from the courtyard. The garden is all but abandoned, not a single soul in sight. It makes it all too tempting to find another bench and take up what was interrupted earlier. The heat of your breath against his ear with each giggled whisper didn’t help. Neither did the warm weight of your thighs in his hold or the firm press of your chest against his back. 

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder. Your eyes shine in the moonlight as you stare back, a smile lifting the corner of your lips.

Seungcheol focuses back on the hallway, double checking for any passersby. There’s nothing indecent about a man giving a woman a tipsy piggy back ride. 

But there is something entirely inappropriate about how hard he is while doing so.

And Seungcheol knows you know. Or if you don’t then the universe has a personal investment in his suffering. Every step is more difficult than the last because your thighs squeeze around his torso, and your hands find their way down his chest, and then there’s the giggling every time he back tracks because a drunken guest stumbles by on the way to their own room.

You’re sneaking around like two idiot teenagers and it might kill him from lack of blood to his brain.

But Seungcheol wouldn’t have it any other way.

He pauses at the last staircase to catch his breath. There’s no reason you’re still on his back other than the fact he doesn’t want to let you go and the position is the only reason he hasn’t found a dark corner to do whatever you please yet.

“Awww poor Seungcheol, tired already,” you coo. 

Your teasing tone makes his blood boil, worse how you readjust your hold with more squeeze and stretching that leaves him with nothing but horribly inappropriate thoughts of what you’ll do after he gets up the stairs.

Finally, the hallway housing your room appears and he can’t get through the door fast enough. 

You're pressed flat between the door and his body in a blink, fully at Seungcheol’s mercy as he kisses you again. 

“Wait,” you mutter.

Seungcheol sucks along your bottom lip. You pull him closer, arching into his chest. Your stomach is soft against the gentle grinds of his cock. He doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“We—hmmm,” you sigh. “Need to talk about this.” 

Seungcheol pulls away from your mouth, trailing scorching kisses down your neck that leave you shivering. “What about it? I love you, you love me. Feels like that's all there is to it.” 

The second he says it, Seungcheol knows he’s wrong. But he doesn’t want to think about the fine details. He’s never done long distance but you’re only a train ride away. 

“Cheol.” You prod a finger into his collarbone until he dips back.

“I mean it’ll suck being in different cities but it’s not forever right? We’ll figure it out.”

You dip your chin. “I’m not staying in New York.”

“Oh. That’s—” he cups your cheek, pulling your gaze to his. “I’ll go wherever you need me.”

You smile up at him and everything goes blank. In that moment, he vows to do anything you ever ask if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

“I’m moving back to D.C.” You kiss the words into his palm, eyes never leaving his.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “Sofie’s friend needed a roommate and my job agreed to let me go remote so…”

“When do you move back?”

“Two months. They want to wait until the busy season is over.”

“But then you’re back. For good?”

“For good.”

It feels like you're promising a whole lot more.. 

You have Seungcheol for good too. As long as you want him, he’s yours. Probably for long after too. 

He’s so happy, it burns across his skin. It can’t be contained. This is all real. He fights the urge to pinch himself because not even in the wildest of his dreams did he think this was possible. 

"When you come back home.” Home he thinks. Home with him. Where you belong. “We're going on a date. And you're going to let me pay, and woo you, and take care of you because I love you. Okay?”

Your hands twine around his shoulders before you respond with a nod, “Okay.”

In the privacy of your room, you’re the one that tugs the knot holding your dress up. The silk slips down your chest revealing inch after inch of what he’s only dreamed off. When it pools around your waist, Seungcheol almost falls to his knees.

You shiver in the cool bedroom air. His eyes drink in the way your nipples peek under his gaze. Every inhale shakes in your lungs and he thinks this might just be enough for him to die peacefully. The silk trickles like water down your figure until you're left standing in nothing but skimpy panties.

“Fuck,” he curses.

Your hands flash to cover your chest, “What?”

“No, don’t,” Seungcheol reassures. His hands find yours, tracing along your thumb. “You’re just…”

“Just?” you ask.

“Wow.”

“I’m wow?” you laugh. 

Seungcheol takes another step into your space. And then another and another, your dress crumbling to the floor and leaving behind nothing but the thin band of your underwear for him to remove. Your knees hit the mattress and he follows you down into the cushion.

You're soft and warm like afternoon sunlight on a winter day under his wandering hands.

“You’re wow,” he responds, angling your chin so your mouth can meet his, noses grazing against one another.

You don’t have the patience to hear Seungcheol ramble about how perfect you are. Instead, you drag him into a desperate kiss, tongue teasing his. He’ll wax poetically later. Right now he wants to give you whatever you demand.

More kissing, the prickle of your teeth along his lip, and Seungcheol is pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life. It’s humbling and exhilarating all at once. Ready to crumble into nothing from some light petting.

He takes his revenge on the curve of your shoulder and it turns out to be extra sensitive. Every nip and suck along your collarbone leaves you panting, hands scratching up his back for some relief. He wonders what else is sensitive.

He laves against your nipple in maddening slowness. You torture him as well, ankles locking at the base of his spine while you grind against him and make more noises he’ll commit to memory forever.

 “God,” you whine when Seungcheol finally breaks and rocks down into the tempting heat of your core.

He needs more. 

“Do you think about this?” he grunts with another torturous press. He could come like this. You could come from this. Two adults, reduced to dry humping like horny teenagers.

“I think about you all the time,” you gasp.

“What do you think about?”

“You.”

Seungcheol snickers, “More specific.”

“Touching me, kissing me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

A swell of neanderthal pride blooms in his heart. The image of you, touching yourself with his name on your lips breaks another piece of his self control that wants to savor this.

“Here?” he kisses the swell of your breast, waiting for a nod to move on. 

“Here?” A suck on your nipple again until the bed sheets threaten to rip from your hold.

“Here?” A bite at your hip bone.

His fingers part your core, wet at first contact even over your panties. “What about here?”

“Everywhere. I’ve thought about you touching me everywhere.” You sound like you might start crying if he doesn’t fulfill that fantasy soon. 

But he’s dying to know every little thought you’ve ever had about him. If you think about him a fraction as much as he thinks about you. Not just like this, but when he sees a building he’d never think twice about and know you’d have something to say about the construction of the window arches, or when he walks through the park and sees two dogs meeting for the first time and can hear your voice whisper ‘best friends!’ like you’re right beside him. You’re in everything. Every part of who he is.

Your panties come off and he licks between your legs slowly, savoring every part he can while you twitch and curl beneath him. 

“Cheol,” you whine.

There's no need to elaborate. He feels it too.

Your back bows under his touch, and Seungcheol watches you touch yourself with rapt attention. You grab your breasts and squeeze, nipples visible between fingers. 

He sucks your clit, tongue lashing at the sensitive nub. A million times Seungcheol thought about doing this and never did his brain imagine the sounds you’d make, the way you taste, the rough tub at his hair. You're hot and wet under his mouth and all Seungcheol wants is more, more, more.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So good—fuck—it’s so good,” you gasps as he fucks your opening with his tongue, collection your flavor.

His finger wedges inside your tight walls. You angle your hips, sinking them deeper. Seungcheol pauses for only a moment before giving you a second one. The sting across his scalp from your frantic tugging leaves him straining against the zipper of his slacks.

He cups your ass, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed where he kneels. Your legs spread wider to grant him the space to  savor the pink of your folds under his tongue without obstruction.

Your pitch rises, moaning through a third finger joining the mix and a rough lap of his tongue that has you kicking the sheets.. He can feel it; your end just over the hill. A few vulgar flicks of his tongue and its release in long waves that make you keen his name horsley. 

You melt into a boneless heap. Occasional twitches of muscles flooding with pleasure the only sign of life.

Seungcheol mouths up your stomach, sucking a nipple between his teeth for a second before moving on to your mouth. If all you want to do tonight is kiss and let Seungcheol worship your pussy, then he’ll oblige. But the way pull at his clothes hints at what you want. He draws you back into his lap, your body hot against his, mouth coaxing yours open. 

“Good?”

You giggle against his mouth. “I can’t feel my toes.”

He can’t stop touching you. Probably won’t ever stop now that he knows what it means to call you his. To know your body. You’re no better. Your hands rake through his hair, goosebumps erupting as you tug him exactly where you want.

The soft lines of your throat, the intoxicating taste of sweat and perfume flooding his tongue. It’s better than anything his sorry excuse for an imagination could come up with.

You tug at his shirt, up and up until it’s forgotten on the floor. Your bare chest against his lights an inferno of want. Seungcheol pushes apart your limp thighs, making space for himself to grind against your sensitive core through his own trousers. 

Seungcheol remembers a crucial fact as you slip a hand in his pants and tease his leaking cock.

“Wait,” he mutters into your jaw.

You don’t stop, slowly jerking him off, teeth cutting into the vein on his neck. “What?’

Seungcheol savors your touch before responding, thrusting through your first with blind want. “I don’t have condoms.”

“Oh.”

“I can go and try to find some but I—” he rambles. 

“Cheol.”

“—everyone is probably still at the party so—”

You shut him up with a hand over his mouth, “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Seungcheol’s brain swims with lewd imagination; you stuffed with his cum, pussy stretched and worn from his cock. Feeling you raw, again and again until your helpless sweaty messes. 

“Unless you want to use them then that's fine!” you hastily supply.

He cups your face, smiling as you ramble about how okay you are with using condoms. Your face is warm, eyes avoidant while you enthusiastically declare you want to do whatever makes him comfortable. Which is an entirely new problem because if your goal is to make him comfortable, then neither of you will be leaving this bed for the foreseeable future and at some point people will start looking for you.

Seungcheol rolls over. You take advantage of the opportunity for free command of his lap, forcing his pants down until he’s as bare as you. He preens under your wide eye stare, ego flaring under your wide eye stare. Leaning back on his palms, he grows cocky from your silence.

“Like what you see?” Seungcheol goads.

Your gaze cuts to his, eyebrows arched in your own challenge. A flare of fear zaps up his spine. 

He loves it.

Seungcheol is accustomed to taking the lead in bed. Some girls want him to be domineering, others prefer to sit back while he naturally takes the reins. 

But you’ve butt heads with him in every aspect of life, hopefully this would be no different. He’s hoping you might even try telling him exactly how you want him.

“You’re so hard for me,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out, thumbing at the leaking head of his cock with seductive confidence. 

Seungcheol nods in agreement at a loss of words under your touch.

Your head cocks to the side curiously, empty hand slipping between your thighs, making space for the head of his cock to nudge against your clit. “Do you wanna fuck me?” 

He nods again.

“Good,” you smile. You hide in his neck, nosing along the tense muscles straining to break out from his skin. “I thought about you fucking me like this. When we were in high school. I thought—I wanted you to be the first.”

“Really?” he asked dazedly. 

Your first. Not Stoner Ricky from Calculus. But him. You wanted Seungcheol to have you first, possible be the only one for each other. It’s a lie if he didn’t think of you in the back of his mom’s car while Tiffany Something took his virginity. Your lips, your voice instead of her nasally pornographic sounds, when he came it was only because he closed his eyes and thought of you. 

He tells you that and earns a deep bite on his shoulder. 

You continue, “I’d watch porn or read those smut books, and I always pictured it was you.”

“God.”

You sink on his cock, pussy stretched on his length, stars flaring across your vision. There's not enough air in the room to breathe through the tight squeeze wrecking your guts. You’re in the position of control but Seungcheol can already see submission gaining control. You won’t admit you can handle his cock but pride warms his veins at how much energy it takes for your stunted rhythm. 

“Fuck,” you curse.

 “Yeah? Feels good having your pussy stuff with my cock?” Your nails bite into his chest in response. Pink lines flare in their wake, one he hopes are still there tomorrow. 

Seungcheol drags you into a kiss, a dirty culmination of teeth and tongue and your satisfied sighs and his needy grunts. You suck at his lips, focused on that rather than riding him. 

“Taping out already?” 

You ignore the dig. It takes the barest twinge of his arm and you’re rolling on your back, legs spread in invitation. He sinks into the space reserved just for him, sliding deeper than before. Now he’s the one that needs a moment. Squeezed to death between your walls is the sweet torture he’s ever experienced, the wet sloppy drag of your cunt, bare for him and him alone. 

It’s an act of bravery to pull out for the sake of thrusting back in. If he was confident enough you could get off without his hips sinking deeper then he’d never do it, content to keep his cock wedge inside you and play with your clit and tits until you cry from the pleasure. But he really wants to fuck you. 

“God, feels so good.” You break. He keeps his pace steady, building you up until you muster a way to squeeze him tighter and his skins on fire. 

He hoists your leg up, a deeper stretch that leaves him muttering about how good you feel. The wet slap of your cunt grows louder, sloppy clashes of his pelvis against yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, stomach caving. The urge to cum is nipping at his heels but Seungcheol is better than that. Better than a quick fuck, at least for this first time. He wants to hear more of your sounds, fold you in every position he can imagine.

“More,” you grunt. “Fuck me harder, baby.”

He gives you what you ask for; plowing you into the mattress until the headboard slaps against the wall. “You like that?”

“Love it—shit. I love it.” You prop yourself up, shoving a hand between your bodies to swipe messy strokes across your clit. Seungcheol collects more sounds from the back of your throat, rough growls and stuttered squeaks. His cock is heavy in your guts, soaked with your arousal and his cum.

Your mouth finds his. Panting breath and loose tangles of lips. It’s a race against time with his vision bleached white. Your stomach caves with effort to meet each stroke with one of your own. 

“I love you,” he groans. 

You clench at his words, growing wetter if possible. Flailing against the bed, he hooks your other knee under his elbow and presses flat, pinning you down under his mercy. “I love you,” you whine back. “I-I—”

Your orgasm floods your veins, brain fuzzy and disconnected from anything beyond Seungcheol. He takes over the circles around your clit. Calloused fingers providing sick friction until you can’t take anymore.

“Wanna feel you come, Cheolie. Please,” you beg.

Something snaps and he’s rushing to pull out, jerking off over your stomach with your hand to help.

Rope after rope shines in the dim moonlight. He can’t even try to pretend the thrill of cumming inside isn’t on the forefront of his mind as the drips of his spend stare back at him. But you look like a fantasy come true cover in his cum, skinned flushed, eyes glazed and chest heaving. His own Venus come to life.

He pushes back in, spent cock sensitive to the squeeze of your cunt. Seungcheol doesn't want to be anywhere else. Now that he has you, he can't imagine a moment without you.

Sinking the weight of his hips, your legs lock him in. A combination of cum, sweat, arousal, and a few tears sticks between your sweltering bodies. Neither of you care, too enamored with cataloguing every bare inch of skin with in reach of your mouths.

‘Ugh,'' you groan. “I need a shower.” 

In the bathroom, where so many horrible dangerous thoughts have plagued Seungcheol since the start of this trip, it’s peaceful. The thrum of the shower drowns out any sound beyond your sleepy huffs and his hums of content. 

As the water heats you press him into the edge of the sink, kissing him as if there's all the time in the world to do just that. That seed of need that has been growing steadily in his gut since he kissed you in the garden comes alive again. You seem to ignore the prod at your thigh though so Seungcheol ignores it too and shepherds you into the stall.

He washes your back with soapy hands and you coif his hair into a shampoo mohawk and it’s feel right no matter how ridiculous he probably looks. You twist every time he touches your waist, shrieking in laughter because you hate being tickled.

Seungcheol is happy. It floods his veins, shoots through the tips of his fingers tracing your hip, forcing a content grin on his lips despite the fatigue of the day. He rests his forehead against your own and takes his first deep breath since New Years.

“I don’t want this to change anything."

“What?” you pull away.

“No!” Seugncehol shouts, wincing at the voluming. “Not—I didn’t mean that I just meant…I-I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. No more secrets. Okay? No matter what changes between us you're still my best friend. If I'm acting like an ass I want you to tell me. If you change your mind then-"

You watch him, features softening. “I won't."

You distract him with your own touches; it’s nice at first. Then it’s nothing short of blissful agony. Teasing nails across his stomach and sides, firm against his body in a way that leaves him weak and wanting. His heart thuds sporadically under your lips as his cock swells against your stomach.

“Y/N,” he sighs.

You kneel in front of him, smirking at how easy he is. You rub his cock with a slick grip. Your mouth comes into play slowly; kissing his hip, then his thigh, your tongue drags up the side until you suck the head between your lips and Seungcheol almost collapses.

You hold his thighs, guiding him further down your throat until there's no more space and you gag. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands but it doesn’t matter because he’s cumming. Fast.

Without missing a beat, you swallow everything he gives you. 

“Oh god—fuck.”

“Good?” you ask, still licking against the head of his cock.

Rather than answer the obvious, he pulls you to your feet with a gentle kiss to your forehead. He’ll make it up to you back in bed. For right now, you curl into his chest, tracing shapes into his collarbone as the water slowly turns cold. 

He pats you dry, ruffling your hair in the humid bathroom with all the time in the world before dragging you back to bed. You snuggle under the covers, still naked. Seungcheol joins immediately, rolling on top of you and caging his arms on either side of your head.

“Hi,” you smile from underneath him.

He can’t help but grin back. “Hi.”

You make love slowly this time. Your back to his chest, Seungcheol curled around you like a second skin, whispering his adoration in your ear until you lurch and cum with a cry. Then he does it again. And one more time because nothing is better than the taste of his name on your tongue.

This time, when Seungcheol finishes, it’s inside you. And when he tries to pull out, you protest with a sleepy threat before slipping into the land of dreams.

“Well, well, well,” Jeonghan tsks from the foot of the bed. “What do we have here?”

You’re still curled in Seungcheol’s arms, bare skin on bare skin only obscured by the blanket he had half a mind to drag over your two in the early hours of the morning. He’s still inside you for Christ Sake. 

And yet Jeonghan and Sofie stand like two cats who caught the canary; unperturbed by the state of things. More like they’re delighted.

It might go down as the shortest honeymoon in history because Seungcheol is going to murder them.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a boat in Greece somewhere?” Seungcheol croaks, pulling you closer and forcing the blanket overhead. Maybe if he ignores them long enough they’ll go away.

“We were just leaving and wanted to say goodbye since some people decided to ditch our wedding. Now I see why.”

“Jeonghan,” you croak.

Jeonghan preens smugly. “Yes, whore?” 

 “Get out or I’ll show Sofie that video of you from Halloween.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What video from Halloween?” Sofie asks.

“Jeonghan,” you warn. You’ll do it. The video of Jeonghan sobbing in a party city wig about how much he liked Sofie before they started dating is one of the few pieces of blackmail against him. 

“Fine. But when I’m back next month I want an explanation.”

“What video from Halloween?” She asks again as Jeonghan pushes her out the door.

“I hate him,” you say.

Seungcheol hums his agreement against your shoulder, tracing the skin with his lips until you shiver. “Me too.”

“Now, are you gonna do something about that,” you rock back into his pelvis, a tight squeeze around his cock he bucks into. “Or can I get up?”

“Roll over.”

Seungcheol fucks you for the nth time in so few hours. You whine and whimper and melt into the mattress under his weight, face buried in the pillows in an effort to stay quiet. He doesn’t care that the sun is heavy in the sky and half the house must be able to hear the way he groans around the syllables of your name. 

He doesn’t care one bit.

Seungcheol has seen you in plenty of relationships, been in several of his own, but he’s never been in a relationship with you.

Turns out all the daydreaming and what-ifs couldn't come close to reality.

It’s better.

Most things are still the same. You two still bicker about everything. He finds your hair all over his apartment. His clothes magically disappear from his closet only to turn up at your place. You call him a stubborn jackass and he calls you a drama queen (both in regards to how he loads the dishwasher).

And he loves that even while dating you two refuse to change. 

But Seungcheol also loves all the new things. The firsts you get to share.

The first time you visit home as a couple, your mom spots him kissing along your knuckles as you approach the house and she starts crying. Loudly. He spots his dad hand his mom twenty bucks but not before your dad hands over another ten.

Apparently, everyone was waiting for this to happen. 

His dad claps him on the shoulder and your dad shakes his hand and suddenly he’s no longer Seungcheol, childhood best friend who lived down the street. He is Seungcheol, boyfriend. He’s known your parents since he was in elementary school and his mom texts you more frequently than her own son.

But none that matters because, at the ripe age of thirty, you two are banned from sleeping over during the visit for the first time in your lives.

He’s got a suspicion it’s because none of them know how to handle their kids finally dating. You and Seungcheol have never been normal but they’re trying. 

Even if he sneaks out like he’s a teenager and climbs into your window in the dead of night. Now that's a fantasy come to life.

Back in the city Seungcheol discovers more ways things have changed.

You spend almost every night at Seungcheol’s apartment. When your sublease ends after four months there isn’t a big production about moving in with him. You had a key since he moved into the place years ago. Your stuff ends up in his spare room, which becomes ‘your’ room but you both call it the guest room and it's a new level of domesticity he’s never had.

In the mornings, you find him in the bathroom if he forgot to drop a good morning kiss on your forehead (something he’s started doing on purpose because you totter in with your eyes still closed and pajamas wrinkled, diving straight into his chest and grumbling incoherently until he gives in). It’s enough to make his heart squeeze even after the hundredth time). 

Or how you constantly find a reason to touch him. Curled around his back while he makes dinner, shimmying under his arm when he’s reading case files on the couch. A hand through his hair while you cuddle in bed. Your shared bed, in your shared apartment. Which he is embarrassingly giddy about but you are too and that makes him feel better. You meet for lunch, at either of your offices, and he can see the instinct to drop into his lap making your fingers twitch but only because his own flex with the urge to pull you in first.

The first time you go to a baseball game together and end up on the kiss cam and he doesn’t have to pretend to not notice or awkwardly wait for the cameraman to catch the hint, because you’re kissing him until his ears grow hot and the crowd hoots wildly.

In the best way possible it’s weird. He doesn’t know how to date someone he’s been in love with for as long as he can remember. A lot of it feels like being friends. Like whatever was there before is the bones and all the new things filled in the empty space between.

There isn’t really a guide or set timeline but you’re figuring it out. 

And Jeonghan helps. In his own Jeonghan way.

“You guys have been softcore dating since highschool. Just think of it like dogs. You’ve dated for a year now, right? That's like seven years for your guys.”

Seungcheol will tell you later tonight, after you’ve said yes, how the last part of your trio gave his blessing. How Sofie helped him pick the ring (which was really Seungcheol picking the ring and her providing moral support via muzzling her husband).

But for right now, he watches you across the table, laughing at something the waiter said, the weight of the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket.

And he knows the next first you have together will be the best one yet.

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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.