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watery-lane · 4 years ago

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Words into Smoke

The Night You Cared Sequel.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: As a part of his therapy, Ivar writes letters to unwind and keep track of his mental health progress. He writes to his mom, he misses her. He writes to Sigurd, sometimes he regrets his departure. One night, he writes about her.

Warnings: Angst

Words: 3864

A/N: (3/5/20) I had this idea in my head that I simply could not let go.

(10/4/21) P.S: Can’t promise I’m back, but I’m definitely turning to writing as a way of winding down. I hope you guys are alright.

Part I / Part II / Epilogue

Some nights, while the city sleeps, Ivar stays awake. Like an owl looking for a prey, the Ragnarsson remains seated upright at the edge of his bed, his now heavily tattooed chest exposed to the world through the panoramic window, heaving. Beating.

Some nights were amazing. He got his drivers license, and Freydis got him an adapted Bentley as a gift. He would spend the nights driving by himself down the empty streets of Kattegat, not worrying about speeding tickets or angry neighbours.

Not so long ago, he learned his wife was finally carrying a child, her round belly reminding him that he had a legacy to keep, now that the Lothbrok dynasty seemed to be more fragmented than ever. After spending thousands of krone on in vitro fertilisation, the universe seemed to work in his favour. Their favour. If the gods were unwilling to bless them two, science would. These were the nights that were made for celebrations, champaign showers and water for the mother to be.

Some nights were alright. Ivar would come back after a long day of meetings and getting his ass kissed, to find Freydis immersed in her little personal projects. He would tell Erik to pick up some takeaway while he washed away the power and wrapped himself in mundane clothes. He would eat in silence, elbows propped on the counter and eyes on the horizon, watching the sun kiss the skyscrapers goodbye as he mindlessly put food in his mouth. Then he would take his new baby for a ride, to the bar he now owned with his brother Hvitserk.

Ivar would go there, check the inventory and the register, ask the employees how everything was going and what could he do for them. Sometimes he would also find Hvitserk at the bar, practicing the cocktail skills he had been mastering since he took over your share of the bar. Ivar would simply walk past, not entirely avoiding making contact with his sibling but prefering to keep a healthy distance from the person that substituted you. He started visiting the local more often after you left, feeling the responsibility to continue what you started. He found peace in the simplicity of managing a bar: at the office, he was a tyrannic boss, voice always booming through the walls, keeping both employees and investors in check. At the bar, he was just the young lovestruck Ivar he once was. He understood then, why you wished to escape from it all. You are just a memory now, but sometimes he still feels you around, checking on the girls, checking on him.

Some nights were... Painful. Therapy had a big presence in his life. He no longer needed a cane thanks to nurse Hansen, his physical therapist. But on some days, the stress and the weather would simply take a toll on his legs, forcing him to carry around that metal stick that reminded him that he was, in fact, human.

Before you left, Freydis figured out a question that would calm Ivar down and make him focus: “What would Dr. Nielsen tell you to do?”. That was how she got him to control himself and open up the last time he was onstage, the night she met you. They were just engaged back then. Oh, how quick did time pass. Ivar no longer organised events like that. He was too consumed by his two jobs. There were nights where Freydis would be on business trips, or out hanging out with friends until the next morning, nights where absences were felt more than presences. But he was coping now. Dr. Nielsen helped the youngest Lothbrok greatly since his great breakdown.

Ivar had thought he physically felt his heart break the night he got down the stage to find you, only to figure out you were gone after most of the guests had left the hotel ballroom. He felt compelled to call you dozens of times to ask for an explanation. After his calls went unanswered, he decided to drive around town in search of you, not knowing where to start, not knowing where to ask, anger poisoning his brain and taking over his actions. That night he stayed at Loki’s after barging in to see if you were hiding there like “the coward you were”. He hated the fact that you could make him feel that weak. It felt like he was putty and Freydis was fire, hardening him the more he was exposed to her. You were water, turning him into a pliable being, at mercy of your actions.

For five days in a row, he found himself staying at his office until late at night, observing his office telephone with attention and indecision, silently praying for you to pick up the phone, practicing the rage filled words he was about to rain down on you the moment you uttered a response. He prayed with ill intentions, but he prayed nonetheless. It was his last resort.

The earth seemed to crack open and swallow him whole the moment he gathered all his courage and dialed your number, only to hear an automated voice telling him that the number no longer existed. He sat there, phone on his hand as a white noise took over the voice message, thinking about the different possibilities that could have happened for you to cancel your line. Maybe, he thought. Maybe I really asked for too much this time.

“Fuck no,” Ivar reflected out loud as he tossed his phone away, “In no fucking way this is my fault.”

“Ivar?” A distant voice reverberated through the glass corridors. It sounded familiar. The youngest Ragnarsson frowned, weirded out by the fact that one of his brothers was still in the office this late.

It wasn’t just one of his brothers, but the three of them.

“Freydis called us asking where you were. You’ve been out late at night for many days in a row, she literally just confronted each one of us asking whether you were having an affair.” Hvitserk said, arms crossed as he leaned on the door frame. “That woman nearly dragged each one of us out to look for you.” Ivar pursed his lips, outraged by such accusations from his then fiancée.

“Well, tell her I’d never do such thing.” He answered, swatting his hand in annoyance. “I am surprised she came to that conclusion, knowing how busy I always am as the bloody CEO!” He exclaimed, letting the following silence fill the room as he flashed a disdainful look towards his brothers.

“Why are you here, brother?” Ubbe finally dared to ask, observing his youngest sibling sway in his chair from side to side.

Ivar looked up for a brief moment, like a puppy who lost his favourite toy, and decided to tell them the whole story. That the had the hunch you were back from a strange event where someone knocked on his penthouse door. To that, Ubbe awkwardly shifted in his place, still listening intently. Ivar explained that he sent you an invite to his inaguration gala and how he asked you to stay for his speech so you could have a dance afterwards, unaware of the utterly personal turn his speech would take just because an old man decided to drink a bit more than usual that night. How he waited for you, called you and looked for you tirelessly, frustration filling his voice as he talked about how you had been avoiding him for a week now, changing your phone number in the process.

“If she thinks she can avoid me by changing numbers she’s dead wrong. We’re business partners, for fucks sake!” He complained, registering the situation as a burden. “I’ll find her new phone sooner or later.”

Unbeknownst Ivar, tension had been gradually building up as he spoke, his three brothers standing still in their places, not knowing how to break the news. Sure they knew this day would come, but none of the three expected to be trapped with the ticking bomb. It was way too soon. Too recent.

Hell, it was about you. It was most likely no amount of time would soften the blow.

Ubbe took a step forward, leaning on the hardwood desk. With a resigned tone, he mumbled:

“She’s gone, Ivar.” He swallowed. “(Y/n) left Kattegat.”

Already motionless before, Ivar remained still. He darted his eyes to look at his brother, confusion and fear brewing within him, fueling a fire he thought it was extinguished the day he made Sigurd leave. With trembling lips but a determined voice, he asked how did he know. How did Ubbe Ragnarsson, the brother who would stab his youngest sibling in the back at the slightest opportunity, know the whereabouts of his woman, while he sat there completely lost, disoriented.

With an attempt of a soothing voice, Ubbe confessed that months ago he offered you a job position to work on a humanitarian project he had running in Haiti. Aslaug had stated in her will that she wished to expand the non-profit organisation she created to other countries and Ubbe decided to make his deceased mother’s wish come true. He told Ivar that while you rejected the offer at first, you ended up accepting it the night of his gala. That you made him promise to make the process fast and discreet, and that, while you insisted on paying for the plane tickets, Lothbrok Inc. paid for your travel expenses and necessities. You left three days ago, unnanounced, with only Ubbe at the airport to bid you farewell.

Hvitserk, who remained silent all this time, let him know that you were no longer the owner of the bar you opened together. At that, Ivar panicked, his eyes wide open as he snapped his head towards his older brother. You simply signed a transfer contract, with Ubbe as the witness and five krone as the contingency, stating that you were returning the property to Lothbrok Inc., thus paying your debt to the family and releasing yourself from any ties to Ivar. He tried to soften the blow, letting him know that he didn’t know you gave him your share because you were leaving. He thought it was a rash decision that stemmed from seeing Ivar with a fiancée, that you’d come back and take back the business when you were ready. He promised he’d take care of the bar as well as you took care of it, that nothing would change under his management.

Ivar listened intently, motionless. His breathing was deep, yet steady. He never moved a muscle voluntarily, but his nostrils flared with every breath and his hand, hidden under the desk, shook incontrollably as he processed their words. His piercing gaze was focused on the oldest Aslaugsson, who was now relaxing and straightening his back as he regained his composure.

It felt like every action happened in slow motion, yet the blow came fast. In mere seconds, Ivar had propped himself forward from the chair, one of his hands grabbing the jacket Ubbe was wearing while the other, contracted in a fist, made contact with his right cheek. That is when Bjorn, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped in, grabbing the torso of his youngest brother as he struggled to keep himself standing, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Sometimes, Ivar still hears his own screams.

“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!” Ivar accused, eyes absent of tears but voice cracking at the end of the sentence. “SHEWAS GOING TO STAY,” He roared, fists swinging towards his brother’s face. “AND YOU FUCKING TOOK HER FROM ME!”

He lost it that night. The screams he released came from the depths of his sorrow, his eyes only registering red while all his nerves could only feel the desperation taking over his soul. Ivar kept trying to reach Ubbe, unaware of how he repeatedly banged his legs against the desk as Bjorn tried to pin him down.

But what started as a justified outburst gradually led to nonsensical, rage-filled accusations.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? You wanted her and you couldn’t stand the fact that she chose ME!” Ivar recriminated, grabbing a sharp glass ornament and throwing it to his brother. Ubbe pursed his lips, dodging the improvised weapon. “You did this to get back at me, hmm? YOU WANT ALL I HAVE, DON’T YOU?” He seethed, eyes and mouth wide open, exposing his teeth like a menacing predator as he let out a guttural laugh.

Bjorn was having a difficult time restraining him. Years relying on his upper body strength gave Ivar the advantage of resilience amongst his biggest sibling, while Bjorn struggled to keep him in place. Ivar managed to grab the second glass ornament, throwing it as he shrieked.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” his voice boomed in the room, palm pounding his chest as his free hand signaled the whole place. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, I AM IVAR LOTHBROK! YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Ivar kept shouting, cursing as he spat towards Ubbe.

Hvitserk stepped forward, having seen enough, ready to take on his little brother. To his surprise, Ubbe halted him, his arm creating a barrier between Hvitserk and Ivar as he observed with intent and horror etched on his face.

That night, Ivar lost the little progress he made. He broke his femur, dignity left behind as an ambulance carried him to the emergency room.

As if that wasn’t enough, he lost another family member to Lagertha that night.

With a reedy voice as he laid down in the hospital bed, he asked Ubbe one thing:

“Bring her back.” He whispered, his eyes stuck in the ceiling, pretty certain that if he laid his eyes on his brother, he would kill him. “She is working for Lothbrok Inc. now. Bring her back.” His request was met with silence. “That’s an order.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring with each ticking second.

“I’m sorry, Ivar.” Ubbe mumbled. “The Sigurðdóttir Trust is out of your reach.” He reminded him, reopening a wound that Ivar closed not so long ago. “That’s what mother wished.” Ivar snapped his head at the mention of his beloved mother. The brim of his eyes were red like his sclera, a menacing gaze stabbing his brother as Ivar grabbed his wrist.

“You have three days to gather your stuff and leave Lothbrok Inc.” Ivar seethed as he moved his face closer to his brother. “If you’re not gone after that, I will make sure you’ll leave the premises crawling like I crawled as a child.” Ivar swore, releasing his wrist as he let his head drop back to the sterile pillow.

Up to this day, Ivar still saw Ubbe’s action as a huge betrayal. He knew his older brother would return to his life as the new addition of Lagertha’s legal team, Bjorn granted his little brother this little backup plan.

Tonight, his thoughts weighted a little heavier. His eyes scanned the city before focusing on his bedroom, where he finds the clothes he wore today discarded on the leather chair. Behind him, his wife slept peacefully, her baby bumb protuding more and more each passing day. His legs were alright, but with the absence of physical pain he could sense his yearning looming over his head.

Ivar sighs and stands up silently, his bare feet and metallic support dragging on the tiles as he moved to his home office.

Dr. Nielsen taught him the importance of adapted emotional releases. She actively discouraged Ivar from indulging in his impulses and told him to write them down instead. For business meetings, Ivar was told to count until 10, 20 or even 30 if he was encountered with bad news. When it came to personal affairs, Dr. Nielsen told him to write letters addressed to the pertinent subject. Ivar could write them and discard them, write them and take them to therapy or he could write them and send them to the addressee.

It wasn’t the most effective exercise, but it kept his flame at bay. He needed to learn to do that, now that he knew he had a little one coming soon.

Sometimes he wrote to his mother, asking her questions about ruling an empire he wished he had the answer to. Those he kept, as a tool to reflect later on when his ambition peaked. The more emotional ones he’d take to Dr. Nielsen, a proof of his progress on his journey to... normalcy. The ones he wrote to Sigurd, those he threw away. In those pages filled with guilt and rage, he found himself cornered in a bleak past that seemed to refuse to let him go.

Tonight, he thought about you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a constant presence in his mind, like an annoying tenant in his brain that refused to leave or pay rent. Ivar just chose to remember the best parts of you, those who could be found at the bar you owned, or on his bed when Freydis left him for the night. If he kept you alive that way, he would also keep alive that part of him he thought he lost. You were inevitable, like the pain after a blow or the kiss after a reencounter.

He wishes he could blame you. For leaving, for stepping outside the gala without waiting for your dance. For silently giving away your shares to Hvitserk, who the only thing he knew about bars was how to empty the alcohol pantry. But there is a part of him that cannot physically repulse you.

Ivar sits down and turns on the desk lamp in front of him. He finds his precious pen and puts a piece of paper on the desk. Before starting, he hesitates.

Dear (Y/n),

He groans, crossing the two words with disdain.

Hello.

“Hello?” Ivar shakes his head, crossing the word again.

Hi, princess.

Ivar cringes. No.

Frustrated, he discards the paper. He had done it before. Why was it so hard to do it all over again now?

Just... Jump right in. Start from the beginning, start from the middle, start from the end if you prefer. He recalls the advice of his therapist. Sometimes, formalities are overrated. It may help when you have nothing to say, but it becomes a burden when you got too much to say. Ivar reflected.

And so he did.

Every night I drive through the streets of Kattegat I find myself looking for you wandering around, looking for me to give you a lift, for the memory of our first reencounters were the ones that helped us find redemption.

It is weird, but I still have the need to find you even though I know you are no longer here. The idea of you lives in my head, that I am sure of. The feel of you, that is what I miss.

I guess part of me feels like I still need to apologise for something that I’ve done.

At the sight of his words written on paper, Ivar blinks. He never consciously thought much more ahead of his negations, his feelings dictating the perspectives he kept imposing to his reality.

He sacrificed so much for you. He tried to change for you. He went to therapy, he learned to walk. Ivar tried to become the right man for you, he really tried.

He wished you were there to see it.

Ivar doesn’t really know what he did wrong. All he knows is...

And now that you’re gone for good,

He shakes his head, crossing the last two words.

all I wish for is to be in the wrong this time.

Ivar huffs in frustration.

I wish I had been selfish, I wish I was the old Ivar. I wish I had begged you to stay, to manage this empire I never chos- by my side.

I know you would have never wanted this.

But I know you would have never said no to us.

Mindlessly, Ivar puts his pen in his mouth, a subconscious tick he developped not-so recently. Passing his hands through his hair, he sighed.

I started to smoke. He confessed. I know you never liked the smell, how it clings to my clothes, my mouth, how it lingered around the house when my brothers decided to have one one in their rooms. Ivar snorts at the memory. Not that you’re here to tell me off.

Freydis has been buying candles, they’re all around the house now. The smell of the cigarettes blends with the essences and I technically get to have fire dispensers in every single room.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to magically show up and tell me to fuck off.” He whispers.

Suddenly, Ivar shakes his head, as if the physical gesture cleared his mind.

I guess I’ll have to stop soon, I have a baby on the way. He releases an airy laugh as he re-reads what he just wrote. Who would have thought, (Y/n)? A baby. Me. Your Ivar.

The young Ragnarsson lets out a tired sigh, strenghening his grip on the metalling pen as he mindlessly tapped on the crystal desk. With resigned resolution, he decides to write his last lines, telling himself that he is finally starting to accept reality.

I know you’re not going to come back. Not to the place we grew up at, at least.

If you ever do, I just want to let you know, as sappy as it may sound, that my heart will always be open for you, even when my arms are not.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Take care,

Ivar.

Dropping the pen, Ivar stares at his letter. His hands blindly search for an envelope, a frown etched on his face until his fingertips brush against the soft surface of the letter. You don’t know, but he found your new address. He searched around Ubbe’s old files.

With a careful manner, Ivar writes down your address on the envelope.

He stands up, walks to his living room and grabs a jacket as he makes his way to the exit.

All of the sudden he stops right on his tracks, his free hand almost reaching to the door handle. Freydis seemed to have forgotten to put out a lone candle, a tiny fragrance dispenser resting on the entrance drawer.

Ivar may not be aware of a lot of things in life, but one thing he was certain of: smoke traveled faster than mail.

His hand was trembling slightly, but it managed to follow his instructions. With a swift move, Ivar positioned the ephemeral piece of paper on the fire, watching intently how the flames consumed his words and took them to you. Discreetly, he threw the burning letter in the empty bin, the lid cutting short the trail of smoke escaping from the container.

He makes sure ashes are all what it remains from his indecent confession and makes his way back to the bedroom. Slowly but steadily, Ivar returns to bed, nesting himself between the sheets before holding his beloved wife in his embrace.

Tonight, he was human. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be a God.

The end.

Taglist:

Note: This is the old taglist I have noted from my past Ivar ficts. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added by sending an ask here.

@aesstheticallypleasing @captstefanbrandt @unicornbaby741 @fuckthatfeeling @huffelpuffers @yannii04 @collecting-stories @timber3 @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @vampsclassiffied @lenafarn @yourpurplequeen@youbloodymadgenius @lettersofwrittencollective

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson/reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrok imagine #ivar lothbrok/reader #Ivar One shot #ivar the boneless one shot #ivar lothbrok one shot #ivar ragnarsson one shot #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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nadezhda-wexler · 4 years ago

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A Moment In Time, Again and Again

Hello @xoxobuckybarnes, It is I, your Summer Fic Exchange writer for @b99fandomevents. Thank you for all your amazing prompts, but I ended up choosing “The Squad after ten years”. I really hope you enjoy it.

Also a few points:

1) The whole story is non-linear. It’s like a series of snapshots. It’s related, but chronologically the don’t really make sense

2) It is smut adjacent? Implied smut? Idk, It’s just a few lines because honestly, it’s my first time writing anything like that

3) There might be some spelling errors and grammatical error, sorry if they put a damper on your experience

4) Thank you @b99fandomevents for giving this chance

5) MOST IMPORTANTLY: I hope you enjoy it.

There were many reasons Amy thought that might bring the squad together- well, mainly one- Scully dying (the man was already decaying when she was in the precinct), but this was not it. In fact, this was the opposite of it.

She reads the sign again, still wondering if she dreamt it up. But nope. Norm Scully and Cindy Shatz were indeed getting married.

Amy walks into her old turf: Shaw’s Bar. She feels like she stepped into another universe, everything is different, but somehow, the same. It’s the place she came to right after her wedding. The stools are different and the bar more worn, but the place still feels warm like her wedding night. The back door leads right to the alley where she once tried to conceive (that was a low point) and judging by the fact the Hitchcock is standing right outside the bathroom with Scully nowhere in sight, she guesses even the bathroom smells (stinks) the same.

Her eyes sweep over the room, she can see Rosa and Gina huddles together and she already feels bad for their victim, Holt and Kevin are talking to Terry- it never stops amusing her seeing the very passionate Captain Jeffords squared against impassive Retd Captain Holt and Kevin. Charles is haranguing the caterers, when she hears a voice from behind: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

They had just gotten into the airport- Jake is bringing all their luggage while she is trying to get her children to calm down. While Maya knows everyone in the squad, Mac has lived with them more. So Mac has decided to fill in the blanks. His stories are wild and absolutely untrue and Maya is hanging onto each word. She was looking to see where her husband was when Maya suddenly tugged her hand and asked in wonder “Did Daddy really catch a thief by sending Mac in undercover?” “No. Your daddy never sent Mac undercover because he isn’t a cop and he is a baby”. “Well, I am not a baby and dad did do that, he just didn’t tell you”

“What didn’t I tell your mom?”Jake joins them, luggage in tow. “That you sent me undercover to catch that thief” “Mac”, Jake says with fake indignation. “You weren’t supposed to tell that. It was our secret” Mac’s eyes has that same mischievous glint she has seen a million times on her husband’s face as he says he told her to maya and launches into his story. They’re loading their luggage into the cart when Jake’s phone buzzes. “That’s Charles and he has already called me 5 times and messaged me a lot. I stopped counting after 10”, Jake says. “Kids, your Uncle Charles is waiting. You know how he gets when you are late!”, he adds.

Mac, without any prompt, holds his sister's hands, so as to not lose her, still continuing with the stories of his feats, she’s sure, without missing a beat. Her heart swells as she watches her kids, Mac being a protective older brother and Maya holding onto his hands and words. Her husband’s hand slips into hers as he asks “You ready to go?” She couldn’t be happier.

"Captain Santiago"

"Captain Holt! Hi!" Apparently even his retirement hasn't made Santiago less flustered. He won't deny there is a part of him that enjoys the reverence. "How was your first year running a precinct, Captain?" He enjoys calling her Captain almost as much as she enjoys hearing it.

"Great! Super cool. Fantastic. Dope. No diggity no doubt" He briefly wonders if she had a stroke.

"Okay, you saw right through me. It's not been easy. Manhattan is completely different from Brooklyn. The squad is also new, they all just transferred about a month or two before me. So they don't even know each other so everyone is walking on tiptoes. And they follow everything I say, but don't really see me as a leader."

"Well, the first precinct I ran, I had a detective who only cared about closing cases, everyone in the squad thought I was a robot, my two best detectives had a bet with each other, my Sargent was chained to the desk and the office administrator was Gina and I had Hitchcock and Scully"

"You are right. I shouldn't complain. I don't have a Hitchcock and Scully"

"No. But that was not what I was trying to say. Once I got closer to all of them, I realised that the detective who did not care, cares not just care about closing cases, the bet made both detectives better, my Sargent saved my life, Gina is still Gina and that being a robot doesn't make me a worse Captain. What you need to do Santiago, is trust your squad. You have a unique opportunity to build this team. But you cannot do that without unflinching trust. So trust them. Help them and let them help you. And if you ever feel the need, please do not hesitate to contact me. I might have retired from the force, but not from being your mentor"

"Wow! Thank you so much Captain. That means the world to me." Some people might call Amy Santiago a teacher's pet in an attempt to mock her, but the truth is she is a teacher's pet because she is a brilliant student. She revels in learning and enjoys implementing her knowledge even more. She is a teacher's pet not just because she is adept at brown nosing- which she admittedly does sometimes, but because she will be the student that teachers can one day be proud of. He might tell her this if it did not make her explode and also because Amy Santiago understands him, so he just smiles.

They had barely reached the terminal before Charles pounced on Jake. Amy and the kids barely had the time to move away from being hit. Genevieve and Amy unload the luggage while the kids catch up. It takes the men one whole minute before they let go.

"Genevieve, thank you so much for taking the kids", Amy says.

"Of course Nikolaj loves hanging out with Mac and Maya. It's my pleasure to watch them."

"Still, thank you! And Jake-"

"NO!", Charles almost pushes her down trying to get between Jake and her. "You get him every other day Amy, you cannot poach him away today."

"Charles, I am not trying to poach him away. I just wanted to tell him to enjoy the night and have fun. Also you visited not three weeks ago and you guys FaceTime constantly."

"FaceTiming is not the same Amy! It has been 28 days, 14 hours aaand three minutes since I have been covered in Jake's musk"

“Ugh! Alright", Jake says. "Charles, why don't you take these two bags and load them into the cab while Amy and I bring the rest?"

"Okay.", Charles says almost defeatedly. "Don't be late."

Jake turns to her. "So what are your plans again?"

"I will go to the hotel, have a long bath after which Rosa and Gina will come pick me up for the bachelorette party after which both will crash with me because according to Gina quote if I am going to stand next to you as a bridesmaid, you need to at least be six and you need help with that unquote"

"I still can't believe Cindy asked you and Gina to be one of the bridesmaids"

"Well, we did help them get together."

"Yeah. And as this goes on, I will be with Charles hoping whatever he made is edible and missing you terribly"

"Stop being a sap Peralta. And have fun tonight"

"It’s Peralta- Santiago, FYI. And I will 100% have fun, but I'm still gonna miss you. I gotta go before Charles comes back. I love you"

"I love you too."

It was a tiring night and Amy just wants to take her makeup off and she really wants to be out of this dress for more than one reason. As much as she loves her kids- and that is a lot- she is glad that they wanted to stay at Holt's place. The kids love their Fauxpas (they are her kids, of course they know what faux pas means and more importantly, when Mac very proudly said it, both Kevin and Holt agreed that "it is a humorous wordplay"). Mac can never get enough of Holt's stories and Maya loves the Classics. She can recite Odyssey from memory. And both of them get away with things that only they (and maybe her husband) can- some stains of orange juice, mud in the house, a few broken glasses- all.of these are forgiven because it's their fauxchildren's doing (it doesn't work as well, but Holt was proud and Maya laughed and so it stuck). And after two days of wedding prep, she really needs a day without being worried about someone breaking something or constantly screaming. And even more than that with the way her husband has been looking at her all night, she really, really needs to be the one screaming.

She is halfway through taking off her makeup when Jake, sans jacket, (but with tie and damn, her husband looks fine) walks in. He puts his hand on her waist. "Babe, do you know how hot you look?"

"Oh is it the running mascara that does it for you?"

He pulls her in closer and from his look she knows that the screaming she was hoping is definitely happening. He says in a low voice into her ear, "No. It's you." It's like each word he says vibrates inside her. "You having been driving me crazy all day. You in that blue dress. You knowing exactly how amazing your butt looks in that dress. You taking control when everything was falling apart. It's you Ames who does it for me."

She turns around and pulls him by the tie and kisses him hard and he's lifting her up onto the counter, kissing every bit of her as he lowers his head between her legs. She thanks the stars that this is her life partner.

(And later she'll counting the same as Jake twists his wrist in the way that he knows will bring over the edge.)

Every time Jake sees his wife, he falls in love with her a little more. Which he wouldn't have believed possible sixteen years ago. She hasn't spotted him, so he takes her in for a minute. Every time he steps into Shaw's Bar, he remembers walking in as a newly wed couple. Sure afterwards the evening did take a turn, but until then it was perfect. Except before that when there was a bomb threat and an actual bomb and Teddy proposing like a thousand times. Wow, his wedding day was a mess. But still it was one of the happiest days of his life because even through all that, he was hitched to the most beautiful woman in the world. Who is now watching everyone waiting for him.

So he walks up to her, drinks in hand and says, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

"Ooh , Casablanca", she takes a glass. "Yes. Charles and I watched it yesterday. We didn't even know what was going on half the time because Charles was crying and making noises half the time."

"Oh, just Charles?" "Okay fine I was crying a little too. Okay a lot. Fine I was the one who was crying the most. Happy?"

"Oh babe. It's cute that you think you should say that to me as if you didn't watch it for the first time with me"

"Oh yeah. Well, I tried. Oh before you ask, the kids are all at the Jeffords' house and Cagney and Lacey are keeping an eye on them. And the best part: without a babysitter's fee."

"Wow, I really missed friends' kids doing things for us for free. Remember when we babysat Cagney and Lacey for like three days straight, without even thinking of money?"

"And if we were to go by the amount our babysitters charge, we'd have enough money to buy Orangina for a whole month."

They move to the counter, perched on the barstools. "You know Captain Holt just called me Captain"

"He's been calling you a Captain for a year babe, you know, cause you've been a Captain for a year!"

"I know! Can you believe?!"

"Of course, because you are awesome and amazing"

"Oh, and he also said that he's still my mentor and that I can call him for advice any time."

"Wow, obviously today was a big day for you"

"I know" Her whole face is lit up. Her cheeks are flushed, from the drinks and the running around making things happen, from the many catching up and from the fact that her mentor called her Captain. Once again he's a little bit more in love. His eyes catch Cindy and Scully awkwardly shuffling around trying to dance. Hitchcock is trying to hide the fact that he's disappointed, but doing a pretty bad job of it. He sees Charles and Genevieve almost having sex which apparently is how they dance. The music changes to something familiar and his wife looks amazing and he wants to dance with her very much. "Amy Santiago- Peralta, may I have this dance? And don't worry, it's reinforced shoes so I won't even know if you step on me." "Ha ha Peralta- Santiago. You are my teacher, so if I'm stepping on your toes, it's your own fault"

"Wow, blaming the victim."

They are on the dance floor, her hand in his, hand on his shoulder, his on her waist. He can see every little detail on her face, the mascara running a bit, lipstick that's smudged. Her perfectly set hair, falling around the edges. She's beautiful.

"I wonder why all the greatest love stories are so tragic"

"Because that's what makes them great. The fact that their love is so powerful that it's unattainable."

"Well I think that it's stupid."

"What?"

"That the greatest love of our life is the one we don't have. It's categorically untrue. My favourite love story has a happy ending anyway"

"You mean Morticia and Gomez?"

"That's my second favourite"

"Well, what's your first?"

"Ours, of course" She smiles and that's all he ever wants to see.

Her hand is in his, the other moves to his chest. His are around her waist circling, as he pulls her closer and she rests her cheek on shoulder. He buries his nose in her hair and she nuzzles into his neck. If he'd imagined a perfect life sixteen years ago, not even in his wildest dreams he'd have thought he could feel like this.

#b99fandomevents #b99 fanfic #jake x amy #Okay #listen #it's my first time writing anything smut adjacent and so all I can hope for is that it isn't cringey #Also maybe the love story dialouge is a bit cheesy #and maybe it really doesn't mesh well #but i wanted it.#but honestly #i just hope yall enjoy this #i dont want my tags to be longer than the story #so ill stop.

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uswnt-owns-this-homo · 5 years ago

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Let a Bitch Hit You- Julie Ertz x Reader

AN: Here’s my attempt at a protective JJ, hope I did it justice!

TW: Homophobia, mentions of drugs/alcohol, cursing of course, homophobic slurs and language

You take a deep breath as the ref blows the starting whistle, the Courage kicking the ball back to their defense, signalling the start of the game. You try to follow the ball as much as possible, taking care to stay in position and wait for opportunities and passes to come your way. You can’t help but to think of the circumstances as your teammate, and long term girlfriend, Julie Johnson, gets the ball, and passes it quickly, opening up space and helping the Red Star’s attack.

The significance of the game is not lost on you, your first one against your prior team. Jaelene Hinkle, one of the most openly homophobic people in the league, had pushed you towards your transfer, though you and Julie were already discussing a request at a later time. After her and Ashlyn’s epic twitter battle, Jaelene had lashed out slightly, demanding that you, as the “resident queer on the team’’, get dressed for games and practices in a different area, so that she “could change without being leered at”.

The rest of the team, minus your national teammates, had just let her go along with it, not defending you or telling her she was wrong. This, along with direct statements to you about your sexuality, including, but not limited to: constantly telling you you’re going to hell and sinning, pelting balls at you during practice, and, during team bonding events, conveniently forgetting to invite you, leaving you disconnected with the rest of the team, had led to the situation at hand.

Your former teammates, bar the national team members, attack you mercilessly. They go for cheap moves, like holding your jersey during corner kicks, and performing late slide tackles, obviously targeting your notoriously weak ankles and knees. Throughout the game, Julie’s frown has become more prominent, her play more sharp, focused on getting the win over the people, or more accurately, the person, who contributed to her girlfriend's small fall down the rabbit hole.

Instead of discussing the transfer, and the events behind it, with a professional, you had turned to alcohol, and over the counter medications, drinking booze and then taking benadryl, or cough syrup, and sleeping for days. You had kept up your facade of your usual happy, energized, rival to Sonnett in memes personality, up until you had moved in with Julie in Chicago. She had quickly noticed your actions, taking count of the vodka and medicine bottles, and had pushed you to see a therapist, resulting in your sobriety of now 4 months.

Hinkle makes the mistake of going in for a late slide tackle, clipping your already sore ankle. You turn to her and she sneers, winking at you. You slowly get up, rolling your eyes as the ref allows play to continue.

Julie has been slightly more aggressive when facing Hinkle, and some people have noticed, mainly you, and of course the target herself, especially after a particularly hard run in was made for the ball.

“Hey, Johnson, how about you clean up your play? This is the third time you’ve shoved me, getting sloppy there, homo?”

The look on your girlfriend’s face says it all, and all you can do is run to put a hand on her shoulder, trying to keep her from retaliating.

“Aw, look, dyke is trying to stop big bad Julie from starting something she can’t finish. How’s the cough syrup binge going, Y/N? Still sober, or have you fucked that up as well?”

You just blankly stare at her, feeling old urges resurface, trying to stay in the present, as well as keep Julie from getting carded.

“You know, I think you transferred because you know I’m right, and you can’t face the fact that you sin everyday, and don’t like that your sickness is brought to light, isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Julie shakes you off, stomping forward and shoving Hinkle, causing you to follow, holding her back slightly, your team, and the opposition coming together in a large huddle, Alyssa grabbing Julie and holding her back..

“Alyssa, please. No, Y/N, she can’t talk to you like that! I mean, the league has done jack shit to her for harassing you, or for poor sportsmanship, or any of the other numerous things she’s done. Jesus, you tried to kill yourself! And what does she get? Absolutely nothing!”

Jaelene seems to falter for a moment, before her face turns in a sneer.

“Poor Y/N, can’t take any criticism, what’d you do, try to get away from it?”

Julie finally breaks out of your and Alyasa’s grip, lunging at Hinkle, landing a solid punch to her jaw. The ref comes running, putting her hands on both players. Julie is still attempting to reach Hinkle, and laughs at the red card she’s shown.

“Oh yeah, fucking let the one who’s caused severe emotional and mental harm to my girlfriend get off scott free!”

Coach calls her over and she rolls her eyes, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead, glaring at Hinkle when she fake gags.

You’ve had enough, officially snapped, gone off the metaphorical rails of tolerance of douchbaggery.

“You know, you can insult me, make me want to cease living, but you have no right to be disgusted. Any god I know would be appalled at how you’ve treated my community, and I know you don’t go to heaven just on the merit of being a homophobic christian. Ash was right, you have no place on the national team… You wouldn’t fit,”

You shove her backwards, taking your yellow card with a grin. Play resumes relatively quickly, and your whole team goes forward into the second half with a renewed passion, compensating for Julie’s red. You lose yourself in the game, giving it your absolute all, and laying yourself out on every possible play. You manage to score 3 goals, one which could have been defended by Hinkle.

The whistle blows and your team rushes you, picking you up, hugging you, and cheering. You all head back to the locker room and you spot Julie, staring at her phone, a blank stare on her face. You sit beside her, putting your arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you, so much. For defending me, for fighting for me, even though I really missed my favorite ball feeder,”

Julie cracks a smile and shrugs.

You pull her in for a short kiss, trying to convey all of your love for her. You all walk out of the locker room, bags and bus buddies in tow. Julie holds your hand as you walk to the bus, rubbing a thumb over it as you stare blankly ahead of you, thinking back on your whole experience with Jaelene. Julie wraps her arms around you as you both get onto the bus, finding your usual seat beside Alyssa, who smiles worriedly at you. You take a deep breath and look at Julie.

“I just, I thought transferring would give me peace, but she’s still there, the thoughts, they’re still there. Just. Why is it such a big deal to her? I’m just living my life, trying to be happy, and she constantly made me feel, hell, sometimes still makes me feel, worthless, and I know therapy helped, but still, sometimes, like tonight’s game, brings it all back,”

Julie gets a look on her face, as does Uncle Naeher. They look at each other and nod slightly, brows furrowed.

“Come on Alyssa, Y/N, sit here, we’ll be back in a second,”

You curl up in the seat, listening to Julie talk to Alyssa’s seat mate, and one of your friends on the team, Sam Kerr.

“Look, me and Alyssa have to go do something, we’ll catch an Uber to our place afterwards, could you do me a huge solid, look after Y/N for me? Make sure she stays talking, doesn’t zone out too much?”

Sam nods and Julie sighs, turns to you, and kisses you on the forehead.

Okay, love, I’m gonna go, sort things out. I’ll be back in a bit, before you go to bed, okay?”

You numbly nod, heart racing.

She quickly turns to Sam, nods, and goes to get off the not yet started bus. Coach looks at her and Alyssa, and they talk for a few seconds before he waves them on, glancing back at you. Sam moves to sit beside you, and you curl up to her side, silently wishing it was Julie.

You’ve made it back to the hotel, eyes red from your crying on the way back. You carry your bag to your room, Sam walking you to it and giving you a hug as you walk inside. You put your things down, taking care to organize it so you don’t have to deal with it later. You turn the coffee maker on, set it to hot water, and start to run it, putting a tea bag in and leaving it to brew while you shower. You get your sweats and long sleeve t-shirt, taking out your toiletries and turning the water on cold, hoping the chill will help pull you out of your funk. You hop in and sit under the water, shivering slightly, but unwilling to turn it warmer.

You must sit there for an hour, slowly numbing even more from the cold water. You vaguely hear the room’s door open, Julie setting down her bag and putting her keys on the desk.

“Y/N? Babe?”

You want to turn your head, say something, go lay and curl up in your girlfriend’s arms, let her reassure you, but the motivation doesn’t come. So, you sit and numbly watch, shivering and lips turning blue, as Julie comes in the bathroom, looks to you, and immediately rushes into the shower, clothes on and forehead cut, eye black.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here, stayed with you, I just. She did this to you, without really trying, I couldn’t just let that happen,”

You just shrug and hug her, trying to get warm, regretting your tactic for pulling yourself out of your mind.

“Okay, we need to get you warm. I saw your tea, you can have that, and then we can lay down and watch that documentary you heard about from Rose?”

You nod, watching her turn water to warm, and strip, leaving her soaked clothes on the bathroom floor. Julie slowly washes your hair, conditions it, and takes a cloth to your slowly warming body, every touch and prod gentle and full of love. She keeps you under the warm spray for a while, holding you and rocking slightly.

“Okay, now which one of my hoodies do you want? We have the Santa Clara U or the Red Stars one, and some sweats, and some fuzzy socks are in your near future,”

You smile.

“You wore the Red Stars one more recently, so that one,”

A small blush runs across her cheeks, her usual confident demeanour gone.

“I’ll see what I can do, charmer. Ready to get out, get bundled, and get cuddled?”

She goes about shutting off the water, looking down to nod at you, and then stands up, you still cradled to her chest. You have a moment of realization.

“If I ask nicely, will you avoid putting clothing on?”

She sputters and turns tomato red.

“I- what? No, clothes are going on so I can properly warm you up, no more sly passes! I’m trying to take care of you, short stuff,”

You glower, sigh, and wrap your arms around her neck, waiting for her to put you down.

“Okay, look, tonight may have gotten to me, just a bit, but even all wacked out, I know somethings wrong. What happened to your face, and where’s Uncle?”

She sighs and starts to towel you off.

“Fine, The Giant and I went to have a chat with Hinkle, and I had her record it. I simply started talking with Hinkle, trying to reason and help her to understand things a little better, and then she hit me, and I didn’t hit back, and then she hit me some more,so now we’re hoping that we can send this to the big people in charge and maybe she’ll get suspended or in trouble or something. Alyssa is back with Sammy trying to stay away from conflict for the rest of her life. She did tell me to tell you to come down tomorrow if you needed some tips for dealing with the whole situation. Honestly think it’s the most she’s spoken this season,”

You hug her and wrap the towel around her shoulders before smacking her gently in the leg.

“No more inciting violence in the hopes that you fuck with people who have ‘wronged me’ or whatever it is you said that one time, got it? Also, you need ice, but I will say I love a girl with a black eye,”

You walk off into the main part of the room, ruffling through Julie’s bag to find her sweatshirt, lifting it over your head with a triumphant croon.

“Aw yeah, the epic girlfriend hoodie, let’s go!”

Julie chuckles and walks out, coming up behind you and grabbing her SCU hoodie, pulling it on and winking.

“So that next time you want a sweatshirt, you can have a freshly me scented one,”

You roll your eyes and grab a pair of training shorts, pulling them on and grabbing your tea, laying back carefully on the bed.

“Okay, coral documentary, snuggles, and then sleep,”

Julie nods and gets in bed, pulling you close and grabbing the laptop beside the bed and opening up Netflix.

“Sounds like a pretty amazing night to me, shorty, let’s watch us some ocean stuff,”

Needless to say you’re crying by the end of the documentary. Julie jerks awake, her soft snoring abruptly ceasing.

“What? What happened, who hurt you, I’ll let em’ punch me, get their ass suuspeendedd,”

You chuckle, still crying slightly.

“Nobody, babe, just, he loves coral! And it’s disappearing, and he’s sad and all emotional and now I’m all emotional!”

You sniff a few times and shut the computer, quickly putting it on the bedside table.

“Please don’t let anyone hit you again, Juls, pretty please,”

She sleepily grunts and mumbles.

“Man, sometimes you just let a bitch hit you, ya’ know. Gotta get the w somehow, cause I sure didn’t get it during the game,”

You laugh and wrap her arms tighter around you, knowing it’s going to be a bit of a long road ahead, but certain that the whole situation will pan out, and that you have Julie by your side through all of it.

#julie johnston x reader #julie ertz x reader #julie ertz #uswnt imagine #julie ertz imagine

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iridescentjin · 5 years ago

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The First Day of My Life

Summary: When Yoongi comes back from being gone for a long time, he gets a song stuck in his head that just won’t stop playing.

a/n: I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS SOFT IN MY LIFE. DON’T TOUCH ME. DON’T LOOK AT ME. I HATE YOU. This is based on the lyrics of the song “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes. Unedited

Genre: Smut. Fluff.

Warnings: oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, just absolutely tooth-rotting romantic fluff (I have sensitive teeth, someone help me).

Word Count: 2668

You blink your eyes open as you hear a deep, melodic voice drifting down the hall. You smile into your pillow as Yoongi carries the tune in the kitchen, where he’s probably cooking brunch. He had been your partner for years, and one of the things that you loved about living with Yoongi was how he would just make up songs and sing or rap them to himself all day. His songs were always a comfort after a hard day.

You had been having a rough week, topped by a text from a phone number that you had blocked long ago. Unfortunately, you’d switched phone providers recently, and the number seemed to not stay blocked in transferring all your information over to the different operating system. You had been in a weird mood all week, and you knew you were pushing Yoongi away even though you didn’t want to.

Sitting upright in bed, you run your fingers through your hair and swing your legs around to the side of the bed. You pad softly from the bedroom down the hallway to try to catch a peak of Yoongi when he doesn’t know he has an audience. You loved authentic Yoongi who wasn’t performing for anyone, though now that he was more comfortable with you, he was his true self more often than not. But it still was nice to watch these private little moments.

He had a bowl in one hand, a whisk in the other. He was whisking eggs together with various vegetables and fillings for the frittatas he seemed to be making. You hear the song resonating off the hardwood floor.

“Yours is the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where I’ve been, but I know where I want to go,” spills from his lips in a slow steady cadence, the passion in his words coming through even at the low volume he’s singing into the pan.

You take a few more steps toward him, unable to stop yourself because you are in such awe of the beautiful words falling from his mouth. He turns and sees you. His eyes light up, but he doesn’t stop singing.

“Remember the time you drove all night just to meet me in the morning?”

You feel the grin spread across your face. Of course you remember the time that you drove all night when the two of you were dating back in college. He had only had a short time in the country, and he wasn’t going to be close enough to come see you between all of his responsibilities, so you decided to go see him. You finished class on Friday and drove through the night for 8 hours just to meet him at his hotel in the morning. He had thrown his arms around you, and you immediately started sobbing, partially because you were exhausted and partially because you missed him so much.

It was that day that you decided that you wanted to spend as much of the rest of your life in his arms as possible. You don’t quite hear the next lyrics he’s singing because you are focused so hard on the memory of the warmth of his embrace after that long night of driving.

“And you said, this is the first day of my life. I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you. Now, I don’t care. I could go anywhere with you, and I’d probably be happy.”

His smile is spread so wide that you can see his gums fully exposed, as he stands over the pan of eggs. Your feet have been steadily inching you closer to him as he continues to belt the song that is now your favorite song that has ever been sung.

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin slightly awkwardly against his shoulder. You slide your fingers up his chest, exploring every inch of his torso through his cotton t-shirt. He turns and pulls you against him. He stands with his lips hovering over yours.

“Good morning. Were you enjoying the show?”

His eyes glint with his dry humor, and you close the space between your noses, nuzzling close to give him eskimo kisses.

He chuckles in his chest and gingerly presses his lips to yours. He pulls back and looks at you, eyes searching yours for a moment.

“Let’s eat, then we can explore all the thoughts that I can see going on in your mind through your eyes.”

Goddamn, he was so romantic all the time, even without trying. If you were being honest, most of the thoughts you were having had to do with how good he looked with his tousled morning hair, how good his chest felt under your fingers, how warm his body was pressed against yours, how much you loved every single inch of that man and wanted to show him.

Living with Yoongi had proven challenging for you for one reason. Being around him all the time made it very difficult to pretend that you weren’t thinking about having sex with him 24 hours a day. It’s really not your fault that he looks sexy folding his laundry. You can’t help it that the muscles in his back flex in his thin t-shirts as he puts away the dishes. Truly, he should just be more aware of the way he looks and the pheromones he’s putting out. This is his fault.

Sometimes he has to tell you that he’s too tired or has to get up too early, but you always respect him because he still fucks you multiple times a week when he’s in town. Though Yoongi is known as the sleepy, lazy, quiet boy, it’s just because he’s so exhausted all the time. After he’s had a full 15 hours of sleep after tour, he becomes almost as insatiable as you are.

You are so lost thinking about how feral Yoongi was the last time he came home after going out with his friends, a little drunk and very turned on, that you forget to eat your food. The eggs sit in front of you, limp and cold, only a few bites gone. You catch Yoongi’s eyes and his smile turns to a smirk.

“Did you get enough to eat?” he asks, amusement in his voice.

You nod as you stand up from the table. You take your plate with the food still on it and his empty one to the counter next to the sink. You’ll take care of it later, but right now you have a more pressing matter than dishes.

You slink back to Yoongi. You’re still in your sleep clothes: an oversized t-shirt and a pair of plain cotton underwear. As you make your way to him, Yoongi scoots his chair out from the table slightly. Your legs lead you to him and cause you to straddle him in the chair, resting on his thighs.

Yoongi’s hands skate down your arms, his lithe fingers hooking the bottom hem of your shirt. He keeps them there, still. You lean into his neck and place your lips tenderly against his skin. You know that his manager will kill him if he shows up in two days with marks all over his neck, but you can’t resist the urge to sink your teeth gently into the sensitive skin on his neck. You nip at his throat and his collarbone, laving your tongue over the areas that your teeth just explored. Then your lips find each of the spots. You suck the skin in before placing chaste kisses on the reddened area.

Yoongi’s fingers dance across the skin just under your shirt along the waistband of your underwear. You peel yourself away from his neck, and your mouth finds his. They are moving together almost frantically. Yoongi had gotten home fairly late last night, and the two of you had just held each other. You are actually surprised he got up before you today, but it must have been the song stuck in his head.

While your lips and tongues explore one another, Yoongi pushes your shirt further and further up your torso until you have to lift your arms, so he can pull it over your head and toss it aside recklessly. He stares at you for a moment, topless, nipples at attention. He murmurs, “Fucking perfect,” before bringing his mouth back together with yours.

You wiggle your fingers under the bottom of his shirt and pull his off as well. It’s obvious that Yoongi has been working out, and you can’t help that your fingers twitch until you ghost them over the taut skin stretched over his growing muscles. Your fingers catch on his nipples and shudders slightly.

He pulls you off of his lap and leads you by the hand into your bedroom. When you are standing next to the bed, he crosses so he’s behind you. He kisses your shoulder, your shoulder blade, the center of your back, the top swell of your ass. Then he pulls your underwear to the floor, kissing you on the ass, the thigh, and the back of your knee while he does it. Goosebumps rise up on every inch of your skin, and you feel the arousal that is drenching you between your legs grow even more.

Yoongi directs you to get on the bed on your hands and knees. You expect him to fuck you from behind, as this is a standard for the two of you. Instead, while you aren’t looking at him, you feel his hot breath and the warmth of his tongue on your folds. It’s slow and deliberate. The swirling motions he’s making with his tongue have your legs shaking after just a couple of minutes. His voices utters parts of the song he’d been singing as well as things that you rarely get to hear him say while he’s gone.

“Baby, you taste so good. I’m so happy to have you on my tongue. I love you so much.”

Each whisper against your sensitive skin, causes you slip closer and closer to your orgasm. Yoongi’s hands grip your hips to hold you still. He latches his lips onto your clit and sucks then draws circles around it. While he alternates between them, you can feel yourself careening toward the edge of the cliff of your orgasm. You try to give Yoongi warning, but one sweep of his tongue sends you toppling into your orgasm. Your muscles contract, and your eyes involuntarily pinch shut.

Yoongi doesn’t stop the movement of his tongue even when you’ve come down from your orgasm. He sucks tenderly at your sensitive bud, and he releases his grip on your hips.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he says in his hoarse voice, filled with lust. “I just want to be close to you today.”

You lie down on your stomach, not totally sure what he’s going to do. Then you feel his chest against your back. The pressure from his body isn’t very much, and you think that he must be supporting himself somehow because there’s no way that can be his whole body weight. His skin against your exposed back and shoulders is intoxicating.

His mouth finds purchase on your shoulder blade, and he kisses, licks, sucks, and bites at the same area over and over. While his mouth is working, you feel his bare, hard cock against your ass cheek, and you hope to god he isn’t going to surprise you by putting that in your butt because you did not prepare for that. His member is much too large for you to not have 2 business days notice.

He guides his dick through the slickness between your thighs slowly, coating himself in your arousal and release. He groans slightly as he pushes himself between your legs and pauses at your entrance. He kisses your neck gently.

“May I?” he whispers, breath causing your goosebumps to rise up again.

You nod and feel him push inside of you. The position the two of you are in has not only closed you to feel really close and intimate with Yoongi but also has caused you to feel especially tight around his cock.

You let out a moan as his hips start to rock slowly, the head of his cock stroking all your sensitive areas inside. You feel the pressure within you starting to build.

“Yoongi, I need you,” you moan out, reaching your hand back for his.

His fingers wrap around you, he kisses your neck again, and the words, “I’m right here,” fall from his lips.

He starts talking to you again. The loving phrases spilling like honey all over your skin, coating you in their deliciousness. They are so lovely and sweet that you want to lick them off your skin, his skin, hell even the bed. Yoongi has always been poetic, but after you heard his song this morning and the way that he has said I love you today, you are a puddle of mush underneath him.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, and another moan escapes from within you. He groans against your shoulder, and the motion of his hips loses its fluidity.

“Cum with me. I need you to cum with me.”

He’s panting, and he’s laces his fingers into your hair, pulling gently. You push back against him, and say, “So close. Just a few more.”

He groans again, burying his face in the space between your shoulder blades, biting down on the skin but ensuring not to hurt you. As his cock drags against the tender spot inside you, you let out a long, low moan. “Yoongi, I’m gonna-”

“Cum. Cum for me. I’m cumming.”

Upon his command, you feel your body trembling under his. This orgasm feels less like falling over the edge of a cliff. It feels like your body is filled with warm liquid and glitter is exploding inside of you. You feel yourself surrounded by a sparkly warmth that encases you and Yoongi and fills your mind completely with waves.

Yoongi mutters, “I love you,” again and again into your skin while he fills you full of his cum. “I always want to love you. Show you I love you. You’re my entire world. Do you feel how much I love you? Can you feel it?”

It’s mostly incoherent, but you do manage to make out the questions. You reassure him over and over, yes, you feel his love. You love him, and you feel so loved by him. No one has ever been as loved as you are by Yoongi. No one has ever been as lucky as you to have him loving you and touching your skin.

When both you and Yoongi have come down, he fits himself into the space next to you. Now he puts his back against your chest, and you pull him close against your breasts. Yoongi has always loved to be the little spoon, and you love the feeling of holding him, safe and sound, in your arms. You bring your fingers to his hair and start to massage his scalp while letting your fingers tease the honey-blond tendrils.

You kiss his neck, his shoulders. You try to keep him inside of your sparkly orgasm energy as long as possible. You can hear his breaths deepen, and you close your eyes and whisper, “I will never stop loving you, Min Yoongi.”

“And I will never stop loving you. The day that I met you was the first day of my life.”

You feel tears start to well in your eyes, and you scream how much you love him inside your head. He drifts off before you do, and you spend a moment just admiring every inch of his skin. Soon your eyes pull shut, and you are drawn into sleep, surrounded by happiness and love.

#smutcentralnet #btswritingcafe #minthlynet #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #soft yoongi #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts smut

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illfoandillfie · 5 years ago

Text

5 Simple Rules For A Successful Fake Relationship: The Perfect Date

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: There's trouble in paradise for you and Ben but will the distance bring about some revelations? And what does it mean for your romantic reunion?

Warnings: The usual fairly innocent stuff, some swearing and drinking and mentions of smoking, but with the additions of PDAs out the wazoo, public make out, private make out.

Words: 8093

A/N: Things get a lil spicy in this one! Small disclaimer that I don’t drink so I have no idea what wine does to someone, or two someones who split a bottle. Also just another reminder that this was in no way inspired by rumours regarding Ben’s rl relationship with Olivia Cooke. I believe they’re legit, and I will not engage with anyone about that topic.

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @tenement-funstah

@coni-martina @johndeaconshands @hardforbenhardy @cubedtriangle @vicouscirce @arianabrashierstuff

You headed straight to the bathroom and threw up. Ben had called twice on your way home, but you’d let it go to voicemail, not ready to hear him admonish you for eavesdropping on him or to be asked if you felt the same. You supposed it was adrenaline or something that was making you feel nauseous. Of course, you’d have to talk to him eventually, at least to apologise for going so off book, but it could wait until you weren’t feeling so miserable. With teary eyes, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed a drink to help settle your stomach, and then flopped onto the couch to flick through TV channels until you found something distracting enough. Your phone rang again but when you glanced at the screen it wasn’t Ben’s name you saw. “Mary?” If she heard any evidence of your distress in your voice she didn’t mention it, “Brilliant performance Y/N. The video was tweeted out about ten minutes after you left the restaurant and it’s already been shared more than you’d believe.” “Oh, that’s good.” “Better than good. People are eating it up. There’ll be articles tomorrow predicting your breakup and not just the ones we’ve organised. We’re going to ask that you and Ben refrain from seeing each other in public for the next two weeks or so, make it look like you’re taking some time apart. That’ll give the video plenty of time to circulate and allow us to get out a few variations of the trouble in paradise story. Of course, you’re free to visit each other and speak over the phone but be wary in case other paparazzi start following you in addition to the one’s we’ve hired. Chances are more people will be looking to scoop the official breakup story if all goes as well as these early numbers indicate it will. Then we’ll hit them with the romantic makeup dinner at Boucher. And after that it’s back to playing the happy couple. Of course there’ll be the press junket and premiere in a couple of months’ time and then we can break you up for good.” She kept talking about plans for he press tour, something about flights and hotels, but you stopped paying attention, already getting twitter open and searching for the video. It didn’t take long to find it, the caption proclaiming he who’d caught the footage had noticed you and Ben arrive and had pulled out his camera as soon as he realised things weren’t particularly happy. “Sorry, Mary, I’m gonna have to call you back.” “Everything alright?” “Yeah, just a small mishap with the washing machine. I’ll talk to you later.” As soon as she was gone you pressed play on the video. Filmed from a table to the left of yours and slightly behind your shoulder, the phone tipped at an angle so it wouldn’t be spotted. Your heart pounded as you watched. It was all there, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife as Ben tried to draw you into conversation. You heard the bite in your tone, the confusion in his. And you saw what you’d not noticed in the moment. The way his face fell when you said it was too much. The way his nails dug into his palm as he clutched his fork so tightly. The hurt on his face when you called him clingy and needy. He stood up as you walked away but he didn’t follow, just dragged his hand through his hair and then sat down heavily, worrying at his thumbnail with his teeth. The waiter came over, presumably with the bill but the video cut out before anything more was said. They’d got what they wanted. They didn’t need the aftermath.

The next day there was an unexpected knock on your door. You put down your phone where you were watching the video again and peeked out the window, worried that it was Ben come to confront you. Instead you saw Felicity raise her fist and knock again. “I saw the video,” was the first thing she said when you let her in, “are you okay?” “I wish people would stop asking me that. I’m fine.” “You had a straight up cat fight in the middle of a restaurant, and there are paparazzi practically camping in your front yard, you’re not fine.” “Okay, maybe not fine fine. But it’s whatever. How many are out there?” “Three. But what happened? Last week you told me you weren’t going to break up.” “We haven’t broken up.” “Well then what was that?” “I don’t know. It’s been building for a bit I guess. He’s just more serious about it all than I am.” “So I heard. Are you sure you aren’t just panicking?” “Panicking about what?” “Well, y’know, you’ve been in the tabloids a bit lately. That must put a strain on things. Maybe you just got a little freaked out by it and pushed Ben away rather than let yourself be vulnerable,” “What are you my shrink?” “Hey, I’m just trying to help.” “Yeah well, you’re wrong. The paps are kind of annoying but they aren’t the problem. The problem…” you took a breath as you considered what was safe to say, “the problem is that Ben has been on a different page to me for a while now. I think we both just need some space.” “Okay, if that’s what you want to go with,” she clearly didn’t believe you, “Have you talked to him about it?” “Not yet. Figured I’d call back sometime today when my head was clearer.” She nodded, “Well, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Moral support when you call him or someone to bitch to afterwards or just somebody to get drunk with.” She pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tight and for a moment you felt like you might cry. All you could think about was Ben’s expression when you walked out, how wounded he looked.

Felicity stayed with you for the rest of the day which was good because her presence stopped you from doing nothing but watching the video over and over again. As it was you found it hard to keep yourself from looking at the comments people left on it. A lot of people took Ben’s side, calling you a bitch or worse, sometimes even direct messaging you their opinions. But there were also those lampooning Ben for smothering you, some going so far as to claim they were early signs of manipulative and controlling tendencies and that he deserved the public humiliation of it all. Those were the comments that made you feel worst. Being called a cunt you could deal with. Being told Ben deserved better you could easily deal with. But seeing such horrible suggestions of Ben being thrown about made your heart ache. He wasn’t mean or manipulative. He’d been nothing but kind to everyone on set and especially to you. Any lingering annoyance that hadn’t left you along with the little you’d eaten seemed to melt away, leaving you feeling cold at the thought of what you’d said. Yes he’d been stupid and selfish to agree to pretend to date you when he actually had a crush on you. But not once had he tried to wheedle a confession of love from you, not once had he pushed himself onto you. He’d always been respectful of your boundaries, warned you before he kissed you, asked if you wanted to share a blanket rather than just assume you did. Even your rules he’d mostly stuck to. The one exception being the cutesy nickname, but you’d never put up much of a fight with that. You only knew that he felt something for you because you’d listened in to a private conversation. And really, could you blame him for developing feelings? You’d literally been cast as lovers because you had good chemistry and then you’d spent weeks getting even closer, made all the more necessary by your fake romance. He was hardly the first person in history to have his on-screen feelings transfer to real life. And surely, if he’d decided to tell his friend everything, even after signing contractual documents about keeping it secret, then he must be serious about you, about how much he liked you. Maybe you had it wrong. Maybe there was something there you hadn’t consi-. “Stop wallowing,” Felicities voice cut through your thoughts, “Put the phone down and stop thinking about Ben for five minutes.” You shook your head to clear it, “I’m not wallowing.” “Are you on twitter right now?” “Maybe,” “You’re wallowing. C’mon, give me the phone.” She held out her hand, giving you had no choice but to hand it over. “Has anyone ever told you you’d make a good teacher,” “Once or twice. You can have this,” she brandished your phone at you and then shoved it into her bag, “back when you’re ready to call Ben. Until then we are getting out of the house.” “Out of the house where?” you asked, letting her pull you from your seat. “Just out. You need some fresh air. Go on, get your shoes.” “Alright, alright, I’m going,” you said, with the first genuine chuckle you’d had in days.

You ended up at the park a street over, sitting on a bench overlooking the duckpond. One or two of the photographers followed you, but they were easy to ignore. As soon as you stopped moving your mind was back on the previous night, but Felicity must have sensed as much for she quickly blurted out a fun fact about ducks to distract you. For the rest of the time you were there she kept your mind on other things. She gave you an extended rundown on all the gossip from her workplace. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know who Derick was, you soon heard all about his tryst with the copy boy, and when you asked if the Susie M who was mentioned was the same Susie M that made out with the boss at last year’s Christmas party you heard all about the fallout from her drunk misstep. Felicity led you on a stroll around the pond as you laughed at her stories and filled her in on what you were hoping your next role would be. “I’ve been sent a couple of interesting scripts. There’s one for a sci fi time travel thing which I’m hoping to get a call back for. And there was one for a comedy about a coven of witches causing mayhem with their potions. I’m only about halfway through the script but I’d happily play any of the three lead witches, so I think I’ll have a crack at it.” “They both sound really good. Different to your last role.” “Yeah. Different’s good though.” Eventually you wound your way towards a small coffee shop opposite the far side of the park. The slice of apple tea cake you ordered was the first food you’d eaten since the few bites at dinner and Felicity didn’t let you leave until you’d finished it, though she was subtle in her insistence. When you put your fork down with food still left on the plate she ordered a second coffee for each of you which gave you little to do but keep eating. You thanked her after but she pretended not to know what you were talking about. It wasn’t until you got home again that she returned your phone. “You should call Ben,” “Do I have to?” “Stop pouting and do it. You’re cute together and you obviously love him. Just suck it up and talk to him.” You let out a heavy sigh and then took the phone back, refraining from rolling your eyes at how wrong she was about your feelings.

You headed out onto the back patio and, with some slight trepidation, called Ben. The call rang out. With a frown you headed back inside only to be greeted by Felicity making chicken noises. “I didn’t chicken out, he just didn’t pick up. He must be busy.” “Or he’s upset. Call back. You can come in after he’s not picked up three times or you’ve had a chat.” “Okay, I’ll try again, jeez,” you went back outside and shut the door behind you. Your second attempt was as unsuccessful as your first and you were just about to hang up on the third try when he picked up. “Hello?” “Hi Ben,” “Y/N,” there was none of the joy in his voice that usually accompanied your name. “Can we talk, is now a good time?” “Yeah,” “Okay, I just, uh, I wasn’t sure since you didn’t pick up straight away.” “Well I wouldn’t want to come across as more needy than I already do.” “I shouldn’t have said that,” you leaned against the wall of the house in the same spot you’d seen Ben lean countless times after you’d told him he couldn’t smoke inside, “I’m so so sorry about everything I said.” “It’s not what you said, Y/N. I get it, we had to fight and you let loose. From an acting perspective I’m actually really fucking impressed. I, uh, I might have watched the video when I got home, just once, and it looks legit. Like, that line about pretending to love me as much as I do you.” You held your breath, waiting for him to ask how you knew. “I mean, that’s exactly what we were going for anyway, just without the details of not having met each other’s families. Everyone still heard us argue about moving at different paces and it was some really great improvisation.” “You think so?” “Yeah absolutely. I don’t think I could have come up with a line like that on the fly. Seriously, if we were allowed to tell people it was fake, that would have fit well on your audition reel.” “So you’re not upset with me?” There was a pause as Ben thought about his next words. “Not upset exactly. Like I said, I get that it was a scene. But the way you sounded when you called me clingy….it was pretty clear there were some real feelings in there too and I,” Ben sighed, “I just wish you’d talk to me about how you were feeling beforehand.” “I didn’t really know how.” “But if I’d known that I was making you uncomfortable or coming across as clingy I would have pulled back. I could have texted less or crashed at your place less often. Not insisted on buying you books on our fake dates.” You scuffed your foot against the ground, not sure whether to come clean about overhearing him. You’d expected Ben to have realised by now that you knew, not to take what you’d said as some incredible performance. “I know I got kinda caught up in it all though,” he said before you could summon the courage to admit anything, “I, um, I really like…” You could feel your heart racing, convinced he was about to confess his feelings for you, completely unsure how to react. “…being someone’s boyfriend.” “Oh,” Why was he so determined to surprise you? Why did you feel disappointed? “It suits me. I like having someone to dote on and take care of and talk to and I guess it’s been a while since I properly, seriously dated anyone. I feel like I’ve got all this boyfriend energy stored up and nowhere for it to go. It comes in handy when we’re pretending to be on a date or whatever but sometimes it slips out when we’re just hanging out as friends, without the cameras and all that. Which isn’t an excuse or anything, I’m not trying to undermine any discomfort you felt.” “No, I get it.” “You do?” “Yeah. I mean, we said it was a weird situation right back when it was first pitched to us. That hasn’t really changed, has it?” “No,” he said with a small, soft chuckle, “still weird.” “Exactly. And sometimes I think it can be kind of confusing.” “Confusing?” You had a sudden mental image of a dog with pricked up ears, “Confusing’s maybe the wrong word. Hard to keep up with is I guess what I’m trying to say. It’s different to acting in love with someone on a movie because on a movie there’s a definite time span. The director calls cut and you can stop pretending. But we don’t get that cut. Even when there’s no cameras we’re still faking it for the people we know and anyone who might see us,” you glanced inside to make sure Felicity wasn’t listening in. “Do you think that’s why you didn’t know how to talk to me? Because there’s no clear line between Y/N and Ben as friends and Y/N and Ben as a couple.” “Maybe,” you shrugged, “I don’t think it helps.” “Yeah. It’s like, obviously there are times when we have to be all coupley and I guess it gets hard to say when something is uncomfortable because then it’s like what about next time we’re out and we have to do that thing anyway. And there are things I’m happy to do with my friends that I don’t think twice about but might carry extra meaning in our situation.” “Exactly. I don’t want to say I don’t like something and make you feel bad when we then have to do it because people are watching.” “So what are you suggesting then?” “Well, we aren’t allowed to see each other in public for a couple of weeks now, right? So maybe this could be a chance for us to take a break. Not in a completely cut off way, I still wanna talk to you and stuff. But if we give ourselves some space, y’know. Try and shake….excess feelings a-and work out our boundaries better.” “Sure, yeah, I can see how that would help.” “It’s just a couple of weeks and like we can still text or call or whatever we just wouldn’t hang out together and it wouldn’t be every day.” “Y/N, I get it. It’s a good idea.” You took a deep breath, “Okay. Cool. Um, so we’re good?” “Of course we are. I-” Ben seemed to stop himself from saying something, instead sighing, “We’re good,” “Good.” There was nothing else to stay but you didn’t want to hang up. Neither did Ben, it seemed, both of you just standing in silence. You could hear faint music playing on his end, like it was coming from another room. Maybe he was in his kitchen, leaning against the bench, the radio on in the next room over. Or maybe he was sitting on his couch, the TV down low so the repetitive game music wouldn’t disturb your conversation. You could see him so clearly, sitting in his usual seat, controller abandoned beside him. You wondered if he could tell where you were. “I guess I should go then,” He said softly, “I’ll talk to you soon.” “Bye Ben,” “Bye cud- Y/N.”

��How’d it go?” Felicity asked when you came back inside. “Alright. We’re gonna take a break from seeing each other so much and sort out how we feel and stuff.” “That sounds good,” “Yeah,” you felt relieved at having had the conversation but it was mixed with a weird sadness you couldn’t put your finger on, making you feel vaguely like you wanted to be sick again. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit. I’ll hang out and then tonight we can order pizza and watch cat videos or vine compilations or something dumb like that.” “You don’t have to stay, I’m fine.” “Hun, I’m staying. Maybe I’ll take a run to the shop, pick up some ice cream and booze and face masks. Sound fun?” “Definitely,” “Alrighty then, it’s a plan.” You felt slightly cheered by the thought as you made your way to your room and fell onto the bed, not bothering to change or move the covers, but it didn’t stop room from blurring with tears as soon as you were alone.

Keeping the distance between you and Ben was a mixed bag. On one hand not seeing each other meant there was no lingering pressure of another date or photo opportunity weighing on you. But on the other it also meant a queue of TV shows you felt unable to watch since you’d started them together. You didn’t have to worry that Ben would suddenly call you or rock up on your doorstep, unable to keep his affections to himself any longer. But you also missed out on random messages asking if you could remember that song (“you know the one it was from the early 2000s. Went something like…,”) or the way he’d chuck popcorn at you from the other side of the couch until you managed to catch some in your mouth. It gave you a chance to relax without worrying you were leading him on, or that you’d say the wrong thing, or that the rules you’d come up with would be broken. But that was because you barely spoke to him. Your communication was kept to text messages whenever something big happened and not much more. Ben sent you a message when he got a call back for one of the movies he’d auditioned for. You texted him when your neighbour’s dog had puppies, partly because they’d asked if you knew anyone who could adopt one when it was a little bigger, but partly because the second you saw the babies you thought of how much he’d love them. And yes, you were sleeping better without so much pressure and anxiety, but it hadn’t stopped Ben from appearing in your dreams and even daydreams, explicitly so more often than you were willing to admit. Then of course there was the bombardment of emails from family and friends checking in on you after they’d seen the video. It got so out of hand you’d had to make a rare post on your private Facebook account letting them know things were fine, just to get them to stop harassing you. But you couldn’t stop the harassment you were getting from strangers on all your other social media pages. You got into the bad habit of checking all the big gossip mag websites for stories about you, following them with as much fervour as any fan might. Ben must have had some paparazzi taking up residence on his street too because you saw countless pictures of Ben going about his day – out with friends, walking to Tesco, smoking outside a pub. And every time there was some story attached either about how heartbroken he was or about how he was sneaking off to meet you in private. You coped the same treatment, though sometimes with the added twist of announcing you were pregnant. All it did was make you wish you could have a hug from Ben and talk about it with him. You came very close to buying a pack of cigarettes one day, just so you could burn one and have its scent linger around your house like Ben had brought it in with him. Felicity was brilliant. She found amusement in the unfamiliar photographers, especially when an article appeared with photos of you and her hugging on your doorstep, speculating you’d moved on from Ben already. It wasn’t so surprising that she’d snuck her way into the magazines she so loved to read considering she checked in on you a lot in the first few days. But, as much as you loved her, and as much as she made you laugh, she had her own job and partner to think about and she couldn’t quite grasp what was happening the same way Ben could have. You missed him more than you thought you would, even with all the baggage from his unrequited crush. So much so that the realisation your makeup date was approaching had you grinning as you made your morning coffee, humming the song from his mug.

It was a surprise, though not an unpleasant one, to hear your phone ringing at close to nine the night before the date. You were sitting in bed playing solitaire on your laptop when your ringtone interrupted. Ben was apologetic as he greeted you, repeatedly saying sorry for calling at all. “It’s okay Ben, I really don’t mind.” You said, putting the laptop aside and relaxing back against the pillows. “Are you sure? I should have just emailed you.” “Ben, stop. I’m glad you called. I’ve missed hearing your voice.” “You have?” “Of course I have. I spent two and a bit months doing nothing but listen to you blab, you really think I’d just forget you?” You could hear his smile when he continued, “I’ve missed talking to you too. I figured this would be a good excuse.” “This being?” “Tomorrow night. Peter said he’d send you the info.” “Of course, yeah I got his email. Tomorrow night, meeting at Boucher at seven.” “Yup, that’s the info.” “I was told to dress up and be prepared to smooch.” “Did he say smooch?” “No,” you laughed, “His phrasing sounded a lot stuffier and careful not to create a lawsuit, but I figured that’s what he meant.” “Yeah, um, you’re okay with that?” “Absolutely. It’s a makeup dinner and we’re going to be together for another couple of months so we should play up the romance and the um, physicality and all that.” You tried to ignore the sudden warmth in your cheeks and the memory of your last dream. “Okay, good because I was specifically told about what happens when we leave the restaurant.” “Hmmm I think I remember something about that but again, stuffy non-lawsuit language. Kinda hard to follow at times.” “Basically they want us to make out while we wait for an Uber. Like, proper make out.” “Oh,” “I told them neither of us are public make out people but they’re insisting they need it. Something about it being an obvious indication of getting back together or whatever. And technically we agreed to it when we signed up for this whole thing.” “Thanks for the heads up.” “No worries. Glad I called now, wouldn’t have wanted to just spring that on you. But um, that’s it really, I’ll let you get back to your last night of peace.” “Wait,” you blurted without having anything else to say. “Yeah?” “Ummm, oh! Did you hear anything more about that movie?” “Not yet but Peter said they’re still in talks. Hopefully soon.” “What’s it about?” “It’s an actiony thriller thing. This guy, the role I auditioned for, witnesses a murder and then gets dragged into this revenge mission. I’d get to shoot some big guns and drive a cool car and y’know save the girl, all that stuff.” “Sounds fun,” “Yeah, what about you, any auditions?” “One or two but nothing’s come of them. I sent my reel in for this supernatural comedy about a coven of witches. Too soon to know anything though.” “Well I hope you get it,” “Yeah, likewise.” “Thanks.” You were forcefully reminded of your last conversation when you both lapsed into silence again, neither of you making any move to hang up. You wanted to keep talking but part of you was worried that if you used up all your conversation topics now, you’d have nothing to talk about over dinner tomorrow, and if that happened you were bound to blurt out something you shouldn’t. Instead you just savoured the sound of Ben’s breaths and the odd rustle of clothing as he shifted around. Once again he was the one to break the silence. “Well, as lovely as it has been to chat, I should go. Gotta get a good night sleep so I’m ready to woo you tomorrow.” “You’re not going to bed yet are you? It’s so early,” “I was gonna read or something for a bit actually.” “Have you finished that show we started?” “Which one?” “Any of them? “No. Figured they could wait.” “You wanna watch one now?” “What, over the phone?” “Yeah, we can try to time it so it plays at the same time.” “Uh, sure, why not,” You quickly grabbed your laptop and, after some discussion of which show you were more in the mood for, found the right episode. There was laughter on both ends of the line as you attempted to hit play at the same time, counting down from three between giggles. It took you a few tries but you eventually got them to sync up, more or less. It felt nice to hear Ben’s laughter again, his voice when he sang along with the soundtrack, his comments about the nitty gritty of the production side – odd line deliveries and angles of shots. He was easy to talk to. Though with everything that had happened, everything you knew, just the act of talking to him set off butterflies in your stomach.

It took you well over an hour to get ready for the date. You’d been told to go all out so that’s exactly what you did. With a little help from Felicity so you could get away with a calming pre dinner drink. She gave you a hand choosing an outfit – a dress, short but not too short, classy but eye catching. It had started life as a dress for a movie premiere but after a few years the top didn’t fit quite right so you’d had it altered, the skirt was taken up, cut off and attached to a new top that more suited your current style, leaving you with a slightly shorter and much more you outfit. Glass of Prosecco close to hand, Felicity worked on your hair and offered advice on your makeup. When you were finished and could reveal the full look to her, she squealed. “You’re absolutely going to get laid.” “Shut up. I look alright though? Lipstick’s not too dark?” “Honey, you look gorgeous. I swear, you’re gonna get dicked down in the bathroom of that fancy as fuck restaurant because he’s not gonna be able to keep his hands off you.” You burst out laughing, “Good to know. Not exactly the plan for the evening but at least I’m prepared now.” “What is your plan?” “I don’t really have one, which is not helping me stay calm. I guess just find out if he’s still interested in me. And then work out where we go from there. We talked last night and that was good but I just need to know if he’s, you know, still into me.” “He’s head over heels for you, that won’t have changed. The question is, do you love him?” You wanted to say no but obviously couldn’t so you settled for a soft, “I’ve have missed him.” She hummed with an annoyingly knowing look. “I should be going, the Uber’ll be here soon.” Felicity pulled you into a hug, “Knock him dead, Y/N,” and then, as an afterthought added, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “You first hooked up with your girlfriend because some drunk guy told you he’d buy you both drinks if you made out. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do.” Felicity laughed, “That was just a free drink, imagine what I’d do if there was a fancy French dinner involved.”

You arrived before Ben did. A quick glance up and down the street told you he wasn’t approaching just yet, so you opened your clutch to give yourself something to think about other than the sound of snapping cameras. Phone, lipstick, tissues, compact mirror, three condoms. You laughed to yourself when you saw them and made a mental note to lie about how useful they were when you next saw Felicity. Quick footsteps caught your attention and you looked up in time to see Ben running towards you. “Sorry, I’m late,” he said between breaths, pressing a kiss to your cheek as soon as he was within reach, “My Uber got caught in traffic and I had to make a stop,” He held out a small bouquet of flowers in a variety of pinks, purples and yellows. “For me?” “No for the other girl I’m seeing, of course for you. You like them?” “They’re beautiful,” you took the bouquet and breathed in its sweet scent. “I saw it in the shop and, um yeah, I don’t know, they seemed nice, a-and I know you, um, like nice things, so,” he stopped babbling with a pained expression on his face, for once more visibly nervous than you. “It’s very sweet of you, thank you,” “I’m glad you think so because right now it feels kinda cliché and cheesy. Now you have to carry them around all night, what was I thinking? And god can I just shut up. Sorry.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he scrunched his nose up and ran his hand through his hair, unintentionally endearing, “Calm down, Ben, we’ve done this before.” “I know,” “Let’s just go inside, further away from these cameras, and have a drink, sound good? “God yes,” he nodded and let you lead him through the door up to the hostess stand, managing to pull himself together enough to give her the name of the booking. As expected, she told you to wait in the bar until a table was ready.

Ben downed his first drink in one hit. It made you wonder how hard he was finding it to be around you. Had the space helped him quiet his feeling for you? Or had it just made him want you more? Was that why he seemed so out of sorts, stumbling over his words in a way that was so unlike him. You desperately wanted to find out where he stood but it was impossible without giving yourself away. What you needed was for him to make another phone call you could overhear but the likelihood of that happening was slim. You’d just have to put it from your mind for now. “Better?” You asked Ben as he caught the barman’s attention and ordered a second drink. “Getting there,” He took the new glass and drank, just a sip this time, “You look stunning by the way. I should have said it earlier,” “Thank you, you look very handsome,” He glanced down at the suit he was wearing, “Thanks.” A somewhat awkward silence followed. “So,” you said, louder than necessary, desperate to get him talking like he normally did lest you start to freak out too, “You been here before?” “No. Never even heard of it before Mary and Peter mentioned it. You?” “Same.” You looked around the room, searching for something else to talk about, “Nice though.” “Yeah, yeah, really swanky.” “Bit different from the painting thing,” “Yeah, very. Look I need to tell you someth-” “Mr Hardy? Your table is ready,” You smiled at the hostess, as he thanked her, and followed her towards a table for two, setting your bouquet down to the side. Ben smiled at you from across the table. “You were saying?” you asked, apprehensive and curious. “Oh, um, nothing, doesn’t matter. We’ve got a date to focus on.” “Wouldn’t want all these prying eyes to miss anything,” “Exactly. Cuddle bunny,” You smiled at the nickname despite its ridiculousness and leaned forward in your seat slightly, letting your fingers gently rest against the back of his hand. If he wanted to focus on the date and putting on a good show for the public then that was something you could do, “Babe.” The flush you’d seen creep onto Ben’s face before appeared again and he reached for his glass once more. “So, how have you been?” you asked, pulling your hand back towards you. He looked at its retreat and then back at your eyes, “Good. Got to hang out with the boys a few times last week which was really good.” “Beat them at any more video games?” “They won’t let me anywhere near FIFA at the moment,” “Discrimination,” “That��s what I tried to tell them!” he laughed, seeming to relax a little more, “bunch of babies.” “What about that trip thing you were organising, have you sorted that out?” “Not entirely. It’s with my friend Joe who lives in the States. He was going to come out here but we decided it wasn’t worth it since I’ll be over there soon anyway.” “You will?” “Well both of us will be. Part of the press stuff for The Perfect Match.” “Oh, right, of course,” you giggled and tucked your hair behind your ear. “He’s looking forward to meeting you though.” “I bet he is,” you said automatically. Of course he’d be keen to meet the woman his friend was infatuated with, you would be too. Ben gave you a questioning look but you covered well enough, “I mean, he’d obviously know about us dating so I assume he’d be curious to meet your girlfriend. Especially if we’re having public spats and stuff.” “Right, yeah, definitely. What about you? What’s been happening?”

From there you fell into your usual style of conversation, both of you relaxing more as the night wore on and the bottle of wine you ordered grew emptier. The only difference from normal was the romance of it all, played up as much as possible. Brushing hands as you both reached for the salt, soft smiles and laughs. You even went so far as to twirl a strand of hair around your finger like some love struck teenybopper in a soap opera. When your food arrived you let Ben feed you a bite off his fork. You offered a taste of your meal in return and he held your wrist as he leaned in. A gesture that left you breathless, blinking at him as he slowly withdrew his hand. The wine’s fault probably. You’d polished off the bottle by the time dessert arrived, on top of the drinks you’d had before you sat down. It made you feel looser and you assumed the same of Ben, judging by how different his demeanour was to the nervous, stuttering one he’d had when he showed up. Perhaps that was why, with a spoonful of chocolate mousse halfway to his mouth and no regard for the conversation you were having, he suddenly said, “Can I ask about these last couple of weeks?” “Uh, yeah, what d’you want to know?” “Was it good? The space, did you get what you wanted from it?” You thought for a moment, putting down your own spoon, “Yes. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t helpful because it really was. Just, having that break from everything. I think I really needed it. But I really really missed you too.” He smiled at that, looking down at his dessert like he was trying to hide it, “I’m glad. It was hard not seeing you but yeah, helped me figure some stuff out too. Confirmed some other stuff.” “Like what? If you don’t mind me asking.” “Like…um, the thing I said on the phone about enjoying playing the boyfriend. I like having someone special to share things with,” He sighed, “But that’s…not relevant right now. Do you want to get out of here?” You were a little taken aback by the suddenness of the suggestion but agreed, reapplying your lipstick for the cameras while the waiter collected your bill.

Ben wrapped his arm around your waist once you were outside, pulling you close. With the pretext on planting a kiss on your temple he quietly asked if you were ready for the next part. “Lay it on me,” you giggled, feeling warm and light. A second later his hand was sliding down your side towards your bum which set off another wave of giggles. He kept you close as you walked down the street, oblivious to the flash of cameras. Ben kept his arm around you, using the other to open the app and order a car. You stopped when you reached a quiet bus stop, Ben letting you go to sit down, tapping the spot beside him. But his hand wasn’t gone for long, instead moving to cup your cheek as he pulled you into a kiss. “I missed doing that,” he muttered but you were more focused on making it happen again, shifting yourself closer, laying your hand against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding under your palm, but it matched the beat against your own chest. You’d forgotten how good he was at kissing but it came flooding back as you opened your lips for him, felt his tongue against yours. His hand was firm on your back, pulling you in but still not close enough. You whined, let him pull you onto his lap, pressed yourself against him, one hand in his hair so he wouldn’t stop kissing you. His hands were everywhere, on your arms and back and squeezing your arse, holding you in place as you arched your back slightly and kissed him harder. A car horn right beside you made you pull away, startled. “Ben?” The older man asked, looking down at their phone, “I’m here to pick you up.” “Shit,” Ben said softly, and then to the driver, “Sorry, yes, that’s us.” You let your head fall forward onto his shoulder for a second, smothering your laughter. “C’mon cuddle bunny,” he said softly, “they’ve had enough of a show.” Your legs felt unsteady as you stood and smoothed your skirt down. Ben opened the back door for you and followed you inside. “So sorry about that,” he said again to the driver. He just laughed, “It’s alright. I remember being your age and completely smitten. You’re that couple I’ve seen online, right?” “Uh, yes, that’d be us, I think” “Well if you wanna keep making out I won’t stop you. Might have to tweet about it though.” Ben laughed, “Thanks but I think we can hold off for a bit.” You looked over at Ben and had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing too loud when you saw the lipstick smudged over Ben’s face. “What is it?” Still laughing you handed ben your compact mirror and the pack of tissues from your clutch. “Christ,” he said softly, “The internet’s going to fucking love this.”

The Uber driver left you at the end of Ben’s driveway with a wink and a have fun. There were paparazzi waiting for you so you grabbed Ben’s hand and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. He led you inside, refusing to let go of your hand even while trying to dig his keys from the opposite pocket. Once you were inside, you placed your slightly bruised bouquet on the hall stand, leaned against the closed door and began taking your shoes off. Normally, after being out together and winding up at Ben’s place, you’d head straight to the bathroom to take off your makeup. He’d go and fetch two glasses of water if you’d been drinking or maybe something warm if the night was cool. You’d change into the pyjamas you kept at his place and then join him in the lounge room, sometimes tucking yourselves under the same blanket, to watch TV until you were yawning and struggling to stay awake. And then you’d wish each other good night and head to your separate rooms. But this time something felt different. You kicked your shoes to the side of the hallway and stayed against the door, watching as Ben pulled his wallet from his pocket, dropping it and his keys next to your flowers. He slowly turned towards you, taking a step closer. And you knew you should move, should dodge around him, make a joke about not needing to take off your makeup since he’d already done it for you but you found yourself stepping towards him too. There was a beat as you both realised how close you were. You heard Ben swallow, watched his eyes move to your lips unashamedly. Later, when you were lying in the dark wondering what the fuck had happened, you’d tell yourself it was the wine. A brief impairment of judgement exacerbated by months of celibacy and an easily suggestable brain. Whether you believed it was another question.

You closed the gap but he was only a second behind, hand back on your waist as his other found your jaw. You wrapped your arms around his neck, let him slowly walk you through the house towards the living room you where you’d spent so many nights joking around. He didn’t stop kissing you while you stumbled through the house, not unless he had to and even then he never went far, his breath hot against your lips. You pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his lap, continuing what had been interrupted, his hands falling back to your arse, pushing up your skirt, squeezing, as you tugged on his hair, making him groan. A single rational thought was trapped in the back of your mind, trying to breakthrough but it was hard to think when Ben was holding you like that, kissing you like that, especially after so long without being touched at all. He broke away to mouth at your throat and it was only then that you had enough time to think clearly. “Wait,” you said softly and then again more insistently. “What is it?” “What are we doing? We can’t,” “Why not?” You shook your head, and pushed yourself off of him, taking a couple of steps back, “It’s rule one Ben,” “We wouldn’t even have to break rule one though, we can just stay here on the couch. No harm in making out if we’ve already done it.” A whine caught in your throat and you took an extra half step back to keep from rushing into his arms again, more rational thoughts pushing through the broken wall and joining the first. You shouldn’t, not if there was any chance Ben still had a crush on you. It wouldn’t be fair. “I’d be good to you Y/N, you know I would,” You shook your head, “You know this isn’t real, right Ben?” “Of course I know that,” “Really? Because sometimes I think you forget I’m not actually in love with you.” What’s that supposed to mean?” You bit your lip to try and stop yourself from saying what you were about to say but it was no use, the words were already half out, “I heard you talking to Joe the night you left your keys at the bar. I know you have a crush on me.” “You heard that?” His eyes were wide, horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear I just needed a drink an-.” “Oh my god,” He sat up straighter and ran a hand through his hair again and you wished it was your fingers mussing it up, “Maybe you should go.” “Wait, Ben, let’s just talk about it.” “Is that why you were upset before the argument? Is that why you didn’t want to see me for the last two weeks?” “I thought some space might help you stop feeling that way.” He laughed at that, “I’m – I’ve been trying to stop feeling like this for months now, since we were filming together, but I can’t, I can’t shake you. I love you. And it won’t go away.” “You love me?” Ben nodded, looking up at you from the couch but you couldn’t meet his eye. “You don’t have to say you don’t feel the same, I know.” You didn’t know what to say, just stood there, frozen in place. “That’s what I thought,” He stood up, chewing on his lip and when he spoke he had to clear his voice to make it loud enough for you to hear, “I, um, I know I just said you should leave but you can’t go yet. There are still paparazzi out there and we’re meant to look like we’ve made up. I’m going to go to bed though and you can stay until they leave or, if you can still stand to look at me, then you’re welcome to stay the night and I’ll drop you home in the morning. I’m really sorry.” You watched him walk towards the hallway, still frozen in place.

#my writing #my fics #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #i'm fully ready to cop some shit for this one lmao

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themattgirl · 5 years ago

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First Time Solo

This is the first one... give me feedback, please!

Warnings: a bit fluffy I guess

Word count: 1,611

Enjoy!!!🦋

Today was the day of Harry’s first concert as a solo artist. His girlfriend, Y/N wasn’t allowed to go with him and be there through the whole process to support him and help him to be less nervous. Management said, “She would only distract him and ruin it” or “It wouldn’t be a great idea to show Harry’s girlfriend off because of his young female fans.”

But they didn’t understand it, still don’t, because their relationship is not a secret anymore. They kept it to themselves at the beginning, yes. But now they walk around the city holding hands, kissing if they want to, not caring about cameras catching them.

They didn’t manage to talk the bosses into letting her at least watch him on the little TV in his dressing room, though. But Y/N reassured Harry that she’d be waiting and praying for him in their hotel room and that’s exactly what she does. Fortunately, one of the stylists is a very close friend of her and proposed to FaceTime Y/N during the show so she can see the performance, regardless of what the others allowed or didn’t.

“Don’t hang up yet, Harry must be here in a second!” the stylist tells her after they watched him go off of the stage. How could she ever say no to seeing Harry?

Y/N sits up on the bed, she has only now realised how uncomfortable the position she was in has been. Harry just blew her mind and made her forget everything else. He always does, but this time was different. This time he was alone. It was just the soothing sound of his voice going through the headphones into her ears and making its way straight to her heart, transferring her into a state of ecstasy she has never felt before except for when he kissed her for the very first time.

“Heyyy, superstar!” Y/N hears the stylist greeting someone. She stretches her neck in order to see if it’s the person she thinks it is, but of course she sees nothing. It’s not some sort of 3D FaceTime call, after all. Though, she swears she heard her boyfriend’s voice somewhere in the background, very distinct but it was there.

Y/N wonders why her friend asked her to stay on the phone if she was going to hold the camera so that all she sees are legs and the floor, anyway. But then the phone is being lifted up and Harry’s sweaty face appears. “Babe, I need you here!”

A big smile immediately takes over the place of the previous frown on her face when her eyes meet his through the display. She notices how sparkly they are, just like always when he is on a high.

“You definitely didn’t need me, you were amazing!” she tells him what she knows he needs to hear right now. She knows how insecure he always feels after a show. His self-criticism is always on the highest level, so high that he sometimes ends up hating everything about the performance - or whatever he was doing - and even stopped talking for a while because he was so mad at himself. Ever since they started dating and Y/N noticed this side of him, she always tries to prevent him from thinking too badly about himself, and she became pretty good at it with time.

“Thank you, lovie! But I really want to be with you right now. I wanna be in your arms and I wanna hear your soft voice telling me that I didn’t mess up! I miss you, Y/N!” Harry’s words in combination with his big doe-eyes make her heart melt right away. It’s only been a few hours since they last saw each other but she knows exactly what he means, she feels it too.

“You better hurry up to me then, before I fall asleep!”

Of course she will not fall asleep, she’s not even tired. But maybe this way he would quicken it up a little more, who knows?

“No, babe, don’t! Wait f’me, I’m on my way!” Not giving her the chance to speak he has already disappeared and Y/N is left with an image that moves way too fast for human eyes before the face of the owner of this phone takes over the display.

“You know, you two are a really cute couple,” she claims and makes Y/N blush a little.

“Thank you!”

After Y/N thanks her friend again for doing what she did for her they end the phone call.

***

Only twenty minutes later, Y/N hears the door of the hotel room being opened so she gets up and rushes to her boyfriend to wrap her arms around him and pull him as close to her body as possible. Harry places his hands on her bum so he can lift her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and he walks them to the bedroom. Only when she pulls away from him she notices that he is still wearing his outfit from the show.

“You haven’t changed yet?”

Harry looks down on himself, almost like he has forgotten it. “Was in a rush, y’know.”

Y/N giggles to herself and slides his black, glittery jacket down his arms to put it on the bed. “Go take a shower, baby! Then we can cuddle and talk, yeah?” she suggests and he just nods before he gives her a kiss and makes his way to the bathroom.

Usually, she’d go with him and rub the shower gel on his body but she’s already had her shower so all she can do now is taking out fresh underwear for him and wait for him to finish and come back. It doesn’t take as long as she thought it would, fortunately.

Soon enough, they are snuggled up in bed. Harry has his arms wrapped around her waist, his head is resting on her tummy while she massages his scalp.

“I’m really proud of you, my love! You did a fantastic job!” Y/N tells him and makes him smile.

“You liked it?” There’s a tone of uncertainty hiding in the back of his voice.

“I loved it, Harry! Everyone did, I’m sure. You took my breath away through the display, how about all the people who were there? I wonder if they’re still alive. You’ve always been great on stage, but this one was incredible. You were so entertaining, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You sounded... ugh, I don’t even know how to describe it. And on top of that, you even looked so hot. Like, you had no business looking that handsome making me jealous of all the women around you. This was just your first show, what’s about to come is gonna be huge! I can’t believe my boyfriend did that!” she showers him in compliments.

Harry’s cheeks are bright red by now, “Stop it!”

“I’m just telling the truth. Damn, you were brilliant, breathtaking!”

“Thanks but stop, please!”

Even though Harry is pretty much a narcissist sometimes, this situation makes him blush like never before. Y/N just makes him feel so good about himself. He knows exactly she has much more to say because she always pays attention to everything, everything. She has her eyes on every detail, that’s how his girl is. But he’s heard enough. He’s afraid he’ll melt if she keeps going.

“I’m not stopping until you say it yourself. Say you won Switzerland’s heart and the rest of the world is yet to follow! You-“

To keep her from talking any more he presses his lips on hers. “Okay, just stop!” he says in between kisses.

“Say it!” she mumbles into the kiss.

“I was good,” he says before he locks their lips again. But Y/N is not having it. She cups his face to separate their faces and glare at him, not needing to say a word for him to understand.

“Okay, I was very good!”

“You were amazing!” she corrects him and connects her lips with his again.

“I love you so much, Y/N! You won’t believe it but I literally felt that your presence was missing the whole time. I was so nervous, I needed my anchor but you weren’t there,” he sounds both, sad and angry at the same time.

Harry is now lying on his side, propping himself up with an elbow so he can look down at her.

“These fuckers didn’t let you be with me,” he adds to make sure she doesn’t think it’s her fault because he knows she’d find a way to blame herself.

“We’ll talk to them again. I promise, we will find a way! And even if it takes a few tries and you have to do it without me again, just know that I’m always with you, at heart! I love you, H!” she reassures him while he strokes her hair.

“I love you more!”

“Speaking of emotions, I saw you tearing up a bit during Sign Of The Times,” she teases him playfully.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he denies, his thicker accent giving away that he’s lying.

“Don’t act dumb, Bambi! It’s okay to cry, it’s an emotional song!”

“Yeh, yeh, whatever!”

“I saw something else too.” She pokes his lower stomach.

“And what’s that, lovie?” he wants to know.

“I saw the bulge in your trousers!” She let’s her hand wander even lower.

Harry’s eyes widen at first but not much later the corner of his lips curves up, his dimple makes an appearance. “Oh, did ya?”

“Mhm,” she smirks.

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #fluff prompts #harry styles #fluff writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles filth #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader

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odyssey-system · 4 years ago

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Enchanted: Part of Your World #1

"Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?"

Fiona Seville was on the phone with her father Dave as she sat on the couch in her apartment. Her frizzy hair was a slight mess as she adjusted her legs. "Y-Yeah, of course, Dad."

She could hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, along with a cough. "I was supposed to go to a benefit masquerade ball tomorrow night. The one that I go to every year."

"Right! The one for state arts programs?"

"That's right. Well... I can't make it this year. I ended up with bronchitis and your brothers have to take care of me at home."

Fiona frowned. "I'm sorry, Dad..."

"It's alright. I was just wondering, since you were closer, could you make the donation in my place at the ball?"

She bit her lip. She was not typically a person to deal with large crowds, but for the only parent in her life, she'd take a leap of faith. "O-Okay but if I make the donation for you, can you transfer me replacement money after?"

"Of course, sweetheart. You have my word."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After a few phone calls with her agent, Ethan Blake, Fiona was able to donate money, book a ride and acquire an outfit for the night. She'd spent the past few days looking around for pop culture tidbits she might have missed over the past week or so. She practiced talking to people in the mirror, and she arranged to get out an hour early from work that day.

So now, here she was, sitting in the front seat of a Dryve car in a stunning silver ballgown made by one of Ethan's friends, Addison Sinclair. The driver wasn't much for conversation, preferring to listen to the radio, but she didn't mind.

Eventually, the car pulled up to the designated drop-off point for the masquerade in front of the Sheridan Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, a line of paparazzi along the velvet roped red carpet. Fiona put on her mask and took a deep breath.

Showtime.

Fiona made her way out into the stream of flashing lights, walking toward the start of the red carpet. She only recognized one face in the line of paparazzi: Ana de Luca of Trend Magazine, one of her favorites. She put on her sweetest smile as she heard murmurs about how no one knew who she was, and she prepared for the barrage of questions with a nervous glimmer in her eyes.

Surprisingly, none of them approached her but she was asked to pose for pictures, to which she obliged.

What mattered more to her was getting inside after speaking to both of the hotel's front door bouncers and the bellhop, who helped her find the ballroom in which most of the event was held.

The ballroom was massive, much more extravagant and intimidating than Fiona could have ever imagined. It felt like she was walking around in a fish tank full of people.

It terrified her.

"This place is pretty cool, isn't it?" A young man in his early twenties asked her confidently. "Definitely better than my prom."

Fiona smiled, the conversation alleviating some of her nerves. "Yeah, it's beautiful in here."

"Is this your first time going to this?"

"Yeah."

The man gave an understanding smile. "Me too. I'm Chadley."

"I'm Fiona." She fixed her hair and her mask, shifting her remaining nerves into movement.

Chadley smiled. "Do you want to go get something to drink?"

Fiona nodded back at him. "I'd like that."

The two made their way over to a table with refreshments, Chadley immediately going over to the flutes of champagne. "Bubbly?"

"No thanks." She tried looking for other drinks but only ended up finding water on the table. She grabbed a glass and a reusable straw kit, following Chadley.

"How'd you get an invite to this party? Did you have to pass some initiation or something?"

Fiona laughed. "No. Why, did you?"

"Yeah, kind of! Mr. Groot said that I needed to start sharing my brain cells with my kind and jump into a canyon with no braces for my teeth." He said it with nonchalance, making Fiona recoil a little. His eyes widened. "No no, it's okay! My agent Ethan told me that it was his way of saying I needed to venture out of my comfort zone or something.

She sighed in relief. "This Groot guy might need to find a better way to come across with what he's saying correctly... But at least you have Ethan. He's my agent too."

"Oh sweet! He always has the best suits."

Fiona could think of a few other outstanding qualities about Ethan that would rank higher, but she did have to give Chadley that. "What do you do?"

"I'm a film actor. What about you?"

"Oh! Um..." Fiona's cheeks tinged pink slightly. "I'm a barista but I do have this character acting gig. I do birthday parties and stuff."

"That's cool! Do you like it?"

"Yeah! It's fun to make characters on your own that you can help people with, you know?"

"Hell yeah! So are you working during this party then?"

She shook her head. "No, my dad's a composer. He comes here every year, but he got sick and couldn't make it this time. He wanted me to make a donation this year for him, and I'd do anything for my dad."

"I get you. I'm gonna go talk to more people but-" He took a napkin and wrote down a set of digits. "Here's my cell phone number if you need something. I've gone to some stuff like this, I can help you."

Fiona smiled warmly. "You're so sweet, Chadley! I appreciate this, thank you."

"No worries, Fiona! Hope I see you around." He went off into another portion of the ballroom.

Afte watching him go and making sure he was alright, Fiona went to go sit next to the stage. It was sparsely used at the moment, a few musicians tuning and doing mic checks. She took a few minutes to browse her Pictagram feed idly, pausing on a post by the Wilshere siblings when she noticed something familiar about the backdrop.

"Excuse me." A tall male with shoulder-length hair and a beard said as he approached, gentle and calm with his security badge visible on his belt. "I need you to not block the stairs, ma'am."

Fiona blushed and glanced at the stairs. "Sorry, sir..."

"It's okay. Some of the acts are just ready to sound check."

"Right, of course." She followed him out of the way before spotting a pair of blondes approaching the stage: the Wilshere twins.

Fiona was in awe.

The male of the pair nodded to the security guard. "Thank you, Damien." He turned to Fiona. "Sorry for making you find a new wallflower spot. We just don't want anyone to get hurt, especially a charming young thing like you."

"Arthur! Don't tease the poor girl!" His sister strode over and gave a wide, warm smile. "Sorry about him." She took Fiona's hands. "You seem overwhelmed, love. Are you alright?"

Starstruck but true to Avery's observation, Fiona bit her lip. "I'm not used to navigating parties like this."

"I understand. These things can make a girl feel so small in a world so big, especially for your first time at one of these parties." She squeezes her hands. "There's a few different rooms next to the ballroom being rented out for the ball as well. Those might help you find a smaller group of people around here."

"Avery? Your turn for sound check," her brother called out.

The blonde sighed. "I have to go. But you've got this. I believe in you."

Fiona watched Avery go onto the stage, still anxious but more hopeful than before. She gave both her and Arthur a wave before walking around the ball a bit more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After half an hour of roaming all of the other rooms, Fiona found herself in one that resembled a casino. It was a bit smaller than the other rooms, which helped her anxiety, but it felt very much like a boys' club in there with the amount of older men. Several men stared at her as she walked in, appraising her like jewelry. Or worse. She did her best to not give them any ideas or pay them any mind.

Unsatisfied playing games with any of the older men, she made her way over to the bar that was for the most part unoccupied. She sat on the other end of the bar, ordering a coffee instead of alcohol because of her need to have a clear head to survive the night.

When her coffee arrived, the waitress also placed a notebook in front of her, a pen tied to the spiral. She opened it cautiously, seeing neat handwriting on the first page.

Are you alright?

Fiona looked up from her spot and noticed the only other patron at the bar: a younger male but still considerably older than her, nursing a glass of scotch in his hand. His eyes met hers, and he smiled genuinely back at her. She pointed to him and then down at the notebook. He nodded in response. She quickly wrote a response after grabbing a pen from her purse:

Yeah. My first time at one of these events. It's a little scary.

She slid the notebook over to him so the waitress didn't have to do it. She watched him write, moving his hand in a gentle and elegant fashion, before he slid it back to her.

I understand. I didn't want to scare you and add to that. Do you want to sit with me?

Fiona took a moment to collect her thoughts before sliding her purse onto her shoulder. She collected the notebook and her coffee, walking over to sit next to him. "Sorry. I-I just figured if my answer was yes, I didn't want to be redundant.

He nodded in reply. "That's alright. I'm Thomas, by the way."

She smiled. "I'm Fiona."

I want you to know I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

Thomas crossed his legs, right over left. "So what got you to come out here tonight, Fiona?"

"I-I came for my dad. He normally comes down here but he's sick this year."

"What's your last name?"

"Seville."

The name seemed to click in Thomas's head. "Ah yes, I believe I'm somewhat familiar. Dave's his name, right?"

"Y-Yeah."

"I remember him. We've met in passing before, I believe. The most I know is that he's a composer. Are you in the music industry as well?"

I'll get you out on the floor Shimmering beautiful And when I break, it's in a million pieces

Fiona shook her head. "Not exactly. I'm a barista most days, but I also do children's birthdays and other stuff like that as a costume actor. Sometimes it involves singing, but it's not the bread and butter of what I do."

Thomas smiled. "Impressive. You definitely achieve the Disney princess aesthetic tonight."

She blushed. "Thank you. You look nice too."

Hush, when no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tip-toes Spinnin' in my highest heels, love Shinin' just for you

The two could hear the bartender turn on the television, and a picture of Thomas without a mask on flashed across the screen as part of a television tabloid, along with his full name.

Mortified, Thomas partly covered his face with his hand.

Fiona looked at him sympathetically, reaching for his empty hand. "Is everything okay?"

Hush, I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tip-toes Spinnin' in my highest heels, love Shinin' just for you

"I... I have a problem with fangirls sometimes." He held her hand gently. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "D-Don't be." She looked around. "In all fairness, half of the people here look like you because of the masks and everything."

He uncovered his face. "You're not even a little starstruck at me?"

Fiona smiled and shook her head again. "I-I mean, I *do* know who you are now. But... I mostly look at Trend and music industry magazines, so I don't get your exposure a lot."

I want you to know I'm a mirrorball I can change everything About me to fit in

Thomas took another sip of his scotch, contemplating her words. "Well... What is your impression of me, then?"

You are not like the regulars The masquerade revelers Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I-I think you seem like a hard worker. You have ambitions that aren't always in the realm of reality, but you try. And you make every effort to keep your private life and your work separate. You think art is a second life in and of itself."

Thomas sat silent for a moment, stunned. "And how did you manage to decipher all of that?"

Fiona's smile hinted at a hidden laughter. "You don't seem like you've sold your soul to any towel rack of a tabloid, Mr. Hunt."

He knew the game she was playing now. She seemed to warm up to him quickly, something that could hurt them both if they weren't careful.

But the angle she was going for now? Two could play at that game.

Hush, when no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tip-toes Spinnin' in my highest heels, love Shinin' just for you

"You'd think correctly, Ms. Seville," he said with a regal and teasing side-smirk. "However, seems it's my turn to pick your brain."

Fiona flushed, almost retreating from the teasing as her fingers on one hand started playing with the edges of her frizzy hair. "G-Go ahead."

Thomas was gentle as he shifted on the barstool, taking a full look at her. "You are definitely in touch with your inner child in a way I don't see often around here. Not necessarily the innocence, but you tap into that with your curiosity, your sincerity, your kindness."

Fiona shied away slightly at the very accurate read of her.

He let her have a moment to recover before continuing to speak. "I would love to have more time to figure you out fully, to get to know you, person to person... if you'll have me."

Hush, I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tip-toes Spinnin' in my highest heels, love Shinin' just for you

She looked up at him with soft silver-blue eyes, searching herself for the answer as she contemplated his request. "O-Okay. Can some of that time be without a crowd...?"

He smiled. "I know just the place." He took her by the hand and led her out to an open balcony, pulling her into a slow dance as the door closed after them when they got outside. He led her, one arm around her waist and the other holding her head protectively to his chest.

And they called off the circus Burn the disco down When they sent home the horses And the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me

She pulled away from the close embrace, moving to hold his hands again. "I-I..."

Thomas smiled, a patient ease to his posture. "Yes, Fiona?"

"Can we have... more than just tonight to know each other?"

He held her cheek. "I would love nothing more."

And I'm still a believer, but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

In an instant, her lips tilted to reach his.

And nothing else that night mattered for a weightless, ethereal, eternal moment.

Because I'm a mirrorball I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

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mango-forest · 5 years ago

Text

more than survive (part 5)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Marientte feels the bus going over the curb before it falls back onto the road again. She wasn’t able to sleep that well last night due to her encounter with Gotham’s "night life." Although at least she still got the fabrics, if nothing else; sadly the project she had in mind will have to wait.

She hears the hiss of the the bus doors

opening and stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. They’re allowed to bring carry ons, Ms. Bustier reminding them to keep in mind the weight and the fact they’re going to be carrying them all day long. Marinette isn’t stupid enough to have any valuable things in her bag; way too many things have "disappeared" during school days back in Paris. It’s idiotic to assume that they wouldn’t try the same tricks here. The designer has a jean jacket on with all her money, her phone, a small travel sized sketch pad, and a pen in her inner pockets.

All the bag has in it is just extra cheap ballpoint pens with a sweatshirt as well. It is enough to bulk it up, but nothing too valuable that can’t be replaced.

She’s the last student off the bus, and when the doors close after Ms. Bustier all the students are gathered in a group at the bottom of the steps leading to the absolutely ginormous building in front of them. Lila’s entertaining the group by pointing out a few places around them.

"Oh the bushes look different, they must’ve hired new gardeners! Which is really for the best, the others were horrid you see," she says, gesturing to the plant life. "Oh! Oh! And over there, that’s where Dami-boo gave me a rose for our first date. He’s so sweet like that."

"Really?" Alya asks in disbelief. "Because in his interviews he seems like a total jerk."

Lila coughs. "Well that’s just the media. They can be so exhausting sometimes it’s easier to pretend! Right, Adrien?"

The boy in question awkwardly looks away, rubbing at his neck. "Uh, yeah, but—"

"See!" Lila smiles brightly and begins to talk about some other thing before Ms. Bustier clears her throat.

"Actually Lila, we do have a schedule to keep to. Come along now, children!"

The lobby of Wayne Enterprises is exactly what Marinette thought it would be, which surprises her a bit. There is a man waiting for them along with a lady that looks taller than him, even without her heels. The man sees them and a polite smile worms it’s way on his face. "Ah! Hello, my name is Dick Grayson, I’ll be one of your tour guides," he says in English. The lady repeats it in French, although she adds her name as well.

"I’ll be another one of your guides. If you’re in my group then I’ll be only speaking French. Keep in mind that no matter what group you choose you’ll still be given the entire tour. However if you feel that your grasp in English is good then you may take the tour with Mr. Grayson, who can provide extra fun facts about all this."

Unsurprisingly, majority of the class goes with Mrs. Cox, causing Ms. Bustier to go with that group as well. Only a handful goes to Mr. Grayson, including Marinette and, to her pleasure, Alix. The smaller girl is neutral in the whole class drama and Marinette is thankful that she’s in her group too considering the other members.

As the tour goes on, Marinette gets increasingly wary of the tour guide. She makes sure not to be too far from the group but it seems like his eyes keep flickering to her. She tries to hide behind Ivan’s bulk a bit, but then Grayson shifts his position and now she’s in his sight again!

What is with him anyways? He keeps looking at her, but he doesn’t do that to anyone else. Wait—no, WE wouldn’t hire a—no, no, Marinette’s just jumping to conclusions. She looks at him again while the rest of the groups crowding into the elevator and they lock gazes. The superheroine

looks away quickly and makes sure to be the furthest from him in the elevator.

On the next floor, Grayson reveals something that makes Marinette choke on her spit as she hears Lila inhale sharply.

"The floors at WE are by department. For example, my dad, Bruce Wayne, has an office a few floors up and he only shares it with his secretary and a few higher ups’ own offices." He was Bruce Wayne’s son? Wait, wait, wait, that still doesn’t mean—nepotism can only go so far, surely.

While Marinette’s worrying about the tour guide qualifications, Grayson leads them to the cafeteria where they regroup with the other group. Marinette puts off getting food in favor of getting a seat and pulling out her small sketch pad. It’s just a placeholder until she can get back to her hotel room where Tikki was waiting and transfer her ideas into her regular one.

It’s kinda lucky she got excluded from the class. No one wanted to room with her, so now she has an entire single bed room to herself. Which is fortunate for Tikki who is now unrestricted for the majority of the trip. It’s nice that her kwami can have more freedom; even in her bedroom in Paris, they needed to be aware of Marinette’s parents coming up without knocking.

As Marinette jots down a note about fabric stretchability, she hears a small scuffle from diagonal of her. Head snapping up, her eyes narrow at the sight of a slightly disheveled Dick Grayson grinning at her. "Hey," he said, "

Aren’t you gonna get food?"

"Um, actually I was just about to go," she laughs nervously, closing her sketch pad and starting to stand. Then a glimpse of fabric draws her eyes to the figure obscured by Grayson’s. "Er, hello there?" she greets uncertainly.

The person doesn’t respond, only shifting closer ron Grayson. The taller laughs a bit and says to Marinette, "This is my brother, Damian."

She blinks. "Damian Wayne?"

The person nods, and—well, now Marinette kinda understands why he’s wearing a hood on and sunglasses. Walking around without a disguise is probably dangerous for a kid celebrity. Especially in Gotham. Although, Marinette thinks it fortunate also because Lila’s here. Actually wait, them two meeting will be great because then he can expose her! Wait—

"I thought you were supposed to be meaner." The words leave her mouth before she can think, and Wayne straightens up a bit.

"Well he actually needs to leave seeing as we’re supposed to be walking your class and you to the bus again to go to the hotel right now. So he’ll be going somewhere else now," Grayson interrupts. "Off record, it was nice to meet you—ow!"

It seems like Wayne elbowed his older brother before he can open his mouth again. A smile is aimed at her and she smiles awkwardly back.

“Well, let’s go then,” she says.

When the two join the rest of the class, she heads back behind Ivan as soon as she can.

tag list

@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @birb-didnt-survive-the-snap @iggy-of-fans @never-neverland @urbanpineapplefarmer @zalladane @littleredrobinhoodlum @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @ellerahs @drama-queen-supreme @literallytryingmybestbutok @blue-peach14 @thatrandomfandomsgirl @alexzandria-747 @vgirl-10123 @corabeth11 @disneyfoxuniverse @chocolatecatstheron @loysydark @todaylillypads @interobanginyourmom @schrodingers25 @theatreandcomicfreak @felicityroth @xxmadamjinxx @sonif50 @scribblinggraveyard @fandomsaremylifeline @wellcrud @spicybelladonna@fiendsangelical @mooshoon

tell me if I missed anyone!

(also ik some things may not make sense but it’ll be kinda explained next chapter probably)

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chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 24

Warnings: mentions of depression, death, grief, sad Tyler, a tad of smut

Tagging: @thunderintheshadows (although you read this already over on Ao3 lol), @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

The meeting is scheduled for one pm. Held in one of the hotel's smaller conference rooms; Nik hosting from Colorado through a secure satellite feed arranged by the FBI. At Esme's insistence, she'd sought out Mark's help, who in turn, had agreed to lend his assistance as long as it was kept strictly 'off the books'. Neither Tyler or Yaz made aware; a need to know situation that Nik was certain they didn't need to know. Not at this particular time, anyway. She'd also managed to convince the hotel management that the team -she'd spun a story about them providing private security for some of Ireland's elite- needed a meeting room for 'strategic purposes', and a hefty money transfer had been sent to them to ensure both their cooperation and their silence.

Yaz arrives last; arms and hands loaded down with bags of food and drink for lunch, along with his laptop and iPad.

“You went back to that coffee shop, didn't you,” Tyler grins, recognizing the logo emblazoned on the front of one of the paper bags. “Was she there? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Esme sits alongside of him, their thighs touching under the table. The need for closeness...both physically and emotional...is overwhelming. On both their parts. As if something or someone was just waiting in the shadows to snatch them away from one another. Bot are nervous. Anxious. All of the missing information, the complexities of the case, the uneasiness that comes with being in an unfamiliar place and not knowing exactly who your enemy is. All mixing together to create a brutal and punishing force. All jobs come with their share of danger. With the unexpected twists and turns that jumped out at you without a moments notice. Always having to think three steps ahead of you; always wanting to ahead of your foes so you could take them by surprised, not vice versa. But this was different. The trouble had started before they ever set foot on Ireland soil. Danger could be lurking around every corner; in every dark alleyway or doorway.

She is feeling it more than the others. It's been almost six years since she'd last been on a job. She had thought that that part of her life was behind her. More than content to give up the almost nomadic lifestyle in favour or a quieter existence. Quite enjoying the routine and the familiarity that comes with being a stay at home mother and a housewife. It sounds old fashioned; the solace found in taking care of a house, in cooking dinners and doing laundry and other various chores, in keeping a husband happy and satisfied, in spending time with her children and loving on them as much as humanely possible. But after years of never forming true bonds with anyone and never having a stable place to live while running from her demons, being a spouse and a parent turned out to be exactly what she'd needed. She'd needed normal. Or at least their version of normal.

At the mention of a girl, she glances away from her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys; in the midst of sending an instant message to Ovi. Both he and Chloe were in constant contact. Always letting her know what is going on at home. Whether it be sharing stories about what the kids were up to, asking questions about things like favourite foods and things that would provide comfort when the little ones were emotional over the realization that both their mom and dad are gone, letting her know that things felt safe and secure and there had been no suspicious activity or threats. At least not yet.

“She was,” the grin that spreads across Yaz' face is enormous as he arranges the food and beverages in the middle of the table, then busies himself with setting up the tech needed to hold the meeting. They're running on Nik time, and her time -in her eyes- is extremely valuable and she expects others to recognize and abide by it. “Her name is Anna,” he says. “Anna O'Brian.”

“Oh how adorably Irish,” Esme quips. “Is she legal? Did you ask to see her driver's licences this time?”

Tyler gives an amused smirk.

“You're getting just as bad as he is,” Yaz complains, nodding in the other man's direction. “He's rubbing of on you.”

“She likes when I rub one off on her,” Tyler says, and then winces when his wife grabs a hold of what little excess fat he has above his hip and pinches as hard as she can.

“What?” he asks innocently. And when she huffs in disgusts and turns her attention back to the laptop, he playfully nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.

“You're disgusting,” she replies. “I can't believe you even said that.”

Yet at the same time, she can recognize the remarkable transformation -one of many- that he's gone through over the past five and a half years. He's no longer on guard twenty four seven; he's able to relax and actually live in the moment. No longer constantly haunted by the horrible decisions of the past. Comfortable enough in his own skin...his new skin...to not only let others in, but to be like everyone else. Sarcastic, humorous, finally content in his own skin. Yet when it's time for the seriousness of a situation to kick in, he will be back to all business.

He'll be the old Tyler again. A transformation so quick and subtle that its as if the new one never even existed.

“I read it's supposed to be good for the skin,” he reasons. “It's probably why you look as young as you do. Like a natural moisturizer.”

“You've got serious issues,” she huffs, and then yelps when he grabs a hold of the back of her knee, squeezing lightly and the proceeding to tickle her mercilessly. “Stop it!” she orders in between the laughing and the hiccups that soon make an appearance. “What is wrong with you? Tyler! For fuck sakes! You're going to make me pee myself!”

“You too make me sick,” Yaz declares, when Tyler finally relents; smiling and winking at her, running a hand over her hair and then pressing a kiss to her temple. “It's gross. The way you two are. All happy and in love and shit. It's been almost six years. Shouldn't you hate each other by now? Isn't this when things go south and you just stay together for the kids?”

“Oh there's days,” Esme says. “Where he is walking a very thin line. Believe me. He's too scared of me to push things too far.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She holds all the power. It doesn't matter that he's a foot taller or ninety pounds heavier. He knows when to just shut up and tow the line. “Then she gets over it when I hate fuck her,” he grins. “She's relatively harmless after that.”

She sighs in exasperation. “So who's this girl, Yaz?” she asks, as she returns to composing her message to Ovi. “Waitress? Bartender? Stripper?”

“Speaking of strippers,” Yaz grins. “Tyler...remember that red head in Russia. The one that kept rubbing her massive...” he gestures to his own chest, mimicking breasts. “...in your face.”

“Oh my god I do not need to hear this!” Esme makes a dramatic gagging noise and places her hands over her ears. “I want to remain oblivious to what he was up to before I met him. Those days didn't exist! I want to pretend they never happened!”

“She had a massive girl boner for your man. She did these things for free. She probably would have given him money for letting her.”

“Yaz...” her eyes are narrow as she glares at him. “...I will punch you in the throat, I swear to God.”

“You remind me of her,” he continues. “With the new hair. Only your boobs are real.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyler frowns, and smacks the younger man upside the head as he gets up to grab food. “Don't talk about my wife's body like that. Don't cross that line, mate. Don't make things weird.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Esme grins.

“Slightly tarnished and dented armour,” Yaz suggests to her “You like that one? Give me that one. Are you impressed by me?”

“I'll both accept it and allow it,” she nods. “I'm going to write that one down so when I get down to writing my book entitled 'Shit Yaz Says', I can include it. So who is she? This girl? Don't leave me out of the loop.”

“A waitress. At a place we went to the other day. She gave me her phone number and I wanted to go in and apologize for not calling her yet. I even brought her flowers.”

“Nicely done,” Tyler nods his approval. “You've been taking notes.”

“We're going for drinks tonight,” Yaz excitedly bounces up and down on his heels, like a little kid that just found out the Tooth Fairy now gives out twenties for a molar.

“Drinks?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “So that's what kids call it these days. Just call it what Tyler does. Studying.”

“For the record, I did not start that shit,” he places two plates of food on the table and slides one towards her. It's weird in a way; how you get to know someone so well that you know exactly what they'll eat, and be appreciative of even the small gesture of getting it for them. “I did not call it studying. Ovi said he and Chloe were studying. I just took it from there.”

“Tyler is a huge fan of studying,” she continues, briefly pressing her shoulder into his when he sits down, giving him a smile of appreciation. “He likes to study alone.”

“That is not what I said. I said if I have to study alone, I will. Not that I enjoy it. Just that it needs to be done sometimes. What are you supposed to do when your study partner gets a lot of headaches or doesn't feel well?”

“Excuse you, but when was the last time you heard any of those excuses from me? Months. Declan was still a tiny little thing.”

“You two are both fucked,” Yaz declares, and then adjusts the blinds covering the window; so there isn't too much sun streaming into the room and preventing them from seeing the smart board that Nik will appear on. “T minus six minutes. You guys ready for this shit? It's going to get weird, isn't it. Even more weird than it already is.”

“I have been eating at the buffet of strange all day,” Esme declares, then fills him on everything that has taken place since she'd opened up her eyes first thing in the morning. The strangers outside the hotel room; the nervous shuffling of feet and harsh whispers. How'd she attempted to glimpse a glimpse of them but had been just a few seconds too late. About the housekeeper insisting that no one was staying in the room that Esme had seen...with her own two eyes...the couple emerge from.

“Hmmm...” Yaz says in response to that piece of information, then looks at Tyler from across the table. Pointed stares. Tyler's eyebrows shooting up. So much communicated between them without even needing to use words.

She launches into what she knows about the Buckman family; no hands on knowledge, but history with colleagues that had gone toe to toe with them and had somehow managed to survive.

“They're not a family you want to fuck with,” she says, as she sips from a bottle of water. “This is Amir Asif on steroids. I'm not even joking. If you thought Dhaka went to shit, this has the chance to be a hundred times worse. If this blows up in our faces, it's going to be damn near impossible to get those kids out. Not when it's just one person doing the heavy lifting.”

“You think we need more help?” Yaz asks, and when she shrugs, he addresses Tyler. “You think you need more help? You're the one actually going in. How are you feeling about the chances? Or being able to get both of them? Two kids plus yourself? Do you think you can get all three of you out?”

“I'm fine with it,” Tyler replies. “I'll be okay. I can handle it.”

“Realistically what's the chances?” Yaz inquires. “That you can successfully get two kids out at once and go up against anyone coming at you? It isn't going to be as easy as just walking in there and grabbing them and taking off. There's going to be resistance. Big time. You think you can handle two kids plus all the other shit being thrown at you?”

“I think you need to let me worry about all of that and let me do my job. How many extractions have I done? Tons. Yet you think I'm some kind of rookie just walking in there blind? I know what I'm doing. I can handle getting two kids out.”

“And yourself?” Esme speaks up, not looking away from her laptop.

“We're not talking about that right now. This is about the kids.”

“Your life is just as important,” she gently argues. “Whether you think it is or not.”

“The job is a success if the kids get out,” he counters. “It doesn't matter if I do or not.”

“It matters to me. And to your kids.”

“Maybe we need an extra set of hands,” Yaz suggests. “Someone watching your back.”

“I don't need someone going in with me. What I need is people leaving me alone to do my job. I work better alone. I'll get the kids out. No matter what it takes. That's all that matters. Getting to them and getting the fuck out of there. I've done this before, remember? Have either of you gone in and done the bloody stuff?”

“That's not the point,” Esme says. “How many extractions have you done where you've had two people to get out?”

“None,” he admits.

“Exactly,” she huffs. “What harm does having back up do?”

“It's messy enough with just one person. I don't need someone all up in my ass questioning everything I do. I work alone. I've always worked alone. So just let me go in and do what I have to do. I'll have it under control. You need to trust me.”

“Two kids, two people,” Yaz reasons. “Would make it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Neither of you are listening to what I'm saying. I run this part of things. I call the shots. Not you. And not you,” he gives Esme's thigh a squeeze under the table. “You have to just back off and let me do what I do. You want things to run smooth? Or as smooth as they can? Then keep other people out of the way. That's all I ask. Please...” he presses a kiss to her temple. “...trust me. Just trust me.”

“Fine,” she relents. “But I don't like this. I don't like any of this. Two kids plus yourself? While trying to out run and out gun whoever is going to try and stop you? There's no Saju busting his ass to clear a path. There's no Nik and the team providing tactical support. There's no G to act as a sniper like he did in Dhaka.”

“You were a sniper,” Yaz points out. “In the corps.”

“I was not a sniper. I merely acted as one from time to time.”

“But you still did it,” Tyler says. “When you had to.”

“Oh hell no. You two are not putting this on me. I came here to help with intel. That's it. That is as far as I'm going. You two are not dragging me down into some fucked up rabbit hole because one of you is too stubborn to ask for outside help and the other just puts his tail between his legs and agrees to whatever the first one says. No. I'm not doing this. I won't do it.”

“You've got the experience,” Yaz continues. “And I trust you. Tyler trusts you. You can handle it. And we don't have to drag more people into this. Your intel stuff will be down by then, right? So why not stick around and help out? Better than bringing in outsiders, don't you think?”

“And you agree with this?” Esme address her husband. “You think this is a good idea? Getting me even more involved in this than I already am?”

“I trust you,” he says. “If there's anyone I want having my back...”

“This is fucked!” she cries. “You're both insane. What in the actual hell is wrong with the two of you? Where did all the common sense go? Both of you used to have tons of it and now it's just gone. It's disappeared. How does any of this make sense? How do I go from being the intel person to suddenly being tactical back up? Explain to me where this all went wrong.”

“You don't have to actually go in,” Tyler explains. “Just be there. Like G was in Dhaka when I went to see Ovi's captors.”

“Just be there in case you're needed,” Yaz adds. “You know this is going to go to shit. They're going to have a lot of fire power. And Tyler can't get those two kids and himself out of there and be one hundred percent effective when engaging. It's impossible. Not with two little kids tagging along. Just hang out. Find a nice high perch somewhere. Wait and see if you're needed.”

“This is crazy,” she runs her hands over her face. “This is just all so crazy. What are the chances of any of us actually surviving this?”

“Did you make it out of Dhaka?” Tyler inquires. “Did I not find a way to keep you alive? To get you across the bridge?”

“That's not the same thing and you know it.”

“I'll get you out of this too, ” he says. “I promise.”

****

“Talk to me,” Nik says in trademark fashion. “Who has information?”

“Esme knows the Buckmans. ” Yaz speaks up, and his sister arches a quizzical -yet extremely interested- eyebrow.

“I don't know them. I know of them. There's a huge difference.”

“What do you know?” Nik asks.

“I only what I've heard through the grapevine. In the circles that I travelled in. Word gets around. Especially about families like that. The old man was killed ten years ago. Everyone suspected it was a hit, but no one every really knew for sure. It was all hearsay. Water cooler chatter. And I saw his file. His rap sheet was enormous. There were charges on there that should have had him rotting away in jail. Yet he always found a way out of and around things.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“They were back then. When the old guy was running things. I've been out of this for five years, Nik. I'm not exactly up on all the gossip. They were powerful. Probably the most powerful crime family out there. But they were quiet about it. Always flying under the radar. But people knew about them and people feared them and that was enough. They had access to all kinds of shit. Money can buy you a lot of toys. Extremely dangerous and scary ones. So if the daughter really is running the show...”

“She has the same kind of resources and money available to her,” Nik concludes.

“And the pictures,” Esme taps her fingernails on one hand against the tabletop as she speaks, using the other hand to bring up the photos of Heather Buckman on the laptop. “The ones someone gave to Tyler. The ones with the kids are very real. There's no doubt about that. You can't fake that kind of terror in someone's eyes. Especially kids. But the wife? Those are not real, Nik. It gets more and more obvious every time I look at them. First of all, it makes no sense to keep mother and kids in two different spots. That's two separate places you have to constantly man and monitor. Second, she's only been given a minor working over. Nothing like the kids. The hair was a nice touch, but it was too much. Too much effort into trying to make something look real.”

“Any way of figuring out where she or the kids are being held?”

“Based just on those pictures? No. There's thousands of places that could look just what it's in the photos. Without actually narrowing down locations, it's impossible. What's the chances of going into McMann's house?”

“I can get you into anywhere you feel the need to be,” Nik confidently declares. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not even sure to be honest. But maybe there's something there that can give us some sort of clue. It's a long shot. But...”

“I'll arrange it and contact you. In the meantime, I have a couple places for you to check out. I want you go in and ask some questions. Tell them that you're a journalist from over the pond that received an anonymous tip that there's trouble brewing between the IRA and a New Zealand crime family. That should be enough to loosen some lips. Charm them. Get them to warm up to you. Flirt with them if you have to. Pull out all the stops. I don't care how far you have to go to get information. Just get it. I'm sending the address to your SAT. It's a bar in downtown Belfast. Owned by an active IRA member.”

“She's not going alone.” Tyler speaks up. “No way. Not into something like that.”

“You tag along but you stay outside,” Nik says. “I don't want you in there. They'll recognize you when they see you and we can't have the two of you being connected in any way. Stay across the street. Or somewhere they won't spot you. But no more than a hundred yards away. Make sure you're armed. Just in case.”

“She should be armed too,” he suggests.

“They'll make her for sure. We can't take that chance. She goes in alone and does what she needs to do. You stay outside and keep an eye on things. You only go in if things go to shit and you have no other choice. Understand me?”

He nods.

“I have someone coming to meet you. He'll be there between six and nine pm, you're time. He's from Dublin. He's reliable. He's bringing you some more ammo and some weapons. He's on the up and up. You can trust him. Have you talked to McMann? Does he know that you're onto him?”

“I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Tyler says. “He wants to talk. See where we are at with things. To be honest, I want to fucking strangle him.”

“Well try not to. I know you're pissed. And I understand it. But you should let him know. That you know everything he told you about his New Zealand extraction was a lie. Maybe if you lose it on him it will get him to talk. He knows more than he's letting on. Maybe seeing you pissed will scare some sense into him. Tell him everything. About the pictures. About the threats against your family. Lean on him and lean on him hard. As hard you can without physically hurting him.”

“I vote that Tyler at least gets to throw one punch,” Yaz pipes up. “To the throat. Nice and hard.”

Esme nods in agreement.

“Yaz,” his sister address him now. “I've got someone meeting up with you with some new technology. High tech. Ways that we can all communicate without it being noticeable. Ear wigs, bugs, things like that. Inconspicuous. The old radios won't cut it. Too noticeable. I'm sending you his information and you can reach out to him and arrange something.”

“Where are we at on this Erin girl?” Tyler inquires. “The one that showed up at my room.”

“I've done all the digging I can do,” Nik replies. “There is no Erin Ferguson in Belfast that matches her description. I don't know if Esme would have more luck.”

“I can try,” she offers. “But there's only so much I can do. Without facial recognition software and other high tech shit like that, my hands are pretty well tied. I can see if there's any security footage of her entering or leaving the hotel and maybe I'll get lucky with image search on google. But that's a big 'if', Nik.”

“See what you can do. I'm not expecting miracles.”

“How's things there?” Tyler asks.

“There's been no sign of anything even remotely suspicious. No threats. Nothing. But I'm going to stay here and keep the detail I have. Ovi and Chloe are handling things. The kids are happy. Calm. Well, as calm as they can be. You know what you're kids are like. Calm doesn't exactly describe them well. But they're fine. They miss you guys. I didn't realize how much they look and act just like you, Tyler. It's kind of unnerving. Scary even. You have some seriously strong genes.”

Esme nods in agreement, and he gives her a wink and a smile and takes her hand under the table.

“We've come up with a plan,” Yaz informs his sister. “When it comes to tactical support. For when it comes time for Tyler to get the kids out. It's going to be hard. Juggling two kids and fighting back. Because you just know the shit is going to hit the fan and they're going to come at him and they're going to come at him hard. With everything they've got.”

“What kind of plan?” Nik asks.

“Esme can do it. She has the experience. She can just find a place to watch and wait from. If things don't go wrong, then that's all she'll have to do. Watch. If things do blow up...”

“And they will,” Esme speaks up. “Because if Dhaka as bad as it did, this is going to go a hundred times worse. And that's being fatalistic. That's being realistic. These people? They're capable of bad shit. Horribly bad shit. They make Amir Asif seem tame in comparison. Dhaka was a shit show. This is going be Dhaka on a massive dose of steroids.”

“But will you do it?” Nik asks. “Can you do it? Because I think we all understand if you can't.”

Esme sighs, pushes her hair behind her ears. “I can do it,” she confidently. “I don't want to do it. But I will. Only because it's Tyler.”

****

They make love. The drapes drawn across the window; rays of sunlight poking through the small gaps in the fabric. His hands on her hips as she straddles him; guiding every slow, deliberate movement. Sex has always been what they do. A coping mechanism. The most pure yet raw way of experiencing the deepest and most primal form of intimacy. Driven out of need and desperation; fuelled by worry and stress and the fear that each time may be the last. So many unknowns lying ahead of them. The future suddenly terrifying unstable.

When she comes undone -nails scrapping painfully down his chest, his name exploding from her lips- he gives her little time to recuperate. One strong arm wrapping around her waist and throwing her down onto her stomach, legs flat against the bed, a knee pushing her tights apart before settling himself between them. Pausing long enough to run the tip of his tongue all the way down the length of her spine; eliciting a whimper from her, her entire body trembling from both the new sensation and the aftermath of her powerful orgasm. His hands running over her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her ribs and down to her hips, once more gripping them tightly as he pushes into her. The friction intense; the press of her body against the bed, the tightness of those barely spread legs, his hips sinking as far into her as they possibly can. A low, feral growl erupting from within his chest as he bottoms out inside of her. Dropping his head, longer strands of hair brushing against her bare skin as his teeth nip at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Holding back as he revels in the sensation of being so deep inside of her, until her hand is lifting up and blindly grabbing at his hair; a clear indication for him to continue. And he captures her hand in hers, holding her arm above her head, pinned to the mattress as he pulls out entirely and then slides back in with such force that it pushes her body up the body and causes her to cry out into the pillow underneath her.

His control is non existent. He'd felt it slipping away inside that conference room. Everything was going to shit and he knew it. The disaster was inevitable; looming on the horizon like some dark, threatening cloud that you can't possibly outrun. Things have already gone so wrong. The worry and the fear are already overwhelming. The stress all consuming. And he is physically channels those emotions; using her body as a way to relieve some of the burden. Bruising, painful thrusts that have her whimpering and crying out, his name repeatedly tumbling from her parched lips. Her nails digging into his fingers with enough force to break the top layer of skin, her other hand grasping at the sheets below. And he kneels above her, free hand sliding between her and the mattress, fingers pushing past her sopping lips to find her clit. Slowly rubbing at it until the second orgasm hits; tears streaming down her face, his name being screamed loud enough for anyone in the hallway or adjacent rooms to here. Continuing his ministrations until she's coming a third time; her eyes wide, delirious sounds escaping her. Fucking her until she can't quite possibly can't handle any more; both hands biting into her hips as he pushes his pelvis against her ass and empties himself inside of her. Sweat dripping from his brow, the droplets glistening on her bare skin.

Afterwards they rest. Letting their bodies settle. Their minds absorb -and fixate- on all of the information they'd be given early. He lays on back, a forearm over his eyes, a hand on Esme's hip as she naps on her side, ass tucked against his hip. He hears her stir; the long, soft sigh that she releases, followed by her quiet, sleepy voice.

“Tyler?”

He switches positions, rolling over onto his side; front pressed tightly against her back. The hand that was on her hip now coming to rest on her shoulder; palm gliding all the way down her arm, fingertips passing over her wrist and down onto the top of her hand, then retreating and sliding back up again, until his hand settles on her ribs.

“Yeah?” he asks, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem...I don't know...different. Distant. Ever since the meeting with Nik.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Lots of things. About us. About you.”

“Bad things or...?”

“I'm just worried,” he admits.

“About?”

“You.”

She brings her arm across her body and places her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t want you going there,” he says. “To that bar. Alone.”

“You’ll be outside. A hundred feet away.”

“Outside,” he stresses the word. “You’ll be inside. Alone.”

“I’m only going in there to ask some questions,” she reasons. “See if I can’t lure them in. Get them to talk. Or send me in the direction of people who will. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They’re IRA,” he reminds her. “They’ll be armed. What if they make you?”

“They won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

She sighs, slipping her hand out of his and then rolling over to face him. Their heads sharing the same pillow, the ends of their noses practically touching.

His hand moves to her thigh now, stroking it softly.

“Remember in the elevator?” she asks. “When that kid was armed and I was freaking out? And you said you weren’t some rookie?”

He nods.

“Well neither am I. This isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this. I spent years going into worse places. Mingling. Being accepted. Getting people to open up to me. I’ve deal with some pretty scary, hard core people and not once did I ever get made. You need to trust me, Tyler.”

“I do trust you. You’re my wife. I trust you with my kids, don’t I?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m not talking about the trust that comes with sharing a life together. Sharing a bed. Sharing children. I’m talking about the trust that comes with the job.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not in the job. You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

“Then why am I here?” she challenges.

“Because I need your help.”

“Which means I’m in this. Whether you like it or not. You brought me into this, Tyler. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of a house and give you babies and raise those babies. That is what you wanted. You made that clear as soon as we got married. You wanted a housewife. You wanted someone to give you kids. You wanted a family. You wanted everything your mother was and then some. And I went with it. Because I knew it was what you needed. I knew you needed that normalcy. That if you were going to successfully balance the job and a regular life, that you needed things a certain way at home. And I’ve given you that. Or I’ve tried to, at least.”

“You have. You know you have. And you know how much I love you. How much I love my kids. How much I love our life. And you’re right. I did need all of that. I still do.”

“But I had a life before you. I had a life before all of this. Before marriage and kids.”

“I know.”

“And it bothers you to even think about. You hate thinking about what I was like before you. But this was my life, Tyler. Before you ever existed in it. I lied to people. I conned them. I made them trust me. Then I let other people…people like you…destroy them. And I was good at it. Damn good. Other mercenaries trusted me. So why don’t you?”

He regards her intently, drawing in a long, shaky breath, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. “Because it’s different.”

“How? And I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m genuinely curious. How is it different?”

“Because you weren’t married to any of them. I’m your husband. The father of your kids. They didn’t have any ties to you. I do. I love you. And I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“You trusted me in Dhaka,” she points out.

“Dhaka was different.”

“How so?”

“Because it fucking was,” his last shred of patience finally snaps, and he hates himself for it. How he doesn’t have a logical and sound explanation for why he feels the way he does. “Things were different then,” he attempts, and rolls over onto his back, running his hands over his face before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “We were different then.”

“We were just fucking then, you mean. Back then, I meant nothing to you. I was just some desperate and lonely girl. A warm body for you to occupy yourself with. It was easier for you that way. To just let me do what I needed to do because I meant absolutely nothing to you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then if something happened to me.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head, then reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You meant something. Even then. I don’t know what it was. I can’t explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. I just know you meant something. Stop tying to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time. I know what I felt. About you. About what was happening. I shouldn’t have to explain it.”

“It was sex, Tyler. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. That that’s all it was.”

“That’s not all it was. Maybe it started out that way. Maybe that’s all I wanted at first. But it changed, okay? Some time in those five days. I don’t know when or how. Just that it did. I knew I wanted more from you. That we could have something fucking amazing if we actually tried. If we trusted one another enough to try. And we were so close. So fucking close. To getting that. To getting to that boat and never looking back and just seeing where things took us.”

“Do you regret the path we had to take to get to where we are now?”

“I don’t regret anything. Do I sometimes wish things were different? That things didn’t go so wrong in Dhaka? I wish that all the time. That we just got across the bridge and got the fuck out of there. But we didn’t. Things happened the way they did. We can’t go back and change that. Do I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other? Before we found out we were having a baby and decided to get married? Yeah. Sometimes I do wish that. Only because I think it would have been better for you.”

“Tyler, I have you. I have our kids. How much better do you think I need things to be?”

“I don’t mean better in that way. I mean…I don’t know…easier…” he swallows half the bottle of water, and she plucks it from his hand and finishes it before pushing herself up onto her knees and shuffling towards him. “…don’t make me talk about these things. Please. Just don’t.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him, as she straddles his lap, a gentle smile on her lips as she pushes her fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp before resting clasping her hands together at the nape of his neck. “What are you so scared of?”

“Nothing. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t want to talk about shit like this. This isn’t me. You know that.”

“I think it is. Deep down. I think you need to talk about these things or you wouldn’t bring them up in the first place. Talk to me…” she pecks his lips, then rests her forehead against. “It’s okay…you can do this…you can be this way with me…you know that…”

He sighs, eyes closing as his palms run along her thighs, over her hips and up her back. Stopping briefly at her shoulders; fingers pressing into the flesh before his hands slide back down again, coming to rest of her sides.

“It’s okay…” she repeats. “Tyler…look at me…”

He opens his eyes. Brilliant blue locked on chocolate brown. And in that moment, Esme realizes that in almost six years, she’s never seen him like this. Not even when he was in the hospital fighting to not only heal, but to regain some sense of control over his life. Looking so confused and lost. Worried.

Vulnerable.

This big, strong and seemingly man for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Tyler…you can say it. Whatever you need to say. You don’t have to do this. Keep things from me. Please. Just tell me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me. For making things so hard on you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“For having to make the decisions you did. For having to give up your life. The job. Everything changed when we met. Everything changed once things went to shit on that bridge. I changed. So did you. And you could have just walked away afterwards. But you didn’t.”

“Because I didn’t want to. Because I wanted to be with you. You didn’t force me to stay. I stayed willingly.”

“But things were hard. They sucked. Huge. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you did. Hear the things you did. You should have just left. When I was in the hospital. You should have just walked away. And sometimes I wonder if you wish you did.”

“Not once have I ever wished that. Not once have I ever hated you. I don’t regret giving up my life for you. Did it suck sometimes? Did I hate seeing you like that? Did I feel like shit because I couldn’t help you more than I already was? Did I hate seeing you in pain and suffering? Of course I did. I hated the circumstances. Not you.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving hers, searching for even the smallest hint of regret.

“Do I sometimes wish none of that ever happened? That things never went wrong in Dhaka? Of course I do. I wish every day that you didn’t have to go through what you did. That you didn’t have to suffer like you did. All those months of rehab and all the pain. I would take those away in a heartbeat and you know I would. But everything else? Finding out we were having a baby? Deciding to get married? I don’t regret any of that. I mean, you’re a pain in my ass…”

He gives a small chuckle.

“…but I don’t regret marrying you. Or having your children. And I’ve never hated you. Not even during our worst fights. When you’ve said some brutal and hurtful shit. Not even then. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I meant what I said. That there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to trust me, Tyler. You wanted my help. You brought me into this. And now you have to trust me to do what I need to do. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t lose you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, those eyes still locked on hers. “I just can’t. You always talk about how scared you are to lose me. But I’m just as scared as you are. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t do this by myself. Take care of four kids. I just can’t.”

“Yes. You can. You would do it because you wouldn’t have any other choice.”

He shakes his head, finally turning his face away from her when the emotion becomes too much to handle. The rawness of the situation. The blatant, heart breaking honesty.

“You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and presses a kiss to his temple. “You’d be okay. And so would the kids.”

“I don’t…” the tears are hot and bitter as they trickle down his face. “….can we not talk about this….please…I don’t want to talk about this…”

Placing a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, she lays on hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to rest it upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers, and then clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her slender body. “Please…” he begs, barely able to get the words out. “…don’t make me talk about this…”

She tightens her hold on him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the fingers of her other hand pressing into his scalp. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “It’s okay, Tyler. I’ve got you.”

Those words hit with tremendous power. And he surrenders. Finally giving in to all the fear and the worry.

His entire body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #extraction fan fic #sanctuary

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aquaminwrites · 6 years ago

Text

Fake Love | Jung Hoseok (M)

PAIRING: Jung Hoseok x F!Reader, mentions of Namjin

GENRE: Fake dating AU, enemies to lovers, fluff, smut, minor angst

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content, dirty talk, slight dom!Hoseok

WORD COUNT: 16.2k

DESCRIPTION: Every year, your family spends the holidays at your parents’ cottage in the country. Freshly single and not wanting to be picked apart by your family for being alone, you decide to recruit one of your friends to pretend to be your boyfriend. The only available volunteer? Your brother Namjoon’s roommate, Hoseok. Only problem? He absolutely hates your guts.

I should get up, you think to yourself. Daylight is precious in the dead of winter, and you’ve probably already wasted at least half of it wallowing in self-pity. You’re lying in bed, duvet pulled high over your head, wondering exactly how and when your life took such a left turn.

Breakups have never been easy for you. You’d always had trouble when it came to dating—you’d always described yourself as the girl that no one would fall in love with, but who had a lot of friends. You were social, flitting around with ease between one group of friends to another, but you had always wondered if your absence would be noted if you were to just stop showing up to parties or work functions.

But then you met Jackson.

The office you worked in had a Christmas party three years ago, back when you’d just been an intern and were keep on rising through the ranks to a full-time position. You were well liked, always offering a helping hand to anyone who asked and generally did your best not to make waves. You didn’t know what to expect when you showed up at the bar, which had been totally rented out for you and your colleagues. You also didn’t really know anyone at the party—the one other intern that you’d befriended having gone home for the holidays—so you’d just lingered by the bar on your own, silently surveying the crowd.

Jackson had come to join you, muttering something about how he hated office Christmas parties. You weren’t sure if he’d been speaking to you, or just muttering to himself, but the smooth, dulcet tones of his voice had you turning to look at him.

He was handsome. More than handsome—he looked like he just strolled out of a men’s fashion magazine, wearing a black turtleneck, a dark grey blazer, and a pair of ironed dress pants. He held a glass that held two thimblefuls of amber liquid that he casually sipped as he leaned against the dark oak of the bar. He tilted his chiseled jaw in your direction with an eyebrow raised, and you hoped he hadn’t caught you openly staring.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen you around the office before,” he noted with a curious glint to his eyes.

“I’m just an intern,” you admitted, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the sleeve of your dark green crushed velvet dress.

“Not just an intern,” the man corrected, leaning his elbow against the bar so that he could turn to fully face you. You offered up the same courtesy, though, you felt heat rushing to your cheeks as you realized just how close he’d been standing. He held out his hand, a warm smile on his face. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his palm pressing against yours. “Nice to meet you.”

And that’s how your relationship with him began. It was a whirlwind, the two of you falling in love hard and fast. Within the first three months, you’d moved into his penthouse apartment, and you’d both met each other’s parents. Jackson had been a blessing in your life, teaching you what it meant to be in love and how to love another person. Your happiest memories were of his smiling face, of him telling you for the first time that he loved you, and the nights that you two explored one another’s bodies until the sun came up.

There was so much good in your relationship that it felt easy to slip into a false sense of security. You’d been hired on as a full-time employee at the company, taking on additional responsibilities and getting your own cubicle on a different floor. Jackson had been working hard as well, his eye on a big promotion that would have bumped him up to a six-figure salary if he landed it.

Of course, he did. And it was when he did that things started to fall apart.

He was never home. He always promised that he would make it in time for dinner, than he would spend the weekend with you and work wouldn’t be involved. He made reservations at restaurants, and wouldn’t show up. He’d take you to the movies, but have to leave halfway through to make an important phone call. On your third anniversary, as he was balls deep inside of you in an expensive hotel room, his cell phone rang and he actually had the audacity to stop and answer.

The breakup had been mutual, though it had been you who initiated the conversation. You loved Jackson, and part of you still does. But he was married to his job, loved it more than anything. It was his priority, not you. And to his credit, he’d admitted his faults and that he’d been a neglectful partner. You knew that you hadn’t been the best girlfriend either, not wanting to try to communicate with him because you were scared he would just leave you for someone better.

It’s been about two months since the two of you ended your relationship. You hear he’s dating someone else. Someone as handsome as him never stays single for long.

With his promotion, Jackson had also become your boss. And after your mutual split, working under him proved to be too difficult. So after a week of severe anxiety about even setting foot into the building and living in a hotel, you quit your job and had to find a new apartment.

The only saving grace had been that your older brother, Namjoon, knew that there was an empty apartment in his building, on his floor. You’d moved in without much thought, glad to have family nearby. Namjoon was only a year older than you, so the two of you were extremely close. You were the first person he’d told when he started dating his boyfriend, knowing that all you cared about was his happiness. Namjoon had started seeing Seokjin about a year ago, and the two are still going strong.

As for the job part, you’re still figuring that one out. Thankfully you have enough savings to last you for a while, but finding employment was definitely something at the top of your list. Right underneath ‘Get out of bed’.

Having your brother as your down-the-hall neighbour has its pros and cons. One pro is that you sometimes buy groceries for him and vice versa, the two of you always looking out for one another and making sure your pantries are always full.

One con is that Namjoon has a key to your place. And he likes to use it.

“Sis, where are you?” Namjoon calls from your front hallway. “I thought you were coming over for lunch today. Jin’s already here.”

You tug the blanket higher over your head, releasing a whine. You hear Namjoon’s socked feet padding towards you, and the sigh of disapproval at your current state.

“You have to get out of bed sometime, you know?” He says, and you can hear his frown before you see it. “It’s been two months, Y/N. You can’t just stay in bed all day. You’ve barely unpacked your apartment.”

You grumble, though you know he’s right. You don’t have that many belongings, nor is the apartment even that big. But you still have boxes in stacks in the corner of your living room, the bare minimum having been unpacked before you began to sink into the pool of self-pity that you find yourself in now.

You feel a light tug at the duvet before it’s yanked halfway down our body, exposing you to what remains of the afternoon sun. You’re in your typical pyjamas, an oversized shirt and shorts, and with how quickly Namjoon had ripped the sheets off, you begin to shiver and pout.

“Fuck you, fine, give me fifteen minutes to shower and freshen up,” you groan, blindly grabbing your pillow and swinging it in Namjoon’s direction.

Your brother dodges the blow and hops backwards, opening all your curtains and flicking on every light switch he can find. You haven’t moved yet, but you shout an affirmative when you hear him asking if you’re awake yet by the front door. He leaves you to your own devices, and not wanting to keep him and Seokjin waiting, you stumble out of bed and towards your bathroom.

The shower does you good and you examine your reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under your eyes haven’t gone away, no matter how many daytime naps you’ve taken over the past few weeks. You swipe some concealer under your eyes so you don’t look like a total corpse, slip on some leggings and a sweater, and tie up your wet hair in a bun.

With whatever remaining energy you have, you trudge down the hall to Namjoon’s apartment, rapping lightly on the door. You hear shuffling inside, and the unmistakable sound of Seokjin’s windshield wiper laughter. The door finally swings open, revealing the last person in the world you ever want to see.

“Wow, Y/N, you look like shit,” Hoseok says with a smirk, as if his insult is in any way charming. You shoulder your way past him into the apartment.

Jung Hoseok has been the bane of your existence since your junior year of high school. He was a transfer student, same age as your brother. Namjoon had been the one to take Hoseok under his wing when he’d first arrived, and the two of them quickly became best friends. But for some reason, he absolutely hated you. Whenever you were around, he would only ever tease you and try to get a reaction out of you, and you could never figure out what you had done to make him treat you this way. It’s infuriating, to say the least.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going home for the holidays,” you grunt, not expecting your brother’s best friend and roommate to still be home so close to Christmas. Usually, Hoseok spends the holidays with his parents and his sister, and you don’t have to deal with him being a total pain in the ass whenever you come to visit Namjoon.

“My parents decided to go to Europe on vacation, and my sister is with her boyfriend’s family for Christmas,” Hoseok shrugs. “So I’m stuck here. Aren’t you lucky?”

You roll your eyes, heading towards the kitchen where you hear Seokjin trying to keep Namjoon away. “Lucky as a heart attack.”

“Y/N!” Seokjin cries when he sees you, his arms opening so you can shuffle into his grasp for a hug. “There you are. Namjoon and I were taking bets on how much longer it would take for you to get here. I beat him by one minute, so now he owes me a shoulder massage.”

“You cheated!” Namjoon pouts as he sets the table. You notice that he places down four sets of cutlery, and you inwardly groan knowing Hoseok will be joining you. “You just guessed one minute sooner than what I guessed, then she happened to walk through the door.”

Seokjin tuts. “Strategy, love.” Though he saunters over to where Namjoon stands, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead before hip-checking him back into action.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Namjoon pipes up as everyone takes their seats. Hoseok decides to sit across from you, in a move that you can only assume is to aggravate you further. “Don’t forget that we’re all driving down to Mom and Dad’s cottage on Friday for Christmas.”

You give a solemn nod, and pick at the green beans on your plate. Every year, you and Namjoon join your parents for a weekend at your family’s cottage for the holidays. It’s a long-held tradition, one that you were more than happy to share with Jackson when the two of you had been dating. He’d always been the perfect buffer between you and your parents—not that you don’t love them, but they have a tendency to be a bit overbearing. They’d toned it down when you and Jackson had gotten together, and now that you’re single, you’re dreading the flood of questions and pitying looks from your mother in particular.

“Why the long face?” Hoseok questions, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. “I thought you loved going to the cottage for the holidays.”

“She’s glum because her and Jackson broke up, so she has to carpool with us,” Seokjin supplies unhelpfully. You kick his shin under the table, earning a loud, indignant yelp.

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “You and Jackson broke up?”

“Don’t act as if Namjoon didn’t already tell you,” you scoff. “I didn’t move down the hall just for the fun of it.”

He shrugs, speaking between mouthfuls of food. “I thought maybe you two were downsizing. No need to get snippy with me, I don’t know or care about every minute detail of your life.”

You’re rolling your eyes before you even realize that it’s happening. “Maybe if you actually used your brain, or the power of observation, you’d realize that Jackson and I haven’t been together in almost two months.”

“Again,” Hoseok repeats, slower this time, as if you’re a child who can’t understand his words. “I don’t care about your life.”

“Hey,” Namjoon warns. “That’s my sister, bro.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Hoseok declares, tapping his long index finger against his chin. “How’s this: I don’t care, period.”

“Seokjin, babe,” Namjoon asks softly, back straight, cutting into his chicken with far too much calmness. “Where do I keep my rubber flip flops?”

“In the front hall closet,” Seokjin replies around a mouthful of food. “Why?”

Namjoon immediately focuses on Hoseok, eyes narrowing significantly. “My roommate is about to have an accident.”

You clear your throat loudly, muttering to yourself about how annoying it is that men can’t just figure their shit out with words. “I’m not upset that I have to carpool with Joonie and Seokjin, if you must know. It’s just…” Your voice gets quiet, and you can’t believe you’re voicing these fears out loud, but it’s too late to stop it now. “It’s my first Christmas in years without Jackson, you know? Even though we broke up, I really miss him. And I haven’t told my parents about it either, so now I not only have to break it to them, but also have to field all their questions about my love life, and my mother will inevitably try to set me up with one of her friend’s sons.”

Namjoon can’t help but snort. “Yeah. Remember that time she made you go on a date with her coworker’s nephew?”

“Of course I remember,” you grumble. “He took me to dinner and then tried to get me to invest in his pyramid scheme.”

Hoseok cackles, shaking his head.

You prop your elbow up on the table and place your chin in your palm, blowing few loose strands of hair from your face. “Maybe I could bribe a friend to come to the cottage and just pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend. Mom and Dad will be shocked that Jackson isn’t there, but at least they won’t try to set me up with anyone and I can go back to wallowing in self-pity once the holidays are over.”

Namjoon considers it, his head titling from side to side. “Not the worst idea in the world, if you’re really that stressed about going alone.”

You give a nod. “You think Jungkook would want to come? He’s a little young, but at least he’s easy on the eyes.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Jungkook and his brother are with their parents on a cruise or something. They’re not due back til after this cottage debacle is done.”

You frown. “What about Taehyung? Or Yoongi?”

“Taehyung’s got plans, and Yoongi went back home for a few days,” Namjoon responds apologetically. “I could maybe ask Jimin if he’s free.”

You shake your head. “I spoke to Jimin the other day, he’s going back home for the holidays to be with his family, too.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, looking around at everyone at the table. You’re purposely not making eye contact, but when he speaks, he voices the one thing you desperately do not want.

“I’ll go.”

You regard him wearily, your heart hammering in your chest. No. He did not just offer to come. “What? Why?”

Hoseok shrugs, listing off the reasons on his fingers. “My family’s not around this year, and your parents already know me. I’ve got nothing better to do, and if I’m being honest, I’m curious as to how this train wreck of a weekend is going to go.”

You frown, wanting nothing more than to faceplate into the spring mix on your plate. “I have no other option, do I?”

Hoseok smirks. “Get ready, babe. You’re in for a hell of a weekend.”

It’s just for a few days, you can survive a few days. Besides, if this is going to happen, you are absolutely writing down a list of rules for Hoseok to follow. Groaning, you decide to just accept your fate after weighing the pros and cons. When you finally agree, Hoseok blows you an exaggerated kiss, causing you to gag.

From his seat across the table, Namjoon watches the two of you with cautious eyes. He glances over at Seokjin, who just subtly shrugs his shoulders.

A hell of a weekend, indeed.

—

You end up driving down with Namjoon and Seokjin to the cottage, Hoseok having to work last minute. He had promised he would still be in time for dinner, he just needed to wrap up some stuff at his dance studio before the weekend began.

You’re about ten minutes away, the three of you driving in comfortable silence, when Namjoon turns in the passenger seat to look at you. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Y/N?”

You shrug, tucking your phone into your coat pocket. Nothing interesting is happening on social media away. “What other option do I have?”

Namjoon mimics you, his shoulders lifting nonchalantly. “Just seems like a lot of trouble just to get Mom and Dad to get off your back about being a single Pringle.”

“First off, you and Jin have been spending way too much time together,” you state with a frown. “Second, you have no idea what it’s like dealing with Mom and Dad when it comes to this stuff. They honestly worshipped the ground Jackson walked on. At least with Hoseok there, I have some sort of buffer.”

Seokjin eyes you from the rearview mirror. “Still surprises me that Hoseok was down to do it in the first place, to be honest. Are you paying him or something?”

“I offered,” you say, leaning back in your seat and watching the snow-covered trees pass by. “He said he didn’t want my money.”

Namjoon glances at Seokjin with a weary expression, but you don’t see it as you lean your head against the window.

You arrive at the cottage, which is really more like a second house. Your parents had always wanted a vacation property, working hard and making sacrifices to turn their dream into a reality. And the house was beautiful—you and Namjoon had spent many summers there as children, running through the woods behind the house until you reached the lake, splashing about without a care in the world. You spend every Christmas there as well, a long-held tradition that carries on to this day.

The cottage itself is a two-storey home with tan bricks and a wrap-around porch. White Christmas lights line the edges of the dark-shingled roof, wrapping around the porch banister and creating a pathway to the front door. There had been a decent amount of snowfall earlier that day, so some of the lights are diffused under the powdery blanket that covers the house.

Seokjin parks the car and you all file out, collecting your bags. You’re just about to ring the doorbell when the door flies open, revealing your mother, washed in the golden light emanating from inside. She’s wearing one of those god-awful patterned Christmas sweaters that Seokjin got her last year (he’s sporting a matching one, to your chagrin), with a Santa Claus hat perched atop her head.

“My babies!” She coos, dragging all three of you inside. The house smells like home, a combination of spiced scented candles and home cooking, and stepping across the threshold feels like a warm hug. Or perhaps it’s your mother’s arms locking around you, cutting off your circulation. It’s hard to tell.

“Hi Mom,” you smile, looking around. “Where’s Dad?”

She waves a hand flippantly. “Your father got a new barbecue for himself as a Christmas gift. He’s out in the backyard, bundled like a fool, cooking up more meat than we could possibly eat.”

As you, Namjoon and Seokjin file inside, you notice as your mother does a mental head count, and see the look of realization dawn on her face as she catches that there is one less ball of testosterone than she is expecting.

“Where’s Jackson?”

“Oh,” you begin sheepishly. “We, uh…you see, he’s…”

“They broke up,” Namjoon offers, taking everyone’s coats and dutifully placing them on hangers in the hall closet. “A few months ago.”

Your mother’s eyes widen and that look of pity that you hate filters into her irises. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she sighs, tugging you close as you allow your body to go limp in her hold. Tears start to well in your eyes, which you don’t expect. But it’s also the first time you’re telling her about your break-up, and sometimes you just need to be held by your mom. “You know, if you’re looking, I have a coworker who has this son—”

Ah, there it is. You peel yourself away, going so far as to take a step back. “Actually, Mom, I—”

You’re cut off by the sound of the doorbell, and your mother cocks an eyebrow. She peers out of the window, and suddenly looks taken aback. She swings the door open to reveal a rosy-cheeked Hoseok, overnight bag slung over his shoulder, holding a bouquet of red roses and what looks like a pie.

“Hoseok!” Your mom says his name with a slight inflection at the end, both a statement and a question.

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” he beams at her, and she allows him inside. “Sorry I’m late. I hope I didn’t interrupt if you guys already started dinner.”

“Oh, no, the kids just got in,” she waves off. “But…and pardon my rudeness, but what are you doing here?”

“Mom,” you interject, taking a step towards Hoseok. “That’s what I was going to tell you just now. Hoseok is…uh, he’s…”

Oh god, I’m so awkward, you chastise inwardly. Why can’t I just say it?

“We’re dating,” Hoseok offers. “Y/N didn’t tell you because she wanted it to be a surprise.”

Your mother tilts her head before she nods, a smile breaking across her face. “That’s so great! I always thought that you two disliked each other, but I suppose love always finds a way.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say unconvincingly. It’s then that you take notice of the giant bouquet of roses he’s carrying, and you point at it dumbly. “What are those for?”

Hoseok smirks, breaking character for a split second before his face transforms once again into that of an angel. “For you, Mrs. Kim,” he responds, giving a slight bow and offering the flowers to your mother. She gushes, because of course she does. She’s always considered Hoseok to be one of her favourites amongst Namjoon’s friends, and she loves roses.

“How sweet! Thank you so much!”

Hoseok’s smile grows wider at her acceptance of the gift. He then, however, plucks one rose from the bunch. “You’re welcome. Except for this one,” he says before he turns in your direction. “This one is for you.”

When you take it from his grasp, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the apple of your cheek. It takes all your willpower to not jump back, but to keep your feet planted where they are. You’re meant to be posing as a couple, of course he’s supposed to kiss you. So how come your heart won’t stop racing in your chest?

You decide to ignore it and just accept the rose with a bashful smile, one that has your mother in an absolute joyous fit.

“You’re too kind, Hoseok. Here, let me take that into the kitchen, and Y/N will help you with your coat. We still have some preparations to do with dinner, and Seokjin’s already offered to assist. Y/N, why don’t you bring yours and Hoseok’s bags up to your room and give him a tour? It’s been ages since he was last here.”

You mutely agree before taking Hoseok’s coat to put in the hall closet. As he sheds his layers, you can’t help but notice how nice he looks when he cleans up. His hair is styled so that it’s parted close to the middle in loose waves away from his face, and he’s sporting a thin, dark green knit sweater over a pinstriped dress shirt. It looks like he even ironed his dress pants.

“Okay, babe,” Hoseok grabs your bag as well, emphasizing the pet name. You want to gag. “Let’s go to our room.”

That was one thing that you’d somehow forgotten in this whole mess. You and Jackson had always shared your bed, which obviously was never an issue. But sharing a bed with Hoseok means…well, sharing a bed with Hoseok. And you’re pretty certain you would rather cut off both legs and serve them with Christmas dinner than have to share a bed with him.

You curse yourself for not fully thinking every detail of this arrangement through, but begrudgingly lead him upstairs nevertheless. It’s too late now. Your room at the cottage is at the end of the hall, beside Namjoon’s. You’d decorated the room as a teenager, and your parents left it largely untouched, never bothering to change it. The same went for Namjoon’s as well, except they knew not to touch anything because your brother was—and still is—so particular.

The room itself is pretty simple. It’s painted an off-white with a combination of framed art and little polaroids and other photos pinned to the walls. String lights frame the window, and there’s a dresser, and a vanity with more pictures of you and your friends throughout the years taped to the sides. It’s cozy and warm, and being here reminds you of all the happy memories of your childhood. Hoseok looks around the room with an expression that you can’t quite place before dumping his bag on the bed. He saunters over to your vanity to look at the pictures you’ve kept up there all these years.

You watch him with both curiosity and apprehension as his eyes skim over the pictures of you and Namjoon as kids, you and your best friends in high school, and you almost miss the imperceptible clench of his jaw at a strip of photo booth pictures of you and Jackson. You see where his eyes are trained and immediately stride over, placing the rose he’d gifted you earlier on the tabletop, and pulling the photo down.

He watches as you regard it with a heavy heart, noticing how you breathe out heavily through your nostrils. You look as if you want to tear up the pictures and throw them in the trash, but instead you just open one of the empty drawers of the vanity and place it gingerly inside.

“Not over him yet?” Hoseok asks, his voice quieter than you’re expecting.

You look up at him, expecting to see either mirth or pity, but surprisingly, when you look into his eyes, you see gentle understanding.

“I…” you begin, unable to maintain eye contact. You run your hand through your hair and fold your arms over your chest. “I miss him,” you admit. “But our relationship was over way before we broke up.”

Hoseok gives a nod, but doesn’t prompt you to explain any further. He just shoves his hands in his pockets and moves away from the photos, understanding that maybe he’d overstepped his bounds.

It’s then that Namjoon pops his head in the doorway.

“Hey, lovebirds,” he grins, obviously having a hard time maintaining the façade. You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Dinner’s ready.”

“We’ll be down in a second,” Hoseok states, and Namjoon just shrugs before disappearing.

You turn and give Hoseok a wry smile. “Gonna try to kiss me again or something?”

Your brain nearly short circuits the minute the words leave your mouth. Am I…flirting with Hoseok?

He snorts in reply, hands still in his pockets. “No one’s around, so nah, probably not. This weekend is just for show, remember? I know I clean up nice, but try not to fall in love with me, yeah?”

“Ah, there he is,” you say with just the slightest hint of irritation. “For a second, I thought aliens had kidnapped you and replaced you with someone who was actually tolerable.”

Hoseok holds his hands over his heart and makes a fake pained noise. “My lady, you wound me! How doth I go on in a manner such as this?”

You blink at him. “Doth?”

He just shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Look, I just, uh…I wanted to let you know that…”

You wait for his response, unsure of what he’s about to say. Your eyes meet his, and you can see the conflict plain as day on his face. With a sigh, he shakes his head.

“Never mind. I just wanted to say that I hope this weekend goes well.”

You regard him curiously, but give a slight nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

The two of you head downstairs to find everyone else in the dining room, Namjoon and Seokjin sitting and sipping wine while chatting animatedly with your father.

Your socked feet pad along towards the delicious smell of a home cooked meal, Hoseok following close behind. You’re not used to being so physically close to him, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. You try not to think about how you can smell his cologne, a delicious, perfect smell that has you biting the inside of your cheek.

You sneak a glance at him. Has his jawline always been so sharp? Admittedly, Hoseok has always been good-looking, but you’d never bothered to notice until now. You mentally slap yourself for thinking these things—this is Hoseok. Asshole extraordinaire, your brother’s best friend and roommate, and the bane of your existence since you were sixteen.

“Hoseok! Y/N!” Your mother calls as she lowers the hot dishes down onto the placemats. You turn away from Hoseok momentarily to eye her, a frown forming at the obvious giddiness filtering into her voice. She nods skyward, causing the two of you to look up as well. And then she says the one word you’d been dreading since you set foot into the cottage: “Mistletoe!”

She’s right. Pinned to the entryway into the dining room is a sprig of mistletoe, dangling over your heads. She’s evil, you concur. My mother is the devil.

Hoseok turns to you, and your eyes widen at his proximity. He smirks, that insolent, infuriating half-grin that both has your blood boiling and your heart racing. “Well, baby,” he purrs, wiggling his eyebrows. “Shall we give them a show?”

Before you have the chance to vehemently protest, One of Hoseok’s hands is on your lower back, and the other is cupping the back of your neck. He dips you down, catching you off guard. Your arms instinctively loop around his neck so you don’t fall, and in that split-second of shock, he kisses you.

Like, really kisses you.

This isn’t the peck on the cheek that he’d given you when you’d first lied to your mother about the two of you dating. The way he’s kissing you now feels different, like it’s grounded in something you can’t quite place. And, perhaps in a moment of temporary insanity, you kiss him back.

As soon as Hoseok feels your lips moving along with his, a deep groan rumbles in his chest. Your fingers curl into his hair as he presses you so close, and you swear you feel the wetness of his tongue gliding across the seam of your mouth.

Namjoon wolf-whistles and the two of you break apart before it can get too heated. A good thing, since you were starting to lose yourself in the feeling of Hoseok’s lips against yours, the gentle way in which his thumb rubs circles against your lower back. Hoseok lifts you back to standing and you immediately hide your face against his shoulder, your back to the rest of your family as he holds you close. You’d never been overly affectionate with any of your exes in front of your parents, even Jackson. So having practically made out with someone who you consider your nemesis in front of them is mortifying.

You feel his lips against your crown, almost imperceptible. You peel yourself away from him to look into his eyes, his expression unreadable. You hear someone at the table clear their throat, and it breaks the spell, causing you to take a step back, trying to hide the deep blush on your face behind your hair.

“If you’re done,” your father states in a teasing tone, “the rest of us would like to start eating.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you and Hoseok take your seats opposite Namjoon and Seokjin. Your parents are sitting on either end of the table, Hoseok closest to your mother and you closest to your father. The spread of food on the table looks delicious, and you all start to dig in. Seokjin won’t stop piling sweet potatoes and turkey slices onto his plate, and when Namjoon scolds him for it, he proceeds to lick every item just to lay his claim.

You wonder what it’s like for your brother and his boyfriend to share one brain cell.

“So,” your father finally pipes up once everyone’s plates are full and the sounds of forks and knives clinking has filled the room. He gestures to you and Hoseok, an eyebrow raised. “When did this happen?”

You turn to look at Hoseok, realizing in your stupidity that you hadn’t come up with a backstory. Hoseok sees the apprehension in your eyes and decides to be the one to speak up.

“It was a few weeks after her and Jackson had broken up and she moved into our building,” Hoseok comments, addressing both of your parents. “I hadn’t seen Y/N in a while, since she was always working. But then one day she came over to visit Namjoon, and…” He then turns to look at you, making sure your eyes don’t stray from his. “I just thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and that I was an idiot for not noticing sooner.”

Your jaw can’t help but drop just slightly at the confession, but then you remember that this is all an act. This is just so your parents will leave you alone about what happened with Jackson, and Hoseok is just a better actor than you’d ever given him credit for. It sets a sharp bitterness in your mouth, forcing you to remember that you hate Hoseok, and that he hates you too.

For some reason, though it’s been fact for the majority of your adult life, the harsh reality has your heart clenching in your chest.

“How romantic!” Your mother’s cooing interrupts your thoughts. Hoseok is smiling gently at you, and you can’t help but blush and turn away to pick at your food as you gather your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you agree, clearing your throat. “We both thought that maybe it would be a little too soon after everything that happened, but…”

“It just feels right,” Hoseok finishes for you.

You can’t help but wonder if an alien really did abduct the real Hoseok and left an imposter as a replacement, but you play along, nodding slightly.

“Yeah. It does.”

—

Dinner passes with the expected amount of painful questioning, mostly from your mom. Your dad has always stated that he trusts your judgment when it comes to the guys you date, and since he already knows Hoseok, his questions are thankfully minimal. When you’d first brought Jackson home for dinner, you were worried that he and your father wouldn’t get along. But as was in your then-boyfriend’s nature, he won them both over with his sharp wit and bold sense of humour.

You sink into your chair as the memories long since past swirl around in your mind and have you staring off into space. Hoseok seems to notice immediately and he nudges you under the table as Seokjin and your father engage in a dad-joke competition that has your mother and Namjoon each refilling their glasses of wine.

“You okay?”

Your fingers drum along the stem of your own wine glass before pushing it away. “Had too much to drink maybe. I think I have a bit of a headache.”

Hoseok frowns, glancing at the others. “Do you want to get some fresh air?”

You offer up a small smile. “Actually, yeah. That’s a great idea.”

Hoseok beams at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead, catching you off guard, and rising to his feet. “Y/N and I are going to go for a quick walk. Too much wine, you know?” You hear him joke, though the ringing in your ears that began when his lips touched your skin hasn’t stopped just yet. You take a second to gather yourself, ignoring Namjoon’s apprehensive eyes, and follow Hoseok to the front foyer to collect your coats.

Winter has never been one of your favourite seasons—in fact, if you were forced to rank them, it would most likely place dead last, with summer being at the very top. But you have to admit, as you and Hoseok walk one of the trails that leads down to the lake, winter truly can be beautiful.

The sound of your snow boots crunching against the snowy ground fill your ears as you take in the sight of evergreens coated in snow, of other cottages in the distance glowing in the frigid night, and the decorative lights that break through the dark blue of the night sky. It’s quiet, save for the satisfying noise of snow being displaced under the rubber soles of your boots. Beside you, Hoseok is silent, chin tilted upward as he quietly observes everything around him.

Hoseok has been to your cottage before, just once, in the summer when you were teenagers. It had been the year he’d first moved to the city, and Namjoon had wanted him to feel welcome. That was the summer he’d wound up on your shit list, pushing you off the dock and into the lake where your foot had caught on some seaweed and you’d nearly drowned. After you’d been rescued and it was confirmed that you were alright, he’d laughed in that loud, maniacal way that you would grow to detest, dramatically making fun of how you’d fallen when he’d shoved you. After that, you had urged your parents to ban him from ever visiting the cottage again, having humiliated and nearly killed you that summer.

The path to the lake winds through the woods, though it’s a path that has been trodden by so many that you could walk it with your eyes closed. Neither you or Hoseok say anything—there’s no need to, you find, as the silence doesn’t feel as awkward as you’d expect. If anything, it feels comfortable and familiar. You chalk it up to just having known Hoseok for a long time, that his presence at your side isn’t as unfamiliar as that of a total stranger.

Eventually, the trees part and the sound of the lake lapping against the shore fills your ears. You’d always loved your cottage for this reason—being by the lake, hearing the steady rhythm of the water, always fills your mind with calm. There are a few fallen logs that serve as seating, and you dust off the snow to make room for you and Hoseok to sit down.

Your hands are shoved into the pockets of your coat and you sigh, glancing out at the horizon. It’s dark, but you can see dots of warm light on the other side of the water, and you smile to yourself at the thought of other families getting together and enjoying the holidays.

You wonder if Jackson is with his new girlfriend.

Prying your eyes away from the waves, you stare down at your boots, suddenly hyper focused on pushing a small pile of snow from the outside of your foot to the inside, and back again. Hoseok notices, his voice soft when he speaks.

“You know, it’s okay to miss him.”

Your head snaps in his direction as you peer up into the warm chocolate of his eyes. “What?”

“It’s okay to miss him,” Hoseok repeats with a shrug. “I can tell that you’re not totally over your breakup.”

You frown, turning back to fixate on the snow. “Is it that obvious?”

Hoseok snorts. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m doing the majority of the heavy lifting with your parents, right now. If Namjoon ‘secretly’ rolls his eyes one more time, I think they might actually fall out of his face.”

You nod absentmindedly, remembering once again that none of this is real. Hoseok isn’t your boyfriend, and neither is Jackson. You’re alone, single and horribly lonely, and the weight of that reality starts to really sink in.

You don’t want to cry, but you feel tears escaping as you take in a shaky breath. “It’s just hard to get out of bed sometimes, you know?” You admit feebly, ashamed of how small your voice sounds. “I just can’t help but think that if maybe I had done more, or been more, then maybe we might still be together. I wish…I just wish I was enough for him. He was always enough for me.”

Hoseok seems to hesitate, but then he apprehensively lifts his arm and places it around your shoulders. It’s a little awkward as his hand gives you a good natured pat, not trying to pull you into his body heat, just sitting beside you and trying to offer you comfort. You can’t help but notice the distinct difference between this Hoseok and the one that was trying to charm your family. In there, he was cool, funny, and warm. Out here, he’s awkward, contemplative, and nervous.

You can’t help but think that you kind of prefer this version of Hoseok.

“You know,” he begins, his voice cutting through the chill in the air. “You can’t live your life thinking about shit like that. You’re always going to look back at moments in your past and think that if you had done something differently, that the outcome would be more favourable. But honestly, dwelling on it is only going to make it worse, since you can’t change it now. What’s done is done. You gotta move on.”

Deep down, you know Hoseok is right. But still, as your breath hitches in your throat, it doesn’t stop you from asking, “Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting this much?”

It’s then that Hoseok scoots a little closer, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace. You let yourself melt against him, your head resting upon his shoulder, as he rubs your arm and places his cheek against your crown. You close your eyes, the scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you don’t see Jackson’s face when you’re met with the darkness behind your eyelids.

No.

This time, you picture Hoseok.

And when he speaks, you nearly forget about Jackson altogether.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know it will.”

You arrive back at the cottage, not feeling nearly as horrible as you had when you’d left. You apologize to your parents about not sticking around to help clean up or clear the table, but your mother just winks and says it’s alright, that it’s only natural to want some alone time with your new boyfriend.

You hate that you’re lying to her, but you also can’t stop the way your breath catches in your throat at the insinuation.

Alone time with your new boyfriend.

You pretend that those words aren’t circling in your brain as you sink into the covers, squishing yourself on one side of the double bed. Hoseok is on the other side, doing something that you can only describe as touching himself.

Not in a sexual way. But he’s lying down, arms shot straight up in the air as he runs his fingertips along his inner forearms, alternating every few seconds. His eyes are closed, and he looks absolutely insane.

“What are you doing?” You have to ask, turning your head on your pillow to face him. He’s moved on now to gently caressing his own chest, looking just as odd as before.

“My mom used to do this to me when I was a kid,” he explains, his eyes still shut. “It helps me fall asleep.”

You blink owlishly at him, unable to help the small giggle that escapes your lips. He cracks an eye open, glaring at you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you respond, fully turning your body to face him now. “You just look crazy, is all.”

Hoseok drops his arms against the sheets in a minor huff. “Well, princess, sorry if it bothers you. You gonna volunteer to do it for me, then? Because if not, it’s going to be a long night.”

You gape at him for just a moment, though it morphs into an amused smile. “You really can’t get to sleep without someone touching you?”

Hoseok grumbles, annoyed that you know at least one of his secrets. “Unfortunately not.”

In a moment of boldness, you scoot towards him and gesture for him to face you. He does so with an unsure look, and you can’t help but notice his eyes widen as you start to run your fingers through his hair.

You don’t know what possesses you to do so, but all you know is that the strands are silky between your fingers, and your ministrations has Hoseok’s eyes starting to flutter shut. As your nails gently scrape along his scalp, he lets out a low moan, one that has him immediately darting awake and pulling away from you.

“I’m good,” he stutters out, creating distance between your bodies. “Th-thanks for that. But I’m okay.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised and just slightly disappointed. “Well…goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he replies gruffly, turning his back to you and tugging the duvet up to his chin. You sigh and do the same, attempting to get comfortable. You wind up staring at the wall as the minutes tick by on the clock, sleep deciding to evade you on this night.

From the other side of the bed, Hoseok also remains wide awake, his hands twitching as if he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But he doesn’t, because you’re his brother’s best friend, and you hate him. You’ve made that clear. So instead, he forces his eyes shut, and counts sheep until slumber decides to consume him in all-encompassing darkness.

—

The rest of the weekend passes by in a blur. There’s a new, underlying tension between you and Hoseok that you’re trying your best to ignore, although you know that at least Namjoon can sense that something is off.

You don’t tell anyone that when you’d awoken on Christmas morning, that Hoseok had been clinging to you like a koala, arms looped around your middle and a leg slung over yours. You’d carefully extradited yourself from his grasp without waking him, heading downstairs to help your father prepare breakfast for everyone.

But over the course of the entire weekend, Hoseok had been nothing but a total gentleman, always offering to help out with the dishes and setting the table, indulging your dad in talks of sports he knew nothing about, and even going so far as to help your mother with cooking. It made you look at him differently. He was so domestic, and you couldn’t deny the butterflies in the base of your stomach whenever he smiled in your direction. It had been confusing, to say the least.

It’s with the utmost relief that you find yourself backing your bags alone in your room, happy that you can finally return to your apartment to wallow in self pity all by your lonesome. You hear a rap against the doorframe, and as you turn, Hoseok steps into view. He’s dressed casually, wearing an oversized sweater and a pair of loose track pants, but you still can’t help but think that he looks effortlessly handsome.

You’re not sure when your brain started to produce these thoughts, but you try your hardest to ignore them.

“Hey,” he greets, almost sheepish. “You packing?”

It takes you a second to find your voice. “Yeah,” you nod, going back to sorting your belongings in the confines of your duffel bag. “You have all your stuff?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, pushing off from the door frame to make his way over to you. You feel his presence before you see how close he is, and his proximity has you standing up to your full height as you face him.

“Did you need something?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Hoseok smiles with a shake of his head. Has he always looked this radiant?

“No, nothing like that,” he states, scratching at the back of his head. “I just, uh…wanted to say that surprisingly, I had fun this weekend.”

You can’t help but grin. “Yeah, me too. Definitely got my parents off my back, so I definitely owe you my thanks in that department.”

“Oh?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Do I get to choose my token of gratitude?”

You tilt your head in confusion. “I mean, sure, I guess? Do you want money or something? Because that might have to wait until I’m employed again—”

“No,” Hoseok interrupts. “Nothing like that.”

You feel your palms starting to sweat. “Then what?”

You see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows hard. His voice sounds almost husky as he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

You almost take a step back, but force yourself to remain rooted in place, though shock is evident on your features. “W-what?”

“Kiss me,” he repeats, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your hip. “Without anyone watching, without the whole fake-boyfriend pretence.” He looks into your eyes, hopeful and oddly sincere. “Please?”

Your throat feels dry, and you swear the room is starting to spin. But your mouth speaks before your mind can catch up, asking, “Just once?”

The look in his eyes becomes unreadable, almost distant, before he answers, his breath fanning across your face. He’s so close. “Yeah. Just once.”

Your body feels like it’s running on autopilot as you lift your arms to loop around Hoseok’s neck. His grip on your waist tightens as he draws you in, closer and closer. You rise to the tips of your toes and feel his nose grazing against yours. You feel his lips barely grazing against yours, almost touching but not quite. You feel dizzy with want, this inexplicable spark of desire growing within you and warming your body from the inside out. For the very first time, you realize that you want him, that you want Jung Hoseok, and it terrifies you.

You’re just about to finally close the distance when you hear your mother from the doorway.

“Y/N, Hobi, I just wanted to—oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You practically jump back from Hoseok, the moment shattered as you retract your arms from his body and curl in on yourself, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. You hear Hoseok sigh before he reluctantly moves his hands from your waist.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Kim,” he says in a strained voice. “I should probably finish packing up my car anyway.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, oddly close to the corner of your mouth. The next question he whispers into your ear, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. “See you back at the apartment?”

Oh. Part of you had hoped that Hoseok would offer to drive you back, but you suppose it makes more sense for Namjoon and Seokjin to take you. You and Hoseok need some distance, a little space to figure out the whirlwind of confusing emotions that have threatened to consume you whole. You just nod dumbly, still not looking at him. If you look at him, you might say or do something you’ll just regret later, with your mother as a witness by the door.

He lingers a moment longer before finally leaving the room. Your mother smiles at him as he goes, and he offers her a small upward quirk of his lips in return. Once the two of you are alone, and you’ve shoved the rest of your things into your duffel, your mom walks over to you and sits on the bed. She pats the spot next to her, and you take a seat, hands folded in your lap.

“How are you doing, sweetie?”

You’re confused by the question. “Uh…fine?”

“No,” she shakes her head, reaching up to play with a strand of your hair. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

You’d known that from the beginning. Your mother had always been your biggest confidant, and she hadn’t had a chance to really talk to you by yourself since getting to the cottage. You’d been expecting this conversation, dreading it even. She continues.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you and Jackson had broken up?” She asks gently. You’d known that your mother had loved the boy, taken him in as a second son. She had joked in the past that the two of you should get married, and that had been the direction you thought your life was going in. But life has other plans. It always does.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before replying. “I was embarrassed,” you admit truthfully. “I…I don’t know, Mom. I guess I always thought that Jackson was going to be it for me. I told so many people how much I loved him, and everyone would always tell me in return that we were the perfect couple. What kind of perfect couple breaks up because he’s married to his job?”

You take in a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I just needed time to figure out my new normal again.”

She nods, staring off into space. After a beat, she pipes up. “Hoseok is great, though.”

You glance over at her, not realizing the tiny smile that has made its way onto your face. “Yeah. He is.”

“You know,” your mother muses, the distant look in her eyes full of nostalgia. “When you two were in high school, I always suspected that he had a crush on you. Boys always show that they like girls in the stupidest ways when they’re younger, what with all the teasing and such. But I have to say, the two of you together just make sense.”

You bite your lower lip. “We do?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “I see it in the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. He really cares about you. And I know this relationship is new, and it’s coming off the heels of a breakup, but don’t let him go. Okay? At least not without a fight.”

In that instant, you almost tell her that the entire thing is fake. That none of it is real, that Hoseok is just a talented actor who had wanted to see how much of a shit show this weekend would truly be. But as your mother beams at you with all the love and warmth that you’d missed being holed up under the covers in your apartment, you just smile in return.

“Okay, Mom. I promise.”

Hoseok is already gone by the time you all pile into Seokjin’s car, saying he needed to get back to the studio to check on something, even though it was the day after Christmas. You don’t say anything, opting to put your headphones on and drown out everything around you as you stare blankly out the window.

“Can she hear us?” Namjoon asks his boyfriend as your eyes start to flutter shut. Seokjin’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he glances back at you through the rearview mirror.

“I don’t think so. She’s got those giant noise-cancelling things on her head, and I think she’s taking a nap.”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “This is a mess, Jin.”

Seokjin agrees with a grunt. “Honestly, I still can’t believe Hobi actually agreed to come this weekend. Volunteered, even.”

“Yeah, well, you know how he feels about my sister,” Namjoon whispers, just in case you’re secretly awake or between songs. “This isn’t healthy for either of them. One of them is gonna get their heart broken, and it’s gonna be Hoseok.”

Seokjin tries to be optimistic. “But it looked as if she was into it, no?”

He strokes his index finger along his chin, pensive and frustrated. “I don’t know. Y/N has always been pretty good at hiding it in front of people whenever she’s upset or anxious. But whatever happened this weekend didn’t feel fake to me. From either of them.”

“Ah,” Seokjin tuts, driving with one hand as he leans his elbow against the windowsill. “They’re both adults, Joonie. They’ll figure it out, and everything will go back to normal.”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon responds with an air of trepidation. But he doesn’t say anything else.

—

Before you can blink, it’s New Year’s Eve. As soon as you’re back from your parents’ cottage, you pretty much go back to your previous routine—hiding out from the world in your apartment under the covers, only really coming out to eat or go to the bathroom. But this time, you’re not only hiding from the chaos that’s outside, but also from Hoseok.

You’ve never been more confused. You haven’t spoken to him since that weekend, nor have you gone over to his and Namjoon’s apartment. Your brother has reluctantly been giving you space, something that he only ever does when he knows you’re experiencing inner turmoil.

You flop down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering just how you got here. You try to think back on when exactly these feelings had sprung up. Part of you wants to believe that it’s just because you were dying for affection of any kind after your break up, and Hoseok was just the one to provide it for you. You try to reason that if it had been any of your other friends, like Jungkook or Yoongi, you’d probably feel similarly.

But the larger part of your brain knows that that isn’t true.

You shut your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You need to be honest with yourself for once.

Truth be told, you’d always had a bit of a thing for Hoseok. When you’d first met him, you had just come home from varsity soccer practice, still wearing your uniform and dripping with sweat. He was sitting on the couch with Namjoon, joking around and teasing him as he struggled through some video game you didn’t recognize.

You’d immediately been attracted to him, his smile being the first thing that had you mesmerized. But you don’t really know what happened after that. He’d taken to teasing you, purposely pushing your buttons just to get a reaction. He was never particularly cruel, mostly annoying, but you figured that he hated you all the same. And because you refused to be pushed around, whatever he gave, you returned. If he was rude to you, you were rude right back. If he was passive aggressive, you accused him of being a giant baby.

Things only got worse when you started dating Jackson. Hoseok absolutely despised him and you could never figure out why. You figured it was because Jackson was quick-witted and often left Hoseok speechless, and he defended you whenever Hoseok decided to act foolishly. You never thought much of it until now, your mother’s words echoing in your head.

Had Hoseok been jealous all this time?

You try to shove the thought away, along with the butterflies that are still occupying your stomach, but to no avail. Maybe Hoseok really did like you, and maybe you like him too. Why else would he ask you to kiss him at the end of the weekend without anyone there to witness it? Surely that had to mean something.

You groan in frustration as your eyes shoot open.

You’re falling for Jung Hoseok.

In that instant, your phone buzzes. Part of you hopes it’s him, but instead it’s your brother’s name that pops up on your screen.

[Received: 10:07pm] Namjoon: The guys are all here. Are you still coming over for the countdown? We have wine

[Sent: 10:07pm] Y/N: How dare you tempt me with the devil’s juice

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: Bitch

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: You love wine. Come over

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: Put on real people clothes. No ratty PJs allowed.

[Sent: 10:09pm] Y/N: You sound just like Dad. Fine. I’ll be over in 10

[Received: 10:10pm] Namjoon: Love you sooooo much. Jin and I are just doing some last-minute stuff, let yourself in whenever you’re ready

You heave a sigh and sit up, realizing you can’t hide from Hoseok forever. You drag yourself out of bed, quickly changing, making sure you look presentable, and trudging down the hall to Namjoon’s apartment.

You can hear the ruckus that is seven boys from behind the door once you approach. Everyone had come back from visiting their families, gathering at Namjoon and Hoseok’s, as is their tradition. You feel your palms start to sweat as you reach for the doorknob, slowly twisting it open and slipping inside.

No one seems to hear you come in, as there’s no break in conversation between the five boys situated in the living room. Jin and Namjoon are nowhere to be found, so you assume they’re still in the process of getting ready for the evening’s festivities. The television is on, showing one of the many New Year’s Eve countdown specials, some musical group performing their latest hit blaring from the speakers. You’re just about to make your presence known when you hear someone mention your name.

“Hobi, is it true that you actually went to Joon and Y/N’s cottage for the holidays?”

The voice belongs to Jimin. You peer around the corner into the living room, still going unnoticed. Hoseok is there, sitting on the couch nursing a beer.

“Yeah,” he responds gruffly, as if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

A new voice pipes up, this time belonging to Jungkook. He sounds incredulous as he asks, “Is it true that you went there posing as her boyfriend to her parents?”

Another affirmative grunt. You hear a chorus of laughter, and you can’t deny that it stings. Are they laughing at Hoseok having to spend a weekend with the person he hates the most, or are they laughing because your situation is just that pathetic?

“And how was that?” Yoongi asks as he downs the rest of his bottle of beer.

You can really only see the back of Hoseok’s head, but you can tell based on how he grips his beer a little tighter that he’s getting annoyed with his friends and their teasing. You’re about to step out from around the corner to put an end to all of it when he finally speaks up.

“Honestly? A waste of fucking time. She didn’t even put out. I figured she would be easier than that. Not that I want Jackson’s sloppy seconds anyway.”

Time stops.

You can’t breathe.

You can hear the guys speaking, but you can’t process it. You feel like you’re underwater, being dunked in a frozen lake with the ice trapping you below the surface. You don’t realize you’re crying until you hear your name being called.

“Y/N?” Namjoon asks as he pokes his head out from his bedroom. Immediately, all of the eyes in the room fall on you.

Hoseok stares at you, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

You want to throw up.

Namjoon approaches you quickly, hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You don’t break eye contact with Hoseok as you start to shake your head.

Finally, you spit out, “Fuck you, Jung Hoseok.”

You wrench yourself from your brother’s grasp and head for the door, slamming it shut on your way out.

None of it was real.

None of it was real, and you feel so absolutely fucking stupid for believing that it could have been. Every touch, every kiss, all of it was just Hoseok doing what he does best—pretend. You were right all along. All he wanted was just some sick entertainment, and to maybe lure you into bed so that he could go back to his friends and brag about it behind your back.

You make it back to your place and throw the door open, not looking back when you swing it shut with your foot. But instead of the sound of the door slamming against the wooden frame, you hear it whack against something soft. You turn and immediately become furious at the sight of Hoseok stepping foot into your private space.

You march over and shove him hard, causing him to stumble back.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You’re almost shocked at how eerily calm your voice is. But you know that the dam is about to break, and if Hoseok doesn’t leave right this minute, you’re going to unleash a tsunami upon him.

“Y/N, wait, I can explain—”

That does it.

“Explain what?” You can’t help but yell. You’re just so tired, so embarrassed, so humiliated that all you want is him to leave so that you can cry your eyes out under the covers in peace. You try to shove him again, but he’s expecting it this time, his feet planted firmly on the ground. “Explain how this whole thing was just so that you could have more ammunition to make fun of me? So that I could be another notch in your bed post? Well, guess what, I don’t want to hear it, so why don’t you just get the fuck out and leave me alone!”

Hoseok vehemently shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You bite your lip to stop from screaming at him, staring up at the ceiling in a feeble attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

“I’m asking you nicely, Hoseok,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please just leave, I can’t even look at you, I can’t—”

Before you can blink, he’s on you, lips pressed so firmly against yours that the contact makes your teeth click. Hoseok soothes the sting as his movements slow, his mouth coaxing a light moan from your throat. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, and for a delirious moment, you sink into the feeling of the kiss, of him kissing you.

It isn’t until you feel him tugging you against the length of his body that his words come rushing back to you in a flood of shame, anger, and hurt. You plant your hands on his chest and forcefully push him away, a resounding CRACK ringing through your apartment as a red mark in the shape of your handprint blooms across his cheek.

Hoseok is stunned, immediately letting you go. He rubs at where you’d slapped him, his lips downturned in a frown that doesn’t suit his beautiful face. He gapes at you for a few minutes before finally choking out, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Stop toying with me!” You practically wail, tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t get to just…just kiss me like that out of nowhere and pretend like everything is okay! What am I, a joke to you? Someone you can play around with and then go back and brag about to your friends?”

You take in a deep, wavering breath, shaking your head as you force yourself to look him in the eye.

“I can’t believe I trusted you.” You see Hoseok’s face fall, his hands twitching at his sides, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine that it’s because he wants to reach out and touch you. You hate yourself for wanting it to be true. “I can’t believe I confided in you, that I—”

You clamp your mouth shut before the secret you’ve been holding back ever since Namjoon had introduced the two of you all those years ago slips from your tongue. This seems to spark something within Hoseok, and his face sets in determination.

“That you what?” He demands, taking a step forward. “I’m not playing around, Y/N. I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”

“Then why did you say those things about me to the others?” You cry, hot tears streaking down your face. You helplessly swipe at them with your sleeves, hating that you’ve allowed yourself to get this emotional, that he’s seeing you break down in front of him. You turn away burying your face in your hands. “I’m so stupid, I’m so, so fucking stupid…”

You feel his arms circling you, and you start to cry harder when you feel his lips press against your crown.

“You’re not stupid,” he promises quietly, a large, warm palm rubbing gentle circles against your back. “This is real. The entire weekend with your parents—every touch, every kiss, I meant it.” He lets out a laugh. Not one of humour, but one of weary exhaustion. “You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

You force yourself to take deep breaths, force yourself to pretend as if his touch isn’t a welcome comfort. You will the tears to cease, shakily asking, “Say what?”

Another laugh, this one followed by a short, hitched breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

You immediately try to wrestle yourself out of his hold, though his hands remain steadfast on your waist. “You what?”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his gaze soft as he smiles down at you. “I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes search his, breath caught in your throat. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he promises, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

You’re too stunned to speak. How long had you dreamed of Hoseok saying those exact words to you? For him to want you, only you, for the weekend at your parents’ cottage to have been real instead of just a ruse to get your family off your back? Your eyes are still fixated on his, trying to figure out whether or not he’s telling the truth.

Hoseok must sense the thoughts racing through your mind, so he decides to continue. “When Namjoon introduced us back in high school, the first time I came over and you’d come back from soccer practice, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Namjoon figured out how I felt and warned me to stay away from you, so I kept my distance.”

Namjoon knew? Your brother knew this whole time?

“I was an asshole to you because it was the only way I knew how to get your attention. We were kids at the time, you know? Just stupid teenagers. But by the time we’d all grown up, that was just how we spoke to each other, and it was the only way I knew how to get you to even look in my direction. And then you were dating that asshole Jackson, and you just seemed so happy, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” He scoffs at himself, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m an idiot, right?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is locked up in your throat, refusing to come out. So you just stare at him, stunned.

He continues. “I shouldn’t have said what I did back there. The guys…they don’t know how I feel about you, and they wouldn’t leave me alone. I know that it was wrong, and I regretted it the second I said it. But I don’t regret spending time with you, getting to really know you, or getting to pretend like you were actually mine, if only for a few days. I know I have a lifetime to atone for, and I just need you to know that I’m going to try, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t know what to say.

Hoseok smiles nervously, one hand coming up to rake through his hair. “You know, Y/N, I’m kind of bearing my heart and soul to you here, a little feedback would be appreciated.”

You still can’t will yourself to speak, and you feel Hoseok’s hand on your waist starting to slip.

“Look, I’m really sorry, I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut. Forget I said anything, I’ll just go—”

Before he can turn, you cut him off with your hands on either side of his face and your lips against his.

Words evade you, so you hope that you can convey everything in the kiss. Hoseok melts against you, his hands holding you close, slipping under the hem of your shirt to fan across the skin of your lower back. You reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, only pulling away for a second to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok pants, his breath fanning across your lips. “You just kissed—”

You kiss him again, effectively shutting him up, because there are more important things the two of you can be doing with your mouths. Hoseok sinks into the kiss, moving you backwards until he’s crowding you against the wall of your front hallway. You moan when his tongue traces along your lower lip, and you open up for him, knees nearly buckling at the sensation of the first touch against yours.

The kiss is everything you’ve dreamed of and more. You can feel the sincerity, the desire, the love as Hoseok’s movements slow, stealing all the air from your lungs. His tongue gently caresses yours as he takes control, and you can feel his eyelashes fluttering light as a feather against the curve your cheek. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He moans into your mouth, the same erotic sound that had escaped him the first night at the cottage. Hoseok presses you more firmly against the length of his body, and you can feel his arousal against your lower stomach.

Pulling away with a great amount of reluctance, your eyes search his. All you see is the truth.

Both his, and yours.

“It was real to me too,” you confess, breathless in the best way possible. “I didn’t know I wanted it to be until you kissed me under the mistletoe, but I do. I want you, Hoseok. All of you. Deep down, I think I always have.”

The smile that spreads across his face is so beautiful and radiant that it rivals the sun. Hoseok presses his forehead against yours, and takes in a deep breath as his eyes shut. He doesn’t say anything, and you run your thumb along his cheek, pecking at his mouth.

“What is it?”

“I just…” he begins, his voice so soft and so full of emotion. You press your palms against his shoulders so that you can see him fully, and you’re shocked to see the tears clinging to his lashes. “I love you,” he confesses, and you still feel your breath hitch at the words. “I love you, and I just need a second to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not,” you promise, smoothing out the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. You want to say those three words back to him, but you know that you’re not ready yet. There’s still years of hurt to work through, to resolve and fix. But your heart longs for him, marvels in how right it feels to be in his arms, to kiss him, to be as close to him as possible.

Hoseok seems to be able to read your mind, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your hip. “I know I have a lot of apologizing to do,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’d like to show you just how sorry I am, and how much I love you, if you’ll let me.”

Even after his confession, and though he’s holding you so close that nothing else but the two of you exists, you have to feebly ask, “Promise you won’t use this to make fun of me behind my back with the guys?”

Hoseok’s head hangs in shame for a second before he rises to look at you, the smile gone from his face. It’s replaced by a look of sadness, pain filtering into his gaze. “Please, Y/N. I need you to believe me when I say that I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. I’m not about to blow my chance with you for some stupid prank.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth before you raise your hand, holding up your pinky finger. “Promise?”

A tiny smile begins to spread across his face as he holds his up as well, hooking his little finger with yours. “Promise.”

You’re not sure who leans in first after that. All you know is that his hand is cupping your jaw and you’re clinging to his shirt as he kisses you with so much love, passion, and adoration that you swear your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

Hoseok guides you in the direction of your room, and the two of you stumble along, clothes thrown overhead and shed along the way. By the time you feel Hoseok gently push you down on the bed, his shirt is off and you’re only in your bra and panties, a plain, boring white set that you wish was just a little fancier. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind though, as he climbs over you and looks down at your body as if he wants to devour you whole.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants, his mouth scorching hot as he pulls bruises with his teeth along your neck and collarbone. You whine beneath him as he noses your bra strap down your shoulder, sucking and licking down the curve of your breast.

“Hobi, please,” you whimper as he tugs your bra down to expose your nipples, immediately looking you dead in the eye as he elongates his tongue and traces the very tip along the edge of your areola. He lavishes your breast with attention, his thumb grazing over your other nipple before he switches his ministrations. You arch into his mouth, and Hoseok takes the opportunity to slide his hands underneath you to unhook your bra.

He tosses it aside flippantly before pressing open mouthed kisses between the valley of your breasts, and down your stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since that first night at the cottage,” Hoseok breathes against the band of your panties, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. He tugs them down slowly, his voice deep and husky as he tries to keep himself under control.

You can tell it’s a losing battle, if his blown out pupils and the tent in his jeans are any indication.

“The things I want to do to you,” he growls, his palms spreading your legs wide so that they’re flat against the bed. You whimper out a moan as he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh, stopping just before where you need him most. “With my tongue…with my hands…” Hoseok runs his thumb along your dripping slit, not adding much pressure, but just a ghost of a touch to let you know that he sees what a mess you’ve already made. “Fuck, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp as you feel his calloused digit swipe lightly over your swollen clit. “Hobi, please, I need more—”

He smirks up at you, and you watch as he, with all the time in the world, bends down while maintaining steady eye contact. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and he flicks the tip of it against your clit, and it’s enough to already having you buck up towards him for something, anything.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and give me what I want?” Hoseok purrs before leaning down to suck on your clit, hard. You yelp at the sensation but then he moves away, looking up at you expectantly.

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. “Yes, Hoseok, please, anything. You already have me. Please, please, I need you.”

“Mmm,” he hums, sucking on it again before backing off. Part of you wants to smack him upside the head. How is he still so infuriating? “Can’t wait to make this pussy mine. Can’t wait to claim you, to ruin you for anyone else.”

You can’t help but grumble. “I don’t know, at this point, I’m starting to believe you’re all talk—”

You’re abruptly cut off my Hoseok latching his mouth to your clit, delivering the perfect amount of pressure as he licks and sucks at your most sensitive area. You moan out something akin to his name, and it only spurs him on further. He growls against your pussy and you feel it vibrating deep in your core, your fingers grasping for purchase against his soft strands.

Your eyes flutter shut as he focuses all his attention on your clit, drawing out more and more obscene moans and whines from your lips. It’s when you feel two of his fingers sliding into your heat that your eyes fly open and you start to squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Hoseok growls as he continues to massage your inner walls with his long, deft fingers. He curls them upward until he finds what he’s looking for, the spot deep inside of you that has you keening when he presses on it. You feel him grin against your skin. “Ah, there it is.”

You’re not sure if you can survive this experience, not if he keeps talking like that. But it stirs something within you, something primal and desperate, and you buck your hips as his movements get faster and faster.

The obscene sound of his tongue flicking against your clit stops as he suddenly sits up, and you let out a whine of protest. His fingers remain inside of you but he moves so that he’s draped along your side, slightly hovering over your body. He leans in to kiss you, just as his hand starts to move. The heel of his palm beats against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, and you cry against his lips as he shifts to whisper the filthiest things into your ear.

The wet sound of his fingers fucking you and his palm slapping against your pussy fills the room and has your legs starting to shake.

“Press those legs really wide for me, baby,” Hoseok orders as his hand picks up speed. You do as he says, and to reward you, his hand fucks you a little harder. “Good girl. Fuck. I’ve been thinking of making you come all fucking week. Mmm, how does it feel, baby? How does it feel to have my fingers fuck you open, prepare you for my cock?”

You want to scream, but you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, the release that you’d so desperately been longing for rapidly approaching. Instead you whimper out a barely-there response, Hoseok’s fingers dragging brutally against your g-spot.

“Always dreamed of watching you come, of making you come. It’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted, and now I have you right where I’ve always wanted you. Now I want you to come for me. Can you do that baby? Can you come on my fingers?”

One of your hands fists the sheets while the other holds him close, nudging him with your nose until he gets the hint to kiss you.

“Come for me,” he murmurs into the kiss, and you feel your walls begin to clench down on him. The fluttering begins, and Hoseok’s tone becomes gentle, almost reverent. “Good girl,” he praises as he feels the beginnings of your orgasm. “Good girl, come on, come on…”

You come with a scream, bucking your pussy against his palm as he helps you ride out the pleasure. Shockwaves tear through you as Hoseok extends your orgasm for as long as possible, peppering your face and neck with kisses as you finally start to come down.

“Mmm, baby, look at you,” Hoseok purrs, sliding his fingers out of your wet heat and holding them up so you can see how they glisten in the dim light. “Open your mouth for me, Y/N.”

You do as you’re told, and you see his nostrils start to flare as he slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck the evidence of your own bliss off his skin. His prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, removing is fingers before he kisses you for all he’s worth. Your fingers tremble as you struggle with his belt, still feeling lightheaded from his earlier ministrations. Hoseok eventually just lifts himself off the bed and shucks off his jeans and boxers in one go, abandoning them in a pile on the floor as he palms his hardened cock.

You sit up on your elbows as he places a knee back on the bed, and you bite your lip at his size. Hoseok is gorgeous, truly having a dancer’s body. He’s streamlined and lean, and his cock is thicker than you expect. He strokes himself steadily while gazing upon you like a wolf about to pounce on a rabbit.

“How do you want it?”

You bite your lip before reaching over to gently grasp his wrist. “I want to see you.”

Hoseok nods as you sit up fully and open the drawer to your bedside table to retrieve a condom from your stash. You open the foil and help slide it down his length, watching with a hint of smugness as his eyes roll back in his head when you squeeze his shaft. Once it’s rolled on all the way to his base, he nudges you to lie back, and you part your thighs for him once more.

He lets out a groan, hooking your legs over his elbows, before he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your still-sensitive lips. “I still can’t believe this is finally happening,” he chuckles breathlessly as he effectively folds you in half, leaving you completely open and exposed for him. You reach down to guide him in, your other hand cupping the back of his neck as he rests his forehead against yours.

You feel the head of his cock parting your lips and then the delicious sting of him slowly filling you up. You don’t realize you’re both holding your breath until Hoseok releases a choked moan and you whimper out his name in response. You take him, inch by delicious inch, until you feel his pelvis pressing flush against yours.

He takes a moment to just breathe through the feeling of your tight, wet heat wrapped around him, and it allows for you to adjust to his girth inside of you. Once you feel ready, you peck at his mouth as a signal to move.

More proof that Hoseok is a dancer—his hips, once they start to roll into you, are absolutely fucking deadly. He fucks you like he’ll never get the chance again, like it’s his last day on Earth and he wants you writhing beneath him to be his final memory. Your nails scrape along his back as he starts out slow, his cock filling you so perfectly, going even deeper than his fingers had just moments before.

You also notice that when Hoseok isn’t whispering into your ear with the some of the filthiest shit you’ve ever heard, he cannot stop kissing you. It’s almost as if he can’t believe you’re real, and the feeling of your lips against his grounds him in a way that he just can’t explain.

He starts to pick up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with more vigour. “How does it feel, baby?” He grunts, grinding into you. “How does it feel to have my cock buried deep inside of you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he braces his knees against the bed and starts to fuck you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your ears. You moan as he nips at your jaw, your nails dragging long, angry red marks along the honeyed skin of his back.

You’ve never seen Hoseok like this before in all the years that you’ve known him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, forehead dotted with sweat. You can tell that he’s trying to hold himself back as he explores every inch of your body, worshipping and revering you like he goddess he knows that you are.

“Your pussy is so fucking wet,” he praises, sucking in harsh breaths as he pounds into you, the bed frame creaking under the force of his thrusts. You’re helpless beneath him, and you see the veins in his neck start to protrude as he starts to lose control.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you keen, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face.

“Yeah?” He asks, even though he can tell that you’re almost there. He presses the full length of his body against yours and fucks you until there’s nothing left in the entire universe but you and him. “Come with me, baby.”

When you come for the second time, you come harder than you ever have before. You scream out his name as you cling to him for dear life, your back arching clear off the bed as you feel wetness coating you both. Hoseok nearly chokes as he comes, burying himself deep inside of you as he spills into the condom, pinning you to the mattress as your name falls repeatedly from his lips.

Hoseok collapses on top of you, effectively squishing you under the weight of his body. You pout and squirm, nudging at his shoulders, though his spent body makes no effort to move.

“Hobi,” you whine with an air of laughter in your voice, limbs going limp. “Get off.”

“Let me just…bask in this for a second,” he pants, face still buried in the crook of your neck. “I’ve never made a girl squirt before.”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, shoving at his shoulders. He moves off of you and you roll onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow. He takes the opportunity to peel off the condom, tying it in a knot and tossing it in the trash. You say something, but it’s muffled by the fabric and Hoseok can’t help but giggle.

“I can’t hear you, dumb-dumb.”

You lift your face, but then cover it with your hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never done that before.”

“Sorry?” Hoseok asks, rising slightly before wrapping his arms around you and tugging you flush against him. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the best sex I’ve ever hand, and you’re trying to apologize?”

You peer at him through the gap in your fingers. “It’s embarrassing.”

Hoseok wrenches your hands away from your face and kisses you before you can protest.

“Believe me when I tell you that it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You don’t need to be ashamed of yourself, or your body, or anything. I love you. Every part of you.”

You bite your lip and look away, knowing you’re unable to say the three words that you know Hoseok wants to hear more than anything. But again, sensing your discomfort, he lifts his hand to brush your hair away from your face.

“Don’t feel guilty,” he says quietly, stroking his thumb along your cheek. “You don’t have to say it back. I hope that one day you will, but I don’t expect you to reciprocate right away.”

Your eyes bore into his, and you wonder why this version of Hoseok couldn’t have been the one you’d met when you were sixteen. You lean in and kiss him so softly and so shyly that it’s barely there. But when you pull away, he’s smiling at you. That beautiful, radiant smile that makes you glad you’re lying down because it makes you weak in the knees.

“I’m getting there,” you promise, nose brushing against his. And you know it to be true. Even as you’re in his arms now, nestled perfectly like you were always meant to exist in his hold, you’re falling, falling falling. You just need some more time. But you know you’ll get there, if his tiny, hopeful smile is any indication.

You suddenly start to hear a ruckus from the hall, and also loud cheers from street level outside. You rise slightly, trying to peer over at your alarm clock, but Hoseok drags you back down with a pout.

“Clean up later. I’m comfy.”

“What time is it?” You ask, ignoring his petulant frown.

Hoseok caves and rolls over, emitting a small noise of surprise. “11:59.”

Then you hear people starting to count down.

10!

Hoseok turns back to you, his eyes wide and shining as he takes you in, still basking in the after glow.

You smile at him, the tiniest tear clinging to your lashes, and as you blink, Hoseok wipes it away with his thumb before it can tumble down your cheek.

He leans in closer…

Your eyes slowly close as you slide your hand along the back of his neck…

His arms pull you in until there’s no space between you…

You feel his warm breath fanning across your lips…

Happy New Year!

The clock strikes midnight just as Hoseok kisses you, fireworks exploding just outside to ring in the new year. You lose yourself in the feel of him once more, in the taste of his tongue as it glides along the seam of your mouth. You don’t protest as he rolls on top of you, his thigh pressing between yours to spread your legs yet again.

When his questing hand blindly reaches out for the drawer of your bedside table, you detach from him momentarily to pant out, “Shouldn’t we go back and rejoin the others?”

Hoseok merely chuckles, tearing open another condom. “Screw the others,” he grins, and you can’t help but bite your lip in anticipation as you feel his arousal growing stiffer between your thighs. “I have a lot of lost time to make up for. They can wait.”

And as he pushes inside of you again, you can’t help but agree. You’d spent so long feeling so sad and so lost, you’d nearly forgotten what it was like to experience true happiness, and true bliss.

But as Hoseok worships your body and makes you forget about the outside world, you figure that you deserve to cling to whatever small piece of joy that you can. And you do—over and over, until the sun comes up and neither of you have the strength or energy to carry on.

Even after all of that though, Hoseok still bugs you to run your fingers along his arms and chest to help him fall asleep. You snort and call him a brat, to which he taunts you by saying you’re going to need to buy extra sets of sheets for every time he comes over.

You just shake your head as he drifts off, snoring softly, looking more and more like an angel as slumber finally takes him. You press a kiss to his forehead and nuzzle against him, his arms automatically wrapping around you, even in sleep. You sigh with a smile, relaxing in his grasp. You know that you still have a ways to go, but with Hoseok by your side, you finally feel ready to step into the sun.

Happy New Year, indeed.

A/N: It is FINALLY DONE! This is the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. I meant to have this out sooner, but you know how life is sometimes. I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you all had a happy and safe new year. Drop me a line and let me know what you think! Please share if you liked it!<3

6K notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 6 years ago

Text

Complicit // 2

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, possibly gratuitous fashion description

WC: 5.3k

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Niall drops his head and leans into the final note, squinting and scrunching his face as he riddles out this one song that’s been driving him up a wall for almost a week. He feels a flicker of inspiration, reaches for it as he looks out the window toward the balcony of his Hollywood Hills home. His brow furrows, his fingers wind up to strike the strings again, and--

Buzz. Buzzzzzzz. Buzzbuzz.

He swears under his breath and tosses the acoustic beside him on the couch. He can’t admit to himself that he’s grateful for the distraction, so he decides to be annoyed with whomever is calling.

Shawny Boi.

He sighs. He can’t be annoyed with Shawn. It’s like being annoyed with a labradoodle puppy.

“Hey, mate.”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Niall laughs. Shawn’s voice is bright and edging toward chipper. He can hear his doofy, multi-million dollar smile through the phone. And Niall knows who put it there.

“I guess that first date was good, then?”

Shawn, pacing around barefoot in his kitchen, grins eagerly and strokes a hand through his messy curls. “Oh… man. Dude, it was… so good. I should’ve done this years ago.”

Niall, bemused, shimmies further into the cushions of his couch, trying not to feel like the old and wise man Shawn sees him as. “Shawny, you’re 21. How long ago are you talkin’ about?”

Shawn laughs, bubbly and strange somehow, like he’s high. Niall’s seen Shawn high when they’ve smoked weed together. He doesn’t get giggly, he gets philosophical. And hungry.

This is a different high altogether.

“You know what I mean, man. Feels good, feels like I can like… handle shit now. Y’know? Like I was so tired and didn’t even realize it and then I got to sleep for like two full days and I’m all good again.”

Niall’s familiar with the feeling. His first date with Karina was similarly revitalizing. He was bouncing off the walls for a week. He nods in understanding.

“‘S a great feeling, havin’ someone take all the pressure off and force you to just… feel good.”

“Yeah,” Shawn answers dreamily, “I just wanted to like, thank you again. I think this kinda saved my ass.”

Niall smiles to himself and bounces his bad knee, glancing out the window. “Gonna see her again, then?”

“Definitely. I’m gonna call again today.”

Niall’s knee slows. He bites his lip and tilts his head from side to side. “Listen, mate, just don’t get attached. I know it feels good, but it still doesn’t compare to something… real.”

Shawn bobs his head at the reality he’s been trying to remind himself of in the 24 hours since she slipped back into her Roger Vivier heels and left him in bed with a kiss on the cheek and a glint in her warm, tired eyes. He drops his head and rolls it, stretching his neck.

“Yeah, no, I mean, I know. I just feel like I got so much shit pent up over the last few months. And I’m about to go home for a week and then this whole festival thing is lined up to kick my ass all summer, plus I’ll be flying back and forth to LA to be seen with Bex, so… I’m just… I dunno.”

It’s a weak explanation. He huffs, his chest deflating, indignant at the idea of having to explain himself at all. He’s a grown man, he can do what he wants with his time and money and attention. He needs this. It’s therapeutic. It’s good for him. And it feels so fucking good.

Niall rubs a hand against the scruff under his chin. “Hey, it’s all you, mate. Whatever you wanna do. I’m glad it’s helped.”

“Yeah. Thanks again, dude. I’ll see ya soon.”

Shawn hangs up and, with color in his cheeks, skims through his contacts to find La Splendeur saved under the name “Dentist,” just in case. His hand shakes a little as he holds the phone to his ear.

The temperature change leaving the LA heat wave outdoors to stepping into Silver’s 6 bedroom Beverly Hills modern monstrosity of a home has Penny wincing and cursing herself for not remembering a jacket. Twice a month they have this meeting, always in the quiet security of Silver’s house rather than discussing business out in the open, and nearly every time Penny sits and shivers.

“Welcome home, love.”

Silver’s voice rings through the high-ceilinged foyer, crisp and lightly accented by British boarding school and Cambridge. Penny looks up to see her on the landing above in a white Theory pantsuit that’s tailored so sharply she looks untouchable. Penny smiles. Home, indeed.

Silver’s steps down the staircase are quiet, despite the sleek marble beneath her stilettoed feet. Despite the facade of the outfit, she takes Penny in her arms and kisses her cheeks three times, offering her arm to guide them into the living room where a full Japanese tea service waits.

Silver’s friendship is an odd and somehow comforting mix of formality and family. Penny’s never seen her underdressed, or sick, or overly emotional. And despite Silver’s perceived coldness, reflected in her choice of home and interior decorating, Penny has always felt safe and loved in her presence, ever since Silver first hired her as an escort at 20.

Penny, respectfully also in business formal, a pale pink Max Mara pencil dress and creamy nude Louboutins (a gift from Silver for her birthday), perches on the edge of the snowy white chaise and faces her best friend.

Silver sweeps a lock of dark hair behind her ear and grins.

“So how was it?”

Penny’s face lights up. She drums her fingers against her knee and tries to play coy. “Spectacular.”

“Good, tell me everything.”

Penny lifts a cleanly filled brow. “Hard up, are we?”

Silver chuckles and eyes the tea service. “Have you ever known me to be without?”

Silver, long since retired from escorting herself, has had a long line of pretty young things hanging around since Penny has known her, but never for very long. Last Penny heard, Yvette, a fresh faced lingerie model from Nice, was the flavor of the month. Silver doesn’t spend a night alone if she doesn’t want to.

Penny cedes with a nod and a smirk. “So you’re just girlishly curious?”

Silver lifts a toned shoulder and sips her tea. “It’s nice to see how the other half lives sometimes. And it’s good business for me to know what clients like him can be like. Makes me a better manager.”

Silver launched La Splendeur two years after hiring Penny with the idea that Silver would largely oversee the personnel -- drivers, girls, clients -- and Penny with her head for business would run the logistics -- the books, legal, and some of the legitimate earnings attached to La Splendeur that keeps curious eyes from gazing too close. They became partners, each sharing equal cuts of the profits, each assigned to manage the parts of the organization where they had the most acumen.

This bimonthly meeting is designed to keep both ends running smoothly as well as serving as an excuse for two busy friends to meet up under legitimate circumstances. Silver doesn’t often show much interest in Penny’s dates after they’ve been vetted and approved. Penny wonders what it is about Shawn that has her curious.

“He was very nervous. We did a lot of work to get him to let go. Honestly, he’s one of the trickier clients I’ve seen in a while. But once I got him there…”

Penny’s eyes flutter shut as she revisits her night with Shawn. Even after she made him come twice in a row in her hand, he had more for her. They were up most of the night with brief naps in between wild, uncontrollable orgasms. Truthfully, Penny’s not sure she’s ever had such an enthusiastic first date with a client. She’s been on cloud nine for days thinking about how calm and deeply satisfied he looked the next morning.

When she looks back at Silver, her intensely dark eyes are gleaming mischievously. Penny rolls her own.

“I’m glad he enjoyed himself. He called to rebook you. You have a room at The London tomorrow night at 9.”

Penny tries not to lick her lips insatiably but Silver knows her too well. She releases an echo-y, delighted laugh.

“Seems like maybe you have a new favorite?” she guesses.

Penny’s eyes drop to her own half-drunk cup of tea. “We’ll see. Some guys like this, they start hot and heavy and lose steam fast. Maybe he just needs this boost and he’ll be on his merry pop star way.”

Silver, ever unnervingly wise and all-seeing, nods and glances out her windows that look out onto the Los Angeles skyline. “Maybe.”

Penny feels the hair raise on the back of her neck and swallows, reaching for her laptop. “Let’s go over this month.”

Shawn recognizes the guy in the dark suit standing outside the room when he gets off the elevator with Winston Churchill on the doors. He offers him a shaky smile, trying not to imagine what he must be thinking about why Shawn is seeing this woman twice in one week. Shawn’s been trying not to look too closely at that himself since he booked the second date.

Gus, Shawn thinks his name is, gives a nod at the wire transfer confirmation on Shawn’s phone screen and lets him in.

The room is more standard glam-modern hotel vibes than the Chateau. It’s just a little cold, very clean, basic art, matching furniture. Shawn’s eyes skim over it, unfocused. They fix on the hardcased luggage sitting discreetly in the corner. His fingers twitch, imagining what’s inside it.

He sits on the end of the bed this time instead of in the lounge area where he felt a little more innocent and less like he was waiting for a prostitute to come nail him into a hole in the mattress.

Despite his eagerness for tonight and his relative comfort, having spent the night with her once before, Shawn feels some nerves creeping through his forced calm. He wonders for a moment if he won’t get used to it, waiting for her, never really forgetting the circumstances that brought them both here.

Not that he plans to continue seeing her for much longer. Just until the festivals start, maybe once or twice after when he’s back in LA getting papped with Bex at a Starbucks with his hand in her back pocket or something. His jaw tightens slightly, and then the door opens.

Penny is glowing in an emerald green cocktail dress that clings to her every curve and ends dangerously high on her sculpted, bronzed thighs. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted down the center and back over her shoulders. Her toes are painted to match her dress. Shawn shivers and wonders if she did it on purpose, if she’s been planning her outfit for him.

Shut up, his brain tells him, Why would she do that? She doesn’t need to impress you. You’re a sure thing.

The corner of his mouth lifts. He stands and smoothes his sweaty palms down the front of his inky black jeans. Gus shuts the door behind her. She smiles like she’s been waiting for this.

“Hey, you.”

Any remaining nerves vanish. Her voice is like heroin in his bloodstream. His eyes drift shut, his head falls back for a moment as he revels in her comfort.

“Hi, Penny.”

She steps forward in heeled black sandals with a jeweled brooch around each ankle strap. He takes his time looking her up and down, then feels a flash of guilt when his eyes settle on her pretty face.

She seems to know what’s on his mind. She stops before him and rests her hand on his cheek.

“It’s ok. You can look. Can even touch, if you’d like.”

The words have his fingers twitching hard where they rest at his sides. He swallows and proceeds with caution, keeping his eyes focused on hers, lined and smoky tonight, to watch her reaction.

He rests his hands on her bare upper arms, stroking her skin with his rough, calloused thumbs. Carefully, slowly, he drags them up over her narrow shoulders, brushing along the line of her collarbones, teasing the warm skin of her throat. His mouth waters. He curls his hands down over her shoulder blades, finding with a noticeable hitch in his breathing that the dress has a very low back. His fingers skate over naked skin, following the hollow of her back and stopping above the swell of her ass to fold around her hips, admiring the feel of the deep green silk.

He releases a ragged breath and closes his eyes. “I couldn’t wait. I n-needed to see you again this week before I go home for a while.”

When he opens his eyes, he sees her nodding gently, raising a hand to cup the back of his neck. She steps a little closer until they’re chest to chest, or as close as they can be considering the height difference.

“And how do you feel now that I’m here?”

Shawn smiles a little -- at her, at his own willingness to be totally honest with her. He wets his lips and says, “Like I’m amazed I waited a whole four days.”

Satisfied, Penny hums from the back of her throat and leads him down to kiss her. She starts slow, gentle against his mouth, brushing little soft kisses over his top and bottom lips like she’s memorizing the shape of them. Her free hand, by contrast, drags tight and hungry up his swollen bicep, squeezing as she goes, stopping to grip his shoulder.

He’s obedient for her despite his urge to take more than what she’s giving. He keeps his returning kisses as light as hers, but she’s holding him so tight he knows she can feel how hard he’s trying. It makes her smile and coo into his mouth. She pulls away slightly, massaging the back of his neck.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs without taking his eyes off hers. She chuckles.

“Thank you, so do you.”

Shawn laughs and starts to duck his head. Penny’s hand holds him firm and guides his lips back to hers. These are real kisses now. He groans into her mouth, opens wider so she can tease his tongue the way she likes. His hands draw her hips in closer until they’re pressed against his. He starts to lead them toward the bed, but Penny stands firm.

“What do you want?” he pants softly, his forehead tilted against hers. He hears her lips pull into a smile.

“Your mouth.”

Shawn’s nervous system goes erratic. His eyes snap open, his hands sink harder into the fabric around her hips, he pants against her cheek.

“Really?”

If he had any self awareness right now, he’d flinch and squirm at the timid excitement in his voice. Good thing he’s too fucked for her to notice.

Penny gently detangles herself from his grasp and nods toward the bed. He sits on the end, legs spread, his elbows on his knees as he vibrates in place waiting for her. Now it’s Penny’s turn to look him over.

He looks less tired than he did when she met him. His eyes are a little brighter, his skin a little clearer, his shoulders a little further from his ears. She lets the power of it flood her system, feels that old animal that lives inside her stretch its legs and awaken for another night with him.

She did that. She gave him that. She took a man who needed her, who needed release and comfort and affection and she gave it to him tenfold. She took something a little broken and made it brand fucking new. And now she gets to let loose a little more, build upon the foundation she started.

He’s looking at her like he did last time, waiting to see her when she bares herself to him. She wets her lips, painted a light mauve color, and steps closer, heightening the tension.

“Are… uhm, are you gonna take your clothes off?” he asks hopefully.

Penny lifts a shoulder with a smirk. “No need.”

His face falls a little. She grins, or more just bares her teeth, and lifts a toned leg to press the sole of her shoe to his chest. Shawn inhales sharply and lets it nudge him back to lie against the bed, blinking up at the ceiling.

She watches his broad chest rise and fall, picking up speed as the anticipation builds. She gazes at him hungrily, at his large hands running up and down his thick thighs as he self-soothes. She can feel him trying not to lift his head to look at her. Her patience runs thin.

Penny lifts herself over him, one knee on either side of his torso, climbing on top of him carefully until she’s centered above his pretty face.

“Shit. You weren’t wearing panties this whole time?”

His voice is squeaky and breathless. Penny tips her head back and laughs, tugging her skirt up.

“They don’t really work with this dress,” she explains, reaching down to curl a lock of his hair around her finger.

He learned from their first night together not to touch her until she tells him to, so his arms rest limp by his sides, despite how badly he’d like to plant his hands on her hips and yank her warm cunt down to meet his mouth.

But that’s not what he’s here for. He’s not here to take, he’s here to let her give to him. He closes his eyes, recenters himself, and looks up again to see her watching him.

“Want to taste me, Shawn?”

He pauses. He nods. “Yes please.”

Penny slowly lowers her hips until she meets his face and the eager lips that are already pressing needy kisses against her folds. She hums and settles further, reaching for his arms to secure them around her as she starts to rock against him.

“I’m gonna ride your face. Just… just keep your mouth on me,” she instructs, her voice going soft and breathy as she starts to pick up speed.

Shawn is in fucking heaven.

His eyes are wide open, staring up at her as she takes what she needs from him, her clit bumping his nose with every tight stroke. His dick strains in his jeans, but neither of them seems to care. His hands fit into the dips at her waistline and hold her, supporting her as she rolls her hips.

Shawn likes oral, he always has. But this is beyond anything he’s ever experienced. He’s never had a woman use him for her pleasure like this before. He would’ve guessed it would feel odd, disconnected somehow, lacking. But with Penny, he swears he’d give her fucking anything.

Shawn groans, flattening his tongue for her to work against as she soaks his mouth and cheeks. The slick insides of her thighs make an incredible noise against his face as she moves faster and grinds harder. He can feel the tension in her legs and the erratic rise and fall of her chest. She’s getting closer. She’s going to come on his face.

Shawn moans, overwhelmed at the very idea. His toes curl in his boots. He blinks desperately up at her, watching as her tanned face flushes. Suddenly, without warning, her pretty brown eyes snap shut and she fists a hand into his curls, whining loud.

“Shawn! Oh… fuck,” she squeals, meeting her orgasm without slowing down. She continues riding him hard and he doesn’t back down either, massaging her waist and watching greedily as the motion slips her dress up her hips and shows him more of her pretty skin.

Finally, it abates and he’s left cleaning her up with his tongue, eyes fluttering drowsily, his breathing regulating in time with hers.

Penny releases his hair from her fingers and sighs, easing up on her knees. He holds her steady as her legs shake, looking pleased with himself.

Penny laughs, climbing down his stomach so she can lean in to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue. He whimpers, cupping his hand beneath her hair, letting her explore his mouth as she pleases.

“You really liked that,” she breathes. It’s not a question -- she doesn’t even really need his confirmation. She can see it all over his face, could feel it in the way he stared up for her and let her have him.

He blushes and nods, smiling. “You… yeah. Fuck, yeah. You taste amazing.”

Penny’s heart clamors against her ribs like it wants to get a look at him. She runs her hands through her now sex-fucked hair and laughs.

“Good. I want another one.”

Shawn blinks and feels a moment of deja vu bring him back to their first night. “Yeah?”

Penny nods casually, unbuckling the straps of her shoes where her legs are folded beneath her. She kicks them away, dropping them off the side of the bed and reaching back for her zipper, fumbling with the awkward angle.

Shawn perks up. “Can I help with that?”

Penny kisses the tip of his nose. “Sweet. Yes, please.”

Shawn focuses his gaze on a freckle on her collarbone while his fingers tug at her zipper. When he feels it meet resistance, he stops, looks to her for instruction, then continues undressing her when she raises her arms.

Naked on his lap, she plants her hands on his chest and admires the way his heart pulses frantically for her. She sucks his earlobe between her swollen lips and feels him sigh.

“Where do you want me, Pen?”

Penny’s lips twitch at the nickname and how quickly he’s caught on. She lifts a knee and drops onto the bed beside him with a soft thump, spreading her legs and cozying into the pillows like she owns the place. He chokes on a breath that comes up short in his chest.

“Get comfy. You’re going to be down there for a while. I want to come until I can’t anymore.”

Again, she has him floored. They experimented with his overstimulation before, and tonight she wants him to help her test her own limits. He swallows and nods eagerly.

“Yeah. Of-- of course. Yes. Do you want me to…?” He gestures down at himself, still fully clothed.

Penny, with her hair spread out around her head like a halo and a manicured fingernail between her teeth, shrugs. “Take off your jeans. I don’t want your pretty cock to suffocate.”

Shawn’s abdomen clenches and he covers the inhuman noise he makes with a weak chuckle. His “pretty cock” twitches hard, reacting to the compliment.

He ditches his boots, socks and jeans and nestles up on his stomach between her thighs, breathing softly.

“So fuckin’ pretty and wet,” he praises, shaking his head in disbelief. She smiles like she’s heard it before, and he’s sure she has.

He turns his face into her inner thigh and sucks some soft, wet skin into his mouth, releasing a muffled groan as she inhales. Reluctantly, he releases her without leaving a mark, knowing he should ask permission before he tries to go that far. His eyes flicker to hers. They’re dark and unreadable, steady on him as she waits patiently. He figures she’s not in a rush. They have all night for him to make her come. His own needs are barely a blip on his radar. He’s focused on her, on her flushed pink folds, her clenching stomach, her full, touchable breasts.

She might need to beg him to leave her alone once she lets him loose. He’s not going to want to come up for air ever again.

Shawn takes a deep breath and dives in, humming as he sucks her inner labia into his mouth. Penny’s hips shift, her body melting into the bed gracefully as she relaxes. Shawn eyes her from over the soft curve of her stomach, easing up to swipe his tongue against her slowly and watch how she reacts to every little move he makes.

If she can study him, he can study her, too, learn exactly how she likes to be touched, to be tasted, to be fucked. He wants to know everything, wants to internalize it so he can attempt to bring her a fraction of the bliss she’s brought him. By the way her back arches slightly when he flicks at the hood of her clit, he’s making progress.

Shawn has officially lost count of her orgasms.

He’s past painfully hard and it’s becoming more and more apparent that he needs to come or he’s gonna, like, die, but he refuses to break and beg for it.

They’ve taken short breaks, but he hasn’t left her, receding only as far as her inner thighs that he sucks and lavishes with kisses while they talk quietly as she recovers. He tells her about his trip home next week, about having to get on the road for the festival tour soon after. He mumbles hopes and nerves and dreams and concerns as she runs her fingers through his hair and asks thoughtful questions even after four or five orgasms, so her brain is more mush than useful. But he shows no signs of wanting to go anywhere, especially now that he’s learned the tricks that get her loud and twitchy and coming hard on his needy tongue. So they lie there on the bed in the same position, right into the small hours of the morning.

Shawn hums gratefully as he sweeps up her next orgasm, relishing the shivers he feels as he holds the base of her ribcage. He grunts and noses at her neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair, sighing hot and loud against her folds.

“Yes?” she chuckles.

He shifts uncomfortably against the bed and lifts his gaze, looking like a guilty puppy.

“I’m… nothing. It’s ok.”

Penny comes up on shaky forearms and traces her soft toes up his back, snagging at the t-shirt he’s still wearing.

“You sure? You don’t need anything?” she whispers. His ears go red. She’s teasing him. He juts his chin out stubbornly and shakes his head, focuses instead on tonguing circles around her throbbing clit. He watches in satisfaction as her abdomen tenses and she releases an involuntary grunt of approval as her body beckons to him.

“You’ve been hard for a couple hours. Keep grinding your hips against the bed. Wouldn’t you rather me help you come?”

Shawn’s eyes fix on hers tentatively. He’s not sure how she wants him to proceed. He wasn’t going to ask, he really wasn’t. But at the idea that he might get to come soon, his cock pulses in his boxers, still leaking in the same spot.

“Only… if you want me to.”

Penny beams down at him in a way that has him hiding his face in her slick inner thigh. She strokes his curls, encouraging him to look at her.

“I want you to ask me nicely.”

Shawn heaves a sigh. He noses curiously at her clit, presses a little kiss to her folds.

“May I please come now?”

His voice is soft and quiet. He’s not used to begging.

Not yet, anyway.

Penny keeps her fingers moving through his hair, waiting for more.

“Say it again, Shawn.”

“I… please, Penny. I’ve been so good. Please let me come for you?”

She blinks slowly, lazily, drugged by the power he so freely drops into her hands. At her reaction, he swallows and continues.

“Please,” he hisses, pressing more needy kisses to anywhere he can reach, “Penny, I’ll come so good for you. I’m so fucking hard. Just want to come once and then I’ll keep eating your fucking perfect pussy. Please, Penny, I want to come.”

The corners of her mouth lift in a dangerous grin. She bobs her head, pushing at his hair so he’ll ease back from between her legs.

“Take your shirt off.”

Shawn sits up and yanks at the collar, throwing it over his head. His chest is pink, heavily flushed from their hours of fucking. Her eyes scrape over his every curve and angle, and she’d be lying to herself if she thought it wasn’t mostly to keep him waiting for her. She pulls her legs together, rubbing her wet thighs as she considers him.

“Boxers, too.”

Shawn stands for expediency’s sake and drops them without ceremony, kicking them off his ankles. His hands curl into fists to keep himself from grabbing at his swollen pink cock.

Penny licks her lips obscenely. She eyes him, head cocked, and crooks her finger. He climbs back onto the bed.

“Come here,” she whispers, flattening her legs and waving him forward.

Unsure of what she wants, unable to do anything but follow her lead, Shawn kneewalks on either side of her until he straddles her torso, positioned over her chest.

Penny smirks as she looks him over, lets her hands wander over his tensed thighs, his rippling stomach, his slim hips and tight little ass. Shawn’s toes curl. His hands stay at his sides.

“Wanna watch you touch yourself. Wanna feel you come on my tits, would you like that?”

He chokes on air. Would he like that? Jesus Christ.

He nods frantically, curling a fist around his cock. His whole body shakes with a relieved sigh. As her small hands smooth up and down his quads, he pumps in and out of his fist, scrunching his face at the filthy sound of it.

“Oh, fuck,” he swears, shaking his head, “Fuck, I love being good for you.”

When he can manage to open his eyes, Penny is staring up at him in wonder, looking between his face and his thrusting hips. She bites down on her lower lip.

“Good. God, you’re so fucking hot, so hard for me.”

Shawn hangs his head, groaning loud and unabashed as his orgasm starts to coil hot in his lower abdomen.

“Penny… gonna come. Gonna come on your pretty tits.”

Penny wets her lips and tries not to look like she’s aching for it. She closes her eyes briefly, brushes her hands up around his hips to grip the cheeks of his ass.

Her eyes open.

“Shawn, are you my good boy?”

She brings a hand down hard on his right cheek, the resounding smack of skin on skin propelling him forward through the wall of his orgasm.

He screams, breathing into a growl of her name, spurting hard onto her chest. His hips snap desperately, his hand pumps his cock through one of the strongest orgasms he’s ever had. His head falls forward to rest against the cushioned headboard, looking down at her as he remembers how to breathe again.

“Guess you are my good boy, then,” she preens, skimming her hands over his body again as he sits back on his heels.

“Holy… shit.”

“Feel good, Shawn?”

He blinks blearily and manages to nod. With a huff, he lifts himself onto newborn horse legs and stumbles to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. Without her even asking, he carefully sweeps the cloth over her chest, cleaning his orgasm off her perfect breasts. He tosses the cloth aside and gazes down at her. She smiles. He sighs.

“You’re… exactly who I need right now.”

They’re Penny’s favorite words to hear from a client. They represent absolute success. They make her proud, despite the prejudices and misconceptions surrounding her job. The look on his face right now is the reason she is here. Her heart gives an extra squeeze. She reaches for him, folds him down beside her and guides his head onto her chest. Without another word, they fall asleep.

--------

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