#spent basically the first month after leaving. uh. drunk. drunk as fuck.

[hunter-sylvester]

yeah they might have kicked me out of therapy but I got heavy metal and Netflix's 2022 flop film Metal Lords so really who needs therapy anyway?

[joontopia]

Forget Me Not | KNJ Oneshot

pairing: kim namjoon x female reader

genre: smut, slight angst, dashes of fluff, basically porn with a dollop of plot

au: exes to lovers, valentine’s day

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

word count: 20.3K

warnings: slight angst, assumed cheating, cursing, alcohol consumption, dry humping, some heavy petting, heated make out sessions, daddy kink, slightly bratty reader, dom namjoon, pet names, dirty name calling, slight degradation, cocksleeve kink, use of sex toys (vibrator), unprotected sex, condom got lost in the mail, cumshot, creampie, oral sex (m & f), blowjob, throat fucking, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, clit slapping, spit play, namjoon got a big ol’ cock, nipple biting, marking, biting, overstimulation, orgasm denial, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, wall sex, some gentle choking

banner made by: @kimtaehyunq​

a/n: My day for posting has finally come! This fic is twice as long as I thought it was going to be. Big, big hugs and smooches to Maggie and Tina for beta and editing this beast at the last minute for me. You two are a lifesaver and I love yall so much. And thank you again, Maggie, for recruiting me to be a part of this valentine’s day collab! I had such a great time!

Beta readers: @kimtaehyunq​ @escapingreality4now​

This is a part of the Be My Bangtanvine Collab - go check out the other fantastic writers and their stories!

“So what’s your name, anyway?” The once cute, bleach blonde male asks you as he leans in closer, his breath reeking of the IPA he is nursing. You lean away from him in your seat at the bar, rolling your eyes as you grab your drink. “What does it matter?” you say taking a big sip. “You’re not going to remember it anyways.”

“What makes you say that?” He slurs, leaning even closer to you. His eyes half closed from drunkenness and a lazy smile on his face. You push him away from you gently, a soft huff coming from his mouth as his back hits the bar.

“Because I’ve told it to you four times already?” Your tone doesn’t match the smile you give him as he lets out a laugh. You take another sip from your drink, your eyes roaming around the bar again looking for your best friend, Tina. She invited you out tonight, with the promise of some much needed girl time. Guilt tripped you with the fact that she hasn’t spent much time with you outside of work or your apartment after your breakup six months ago. You were four episodes deep into a new TV show when she came barreling through your door, taking full advantage of the spare key you had given her weeks earlier for ‘emergencies only.’ She dragged you off the couch, going on and on about how “Enough is enough. You need to get out and be around people. Not sitting here moping over some stupid guy.” 

Hauling you into your bedroom, she dolls you up in the black, sparkly bodycon dress you bought for your anniversary dinner with your ex but never got to wear. Promised that tonight was just going to be you two girls. No boys allowed. No worries of running into a certain someone because “it’s not like he ever had the time for things like this anyways.” It didn’t take long until she was whisked off to the dance floor by some silver-haired beautiful man with the plushest lips you have ever seen. You willingly let him sweep her away. You didn’t have the heart to say no, not with the absolute lovestruck look in Tina’s eyes. 

Unfortunately, it left you alone at a crowded bar top, susceptible to being bothered by drunken bar patrons looking for an easy score. You first didn’t mind when this one came up to you. He seemed charming, up until the point he was asking for your name thrice in five minutes. Your nose crinkles as he leans back in again, placing a hand on your shoulder to balance himself as he almost stumbles forward on to you. “Come on, tell me your name. I promise I’ll remember it this time.” 

Rolling your eyes, you finish your drink, readying yourself for the long back and forth once you tell him you’re not interested. You place your empty glass on the bar top and brush his hand off your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you see your drunk intruder start falling forward from his loss of balance, only then realizing you should’ve made sure you had supported his hand on something else. You brace for impact, eyes closing shut while your arms are out in front of you as you wait for him to come crashing down. Hoping you’d be able to push him off of you in time before he takes you crashing to the floor with him. But the body weight never comes, only replaced with a deep, honey rich voice that you haven’t heard in months causing your eyes to snap open. There the owner of the voice stood, his arm out in between you and your drunken company, pushing the latter back towards the bar top and away from you. “N-Namjoon?” you sputter, completely caught off guard to see your ex-boyfriend standing beside you.

“Excuse me, but I think it’s about time you left her alone,” Namjoon says, his eyes narrowing at the drunken gentleman as the sides of his mouth turn up into a tight, polite smile. He feels taller than what you remember, towering over the other bar patron by almost half a foot. 

The drunken man looks between you and Namjoon, puffing his chest as he crosses his arm, trying to make himself seem taller than he really is. “Chill, dude. We’re just talking, having a good time. What are you? Her boyfriend or something?”

You shift in your seat just slightly, Namjoon noticing out of the corner of his eye as he clears his throat, moving to place his hand on the back of your chair. “Or something…” he says, his cheeks rosy-ing just a bit as he side-eyes you again, waiting to see if you were going to interject. You stay quiet, looking at him with wide eyes as you’re still trying to process the fact that he’s here in this bar with you. What is he doing here?  

He takes your silence as permission to continue, turning his full attention back to the other man. “Thank you for keeping my friend company while I was away. Now if you excuse us, we’re going to try and enjoy the rest of our night.”

The drunken man hardens his gaze at Namjoon for a moment, slightly swaying back and forth and you wonder if he’s about to lose his balance again. He breathes out, rolling his eyes as he scoffs at Namjoon, turning to walk away from the bar. “Whatever man,” he mutters, walking away and disappearing into the crowd. 

“Everything okay, Joon?” The bartender asks, having walked up shortly after the drunken man took his leave. 

“Yeah, man. All cool. Can you get us another round?” The Bartender nods, turning to start a new round of drinks for the two of you. As soon as he walks away, Namjoon turns to you, his cheeks rosy-ing once again as he lifts one of his hands, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, hey Y/N. Interesting running in to you here.”

“What are you doing, Namjoon?” You feel your face warm up with annoyance. Never once in the year that you were together did he ever come out to a bar with you. Always too busy with work to make it out with you and your friends. But now here he is, in front of you being treated as if he’s come here his whole life.

He chuckles nervously, his feet shuffling just a bit as he clears his throat. “What do you mean?” His seemingly innocent question makes your annoyance and frustration grow even more, and you try hard to hold back the bite in your tone.

“What are you doing? Here, just now. You hate bars.”  

“I don’t hate bars. I just never had the time for them.” His voice trails off at the end, the ghost of arguments past flashing before his eyes.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes as you cock your head to the side. “Oh, what? And you do now? Work finally not keeping you so busy anymore?” The resentment dripping from your tone makes Namjoon squirm just a bit in his spot. You’d feel good about it, knowing how uncomfortable he was feeling right now, if it wasn’t for the little fact that he just saved you from a potentially embarrassing incident. You briefly scold yourself, telling yourself to at least show him some level of gratitude before biting his head off again. 

“Sorry, that was rude--” You’re interrupted by the return of the bartender with your drinks, placing them on the bartop as Namjoon turns to grab them. You take the brief break in his attention as a chance to calm and compose yourself. Knowing his sudden appearance didn’t allow you to react the way you wanted to after seeing him again for the first time in months. You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders deflate just slightly, taking you out of your defensive mood. You allow yourself to take a better look at Namjoon, trailing your eyes from the floor up to his face. You can’t help but notice how good he looks. He looks like he just came from a work meeting, wearing dark grey slacks and a whilte long-sleeve button up. The form fitting sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, showing off the toneness of them. “Has he been working out?” you think to yourself. You look back up at his face, his dark brown hair pushed back out of it, giving you a nice view of his jawline as he’s turning back around from grabbing your drinks.

He holds out the drink to you, your eyes now on his hand as it’s holding the glass in front of you. The way his long fingers are wrapping around the glass stirs something inside your groin. Memories from long-heated nights of the two of you together coming forth in your mind. Memories of the very same hand creeping up your body and wrapping firmly around your -- “Y/N?”

Namjoon eyes you curiously, an eyebrow quickly shooting up as he looks at you and you hope he’s not able to easily read your face to know what you’re thinking about. “Jesus, Y/N. Calm yourself,” you think to yourself as you mentally facepalm.

You clear your throat, your cheeks warming as you grab the drink from his hand and take a sip. “Thanks,” you mutter, clearing your throat again as you regain your composure. “And thank you for a minute ago. I didn’t think I was ever going to get rid of that guy.” You both chuckle. Namjoon’s dimples poking out as he smiles, nodding his head as he murmurs a “you’re welcome.” Your eyes flicker to his cheeks, a ghost of a smile on your lips as you take in the sight of his adorable features. You feel a flutter in your stomach, realizing how much you missed just being able to look at him.

“So…” you start, pushing your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?” you ask him curiosity sinking back in as the possible reasons start popping up in your mind. Is it work related? Did he quit? Or get fired? Does he actually have time to go out now? Oh God, is he here to meet another girl?

“Actually, I’m kinda here because of work,” he says, taking a drink of his beer. 

“Of course he is,” you think, your eyes rolling involuntarily, causing Namjoon to jump quickly into further explanation. 

“I’m out with a few people from work,” he spits out quickly, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips at the end. “A couple of the guys asked if I wanted to go out with them a couple of weeks back and I thought it would be a nice change. That’s actually one of them over there, dancing with your friend.” He nods towards the dance floor and you turn just in time to see the silver haired dreamboat locking lips with your best friend. You turn back towards Namjoon as he continues, “I knew you liked going to places like this. Just wanted to see what I was missing.” 

You hum in response, taking a sip from your drink as you look at him. He’s staring right at you, eyes meeting yours as they glint with a deeper meaning. Could it be that he’s been just as miserable these last few months as you? “And how has that been going?” you ask him.

“Turns out what I’ve been missing is you.” You smile wide at his words, cheeks warming up as you look away. He looks down as you both let out a little laugh. 

“Well,” you say as you cross your legs in your chair, your foot now grazing the inside of his thigh. “Here I am.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker down to your foot, his eyes trailing up your leg and growing wide as if he’s finally taking in the form fitting dress that you’re wearing. “Here you are,” he says with a smirk. “You look amazing.”

You’re not sure how it happened exactly. The events leading up to right now, how you agreed to meet Namjoon for brunch the night after seeing him again for the first time. The multiple drinks and shots you took with him more than likely the sole perpetrator.

One minute you’re still at the bar, drinking and laughing with your ex-boyfriend. Catching up on the last few months spent apart. Next thing you know, you’re thrown up against the brick wall in the back alley behind the bar. Namjoon’s one hand on your ass as the other has both your wrists secured above your head. Your own legs wrapped tightly around his waist to help keep you from falling. The rough bricks scratch at your exposed skin, but you hardly notice, your attention stolen by Namjoon’s tongue down your throat. The definite bulge in his pants grinding against your core takes any feeling of discomfort away. You don’t remember how long you two were like that when Namjoon pulls his lips away from tours, allowing the two of you to catch a much needed breath.

After the burning in your lungs starts to subside, you lean in towards him, trying to capture his lips into another kiss, only for him to pull away again. A little pout forming on your face, causing him to chuckle. 

“Wait, wait,” he says, his chest still expanding rapidly from his heavy breaths.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he lets go of your wrist, your hands dropping to his shoulders as he unwraps your legs from around him. Still holding on to you as he helps you balance yourself on the ground. 

“Nothing, uhh…” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his head as he looks away. “This, um, just wasn’t exactly the way I had planned for it to go.” He lets off a nervous chuckle as he looks back at you and you smile at him. “You see, I had this whole scenario planned in my head of what I would do if I saw you again.”

“And having me pinned up against a wall dry humping me wasn’t part of it, I’m guessing?” You cock a brow at him, smiling when you notice his cheeks growing scarlet. 

“No, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a nice surprise.” You both laugh as a cool breeze sweeps down the alleyway. You rub your arms, your body finally acknowledging the chilly temperature outside.

“I wanted to ask you out for coffee,” he says, his palms moving to rub your arms on instinct, trying to help keep you warm. “Wanted to get a chance to talk to you, ask for you to give me another chance.”

“Okay.”

He blinks at you, looking at you as if he was confused by your short answer before it hits him. “Okay?” he repeats, a smile growing on his face causing his dimples to reappear.

“To coffee,” you clarify. “There’s still a lot we need to talk about before I say yes to a second chance.”

And that’s how you found yourself here, walking into Namjoon’s favorite coffee place. The very one you avoided the last few months because you didn’t want to run into him. As you enter, you look around the cute little shop. Your face lights up with a smile when you see Namjoon already here, sitting in a corner booth with two cups of coffee on the table in front of him. As you approach, he looks over as if he sensed your presence, smiling as he stands up to greet you by giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m happy you’re here. Kinda was a little worried you’d change your mind,” he says, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“It crossed my mind.” Namjoon’s eyes grow wide and you giggle, letting him know it was just a joke. You grab the drink in front of you as Namjoon smiles shyly.

“Two scoops of sugar, a pump of caramel and toffee nut flavoring with creamer on the side, right?” He asks, the question rhetorical, as he pushes a few cups of creamer towards you.

“You remembered,” you whisper, smiling as you stirred in some creamer to your coffee. He smiles, taking a sip of his own Iced Americano. You both sit there for a few minutes, neither one of you talking. The silence being broken by the waitress coming over to take your food order. Namjoon, once again remembering your usual order and you smile wide, saying a thanks as the waitress walks away.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’ve missed this,” he says suddenly, catching you slightly off guard. You knew this was why you were both here, but you didn’t expect him to start the conversation so suddenly. “I really want to get back together.”

You let you a soft sigh, pushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know, Joonie.”

“Why not?” he asks softly, eyeing you intently as he gives you his full attention.

“We broke up for a reason, Joon,” you say as you look up to meet his eye. You see the adoration and the deep determination in his gaze. His deep, chestnut eyes pull you in as you get lost in them, almost making you forget the reasons why you broke up. Almost. 

You look away, the memory of your break up resurfacing. Your mind starts to wander to that early fall evening. Namjoon showing up to your apartment late from work. Too late for the dinner reservations you had made for your one year anniversary. You were already out of your dress, lying in bed in your pajamas when he came knocking on your front door. You had let him in, not wanting your neighbors to hear the argument that was sure to come. And came it did.

You had said something about being tired of coming second to everything with him. How he spent more time with work and not with you. Always going in early and staying late, never making time for you unless it was for sex. He countered with how important his work was to him, how you said you admire that about him when you first got together. How he was doing this to secure his future, a future that he saw with you. This was his passion, and he didn’t get how you couldn’t understand that. He didn’t get what the big deal was that night, simply forgetting what day it was. Told you that if it was that serious to you, if you really couldn’t put up with his shit anymore, to just break up with him.

So you did. The moment the words fell from your mouth, so did the tears. Namjoon just stood there in the middle of your living room staring at you. Tears still falling harder from your eyes as he turned, snatching his work bag from the floor and walking back out of your apartment, slamming the door behind him. No rebuttal, no attempt to fight for you back. He just left. No communication or to be seen again until last night.

“I know,” he says, his voice bringing you back to the present. ”I had a lot that I needed to work on. I neglected you, put more effort in my job than our relationship and I know it took a toll that night. I took you for granted.”

‘It wasn’t just that… That night was our --” you start softly before he interrupts you.

“Our one year anniversary, I know.” He lets out a huff and he rubs his face with his hands. You look up at him, blinking owlishly. “God, I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I realized it the moment I left and I should’ve turned back around. I should’ve fought harder to keep you.”

“You didn’t fight at all,” you state meekly, your tone just above a whisper. Namjoon looks down at the table softly nodding his head.

“I was an idiot. And too stubborn to know what I had.” You both sit there for a minute, staring at your own coffee drinks, not saying a word. You went over his words, happy to hear him admit the things he faulted in your relationship. A little flower of hope blossoming in your heart that just maybe you two could work things out.

“Why now?” you ask, breaking the silence. “What made you want to try again?”

“You remember the producer position at work that I wanted?” He looks up at you. You nod your head, remembering how he used to talk so passionately about that being his dream job. “Well, one of the producers left, allowing for a position to come available. I got it.” 

A huge smile grows on your face as you reach and grab his hand, not even realizing you had done it. “Congratulations, Joonie! That’s so awesome!” 

He smiles back at you, covering your hand with his other as he looks down where they are joined. “Thank you,” he says with a smile. “It was a bittersweet moment when I had gotten the news. Of course, I was happy when I got it, but I had no one to celebrate with. And the only person I wanted there was you.”

You feel your heart swell, your smile only growing bigger as you look at him. He gives your hand a squeeze, smiling back at you before continuing, “I realized that if I wanted you back, I was going to have to change. I want to be better for you.”

“It wasn’t just you who needed to change, Joonie.” You give his hands a squeeze back as he looks back up at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I could’ve been more understanding. Maybe we can work on it together.”

His eyes light up, growing wide for just a second as he sits up in his chair, leaning forward into the table towards you. “Yeah?” he asks, his tone dripping with hope and enthusiasm.

You giggle, smiling at his reaction. “Yeah. Let’s give it another shot.”

You spent the rest of the brunch date eating your own meals and talking. Outlining the issues you two needed to work on, setting rules and guidelines for trying again. The conversation carries over and continuing on your walk home Namjoon joins you on. Namjoon promises to make more time for you, you promise to be patient and a little more understanding. You also set the rule of no sex, at least until you both are confident that you two can make this work. The moment you state the rule, Namjoon lets out a whine, causing a giggle to escape your lips from his cute reaction.

“No sex?!” he exclaims, as you enter the door to your apartment complex causing an older couple to turn and give you two a scolding glare. “Not even fooling around?”

“No sex,” you say after shooshing him, giggling again as the older couple walk into their apartment. “Kissing is fine, but no sex. Not even fooling around.” 

“But if I recall, sex was never part of our problems.” Namjoon wiggles his eyebrows at you, leaning up against the wall as you make it to your front door.

“Namjoon!” You slap his arm, playfully glaring at him and scolding him as you dig for your keys out of your purse. 

“I’m just kidding! Kind off...:” he says, winking at you as you unlock your door. “Fine, no sex. I can do that. It’s worth it to prove to you that I’ve changed.” You flick on the lights to your apartment, placing your purse on the side table by the door as you turn to look back at Namjoon. He’s now standing in your doorway, leaning up on the door frame as he looks down at you, smiling. “So I guess I’ll call you later then.”

You give him a nod, once again finding yourself mesmerized by his presence and unable to speak. You never thought you’d be here with him again, having him drop you off at your doorstep after a date. He leans in towards you, his hand rising to cup your face as his lips meet yours for a soft kiss. Your body is electrified with the feel of his lips on yours and you feel yourself melt into his touch. He deepens the kiss just briefly before pulling away. You fall forward slightly, your lips still puckered as the chase after his, wanting more. Namjoon smiles, a knowing look in his eye as he walks backward away from you. “I’ll see you later, baby.” He doesn’t even wait for your response as he turns around, walking back down the hall and out into the street.

“Tease…” you mutter as you close the door behind you. Your fingers brushing your lips slightly as you smile, still feeling the softness of his lips on yours.

“You agreed to WHAT now?” Tina shouts as she follows you into the breakroom at work.  Eyes wide as she watches you pour yourself a cup of coffee before the Monday morning staff meeting, having just finished going over your weekend events after she had left you alone at the bar. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you agree to a second chance with him?” she asks, her loud tone causing passing coworkers to peak into the break room as they pass by.

“Can you chill out?” You say to her, walking past her and back out to the hallway. She follows you, walking side by side as you both make your way to the conference room. “He’s changed, Tina. He’s recognized the areas that he needs to work on and has promised to do so, together. Why shouldn’t I give him another chance?” 

You enter the conference room, finding two empty seats at the large oval table adjacent to each other and you both sit down. One by one, your fellow co-workers file in, filling up the table. “Fine,” Tina huffs, rolling her eyes as she leans back into her seat. “But I’m watching him. I won’t say I told you so, but I will be the first one to kick his ass if he breaks your heart again.” 

You give her a smile, taking a sip of your coffee as you wait for the meeting to get started, jumping just a bit when Tina sits up quickly and grabs your arm, smiling when she turns to you. “Oh! Remind me to fill you in on my weekend with Jimin. Over lunch. My treat.”

You snicker at her, wiping the little droplets of your coffee that fell on the table. “You owe me lunch for abandoning me on our girls night anyways. But not today. Namjoon is taking me to a cute little sushi spot near his office.”

“Wow, look at Mr. Work-a-holic finally taking a break from busy, busy schedule,” she mutters under her breath, followed up by a soft “Ow” from the light kick you give her under the table. 

“He’s trying, Tina,” you whisper to her as your boss walks in, seating himself at the head of the table and kicks off the meeting.

“Right, okay, sorry. I’ll give him another chance too.”

Lunch time sneaks up on you, too busy being nose deep into an article for the magazine you work for, putting in the finishing touches before sending it to your editors to get ready for the February Issue. Your phone buzzing on your desk alerts you to the time of day. You check it to find a text from Namjoon, announcing his arrival at the front of your office building. 12:30 PM on the dot. You lock your work laptop, waving bye to Tina as you place your phone into your purse and head to the elevator bay. Once down in the lobby you quickly walk outside, spotting Namjoon leaning up against a taxi waiting for you. You wrap your arms around his neck, greeting him with a kiss before he opens the car door for you, following you into the back of the cab.

The little sushi place he takes you to is delicious. Being your first time there, Namjoon orders a whole spread. Each roll consists of something you like, from tempura shrimp to avocado in the middle. Some rolls topped with eel. You eat your fill, feeling satisfyingly full once the two of you are walking out of the little restaurant. 

“What time do you need to be back?” Namjoon asks you, taking your hand into his as you walk down the street.

“Maybe not for another hour? I’m already done with my article, so I’m in no rush to need to get back.” You walk alongside him with a smile on your face, the feel of his hand in yours bringing you a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Would you want to stop by the studio with me then? I got something I want to show you.” You smile at him, nodding your head as he smiles back, quickening his steps as he pulls you toward his office building. 

Arriving at Namjoon’s work, you were excited to finally step into the world that had preoccupied so much of his time when you were together. You had been here multiple times in the year you were with him, coming here to drop off food for your overworking boyfriend. Never making it past the lobby desk until now. You follow him through the lobby, past the front desk and towards the elevator. You turn towards the long hallway you remember he would appear from during your prior visits when he instead guides you to the elevators, hopping on to an open cab and pressing the button for the 5th floor.

You pull your phone out of your purse, sending Tina a quick text saying that you might be late coming back to the office. After a few exchanges of where you were, she asks you to say hi to Jimin for her before you slip your phone back into your purse and turn towards Namjoon. “Since when did you move off the first floor?” You ask as the elevator continues to move upwards.

He smiles at you, a glint of excitement in his eye as the cab stops, the doors opening to the new floor. He leads you out of the elevator, his hand pushing gently on the small of your back. “That’s what I want to show you. Remember that promotion? It comes with some new perks.” He continues to lead you down the hallway and you look around, taking in the new scenery as Namjoon stops you in front of a closed door.

“Y/N!” You hear your name being called from the other end of the hall. You turn to look at the newcomer, a dark haired man jogging down the hall with his arms open towards you and Namjoon. His wide, heart shaped smile bringing an equally wide one to your face. 

“Hobi!” You giggle as he wraps you in a big bear hug, picking you up off the ground and spinning you around.

“It’s good to see you again,” you say as he steadies you back on the ground.

“Likewise! It's nice to see you and Joon together again. He’s been a real stick in the mud while you guys were apart.”

You let out another giggle as Namjoon glares at his co-worker, opening the door and guiding you in. “Thank you for that, Hoseok,” he mutters, following the two of you into the room.

You take a look around the room, various recording equipment litters the room. There’s a lone couch against the wall opposite a large desk fitted with mixing equipment and a computer. You watch as Hobi plops down on it, pulling out his phone as you continue to observe the room.  A guy around your age with mint colored hair sits in front of the computer and mixing equipment, headphones on as he’s bopping his head up and down to whatever is playing. You see the ‘Recording in progress’ sign lit up and realize he’s in the middle of recording someone. Namjoon closes the door behind him, walking over to pat the mint haired man on the back. The mint haired man looks up, his features growing into a gummy smile as he looks at Namjoon, taking his headphones off his head and pressing a button on the switchboard in front of him. 

“Ah, Joon. Just in time. Jimin’s finishing up one of his tracks for his debut,” the mint haired man says, standing to give Namjoon a quick hug before pressing another button on the switchboard and speaking into a mic, “Jimin, come on out.”

“Jimin’s in there?” You ask without thinking. Realizing you have yet to officially meet the man that swept your best friend away on your girl’s night out. The mint haired man and Namjoon look over at you and you realize you interrupted their conversation, causing your cheeks to flush slightly.

“Yeah, he is,” the mint haired man says to you. “Big fan?”

Hobi snorts from the couch, “Watch out, Joon. Might have some competition.”

You smile while you shake your head. “No, um, he’s kind of dating my best friend.” You watch as his eyebrows shoot up, nodding his head as Namjoon places his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Let me not be rude,” Namjoon says as he gestures between you two. “Yoongi, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Yoongi. My coworker and fellow producer.” 

Yoongi reaches out to shake your hand, giving you another gummy smile as he addresses you. “Nice to meet you, so you’re the girl Namjoon has been lovesick about. Heard all about you. Nice to finally put a face to a name.” He gives Namjoon a nudge with his shoulder, the both of you looking at each other with matching cheeks as a door on the other side of the room opens up. A familiar silver haired man walking out, his unforgettably plush lips spread wide into a smile.

“Sup guys. Ah, Y/N. Good to finally meet you,” he says, walking over to you and giving you a hug. It catches you by surprise for a minute before you return it. Jimin breaks away from you at the sound of Namjoon clearing his throat, giving you a wink as he moves to sit by Hoseok on the couch.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says as he walks over to you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “I just wanted to introduce you guys before I showed her my office.”

“You have an office now --” 

“Oh, Joojoo, I thought I heard you in here.” You were cut off by a tall, petite girl who just entered the room. The pencil skirt and blouse she was wearing a little too short and form fitting to be considered professional. You look at her, noticing how pretty she was and the way she was looking at Namjoon, all wide eyed and dreamy. You instantly become annoyed, too focused on the awful nickname she just used to notice the brief look of distaste on Namjoon’s face at the sound of it. You instinctively lean more into Namjoon, crossing your arms as the new girl continues to talk, barely aware of your presence. “Joojoo, I need help getting something down from the supply closet. Can you help me?” She coos while batting her eyelashes. Her eyes move from his face to the arm around your shoulder, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she looks you up and down. “Whose this?”

“Oh, Areum. This is Joon’s girl, Y/N. Y/N, this is our floor assistant, Areum,” Hobi jumps in, quick to the introductions with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Areum looks at you, eyebrow raised in confusion. “Y/N. Like, your ex-girlfriend, Y/N?”

“We’re working things out,” you snap, wrapping one of your arms around Namjoon’s waist as he looks down at you, raising an eyebrow of his own. A ghost of a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips. 

“Whatever,” the girl mutters before turning to Namjoon again, an annoyingly bright smile adorning her face. “Joojoo, could you help me?”

“I got it!” Yoongi shouts, already moving past the group of you and out the door. Areum lets out a soft “Oh” as she turns to follow, briefly looking back at you and Namjoon before exiting the room.

Your lips twitch up in a smirk as you turn to look up at Namjoon. “So, what’s this office you were talking about?” 

“Yeah, Joon. Why don’t you show Y/N your office,” Hobi teases as he gets up from the couch, following after Yoongi and the office assistant. Namjoon sputters and you let out a giggle, grabbing his hand and walking out of the recording room. 

Namjoon regains his composure, leading you back down the hallway, Jimin following closely behind, taking the chance to strike up conversation. “So what do you guys say to a double date this weekend? Give us a chance to get to know each other and have some fun. Tina talks very highly about you, Y/N.”

“That sounds great. What do you think, Joonie?” You ask just as Namjoon stops in front of another door, digging a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocking it. 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he says, flicking on the lights to his office. The three of you barely enter into the little space when Hoseok shows up at the door, looking straight at Namjoon.

“Hey Joon, looks like we need your help after all. Yoongi severely underestimated how high up this box was.” Hobi lets out a laugh as he walks back down the hallway. Namjoon turns to you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead as he tells you he’ll be right back before slipping out the door way. 

You let out a little huff as soon as he’s out of sight. “Has she ever heard of a step ladder,” you mutter under your breath as you take a look around Namjoons office, his ever growing Kaws figurine collection decorating the shelves on his walls. 

You hear Jimin snicker and you jump just a bit as you had forgotten he was there. “We have a step ladder, actually. Areum, tends to misplace it a lot,” he says, air quoting around the words misplace it as he rolls his eyes. “She has the biggest crush on Namjoon. Tends to always need something from the top shelves just to have an excuse to talk to him.”

Your face contorts into a scowl, causing Jimin to laugh and throw his hands up in defense. “Don’t worry. Namjoon barely even notices. He’s always been wrapped up in his work. Or talking about you. Yoongi, however… Well, he has it bad.”

You nod a little, taking comfort in Jimin’s reassurance. He gives you a small wave bye as he leaves you alone in Namjoon’s office. You sit down in the empty desk chair, noticing a picture frame by his laptop. You pick it up, recognizing the picture to be one of your favorites of you and Namjoon. A cute selfie you took in the comfort of his apartment a few months into you two dating. You place it back on the desk, humming gently in content as you push the brief incident with the office assistant to the back of your mind. Reminding yourself that you promised to be understanding and you try not to dwell on if there was anything there that you would need to worry about.

Your first week back with Namjoon was nothing short of amazing. You were amazed and surprised by how attentive he is to you, fully prepared to expect him to still be busy with work, especially with a recent promotion. But, alas, he is keeping true to his promise so far. The two of you spent more time together in the past week than you did in the last few months you were together. The both of you have been making great progress with the things you both promised to work on. Holding true to the rules and guidelines, you had set out, the no sex rule included.

You’d be lying if you said it hasn’t been hard to not break that rule. Namjoon being right when he said that sex was never a problem between the two of you. It didn’t help that the both of you gained pure enjoyment out of teasing the hell out of each other. Between the gentle brushes of his hand across your ass or the strategic placement of your hand on his thigh when you’re sitting next to him, it is easy to get one another flustered. It is equally just as hard to keep each other’s hormones at bay. 

No other time have you two come close to breaking that rule than you have tonight. Laid out on your back on your living room couch, Namjoon on top of you. The both of you in the middle of a heated makeout session. His hand up your shirt while yours is on his ass, pushing him closer into you as he grinds his clothed bulge into your core. You know you should stop. No fooling around being part of the rules you both had set, but it all just feels too damn good to stop. Your living room is filled with the soft sounds of your shared moans, the movie Namjoon brought over for your night in playing softly but forgotten in the background. You both had opted for a night in instead of going out to dinner. Your planned double date on Saturday and the fact that you had to work late helping your fellow writers finish their articles playing a big part in the decision making. Namjoon had picked up takeout and a movie for the two of you, waiting at your apartment for you to get home to spend as much time as possible with you tonight before he would have to leave to go to sleep. 

What started out as an innocent foot rub after your dinner has speedily turned into a tickle fight. That very tickle fight quickly escalated to the situation you find yourself in now; Namjoon’s tongue wrestling with yours as he cups your breast with his hand, finding your nipple hidden by your bra and giving it a quick pinch. You let out a muffled moan, one he quickly swallows with his lips still on yours. You slide your other hand down, reaching in between you two to grab a hold of the button on his jeans. You almost have it undone when Namjoon suddenly pulls away from you, grabbing your wrist as he breathlessly asks you to hold on. He pulls his hand from out under your shirt and lets go of your wrist as he sits back on the couch, running his hand through his disheveled hair to try and put some of it back in place.

“We should probably chill out a bit. Don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves,” he says, scooting just a bit away from you to give you room to sit up on your side of the couch. You stay as you are, looking at him with a pout on your lips as he chuckles at you. “Besides, I probably should head out soon. Need to run into the office tomorrow before our date.”

He stands from the couch, holding his hand out to help you up and you take it, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stand up in front of him. “Why don’t you just spend the night? Leave for work from here in the morning?” you ask in between kisses. He chuckles at you again, grabbing your hands from around his neck and walking you to the door. 

“And break the rules you clearly set out for us? I would never,” he teases you, laughing at you as you let out a whine. “I’ll see you tomorrow baby. I’ll let you know when I get home,” he reassures you as he slips his shoes on and opens your front door. He turns back to you, slinking an arm around your waist to catch your lips in a deep kiss as he pulls you towards him. He releases your lips, leaving you breathless once again as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “And we’ll continue this later.” He smiles at you, giving you a wink and another quick kiss before releasing you completely and closing the door behind him. 

You let out a little huff. “Tease…” you mutter as you smile, shaking your head as you lock up the door before turning back towards your living room, getting ready to clean up and go to bed.

The double date with Jimin and Tina went better than you expected. The whole mini argument you had with Tina in her apartment as the two of you got ready proving to be inane. Her plans of giving Namjoon the third degree to check to see if he’s really changed never came to fruition, much to your relief. The moment the two boys arrived at her doorstep to pick the both of you up, all thoughts of interrogation were forgotten, her attention solely on Jimin and Jimin alone.

The steakhouse you attend for dinner is delicious. The drinks you all share help keep the conversation light and entertaining. You are happy with the way work has stayed away as a topic for the evening. The only exception was the mention of Hoseok’s mixtape release party that is taking place the following Wednesday. When leaving the restaurant, talks about needing to do this again came up. You mention a new Italian restaurant that just opened up down the street that you all should try next, if you guys were ever lucky enough to get a hard to book reservation. 

Namjoon holds your hand the entire cab ride back to your apartment. Not much conversation taking place due to the numerous glasses of wine at dinner making you feel warm and sleepy while leaning up against him. You nearly doze off before you make it to your apartment, Namjoon nudging your shoulder slightly to let you know of your arrival. He’s still holding your hand as he walks you to your door, making sure you were safely inside before letting go. He stands in your doorway, smiling at you as you brace yourself against the wall to balance as you take off your heels.

“What are you smiling about?” You tease him, crossing your arms as you walk back towards him after removing your footwear.

“I’m just happy to be doing this with you again. Walking you home, making sure you get here safe.” You can’t help the smile that graces your face from his confession, leaning up on to your tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his lips.

“So,” he starts, still smiling at you as he hovers over you in your door frame. “Hobi’s release party is this Wednesday.”

“So I heard,” you cooed, your heart warming at the flash of his dimples from his smiling growing wider from your teasing.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go with me,” he asks you, pausing momentarily before continuing, “As my date.”

You smile wider, leaning up to give him another kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The next few days flew by in a breeze. You weren’t able to see much of Namjoon other than lunch breaks or a quick dinner date as he was helping Hobi and the company prepare for the release party. You and Tina spent your free evenings shopping for the perfect dresses. Finding two cute matching bodycons with keyhole cut outs and heels to match. Wednesday evening comes before you know it. Namjoon had ordered a car to pick you and Tina up, him needing to be at the venue early to help get everything set up. Not wanting you to feel rushed, he arranges for your transportation to drop you off right at the venue doors, allowing you and Tina to enjoy a full red carpet experience for the release party.

The party venue is located at one of the nicest hotels in town, taking place in one of the ballrooms fitted with a DJ booth, a mini dance floor, and a well stocked open bar. Namjoon is there to greet you at the door, catching the eye of every woman (and man) walking by him with the way he’s fitted in his well-tailored suit. His hair is pushed back, styled out of his face. You can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you look him up and down, walking towards him. Knowing that this beautiful man is all yours. The moment he notices you walking towards the ballroom, his smile matches yours, if not, brighter. His mindset also matches yours as he shamelessly looks you up and down as you grow closer.

“Hey Handsome,” you say to him, throwing your arm around his neck as you give him a kiss.

“Good evening, baby. You’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight.” He kisses you back, slipping his hand around your waist. 

“How nice of you to say, Joonie. I didn’t think you noticed,” Tina teases from beside you. Namjoon rolls his eyes, giving you another kiss before taking your hand in his. 

“You look exceptionally beautiful as well, Tina,” he says, gesturing his hand towards the inside of the ballroom. Tina gives him a thank you before winking at you and walking forwards into the ballroom, now on a mission to find Jimin. You giggle, following behind her and Namjoon as he leads you toward the bar.

After grabbing a round of drinks, Namjoon walks you and Tina over to your reserved table for the evening. Jimin is already sitting down, snacking on a small plate full of the various finger foods being served around the event. You barely sit down yourself when the petite office assistant, Areum, pops up out of nowhere, instantly clinging herself onto Namjoon’s arm. The dress she’s wearing contains too many cut outs and too much sheer covering to your liking, the lack of actual fabric barely classifying it as a dress instead of lingerie. Her heels, too tall to be considered comfortable to walk in, let alone stand in, you know we’re chosen to accentuate her barely covered (and annoyingly perky) ass. She doesn’t pay you or anyone other table occupant any mind, her focus only on Namjoon, much to your annoyance. Batting her eyelashes, she addresses Namjoon, her tone too high pitched to be tolerable, making the use of her god awful nickname for Namjoon sound even worse. “Joojoo, the DJ is having issues with connecting his equipment. Can you help us?”

He sighs, giving her a polite smile as he responds, “Sure.” She let’s go of his arm and you swear she gives you a smirk before turning and running off. You glare at her retreating backside. An involuntary scoff escaping past your lips. Namjoon hears it, turning to you with a questioning brow raised in your direction. A smirk, once again, dancing on the corner of his lips. 

“You okay, baby?” He asks, trying to hide the smile threatening to break out on his face, always finding it cute when you show little signs of jealousy. 

“Nothing, she’s just very… touchy.” You take a sip of your champagne, trying to wash away the bitterness in your mouth. Namjoon chuckles at you as he leans down to hover over you, one hand braced on the table and the other on the back of your chair to steady himself.

“She’s just friendly, baby,” he says, leaning in closer to rub his nose on the tip of yours. 

“Yeah, to you,” you mumble, Namjoon’s shit-eating grin finally breaking loose on his face as he laughs. 

“You’re cute,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You got nothing to worry about, baby. I only have eyes for you.” He gives you a long, soft kiss on your lips before standing back up. Telling you he’ll be right back, he disappears into the growing crowd toward what you assume is the direction of the DJ booth. 

Feeling eyes on you, you look to your left to see Tina observing you, a mischievous smirk on her lips as she meets your gaze. You let out a sigh, jumping to a defensive tone as you try and predict what she’s thinking. “It’s a work party, Tina. It’s expected that he’s going to have to do some work.” 

She shakes her head slowly at you as she leans forward, placing her elbow on the table and propping her hand under her chin. “Oh no, I’m wondering when you’re going to put that in its place.” Her reference is vague, but you know exactly what, or rather who, she’s talking about. 

“I’m not. I don’t need to. Joonie says there’s nothing to worry about so there’s nothing to worry about,” you state matter-of-factly. Hoping your tone sounds convincing enough to end her “hoe-be-gone” plotting before it starts. You just don’t know who you were trying to convince more: Tina or You. 

“If you say so,” Tina sing-songs, leaning back into her seat and into Jimin. Jimin gives her a quick peck on her temple and smiles at her. 

“You little instigator,” you hear Jimin whisper to her before catching her lips in a real kiss. You roll your eyes slightly, smiling softly as you scan the now crowded ballroom, trying to spot Namjoon amongst the sea of people. 

You contemplate for a minute on whether you should actually say something to Areum. You know you’ll be able to control yourself and your tone. Know you’ll be able to conduct yourself as polite, but firm. She just seems like the type to you that would cause a scene when she doesn’t get her way and you don’t want to be involved in anything that might ruin Hobi’s special night. Besides, you promised to be more understanding and trusting Namjoon on this falls under that umbrella. So you take another sip of your drink, swallowing down the sweet tasting liquid, hoping the bitter taste of your growing anxiety goes down with it.

The rest of the night followed the common theme of Namjoon being swept away by various staff members seeking his help. It never failed that once he found his way back to you, someone else was there a few minutes later to take him again. He apologizes to you every time, his kisses growing harder and deeper with each departure. You reassure him each time that it is fine, and really it is. You are enjoying yourself, spending the majority of the night with Jimin, Tina, and various alcoholic drinks. Near the end of the night, Namjoon was finally able to spend a little more time with you. Grabbing you from your reserved table and walking you over to meet his boss and to say bye to Hoseok before you leave. 

As you approach the two gentlemen, Hobi’s eyes light up the moment he sees you. 

The second you reach him, he’s wrapping his arms around you in a big hug, placing a quick peck on your cheek. His heart shaped smile on full display as he addresses you, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath as he talks. “Y/N! Thank you for coming tonight. What would I do without my favorite fan?” he slurs, his rosy cheeks pushing into his eyes as he continues to smile at you.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Hobi,” you coo, giggling as you back out of his hug. As you stand back in your place next to Namjoon, you turn to the other man, Hobi and Namjoon’s boss, and introduce yourself. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” he says. “Sorry, I’ve been pulling your boyfriend away from you most of the night.”

“He’s no--” you start before quickly redirecting your response. You feel Namjoon’s shoulders deflate just slightly beside you and you feel a twinge of guilt. He isn’t your boyfriend. Not yet, at least. But isn’t that exactly what you two are working back towards? “It’s okay,” you start again. “He’s been a hot commodity tonight and a hard worker. I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

Namjoon looks at you, a quick ‘blink-and-you'll-miss-it’ flash of surprise colors his features before the corners of his lips turn upwards into a smile.

“A hard worker he most certainly is. I’m going to have to also apologize in advance for the next week. We’re in the finishing stages of our next trainee’s debut and going to need all hands on deck for it.” The boss gives you a big smile, probably thinking it would lessen the blow of his news.

“Yeah, Jimin’s debut is next!” Hobi chimes in, his voice carrying a little too loud due to his intoxicated state.

“That’s right,” their boss confirms. “I promise to try and have him free by Valentine’s day.” The boss lets out a hearty laugh, slapping Namjoon on the shoulder before walking away. Excusing himself to thank the other guest for coming to the event.

“Valentine’s day…” you hear Namjoon mutter softly. You turn to look up at him, noticing his wide-eyed look as he stares into space. You grab his arm, looping your hand around it and lightly squeezing, bringing him back out of his head. His eyes focusing on you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been busy and I forgot it was coming up, too. We got a week, we’ll figure something out,” you try to reassure him, forming a soft smile on his face to try and show that it was really okay. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon responds, his tone apprehensive as he rubs the back of his neck. Taking in his demeanor, the little seed of worry from earlier starts to blossom slowly in your mind. You open your mouth to say something, ask him if he’s okay when the call of your name breaks interrupts you. Looking behind you, you see Tina approaching you and Namjoon.

“Hey, you ready to go? Jimin had our car pulled around up front for us,” she asks, stifling a yawn behind her hand.

“Yeah, sure,” you say slowly, turning your head to look back at Namjoon. The unspoken question on whether you guys need to talk lingering between you. It goes unanswered and any signs of apprehension or anxiety are gone from his face. His prize-winning, charming smile is the only thing you see.

“Go ahead. I have to stay and help clean up anyways. I’ll call you later, yeah?” He gives you a quick kiss, waving bye to Tina as he walks away, disappearing into the thinning crowd. 

His departure doesn’t sit right with you. Something about his behavior seems off and it only adds to your growing anxiety, much to your annoyance. You try to shake it off, following Tina out of the ballroom and into the lobby. Stopping abruptly, you realize you’ve forgotten something, calling out to Tina as you turn back towards the ballroom. “Hey, I forgot my phone and purse on the table. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Running back in to grab your purse, you notice Namjoon standing over by the bar talking to an older gentleman. You take a step towards him, planning to ask him if everything was okay before heading back to the car, only to stop once the older man steps to the side out of the way of a server. Revealing the annoying little office assistant clinging to Namjoon’s arm. You freeze, watching as Namjoon shakes the older gentleman’s hand before the same man places a kiss on top of the little leech’s head and takes his departure from the group. Namjoon, smiles down at Areum, his dimples adorning his cheeks and you immediately feel sick. You turn around, walking swiftly out of the hotel before they’re able to see you, reaching the car and hopping quickly into the seat next to Tina. She glances over at you curiously before looking back at her phone. “Everything okay?” she asks you as she begins typing away, probably sending a text to Jimin.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Just… I thought it was about to rain.” You give her a forced chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense the lie in your tone. She hums in response. The car starts to pull off into traffic. You turn, looking back at the hotel as it fades into the distance. Hoping fiercely that what you think you saw and what was actually going on is just a big misunderstanding.

You barely hear from Namjoon the rest of the week. The weekend being no different. The “all hands on deck” call to finish up Jimin’s mixtape for his debut is the only explanation you receive from Namjoon to excuse his absence. Majority of your communication is exchanged over text messages, but even those were slowly growing few and far in between. Your daily lunch dates are replaced with specially picked Uber eats orders sent to your office. The sentiment is there but you couldn’t help but feel like he is avoiding you. The scene of Areum clinging to Namjoon’s arm replaying over and over in your mind. “Who was that man?” and “Why was Namjoon smiling at her after meeting him?” were the main questions plaguing your mind. The constant thought of maybe you DO have something to worry about causes a big negative shift in your mood that you’re unable to hide the longer you go without talking to Namjoon.

Tina notices the change in your attitude at work on Monday. Not-so subtly mentioning how your negative energy was killing her vibe. You grumble an apology and she spends most of the day trying to help bring you out of your sour mood. 

“Maybe he really has been busy. His boss did say he was going to be taking up a lot of his time this week.” You let out a huff, knowing what she was saying was more than likely true, but it still didn’t make you feel any better. Noticing no change in your mood, she continues. “If it helps to know, I haven’t been able to see or talk to Jimin much, either. We can only hope that they’re making good progress and they’ll be done soon. That way we can get our men back,” she chirps, her voice going up at the end to try and drive the point of positivity with her words. 

You feel bad, but the news of her not hearing from Jimin just as much does make you feel better. At least you knew you weren’t the only one and made the idea that they’re both just really, really busy easier to accept as the truth. You look over at her and give her a small smile, “Thank you. For trying to help me feel better. It’s just… I can’t help but feel like this is all too familiar territory.” Among other things. You follow up in your head, not wanting to voice it out loud and carry on that conversation here at work.

“I thought you said you were going to try and be more understanding,” Tina states, her comment catching you by surprise.

“Wait, what?” you stammer, blinking owlishly at her as she rolls her eyes at you. She sits up straighter in her seat as if she was preparing to give you a presentation.

“You were right, Y/N. Namjoon’s changed. He’s trying. Even I’ve been able to see that,” she says to you, her voice taking on a reassuring tone. “You promised that you would be more patient and understanding. Now’s the time to show that you’re trying too.”

You let out a sigh. You knew she was right and didn’t really want to admit it. You did promise to be more understanding and you definitely weren’t doing that right now. That realization does nothing to fix your mood. Only changing the reason why it was still so sour.

Tina notices the change, knowing you swapped to beating yourself up. A smile breaks out on her face as an idea blooms in her mind, reaching over and grabbing your hand in excitement as she details it to you.

“Let’s have a Galentine’s Day this weekend. The boys will probably still be busy, and if they finish up early and are able to spend time with us again, we can cancel it. Easy peasy.” She looks at you, her eyes begging you to say yes as her excitement courses through her. As if her hold on your hand was a conduit, you feel her excitement transfer to you. The infectious happiness in her smile breaking through your negative demeanor and causing a smile to form on your face. You couldn’t find it in you to turn down her offer. Her squeal of excitement rings throughout the office the moment you tell her yes. 

The thought of not having to spend Valentine’s Day alone does perk you up a little. The background chatter of Tina planning out your Galentine’s day helping you get through the rest of the work day. Come clock out time, you head out of the office and make your way towards the train for home. You feel your phone buzz, alerting you of a new text message. Checking your notifications, you see that it’s from Namjoon. His name and the context of the tweet bring a smile to your face. His short text of “Miss you” with the kissy face emoji gives you a small burst of motivation to keep the promise that you had made a few weeks earlier. “Patience and understanding. You got nothing to worry about,” you tell yourself, sending back a matching message to Namjoon before slipping your phone back into your pocket.

The rest of the week drags. The still brief only-over-text conversations with Namjoon and Tina’s absence from the office due to a sinus infection being two things that have contributed to the week feeling like it’s taking forever and a day to move along. 

Friday morning comes and you already feel an instant boost of happiness when you see Tina at her desk as you walk into the office. You skip to your desk, placing your computer bag down and taking out your laptop as you strike up a conversation with your best friend.

“Good morning! And welcome back! So I was thinking… There’s this cute little candy shop over on Cherry Lane that we should order some sweets from for our Galentine’s day.” After not hearing a response, you look up from your desk. Tina’s brow furrowing in confusion as she looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t Namjoon tell you?” she asks, her question making the anxiety you’ve been pushing down all week start to instantly crawl back up your throat.

“Tell me what?” you respond slowly, pulling your phone out to see if you might have missed any phone calls or text messages from Namjoon. Nothing.

“Jimin said they finished everything up on Wednesday. The mixtape is done.” You feel the color drain from your face. Tina’s eyes grow wide as she notices and quickly adds on to her news. “But maybe he meant HE was finished with everything. Joon and Yoongi probably still have things to finish up on the production end.”

You nod your head meekly. Forcing yourself to breathe in and out as you try not to jump to conclusions and hope that her assumption is right. “Yeah, maybe.” Your voice comes out squeakier than you like. A brief flash of pity shows in Tina’s eyes as she gives you a soft smile. Clearing your throat, you straighten up in your chair, plastering a fake smile on your face as you start on your work. “No, you’re right. He’s probably just finishing up the rest of his part. I’ll probably hear from him later today.” 

Tina nods her head slowly, turning back to her computer as she gets back to work. You struggle to maintain your smile throughout the rest of the day, doing your best to not to show a break in your mask every time Tina snuck a quick glance your way.

The end of the workday finally arrives and still no word from Namjoon. You skip out of the office the first chance you get, waiting for Tina to have walked away from her desk so you could sneak out without her noticing. You knew she would ask about Namjoon and it wasn’t a conversation you were really wanting to have right now. Walking towards the subway, you decide to stop at the Chinese restaurant along the way to pick up some takeout, not really in the mood to try and fix something at home. After placing your to-go order, you take a seat in the lobby, scrolling through your phone when you hear someone call your name. Looking up from your phone, you’re surprised to see Yoongi standing in front of you, having just exited the bathroom on the other side of the lobby. “I thought that was you. Picking up some food for you and Joon?”

“Ah, no. Just me.” You smile back. “Are you heading back to the office? This was a long way for a dinner break. This mixtape must be working you two into the ground.”

Yoongi shakes his head, the slightest hint of confusion painting his features. “Actually, I live around here. Just grabbing a bite to eat with some friends. We actually finished up on Wednesday. Didn’t Namjoon tell you?”

Your eyes go wide for a second as you feel your heart drop straight to your stomach. You force a closed lip smile on your face, trying to fight back the anger and frustration rising in you. “Yeah, right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind.”

Yoongi goes to say something else, only to be cut off by the restaurant host calling out your name, announcing that your to-go order was ready. You jump up from your seat quickly, grabbing your food from the host and turn to rush out the door. “It was good to see you, Yoongi. Have a great night!” You run out the door before he can respond. Once again trying to avoid an uncomfortable conversation revolving around Namjoon.

The moment you make it around the block, you stop right above the subway entrance. Grabbing your phone out of your purse, you quickly dial Namjoon’s number, taking deep breaths in and out of your noise to try and calm the boiling anger inside of you. The phone rings twice before the call is picked up. You’re ready to start your onslaught of the many questions that you have the moment he speaks, but the voice you hear at the other end knocks the breath straight out of your lungs. The perky, high pitched voice unmistakably belonging to the one person you would have never thought to be answering Namjoon’s phone. Areum. “Hello, Joojoo’s phone.” Her sickening sweet tone makes your stomach churn and you take in another deep breath to keep yourself from vomiting.

“Where’s Namjoon?” You applaud yourself for how level you keep your tone, not wanting to let her know that the very fact that she answered his phone bothers you.

“He’s busy. Can I take a message?” God, you really don’t like her.

“Just let him know that his girlfriend called,” you say, emphasizing around the word girlfriend.

“Ex-girlfriend. But I’ll let him know. Bye bye now.” She hangs up before you could say anything else. The abrupt ending and her emphasis on the word Ex not helping your growing irritation. You toss your phone back into your bag and continue on your way home.

You don’t look at your phone the whole subway ride home. Not daring to take it out of your bag until after you make it home and finish eating your Chinese. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you finally retrieve your phone from your bag, noticing the one missed call and the three text messages from Namjoon. 

Namjoon: Hey, Areum said you called. Everything okay? Namjoon: Y/N? Baby, you okay? *Missed call from Namjoon* Namjoon: Call me back when you get a chance.

You take a deep breath before typing out your response, repeating “patience and understanding” like a mantra in your head. You tell yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Give him a chance to explain. He hasn’t given you any reason to doubt him. At least not until now.

You: Hey, sorry. Was eating dinner.  Namjoon: Hey, it’s cool. Everything okay? You: Yeah, I didn’t mean to worry you. Just hadn’t talked to you today. I miss you. Namjoon: I miss you too baby.

You pause for a moment. Contemplating how you want to continue the conversation. You wanted to call, not leave the interpretation of your tone through your text message to be misconstrued. But you feel like he wouldn’t give you a full explanation if he had anyone around him. 

You: Why did Areum answer your phone? Namjoon: She did? I don’t know. I had left it on the desk when I ran to the bathroom. What did she say? You: That you were busy. What was she doing with your phone? Namjoon: We were working on something in the recording studio. Guess I left my phone in there when I had run to the bathroom. Please don’t think too much into it.  You: I’m not. Just curious. Is she helping with Jimin’s Mixtape? How’s that going? Namjoon: Uh, yeah. It’s going well. Hoping to have it down by tomorrow night. I should probably get back to working on it. I’ll call you later, baby.

You read his last text over and over. Your body starts to shake as angry tears begin to spill from your eyes. He lied. He just told you a flat out lie. You don’t even respond back, throwing your phone on the coffee table as you fall onto the couch. You curse at yourself, feeling like such a fool for believing Namjoon had actually changed. He hasn’t changed at all. If anything he picked up more bad habits along the way. Adding a liar and a cheat to your list of reasons why you two won’t be able to work things out. “Well, not a cheat,” you think to yourself. “It’s not like we were back to being boyfriend and girlfriend.” The single thought makes more tears spill down your cheeks as bitterness coats like an undissolving film on your tongue. You turn to your side, curling up into yourself on the couch, the soft sniffles from your crying slowly lulling you to sleep.

Saturday goes by in a blur. You spent the whole day moping on your couch, ignoring every call or text that came your way. You once again cry yourself to sleep. The two glasses of wine and the Valentine’s themed rom coms playing on the TV helping contribute to your tearful state. You wake up Sunday morning after your crying session the night before. Determined to not waste another day moping over your failed relationship, you jump in the shower, giving yourself a quick pep talk as you refuse to let some stupid boy ruin the rest of your weekend. 

Getting dressed, you slip on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, forgoing a bra. You aren’t planning on leaving to go anywhere anytime soon. Perfectly content with spending your day alone in your apartment with trash tv and a bottle of wine. You continue to ignore Namjoon’s calls and texts throughout the day. Turning your ringer on silent and placing it face down on your kitchen countertop. The subtle buzzing noise from the vibrations is not as aggravating to your nerves like the noisy ringtone.

It’s just nearing 6PM when you open your fridge, pulling out the unfinished bottle of Moscato from the night before when you hear your phone buzz again. Your curiosity as to why he has called and texted you more in the last 24 hours than he has in the last week gets the best of you. Snatching your phone off the countertop, you see Namjoon’s name flashing on your screen. You swipe to answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear.

“What?” You bite into the phone, the current mood you’re in does not allow you to feign any sense of civility for the start of this conversation.

“Wow. Hello to you, too. Everything okay?” Namjoon speaks cautiously on the other end, worry and confusion evident in his tone.

“Everything’s peachy,” you say, popping your ‘p’ as you pour yourself a glass of wine and take a big gulp. “How’s the mixtape going?” You know Namjoon is able to feel the sarcastic bite to your words, but he doesn’t call you out on it. Continuing on as if he doesn’t notice.

“About that. I wanna show you something. Can you meet me at the studio? And, uh, wear something nice.” His easy tone and his blatant disregard for your obvious annoyance angers you. You take another big sip of your wine and decide to not hold back your frustration any longer.

“Why don’t you show Areum,” you respond, your voice doing a terrible mimic of hers when you say her name.

“What?” Joonie questions. “Y/N. What are you on?”

“You tell me, Joon,” you bark into the phone, your voice starting to raise in volume as you lean back against your kitchen counter. “She’s the one you’ve been spending all of your time with lately. Considering Jimin’s mixtape was finished Wednesday.”

You hear him curse underneath his breath, letting out a sigh before he speaks. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?” You wait, allowing for time to see if he would at least speak up to try and defend himself. Throw out whatever random excuse to talk his way out of this. But you’re only met with his silence. Every wordless second from him pushes a dagger into your heart. Your chest constricts from the pain and it makes you want to hurry and end the phone call right then and there. “Anyways, I can’t come and meet you. I have company. For a Galentine’s Day.”

“Y/N, I know Tina is out with Jimin. Just please come and see me,” Namjoon says, his tone beginning to sound exasperated.

“I have other friends, Namjoon.” You don’t. Not really. At least not anyone that you’d be hanging out with outside of a work function, but he didn’t have to know that. Nor did he need to know about your canceled Galentine’s plan. 

“Come on, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous,” Namjoon huffs into the phone, his tone scolding. You can picture how he looks right now. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to control his simmering frustration with you. “Just please come meet me at the studio and I’ll explain everything.”

“No, but I agree. It was ridiculous of me to think you’ve changed. It was ridiculous of me to even try and give us another chance.” You pause your speech as your voice begins to crack. Taking a deep breath in and out of your mouth before continuing. “Now, I have to go. The very deliciously ripped male stripper has arrived. Have a fun life with Areum.”

“For the last time, nothing is going on… Wait did you say a fucking strip --” You end the call, cutting Namjoon off midsentence. A sly smile stretching across your face as you turn off your phone. The smile only lasts for a few seconds until the realization hits. The fact that you and Namjoon are once again ‘no more’ sinks in as quickly as your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest.

Grabbing the wine bottle off the counter, you pour yourself another glass as you walk to your living room, plopping down onto your couch.

You must have dozed off sometime after you finished your last glass of wine. The loud knocking on your door ripping you from your wine induced nap as you’re quickly sitting up on your couch. Your head starts to spin from the quick movement. You stand up, grumbling under your breath that you’re on your way as you walk to the door, unlocking and wrenching it open. “Can you cut it out?” You yell before even looking to see who the crazy visitor was. The moment your eyes focus on the obsessive knocker, they grow twice in size, your mouth dropping open just as wide. “Namjoon?!”

There in your doorway, dressed in the same button up and slacks from the bar weeks before, stands your ex boyfriend. Jaw clenched as he storms into your apartment, throwing the bag he is holding on to your couch as he takes a look around before letting out a scoff. “You cheeky little brat. You lied about the stripper just to make me angry, didn’t you?” 

Your face flushes with anger at his accusatory tone. You, the liar? He’s really going to point that finger at you? “Seriously?” you screech, slamming your front door in frustration before walking up to him. “YOU are going to scold ME for lying? How about you explain why you lied about you and Areum before you say ANYTHING to me about lying.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Areum!” He yells back, the growing frustration evident in his tone. The top two undone buttons of his shirt gives you a peek of the red flush growing up his chest and neck from his anger.

“I saw you at the release party with her. I saw the way you had smiled at her as she was clinging on to your arm,” you bark back, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” His questions coming out through a disbelief laugh.

“After you thought I left. I came back in to grab my purse and I saw the two of you all close and personal while talking to some man.” You cross your arms, waiting to see the “oh shit” look flash on to his face knowing that he’d been caught. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he lets out a sardonic laugh, shaking his head as his hands move to rub his face.

“That was Areum’s father. He owns that Italian restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. She was introducing me to him so I can secure us a Valentine’s Day reservation. You know, for tonight!”

Your mouth drops down into an ‘Oh’ before you quickly shut it. That explains the night of the release, but it doesn’t answer for his behavior this last week or the fact that she was with him Friday night. “Then why lie to me about the mixtape? Why have you been spending so much time with her at work?” Your voice is softer, but the underlying hurt is still evident in your tone. 

“I promised her father to help Areum create some demo tracks in exchange for him squeezing us in for a reservation,” he says, dropping his hands from his face to look at you. He takes in your teary expression, his shoulders deflating slightly as he softens his own town before continuing his response. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. And the pressure to try and get Jimin’s mixtape and her demo done before tonight made me tunnel vision on just that.”

You don’t say anything. You stand there just looking at him as he leans up against your couch, guilt creeping into the pit of your stomach. When you don’t say anything, he takes it as a chance to continue. “I thought I had shown you up until then that I’ve changed. I thought I could trust you to be patient with me. That you’d be more understanding.” He looks away from you at the end of his words, clenching his jaw as he looks down at his feet.

“Wow,” you breathe out, not able to think of anything else to say. You both stand there for a few minutes in silence, neither one of you looking at each other as you take in everything he said. It dawns on you that Namjoon wasn’t in the wrong here. Not really. Things could’ve been handled better by him but the same goes for you. 

Things were going so well. You had lost yourself in the comforting warmth that came with having him back in your life. The bliss and happiness from experiencing his instant change in attention to you and your relationship overshadowing any thoughts of doubt that existed in your mind, practically making them appear nonexistent. You start to wonder if, in the back of your mind, you were trying to look for something he was doing wrong. Your underlying fear of failure jumping into action the moment anything wrong exposed itself. Latching on to your subconscious and leaking negativity and doubt into you like a poison. Knowing it was your fault that the night he had planned for the two of you was ruined, you knew it was up to you to try to fix it. To try and turn it around. And you have a small inkling of just how you could do that.

“I’m sorry, Joonie,” you say to him as you take a step closer, leaning in with your hand on his chest to give him a quick kiss. He turns away from you just slightly, jaw still clenched as you place a small peck on his cheek. You feel terrible, knowing you should have given him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t reverting back to his old ways. That he was really trying to prove to you that he changed. You place another kiss on his cheek, following it up with a few quick kisses on his neck that you feel make him shiver. Your lips twitch up into a smile, knowing you’re breaking through his cold demeanor. 

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head. A name he loved that you called him, one that you used to your favor to help get you out of trouble. You make your way up to his ear, nibbling on it just slightly before you whisper seductively, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

You feel his body stiffen as you trail your hand down his chest and to the front of his jeans. Your palm barely grazes his growing bulge when he grabs your wrist in his hand, snatching it away from him causing you to back away in surprise. He wraps his other arm around you, his palm pressing at the small of your back to keep you close to him. Your eyes flicker to his and you let out a small gasp as you meet his hooded gaze. The beautiful swirls of cinnamon and honey that paints his irises are gone, disappearing behind a dark, seductive shade of lust. Falling deep into the dark depths of his lustrous gaze, you barely notice the smirk he gives as he leans in towards your ear. 

“Oh, no baby. It seems like someone has forgotten her manners.” The deep timber of his voice sends shivers down your spine, straight to your core. You feel the wetness of your arousal leaking from you and you involuntarily rub your thighs together to try and find some relief as he continues the seductive assault on your ear. “Only good girls get to call me Daddy. Disobedient little brats call me Mr. Kim.” He pulls back just slightly away from you, his dark eyes meeting your gaze once again. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, licking your lips before you give him the most innocent smile. “I am so, so sorry, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you. His dark orbs piercing into you as he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You know,” he sneers, pushing himself off the back of your couch. Still holding on to you as he walks you a few steps backwards. “You’ve been acting like a real brat lately. I guess that’s something about you that will never change, hmm?” 

He lets go of you, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt as he steps away from you, turning to walk around your couch. You take a step forward to follow him, stopping in your tracks when he raises his finger at you. He wags it back and forth, making a tisk noise as he continues his way around the couch. “Nuh-uh. You stay right there until I call for you, brat.” 

The deep, domineering drawl to his voice has your knees weakening. A fresh gush of arousal seeps out of you, pooling in your panties as you continue to rub your thighs together. Still searching for some sort of relief. You know if you were to look right now, you’d bet your underwear would be almost completely soaked. The way the cotton fabric is sticking to your lips a clear indication that your guess is right. 

You watch as Namjoon finishes unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it on but open as he stands staring at you with the couch being the only thing between you. He reaches down, placing his hand on top of his growing bulge. He starts moving his arm back and forth, slowly palming himself as if to taunt you. Teasing you with every slow stroke he takes up and down his long, clothed length. His dark orbs scour your entire body. You feel your body tingle as your skin grows hot from his piercing stare. The feeling of hot flames of lust licking at your every nerve ending as his hungry eyes graze over your body. Slowly tracing every dip and curve of your standing figure. You bite your bottom lip, trying to stifle a needy whine that threatens to escape. The verbal reaction, betraying you, rumbling up your throat and slipping past your lips. His eyes flicker up to the subtle movement. His pupils dilating with want at your feral sound. The tension in the air thickens. Your hand twitches from the need to touch him; your mouth beginning to water from craving his taste. Your legs feel restless, the urge to close the distance between you two cause your knees to gently buckle. The need to wrap your legs around him, to push him deep inside you growing stronger by the second. 

Namjoon cocks his brow at you. Silently daring you to move before he calls for you. Testing your resolve, your patience, as he continues to stroke himself. You knew this game, loved it. It was one you two played many times before in the year you were together. You knew if you behave, play by his rules, there would be a pleasurable payoff for you in the near future. “Good girls get rewarded,” he once purred into your ear. The memory of past earnings sends a shiver down your spine. But with the way he was looking at you, the anger from your argument still fresh on his mind, you know you would have to work for your reward. Your punishment for misbehaving would come first. The idea of receiving a punishment from Namjoon for the first time in months excites you. The walls of your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing with just the thought of what he has planned for you. You would never admit it to him, but sometimes you enjoy the punishment a lot more than the reward. 

Satisfied with your obedience so far, Namjoon smirks at you. Turning his back to you as he sits down on the couch, digging into the bag he threw on to it just moments earlier, taking something out before pushing the bag off the cushion. The bag hits your living room floor, the remaining contents making a noise as they knock together. “Did he bring a bag of toys with him?” you think to yourself. Your thoughts are soon cut off by the sound of him calling out to you, “Come here, baby.” 

Your legs move on instinct, your body just a slave to his voice the moment he ignites your carnal desire. You move slowly around the couch, standing in front of where he sits as he continues to stroke himself through his pants. You don’t sit down, no matter how badly you want to straddle him. The position he’s in is the perfect one for you to be able to grind down onto his member. The command is only to come to him. You know doing anything more before he says will just add on to your punishment. The waking brat in you tells you to do it anyways, but you don’t listen to her. Not yet. 

Namjoon watches you through his hooded gaze, his eyes roaming over your body until they stop at your chest. Your perk nipples visibly straining through the thin fabric of your tank top. He licks his lips, his voice deep and raspy as delivers another command. “Strip, now.”

You do as you’re told, slowly slipping your sweat pants and panties off at the same time. You take your time standing back upright. Kicking your discarded clothing off to the side as you grab the bottom hem of your tank top. Slowly moving it up your torso inch by inch. “Don’t tease, baby,” Namjoon growls, his dark eyes shooting up to yours as your walls clench again from his warning. 

You smile innocently, pulling your tank top up just a little faster. You let the bottom hem catch under your breast, causing your tits to bounce free once you finally lift your tank top over your head, throwing the item up and over Namjoon’s head. You continue to stand, reveling in the way Namjoon devours your curves with his eyes. He meets your gaze once again, taking his hand off his length and placing on the arm of the couch. “On your knees. You understand what to do from there. Right, brat?” He punctuates his words. Eyes never leaving you as you sink to your knees, your hands rushing to free him from the confines of clothing. You grasp the top of his undone pants and boxers. Namjoon lifts his hips just slightly, allowing you to pull his clothes down. His long, thick dick breaking free and slapping against his abdomen. 

Your mouth instantly begins to water again. You forgot how big he was. Your eyes trailing up his impressive length, refamiliarizing yourself with the long veins that decorate his beautiful cock. The large mushroom tip, angrily colored red as drops of precum leak out. The need to taste him intensifies. You waste no time in taking him into your grasp. Your small hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingertips no where near touching due to the absurdity of his thickness. You slowly start pumping him, gathering each drop of precum as you reach the top to help lubricate your hand going back down. Namjoon lets out a humor content, eyes still hooded as he watches you stroke his dick. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you roll your tongue around his tip. You hear his breath hitch, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before you take him into your mouth. You move your head up and down, starting out with shallow bobs as you get accustomed to his length. Taking him in deeper with each pass until you feel his tip graze the back of your throat. 

Being out of practice, you gag slight on reflex the moment you feel him touch the back of your throat. A deep moan rumbles through Namjoons chest as his eyes flutter close. His hand moves to your hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail as you start to move faster. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, his hips starting to rut up, matching your pace. His groans motivate you, urging you to take him in deeper, faster. Your throat relaxes as his tip moves past your gag reflex. Namjoon starts guiding you with the hand in your hair, slightly pulling up and pushing down rapidly to quicken his pace. You let him take control, bracing your hands on the couch as your apartment fills with the obscene sounds of Namjoon fucking his dick into your mouth. You feel a messy layer of spit forming around your mouth, mixtures of drool and precum dribbling down your chin as Namjoon continues to pump his length into you. You start to gag again, your lungs burning with the need for air.

Out of nowhere he slams his hips up into you, shoving half his length down your throat. Hand firm on the back of your head to keep you in place. Your eyes start to water. A single tear escaping down your cheek as you close your eyes, concentrating on breathing through your nose to try and catch a much needed breath. You feel Namjoon’s cock twitch deep in your throat. You swallow, the sounds of his appreciating deep groans shooting straight down to your core. Another gush of arousal leaking out of you and you feel it drip down your thigh and on to your floor. Namjoon asks you to do that again through a breathy moan and fulfill his command. Receiving a slurred, “that’s my good girl” as he starts moving your head up and down again. You preen under his praise. His words sparking a fire in you and you take back control of the pace in which you suck his dick. Moving faster and taking him in as deep as you can with each pass. A slew of curses fly past Namjoon’s lips as he clenches your makeshift ponytail tighter.

 “Slow down baby or you’re gunna make me cum. I’m not ready yet,” he moans trying to pull up on hair to take back control. You ignore him, bobbing your head faster before you hear a growl roll through his chest. Namjoon yanking you off his dick by your hair as you let out a whine. “I said slow down, you little brat,” he growls, his chest moving rapidly up and down as he tries to catch his breath. You look up at him, a smirk on your lip as you lick around your mouth, gathering up every drop of his salty taste that still lingers. Before you can swallow, Namjoon reaches for your face. Pulling down the corner of your mouth, causing a pool of your precum mixed spit to dribble back down your chin. “You’re just my filthy little cockwhore, aren’t you?” He chides and you hum in approval. 

He releases your hair and face, leaning back into the couch and taking his length back into his hand again as he passes out another command, “Turn around, come sit on my dick.” His abrasiveness only further turns you on, hopping up off the floor quickly and turning your back to him. He quickly removes the remainder of his clothing. Tossing his pants and shirt over the couch to join your previously thrown top. He grabs your waist with his free hand, guiding you down in his lap as he positions himself at your core. He pauses your descent, rubbing his tip teasingly between your slick lips as he holds you up. You let out another whine, trying to push yourself down onto him as you speak without thinking. “Don’t tease,” you whine. You feel him move his tip away from your entrance, not allowing you a second to try and figure out where he went when you feel a harsh slap land on your pussy. You cry out, the sensation a mixture of pain and pleasure. “You don’t get to give the orders tonight, brat,” he growls into your ear. 

Once again repositioning himself at your lips, resuming his teasing back and forth strokes. You whimper in need, trying so hard to be patient, not wanting to give him anymore reason to lengthen his teasing you. As if he heard your inner plea, he stops his tip right at your entrance, slowly lowering you down onto him. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan, eyes closing shut as you feel the slight sting from the stretch of his large size. The hand you braced on the arm of the couch slips, causing you to fall slightly into Namjoon’s lap, taking more of him in. He lets out a deep moan, the vibrations from his chest rumble on your back, causing another wave of arousal to leak from you. Allowing the last few inches of Namjoon’s absurd length to slip in you until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. “Fuck, I’ve missed this tight little cunt,” he groans and you sigh in satisfaction. A small wave of relief flowing through you now that you have him inside you once again. 

A minute passes by as you both sit there not moving; Namjoon’s grip on your waist making it hard for you to move. Your frustration starts creeping up again and you feel your clit pulse with need. You grind down ever so subtly in his lap, trying to create some sort of friction. Your unapproved attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. Namjoon’s hand coming down on you once again, this time the harsh slap landing on your clit. You cry out again, the sting from the slap still lingering but it’s like your body doesn’t even notice, the action only making you grow more wet.

“Impatient little slut,” Namjoon huffs under his breath as he picks up a blue silicone object and slips it on to his finger. He presses a button near the bottom, a faint buzzing sound from the now vibrating silicone ring following shortly after. He presses his covered finger to your clit, still keeping his cock motionless inside of you. You let out a low moan as the low vibrations lick at your little bundle of nerves. Namjoon makes small, slow circles around your swollen bean as he leans your head back with his freehand. He nips at your earlobe. Sweat forming across your brow as he continues his slow circles. A subtle tension forms like a slow coil in your core. The burning need of your growing orgasm, faint but it’s there. It only adds to your frustration, the need to beg for more resting on the tip of your tongue. Namjoon nips at you once more before whispering into your ear, “This little thing has three settings. The more you behave, the higher it will go. Now, are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?” 

You nod your head frantically, words escaping you as you try to focus on the low vibrations tickling your clit, trying to find a way to increase the pressure without moving. Namjoon moves the vibrator off you, quickly replacing it with another slap to your clit. You cry out again, your walls clenching around his length causing a low moan to crawl up his chest. Namjoon presses the vibrator back on your clit, still buzzing at the lowest setting. “Use your words, brat,”he commands through clenched teeth. “Now,” he asks again, “are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Kim,” you stammer, your body starting to shake for the need of just more. Namjoon’s free hand trails up your stomach and cups your breast. He takes your hardened nipple between two fingers, rolling it before giving it a pinch. You let out a choked moan as he chuckles in your ear. “That’s my good girl,” he purrs before clicking the button on the vibrator, bumping it up to the mid level as he presses steady circles into your sensitive bean. You can’t control the wanton moans that fall from your lips. Your thighs start shaking in pleasure as the coil in your pit grows tighter, more of your juices leaking onto Namjoon’s cock and down your thighs. You feel your insides start to flutter, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length ever so often. You hear him let out a soft moan each time, his cock twitching inside of you. You lean back against him, arching your back as he keeps up his steady circles on your clit; showing no signs of his finger growing tired. Your head drops back on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You slowly start rolling your hips forward, pushing your clit harder into the vibrator on his hand. The coil in your pit grows tighter, rolling your hips faster as Namjoon kisses your neck. Sucking red welts into your skin as he twirls his fingers faster, pressing the button on the toy and putting it on its highest level. Both of your breaths start to quicken. You feel your impending orgasm right at the precipice of release, all thoughts leaving your head. The only thing barely pulling your focus off chasing your release is Namjoon’s breathy groan in your ear, his velvety baritone pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You gunna cum, baby?” he rasps, meeting each roll of your hips with his own. You nod your head, your mouth falling open as you feel your orgasm creeping up your body. You feel a rumble roll up his chest, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips as you feel his free hand wrap around your throat. “Well. that’s just too damn bad.” 

He rips the vibrator away from you as he stops the roll of his hips. You start to whine in protest only for no noise to slip past your lips from the hand around your throat tightening ever so slightly. You feel his breath on your ear, tears forming at the corner of your eyes from the pain of your orgasm slipping away. “Disobedient whores don’t get to cum,” he bites into your ear, releasing his hand from your throat as he grabs a hold of your waist. You barely regain your breath when he starts fucking up into you ferociously, selfishly chasing his own release. You feel your orgasm rapidly build back up, shutting your eyes as you concentrate on its warmth. You try to force the knot inside of you to snap, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your goal as Namjoon shifts his hips. The tip of his cock at just the right angle to hit repeated strikes to the rough patch inside of you. You can taste your release, Namjoon’s pace and precision bringing you right to the edge before he rips you off of him, falling back onto his stomach. You cry out from the sudden loss, your walls and clit pulsing painfully from the departure of another missed orgasm. Strings of his cum shoot up from his twitching length, coating your legs and stomach with his release.

He loosens the grip on your waist. You slid your body off of him and on to the vacant part of the couch. Your legs still quiver as your back meets the soft cushion. Namjoon looks over at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving as his cock begins to soften to a semi-hard state. The corner of his lips twitches up into a smirk, causing his dimple to appear just briefly as he moves to crawl on top of you. He hovers over you, his face parallel with yours as he touches your face with his hand, wiping away the tears still clinging to your eyes. “You took your punishment well, baby,” he coos, closing his eyes as he places his forehead against yours, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, catching your lips in a slow, deep kiss. 

You move your lips in tandem. Namjoon lowers himself on to your body, grinding his rehardening cock against your core. He swallows your moans, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. Your movements become more frantic. Namjoon licking into your mouth as he continues to rut into your pelvis, your kissing turning into nothing but tongue and teeth. He pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips as you both come up for air. He sticks his tongue out, cutting the string as he wraps it around his wet appendage. Pulling it back into his mouth, his eyes darken with lust once more as he peers down at you. “Open,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

Your eyes widen slightly, sparkling with anticipation as you open your mouth wide. You stick your tongue out, waiting patiently for whatever he has to give you. After a quick suck in of his cheeks, he forms a ball of spit from his lips, pushing it out with his tongue. It’s slow in its descent down to you. It lands perfectly on your tongue and you quickly pull it into your mouth, swallowing it down before sticking your tongue back as if asking him for more. His eyes light up with mirth, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your lips, trailing more quick kisses down your neck and to your chest. He kisses each of your nipples before settling on one, rolling his tongue around the hardened bud before lightly sucking. You arch into him, his face being smothered by your ample bosom as he continues to suck. 

Sneaking his hand down in between you, he cups your heat. Tracing the outsides of your nether lips as you let out a light gasp. You ground down into his hand, silently begging for him to give your more. Your walls and clit are still throbbing, aching for the not one, but two denied orgasms. He releases your nipple with a pop, briefly grazing his teeth across the surface as he peers up at you. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Please let me cum, Daddy,” you whine, your tone embarrassingly high from need. You don’t have to wait long for him to answer your plea. He gathers your neverending leaking arousal on two fingers. Slipping both inside of you at once, easily able to reach knuckle deep due to your level of wetness. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, taking your other nipple into his mouth as he starts to pick up his speed. It’s not long before the knot beings to reform inside of you, your hips starting to match his pace as you fuck yourself onto his fingers. You let out another whine as he bites on your nipple, taking the opportunity to also slip a third finger into your pussy. He pumps them into you faster, curling them ever so often as he finds the sensitive spot inside of you. Your thighs start to quiver as your toes curl as you reach the edge of your release. Your inner walls begin to flutter, warning Namjoon of your impending orgasm. He curls his fingers again, the well timed graze across your rough patch is enough to snap the knot inside of you. Namjoon’s name falls from your lips like a mantra. Your orgasm washes over you in waves as he slightly lessens his pace, helping you ride out your pleasure as long as possible.

At the first sign of you coming down for your high, Namjoon releases your nipple. He resumes his previous pace with his fingers, quickly moving further down your body and taking your swollen clit between his lips. Your hands shoot down into his hair as he begins to suck. You pull at him, overstimulation causing your body to react on it’s own and try to push him away. He releases your clit, leaning up just far enough to land another slap on your pussy. Another choked cry escaping from your throat. “Behave,” he snaps. The one word the only thing he says to you before taking your bud back into his mouth. Feeling your walls begin to tighten again, he fucks into you faster. He curls his fingers with every thrust into you, flicking his tongue against your bud between different pressured sucks. An unearthly screech rumbles up your throat as your second orgasm hits you fast, harder than the one you experienced just a few moments before. Your gushing release forces Namjoon’s hands out from inside of you. Your juices splashing onto his chest as he releases your clit, moving down just a little lower to your clenching hole. You let out a moan as he runs his tongue between your lips. Obscene slurping sounds ringing throughout your living room as he laps up your juices, drinking down every drop like a man starved. 

Oversensitivity kicks in again. You push at his head, your body barely able to put any force behind it as it still tries to recover from the back to back bliss. Namjoon releases you from his mouth, chuckling at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Evidence of your release still dripping from his chin as he moves back up your body to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, wrapping the muscle around your’s, painting it with the leftovers of your release. The taste of your arousal re energizes you, sucking his tongue between your lips to taste yourself even more. Still kissing you, Namjoon maneuvers your legs around his waist. He breaks the kiss, murmuring for you to hold on. He stands up off the couch, lifting you up at the same time. You let out a playful squeal as you throw your hands around your neck to keep you from falling. His hands are under your ass as he carries you towards the hallway leading to your bedroom. He kisses you as he walks, his hand groping your ass as he balances you with each step. His cock, nestled between your pussy and his abdomen, twitches with arousal from your continued moans.

He barely makes it to your closed bedroom door before pushing you up against it. You use the hard surface to support yourself, leaning back into as you grind your core on Namjoon’s cock. Your slick lips coating his length with your arousal as he ruts up into you, matching your movement. He leans in for a kiss and you catch him off guard. Catching his plump bottom lip between your teeth, biting it every so softly as you suck on it. Namjoon letting out a choked moan as you let it go. He pushes you further into the door, using the extra support to allow himself to position his dick at your entrance. “You think you can cum for me one more time, baby?” He asks you through a smirk, his slightly taunting tone poking at your inner brat, coaxing her to come out and finally play.

“Of course I do,” you state cockily. “The real question is can you make me cum one more time. Baby.” Namjoon lets out a deep growl and you feel the vibrations shoot straight to your cunt. Mixtures of adrenaline and excitement burning inside you as anger sparks like a flame in Namjoon’s eyes. He slams his thick rod to the hilt inside you. You let out a strangled moan from the sudden intrusion. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he pushes off your door. He starts fucking up into you. Gravity brings you down harder on him as he bounces you on his cock. 

“Next time, I’m gagging the little bratty mouth of yours,” he growls. He makes a quick grab for the doorknob, opening the door and stumbling into your room and towards your bed.

Namjoon is still speared inside you as he drops you both onto your bed, scooting you up the mattress until your head meets your pillow. He grabs you under your knee, lifting it up and into your chest, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper, more delectable angle. “This pussy was fucking made for me,” he grunts. Sweat coloring his brow as he continues plowing into you. His balls slapping your ass each time he drives himself to the hilt inside of you. Your hands grasp at the sheets, your eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm growing once again. Wanton moans fall from your lips with every delicious stroke of his cock against your velvety walls. Your pussy is still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, slight oversensitivity kicking in but it only heightens the pleasure. You open your eyes, your lids fluttering from the pleasure as you blink to focus your vision on Namjoon. The street light peeking through the window falls on his face, allowing you to see him, eyes closed with his mouth dropped open, losing himself in the pleasure that is you. As if he feels your stare, he opens his eyes and peers down at you. His pupils are blown with lust yet his gaze brims with so much love and adoration as he continues to stare at you, causing a warm comfort of matching affection to start to bloom in your chest.

Dropping your knee, he slows his thrust. Changing to grinding deep into you as he moves his hands to cup your face. Kissing you deeply, he rests his forehead on yours again, speaking to you softly between labored breaths. “You know you’re the only one I want like this. Or like anything. I only want you.”

Your lips spread wide in a smile, your hands release their grip on the bed sheets, moving to the back of his head. You bring him in for another kiss before returning his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Joonie,” you huff out softly. “Now fuck me.”

Namjoon’s lips break into a quick smirk before pressing a rough kiss into yours. He pushes himself back up. A hand on your waist and his other pushed up against your head board as he starts deeply thrusting into you at an unrelenting pace. Your hands claw at his back as you arch up into him. The sensation of him striking your g-spot quickly brings another orgasm into fruition. A delicious warmth pooling in your core as you feel his movements start to stutter. “I’m close, baby,” he confesses through gritted teeth. His voice is strained as he tries to hold on just a bit longer to his release. Breathy whines asking him to ‘Don’t stop’ the only thing you're able to say in response as you creep closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hand on your waist between you, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in quick circles. “Come with me, baby.” He only lasts a few more pumps into you before he’s driving into you deep, tip pressed firmly into your rough patch as he loses himself to his release. You’re quick to follow him, that last thrust the last push you need to send you over the edge. His seed spilling into you in never ending spurts, filling you up to the brim as your pussy clenches around him. He collapses on top of you, the rhythmic pulses of your walls continuing to milk him for all he’s worth, soaking up every last drop of his release.

You both lie there, chests moving rapidly up and down as you both try to catch your breaths. Namjoon's softening cock still nestled inside of you as you lightly trail your fingers up his spine. After a few minutes, he leans up, pulling himself out of you as you both wince from the loss. The mixture of your combined release starts to slowly leak out of you, dripping onto your bedsheets. He rolls to lay beside you, sliding his arm under your shoulders to pull you into him. The stickiness of your skin from your labored sweat feeling slightly uncomfortable on his, but you don’t care. Still wrapping your arms around him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin on you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that. Or lied about why I was staying late. I just really wanted to surprise you and I’m terrible at keeping secrets,” he says, nuzzling his face into your hair as you scoot in closer to him.

“I know, Joonie. And I’m sorry, too. I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. I promised to be more understanding and I didn’t do that.” He loosens his hold on you, allowing you to lie back on the bed, still facing him.

“Then let’s start over. Try working on things again. This time, as boyfriend and girlfriend,” he asks, smiling down at you as you smile back at him. Propping up on an elbow, you raise your head up and catch his lips in a deep kiss. His smile while kissing you back lets you know that this was an acceptable enough answer. Breaking apart, you lay back down as he moves to trail kisses across your shoulder. “I brought a whole bag of things to use on you, and I barely got to dive into it. Just another thing that didn’t really go as planned,” he says with a sigh, propping his head on his hand as he looks down on you. You glance at the clock on your bedside table before turning back to Namjoon. “The night’s still young,” you purr, trailing one of your fingers down his chest. “How about you spend the night, and I’ll let you use the whole bag on me twice.” 

Namjoon grins wide, mischief coloring his eyes as he maneuvers himself back on top of you. “Deal.”

© All rights reserved under @joontopia​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[flourgirl]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Months after you and Peter have broken up, you run into each other at Harry’s Christmas party.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Both fluffy and angsty. Mentions of alcohol and sex. A mild amount of curse words.

A/N: I’m ALIVE! I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, and Merry Christmas to everybody that celebrates it! I am so happy to be able to share my work with all of you! Enjoy <3

“And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece Till you tore it all up” -All Too Well, Taylor Swift

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Harry had promised you that his roommate would be spending the holidays with May back in Queens. But here he was, wearing the sweater that you had given him last year with his arm snaked around another girl’s waist.

“Hey!” Betty grinned, throwing her arms around you. She had a half-empty glass of mulled wine that you could tell was doing a good job of getting her tipsy. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. We never see each other anymore.”

She pouted, a pair of reindeer antlers where her signature black headband usually sat. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you assured her, still staring at Peter effortlessly carrying the conversation with a bunch of people you didn’t recognize. “Uh, who’s the girl with Peter?”

“Gwen Stacy,” she muttered, obviously not a very big fan. You figured it was because there was only room for one preppy blonde girl, and Betty didn’t feel like sharing that position with anybody else. “Don’t worry though! It’s nothing serious. Peter actually hasn’t really dated anybody ever since the two of you…”

Her voice trailed off as you locked eyes with her, silently communicating for her to drop the subject. It was a relief to know that he hadn’t moved on, but the fact that he was wrapped up in a fling with somebody else still made your heart hurt.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m sure MJ and Ned would love to see you! They’re over in the kitchen.” She reached for your hand, dragging you along through Harry’s expertly decorated apartment. 

You dropped the box of cookies that you had baked on the counter before tapping MJ on the shoulder. She was turned away from you, lecturing Ned on why his secondhand Beyblades were not acceptable Christmas presents.

“Who the hell is touching me?” she snapped, turning around with a look on her face that told you she was ready to throw hands. “Holy fuck. Y/N! How long have you been here?”

MJ’s frown faded into a smile as she pulled you into a side-hug, her other hand busy nursing a glass of Harry’s infamously terrible eggnog. “Only a few minutes,” you laughed, your face smushed into her torso. 

“Hi,” Ned piped up, offering a small wave. You could tell he didn’t really know where he stood ever since his best friend basically ripped your heart out and threw it on the floor. Well, it wasn’t actually that dramatic, but he had a flair for exaggerating stories. “Remember me?”

“Of course, stupid,” you grinned, offering a fist bump that he happily accepted. “How could I forget those iconic fits of yours?”

“True,” he said, popping his collar and doing a little twirl that made Betty and MJ roll their eyes. “You look pretty fly too, though.”

“Thanks,” you replied, holding the edge of your dress as you curtsied, something you and Ned had made a habit of doing as the so-called best dressed members of the group.

“You two are just as ridiculous as ever,” Betty mused, happy to see you still fit in just as perfectly as when you were Peter’s girlfriend, even if you weren’t around as much.

The reunion was interrupted by the loud chatter of a certain couple, and your heart sank as you watched a very drunk Peter and Gwen stumble towards the kitchen, a giggling mess. They situated themselves under the archway that separated the two rooms, a piece of mistletoe conveniently hanging above them. 

You could tell that MJ was ready to put a stop to her friend’s embarrassing behavior, and the looks on Ned and Betty’s faces told you that they had no intentions of holding her back. 

“They���re so gross,” MJ complained, setting down her untouched cup before excusing herself to drag Peter out of his drunken makeout session. “I can’t believe he’d do that when you’re right here!”

“Wait, MJ,” you blurted, grabbing onto her wrist to stop her. She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay. I don’t care about it. I’m just going to head to the bathroom, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You did your best to stop yourself from tearing up, although you realized you had made the utter mistake of forgetting that the very arch that Peter and Gwen were sucking each other’s faces under was the only way out of the kitchen.

Not even a few moments of you awkwardly standing next to them, occasionally clearing your throat, made them notice you. Eventually, the discomfort grew too heavy, and you tapped Peter on the shoulder. He finally pulled away from Gwen, her lipstick smudged across his mouth and a dazed look on his face.

Gwen whimpered at the loss of his kiss, obviously annoyed at the random girl that had just interrupted them. As soon as Peter recognized that it was you, he stepped away from her, wiping his mouth and fixing the hair she had been running her hands through, just like you used to.

“Y/N. I didn’t know that you’d be here,” he reasoned, a blush spreading across his face as a sense of regret settled into his stomach. 

“Obviously,” you sighed. This wasn’t the Peter you knew—the sweet, shy one that you had fallen in love with. “You guys are blocking the hallway, by the way.”

“Shit, sorry,” he stammered, stepping aside to allow you to pass in between them. He followed you, leaving Gwen irritated and confused as to who you were. “Y/N. Can we talk later?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nice sweater, though,” you quipped, not even turning back to meet his gaze before climbing the stairs towards the guest bathroom. Everything felt all too familiar, memories of you and Peter stumbling up the same steps after a date flooding your brain.

The first time Peter had kissed you was after MJ’s birthday party. Neither of you had been drinking, since you hated alcohol and Peter refused to touch any before he turned 21. This meant that you got to spend the whole night laughing at everybody else’s drunken mischief. 

In the middle of his performance of some Nicki Minaj song, Ned managed to spill a whole can of beer on you and Peter, which resulted in many cheers as the two of you ran to his room to grab a change of clothes. Shirts came off, confessions were made, and the party went on without you guys.

You took a deep breath, shutting the bathroom door behind you and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. If you had known Peter would end up being here, you would have never accepted Harry’s invitation. There were so many old wounds being opened up that you had spent months trying to heal, and you weren’t sure some stupid Christmas party was worth it. 

But you didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t fair how much the break up had stolen from you. All of your friends were here and you were tired of shying away from going out with them anymore because you were too scared to see Peter. Too scared that you would never be able to stop being in love with him.

By the time you rejoined the rest of your friends, Harry was announcing that it was time to start the game of White Elephant. You bit the edges of your fingernails as the party guests filed into Harry’s living room, hoping that Peter wouldn’t somehow pick your present.

“What’d you bring?” you asked Betty, squishing in next to her on the couch. 

“Gift card to In-N-Out,” she giggled, satisfied that her present could only be used on the other side of the country. “But Harry’s rich friends might not have any trouble flying their private jets to California, so maybe I’m not as clever as I thought.”

“Heard that,” Harry said, leaning behind you on the edge of the couch. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek, something the two of you had always done as friends but stopped once you started dating Peter. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, you,” you replied, smiling back at him, your leg bouncing impatiently. “We doing this thing or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” he laughed, running out of the room. Moments later, he came back wearing a fake beard and a Santa hat, complete with a miniature sack of toys. 

“Alright, boys and girls. Let’s get this game started! Hopefully you all know the rules, but I’ll repeat them anyway. I draw a name out of the sack, you pick a random present and open it up for everybody to see. The next person that goes can either steal your gift or pick a new one. If your gift gets stolen, you get to do the same. No stealing twice!”

The first couple of people you didn’t really know, and they had all pulled presents that were relatively uninteresting. A scented candle, toilet paper, a pair of socks. Nothing you really considered worth stealing, although Ned ended up taking a framed, autographed photo of Harry from MJ, which resulted in her stealing Gwen’s mini waffle iron.

By the time it was your turn, there weren’t many gifts left. Going with your gut, you grabbed the bag covered in glittering polar bears. Reaching past all of the tissue paper stuffed inside, you pulled out a red sweatshirt that you unfolded to see had a large graphic of Spider-Man printed on it. 

“Oh,” you said, a little confused. The only people you knew that wore stuff with the Avengers on it were little kids, but you figured that was part of the joke. “I mean, I prefer Captain America, but thanks, whoever this is from!”

Peter’s face blushed to a shade of red, amazed that out of all the presents, you picked his. The only issue was that you didn’t know that he was actually the guy on the front of it. Nobody except Ned knew, although he was sure that MJ and Harry had caught on to his secret identity by now.

“Okay, two people left. Jake, you’re up next, buddy,” Harry called out, happily bouncing around the room, his Santa hat now replaced with a baseball cap that had “I Love Ned!” embroidered on it. You watched nervously as he walked around the room, eyeing up all of the presents before settling on the tiny, golden box that you had placed under the tree when you first arrived.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he smirked. Your thoughts raced, immediately feeling a sense of regret over the gift you had picked. “Oh, shit. Sweet! I’ve got a date with Y/N!”

“Sup, baby,” Jake continued, his words slightly slurred. He pointed at you and winked, and you offered him a polite smile in return. “We’re gonna have a good time. Just name the time and place and I got you.”

“Awesome, congrats, man,” Harry said, obviously ready for the game to be over. It had been going for way longer than any of you had expected, mostly due to the fact that two girls wouldn’t stop arguing over a piece of rose quartz. “Okay, we’re nearly finished, guys. Peter, you’re up. Pick any of the gifts that haven’t been stolen yet, or the last one under the tree.”

You locked eyes with him, a familiar scowl on his face that told you he was thinking really hard about which gift to pick. His spidey-senses felt your heartbeat pick up as he walked around the room before stopping in front of Jake, who was busy gloating to his friend about how “hot” you were. Your face heated up as you watched Peter take the little note that you had written out of Jake’s hands, smugly gesturing for him to pick up the present under the tree.

He waved sheepishly at you, and you felt both relieved and angry at his decision. Did you want to go on that date with Jake? No. Were you still mad that, technically, you now had to go out with your ex-boyfriend? Yes.

The game ended and the party-goers dispersed throughout the apartment. You lingered in your spot on the couch, your arms crossed and heart full of mixed emotions. Peter, whose gaze never strayed from you, walked over to where you were sitting.

“We don’t actually have to go out,” he whispered, hoping that you’d actually look at him this time. “I just didn’t think you wanted to go out with that guy. He seemed like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, it would have been nice if you let me decide that. You’re not my boyfriend, anymore Peter. We aren’t even friends. You don’t get a say in who I go out on dates with,” you grumbled, your eyes focusing on everything in the room except for him.

Before you could say anything else, Peter had already grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away from the rest of the party. Strangely enough, you went along with it, a little curious to hear him out.

You started to remember your first date, and it was almost like you could hear his excited laughter after you finally managed to knock a pin down. It became a tradition that whenever you had something to celebrate, Peter would pick you up and twirl you around until you had to beg him to stop.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Peter slamming the door behind him and cornering you against it, his heartbeat racing. He had pulled you into the laundry room. “I can’t stand seeing you with anybody else,” he panted, eyes flickering down towards your mouth.

His hand pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, and your breath hitched as you felt his rough fingertips against your skin. But before he could lean in to kiss you, you were ducking underneath his arm and backing away.

“Peter, we really shouldn’t,” you whispered, watching the disappointment wash over his face. No matter how much you wanted to kiss him, you just couldn't forget how he had broken your heart months ago. “It’s over, okay?”

“Y/N, please. I—”

“You what? You love me? Because last time we were together, I told you how much I loved you and you said that we should break up. Remember?” you cried, embarrassed at how you couldn’t control your emotions anymore. “You’re just… you’re too late.”

You fumbled with the door, slipping through the opening before rushing towards the balcony. As soon as the cold air hit you, a wave of relief washed over your body, and you laid your head against the metal railing. Your breathing slowed and time seemed to stand still as you watched the snowflakes flutter through the wind.

“Peter’s an idiot,” you heard a voice call out from behind you. You turned to see Harry holding an extra coat in his arms, and you started to wonder just how long you had been standing out there. He draped it over your shoulders before leaning next to you against the balcony’s edge.

“Huh?” you asked, wondering if he knew what had just happened. You looked at him, the multicolored Christmas lights reflecting off his shiny hair. “What do you mean?”

“He’s stupid for ever letting you go,” he remarked. He had a look in his eyes that made you unsure of what he actually meant. “I mean, look at you. You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. And if he was dumb enough to throw all of that away, then yeah, Peter’s an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks, I guess,” you shrugged, your voice faint under the music that was still playing inside. You looked at him, his cheeks a rosy hue, which you couldn’t tell was from the cold or whatever he was trying to tell you.

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you,” Harry admitted, laughing a little bit at how nervous he was. Everybody knew that he was a player, so being flustered over a girl was uncharted territory for him. “I never told you this, but you were my first kiss.”

“Wait, really?” you asked, a little shocked at his confession. “But I thought you kissed Sarah Emerson on the playground in the fifth grade?”

“Nope. I was just a liar,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. “It was right before our eighth grade formal, when you asked me to teach you how to kiss because you were scared that Jeremy Pellegrino was going to try and french you.

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” you laughed, suddenly remembering just how long you and Harry had been friends. “Hold on a second... You gave me kissing lessons without knowing how to kiss!?”

“Guilty,” Harry chuckled as you punched him on the arm. “Ow! Damn, Y/N. When did you get so strong?”

“I have a lot of rage,” you mumbled before the two of you burst out into laughter, which slowly faded into a comfortable silence. 

“You don’t feel that way anymore, right?” you wondered out loud. Harry looked at you, smiling softly.

“No, not anymore,” he affirmed, and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved back. “I think what really helped me get over it was seeing how happy you and Parker were when you were dating.” 

“He misses you a lot,” Harry continued, his tone more serious than before. “He keeps this scarf that you left behind under his pillow because it still smells like you. I found out because he was having a pretty bad dream one night and I had to try really hard to calm him back down. And we both thought Gwen would help him move on and get his mind off of you, but I think she only made him realize just how much he still loves you—”

“Harry,” you interrupted, cutting his rambles short. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you and Peter should be together.”

“You think so?” you asked him, pulling the jacket tighter to keep you warm.

“Yeah. We all do.” It took only seconds for Harry to realize his fumble, accidentally admitting that the whole thing had been planned by him and your friends.

“We?” Your frowned, all of the coincidences from tonight suddenly making much more sense. “Wait, did you know that Peter was going to be here tonight all along?”

“Uh… yeah, about that. MJ, Ned, and I have kind of been pulling a Parent Trap on you guys.”

“HARRY!” You glared inside to see them not-so-secretly watching the entire exchange from behind the Christmas tree. Ned did some awkward finger guns, which MJ immediately swatted down. “I am so going to get you guys!”

You marched inside to where your friends were attempting to hide, the rest of the party guests too drunk and oblivious to notice what was happening. 

“The eagle has left the nest. I repeat, The eagle has left the nest!” Ned yelled, ducking behind MJ, who was already shielding herself with a throw pillow.

“What’s going on?” Betty whined, half-asleep on the couch. “Is this that stupid plan about Peter and Y/N?”

“It’s not stupid!” Harry grumbled, his voice cracking a little bit. You could hear MJ snorting about it from her hiding spot. “Whatever, Michelle.”

“Shut up!” she shouted back.

“No, you!” he said, crossing his arms and standing his ground.

“Make me,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes and shooting daggers at him.

“Uh, guys. This isn’t about you two,” Ned interrupted, snapping them out of their mini argument. There was a weird tension between them that you just knew you would have to address some time in the future.

“Right,” MJ continued, sticking a middle finger up at Harry before turning to you. “Y/N. You should go talk to Peter.”

You nodded, exchanging hopeful looks with each of your friends before walking away. They might be dramatic goofballs, but you loved them so much that you didn’t really care.

Wandering around the party, you spotted Peter trapped in a conversation with Brad Davis, who was explaining his conspiracy theories about the Denver Airport and its demonic horse statue.

“So, all I’m saying is that they’re totally planning the end of the world over there. I mean, the Freemasons built an entire bunker for when they activate the nukes!” he rambled, Peter politely nodding along to his nonsense.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Brad on the shoulder and batting your eyelashes at him. “Can I borrow Peter?”

“Uh, yeah, totally, Y/N,” he stuttered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk. You could smell the peppermint Schnapps on his breath.

“Great. Thanks, Brad!” you smiled, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him towards the staircase. By the time you made it to his bedroom, he had already asked what was going on about ten times.

“Why’d you dump me?” you asked, the two of you sitting together on the edge of his bed, your knee brushing against his. He could tell you were wasting no time in getting to the point. “Be honest.”

He stared at the floor, unsure of how to answer your question. You reached for his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles until he looked up to see you smiling at him. His eyes were starting to water. “Just tell me, Peter. It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I was scared of how much I love you. I mean, Liz was just a crush, and Gwen was a hookup. I’ve only ever loved you, Y/N. Before we met, I had to watch May’s heart break day after day when we lost Uncle Ben, and when I realized how much I loved you... I just wasn’t sure if I could handle ever losing you like that. And so I felt like I needed to protect you from all of the people who would want to hurt you.”

“Hey, Peter. Calm down. I’m right here,” you whispered, wiping a tear from his face. You watched as his breathing slowed, eventually evening out. “Why would anybody want to hurt me?”

“Because…” he started, hesitating a little bit. “Because I’m Spider-Man.”

Your eyes grew big as you mulled over what he had just said. “Are you being serious right now?”

He nodded, feeling a weight lift from his chest. Your eyes followed him as he walked over to his closet, digging around through piles of clothes before he found what he was looking for.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out. Peter was holding up Spider-Man’s suit. His suit. The sweatshirt from earlier made a lot more sense now.

“I would never lie to you,” he said, folding it up and sitting back down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing the right thing—that you’d be safe—but I was so stupid. I, uh, I think about you all the time. I worry whether you’ve gotten home alright and how your little brother’s doing and if your mom got the promotion that she wanted and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, something you had been dying to do ever since you shut his bedroom door. “I forgive you,” you sighed, gently playing with his hair.

Peter stared back at you, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Does this mean that we’re back together?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, before leaning into another kiss. And another. And another.

“Wait,” Peter said, breaking away from you. “I have a present for you. It’s actually from when we first started dating, but I was waiting until Christmas to give it to you.”

He moved to his desk, digging through one of the drawers before pulling out a flash drive. “Here it is,” he smiled, dropping it into your hand. It had your name scribbled on it next to a cat sticker. “It’s a playlist. Of all the songs that make me think of you. I think it’s got around a hundred on there?”

“Wow,” you beamed, marveling at the little piece of plastic in your hand. “You’re making me look bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Not true. You owe me a date, remember?” he reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling you into his lap.

“You’re right. Let me think,” you hummed, running through all the ideas of what the two of you could do. “Oh! I got it. The Central Park Squirrel Census for this year just got released. What if we analyzed the data? You could do the wrangling and I could do the visualizations!”

“I love you so much,” he laughed, pressing a kiss onto the tip of your nose. You giggled as Peter buried his face into your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightening. “But you are such a nerd.”

“I’m your nerd, Parker,” you agreed, leaning further into his embrace. “Always have been and always will be.”

—————-

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P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[ifmywishescametrue]

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up. 

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide. 

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically. 

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now. 

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?" 

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air. 

"What do you want from me on the spot?" 

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is. 

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one. 

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables. 

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace. 

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again. 

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do. 

Rhodey falls into it without question. 

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror. 

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?" 

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body. 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though." 

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story." 

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way.  He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together. 

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee. 

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back. 

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila. 

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck. 

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar. 

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully. 

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it. 

But he doesn’t do any of those things. 

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore. 

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his. 

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing. 

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again. 

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest. 

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say. 

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room. 

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale. 

Tony isn't supposed to look like that. 

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that. 

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back. 

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise. 

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again. 

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer. 

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again. 

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You��re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while. 

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t. 

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue. 

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back. 

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before. 

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes. 

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place. 

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology. 

Each one still means everything.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - I Know That You’re Scared (Part 2/3)

Continuation of ‘Because Hearts Get Broken’ - see my masterlist for it :)

Synopsis: She’s trying to move on. He’s still hoping for a chance

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angsty, bruh, but with a sprinkle of fluff and a hopeful (??) ending

Warnings: swearing, emotionally distant mindset... can’t think of anything else, really. 

Word count: 3656

Heartbreak isn’t loud. Y/N doesn’t even know if it had a sound what it would be like. Like glass shattering against the ground? Or maybe like a book being ripped and shredded apart, memories of time spent together ruined. Or maybe it'd like the crackle of a fire, as it slowly but surely crept up and turned everything into charred remains before it became nothing but ash and was carried away by the winds.

        No one in her family talked about feelings. If they did all they received back was ‘suck it up. That’s life’. After that, it was time to move on. So, when she got together with probably the most open-hearted person in the world, it was almost laughable.

        Y/N had always been the friend others went for advice, relationship or not, but she herself never asked for one, simply because she didn’t wanna bother anyone. Not that she thought the others were bothers. It’s just having grown up in a household where emotions were basically suppressed, opening up was quite impossible. 

       Then came Harry. Perfect, impossible, loving, sweet, kind, ridiculously open Harry. God, she just wanted to punch him because no one should be that nice. 

        January 2nd, 2020 he’d called her up, having gotten Y/N’s number from Sarah (after ages of pleading, because as much as Sarah sometimes couldn’t handle drunk Y/N, she’d defend and protect her until the very last breath), and they set up a coffee date.

        Slowly but surely, they spent more and more time together and seeing as her job had her based in LA for a while, visiting Harry was no problem. Then the pandemic hit, and on March 18th the whole stay-at-home order was issued in California. 

        Y/N was in a panic. She was meant to leave LA in ten days, and the hotel her company was paying for had been paid until the 28th. With all flights getting rapidly cancelled, she was scrambling to get one, but even her firm was unable to get her a seat. That’s when Harry had called up, his tone a worried, urgent mess as to if Y/N was alright and what her plans were.

        Of course, him being him, he immediately offered her a place to stay.

        “We don’t even need to stay in the same room, there’s like five other guest rooms you can take up,” he tried to joke, and ease her tension.

        “Fuck, Harry, just rub it in how rich you are.” Y/N cackled, and when she heard him laugh in the background, her heart did that stupid fluttery thing she’d grown so used to. 

        It took a little persuasion from Harry’s side, and reassurance at least seven more times, that Y/N wouldn’t be intruding on his space, and he was more than happy to spend the quarantine with someone else, instead of being alone, and that in no way her taking over a room or two would limit him and his own artistic endeavours. So, apprehensively Y/N packed her suitcases, grabbed an uber, wearing a mask the whole time, and drove to Harry’s place.  

When Y/N saw the gated community and the palace he was living in, the inside of her cheek was practically bitten in half. They’d barely been together for three months, and now she was basically moving in with him, but given how it was either live with Harry in a fucking mansion or walk across the country to New York, she took the first option. 

        As much as Harry loved on her, pretty much shagging her brains out every possible second, and loving on her until her cheeks hurt from smiling, the anxiety about the whole situation never left.

Harry was worried about his mom and sister, Y/N was scared of what was happening in New York. So, when the state boarders opened, immediately, although reluctantly, she flew back to her apartment and her dying plants, but never forgetting to FaceTime with Harry. But they couldn't stay away long from one another.

        Which is why they decided, given how she was able to work from home now, and Harry could do so as well, they’d fly over to one another every two weeks, quarantine together for the next two weeks, and then fly to the other place. Her boss actually loved the idea that Y/N was so willing to go back and forth between the two cities, so all her flights were written off as business expenses, not to mention when she said she wouldn’t need a hotel, he was more than thrilled to let her be in LA whenever she wanted, as long as her work got done.

        It seemed funny to her now, that before Y/N couldn’t wait to get back to the sunny state of Cali. Now when she had to fly over (which was just a couple of times since the breakup), going through JFK security made her sweat, and landing was a vomit-inducing action. And the last time she’d gotten back to the home-base state, she’d actually thrown up, Harry’s last words ringing in her ears.

        It’d been three weeks since Sarah’s New Year party, and three weeks since she’d spoken to him although he still kept calling. Every morning she’d wake up to a couple of notifications of missed calls, and each time she’d listen to the messages; it was all the same – I miss your voice. And every time she’d listen to it, her thoughts were exactly the same. You could say it was almost pathetic as to how many times she’d listened to his albums, just to hear him sing. Almost like he used to do right before she fell asleep.

        But Y/N had no one else but herself to blame for it. She’d been the one to call it quits, she’d been the one who walked out of his apartment, and the one who decided she wouldn’t fight. 

        Now, she was sat by her small magazine table, documents spread out in front of her as if a tornado had rolled through, while an apple and cinnamon candle spread its delicious scent through the air. 

        Y/N would only admit it once because, well, the proof was all over the apartment, but she was very lazy when it came to taking away the Christmas décor. It made her feel warm and comfy. And it reminded her of Harry. How when she’d woken up after their first date, already in the new year, he still had colourful fairy lights strung across the curtain rods, giving everything a soft, cosy glow. 

        He’d also been the one who convinced her that a real Christmas tree was so much better than a plastic one. 

        “Yes, it’s a hassle,” he’d said through slurred words as they’d slinked away from the partying crowd after the countdown was done, and each of them had taken three shots of vodka. “But it’s so worth it. Smells like a fucking forest in your room. Like proper Christmas!”

        And although she’d spent this holiday season alone, Harry had been right. Just like he’d been right about Y/N.

        She tapped her pen against the glass surface and readjusted her position on the floor.

        “This is the periodic table, noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively,” Y/N hummed as she highlighted the incorrect parts of the paper in front of her. “Each period will see new outer shells, while electrons are added moving to the right.”

        Just as she was about to start off the second verse, her doorbell rang, and her stomach gurgled in response.

        “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. “Pasta come to fuckin’ mama.”

        But when she opened the door, she wasn’t greeted by the Uber Eats delivery man.

        “Harry.”

        Y/N was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to visit her, especially not so soon and especially to fly out to New York (as much as he was most likely there to do other stuff as well, her gut told her he was there for her). 

Sure, she hoped that one day they could be friends, if not acquaintances, he was too important of a person for her to lose completely from her life, but that was looking like five years into the future.

        “I bring gifts.” He raised his hand where her boxes of food hung in a paper bag. “Can I?”

        “Uh, yeah, of course!” She shook her head to clear it from the shock and allowed Harry to enter into the warmth of her apartment and escape from the cold January air.

        “I was on my way up when the delivery man came in, and I recognised by the boxes it was yours.” The smirk on Harry’s face was something Y/N loved to see, but usually, she liked to also wipe it away. Preferably with her own lips. 

        She let out a small scoff, not waiting to see if he followed inside, as she scurried to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed two plates, while he opened up the white cardboard containers and allowed the delicious smell of spaghetti Bolognese as well as a carbonara waft into the air. Y/N had wanted to eat the latter at some point during the night when the munchies hit, but she supposed Harry was probably hungry as well. “Maybe there’s someone else here, who likes Italian.”

        “Probably, but only you would order from the shittiest Italian restaurant just because they have pesto and parmesan bread.”

        “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “They’re not shit. They provide me with everything I need – calories, carbs and bread.”

        “What more does a person need?”

        “Exactly!”

        Both of them let out small chuckles and then settled down on her couch to dig into the meal. They ate in silence, and despite Y/N’s initial shock, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, they were sitting pretty much shoulder to shoulder, as she watched Harry re-read the spread-out articles on the table and use her marker to tick some stuff that could use re-wording. He had a knack for words, after all.

        “I uh…” He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided by the diner before clasping his fingers together and looking at the woman sitting next to him, as she slowly set her empty plate on the small cupboard beside the sofa. “I was hoping we could talk.”

        Y/N hung her head. She should’ve known he wasn’t here to just check-in and have some dinner. “We already did. Twice might I add. What makes you think this time the ending will be different?”

        “Third times the charm?” Harry let out a little laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t wanna leave everything the way I did. I – I said some pretty shit things.”

        Y/N fiddled with her thumb. ‘I had,’ Harry’s words echoed in her head. ‘Only she didn’t trust that I loved her the same.’ “Nothing that was untrue though.”

        “See, that’s where I think both of us are wrong.”

        That was not what Y/N thought this conversation would be whatsoever.

        “I – “ He cleared his throat. “I know I said I didn’t think you trusted me that I loved you enough. I think you know I did – do.”

        If Y/N still had any food in her mouth she would’ve choked on it, as she bit back the rising lump in her throat, but instead of interrupting him, she let Harry continue. “And honestly, it’s not your fault that it fell apart, ‘s my fault too. I pushed you to do something, you didn’t want to, weren’t comfortable with, when you told me not to… just because I wanted to feel important, ‘nd because I wanted to get a role in your life you weren’t ready for yet. And I’m sorry for doing that. I should’ve never forced you.”

        “Harry…” Y/N was at a complete loss. “I – I don’t really know what to say.”

        He took her left hand in his and clasped it, finally able to properly say what'd been eating away at him. “During the New Year party, I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just – I was just still so hurt, and I wanted you to hurt the same because… it didn’t seem like you cared at all, which I know you did… I know you loved me, and…” He took in a deep breath. “I hope that you still do. At least enough to give us another chance. We can take it at your pace,” he instantly added, knowing how she’d react, expecting the sigh and the almost tired and resigned ‘Harry’ that escaped her lips. But he’d say everything on his mind. “You can take how long you need to feel like you can trust me with what’s bothering you.”

        “Harry,” she repeated, but it didn’t seem like he was about to stop.

        “But I think we can do it, and we can do it right this time. We know where we stand, we won't make the same mistakes.”

        Y/N’s hand came to rest against his cheek, and he practically melted, engulfing her palm with his as to not let her touch leave his skin for even a second. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

        “Look, I know, you’re scared, and the thing is, so am I. I don’t want it to end like that or end. Period. But I do want to try again.”

        And if nothing but to humour him Y/N asked, “And if it does end the same way?”

        “It won’t.” He was so sure of it, she had to laugh.

        “Harry, the big difference between us is – you like to talk about your feelings. You like to go through them and stuff. I don’t. I feel… icky when I even think about talking to someone of what I feel. We’re just too opposite.”

        “Opposites attract.”

        “No,” she pointed a finger at him, stifling her laughter, though Harry seemed not to be hiding his smile. “Do not use science against me.”

        He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not, I’m just supporting my point with facts. Scientific facts, that you can’t argue against.”

        “I mean…” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno… Maybe it was a good thing we ended it when we did. It was ten months – almost ten – amazing months, but… can you imagine if we’d gone so far as to think about moving in together, and then it fell apart? That would’ve been a whole different kind of a mess.”

        “Do you love me?”

        Y/N sighed, resting her cheek against the couch while she smoothed away his brown locks from his face. “Of course, I do. Don’t think there will be a time in my life I don’t.”

        “Then that’s all I need.”

         “Is that really enough for you?”

        “Yes.”

        And there was no lie in that single word. Did he want for Y/N to feel comfortable enough with him that she talked about whatever concerned her, however small? Of course. But he also wanted her to be comfortable enough to be herself. If that meant her keeping things to herself, and trusting Harry to support her decisions, it’d be enough.

        Her Y/E/C eyes hadn’t left his green ones, and they only widened as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to hers.

        “Haz…”

        Fuck, how he’d missed her calling him that. It wasn’t an exclusive nickname by any means, but when it came from Y/N’s mouth, it was the sweetest sound in the universe.

        He was her Haz when he broke a plate, he was her Haz when she threw her head back as pleasure exploded through her body, he was her Haz when he took her hand in his to quell her anxiety, and he was her Haz when he gave her tissues as they watched a movie, and she couldn’t help but cry each time a dog or cat died (or a dragon, but he was a sobbing mess as well because ‘Dragonheart’ messed with them both).

        His lips were so close, and just as they skimmed over her own, Y/N’s phone rang making her physically spring back, eyes like saucers.

        “S – Sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to find the annoying device between the cushions. It was Sarah’s name that lit up her screen.

        “Hey, what’s up?” Y/N started, voice trembling and shaky. God, when had she suddenly gone so out of breath? And why was her head so dizzy, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster?

        “Yeah, he’s here,” she replied, eyeing Harry. “Yeah, just a sec,” and Y/N handed him her phone with a quiet ‘why’s your phone always dead?’

        ‘Didn’t know it died’, he said, but that was untrue. He’d turned it off so this sort of a situation wouldn’t happen; so a call or text wouldn’t interrupt him at the most critical moment. He had to give the universe a proper talk once he was done.

        “ ‘Ello?” 

        Seconds of silence passed, and Y/N didn’t like how weird it was, so she took the empty plates and put them in the sink to soak.

        “Now?”

        She could see the frustration rise in Harry as his forehead creased, and he let a hand rake through his hair. “Fuck’s sake… yeah, I’ll be there in ten. ‘S alright,” he sighed. “Not your fault Sarah. Tell Jeff not to worry, and that I’m not dead.”

        With that, he pressed the red button and ended the call, drumming his fingers against the screen. God, he really didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not after he’d been so close.

        “Uh, work?” Y/N asked, arms crossed in front of her as if she was protecting herself from the answer. 

        “Yeah, sorry. I uh a meeting from tomorrow got rescheduled for tonight, like right now because there was some sort of an emergency from the label’s side."

        “ ‘S alright, I get it. Showbiz never stops.” Y/N motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

        There were a couple of times in his life Harry wanted to give himself a beating. Once when he was six and Gemma had told on him after he’d broken a favourite vase of their mothers, he decided to get revenge and destroy her favourite plushie. He’d never forget the tears Gem had cried, and how absolutely heartbroken she’d sounded. He vowed although he was the little brother, to never ever let anyone hurt her like that, and if someone did, they’d meet their maker sooner rather than later.

        The second time was when he was still a teenager, One Direction on the rise, and it had gotten to his head just a little bit more than it should’ve. He’d gotten really messed up at a party (which Harry shouldn’t have even been at). The disappointment on his mother’s face as she scolded him through FaceTime was gut-wrenching enough to make him promise to always know the limit.

        And Harry guessed this was the third time.

        He could’ve said no to the meeting. Jeff was there and so was Sarah and Mitch. The three of them could handle it for him. It’s not like he would mind much whatever they came up with if it had given him the time to settle things with Y/N. 

        “It was great to see you, Harry.” She brought him out from the thoughts as she unlocked the door and opened it for him, bringing her jumper sleeves over her palms to hide from the cold outside air. “Really. I – I missed you, and honestly, I’m glad we got to talk. I uh well, take care. And say hi to Sarah from me please.”

        “I – “ he took hold of Y/N’s wrist before she could turn away. “I’m holding a small concert in a week. Here in uh in New York. It’s for charity… I want you to come.”

        “I umm… I’ll have to check if I’m free, but yeah. I will. Thank you.”

        “ ‘S no problem… Sarah missed you like crazy now that you’re not in LA as often… ‘n yeah. Anyway. I’ll put your name on the guest list, so just bring some ID, and they’ll let you backstage.”

        “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll really try to come.”

        “Yeah.”

        And he was going to go without doing anything else. Harry truly was. But as he released her wrist, going to the stairs, he gave Y/N one last glance back, and it was like his feet had a mind of their own, as they carried him back to where she stood by the still open door, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips to hers. 

        He expected Y/N to push him away, but to his very huge delight, she didn’t. Instead, her fingers wove through his hair and her legs almost on instinct rose so he could take her by the thighs, wrap them around his middle and press her against the doorway. 

        The groan that Harry swallowed from Y/N only ignited the fire that’d been burning ever since he met her, but it wasn’t the destructive kind, like the ones that leave nothing but charcoal behind. It was warm. Safe. Like the light of a fairy light. Like the embrace of home.

        “Come to the show,” he muttered against Y/N’s lips, as they broke apart, and he set her down on the ground, not letting go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “I’ll wait for you.”

        With that, he left because if he didn’t, he’d make sure Y/N would be unable to walk for a week.

        And Y/N watched him retreat while her brain fought with her heart.

        What was it he’d sung in ‘Golden’, as he’d twirled her in the sea of bodies and glitter a little bit more than a year ago? ‘Loving is the antidote?’ 

        Maybe love was the antidote to her fear.

        She closed the door.

        And smiled.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘Fine Line’, ‘The Periodic Table Song’, ‘Welcome to the Christmas Parade’ (Welcome to the Black Parade mix with All I Want For Christmas) and ‘Rasputin’ Boney M remix exclusively... I feel like a complete crackhead... :D

Decided to tag also those who wanted a part 2 but didn’t necessarily ask to be tagged :)

P.S. I guess there will be a part 3???

P.S.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list drop me a message :)

[tooruluv]

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 3 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,210

warnings/notes: um yeah. this one moves fast, but this whole fic is basically about this one scene, this one part. so enjoy. no serious warnings, just strong language and some gay shit. angst.

tag list: @afuckingunicornn​

prev | next

“You’re... gay?” you whispered.

“It isn’t a fucking slur, you drunk ass.” Iwaizumi spoke, shoving you with his arm (making you hit your head on the door, but you barely noticed). “And I don’t know what exactly I am, but I just know it’s not straight.”

“Matsu?” you turned to the other boy. 

“I’ve been gay, and Iwa is sexy as fuck so who am I to deny his sexual awakening?”

It almost made you laugh.

It was hot in the closet. Dark. And you were squished in between two (very tall) men. A single light hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly.

“I uh,” You were so numb. You played with your sleeves. “I watched ‘Kawa make out with this girl. Stood there like an idiot and watched it happen. And it… it sucks to like know about it but to see it…to watch it happen…it’s way worse.”

“Oh,” They both said, sadness laced behind a whisper.

“You were going to tell him, weren’t you?” Matsukawa inquired.

You gasped, turning wide-eyed to Iwaizumi. He held his hands up in surrender. “You told him?” and “I didn’t tell him I swear!” coming out of both of you at once.

“I knew for, like, years now.” Matsukawa interrupted. “You’re the most obvious person ever, just so you know. You might as well be the fucking heart eye emoji whenever you look at him.” He paused to gauge your reaction, which was nothing. “Back to my question: you were going to tell him, weren’t you?”

“I..” you bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, I think so? I don’t know. I just know I really wanted to talk to him and see him and hear his voice. And I still do. But now my mind is full of him and the really pretty brown-haired girl exchanging spit.”

“Gross.”

“Maybe we should get out of the closet and get some air.”

The next morning, you woke up on the floor in the guest bedroom. Iwaizumi had taped a piece of paper to your forehead (“drink water” it said), and a blanket was wrapped around your upper body. You could not remember what happened after leaving the closet, how you ended up in the guest room, or why you were on the floor and not in the perfectly good bed above you.

But, nonetheless, you got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Where the fuck is Oikawa?

A loud thump interrupted your thoughts. Yup, there he was. You let out an annoyed groan as he decided to make the most noise possible on his way to the kitchen.

You pulled yourself onto the counter, wanting to slam your head against the cabinet. You never got hangovers, why was today the day you got one?

“Well don’t you look beautiful this fine morning.” Oikawa greeted, smiling.

He always looked his best in the morning, you thought. He may come across as perfect, but it makes your heart do flips when he comes in with bed head and his glasses on. Not to mention he looked absolutely gorgeous in the morning sunlight, beaming and bright.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Your eyes were still closed.

You heard movement, a cabinet open then close, and only opened your eyes when he stood in front of you (in between your legs, no less). You held your breath.

“I look amazing, and you know it.” He was so close you could feel his breath. He brushed his teeth, the smell of mint circling you. Why was he so close?

He reached forward, pressing his hand to your forehead. Still half awake and clearly extremely hungover, you leaned into his touch as he moved his hands to your cheeks. His eyes scanned your face, but your eyes never moved from his.

His hands paused and stayed on your neck, just below your jaw. Hovering.

Unconsciously, you leaned forward. Only a little bit.

And he did too.

Your lips were so close. If you wanted to, you could kiss him. Just like that. A few centimeters away, and you could do what you’ve wanted to do for years. Feel what it would be like to be one of the many girls who had their lips against his. The air was so tense, so full of something you couldn’t explain. Just a few centimeters. Was he leaning in too?

He moved back.

“Medicine for your head, and you have a little bit of a fever so there’s something for that too.” Oikawa spoke. His voice sounded deeper, but maybe you were just thinking things. A small cough from him. He put pills into your hand. “You get something to drink. I’ll start picking up trash, you’re on…”

“Cups and cans duty.” You finished. It was always the routine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t slack off too much, you fucking drunk.” He joked, smiling at you with a trash bag in his hand.

You rolled your eyes at him, throwing the nearest empty can at him. You smiled, but your heart was aching.

The first time Oikawa had ever thrown a party, it was a disaster. 

People flooded the house, though it was only supposed to be a small get-together and ended up a huge banger. The school talked about it for a while. An increase in his popularity.

The two of you were left to pick up the mess. 

“Where the fuck do we start?” you asked, staring into the abyss that was once his living room.

“I’ll pick up the garbage and you pick up the cans and bottles?” Oikawa suggested. “If my mom finds any alcoholic beverage in this house she will pelt me with my own volleyballs.”

“I’ll help too.” Oikawa’s older brother said from the doorway, trashbag in hand. “Let’s get to work. We only have until six.”

Matsukawa soon joined your routine.

For the past month or so, Iwaizumi would eat lunch with you in the library as you studied for the entrance exams. Oikawa would join sometimes, or he would come right before lunch was over. He liked to eat lunch in the cafeteria, liked to “have that break from studies”. You two didn’t mind, you got more done without him distracting anyway.

Matsukawa had become your third-party during Lunch Study Dates. You didn’t complain, and you didn’t ask the two of them what exactly their relationship was. You joked with Iwaizumi that you were simply there to hide the fact they never stopped flirting. He would just laugh.

“Wait, you almost kissed?” Iwaizumi asked, studies long forgotten.

“I think so, yeah.” You kept your eyes on your paper. “It was weird, and the air was super heavy. And he hasn’t talked to me since. Not even while we were cleaning.”

“Not even a text?” Matsukawa asked.

“Not even a wave in the hallway.”

“Now that’s weird.”

“You’re telling me.” You finally looked up. “I.. Nothing has ever happened between us like that. Ever. And it was so out of nowhere, like, you would think our first almost kiss would be some cool moment or something. But it was just us, and I was hungover as fuck, and we just spent the rest of the afternoon in silence. And all that there has been since is just that. Silence.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Matsukawa reached over to place his hand over your wrist. “You know what. Tooru is an idiot. He is. I would have kissed you.”

“You’re gay.”

“And I would’ve kissed you. That’s the highest compliment you can receive. Accept it, woman.”

Growing up with Tooru Oikawa, you knew many things about the boy that many didn’t. You knew that he always put extra syrup on his pancakes and waffles, you knew that he always preferred hot showers rather than the cold ones his mother always tells him to take for soreness, and you knew that he practiced more than anyone could imagine.

He grew up with a volleyball attached to his side. He set it whenever he could, he would serve it into your yard (and then go get it and serve it back into his). He would ask you to join, but you always just watched.

Growing up with Tooru Oikawa also made you witness his growth. And you think that’s another reason you fell in love with him.

His passion was indescribable. You couldn’t count how many times people (including yourself) have told him to relax, take a day off, remind him to eat and drink. But his heart was in it, no matter how much it distracted him from daily fleets. You admired him for that.

You didn’t have that Thing growing up. You tried a lot of different things, different hobbies and sports and classes. But you never had that thing that you had so much passion for that you had to remind yourself to breathe.

One week of silence. One week of nothing from your best friend. Not a text, a call, a smile sent your way. Not even an eye contact.

It was strange. Your entire life had revolved around being around him, your routine included smiling and walking with him in the hallway, fixing his tie in the morning.

He was already in class when you came to school. And his tie was straight.

You decided to spend most of your free time in the library, knowing that Oikawa didn’t find himself in there very often. If he was going to avoid you without an explanation, you could avoid him just as hard and for just as long. That was your logic.

Iwaizumi joined you, plopping himself down on the couch beside you. It sat in the back of the library, in the corner away from everything. You were being Sad TM.

It was so stupid, of course. To be upset or sad about something that didn’t even happen; at something that almost happened but never did. Iwaizumi reminded you that it wasn’t about the near kiss, but the silence after.

A body appeared out of thin air in front of you. You wouldn’t mistake the boy for anyone in the world.

“’Kawa.” You said, looking up. He looked way taller from your position on the couch. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He said. No “nut” this time. He fidgeted with his fingers. “Can I get my jersey back? The one you wear to the games?”

Your eyes shot up.

“’M sorry?”

“Can I get my jersey back?” he asked again.

You felt Iwaizumi put his hand on your thigh. You must’ve been shaking. One week of complete silence and complete rejection and absence only to be met with the break of a tradition.

“Um, yeah.” You blinked. “Yeah. I have it at home, I can stop by later and give it to you.”

“Just bring it tomorrow. Before the game.” He spoke. But his voice didn’t sound like his. It was forced. Since when was talking to you a task?

“O.. Okay.”

A pinky promise was something taken very seriously. As kids, it was treated with the upmost respect and honor.

It was middle school, and the team announced that for a special tournament, and for school spirit, that the players would pick their best friend to wear their jersey to the games.

Oikawa immediately came to you with his “away” jersey, proudly holding it up. “Pinky promise me that you will always wear my jersey to my games!”

“Pinky promise!” you had told him.

You wore the jersey as you wrapped your pinky around his. Wearing his jersey became one of your favorite parts of going to his games.

Guess in high school, pinky promises don’t mean the same thing.

The thing about Tooru Oikawa is he never dates. This was something you knew for certain. He has never once had an official girlfriend, and he always talked about how he never planned on having one (“They’re both a distraction and a big responsibility,” he would say. “Besides, what would I need a girlfriend for when I already have a girl who does everything for me?” he would add).

Which is why you were surprised to see him hand in hand with a very familiar girl later that day. The long perfect brown hair, the long legs. After seven days of not speaking to you, he had a girl wrapped around his arm as though it was the most casual thing of him to be doing.

You stopped in front of them, trying your very best to hide your confusion.

“Oh!” he smiled, saying your name. Acting as though he hadn’t just asked you to turn in something that had meant something important to your friendship (at least it did to you). “You haven’t met Sana. My girlfriend.”

The aforementioned girl, Sana, smiled at you. Perfect teeth, of course. She gave a slight bow before reaching out her hand. Girlfriend.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve been waiting to meet Tooru’s best friend!”

You forced a smile as you shook her hand. “Nice to meet you too, Sana.”

You looked over her shoulder, to Oikawa (who looked nervous, fidgety in fact), and to Iwaizumi and Matsukawa (who stood a bit further away, but just as shook and confused as you).

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (5)

masterlist.

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD, background drug use

*****

Riley waited a full week before talking to Nikki again. Probably not her best move, but Nikki didn’t need to be such a baby either. 

Hey we need to book flights, Riley typed. 

The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before Nikki sent back, Come over. Let’s do it together. 

Ok.

An hour later, Riley hesitated before knocking on Nikki’s apartment door. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet here she was, standing outside like a timid guest instead of letting herself in like she always did. 

Deep breath. “This is ridiculous,” Riley muttered to herself. Her knuckles collided with the wood in three sharp knocks. 

Muffled footsteps approached the door, and then Riley was met with Nikki’s soft smile. “Hey,” the blonde said. 

“Hey.” Crossing the threshold, Riley didn’t know what to do with her hands. She tried to put them in her front pockets before realizing her jeans didn’t have pockets. Nikki would take crossed arms the wrong way, so Riley clasped her hands in front of her. That felt wrong too. She settled on clasping her hands behind her back, slightly widening her stance like a soldier. 

She’d learned that from an Army guy her mom dated once. 

Nikki grabbed her laptop and set it on the kitchen counter. Looking at the screen, she said, “I started looking at flights before you got here. They’re all pretty expensive because it’s Fashion Week, but I think I’ve found some good options.” 

Riley kept her distance, but she said, “Whatever you think is best.” 

Nikki’s eyes slid to her, disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

Riley tensed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You always have opinions on flights. Always.” That was true. When it came to running a job, Riley never let someone make a decision without her input. 

But her apology had to start somewhere. If Desi, of all people, thought she needed to apologize, then she couldn’t just sweep this under the rug. And giving Nikki back some control after refusing to do so before seemed like a good place to start. 

“You can pick. I trust you.” Riley shoved down the burning need to look over Nikki’s shoulder as her gut churned, unsteady and anxious without having complete control. She quickly wiped the grimace off her face, but it was too late. Nikki saw it. 

“Riles, are you okay? You look like you’re going to puke.” Nikki studied her with a concerned frown. 

Riley squeaked, “Yep. I’m good.” 

Her friend wasn’t convinced. “You hate this, don’t you?” 

“Just book the fucking flights, Nik.” She fought not to squirm the entire time Nikki worked, only relaxing after the deed was done and Nikki closed her laptop with a soft click. 

“Need anything else?” Riley didn’t miss the clear dismissal in Nikki’s tone. 

“Uh, yeah.” Riley awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, just to give her hands something to do. “Jill told me about that jewelry designer who rented out the Louvre,” she said. “That wasn’t just a casual conversation you two had, was it?” 

Nikki glanced down. “No, it wasn’t. But you already knew that.” 

“Why not just tell me yourself?” 

“Because you wouldn’t have listened to me!” Nikki tried and failed to speak calmly, her normally calm exterior crumbling with each word. “When I questioned you in the kitchen, you pulled rank and basically told me to shut up. If I had suggested an alternative target, you would’ve blown up in my face right in front of everyone!” A pause. “You’ve changed. The Riley I know doesn’t do things like that.” 

Her words stung, but Riley kept her expression neutral, the way she’d learned to do in prison. “Desi thinks I still hold a grudge against you.” 

“Do you?” Nikki asked softly. So, so softly, almost like she was afraid of the answer. 

Nikki’s change in tone and the apprehension lining her eyes was enough to make Riley lower her guard. Not all the way, but just enough to say, “I don’t know. Maybe.” Nikki swallowed. “It’s complicated,” Riley backtracked, desperately trying not to make things worse than they already were. 

“So how do we fix this?” Nikki asked. “Fix us.” 

Talk to her, Jill had said. 

“Talk about it, I guess. Not all today,” Riley quickly added, “but over time.” 

“Okay.” Nikki chewed her bottom lip, and Riley waited, knowing her best friend had something more to say. Nikki’s voice was thick when she finally said, “It’s okay that you’ve changed. Of course you have. It’s not fair of me to hold that against you. And I’m sorry that it’s my fault you had to change to survive in there.” 

Neither of them could say the word aloud. Prison. Riley could barely imagine a future where she could easily say it. 

“Do you really blame yourself?” 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“That’s why you visited me so much, isn’t it? Because you felt guilty.” 

Nikki looked down. “It should’ve been me in there, not you.” 

“Bullshit. I made a choice, and I’d do it again if I had to.” Riley wasn’t entirely sure the last part was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Clearly it was, because Nikki met her gaze, eyes brimmed with tears and a sad smile just barely curving her lips. 

“Thank you, Riley.” 

The moment hung heavy in the air between them. Riley felt it then, the gravity pulling her toward Nikki—the same force that drew them together outside that art gallery all those years ago, like the universe was telling her they needed each other. Riley spent much of the last two years cursing the universe, but this...this was the one thing the universe did right. 

Riley closed the distance between them in two long steps, flinging her arms around Nikki and holding her best friend tight, letting the hug convey the last thing she needed to say. 

I’m sorry. 

Nikki clutched her just as tightly, like she was afraid Riley would disappear again if she didn’t hold on tight enough. 

Breaking the silence, Riley asked, “Do you want to go shopping with me?” 

“Like Target and the grocery store shopping? Or maxing-out our credit cards on Rodeo Drive shopping?” Riley snorted. This was normal. Like it was before. 

“I, uhh, tried on all my party clothes the other day, and none of them fit anymore.” Riley tucked her face into Nikki’s neck, not wanting to see the pitying look on her friend’s face. She expected another comment, or for Nikki’s hand to feel her ribs, but neither happened. Instead, Nikki simply pressed a kiss to her temple and continued to hold her, with no sign of letting go any time soon. 

Almost as if she were an anchor, refusing to let Riley get swept out to sea. 

*****

Riley studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The metallic red mini dress she’d bought earlier clung to her curves like she’d been wrapped in plastic. She’d expected pity as she pulled it off the rack, but Nikki had been nothing but reassuring. Even after Riley had sent her from the dressing room again and again to grab a smaller size. 

She’d left with a pile of clothes small enough to fit a wraith-like body like Cage’s. 

Now the team was at an exclusive party at a mansion in the Hills—courtesy of Cage’s endless social connections—for a little fun. And by fun that meant stealing stuff from a notoriously overbearing, sexist, and overall obnoxious director. He had it coming, to say the least. 

Desi had to work— “Drunk assholes won’t bounce themselves out of the club,” she’d snarked—but Jill agreed to tag along. That way she could get her feet wet in a real heist and show the rest of the team what she could do. 

The four of them—Riley, Nikki, Cage, and Jill—huddled off to the side of the spacious living room as Cage explained the plan. “Get a load of this,” she said, a feral grin lighting her face. It was one of the things Riley admired most about Cage, her passion for the job. “Six months ago, this guy paid millions at auction for a miniature painting. But because of the crowd that attends his parties, he hides it in his personal safe in his office so nothing happens to it.” 

Considering the utter debauchery all around her, Riley didn’t blame him. Every guest had either a drink or pills in hand, often both, and she vaguely recognized the actor snorting cocaine off the kitchen counter. In the darker, more private nooks of the mansion, people slunk to the shadows to devour each other in semi-private. Riley made a point not to look too long in those directions. 

Jill clearly hadn’t yet learned to do the same. She asked, wide-eyed, “Whose house is this?”

Nikki gripped her chin and turned Jill’s attention back to the group. “It’s better that you don’t know.” 

Frowning, Jill questioned, “Why?” Always so many questions with her. 

“Because you’ll chicken out.” 

“I will not!” she shrieked. Nikki just smirked. “Okay,” Jill amended in a much quieter tone, “maybe a little.” 

“Anyway,” Cage redirected. “I’ll go into the office first and make sure it’s empty.” And remove anyone who is there, she didn’t have to say. “Riley and Nikki will hack the safe—” they both nodded— “and Jill will make sure you two don’t leave any evidence behind.” 

Riley itched to get her hands on that safe. Stealing that random man’s wallet a week ago had only made her more hungry to get back out there, doing what she did best. She eyed her team. “Don’t get caught.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki and Cage parroted, just like old times, and then Cage melted into the crowd, making her way to the office. 

The remaining trio followed at a much slower pace, pretending to admire the eclectic collection of artwork hanging from the walls. Riley’s cursory glance snagged on a cartoonish painting of a pug driving a Porsche on some tropical highway. The director had bizarre taste. Knowing Nikki was doing the same, Riley kept the office door in her peripheral vision, waiting for Cage to reemerge. 

Meanwhile, Riley pulled her phone from her clutch. To any onlookers, she was merely responding to a text message, but in reality she was hacking into the director’s home security system. It was easy enough, since the whole thing was connected to his WIFI, and the director was dumb enough to leave his network accessible without a password. 

Although, it wasn’t like bypassing a WIFI password would’ve slowed Riley Davis down. 

Riley didn’t understand this guy. He hosted drug-fueled ragers in his mansion, yet also cared enough about security to have interior cameras. Why would he want proof of what happens within these walls? 

Unless…

Gagging, Riley refused to finish that thought.

Cage emerged a few minutes later with a wasted middle-aged woman in tow. She met Riley’s gaze just long enough for two slow blinks. Coast is clear. 

Riley looped the office camera feed so it only showed the empty office, giving them plausible deniability of ever going inside. “Let’s go,” Riley murmured. She slipped into the now-empty office, trusting Nikki and Jill to follow. 

The director’s office, like the rest of the mansion, was ultra-modern, all sharp angles and sleek, black and white furniture. A distorted statue of a giraffe was the only exception, standing beside the door like a sentry. It’s glassy black eyes made it seem like it was watching them. Freezing, Riley checked the angle of the camera she’d looped. It matched the giraffe’s eye-level perfectly. 

Sneaky bastard. The camera was in the giraffe’s eye. Clever, but creepy. 

Embedded in the far wall, behind the director’s messy desk, the safe was relatively new and very high-tech. And while the fancier ones were always harder to crack, user-friendliness came at the cost of security. In the case of this particular safe, the battery compartment for the keypad was part of the keypad itself, so the batteries could be changed easily. But that also meant that by taking out the batteries, someone like Riley would then have direct access to the wires inside the keypad, and thus, an easily hackable way in. 

Nikki slid on a pair of cotton gloves before taking out the batteries and wiring the keypad to Riley’s phone. Riley reached back to brush her curls out of her face, but Jill stopped her with a firm hand on her forearm. 

“Don’t touch your hair. You don’t want any loose strands to fall on the floor.” Riley raised her brows but did as she was told. “You should’ve worn your hair up.” Jill gestured to her own meticulously pinned bun. No stray hairs would be escaping that thing. 

“Good to know.” Riley turned her attention back to cracking the safe. 

It took just under a minute. 

“Losing your touch?” Nikki teased. “That took forever.” 

Riley rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” 

Once the safe was open, they didn’t waste time poking around. All they cared about was the painting, no matter what other valuable things the safe contained. The painting was even smaller than Riley had pictured. The canvas itself could’ve fit in the palm of her hand, and the frame made the whole thing about the size of a birthday card. 

Nikki shoved the painting down the back of her dress, the frame’s sharp angles hidden beneath her ridiculous fringed suede jacket. Considering how well it hid the painting, maybe Riley shouldn’t have made fun of it. But only maybe. It was still ugly. 

Riley and Nikki locked the safe, and the trio slipped out of the office undetected. 

In short, the heist was flawless. 

Nikki immediately peeled off, joining Cage in flitting around the room and saying hi to all sorts of people. Nikki seemed to actually know several of the guests, although not nearly as many as Cage did. Cage was acquainted with everyone worth knowing in LA, plus quite a few who weren’t. 

Riley much preferred to be a fly on the wall, watching but not interacting. 

Jill stayed back with her, mouth agape at all the blatant drug use. “I’ve lived in LA for a long time, so I know that happens here,” she said, “but, like, it’s different actually seeing it, you know?” 

A young couple knocked back a handful of pills with shots of something clear, and Riley grimaced. “You can join in if you want, although I don’t recommend it.” 

“Absolutely not!” Jill squeaked. 

“Good choice.” 

Nikki made her way back to them, slinging her arms around Riley and Jill’s shoulders. “Ready to go?” 

Riley had been ready to go the moment they’d locked the safe. If Jill’s overwhelmed expression was any indicator, she was ready too. 

All that was left to do was collect Cage. 

The blonde stood across the room, batting her eyelashes at an attractive, dark-haired man. Her airy giggle floated above the pulsing music at something the man said. Jill coughed. “Umm…”

Riley quickly put her out of her misery. “It’s fine. Cage flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“She’s just like that,” Nikki added. “Stick with us long enough, and she’ll flirt with you too.” 

“Doesn’t that upset Desi?” Riley and Nikki exchanged a knowing look. “Wait, what am I missing?” Jill hissed. 

“So many questions,” Riley teased, linking arms with both blondes. Nikki laughed, and together they dodged wasted partiers on their way to grab Cage and go home.

~ Tag List ~ (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@macrileyedits​ / @hellishrose​ / @incorret-macgyver-quotes​ / @mylifequotesshowallofthem​ / @thecarrieonokay​

[honeyedlashton]

Leave Your Mark With Every Bite

Words: 2,949

Warnings: smut, also general anxiousness and anxiety around this whole thing.

Ship: Lashton (I’m so sorry I’m in a mood to write them half broken up)

A/N: this idea hit me in the shower, and I don’t know why I felt the compulsive need to make these two be trainwrecks, but, fuck am I here for it. I need angsty Lashton cause I’ve written too much fluff. So here you go. Here’s some “we shouldn’t be doing this,” for reasons I’ll leave open to interpretation. (I have a few in mind but, not everyone agrees with my sentiments, so I don’t wanna step on toes.) So take it as you will, here’s this toxic ass version of their relationship.

—————————————————————————— 

“i need to see u”

The white letters on the blue bubble stood out. The first non-grey text in a week. Luke shook reading it over. He shook even worse seeing the three little grey dots pop up on the opposite side of the screen.

It was a long time. Too long watching the graceful bouncing of the oversized ellipses. Their grace did nothing to soothe Luke’s mind. It had to have been a full minute l before those grey dots turned into: “On my way now...”

Luke could only guess the horrible things Ashton had erased. It was implied through the passive punctuation. And not for the first time this hour, he felt guilty.

He sat on his couch and hugged his knees to his chest, he was wrapped in his big white hoodie. He was safe, but not really. He was still shaking and racing a million miles a minute.

He found doing nothing made the seconds feel twice as long. So he fidgeted with his guitar. Not really playing anything, just giving his hands something to do. Anything to keep him from thinking too hard about what he was doing. Or why he was feeling guilty at all. He knew he was in the right, so why did he feel so horrible about it?

Eleven minutes was all it took. Enough time to send Luke into multiple spirals, and enough time for Ashton to arrive.

Luke saw the lights in the driveway, and practically threw his guitar out of his lap getting up to race out the door. He grabbed his keys as he left.

It was one of those peculiar times in the mid-spring where it rained in L.A.

Luke didn’t slow down, running up to the passenger door and got inside, barely looking at the illuminated figure that was warm and dry and staring back at him. Music played softly through the speakers, some melancholy soundtrack that seemed to match his mood perfectly. Luke buckled in before either of them could say anything. “Let’s just...drive,” Luke managed after a second, finally looking over at Ashton.

Finally. The interior lights had switched off, but the dashboard’s white lights on the dials made Ashton’s cheek and jawline stand out as he looked back at Luke. Glasses on, hair soft. He looked like the boy Luke loved so much.

He suddenly wanted to cry.

“Okay,” Ashton nodded, and reversed back out of the driveway. Silent and stoic. Two things Luke knew Ashton rarely was. Tonight was the exception.

The roads were almost empty, but not. Empty for L.A. Empty for 2 am on a fresh Friday. Empty for a pandemic. But not really empty at all. Luke could barely hear the music over the sound of the rain and the engine and the road, but it didn’t bother him. Being surrounded by these familiar things—Ashton’s leather seats, the smell of his air freshener, the smell of him—made Luke feel safe in a way the hoodie just couldn’t.

“Do you hate me?” Luke asked after they’d turned out of his suburbs.

Ashton scoffed in a way that showed real amusement. “Of course I don’t hate you. Whether the feeling is mutual or not’s the real question, though.”

Luke didn’t answer for a second. “I want to. I wish I could.”

Ashton nodded like he’d been expecting that answer, and just drove on at a green light.

“Don’t be worried.” Luke knew he was, “there’s still lots of love keeping me from thinking about it too hard.”

“Where am I driving us?” Ashton asked, even though he had already made a few of the decisions already.

“Beach.”

Ashton’s expression didn’t change, and he just drove on.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Ashton asked.

“Not answer me,” Luke huffed, and realized only before Ashton looked at him just how hypocritical he sounded. “I have an excuse...”

Ashton sighed. “I know...”

“I don’t wanna talk about that,” Luke grumbled. “Any of this shit. I texted you for a reason you know.”

“Why did you text me?” He didn’t sound hostile, just tired.

“I miss you.”

Almost like that was what he had been waiting for, Ashton’s hand dropped from the steering wheel and reached for Luke’s in his lap. His fingers were chilly from the air conditioner, but then again so we’re Luke’s. He pressed their palms together like Ashton was a lifeline. He felt his angst deflate in his chest. And he even reached to turn up the radio.

Its about a forty minute drive to the beach, and Luke knew this before asking. But he needed to see something other than his house, and right now, everything looked better than that. But the ocean was the only thing Luke loved to look at. Even at night, even in the rain.

The horizon was vast and open. The gradient of dark grey above faded to light grey as the clouds above hit nearly pitch black water. Ashton parked in front of it. An empty parking lot overlooking the grand beach. Their spot.

As soon as Ashton’s car was in park Luke nearly jumped into his arms, without words, without unbuckling. His lips found Ashton’s in the dim light, and Ashton’s didn’t shy away. All that was on his mind at that moment was savoring the feeling. The taste. The idea of having him this close. His Ashton.

Ashton only broke their kiss after a second to cut off the headlights and unbuckle his seatbelt. “Luuu...” Ashton groaned. “What are we doing?”

“Anything you’ll let me do,” Luke whined against his lips, unhappy that they kept getting interrupted.

“Not what I mean,” Ashton murmured.

Luke knew that, by the way he pulled away as he spoke.

“Luke...” Ashton urged.

“Please...” Luke whined looking at Ashton’s silhouette in the dark. Without any lights in the car, or streetlights around, it was hard to see anything at all. “Please, don’t ruin it. I need you...” tears pricked his eyes as he spoke, and he felt the lump rise in his throat.

And whether Ashton could see Luke’s eyes water in the dark, or he decided to give in, Ashton met Luke’s passion with a vengeance.

Luke felt Ashton’s nimble fingers fidget clumsily with Luke’s seatbelt buckle before he felt himself finally free from it. He wasted no time climbing over Ashton’s lap. It was awkward, it hurt his knees, but, god...he needed this, and he wasn’t talking himself out of it. He wasn’t letting Ashton talk him out out of it. He deserved to be reckless.

Ashton’s lips broke away from his and he immediately wanted to cry again, till he felt soft open lips pressed to that sweet spot on Luke’s neck. Hot and dizzying and stirring his nerves into a frenzy. He sighed with his eyes going out of focus. “Oh, Ash...” he whispered.

The prickle of Ashton’s stubble poked at Luke’s neck, and it jolted him in ways his own facial hair couldn’t. Luke found his hands tangled in the soft black curls. Even though he couldn’t see them, he’d remembered how fluffy it had been. He smelled like his shampoo and conditioner. He melted a little more at the familiarity, and tugged the locks in his fists.

“Fuck,” Ashton hissed. His arms tightened around Luke’s waist, and hands ghosted over his round bum in his shorts.

“Fuck me,” Luke whimpered, but he knew Ashton must have been expecting it. “Right here. I don’t care. I need you. I’m sorry.” Every sentence punctuated an inhale or exhale.

Ashton was seemingly two steps ahead, maneuvering the seat back, and Luke down with him. “I thought you’d never ask...” he leaned up to chase Luke’s lips again, which were happy to find his. Eager even. Just like Luke’s hands were to find the zipper of Ashton’s jeans.

Luke hadn’t fucked in a car very many times in his life, but he’d done it enough to know how to slide his partner’s pants down without moving more than necessary. It was a skill he was proud of. It was a skill he showcased now.

They were ill-prepared for this task. No lube. Just a condom in Ashton’s wallet and hopefully enough combined spit to not split Luke in half.

He wore his hoodie, while his shorts wadded uncomfortably around only one of his knees, as it pressed into the seatbelt buckle on Ashton’s side. But Luke wasn’t picky—at least he refused to be right now.

He felt high. He felt drunk. He felt relieved to kiss Ashton and feel his kiss back. He’d spent nights dreaming of being this close again, but only after the thousands of daydreams of killing him faded with the sunset.

Luke pushed back on Ashton’s three fingers. Eager. Hungry for touch. Hungry for only Ashton’s touch.

And just like he’d hoped, Ashton reminded him of that. “Missed me so much...couldn’t stand to be away from daddy could you?”

Luke shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he blushed across his nose. He was finally getting stimulation and degradation. It was basically the perfect day, minus his anxiousness. “Needed daddy. M-missed him so much...”

Ashton purred softly and kissed behind Luke’s ear. The heat ran directly down Luke’s spine and pooled in his tummy. “Well, daddy’s right here. Gonna fill you up and make you forget all about it,” he scissored his fingers one last time, before pulling out.

Luke whined, feeling empty and cold again, but that was only before Ashton placed the familiar thick tip against him. He practically rolled his eyes back like he hadn’t felt it in months. And officially he hadn’t...but if shit like this counted... well, then that was a different answer.

He rocked his hips back against Ashton, and panted, “please, please,” he whimpered and begged. “I’ll be so good. I promise...”

“‘Please, please’ what, baby? What are you asking for?” Ashton’s voice dripped with condescension, and Luke knew the week of leaving Ashton on read was coming back to haunt him.

“Your c-cock...” Luke hiccuped. “Need it...”

“Well you got it right there, sweetheart. What more could you want?”

“Want it inside me. Want you inside, right now...”

“Yeah? You sure you don’t wanna think about it some more? Don’t wanna make me wait a little longer?”

“Nuh-Uh...” Luke shook his head rapidly. “Just want you inside me, please...”

Ashton wasn’t a torturer, and Luke knew that. He wasn’t one to make Luke beg too much when he was this distraught. So he pushed up into him at that last “please” and Luke had to struggle to catch his breath.

“Oh! Mmm!” He gasped and furrowed his brows. Ashton’s hands splayed large and steady over part of Luke’s bum and the small of his back, as if guiding him to move. As if Luke needed the help.

“Goddamnit...” Ashton gulped and, Luke’s eyes must have adjusted to the complete dark, cause he could see a little shape of Ashton’s jaw, as he tossed his head back. “Why the fuck did I ever agree to let you go?”

“Shhh, daddy...” Luke whispered and kissed at Ashton’s cheek, when he thought he was aiming for his lips again. “Don’t ruin it...”

Ashton only seemed to get worse then. He gripped Luke’s skin under the hoodie, to the point it felt like he’d bruise. “Then remind me whose pussy this is...” Ashton growled, crashing his hips up against Luke’s small circular movements.

Luke felt it brush against his spot, only that once. And then he was left to chase it on his own again. The whine he’d let out was pathetic. And it didn’t answer Ashton’s question at all.

“Huh?” Ashton smacked his bum, and the clap of skin on skin stung in their ears only briefly since the car absorbed so much sound. “Tell me...”

“Yours, daddy...” Luke whined, cheeks hot.

“My what? Use your words”

“Your pussy. It belongs to you...” Luke hiccuped without remorse.

Ashton snapped his hips up again and Luke felt the white heat rush all over his body. Luke chased it, throwing his hips down like he couldn’t take it anymore.

Ashton panted out moans and crashed their lips together. All lips and teeth and tangling tongues in the darkness, but it was heat. And it felt and smelled and sounded like Ashton, so Luke would take everything he could.

He whined into the kiss, his body basically overheating the closer he got. The music on the radio subsumed the random thoughts in Luke’s head, at least the only ones not actively chasing release. His legs ached, his body felt ridged and achy, but he didn’t stop.

And all at once he didn’t remember the bad shit. He didn’t remember the problems or the reason they were forced apart. All there was, was them both holding each other for all of eternity.

“You’re slacking,” Ashton growled though his breaths were short, “pick up the pace, princess.”

Luke whined and dug down to do it despite the protest in his thighs. Because in reality, he loved when Ashton pushed him. He craved the approval too much to protest. “M trying,” he pouted.

“Well do better. You asked for daddy’s cock, so at least act like you want it.”

Luke blushed and slammed his hips down and he could tell by the way Ashton sighed he did perfectly right. “That’s more like it...” he purred. “That’s the little bunny I know...”

Luke hugged Ashton’s shoulders and buried himself further into his neck. Panting the warm heat of Ashton’s cologne and his own breath recycled back at him till it was suffocating. “There! There!” He clung to him with a desperate whine, nosing behind his ear. He wanted complete closeness. If he could press their chests within each other and wrap Ashton’s ribs around his, he would. And Ashton hugged him back just as feverishly.

The tidal wave of orgasm hit him hot and fast. And Ashton seemed to notice before any words could tumble out of his mouth. He was already kissing at Luke’s jaw. “Cum, baby. It’s okay...” he murmured against his skin. Luke melted into that, spilling all over his tummy under his hoodie with a pathetic whine. And then it was Ashton’s turn to groan and cum between pants of pleasure and heat exhaustion.

The rain had picked up at some point in their throes, and now drummed down on the car with loud taps. The radio seemed quiet by comparison. Only their heavied breaths really stood a chance against the backdrop of sound.

“Lu...” Ashton whispered after they had calmed, their bodies still pressed together in a lovers embrace.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

It hurt to hear. But Luke knew it would have hurt him more not to hear it.

“I love you, too...”

Ashton sighed like he’d deflated and shifted under Luke. It took every ounce of strength the blonde boy had to push himself away from Ashton so he could sit the seat back up.

“We have to stop doing this,” Ashton said softly. Not reprimanding him. He got a napkin from the glove compartment and lifted Luke’s hoodie to clean him up. It was like clockwork. Luke came to expect that phrase now after meeting up in secret.

“I know.”

“I have to stop saying yes. But you’re so easy to give into,” Ashton pouted.

“I know.”

“We have to be—.”

“Please don’t say it,” Luke pleaded, and the tears he’d been pushing down welled up again. “Please. I don’t want you to talk about it, I don’t wanna think about it. I just want you, and I don’t want to think about the consequences of my goddamn actions for once! Please...I already know. So will you just hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay without taking it back?” The rain of Luke’s tears fell down his cheeks and landed somewhere into the void of darkness.

“Okay...”

“Okay. Because I love you, and I hate you. And I can’t let you go...” he sobbed into Ashton’s neck. He wasn’t too surprised to feel Ashton’s arms wrap around him. They always did when Luke was in pain. Even when they were the two most opposed people on the planet.

Luke found it so annoying.

But he just hugged Ashton closer, crying harder. “I wish you hated me. I wish we could break it off and go our separate ways for good.”

Ashton pet his hair, and it annoyed him more.

“Don’t you think I’ve been a bitch? Aren’t you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not. I’m worried. I want you. I wish that we didn’t have to—. I wish things were different.”

The problem was, Luke could tell that Ashton was telling the truth. And it hurt even worse. “Well wishing isn’t gonna make it any better.” He stared at the foggy windows. “Let’s stay here tonight. I can’t sleep without you.” He admitted petulantly. Like a kid in time out.

Ashton cut off the car at that, and held Luke close. “Then we’ll stay...”

Luke unsurprisingly only thought about the consequences that would lie in wait for them tomorrow, but for now he was safe. And warm. And familiar. And coming down from so many intense emotions that he just didn’t care. He let them drift off with every flourish of Ashton’s feather light touch on his back.

“Don’t ever let this moment end.” Luke whispered into the gentle thrum of Ashton’s pulse as he faded into sleep. And he knew if Ashton really loved him he’d lie.

And right before the tendrils of sleep took him under, he heard the gentle confirmation in two words:

“Never ever.”

[romanticrising]

Thinking of You//JJ Maybank x Reader

Inspired by Katy Perry’s song Thinking of You (highly recommend you listen to that while reading this)

Summary: I’m bad at these but basically the reader was dating JJ before her parents went full Kook and she tries to move on and starts dating this new guy but JJ comes back into her life and smut ensues

Warnings: smut, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drug use, probably some angst in there, cheating, probably something else I’m forgetting

Michael is not a real character, he’s just some guy I made up for the sake of this

This takes place before, during (kinda), and after Season 1 but the plot of the show isn’t super relevant to the plot of this

This is also my first time writing like a whole smut thing so idk if its good or not

Part two is here

I once thought breaking a bone would be the worst feeling ever. I was wrong. The worst feeling was losing JJ.

I got swept up into Kook life like grains of sand in a swell. My life went from surfing and stealing kisses to cocktail parties and Rafe Cameron. Almost immediately after JJ and I called it quits, I got pulled straight into the whirlwind that was Ward’s eldest. He was sweet when he wanted to be, and reckless. He didn’t have the recklessness I loved about JJ, but a more dangerous kind that was intoxicating all the same. Of course, it didn’t help that he was developing a cocaine addiction, but I was drawn to him. Our relationship was flawed; there was no doubt about it. But I let myself believe I had feelings for him. It was either that or let the hole JJ had left consume me. 

The first time seeing him after our breakup was at the infamous kegger down at the Boneyard. We locked eyes across the beach after he downed a beer to impress some girl. Just looking into his light blue eyes was enough to stir up memories of our time together.

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice drowsy from sleep. I barely stirred from where I was lying with my head on his bare chest, just offered a hum in response. This was my favorite place to be, wrapped up in him, me in nothing but my underwear and his T-shirt, him in nothing but his boxers. My legs were sore from the previous night and I knew I had a ton of hickeys I would have to cover up later.

“What if we took the Pogue out into the marsh today and spent the day there, just you and me?” He was trying to wake me up now, tracing patterns on my lower back under his shirt.

I grumbled in protest but pulled myself off of him. I blinked a couple times to get used to the sunlight that was quickly filling my room. JJ always looked good, but seeing him sprawled across my sheets, cheeky grin playing at the corners of his mouth made me think, Holy fuck, I love this boy.

“Okay,” I said, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. I brushed my hair to one side and leaned down to catch his lips with mine, loving the way he ran his hands up my bare thighs. “Or, we could just stay here…” I pressed kisses along his shoulders and up his neck, slowly rolling my hips down onto his. He growled low in his throat and rolled me over, pinning me to my bed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, baby,” he said between kisses. 

I curled my fingers through his blonde hair. “Prove it.”

The next time I saw him was at Midsummers, and the sight of him in any kind of uniform was enough to make me choke on my champagne. He always did look hot in a collared shirt. I watched him run into the coat room, and I watched the security guard carry him out moments later. I watched him disturb the stuffy atmosphere of the party and run off with Kiara and Pope. I wished so much that I could’ve gone with him, but he made it very clear he didn’t want anything to do with me when I went “full Kook,” and besides, my place was here now. With Rafe. 

But Rafe broke up with me after he realized I was still in love with JJ. Of course, he didn’t know it was JJ; no one did. We kept our relationship secret, which was another reason why I couldn’t vent about losing him to my new Kook friends. I couldn’t even vent about him to Kie, not that she would want to talk to me. It wasn’t my fault my parents had chosen to abandon the Cut after they went full Kook and dragged me along with them. 

So I found an outlet in the only place that had ever calmed me down before: the ocean. I went night surfing whenever I could, and slept on the beach when I was too tired to make my way home. Sometimes I would run into couples sneaking around at night or drunk teenagers around a bonfire, but they never bothered me. I stayed out of their way, they stayed out of mine. 

One night as I walked up the beach with my surfboard, I noticed a dark shape watching me. It creeped me out until I realized that it was just some guy probably trying to sober up. Except, then he called my name.

We sat side by side in silence for a while, listening to the water. It was easier when I couldn’t see him. Easier when I didn’t have a constant reminder of what I was missing. When it became too much, we spoke at the same time. That was us alright: so in sync we spoke simultaneously.

“Look, I’m sorry I—”

“JJ, I—” We laughed for a moment, and then we realized we weren’t what we used to be. 

“You go first,” he said.

“I, uh, thanks.” I paused. What I was about to say was going to break my heart, but I had to let him go. If he wanted me back, he would’ve said something by now. “I just wanted to say I think you were right to call it off.”

Silence. Then, “Yeah.”

I turned to him. “What were you going to say?”

“It doesn’t matter. Have a nice night.” He stood up, brushing the sand off his shorts. I wanted to call out to him as he made his way up the beach, but I didn’t. Better to let it lie. We were over, for good. 

A couple months went by, disrupted only by the scandal of John B and Sarah getting lost in the hurricane after he supposedly shot Sheriff Peterkin. I head rumors that it was Rafe who’d killed her, but I tried to stay out of it. I was busy making a fresh start with a new guy, a Kook named Michael. He was clean cut: a golfer who took me out to dinner on the weekends and touched me like I was a fragile sculpture, nothing like the way JJ used to make me feel. He was safe, good for me. My parents liked him. He never drank too much or smoked. He opened the door for me, and called me every night. We slept together, maybe once or twice, but every time afterwards I couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if it had been JJ instead. I knew it was wrong, but when I kissed him I pretended I was kissing JJ. It seemed that the more I tried to get him out of my head, the more I fell in love with him. 

A couple weeks into dating Michael, I went night surfing again, just for the hell of it. At one point I got tired of surfing and left my board on the beach so I could just swim. I pretended the salt water was washing away my feelings for JJ and the heartbreak that was still all-consuming. That was the kind of relationship we had: all-consuming, intoxicating. Every moment I was with him felt like its own little vacuum of space that was just us. He introduced me to his friends, not as a girlfriend, but as a friend. We didn’t tell anyone about us, because we didn’t want to give up our secret rendezvous. I bet the rest of the Pogues suspected, but they never said anything. 

We fought like a married couple, and made love like every time was our last time. I helped him take care of the injuries he got from his father. We spent almost every night together, laughing, drinking, getting high off his weed and each other. He felt it too, the magnetic pull that never kept us apart for long. Maybe we were soulmates, if you believed in that kind of thing.

The first time we said “I love you” was also our last time, although we didn’t know it. We were sitting on the roof of a new Kook house that was under construction, looking at the sky. I was wearing his shirt, the one he gave me so I could be with him even when he wasn’t there, and we were talking about what it would be like if we found the gold. We didn’t have fully formed plans, really. We were just speculating on what seemed like an impossibility, but one just within our grasp. And then he said it. He looked at me, kissed me softly, and whispered, “I love you.”

I repeated it back to him, and we spent the rest of that night whispering it back and forth, so excited by the prospect that we had found someone who loved us as much as we loved them.

The next morning, I found all my stuff packed up in boxes and a moving truck my parents told me was bound for our new home in Figure 8. They had wanted to surprise me with our new Kook-dom, assuming I would be happy to be moving out of the Cut. But leaving the Cut meant leaving JJ and the other Pogues, and the life I’d grown up in.

After we moved, they spent the next few days talking shit about all the people we’d grown up with, making it known to the south-siders that we were Kooks now, and making it known to the Kooks that we were one of them. All the other Pogues seemed to want to drop me after that, but JJ and I met up every night, until one night my mom caught us. It wasn’t me she was mad at; it was JJ. She called him things I’d never heard my mother say before, telling him he was trash and I deserved someone who could give me everything I wanted in life. It must’ve really struck a chord with him, because when I went to apologize on her behalf the next morning, he was lying next to some tourist he’d picked up for a one night stand. 

That was when we broke up. He said my mom was right, that I deserved better. I told him I didn’t care, because he was the one I wanted. In the end, it didn’t matter what either of us said; whatever we had was done.

The memories still hurt me, but as each wave crashed over me, I let each one go. When I finally walked out of the water, the sky was starting to turn pink. I had a moment of déjà vu when I saw someone sitting beside my surfboard. I knew it was him, and that made me angry. I had just worked so hard to get over him and I was finally starting to move on.

I tried to ignore him, but in the end we had to talk. Maybe closure was what we both needed, more than getting back together. So I sat next to him, just like I had the last time. 

“I was wrong,” he said. Hearing those words come out of his mouth startled me. He continued, “I haven’t thought about anything but you since we… And now that John B is gone, dead or missing, I don’t know, I really need someone— you. I need you.”

That was exactly I wanted to hear. So why wasn’t I happy to hear it?

“I miss you too, JJ. But these last few months… I met someone. He’s good for me. I don’t know if I love him, but I think I could.”

JJ nodded, running a hand through his hair. “So you just go off with your new Kook boyfriend and leave the Pogues behind, right?” He got up to leave. I stood up too, and grabbed his wrist.

“JJ, that’s not what I meant. I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.” He froze.

“You said love.” He turned to face me, running his hand up my arm. Goosebumps erupted all of my skin. All this time apart and he still had this effect on me. 

“Yeah, so?” I didn’t quite understand what had caught his attention.

“Love, as in present tense. Love as in you love me, as in you’re still in love with me.” I always loved how his demeanor could change from sulky to euphoric in a matter of seconds. 

“What does it matter what I said? I’m with Michael now.” There were two ways this could go, and I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

“Yeah, and you sounds so happy about that.” He brushed a strand of hair away from my face, drawing me closer. He still smelled the same: sea salt and rain, and vape smoke. I ran my hands up his bare chest, barely conscious of what I was doing. Some part of me knew this was wrong, but all I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“JJ, we—” I never finished the thought because then his lips were on mine and it was like our first kiss all over again. It was hot and passionate and needy, and his hands were everywhere. I wanted to touch him too, to memorize any new marks on his skin that hadn’t been there last time. At some point we fell back to the sand but all I could feel were his lips and his hands. He moved from my mouth to my neck, kissing me along my collarbone and nipping at the skin there while his hands untied the back of my bathing suit. He lifted the fabric over my head and his hands were at my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers as I arched into him and grabbed at his hair, his shoulders, anything to leave my mark on him like he was doing to me. 

And then I was straddling him, feeling his erection poking into my leg as I grinded my hips down onto his. He let out a soft moan of my name, pulling me even closer so we were chest to chest. His skin was warm, mine still wet from the ocean. I caught his lips with mine, kissing him like it would bring him back and make everything else go away. The desire that was clouding my mind subsided for a moment when he rubbed my core through my bikini bottoms and I realized what I was doing. I pulled away.

“JJ, we can’t do this. I have a boyfriend.” He moved his fingers away and my body protested at the loss of contact.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” That was all I needed to hear. Seeing his lips swollen and his eyes dark with lust pushed all thoughts of my Kook boyfriend from my head. So I kissed him again and moaned softly against his lips as I felt him push the fabric of my bathing suit aside and slip his finger into me. He pumped his finger in and out for a moment before adding another one and curling them against my walls. I dug my nails into his shoulders before reaching for his shorts. He chuckled and stopped fingering me while I struggled with the button on his shorts. He helped me undo them and leaned back while I reached into his boxers and slowly ran my hand down his length. He sighed, biting his lip softly and closing his eyes. 

My core was aching from the loss of contact and all I wanted was him inside me, so I pulled his boxers down, freeing his erection. I moved my bathing suit to the side and I pumped him a few times with my hand before lining him up at my entrance and sinking down onto him. He moaned in surprise and his eyes flew open. I took a few moments to adjust to his size before rocking my hips against him. He sat up, pushing himself further into me and helped me slide up and down on him. I moaned as he hit a spot deep inside of me that I’d only ever felt him reach. 

“God, I missed this. You’re so wet for me,” he sighed into my ear, bucking his hips into me. We found our rhythm, deep and passionate, exploring each other like we had the first time. He talked softly into my ear, telling me how much he loved me, how good I felt, how much he missed me. 

He sped up his thrusts and I moaned his name loudly, thankful that no one was on the beach in the early hours of the morning. I bounced up and down on him, pulling his hair and tugging his bottom lip with my teeth. I felt my stomach clench and before I knew it, I came around him, cursing and moaning his name. He came soon after, helping me ride out my high before I pulled myself off of him and fixed my bathing suit. He looked at me, grinning lopsidedly.

“Thank you. For that and for everything.” I said, grabbing my stuff and blowing him a kiss goodbye.

“Wait you’re just going to leave?” He protested, fixing his shorts and boxers as well and slipping on sand as he ran after me. He grabbed my hand and I set my surfboard on the ground, letting him pull me into him.

“JJ, I have to go. My parents will be super mad if they figure out I’m gone.”

“Baby, please. Dump your tool of a boyfriend. I’m here, and I love you. I’m sorry I let you go.”

“I love you too, but this shouldn’t have happened. I have a boyfriend and as much as I love you, I’m with him right now. Maybe someday.” I kissed him softly, then picked up my board, and headed up the beach, leaving him alone as the sun came up.

[welllpthisishappening]

Feeling As Good As Love

Emma is excited about this weekend.

It's always good — this thing they do, with the house and the ocean and the friendship that seems to stand the test of time. But now, there's an added bonus. Because this year she and Killian aren't just coming to the house on the beach with that friendship moniker hanging over them. They're coming as a couple.

A real couple. That kisses. Regularly. And Emma's excited about that too.

She just didn't expect her friends not to believe her.

----

Rating: Teen, with kissing and some friendship-type swearing Word Count: 5.8 K AN: Listen, this is absolutely the fault of @shireness-says​​ who I realize I keep blaming for things, but she keeps sending me prompts and like...it’s her fault. So basically the prompt was “Okay but like what about a reverse fake dating trope? Like, two people who are together and go home to their families at Christmas but can’t convince anyone that they’re really a couple & everyone thinks it’s a joke.” It’s not Christmas, because it is May right now, but no one believes Emma and Killian want to kiss each other right on the mouth. At all times. I’m me, so naturally they set out to prove otherwise. 

And I think this puts Panic! At the Disco in the lead for lyrics as titles. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

----

“You know, you don’t actually have to do this.”

Emma doesn’t let go of the plate in her hand, but her eyebrows furrow slightly and Mary Margaret actually has the gall to blush. There are soap suds on her elbow. “Wash the dishes?” Emma quips. “Nuh uh, I’m totally doing this, then I won’t have to do it the rest of the weekend.”

It’s a thing, this annual thing they do — renting a house out East, after Memorial Day, but a few weeks before the tourists descend on the Hamptons and the beaches and the vineyards on the North Fork. And it’s fun, it’s always been fun, college friends and an almost ridiculous amount of alcohol, although none of it ever comes from those vineyards on the North Fork because they’re not actually made of money. 

It’s also the first time Emma has brought someone with her. 

Kind of. 

Killian always comes with them, has been part of the group for as long as she can remember, because he’s been friends with David for as long as she can remember, but this not-so-annual thing the two of them are doing, is pretty new and even more exciting and she might actually be in—

They’ll get there, she’s sure. Presumably after she finishes washing the dishes. 

And once Mary Margaret stops staring at her like that.

“Ok,” Emma sighs, shaking her hair off her shoulder for fear of her own issues with soap suds. “What’s your damage?” “Are you quoting things at me?” “Yes, because I don’t understand what’s happening and when I am confused I fall back on tried and true movie quotes. So, c’mon Winona Ryder, what’s your damage?” “Her name wasn’t actually Winona Ryder in the movie,” Mary Margaret points out. 

Emma rolls her eyes. With her whole head. “I know you’re not drunk yet,” she says, “because Scarlet and Phillip aren’t back from the liquor store yet—” “—Them having to go to the liquor store at all seems to suggest that we’ve already blasted through our liquor supply. Which, you know, that’s kind of troubling. For us, as people.” “Did you say blasted?” Emma asks, and whatever sound she makes is less a laugh and more like general misunderstanding. Maybe Mary Margaret has been body-snatched. “Like that’s a genuine word you used in this real-life conversation. That the two of us are having.” “Yeah, speaking of two of us…” “Were we?” Mary Margaret grabs a glass. With maybe a bit more force than absolutely necessary, all but yanking the towel off her shoulder, and Emma’s not moving so it’s almost impressive when it feels like her mind trips over itself a bit. While trying to figure out what the hell is going on. 

There are footsteps coming towards them. 

“Ah,” Ruby says, leaning against the kitchen door frame. “Are we doing this then?”

Emma’s jaw cracks when it drops open. 

Mary Margaret grits her teeth. 

She’s totally going to break that glass. 

And that will inevitably piss off Regina. She’s the one who booked this house. AirBnB, whatever. All Emma knows is that she made sure both her and Killian’s payments were Venmo’ed to Regina almost on time and that her nearly-serious boyfriend who she might genuinely be in—whatever with has a habit of over packing socks. 

Killian brought no less than twenty-four pairs of socks with him. For one weekend. Four days, three nights. With her. In one room. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever been away together. And now this is happening. Whatever this is.

“That’s not an answer,” Ruby continues, five steps  and one jump until she’s perched on the edge of what may actually be a marble counter. “He’s playing some stupid video game with David, anyway, so it’s not like we’re going to be interrupted.” “What video game?” Mary Margaret asks. Neither she nor Ruby flinch when Emma throws her hands in the air. 

Soap suds land on several different cabinet doors. 

There are an obscene number of cabinets in his house. 

“They’re really serious about Mario Party,” Emma says, like it’s obvious. It kind of is. She knows for a fact that David had texted Killian about bringing his DS with him that weekend, mostly because she was lying next to him when he got the text. “And seriously—what is going on with you guys? Was this conversation preordained?” Ruby clicks her teeth. “More like a discussion was had in passing, but—” She cuts herself off when Mary Margaret’s cheeks flames. “Look at you,” Ruby accuses, “you’re not helping at all. Emma is going to think we were gossiping.” “Weren’t we?” Mary Margaret counters. 

“I mean—well, gossip is such a dirty word and this...Em, you don’t have to fake on our behalf.”

Emma blinks. Once. Then does it again. She flutters her fingers, which only leaves a bit of moisture clinging to her pants, and that’s a little annoying. Not as annoying as the prospect of her two best friends gossiping about something she still doesn’t understand, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Say words,” she demands. “In something vaguely resembling a sentence.”

Ruby squeezes one eye shut. “It’s just—ok, we know that there are couples up here and Regina and Locksley are in the middle of full-on wedding plans, which is—you know, it’s annoying and opulent. Is that a good word?” Emma lifts her eyebrows. 

Mary Margaret’s cheeks look like they’re half a second from combusting, they’re that red. 

And Ruby isn’t done. 

“Plus, y’know me and Dor are obviously pretty fucking cute and M’s and David stare longingly at each other every moment of every day.” “That’s not true,” Mary Margaret objects, but both Ruby and Emma make near-identical sounds of disagreement and she suddenly seems very preoccupied with her feet. 

“All we’re saying,” Ruby adds, “is that we get it if you felt like you had to show up with—you know, someone special. But...this is—” “—Silly,” Mary Margaret finishes. 

Emma can’t move her eyebrows any more. If she does her actual eyes are liable to fall out, and then Regina won’t get her deposit back and that will only end badly. 

Eyeballs on the kitchen floor presumably aren’t covered in incidentals. 

“What” Emma breathes, “are you talking about?”

Ruby scrunches her nose that time. “It’s just—you and Jones? Really? Like, c’mon, if you were going to pick someone to play boyfriend, there had to be someone better.” Emma is going to have to write Regina a check for damages done to this house. Whatever rushes down her spine is a mix of sudden and rather jarring anger and complete disbelief at what she’s just heard, the words bouncing around her brain like they’ll be able to find a more legitimate order that way. 

Head on a swivel, Emma gapes at the two other people in the kitchen, dimly aware of what sounds like an exceptionally competitive round of Mario Party. 

“You can’t be serious,” Emma says, voice low and, she hopes, as threatening as possible. 

Ruby shrugs. She’s running the gamut of bodily-movement reactions, it seems. “You guys have known each other forever and now you’re going to date? You hated each other when you first met. When’s the last time you and Jones spent time together alone?” “When I spend the night at his apartment. Like last night.”

“Nah, c’mon, who do you think we are, Em? Idiots?” “Apparently,” she shouts, and there goes any sense of threat. Now she just sounds a little unhinged, the word practically snapping out of her and Mary Margaret visibly recoils. Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. “So, wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight. The two of you,” she waves an aggressive hand between them, “legitimately believe that Killian and I are faking our relationship because I feel bad that Robin and Regina are disgustingly in love?”

Mary Margaret lets out a breath, even as her eyes flit towards Ruby. “Not just them,” she reasons. “Everyone’s always kind of paired off here and you’re…” “Oh my God.” “We’re not trying to be insulting.” “And yet,” Emma grumbles, tugging her hands down either one of her cheeks and no doubt leaving angry red streaks in her wake. That’s good. She’s angry. And confused. And angry. And she’d kind of like to make out with her boyfriend. 

This was supposed to be the weekend she got to make out with her boyfriend. And tell her friends that she and Killian had been dating for months. 

There’d been a plan. 

They'd talked about it. 

Nowhere in that plan did either one of them expect their friends to think they were lying. 

That’s a confusing sentence. Emma is very confused. 

Maybe she’d been onto something with the body-snatching idea before. 

“This is insane,” she mutters, mostly to herself and at some point she’s started pacing. “This is—you know Killian and I have been dating for like..a really long time. It’s not like we’ve tried to hide it. You guys are just unobservant.” Ruby doesn’t look convinced. “Name one date you have been on.” “Excuse me?” “One date. Name one date that you have been on with Killian.” “I don’t have to prove myself to you! Or my relationship.” “And yet,” Ruby echoes, expression turning particularly pleased. Emma resists the very real urge to knock her off the counter. 

Emma screws her mouth shut, mind racing to find something really good, but she hadn’t been entirely prepared for show-and-tell and the noises in the living room are actually starting to get very loud. 

Ruby makes a pitying noise in the back of her throat. 

“No, no, no,” Emma stammers, gaping at her and a still-flushed Mary Margaret. “I just—ok, ok, I had that police officer’s dinner. Two weekends ago. Fancy dress and ties were required and all that? Killian came with me.” “As a date?” Mary Margaret asks. “What else would he come as?” “Your friend,” she suggests. “Like he’s done for the last three years.” “Yeah, but there was no ripping off of each other’s clothes those other years! It was—passionate! Heated, even. No, God—Ruby stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

Ruby holds up a hand in what Emma can only assume is surrender, but then she notices just how much her shoulders are shaking and she’s definitely trying not to laugh so, like, game on or whatever. “No, no, definitely not funny,” Ruby agrees. The words wobble out of her. “But like—heated, honestly. You and Jones?” “We can be heated! We can be hot! For each other, specifically.” “Em, this is almost getting embarrassing.”

“I will kick you,” Emma warns. “Like, really hard.” Mary Margaret rests a hand on Emma’s shoulder before she can take another step forward, an expression that’s in the realm of motherly and comforting and it might be the worst thing in the world. At least on Long Island. Possibly the Tri-State area. 

“This is not embarrassing,” Mary Margaret promises. “That’s not a word we agreed on.” Emma growls. “So it was preordained?” “We just want to make sure you’re happy. And that you and Killian don’t feel like you need to—” Another shrug. One of them is going to dislocate a shoulder sooner or later. “Put on airs for us. It’s just us. No judging.” “Say that again,” Emma challenges.

Mary Margaret exhales. “We’re not judging. We only have your best interests at heart, both of you. And it’s not as if you two have ever really showed you were interested.” Of all the things that could possibly be the last straw in this conversation, Emma is almost pleasantly surprised to realize it’s that particular sentence. 

She rolls Mary Margaret’s hand off her. 

“We are constantly touching each other,” she hisses, a little concerned by the red that’s started to cloud the edge of her vision. “He is always putting his arm around me. I sat on his leg when we were drinking before!” “But that’s just normal,” Ruby argues, and Emma genuinely has no idea what she does at that. It hurts, at least, the sound that races out of her and the burst of heat in her chest, which can’t be healthy and presumably is what, finally, draws Killian to the kitchen. 

His eyes sweep the scene as soon as he steps on the linoleum floor, one side of his mouth ticking up when he meets Emma’s gaze. 

“You ok, love?” “No,” she sneers. “Can you tell these idiots that we’re into each other?” “Wait, what?” Emma waves both her hands again, snarling at her friends. Ruby barely blinks. “We were only telling Emma that we, uh—” “—They don’t think we’re dating,” Emma finishes. Killian freezes. From the top of his head to his obviously sock-covered feet. 

He stops and stares and stares some more and then—

He laughs. Loudly. Uproariously. Head thrown back and shoulders heaving, desperately trying to catch his breath while the laughter bounces off the kitchen walls and settles into Emma’s soul, which is admittedly a little melodramatic, but this has been the strangest fifteen minutes of her life and she still really wants to kiss her boyfriend. 

It’s nice to know she still has her priorities straight, at least. 

“What is happening right now?” Mary Margaret murmurs, as Killian wipes away the tears that have fallen on his cheeks. 

“Sucks not to know, doesn’t it?” Emma snaps. “Wait, wait,” Ruby says quickly, “is this laughter at our question or at the prospect of dating Emma, because if it's the second one, that kind of seems like a dick move, Jones.” Killian scoffs, and it only takes three more steps for him to be in Emma’s space with his arm around her shoulder and his lips ghosting over the top of her hair. She widens her eyes at Ruby. “It is not laughter at the prospect of dating my girlfriend, no,” Killian drawls. “Are you double checking on us, Lucas?” “You guys can’t be dating.” “Says who?” “Us,” Ruby cries, nearly falling off the counter when her limbs flail several different directions. “That’s—M’s you’ve got to back me up on this! It’s weird.” “Weird,” Killian echoes. “That I’m dating the person I like?” “When did you start liking Emma?” “I don’t think I have to tell you that.” Ruby lets out a triumphant sound, like she’s won something and Emma can’t imagine what the prize is in this situation, but it might be the genuinely ridiculous amount of alcohol Will and Phillip have seemingly just gotten back with. 

“Where is everyone?” Will yells, what looks like an actual crate propped up on his hip. He narrows his eyes when he takes in the kitchen and the half-finished dishes, gaze darting Ruby’s direction. 

She curses. Loudly. 

“Not exactly subtle, is he?” Killian mutters, mostly to Emma. She turns into his side, curling both arms around his middle, so he’ll kiss the top of her hair again, but maybe to prove a point and Mary Margaret may never stop looking at her feet. 

“You guys going to be weird about this?” Will asks. “Now that we know you’re faking?” “No one is faking anything,” Emma objects. “Sure you’re not. Did you come up with a relationship backstory on your way up her? That’s kind of rom-com, don’t you think, Em?” “We didn’t have to come up with anything! We are living the rom-com.” “You and Jones?” “Me and Killian.” “You know you guys only have one bed in your room,” Ruby chips in, apparently missing some form of self-preservation. “Is that going to be a problem?” Killian shakes his head. “We’re definitely going to use that one bed. Thoroughly.” “My brother is here,” Emma mumbles. He smirks at her. “But,” she adds, “we’re definitely going to use that bed. With the condoms that we brought.” Mary Margaret makes a strangled noise, Will chuckling while Ruby continues to curse and David demands to know why isn’t anyone giving me something to drink so I can fuck up Wario right now?  

“He brings up a very good point, Swan,” Killian grins, and Mary Margaret sounds like she’s choking now. Serves her right. 

Emma hums. “Is that even how the game works?” “Only one way to find out, right?” “Something like that, for sure.” He flashes another smile, eyes bright enough that for half a second Emma forgets everything that’s happened in that kitchen and she still has dishes to watch, pressing up on her toes as soon as Killian ducks his head. 

Their friends boo. 

She flips them all off. 

And it’s honestly not bad for the rest of the night — there are more discussions of how to properly play Mario Party and an almost alarming amount of alcohol, most of it horribly mixed by Aurora and Ruby, but no one mentions fake dating again, and Emma’s grateful for that. Until they all traipse upstairs to go to bed and there’s really only one bed and both Regina and Mary Margaret stare just a little too long before Emma closes the door behind her. 

It takes her about fourteen seconds to get mad again. “Go ahead,” Killian chuckles, dropping onto the edge of that one bed so he can tug off his socks. She seriously cannot cope with his socks. 

“I’m sorry, what?” “I know you’ve been waiting to curse them up one side and down the other, so let’s have your worst.” “It’s stupid that you know that.” 

He nods, lips pursed as he crooks a finger at her. Emma huffs, but moves into the space between his legs almost immediately, Killian’s hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders and she takes far too much joy in how quickly his eyelashes start to flutter. His head falls to her stomach. Top-tier, peak relationship status. 

“I know everything,” Killian mumbles, mostly into her shirt. “And I know that it’s ridiculous they think we aren’t in—” She doesn’t dare breathe when he cuts himself off, both of them dancing around something big and important and it’s almost an appropriate amount of time, but Emma is Emma and she doesn’t want to fuck this up and maybe that was why she’d been so nervous to admit that Killian Jones is ridiculously good looking. 

Like almost painfully good looking. 

She cards her fingers through his hair. 

“I have an idea,” he says. 

“Yeah?” “I think we should go all in. All those romantic comedy tropes Scarlet was talking about. Lean in to every single one of them.” “How many tropes could there possibly be?” Killian makes a noncommittal noise, glancing up which is really unfair because his eyelashes are almost offensively long. “We’ll make a list.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he repeats. “Why? You have other things to do tonight?” “Oh, you’re a menace.” He nips at her hip, Emma jumping and possibly giggling. Killian’s eyes are definitely getting bluer. Maybe it’s the lighting in that room. Their room. Together. 

She can’t believe he brought so many socks. 

“That will be thing number one, I think,” Killian said. “Blatant and obvious flirting.” “You don’t think we flirt enough?” “Not constantly because we’re not animals, but—you know, could probably do with a bit more. Tell you that I think you’re stunning? Regularly?” Emma gags. Killian keeps going. “Bewitching? That I’m fairly certain your hair has magical properties? Regarding its ability to reflect light?” “Oh, yeah, use that one,” she laughs, and it’s not very hard to get him to lay next to her on the bed. Which may actually be made of feathers, if its overall level of comfort is any indication. “What else, then?” “Endearments, naturally.” “Naturally.” “And, uh—” He clicks his tongue, eyebrows shifting in a way that undoubtedly defies the laws of gravity. “PDA.”

“Say PDA again,” Emma challenges. Killian blushes better than Mary Margaret, she thinks. Presumably because she wants to kiss Killian more than she wants to kiss Mary Margaret. 

There’s been a disappointing lack of kissing so far. 

“Public displays of affection,” Killian says, pausing between every word until Emma’s whole body shakes with the force of her laughter. “I’m going to constantly touch you.” “Could be worse.” “Oh yeah?” “I mean—” Emma drags her fingers up his side, shifting his shirt until she reaches skin and the plane of his stomach and— “Shit, stop that,” Killian grumbles. “It tickles.” Emma’s eyes widen. In perfect tandem with what feels like a rather large expansion of her heart, another burst of heat that isn’t quite as jarring as it was in the kitchen. And Killian shifts half an inch backwards. “Don’t,” he warns, but Emma swipes her tongue across her teeth. “Swan, c’mon, that’s—” Pouncing is a very ugly word, but Emma is way too busy discovering other areas of her boyfriend's body and Killian stops talking rather quickly. As soon as her tongue is in his mouth. 

And they do make a list. An actual physical list, with bullet points and a plan, that Killian keeps in his pocket because Emma doesn’t have pockets in her dresses and it’s easier for his hand to squeeze her knee if she wears dresses. 

That’s bullet point number six. 

There are seventeen. 

It becomes something of a game for them — Killian making sure to call Emma love at the end of what seems like every sentence, while she alternates between babe and sweetheart, but that second one kind of sets her teeth on edge and, one time, on Saturday afternoon while they’re picking badminton teams because that’s something they do on this weekend, he calls her—

“C’mon, darling,” Killian says, slinging an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “We’re going to absolutely destroy Nolan and Nolan.”

Every one of their friends groan. 

Emma very nearly passes out. 

The word ricochets off her soul, or something less ridiculous. Even after Killian and David finish debating the proper terminology for the shuttle-thing. She’s never been a darling before. Darling is for committed relationships and longevity and happily ever after and her racquet nearly flies out of her hand when she tries to return Mary Margaret’s serve. 

“You ok, Swan?” Killian asks, and good that’s good. A much-needed return to normal. 

Emma nods. She can’t seem to do much else. 

Somehow they win the match. David decrees it’s called a match. 

And Killian seems to take the public displays of affection fairly seriously — pulling Emma onto his legs when they sit around the fire on Saturday night, nosing at the back of her neck or that one spot just above her shoulder blade that makes her shiver. She almost constantly has her fingers in his hair, tracing idle patterns with her nails. There are absent-minded kisses and kisses that make her toes curl, standing on sand or in the hallway or...well, anywhere really.

It’s something almost close to wonderful, which isn’t really a change of pace for Emma and Killian as a couple, but this level of couple’dom is—

“You’re laughing,” he accuses, but the words get lost between their mouths and there's not much space between their mouths. 

Emma shakes her head. “I’m having fun.” “That was the point of this weekend. It always is.”

“Yeah, but I mean—” She grits her teeth, neves creeping up her spine and taking root in the back of her skull, and she hates that it happens. Emma is the worst kind of pessimist. Or, rather the best kind, depending on how you look at it. 

“I like you too,” Killian says.

“Presumptuous.” “Tell me that’s now how the sentence was going to end, then.” “Well, ok yeah, but—this is just...being full-on relationship, it’s been good, right?” “Are you double checking?” “A little,” Emma admits. “I—this was the plan, and I know it was the plan. That we were going to stop trying to hide and—”

“—I really don’t think we were ever good at hiding it.” “Tell that to the rest of our friends. Mary Margaret and Ruby staged an intervention. It’s...I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad you were willing to prove how stupid into me you are.”

Killian barks out a laugh, tongue finding the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s totally what I am.” “I knew it.”

Those same friends, however, don’t seem to get the memo. 

Maybe they need new friends. 

“I don’t know,” Will says, halfway through a Sunday afternoon BBQ that could feed a small army. “I’m still calling shenanigans.” “Shenanigans,” Emma echoes. 

“You heard me the first time. It seems like you’re trying too hard.” “To be in a relationship?” “Yuh huh,” Will nods, flipping more than one burgers at the same time. “You see that? That was impressive as fuck.” “You’re a poet,” Killian mutters. He must have some kind of Emma-focused sixth sense too, because she feels an arm curl around her middle before she can get into any sort of pacing groove, grunting when he pulls her back against his chest. 

And kisses behind her ear. 

Regina quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t know, actually. There has been a pretty good amount of eye making, even before we got here.”

“I don’t make eyes,” Emma argues. “No, but he does.” Killian’s cheek brushes the side of Emma’s head when he nods. “That’s true, I’ve been making eyes for quite some time.”

“See,” Regina says, “This is—if this is fake, it’s a serious commitment to the cause.” “The cause of kissing my boyfriend?” Emma challenges.

“Yeah, that one. Ok, pop quiz. Killian, when was your first kiss with Emma?” He doesn’t tense. He doesn’t flinch. His hand might tighten a little, but Emma chooses to believe that’s actually a positive and she’s very glad for it. If only because that’s the main reason she stays upright. 

“Junior year of college,” Killian replies.

Will drops the tongs. It’s patently absurd. 

“Hold on, when?” David demands. He’s already half standing when Mary Margaret levels him with a look, flopping back into the plastic chair with enough force it nearly breaks. “Junior year of college. I thought you started dating a few months ago.” “Yeah, we did.” “And?”

“And,” Killian repeats. “We’d gone out, you and Mary Margaret left early. So I walked Emma back to her apartment, it was raining. We hit all of those rom-com tropes. She even had my jacket on.” Emma can’t catch her breath. Which is really ridiculous since she’s not moving, but she was always fairly positive she was the only one counting this as their first kiss and—

“You were drunk,” she cries. “You can’t possibly remember this!” Mary Margaret audibly gasps. That’s more ridiculous than Emma’s breathing issues. 

She twists against Killian’s chest, meeting his steady gaze with something that can only be described as ever-increasing and seemingly inevitable insanity. He smirks. 

The bastard. 

“Trust me,” he says, “I’ve spent way longer than I’d be willing to admit remembering just that. You took your shoes off as soon as we got into the lobby.” “Because they hurt my feet.” “Mmhm.” “What happened after that?” Aurora asks sharply, elbows on her knees and chin on her hands and no one has noticed that some of the hot dogs are starting to burn. 

“She’s a very good kisser,” Killian replies. Easy as that. Emma’s back to not breathing. “Told me it was nice that I walked her home, I said I probably deserved some kind of reward, she glared at me, I waited very patiently and she—” Emma remembers the rest. She doesn't need to hear it. She reenacts it, instead. Her hands fly to his shirt, fingers curling into fabric that’s different than it was when they were twenty and buzzed on alcohol that was only marginally worse than what they’ve spent all weekend drinking and Killian is absolutely smiling when she kisses him.

The bastard. 

Part two. 

And she resolutely refuses to acknowledge any sounds from the peanut gallery, pushing up on bare feet so it’s easier to sling an arm over his shoulder and push her fingers into his hair. He tilts his head, lets his tongue sweep along her lips and she might sigh, but he might also groan and he definitely closes his eyes. 

Emma’s always liked that about him. Killian closes his eyes when he kisses her — like he’s uninterested in anything else, like anything else means less than nothing when he can nose at Emma’s cheek or drop his mouth along the curve of her jaw. It also gives her half a second to stare at the overall length of his eyelashes, so it’s kind of a win-win for her. 

He’s just as out of breath as she is when they pull apart, color in his cheeks and Emma’s heart threatens to burst out of her ribcage. 

That’s probably not covered under incidentals either. 

She’s got to stop thinking so violently. Especially about her own body. 

Will whistles. 

“You guys suck,” Emma announces, and that’s not the first thing she planned on saying, but nothing has really gone according to plan that weekend and she has thoughts on that. 

Patent pending. 

“First of all,” she says, holding up one finger. Will is trying very hard not to laugh. Ruby isn’t trying. “Killian and I have been dating for months. Genuinely months. And, ok, yeah we kissed one time in college, but we didn’t start dating for awhile, and that—” 

Emma is still holding up her finger when she turns again. Killian’s smirk is going to stay permanently etched on his face. “That was kind of stupid, wasn’t it?” “Your words, not mine,” he chuckles. 

“I definitely thought you were good looking in college.” “I desperately wanted to date you in college.” “No shit.” “What is happening right now?” Phillip yells. Emma doesn’t have an answer for that. It’s less disappointing than it was on Friday night. 

“No shit,” Killian repeats. “You were—I don’t know, this force of nature. But you were also David’s sister and—” “—She’s still my sister,” David interrupts. Regina throws something at him. It might honestly be her sandal.

Emma doesn’t bother double checking. She’s rather busy swooning, after all.

Killian kisses the bridge of her nose before he continues. “You never take anyone’s garbage, love. Mine included and that wasn’t really why I was stupid into you, but it was a big part at the start, and then we kept hanging out and you’re—” She doesn’t mind when he shrugs. Probably because of the previously discussed swooning. Honestly, Emma is swooning so bad. “You’re the smartest person I know. And stronger than anyone else, on some existential level.” God, she hopes she doesn’t start to cry. 

That’d be kind of lame. 

And, somehow, there is more. 

“I worry about you, you know. Every time you leave my apartment and go save someone. It’s—I count minutes from when you text me that you’re on the train until I hear the lock click. It’s insane. Might be affecting my blood pressure, really.” “She has a key,” Ruby whispers. Not very well, but something about the thought Emma assumes. “She really has a key?” “I really have a key,” Emma answers. “I wasn’t kidding about spending multiple nights a week at his apartment.” “We could probably do something about that,” Killian adds. Will whistles again. 

Emma’s jaw drops. That’s kind of disappointing, really. She wishes she had some kind of sweeping something to respond with — romance on another level of romantic-type expectations, but she’s still her and she’s still a little pissed they haven’t been dating since their junior year in college. 

“Em, Em,” Ruby presses, “I’m pretty sure he’s asking you to move in with him.” Killian hums. “She’s annoying, but she’s right.” Ruby sticks her tongue out. “But, but,” Emma stammers, “that wasn’t on the list.” “You guys made a list?” Regina balks. “None of you believed us! Which, honestly friendship demerits. Negative friendship standing. We are a good couple, and we like hanging out and we’d been hanging out forever, and this just kind of...happened. It should have happened before, maybe, but our first date was getting ice cream in the Village because none of you will go to the Village with me and I—Killian always will.” “That’s kind of how boyfriend’ing works,” he chuckles. “Is that a word?” “Absolutely not,” Mary Margaret says. “Should we apologize now?” “Probably,” Emma sighs. “Because it’s—none of this has been fake, and we’ve been on relationship overdrive for the last forty-eight hours and I mean...is it so shocking that we could be in a relationship?”

Silence. 

None of them answer, and Killian is still staring at Emma because, she realizes rather belatedly, she hasn’t actually told him she wants to move into his apartment with a bed that’s even more comfortable than the one here or that she also counts down the minutes because she sleeps better with him than she has in years, so naturally she tilts her head up and—

“I love you,” Emma says. Killian’s eyes bug. “And I think I have for a really long time, but we were always friends and—” “—That’s not going to change, love.” “Well, yeah, that’s how good relationships work. Are you just going to gloss over the sentiment?” “Absolutely not,” Killian mumbles, gruffer than usual. And probably because half of the letters get lost in more kissing, a distinct arch to Emma’s back when he actually dips her like some goddamn romantic comedy. 

Mary Margaret might take a picture. 

Emma kind of hopes she does. It’d look good in a frame on the wall. Their wall. 

“I’d like to move into your apartment,” Emma says, and she definitely giggles that time. There’s no way around it, not when Killian’s lips drag along the side of her neck and pepper every inch of her face. 

Several people awwww out loud. 

As they should, really. 

“I love you too,” Killian says. 

“Ok, good.” “Good.”

There’s more kissing after that. As there should be, really. Part two. “So, uh,” Will says, and he’s picked up the tongs at some point, “you guys want celebratory hamburgers or…” “If you don’t put cheese on my burger, I’ll throw your fucking tongues in the ocean,” Emma guarantees. 

Killian crows. Or something. It’s nice, and that’s really all she cares about. “That’s my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby groans. “We’ve heard. Do we toast to the happy couple?” “Absolutely,” David says, reaching into the cooler to grab wine coolers. Like they’re juniors in college. They toast several times. 

And Emma doesn’t sleep much that night, but that’s something she’s willing to concede. Especially when Killian lets her pick the music on the drive back the next morning. 

Like any good relationship. 

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Fourteen

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

(Smut if you squint. Fluffy fluff.)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen

Masterpost

You wake up to sunlight hitting your face, and Harry lightly snoring. His mouth was parted open, and he looked absolutely spent. You turned over to check your phone, and just scroll for a bit. Secretly hoping your eyes would become tired again. Harry turned over with you, pulling you to his chest. You adjust yourself, and you feel him press into you. He nuzzles into your hair, and his eyes flutter open. He groans at the light in the room, wishing he had remembered to pull the curtains before going to bed.

“My head is fucking killing me.” He says into your hair, pressing himself further into your butt.

“Jesus, good morning.” You say turning over to face him. “Are you ever not hard, Harry?” You coo, pressing your forehead to his.

“Waking up to you and that ass? Of course I’m hard.” He nuzzles into your neck. He kisses you, and just as he’s about to bite you, you wince. He brings his head up to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, it’s just, you tend to bite the same spot, and you like to bite really hard. Not that I’m complaining, I think it’s sexy. But, maybe you could bite me, on a different part of my neck. Maybe closer to my collar bone so I can hide it easier?”

“I’ve been hurting you, and you haven’t told me?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. It feels really good, and I know you like to bite. You just tend to bite me in the same spot, and after a while it just feels raw. I need to let it heal a little. Baby, if I didn’t like it I would tell you.” He gives you a grin.

“What do you mean, you know I like to bite?” He asks, entangling his legs with yours.

“Well, it’s obvious. You bite my neck up and down, you nip at my chest, you love to bite my nipples, which again, I’m not complaining because it feels good, and then you also like to bite at my…area.”

“Your clit, I like to bite on your clit.” What is with him this morning? It’s far too early to make you listen to words like that.

“Yeah, there. It’s just something I noticed, it’s not a bad thing. I like it, a lot.”

“I didn’t realize I was doing it at the same spot, I can try to be more careful.”

“That would be ahhhh.”

Harry started to kiss on the skin right below your earlobe before you could finish speaking. His teeth sink into you, and he pulls you closer to his body. This was his way of releasing his frustration, it had to be. You felt like with each day maybe you’d try fingers but you just were too fucking scared. You were creating a problem before there even was one, but you couldn’t help it.

“Come shower with me.” He practically growls.

“Alright.” Was this Harry hungover? Even hornier than when he was drunk? You were used to him wanting you when you’d first wake up, but usually a growling stomach or something would distract you. He also was being a little more aggressive than usual. It didn’t scare you because he wasn’t going to physically hurt you, or force himself on you. Maybe he just wants to take back a little control. Maybe being together for two months has made him just more able to be himself.

You follow him into the bathroom, and he starts the water. He looks at himself in the mirror, inspecting his face.

“Needa shave today, I think.” He looks at you. “Take ya shirt off please.” You giggle and do as he says, revealing your full self to him. You had gotten more and more comfortable with this. He takes his boxers off, and tests the water. “Perfect, come on.” He puts his hand out to you, and helps you in.

You nuzzle your face into his chest as the warm water hits your back. You jolt up when you realize your hair is down. You reach for the elastic on your wrist, and quickly put your hair up.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Whenever you shower here, you make sure your hair is up.”

“Oh, well, it’s just that I don’t typically bring more than like my face wash with me. I wash my hair on specific days, and if I’m not washing it I don’t want to get it wet. I don’t have a blow dryer here.”

“I have a blow dryer.” You’re not surprised.

“I don’t have my dryer brushes. You have to use a specific brush.”

“Why not leave some of those things here then? They must have travel sizes of your shampoo, or hell bring the regular size here. And bring a spare dryer brush too. I leave things for myself at your place, I want you to do the same here.” You could cry, you could absolutely sob. No guy you had ever been with had ever wanted leaving things of you around. “While you’re at it, you could even hang some things up in my closet. I don’t have much room in my dresser, otherwise I’d offer up a drawer. But my closet has room.”

“Harry, you’re so sweet, I’ll start leaving more of my things here.” You beam up at him.

“You do so much to make your place feel like home for me, I want this place to feel like home for you.”

That does it, that really does it. You feel tears welling up, and you wrap your arms around him, nearly making him lose his balance. He wraps his arms around you, and gives you a squeeze.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get ya cleaned up. I got my jizz all over ya last night.” He grabs a wash cloth and his body wash, and lathers it up. “If you bring your stuff here then you won’t have to smell like this anymore.” He laughs, washing your back.

“But I like smelling like that, it smells like you.”

“Jesus, now ya got me tearing up.” You both start laughing. You return the favor by washing his body, and you both get out. “Just gotta shave, love.” You walk out with your towel on you snug. You notice Harry’s phone go off on the night table. It’s Louis.

“Harry, Louis’ calling!”

“Could ya answer it for me please?” He yells back. You gulp, wow he is really trusting you.

“Hello, um, Harry’s phone.” You could slap yourself at how lame you sound.

“Mornin’, love. Where’s me mate.”

“Shavin’.”

“Ah, could ya bring the phone to the bathroom then? Put me on speaker?”

“Sure thing.” You walk back to the bathroom, and put the phone on speaker. “Harry, Louis is on speaker.”

“Alright, oi, mate you couldn’t wait?” He says, washing the rest of the shaving cream off his smooth face. He takes the phone from you, but leaves it on speaker. His towel is hanging really low on his waist and you can’t help but stare.

“Nah, felt like buggin’ ya. Wanna do an early lunch? 11:30?” Harry looks at you, and looks at the clock on the wall. It already ten. You give him a look, that says of course it’s okay. “Uh, yeah, that works.”

“Great, we can come pick you up, and then bring ya to you car later.”

“Sounds good.” Harry hangs up the phone. “I feel bad, I don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s okay, I want you to see your friends. I brought my laptop with me, so I can just get some work done while you’re gone.”

“You won’t mind being all alone for a few hours?”

“No, I like hanging out here.”

“You’re the best.”

Harry got picked up right at 11:30. You had put some yoga pants on, and a sports bra. You set your laptop up at his desk, and got caught up on some emails.

Harry, Louis, and Niall went to their favorite diner.

“Do you lads remember that time we had that rager at the apartment? And the cops came, but they sent a female cop, and we had to send Harry in to turn on the charm?” Louis started laughing hysterically.

“Yeah, expect she still wrote us a summons.” harry groaned.

“She wrote her number on it!” Niall also laughs hysterically. “Did you ever hook up with her?”

“Course I did. Called her that night.” He laughs too, then stops, thinking of you. “I don’t really want to talk about old hookups, if that’s alright.”

“Right, because you’re so in loooooove with (y/n).” Louis makes a kissy face at Harry.

“Stop it, I’m not in love with her…” Harry looks down at his food. “I’m definitely falling for her though. I can’t get enough of her, literally. I could want her at any second.”

“But can ya have her at any second?” Louis asks.

“Pretty much…it doesn’t take much to get her goin’.” Niall gives Harry an eye roll. “Sorry mate, sometimes I forget that you’re her friend too.”

“Oh yeah, you set the two of them up right?”

“Yup, and it’s fine. I know her and her friends talk about us like this too.”

“How are things with Sarah?” Harry asks.

“Still really good, although I think she’s hopin’ to know if I’m her boyfriend yet. I think next weekend I’m gonna take her out for a nice date so we can chat about it.”

“Look at the three of us, we all have ladies in our lives. And we can’t shut up about ‘em.” Louis scoffs.

“You haven’t mentioned Eleanor once today.” Harry says to Louis.

“Because I know it’ll just set you off, and I’m not lookin’ do that.”

“It wouldn’t set me off. I’m happy that you’re happy.”

“Yeah, but you hate that she makes me happy.”

“I just don’t appreciate a girl comin’ in and sayin’ you’re too close with your best mate. She basically said we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

“She never said that. If she didn’t want me havin’ friends, then how do you explain Niall?”

“God, leave me outta this one.”

“You know it’s different with him. Niall was fuckin’ just as many girls as I was, and yet I was the womanizing prick. All because he’s the blonde, innocent looking one, and I’m the one that looks rough around the edges.”

“That’s not it, we both have tattoos all over us.”

“So what was the threat then?” Louis and Niall look at each other. “Hello?”

“She, she thought something was goin’ on between us, okay?”

“What do you mean going on between us?”

“Well, she noticed your nail polish and all your jewelry, which we all think is great, doesn’t bother us one bit. In fact, I’d love for you to bring back the pearls. That was when your hair was a bit longer too.”

“So? A man can’t have long hair?”

“No, it was just, she thought maybe we were goin’ behind her back.” Niall takes a big sip of his coffee as he watches the boys finally have the conversation they’ve needed to have.

“She thought I was gay?”

“Or bisexual, or just like fluid or something, I don’t know. She thought the same of me.”

“Why would she think you and I were fuckin’?” Harry starts laughing.

“Because she felt like I would pay more attention to you when she’d come over, or that I’d make more time for you in general. Ugh, and then there was the day she found us in bed together.” Niall and Harry burst out laughing. “S’not funny she was mortified.”

“That was pretty funny. Didn’t we wake up spoonin’? We got piss drunk the night before and we crashed together, not a big deal.”

“I know that!”

“So what, she accepted the job offer two hours from here to keep you on lock? Trust me, if I wanted you, I’d have you.” Harry takes a sip of his coffee winking at his friend, while Louis scoffs. “Has she calmed down a bit since she knows I have a girlfriend?”

“She was on edge the second I left her side last night. She tried to be cool because we hadn’t seen each other in ages, but it was still hard for her. I’ve told her til I’m blue in the face that nothin’ ever happened between us, but she still suspects.”

“Why?”

“She found that picture of us in me scrapbook kissin’ under the mistletoe at our Christmas party senior year.”

Niall’s drink comes out his nose, and Harry laughs a big belly laugh.

“Why the fuck would you keep that?!” He says through tears.

“I don’t know! I was unpackin’ some shit one day and it fell out. I had completely forgotten it. Ever since then she’s been on red alert. I told it was just like a kiss between mates, you know, a drunken gag. It’s so frustratin’. She knows I love her, but she thinks I love your more.”

“And you don’t?” Harry asks playfully.

“You’re a cheeky bastard, you know that?”

“Look, do you want me to talk to her? Set her straight?”

“No, but we do want you to come visit us. I think she would feel more comfortable on a home turf.”

“Fine, I will find a weekend for us to come visit.”

“Us?”

“Well, of course I’d bring (y/n), clearly she’s my beard or something” harry scoffs. “Jesus, can’t even kiss my mate under the mistletoe without someone thinkin’ I’m gay.” Harry says sarcastically. “Why couldn’t she have found the picture of the three of us kissing, now that would’ve been funny.”

“That picture was burned.” Niall says. “The three of us really shouldn’t drink together anymore.” He laughs.

“It wasn’t the alcohol. Didn’t we do shrooms or something that night?” Harry asks.

“I have no fuckin’ idea.”

The boys bring Harry to his car, and follow him back to his place. Louis wanted to see Harry’s new cameras. You were sprawled out on the couch with a book. You hear the door rustling open, and put your book down. You hear him laughing, the boys must be with him. As he keys in, his eyes grow wide at your outfit. You couldn’t even reach for a sweatshirt because you didn’t bring one. Louis and Niall grow quiet as well.

“Um, hi guys.” You say.

“Hey (y/n), see you survived my party.” Niall sits next to you on the couch. He’s seen you in less clothes, you weren’t particularly bothered.

“The cameras are over there, mate.” Harry points to his camera bag. Louis walks over to them and takes the camera out.

“Wow, this lens is sweet.” Louis looks through it.

“Are you a photographer too?” You ask.

“Fuckin’ Harry, you don’t even tell your girlfriend about me? Yeah, love, I’m a photographer too.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Um, people mostly. I’m a freelancer, I work a lot of weddings and such.”

“So you all were in undergrad together?”

“Yup, and then we all went to the same grad school. Recipe for disaster.” Niall says.

“No, the recipe for disaster was us living together for more than three years. It was like a frat house.” Louis says. “Parties all the time, I have no idea how we graduated.” Harry goes over to you.

“Have you eaten? I brought you back some oatmeal.” He hands you a to go bowl.

“Oh! Thank you, I had a small snack earlier, but oatmeal sounds great.” You take it from him, and the plastic spoon he has with it, and dig in. “Mmm, is that from that place you took me to when we first started going out?”

“Yup.” Harry smiles and sits on the other side of you.

“So, (y/n), what do you do?” Louis asks.

“I’m in marketing with Niall. I edit our photos and videos.”

“Is Niall like your boss?” You and Niall both laugh.

“No, we’re equals. Niall just project manages, so he likes to think he’s my boss.” You adjust your top and all three boys take a glance at your chest. It’s a bit cold in the apartment, and you’re not wearing the thickest bra. You can just make out your piercings. Louis sits down at one of the chairs near the couch. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” You get up and go use the bathroom.

“Mate, does she have a naval piercing?” Louis asks.

“Yeah.”

“That’s hot.”

“Why is that hot?” Niall asks. He takes a moment and thinks of Sarah. “You wanna know what’s really hot? Sarah has her nipples pierced.” He whispers so you won’t hear.

“No fuckin’ way.” Louis says. Harry’s eyes are wild. He forgot that you and all your friends got them pierced together.

“Yeah, she said her junior year of college her and her friends all got them to…geth…er.” You reenter the room, and Niall speaks slowly while looking at you. Harry pinches his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are your nipples pierced?”

“Dammit Harry!” You swat at shoulder. “You told them?”

“No! He just put two and two together because he told us about Sarah’s.”

“Why were you even talking about something like that?”

“Because Lou noticed your naval.” Niall says. “Your nipples are really pierced? Yours?”

“Yes, okay, yes, why is it such a big deal?”

“S’not, I’m just surprised. You won’t get a tattoo but you get your nipples pierced.”

“Okay! Can we please stop talking about my nipples? I was twenty years old, drunk, and stupid. Haven’t you guys ever done something stupid while you were drunk?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“As a matter of fact, these lads were talkin’ about that earlier.” Niall winks at Louis.

“Don’t you fuckin’ start this up again. Sorry if we embarrassed ya.” Louis says

“S’okay.” You sit back down next to Harry. He puts an arm around you. You shoot daggers at him for not defending you.

“Hmm, I wonder how I could get El to do hers. Did it hurt when you had them done?” You sigh.

“The second one hurt worse since I knew what to expect.”

“Do they feel good?”

“Alright, Lou, that’s enough dontcha think?” Harry finally interjects.

“We’re all adults here ain’t we? It’s a simple question.”

“Yeah, but you’re askin’ my girlfriend, right in front of me, if her nipple piercings feel good. Not to mention you’re askin’ it also in front of her male best friend.”

“Oh don’t be such a prude. (y/n), you don’t have to answer, but it would be great to have a first-hand account.” Your face is beat red.

“They, I don’t know, I barely notice they’re there now.”

“No I mean like-“

“Oh! Oh, um…” You look up at Harry, who is also turning red. “For me, I like it, but I know people who have them pierced and it doesn’t really do anything for them. I think it depends on the person.”

“Gotcha. Can I tell ya a crazy story? I once hooked up with a girl who had her clit pierced, begged me to suck on it, came instantly.” Your jaw nearly drops, and you double over laughing.

“Oh, I like you, you’re funny.” You say wiping your eyes. “It was embarrassing enough having my top off in front of a stranger, I couldn’t imagine going into a shop and dropping my pants.”

“I have a feelin’ a friend did it for her or somethin’.”

“So did you all just like constantly hook up with girls?”

“Pretty much, we were a bunch of pricks back then. Nothin’ to be proud of.” Louis rubs the back of his neck.

“What made you wanna settle down with Eleanor?”

“Well, I was actually datin’ this other girl. She was why I stayed here in the states. But things didn’t work out. Which sucked because I got her pregnant.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dad!?” You look at Harry, and then back to Louis. Why had Harry never mentioned that his best friend had a child?

“Yeah, I have a son called Freddie. I met El about a year later, and we never separated.”

“Do you have any pictures?” Louis takes out his phone with a smirk on his face.

“Freddie is the cutest kid you’ll ever see.” Harry says. “I remember when we first went to the hospital to see him, I think I cried more than Lou.” Louis hands you his phone.

“Oh, Louis, he’s precious. How old is he?”

“Just turned four.”

“Wow, how did you handle being such a young parent?”

“It wasn’t easy. His mum and I had already split by the time we found out she was pregnant. I help out as much as I can.”

“Where do they live?”

“Bout an hour from where I live now, another reason why El and I decided to move a little farther away from here. She loves Freddie, and she’s great with him too. So that makes things easier.” You hand him back his phone as it starts to ring. “Hi, love. We were just talkin’ bout ya. Yeah, we’ll be back soon, just wrappin’ up. Bye.” He hangs up. “Niall, mind if we go, El and I have a long drive you know?”

“Sure, mate.” Niall stands up. Harry stands as well, and walks over to the door with them.

“It was great to meet you Louis.”

“Same to you. Take good care of me lad.”

Harry and Louis share a long hug, you think Harry is nearly going to cry.

“So, we’ll plan somethin’ soon?” Louis asks as he lets go.

“Yeah, really soon.” Harry smiles at them, as Niall and Louis walk out.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“I will be. I feel like I took in a lot of information today.” He sits back next to you. “Sorry if that was awkward for you. Lou doesn’t really have a filter.”

“I can’t believe he’s a dad to a four year old.”

“He’s a great dad. He loves that boy more than anything. Would you, um, be interested in finding a weekend to go visit him and Eleanor sometime?” You’re shocked that you didn’t have to bring it up first.

“Um, yeah we could do that sometime.”

“Not before we go away together just the two of us though. Be kind of weird to have our first weekend away visiting another couple.” He was reading your mind.

“I like the idea of a weekend away with you.”

“Hmm, where could I take you off to?”

“Remember when you mentioned a spa weekend a while back? We could drive out to an inn or something and just get pampered.”

“That sounds like an incredible idea. We could do like a long weekend or something.”

“Do you get veteran’s day off? We could try to go that weekend.”

“I could probably make that work. That’s only a couple weeks away, we’d need to start booking everything soon.”

“Want me to get my laptop?”

“Sure.” You get up and grab your laptop from his desk, and sit back down.

“How about a drive up to New Hampshire? The foliage is beautiful this time of year.”

“That would be great actually, I could take some cool pictures of the leaves.” You smile at him. “Oh, Harry, look at this place! We could get a couple’s massage for a pretty fair price, and the rooms look so pretty.”

“Works for me. What’s the number, I’ll call.”

“Wait, I want to make sure I pay for half.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Harry, you can’t keep paying for stuff. I feel like you’re spending all your money on me. A dinner here and there is fine, but I can’t let you pay for a hotel and spa all by yourself.” He sighs.

“So how do you suggest we do this then?”

“Well, if we go for two nights, we can each pay for one night at the hotel. I’m happy to just write you a check if you want to put it on your credit card, or we could put it on mine. Then for the massage we can just split that too.”

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.” He pouts and you stick your tongue out at him. “What’s the number, I can make the reservations.” You show him the screen, and he makes all the calls.

“I’m so excited!” You say getting up and hugging him. “Something fun to look forward to.”

[imagining-supernatural]

The Decision

Part 6 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You get the results of your tests, then you and Sebastian make a decision

Word Count: 2005

The nerves you felt yesterday were absent today as you sat in front of Dr. Sharpe.

After spending a great afternoon and evening with Sebastian in New York City, you’d practically collapsed on his guest bed and hadn’t woken up until your alarm went off. You doubted your streak of good luck could continue.

Still, though, you promised to have an open mind. So an open mind you would have, even while preparing yourself to hear the same words your other doctor had said. Maybe it would hurt less coming from Dr. Sharpe and her British accent.

“I have some good news and some bad news,” she started after greetings were passed around. “The bad news is that your cancer is getting more aggressive. It still hasn’t spread from the initial tumor, but the tumor has grown more than I anticipated it would have at this point.”

If that was the bad news, what the hell kind of good news could she have? But the good news is that you’ll die sooner, so you’ll spend less time in pain.

“If you had come to me even a week later, there would have been nothing I could have done.”

“But there is something?” Sebastian asked, glancing your way. You kept your face as neutral as you could, trying to breathe steadily.

Open mind.

“Yes. That’s the good news. There is a clinical trial over at New York Presbyterian. I’ve spoken with the doctor in charge, Dr. Chowdhury, and he has agreed that you are a good candidate. If you’re interested, he would like you to begin treatment today.”

“Today,” you repeated. She nodded, and you tried to reign in your thoughts well enough to find a question to ask. You had an open mind, sure, but that didn’t mean you had to agree right away. If this treatment plan failed, you would have spent the last few weeks of your life in a hospital, weak and frail. That wasn’t how you wanted to go out. That was why you’d turned down all of the other treatment plans.

“What… what are the odds? My chances? What makes this one different from the other ones I’ve looked into?”

“Dr. Chowdhury has spent most of his career focusing on the more aggressive forms of cancer. The kinds of cancer that typically don’t give the patient much time to even realize they have cancer before it’s too late. This treatment is going to be much more intense than your previous treatments. It combines various methods, kind of like mixing precision-targeted therapy infusions and immunotherapy to target the cancer cells. The thought is that, because the cancer is so aggressive, simply stopping the growth or trying to shrink the cancerous cells is not a viable plan. His treatment will do both at the same time.”

“So it’s like getting two different treatments at the same time? How would my body hold up against that? Just the chemo and radiation were tough enough.”

“I’m not going to lie to you. It will be extremely difficult for the first month or so. You will not be able to work for most of this treatment. Not even a few hours a week. Your body will take weeks to get used to the treatment. It will not be easy on you at all. But,” she rushed to say before you could shut this conversation down, “Dr. Chowdhury and I both agree that, with this treatment plan, your chance of shrinking the tumor enough for surgery are in the seventies.”

A gasp filled the silence, and you didn’t realize it was yours. Seventy percent? It was like you couldn’t breathe. Your heart was faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

Hope? Was that what you were feeling?

Dr. Sharpe offered you a smile and finished her explanation. “To top it all off, Dr. Abara is the best neurosurgeon in the country and she practices right out of New York Presbyterian. She is right on hand and has successfully removed many tumors located near yours.”

“Seventy percent?” You weren’t sure if anyone heard your soft whisper, but Dr. Sharpe nodded and repeated your question as an answer.

“To address one of your concerns from yesterday, this is a newer clinical trial. Finding candidates is difficult, due to the nature of the study. By focusing on aggressive forms of cancer, there is a small window of opportunity before the cancer has spread too much. However, eighty-six percent of the patients are now either in remission or cancer free.”

Seventy percent.

“Why didn’t the others make it into remission?”

“As with any clinical trial, there is a learning curve. Their cancer was too far progressed. That is why Dr. Chowdhury wants you to begin treatment today.”

“Today,” you repeated. “Right.”

There was so much you needed to do. If you were going to have to move here for a few months, you needed to get your things from back in Utah. Clothes, at least.

And if you weren’t going to do the treatment… then you were giving up on a seventy percent chance.

“Seventy percent,” you whispered again.

Sebastian reached over to grab your hand, prompting you to look at him. He was so open, so hopeful. A stranger; your husband.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “This is a lot. It’s… and-and-and what if your insurance won’t cover it anyway? Then this isn’t—”

“I’m sure, Y/N. I wouldn’t have flown you all the way here if I wasn’t.”

“As for the insurance,” Dr. Sharpe stole your attention, but Sebastian squeezed your fingers before turning his attention to her. “Sebastian brought me up to speed on your situation, so I had the legal team here at New Amsterdam look into his policy and call the insurance company. You are covered from the day of the wedding automatically. You, Sebastian, will need to make sure to get her added by the end of the month, though.”

“I-um…” What else was there to say? Some other point to argue. “Well damn. Uh, Can Seb and I have a few minutes alone?”

“Of course. I have some patients to check up on. When you make a final decision, get someone to page me. We’ll want to get you over to New York Presbyterian as soon as possible to get started on the paperwork and treatment.”

“Thank you,” you said as she stood.

As she passed Sebastian, she gripped his shoulder for a moment before leaving the room.

“You aren’t going to talk me out of this,” he said bluntly as soon as the door closed.

You squeezed his fingers in agreement before twisting in your seat to face him fully. “I know. I think I figured that out when we got on the plane. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I don’t know if you know anyone who’s gone through treatment for cancer, but it’s brutal. And it sounds like this one is… basically going to be like going through hell.”

“Y/N. I’ve gotten drunk in Vegas before. But I have never woken up married to someone before. That has to mean something.”

“You can’t count on this feeling of fate or destiny to carry you through, Seb. This is… this is going to be dirty and gritty and real. And then there’s the fact that you’re famous. I have no idea how the media works, but I’m sure we can’t keep this under wraps for long.”

“That’s what my press team is for. Don’t worry about that.”

“I can’t not worry about it. I… I won’t be able to deal with it. I’m not an open person, you know that. And when I’m that weak, I hate it. I-I-I hate myself. I… I’m fiercely independent. When I can’t do something for myself, I-I-I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to do. One time, my car died and I had jumper cables in my trunk, so I was like “I’ll just use Jasmin’s car to jump mine and drive to a mechanic” but my trunk didn’t have a way to open without power and I needed the trunk open to get power and I nearly had a breakdown before I finally called my boss to come with his jumper cables. I am independent to a fault. And I won’t be able to be independent at all for a while and that makes me a real bitch. But I’m a bitch with cancer, so people don’t feel comfortable calling me on my shit, and I’ll need you to call me on my shit and I won’t respond well and it’s a whole crap fest and there will be no part of this that will be fun.

“So if the press corners me,” you rounded back to where your rant began, “then I won’t be able to check myself. I will be as mean of a bitch as you’ve ever met. That won’t reflect well on you. So I’m asking you again: Are you sure? One hundred percent sure? I could mess up your life so fucking badly.”

Not to mention the secrets you’d kept for years. If those got out…

“And I can save yours.” His lack of hesitance shocked you. “There’s no question.”

“What about—what about—w-what about your fans? I’ve seen crazy fans. When they find out you’re married—”

“We can cross that bridge when it comes.”

“How the hell are you so chill right now? Are you, like, secretly high? So you’re just like yeah man, whatever. Sounds dope?” Your voice dropped down to mimic a stoner.

Your question had been semi-serious, but he took it as a joke and laughed. When he calmed down, he squeezed your fingers again. “That’s why. You just… I don’t know. It seems like the right thing to do right now. And you make me laugh, so that can’t be too bad, right?”

“The right thing to do right now,” you repeated, emphasizing the last two words. “What about in two weeks when I’m bitching because I can’t rinse out a fucking mug?”

“Why are you trying to talk me out of this? Talk yourself out of this?” You opened your mouth with some sort of retort, but he bulldozed over you. “No, really. Why? Your life is literally on the line. You’re allowed to be selfish for once. I’ll rise all of your fucking mugs for you, though I don’t want to think about the purpose of a fucking mug. Utah must be weird.”

Against your will, you snorted at his lame joke.

“Y/N. I am all in. I know there are some logistics that we need to go over. I’m leaving in a few weeks to start shooting my show. I don’t know what you’re going to tell your friends or family, and I don’t know what I’ll be telling mine. I’m sure I’ll have to argue with you to convince you to stay in my guest room soon.”

“I can’t really afford to live anywhere else, so you’ll win that one pretty easy.”

“Good. One thing down. Look how good we are!”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay. I, uh, guess I’m jumping in too.”

With his free hand, Sebastian reached into his pocket and withdrew the ring you’d slipped him in the cab back in Vegas. “Then I think this belongs to you.”

When you didn’t respond or move, he rolled his eyes. And wiggled the fingers holding the ring, making the diamonds catch the light and glimmer. “Gimme your left hand. C’mon.”

“Should I really wear it? I mean—”

“I bought it for you sometime when we were drunk in Vegas. It looks hella expensive. So, yes. You’re going to wear it. At least right now.” Impatiently, he pushed his hand forward for yours. “It’s supposed to be a moment, Y/N. A symbol. Don’t ruin the moment.”

You sighed dramatically before placing your hand in his, allowing him to slide the ring onto your finger.

So they’re staying married! It’s going to be easy going from here on out, right?? Right???

Part 7: The Big Reveal

[pronouncingitwang]

wtgfs | 2.5K words | basically a redo of mag94 with more crying and cuddling | for tma h/c week day 6: cradled

Georgie wraps her braids and changes into her pajamas, feeling—not fear, or apprehension, because that’s not possible, but perhaps, less excitement than usual. She normally doesn’t notice her heartbeat, but tonight, she does. It’s stable, but the fact that she checked in the first place is another bad sign.

“You said you wanted to tell me something,” Melanie says as Georgie gets under her blanket.

Georgie nods slowly, then realizes that Melanie can’t see it. “Yeah. I did.”

“I… I might’ve misread you, but it sounded serious?”

Georgie’s heart continues to beat, slow and steady. “A little.”

“Do you want to start?”

“Sure.”

“Talk away, then.”

“Okay.” Georgie shifts into a more comfortable position, then closes her eyes. “You know how I graduated from uni a year late?”

“Yeahh,” Melanie says, slowly. “You said it was for mental health?”

“Right.” Georgie blows out a breath. “Which was true, definitely, but… that’s not the full story. It’s, well…”

The last time Georgie did this, it was with Jon, the Eye drawing the words out of her like sap from a particularly juicy tree. This time, there’s nothing spurring her forward but her own determination. “Blood from a stone” is a far more apt simile.

“Uh, basically, my first year at Oxford, there was some stuff going down with the med students—or wait, I should probably start by saying I had… a friend named Alex… Or… no… that’s not it, either. God,” Georgie groans. “Why is this so hard?”

“Probably because talking sucks,” Melanie says. Georgie laughs, and Melanie adds, “I could… I could hug you while you told me? If that- Would that help?”

Georgie considers it, thinks about burying her face in the scent of Melanie’s citrus shampoo, so different from the antiseptic and decay of the Oxford medical building, thinks about feeling the strength of Melanie’s arms around her as she whispers out her story. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It takes a lot of shuffling around to get into the right positions, especially since Georgie’s vast collection of pillows include a body-sized one that forms what’s practically a wall between the two of them. Melanie sniffles a little as Georgie moves a few pillows to the nightstand, and Georgie makes a mental note to buy some allergy-friendly/dust-resistant pillowcases soon. Then, there’s getting into the hug. At some point Melanie grabs Georgie’s boob, which is… something to revisit. Eventually, though, they’re settled properly, Melanie’s arms around Georgie’s waist and their legs tangled together.

“Ready to try again?” Melanie asks, in a voice Georgie’s pretty sure is meant to imitate her therapist’s. She appreciates the effort to sound soothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Rewind. So, my first year at Oxford…”

Even with the hug, it’s still not as easy as it was with Jon. With Jon, Georgie was practically in a trance, but here, she has to form every word herself, relive every image. It’s like… if the first time was Georgie walking through a fog-lined street, her boots crunching uncomfortably against the ground, the second time is Georgie walking through the same street, except the fog is gone and it turns out she’d been stepping on bird bones or something equally crunchy and awful the entire time, and every step she takes, Georgie has to watch the bones break under her feet and cane. Not only that, but she cares more about Melanie’s opinion than Jon’s. As she stumbles forward, Georgie forgets details, has to backtrack, and leaves a lot of modifiers dangling in the process.

But in some ways, this is also easier. Easier because the background sounds are Melanie’s breathing and occasional vocal stimming instead of the dead whir of a tape recorder. Easier because the main physical sensation Georgie’s experiencing isn’t her skin prickling from Jon’s intense gaze on her face, but the increasingly firm circles Melanie is rubbing into her neck.

“And… now I’m here,” Georgie finishes, inadequately. “The end. Or, I guess, the End, with a capital E, according to Jon.”

Georgie feels Melanie swallow. Then, “Georgie… you’re saying you lost—”

Georgie had figured that that part would call for more explanation, but luckily, she has an explanation prepared. “My ability to feel fear, I know, not necessarily a bad thing—”

“—your best friend,” Melanie finishes, and Georgie stops breathing. Oh.

“What?”

Melanie shifts against Georgie. “Alex Brooke, right? You said… you said she was your only friend at Oxford, and you said you never saw her again.”

Oh, Georgie thinks again, and feels a swell of love and long-buried grief rise up in her chest, oh.

The first few weeks after she woke up, Georgie had been too numb to even wonder what had happened to Alex. The month after that, she’d tried to call her, three times a day, every day. Then, one day, she’d realized that perhaps she should’ve been checking the newspapers instead of her phone. That night was the first time Georgie’s parents had seen her drunk. They’d looked so afraid—something Georgie would never be able to do again. She’d shouted at them until their concern turned to exasperation and spent the next week in bed biting her nails off.

“I guess I… hadn’t thought about that for a while.”

“I’m so sorry, Georgie,” Melanie says. She means it.

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers, for lack of better things to say, and buries her nose further into Melanie’s hair. Her joints are beginning to protest at her staying in this position for so long, but she keeps holding on. Just a few more minutes.

“Do you…” Melanie starts. “Do you miss her?”

“I…” Georgie clears her throat and tries again. “I don’t know,”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Melanie says. “ I don’t miss my dad most days, and he died a lot more recently than Alex did.”

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers for the second time that night. “I think… I think about her sometimes, but I don’t know if it’s because I miss her, or because… It’s more like… I used to blame myself for going with her instead of- instead of trying to stop her, or pulling her out as soon as I saw how- how fucked up the situation was. And then I spent a lot of time thinking the opposite, blaming her for not leaving well enough alone. I thought, well, ‘Alex already made her choices, and her choices were bad.’ I wished so badly that my younger self had just… stayed away. Let her friend go to her death alone.”

“And now?”

“Now? After you, and Jon, and… Well, now, I don’t know,” Georgie says, and notices, for the first time, that there’s a lump in her throat and that her eyes are stinging. “I don’t”—and then she starts to cry.

Georgie hears the intake of breath from Melanie when she realizes what’s happening, feels Melanie’s thumb stop moving against her neck and just stay there, pressing into her skin. Georgie feels her own throat, choking out various ugly sounds, hears those sounds tear out of her in the form of sobs and ragged breaths. She thinks she might be getting snot on Melanie’s shirt and hair, but she’s shaking too badly to reach for a tissue to wipe it off.

Alex and Jon and Melanie and Alex. She’d failed Alex, or maybe Alex failed her. She’d let Jon stay in her guest room and watched him waste away, and then she’d practically told him that she wished he was dead and to get out of her flat. Melanie—Melanie had wanted Georgie’s help, and Georgie’s help had happened to be what Melanie needed, and Melanie is here and safe, but just for now, and if Georgie fails Melanie like she’d failed Alex she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie fails Georgie like Alex had failed Georgie, she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie ends up in a coma or on the run or if they cross each other’s boundaries too much she will be so fucking sad—

The first thing that cuts through the crying isn’t comfort, but a different pain—an ache in Georgie’s lower back that grows persistently harder to ignore. She groans and turns out of Melanie’s arms, back into starfish position on her side of the bed, and Melanie makes a sound of confusion at the sudden loss.

“I moved, it’s- it’s the arthritis,” Georgie explains between one sob and the next, and Melanie says, “Oh, of course.”

—and if either of them grow resentful of each other, then she will be so fucking sad, and if they have money problems or The Admiral dies she will be so fucking sad, and—

Georgie thinks, dully, that crying on her back is very different from crying on her side. Earlier, Georgie could curl into herself, into Melanie, but now, each of her sobs punches upward into empty air. The closest thing to an embrace she has now is her awareness of the potential weight of the ceiling, hanging seven feet above her, out of reach, just like Alex and Jon and maybe, one day—

“Melanie,” Georgie gasps. “Can you… hold my arm or something?”

“Of course,” Melanie responds immediately. Then, “Um, where exactly is your arm?”

“Uh, if you- if you take your hand and go up a little more—”

“Got it.” Melanie says, moving where Georgie has directed her, and for one beautiful second, all of Georgie’s consciousness narrows down to the warmth of those five fingers curling around her skin. Then, she remembers that she’s lying on her bed crying, and the moment is broken. It’s still better now, though, having something to anchor her, something to remind her that she is more than burning eyes and heaving chest.

It takes a while, but eventually, Georgie begins to calm down, her thoughts and breaths slowing down and her muscles loosening. She fumbles for the tissue box and begins to wipe at her face, then passes a few sheets to Melanie.

“I, uh, snotted on your hair a bit,” she explains. “It might be hard to feel, do you want me to get it?” and Melanie nods.

Once they’re all cleaned up and Georgie has fetched them both a glass of water, Melanie turns to her again.

“Is this…” Melanie starts, then stops. “Is this something you want to talk about more, or something you want to be distracted from?”

“I’m… not sure, actually,” Georgie croaks, wiping at her eyes again to catch any stray saltwater. “I just… I wanted you to hear it; I wasn’t really thinking about afterwards.”

“If I had to guess… That sounds like a distraction thing to me? But… I’m not sure what kind of distraction would make you feel better.”

“Well”���Georgie lets out a wet laugh—“you’re already doing miles better than Jon did, at least.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. To be fair, I didn’t cry when I told him about everything. But all he had to say was something about how he”—she puts on Jon’s posh accent and deepens her voice—“‘couldn’t believe I never told him’ or something.”

“What a wanker,” Melanie says, and unlike the other times she’s insulted Jon this week, there’s actual heat behind it.

“An inconsiderate dickhead,” Georgie agrees. “But,” she admits, “I think I’ve been worse to him.”

“I… I’d say so too,” Melanie replies, but thankfully, she doesn’t push Georgie any further in that direction. Melanie’s fingers flex against Georgie’s arm, a signal that they’ll pick up this thread of conversation later. “Though I still think the real dickhead here is Ms. Trauma Corpse of Medicalville.”

Georgie’s giggle comes out weaker than she expected. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” In her most passable radio announcer voice, Melanie cries, “Melanie hates her! Local medical corpse discovers supernatural method to traumatize her girlfriend. Click here to learn more and/or stab that fucker with a cool knife cane.”

Georgie laughs again, and Melanie continues, this time in a bad American tourist voice. “I visited Trauma Corpse with my family yesterday afternoon, and I have to say, it’s a real piece of shit. The human equivalent of a moldy chunk of cheese, or rice cooked in a saucepan. Zero out of five stars.”

“Would not recommend,” Georgie adds.

“Exactly. And,” Melanie presses on, returning to her normal voice, “what kind of name is ‘Trauma Corpse’ anyway? White people and their ridiculous baby names, seriously!”

This time, Georgie’s laugh is completely genuine. “I agree. It’s disgraceful. Motherfucking ‘Trauma Corpse.’”

“Motherfucking?” Melanie lets out an exaggeratedly affronted gasp. “She fucked your mother, too? A homewrecker on top of everything else? Do Ms. Corpse’s crimes ever end?”

That’s an awful—but distracting—mental image, which was probably the point. “Clearly not.”

Melanie smiles, and then, very slowly and carefully, moves to rest her cheek in Georgie’s palm. Her next words blow warm against Georgie’s wrist. “Seriously, though, Georgie… the evil thing here is The End, and whatever else may have been animating that body. Not you or Alex.”

Georgie lets the sentence linger in the air for a moment. Not Georgie’s fault. Not Alex’s. The thought wraps around her, not quite touching her skin, but warm. Close. Possible.

“Thanks,” Georgie says for the third time that night. She means it.

“God,” Melanie sighs into Georgie’s palm, “I’m not very good at this distraction thing, am I?”

“No, but it’s still helping. A lot, actually.”

“Good,” Melanie says, and chastely kisses Georgie’s wrist.

A slow smile spreads over Georgie’s face at the feeling. Said smile sparks several thoughts that occur to her in quick succession. She considers said thoughts, then performs a quick self-assessment: joints feel better, heart beating steadily, emotions fairly settled except for the part where she is very, very in love.

Finally, after making sure she’s okay one more time, Georgie turns to her side and scoots closer to Melanie. “I’m moving my hand away,” she warns her, and then, “I’m going to press my forehead to yours,” and lastly, “Can I put my hand on your hip? Cool.”

Having gotten into position, Georgie begins to speak, leaning into the Scouse a little bit more because, as she’s learned, Melanie likes it a lot. “Speaking of distracting me… if you really wanted to do that, I have a few suggestions.”

“Oh!” Melanie practically squeaks. Georgie adores her. “Do you mean sex?”

“Yes. I was thinking maybe… you could ride me? If you’d like.”

Even in the dark, Georgie can sense Melanie’s eyebrows rising. “Well… yes, I would like, but… are you okay for it?”

“Hey now,” Georgie says, “just because we’re dating now doesn’t mean we can’t continue to have sex in un-ideal emotional circumstances.” Melanie huffs out a laugh, but Georgie still clarifies, “But yes, I feel good, and I think you’re wonderful, and this isn’t a shitty coping mechanism or anything. Promise.”

“Okay, then,” Melanie says, audibly smiling. “One distraction, coming right up.”

“Emphasis on come—“ Georgie begins, but is cut off rather pleasantly by Melanie’s mouth.

Georgie kisses Melanie back. As she does so, she feels her heart begin to race.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Mouse Gerwitz x reader Letters

written by @anotheronechicagobog​

Requested by @confusedpimp​

Warnings: swearing, mature themes, implied smut

A/N: I’m asexual and terrible at writing kissing scenes, so sorry if that part sucks. I’ve been sick, had school stuff going on, and had some writer’s block, so I really hope you like it!

(Not my gif)

When you first met Mouse you were sixteen, he, Jay, and Will were all back from being away. Jay was on his first leave from the Rangers and Will was back from Uni for winter break. After spending the full day with you and Will Jay decided to hangout with Mouse. You threw a fit over that, you’d spent over a year terrified that he’d come back in a body bag and that you deserved to spend the few weeks he was there with him. So instead he invited Mouse to hang out the three of you instead. He was handsome, funny, and a Harry Potter fan so you didn’t mind at all. The three of you went down to the boardwalk and just spent time together, talking, going to the river museum which wasn’t your thing in all honesty but it was more about being together than anything else, and ended the day with deep-dish pizzas at home and a movie marathon. It was when your dad came home drunk off his ass that the mood changed. Jay and Will suddenly remembered what they left you home with, and Mouse was sitting there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. You sent an apologetic smile his way and stood up. “Hey, dad, it’s time for bed. C’mon, I’ll sing to you again.” Your brothers exchanged shocked and horrified looks as they say you leading your very drunk, very handsy father, up the stairs quickly and efficiently. You’d learned how to handle yourself when your brothers were gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you returned downstairs you heard furious voices in the kitchen. You turned to Mouse who was sitting on the couch with wide-eyes. “I’m really sorry you had to watch that Mouse. You look really uncomfortable, can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Uh... How often does that happen?”

“Why?” Mouse looked at you with guarded eyes. You were confused, Mouse sounded concerned and he didn’t really have any reason to be. Jay was your brother, not Mouse. “What do you mean ‘why’? That shouldn’t be happening to you.”

“Mouse, I only met you this morning so I’m a little surprised at your reaction.”

“Jay’s been showing me and the others pictures of you and sharing stories since basic training, he talks about you all the time, he’s so protective of you, it’s kinda rubbed off on the rest of us.” You nodded slowly, processing his answer. “Look, I get that my brother and his overprotective ways influenced you, but I can handle myself.” Mouse didn’t look convinced.

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After Mouse left you walked into the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter. The mood was thick and tense and you dreaded the conversation that was coming. “Alright, let’s get this conversation over with.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Jay huffed angrily and threw the dishtowel into the empty but still soapy sink. Will threw the remaining cutlery in the drawer and slammed it shut. “Why are you being so calm about this?”

“I didn’t want you guys to put your lives on hold. You two basically raised me, you’ve sacrificed enough. Yes, he’s been drinking more, yes he’s gotten handsy, but I can handle myself I promise.” Jay screwed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists. “You should have told us.We’re supposed to take care of you.”

“And what could you have done Will? Jay’s been in the middle east fighting a war, and you’ve been in med school in Seattle. You’ve tried to get custody of me before and it fell through, we just have to face it, this is the situation for now. It sucks but its doable.”

“Are you kidding me?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! Y/N, we are your big brothers, it’s our responsibility to help and protect you! You need to tell us when stuff like this starts, so that we can deal with whatever shit’s going on!” You sighed and watched Jay catch his breath.

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The rest of the boys’ stay was tense. They walked you to and from school, Mouse and some others in Jay’s unit were coming over to stay with you when your brothers couldn’t (including ‘introducing’ themselves to your father), and you were never left alone with your father. You were annoyed at all that your brother was orchestrating, but you were also low-key relieved you didn’t feel the need to barricade your door at night. Two days before Jay and Mouse were scheduled to head back you were introduced to Mouse’s family. His parents were wonderful and Katie was so freaking adorable. You’d all decided to go out to dinner to an Irish restaurant. Right before the Celtic band was set to play Mouse’s mom pulled you aside. “Sweetheart, Greg told us about your dad. We just want you to know that you’re always welcome with our family and at our home. Just call and we’ll be there as soon as possible. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.”

When you both sat back down Mouse’s eyes caught yours and he smiled sheepishly. You smiled in return, feeling grateful about your overprotective brothers

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TWO YEARS LATER

You cheered silently as you skipped down the steps of your childhood home. You had all your possessions in your backpack and a small suitcase. You were finally eighteen, legally able to walk away without being dragged back. Greg’s family invited you to stay with them until you started university in the fall. They’d been a godsend over the years, to the point where you started sending letters to Mouse as well as Jay. While your brother initially thought it was weird but stopped complaining when Katie mailed him a picture of flowers she drew. Your relationship with Mouse grew.you swapped stories, created inside jokes, and confided in one another. For the next few months, you were going to be living in his old bedroom. It looked like how he left it.

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You sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room you’d called home for the past few months. You were excited but apprehensive about starting university. Not just because of the daunting aura of university, but because of the financial aspects. You’d started applying for scholarships and bursaries before your application was even accepted. While you’d been awarded a decent amount of money, it wasn’t anywhere close to covering one semester, forget the rest of your academic career. So you’d turned to something your brothers would murder you for if they ever found out- being a stripper and a sugar baby.

In all honesty, it hadn’t been as bad as you’d expected. You’d found a website where you could... advertise yourself. You’d posted some nice photos of yourself, selfies where you’re smiling in a park and the boardwalk, and made it clear on your profile that sex was NOT on the table. It had taken you a while to find a sugar daddy, for that reason, but you’d found one and your... allowance was pretty good. You’d been contacted by a guy in his late 30’s who was gay and came from a very conservative family who expected a serious girlfriend. He wasn’t ready to come out, terrified of the backlash and possible violence he’d receive from his family, he decided to go another route. So while everyone thought you were moving into an apartment you were really moving in with your sugar daddy.

You’d have your own room, and were free to use any room in his apartment except for his ensuite bedroom and office. The same applied to him, he wasn’t allowed in your room either. He’d been nervous about the arrangement, much like yourself, and had offered to assist you in decorating your room, a kind offer you’d decided to accept to try and form a friendship with him. You’d need to be a convincing companion, after all.

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ONE YEAR LATER

“Well well well, if it isn’t the girl who put Van Gogh posters up in my room.”

“Mouse! It’s good to see you. You’re on leave with Jay, then? Also, who doesn’t like Starry Night?” You’d gone with Jay to hang out at a bar with him and some guys from his unit, Jay had gone off with a pretty blonde twenty minutes ago and hadn’t returned. Mouse smiled and took another swig of his beer. He sat down across from you, where Jay had been sitting and folded his hands together on top of the table. His arms were even more muscular than the last time you’d seen him. His shoulders were broader, he had a tan, and his eyes looked sharper. “So who’s the lucky guy? Everyone’s been writing that you’re seeing someone, and I know you, you don’t buy jewellery for yourself. Yet here you are, with a lovely necklace, dainty rings and bracelets. C’mon, spill.” Mouse looked tense, and his hands were clenched, almost like if they weren’t so tightly coiled together he’d be doing something else with them. “He’s none of your or anyone else’s business.” You smiled coyly at him and took another sip of your screwdriver. Mouse’s eyes flickered dangerously before going blank, a tense smile forcing its way onto his face. “Well alright, then. Let’s talk about something else.” You felt confused as Mouse started to ramble about the Blackhawks.

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Things seemed to be frosty between you and Mouse after your talk in the bar. Letters were still exchanged, but he wasn’t as open with you as he used to be. He stopped opening up to you, doodling goofy little cartoons in the margins, sweet words to you, monologuing about his goals and dreams (most of which involved you but you tried not to read too much into, despite how it made your heart flutter), and describing how badly he missed your famous chocolate cookies. You sighed, before placing his latest letter in the decorative box you’d gotten to keep them in. You gently placed that box next to your suitcase before returning to packing. You and George had ended your arrangement, he’d fallen in love with a wonderful man and now that things were serious, and that he felt ready to come out, you were moving out. You’d met him and surprisingly you two had developed a friendship, even with him knowing what you were to George. He’d thought it strange at first, but moved past it quickly when he considered the circumstances. And since he was a successful real estate agent, he’d volunteered himself to find you an apartment. The one you’d settled on was a steal and absolutely beautiful. Taping up the last box you were thankful that you didn’t have more belongings. The new furniture you’d purchased from IKEA was set to be delivered and put together tomorrow, deciding to leave most of your furniture with George since you weren’t overly attached to them and George had, y’know paid for them. So you were going to load your boxes and large suitcase into your car tonight and leave in the morning. Then the room you’d been living in would go back to being a guest room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound and smell of sizzling filled your apartment as you cooked up some sausages to accompany your toast and boiled egg for breakfast. They were almost done cooking when there was a knock on your door. Leaving them on the element for a moment you went and opened it. Surprised to see your brother standing there. “Jay! Will! What are you guys doing here?”

“We came to visit your new place, you know, since you actually told us the address this time.”

“Oh come on, you’re not both still on that, are you? I just didn’t want your overprotective asses descending on my life all the time!”

“Hey! Is that any way to talk to the guys who brought doughnuts?” 

“Is that any way to talk to the chick who cooked sausages that she’s willing to share with her brothers?”

“Touche.”

“So why are you guys really here? We were supposed to have shepherd’s pie and stuff tonight.”

“Well, we are here in part to celebrate because I got assigned to Chicago Med and Jay is finally back after getting medically discharged.”

“Also, I was wondering if you’d heard from Mouse.”

“What? No, I haven’t, did something happen?” You stomach dropped and ice bolted up your spine.

“He didn’t handle everything well. After he was allowed to leave the facility, no one’s heard from him. Not even his family. We were wondering if he’d contacted you.”

“No, he hasn’t contacted me. I don’t know why you thought he would, we’re not very close.” Jay narrowed his eyes at you. “Then why were you exchanging letters with him while we were overseas? You don’t do that with someone you don’t care about.”

“He was out there with you Jay. It felt good to talk to someone I know had your back, he was willing to tell me things about you and that was going on that you wouldn’t. We formed a friendship for a while,” Jay and Will let out a snort, you raised your eyebrow, “but things got cold a while ago. He stopped telling me stuff about himself, the genuine things we corrisponded about.” You sighed. “Why are you acting like I’m super close to him?”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t know.” You shrugged and shook your head, feeling completely confused. “Mouse fell in love with you.” He and Will jumped when they heard glass shatter. You’d dropped your mug when you heard the shocking news. You could feel your jaw hanging open and your heart pounding in your ears. 

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FOUR MONTHS LATER

You were cursing under your breath, your first date since high school stood you up in a pretty bad part of town, huddling closer to yourself, trying to remain unseen. Your plan had failed though, as a hooded man had been following you for the past thee blocks, even circled one behind you. You were officially scared. You were thinking of a plan to attack him that didn’t result in you get raped and/or murdered when you ran into someone. “Sorry, I have to go-”

“Y/N?”

“Mouse? What are you doing here?”

“The question is what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’d like to catch up with you but there’s a guy following me-”

“Blackhawks hoodie covering his face? I see him. I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and started to direct you down the street. “Let’s get you home.”

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Mouse was sitting at your kitchen island with a coffee and grilled cheese in front of him. His face looked shallow, he had bags around his eyes, he looked like he hadn’t had a decent meal in ages and he couldn’t stop fidgeting. You didn’t need to look at his arms to know that there would be track marks. “Jay’s been worried about you. So have I. You dropped off the radar.”

“It’s my life not his.”

“I know.”

“So... You moved.”

“Yes.”

“You and your boyfriend broke up?”

“Yeah, we did, he wasn’t really my boyfriend, though, that’s a story for another time. How have you been, Mouse, really?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Whatever you say. What have you been doing?”

“Please don’t pull that with me Y/N. I know you can tell that I’ve been doing drugs.”

“I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but I’m here for you, okay? I miss you and what we had. Let me help you. I’ll even leave Jay out of it if you want, I know he can be kind of over bearing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

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EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Mouse was curled up on your couch with you stroking his hair. Therapy had taken a lot out of him and he just wanted to be held. You obliged, letting him rest his head on your lap and running your fingers through his hair. He wasn’t moving or making any noise, and he was cold to the touch. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was on death’s door and called for help. After escorting you home from the disaster of a stand up, you’d gotten close again. Mouse went to rehab for six months and while he wasn’t using anymore it was clear he was still struggling so you’d suggested therapy with the VA. He’d been hesitant, and you hadn’t wanted to push, but he realized you were just trying to help him the best way you knew how. This included letting him live with you and not telling Jay you knew where he was. Mouse hadn’t wanted to ask that of you but he felt much more comfortable with as little pressure on him as possible. You sat like that for hours. Surrounded by silence, the only movement in the room was your hand going in soothing rounded movements along his scalp. You stopped when Mouse started to sit up. “I’m feeling like Thai food tonight, how about you?”

“That sounds like heaven, Y/N. I’m going to take a quick shower.” He dropped a kiss on your forehead and padded down the hall to the bathroom. You placed your usual order and then took a moment to dwell on your current living situation. Mouse meant a lot to you, but he also meant a lot to  Jay, and not telling Jay he wasstaying here could seriously damage your relationship. And your relationship with Mouse was shifting too. Your apartment was only one bedroom, so while Mouse had started with sleeping on the pull-out couch, it hadn’t stayed that way. He’d found you comforting and since his nightmares often woke you up and prompted you to stay with him anyway, you’d started going to bed together. You’d made space for his things in your dresser and closet. All that with the subtle intimate gestures it made you feel like you were dating, and it had dragged all of your buried feelings back into the spotlight. It killed you to be so close, to be tangled in one another, to have your faces so close, and not being able to express how much you loved him. Crushing on your older brother’s brother in arms was one thing, but what the two of you were doing now was something else. Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. You were sitting the food on the island when Mouse stepped out of the bathroom in jeans and... nothing else. His lean chest and arms were exposed, they reminded you of the warmth you felt when he used those arms to pull you close and tuck your head into the crook of his neck. You swallowed thickly and forced yourself to turn away. “Are you okay, Y/N? You’re looking a bit flushed.”

“Yeah, the food’s hot, that’s all.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

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BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The monotone sound of your alarm blared into your ear, reminding you that you had class. You moved to get out of bed but were held in place by Mouse’s -deceptively- strong arms. “It’s early. Stay.”

“I can’t, today’s my last class before my thesis is due.”

“No.”

“Greg.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Greg’ now is it? When will you be back?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Let’s meet somewhere for lunch.”

“Diner?”

“Diner.”

“Alright, now that that’s settled, let me go.”

“Fine. But I want it made very clear that I would rather be holding you against me.”

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Class dragged on and you were glad when it ended. Your thesis was already complete, all you had to do was meet with your supervisor to go over it.  You stretched your neck to try and remove some of the tension as you stood on the bus that was heading in the direction of your and Mouse’s favourite diner. A small family-owned place that was run by a single mom and her two kids, one of whom was a firefighter at firehouse 51. You got off at your stop and entered the diner, you spotted Mouse almost immediately. He was facing the door and smiled, gesturing to the two cups of coffee on the table. The sight made all the remaining tension evaporate.

Lunch with Mouse always relieved some stress, talking to him, being with him, made everything better. Always. Your burgers were served promptly and with a twinkling smile from Peter. The exchange was not missed by Mouse who muttered under his breath, as he did every time Peter was your server. “Mouse, why do you always do that?”

“What? Get annoyed when he flirts with you while I’m sitting right here?”

“We’re not dating Mouse, why does it matter if he flirts with me?” He tensed and swept his tongue over his lower lip. Taking a deep breath he sat up straighter in his seat and looked you in the eyes. “I don’t like it because I do want to date you, and I know that wanting to date you isn’t the same as actually dating you, but he knows how I feel about you. His mom pulled it out of me when I was doing a freelance job on my laptop here a couple of weeks ago and not only was he standing right beside her, but he told me that he thought we’d make a cute couple.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah... I get it if you don’t feel about me like that, I mean I’m a train wreck-”

“Mouse.”

“Jay would kill me-”

“Mouse.”

“I’m not good enough for you-”

“Mouse!”

“Y/N, please stop interrupting me. I just, I get that you don’t love me back and that’s okay and completely understandable.”

“Mouse I love you.” He gazed at you softly, reached his hand had closed around yours gently. “Do you mean it?” His voice was deep and soulful. “Yes. Mouse, I love you.”

“Thank God.” He leaned across the table and enclosed his lips around yours. His hands were delicately cradling your face, your heart swelled. All you could do was wrap your arms around your neck and smile into his lips. When you parted neither you nor Mouse could stop beaming.

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ONE YEAR LATER

Three months after your first kiss with Mouse he decided to get back in contact with Jay. Your brother had responded by tackling him in a bear hug, getting him a job at intelligence as the tech guy, and waving off your apology citing that you brought out the best in Mouse. While you and Mouse were still going strong and continued to love each other with everything you have, neither of your brothers knew. The only people who knew were Sarah Reese, your best friend, Trudy Platt, because she’s a genius, and Voight, because that man knows everything. They all encouraged you to tell your siblings, and you wanted to, you really did, but Mouse didn’t want to. He said he just wanted to enjoy your little bubble a while longer, but in truth, you knew he felt guilty about dating his best friend’s baby sister.

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ONE YEAR LATER

You and Mouse still hadn’t told your brothers, while more members of med, PD and firehouse 51 knew, they were all sworn to secrecy. You wanted to tell your brothers. You wanted to be able to kiss your boyfriend when you visited the precinct at lunch, to hold hands without Mouse looking over your shoulders. It was starting to wear on you honestly, but you still loved him. And you understood that the time really just hadn’t been right recently. You both had agreed to tell them, but then catastrophe after catastrophe prevented you from doing so.

Sarah was frog-marching you to the ED because you’d been throwing up violently almost non-stop for days and was furious when she found out you hadn’t told Mouse you were sick just because he had a case. “Sarah-”

“No. You’re sick. Something’s wrong, and if you don’t get checked out I’ll tell Will and then he’ll drag you down here.”

“I was going to say you’re right this definitely isn’t a little stomach bug, that I’m grateful for you as a friend, and that your goddamn claws are digging into my shoulder, but okay.” Her hand fell from your shoulder, you rubbed it tenderly as the pain flared. “Sorry, I’m just getting really worried.”

“I know, I am too. Because I realized upstairs before you made the decision to manhandle me down here, that I haven’t gotten my period in two months.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup, that’s how I ended up here.” She rolled her eyes and hooked her elbow in yours. “I call godmother.”

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“Hi Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nat, I think I’m pregnant.”

“Well okay, then. We’ll do an ultrasound while we wait for your blood test results.” You lifted up your shirt and tried to control your nervous breathing. “This might be a little cold, okay.” She pressed the gel-covered wand on your abdomen. She smiled and turned to you. “Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant.” You let out a sigh and looked at the monitor your brother’s wife had turned towards you. Your heart felt so full, remembering Mouse’s numerous comments about what he thought your children would look like. The moment of peace and joy was disturbed when Will, in his regular clothes, pushed the curtain aside. “Hey, Nat I need- Y/N? Why are you here? And- oh god. You’re pregnant, you’re- how are you pregnant? Y/N?” Will was in full freak out mode and he wasn’t paying any heed to Nat who was doing her best to calm him down. Sarah accidentally chose that moment to distractedly walk into the room. “Y/N I found the cutest way to tell Mouse you’re pregnant on pinterest-”

“Mouse?! Mouse knocked you up?! Does Jay know? Forget it, I’m going to kill him.” He stormed out of the room and ED, presumably to confront your boyfriend at PD.

“Shit, I didn’t think he’d be here, I’m sorry Y/N.”

“It’s okay, I have to get to the precinct before Will does.”

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After pleading with your boss to let you go early, citing a family emergency, you rushed to the precinct and to Trudy’s desk. “Will’s upstairs isn’t he?”

“Got here a minute before you did, what’s wrong?”

“He found out about me and-”

“Say no more. Head on up.”

You took the stairs two at a time and ran into the bullpen to a full-on screaming match between Will, Jay, and Mouse. “Back the fuck up Will! Jay doesn’t get to make this decision for me and neither do you!”

“NO WAY GREG! NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL!”

“Will, calm down, he’s my best friend and I don’t want him to reenlist either but there’s no need to yell like that.”

“YES THERE FUCKING IS! GREG GERWITZ YOU ARE NOT RUNNING OFF TO THE RANGERS AFTER KNOCKING UP Y/N!”

“What?! Mouse, you did what?! YOU HAD SEX WITH MY BABY SISTER?!”

“DOES SHE EVEN KNOW YOU’RE GOING BACK TO THE RANGERS OR WERE YOU PLANNING ON TELLING HER BEFORE ASKING FOR A RIDE TO THE AIRPORT?!”

“HOW DARE YOU HAVE SEX WITH Y/N-”

“You’re reenlisting with the rangers?” Your voice was so quiet you weren’t sure how the three arguing men heard you but they did, as well as the rest of intelligence who were huddled in the break room. You were shaking and your vision was blurring from tears. You’d spent years worrying about him, as well as Jay. You didn’t think you could handle that, especially not now. You felt light-headed and like you needed to lie down. “No, I’m not.” Mouse crossed the room to you quickly, guiding you into Antonio’s chair and holding your face in his loving hands. With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away your tears. “No, I’m not reenlisting. I got the offer from my old SO, I briefly considered it before chucking that idea out the window because I don’t want to leave you, Y/N. The only reason I haven’t outright told Jay, and consequently the rest of intelligence, is because they were trying to control my decision. I was never going to go, I won’t leave you, especially not now. How are you feeling sweetheart? Do you need something to eat or drink?” Still shaken up, you could only sniffle out, “I don’t know,” before bursting into tears. You felt him bend down more and wrap himself around you. He ran his hands comfortingly up and down your back while murmuring words of reassurance to you. “I’m right here.” “I don’t ever want to leave you.” “I love you so damn much sweetheart.” “I want to spend the rest of our lives together.” “I love you.” You finally lifted your head out of the crook of his neck, and looked into the gentle eyes you love so much. “I’m pregnant.” He smirked playfully. “I heard.” Laughter escaped your lips before you could realize his joke wasn’t all that funny. He pressed his forehead to yours. “We’re going to be parents.”

“Yeah, we are.” Mouse captured your lips in a loving, searing kiss that was interrupted by someone, or someone’s, ‘aheming’ right next to you. Still tangled with Mouse you turned to your brothers, “how do you guys feel about being uncles?”

“We feel great but,” Will looked at Jay who finished the thought you knew they were both dying to ask, “are you going to explain any of this to us?”

[puckinghell]

Cross Me | Josh Anderson

Summary: When you run into your ex at a bar, Josh makes sure to make it clear he’s got your back. Based on the song Cross Me by Ed Sheeran Words: 2.5k Note: You guys kept requesting Josh Anderson and now you’ve got me into him, so thanks for that. Here you go

You haven’t seen David in a few months, but at the first sight of him, every feeling comes rushing back over you like a tidal wave.

The happiness you felt when he first told you he loved you. The pain he caused when he left.

Not just left. Cheated. 

You hadn’t really wanted to come out tonight, but Josh insisted, and he could be relentless when he wanted to be. 

“You have to go, everyone’s going,” he’d pouted, “the guys all miss you. And if you don’t come, who am I going to hang out with when they all get drunk and annoying?”

“At that time, you’ll also be drunk and annoying, so why would I wanna be there?” your answer had been, but you’d never been good at saying no, not when it came to Josh and his big puppy eyes, so that’s how you had ended up where you are now.

Standing in the corner of the bar with your feet nailed to the floor, watching as your ex walks through the door.

“Josh.” His name falls from your lips in a strangled noise and it surprises you, with the music in the bar so loud, that he hears you immediately. There’s a frown on his face as he turns around, the panic in your voice clear to him, and when he sees your fallen face he rushes over. 

“Dude?!” Zach calls out offended when Josh bumps into him, but your best friend doesn’t even seem to hear his teammate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he reaches you, hand curling around your elbow. You don’t speak but you’re staring, and he follows your gaze to the door.

His eyes darken when he spots David. 

“That asshole.” 

Josh has been your best friend for years and his opinion has always mattered when it comes to dating people. He always meets guys you’re hanging out with pretty soon after you start dating, because if he doesn’t like them, you’ll think twice about getting serious with them.

Not only does Josh have pretty good intuition when it comes to guys being good dudes, he’s also the most constant source of happiness in your life, and it never sat right with you to be with someone he’s not keen on.

The thing is. He actually really liked David, when you introduced them. They became buddies pretty quickly, bonding over the best beer pong strategies and action movies you don’t really care about. You were with David for over a year and it had made you so happy that your best friend and your boyfriend became friends.

But when you showed up at Josh’s door with tears rolling down your at 2 am on a Tuesday, he didn’t hesitate to drop that friendship right away.

All you had to do was tell him the truth. That David had been having an affair with Vanessa, a colleague of his, for over a month. And now he was breaking up with you to go have a life with her.

David had broken you, and Josh had been there to put back the pieces. He’d been there when you spent an entire week eating chocolate ice cream and watching romantic comedies on his couch, he’d been there to carry you home when you went through a party phase, and he’d been the one to pry your phone out of your hands as you drunkenly tried to call your ex. 

You don’t know how you would’ve coped without him. You could never thank him enough for being your rock, but you knew it hadn’t been easy for him, to juggle your emotion distress and his career, not when David broke up with you while the Blue Jackets were still fighting for their playoff spot. It must’ve been tough for him, too, to lose a guy he saw as a friend. 

It’s not weird, then, that Josh’s jaw is set tight as he stares at David, eyes cold and lips pressed in a tight line.

“You wanna leave?” he asks, but the thing is. You’re doing fine now. It’s been months and although it hurts to see David, you’re definitely not in love with him anymore, and you definitely don’t want him back. All you really want to do is kick him in the balls. 

If there’s an opportunity, you might take it. 

“No,” you tell Josh, shooting him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I promised you a fun night, we’re going to have a fun night if it kills me. He doesn’t deserve to take this away from us.” 

Josh smiles, a genuine one that lights up his eyes, and he nods. “That’s my girl,” he grins, and you ignore the way your heart flutters.

You’re really, honestly, very grateful that Josh has been by your side for months, but it would’ve been more practical if it hadn’t made you fall in love with him.

You don’t know exactly when it happened. It wasn’t one big moment. It was all the small moments, drying your tears on his shirt and his arms around you, his lips softly pressed against your forehead and his snarky remarks making you laugh, calling to check up on you or texting you memes just to get your mind off it. 

Maybe you’ve always loved Josh, since the very first day you met him. You know you certainly had a crush on him for the first year of your friendship, but you figured he wasn’t interested in you that way and so you just kinda pushed those feelings away. But now they’re back and it feels like they’re planning to stay. 

“Let’s get drunk,” Josh says, leaning a little closer to talk in your ear to get over the music, and he gives your arm a quick squeeze before making his way to the bar. He says something to Seth on the way and not even five seconds later he appears at your side.

“So the ex is here, huh?” Seth says. “You alright? Call if you want us to bust his kneecaps.” 

You giggle; there’s something hilarious about the idea of Seth busting anyone’s kneecaps, even though you know he most definitely could. It’s just, well, Seth is maybe the nicest, purest soul you’ve ever met. You can’t even picture him hurting a fly. 

“You laugh,” Seth grins, “but I’m pretty sure Josh is about ready to commit murder. He’s pissed, dude.” 

Your eyes find Josh in the crowd and indeed, there’s a clear tension in his shoulders and his hands are gripping the bar with so much force his knuckles are turning slightly white. 

You’ve only really ever seen him like that on the ice, and although it’s hot - it probably shouldn’t be, with it being violence and all, but hey, you’re a simple woman, and he looks hot after fights - you’re not excited about the prospect of having him knock out your ex boyfriend. 

“I’ve got it covered, Jonesy,” you tell Seth with a grateful smile. “Thanks, though. If I need help containing Josh, I’ll call you.” 

Seth holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, I offered to take out your ex, I’m not doing shit with Josh. He’s mean. And big.” 

At least a full head taller than your ex and with twice the amount of muscle mass, probably. Nope, you definitely can’t let him punch David, even if the idea might be at least a little enticing. 

When Josh returns with your drinks, you playfully bump your shoulder into his arm and start cheerily talking about anything and everything, in an attempt to distract him, and it seems to work. Only half an hour the mood has lightened immensely and your glasses are empty.

“I’ll get the next round,” you say, and Josh taps your waist as you walk past.

“Put it on my tap.” 

You roll your eyes but you’ll definitely take him up on his offer; it’s only fair, since you didn’t want to go out and he basically forced you, and now you were breathing the same air as David the cheater.

“Two more, please?” you ask the bartender, who sends you a nod, and goes to get your drinks. 

Almost, you make it. But the second the bartender puts your drinks on the bar a familiar voice speaks.

“Hey, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sound and for a second, you wonder if you should just turn and run, but then you realize he’s not got that kinda power over you.

He can’t.

So you plaster a fake smile on your face and turn around. “Hello, David.” 

His eyes roam over your body with a clear interest and he smiles. “Looking good.” 

You know you do, and you would’ve told him the same, except, well, he doesn’t. There’s dark circles under his eyes and his skin is pale, and he looks like he lost weight; even if there wasn’t much to lose in the first place.

“Thanks,” you say. “How’s Vanessa?” It’s a bit of a low blow but you can’t stop yourself, and you also can’t stop the smug smile when his face falls.

“We’re, uh, we decided to call it quits.” 

“We?” you repeat, because you have a feeling you know what happens.

“Uhm, no, just, uh, she did. She didn’t really want a serious relationship.” He looks genuinely sad when he speaks again. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Look, I know I messed up, but if you ever need anything...”

Suddenly the words die on his lips and there’s a fearful look on his face. You feel two strong arms wrap around your waist and there’s the familiar smell of Josh’s cologne mixed with his laundry detergent, so you don’t hesitate to lean back into the touch. 

“If she needs anything, she can call me.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard Josh’s voice so icy cold and when you look up at his face there’s a fire burning behind his eyes, that reminds you off his on-ice fighter look. With them standing so close it’s painfully obvious that Josh could probably knock David out with one fist to the face, so you move your hand, casually dragging your fingers down Josh’s arm, to tell him you’ve got it covered. 

“Yeah,” you repeat, deadpanning, “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

David’s eyes travel from you to Josh and he frowns. “Oh, are you two, like, together, now?” 

No. 

“Yep,” Josh says, popping the P. “And what me and her have is different from what you had, because I actually fucking love her the way she deserves to be loved. Like you never could.” 

David flinches at the harsh tone in Josh’s voice and even you struggle to find words; you know he’s just trying to get rid of your ex but God do you wish he means it. 

David lets out a nervous laugh. “So are you gonna break my nose now or something?” 

Josh cocks his head to the side, shrugs. “No,” he says, “if she wants to break your nose, she’s perfectly capable of doing that herself. My girl ain’t one to play with.” His voice lowers; there’s a clear warning when he speaks. “But I’ll be staying close, David.” 

Your ex swallows, squares his shoulders. “Right. Well, the best, then.” The words fall over his lips in a hurry and you’re pretty sure he almost trips as he scurries away as fast as he can. You feel Josh relax behind you, but only slightly. 

“I really want to put that guy’s lights out,” he whispers, and you turn around to face him.

Except his arms are still around your waist and now you’re a little closer than you expected to be, your chest pressed up against his as he breathes heavily, eyes still darkened by adrenaline. 

“But you let me handle it,” you say softly. “Thank you, Josh. It means a lot that you trusted me to deal with him.” 

Something softens in his face, then, as his eyes find yours. “Y/N, you’re a badass. I wasn’t lying to him, I know you could break his nose if you wanted to.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “It would’ve just given me a lot of satisfaction to do it myself.” 

“He’s not worth it,” you tell him, and Josh sighs.

“No, I suppose he’s not.” He leans down a little, his forehead almost resting against yours but not quite, because, well, he’s stupidly tall. “I can’t believe that weasel was my friend.” 

You feel a sharp jab of pain in your heart, at that. David might’ve been an asshole to you, but he never did anything to Josh personally. “You didn’t have to stop being friends with him for me, Josh. He didn’t break your heart.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Josh laughs but there’s no humor behind it, just pain and bitterness. “Seeing you hurt, hurt me more than anything that fucker could’ve done to me. I mean...” He pauses, eyes glancing down to your lips again then looking back up to lock with yours. “If they cross you, they cross me.”

His words send warm shivers down your spine and for a second, you wonder if he meant it, what he said before about loving you. With how close he is standing, and with the way he’s looking at you, it’s hard to remember that you’re just friends. 

“Josh,” you say softly, “you gotta stop being so perfect, because you’re raising my standards to the point where I might never find another boyfriend again.” 

A strangled noise escapes Josh’s lips. “God, you don’t get it, do you?” he groans, and then his forehead actually drops against yours and your stomach flips. There’s something in his eyes, still dark but different, now, and it’s hard to read. “Nothing I said to David was a lie. I fucking love you. More than he ever could, hell, more than anyone ever could.” 

One of his hands moves to your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone as the tips of his fingers curl around your jaw. 

“I don’t want you to find another boyfriend. I want you to find me.” 

And well, if David had to break your heart in order for you to end up in Josh’s arms, all the pain was worth it. So you push up on your tiptoes and press your lips against Josh’s; he responds immediately, kissing you with a passion that has your toes curling and your heart beating in your throat and you reach up and thread your fingers through his hair. 

When he pulls away, his eyes flicker to something behind you, and a smug smirk falls over his face. 

“David is staring at us. Can I punch him now?” 

“No,” you mumble, “but you can kiss me again, just to drive the point home.” 

And he has no problem doing that. 

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons - Baby

Cat's POV

We moved to California almost a year ago, found a little house to rent and left Hawkins behind, only returning for holidays. Things hadn't always been easy but it had been great, until Steve and I had gotten drunk one night while Billy was working late. Steve had been acting distant toward me but that night had insisted that we spend time together.

"Cat..I gotta, I gotta tell you something."

I smiled, sipping at my cooler, "okay?"

A bright red blush rose up his neck to his cheeks, "okay, uh..I love you."

I reached out, took his fingers in my hand and squeezed gently, "Stevie, you know I love you."

Steve shook his head slowly before meeting my eyes, "no, Cat. I love you. I want to be with you."

"B-but, Stevie...Billy and I-"

"I know, but listen," he grabbed my other hand in his and held on tight, "I think we could make this work."

I looked at him, confused, "Stevie, we can't..I'm not gunna cheat on Billy."

"No, you don't understand," he scooted closer, so our knees were touching and let go of my hands to grab my shoulders, "I think we could make this work, the three of us."

"What?"

"Yeah, the three of us. We could all be together. I love you, Cat, I don't want anyone else. I've been thinking about it for a couple months and talking to some people about it and I think it could work, what do you think?"

"Who would you have talked to about this?"

"People at work."

My jaw dropped, "you were talking to old ladies about a threesome?"

"No, well, one lady. But she just heard me talking to one of the other workers and then told me that she had a relationship like that once. And it's not a threesome like you're thinking, it's a relationship between three people."

"Stevie, I don't know...I have to think about it..and Billy needs to agree..."

He nodded slowly, pressed a warm kiss to my forehead, "think about it. But don't tell Billy until you've decided. Then, if you decide no that's okay and he doesn't need to know, I'll drop it. And..I can move out if you decide that's what you want."

It took me a week before I decided that we should talk to Billy about it.

Billy's POV

"So...what do you think?"

Cat and Steve looked at me from across the kitchen, a careful amount of distance between the two of them. Steve hadn't said much, had let Cat softly explain the idea to me instead, knowing that I wouldn't get as mad at her. It didn't do much to stop the hot burn of anger and jealousy that spiked in my gut.

"You're kidding right? You two want my blessing to fuck? No way!"

"B, that's not-"

"Cat, what the fuck? Where is this coming from? I'm not enough now?"

Steve stepped forward a little, putting Cat behind his shoulder, "that's not it, Billy, you don't-"

"I swear to god, Steve, if you say I don't understand, I will kill you," I growled.

His shoulders squared, ready to defend himself if he had to, until Cat laid a hand on his arm, "Stevie."

"Oh, jesus, are you two already fucking? You're whor-"

"Hey!" Steve yelled, stepping forward again to jab two fingers to my chest, "open your fucking ears. It's not even about sex, I love her!"

I glared at him, breathing deeply to try and control myself, "get out."

Both of their faces sank a little, "what?"

"I want you out, Harrington. Now," I barked before turning and stalking to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

I heard him leave a while later, the light jiggle of the bedroom door when Cat tried to open it. I heard her crying to herself on the couch that night until I succumbed to a restless sleep.

In the morning I gathered up my clothes for the day before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind me. Showered and got ready as quick as I could before taking a steadying breath with my hand on the door knob. Realized that without Steve there would be no coffee waiting for me in the kitchen, I'd have to stop somewhere on the way to work.

Cat was standing in the kitchen, a thick, fuzzy blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. I knew there was a while until she normally woke up, that she'd heard me moving around and gotten up. Her eyes were swollen and red rimmed, like she'd spent the night crying instead of sleeping. It sent a pang of guilt through me.

"B," she whimpered, "can we talk some more? Please?"

I always hated when she was upset, wished that I could feel it for her instead. Because I also knew whenever she got this upset she fell into old habits, would stop eating until everything was okay again and I'd do anything to stop her from going down that road again.

I sighed, "not right now. Get some sleep, eat something."

--

I spent the day running the idea through my head, what it meant. Flip-flopped between being angry and wondering if it would work. Went straight from work to a bar, stayed there until late in the night and then took my time going back home.

Cat was asleep on the couch with our pitbull, Morticia, curled up with her head on Cat's stomach. Morticia lifted her head when I walked in, eyeing me like she knew I was the reason Cat was upset.

Damn dog always knew when something was up, even if nobody else did. Morticia would just climb onto the couch or the bed and lay her head on Cat with a sigh and you could see tension drop from her shoulders as she smoothed her hand over the dog's ears.

"Ticia," I whispered, "come on, get down."

She shifted and grumbled at me but didn't move. I crossed the room and crouched down to scratch the top of her head, too tired now to be angry.

"I know, Ticia. I made her sad, now get up."

Morticia gave me one more huff before climbing off the couch, stretching and standing next to me. Cat shifted, humming sleepily. It looked like her eyes were even more swollen than this morning. I gently scooped her up in my arms to carry her to bed.

"B..?" she whispered.

I laid her down in our bed and quickly changed into a pair of pajama pants before crawling into the bed with her, not saying anything.

"Are we gunna talk?"

I closed my eyes, pulling her to my chest and breathing in the smell of her, "no. Not yet."

--

It took three days before Cat and I talked about it. Three long days of silence and her leaving uneaten food on the table before I came home from work and sat down beside her.

"Okay."

"Okay?" she looked at me confused.

"Let's talk. You need to eat."

Cat nodded and pulled her legs to her chest, waiting for me to start.

"I love you, so much. And I want to take care care of you, but if I'm not doing enough, if I'm failing in some way and that's where this came from I need to know."

"B, that's not...it's not about you not being enough. It's about loving you both, and Steve loves us and wants to be with us. But he said if that's not what we want then he'll look at moving out if we want him to."

I sighed, "I don't know, Cat. I don't know about sharing you...and I'm not gay."

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, "you don't have to be gay, B. If you don't want to be with Steve like that you don't have to be."

"I'll think about it some more, okay? I just don't know."

Cat nodded and moved to lean forward and wrap her arms around my neck.

"Now eat something, quit stressing me out."

--

Cat didn't bring it up again, just let me take the time I needed to think about it. I learned Steve was sleeping at a friend's place, him and Cat would phone each other during the day and I caught the end of a couple conversations when I got home from work. It took almost two weeks before I had a realization. I was sipping angrily at the shitty coffee I'd tried to make and thought to myself that I missed Steve. I missed waking up to the smell of coffee and going to the kitchen to have Steve pass me a steaming mug with a stupid smile on his face. I'd always grumble at him about being too happy this early in the morning, but that smile was still there every day. I missed our morning conversations and just spending time together. I realized that I'd basically had a boyfriend for almost a year and being without him sucks.

I padded to the bedroom to softly shake Cat awake.

"Hmm?"

"Gotta go, Babe. Call Steve, tell him to meet me after work."

Steve's POV

I pulled up to the mechanic shop Billy worked at when I got off work. A ball of anxiety sat heavy in my gut and I knew no matter how much I tried to hide it, I looked as nervous as I felt. Picking at my travel mug as I waited for him didn't help hide it. It had been almost three weeks since Billy kicked me out of the house and I didn't want to face if he preferred me not being there.

There was a knock on the window beside me and I jumped, splashing coffee onto my hands before rolling the window down.

"You make that?" Billy asked, pointing at the cup.

I nodded, wiping my hands on my pants to dry them, "y-yeah, I did."

He leaned his forearms against my open window and reached for the coffee then sipped at it. I knew he didn't like it, he always scoffed at how much sugar I put in but he closed his eyes and hummed anyway. Then stood up and started walking away with the cup.

"Hey! What the hell?" I called, scrambling to get out of my car.

He looked back at me, "coffee sucks when you're not there to make it. Getting a burger, you hungry?"

I think my brain must have short circuited with how he was acting. I came here anticipating a fight, having to find my own place and losing my best friends but instead I was running after Billy like nothing had been wrong in the first place.

--

"You drank half my coffee," I whined when I got the cup back, "you didn't even like it!"

He smirked at me from across the diner table, his tongue running along his bottom lip before bringing a steaming mug of black coffee to his face.

"I think it gave me a cavity," he mumbled.

"You're an asshole," I grumbled.

He laughed, leaning back when our waitress appeared with burgers. Billy scarfed his burger down quickly and sat back, watching me. His gaze brought back my anxiety and I gulped down my bite, wiped my hands off and looked back at him.

"You're staring at me."

Billy exhaled loudly and leaned forward onto the table.

"How does this work?"

"How does what work?"

"Us, all of us."

"I..I'm not really sure," I mumbled, twisting the napkin in my hands.

"Is it like a shared custody thing? We plan out our time with Cat? Or we're all together all the time?"

"I don't know, Billy. I've never done this before and there's not really a manual on this. Just figure out what works for us as we go I guess?"

He hummed, taking a second to think before, "I'm not gay, Steve."

I choked, "okay? I didn't say you were, I'm not either."

I started to think this was going to end badly, with him telling me to fuck off.

"Nothing would change between us?"

I shook my head, "nothing has to change between us, except we have a girlfriend and a boyfriend."

He went quiet again and I was bracing myself to leave as quickly as I could when he sighed.

"Come home, Steve. We miss you."

--

2 years later

The three of us had spent the last two years together. It had taken Billy a while to get used to the idea but he eventually started calling me his boyfriend and became a little more affectionate with me. I loved him but our relationship was different than mine and Cat's. I was head over heels for Cat, and was so happy to be able to show her how much I loved her. Cat, who was now so different from the broken girl she was in Hawkins. The scars on her arms had paled to white and were no longer raised, she was a healthy weight and worked out with Billy and I regularly. She worked at a therapists office now, helping other kids who were struggling with what she had gone through. Of course she had bad days but usually she had so much energy and love in her, she practically glowed with it.

Usually, Cat would swap nights she spent with us but every now and again the three of us would squish into one bed and sleep tangled together. Those were my favorite nights, whether or not we had sex first, I just liked us all being together.

It was that time of year again, when the mechanic's shop was swamped and Billy was staying late almost every day. He didn't mind too much, it was work he was good at and the extra money was always nice.

I got home from my shift at the nursing home and noticed the eery silence that sent me back. Back to those times I'd found Cat dying. But everything had been so good, I don't understand. My heart started pounding as I started searching the house. I'd confronted Cat a couple days ago when I heard her throwing up. Asked if things were getting bad again, if she needed help, and was told she just had a stomach bug. Did she lie to me?

When I had looked everywhere I realized that Morticia wasn't here either and that calmed me a bit, cause Cat wouldn't take Morticia with her if she was going to hurt herself. The last place I checked was the backyard, where I saw Cat sitting at the edge of the fence, a big grey lump of dog stretched out beside her. I slipped on a pair of sneakers and walked outside to sit down next to them.

"Hey," I murmured, gently placing my hand on Cat's back.

Cat looked over at me, her face red and splotchy, "hey, Stevie."

"What's going on, my love?"

"Just," she exhaled, trying to keep herself in check, "freaking out a little."

"Why? What happened?"

"You know when you asked if I needed to go back to rehab cause I was puking all the time?"

Oh fuck. I was right.

"Yeah, you said it was a stomach bug....did you lie to me?"

Cat wiped at her face and sniffled, "no, Stevie, I...I'm pregnant."

A wave of emotion flooded through me. Happiness, fear, love and panic, all at once.

"Oh my god, are you, who, do you, how, I mean," I stammered, too many words flying around my brain.

Does she even want a baby? After everything that Cat has gone through, I couldn't blame her if she didn't want to keep it. Who's is it? Does it matter? What do we do now? Would Cat be able to mentally go through having a baby?

She reached up and pressed a finger to my lips, "Stevie, breathe."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in and collected my thoughts. When I opened my eyes again, she moved her hand away from my mouth.

"Okay, I guess my first question is do you want to have a baby?"

Her hand pressed on her stomach even though there was nothing to see yet, an automatic reflex.

"I think so, I mean, I'm scared but I think I do want to."

I nodded, "are you going to be okay? You'll have to eat more, you're gunna change and...can you handle that?"

She smiled a little, "that's the part I'm freaking out about. I know I want to be okay with that but I think I'll need you guys a lot more."

I smiled, pulled her into my chest and wrapped my arms around her, "I can handle that," my heart gave a happy squeeze and I couldn't hold it in anymore, I had to squeeze and wiggle her a little, "we're gunna have a baby! How far along are you?"

Cat giggled, nuzzling into my chest, "only a couple weeks."

-- 2 weeks later

When the old ladies in the nursing home had seen me the day after Cat told me, they knew something was up and wouldn't leave me alone until I told them. As soon as I'd spilled about the baby the ladies were so excited, telling me so many things that I couldn't even try to keep up with them all. That if Cat craved sweets she was having a girl, if she wanted salty or sour food then the baby was a boy. How to hold a baby, how to swaddle a baby. That her morning sickness meant she was having a girl and headaches meant a boy. It made me dizzy trying to keep up with the information.

I came home on a Friday with my arms full of treats and soft, knitted items from the ladies at work. Tiny blankets and hats and slippers in an assortment of colors that were so cute they made my heart hurt. Cat and Billy looked up at me from the couch, confused looks on their faces.

"What's all this?" Cat asked, getting up to take the bundle of baby things from me.

"Ladies at work made us some things," I answered, going to the kitchen to put down the bags of snacks.

"Stevie," Cat moaned, "you're not supposed to tell people yet. It's too early, the chances of miscarrying are too high still."

I had to step around Morticia to wrap my arms around her. I kissed her forehead and worked my way down, kissing her nose, lips and then over her belly button where there would soon be a bump.

"You can't expect me to keep this a secret, I'm too excited!" I smiled, my hands gently grabbing her sides.

Billy's laugh echoed from the living room, "I told you that you should have told me first! I would have warned you he can't keep a secret!"

"Stevie, sweetie," Cat cooed, smoothing her hand down my head, "I had a doctors appointment today."

I smiled into her belly before looking up at her, "okay?"

"There's something you need to know."

I stood up slowly, a sick feeling of dread in my gut as I looked towards Billy. Did we lose the baby?

Billy beamed back at me, confusing me before he shouted, "we're having twins!"

-- 2 months later

Billy's POV

Morticia was whining outside the bathroom door when I got home, scratching at the bottom of it like it would magically open if she wanted it enough. Our dog had started guarding Cat constantly, not letting anyone new near and even growling at Steve and I if we came too close too fast so being locked away from Cat caused a panic. I had to force her out of the way to open the door and found Cat curled up on the floor of the bathroom hyperventilating and immediately dropped to my knees to grab her face.

"Hey, what's going on? What happened? Talk to me."

Her eyes closed and she leaned into my hands, taking a few breaths before whimpering, "my pants."

"What? What about your pants? Is something wrong with the babies?"

She shook her head slightly, unfurled a little to show her unbuttoned pants, "t-they don't fit anymore."

I huffed out a breathy laugh, tension dropping from my shoulders as I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms and legs around her and tucking her head under my chin.

"Babe, it's okay. You're okay. That's gunna happen, you're growing people. You're growing our babies and you know what?"

She whimpered a little, her breathing calming down and wiped her face on my shirt, "what?"

"You're fucking amazing," I mumbled, moving to kiss the top of her head, "and the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

--

Cat was five months along when Steve and I started learning how to take care of a baby. We spent a morning baby proofing the house, attaching locks to any cupboard that had dangerous goods inside. Bought diapers and practiced wrapping them on anything that would fit. Cat's plant pots, couch pillows, a bag of flour, even Morticia had a diaper on by the time Cat got home from the office.

She came in the door, took one look around at all the diapers and then looked at me in the living room, her mouth open with confusion. Saw me sitting on the couch with my legs draped over Steve who was lying on the floor, swaddled in a blanket so tight that he couldn't move.

Cat shook her head at us and walked away to the kitchen, "I don't want to know."

"I lost our game," Steve called.

"Nope, said I don't want to know."

--

Cat was doubled over on the couch, gasping, her hands clutching tight at her growing belly. Morticia was whining beside her, her grey nose sniffing frantically at Cat's stomach.

"Call Steve," she groaned.

"Babe, you need to go to a hospital."

She turned to glare at me, "call Steve. He needs to know where we're going. I will be fine for a couple minutes."

I grit my teeth, knowing I couldn't argue with her and quickly punched Steve's work number into the phone. Cat was seven months along now and had been just about to shower after getting home from work when she collapsed in pain.

Steve was supposed to have today off but had been called into work because someone else was too sick, I knew he wouldn't be able to leave yet and that he'd drive himself crazy worrying but I let the phone ring anyway.

A woman answered the phone, "good afternoon, Merryweather Nursing Home. How may I help you?"

"Steve Harrington," I choked out, "I need Steve on the phone, now. It's an emergency."

It took a while before Steve's panicked voice came through the phone.

"Hello?"

"Steve, I need you not to freak out, okay?"

"What? What's going on?"

Cat cried out behind me and I turned to look at her teary face. There was a small patch of red soaking through her pants. Morticia was barking now, like she was telling me to hurry up.

"What was that? Billy, what's wrong?"

"Steve, don't panic. I'm taking Cat to the hospital."

"Why? What's happening?"

"I don't know, something's wrong. Cat's in pain."

"Fuck, I need to be there! Is she okay?"

I knew on the other side of the phone he was pacing as far as the phone would let him go, his mind racing with worry. I didn't tell him about the blood, thinking I'd save him from that bit of stress.

"Steve, it'll be okay. I'm gunna take her right now and everything's gunna be fine. I'll call you if we need you, okay?"

--

We got home from the hospital a few hours later and were immediately bombarded by Steve, who had been chewing the skin off his lip as he paced the living room.

"Oh my god," he breathed, rushing forward to take Cat's face in his hands, "are you okay? What happened? Are the babies okay?"

Cat leaned into his hands, wrapped her small fingers around his wrists, "it's okay, Stevie. Everything's okay."

I didn't let go of her completely, kept one hand on the small of her back and placed the other on Steve's shoulder, gave it a light squeeze. Morticia was instantly attached to Cat again, sniffing her stomach and nudging at it gently.

"Preterm labor. Doc's got it sorted but she's on bed rest until the babies come."

He gawked at me, "why didn't you tell me to come to the hospital?"

"Nothing we could do about it, Steve, it just happens sometimes, especially with twins. Cat just needs to take it easy, that's all. Come on, let's just relax."

I pulled them both to the couch, settling in to one corner. Steve settled against my shoulder and Cat slowly lowered herself down so she was lying across both of us with the dog behind her legs. They both had a hand on her distended belly, absently rubbing it as I flicked on the TV, my other hand held tight by Steve.

--

Cat wasn't allowed to carry anything, no going out for a long period of time and no working. She started getting restless after just two weeks but after a month started begging to come with us whenever we left.

"Please, B?"

"Cat, you're not supposed to do anything. We can get groceries, you stay here."

"I can do it, I feel great! I just need to get out for a bit, please?"

I groaned, heard Steve snickering behind me. If it were up to him there would be no arguing, but I had to be the strict one.

She looked up at me with big watery eyes and I knew I lost.

"Fine. Quick shopping trip, but you need to say something if you get tired and one of us will sit in the car with you."

Her face lit up with a smile, "yes!" she wrapped her arms around my neck, her belly stopping her from fully being able to reach, and kissed me quickly before, "can we get milkshakes after?"

--

The babies came two weeks early. Steve and I were at work, which meant we both got a frantic call to come home as fast as we could. I got there first and was throwing clothes into a bag for all of us while Cat sat on the couch trying to control her breathing when Steve got home.

He tripped through the door, "oh my god, are you okay? Are you sure it's time? You still have a couple weeks! Are they even ready to be born yet? Are we ready for them?"

Cat's face scrunched up in pain for a second before she looked at him, "it's time, Stevie. They're coming whether we're ready or not."

"Okay, what can I do? How do I help you?"

"Grab toothbrushes and shit, Steve," I called from the bedroom, "I got clothes."

Steve's POV

Cat was resting, her forehead still slick with sweat after giving birth to our children. When I first saw those babies, I couldn't believe it. Two amazing little bundles, one little girl with bright blue eyes and a tiny swatch of curly light brown hair, the other with golden brown eyes and dark hair. Both with chubby pink cheeks and long eyelashes.

I felt like my heart was going to burst and anytime I let myself feel that happiness too much I started getting misty eyed again.

Billy looked at me from the couch beside the hospital bed I was sitting on, "are you gunna cry again? Jesus, Steve."

I sniffed and smiled at the sleeping bundles in my arms, heard Billy get up and come sit next to me, "how can you not? They're amazing."

He wrapped an arm around my back, both of us staring down at the babies, "yeah, they are."

-- 2 weeks later

Billy and I had taken two weeks off to spend with Cat and the babies, to help her in any way we could. That meant we were getting up to soothe cranky babies and change diapers but honestly, I liked it. I mean, Cat had done so much, growing our girls and then birthing them, the least we could do is change diapers. Billy and I started competing against each other, bragging when one of us had done more chores than the other, it made it more fun. Plus, Cat had been really down since we came home. Baby blues, the nurse told us, it'll go away after a couple weeks.

Except, it didn't.

-- 2 months later

"Steve," Billy whispered into the phone, "didn't the nurse say this would go away? She's not getting better, what do I do?"

She being Cat, who had slowly started spending more time in bed until she was hardly leaving it anymore. Who had been having issues feeding the girls and stopped eating or taking care of herself when we switched to formula.

"How bad is she today?"

"Hasn't gotten out of bed at all. Won't talk to me."

I glanced up at the clock on the wall, only an hour left in my shift, "I'll be home soon."

--

Billy was sitting on the couch when I got home, feeding one baby while the other slept. He looked up at me when I walked in and let out a relieved sigh.

"Hey," I murmured, ducking down to rest my head on his curls and gently trailed my fingers over each girls head.

"She's in your bed," he mumbled, "I tried to get her up but I'm out of ideas."

I nodded and padded away to my room, quietly letting myself in to see Cat curled up in the middle of the bed with Morticia lying on her legs. Slowly, I crawled into the bed behind her, tucked myself into her so her back was flush against my chest. Wrapped my arm around her waist and laid there breathing in her smell, not wanting to break the silence yet, just wanted her to know she wasn't alone.

Eventually she whimpered, "Stevie?"

I kissed her head before answering, "yeah, I'm here."

Cat was quiet again but she did grab my hand and twist our fingers together over her stomach.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

She shook her head, let out a small, "no."

"Wanna talk about it?"

There was a pause before she let out a shakey breath, squeezing my fingers tight.

"I just...I don't feel like myself..I feel like a failure...I can't feed the girls, I don't feel connected with them...I'm so lost..and tired."

My throat thickened and it took me a moment before I could talk again, "you're not a failure, Cat. The doctors said it would be difficult for you to keep up with how much the girls need to eat and that we'd likely be feeding formula. It's just as good, as long as they're fed, right?"

"I guess."

"Hey," I soothed, "you're doing great."

"Doesn't feel like it, Stevie."

"Cat, we should make you an appointment to talk to someone...will you do that for me?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "that's probably a good idea."

"Thank you," I whispered, pressing my lips to the back of her head again, "you wanna get out of bed? We can get some ice cream from down the street?"

She hummed, "with extra toppings?"

I smirked, "of course, my love, anything you want."

We slowly left the bedroom and met Billy back in the living room, a shocked look on his face.

He waited until Cat was in the bathroom brushing her teeth before whispering to me, "I tried all day, what did you do?"

I shrugged, "just laid there...listened. She's gunna make an appointment to talk to someone. We're going to get ice cream, you coming?"

Billy smiled, grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me into a tight hug, "love you, Steve."

"Love you, Billy."