#Or Soap realizes he doesn’t need a ring to show his love because just his presence is enough for Ghost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

all-the-things-2020 · 3 months

Text

Late Night Talking - Chapter Nineteen

Summary: Emily moves in, Dieter gets the flu … and Valentine’s Day Dieter Bravo style.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 5600+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Things moved quickly once we got back to California. With the help of a moving company (and Oladele) I was soon out of my condo and living in Dieter’s house. I also bought a new car. Dieter had insisted I “just look” at the Audis and I fell in love with a little blue sedan. It was at the lower end of the range, but still expensive to me. Writing out a check for roughly $40,000 was a surreal experience.

Dieter insisted the car needed a name and that it was a boy. “Auden? Austin? Augustus?,” he suggested.

”Augustus? What kind of name is that for a car?”

”Well, there aren’t that many names that start with A-U,” he said, furrowing his brow. He pulled out his phone. “Auggie?

”That’s just short for Augustus,” I pointed out. “And we can’t call an Audi Austin because that’s another make of car.”

”Then it has to be Auden,” Dieter said. “He was a poet, wasn’t he? That’s good for a bookish person, right?”

And so Auden it was.

**********************************************

Soon it was February and Sam’s birthday was coming up. We always called each other on our birthdays, setting aside an hour just for us. One year she’d even walked away from her own birthday party to sit outside on her porch in the cold so we could have our birthday chat.

”Why don’t you fly back there and surprise her?” Dieter suggested. “Call her from the sidewalk and when she answers, tell her to come outside.”

”I can’t just fly to Maryland on a whim,” I said. Dieter raised an eyebrow and I realized that I could do that. I could go online and book a flight and hotel and not have to worry about where the money was coming from. It felt decadent. It felt wrong. It felt amazing.

”Do it,” he urged. “Let me be the one sitting home alone for once.”

I flew to Maryland and did just what Dieter suggested: I stood outside of Sam’s house and called her. When she opened the front door and saw me, we both burst into tears. It had been years since we’d seen each other in person.

”Oh, my God, chickie!,” she sobbed. “This is the best birthday present ever!”

We spend the weekend on her couch, eating chips and ice cream, watching old movies and basically just being teenage girls; all the stuff we missed out on doing together when she’d moved away.

”So you’re getting married,” Sam said at one point. She took my hand and made a show of studying my ring from several angles.

“It still doesn’t quite seem real,” I admitted. “I’ve barely moved in and honestly I still feel like I’m just on a break and I’ll have to go home and back to work.”

”Any wedding plans yet?” There was a glint in her eye that made me feel excited.

”Nothing firm. Why, do you have an idea?”

”Remember when we were little and we did that whole soap opera with our Barbies and Kens and my brother’s G.I. Joes? And your Barbie got married at the beach and then her husband got eaten by sharks?”

I hadn’t thought about that summer in years. We’d played out so many silly plot lines with our dolls and action figures. Every day we created a new episode. Of course, our soap opera leaned more heavily on car chases and jumping off cliffs and fighting wild tigers than romance, but we were only about eight years old at the time.

“I’m not feeding Dieter to a shark,” I said.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Duh! I meant, how about a beach wedding? You live in L.A., you said you want a summer wedding so Dieter’s brother and his kids can come out … my kids will be off for the summer.”

”You’re just fishing for an invitation,” I teased.

“Oh, I’m going to be there,” Sam said firmly. “I’m going to be your maid of honor.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes. I couldn’t afford to fly back east for Sam’s wedding, but she’d still asked me to be her maid of honor, only giving the job to one of her cousins after I’d had to decline.

“I’d love to have you at the wedding,” I said. “It won’t be big or fancy. Dieter and I haven’t talked details yet but we both want something small and informal.”

”Which is perfect for a beach wedding,” Sam said. “I can totally see Dieter in a white suit, barefoot, open neck shirt, and you in a white sundress, the ocean breeze playing with your hair.”

“Or maybe Deet in board shorts and a PacSun t shirt.”

”You could wear a bikini and freak out your Aunt Helen!”

”Speedos!”

We collapsed into giggles. “I’ve missed you, chickie,” I said.

”I’ve missed you, too,” Sam said. “But just think, now you’ll be able to come visit whenever you want. And I’ll have a place to stay in California.” She winked.

**************************************************

That winter, I’d managed to avoid catching the flu, which was an occupational hazard of working in a public school. Dieter, unfortunately, was not as lucky, as I found when I called him from the airport when I landed.

“I’b fide,” he said over FaceTime, before turning away to blow his nose loudly. He’d clearly been doing that a lot, because his nose was red and tender looking.

“You are not fine,” I retorted. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

”I didin stard feeling sick undil after you lefd. Bud id’s nod dad bad.” He immediately sneezed and coughed at the same time.

”Go to bed,” I said. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

On the way home from LAX, I stopped at a Walgreens and stocked up on everything I thought Dieter might possibly need. When I finally got home. I let myself in and dropped my bags on the kitchen island. “Hey, sweetie, are you awake?” I called out.

I turned around when I heard a noise coming from the hallway. Dieter shuffled into the dining room, his ratty green bathrobe wrapped around a dirty t-shirt and pajama pants, with an assortment of used tissues falling out of the pockets. His hair was even more wild than usual, and looked greasy. His nose was red and raw, he clearly hadn’t shaved since I’d left home and his eyes were glassy.

“Hey,” he croaked, leaning against the wall.

“You look horrible,” I said.

“Thangs,” he grumped. “I feel lige shid.”

I walked over to him and laid my hand on his forehead. He felt hot and smelled gross. “Ugh, when was the last time you showered?” I asked. “Or changed your clothes.”

He shrugged. “Coupla days ago,” he mumbled.

I shook my head. “Disgusting.” I turned him around and pushed him back toward the bedroom. The bed looked as bad as he did. The covers were all shoved into a tangled pile in the center of the bed and there was an overflowing trash can surrounded by a scattered ring of tissues.

“Okay, we’re getting you and this room cleaned up,” I said. I plopped him down on the bed and opened the dresser to pull out a clean t-shirt and pair of pajama pants. I popped into the hall to grab some towels and a washcloth from the linen closet and then came back to find Dieter on his side, groaning into the pillow.

“Get up, babe,” I told him. “You need a shower.”

“Don’d wan’ a shower,” he grumbled.

“Tough,” I said. “You stink. Come on, I’ll help you.”

I pulled him up and led him to the bathroom, where I turned on the water to warm up. I knew he really did feel horrible, because as I stripped off his clothes, he didn’t make any jokes or try anything cute. He seemed a bit wobbly, so I got undressed as well and we stepped into the shower together.

“Lean against the wall if you feel dizzy or weak,” I told him. I adjusted the shower head so the water wasn’t hitting him in the face, and helped him step under the spray.

“Cold,” he complained.

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” I said. “Come on, let’s get you clean.” I worked quickly, soaping up the washcloth and scrubbing his body thoroughly. “Bend down,” I told him when I was done, and I shampooed and rinsed his hair.

I helped him get out and wrapped him in towels. “Dry off and we’ll get you in clean jammies,” I said. He rolled his eyes at the word “jammies” but he did as he was told. I helped him into the clean shirt and flannel pants, put my clothes back on, and then led him out to the living room.

“I’m going to park you on the couch while I change the bed, okay?” I tucked some throw pillows behind his back and spread one of the throws that lived on the back of the couch over his lap. I put the remote in his hand and smoothed his wet hair back off his forehead so I could give him a kiss.

I stripped the bed and carried the dirty linens to the laundry room, then went back and remade the bed with clean sheets, blankets, pillowcases and the summer duvet that was tucked in the very back of the linen closet. When I was done, I threw the winter comforter into the washer and went back to check on Dieter.

He was staring dully at the TV, which was tuned to a cooking program, something he normally didn’t watch. “You want to stay out here, or go back to bed?” I asked. He turned slowly to me and blinked twice.

“Bed,” he said after a moment.

I walked him back to the bedroom, tucked him in, piled pillows behind him so he was partially propped up and then went to fetch my supplies from Walgreens. I couldn’t remember what we had in the medicine chest so I had bought everything: a thermometer, assorted medications, tissues, cough drops … even a couple of cans of chicken soup and a box of saltine crackers.

First, I took his temperature. “One hundred point two,” I said. “Not too bad.” I dropped the Tylenol back into the bag. We wouldn’t be needing that unless his fever spiked higher. Then I asked him about his symptoms.

“Congestion … definitely,” I said. “Is your throat sore?”

“Kind of scratchy,” he admitted.

“But not sore sore?”

“No.”

“How about coughing?”

We ran through every symptom I could think of and I lined up the medications and other supplies I’d need on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Okay,” I said when I was done. “Did you eat dinner yet?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” I said firmly. “I’m going to make you some soup.”

“I’m not hungry,” he whined.

“Tough,” I replied. “You’re going to eat.”

I heated up a can of chicken noodle soup and boiled some water for tea. By the time I brought it into the bedroom, Dieter was half asleep.

“Dinner time,” I said brightly.

He shook his head and flipped me off. “Told you I’m not hungry,” he grumped.

“I don’t care. At least drink the broth and the tea. I put in honey and lemon for your throat,” I said as I sat down beside him. “And if you won’t eat it yourself, I’ll feed you.”

I got him to eat half the soup and most of a cup of tea before I gave up. I made him take his medication and then went out to the kitchen. I dumped the leftovers and put the dishes in the sink to be washed later. I checked on the washer and since it still had over twenty minutes left, I reheated the rest of the soup for myself. By the time I’d finished eating and washed up the dirty dishes, it was time to load the comforter in the dryer.

I had an hour to kill before it was done, so I went back to check on Dieter. He was asleep, so I very quietly changed into my nightshirt and curled up on the couch to watch some TV while I waited for the dryer to finish. Two episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” later, I fetched the toasty warm comforter from the laundry room and headed to the bedroom.

I pulled the summer duvet off the bed and threw the warm comforter over Dieter. He woke up. “Whad you doin’?,” he mumbled.

I crawled under the covers. “Nice warm blankie,” I said, snuggling down. “Go back to sleep.”

He grunted and coughed, then reached for the box of tissues I’d left on his nightstand. He blew his nose loudly and slumped back onto the pillows with a groan. “You should sleep in the guest roob,” he said. “You’ll ged sick.”

I kicked him gently. “Like I haven’t already been around your germs all evening,” I replied. “Besides, this way I’m here if you need anything.” I curled up, enjoying the warmth of the freshly laundered comforter. Despite Dieter’s coughs and sniffles, I fell asleep pretty quickly. It had been a long day.

***************************

I woke up at 3:00 am when Dieter had a coughing fit. “Sorry, sorry,” he said in between hacking coughs. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I measured out a dose of cough syrup and fetched him a glass of ice water to wash it down with. “Take this.” He made a face but swallowed the medicine. I didn’t blame him; that stuff tasted nasty. Cherry flavor my ass.

“Come here,” I said, after he’d drunk half the glass of water to get the taste out of his mouth. I opened a jar of Vicks VapoRub and pushed his t-shirt up. “This will help.” I started rubbing the greasy ointment in small circles over his chest. I suppressed the urge to sing “Soft Kitty,” knowing that Dieter would not understand. He’d watched “The Big Bang Theory” with me a few times but claimed he didn't get it.

Once I’d coated his chest, I pulled the shirt back down and started rubbing Vicks on his throat. “I know it smells horrible, but it works,” I said as he blinked from the pungent fumes. I chuckled. “Just be glad my friend Carla’s mom isn’t around. When I had sleepovers at her house when I was little, she rubbed Vicks on our feet and made us wear white socks to bed. Even if we weren’t sick.”

I put the lid back on the jar and smeared the leftover ointment on his stomach, just to be a jerk. He grumped at me and I pressed a kiss on his belly, just below where I’d rubbed the Vicks.

“Not in the mood,” he grumbled.

I pretended to pout. “You’re no fun,” I said. I put the jar of Vicks back on the nightstand, leaning across him to reach it. I knew that in that position, he could see right down my sleep shirt, and it was riding up at the bottom to show off my panties but he didn’t react at all. “You really are sick,” I said, patting his cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

He just grunted and then coughed in my face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, as I crawled back over to my side of the bed. “I know this isn’t fun for you.”

“I’m not here to have fun,” I told him. “I’m here to take care of you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

**************************************************

The next day I spent most of my time running back and forth from the kitchen to the bedroom. He wanted coffee but then it made his stomach hurt. He wanted toast but then only ate half of it. I made him tea with honey but it got cold too fast, and when I heated it in the microwave it was too hot and burned his tongue. Every time he took a dose of medicine, he needed fresh ice water.

For lunch, I suggested grilled cheese, my go-to meal when I was feeling sick as a kid. He took two bites. It was like taking care of a nearly six foot toddler.

“You have to eat, sweetie,” I told him. “All that medicine on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”

“I’m not fucking hungry,” he growled. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Fine, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” I said. I took the remains of his lunch out to the kitchen, cut off the part he’d bitten and finished the sandwich myself. I knew he didn’t feel well, but it was starting to wear on me. I pulled out my phone and texted Sam.

ME: Dieter is driving me crazy. Why are men such babies when they’re sick?

She replied quickly with a series of laughing emojis.

We commiserated about the tribulations of taking care of a man-child until I heard a pathetic voice calling my name from the bedroom. I took the phone with me as I went to see what he wanted.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Can I have that sandwich now?”

I texted Sam as I went back out to the kitchen to make a fresh grilled cheese.

ME: Can I divorce someone I’m not married to yet?

Her only reply was another string of laughing emojis.

**************************************************

The next morning, Dieter still had a low grade fever and his cough was no better. “I think we need to go to urgent care,” I told him.

“I’m fine,” he whined. “I hate the doctor.”

“But I don’t think this cough syrup is strong enough,” I replied. “You might need the prescription stuff. Get dressed.”

He grumped and complained but changed into jeans and a clean t-shirt while I called the closest urgent care that took his insurance. They wouldn’t make an appointment but claimed the wait time was currently less than an hour. “Is your phone charged? We might have a bit of a wait,” I asked.

It took twenty minutes to find his phone, which had slipped down between the couch cushions at some point. The battery was at 45%, so I had to fetch the car charger from his car before we could leave. Fortunately, it took long enough to get to the urgent care that his phone was up to 70% by the time we were parked. I knew he’d get bored sitting in the waiting room if he didn’t have his phone to play with. It really is like taking care of a giant toddler, I thought.

The waiting room was three quarters full and when we checked in, the receptionist told me in a bored voice that it would probably be close to ninety minutes before we could see a doctor. “We had a couple of soccer injuries come in and they got jumped to the head of the line,” she explained. “Fill out the forms and have a seat.”

*****************************************

“Mr. Bravo?,” a nurse finally called out. I nudged Dieter, who had started to doze off.

“What?”

“It’s your turn. Come on,” I said.

We followed the nurse into the back. She kept giving him curious looks as she sat him down at her station to start taking his vitals. “I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “It’s just …”

“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s used to being stared at.”

Dieter started to say something smart but veered into another coughing fit.

The nurse nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t try to talk.” She handed him some tissues and went back to laying out her instruments. She took his temperature, blood pressure and checked his blood oxygen levels.

“Slight fever, and the coughing has the blood pressure up a bit, but ox levels are good,” the nurse said as she jotted things down on a form. “Okay, let’s put you in a room and the doctor will be with you soon.”

She led us into an examination room. Dieter slumped on the exam table, the paper crinkling and crunching underneath him. I settled in an uncomfortable chair and we waited. And waited.

“This is ridiculous,” Dieter said after we’d been in the exam room for nearly twenty minutes. “We’re wasting our time.”

“No we’re not,” I said. “Just be patient.” I chuckled. “Get it, you’re a patient … so you need to be patient.”

He just shook his head and flipped me off. So much for making him laugh.

The doctor finally came in, a flustered looking young Indian woman. “So sorry for the wait,” she said. “I’m Dr. Pradesh. We’re short staffed today because of this flu.” She looked at the file in her hand. “Which you appear to have, Mr. Bravo.” She smiled apologetically.

She quickly examined Dieter, looking in his ears, up his nose, and listening to his heart and lungs. “Okay,” she said when she was done. “Lungs are definitely congested but I don’t hear anything too concerning.” She pulled out a prescription pad. “I’m going to get you some cough syrup with codeine, which should help. It’s stronger than the over the counter stuff you’ve been taking. And an inhaler to open up the bronchial passages.” She turned to me.

“I take it you’re looking after him,” she said. I nodded. “Rest, lots of fluids, make sure he takes his meds,” she said, ticking each item off on her fingers. “This virus usually runs its course in about two weeks, but the first week is the worst. He should start feeling better in a few days.”

She handed me the prescription form and smiled at Dieter. “I hope you feel better, Mr. Bravo,” she said. “If your symptoms get worse, call us or your primary doctor.” She shook his hand, then mine, and was gone.

The nurse popped in a moment later with some paperwork in her hand. “Okay, you’re ready to go.” She hesitated a moment. “Um, I know you aren’t feeling well, but … do you think I could get an autograph?”

Dieter sighed, but smiled and took the pen she shyly offered. He scribbled his signature on a scrap of paper and we were on our way.

“Sorry,” I said as we buckled ourselves into the car.

“For what?”

“You feel like crap and still got accosted by a fan,” I said.

He shrugged. “She was very polite about it. I wouldn’t call it being accosted.”

“Still,” I said, as I backed the car out of the parking space. “I know it’s annoying.”

“Not your fault,” he said, before starting to cough violently again.

We stopped at CVS on the way home. “You can wait in the car if you don’t feel like going in,” I told him and after a moment he nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” he said. He looked exhausted. I kissed him on the forehead and held out my hand for his wallet.

Fortunately the pharmacy had no line and I got his prescriptions after a short wait. Still, Dieter was asleep by the time I got back to the car. He was slumped in the passenger seat, his mouth hanging slightly open. I felt a sudden surge of love for him. Despite the way he’d been driving me crazy, I knew it was the virus that made him so grumpy and needy. All I wanted was for him to feel better.

I got into the car as quietly as I could, but he still woke up. “I’m awake,” he mumbled as he sat up straighter.

“You’re fine, babe,” I told him, placing the pharmacy bag on his lap. “Now let’s get you home.”

*****************************

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the guest room?” Dieter asked after I’d gotten him home, back in pajamas, into bed, fed, and medicated.

“Why? Are you sick of me already? Get it? Sick.” I asked. I hopped onto the bed next to him.

“Fuck off,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m not going anywhere” I told him. “Got to take care of you, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a kid,” he grumped, but I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked the idea of me taking care of him.

“You’re acting like one,” I retorted. “Everyone does, when they’re sick. And what does a sick kid want most? To be taken care of.” I slid my arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Which is exactly what I’m going to do.”

“I love you,” he mumbled into my hair.

“I love you, too,” I replied. “But please don’t get snot in my hair.”

He started laughing, which turned into another coughing fit. I patted his back and handed him a cough drop from my pocket. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said when he stopped coughing. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

“It’s my job,” I said. He raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s in the fiancé job description. Section fourteen, paragraph five. ‘Take care of him when he’s sick, even if he acts like a giant baby.’”

“Very funny,” he said. “Now, what does it say in that job description about doing my laundry?”

I sighed. It was going to be a long week.

**************************************************

“How the hell is it already February 18th?” Dieter was feeling better and was catching up on emails.

“Well, first it was February 1st, and then days went by …”

He gave me the stink-eye. “Ha ha, very funny,” he said. “I missed Valentine’s Day. I had stuff planned and everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” I told him. “Valentine’s Day is a very overrated holiday, anyway. To be honest, it was nice not to be surrounded by teenagers carrying around balloons and stuffed animals and all that stupid shit.”

“But it was our first Valentine’s Day together, and I missed it,” Dieter said. “That doesn’t bode well.” He frowned.

“I don’t need chocolates or flowers or any of that stuff,” I reassured him. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. And we can do something special next year, if you want.” I was going through my own emails, which included several from Oladele offering suggestions for wedding venues. Without me even realizing it, she had been hired as my personal assistant and I already didn’t know what I would do without her. “Hey, speaking of flowers, do you think we need some for the wedding?” Oladele had gotten some quotes from florists.

“What? That’s months away,” Dieter said.

”June is only four months away and it’ll be here before we know it,” I replied. “We really need to sit down and go over things. Like where, when, and who’s invited. And flowers, food, cake …” I sighed. “Even for a low key wedding, there’s a lot to think about.”

Dieter waved his hand in the air. “Get some roses, a cake with white frosting, a few bottles of champagne and sparkling cider … boom! A wedding.”

”You’re no help.”

”My head’s still full of mucus and shit,” he said. “Give me a couple of days and then we’ll sit down and go over stuff.” I could tell he was getting tired and grumpy and I cut him some slack. I knew from experience that the flu took a lot out of you.

**************************************************

Two days later, I went grocery shopping. Dieter’s appetite had come back and we were completely out of snacks. When I got home, I opened the front door to the scent of roses. “What the hell? Dieter, can I get some help with the groceries?”

There was no reply and I stepped further in. There were bouquets of roses all over the living room, dozens and dozens of roses: red, white, pink, and silver, in glass vases tied with ribbons. A large heart shaped box of chocolates was in the center of the coffee table, next to a teddy bear holding a red velvet heart that read “I ❤️U.”

”Dieter!” I yelled. “Where are you and why did a drug store Valentine’s aisle throw up in our living room?”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing a red satin robe over black silk pajamas. “I told you I had plans,” he said, batting his eyelashes at me.

”Well, can we get the groceries in and put away first?”

He sighed and stumbled off to find his Crocs. “You have no sense of romance,” he grumped.

Once we’d fetched the food and put everything away, I let Dieter lead me back to the living room. “Have a seat, my sweet,” he said, with a deep bow. He pulled a fancy box from underneath the couch and placed it in my lap. I untied the red velvet ribbon and opened the box to reveal a lacy black silk nightgown and red satin robe that matched his. “You go change into that,” he said, “and I’ll get the rest of your surprise ready.”

I normally preferred cotton night clothes but the feel of the silk and satin against my skin was sensual. Not exactly something I’d want to wear all night, but it definitely set the stage for sexy times. So I was truly surprised when I went back into the living room and found Dieter with his glasses on and a notebook in his hand.

”What’s going on?”

”I am about to do the most romantic thing any man has ever done,” he said dramatically. He picked up the remote. “I’m going to turn off the television and give you my undivided attention and we are going to plan our wedding.” He nodded toward the coffee table, where both of our iPads were turned on and nestled amongst a selection of brochures. “Oladele sent me all her stuff.”

I sank onto the couch. “You never cease to amaze me, Dieter Fucking Bravo.”

“We’ll get to that part later,” he said with a wink. “Right now, let’s plan a wedding.”

Two hours — and a bag of chips and several of the chocolates from the fancy box — later, we had a rough plan. A secular ceremony on the beach, small reception with finger foods and cake, not too many flowers (because of the wind off the ocean). Freddy would be his best man and Sam would be my maid of honor. We even narrowed it down to three venues: a public beach that had an area that could be reserved for private functions, a private beach that could be rented for a hefty fee but included catering, and the backyard of a producer friend of Dieter’s, which backed onto a private beach.

”Okay, so guest list,” I said, scanning the checklist that Oladele had sent us. “Freddy, Leila and the kids, that’s four. And Sam, her husband and kids, that’s another five, so we’re up to nine.”

”Dominic and his family,” Dieter said. “That brings us to thirteen. Oh, and Oladele. That’s fourteen.”

”Carmen,” I said. “That’s fifteen.”

Dieter named a few other people from “the business” which brought our total up to twenty three. “How about your family? Just your aunt and uncle or do we have to invite all the cousins, too?”

”Just Aunt Helen and Uncle Jeremiah,” I said. “We’ll put them up at a fancy hotel, just to make her squirm a little.” I laughed. “Actually, I think she’ll enjoy it. I don’t think they’ve had a real vacation, just the two of them, in forever.”

Dieter nodded. “That’s twenty five. That’s a good number, unless you want to invite anyone from your old job?”

”Don’t forget your dad,” I added. “That makes twenty six.” Dieter made a face. “Look, I know you aren’t on the best of terms with him but there is no way he’s not coming to our wedding. Between the two of us we only have one parent living, and he has to be there.”

Dieter pursed his lips. “It’ll be twenty seven if he comes,” he said tersely, “because he’ll bring her.”

”Her?”

”His wife.”

“I didn’t know you had a stepmother.”

”She’s not my stepmother,” Dieter said fiercely. “She’s his wife.”

”Sorry. Is she that bad?”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, actually, she’s pretty great. Just a normal, nice lady who loves him and …” He closed his eyes. “Freddy’s kids call her Grandma. Which is fine. It’s just …”

”I get it,” I said, taking his hand in mine. I never stopped being amazed at how big his hands were. Dieter was a big man, strong — and very fragile. “I wish your mom could be there. My parents, too. They would have loved you.”

He lifted my hand to his lips. “I wish I could have met them. And my mom — I know she was problematic. I know she was selfish and Dad was better off after she left but damn it, I loved her so much.”

I let him cry against my shoulder. “I know. I know. She was your mom.” I rubbed his back and waited until he was able to compose himself. He sat back, his eyes red and his nose streaming snot. I handed him a tissue from the box that was still on the coffee table from his cold.

He blew his nose and wiped his face. “Probably not the best time to try to seduce you, huh?” His smile was tentative, but it was genuine.

”Actually, I kind of like the blotchy-faced, snot-nosed look,” I said. I shoved his notebook away and straddled his lap. With only two thin layers of silk between us, I could feel every inch of his body beneath me.

”Good, ‘cause it’s my signature look,” he said, his hands sliding down to grip my hips.

And that was the end of wedding planning for the time being. After all, June was months and months away.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter x emily #late night talking #the bubble fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

bbygirlky18 · 1 year

Note

can you make a solo fic where reader punches rhea bc she was all up in his face (that one time iykyk)

Being Aggressive! Solo Sikoa

Solo Sikoa x y/n

Warnings: Swearing!!!!

Word Count: 354

A/N: Hi everyone!!! This was sent in by Anonymous so let's get into it.

Y/n is your name.

Hope you guys love this

The Judgment Day and the Bloodline have their problems but with y/n being the new member she became more aggressive.

The Bloodline was out in the ring cutting a promo when music hits. Y/n, Solo, Jimmy, and Jey look to see the Judgment Day walking out to the ring.

“Well, well, well if isn’t the Bloodline. Y/n you do know you to be married or related to them to be in the Bloodline right?” Dominik Mysterio said with sarcasam in his tone.

“Dominik you do realize that in order for you to be wearing a bandana around your neck you have to do more than 1 day in prison right? I hope you didn’t drop the soap. They prey on bitches like you.” Y/n said causing Dominik to get mad. Jimmy and Jey started talking when Dominik stepped closer to Solo.

Solo got in his face and then Rhea stepped in so y/n gets in front of Solo and Solo whispers in her “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Y/n looks at Solo and says “Babe, please if I hurt anyone in the Judgment Day I wouldn’t regret it.” Y/n looks back at Rhea and she’s even more in Solo’s face then she was.

Y/n didn’t even blink she just punched Rhea in her face. She jumped on Rhea and did her finisher the Depth’s of Hell on Rhea.

Y/n picks up the mic and says “Hey Judgment Day be ready for our match tonight but Rhea for the match that we’re gonna have cause in case you didn’t I’m gonna show Dom Dom what it looks like when you’re somebody’s bitch and also if you didn’t know Roman may claim that he runs shit around here but I run this shit. I run this bitch. Later losers. Boys roll out.”

Y/n and the Bloodline walk backstage and Solo showers y/n in kisses and thanks her for sticking up for him and she kisses him and says that she would do it and he doesn’t need to ask her because she loves him.

-I hope you guys enjoyed this! I had fun writing it! I love you guys so so much. Love you <33333

#solo sikoa fanfiction #solo sikoa #solo sikoa x reader

41 notes · View notes

whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years

Text

Warnings: SMUT, insecurities but mark just needs a lil reassurance abt how good he makes you feel, finger fucking/sucking, he cums in his pants, fluff bc yall r in love love <3

Mark knows he's being irrational about this whole ordeal. One conversation shouldn't be getting under his skin like it is, but this one thing seems to be knocking at the forefront of his brain, throwing him out of focus as of late.

So what, you masturbate. It's normal, he's not there all the time, of course you do. He does too, but he also becomes outrageously horny everytime he so much as thinks about your skin or the way you kiss him. And it's safe to say he thinks about you alot. Alot alot.

"It's different, though? I'm a guy, we jerk off an outrageous amount," he argues, furrowing his eyebrows as you stare up at his pacing form from the bed, grinning. He's cute when he's flustered.

"And girls just...aren't supposed to get horny without the help of a guy?" You inquire.

He stops pacing at this, slumping his shoulders. "that's not what I mean, I just-" he sighs, plopping himself next to you on the edge of the bed. He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nevermind, I'm just tired." He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, looking at you apologetically with his big doe eyes.

You're still amused, giggling as you reach over to cup his rosy hued cheeks, pulling him to your mouth for a kiss.

"A little toy could never replace you, my love."

You'd reassured him that night by wrapping your lips around his dick, and he was too lost in the belly aching anticipation and bliss of it all, to really pay attention to what it was you'd just said.

A little toy.

He hasn't stopped thinking about it. It's both slightly irritating, while also being the new source of his sexual frustration when he's supposed to be practicing. He thinks it may be more irritating than the ladder though, because as much as he hates to admit it, he is a jealous creature.

It's silly, childish and he knows it. Maybe that's why he's so unsettled by this, because he knows that you love him. He knows you like his dick, from what you've expressed. But, maybe he's doing something wrong?

Maybe you just don't want to to wound his ego, and instead act like his dick is enough to satisfy you. Of course, he knows some sensations are better than others, but how often do you need to touch yourself? Does he not please you enough in the moments you two are together?

These questions still nag him when he walks into your apartment at around 7:35 pm, causing worry to crease between his brows.

You, of course, pick up on this when you round the corner from your bedroom to see him making his way towards you, lost in thought. Your arms snake around his middle and your lips place a kiss to his jaw. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"What's got you all mopey?" You ask, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort in his eyes, only to be stumped by his undreadable expression. Maybe he's just had a long day?

He hums, broken from his self depricating reverie, evidently not realizing he's wearing his emotions so blatantly.

"Nothin' just tired, wanted to come home." He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder once you've pulled him into your room, his breath warm against your neck.

You must've just taken a shower, skin the scent of his favorite soap that always has him sniffing you randomly throughout the day. He squeezes you tighter.

You kiss the side of his head, reluctantly pulling yourself away only to grab his hands and move to the bed, not believing that there's nothing more than just fatigue that's got his usual goofy smile hidden behind such a frustrated countenance.

You crawl onto his lap once his back is against the headboard, his hands slipping underneath your shirt to rub your back, a habit when he's nervous. He knows what's coming, already avoiding your eyes.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, Mark Lee? No excuses, this time." You mean business, but your voice is still as soft and comforting as ever. He can't resist looking up at you once you stroke his cheek with your thumb, featherlight.

With a drawn out breath, he reluctantly responds, knowing it'll only eat at him further if he doesn't.

"It's just....I feel like maybe I don't do enough for you...sexually? Like, I know everyone masturbates and It's totally fine you use a toy and stuff, I just feel like...like maybe It's better than...than what I can do? I know I'm not the most experienced but-"

He's stuttering, ears tomato red at the tips and he's a bit perplexed to see such a jubilant smile spreading across your face as he rubs the back of his neck, embarassed beyond belief.

"Mark..." you cup his soft, blazing cheeks in your palms, forcing him to meet your gaze as squeamish as he's suddenly become. "you're that upset over something like this?"

You don't sound judgemental nor teasing, despite the way you're grinning. But still, he wants to hide his face, wants to bow his head in shame. Suddenly he feels very foolish.

Not being able to stand seeing him so crestfallen, you reassure him, trurthfully. Your heart aches.

"Hey hey, look at me bub," wide doe eyes stare back at you, as you move some of his hair out from in front of his forehead where the strands have fallen. "you are more than enough, so good that when you're away I cant stand it. I have to touch myself, and I'm not just saying that."

His expression has regained some confidence, though you're not done yet. You've got this determination swirling in the pit of your belly, thrumming through your veins. You want him to know how truly incredible he really is, how good he really makes you feel.

"I think about your hands, your mouth, your dick. And you know what? By the end of it I'm not even satisfied, because that little toy isn't you. Do you understand? Hmm? Or do I have to show you?"

Suddenly his heartbeat is loud in his ears, adams apple bobbing as he swallows. He's hardened underneath you and you known that you've got him.

"I-I understand, now. But you could still show me, you know. If you want." His voice is a little unsteady but the corners of his soft, pink mouth twitch at the corners with an echo of a smile.

It's too much, Mark Lee absolutely will be the death of you. And so you kiss him, in a way that has his toes curling and his arms wrapping around your middle like a boa, refusing to let go.

Your fingers are tiwsted in his hair as you suck on his plush bottom lip, a gasp leaving his throat when your teeth nibble the sensitive skin. He can feel your hardened nipples through your sweater, pressing against his chest.

Your knees have tightened around the small of his waist as well, crotch rubbing against the strained bulge in his basketball shorts. You whine into his mouth.

"Mm, you should feel how wet you make me," his hands venture lower at this, until his warm fingertips are pressing into the flesh of your thighs. "go ahead Markie, touch me."

He groans, not being able to hold it back from his chest at the sound of your voice and your generous offer. His fingers, delicate and eager rub your pussy through your lounge shorts, and his jaw slacks a bit at your lack of underwear.

Your tongue slips against his, mouths parted and greedy while he slips his hand into the warmth of your shorts - and practically whines.

He wasn't expecting the abundance of your essence, the utter and complete lack of friction as his digits glide effortlessly through your silken folds. He takes his ring finger and presses the pad of it against your entrance, circling and listening to the lewd, slick sounds.

"Oh fuck," he croons free hand on your lower back and urging you against his touch. "you're s-so wet already, how are you so wet?" He's mystified, and completely fucked.

"I told you." You kiss him again, swallowing his reply and grinding your pussy against his palm. Without warning, he slips a finger in, and then another, falling apart at the way your walls so eagerly welcome them. He trembles.

"Mm, Mark." You're reaching down, underneath his arm and gripping his length, hot in your hand underneath the slinky material of his shorts. He twitches.

Suddenly his fingers are curling inside of you, and he begins to languidly pump them in and out of your sopping heat, on fire from his toes to the top of his head. You have to grip onto his shoulders, momentarily forgetting your previous endeavor of palming his dick.

He doesn't mind, not when you're whining like this, fingers digging into his skin, your body rocking against his while your walls hug and squeeze around his digits.

"Does it feel good?" He asks genuinley, but already knows the answer, too high off of this moment to not want his ego stroked. Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips kiss bitten, skin hot to the touch. You can barely make out an answer, and he swears all the blood in his body rushes straight to his dick.

"S-so good Markie - harder, please." You bury your face in the crook of his shoulder as tour thighs tremble around his narrow hips, lips trembling against his throat. He obliges you happily, anything to have you wilting against him like this. To hear more of the sounds you're making, for him.

Anyone outside the door would know whats going on, with the squelching of your wetness and the vigor in which he's fucking you with his fingers, heel of his palm nudging your clit with each thrust. You already feel that pit of pressure inside your belly expanding, so close to the brink of exploding.

He's fairing the same, if he's honest. You're rubbing up against the painful, throbbing boner in his bottoms, hidden behind only a thin layer of clothing. Your juices have leaked, leaving your own shorts wet at the crotch and the sight is erotic in a way that makes him buck up against you.

His free hand cups your face when he adds a third finger, pulling you from his shoulder to look at your face.

He damn near blows his load right then and there.

You look like you're on the verge of tears, not able to hold yourself up straight. A blush burns his skin, when you lean into his touch, fingers grasping at the front of his white tee.

"M'gonna cum soon Markie."

His heart threatens to explode from his chest when you turn your head and suck his thumb into your warm mouth, closing your eyes and bliss while his fingers pump into you, buried to the third knuckle.

This causes him to thrust into you with a sudden jolt, and the way his fingertips rub against the sweet spot deep inside of you, has the build up of pleasure finally spilling over like a broken dam.

The fingers on either of his hands are soaked now, one with your saliva and the other with your cum. You're gripping onto his wrists, letting him massage the inside of your walls while they contract around him, eyes rolled to the back of your head.

The sight, the feeling, is too much. You're a mess, a beautiful, sopping wet mess and without warning it's like a freight train is hitting him at full force, cock twitching willdy as pure bliss seeps through his pores.

You're still shivering, humping his hand while spurts of cum fill the inside of his shorts, dripping down the crease of his thigh and even soaking through the material a bit. Your eyes are barely able to open, but you will them to when you hear the almost imperceptible groan that strains from his throat when your heartbeat finally stops drumming so loudly in your ears.

Your belly lurches, skin tingly to the touch as he slumps against the headboard, peering up at you with more adoration than you can handle.

"I-I came in my pants." He breathes out, panting heavily alongside you. The thrill that runs down your spine like a tremor at the realization that he's cum, untouched, because of you, is what allows you to have half the mind to pull his fingers from your aching heat - replacing the others in your mouth.

His head lolls to the side, honey eyes trained on you like it’s impossible to look away while you suck your juices from his digits, humming around them. It's like he's staring up at the sun, mesmerized.

And then you're kissing him, and he's sure he's gone to heaven. He tastes you on the tip of your own tongue, and you're so sweet, so tender when you grasp his cheeks.

"I came in my pants too, by the way. Technically." You smile, and he chuckles warmly, giddy. His arms encapsulate you and he nudges the tip of your nose with his own.

The toy can have its fun, he thinks to himself. Because really, truly, nothing - and no one, will ever be as lucky and as enamored as he is with you.

2K notes · View notes

darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

Text

Away. So, so far away.

"There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever".

Pairing/s: Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

There's 2 alternative endings, a "choose your own adventure" kind of thing.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: angst. God, believe me, this is so fucking sad. Sorry about that. Some fluff, implied smut, Odin and Frigga's A+ parenting (/s). Thor being a little bitch. Reader not wanting kids.

Total word count: 16,3K (this was supposed to be an oneshot???)

Chapter word count: 4,6K

If you had to choose the best outcome from working with the Avengers (or, more specifically, under the economic decisions of Tony Stark), it had to be the hotels he chose for the team on the missions.

The rooms were always a bliss —you would’ve never gone to such fancy places if it were up to you. You didn’t think it was worth the money at all, and you didn’t fit into the overpriced lifestyle of those who loved the five-stars everything.

But your work was something you had to do, and, let’s say the comfortable beds, big bathrooms and incredibly talented chefs making your breakfast wasn’t something you had to work hard for you to enjoy.

And now, as your sore muscles ached and your fogged head went everywhere and anywhere, you thanked greatly to be able to be there that night. Peaceful. Tranquility washing over your back in the form of drops of water.

The mirror was covered with steam and a curtain blocked your way, but you still noticed the tall figure of Loki peeping in. You heard his clothes being dropped on the floor and you kept on putting soap over your shoulders, as if he wasn’t there. You were so, so tired, you didn’t even realize that the shower was a little bit too hot for your lover. It even was too hot for you, too.

“Damn”, he gasped as he flinched away from the water. You woke up from your daydreaming and immediately turned the cold water on. The mixture of them formed a perfectly tepid temperature you both could tolerate. You learnt the hard way Loki showered on such cold water your lips would turn blue. “You alright, dear?”, he asked from behind you.

“Yeah, a little tired, not more”.

“You need some rest, take the day off tomorrow, would you?”, he purred on your ear with his hands on your shoulders, giving you a soft massage. His hands moved up to your hair, and he soon began cleaning it himself. He loved to do that for you, and you loved to feel his long fingers caress your scalp, the soap running down your body, the shampoo smell staining his own skin and leaving the shower smelling the same.

“I have to finish this mission up”, you mumbled. “But once we’re back to the compound you bet we’re taking a day off together. You must be tired too”.

“Not that much, but I can’t deny a day off with you”, you felt him smile, even though you weren’t facing him. You knew how and when he smiled; you memorized the curve of his lips and every situation it would curve. His smile did things to you. “You know I don’t get tired off of these things”.

“Yeah, it’s almost like you’re a God or something”.

You both laughed softly. He gently pulled your head back and cleaned off the shampoo. He kissed your temples, all the way down to the nape of your neck, and kept kissing each protuberance of the spine, bone by bone, as if missing one would make it feel left out. As if every inch of you, every single bit of you, deserved the same praise and the same love —it did. He made sure you knew that.

“It’ll be all over soon”, he promised in a whisper. You sighed.

“Don’t worry, my love. It will pay off”, you assured him. You turned around to face his furrowed brows. Standing in your tiptoes, you reached his forehead and planted a kiss where his frown disappeared as if by magic. “Now it’s my turn to wash your hair”. He smiled and kneeled before you, so you could reach his head.

You shampooed and conditioned his hair slowly and silently. He closed his eyes, not letting you know he was overthinking about everything he was making you do, and how much he appreciated you doing it.

“You know…”, he murmured, his deep voice almost getting mistaken by a groan if it weren’t for the clearly spoken words, “we could stop all of this, if you see it… surpassing your limitations”.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet yours. Those puppy eyes of his. You scoffed.

“Limitations?”, you cocked an eyebrow and smirked teasingly.

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You know you’re a weakie”, he said jokingly, emphasizing on how bad that word described you at his gaze. “Now, seriously. I’m aware it’s a lot. A lot, lot”.

“Love, you don’t have to keep worrying about it. I accepted because I love you so, so much. Some even could say too much”, you caressed the back of his head and sank your fingers in between the curled strands. “I may not agree with it ideologically, but I can make a little sacrifice if that means being with you for the rest of my life. And, for the record, it’s not as much as you think”.

He didn’t say anything else to that. He simply smiled again, pressed lips in the tiniest curve, as if repressing it would make it last longer, and let you wash the conditioner off him.

You could do very well with a day off, though. Between the missions that seemed to never stop and only get worse week by week, and the infinite amount of trials you had to go through by the Asgardian royals, you thought you may pass out any time soon.

The trials… ah, the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. And that was not little to say, for you had fought freaking aliens and helped supersoldier’s wounds to heal in a matter of seconds with Stark’s subdermic nanotech.

Loki had a possibility, a chance to have everything he ever wanted to have, and he could’ve taken it. They said ‘you can have the throne now’, as if it had always been that easy, and he didn’t take it right away, as if it hadn’t been the thing he most wanted.

“The thing I most want, little darling, is you”, he told you when he explained what had happened.

And you swore he was about to propose —he almost took off a damn ring off his pocket. But he didn’t, and instead, he related carefully and detailedly what had to happen before he could marry you, if he were to get the throne. You had to show your in-laws you were a good companion for the King.

And that sucked. Why did it matter so much? You loved him and he loved you, and he was going to be a great King. That was all that mattered for both of you. But the conditions were very clear, and had no room for argument. And you wouldn’t let Loki give up his unfulfilled wish to rule the realms, nor would he give it up now that he had the chance.

So there you were, balancing between the missions and the trials. Which were very sexist, in fact. Who would’ve thought royals and Gods would be so conservative? You laughed. They varied between many housekeeping duties, archery, Asgard’s history, a lot of politics, the cooking and baking of different Asgardian treats, and a lot of those idiotic kind of trainings of putting books over your head and walking in heels. They said they had to transform an avenger into royalty, and you almost laughed in their face. Loki did.

It was impossible you'd ever actually become who they wanted you to change into. A submissive and silent companion, not possessing any other ability than smiling politely and attending your husband's needs? You were so incredibly far from even being like that, that not even Strange could see a reality in where you'd do it.

But you could pretend. You passed the first dozen trials, and passed them well. Odin had started growing a certain liking to your attitude, much unlike Frigga, who was increasingly repulsed by it. She was trying her best in transforming you, a lost cause in her eyes, into whatever she found fitting to accompany her younger son.

"Your mother's idea of a 'good' partner is very different from mine", you said over a glass of wine, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. Loki was sitting over the counter reading a book. He closed it over his lap and marked the page with a wooden spoon that was on handy.

"Mine too", he sighed. "She doesn't see that you already are perfect".

"I don't think she'd see me with your eyes".

"You must remember she was raised to be the princess that would someday marry Odin. She has no other view of marriage than… changing the true self. Much as she taught me shapeshifting, we have all learnt different ways to hide underneath a veil of lies and deceiving".

You took in his sincere words and went back to silence for a while. He didn't go back to his book, instead, he looked at you. He wanted to know what you were thinking about, but asking felt like an intrusion of some sort. You looked back at him, an invitation to ask. He then asked,

"How do you feel about it?".

You nodded with no reason to nod. Pressed your lips in a line, a smile that wouldn't form just yet. Not for this.

"I sincerely don't know", you finally said. He hummed. "I love you, that's all I know. My perception of marriage doesn't mean giving everything and everyone up. But again, in my perception of marriage I never thought I would actually marry a prince. I know this is how it is. I know this is what has to be done".

"It doesn't", he jumped off the counter and surrounded your waist with his arms, resting his head on your shoulder. "Love, this can be solved. I don't want you to resign everything and everyone. This is not how it has to go if you don't like it. Say the word. Say the word and…", he sighed.

"And you'll resign your everything and everyone?", you chuckled.

"You're my everything and everyone, I wouldn't be resigning anything I don't already have".

"Liar. You want this", you said almost in a whisper. Turning around to face him, you cupped his face and kissed his chin. "You can have it. I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel guilty".

"I have reasons to feel that way".

"I'm just being dramatic".

"You're not".

"I really am", you assured him. Love sometimes was protecting him from your thoughts. Love sometimes was waking up from a nightmare where he died and not telling him about it. Love sometimes was not worrying him and lying. Or was it? Were you protecting him or were you creating a demon? "This is your big chance. Do I have a big chance here? I don't. My big chance so far has been being by your side. You make me blindly happy. I don't care if I have to change some things to please your parents, we both know I wouldn't actually change. We can see underneath the acting. You know me".

"I know you enough…", he started saying, with no need to finish it. I know you enough to know you don't want this.

"Let's have dinner", you smiled, and he kissed your forehead.

Love sometimes was accepting, he thought. Accepting you didn't want to talk about it that much. Love sometimes was sharing time. Sharing that glass of wine while sharing moments in the kitchen. Sharing the dinner you cooked together. Sharing time. Sharing. And this… Loki knew he wasn't sharing. He was taking his chance and making you go through it without you wanting it. But you shared —your life, your motivations, your fears, most of your thoughts. And you shared your thoughts about it, yet he could sense that wasn't all. You were keeping some worries to yourself, and that was what preoccupied him the most.

In the training room, you avoided Thor’s blasts and threw your daggers, trying to practice over the little things the Queen had taught you. Loki observed from afar, not wanting to distract you. He stared proudly, knowing who he was going to marry. It was not bad at all.

You had started liking that part of the training. You catched interest for Asgard’s history, politics, and the trainings of archery and dagger-fighting. You grew fonder of the idea of living in his Palace, and, to him, nothing sounded better than you calling him my King in front of everyone. But, whatever would come for the future, would come brightly.

You weren’t closer with Thor than with any other Avenger. And you weren’t exactly friends with anyone. You got along pretty well. Tony Stark liked your fierce personality, and laughed at the contrast between your bitterness in the field to your kind essence in any other situation.

Steve Rogers constantly pointed out how hilarious it was that someone like you would end up with someone like Loki. Both took it personal —Loki thought it was an offence to him, “how could someone as caring and sweet as you end up with that mass murderer”. You thought it was an offence to you, “how could someone as dull and incompetent as you end up with a literal God”.

Natasha Romanoff… She didn’t talk much. But, unlike James, she didn’t even try to communicate. James was interesting, and you were sure you would call him a friend, someday. He wasn’t very talkative, but he was always there. Always laughed at your jokes. He memorized your coffee order. He liked the same shows you did and watched them with you, in silence. He was quiet, but his actions spoke to you much more than any other Avenger. Although, James “Bucky” Barnes, was not an Avenger. Much like Loki. He was just there, he was always helping.

“How are the trials?”, asked Thor, avoiding one of your daggers without much effort. You weren’t actually good at it. Thor had learnt to avoid them for the last thousand years.

“I have a week left, and then it’s done. I think I’m doing pretty good”, you said, hiding your exhaustion. Thor was barely moving and you couldn’t catch up to him as much as you tried. He laughed when you fell, and helped you up, only to blast you again with a tiny electric wave, that at that point you felt no more than a tingling sensation.

“My son”, heard Loki from behind him. He turned around and made a small reverence to her. She smiled and stood by his side, observing you too. “I see their determination”.

“Nothing better for a King’s companion, yes?”, he said, proud dripping off his words. Frigga rolled her eyes and nodded. She wasn’t amused that Loki, from all the choices he had, had chosen a dull midgardian to follow him for less than a century. And then he’d had to choose again. Hopefully, someone who would live longer than a damn heartbeat.

“We ought to have a little talk, boy”, she finally said, and Loki’s heart tightened with nervousness. Very few people managed to get him that nervous over a couple of words. “Join me to a more… private space”.

They walked in silence until his room seemed like the best option. Room was a formal way to call it, for it was huge as an apartment. You both had managed to make a standardized-looking studio apartment into a cozy space, decorated with care and dedication. It was obvious Loki’s good taste and your inherent warmth had a big role on the decorations.

Frigga roamed around the room, observing the hung pictures and passing a finger through the white Christmas lights. She stopped at a particular photograph of Loki and you ice skating. He was carrying you as if you were a feather-weight doll, your seemingly cold hands wrapping his blue neck. Frigga stared at the actions developing at that moment. Under your cold touch, he was half transformed in his Jötun form, completely comfortable. You looked at his eyes with a glimmer that Frigga knew it to be the same Loki looked at you with. You were both laughing, and he seemed to have carried you up bridal style only to tease you into throwing you into a snow pile.

“Mother?”, Loki pulled her off of her thoughts. She turned around. “You wished to talk about something”.

“You seem… in love”, she murmured under a confusing expression. Despite Loki’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t figure out if his mother was repressing a smile or holding back a frown of sadness. Perhaps both.

“I am, mother”, he admitted, appearing a mug of tea in her hand and inviting her to sit on one of the couches. “If I must be sincere with you, as I always have been, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way for anyone”.

“For a mortal, Loki…”, she sighed and sipped her tea. “You know what will happen now. You’re so… attached”.

“As attached as you are to Father, not as one is to a puppy pet”, he clarified.

“But much more like a puppy pet, they’ll live less than a quarter of your life. Much less. In fact, you’ll blink twice and you’ll be by an empty space on your bed, my dear”.

“I certainly hope you’re getting to a point here”, he scoffed. He’s had this conversation countless times before, and his mother never gave in.

“There is this last thing in the trials…”, she said, raising her eyebrows and getting up to pace around the room once again, barely watching over the decens of good moments in pictures you had displayed on the wall. “One thing that has to be surely not optional”.

Loki sipped on his own tea, looking out the window. He watched the spider boy try the man of iron’s flying boots and crush against a window. It was a much better thing to have his mind on, than in what his mother had just implied.

He didn’t realize it, but a few tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he had to swallow harder to speak his mind. The implication alone of what that meant… he knew all of this would crumble under his touch. Sooner or later, he would have to make a choice, and he’d choose the wrong thing.

Both options were the wrong thing. There was no way out. There was no right path to follow.

“There has to be a way out of this question. Of this decision”, he hurried. His mother chuckled.

“Given your reaction, son, it doesn’t sound like there’s much to decide. It’s an answered question, and we all know it”.

“Yet you thought it wise to pull them through all of these trials, all of these…”, his lips trembled, and he had to stop to take a breath. “To rouse us with the illusion of the better life we always dreamed of?”.

“I had warned you about it, Loki. There is no us in your daydream for the throne. And much less with a short-lived being such as a midgardian. I had warned you”, she repeated, and rage boiled on Loki’s veins.

“Why is it that everytime I get a glimpse of what a good future could look like, it gets destroyed before it arrives?!”, he lost his temper, raising his voice. The tea fell to the carpeted floor and he didn’t even look at it. Frigga didn’t flinch, and walked closer to him. She gave him an arm-length grab on his shoulders that was supposed to calm him down.

“Hush, little boy… this is for…”, she tried to soothe the wound she opened, but he interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“For my own good? Were you going to say that, Frigga?”, he hissed. His mother dropped the arms. She didn’t like when he called her by name. It implied things he had implied before, and were no less true than what he felt like. Apart. Away. “And must I remind you I’m not a little boy you need to protect and make decisions for? This is ridiculous. I’m given, once again, the illusion of the choice”.

“Oh, Loki, when have I ever given you a golden apple you couldn’t actually reach?”, she folded her arms, furrowing her brows. “I’ve taught you magic so you could be unstoppable. I’ve raised you equally, despite your roots. I’ve…”, she enlisted, and Loki’s chest hurt so tightly he thought he’d finally die. He couldn’t speak. “I’ve left everything to your reach. Your arm just wasn’t long enough. You could’ve stretched it further, yet you decided to go for another apple, and that, my son, is not our fault”.

Loki sat on the floor, and she stayed standing. The height difference that would always make her look up at him was now gone, dissolved as the confidence Loki had gathered in the past few years he’s been living in Midgard, away from all of those words. Away from what he considered at some point, the truth. And you weren’t there to hug him and squeeze the lies away —it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, he repeated himself like a machine. It wasn’t true, although it felt so much like it.

“Loki? You haven’t said a word in…”, she began saying, rotting her patience of steel.

“What would you like me to say?”, he asked, blinking some tears away. He got up, not letting her see how much smaller he felt now. Words are just words. “Perhaps you could facilitate me with a script, so I would never wrong my path again, yes?”, he spat sarcastically.

“Oh, son. You musn’t…”.

“Take this personally, I’m aware. Now, if you excuse me, my beloved will come from training any time soon now, and it would be very unpleasant for you to come across them and have to greet them, right? So I’d suggest we wrap up our little chat and you go… Queen around”.

“Now, you’re being just rude. I wouldn’t wish you to fail in anything”.

“I’ve never said that. You said that I’m just too… incompetent to reach, the apples, was it? Were you talking about Iduna’s or was it a metaphor for all the things you’ve taken from me?”.

“You’re putting words in my mouth”.

“You’re right. You’ve never taken anything from me. You’ve never given them in the first place. You’ve only put them near, so I could want them enough, and then give them to your real son”.

“You’re my son, too. You’re a real son, too, Loki”, she extended her palms for him to grab, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned around.

“Excuse me. I must have misunderstood”.

“You certainly did”.

“Perhaps it’s because I live in a world of illusions, and I’m forgetting what’s real and what’s not”.

She nodded, hiding impatience. Without saying another word, she teleported away, disappearing behind a veil of yellow lights, like a flame surrounding and consuming her.

Loki dropped to the floor again, and inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled, inhaled…

“Love?”, you asked, dropping your water bottle on the table without unlocking your eyes from him. You kneeled next to him immediately. “Love, what’s happening? Are you bad?”.

If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve laughed at the comparison of what caring for the other meant in your eyes and his family’s.

He didn’t let you see his face —torn apart, wet with cold tears that solidified to the touch of his skin, the blue form that couldn’t hide when he was too upset, or too broken, like he was right then.

He sank in your arms, hugging you as tightly as he allowed himself to. Grasping for your touch, for you to never leave him, for your soul to never leave your body and stay with him for the rest of his life.

His mother was right, he thought. He was all she said he was, and that hurt him. But it stung him even more when he knew how right she was about his short-lived being beloved. He was going to pull away from your hug and you would take a few more breaths, and that was it. And your worried face, frowning your expression as you couldn’t see what had taken over his lover this time, would become cold as marble.

“Please, please—I can’t live without you, not like this—not anymore”, he sobbed over your neck, sinking deeper into the embrace you would oh so tightly hold and hold —you wouldn’t let him go, not ever, not if you had the chance to. And Loki knew you would actually do it. He’d lose you because you would never agree to that, and with good reason.

“You don’t have to, I’m not leaving. I’m here, Loki. I’m here, love, and you’re alright. Deep breaths, breathe with me, love, come, breathe with me”, you helped him calm down, rubbing big circles on his back, your palms open and warm trying to cover the immensity of him compared to you.

There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever.

He could, on the other hand, keep you as far as he could manage to.

He was already stable, now. You cuddled him on the couch, weighted blanket surrounding his body, a few ice cubes inside a bag for his forehead and neck —you knew it would always make him feel less pushed, keeping his Aesir form costed an extra amount of energy he sometimes couldn’t handle to bare— and your hand kept brushing his hair, braiding it, letting him know he was safe.

He opened his eyes and there you were —an angel, a healer caring for his wounds. He sighed at your sight, and embarrassed himself for even thinking about it. No, no. Of course he would choose you. He would never choose the throne if he had to give you up. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

“Don’t be”, you assured.

“I… I have to ask”.

“Tell me”.

And so he asked,

“Would you, ever, at any given point of your life, want to have a child with me?”.

You stayed silent. You looked at him, every bit of his face, every expression that would tell you what he was actually thinking about. Why was he asking this now? After all of this? He knew the answer, why would he bring it up again?

And then it hit you.

“Your Mother was here”, you lowered your gaze. Your legs started bouncing.

“She was”.

“This is a condition”.

“It is”.

“Heir”.

“Not more and not less”.

“What will we do?”, you asked, raising your eyebrows. As you looked for Loki’s eyes to be wet, to have any emotion of regret, they weren’t. He was hiding them very well.

“We will stay here. No more trials. No more boring royal things for you to learn”.

“This can’t be possible”, you frowned in concern. “Loki, this is the thing you most want. You can’t give it up for this”.

“For what? For being with the love of my life? I certainly can and will”, he smiled. It was a sad smile, you noticed. His eyes couldn’t hide what his lips tried to. He noticed you didn’t believe him. “We’ve talked about this over and over. I will bargain more. But as for now, I can see the most likely option will be this one. I propose we get comfortable. You once talked about a house by the mountains and cats, right?”.

“Don’t change the topic, mister”, you frowned and he laughed. You hugged him tightly, and murmured in his ear “are you sure you want this?”.

“So, so sure, my little darling”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 , @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @enderslove)

112 notes · View notes

thefanbasewhore · 4 years

Text

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of “what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby.

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral.

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before.

***

Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right.

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.”

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s.

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers.

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight.

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment. The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it.

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time.

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles, @kaermorons @winter-rxn @carlygrayson @naturalswifty89 @Curiouskeyboard @idjitdestiel @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias, @altarsw , @nikkixostan , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel, @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar, @akatasukilove , @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan, @Sporadicshoebailifffish, @coldlilheart, @starsvck, @agirlinherhead, @lokismidnight, @expellopatronum, @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey, @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal, @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters, @i-ship-it-ironically

@dinsbeskar

#din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolarian #the mandolorian imagine #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

287 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Blurb #9

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Female Reader

CW- none

Author’s Note- this comes from this ask by @leahblackk thanks so much for this love!! it was so much fun to write 💛 also sorry if it looks a little wonky I’m on mobile!!

Word Count— 2K (not really a blurb)

Studies show that the music we listen to at 14 years old is the most influential on our personality and development. Naturally, there’s some exceptions to this. Spencer, for one, tended to listen to classical music or the Beach Boys records his mother had around the house as a teenager. He still can’t listen to jazz without the bittersweet memories of Ethan coming back to haunt him. His music taste, in his opinion, didn’t really develop until Derek made him listen to his CDs on rides during their commute.

It wasn’t until he met his neighbor, Y/N that he learned just how impactful music can be on someone’s life. Spencer, despite Derek and Penelope’s efforts, doesn’t really enjoy modern music. There’s one expectation to that though: Y/N. Everytime she drags him over for late night dinners and movie nights, she always ends up putting a Taylor Swift album on her vintage record player. It’s like a ritual that either comforts her, hypes her up, or softens her heartbreak. Through the months that they’ve been friends, Spencer’s come to enjoy the music nights. There’s something about the way that she sings about love and life that is so familiar to Spencer. The day he realized, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N makes all those magical, heartwarming, Taylor Swift songs make sense.

So everytime he goes over to her apartment, before he knocks he’ll listen for the music. It’s hard to not let his profiling instincts kick when he does this. Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer can recognize any of the songs with only a couple seconds of the lyrics.

On a sunny Monday, Spencer listens closely for the record player. He can hear the upbeat, dance tunes of New Romantics. Okay, he thinks. If Y/N is listening to that song, she’s probably happy. So he knocks on the door, a big smile on his face ready to listen to the happiest Taylor Swift songs with the girl he’s pining for and try not to reveal just how much he wants her to love him back.

“Spence! Come on, we’re dancing” Y/N shouts loudly above the music. Spencer doesn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her he doesn’t dance, so he takes her hand and dances his heart away.

In between the jumpy and laughter the song shifts. Y/N must be playing it from her Alexa because the next song is from a different album, Paper Rings comes on next. A song dedicated to the kind of love that probably makes the most sense to Spencer. He’d marry Y/N without any kind of ring- and that’s a terrifying thought.

“I love this song!” Y/N says, closing her eyes and dancing wildly, “You like this one too, right Spence?” she says above the loud music.

Spencer, unable to fully articulate how much he loves this song, decides to grab Y/N by the hand and twirl her around and around. She’s laughing and smiling, happy as she could be. Spencer’s thoughts shift from how beautiful she looks, to how easy this is. How simple loving her could be, but how hard telling her is.

The music slows, turning to Lover, a song that Spencer has dreamt of dancing with Y/N to on a white veiled occasion several times. This must be her happy playlist, Spencer thinks as she pull him close. They’re slow dancing and if Spencer closes his eyes and quiets his mind, he can trick himself into thinking she loves him back. Afterall she holds him like she does.

“I like this one the best,” Spencer whispers, his eyes still closed as he and Y/N sway to the beat of the song, “It’s comforting,” he explains.

“It’s a good wedding song,” Y/N says, resting her head against his shoulder, “like a first dance song,”

“It is,” Spencer says, “It’s actually in the proper beats per second to be a waltz, which is a common dance for a traditional first dance at a wedding,”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, pulling herself in closer to Spencer as she pets small circles into his soft cardigan. The spot where she touches leaves her mark; his heart has belonged to her for awhile now, but Spencer’s ready to give her whatever else she wants, “but dancing like this is also very nice,”

“Hmm,” Spencer says, not trusting himself to say anything else. The music switches again, and Spencer knows the song, probably before even Y/N. Dress comes on and Spencer really isn’t sure how he’ll get through listening to the sultry song that croons about pining after your best friend. Part of him seriously thinks he’s being stalked, because those songs perfectly encapsulate his love and his admiration for the girl next door.

“Oh, I got asked out on a date,” Y/N says, seemingly shocking Spencer out of his daydream, “at the coffee shop. His name is John, he seems nice,” she tells him, sounding a little nervous.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Spencer says, trying to put on a smile for his best friend, but fails to do so, “I’m happy for you,”

“Well it’s, you know. I think I just need to put myself out there and stop waiting around for my wild dreams to come true. Because after all your wildest dreams are just that, dreams,” she says, a little sadly.

“Call me after, Y/N, just to make sure you get home safe,” Spencer requests, he squeezes her hand, in what he hopes can be seen as a friendly gesture, despite him not wanting to let go.

“Of course, Mr. FBI,” Y/N teases, “Alexa, shut up! Hey, Spence, you want to order pizza. It’s been like a week since I watch Long Pond and I’ve got that itch that only listening to This Is Me Trying while stuffing my face with pizza and white wine can fix,”

“Sure, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling through his heartbreak. He tries to not let Y/N see the tears that prickle in the corners of his eyes when the 1 comes on. It would have been fun, if he could have been Y/N’s “1”. Even in heartbreak, Taylor Swift can capture exactly what Spencer feels.

He almost didn’t bother checking by her apartment because he knew it’s her date with Jake or John, or whatever his name was. Spencer’s not a man to get jealous, he knows that Y/N doesn’t owe him her love just because he loves her. He knows that, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt of her falling for someone other than him.

As he walks by, Spencer’s ears catch the music coming from her apartment. He hears the unrecognizable twangy strum of the guitar and knows it’s going to be back news. Without thinking, Spencer rumages into his pocket, looking for his spare key to Y/N’s apartment. He unlocks the door and is greeted by Y/N’s cat, August, meowing at the door.

“Where’s our girl?” Spencer says, picking up the cat as he slips off his shoes, “hey, Y/N. It’s Spencer. I heard the music and I just thought I’d check in. I thought you were going out on your date?” he asks, finding Y/N curled up on the couch, with piles of tissues littered around her.

“Please, Spence. I’m a mess. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially you,” Y/N tells him, mopping her eyes up and petting her lap for August to jump up.

“Hey, hey, honey. You don’t have to worry about being a mess in front of me, I already think you’re amazing,” Spencer says, softly. He tries to gracefully avoid the spoiled tissues, he might be in love with Y/N, but he’s not in love with her used tissues.

“He-he stood me up,” Y/N stutters as a new wave of tears floods her face. Spencer leans over, shutting Alexa off. The sorrow, regretful tunes of Dear John turn off, leaving Spencer with the thought that it probably was an appropriate song to choose.

“I don’t even know why I try any more, Spence” she says, leaning into his body as he puts a comforting and protective arm around her upper half, “it’s useless. I’m doomed to be alone,”

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer says, mumbling into her hair, “not at all. You’re amazing. You’re kind and so smart. You’re beautiful and you have great taste in music. Anybody would be lucky to date you,” he finishes, forgetting himself for a second as he kisses her hair. She smells like green apples and ivory soap.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Y/N says. The emphasis on ‘friend’ giving Spencer a little hope at what she is subtly implying.

“What-what if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t saying this as just a friend?” Spencer asks, daring to be bold and brave for once in his life. He couldn’t be bold and brave for Y/N, then who is he?

She must be thinking, because Y/N doesn’t say anything. Spencer’s mind instantly switches into full gear, thinking of how he’d get out of here all while sparing his feelings.

“Please don’t say those things, Spencer. Don’t say those things unless you mean it,” Y/N tells him, her voice sounding cold and far off, like she’s trying to put some distance between themselves to protect herself. Spencer’s mind ventures to take it as a good thing, when she doesn’t physically distance herself. She decides to stay with Spencer’s arms wrapped around her upper half and his hands drawing shapes on her back.

“I mean it, Y/N. I really do mean it,” Spencer says, sounding terrified, but feeling braver than ever. “I’d never lie to you about how you make me feel. Not anymore at least,” he explains, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“Can I show you something?” Y/N ask, her voicing sounding an awfully lot like Spencer’s with the mix of fear and tension and love fighting for dominance.

“Of course,” Spencer says, nodding into her hair and letting her go.

He watches and waits as she grabs her phone from the coffee table. Y/N launches her music app, but covers her phone so Spencer can’t see which playlist she’s choosing. Y/N has very curated Taylor Swift playlists kko that help her to either middle through her dark days or celebrate her happy ones.

The music starts and just within the first few notes Spencer can tell which song is playing. “Gold Rush,” he asks, of course getting it correct and making Y/N smile.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N says, scooting in closer to Spencer so his chin rests over her head. “I don’t think you’ve heard this playlist yet,” she says, handing him her phone.

Spencer looks at the phone, reading the playlist title Songs That Remind Me of Spencer, but ends up having to do a double take.

“This song always reminded me of you, Spence. I think it just captures how beautiful you are and how scared I am that you’ll find someone that will make you feel that way. Someone that’s more beautiful and better for you—“

Spencer can’t hear it anymore so he does something that was only a figment of his imagination: he kisses Y/N. He holds her head in his hands, brushing gently on her temples. It’s wonderful and magical, and Spencer thinks that he could kiss her for his whole life. He wants to know what makes her whimper and whine or make her flush. He wants to know everything about her because he is her 1, just as she is his.

“You made a playlist for me?” Spencer says, breaking away from Y/N’s lips to kiss her face. All over her forehead, her cheeks and eyes. He kisses her like he can’t get enough and is only encouraged by Y/N giggles for approval.

“Of course I did, Spence. You’re just everything to me and I couldn’t quite say it myself. So I left it up to the best songwriter I know,”

“I’ll make you one, today. Tomorrow, everyday,” Spencer says, kissing Y/N’s hands and wrists, “I just want to make you happy and know how loved you are. Because I love you, Y/N” Spencer says

“Spence,” Y/N says, not quite able to articulate how much she loves him, kisses his forehead, “I love you. God. I love you so much. And I may or may not have re-written Hey Stephen as Hey Spencer,”

#spencer reid #spencer reid blurbs #Spencer Reid x reader

85 notes · View notes

megahwn · 4 years

Text

Smitten

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: arranged marriage!au, strangers to lovers

Word Count: 16,902

Rating: 18+

Warnings: alcohol mentions/consumption; menstruation mention; description of a panic attack; explicit language; biting/marking; fondling over clothes; a sort-of handjob; a single piercing; vaginal fingering; finger sucking; unprotected vaginal intercourse; almost simultaneous orgasms; creampie

Summary: You live in a world where loving another is criminal. Partners are chosen by your elders to produce the best offspring and to help the economy thrive. Living in this world, you feel broken. You feel broken because you have accidentally fallen for your new husband, Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: Part of BTS Writers’ Corner’s Amor Fabula Project. Thank u to @joopiterjoon @kitsutaes @spicykoreantatertots @staerrylights for beta-reading parts of this fic for me, I appreciate you all!

The elders are relatively mysterious to you. You don’t know how many of them there are, what they do with their time, what they look like. All you really know about them is how powerful they are. They are the entity that decides which people will marry in order to produce the healthiest offspring and to keep the economy strong. Most people accept their pairing and then live their lives married to someone they don’t know. Others, however few there may be, reject their pairing and go out looking for true love on their own.

~~~

You and Jungkook tumble through the door of your new apartment, exhausted from the day’s events but giddy from the wine. Today had gone much more smoothly than you had anticipated it would. The kiss at the altar was far from awkward, your families seemed to get along well, and your conversation with Jungkook at your sweetheart table left nothing to be desired (thank you, white zinfandel). It was almost as if your wedding was based on something more than genetics and finances. Almost.

In all honesty, you want nothing more in this moment than to get out of this obnoxious outfit, get into some sweats and keep binging This Is Us. While today went as ideally as it could have, it won't hurt to get lost in the Pearsons' love story for a few hours instead of having to face your non-love story as soon as you arrive home from your own wedding.

It won't hurt. Not one bit.

You are already out of one shoe and hobbling down the hallway to your shared bedroom when you realize that it is, in fact, a shared bedroom, and you can't just throw all your clothes everywhere on your quest to get naked and comfortable. Your eyes immediately begin darting around the almost-familiar space for a spot to use to go through your nightly routine without Jungkook seeing... well, any of it. As capable as you are of being outgoing when the situation demands it, you are, by nature, a pretty shy person, and you don’t yet feel ready to let someone else be aware of your bedtime habits. Even if that someone is your new husband.

While you’re in the middle of scouring the room for a suitable place to hide, you hear the distinct sound of someone’s throat clearing a few feet behind you. You whip around with wide eyes, not realizing you had stopped in the doorway and blocked the only route into the bedroom. You take in the sight now before you and your eyes, if possible, grow even wider.

Jungkook looks good. His cheeks are still a little rosy from the alcohol, and his hair is swept off his forehead and parted on one side. His tie is loosened and the top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He managed to shed his suit jacket somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, and his shirt sleeves are now rolled up his forearms. There is an obvious vein running from his hand up his arm and under his sleeve. He is fiddling with the wedding band on his other hand. While he does look good, he also looks nervous.

Damn him.

Before you even have the chance to begin lusting after Jungkook, even for a moment, anxious thoughts begin flooding your brain in powerful waves. Why does he look nervous? Did you do something to upset him in the time it took to get from the apartment threshold to this spot? You probably did and now he hates you and you’re going to have to share an apartment and a bed with someone who can’t stand you and you’re going to –

“Is something wrong?” Jungkook asks. “Is it the Iron Man poster? The Cooky plushie? I can get rid of them if you want. Man, I knew I shouldn’t have brought them here with me. God, this is embarrassing.” You notice he sounds slightly panicked.

Wait, what? You manage to get out of your own head for a second to focus on what Jungkook is saying. He’s embarrassed. Why is he embarrassed?

You turn back around to look into the bedroom once more, and your eyes immediately find the poster and the plushie he mentioned. Instead of saying anything, you walk towards the bed as well as you can in your dress, and you pick up the plushie from Jungkook’s side of the mattress. You look at it closely and then you rotate once more to look at Jungkook, who looks positively terrified. You consider teasing him, but decide against it almost immediately, as you think it might actually kill him.

You choose to walk back over to the doorway instead, holding the plushie as you move. Jungkook looks like he wants to back away, but he seems rooted to the spot. You take a breath and hope that what you’re about to say doesn’t ruin the day you’ve had with him and make everything (even more) awkward between you.

“Do you have any of the others or just Cooky?”

Jungkook’s eyes go as wide as you felt yours did earlier. You immediately think you’ve said the wrong thing, but then he smiles, showing off his bunny-like teeth.

“You know about the others?” he says shyly, referring to the rest of the popular plushie brand. He is still turning his wedding ring around on his finger, but not as intensely as he had been before. You take that as a good sign.

“Yeah, of course I do,” you respond without missing a beat. A smile creeps up onto your face as well. “I actually have Koya packed away in one of these boxes somewhere.” You gesture to the boxes you have yet to unpack, laying in the living room unopened and sort of sad-looking compared to all of the stuff Jungkook has already placed around the apartment.

Jungkook’s smile grows at your words. He lets go of his wedding ring and flexes his hands at his sides in excitement. You try not to stare as he steps closer to you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looks like he’s trying to hold back how happy he really is to have learned this information about you. You barely register his emotions, though, as you’re now intently focused on his proximity to you. He smells mild, like soap. It’s nice.

“Do you really have Koya?” Jungkook practically whispers at you. You hold back a giggle and respond with a soft, “Yes. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” The truth is that you wouldn’t lie about anything, but you figure now isn’t really the time to be sharing such things. Now is the time for talking about plushies.

Jungkook seems to debate with himself for a moment, and you wait patiently for him to come to a decision, whatever it is. You take the moment to look at his face more closely while he’s looking away from you. His skin is beautiful, milky. His eyebrows fit his face nicely, with just the right amount of arch to them. His eyes are a deep brown, and he has a small scar underneath his left one. You have the urge to reach out and touch it, but you hold yourself back by holding tighter to the Cooky plushie in your hands. You don’t want to interrupt his thought process. Or worse, freak him out and end whatever moment you might be having.

You don’t get the chance to study the bottom half of his face because he begins speaking again, although he does so without making eye contact. He seems to be looking at your lips instead when he says, “Can I see him?”

You take a moment to recall what you had been talking about, and upon remembering you light up and respond with a nod. You begin walking into the living room before you remember that you are still in your wedding dress and it’s beginning to get uncomfortable. You stop moving and tilt your head back with a sigh before saying, “Can I actually get this dress off first? It’s starting to dig into my ribs.”

Jungkook looks like he doesn’t understand why you just asked him for permission to change your clothes. He responds with a confused-sounding “Yes?” and steps out of the way so you can make your way back to the bedroom once more. You make it inside, toss Cooky onto the bed, and begin rummaging through your dresser drawers before finding a suitable t-shirt and the most comfortable pair of sweatpants you own. You then head straight for the bathroom when you see Jungkook looking through his own dresser, presumably to do the same.

You make it into the bathroom, close the door behind you, and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You drop the clothes onto the floor next to you and turn to look at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup held up well throughout the day, and you realize you need to take it off. You search the countertop and the cabinet behind you for makeup remover but find none. You suppose it’s actually a good thing that Jungkook wants to see your Koya plushie after all, as it will motivate you to unpack the rest of your things. Maybe he’ll help you.

You push that thought aside as soon as you think it, and you kick off your remaining heel (how were you walking around with one shoe on for so long?). You flex your feet to get some feeling back in them, and then you begin to remove your dress.

Or, at least, you attempt to begin removing your dress.

The intricate ties in the back of the garment combined with the restricting bodice don’t allow you to move your arms very far behind you, and you soon realize that the dress is not going to come off without some help. You think about how the only person who can possibly assist you in this situation is just outside the door, but for some reason you are unwilling to remove that barrier and ask for his help.

You end up spending a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom alone, silently struggling to undo the knots you have managed to make behind you. It’s only when you hear an apprehensive knock on the door that you let out a little squeak, then clear your throat and respond, “Yeah?”

You hear Jungkook’s muffled voice behind the door. “Hey, I don’t want to rush you or anything, but I really have to pee.”

You would chuckle if you weren’t in such a predicament. You go over your options one more time before deciding that you really do need Jungkook’s help if you ever want to breathe properly again. You slowly turn toward the door and open it, revealing a concerned-looking Jungkook behind it. He is now wearing boxers and what is possibly the most form-fitting shirt you have ever seen another human wear in your entire life. You can see his biceps and his abs through the shirt, and his thick thighs are on full display. You remind yourself not to drool.

Jungkook breaks the silence by asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be changing?”

You sheepishly nod and then turn around to reveal the absolute mess you have made of your bodice ties. You hear a quiet chuckle behind you and then you feel hands at your back. They’re firm but gentle in their movements behind you. Jungkook is helping you get your bodice undone and you didn’t even have to ask him. Your heart hurts a little. You ignore it.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, so quietly you’re sure Jungkook didn’t hear you say it. But then you hear him mumble out a “No big deal,” and you remember that this is an arrangement that the elders chose for you, and that you didn’t have a say in. Jungkook’s just being nice because he’s a good person, not because he cares about you. He doesn’t even know you. Your heart hurts a little louder this time.

Jungkook gets the bodice ties undone and you practically rip the thing off of you and take in a huge breath. You sigh out and reach for the zipper on the back of the dress without thinking, but it turns out you can’t undo that by yourself either. You let your hands fall awkwardly to your sides before letting out another sigh and saying, “So, um... I still need help.”

This time, Jungkook’s hands reach your back much more slowly than they did before. You wonder why. It’s only when the zipper is down your back and all the random buttons are undone that you realize why he’s being so hesitant – you’re basically half-naked in front of this guy and you’ve never done anything more intimate than kiss each other in front of a bunch of people one time a couple hours ago. You hold the dress to your front and turn around to face Jungkook and thank him for his help, but something stops you.

His eyes are screwed shut.

This time you actually do laugh out loud. It startles him and he opens his eyes. Cute.

“What were you doing?” you ask jovially. You’re pretty sure you already know the answer, but you want to make him squirm.

“Uh...” Jungkook starts. His eyes then wander down the front of your body and snap back up just as quickly, as if he suddenly remembered you could see him now. “I was, uh, keeping my eyes closed in case you... you know...”

“In case I what?” you tease, taking half a step closer to him. He doesn’t back away.

“In case you didn’t want me to see you... like that.” Jungkook’s cheeks had been getting lighter since you arrived home, but now the redness has returned, maybe even intensified. You decide to put him out of his misery.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Even though we are married.” You’re not sure why you add that last part, seeing as you were just as nervous as Jungkook only moments ago. Maybe seeing him flustered makes you feel a little less alone, and a little more likely to joke around the way you would with someone you know well.

Jungkook opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then closes it again. He settles on saying, “Right,” and then he backs out of the bathroom to let you finish changing.

You eventually emerge from the bathroom feeling better than you have all day, and you see Jungkook sitting patiently at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, waiting for you. You smile at him while gesturing to the bathroom behind you and saying, “All yours. I’ll be out there waiting for you.”

Jungkook’s face lights up at your words, like he had been thinking you might change your mind about unpacking with him. Impossible. He gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom quickly.

You soon hear the telltale sounds of the toilet flushing and the faucet running, and then Jungkook is back in the living room, gingerly approaching you as if you were a wild animal or something fragile that he didn’t want to break. You both plop to the ground and you reach for the box nearest to you.

“You didn’t label them?” Jungkook asks incredulously. “How are you supposed to know what anything is?”

“I just kind of wing it,” you respond casually, to which Jungkook shrugs and says, “Okay, fair.”

Once you have the box in front of you, you open it and begin searching through it for your Koya. It turns out that Koya is not in the first box, or the second, or the third... or the fourth. By this point you’re getting distracted by all the things you’re unboxing and by telling Jungkook about all the things you’re unboxing.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. On the contrary, he seems to be just as invested in your unpacking as you are. He does end up helping you place things around the apartment like you hoped he would.

It feels like something real partners would do.

You try not to dwell on it, but the thought persists as you start opening the fifth box. Your Koya sits right on top of the mess of odds and ends you packed from your old bedroom. You smile and remove it from the box, lifting it up just enough for Jungkook to see it properly. You turn to him to see his reaction, but don’t expect the one you get.

Jungkook is smiling again, his bunny teeth poking through his lips cutely, but his eyes are shining. Instead of letting the panic overtake you once more and make you think you’ve somehow offended him, you simply say, “Hey. What is it?”

Jungkook looks up from the plushie to your eyes, then dabs at his own with the backs of his hands before responding. You wait for him like you did before.

When he finally speaks, he says a little shakily, “I’m sorry, I just... didn’t really expect this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t expect you to really have him. I kind of thought you were just being nice to me.”

You resist the urge to lean over and pull him into a tight hug. You settle for responding with, “I told you I wouldn’t lie.”

Jungkook is quick to shake his head and say, “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have believed you. It’s just... we don’t really know each other yet, you know?”

You stiffen a little at his words, but then force yourself to relax. Right. You had honestly forgotten about that. While you’re a little hurt, you suppose you have to allow him that skepticism. You would be skeptical, too, if the roles were reversed.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. Are you okay?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment. He seems to like to think before he speaks, as if he wants to make sure he says the right thing the first time. You can relate.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says slowly. “I’m just... happy.”

You beam at him and give him your Koya to hold while you unpack the rest of the box. The others can wait until tomorrow.

You both eventually head to bed, completely drained from the wedding and your respective emotions. Jungkook is still holding Koya when he climbs under the covers, so you pick up his Cooky and hold it to you as well. That’s how you fall asleep – silently, each holding a piece of the other.

~~~

“Would it be weird if our friends met each other?”

You look up from your bowl of Corn Pops, surprised by Jungkook’s sudden question. Would it be weird? You’ve been married for over a month already, but other than at your wedding reception, you haven’t ever really interacted with any of Jungkook’s friends. Maybe, you think, it’s time to blur the lines between you a bit more by having both sets of friends congregate in one place again. The prospect alone excites you a bit, as it will not only give you the opportunity to get to know Jungkook’s people a little bit better, but hopefully Jungkook himself, as well.

Within the last month or so of your marriage, your initial intrigue with Jungkook has developed into a full-blown crush. You hadn’t expected to develop feelings for Jungkook, but he’s so damn perfect that you can’t help it.

Besides the fact that he looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, he’s just about the most selfless and considerate person you’ve ever met. He always asks if he can join you on the couch while you’re watching television. (The first time he did it, you had told him he didn’t need to ask because it’s his apartment, too. He still does it.) He also knows you get hot when you sleep, so he turns the overhead fan on in your bedroom, even though he gets cold at night. (When you had asked him why he had been wearing layers to bed, he had just blushed a light pink and said it was no big deal.)

It might be a big deal to you.

You go for nonchalance when you say, “Um… I mean, I guess not. Since we’re going to be together for the foreseeable future, I suppose it would happen eventually anyway.” You’re already completely sold on the idea and would probably be sad if it didn’t happen, so you give yourself a mental high-five for not sounding desperate at any point during your response.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too, “Jungkook says, apparently unaware of the mental marathon you just subjected yourself to. “What if we had a game night?”

You perk up even more at Jungkook’s mention of games. You’ve always been able to bond with others over a good board game and a glass of wine or two. You suppose a game night would be a good way to get to know Jungkook’s friends, and to have him get to know yours.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I like it,” you reply with a grin.

Jungkook’s bunny teeth make an appearance as he smiles back at you. “Okay, let’s do it.”

That weekend, you receive six separate knocks at your door.

Yoongi, your best friend from college, arrives first, a gummy smile on his face and a bottle of sweet red in hand. You pull him into a hug before he can even cross the threshold, and he practically trips through your entryway when you pull him across it.

“Hey,” you choke out, not realizing how close to tears you are just from having Yoongi near after a while. As you hug your friend, you realize you haven’t seen him since your wedding, what with his hectic work schedule and your new living situation. It used to be easy to meet up whenever you wanted back in college, but these days you have to make plans to see each other. It makes you sad whenever you think about it. You suppose you’re also emotional because he’s been a constant in your life for several years now, and knowing he’s still here for you even though your life has changed so dramatically is a big comfort for you.

“Hey,” he repeats back to you, bringing one hand up to pat the back of your head gently as you rest it in the crook of his neck. He’s not one for much physical affection but he knows that you are, so he always accepts your hugs. It makes you appreciate him all the more.

“Okay, I’m good,” you say after a bit, finally letting Yoongi go, snatching the bottle from his hands and moving to put it on ice just so you have something to do. He doesn’t even protest, just lets you take it from him. He really is a great best friend.

“Um,” you call out from your place in the living room, “Jungkook, you remember Yoongi, right?”

You turn around in time to see Jungkook and Yoongi shaking hands and exchanging greetings. Seeing two of your worlds coming together so visibly makes you feel warm inside.

Next to make an appearance is Jungkook’s best man, Namjoon. He’s taller than Jungkook, and he’s wearing round glasses and a black turtleneck sweater. He bows his head politely upon seeing you, and then he gives Jungkook one of those man hugs that you don’t understand. When they part, Jungkook continues looking up at Namjoon with something akin to stars in his eyes. He must really admire the guy.

“Good to see you again,” Namjoon says just as politely as he had nodded at you earlier. You try to hold back a giggle at his formality. Maybe he’ll loosen up with some wine like he seemed to at your wedding.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you reply similarly. One thing you know about Namjoon is that he tends to be polite when he’s nervous, so you mimic his greeting in an attempt to assuage any anxiety he might be experiencing. Based on the way he smiles at you, you think your efforts are successful.

You and Jungkook lead Namjoon to the living room, where Yoongi is already sitting comfortably with a full glass in hand. Namjoon sits down just as politely as he speaks, but before you have the chance to introduce the two, Yoongi suddenly asks him, “Do I know you from somewhere? I meant to ask you at the wedding but never got the chance.”

Namjoon pauses pouring himself a glass, seeming a little taken aback by Yoongi’s directness. Still, he says, “Um, I’m not sure. What do you do for work?”

Soon after Namjoon and Yoongi begin trying to figure out how they might know each other, your old neighbor Seokjin shows up with an entire roast chicken in hand, which you don’t remember asking him to bring but appreciate all the same. He gives you the best side hug he can with one arm full, and then you lead him to the kitchen so he can put the bird down.

“So,” he starts once you reach the kitchen, no tact in his voice whatsoever. “How are things going? Are they going? Are you two in love yet?" he asks outright, fluttering his eyelashes and drawing out the ‘o’ in ‘love’.

You hit his arm lightly while giving him your best expression of offense, and he seems to snap out of it. After sticking out his tongue at you, he begins looking around in your cabinets and drawers for the things he needs to serve the chicken.

He whips back around to face you, sharp knife in hand and unadulterated glee on his face, when you quietly say, “Nothing’s happened, but you already know I like him. I told you, like, last week.” You can feel your cheeks blazing at the admission you never thought you’d make out loud. Meanwhile, Seokjin has put the knife down on the counter (thankfully) and is now jumping up and down in place, flapping his hands, and making a noise similar to a squeal.

You want to hit him again, but you suppose he has a right to be excited for you. He sort of took you under his wing when you were neighbors, treating you to meals and babysitting your plants any time you were away. He’s also the only one who knows your deepest secret - that you want to fall in love and be loved in return.

It had just sort of slipped out one day, You both had had some wine and were talking about life when you suddenly confessed to wanting real, honest love rather than a lonely arranged partnership. You just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. Seokjin, in turn, had confessed that he liked spending time with you more than with his assigned wife. You both may have shed a few tears at your predicaments.

Instead of resorting to physical violence twice in the span of thirty seconds, you give Seokjin your best attempt at a withering stare. He stops jumping and puts his hands up in defeat, muttering out, “Fine, fine,” which appeases you greatly. Before you can leave the kitchen, however, he gives you a mischievous smile and tacks on, “Just so you know, though, I’m rooting for you two.”

You hit him again.

While Seokjin continues fiddling around in the kitchen and the other guys are mingling (it turns out that Yoongi and Namjoon both make music and know some of the same people), your favorite coworker Hoseok comes bounding through the door and almost knocks you over with the force of his hug. He’s still vibrating with energy when he lets go of you, and his soft, heart-shaped smile makes you feel more at ease than you have been so far tonight.

“I’ve missed you!” he practically shouts as he looks at you fondly, still holding onto your shoulders. “Work hasn’t been the same without you there.”

You know he’s referring to the sixty days that new couples are required to spend away from work ‘getting to know each other’ after first getting married, which is just a nice way to say you’re meant to spend that time making babies. While the thought of having children (and making children) with Jungkook is extremely appealing to you, that’s all it is right now. Just a thought. You’re not even sure Jungkook is totally comfortable sharing a bed with you yet.

“Just a few more weeks and I’ll be back!” you practically shout back at him. Hoseok’s energy has always been infectious to the point that you sometimes end up mirroring his seemingly limitless joy. It’s always made work much more bearable for you. Thinking about it and having Hoseok here in front of you now makes you realize how much you really do miss your job.

Just as Hoseok joins the others in the living room and begins picking chicken off of Seokjin’s plate, there is another knock at the door. Before you can move to answer it, however, Jungkook urges you to sit in the living room while he answers it instead. You wonder how Jungkook can possibly know that his best friend is behind the door, but sure enough, he opens it and there stands Taehyung. His entire outfit says ‘artist,’ from the beret sitting crookedly atop his head to the brown corduroy pants adorning his long legs. Jungkook gives Taehyung one of the most sincere hugs you’ve ever seen him give another person, and when they part they move toward each other once more to briefly touch foreheads. It’s a sweet gesture, one that you decide is fitting of someone like Jungkook.

Once the two men completely separate, Taehyung looks at you with shining eyes and immediately moves toward you for a hug. You’re surprised by the gesture, but you accept it anyway. Before he pulls away from you, Taehyung whispers into your ear, “Jungkook told me you like hugs, so I hope this is okay.”

Your eyes widen a bit at this information. Jungkook talks to his friends about the things you like? How did he even know that about you? Did you tell him and forget about it? Was he just able to figure that out about you by himself? Either way, you find yourself nodding at Taehyung as you two end your hug. He gives you a boxy smile in return, shoulders scrunched up to his ears. You decide then and there that you like Taehyung already.

The last to arrive is one of Jungkook’s childhood friends, Jimin. He looks a little frazzled, with wild eyes peeking out from behind his designer sunglasses and silvery-grey hair standing on end. (You soon realize his hair looks like that because he constantly runs his hands through it.) You try not to eavesdrop as Jimin greets Jungkook at the door, but you swear you hear Jimin say something about hoping Taehyung might not be here. Before you can wonder what he means, however, you hear Jungkook chuckle and respond with something that sounds like “It’s no big deal, you’ll be fine.”

Jungkook leads Jimin into the living room, where the rest of you are talking loudly amongst yourselves, various open bottles of wine and plates of roast chicken littering the coffee table. Taehyung looks up from his drink as the two enter the room, and he positively beams at Jimin. He pats the open space next to him on your big lounge chair, and after a moment of hesitation, Jimin smiles back and makes his way over to that spot. The two begin murmuring to each other, and finally your attention is pulled away from them when Jungkook plops down next to you on the couch and pats your knee gently. You bring your foot up under your other leg and rest your knee on Jungkook’s thigh. He keeps his hand on you.

It’s comforting to have him there, touching you. You didn’t realize it before this moment, but you were pretty nervous about having tonight go well. Having Jungkook next to you, wanting the same thing as you, makes you feel like you might not be alone in your other desires, either.

His touch comforts you to the point that you even miss the butterflies in your stomach.

Your curiosity about Jimin’s words gets the better of you, so you lean over and whisper to Jungkook, “What’s up with those two?” while gesturing across the room as subtly as you can.

Jungkook peers over at you with an unreadable face and whispers back, “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t push him, and you move your questions to the back of your mind for after everyone leaves.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and sit back against the couch, careful to not give Jungkook a reason to take his hand off of you just yet. You turn to Seokjin and Hoseok, only to find that they’re in the middle of a heated debate about whether barbeque or garlic fried chicken is better. (How could you do this to me? And after all the meals I’ve cooked for you!” Seokjin cried when you had sided with Hoseok in the barbeque camp. You clinked glasses with Hoseok in solidarity while Seokjin continued to grumble without any real malice behind it.)

You then find yourself distracted by Yoongi and Namjoon animatedly discussing digital audio workstations, which you only know anything about because Yoongi used to have you sit in his room in college and listen to him excitedly talk about the newest software he had bought with the money he earned from delivering pizzas. You personally think that MixPad is better than FocusRite, but you like watching them talk it out themselves rather than offering your own two cents. From what you can tell, Namjoon seems to be really knowledgeable about the subject as a whole. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Yoongi look at another person so intensely.

Once you lose track of what Yoongi and Namjoon are saying, you turn your head once again to find that Jimin and Taehyung are happily cuddling in your big chair, giant smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“How did you two meet?” you ask, hoping that’s not too invasive of a question.

Taehyung tears his eyes away from Jimin long enough to look at you, still looking giddy. “We met through Jungkook, actually. They were friends when they were kids and I met Jungkook when we were teenagers, and when it turned out that Jimin and I were going to be in the same year at the same college, Jungkook basically forced us to get to know each other so we could all be friends.”

You barely have time to say, “Aw, that’s sweet,” before Taehyung is back to looking at Jimin again. You don’t blame him. You turn to Jungkook instead.

“That was really cool of you to do,” you say to him while giving him a little nudge. “Bringing them together like that.”

You can tell that Jungkook is trying not to smile into his glass as he takes a sip. His ears are red, though, giving away how pleased he is with your compliment. “Thanks,” he mumbles into his wine. He gives your leg a little squeeze, and you both turn back to your guests.

After a little while of drinking, catching up with your old friends, and getting to know your new ones (you were right, Namjoon did loosen up after having some wine), you break out the board games. Soon enough, though, you discover that the majority of the people you’re playing with are a bunch of cheaters.

You catch Taehyung shoving Clue cards up his sleeve on more than one occasion, Hoseok doesn’t include all of the epidemic cards in the deck during your game of Pandemic, Seokjin keeps adding extra trains to his part of the board during Ticket to Ride, Namjoon and Jimin don’t call each other out for giving incorrect clues during Taboo, and Yoongi quits right in the middle of Secret Hitler because he’s ‘tired of being a liberal every time.’ The only one playing the games honestly with you is Jungkook, and that makes you happier than you think it should.

You eventually threaten the whole room, wine-tipsy as they are, with permanent exile from your apartment if they cheat at the next game, to which you receive grumbles of agreement that they will play correctly from now on. With a satisfied smile, you begin handing out the cards. A few riveting rounds of Sushi Go later, everyone seems to have paired off.

Yoongi and Namjoon are back to talking about music, and have even exchanged numbers with the promise that they’ll meet up sometime to work on something together. Hoseok and Seokjin have engaged each other in a pun war of sorts, trying to one-up the other with their best jokes about chickens. Taehyung and Jimin are giggling quietly at each other, still sitting together in your big chair. Their legs are tangled up, and they haven’t taken their eyes off each other since the last game ended. It’s sweet.

While you are looking around happily at your friends, you feel the same hand on your knee that comforted you earlier. This time, though, with your nervousness having dissipated, you focus on his hand more than you did before. This time, you easily recognize the butterflies that always seem to accompany Jungkook’s touch on your skin. Just for today, you decide to bask in his warmth and allow the butterflies to flourish inside you.

Just for today.

~~~

It’s past midnight when everyone eventually leaves. You can feel the exhaustion in your bones, but you’re happier than you’ve been in a while. Everyone seemed to have a good time together, you were able to see some of your closest friends, and you were paired up with Jungkook for most of the games. Additionally, you were able to see Jungkook interact with his friends in a way that you had never seen before tonight. You feel like you’ve gotten to know him more just from witnessing him be with the people he cares about. It makes you want to have even more game nights.

You’re bringing dishes from the living room to the kitchen for Jungkook to wash when you remember you had wanted to ask him about his two friends. You place the few wine glasses you’re holding down gently on the countertop next to the sink, then you bring it up.

“Are you okay talking about Jimin and Taehyung?” you ask tentatively from behind Jungkook. “You seemed kind of concerned about them earlier.”

Jungkook stops washing the dish he’s holding and sighs audibly, letting his shoulders drop and his head fall back. “Yeah,” he says anyway, and waves you toward the sink so he can see you while he talks. You hop up onto the counter next to him and swing your legs out in front of you absentmindedly while he continues to clean the plate in front of him.

“So,” Jungkook starts, “Jimin is going to get his pairing from the elders soon.”

You hum to yourself in thought. Even though you had only really just met Jimin officially, you could tell that he and Taehyung had something between them. From the way they smiled shyly at each other on their shared seat to the way they played the games together throughout the evening, it was clear that there were feelings other than ones of friendship present there. How would Jimin’s pairing affect the dynamic between them?

“But he and Taehyung…” you voice your thoughts about the two out loud, but trail off.

Jungkook has a sort of grave look on his face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look like that. The corners of his mouth are downturned and his eyes have little life in them when he says, “Yeah, I know. Jimin is going to get his pairing but he doesn’t know if he’ll accept it or not. Because the thing is that Taehyung rejected his own pairing.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head at that, but you don’t say anything. You want Jungkook to keep talking. This is the most interesting story you’ve heard in weeks.

“Yeah, that’s what I did, too,” Jungkook says, referring to your wide eyes. “I’d never met anyone who had rejected their pairing before Taehyung did it. He seemed so sure about it, too. Then, get this, he told me the reason he rejected his pairing was because he’s in love with Jimin. So, naturally, I ask him if Jimin feels the same way, and he just goes, ‘I have no idea.’ No idea! He rebelled against the entire system and yet he had no idea how Jimin felt about him.”

Realization hits you in that moment, so you ask, “Was that why Jimin said he was hoping Taehyung wouldn’t be here tonight? Because he feels pressured to reject his pairing for Taehyung?”

Jungkook is nodding before you even finish your question. “Yeah, that’s why. It turned out that Jimin does also have feelings for Taehyung, but Jimin is way less fearless than Taehyung is. He doesn’t know what will happen if he rejects his pairing. He doesn’t want to lose his family or the life he has right now. That’s why he was nervous about Taehyung being here tonight, because he wants to make that decision on his own, and not with any outside influence. But at the same time, Taehyung already did all that, and Jimin doesn’t want it to be for nothing.”

You wait for Jungkook to finish his speech before making so much as a sound. It seems like he really needed to get this out, like it had been weighing on him heavily. He’s never really confided in you about… well, anything. You just know this is a step in the right direction. (You might not be sure what the direction is, exactly, but you still feel good about it.)

What you want to say in response to Jungkook’s words is, “If they’re in love, there shouldn’t be a decision to make.” But you know it’s more complicated than that. You have no idea what it’s like for people who rebel against the elders’ decisions. While Taehyung seemed happy and carefree all throughout the evening, you don’t know anything about what his life is like when he leaves the safe space of your apartment. With that in mind, all you can bring yourself to say is, “That’s a big decision to make.”

Jungkook nods again, then goes back to washing the dish in his hands. You continue sitting on the counter, thinking. Though your own greatest dream is to be in love, you didn’t even reject your pairing to try to find it. You figure the two must be quite different, wishing for love and actually experiencing it. If love is strong enough to make people go against the elders, what else are people in love capable of doing?

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Jungkook calls your name.

“Huh?” you say distractedly.

Jungkook moves away from the sink and comes to stand in front of you, coming to a stop between your legs, still dangling from the counter. As soon as he stops moving, your heart stops beating from his proximity. He still smells like soap, the way he did when he helped you out of your wedding dress. You never knew the smell of soap could be so intoxicating. He’s so close, you can even see flecks of gold in his chocolate eyes that you’ve never noticed before, like pieces of treasure just waiting to be found.

You’re not sure why he’s so close to you, but you remind yourself to be logical. He’s just concerned about how quiet you’ve become. Or you have something on your face that he’s going to remove. Yeah, that’s it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, confirming your suspicions about his concern for you. You nod at him, smiling as he rests his hands on the counter beside your thighs. He’s so close to you, and you briefly hope that he can’t hear how wildly your heart is beating in your chest. You could kiss him right now without a problem. You’re barely able to focus on your conversation with him when the only things in your field of vision are his soft, wine-stained lips and the adorable mole underneath them.

Yeah. You definitely want to kiss him.

“You sure?” he presses. You nod again, worried about your ability to speak properly in this moment. You then yawn without warning.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” you say, as if your yawn needed explaining.

“Okay,” he says through his own yawn. “Want to go to bed?”

There are a lot of things you want, most of which involve having Jungkook’s mouth on yours right this very second. Thoughts of the elders, marriage, pairings, love and rebellion still fly around in your head, but none of them outweigh your desire to kiss your husband.

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, however, you just sigh and say, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

~~~

Nothing could have prepared you for the onslaught of pain and discomfort you are currently experiencing. You are presently lying on the bathroom floor after heaving over the toilet for about the twelfth time. Your body is burning from the inside out with fever, your chills have you shivering uncontrollably, and to top it all off you’ve just started your period as well. So, in addition to the regular aches and pains that come with being sick, you have cramps that you know will only get worse, your mood is going to take a dive, and you’re more than likely going to ruin at least one pair of underwear this week. Fantastic.

You had gone to bed the night before already feeling under the weather, and you had just called out of work before you told Jungkook about it, in case he didn’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with a potentially sick person. You certainly hadn’t expected him to give up the entire bed for you so you could sleep comfortably. When you had protested, he had said he wanted you to be able to sleep for as long as you needed, and he didn’t want to accidentally wake you up while he was getting ready for work the next morning. He even took all his necessities out of the bedroom and said he could just get ready at the gym instead of using your ensuite bathroom. How thoughtful.

Now that you think about it, as you lean away from the toilet and try to breathe normally for longer than two minutes at a time, you missed getting to see Jungkook before he went to work today. While it is true that he always wakes you up when he’s getting ready, you’ve come to find that you might like that part of your day with him the most.

Each morning, you get to stay in bed and be sleepy while you watch Jungkook move deftly around your bedroom, trying to slick his hair back properly or button the buttons on his shirt cuffs. (You love when he wears dress shirts because you usually have to help him with those exact buttons. He always smiles at you fondly while you do it, appreciative of your willingness to assist him. You, in turn, think it’s sweet that he looks to you for help when he struggles, even though it is with something small like shirt buttons. It makes you smile back at him every time.)

Additionally, you always end up talking about what your respective days will look like at work or the new episode of Survivor you watched together the night before. You discuss what you want to have for dinner, talk about whether or not you’ll see any friends this weekend, or play a game of Would You Rather?

Last week you had a pretty intense debate about which fictional characters you thought would survive a zombie apocalypse. (While you went into it thinking the cast of The Walking Dead would stand the best chance, you ended up agreeing with Jungkook’s choice of the Archer cast in the end, seeing as the title character had literally died and been brought back to life over the course of one episode.)

Through these mornings spent together, you’ve been able to see each other at your groggiest and crankiest, and it feels so domestic. It feels natural.

You imagine a couple in love would do the same.

It’s a thought you’ve been having about a lot of seemingly mundane things lately - the way you and Jungkook share a blanket while you watch badly reviewed horror movies, the way he always gives you some of his dessert because he knows you have a serious sweet tooth, the way you both end up using each other’s shampoo when you run out of your own.

You used to try to shove the thoughts down to where even you couldn’t reach them, but recently your growing feelings for Jungkook have been making those same thoughts of happy couples bubble up to the surface of your consciousness. The thoughts make you happy, and if you’re honest, so does Jungkook. You’ve developed a kind of friendship with him that you cherish, even if it came about in an unorthodox way. While your marriage isn’t based on love like you think marriages should be, you still make a good pair.

After downing some DayQuil and ibuprofen, you miraculously make it to the living room somehow and you lay down gingerly on the couch. You decide to turn on some Jeopardy! reruns to distract yourself from your abundant pain. You text Jungkook to let him know how you feel and to ask him to bring home some more pain meds when he gets off of work tonight. You then snuggle deeper into your blanket burrito and try to rest your tired eyes while you listen to Alex Trebek calmly reading clues to his contestants. Full of medication and practically swathed in your blanket like a baby, you eventually fall asleep.

You wake up some time later to a throbbing headache and the sounds of Alex Trebek on your television replaced with the sounds of someone cooking in your kitchen. You check your phone to find that it is only 12:03pm and you immediately shoot up from your place on the couch, only to fall right back down when a new wave of nausea hits you. You choke it back enough to weakly say, “Hello?” and hope that there isn’t a murderer making something delicious in your kitchen before killing you.

You hear a noncommittal noise from over the back of the couch, and you open your eyes (when had you closed them?) to find Jungkook towering over you, chewing something thoughtfully. Before you can scold him for almost making you have a panic attack while you’re already sick, he walks around to your side of the couch and sits down carefully, then lifts a spoon from somewhere and brings it to your mouth, making you go cross-eyed to see it and asking you very seriously, “Does this taste okay?”

You can’t believe your ears. He didn’t even say hello, he just shoved a spoonful of something in your face and asked you to taste it. Why did he do that? Why does he look so... contemplative while he eats? Does he always have his brows knit together and his mouth turned into a serious-looking frown like that while he chews? Why haven’t you ever noticed before? You think you might vomit again.

Your disbelief and hesitance to try whatever is in that spoon must show on your face, because Jungkook removes the utensil from your personal space and follows his original question up with a much more timid, “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh...” you start. Is everything okay? There isn’t a murderer in your house after all, which is a huge plus, but it’s only noon and Jungkook is here instead of at work, and he’s cooking. What is he doing here? Did something happen at work? Did he get fired? Why can’t you ever turn off your brain? The thoughts of Jungkook’s employment status swim through your head and make you dizzier than you already are from the fever.

“What are you making? It smells really good,” you finish, voice hoarse. You haven’t spoken a single word yet today, partly because you’ve been sleeping and partly because the effort it takes for you to speak in your sickened state is simply too much for you to handle. You figure it’ll be worth it this one time, though, just to make Jungkook look less nervous. You don’t understand why he still looks so nervous around you sometimes.

A look of relief washes over Jungkook’s face and he visibly relaxes. He hops off the couch to go back into the kitchen and continue stirring the pot of whatever he’s making. It smells like... chicken noodle soup? You’re not quite sure, but it smells delicious. Your stomach growls without warning.

“I’m making you soup!” Jungkook says cheerily from his place at the stove. He doesn’t elaborate, so you use up most of the strength you have left to get off the couch and waddle gracelessly to the kitchen in your blanket burrito. You slowly take your place at the kitchen table and lay your head down on it to try to ease some of your lightheadedness.

“But –“ you stop to take in a breath and let your stomach settle. “But why are you here? Why aren’t you at work?”

Jungkook stops stirring the pot of soup (it’s definitely chicken noodle) and stands up a bit straighter. He has his back to you, and you can see a faint blush creeping up from under his collar. He puts his free hand behind him and scratches at his neck, a habit you’ve come to learn he turns to when he doesn’t know what to say. It’s cute. Your heart might flutter a little whenever he does it.

He mumbles something you can’t discern, so you say, “Huh? Sorry, I can’t hear well when I’m sick like this.”

Jungkook quickly turns around to face you, his cheeks and ears just as red as his neck. He’s looking anywhere but at you, and he’s fiddling with his wedding band.

“They said in sickness and in health, right? The vows, I mean. They said in sickness and in health, and you’re sick, so... I’m here.”

Your heart is definitely fluttering now, and you don’t try to stop it. Where did this come from? He’s been sweet to you since you first met him, but he’s never directly referenced your wedding vows before as a reason for his demeanor towards you. You didn’t think your vows meant that much to him.

Oh, wait.

Maybe they don’t.

The butterflies inside you die just as soon as they had come to life. You keep forgetting that this marriage only exists on paper. Jungkook may care about you, but not in the way you hope he does. He was forced into this just as much as you were. He must feel a sense of duty and obligation toward you because you’re married and because you’re friends now.

But still... he didn’t have to come home in the middle of the day. That was his choice. And why did he turn so red before he mentioned your vows? If this was about duty and obligation, you’re sure he would be able to keep his cool around you and not get so flustered.

You smile despite yourself, and you lift your head off the table just as Jungkook brings two steaming bowls of soup over and sits down next to you. Before you dig in, though, Jungkook suddenly perks up and moves to stand.

“Where are you going?” you ask as you take your first bite. You were right, it is chicken noodle soup, and it’s delicious. There are carrots and celery in it (just the way you like it), the noodles are cooked perfectly, and the chicken practically melts in your mouth. The soup tastes like your mom’s. When did you ever tell Jungkook about your mom’s recipe?

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, just walks out of sight toward the front door. You hear the crinkling sound of a plastic bag, and then he reappears at the table as fast as he had left.

“I didn’t know what meds you wanted, so I just got… a bunch of them,” he says, pouring an obscene amount of pill bottles onto the table. There are blue bottles, pink bottles, tiny bottles, bottles so wide you’re sure you couldn’t wrap your hand around them if you tried. You almost spit out your soup with a laugh, and a sheepish grin makes its way onto Jungkook’s face.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Why are you getting these out all of a sudden?” You honestly can’t believe he bought you so many different kinds of pills. You must have not specified which pills you needed when you texted him earlier this morning. The fact that he didn’t want to disturb you to ask you which ones you wanted almost makes you cry with affection.

“Well, you were sleeping for a while, and I figured you woke up because the ones you took before wore off. Was I right?” Jungkook’s embarrassed smile has been replaced by a look that is much more self-assured. You can’t decide which look you like more on him.

You smile cheekily back at him and reply, “Yeah, you’re right.” You sift through the pill bottles until you find the right ones, you knock them back with your water (“You need fluids!” Jungkook practically yelled at you in concern when you complained that you wanted a soda instead), and you finish off your soup with vigor, not realizing how hungry you had actually been before eating.

Before you can move to get up and bring your bowl to the sink, Jungkook beats you to it, swiftly gathering your dishes together and carrying them over to the opposite side of the kitchen. His shirt sleeves are rolled up in the same way they were on your wedding night, and you can’t help but stare at the ever-present vein that runs up his arm. You think about how painfully shy he was when you first met, and how he still is sometimes. You also think about how he has slowly come out of his protective shell since you’ve been living together, even if he does still act skittish around you sometimes. From every angle, inside and out, Jungkook is beautiful.

“I could have done that,” you say, just to get your mind off of how much Jungkook has come to mean to you in the past months. You might even venture to say he’s become one of your best friends.

Jungkook turns around and leans against the countertop, brows knit together and mouth turned downward slightly. He’s thinking.

“You haven’t stood up in a little while,” he says finally. “Are you sure you could have?”

You immediately scoot your chair away from the table to prove it to him, only to realize that, no, you probably could not have brought your own dishes to the sink. You whine at your current state and Jungkook comes over to help you out of your chair and back to what, by now, is surely a germ-infested couch. However, instead of moving away from you as soon as you’re laying down again, Jungkook sits down right next to your feet, making himself at home on top of the part of your blanket that doesn’t cover you. His closeness electrifies you, even when you feel nothing but pain. You think he might be made of magic.

He reaches for the remote on the coffee table and says, as he turns on the television, “So we’re watching Jeopardy! reruns, right? Or do you want something different now?”

His tone is so gentle when he speaks to you, even more so than it usually is. You barely register what he says because you’re so focused on his lips when he speaks. You think that maybe this relationship is more than married people who are friends, more than duty and obligation. Maybe there is something else there after all.

You feel yourself blushing at the thought, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy looking through the options on Netflix to perceive your inner turmoil for himself. You choose to simply watch him as he browses and finally makes a selection. You spend the next two hours immersed in the newest season of Big Mouth, but every now and then you steal a glance across the couch at Jungkook.

Most of the time, he’s looking back at you.

~~~

Six months into your marriage, you realize you are in a predicament.

You’ve tried to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything, but it’s all been in vain. With some effort, you’ve finally come to the conclusion that nothing makes you happier than Jungkook.

Jungkook, who was so painfully shy and insecure on your wedding day that he almost cried when you showed him your Koya plushie.

Jungkook, who wanted your friends to get closer to his and organized a game night to make it happen.

Jungkook, who brought home an entire pharmacy and made your mom’s chicken noodle soup for you when you were sick.

Jungkook, who is perfect for you.

You are in a predicament, and your predicament is this: you have fallen, absolutely and irreversibly, in love with your husband.

And you know it’s only going to get worse.

You’re currently on your way back home from seeing a movie with Jungkook, running at full speed toward your apartment building to avoid being soaked by the rain that’s suddenly coming down in buckets. After slipping once or twice on the blacktop, you make it inside your building and head immediately for the elevator, excited to change out of your newly wet clothes and get in bed for the night.

You make it into the elevator and, with some effort, push the button for the seventh floor. You don’t realize how much you actually ran until you’ve stopped moving completely and are waiting for the elevator to arrive at your floor. You’re slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, and you look over to see that Jungkook is similarly affected by your sprint.

With a small chuckle, you stand up straight once more and quip, “For someone who goes to the gym so often, you sure look tired from that little run.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you but can’t hide his smile when he says, “One, that was a run with no warm-up! I always warm up first because I hate cardio. And two, you don’t look so g--”

His surely witty response is cut off by the elevator suddenly going dark and ceasing its upward movement. The unexpected stoppage causes you to lurch forward, crashing into Jungkook with a yelp and causing you both to tumble to the floor with a loud thud. You don’t even have time to freak out about basically laying on top of Jungkook on the floor of this elevator because you’re too busy freaking out about the possibility that the elevator itself will fall to the basement and kill you both.

You wait for a few moments, straining your ears to see if you can pick up any sound, any indication that the elevator is going to drop. When you hear nothing but silence, you turn your attention to the body underneath you, which is starting to squirm slightly. You quickly scramble off of Jungkook with a mumbled apology and get back to your feet, then begin to search your pockets for your phone so you can use its flashlight. Once you find your phone and turn on the flashlight, you begin looking around the elevator for the panel of buttons so you can hopefully get to your destination and leave your tiny prison.

While Jungkook is struggling to his feet with a groan, you find the panel and push the button for the seventh floor, but nothing happens. You try again. Nothing. You try the button to open the doors. Nothing. You try the button for the lobby. Nothing. You try all the remaining buttons, including the panic button. Nothing.

You’re trapped in the elevator.

Panic begins to overtake you as you realize what’s happening. Your breath starts coming in short, quick pants that you can’t control. Your entire body feels rigid, like you could break in half if someone so much as touched you. Your vision is blurry and unfocused; you might be seeing double. You’re unsure. It doesn’t help that your only light source is a phone flashlight. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, the sound trying to claw its way out of you and into the small space the elevator provides. The same thought keeps cycling through your mind, leaving room for nothing else. I can’t get out.

Panic attacks used to be a daily occurrence for you years ago (for reasons you would rather not discuss), but these days you only have one every few months, which is a great improvement if you do say so yourself. You’ve learned how to avoid them when possible and, when you do have one, how to get through them.

This is one of those times when you need to get through it.

You know one of the only ways for you to overcome a panic attack is for you to talk it out with someone, but the only person in this space with you is Jungkook, and until now you have avoided letting him be aware of this part of you, since being vulnerable around him is still difficult for you. You don’t want him to think any less of you or to think you’re being dramatic. You’re not sure how you would cope if Jungkook thought those things about you, so you haven’t ever given him the chance.

You consider trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling inside you, but you know that will only make it worse for you and will likely send you into a full-on meltdown, which you desperately want to avoid having in front of your husband. With that in mind, you take in a shaky breath to try to calm your nerves a bit before you speak. Even so, you can’t help how small you sound when you say, “Um, hey, Jungkook?”

Jungkook, who is looking at the elevator buttons exasperatedly with his own flashlight, mutters out a “Hm?”

“Um, would you mind turning your flashlight off for a second?” you ask while turning your own off.

Jungkook is still looking at the buttons. “Huh? Why?” he says distractedly.

A tear slips from your eye and down your cheek as you turn away from him, crouching to the floor to hold yourself. Your hands feel slightly numb, and your brain is screaming a million different things at you. You understand none of them.

“Because, um, I don’t want you to see me, um, cry right now.”

Not even a full second goes by before the elevator is once again cloaked in darkness. While you’re thankful and relieved that he listened to you, you’re unable to stop the tiny sob that escapes your lips. You can hear Jungkook take in a breath as he opens his mouth to speak. You’re prepared for the worst when he says, “What do you need from me?”

You cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your cries. You didn’t think it was possible for Jungkook to be any more perfect than you already thought he was. He’s good at proving you wrong about that.

Jungkook must hear your weeping anyway, though, because he continues, tentatively asking, “Wait, did I say the wrong thing?” He keeps speaking after that, seemingly more to himself than to you, saying, “Dammit, I really suck at this.”

You stop your quiet bawling long enough to emphatically say, “No! No, you didn’t say the wrong thing at all. You said exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you.”

“I did? I mean, okay, so what should I do?” Jungkook asks, still sounding unsure.

“This. Keep doing this. Talking to me, I mean. I need to get my mind off of what’s happening. Talk about anything, and get me to answer you,” you say through your tears. Your voice is already steadier when you speak, and the million thoughts in your brain seem to have silenced themselves. You feel clearer.

Jungkook makes a sound of realization at your words, then does exactly as you asked.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“What time do you usually wake up in the morning?”

“Um, around 8:00.”

“Okay, uh… oh, since you can’t see, what are three things that you can feel right now?”

You’re taken aback for a moment, as that’s a question that people who know you well have asked you during panic attacks. After a beat of silence, you answer, “Um, I can feel my phone in my hand. I can feel my hair getting the back of my shirt wet. And I can feel you.”

“Cool. Wait, what?” Jungkook says, sounding confused. “What do you mean, me?”

For just a moment, you’re glad you’re in the dark, because you’re surely blushing right now. “I mean that I can feel your presence next to me, your warmth. Like, even when you’re not speaking, I can tell that you’re there. Does that make sense?”

You hear feet shuffling on the carpeted floor, and then Jungkook speaks. “I, uh… I think so, yeah. I can feel, um… I can feel you too,” he finishes, sounding more certain than he did when he started speaking. You wonder if he’s just saying that for your benefit, or if he really can feel you. You hope it’s the latter.

Still feeling shaky, you ask Jungkook, “Can you tell me a story? Any story, I don’t care. I just like listening to you talk.” You close your eyes, even though you can’t see Jungkook at the moment. You feel like you need an extra layer of protection from the confession you just made to him. If he picks up on the confession, though, he doesn’t mention it. You’re thankful.

“Oh, okay, um… do you want to hear the stolen underwear story or the drunk karaoke story?” He asks the question quickly, as if those are the two stories he whips out at parties without a problem.

Both of those options sound extremely ridiculous to you, but you find yourself smiling slightly when you answer, “The underwear one.”

You hear a small snicker in the darkness. That alone is somehow enough to help you feel a little less panicked. Then Jungkook starts speaking.

“So basically, I went to this summer camp when I was like thirteen, and I had to share a bunk with maybe six or seven other guys. The camp itself was great. It lasted most of the summer, and it’s how I met Taehyung. Anyway, somehow I had managed to lose about half of the underwear I had brought with me over the course of the summer, and I honestly thought it was just me being an idiot. So we got to the end of our time there and, since we all knew each other so well, we had like a roast session slash complain-about-your-campmates session.”

The story itself is pretty amusing, but what’s hilarious is how Jungkook is devolving into a fit of giggles while telling it. His voice is coming from somewhere at your level, telling you that he sat down at some point in the middle of his story. You’re glad that he came down to the floor to be near you, but you don’t say anything about it. You just listen as he continues, voice soothing your frazzled nerves.

“So I get up there and I’m like, ‘Yo, guys, whoever stole all my underwear better watch out,’ even though I thought I had just lost them myself. So after I go up there, Taehyung gets on the stage and he looks really apologetic. I’m wondering why, because he had told me what he was going to say before we got up there. So he gets up there, and he looks right at me, and he just goes, ‘Jungkook, I’m sorry for stealing your underwear.’”

Now it’s your turn to giggle. You never would have pegged Taehyung for an underwear thief. Just listening to Jungkook’s story and his laughter is calming you down further from your panic. Even though you may not be out of the woods yet, you appreciate Jungkook’s efforts to help you more than you can say.

Jungkook’s laughter dies down after a bit, and a comfortable silence falls over the tiny space you’re occupying. Soon enough, though, you hear the sound of a throat clearing, and then his voice asks, “How are you doing now?”

You sniff slightly before answering, “A little better. I really appreciate that you listened to me instead of just trying to fix the problem. Most people would have just tried to call maintenance first instead of helping me. So thank you.”

You hear the telltale sign of Jungkook scratching at the back of his neck. He doesn't know what to say. You're too panicked out to worry about whether you've made him uncomfortable, and even if you had the energy to wonder about it, you wouldn't need to do so for long anyway, because he does end up speaking.

"Um, you're welcome. But to be honest, I don't feel like I did much. This was all you."

At his statement, you find yourself groping through the dark to find him where he sits. You're not sure why he thinks he didn’t have a hand in you calming down, but you’re suddenly very determined to set him straight. It matters to you that he put in work to help you feel better, and he should know that.

Once you manage to touch his shoulder, he yelps in surprise and you chuckle. You feel your way down his arms until you reach his hands, warm despite the icy rain outside, and you squeeze them tightly.

"Please believe me when I say this," you state as assertively as you can. "The reason I can talk to you normally right now has nothing to do with me. I owe that to you. You were everything I needed to get through that. Thank you."

You can't believe you're being so up-front with Jungkook right now. Perhaps it's the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Regardless of the reason, though, you find that you don't regret anything you've said to him in this elevator. If you had the option to take back your words about how to calm you down or about how you like listening to Jungkook speak, you wouldn’t. It all felt right.

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook says after a pause. “And thank you, too. You know, for… letting me help you. Thank you for trusting me.”

You let out a breath and squeeze his hands again. “Is it okay if I hug you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. While you would consider the two of you to be close at this point, you’ve never hugged each other before. Now feels like the opportune time for it to finally happen and for you to become closer physically, just as you did metaphorically through the words you shared while trapped here together.

Jungkook seems to give his answer the same amount of thought that you gave your question, because he immediately says, “Yes. Yes, definitely.” He sounds slightly breathless when he says it.

You let go of his hands and feel for his shoulders again. Once you find them, you pull Jungkook into a gentle hug, made only slightly awkward by your sitting positions. Your head rests in the crook of Jungkook’s neck, and you breathe out a sigh. His hands settle on the small of your back, thumbs moving up and down the material of your shirt reassuringly.

You can’t believe you’ve never hugged this man before now. You fit together perfectly, even when you’re both sitting. You wonder what it would be like to hug while standing, or to cuddle while laying down. You hope this is the first of many hugs with Jungkook.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jungkook’s voice, quiet and calm in your ear. “Not to be an ass, but would this be an okay time to call maintenance?”

You huff out a laugh into his neck and mumble an agreement, then begin to disentangle yourself from him.

You watch Jungkook as he looks up and calls the apartment complex’s maintenance number. You then slowly get back to your feet, turn your flashlight back on, and make your way back to the button panel. You press each button again, one by one. No luck. With a sigh, you turn back to Jungkook, who has just finished his call.

“What did they say?” you ask, sounding tired to your own ears. You feel tired, too.

Jungkook looks at you with a kind of grimace on his face. “The guy can come reset the breaker or whatever, but he’s already dealing with a flooded bathtub in another building, so he doesn’t think he’ll be able to come over here for a while.”

“Oh,” you say, “okay. What should we do?” You have to tell yourself that there is no use panicking a second time. Luckily, your rational side wins this battle with your emotions.

“Wait, you’re not upset?” Jungkook asks, sounding a bit disbelieving.

“Not really,” you reply. “I already kind of tired myself out. And besides, you’re here. So I’ll be okay.”

You swear you can see Jungkook blush.

~~~

“Never have I ever…” You chew on your lip as you try to think of something else that you have never done. “Oh! Never have I ever broken a bone.”

Jungkook lets out a chuckle and puts a finger down. He only has one out of five left up.

It’s been over two hours since you first entered the elevator. Over two hours since the thing stopped functioning properly, leaving you and Jungkook stuck together in its tiny space. Maintenance still hasn’t shown up to fix it, meaning that the two of you have had to find ways to occupy yourselves. You’ve turned your flashlights back on and settled your phones against the elevator walls for some visibility, and you’ve been playing games since then.

“Okay, my go,” Jungkook says, bouncing a little where he sits. He scrunches his face up in thought, looking to the ceiling. He’s so cute like this, you think. You want to reach out and hug him again, just to feel his strong arms around you. But you don’t. For right now, just looking at him is enough.

He suddenly looks down from the ceiling and right at you, a glint in his eyes. You wonder what he’s going to say that has him giving you that look. It’s like he wants to know all your secrets. After today, you’d be more than willing to give them to him.

“Never have I ever been in love.”

Just as your heart promptly begins to break at his words, you notice movement from the corner of your eye. You look to his hand and find that he put his last finger down.

Just as soon as you begin to register that, yes, Jungkook has indeed been in love with at least one person in his life, you hear a chuckle that sounds almost forlorn. You move your eyes back to Jungkook’s face to find that he’s practically grimacing, and you give him a questioning look.

“Just me, huh?” Jungkook asks quietly, sadly.

“What do you mean?” you breathe out.

“You didn’t put a finger down,” he says as he points in your general direction. You peer down at your hand and realize that he’s right. Without looking up to see how he’ll react, you put one of your fingers down. You hear a small gasp and you glance up, meeting Jungkook’s wide eyes.

“Not just you,” you say softly, a sad smile on your face.

Jungkook seems to perk up a little at your words, but you can tell that he’s nervous now. He’s fiddling with his wedding band like he always does when he’s nervous. What does he have to be nervous about?

“Wait,” you say when Jungkook doesn’t speak up. “Why did you say something that you have done?”

In the dim lighting of your dying phones, it looks like Jungkook is blushing again. He scratches the back of his neck and then, without looking directly at you, says, “I wanted to know if you had.”

You can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Is he trying to say what you think he is? You search Jungkook’s face until he focuses back on you, somewhat wistfully.

“Why does it matter if I have?” You can’t help but let hope bloom inside you as you await his next words.

Jungkook lets out a sigh, closes his eyes, opens them again. He regards you with a determined look, then he finally speaks.

“Because then there might be a chance that you love me back.”

There is absolutely a chance, you think to yourself. You want to scream it from the rooftops, but instead you remain still in stunned silence. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, finally coming true. You’ve never desired anything as much as you desire to be loved, and now it’s finally happening. You know you need to speak soon, or you’ll risk making Jungkook think that you do not return his affections. Oh, how wrong he would be.

But, how will you tell him?

You glance down at your lap and see that you are still holding a finger up, even though you’ve already won the game. It gives you an idea. You hold up your last remaining finger and briefly look at Jungkook, who appears as though he might pass out from your silence. You would usually be amused by his expression of nervousness, but right now you’re too nervous about what you’re going to do next.

“Never have I ever kissed Jeon Jungkook,” you say quietly, putting your finger down. Before Jungkook even has the time to react to your statement, you’re crawling forward to where he sits, taking his face gently in both of your hands, and slotting your lips together.

You feel Jungkook sigh into your mouth and wrap his hands around your waist, just as he did when he hugged you earlier. You’ve never experienced a kiss like this one. It electrifies your very being from the inside out, while also being soft, gentle, sweet. Jungkook’s lips are like velvet, and he tastes like the Skittles you shared in the movie theater earlier tonight.

Wanting to be closer to him, you move to straddle Jungkook where he sits, pressing your chests together and moving your hands around to the back of his head. He responds eagerly, tightening his hold around your back without ever removing his mouth from yours. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivers slightly, so you continue your ministrations as his hands begin to fall lower.

Just when you think Jungkook is going to grab at your ass, the elevator’s lights come on and the thing roars to life, beginning to ascend once more. You take your lips off of Jungkook’s and he follows you with a whine, not wanting to stop despite the current circumstances. You giggle and place one final peck to his already kiss-bitten lips before climbing off of him and standing up. You help Jungkook to his feet, grab both of your phones from the floor, and turn off their flashlights before turning towards the elevator door, feeling lighter than air.

As the elevator continues to move, you see Jungkook out of the corner of your eye and you stifle a laugh. He’s pouting. Feeling brave after his confession and your kiss, you turn to him with a coy smile and say, “You can keep kissing me, you know.”

Jungkook’s face morphs from sullen into elated in an instant, and just like that he’s crowding into your space to kiss you again. He puts his hands on the sides of your head this time, moving his thumbs gently across your cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

As the elevator finally comes to a halt on your floor and the door opens, Jungkook doesn’t let up, continuing to kiss you fervently. He simply moves backwards out of the elevator and takes you with him. You smile into the kiss, euphoric over the fact that he wants you so much that he can’t stop kissing you while you walk the few feet from the elevator to your own door.

You delicately push Jungkook away from you so you can see the door behind him, but he is undeterred. He moves so that he stands behind you instead, pressing kisses to the back of your head, the part of your jaw that he can reach, the top of your neck. Now it’s your turn to shiver, as he has found your weak spot. You love few things more than neck kisses.

It takes most of the strength you possess to not let your knees buckle while Jungkook’s mouth is on your neck, but you manage to get your key into the lock and open the door to your apartment. You’ve barely gotten past the threshold and kicked off your shoes when Jungkook spins you around and kisses you hungrily, as if he’ll die if he doesn’t. You think you might die yourself.

You begin to back up until you find yourself against the wall of your entryway, Jungkook pinning you to the spot with his kisses. You put your hands back into his hair and he lets out a quiet moan into your mouth, bringing his hands down and around you to squeeze your ass. You never thought a sound could be so sexy. You decide you want to hear it every day.

Jungkook lets his mouth wander back over your jaw and down your neck. He finds your pulse point with ease and begins to suck, making you moan out loud. Jungkook freezes for a moment, as if surprised by what you’ve done. You notice quickly and use your hand to push Jungkook’s head back into your neck, whispering out a breathless, “Please don’t stop.”

You can feel Jungkook smile into your neck and then he gets back to work, littering your neck and collarbone with tiny purple marks. You can also feel a hardness at your belly, straining against Jungkook’s pants. You snake one of your hands down his chest and hook a couple of fingers underneath his waistband. You can feel Jungkook’s stomach tense up at your actions, so you pause, lick your lips and throatily ask, “Is this okay?”

Jungkook takes his mouth off of you just long enough to say, “God, yes.”

You don’t hesitate to move your hand further into Jungkook’s pants, past his coarse hair and right around the base of his cock. He hisses at the contact, moving one of his hands off of your ass to the front of your joggers. He begins massaging your aching center through your clothes and you sigh, your legs widening of their own accord.

You continue to move your hand over Jungkook’s cock as best you can while he’s still dressed. You don’t expect either of you to get off like this, but it’s still hot knowing that you couldn’t even get to a bed before you had each other.

Speaking of a bed, though...

“Jungkook. Bed. Now,” you practically choke out.

At your plea, Jungkook backs away from you just to pick you up and wrap your legs around his waist, carrying you easily to your bedroom. Once there, he proceeds to climb onto the bed with you still in his hold and lean forward slowly, laying you down as if in reverence. Once you’re splayed out beneath him, he takes a moment to gaze at you from above. He must like what he sees, because he gives you one of his big, bunny-like smiles before he’s back to kissing you.

You soon become impatient, however, wanting to close the distance between you both and rid your bodies of their clothes. You tap Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, and he backs away from your face to look at you. You’ve never seen someone look so beautiful.

Jungkook’s hair is in complete disarray from you putting your hands through it, his eyes are absolutely blown out, and his lips are raw and red from your kissing. He’s panting heavily and gazing at you with a look that you can’t describe as anything other than adoration.

You forget how to talk for a moment, so you just pout and tug at the hem of his shirt. He gets the picture, sitting back on his heels and peeling the offending article off of himself. You watch him from between the pillows, eyes darkening as you take in his toned form. You decide that Jungkook really was sculpted by the gods.

Despite Jungkook having an intensely hot body, he puts his arms in front of his chest. He sounds extremely shy when he says, “You too?”

You nod happily and sit up on the bed, urging Jungkook to rid you of your shirt himself. Once he does, you can feel his eyes roaming across the expanse of skin that he has already covered in love bites, then downward to the rest of your newly exposed flesh. He licks his lips.

You don’t bother trying to get him to undo your bra for you. Wanting to avoid the hassle, you reach behind you and unclasp it with one hand, letting it fall from your shoulders. Jungkook drinks you in, from the birthmark on your left breast to your pierced right nipple. If his gaze were capable of getting darker, you think it just did.

“Can I see the rest of you?” Jungkook asks, only sounding a little less shy than he did a moment ago. He’s toying with the cuff of your joggers when he says it.

“Yes,” you say unhesitatingly, lifting your hips from the bed to begin taking your pants off. Jungkook helps you along, pulling at the legs until he has the garment bunched in his hands along with your lace underwear. He practically swoons at the sight of you laid bare on your bed. You thought you might be self-conscious under his stare, but you’re not. All you can feel is wanted.

“Your turn,” you say, toeing at Jungkook’s jeans. He kneels up to begin unbuttoning them, but you scoot forward and place your hand over his before he can.

“I want to do it,” you say, peering up at him with soft eyes. He gulps, then moves his hands to give you access. You take the button into your hands and pop it open, then slowly, tortuously pull down his zipper. You manage to accidentally torture yourself during the process, so you waste no time tugging the jeans down over Jungkook’s firm ass along with his boxer briefs, letting his cock free from its confines. You didn’t think it was possible for a cock to be beautiful before this moment, but you do now.

He’s longer than you expected him to be, and not exactly thick, but there is a prominent vein running up the underside of him, and it reminds you of the vein on his hand and arm. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him being inside you. You want him inside you right now.

Jungkook manages to rid himself of his jeans and underwear completely before he’s hovering back over you, looking like he can’t decide what to do next. The thought of him being overwhelmed by you turns you on immensely, and you pull him down into a bruising kiss. He reciprocates with something that you can’t describe as anything but pure zeal, as he immediately takes your tongue into his mouth and meets it with his own. The taste of him is intoxicating, fruity and dulcet, the only thing you want to taste for the rest of your life.

Jungkook comes down to the bed and lays next to you, tangling your legs together and letting his free hand wander over your body exploratively. He tentatively cups your breast in his hand and squeezes, then rubs at your pierced nipple until it becomes a stiff peak. He then continues downward, palming at your soft stomach and your fleshy hip, until he reaches your mound. He moves his hand through curls damp with arousal, making you sigh wantonly into his kiss and squeeze at his bicep. You want him to hurry, but he’s taking his time with you.

He begins to rut against you lightly as his hand dips down between your soaked folds. You’re positive he’s going so slowly on purpose, because he chuckles when you begin to whine and circle your hips to try to get him to speed up.

“You’re so impatient,” he teases lightly, dancing his fingers along your inner lips, so close to your entrance you can practically taste it.

“Uh huh,” you manage to get out. You’re hot, sweaty and trembling under his touch, and he’s barely done anything to you yet. You’d let him do anything he wanted.

Jungkook smiles down at you, then nuzzles your cheek with his nose before planting a chaste kiss there. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just that I’ve… kind of dreamt about this, and I want it to be perfect. Like you.”

You turn to face him, tears suddenly pricking your eyes, and he’s gazing down at you, cheeks aflame and eyes swimming with affection. You think this might be the best moment of your life.

You swallow and whisper, “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to cry.”

He nuzzles into you again, still smiling. “I love you so much,” he whispers back. Then he sinks two fingers into you.

The intrusion has you sighing loudly, closing your eyes, and arching your back from the bed, hands attempting to find purchase in the flannel sheets underneath you. You do your best not to squirm as Jungkook deftly moves his fingers inside your wet walls, all while beginning to leave open-mouthed kisses down the unbitten side of your neck. The combined sensations have you whimpering, already too fucked out to speak. Jungkook seems to be similarly affected, as he continues to rut against your hip, though more quickly now. You try to wriggle your hand in between your bodies to touch him, but he suddenly halts his movement against your side when he realizes what you’re attempting to do.

“What is it?” you ask, amazed that you’re even able to talk with how well he’s finger-fucking you. Jungkook doesn’t speak right away, so you bring your hand to the back of his head and pull on the hairs at his nape. It seems to ground him.

“I, uh… I don’t want you to touch me.” Jungkook says like it pains him. He’s out of breath from moving inside you. Or maybe just from getting to be with you.

“Why not?” you say, curious but nonjudgmental.

Jungkook sighs, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck, where he mumbles, “If you touch me now I think I’ll come too fast.”

You can’t help but coo at how cute he is, and you continue to pull at the hairs at his nape. He doesn’t move from that spot for a few moments, but he continues to fuck you open tenderly with his fingers. You take his silence as an opportunity.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you ask sweetly, putting as much emotion as possible into every word. You want Jungkook to know you mean it.

You hear him suck in a breath, and then you feel him nod against your neck. You push his hand away from your center only to bring it to your mouth, where you gently suck your arousal from his digits. You feel his head turn towards your face, so you can only assume that he’s watching you do it. You move your tongue over his fingers as you continue, feeling powerful and just as desired as when he had you pinned against the wall earlier.

When you finish licking Jungkook clean of your wetness, you let go of his hand. You expect him to start moving around so he can fuck you, but instead he brings his hand back to your face, where he thumbs at your cheek like he did in the elevator. He’s just looking at you longingly, lovingly. You can’t get enough of that look.

“Jungkook,” you say, your breath coming back to you. “I love you. Please fuck me.”

Jungkook pauses the movement of his thumb. “That’s the first time you’ve said it back.” He sounds choked up when he speaks.

You realize that he’s right. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You punctuate each admission with a kiss to the crown of his head.

You hear a small sniffle before Jungkook moves his head out of your space and ducks it so you can’t see him clearly. You lift your hand to his chin and bring it forward so you can see his face. He’s wearing a small smile, lip trembling a bit. His eyes are shining.

“How do you want me?” you say softly, overwhelmed with love.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Um… can we do it like this? I want to, um, see you. I want to see you.”

You smile brightly up at him and nod, moving your hand away from his face so you can situate yourself underneath your husband. You bring him down to you for a passionate kiss while opening your legs to fit his hips between yours.

Jungkook reaches down between you, positioning his cock at your entrance. He continues to kiss you slowly, purposefully, as he inches himself inside. Your hands find purchase on his strong shoulders, and he swallows your moan with his lips as he bottoms out within your quivering walls.

He doesn’t move right away, allowing you a moment to adjust. Another thing to love about this man. When you’re ready, you squeeze his shoulders and he takes the cue to pull back. Then he snaps his hips forward, and you see nothing but stars.

As Jungkook thrusts into you, he drops his head back down into the crook of your neck and bites down on your pulse point again. You can’t help but cry out, your body thrumming with pleasure and a bit of pain. Jungkook only moves faster, cupping your breast with the hand not holding him up.

“I think I might come,” he confesses into your neck. You clench at the thought of him painting your walls white.

“Come whenever you want to,” you sigh back at him. You were already getting there just from being fingered, but you’re dangerously close to the precipice right now.

Jungkook lets out a huff. “You first,” he says petulantly, then moves his hand from your breast down to the apex of your thighs, where he begins rubbing your clit mercilessly.

His attention to your clit, his cock pounding into you, and his obvious desire to put you before himself all combine together to send you careening off the edge. You feel the pressure that had been building in your lower belly finally release, causing something white-hot to move outward from your very core to the tips of your fingers and toes. You call out his name as he follows you closely behind, shuddering as he comes inside you and continuing to fuck you through both of your orgasms.

After you both begin to come down and Jungkook pulls out of you, he immediately snuggles back into your side, placing his head in the crook of your neck once more and throwing his free hand over your waist, tugging you in close.

“This is my new favorite spot,” he expresses quietly, voice already thick with sleep.

You yawn, bringing your hand back to his nape and absentmindedly beginning to pull at the hair there. After all your daydreaming, you can safely say that this is your new favorite spot as well.

“I love you,” you manage to get out before you and your husband both drift off - silently, each holding a piece of the other.

#btswriterscorner #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #magicshopnet #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook smut #armywriterssupport

2K notes · View notes

atlafan · 4 years

Text

One Last Time - One Shot

a/n: heavily inspired by Let Me Love You Goodbye lmao. I didn’t proofread, sorry!

Warnings: smut and angst

Words: 8K

After months of bottling things up, they finally had the discussion they needed to have. They argued a little, but never really raised their voices. Tears had taken over them at some point, and when they had both calmed down, they were able to think and speak more rationally. It was over. A year and a half over and done, just like that. It wasn’t from a lack of trying or a lack of love. They loved each other very much, it just wasn’t enough anymore. Sometimes when two part start to grow up, they grow apart instead of growing together. This is what happened with Harry and Y/N.

“I’ll stay in the guest room tonight. Meg said I could move in with her. She’s been looking for a roommate anyways.”

“So…you’ve discussed us breaking up with her before you even discussed it with me?” He was hurt, of course he was.

“She’s my best friend, Har. I told her how I was feeling and how I wouldn’t really know what to do if things ended with us, and well…she offered.” His eyes were still puffy. His lips part to say something, but there wasn’t much else left to say. “I’ll need some time to get all of my things, divide up the shared items…but I should able to do it while you’re at work.”

“I’ll stay in the guest room, you can stay in the bed.”

“No, I…I don’t want to.”

“Why not? Now the bed’s not good enough for you?” It was a jab, one that he needed it get in.

“The guest bed doesn’t smell like you, like us.” She says quietly, and his face softens more. She blinks away a few more tears and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I wish things could be different.”

“Me too.” She laughs to herself and he raises an eyebrow. “At least I can say the first boy I ever truly loved, loved me back, and it was good.” She stands up and wipes her face. “I’m gonna get settled for bed…not that I think I’ll be able to sleep much.” She sighs.

“Me neither. Go on, do what you need to do, I’ll give you your privacy.”

“Thanks.”

Every night when Harry got home from work there were more and more things missing from his home. First, she cleared out all her toiletries from their shared bathroom. Her special hair color shampoo and conditioner, her Dove soap for sensitive skin, all of her raisers, not even a box of pads or tampons. One would never know a woman had lived there. Then it was her clothes. She had about six different mental breakdowns packing her clothes, not that he would know. She had to stand there looking at the closet and decide if she wanted to keep any of the sweatshirts she had taken form him over the years. T-shirts, sweatpants, bandanas, scrunchies, so many things they just shared. She decided just to keep one of each, her very favorites, and leave the rest for him. This caused him to breakdown. He wanted her to keep these things, he wanted her to keep part of him. Her next task, he realized, was the kitchen. Her favorite mugs were gone. She had a knack for collecting them. They had a shared home office that she had to finish packing up. That was about it, though. He had all the furniture they needed when she moved in. He wondered what she was doing for a bed at Meg’s. He thought to ask her if she wanted to take the guest bed, but he knew she was would just say no.

Y/N knew the last time she would go to pick up her last bit of things, she would be leaving the keys to the once shared home behind. Meg said they could go out for brunch once it was done, so she made sure to doll herself up. She did her hair and makeup, and put on a cute red crop top with some mom jeans. She looked cute, yet casual. She took a deep breath as she pulled into the driveway. She took an even deeper one when she keyed into the house. She walks all the way to the back where the office is and gasps when she sees Harry at his desk, headphones on, typing away at his computer. He jumps when he turns and sees her.

“Christ.” He says, taking his headphones off. He looks her up and down. Why did she look so good? Did she always dress up like this when she’d come by to pick up her things.

“Why are you home…here?” She corrects herself. This wasn’t home anymore.

“I didn’t have any meetings today, so I thought I’d work from home. You didn’t tell me you were coming by today.” He stands up and rubs the back his neck.

“I didn’t think I had to.” She looks at her boxes and moves to go pick one up.

“Let me do that.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Please, it’s the least-“

“Harry, it’s too weird! I don’t want you helping me move out, okay? It’s too much.” She picks up a box and moves down the hall. He watches as she comes in and out four separate times. The last time she comes in she takes the keys off the key ring and sets them down on his desk. “That was everything, bye, Harry.”

He grabs her wrist just as he’s turning.

“You’re sure? You double checked everything?”

“Yes.”

“I think you left some clothes upstairs.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”

“Will you at least come up and look?”

“Alright.” She sighs. “But then I need to go.”

He nods and gestures for her to go first. He watches her as she walks up the stairs. Why did she have to wear this outfit? She knew he loved when she dressed like this. It was so simple, but she made it look so good. And she was wearing a very particular shade of lipstick that he liked on her. She was also wearing the perfume she knew he liked most. What was she trying to do?

“Show me what you think I left.” She says, crossing her arms.

He looked good today too. He was just in a simple t-shirt and grey joggers. Those damn grey joggers.

“These sweatshirts, they’re not mine.” He tosses them on the bed.

“They are.”

“But you wore them more.”

“So that makes them mine? I don’t want them.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, get rid of them.”

“Nice of you to let me do that.” He huffs and shakes his head. “And why did you come around here looking like this, hm?”

“Looking like what?”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

“I had no idea you’d be home. I’m going to brunch after this, and-“

“Must be nice to have an appetite.” He scoffs.

“Hey!” She snaps. “This is a mutual breakup, Harry. Neither of us were happy, and noting we did helped.”

“Doesn’t mean this part doesn’t suck. You’re leaving, you’re really leaving, and…I’m never going to see you again.”

“We have mutual friends, we’ll see each other.”

“But we’ll do what all people do when they breakup. We’ll share an awkward smile, and then we’ll avoid each other the rest of the time.”

“What do you propose we do then? We agreed we shouldn’t really contact each other unless it was an emergency.” She looks down. “You’re dressed how I like too, you know? It’s not just me.”

“I literally had no idea you’d be coming here today. Also, I’m just in sweats, what’s so special about that?”

“What’s so special about a fucking crop top and jeans?!”

“It’s because you’re wearing it.” He steps closer to her. “We always makeup after a fight, and this time we didn’t.”

“Because we broke up, Harry. We don’t need to makeup.”

“I just don’t think we’re getting a proper goodbye.” He whispers as he cups her cheeks, making her look at him. “You’re about to walk out of my life…can’t we just…”

“Are you asking to have sex with me?” She was shocked. They hadn’t had sex in a really long time.

“Just one last time.”

She’s be lying if she said she didn’t want to. Why not go out with one last bang? All she does is nod her head yes. He leans in, but she backs away.

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Y/N.” He frowns.

“I can handle the rest, but don’t kiss me on the mouth, please.”

He moves some of her hair away.

“Where can I kiss you then?”

Her face flushes. They hadn’t had sex in a while, and they certainly hadn’t done that. Would it be so wrong to ask him to do it…just one las time?

“Anywhere but my mouth.”

His hands move to her hips to pull her close as he mouths at her neck, and just under her ear. Her hands move up to his hair to tug at it how he likes. His hands slides up her back to pull off her top. He takes his own and then unhooks her bra. He brings them both back to the bed for her to straddle him. He presses their chests close as he kisses on her neck. It was difficult not to kiss her, and that’s when he realizes he had taken it for granted. She rolls her hips down on him, causing him to groan. He needed this, he really did. He needed her so badly.

He grips her hips and places her on her back. He gets between her legs to undo her jeans. He pulls them down on her legs, she lifts her hips up to get her under wear off. She was breathing heavily. He knew what she wanted. He dips his head down to suck on one of her nipples while his fingers slide around her folds. When he pushes them inside her, she gasps and tightens around him. His thumb rubs on her clit as he works his fingers. She grips at his hair and pushes his head down further.

“Harry, please…I’ll return the favor, just please…”

He nods and moves down her body, finally wrapping his lips around her clit while he continued to finger her. Her hips move in sync with his fingers. Harry was always really good at this, there was no denying that.

“Oh my god, that’s ittttt.” She moans.

Harry felt like a fool. Why hadn’t they done this in a while? If they had would it have made a difference? Listening to her moan was almost torture because he knew after today he’d never get to hear the beautiful sound again.

“Shit, oh fuck, Harry!” She nearly screams as she comes on his fingers. He retracts them so he can suck on her center, bringing her way over the edge. “Fuck.” She breathes.

She watches as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He stands up to take his joggers off. He was commando under them. He lays on the bed next to her, and she gets between his legs. She spits into her hand before gripping him. She pumps him a few times before wrapping her lips around his tip. She listens to him grunt appreciatively. She sinks a little further down, but she doesn’t take much. She never could. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get her gag reflex under control. Harry never minded, felt best around his tip anyways.

“Feels so good.” He groans. “But I need to be able to fuck you.”

She pops off him, and crawls up his body, lining him up with her. She sinks down on him, and she nearly came from the feeling of him stretching her out alone. How the fuck was she supposed to move on and find someone else when Harry literally had the perfect dick. And she was just supposed to live with knowing that some other girl was going to be able to know him like this? It was bullshit. She was angry with him, and with herself. The entire situation was complete shit.

She bounces up and down on him at first, taking control of the pace, but he doesn’t let her for long. He pulls her close to him, and thrusts up into her. He essentially moves her up and down on him. She clutches at his shoulders, nails scratching at his tan skin. One of his hands snakes between them so he can rub her clit.

“Harry.” She whimpers.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” She says into his ear. “Faster.”

He rubs her faster as she moves up and down on him. She comes again, easily. Just as she’s coming down form her high, she’s being put on her back. Harry fucks in and out of her nice and hard.

“God.’ She groans. “So good, Harry.”

“Like it like this? Nice and hard?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

She can feel herself starting to tear up, so she grabs him by the back of the neck to pull him down. His face goes to the crook of her neck, and he rocks in and out of her.

“Can I?” He asks.

“Yes.”

His pace quickens and before she knows it, he’s coming inside her. Maybe it was a little irresponsible, but she was on the pill, and just wanted to feel all he could give her one last time. They were both glossy eyed when they looked at each other. After getting cleaned up and dressed, he walks her down to the front door. He hugs and holds her close, kissing the top of her head.

“Goodbye.” She whispers.

“Bye.”

He closes the door and rests his forehead against it, bursting into tears. She cried too, the entire way to meet Meg for brunch. She had tissues in the car, luckily, so she looked perfectly normal. She didn’t tell Meg about her abrupt and passionate romp with Harry. She didn’t want to be scolded or be told she was stupid for once again giving him exactly what he wanted.

“That’s impossible, I’m on the pill.”

“Sometimes birth control fails, Y/N.” Her doctor told her. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Two months ago.” She groans. “With my ex-boyfriend. I don’t understand, I hadn’t missed a pill or anything.”

“It just happens sometimes.” She says, trying to be as sympathetic as possible.

“How far along am I then?”

“About ten weeks.”

“How could I be so stupid?! All the signs were there! I just thought I had mono or something, and maybe that’s why I haven’t been feeling well.” Her voice cracks.

“You know…you don’t have to…I mean, if now’s not the right time for you to have a baby, there are options.”

“I know.” She sniffles. “I just don’t think I could go through with it.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out.”

Y/N explained to Meg that she was pregnant, forcing her to come clean about the last time her and Harry had sex. Meg was a really good friend, so she told Y/N they’d figure it out and make it work.

“Are you going to tell Harry?”

“No.” She sighs. “I can’t. He has so many plans, and-“

“So your life is allowed to change, but his isn’t?”

“He’d want to get back together, Meg…”

“I think he’d just want to help you.”

“You don’t understand, he has this thing…sometimes when we’d have sex we’d talk about having kids someday, it’s like a kink or something. If he sees me like this he’s not gonna let me go. I don’t want to be with him. I feel like I’m finally moving on, you know? My career is launching, I don’t want him in my life again.”

“Alright.” She sighs. “I just think he could help you…financially, that’s all.”

“I never wanted him for his money, and I certainly don’t intend to want him for that now.”

“And you want to have this baby? It’s okay if you don’t, Y/N…”

“Thanks.” She smiles a little. “I want to keep it. I’m already ten weeks along, I heard the heartbeat…I know it’s not even a thing a yet, but I-“

“Hey.” She squeezes her hand. “It’s your choice.”

Y/N gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her parents were shocked when she had initially told them, but they supported her, they were going to be grandparents after all. They were right there in the hospital with her. Y/N named her Emily, having always loved the name. Meg was a saint, being perfectly okay with using their office as a nursery.

Y/N loved her baby girl so much. As she watched her grow she realized that she had Harry’s eyes and curly hair, but Emily also had Y/N’s nose and face shape. A perfect mixture of the two. Among all this, Y/N had become quite friendly with a guy she had only ever been friends with. He wasn’t scared away by Emily, he knew Y/N wasn’t in contact with Harry. His name was Kevin, and she was wonderful.

Things were going better than expected, and Y/N took to motherhood way better than she thought. She was greatly enjoying her maternity leave as well. She only had about two weeks left to milk it before she’d have to leave Emily with her mother while she was at work. She thought it would be nice to have some mother-daughter time, and go a nice walk in town. Y/N heads inside her favorite coffee shop. Still not able to really drink caffeine, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a fun smoothie or something.

“One blueberry and banana please, with avocado, a little cocoa powder, and coconut milk.” She smiles. She has Emily strapped to her chest as she snoozes. It was pretty cute.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes grow wide as she steps aside to wait for her drink. She turns around and sees Harry there, in his suit, small coffee cup in hand, no doubt housing black coffee.

“Harry, oh my goodness, hi.” She says, almost in shock. This wasn’t exactly how she thought he’d ever meet his daughter, if she ever allowed it at all.

“It’s so good to see you.” He smiles. “It’s been…”

“A little over a year.”

“Miss?” She turns and sees her smoothie is done, and thanks the barista.

“Yeah, uh…” He looks down at the baby. “Did your sister have a kid or something?”

“No.” She giggles. “I did, about three months ago.” She could tell he was trying to do the math in his head. “Maybe we should sit.”

“I just came here quickly on my lunch hour…” His heart was racing.

“I really think we should sit.” She gestures to a table in the back. He sits down with her and watches as she takes the baby out of the little restraints she was in against Y/N’s chest. “Shh, shh, sweet girl.” She coos as Emily stretches out and yawns. “Harry, this is Emily.”

“Hi, Emily.”

The baby blinks and looks over at Harry. Harry puts his hand out and she grabs at his finger. Harry chuckles as he tries to get his finger out.

“Quite the grip.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty strong.”

“So…uh…” Harry furrows his brows as he looks at the baby. She almost looked familiar.

“She’s yours…” She says quietly.

“Pardon me?”

“She’s yours, Harry.”

“How is that even possible?” He searches for his inhaler on his person as now he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He takes it out and takes a couple of puffs.

“My birth control failed…after we…said goodbye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracks as tears start to well up. “I could have…I mean…I would have wanted to be around for all of it.”

“I was selfish.” She admits. “I didn’t want to see you. I thought you might try to get back together with me, and I didn’t want that. I was doing really well, still am…and it’s not like she doesn’t have a male figure in her life, I’m sort of seeing someone. You remember my friend Kevin?”

“Kevin?! I knew I never liked him.”

“Harry.”

“Can I hold her?” He could scream. He could pout. Hell, he could punch her in the face for keeping something like this from him, or he could be the bigger person and do what he could now to get his supposed daughter in his life.

“Of course.” She passes Emily over to him. He holds her like he was always meant to. “I have pictures from every moment, even when I was pregnant if you want to see…”

“Could we find a weekend to catch up? I’d love to see everything.”

“Harry.” A woman walks over to them, clearly annoyed. “I’ve been waiting outside for fifteen minutes, what the…what’s going on?”

“Heather! Uh, this is, um, this is Y/N…and uh, Y/N, this is Heather, she’s my colleague, and-“

“I remember her.” Y/N says. “Hi.”

“Haven’t see you in quite some time.” She crosses her arms. “What’s going on Harry?”

“You may want to go back to the office without me…I’ve just got some news, and I don’t think I can make it back.” He gestures to the baby.

“Are you say that’s yours?”

“Yes.” Harry and Y/N say at the same time.

“She could be lying, you know? Probably just wants your money.”

“She doesn’t. If she did, she would have told me she was pregnant. This meeting happened by chance, I’m glad it did, now go back to the office and tell them I’m not feeling well or tell them I just found out I’m a father, I don’t care, just go.”

Heather huffs, but leaves.

“So, shitting where you eat?” Y/N smirks.

“It’s not like that.”

“So you haven’t hooked up wither?”

“No, I have, she’s just not my girlfriend or anything. We’re colleagues.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t really have a leg to stand on, you’re dating a guy I never trusted, and you never told me you were pregnant when you should have.”

“Fair.”

Harry looks down at the baby in his arms and then back up to her beautiful mother.

“Can we go somewhere?”

“What happened to meeting up on a weekend?”

“As you just heard, I’m not going back to work this afternoon. Come on, I can call a car.”

“No, I walked here from my apartment, and I’d like to walk back. You can keep holding her if you want, or I can strap her back in.”

“I wanna keep holding her.”

The walk back was quiet. Y/N sipped on her smoothie while Harry carefully held Emily.

“So…” He finally says. “Are you and Kevin, like, serious?”

“We’re taking things slow. We’ve been on a few dates, but I’m really not in a position to have a boyfriend. All my free time goes to her. I go back to work soon, and then she’ll be with my mom.”

“Oh boy, they must love me.”

Y/N chuckles and keys into her apartment. She takes Emily form Harry and grabs a bottle out of the fridge.

“I pump.” She tells Harry as they sit on the couch.

“Wasn’t judging. You’re her mum, you know what’s best.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you burp her.”

“You were never going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “There were a lot of times I wanted to call you…but…I wanted to do this without you. I wanted her to be a little older before I reached out to tell you.”

“How much older?” He scoffs. “Eighteen?”

“Harry.” She hands Emily to him, and puts a rag on his shoulder. “I know, it wasn’t a nice thing for me to do. I was sort of resentful.”

“Shouldn’t keep a baby from their father. I’m not a bad person.”

“I know.”

She takes Emily back and puts her down for her nap in the nursery. She comes back out and sits with Harry again.

“You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I walk a lot, helped get rid of some of the extra fluff I put on.”

“Can I see the pictures?”

Y/N nods, and takes her phone out. Harry smiles at the pregnant photos.

“You were glowing.” He gasps when he sees the pictures of when Emily was first born. “Well, you’ve sold me. I’ll be setting up a nursery at my house. We’ll have to set up some type of schedule. Maybe I could have her on the weekends?”

“Whoa, slow down.”

“What? I have rights, don’t I? Is my name on her birth certificate?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” He shrugs. “I want to be involved in her life, Y/N. I want to be her dad, not just her father.” He frowns. Y/N knew Harry’s father wasn’t around much, and it really affected him. “Couldn’t we try to co-parent?”

“I suppose we could…you’re not too busy? I know you’ve moved up a lot at work.”

“I can make it work. I want my home to be her home.” He looks around at Y/N’s apartment. It was small, not tiny, but not big enough to have a child grow in. “Let me give you some money, you could get a bigger place, and-“

“You’re nuts!” She laughs. “She has her own room here.”

“What happens when Meg moves out, or doesn’t want a baby around, or whoever she ends up dating doesn’t want a baby around? Oh! I know, I have a guest house, you could-“

“Harry!” She puts her hands on his shoulders. It was the first time he had felt her hands on him in so long. “I’m not moving in with you. We’ve done that before, remember? Didn’t quite work out. We’re two very different people.”

“You wouldn’t be moving in with me, you’d be moving into my guest house. It’s sort of like a pool house, but larger. I have friends use it when they come visit, but it could be yours if you wanted it. It even has its own driveway and garage. It would feel like your own place.”

“One step at a time.”

“It would just make things easier.”

“Harry, what do you think other people do? Normal people don’t live within the same vicinity just to raise a kid.” She shakes her head. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“What’s that?”

“If I move in there, you and I will start getting close again. Then some night you’ll suggest I just move into the main house, and before we know it, I’m sleeping in your bed, we’re married, and we have three more kids.”

It sounded like a dream to Harry, why not to her?

“Well, we did talk about having four kids.” He smirks, but his smile fades when he realizes his joke didn’t exactly land. “I don’t have any schemes. I just want you well taken care of, along with her.”

“You just found out about her. We’re plenty well taken care of. I take care of her, and soon my mom will be with her when I go back to work.”

“You’re gonna outgrow this place.” He sighs. “But I won’t force you to move, just think about it. In the meantime, let me…” He takes his checkbook out of the inside of his suit jacket. “I’m not sure how much all your hospital bills were, but I want to-“

“Put that away.”

“At least let me send you money weekly, or monthly? She must be costing you a fortune.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“It’s not about you, it’s about that little baby girl.”

“You really wanna help financially?”

“I do.”

“Start a college fund for her then. I make plenty to cover things, but I haven’t been able to start a savings account for her yet. Any time you want to send me money, put it into a college fund for her.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll do that.” He smiles. “When can I have her?”

“We can pick a day to go shopping, I can help set a room up for her, and then we can discuss a custody agreement, okay? I know how busy you get with traveling.”

“Maybe every other weekend for now? If I can get it on my calendar they won’t schedule me for anything.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “It would be kind of nice to have some weekends to myself.”

“Yeah, you can keep going out on dates with Kevin, and then eventually, she’ll call him dad. Won’t that be great?”

“You’re impossible.” She nudges his arm. “Harry…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know how much you love kids, and-“

“I get it. You thought you were doing what was best. And you’re right, I would have tried getting back together with you.” He shrugs and stands up. “Still might, you look really fucking good, love.” He winks at her and heads out.

He leaves her flustered as all hell. He always had the effect on her. She tells Meg all about the encounter when she gets home from work.

“You know you’re going to end up moving in with him.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you are. An entire guest house to move into for free? Fuck, I’d move in if he asked me.” She laughs.

“He’s different, but still the same. It was crazy just running into him like that.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t pass out when you told him.”

“He took it really well. He jumped at the chance to be involved. It was sweet. I feel guilty.”

“Don’t.”

“I told him I did it because I was being selfish. He made a good point that it was more about her than it was about me.”

“He’s smart, I’ll give him that.”

Y/N brought her mother with her when she met up with Harry at the baby store. It wasn’t as awkward as she thought. Her mom always loved Harry. He held Emily throughout their time in the store. They all drive back to his place so he can show them the room what would be hers. He already had it painted.

“Tell me again why you don’t want to live in that nice place out back?” Her mom whispered to Y/N while they let Harry change Emily.

“It would be weird. What about Kevin?”

“What about Kevin?” She scoffs. “You’ve got a perfectly great guy in front of you, and-“

“Mom, please.” She says.

“All done! Not too shabby.” Harry says, holding his daughter up with pride. “So, think this could be a place she’ll partially grow up in?”

“She’ll love it.” Y/N says, taking Emily from him. “Once you get all the furniture, we can figure out when your first weekend with her is.”

“Sounds great.” He smiles. “I can’t wait to have her to myself. Already got her picture on my desk and everything. I promise, I’m gonna be a great dad.”

The first weekend Y/N didn’t have Emily she felt conflicted. She missed her like crazy, but also slept better than she had in a long time, not being woken up by the crying and all. Harry did well with his baby. He enjoyed having her there very much, and nearly cried when Y/N came to pick her up.

“So…I’ll see her in two weeks.” He frowns.

“Harry, I can’t give her to you every weekend, then I wouldn’t have any of the fun time with her. She just gets me after a long day of work.”

“Maybe I could have her on Wednesday nights? A lot of people do that.”

“So, every Wednesday, and every other weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I think I could make that work. I could drop her off here after work.”

“You’re serious?!”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I won’t keep her from you, Harry. Not when I see how serious you are about all this.”

“You’re amazing, thank you.” He nearly almost kisses her, but stops himself, and gives Emily the kiss instead.

“Nice save, Styles.”

“Wait…uh…I had a thought the other day. If I needed to bring her to the doctor or something…is her last name mine?”

“Of course it is.”

“So, you were just going to let her grow up with my last name and not even tell her who I was?”

“No.” She chuckles. “My plan was to tell you about her when she was around six months. I just needed more time and courage. I’ll regret it forever, I can assure you.” She sighs.

“Well, what matters now is the present and the future. We don’t need to dwell on the past.” He smiles.

“Thank you.”

Y/N was exhausted from work when she had to bring Emily over to Harry’s. She mumbled under breath that he should have to come pick her up if he wants her so badly. She gets Emily out of the car, and Harry opens the door.

“Come on in, I’ve got dinner on the table.” He smiles.

“You’ve got a bottle of formula for her on the table?” Y/N smirks as she enters the home.

“No, silly.” He chuckles and takes Emily out of the car seat and gives her a big kiss on the cheek. “That’s on the counter in the kitchen. I’ve got dinner for you and I. A little thank you for being so wonderful to me.”

“I really don’t deserve dinner, Harry. I’m not wonderful.”

“You are. You could have told me to fuck off, or you could have told me Emily wasn’t mine when we ran into each other that day. I’ve never been so happy. I can’t shut up about her at work. Please, have dinner with me after I put her down. You must be hungry.”

“You’re lucky I am. I’ll help you put her down.”

Harry nods and goes upstairs with Y/N. They get Emily fed, burped, changed, and down for bed. They both go downstairs. Y/N’s mouth waters when she sees chicken, potatoes, and asparagus on the table.

“You made all this?” She asks, sitting down.

“Course I did, I’m a great cook, remember?” He sits down adjacent to her. A little too close perhaps, but oh well. “Want some wine? Water?”

“Wine, please.”

Harry pours her a glass, and one for himself. Y/N dives into the food and moans.

“Delicious, thank you.”

“Anytime. Maybe this could be our Wednesday night tradition? It could add some normalcy for Emily, and you wouldn’t be starved dropping her off.”

“Oh, so I always need to drop her off.”

“Makes it easier, I’m on the way. Plus, it gives me time to get home, and get everything ready.”

“I suppose as she grows it would be good to have some type of family dinner.”

“Exactly!” He smiles and takes a bite of the food. “So tell me, how was your day? What did you do?”

“Harry…the last thing I want to do is talk about work.” She chuckles.

“Alright, then how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?” She laughs.

“I’m great.” He smiles and sips on his wine. “Like I said, never been happier.”

“And how’s Heather been with all this?”

“Every day she asks me to get a paternity test. As if you could look at that child and not know she’s mine.”

“Are you two stil…?”

“Nah, probably another reason why she’s been so pissy with me, but, oh well. I got a kid to worry about now. No time for random late night hookups.” He looks at her. “How’s Kevin?”

“Oh, we stopped seeing each other.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t thrilled that you’ve come back into the picture, and he said he wouldn’t compete with you, and I told him there was nothing to compete with, and then he told me I wasn’t even worth it because Emily would never be his.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “He showed his true colors. I didn’t love him or anything, he was just someone to go out with.”

“Sad neither of us have met someone else we’ve wanted to take things to the next level with.”

“Well, I was busy being pregnant, what’s your excuse?”

“I was busy being busy. Threw myself into my work, moved up, bought this house as soon as I could. I couldn’t stand living at the old place. Too many memories. I love it here though, it’s amazing. It’s gated so I have peace of mind, and the guest house has been amazing.”

“You’re not lonely?”

“That’s what Heather was for.” He shamelessly admits. “I went on other dates, tried to meet new people, but none of them…well, none of them were you.”

“You say that like the breakup was all my idea.” She frowns and pushes her plate away.

“I had a lot of time to reflect after that day. As we were…saying goodbye…I realized we hadn’t had sex in a long time, and I wanted to punch myself for being so stupid, for neglecting you. It was like we had become friends.”

“The intimacy depleted, that’s for sure. We were un a never ending rut.” She stands up and brings her plate to the kitchen. “We grew apart, Harry.” She says to him as he follows her in, taking her plate to soak it. “I was really starting my career, you were doing you’re thing…”

“I just ignored things when they were going wrong instead of getting on it.”

“So did I. It was easier to pretend.”

“And look where that got us.”

“I was scared at first, but I love that little girl with my whole heart. I don’t regret having her. I’m not mad about it. I was…because I just couldn’t understand how my birth control failed, but I accepted it.”

“I love her too. I know I haven’t known her as long, but I love her too.”

“That makes me really happy.” Y/N starts tearing up. “I know you said we didn’t need to dwell on it, but I hold so much guilt and regret for not telling you. I should have told you right away so you could have been around for the doctor’s appoints, fuck, so you could have been there when she was born! I’m so sorry, Harry. How you don’t fucking hate me is a wonder.”

He pulls her in close to his chest, and lets her cry on him. He strokes the back of her head and her back to try to soothe her.

“I forgive you.” He whispers. “You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Why are you being so nice about all this?”

“Because I have a beautiful baby girl…and you’re back in my life.” He blushes as he looks down at her. “Never thought we’d talk about again, let alone see each other. I know we’re not together, but we’re parents…always wanted you to be the mother of my kids, I meant it every time I said it.”

“Harry.” She presses her head back into his chest so he can hold her close again. “Thank you for saying all that.” She smiles up at him and then lets go of him. She looks at the time on the clock. “I better get going, it’s getting late.”

“Alright.” He sighs. “I’ll drop her off at your mum’s?”

“Mhm.”

“By the way…my mum and sister might plan a trip here soon.”

“Oh?”

“I told them about Emily, obviously. They were thinking of planning something around when her first birthday is. Like, we could have a big party here if you wanted.”

“That’s seven months from now, they wanna wait that long?”

“Well, they’d come stay for a month.”

“Well, I think a nice big party would be nice. You’ve obviously got the room for it.”

“Great…when’s her exact birthday?”

“July 10th.”

“Poor thing.” He cups one of her cheeks, causing her heart to skip a beat. “So pregnant during those hot months.” He pouts.

“I survived.”

“Wish I could have been there for you, could have given you lots of foot and back rubs.”

“Thought you weren’t going to make me feel guilty.” She leans into his touch for a second before backing away. “I really need to go.”

“Alright…have a good night.”

“You too, thanks again for dinner.”

Harry sighs heavily after she leaves. They were doing the right thing by putting Emily first, but he couldn’t help but feel traditional. He wanted to make things work with Y/N. He wanted to give Emily a stable house hold. Not to mention he fucking loved Y/N with his whole heart, but he’d work up to dealing with that later.

Things went on like that. Wednesday nights Y/N and Harry had dinner together at his place, and every other weekend they would take turns having Emily. It was a good system. Harry was able to take Emily to appointments when she needed to see the doctor. Y/N didn’t realize how much help she actually needed, and was grateful Harry was around for so many things. Sometimes when he’d drop Emily off on Sunday evenings, Y/N would make him dinner as a thank you. Sometimes when she dropped Emily off on Friday evenings she’d stay to watch a movie. Things went on for months like this. Y/N would find herself almost missing Harry, especially when she’d drive all the way back to her apartment. Meg would often stay at her boyfriend’s place, so she was alone. Maybe living in Harry’s guest house wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Harry, could we talk?” She says to him when she takes Emily from him Sunday evening. “I’ve made dinner.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiles. Once she gets Emily settled, she sits down with Harry. “What’s up?”

“Is your offer still good?”

“Which one?” He smirks. Harry may or may not have cheekily offered sex up to Y/N a couple of the times they had too much wine.

“The offer to live in your guest house, smart ass.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” He perks up immediately.

“Yeah…Meg’s getting serious with her boyfriend, and I feel lonely sometimes. I thought maybe if you’re a little closer by I’d feel less lonely when you take Emily.”

“Yes, a million times yes! I could get it fixed up in a couple of weeks. We could move her furniture from here right away. You could just stay in the house until everything’s to your liking, and-“

“Harry! You always jump so far ahead.” She chuckles. “I should give Meg a month’s notice.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’m just really excited. Like, we could have dinner every night if we wanted.”

“We could.” She agrees.

“I’m so fucking excited.”

Y/N moved into Harry’s guest house a month or so later. It was so nice being able to just hand Emily over a few steps away instead of having to drive home afterwards. Harry and Y/N not only had dinner together, but they would try to do the morning feedings together at the same time.

Y/N was sleeping peacefully one night when her phone went off. She sees it’s Harry.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry to bother you, but something’s up with Emily, and I-“

“I’ll be right there!”

Y/N races out of bed, only in a large t-shirt, not even bothering to grab a robe or put other clothes on. She rushes across the pool area and in through the back door. Emily was crying loudly while Harry was rocking her.

“She just started crying like crazy, I tried feeding her, changing her, she won’t stop, I have no idea what’s wrong.”

“Let me see her.”

Harry hands Emily over to Y/N. She caresses her and rocks her. She furrows her brows and gasps.

“She’s teething!” Y/N walks over to kitchen and looks for something to stick in her mouth. She opts to just run a pacifier under some really cold water and stick it in her mouth. She calms down after a few months. “Poor thing.” She rocks her. “Must be in pain from the teeth coming through.”

“Christ, I could have figured that out. I’m sorry to get you out of bed.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you called, here, I’ll make us some tea.” She hands Emily over to Harry.

Harry sits down at the kitchen table and watches Y/N. He just now notices the shirt she’s wearing.

“You still have that?”

“Hm, oh…yeah, it’s my favorite bed shirt.” She blushes and reaches for two mugs, revealing the underside of her ass. “Is that weird?” She asks as he turns around. Harry’s face was beat red.

“Not at all.”

She plugs in the kettle and gets some tea bags out from where she knew he kept them.

“How’s the house been?” He asks her.

“Great, actually. I’m grateful, really. Most people wouldn’t be so lucky.” She pours the now boiled water into the mugs with the tea bags and puts them both on the table.

“Thank you. I think she’s out.”

“I can bring her back upstairs.” She carefully takes Emily from Harry. He follows her up with his tea. He can’t help but take peeks of her underside.

“Y/N.” He says, just as she’s getting Emily into the crib.

“Hold on.” She whispers and shuffles him out of the room. “Sorry, I didn’t want to risk her waking up again.”

He grabs her wrist and yanks him into his bedroom, setting his tea down on his dresser.

“What are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?!”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not wearing any knickers!”

Y/N’s eyes grow wide. She was so concerned about Emily she had completely forgotten.

“I’m so sorry! I…I rushed out, and, and, I, oh my god, so you saw my ass?”

“And a bit of your other…bits.”

“Oh my god.” Her hands slide down her face. “So embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“Embarrassing?!” He laughs. “Please, I appreciate it. Anytime you wanna walk around her half naked, feel free.” He smirks.

“Harry…I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You’re comfortable around me to rush out the door like that?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Haven’t seen it in a really long time.”

“No.”

“What are you-“

“You’re not getting what you want, I won’t fall for you again.” She brushes by him and leaves his room. He follows her quickly down the stairs. She takes a sip of her tea before dumping the rest down the drain.

“So…you’re suppressing feelings for me because you’re scared, is that it?” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not suppressing anything. I just don’t believe in the breaking up and getting back together thing. We know this doesn’t work, and we shouldn’t try to force it just because a baby is involved.”

“I’m very different now, and so are you.”

“Exactly.”

“I like who you’ve become…a lot. I think I’ve gotten to know you fairly well again. Couldn’t you say the same for me?”

“I guess.”

“And you like what you’ve gotten to know?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, so what the fuck is your problem? Oh wait, you know what hasn’t changed? You’re still the most stubborn fucking person I’ve ever met. You did the same thing the last time. I asked you to move in, and you said you weren’t ready. Then a month later, when it was on your terms, you asked if you could move in. Everything has to be on your terms! Great, so I’ll just continue waiting for the night that you decide to come over and crawl into my bed. Does that work for you?”

“I’m confused! I was done with you, I thought I was better off without you, and then you came back into my life, and it was like…you were never even gone from it. I feel safe when I’m with you, but I’m fucking terrified of falling for you again. There were so many things that went wrong, and-“

“But some many things could go right!”

“We have a baby involved! What if it doesn’t work again, and she gets a little older? She’ll see and hear us fighting. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that either. You of all people should know that. If I wasn’t certain about us…”

“So, what…we’re supposed to just jump back in?”

“No, I’d like to take you out on a proper date. Something nice and formal, maybe a night away from the baby, or fuck it, let’s bring her along, I don’t care. I want you, I want you back. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I let you slip away. I’ll never forgive myself. That day…I shouldn’t have let you leave after. I should have made you stay in my bed and cuddle and just talk everything through one more time.”

Y/N was crying now and so was Harry. She hated him, and she loved him all at the same time. She was stubborn.

“God damn it!”

She wraps her arms around his neck and crashes her mouth to his. He doesn’t waste a second to deepen the kiss. He hoists her up on the counter to stand between her legs, licking into her mouth. They both groan into each other.

“Is, is this smart?” She pants. “We have so much to talk about, and I don’t know if-“ She gasps when he lifts her shirt overhead. His eyes gaze at her body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you.”

“My boobs are saggy and I have stretch marks all over the place, how could you-“

“Shut the fuck up! For once in your life, just shut up, and take a compliment. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking, and it pisses me off to no end I never got fuck you while you were pregnant, alright?” He spreads her legs apart as she tugs at his shirt. He takes it off and she runs her hands over his chest.

“Even when I was sweating and as big as a house?” She pouts, knowing it’s only going to rile him up more.

“Especially then.” He pecks at her lips again.

“I want you too.” She breathes. “But you have to pull out this time. We’re noting bringing another baby into this world until we figure things out fully.”

“Excellent compromise.”

He drops his pants and runs his fingers over her center. She gasps at the feeling, especially when he pushes his fingers inside her.

“Oh fuck.” Her head rolls back.

“You’re so wet, why?”

“You just…you make me so…fucking crazy!”

Her lips slot over his again as he pumps in and out of her.

“Is this comfortable? You want me to fuck you here, or-“

“Put it in.”

He takes his dick out and pushes inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“We’re so fucking stupid.” She grunts as he thrusts in and out of her.

“Idiots.” He sucks on her neck. “But I can’t help it, you drive me just as crazy. Always have.”

She tugs at his hair while he rubs on her clit.

“Harry, will you eat me out? You feel amazing, but I just…your tongue…it’s so fucking-“

He pulls out of her and she leans back on her elbows while his mouth attaches to her other lips. He sucks and licks, and does everything he remembers she likes. He rubs on her clit still while he fucks her with his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! Fuck, Harry!” She pushes his head further against herself. He was nose deep and loving it. He groans against her, and she moans out loudly. “Don’t stop, please!”

One of his hands squeezes her thigh, pressing bruises into her. She comes on his tongue and he laps it all up. He plunges his dick back into her without warning. She was sensitive now, but she knew he needed to come too.

“You take it so well.” He grunts as he grips her hips. She tightens around him, loving the way his voice sounds in her ear. “How’d it feel, baby?”

“So good, thank you.”

“Anytime you want it, you have it, always.”

“Fuck.��

She was going to come again, and he gets her there. Just as he’s about to get there he pulls out and comes on her stomach. He rests his head against her shoulder as he catches his breath. He looks at her and kisses her before grabbing a rag to clean her up with. Neither of them say anything. He simply scoops her up, and carries her upstairs to his room. He lays her down, and spoons her.

“This just feels right, doesn’t it?” He says to her.

“It does.” She sighs and adjusts against him.

“I wanna be a real family with you.”

“I think I want that too. We just need to take baby steps.”

“I’d wait forever, Y/N. Just don’t walk out on me again.”

“I won’t.” She turns over to face him. “I may have walked out, but you left emotionally before I did. We hadn’t even had sex and-“

“I know, I’m not saying it was just you. It was me too, but never again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just wanna makeup for all the lost time.”

“We can.”

Harry hold her close as they both slowly drift off. Even though they had jumped in physically, it would take some time to mend things altogether. Neither of them minded because this time around they each were more willing to put the work in.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #dad!harry

735 notes · View notes

imgoingtocrash · 3 years

Text

my teen angst bullshit has a body count

by @imgoingtocrash for @hailxhydra

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Jim Morita, Hydra Agents

Summary:

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

Two years ago, Peter Parker escaped Hydra's control and was taken in by the Avengers. Traumatized from the experience but healing, Peter's starting to get a hang of this whole normal teenager thing. However, when Flash brings up a happily forgotten trigger from his past, Tony comes to give comfort and remind Peter that he's worth more to his loved ones than Hydra could have ever dreamed of.

Read on AO3

My fic for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! Hopefully you enjoy it @hailxhydra!!!

Full fic under the cut as requested by the exchange:

“—But I’m asking if it’s a good movie.”

“I’m telling you, it was either picking Selena for the third time or Rio, which is a stupid animated movie about birds.” Ned shakes his head dramatically. “Everybody else will fall asleep, and if everybody falls asleep, then Misses Rodriguez will give us a pop quiz instead of letting us have a movie day.”

“But I like animated movies. We like them. We watched A Bug’s Life like last week!”

“Because you hadn’t seen it before! Your film under-education is criminal, and if I don’t help you fix it, who will?!”

Ned has a point. Being kidnapped and raised by Hydra after the age of six really limits a person’s entertainment consumption, as he’s learned more than ever now that he’s surrounded by other teenagers who grew up with movies and tv shows to watch at their fingertips.

“I mean, Steve does have a list…” Peter points out weakly.

Steve keeps it in his little notebook along with other things he doesn’t understand the references to yet. He tried to encourage Peter to start something like that in the beginning, but Peter’s never really considered himself a list person. He just sort of soaks up the world now, like a curious sponge. Sometimes it means he has to Google things he doesn’t really understand the meaning of, but it also means a lot of movie nights with both the other Avengers and Ned, which is actually sort of a bonus.

Ned stops them in the hall. “Yeah, but are they cool movies or are they movies for old people and war veterans who haven’t been alive for the last 100 years?”

“...You know that I don’t really know the difference.”

Ned gives a sad shake of his head. “You’re lucky you liked Star Wars, bro. Otherwise we’d be in a very different place right now, like, friendship-wise.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Peter got to pick the movie for their classes’ Cinco de Mayo party. Peter’s not sure what either movie has to do with the Mexican Army’s historical defeat of the French, but he only picked Selena because Ned suggested it. Maybe he should be regretting that choice, if the other option was harmless little Spanish birds.

“You know, Parker, I have a question,” comes a very annoyingly musical voice from behind them.

Peter just barely resists to roll his eyes. Every time with this kid. Not that Peter is any less of a kid than Flash Thompson, technically, but he definitely feels more mature.

Ned, also more mature than some of their other classmates, completely ignores Flash.

“You’ll be humming the disco medleys for weeks, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, disco? I thought you said this was supposed to take place in the 80s and 90s?”

“Music endures, dude.”

“Hey, el idiots, I’m talking to you!” Flash interrupts again.

“That’s not even how you—” Peter starts to correct, only to realize he’s stepped directly in it when Ned groans.

Flash laughs obnoxiously to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Penis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbles. It doesn’t really matter what he says now. Flash has the attention that he wanted, which means he won’t bug off until the bell rings and until he has the last laugh. And that always happens, because he’s really the only one entertained by all of the poking and prodding at Peter.

Peter breathes in, steeling himself. He’s survived worse. So much worse. Bullies with electric prongs and steel cages and control over every other aspect of his life. This is just high school. Normal kids survive it all the time, even when there are bullies and bad test grades and cliquey subcultures. This is just one privileged asshole who thinks Peter’s an easy target.

In some way, Peter’s actually proud of that. No one has ever seen him as un-intimidating before. Even his Hydra captors knew that if they lost control of him as an asset, he could easily turn on them.

(Part of him always asks why he never did. If he wasn’t evil, if he wasn’t like them, then why didn’t he just fight back? But Sam says that’s just his mind trying to deal with trauma, and Peter is trying really, really hard to get better at ignoring those kinds of intrusive thoughts.)

Speaking of talking to himself, Flash snaps his fingers in Peter’s face to get his attention back.

“You’d think for such a genius, you’d be a lot quicker on the uptake.” Flash shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

“Please just get to the point already,” Ned begs, throwing his head back.

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

C’mere, Pet.

Stay down, Pet!

He was property, he was an animal, he was a weapon, their weapon, he was a mutant and he deserved it, needed it, he was the Spider, a mongrel, nothing, he was nothing and no one and Hydra was the only home a no-good runt like the Spider would ever have and he should be grateful—Kneel, Pet, be a good boy and kneel for your masters—but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t—

Foolish Pet, you wouldn’t survive out there.

You need us, Pet. You’ll always need us.

“Peter?”

He returns to the moment with one heaving breath, only to realize he can’t take in another.

His collar is too tight, they always put it on too tight and if he complains they hit him and if they hit him he bleeds and it gets on his clothes and he won’t get any more until his bath and he hates bath time because they water is cold and stings his skin and the soap is so harsh it burns his nostrils and they’re watching him he knows they’re watching because they never leave him alone because if they did he would try to escape, he would—

“Peter, what’s wrong, are you—?”

He did. He escaped and ran away but now they have him again and he can’t live like this, not when he knows about best friends and pizza and friendly ribbing and how warm he feels when Tony pulls Peter close on the couch and presses a kiss to his head and tells Peter that he’s proud. He can’t be here anymore, he has to go, he has to run.

“Peter, wait!”

Tony is, to say the least, nervous when he gets a call from Midtown Tech’s front office.

He trusts Peter by now. The kid has come a long, long way since he snuck onto the Avengers helicarrier during the chaos of a Hydra raid. Skinny as a rail, scared, brainwashed...abused.

The Spider.

Peter didn’t like being with Hydra since they were the ones that made him enhanced, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be locked in an enclosed space with a bunch of Avengers at the time either.

As was evident by the fight he put up until Steve knocked him out. Steve still feels bad about cold-clocking a kid when Peter jokingly brings it up now, but Tony’s never shamed Steve for the decision. It was that or some kind of drug injection with the way Peter fought back tooth and nail, confused and defensive. Practically feral, from the well-fitting clothing to his lack of speech.

It was all for the better, though, once they got him back to the compound.

Peter was a talkative kid once he let himself be. Funny, too. Almost normal, if you forgot the mutant spider genetics and years of torture from a bunch of descendant assholes that seemed to hate and resent the very thing they created.

That’s why Tony agreed to let Peter start school. Real, normal, human school just like every other teenager in America attended until they finished all twelve years of it.

Because he needed to be normal, sometimes. He needed movie nights, [other things], and most importantly, friends that were his own age rather than a bunch of adult superheroes that often acted like children.

But also because Peter wanted to go, and Tony had a really, really hard time denying anything that the kid wanted when he could so easily provide.

Peter had such a hard time wanting anything, in the beginning. What did Peter want to wear instead of the plain, grey, dirty sweatpants from Hydra? What did Peter want to eat now that he could have an adequate amount of calories for his enhanced, still growing body? What did he want to watch? Listen to?

All of these choices were suddenly available to Peter, but shaking years of being denied any kind of want, any kind of choice took a toll on him that took a lot of work to get through.

Peter had put in the work. Unsurprisingly well. He was smart—tactically from years of being trained for missions, academically from whatever education Hydra must have thrust upon him. Not so much socially, but they were doing better as Peter spent more time around people that actually cared about him and lobbed insults around to tease rather than to actually cause emotional harm.

But was that enough...training, of sorts, to be around a bunch of teenagers? Sure, Peter was technically also a teenager, but they’d found him at 14. Tony still looked at Peter and saw the wide-eyed little kid sitting in the corner of a containment cell, flinching every time Tony moved.

Two years later and a lot of growth physically and emotionally, but was it enough?

Tony was hesitant about it, wish-washing the entire summer with maybes and I’ll think about its until the deadline arrived and Tony had to actually make the call.

Peter had pleaded, citing an extensive, cheesy list of films that made him want the high school experience himself for some reason. He very genuinely enjoyed shopping for school supplies. He passed Midtown’s entrance exam with results that faked years progressing in homeschooling that Tony knew would have been true, if Peter had gotten the chance to grow up like he was supposed to.

So, Tony eventually said yes, knowing that one day this call might come and Tony would have to be prepared for whatever was on the other end of the line.

An “incident” of some kind. Whatever that meant. The secretary was entirely unclear, only insistent that Peter’s family should get down to the premises immediately to handle things.

That was Tony.

Part of Tony couldn’t fathom why Peter chose him out of everyone on the team to latch onto. Another part wasn’t exactly shocked. Trauma recognized trauma, after all, even if the context was entirely different.

Tony knew what it was like to be belittled. To be seen as something you weren’t. To be abused by someone you never really trusted in the first place.

He and Peter talked a lot in that little containment cell. Hours of Tony blabbering like he always did when he was uncomfortable and Peter just sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting for the strikes to start coming.

When he said his first words.

When he told Tony his name—not Spider, but Peter Parker, a little boy from Queens who lost his parents and his whole normal life in the same night, according to FRIDAY’s records.

When he touched Tony’s arm for the first time and got a smile instead of a reprimand.

He waited and Tony was patient and it was a rough road, but...Tony was kind of a parent, now. A parental figure, at least, among others of varying degrees of quality and influence on a scarred teenager.

He was Peter’s family, whether either of them was any good at it in a traditional way or not.

And also, you know. His money was paying Peter’s tuition. His time went into helping Peter study for the entrance exam. His name was technically on Peter’s manufactured birth certificate because he was the one forging it and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering when the subject came up.

And maybe, a little, because he cared about Peter. Loved him. Wanted to be what Peter needed, what he deserved, and what better way to do that than to write his name on a piece of paper that signified the job he sort of kind of wanted?

Tony slams the car door behind himself after pulling into Midtown’s parking lot, putting on his sunglasses for the brief trip into the early afternoon sun. He’s checking security cameras, exits, and also preparing a hefty sum of cash to go into Principal Jim Morita’s bank account as well as a handful of government officials, if that’s what it takes.

Again, not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter, it’s just...when you get this kind of call and your kid is a highly trained former assassin, you prepare exit strategies on multiple fronts.

It’s been two months and Peter has only made one friend at this place. The kids can’t all be angels like Peter proclaims Ned Leeds to be. If one of them touched Peter out of nowhere or said the wrong thing, maybe Peter lashed out. Maybe Peter forgot to hold his strength back like he’s been training to do. Maybe something was broken.

Maybe it’s something far worse.

Tony has to be ready for that. He has to be ready for whatever it takes to protect Peter.

At the very least, the police aren’t on site. That’s probably a good sign that they’re willing to leave this as an internal matter for now.

The unhelpful secretary of before leads Tony out of the office by the arm at a quick pace, not explaining the situation at all before they arrive at the scene. Whatever it is. Tony was definitely expecting more blood or yelling or...anything, really.

A small crowd stands outside of a door, marked by a golden plaque to be the janitor’s closet.

Leaning on the door itself with his arms resolutely crossed is a kid about Peter’s age. Short black hair, light brown skin, dressed so similarly to Peter that Tony’s starting to wonder if that’s where Peter’s new obsession with those geeky little t-shirts has come from.

“Mister Leeds—” An older Asian man pleads, dressed in a suit and standing up straight with all of the authority he can seem to muster against the stone wall that is the teen in front of him.

The kid shakes his head in response. So this is Ned, then.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not moving. If he wants to stay in there to calm down, he should be allowed to stay in there.”

“I’m sure his parents—”

“He doesn’t even have—you don’t even know what he’s gone through!”

“And you do?”

“Well...kinda? No. But—but he’s obviously freaking out and everyone crowding around him is only going to make it worse!”

The adult rubs a hand across his forehead, stressing at a fold of wrinkles that settles there from the stress.

“Ned, I recognize you’re just trying to be a good friend, but this is a problem for—”

Tony clears his throat, catching the attention of both parties.

The older man sighs. “Oh, good. Thank you, Theresa, you can go on back to the office. We’ll take it from here.”

The secretary nods, brusquely turning around and heading off, leaving Tony there to be examined by both Ned and what must be the principal.

“Mister Stark, I’m glad you could come down, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Principal Morita.”

“Obviously you know who I am,” Tony replies, shaking the man’s hand. “What did happen, exactly? Theresa was sparse on the details.”

“I told you, it’s Flash’s fault! He was being a dick and—” Ned shouts.

“Mister Leeds.” The principal interrupts, stern. “Another student apparently said something...unkind to Peter. He didn’t take it well and locked himself in the closet. I haven’t even been able to assess the situation properly yet. Normally I would start with asking Peter’s side of the story, but...”

He looks to the closet, where Ned still stands, defensive.

“The bouncer is a real stickler, got it,” Tony jokes, aiming a small smile at Ned. “Peter does seem to attract the protective type.”

“Oh,” Ned says, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes and gaping like a fish. He seems to have finally realized exactly who he’s talking to. “Oh, wow. Mister Stark, it’s an honor. I’m a huge fan, like, so huge. Peter tells me to shut up about you at least three times a day. When he showed me a picture of you guys I was like, ‘Oh my god, your dad is Tony Stark!’ and he was like ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know who he is, huh?’ like he totally didn’t get how awesome it is that you’re Iron Man. And I know you’re only kind of his dad, but still—”

“It’s suddenly become very clear to me why you two are friends,” Tony responds, keeping his smile on.

It’s actually kind of sweet to see that Peter’s found someone to confide in, even if he’s seemingly left out the more traumatic elements. But he also knows that Peter can hear them through the door, and he wants to get to the kid as fast as possible instead of dawdling for time.

If Peter wants to see him, that is.

He does, doesn’t he? Tony has been there for everything, so far. Every breakdown when the choices became too much, when the world outside of Peter’s little cell and all of the things he did that he wishes he could forget attack him at night. He hasn’t gotten old enough to not want Tony around when he’s upset, right?

“Sorry, Mister Stark. Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just nervous and worried about Peter and—”

“I get it, kid. You’re good.” He gives a reassuring grasp to Ned’s shoulder. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to see Peter now. You can ask him yourself, but I’m usually the exception to any rule about Peter wanting to be alone.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll just—”

Ned turns to open the door, but gives Morita a shifty look, like he doesn’t trust the man not to dive bomb in if given the chance.

“Peter—”

“Let him in,” replies Peter’s strained voice. He’s definitely been crying. Poor kid.

Ned pulls back and nods at Tony, stepping aside to let him through.

“You did a good job protecting him, Leeds. Thank you,” he says to the teen before stepping into the dimly lit closet and shutting the door behind him.

The room smells musty and over-powerful at the same time thanks to the potent combination of cleaners and the mop cart sitting so close together. Out of anywhere Peter could have picked, this probably isn’t the kindest to his sense of smell if it’s making Tony already scrunch his nose.

It’s lit by a single pull-chain light bulb, and in the shadows of it sits Peter, curled into himself and leaning against a rusty metal shelf filled with paper towels, cleaning equipment, and a few bottles of product that have to be expired.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony frowns at the cracked floor tile, but settles himself next to Peter anyway. His back catches some kind of spray bottle sitting on the shelf that digs uncomfortably into his back.

Peter sniffs, not looking up from the cradle of his arms. “Hey.”

Tony heaves a sigh, for the drama. “So, I hear you got your first bully.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That Ted kid is pretty nice. He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah. And his name is Ned.”

Tony stops beating around the bush. “What happened, Peter?”

“It was fine. It was good, you know? I got an A+ on my Spanish test, and Misses Rodriguez offered to let me choose the movie we were gonna watch for the Cinco de Mayo party as a reward. I didn’t even know any of the movies, but Ned said Selena was good because Jennifer Lopez is hot, so that’s what I picked. It was a good day, Tony!”

“...But?”

“But then Flash—”

“I meant to ask, is that his actual name? Like, legally?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Flash said…he said I was a…” Peter’s hesitant to let it out.

“Pete, a lot of kids at this age are testing boundaries. They’re going to say a lot of stupid, insensitive, offensive—”

“He said I was a teacher’s pet.”

There’s a long minute of silence. Tony blinks curiously a few times. He doesn’t want to belittle what Peter’s feeling, but he also doesn’t understand why it’s caused him so much stress.

“I know, I know it’s—but they used to—” Peter swallows hard, probably only delaying another wave of tears. “Sometimes, before, they would call me…”

“Pet.”

Peter nods, starting to shake next to him on the floor, their arms lightly touching at just Tony saying the nickname.

“They liked it. I think it made them feel better about themselves if they acted like I wanted it. Like—like being locked in the cages or collared or—or being muzzled was good for me.”

“You need to learn a lesson, little pet. Be a good pet and eat your dinner. Stop your crying, pet. No more of your barking, pet.” Peter quotes with venom flinging from every syllable. “But I didn’t want that, Mister Stark! I promise! They gave me these powers and I didn’t want to be their pet and they made me—”

“Peter, I know. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault, I know.”

Tony curls Peter into his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“When Flash called me that I just—I felt the collar around my neck again and I couldn’t breathe though the muzzle and they kept kicking the cage even though it hurt my ears and I could never sleep in there because it was so small and—”

“Peter—” Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s panicking, Tony realizes. Probably just like he did initially. A flashback that triggered him into having a panic attack.

“And I know that’s not what Flash meant but I was back there and I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Peter breaks into sobs, burying his face into Tony’s shirt and clutching on tight.

“Oh, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tony soothes.

He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, unsure when he became this tender. Probably the moment he realized this was the way he wanted someone to treat him in the midst of his worst, most vulnerable moments.

“Sometimes the bad memories come back unexpectedly, it’s alright.”

“But don’t wanna think about it anymore!” Peter cries childishly.

If it wouldn’t break Tony’s ribs, Peter would probably start banging at his chest in frustration.

“What if it gets bad and I don’t talk anymore and I can’t go to school like a normal kid and I lose everything and then you won’t want me anymore because I can’t get over this and stop being a stupid animal who needs its owners to—”

“Peter Parker, no. Absolutely not.”

Tony pushes Peter away so he can hold the boy’s face in his hands. So that he can fucking imbue into this kid how much he is loved and cherished and human.

“You’re not property, and you’re not an animal. What they did to you was wrong, and you know that now. I know that you do.”

Not just because Peter’s been to therapy since integrating with the Avengers, but also because he’s talked to all of him during his recovery from the horrors of his earlier childhood. About how his life felt before and how it feels better now. How he wouldn’t have left in the first place if he really wanted to be a part of Hydra like they raised him to want.

He’s not the child soldier they raised anymore. He’s so much more than they ever allowed him to be in that awful place.

He loosens his grip on Peter’s face only to bring him back again with an arm around his shoulder. Maybe if Peter feels him, touches him, the kid will remember all of the growth he’s made, the family he’s gained.

“Buddy, you are getting better. I know it. I’ve seen it. You know we’re all so proud of you and the progress you’ve made.”

Tony sighs. Part of him wants to sugarcoat it. That Peter has seen the worst of the world and now he’ll just be able to move on from it scott-free. It’s what he deserves, but Tony knows from experience that nothing in life is that sort of kind.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have setbacks. I have had setbacks. Healing from the bad stuff is really, really hard, but it doesn’t make you anything that they said you were. You’re a wonderful, good kid who deserves everything he’s worked so hard for. And you’re going to get it because you have me and the team and your new best friend behind your back. You’re not alone, you’re not in a cage, you’re—you’re home, Pete. You understand?”

Peter sniffs, a sign that he’s worked himself up again, but his weak nod into Tony’s chest tells him that some of them at least might be happier tears.

“Listen to me, Pete. And I mean really, truly listen.” He looks down at the snot-covered, tear-stained teenager practically in his lap. He does love Peter. He wouldn’t have gone this far for any other kid in the world.

“It doesn’t matter what happens—hitches, mishaps, a dumb teenage mistake. You’re our kid now, Peter. You’re never going back to Hydra. Never. Not with me around.”

He knows it means something to say it out loud rather than leaving it to be assumed. He doesn’t have as much of a problem admitting it as he thought he might.

“I’m never giving you up, or letting you go, or treating you like anything other than a person. Do you understand me? That is something you never, ever have to worry about. Not from me.”

Peter sobs against him. This time it feels a lot more like relief. A release in the safety of Tony’s arms that Peter hasn’t really allowed himself, even after two years of being free of Hydra.

Peter didn’t tell the team everything. He may never even tell Tony everything. But this is one more thing Peter doesn’t have to carry alone, and Tony is happy to help their kid navigate the horrors it's brought back into his improving life.

They sit there for another minute, Peter’s whimpers muffled in Tony’s dress shirt. He’s sure the principal and Peter’s friend are getting antsy. But all the same it gives Peter another chance to calm down, and this time he seems a lot lighter when he picks his head up to look at Tony.

“Feel better?”

Peter gives a sniffle, but accompanies it with a nod and bright, attentive eyes.

“Look, I think school’s a bust for the day. Let’s go home. Whatever you wanna do, just you and me. Nobody else needs to hear about this unless you want to tell them, okay?”

“And if you wanted, I guess…”

Peter tilts his head, expectant.

“We could...nah, it’s probably offensive, right?”

“What?” Peter insists. Tony tried to warn him, but Tony also can’t resist an idea once it pops into his head.

“I just thought, you know, if you wanted—if you thought it would help, we could get you a—“ He almost ruins it, but catches himself. “An animal. Like a dog or something.”

Peter is silent. He bites at his lip, contemplative. Looks in the direction of a mop bucket in the corner.

“Is that bad? You don’t have to, I just thought it might make you associate that word with good things, but if not—“

Peter finally meets his eyes with a tentative grin on his face.

“What kind of dog?”

#irondad #spiderson #au #friendly neighborhood exchange 2021 #marvel #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #hailxhydra

48 notes · View notes