#i feel like half of this series is told over the phone

[jo-speaks]

good graces ft. quinn hughes

in which…

quinn hughes realizes you'll be okay, with or without him.

warnings: MDNI. brief smut (again, it's like a paragraph), mature language, mentions of cheating, and i think that's all.

track three in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series!

When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel

Drawin' hearts 'round our names

And dreamin' of writing vows, rockin' cradles

“What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms behind you as you shut the oven door, leaving the sweet treat you made to bake.

You took off your oven mitt before sighing and leaning back into his hold. “Baking cookies. You said you wanted some this morning, right?

He let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. How did you hear that though?”

“It’s not like you’re quiet when you’re on the phone with Conor.”

Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, dismissing your comment about how comfortable he was when talking to his teammate. He set one of his hands to lean back against the kitchen island where he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the sheet slightly to pick it up. 

After a quick examination, he realized it was the recipe you had written down for the cookies. In the top corner of it, he saw his initials next to yours, enclosed in a heart. Quinn felt a warm feeling in his chest knowing you had done that, not caring if he saw it or not.

He held the paper in front of your face, which you had buried in the crease of his right elbow. “What’s this?”

You traced your eyes over the paper, “The recipe for the cookies? Don’t tell me you can’t read all of a sudden.” He gave you a thin-lipped look before tapping his finger over the childish drawing causing your eyebrows to lift in realization. “Oh, that. Got bored, thought it was cute. Something we could show the kids.”

Now it was his eyebrows that rose, “Kids? Like our kids?”

“Yeah, two of them. One of each. We can have them after our billion-dollar wedding.” You stated that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Quinn knew you weren’t entirely serious. The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and he knew you wanted him to focus on his hockey career while you focused on your career. You both agreed you didn’t want to rush into anything until you were settled. And since Vancouver had been his home for 6 years and yours for 5 of those when you decided to move in with him, maybe it was time to start putting down those roots together.

Don't mistake my nice for naive

“Y/N, please. You’re being ridiculous. You were the one who told me to come in the first place!” Quinn called out to you as you walked away from him.

You stopped and turned back to face him, “Because I thought you’d have fun celebrating with your team here! Not flirt with the bartender the whole night!”

He rolled his eyes, setting you off even more. “I wasn’t flirting with her! I was getting Brock his drink!”

“Whatever, Quinn. I’m going home.” You sighed, not wanting to continue arguing with him in front of a bunch of people.

“I wasn’t flirting.” He mumbled, defeated.

You almost felt bad for reacting the way you did, but you knew him. The half smile and constant nodding all while keeping his eyes on her lips as they moved. 

You weren’t stupid.

I don't waste a second, I know lots of guys

You do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye

Like, ooh

Baby, you say you really like it being mine?

So let me give you some advice

After the whole bar argument, you decided to repay the favour a few days later when you had gone out to that same bar with your girlfriends. The same night you knew the Canucks would be celebrating their victory there. You watched the door attentively before a tap on your shoulder caught your attention.

“Y/N, this is Josh. He thought you were cute!” Was the only thing your friend said before walking away. The stumbling in her steps was the only thing you needed to explain the situation. 

Josh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he placed his drink down on the bar and took the seat next to you. He cleared his throat, “Hey. Pretty interesting friend you have there.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. You should see her sober, she’s still the same way.”

He laughed, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone?”

Before you could answer, you heard the bar erupt in whistles and clapping. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who had walked in. Josh glanced over your shoulder, getting a view of the team himself. His focus came back to you when you tilted your head to interrupt his view. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But to answer your question, I’m just here because I’m pissed at my boyfriend.”

You noticed his face drop before returning to the way it was before, “No way. I’m here because I’m pissed at my girlfriend!”

Your eyes widened at his confession, letting out a small chuckle. “Yikes, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He propped his arm on the bar, “How are you not?”

“Well for starters, I’m not approaching anyone. Second, my boyfriend just got here, so he knows where I am. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that your girlfriend has no idea where you are.” You answered, seeing the team take a seat at the tables next to where you were sitting.

As Josh sat in front of you, stunned at your words, you caught your boyfriend's eyes. He took a double take, not realizing it was you the first time. You looked away, bringing your attention back to the man in front of you as Quinn kept his on you.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

You smirked slightly, “Quinn Hughes.

Josh’s eyes widened, “Bullshit.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so you could talk in his ear and look over it to lock eyes with Quinn. “Don’t believe me? You’ll see who walks over to you when I leave.”

You backed up and got off your stool, heading to the bathroom as you kept eye contact with your boyfriend as you passed him. After you did, you heard him get up, his footsteps going the opposite way from where you were heading.

~

“What the fuck was that,” Quinn grumbled as he got into his car.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinn scoffed, “This is fucking gold, Y/N. You were all over my ass for doing the same shit on Tuesday, but when you do it’s all good.”

“Yeah, no. See, the difference between what I did tonight and what you did earlier this week is that I actually wasn’t flirting, I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel how I did when I saw you actually flirting with someone else.” You retorted, knowing how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth sounded to him.

Yet on some level, Quinn knew you were right. He sighed before reaching over the center console to take hold of your hand. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sober, but I still knew what I was doing. I don’t want to lose you over this, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” He whispered.

You turned to look at him, “You like being my boyfriend?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t lie to me.”

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

That was cool

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3

Yeah

“She’s the last person I’d want to piss off,” Jack told his brother over the phone as Quinn finished up telling him the whole bar fiasco the two of you had gone through a month ago. 

“Tell me about it. I’m not just saying this because she’s my girlfriend, but she’s literally always right. It’s getting scary.” Quinn confessed, pulling his car into the parking garage of the apartment complex.

Jack sighed, “Well, shit. Good luck with that, bro. Lukey’s calling you later, I gotta go.” 

Quinn said goodbye to his brother, hanging up the phone as he stepped out of his car, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you for no reason. After the whole situation, he knew he couldn’t only make it up with verbal apologies. So he went old-school, settling for getting you flowers whenever he felt like they were needed. 

He stepped into the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels as he reached your floor, walking out the second the doors opened. 

As he unlocked the front door of your shared apartment, he could hear you talking in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t want to forgive him, but he’s making up for it.” You said to whoever you were talking to over the phone. 

Quinn stepped in quietly, your back still turned and your AirPods in your ears as you cooked dinner for the two of you. Still unbeknownst to you, Quinn walked to the hallway across from the kitchen, wanting to hear your conversation. 

Was it wrong to eavesdrop on you? Yes. Did Quinn know this? Also yes. Did he care? Not really. 

You let out a sigh, “Listen. He knows better than to do that to me. He also knows that I’m the last person he wants to fuck with because I can switch up incredibly fast. If he wants to cheat on me, he can go right ahead. But he knows damn well I’ll be out replacing him that same night.”

His face dropped. He knew that you were telling the truth, which is what scared him straight. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he wants to go out with Bella Hadid. If he does that without breaking up with me, I’m going straight to his mother and maybe even social media if I’m feeling petty enough.” You laughed, but there was nothing you were joking about. 

By now, Quinn wanted to ignore any woman that came his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much. So much to the point where I would get down on my knee and propose to him. But, if so much as lies to me about anyone or anything, he’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

I'll tell the world you finish your chores prematurely

Quinn lined himself up in between your legs, pushing into you completely in one swift movement. You let out a breathy moan as your nails dug into his biceps. He didn’t move, letting not only you but himself adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck, Q. You feel so good.” You mumbled, your brain foggy from the feeling of him being buried inside of you.

He mumbled something you didn’t quite understand before pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you completely. He did this a few more times before letting out a guttural groan, spilling into you.

This caught you completely off guard. Quinn had never finished this quickly before nor had he cum before you did. When he came to, he realized what had happened.

“Shit.” He mumbled, too embarrassed to move or even look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, pressing a soft kiss to kiss lips. “It’s fine, babe.” You pushed his body back, pushing him out of you. “I can just use my hand.”

He shook his head, finding his voice once again. “No, let me do it. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on

With your favorite athlete

Shoot his shot every night

Want you every second, don't need other guys

You were scrolling on your phone, swiping up on all the notifications you were getting from Instagram, seeing as you had just posted. 

Quinn was featured in a few of the pictures, drawing the attention of his friends and fans to your account. Your head was propped up on Quinn’s lap as you lay on the couch as he played his video game on the living room TV. 

One notification caught your eye as you furrowed your eyebrows seeing the DM request that had come through. 

‘rjosi90 wants to send you a message.’

“Hey babe? Who’s this?” You asked, turning your phone around to show him the account.

He paused his game, looking down to look. “You don’t know who Roman Josi is? He was that guy you met at the awards ceremony, remember?”

“Oh! The one you never shut up about!” You teased as soon as you remembered the name.

Quinn rolled his eyes, nodding at your words before resuming his game but keeping his attention on your conversation. “What did he send you?”

You opened the message, your eyes widening as you internally debated on telling him the truth, not knowing how he would react. But, you knew you wouldn’t want him lying to you if he got the same message from another woman, so you decided to be honest.

“He said he thinks I’m pretty and that you’re a lucky guy.” You read, eyes quickly flashing back to Quinn.

His cheeks were red and his eyebrows were knitted together. You looked at his hands, which were now gripping his controller so tight that his knuckles were going white. “Are you gonna respond?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head, “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Quinn had never been an insecure person, but he wasn’t always confident. And your delayed reaction probably didn’t help. You let out a breath before grabbing the controller out of his grip and setting it to the side. 

You sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his lap and taking his face in between your hands. “Hey. I want you. Only you.”

You pressed a kiss on his lips which he barely returned out of his own frustration. Pulling back, you started to litter kisses all over his face in an attempt to cheer him up. Trailing from his lips to his cheeks, then to his jaw, and stopping on his neck. You sucked on a sweet spot that caused his hands to come up and settle on your hips. 

“I don’t want anyone but you, Quinn.”

You do somethin' sus, kiss my cute ass bye

As you stepped into his room, he quickly shut off his phone and turned it face down. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” You questioned.

He shook his head rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands together before walking over to you. “Just caught me off guard.”

You scanned his face. His cheeks were flushed and his face was sweaty. Not wanting the answer you thought it was, you gave him a look before speaking again. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me. But if you’re… busy, I can just watch it by myself.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah. Let me just do something really quick and I’ll be right out.”

You simply shook your head, walking out of his room and heading back to your room and laying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you curled up in a blanket waiting for your boyfriend.

Even though the two rooms were separated by a small hallway, the walls were still relatively thin. You heard his door open and close but his feet remained still. You could hear the noise of his phone keyboard in front of your door, typing one last thing out before he walked into your room.

“So what movie are we watching, pretty girl?” He asked, setting his phone on your bedside table.

You eyed his phone before looking at him, “Everything okay?” 

He gave you a confused look, “Yeah, why?”

“Sounded like you were typing something important.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of what could be nothing.

But, his wide eyes told you everything you needed to know. You sat up, raising your eyebrows in a way that said “Tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn shifted on his feet. “My ex texted me. She was saying she wanted to meet me for dinner and…” He cut himself off.

“And what?” You pressed.

“She wants to try again.”

You scoffed, “Okay. What did you say?”

He took a breath before answering, “I told her about us and that I’ll pass on the dinner because I’m very happy with you.” The way his words came out, you didn’t fully believe him. Yet at the same time, his face and body language told you he was telling the truth. You could tell he was nervous telling you, but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded your head, “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean? I can show you the texts if you want!” He rambled.

Pulling him down onto the bed with you, you wrapped the blanket around him as well before setting the laptop in a way where you could both see it while lying down.

“I trust you, Q. If you say that’s what you told her, I believe you.” You whispered.

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

Oh, no

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3 

Oh

No, I won't

I won't give a fuck about you, no, I won't

(I won't, I won't, I won't) x2

Quinn sat in the parking lot of Roger’s Arena. You had driven home early, wanting to beat the traffic seeing as the score by the middle of the third period was 0-4. 

The loss of the game and your going home early left Quinn thinking. 

You didn’t need him. 

Sure, you loved him and you loved living with him and the company and affection he gave you, but at the end of the day, you were completely fine being alone. 

The realization had Quinn wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he started up the engine of his car. He drove back in silence, hoping you’d be showering and in bed by the time he got home. 

As he focused on the scenery around him in the late hours of the night, that feeling of sadness fizzled into a feeling of relief. If for whatever reason Quinn left you, you would be okay. And now that he understood that, he became even more determined not to lose you.

Because regardless, Quinn Hughes didn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t his.

[afewproblems]

agree with steve not forgiving eddie! how do you think it would go when they see each other for the first time after everything? like.. I feel like steve would just tell him it’s over for good but :O

Part one, part two, part three

The record label releases a statement, something to the effect of privacy concerns, not to misconstrue or blow things out of proportion because photos can be manipulated. There is no firm denial, but no confirmation either. It's all wishy washy bullshit.

It's like Steve's heart breaks all over again.

He doesn't speak to the press, despite redoubling their efforts to talk to him, Steve unplugs their home phone permanently, wraps it up in the cord and puts it in the back of the bedroom closet.

Eddie does try calling Steve's cell, but he never leaves a message, as though he knows they would go unheard.

After the initial visit from Wayne he ends up calling his de facto father in-law once a week. It's nice, it's the one good thing that has come out of this whole situation.

And Wayne doesn't seem to mind being their go between, especially since he's a lot less subtle than he thinks, asking pointed questions about how Steve is feeling, how he's handling the LOA.

It's a relief to say the least, talking to Eddie without talking to him, it allows him to breath.

It's quiet for about two weeks, the coverage of the photo and the story has dwindled significantly and the media seem to have moved on from talking about them, finally.

Steve's LOA is almost over, he's confirmed with Liz that he can return to the classroom next week as planned which leaves him in the highest spirits he's been in all month.

But of course it can't last.

The first time Steve sees Eddie is on Conan.

It's a Thursday night, Steve channel surfs absently. He's left the living room dim, the only lights from the television and the Chicago cityscape glowing through the living room window.

He lands on NBC for just a moment and freezes when he hears Gareths familiar voice speaking.

Gareth, Eddie, Jeff, and Grant are all seated on the set couch with Andy Richter. Conan asks a few questions about their tour, their recent resurgence in popularity from the movie, their favorite Marvel characters from the franchise that skyrocketed them back into the public scene.

Its a standard interview, Conan keeps it light, easy-going, not a single mention of the infamous photo.

Logically Steve knows this is most likely a mandate from the band's manager but it doesn't feel that way, it feels like a slap to the face if he's being honest with himself.

Did he imagine it? Had he blown this whole thing out of proportion? Maybe he was overreacting.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table he's left his feet on, Robin's face and 'Thing One', brightens up the room.

Steve moves his feet to sit up properly and he mutes the television with the remote before answering.

"Are you seeing this shit?" she growls on the line.

Steve laughs, "Hello to you too," he leans into the worn cushions of the couch and tries not to think of the second empty divot in the middle next to him, "yeah I'm seeing it".

"And they're not going to talk about it at all? Like what about journalistic integrity and all that shit?"

Steve rolls his eyes and snorts into the receiver, "I don't think Late Night counts as journalism Bobs--"

"Still," she huffs out.

Robin is quiet for a second before she says softly, "you okay?"

"No," he whispers, "but I think I'm the closest I'll be for awhile," he draws a heavy hand through his hair and ignores the cameras which have now panned to Eddie who looks pensive on screen.

He's not speaking, in fact Eddie hasn't said a word the entire interview. He looks tired, his normally pale face has turned sallow and drawn with deep purple bags under his eyes that even the show makeup has not covered.

Steve looks away from the screen and ignores the dull ache in his chest.

"I'm glad that it's not all over the news anymore," he admits after a moment, "but, its almost like it never happened".

Robin hums sympathetically on the line, "Twenty-four hour news cycle, they've probably found some new scandle to follow," she's quiet for another second, "he looks like shit".

Steve barks out a surprised laugh that trails off sharply, he chews his lip for a second, "is it crazy that I'm worried about him? He looks likes he's not sleeping--"

"Steve..."

"I know, I know, I'm am angry with him and I don't think that will go away any time soon, but look at him".

The camera angle switches to a wide shot of the whole group and Eddie stands out so starkly amongst the other band members that are put together, smiling, engaged in the conversation.

Verses the silent, pale ghost that Steve doesn't even recognize.

"Do not let that kicked puppy thing let him off the hook Steve," Robin says, the words are sharp but the tone is still gentle, "he hurt you just because you had a fight--"

"Maybe it wasn't that simple!"

"Steve..."

"I miss my husband Robin, I can't, I fucking hate that he did this but I miss him so much," he says, his voice wobbles slightly as Conan holds up a large version of Corroded Coffin's latest album on the desk before gesturing to the stage area to reveal their setup to start playing.

"I feel like there's something wrong with me," Steve says, giving voice to the smallest parts of himself that have been festering inside of him the last couple of days.

The longer they're apart, the longer he refuses to speak to Eddie to more these thoughts have been creeping in. Maybe he should just let it go, maybe he can eventually forgive him and they can move forward again.

It's countered again and again by the image, the kiss.

Imagining the two of them together, Eddie with this stranger. Did he call them Honeybee, the way he did Steve? Did he hold them after and whisper other sweet nothings, promises into their ears?

It's enough to turn his stomach.

"I don't know what to do, I can't exist like this much longer, the tour is going to be over soon and then what?"

"I don't know Steve, you're the only one that can make that decision, but," he can hear the small reassuring smile on her face as she speaks, "we'll be here for you no matter what you decide, I promise".

"Thank you".

"Anytime Dingus".

***

The second time Steve sees Eddie is a month after the Conan interview.

Steve's back at work and the kids seem happy to see him, though they are sad that the 'easy' sub days are done. He's glad for the routine once more, especially with the end of the tour looming on the horizon.

Steve has spent the last week fretting over what to do, he's talked to Robin and Dustin about it, weighing the pros and cons. He's talked to Wayne about contingency plans for the apartment, if he has space for one of them to go there.

Steve is fairly certain Eddie would go stay with Wayne willingly if he asked him to, but both of their names are on the mortgage and he'd rather be prepared for anything.

It's Gareth that calls him, his name lights up the darkened bedroom while the picture of Gareth and Chrissy and Steve and Eddie at their place for Thanksgiving two years ago flashes on the tiny screen.

It's late, almost two in the morning, but Steve is awake. He hesitates before snatching the device with shaking hands and swipes a hesitant thumb across the screen to answer the call.

"Hey Gar," Steve says quietly.

He sits up, letting the covers pool around his waist and stifles a small yawn with his hand.

"Oh, Steve, I...fuck is it good to hear your voice man," Gareth breathes out, he sounds surprised, nervous, "I wasn't expecting you to actually answer this," he trails off and clears his throat.

"I wasn't asleep," Steve shrugs.

There's a pause on the line, Steve can hear Gareth take a deep breath and the hushed words of someone in the background.

"I, God, Steve, I'm so sorry, I hate that we weren't there for you," he continues, and Steve can't help but agree with that sentiment.

It's certainly felt like the only one of his friends from Eddie's circle in his corner was Wayne, he hasn't heard from any of the band members or Chrissy since this happened and he can't say it hasn't stung.

"And I know you must hate us for this--"

"Gareth, I dont--" Steve tries with a small tired voice but Gareth barrels onward, the words getting faster as he speaks.

"I won't make any excuses, we should have done better by you and the fucking label knew exactly what they were doing," he breathes out again and this time its infinitely more pained, "and I hate to do this Steve, I know you already told him that you needed more time--"

"You're coming back?"

"Yeah, we fly in tomorrow actually," Gareth says softly, "and we just, well we wanted you to know".

Steve feels his heartrate quicken, he swallows harshly against the sudden lump in his throat.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow, with no warning, no notice, and suddenly Eddie would be back. He'd be coming home...

"I want to see him," Steve hears himself say before he can clamp his mouth shut, "I...can you tell him that, I need to talk to him?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, uh," Gareth stammers out, then the sound is muffled for a moment as though a hand has been placed over the receiver, lowered voices murmur in the background and Steve feels himself drag in a sudden breath, as though he had forgotten to breath at some point.

"Okay, Steve?"

"Yeah," he whispers into the darkness of his bedroom.

"He'll be there".

***

The clock ticks slowly by, interrupting the quiet of the apartment and every time Steve looks at the clock face it's still only been forty minutes since Gareth texted to tell him they've landed at O'Hare.

It's like the clock is mocking him, the minute hand holding court over the kitchen where Steve has planted himself with a full cup of, now undrinkable, tepid tea.

He initially debated offering to pick them up from the airport, but the thought of their first meeting being so public, the thought of camera flashes and more people asking questions was enough to turn his stomach.

Even now Steve isn't sure how he'll react when Eddie walks through that door, his hands shake slightly and a flicker of anxiety runs through his chest because what if he's not alone? If he brought Gareth with him, or Jeff as some kind of backup or shield from Steve's anger.

Steve scoffs to himself at the thought, they'd seen a lot of Steve over the years, he's sure this wouldn't phase them. Maybe they'd even stand aside and let Eddie take his verbal lumps.

Steve sighs and grabs the mug from the counter before walking it over to the microwave. He sets it for thirty seconds and waits with his fingers drumming against the door handle. He opens the microwave before it beeps and presses the cancel button to reset the time before he walks back to the counter and stool he had been perched on.

Steve steals another glance at the clock and curses, make that forty-five minutes since Gareths message.

The sudden sound of a key sliding into a lock snatches Steve's attention towards the entryway.

Eddie steps through, wheeling his suitcase in behind him, he lets his backpack fall onto the doormat and softly closes the front door behind him. Eddie looks even more tired than he had during the interview, thinner as well and Steve feels that familiar pang in his chest at the sight.

Neither says anything for a moment. They stare at each other unmoving, and then...

"Hi Honeybee".

That's all it takes for Steve to jump off the stool and stride through the kitchen to the foyer, he stops just in front of Eddie, takes in his shining eyes and the sharp downturn of his normally smiley mouth and Steve's last resolve snaps into pieces.

He launches himself into Eddies arms and tucks his face into his neck, it's the first time he's felt remotely normal in the last two months.

"I'm so fucking angry with you," Steve hisses but the words sound more like a sob than anything else.

"I know, I'm angry with me too," Eddie whispers into his ear, he holds Steve even tighter as he speaks.

"I just, you're the person I talk to, about everything and," Steve bites his lip and curls his fingers into the fabric of Eddie's t-shirt, "I couldn't do that, I didn't have you, you’re my person Eddie and you took that from me, and so much shit happened here, you dont even--".

He's fully crying now, so much that it's harder to speak, but Eddie is holding him so tightly he can't catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Eddie says, his voice wobbles and wanes as the words tangle in Steves hair, "if I could take it back I would, I wish I could take it back Stevie believe me".

"It didn't mean anything, it didn't," he continues, raising one hand to card through Steve's hair as he does, "I don't know how to fix this," he admits so quietly its nearly lost in Steve's sniffles and hitching breaths.

"I don't want to lose you," Steve whispers into Eddies shoulder, the material of his shirt is soaked with tears and snot but he raises his face anyway to meet Eddie's own red rimmed eyes.

"Then you won't," Eddie whispers again, he sniffs and moves his hand to cup Steve's cheek, "we'll fight, we'll fight for it and I won't give up, I won't run this time".

"I promise".

There is so much more to talk about now, so much to apologize for, but for now, they hold each other in the foyer, letting the golden Chicago light morph into the bronze orange of sunset wash over them from the kitchen window.

[wandaslittlebird]

Pendulum

Wanda x Reader, WandaNat x Reader

After a session with Wanda the prior evening, you wake up alone in your bed and find you’re a bit more reliant on her than you’d like to be.

CW: Sub drop, (kinda) panic attack, mood swings, guilt, Mommy Kink, mentions of spanking, established WandaNat (no cheating), pills (Tylenol and Xanax), Wanda generally being a protective and worried mama

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I may know hardly anything about dom drop, but I’m ✨well versed✨ in sub drop. I honestly think this one is adorable and I hope you all enjoy.

A/N: I wasn’t doing this consciously, but reading this back I realize I kinda did a reverse YAIL, so, if you haven’t already, go check out that series by @wandasaura

Fic based on this request

You woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air before your head even left the pillow. It was hard to find anything to ground you in your dark bedroom, but with the help of your stuffed bear, Francis, and some breathing exercises you’d been working on in therapy, you were able to calm down at least enough to breathe. Still, you found yourself dizzy, nauseous, in pain, and, perhaps most excruciatingly, alone.

Wanda. Where was Wanda? Where was your mommy? You needed mommy.

“Mommy?” You cried quietly into the empty room. But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. She was at home, tucked peacefully into bed with Natasha, her wife. And you were here, in your cold, empty apartment, all alone.

You turned to look at the clock on your bedside table. 1:30 am. It was far too late to call her. She had to get up for work in a couple hours. You had to get up for class in a couple hours.

But god, you needed her. You needed just to hear her voice. Everything felt so empty without her here. Your brain felt like it was underwater. You couldn’t think. It felt like your mind was strapped to a pendulum, swinging back and forth between extremes. It’s like half of your mind was begging for Wanda while the other half scolded you for your over-reliance. You wanted her, but you didn’t want to want her. It was hyper-dependence clashing with hyper-independence in an internal battle that left you dazed and confused.

Just call her, you thought. She told you to call her if this ever happened.

You’d been her submissive for months, and, though you’d never actually experienced sub drop with her, the two of you had discussed it extensively. “You can call me at any time,” she’d said. “Even if it's been days. I’m here for you in any way you need me.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, pulling up her contact and hovering over the call button. But before you could press it, the pendulum swung back. You hurled the phone into your beanbag on the other side of the room.

What are you thinking? You can’t call her. She’s not your fucking girlfriend. You’re so reliant on her and she doesn’t even care about you. Leave her alone. This is your mess. Handle it.

You sighed, dragging your aching body off of your mattress. Everything hurt. The wounds she’d so loving inflicted the night before ached even more than they had when they were fresh. You wanted, needed, to feel her soft hands massaging soothing balm into your skin like they had only hours prior. But no.

Wanda. Wasn’t. Here.

It was just you and you alone. You needed to take care of this. You needed to pull yourself together and handle this on your own. You felt like you might be sick. The swinging of this pendulum was nauseating. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, pulling two Tylenol and a Xanax from the medicine cabinet. You sat on the toilet, tucking your head between your knees.

You didn’t understand what was happening. Or rather, you didn’t understand why it was happening. Wanda had done everything perfectly, just like she always did. She’d insisted you stay with her until you were out of subspace and your mind was clear again. She’d given you all the cuddles and love and reassurance you could possibly want. She’d even rubbed that soothing lotion on your sore ass despite the fit you’d pitched about it. This shouldn’t be happening. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. You were the problem.

You moved from the bathroom to your living room, pacing anxious circles until you worried the neighbors would complain. Then you decided on a walk.

A little walk to clear your head. That should help. No need to bother Wanda. You could take care of this by yourself.

—————

A little over two blocks proved you could not, in fact, take care of this by yourself. You found yourself collapsed on a bench outside your favorite coffee shop, her contact pulled up on your phone, sobbing as your thumb hovered over the call button.

You clicked it, anxiously awaiting an answer through the dial tone. Every second without an answer was a battle not to hit the red button, and smash your phone on the ground so you wouldn’t be tempted to try this again.

“Hello?” You heard, not Wanda, but Natasha’s sleep addled voice.

You silently cursed, debating hanging up the phone and forgetting the whole endeavor. You had very limited experience in dealing with Natasha. Where Wanda was warm and inviting, Natasha was cold and intimidating. Wanda had told you once that Natasha had a soft spot for you, but you remained unconvinced any of Natasha’s spots were “soft”.

Wanda had explained to you that Natasha’s had submissives of her own, but she tended to prefer brats, submissives who needed a harsher hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Wanda had explained, “she’s just not used to sweet little girls like you.”

Still, the woman terrified you. And she definitely was NOT the one you wanted to be speaking to right now. But you took a deep breath, and answered her. “H-hello, Miss Natasha. C-can I speak to Wanda?” You stammered. You couldn’t keep the tears and desperation out of your voice when you added a “…please.”

“Y-yeah, sure honey. Just a second let me get her up,” she responded tiredly.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Natasha rousing a peaceful Wanda from her sleep just because you couldn’t get yourself together. But all such thoughts faded when you heard her voice through the phone. “Angel? Is that you? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Mommy…” you said tearfully. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay, I just… I don’t know what’s happening. I mean I’m dropping, I know, but… I don’t know. I just needed so badly to hear you and talk to you. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m so sorry. I know you said….” You were rambling breathlessly, but Wanda soon cut you off.

“Breathe for me, little love,” she instructed softly. “Three deep breaths. In and out. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see you over the phone. You took three audible breaths, calming yourself down.

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I… I… Sub drop, I think,” you explained. “But like, really bad.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry, my little love. Can you explain to me what you're feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need company?”

“I just… I don’t know why this is happening to me,” you cried. “Everything hurts so bad. My head feels like it’s spinning. And… And my body is so sore. It’s never happened like this with you before. You did everything so perfectly. I just don’t understand why I’m being like this.”

“Sub drop can happen no matter what, honey. And I’m so sorry it’s happening to you, sweetheart. Do you need to come back over?” She asked.

You pondered her question, the pendulum inside of you swinging violently. You felt like you were being torn in half between admitting you needed her help, and feeling defeated and weak that you couldn’t handle it on your own. But eventually you remembered it didn’t really matter. You made your choice when you took the Xanax. You weren’t going anywhere now. “I-I took some medicine. I can’t drive. I’m sorry,” you admitted.

“What medicine?” She asked, panicked. “Did you take too much? Are you okay?”

“It was just a Xanax. Just one. Just like I take for school sometimes,” you reassured.

You heard her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I panicked. You know I just worry sometimes. I tell you what, Nat and I are going to get you an Uber, and then you can spend the rest of the night here, okay?”

“Wanda, you don’t have to-“ You didn’t use her real name very often given the exclusively sexual nature of your relationship, but you needed her to know she wasn’t responsible for being your dominant right now. She was Wanda, and you were you: two grown adults. She didn’t have any obligation to take care of you right now, in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.

“But I want to, darling,” she interrupted. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, but I’m not at the house right now.”

You heard her breath catch. “Where are you, honey? You promise me you’re safe?”

“I-I’m just at the coffee shop,” you explained. “I wanted to take a walk, b-but I didn’t make it very far.”

Wanda sighed. She’d have to have a little talk with you about walking all by yourself in the middle of the night. But not right now. Right now she just needed you in her arms as quickly as she could have you. “Alright, love. You’ve got a car on its way. Just stay on the phone with me until it gets there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

—————

The car was there within five minutes of Wanda’s order. Most of that time was just filled with tears and mumbled apologies on your end, and reassurance and encouragement on hers.

She waited anxiously by the front door for you to arrive, peeking out of the blinds with every set of headlights that passed by. She clutched her robe tight against her chest. If you were there, you would’ve teased her about her anxious habit. You always said she was “practically clutching her pearls.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, she was standing in the front door frame before you could even get out of the car.

“Mommy!” You ran up to her, nearly tripping on the front porch steps on your way in. You were even more hysterical now that you were seeing her in person. Something about the sight of her made you fall apart. You felt safe now. You were going to fall, and she was going to catch you, and everything was going to be okay.

“Careful, love,” she chided, taking you into her arms. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m gonna take care of you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than anything, but her words still washed over you like a wave of relief. “I missed you, mommy.”

“I know you did, angel,” she said, kissing you on the temple. “Mommy missed you, too.”

She wrapped her arms just under your ass, still sore and super sensitive from your activities earlier that night. She picked you up, wrapping your legs around your waist. You squeaked in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to bed. Tasha will be waiting for us.”

You just cried, burying your face into Wanda’s neck as she carried you up the stairs. You couldn’t talk anymore. You were so completely exhausted, mentally and physically. But it was okay. You had your mommy and everything was going to be okay. The bedroom door was already open, and, as Wanda had expected, Natasha was sat up against the headboard.

“Is that a little angel I see there?” You heard Natasha ask. Wanda sat you on her lap at the end of the bed, bending down to take off your shoes.

You peaked your eyes out from Wanda’s neck before perching your chin on her shoulder. “Hi Miss Natasha,” you sniffled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s alright, little angel,” she assured, sliding closer to you and Wanda on the bed. She looked so much kinder than usual, soft sleepy eyes smiling at you through your tears. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, still teary eyed and snotty on Wanda’s lap while she unlaced your shoes.

Natasha cupped your cheek, wiping away stray tears. “It must’ve been so scary to start dropping without your mommy there, huh?” Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, as were her words. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe she really did have a soft spot for you.

You nodded, trying to speak but only managing to whimper a “mhm.” You blushed a little with embarrassment. Wanda must’ve told her all about your situation. You wondered momentarily if she thought your behavior was overblown or ridiculous, but if she did, her gentle face showed no indication.

“But now you’ve got your mommy and everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded again. “I-I hope you don’t mind if I steal your wife for a little bit for-for some extra snuggles.”

“Not at all little angel.” Natasha smiled softly. She could see your anxious embarrassment, and decided, despite her inexperience with soft subs, she’d make an attempt to soothe you. She knew she wasn't expected to, but she found herself desperate to make you feel better, even if it was only a little bit. “Your mommy could hardly stop bragging about you tonight, you know?”

“Re-really?” You asked. Natasha could see the tiniest little twinkle in your teary eyes.

“Really,” she confirmed. “She told me she was so proud of her sweet girl for calling her, because that must’ve been so scary for her, to call in the middle of the night. She knows you don’t like to wake people up, and asking for help when you need it is so so hard. And I said ‘wow, it sounds like you have the bravest little angel in the whole world. I think she deserves some extra special snuggles from mommy tonight, for being so brave.’”

“Y-you really think so?” you asked bashfully, hiding back in Wanda’s neck.

“I really do,” she confirmed. “And you know your mommy keeps her phone on silent in the nighttime. But she cares about you so much she has a special setting so it rings just for you.”

You smiled. Your heart fluttered, not only at the idea Wanda had her phone on for you, but also at the thought that Natasha must’ve known it was you before she answered. “I-I thought you might be mad at me,” you confessed. “Cause you and-and mommy were probably all snuggled up in bed and I came in and messed it all up!”

Natasha stroked your cheek as she shook her head. “No angel. Never. You could never mess up one of our snuggles by asking to be a part of it. We’re both so proud of you, for calling and getting help.”

“P-promise?” You asked.

Natasha held out her pinky, which you wrapped with your own. “Promise.” She confirmed.

Wanda finally got your shoes off and placed them on the floor next to the bed. “Okay little love,” she announced, easing your pajama pants down around your knees. “I’m gonna get some of the nice lotion again, okay?” She’d already put a little on earlier, but she figured it would probably do quite a bit to soothe your current pains, both physically and emotionally.

You wrapped yourself around her, refusing to let her move. You didn’t need silly lotion, you needed her. You whined at the prospect of having to let go.

Natasha giggled and sat down next to Wanda. “Do you want me to do your lotion while you hang onto mommy?”

You nodded, sending her into the next room. Wanda kissed your temple. “I told you she likes you.”

“I’m so spoiled,” you mumbled blissfully into her neck.

“You deserve it, angel,” she said.

Natasha returned to the room with the bottle of lotion. She approached you and rubbed your back gently. “Alright little angel, is it okay if I touch your bottom, or do you want mommy to do that part?”

You pondered for a moment. On one hand, having Wanda do it would mean getting to lay over her lap again. But, you found yourself inexplicably excited by the thought of Natasha putting your lotion on. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could have the best of both worlds.

“You can do it, Miss Natasha,” you said while flipping yourself over to lay over Wanda’s lap.

“Oh,” Wanda squeaked in pleasant surprise. From this position she could’ve just as easily applied the lotion. She was pleased to know that you wanted Natasha to do it, though. She pulled up your shirt and rubbed your back.

“Okay, it’s gonna be a little cold,” Natasha advised, giggling a little bit when you jumped at the cool liquid anyway. Her hands were so gentle as she soothed your raw skin. You wondered if she was this gentle with her subs as well. “All done. Do you want a kiss?”

You nodded, feeling so completely at ease with the two women taking care of you. Natasha placed a gentle kiss to each of your red ass cheeks.

“Does Tasha’s kisses make it feel all better?” Wanda asked.

You nodded into Wanda’s thigh.

“I’m glad I could help,” Natasha giggled, placing the lotion on Wanda’s nightstand so it’d be ready for you again in the morning. She crawled back into bed, making herself comfortable on her side.

Wanda placed you face down on her own side of the bed, trying not to disturb you too much as she slid her legs out from under your body. She crawled over you, placing herself in the middle between you and Natasha, pulling you tight into her side.

You laid your head on her chest, catching a glimpse of Natasha’s pretty smile in the low lighting. She really didn’t look like she minded you being here at all. In fact, she looked happy.

In your fuzzy haze, you waved at her from across the bed.

Wanda and Natasha both giggled, hearts swelling at the innocence of the gesture. You just wanted Natasha to feel included, and what better way to acknowledge her presence than with a kind wave hello.

Natasha waved back. “Hi, little angel,” she said, reaching over Wanda to pinch your cheek.

You looked up at Wanda, your big eyes gently pleading. “Mommy, do you think I could sleep on your other side so I can be closer to Miss Natasha?”

Wanda smiled giddily. She never expected such a request from you, but she was more than happy to oblige. She was overjoyed to see your relationship with Natasha growing. “Of course, sweet girl,” she said, effortlessly flipping you over to her other side.

“You know, you don’t have to call her Miss Natasha,” Wanda said. You’d always called her that since you’d first met her without any prompting to do so. She certainly didn’t mind, but Wanda had always secretly hoped you’d get past the formality. There was nothing she wanted more than for her two favorite people to love each other as much as she loved them. “I bet she’d like it if you called her daddy. Only if you wanted to.”

You faced Natasha, who looked surprised at the proposal, but nodded.

“I thought only your subs were allowed to call you that?” You said, equally shocked by Wanda’s words.

“Hmm…” she pretended to ponder the question. “For my little angel I think I can make an exception.”

You smiled. “In that case,” you pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight daddy.” You turned back to Wanda, placing a kiss on her jaw as you snuggled back into her chest. “Goodnight mommy. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little angel,” Natasha said, wrapping herself up behind you.

“Get some rest, little love,” Wanda said, kissing your head.

And finally, the pendulum stopped swinging.

Taglist (ha I remembered this time): @boredandneedsfanfic @marvelwomenarehot0

[punkshort]

dad jokes

Pairing: (Hallmark) Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel and Sarah celebrate Father's Day with you and your family. Your sister's newest addition brings up a topic you've never discussed before with Joel.

Warnings: language, fluff (the cheesy hallmark kind), established relationship, reader has a nickname previously explained, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (m receiving), flirting, dirty talk

WC: 6.1K

Dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

No matter how many times it happened, waking up in Joel's arms always put a smile on your face. His thick forearm laid heavy across your stomach and his broad chest was pressed against your back, cocooning you in his warmth. Even though it was mid June and the Texas heat was already beginning to rise, you refused to wiggle out of his grasp. You would rather overheat than not feel his exhale tickling the back of your neck or smell his familiar, intoxicating scent so close.

You cracked one eye open and glanced around his neat bedroom. Soon to be your shared bedroom, once the lease on your apartment was up next month. He had already insisted on bringing some of your things over and slowly your lives began to blend together. The end table closest to your side of the bed housed your things: a pink jar of lip balm, phone charger, a book, a few stray necklaces and some moisturizer. It looked like your things always belonged there, never out of place. Your eyes drifted towards his closet, which was already reorganized and you could see a few articles of your clothing hanging inside from the crack in the door. Your favorite purple blanket, although discarded for the past month or so now due to the temperature, was draped over an armchair in the corner of the room. Your smile grew when you saw the framed photo of the two of you Tommy took at Sarah's Christmas recital sitting prominently on the dresser.

Just when you thought your life couldn't get any more perfect, you felt Joel stir behind you and tighten is grip around your waist before his gravelly voice mumbled mornin' and his hand wandered down, slipping underneath the sheets to pluck at the hem of your sleep shorts.

"Happy Father's Day," you whispered over your shoulder. You felt him smile against your skin.

"Thank you, baby."

His hand slipped beneath your underwear and you sighed, arching your back when he began to tease, the rough pads of his fingers petting lightly between your legs. You felt his hardening length twitch against your ass and you bit your lip, temporarily getting lost in the moment before you remembered Sarah's surprise and you begrudgingly put your hand on his arm to stop him.

"We can't."

"Why?"

Just then you each heard a clattering in the kitchen below you and Sarah mutter something before the sink turned on.

"Sarah's making you pancakes."

Joel groaned. "But I don't want pancakes, I want somethin' else," and he began to rub his finger against your slit again, making you gasp.

"Joel," you whined as you began to pull away, "she's been planning this all week, come on."

He shifted onto his back and gave you a pathetic look. You giggled and rolled out of bed. "If I promise to give you your gift after she goes to bed tonight, would that make you feel better?"

"You bought me a gift?" he asked, suddenly becoming alert.

"Well, I wouldn't say I bought you something," you said as you began to change out of your pajamas. "But you'll still be thanking me."

Joel grinned and slid out of bed to join you in front of the closet, his arms wrapping around your waist and his lips latching onto the crook of your neck. "I like the sound of that."

"Dad!" Sarah called from the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up! I have a surprise for you!"

"Go," you told him, pushing against his chest playfully. He pretended to stumble backwards, making you laugh before heading out into the hall and down the steps.

By the time you changed and washed up, Joel had already devoured half his breakfast. You stopped short when you entered the kitchen and burst out laughing when you saw the cheesy #1 Dad blue ball cap sitting cockeyed on top of his messy curls.

"Oh, this is just too good," you giggled before grabbing your phone out of your pocket and snapping a picture. "Great job, kiddo," you told Sarah when you passed by, ruffling her hair. She shot you a killer smile and went back in for more pancakes.

"What time is the barbecue again?" Sarah asked with her mouth full.

"Four, I think," you replied, pulling out your phone to check the text from your mom. "Oh! Bring your swimsuit. They want to use the pool."

"Yes!" Sarah whispered, triumphantly pumping her fist. "That pool is the coolest."

"Tiles in the center of the pool are hand painted by this artist your folks found just outside of the city. She had those ready to go before the concrete guys were even ready to pour, if you can believe it. Did I ever tell you 'bout the concrete guys?" You and Sarah exchanged amused glances and shook your heads, letting Joel ramble on. He was the contractor who built your parents' house the year prior and it was no secret it was one of his favorite projects, even before he got to meet you. Your parents adored him, as well. So much so that they invited him, Sarah and Tommy to their annual Christmas party, where you first met.

When breakfast was done, you volunteered to wash the dishes, which, after looking around the kitchen at the tornado Sarah left behind, you instantly regretted it. Naturally, Sarah noticed that she trapped you and before anyone could ask her to help, she disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom.

"I'll help, baby," Joel said as he tried to take the towel from over your shoulder. You scooted back, just out of reach, and shook your head.

"It's Father's Day, you shouldn't lift a finger," you replied. He grinned and leaned up against the counter instead, picking at some leftover bacon while you got to work. "Maybe this was my gift for you all along," you added with a wink. His hand froze halfway to his mouth, a piece of bacon hanging limply from his fingers as he stared at you.

"I was really hopin' it was somethin' better than doin' the dishes, darlin'."

"Yeah? Like what?" you asked innocently, batting your lashes, making him grin. His eyes drifted towards the door to the kitchen, making sure Sarah didn't sneak downstairs when he wasn't paying attention, then took a step forward.

"Like maybe you let me finish what I started this mornin'," he said, his voice dropping an octave. Your heart fluttered in your chest, your body already betraying you with just one small sentence, but you tried to keep your cool as you scrubbed a plate in the sink.

"Now, that would require lifting a finger, wouldn't it?" you teased. He gently brushed his knuckles against your back, taking yet another step closer while you rinsed the plate.

"It would require a couple, actually, but I'm more than willin' to put in a little work."

"So generous of you, but I was thinking I could be the one doing all the work tonight," you whispered, turning to ghost your lips over his and blindly washing a fork.

"Yeah?" he breathed, practically falling into a trance as he stared into your eyes.

"Mhm, but I wouldn't stop you if you used those fingers to pull my hair when I'm on my knees with your-"

"Dad?" Sarah called from the top of the stairs, making you both jump. You stifled your giggles when Joel took a deep, ragged breath and raked his fingers through his hair before adjusting himself and walking towards the kitchen door.

"Yeah, baby girl?"

"Where are the beach towels?"

"Sarah, it's ten in the mornin', we ain't goin' to the barbecue til later."

"I know, but I wanna lay outside for a bit before it gets too hot."

Joel rolled his eyes and you grinned while you finished up the dishes. "I think they're in the basement, I'll get 'em." He turned back to you and pinned you with a familiar, heated look. "We ain't done here."

"Is that a promise?"

He chuckled and shook his head before swinging open the basement door and disappearing down the stairs.

It was on the car ride over to your parents' house when it hit him: this was the first Father's Day where he didn't have to do anything. Before you, Joel was completely alone. Sure, Tommy helped when he could, but Tommy also had his own life. For so many years it was just him and Sarah, and as much as she tried to take things off his plate as she got older, she still wasn't old enough to make her own money or drive a car to get him a gift for any special occasion. At Christmas, Tommy helped her out, but his birthday and Father's Day were always different. Those were times he gave her money from his wallet and pretended not to watch which stores she filtered in and out of at the mall.

He loved his little girl more than anything and he was happy that she even cared enough to put any thought into a gift for him over the years, but this year? It was special. You took Sarah to the grocery store to get supplies for breakfast when he was at work. You took her to the mall and you helped her wrap that stupid hat and the DVDs of a couple action flicks he'd been wanting to see.

In just six short months, you managed to change everything.

His hand drifted across the seat to your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze, his fingers curling around your leg lovingly. You turned your head from the open window, hair flying every which way in the wind, to give him a dazzling smile while his daughter listened to music in the backseat, her bathing suit on underneath her clothes and a towel tucked under her arm.

How could he ever properly explain to you what you've done to him? To the both of them? You probably didn't even think twice about taking Sarah to get him a gift, it just came second nature to you. But to him, it meant the world.

He released your thigh and found your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles before stretching your arm across the seat, flipping your hand over and then pressing a kiss in your palm, all the while keeping his eyes pinned on the road.

You wiggled your fingers, tickling his chin playfully, making him smile. At a stop light, he glanced in the review mirror at Sarah smiling down at something on her phone.

His life finally felt complete. The only thing he had left to do was make it official.

Sarah leaned forward, arms stretching over the back of the seats to show you her phone. She was excitedly telling you about some famous pop star that just announced he was releasing a new album at the end of the month along with tour dates and you nodded along, pretending to be just as enthused.

"I mean, look at this album cover. He's so dreamy. Isn't he so cool?" Sarah asked with a goofy smile on her face.

"Mmm, absolutely. The coolest," you replied.

"Well, you know why he's so cool, don't you?" Joel chimed in. Sarah frowned, confused. "'Cause he's got a lotta fans."

The corners of his mouth pulled into a grin, eyes flicking back and forth between you and his daughter, waiting for a reaction that never came. You both just stared at him blankly. "Oh, c'mon, that was a good one!" he moaned as he pulled into the driveway. You hid your smile behind your hand as Sarah rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Don't quit your day job, Dad."

"I bet your old man'll find it funny," Joel said to you after Sarah piled out of the truck.

"I have no doubt about that," you told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the passenger seat to trail after Sarah, who had ran right to the gate leading to the backyard.

"Happy Father's Day!" you sang out when you opened the gate to find your dad messing around with the grill. His eyes snapped up to yours and his round face lit up before stretching his arms open wide for a hug.

"Thanks, Buck," he murmured into your hair, arms so tight around your ribs that you could barely breathe.

"Happy Father's Day, Mr. Paul," Sarah chirped, and your dad released you in favor of pulling her into a much more delicate half hug.

"Thank you, sweetie. Where's your old man?"

"Right here," Joel replied, closing the gate behind him. "Happy Father's Day, Paul," he added once he got closer, reaching an arm out to shake your father's hand, but your dad grabbed it and pulled Joel in for a hug and a loud slap on the back. You giggled and looked away when you saw Joel's face. Your father was a big man and sometimes forgot his own strength.

"Happy Father's Day, Joel," your dad answered once he finally released him. "C'mon, lemme get you a beer from the garage." The two of them wandered back down the path towards the gate while you and Sarah hopped up the stairs to the deck. The sliding glass door was partially open and you could hear your two month old niece's wails before you even stepped inside.

Your mom, who was busy flying around the kitchen in the same green apron she's owned since you were little, planted quick pecks on your cheeks before pulling plates of burgers and chicken out of the refrigerator.

"Sarah, honey, could you take these out to Mr. Paul for me? Then feel free to jump in that pool, it's getting too hot out there."

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said excitedly before jumping in to help.

"Bucky, can you find your sister and see if she needs any help with Anna?"

"Already on it!" you called over your shoulder. You peered into the living room, spotting a baby swing and portable crib with a loose pack of diapers shoved underneath, but no baby. You followed the noises down the hall to your father's den where your sister, Cassie, and her husband, Josh, were desperately trying to quiet down your niece. Just one look at them and you knew they were beyond exhausted. Their eyes looked a little red and your sister's hair wasn't styled in her usual, meticulous fashion.

"Hey, why don't I give it a try?" you offered, stretching out your arms. Your sister and Josh looked at you, relief flooding their faces.

"Oh, thank you, Buck," Cassie said before handing over Anna. Josh draped a fresh burp cloth over your shoulder so you could press Anna's chest against yours, her perfect little face screaming into your shoulder.

You shushed her and gently bounced on the balls of your feet. She continued to yell but you could tell her voice was beginning to quiet down a bit. "Why don't you guys go relax and I'll come get you if I need you?"

"Are you sure?" Josh asked, but Cassie was already grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door.

"Consider it your Father's Day present," you told him with a wink. He grinned and mouthed thank you before following your sister back towards the kitchen.

"Alright, Annie, it's just you and me now. No need for all that drama," you murmured into her ear. She took a few deep breaths then yawned, occasionally filling the room with a tiny shriek but otherwise seemed to be calming down. You walked back and forth across the room, whispering whatever you could think of to her, knowing it didn't really matter because all that she really liked was the vibrations in your chest, anyway. When you ran out of things to say and she was still awake, but quiet, you began to hum. You stood in front of the bay window, looking out at the front yard and admiring your mother's garden, swaying back and forth and humming some song you heard on the radio when Joel snuck up the hall holding two beers. When he spotted you, your back to him with Anna falling asleep on your shoulder, he stopped dead in his tracks.

He couldn't stop fucking looking at you. The image made his breath hitch in his throat and his stomach clench. Suddenly, sleepless nights where he carried Sarah around on his shoulder flashed before his eyes. He was so young and scared and convinced he was doing everything wrong. But watching you in that moment he somehow knew you would be a natural with a baby of your own. You always had a way that made him feel calm, secure, safe.

You never brought up the topic of having kids before. He always wondered but he worried he would be asking too soon. Then he realized how foolish that seemed when he had an engagement ring already purchased and hidden in his dresser.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to move, quietly entering the den. You turned around at the noise and smiled.

"Is she out?" you whispered. He crept forward and tilted his head, noting Anna's eyes were shut and her pacifier was dangling from her lips. He nodded and you pretended to wipe sweat from your brow. He shifted out of the way so you could slowly sway out the door and back into the hallway where the pack and play was set up. You could hear your family's voices muffled through the sliding glass door and the faint sounds of splashing coming from the pool as you carefully leaned forward to put Anna in the crib.

"Can't believe how big she is already," he whispered, hooking his chin over your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I know. Did it feel like Sarah grew up this fast?"

Joel laughed softly and kissed the back of your neck before stepping away. "Actually, no. Doin' it so young was tough. I was so nervous, every hour felt like a year. And Char wasn't a huge help before she left. She wasn't really present."

You gave him a sympathetic look before taking the beer he held out for you. "I'm sorry, Joel."

"No need to be sorry. Everythin' worked out exactly like it was supposed to." He tipped his bottle to gentle tap against yours before taking a sip, watching you nervously as you did the same. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Anna once more, too anxious to look at you when he asked, "is that somethin' you'd want one day? Kids?"

Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise before you shifted your weight. Were you nervous, too?

"Uh, well, yeah, sure, you know, but it's not, like, a dealbreaker or anything." The embarrassment crept up your chest and neck, making your cheeks feel hot under his gaze.

"What'dya mean, 'dealbreaker'?" he asked curiously, and you shrugged.

"Well, I'm not trying to jump way ahead or anything, I know we haven't been together long," you began to explain, flicking your hair and fanning the back of your neck. You were nervous. The thought made him smile. If you only knew. "I just mean, you've already done the baby thing, so if it's something you didn't want to do, I'm totally fine with-"

"I do," he said immediately. Your gaze snapped up and a huge smile spread across your face.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said breathlessly with a smile matching yours. "With you? Hell yeah."

You laughed softly, glancing at Anna to make sure she was still sound asleep. "Well, then. That's... yeah. Wow, okay, glad we covered that." You sounded so damn cute when you were all flustered and nervous he couldn't help but cup your cheek and press his lips against yours, putting a stop to your rambling.

"I don't care how long we've been together, I love you," he whispered against your mouth. "Never loved anyone as much as I love you."

Your eyes glistened when you gazed up lovingly at him, your small hand tucking a stray curl around his ear. "Me too, Joel," you gave him one more chaste kiss before pulling back and taking his hand. "Why don't we go rejoin the party?"

He nodded and let you lead him through the kitchen and back out onto the deck where your family was relaxing under the shade of the umbrella, watching Sarah show off her diving skills.

"Hey, Joel, help me out with the grill, yeah?" your dad called from the patio. He tipped his chin in acknowledgement before kissing the top of your head and jogging down the steps.

"She's down?" Cassie asked when you collapsed into the patio chair next to her.

"Yep, sure is."

"You're a miracle worker, Bucky," Cassie sighed before tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"Nah, she just loves me the most."

Without looking, Cassie shot one leg out to kick you, hitting you squarely on the thigh.

"Ouch! Mom!" you whined, rubbing the spot on your leg. Joel turned around from the grill when he heard you and grinned.

"Bucky, be serious. You're both adults now, do I really still need to referee your fights?"

You pouted then scowled when you saw the smirk on your sister's face.

"Hey, this might be a bad time to ask, but do you think you could watch Anna next Saturday?" Cassie asked sheepishly, making you laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so," you said. "I was going to move some more of my stuff into Joel's place but I suppose I could change my plans for my favorite niece."

"Oh, that's right. Your lease is up soon, isn't it?" Josh asked and you nodded before taking a sip of your beer.

"Next month."

"Big step," your mom said, but she had mischievous a look in her eye that matched the small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, I guess so," you replied, giving her a curious frown, "although I spend so much time at their house as it is, it hardly feels like it."

"Oh, you never know. It might take you by surprise," she said before taking a sip from her cocktail. Cassie looked back and forth between you with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you talking about, mom?" she pried, but your mom waved her off.

"Oh, nothing! I'm just trying to say it's a big, exciting step." She checked the time on her watch and stood up. "I have to check the mac and cheese," she said, then disappeared quietly inside the house.

"That was weird," you muttered, glancing over your shoulder to check on Sarah.

"She's always been weird," Cassie shrugged. "But things are going good with you guys I take it?"

"Yeah," you replied, borderline dreamily. "Things are great."

Cassie leaned in, her sister intuition tingling, silently urging you to elaborate. You bit your lip, glancing quickly at Josh who appeared to be half asleep in the sun.

"He asked me if I ever wanted to have kids," you whispered, but her high pitched squeal blew your cover when both Joel and your dad turned around to look at her.

"She saw a bee!" you called over to them and they shrugged before turning back to the meat on the grill.

"Sorry!" she whispered, then clutched your hand. "Bucky, that's so exciting! What did you say?"

"Well, I was honest with him but I really didn't think he would want any more. Sarah's a teenager already, I thought he was past that point in his life, but..." you trailed off and snuck a peek in his direction, your gaze sliding over his broad shoulders and tanned skin. "I was wrong."

"Oh, my god, Buck. What if we were pregnant at the same time?"

"Shh!" you hissed with a finger against your lips. "You just had a baby and you're already thinking about the next one?"

"Our kids could grow up together and be best friends. Oh, my god I'm so excited, I could die!" she said, ignoring you.

"Cas! I'm not getting pregnant tonight! There's a few more steps that usually happen before having a baby."

"Well, shit, if he's asking you those types of questions, I have a hunch he's got the big question locked and loaded," she replied before putting on her sunglasses and leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

Your eyes went wide and your pulse thrummed excitedly in your neck. "You think?"

"Mhm."

You had been so focused on moving in with Joel and Sarah the past few months that you never really thought past that step. For whatever reason, being with Joel always felt natural. Like you didn't belong anywhere else but right by his side. When you thought about your future, Joel and Sarah were always a part of it, like it was a given they would be in your life forever. But, naturally, forever generally implied an engagement and wedding, something you never gave much thought to. Then your mind drifted back to the night before Cassie gave birth, when Joel came to your door after he and Tommy had to much to drink at a bar nearby and he casually mentioned he wanted to spend his life with you, that he already bought a ring. Even though he quickly backtracked and claimed it was a joke, it still stuck in the back of your mind.

You looked over at Joel again, trying to envision him in a tux and standing under an altar, gazing down at you with tears in his eyes. And then suddenly, mid-fantasy, he turned to you and smiled. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach when you smiled back and he gave you a wink.

"So I said, he's got a lotta fans, get it?" Joel finished saying, sending your dad into a fit of laughter. "Told ya he'd think it was funny," he said when he turned to you with a grin. You just rolled your eyes and took another bite of chicken.

"Yeah, then I told him not to quit his day job," Sarah piped up from the other side of the table. Joel leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Well, I'd tell you a construction joke, but I'm still workin' on it."

The whole table cracked up at that one, Sarah included.

"Joel, where's Tommy today?" your mom asked. "He knows he's always welcome, doesn't he?"

"Oh, 'course he does. He's been busy with a new lady friend," Joel replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Hey, that's great," your dad said.

"He's such a handsome man, I'm so glad to hear he's found someone," your mom added.

"Handsome? What'dya mean by that, Martha?" your father questioned, crossing his arms and pretending to be jealous. You and Cassie exchanged glances and rolled your eyes.

"Oh, stop it," she replied, swatting his arm with her napkin while trying to hide the flush that was creeping up her neck.

"Sarah, how'd you do on exams?" Cassie asked as she lifted Anna onto her shoulder to burp her.

Sarah launched into a full breakdown of her school year, highlighting her favorite classes and teachers. Joel watched with a dopey smile on his face while she told the table she was going to continue violin lessons over the summer and she also planned on trying out for a summer soccer league.

"Sounds like you'll be busy, Joel," Josh joked with a nudge.

"Yeah, what else is new," he replied, pretending to be exasperated but in reality, he couldn't be happier. Seeing his little girl so full of life and energy was all he ever needed. "But at least now I'll have a bit of help," Joel added, draping his arm across the back of your chair.

"Oh, Joel, do not let Bucky take Sarah to soccer," Cassie warned. Your parents were already laughing, knowing what she was going to say. "She takes sports way too seriously. If you're not careful, she's gonna be out there in the middle of the field yelling at the refs and getting Sarah thrown out of the game."

"I will not!" you exclaimed defensively, but Sarah and Joel were already laughing.

"Bucky, c'mon, don't make me remind you of fifth grade softball-"

"Cassie, that was ages ago!"

"What happened in softball?" Sarah asked excitedly, picking up on the energy from all the adults.

Cassie went on to tell a very elaborate and exaggerated version of events in which you felt like the pitcher was intentionally trying to hit you with the ball and it nearly caused a fist fight amongst both teams. You just sat back and rolled your eyes, then you felt Joel's fingers graze the back of your arm.

"Don't listen to her, she's a liar," you told him quietly so only he could hear. He grinned and leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

"That's too bad, I like the idea of you gettin' all fiery and worked up."

Your heart skipped a beat at the tone in his voice and you mouthed the word bad, making him chuckle.

Joel didn't want to rush Sarah out of the pool and the weather was so perfect, it was close to nine when you finally decided to pack up and leave, Cassie and Josh already having left hours before to put Anna to bed.

"I'm so tired," Sarah yawned from the backseat.

"Swimming and all that sun'll do that to you," Joel told her.

"Mr. Paul offered to take us fishing one day, Dad. D'you think we can go? He says he knows a spot where the bass are over a foot long each."

Joel smiled to himself. A year ago, all he and Sarah had was Tommy and a few cousins who came by twice a year from out of town. Now it seemed like they had a whole new family, and it was all because of you. "Yeah, sure. Sounds like a great time."

You were fresh out of the shower, inspecting your skin for any sunburn when Joel entered your bedroom looking beat. He slid off his jeans with a groan and collapsed into bed with his forearm thrown over his eyes.

Flicking off the bathroom light, you wandered over to the bed, dragging a finger up the inside of his thigh. He moved his arm so he could look at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Too tired for your gift?" you asked sweetly.

He smirked and shook his head. "Never too tired for you, baby."

With his arms spread wide, he motioned for you to join him on the bed. Starting at his legs, you slowly crawled up his body, maintaining steady eye contact the whole way until your nose was nudging gently against his.

"I liked all your dad jokes today," you murmured right before placing a tender kiss against his plush lips. "Really very fitting for the occasion."

"Mm, got one more f'you," he replied, voice matching your low tone.

You tipped your head back a bit so you could see his eyes.

"Let's hear it."

He grinned and pulled you back towards him, nuzzling his nose into your neck, breathing in deep the smell from your floral shampoo. "What goes in hard and comes out soft?"

You giggled and you felt him smile against your skin.

"Um, I can think something," you whispered, nipping playfully at his ear. Then you dropped your hand to cup him between his legs and his breath stalled. You pulled down the waistband of his boxers and looked at his erection bobbing heavy between your bodies. You hummed and gave him a coy smile before leaving a trail of kisses down his neck and, shimmying down between his legs, carefully wrapped your fingers around his cock.

When he first felt your tongue flick out and tease him, he inhaled sharply and gently combed his fingers through your hair with a sigh.

"Fuck, baby, you dirty thing. I was gonna say pasta," he moaned when you took his swollen tip into your mouth and swirled your tongue around, allowing your saliva to pool and drip past your lips. When he gasped and rolled his hips, you felt a flutter in your lower belly, your own arousal building just from listening to him fall apart from your mouth.

You relaxed your jaw and tried to steady your breathing as you took him deeper, making sure to keep your tongue moving, sliding up and down his smooth skin. You smiled around him when he groaned so loud he had to bite his fist, his display of weakness only encouraging you to move faster, hollowing your cheeks and taking him a little deeper each time you sunk back down.

"W-wait, stop - shit," he gasped before giving your hair a gentle pull. You released him and gazed up into his eyes, your lips all red and wet as you panted for air.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin', just gonna come if you keep goin'. C'mon, take these off-" he reached for your shorts but you squirmed away with a frown.

"I told you, Joel. You're not lifting a finger on Father's Day."

"But what 'bout-"

"I wanna take care of you, Joel. Will you let me? Please?" you asked with a little pout. You could see it in the way he looked at you now, you had said something he really wanted to hear. So you tried it again. "You do so much for everyone else. Let me do this for you," you whispered, and when you felt his fingers loosen and fall from your hair, you grinned and turned your attention back to his cock. Slowly, you stroked him up and down, admiring his length before pressing a few kisses to his leaking tip.

"Goddamn, that feels nice," he whispered, closing his eyes briefly to savor the feeling of your warm, soft mouth enveloping him once again. You hummed and he jolted underneath you, the vibrations sending a shockwave through his limbs. "Oh, yeah, there you go," he cooed when you began to take him faster, your tongue swirling around him as you bobbed up and down. "Fuck, you look so good like this, y'know that? You -" he gasped when he felt the tip of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his fingers immediately got tangled in your hair once again. It took everything you had to keep breathing and not gag around him.

"Oh, god," he moaned, his jaw clenching as he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release. You rubbed your thighs together, the ache between your legs unbearable with all the praise and noises he was lavishing on you since you started.

"Fuck, baby, I'm - where? W-where? Quick," he whined as his hips involuntarily bucked up into your mouth. You didn't want to take him from your mouth to answer so you caught his eye, his face looking wrecked and sweaty, and gave him a wink, hoping that would convey your message.

His hand cradled the back of your head as he suddenly bent forward, whimpering your name with a string of curses attached and that was when you felt his warmth first hit your tongue. You moaned quietly at the salty taste, swallowing down each spurt of his release until his muscles relaxed and he fell back onto his pillow with a groan.

"God," he whispered, his chest heaving. He watched in a daze as you carefully drew back, giving the tip one more kiss and sending a shudder down his spine before wiping the corner of your mouth with a grin and climbing up to lay next to him in bed.

He rolled over and cupped your cheek, kissing you with his tongue sliding past your lips. You could feel his heartbeat thumping against his chest, against your chest, and you moaned into his mouth.

"Happy Father's Day," you whispered hoarsely when he pulled away to kiss your forehead.

"Thank you, baby. But now it's your turn," he told you with a sly smirk. He began to inch his way down your body, his lips dragging over your chest, but you stopped him.

"I told you, you're not lifting a finger today."

His eyes shifted to the clock next to your bed. "It's past midnight," he told you before he continued to work his way down, leaving kisses down your stomach before tugging at your shorts.

You sighed and settled into the pillows, eyes sliding shut. "Well, in that case..."

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[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)

read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!

Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.

He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking.  You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.

That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you.  Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?

Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer.  Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.

But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue.  Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.

I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…

He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably.  And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you.  Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?

And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.

As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.

“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud.  “You want it, baby?  It’s all fucking yours.”

He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier.  Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.

You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off.  It was still true, but more specific than necessary.  He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too.  But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.

“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now.  It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.

He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…

His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm.  “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”

He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close.  Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge.  His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.

It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment.  The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.

His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you.  He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.

When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.

No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.

It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind.  After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers.  (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)

Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless.  He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.

Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.

He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.

Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut.  As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.

Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention.  “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.

“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”

The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.

For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you.  He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual.  Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.

Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake.  Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.

The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.

Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top.  Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.

“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”

“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not.  Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter.  “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.

“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized.  “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”

“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”

“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”

The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.

“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile.  Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next.  “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”

He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion.  “What— what does it say?!” “Read it, Kountze!”

“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.

Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered.  “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh.  “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”

“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.

“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away.  He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned.  “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”

Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away.  The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.

He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you.  You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling.  But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.

Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.

Is this what love feels like?

//

It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more.  Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?

But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you.  Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders.  Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—

Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.

You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him.  Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.

For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz.  It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.

Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent.  His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough.  Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party.  Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.

And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you.  He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.

“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed.  “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”

He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away.  “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.

“Tell me what?”

“You remember Brian Stevenson?” 

“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur.  “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”

“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.

“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously.  “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”

“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed.  You nodded.  He looked away.  “Right— that’s… cool.  That’s cool.”

You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden.  “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”

“Right,” he interrupted sharply.  “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know.  That it wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.

“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen.  “Did you even mean that?”

“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously.  “That’s… that’s just something people say…”

He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you.  He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.

“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor.  “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply.  “It’s— you know, it is what it is.  It was just one of those things.”

“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded.  He didn’t.  And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.

“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.

“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.

Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands.  That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad.  Not devastated.  Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun.  You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.

//

It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party.  Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail.  There was a lot more alcohol, though.

You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on.  Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.

Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back.  “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him.  Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up.  It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable.  He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.

You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race.  Who, after all, would he be racing against?

For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably).  He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.

Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly.  “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”

You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.

Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.

“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious.  Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even.  You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.

“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.

“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him.  “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”

“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again.  “Fucking idiots…”

Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you.  “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?

Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.

“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.

“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.

“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.

“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.

A brief moment passed.  “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.

“Jesus,” you hissed.

“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained.  “We were so good together.”

“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”

“No— it’s not.  It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced.  “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn right I’m not!” he spat.  “You’re all I could think about, for months!  Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head!  And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything.  Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”

“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.

“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you.  “Does he make you feel special?  Does he make you come?”

“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay?  I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you.  But… but what about me, y’know?  He doesn’t need you like I do.”

Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.

“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t?  But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you.  I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid!  You’re my dream girl!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain.  “That’s a fantasy!”

“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side.  “It’s so real, you know it is.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that.  You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.

And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless.  He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian.  You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.

He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other.  You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment.  Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.

Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so.  But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did.  And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.

//

You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement.  You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him.  He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?

“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.

“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.

“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.

He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.

“It was a mistake,” you decided.  “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go.  And if you didn’t tell Brian.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly.  “I wasn’t gonna tell him.  But I still think you should dump him.”

“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

“I know,” he breathed.

You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.

“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened.  “I fucking love you.”

“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.

“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded.  “I know how I feel, okay?  When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”

You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench.  Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed.  “You love me too, don’t you?  I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it?  It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”

He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again.  “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”

“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained.  “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”

“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this.  I want to really be together,” he replied.  You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again.  “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”

You shook your head.  “No, you can’t do that.”

“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized.  You smiled, but shook your head again.

“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.

He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground.  “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”

“What?!” you blurted out.  “Angus, no—”

“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms.  “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown.  You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”

“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”

“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.

Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment.  “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little.  “You can do a lot better than a state school.”

“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously.  “My grades are kinda… inconsistent.  And I went to so many different high schools—”

“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed.  “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here.  You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”

He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.

“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him.  “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”

For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face.  “Wait— is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.

You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him.  Instead of answering directly, you just stammered.  “Well, y-you’re young, and—” 

He cut you off quickly with a laugh.  “Oh my god!  You think I give a shit about that?”

“No,” you shot back, “but you should.  You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge.  “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with?  What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without?  Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”

“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently.  “It’s your first love.  It fades.”

“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen.  “God, I don’t want it to.”

You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before.  In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact.  It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.

When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek.  “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please.  Tell me it’s not going to end.”

“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest.  “It has to end, someday.”

You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.

Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.

There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end.  And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good.  That hope had only ever led to pain before.  But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.

So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday.  Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings.  Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave.  Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless.  Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.

Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive.  Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again.  Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.

The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter.  It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful.  He loved you.  Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special.  His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.

When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away.  “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it.  You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable.  After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different.  I trust you.  I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try.  I’m sorry.  I’m so glad I met you.  I’ll never forget you.  Please don’t let me go.

Somehow, you felt like he heard each one.  Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.

//

Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long.  You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.

The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets.  Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels.  You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.

Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.

“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.

Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh.  “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.

“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.

“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed.  “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” he shrugged.  “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much.  “Not here.”

“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even.  You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee.  After a few moments, though, you spoke again.

“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”

“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave.  You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass.  Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.

When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside.  Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[mopopshop]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚ No Wisdom ɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

this has nothing to do w my series thing btw 😣

You sit in the waiting room, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, when the nurse finally steps out, calling your name. It’s time to pick up Paige after her wisdom teeth removal. As you stand up, you brace yourself for what could be an interesting experience. You’ve heard all the stories about how loopy people get after this kind of surgery.

When you enter the recovery room, Paige is in a reclined chair with gauze in her mouth and a dazed look on her face. Her eyes light up when she sees you, and she tries to sit up too quickly, almost toppling over.

"Whoa there, take it easy," you say, rushing to her side to steady her, pushing on her chest lightly so she lays back again.

“Heyyy, it's you!” Paige slurs, her eyes widening as she looks at you. “Hi.. baby…”

You can't help but laugh at how out of it she is. “Hey, babe. How are we feeling?”

Paige blinks slowly, like she’s trying to process your question. “I… can’t feel my tounge. But you’re like, really pretty”

She reaches out clumsily, her fingers barely grazing your cheek. Her eyes start to well up with tears. 

“Why are you crying?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face.

“You’re so pretty, baby” Paige says, her voice breaking as she starts to sob. “I love you and you’re so nice to me. And... and you’re so beautiful.”

You stroke her hair, voice shaking as you try not to laugh in her face. “I love you too, P.”

Paige leans into your touch, her sobs turning into hiccups. “I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me,” she mumbles.

You kiss her forehead, feeling your heart melt at her words. Just then, the nurse walks in with a clipboard and a patient-care packet.

“Alright, it looks like Paige is ready to go home,” she says, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Just some stuff for post-op. Make sure she keeps the gauze in for the next hour, and then you can change it if it’s still bleeding. Soft foods only for the next couple of days, absolutely no straws, and uh… leave the kisses for after you change her gauze.” She smiles, giving you a wink and you blush slightly embarrassed as she continues 

“She might be a bit loopy for a while as the anesthesia wears off, so make sure she rests and stays hydrated.” You nod, listening carefully. 

Paige is still leaning against you, tears rolling down her cheeks as she continues to mumble about how wonderful you are. “You’re like... an angel. My angel,” she slurs, her words barely coherent.

The nurse gives you an understanding smile as she helps Paige into a wheelchair. “She’ll be okay. It’s just the medication talking. Now, let’s get her to the car.”

You follow them out of the recovery room, pushing the door open as the nurse wheels Paige down the hallway. Paige keeps trying to reach for your hand, her movements sluggish but insistent. “Don’t leave me,” she mumbles, her eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m right here, babe. I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure her, smiling and holding her hand as you walk beside the wheelchair.

Once you reach the car, the nurse helps you get shove Paige’s six foot frame  into the passenger seat, making sure she’s buckled in safely. “Take it easy, and call if you have any questions,” she says before heading back inside.

As you start driving home, Paige reaches over and clumsily grabs your hand. "You’re so cute. Can I have a kiss?" she asks, her words slurred and barely understandable through the gauze in her mouth.

You chuckle, glancing over at her. "Not right now, babe. "

Paige's face falls, almost looking offended. “What?”

You giggle again. “Baby, they said I can’t”

“They told you that?” She whines, her eyes quickly filling with tears once again.

“Yeah, I can’t kiss you” You fight back laughter, grabbing her hand.

Paige continues. “Why would they say that??” she sobs.

“I- I don’t know the answer to that one, P” you choke on a chuckle.

When you finally pull into the driveway, Paige is half-asleep, her head lolling to the side. You gently help her out of the car and guide her inside, where you get her settled on the couch with a blanket and some pillows.

You call up KK to help you out. Within fifteen minutes, KK is at your door, looking both amused and concerned when she sees Paige.

"Hey bookies" KK exclaims as she walks in, twirling a loc around her finger as usual.  

Paige blinks her eyes open and immediately frowns. "Why is KK here?" she mumbles, glaring at her friend. "Is she trying to steal you?"

You burst out laughing. "P, she's here to help take care of you."

KK rolls her eyes playfully, kissing her teeth in mock annoyance. "Girl bye, don’t start gettin an attitude with me now” 

Paige narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Don’t trust it. She's mine."

KK snorts, shaking her head. "Right, P…"

Paige huffs, crossing her arms and pouting dramatically. "She's pretty and nice, and she loves me so don’t try anything”

You sit down next to Paige, rubbing her back soothingly. "Yes, I do, babe. Now, let’s get you comfortable."

KK heads to the kitchen to grab some water and a few soft snacks while you stay with Paige, who’s now alternating between glaring at KK and gazing at you adoringly.

“Do you need anything, babe?” you ask gently.

“Just you,” she murmurs, snuggling closer to you. “And no KK.”

You laugh again, kissing the top of her head. “KK’s just here to help, I promise.”

KK returns with the water and snacks, setting them down on the coffee table. “Anything else you need?”

Paige frowns at the sight of KK again. “No, we’re fine. Go away.”

“Paige, be nice,” you scold lightly, trying not to laugh.

KK just shakes her head, amused. “P, I do not want your girl.”

As KK walks away, Paige looks up at you with a pout. “She better not come back.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I said it about fifty thousand times. She’s just trying to help, baby.”

Paige sighs dramatically, then leans her head on your shoulder. “Okay, fine. But only because you’re here.”

You spend the next few hours tending to Paige, who’s slowly coming out of her loopy state. She remains hilariously jealous of KK, who pops in occasionally to check on things, always greeted by Paige’s suspicious glares.

As the evening winds down and Paige finally drifts off to sleep, you and KK exchange amused glances. “She’s something else,” KK says with a laugh.

“She really is,”

———

[enwoso]

Can I request either alessia is on a team bonding night out and has Ella minding grumpy but grumpy has a nightmare and wakes up and refuses to settle without alessia so all the Arsenal girls come back to do their bonding night at alessias so grumpy can relax and go back to sleep

and/or

Grumpy having an allergic reaction to something and getting sick and alessia and the girls have to look after her

NEED HER — alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

"wit woo! doesn't your mummy look gorgeous, tiny!" ella giggled as she looked at you with a smile as alessia emerged from round the corner, her heels clicking on the wooden floors which took your attention from the tv playing one of the many films you and ella had lined up for the night.

you and ella sat both in pyjamas, blankets covering the two of you as you'd turned alessia's living room into a blanket fort along with all your teddy's from your room joining just to make sure they didn't feel left out.

alessia had spent the last hour getting ready to go out for some food and a few drinks with the arsenal girls it being part of their team bonding. when nights like these occurred you usually would spent the night with either your uncles or your grandparents but since ella was in london, ella jumped at the opportunity to see her favourite little russo.

"mummy look like a princess" you smiled as alessia gave you a pout as she came over to kiss your forehead and say her good nights to you.

"mummy loves you and be good for auntie ella, okay?" your mummy's tone had changed so you knew she was serious and you nodded, "'ove you too"

ella getting up and walking alessia to her front door. the cab filled with some of the arsenal girls already out side waiting. "and ella remember no sweets after 8 and her night light needs to be on and she doesn't-" alessia began her list of reminders to her best friend, things ella had heard at least five times today.

"doesn't like her door shut, i know less! now go and have fun with the girls and have a few drinks for me yeah?" ella patted the blonde on the shoulder as she stood in the doorway saying her goodbyes, waving to a few of the arsenal girls who she knew that were sat waiting for the blonde in the uber.

"i'll should be back before 12! call me if you need anything!" alessia called out as she walked down the garden, ella waving her off watching as the uber pulled away. moving to shut the front door hearing it click in place before walking back to where you were sitting contentedly watching bluey.

"right i think it's sweet time, tiny!"

after eating too many sweets that if alessia found out she would definitely be a little mad as the ending credits of the last film you were watching were rolling on the screen now, after watching luca first, ella should have maybe put on cars or the good dinosaur but she didn't.

and she wouldn't even deem it a scary film but you were scared. you'd watched pinocchio. ella didn't even noticed the warning that said it wouldn't be suitable for children under the age of 8. just assuming because it was in the children's section that it would be okay for you to watch.

ella knew you were scared but when she asked you, you had told her you were a big girl and nothing scares you.

so when ella put you to bed at your bedtime of half seven making sure you put your night light on and leaving your door open after you'd drifted off to sleep. ella now hoping to be able to catch up on her own series while tidying up the mess you and her had made over the evening.

what ella didn't expect half an hour later was:

"ella.." you spoke quietly, your blanket and esme the elephant teddy held close to you as you stood in the dimly lit hallway. ella looking up from her phone to see your scared frame as tears pooled in your eyes.

"oh tiny, what's wrong?" she cooed as you wondered close to her, your bottom lip starting to wobble as she held you in her arms.

"n-nightmare" you choked out as the tears began. images of the film you'd last watched replayed in your head as well as you nightmare which was of a similar story line.

“shh it’s okay, don’t cry” ella tried her best to calm you down but everything she tried had no affect on you, the tears carried on and ella was at the point where she didn’t know what to do.

she had tried rocking you back and forth, putting bluey on the tv for you to watch, reading you a story book, giving you some milk but nothing worked and nothing soothed you.

“wan m-ma-ma” you whimpered as you sat in ella’s lap, ella conflicted as she didn’t want to ruin alessia’s night but she also didn’t want to have you upset and there was nothing she could do that would settle you. you didn’t just want your mummy, you needed her.

the brunette sighed in defeat, picking her phone from her pocket and getting alessia’s contact up, pressing on her number. to her surprise it only took a few rings before the blondes voice could be heard.

“ella? is everything okay?” she asked, a slight wince on alessia’s face as she could hear you small whimpers for mummy in the back ground.

“um i’m sorry to ruin your night but less she won’t stop cryin’ for you. i’ve tried everything!” ella said, feeling guilty about ruining the blondes night out which only came once in a blue moon for alessia to begin with.

alessia reassuring ella over and over that it was okay, “ella i’ll be ten minutes max, just keep comforting her and i’ll be as quick as i can!”

alessia finished the last little bit of her drink getting up from the table, making sure she had everything before booking an uber back to her house. the arsenal girls had ended up in the local darts club a few drinks along with a gossip and a few games of cards.

“sorry girls but i need to go, y/n won’t settle for ella” alessia apologised as a few of the girls nodded understanding the blonde’s situation before beth spoke up.

“if it’s not too much trouble for you could we not finish the bonding night at yours? maybe order some food in?” beth suggested, alessia taking a minute to think before agreeing. the rest of the girls beginning to pack their own things before making arrangements of who was going in what uber.

eventually after twenty minutes alessia made it back to hers, rushing in front of the other girls. knowing the current state of her that her daughter was in.

unlocking her door with her set of keys, dropping her back and shoes at the door. leaving it open for the girls to come through as the blonde made her way to the living room. her heart breaking slightly at the sound of your cries. you never cried like that so something must of really upset you.

seeing you bundled up in ella’s arms a look of relief came over ella as she saw her best friend. alessia’s motherly instinct kicking in as she scooped you up into her arms. you head going into her neck as your cries immediately started to quieten down.

“what happened?” alessia asked, wondering what it was that had upset you, normally when you were with ella you didn’t even need alessia around. getting on with the brunette like a house on fire always giggling and joking around with her.

“she had a nightmare, and i have now learned that pinocchio is not suitable for children” ella scratched the back of her neck a awkward smile appearing on her face as she spoke. alessia humming, it all made sense to the blonde now.

alessia excusing herself upstairs to try and settle you down for the night as she allowed the arsenal girls in telling them to make themselves comfy as ella chafed away to them.

“it’s okay baby, mama’s here.” alessia cooed as she lay with you in your bed, drawing little shapes on your back as you hiccuped. you starting to feel more relaxed as you clung to your mummy not wanting to let go.

you breathing was starting to become more shallow as you drifted in and out of sleep, the only sound to be heard in your home was the hushed voices of the arsenal squad. alessia placing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“mummy loves you so much”

[ariestrxsh]

.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, sneaking around, risky, oral, teasing, degradation, humiliation, edging, orgasm denial, shower sex, creampie, roughdom!matt, brattamer!matt, bratty!reader, enemies to lovers

📝 author's note: 📝 this is part of a series, and here are parts one, two, and three. it's not necessary to read the other parts, but it makes the story better and adds to the dynamic between the characters. 💖 there will be more parts to this.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You and Matt continue sneaking around right under his brothers' noses despite the fact that the two of you hate each other.

.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫

hatef--k part four

I threw my clothes and my vibrator into my big tote bag, along with a phone charger and some snacks from my pantry. I was still in shock that Matt had seen me packing my favorite sex toy and then relentlessly teased me with it. And the bastard didn't even let me cum.

I angrily stomped to his car and resentfully got into it. I could feel every bump as we drove over it, every vibration from the way the tires hit the pavement beneath us, and it was pure torture as I sat there, unfinished.

"You know, I should tell Nick your water is back on, and you lied to him," Matt broke the silence, clicking his tongue at me and shaking his head. "You won't," I called his bluff. "Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?" He narrowed his eyes. "Because you love it when I prance around your house half-naked and tease you until you can't take it anymore. You want me to stay with you guys longer," I told him, reading him like a book. He didn't say anything, but he shot a smile that confirmed my suspicion. All doms are the same. Most of their threats that don't benefit them are empty.

We pulled into the driveway, and as we walked into the house, Matt shut the door in my face again. I rolled my eyes, stopping it with my hand. I set my tote bag down next to the couch in the living room, and when Matt and I stepped into the kitchen, we were greeted by Chris who was home attempting to make pancakes, but instead of flipping them with a spatula, he was flipping them into the air and trying to catch them in the frying pan. "Chris! You're making breakfast for four people. We don't have pancakes to waste," Nick scolded him, pointing the spatula at him.

"Good to see you guys survived the night alone together. I thought, for sure, based on how pissed Matt was about you staying here, he was gonna choke you out or something," Chris joked, cracking open an egg into a bowl. "Yeah, he tried, but he was too much of a bitch to finish the job," I smirked at Matt.

"Do either of you want coffee?" Nick offered, holding up a french press. "Yes, please," Matt and I both responded in unison, but we both shot each other a glare, resenting the other for answering the same way. Nick poured us each a cup of coffee, and we all fixed our plates and sat around the kitchen table together. "You guys really are the nice ones. Thank you so much for making breakfast for us," I said. It was a compliment to Nick and Chris, but even more than that, it was a slight towards Matt. I was still very angry about the sex toy incident.

"Of course. Anytime. You're our guest," Nick replied. "So what did you guys do last night when you had the house to yourselves?" Chris said before taking a bite of his hashbrowns. Matt and I shot each other a glance. "I watched The Bachelorette," I told them, taking a sip of my coffee. "And I played video games in my room," Matt said without looking up from his food. "You mean, you guys sat on opposite sides of the house.. and ignored each other?" Nick questioned, looking skeptically at us. "I find that hard to believe because any time you two are in the same vicinity, you pick on each other," Nick said with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, well when I went to shower.." I started to say, but then I stopped myself. Matt delivered a swift kick under the table and hit me in the shin. "Oh, just for that, I'm telling them," I looked towards Matt and then I turned to his brothers, "Matt thought it would be funny to take my towel amd hide it while I was showering." I took a sip of my coffee and looked back over at Matt, who was looking at me like he wanted to kill me. Please punish me for that one later, I silently begged him with my eyes.

"Matt! What the fuck?" Nick asked with a look of disgust. "Bro, that's weird," Chris shook his head. I secretly liked embarrassing Matt in front of his brothers and getting them both on my side. It was as harmless as Matt taking my towel and my clothes, right? "It's fine. He gave it right back to me," I told them, smiling and taking a bite of my eggs.

We continued to eat our breakfast, and once we were done, Chris volunteered Matt and me to clean up since he and Nick made breakfast. I was happy to oblige, considering the boys were being so kind and letting me stay with them, and Matt begrudgingly agreed. "Plus, it'll give you guys more alone time together, so you can hopefully overcome your differences," Nick chuckled. Little did he know, the only time Matt and I could ever overcome our differences was long enough to fuck each other's brains out. Chris and Nick both headed upstairs, leaving Matt and me in the kitchen by ourselves.

Matt immediately backed me up against the counter and got into my face. "You like making me look like a fucking perv in front of my brothers, huh?" He growled quietly next to my ear, while he started to take his hand and press it against my mound. "You are a perv," I shot back. "Yeah, but you fucking love it," Matt gruffly said, applying more pressure. I could feel the edge of the counter digging into my back as Matt fondled me. I could feel myself growing weak.

"Let's get these off of you, you little whore," Matt grumbled while he started to pull down my pants. I was still wet from the vibrator incident earlier. He picked me up by my waist and set me on the counter. I felt the cold, hard granite underneath me as he placed me. He looked up intently into my eyes as he got down onto his knees, wrapped his strong arms around my thighs, and held them apart further.

I watched in anticipation as he flattened his tongue and started tickling my clit with it. I tried to seem like I wasn't dying for it, but I couldn't keep my equanimity. My moans got away from me with every stroke of his remarkable tongue. His soft lips engulfed me, and he hummed against my favorite nerve endings while I watched his eyes roll back as he savored my taste. I secretly loved the way he ate pussy, like he wanted it, like he needed it. "Mmmm. You're such a naughty girl. You're loving this, aren't you?" He said, his lips vibrating against my sex. "Not as much as you," I joked. He started to gently nibble on my clit, and I started tugging on his hair. My legs locked around his head as he worked wonders with his mouth below my waist.

"You like it when I eat you while my brothers are upstairs? They could come down any minute and catch us," he muffled against my pussy. All I could do was nod and bite my lip as I tried to suppress the sounds I so desperately wanted to let loose. "Slut. I bet if Nick and Chris walked down here right now and saw what we were doing, you'd squirt all over my tongue, wouldn't you, used up little whore," he smirked. And he was right. The idea of being caught was enticing. I felt like I was at the edge of more than just the countertop, but before I could enjoy the sensation and fully sink into it, Matt was pulling away.

"No, no, no," I whined, gripping his locks of hair. "Please don't do this to me again," I begged him, chasing the feeling of his tongue, desperate for sweet release. He looked up at me, taunting me. "Not after you were such a bad girl for tattling on me to Nick and Chris," he grinned menacingly. His mouth glistened from nearly devouring me. "I'll do anything," I pleaded. "Yeah, anything but behave," he scolded me, bringing himself to his feet and wiping his face.

"You can finish cleaning the kitchen. I'm gonna go play video games," he replied, handing me back my pants. "The fuck I am. You're not gonna help me clean?" I angrily shot back. "No, and if you tell Nick or Chris that I didn't help you, I'll make sure they accidentally stumble upon your vibrator while you're here," Matt sneered. "Fuck you, asshole," I said under my breath as Matt was walking away. He immediately turned back around and brutally grabbed me by the neck. "Keep going and I won't let you cum tonight either," he snarled.

"And clean your pussy juice off the counter. People cook there," he said to me as he released me from his intense grip and disappeared out of the room. I quickly put my underwear and pants back on and finished cleaning the rest of the kitchen.

"So, how was cleaning the kitchen with Matt? Did you guys bond?" Nick sat down on the couch next to me several hours later while I was curled up scrolling on my phone. "Yeah, something like that," I blankly answered. "What's wrong? I can tell something is up with you," Nick replied. Oh, you know, Nick, your brother just keeps edging me and then ruining my climax. That's what's wrong. But of course, I couldn't say that, so I settled for a dramatic sigh and instead said, "You know, I'm just getting impatient with this whole water situation. You guys are really great for letting me stay here. I just can't help but feel like I'm intruding on your space."

"We want you here, silly. Even if your water weren't out, we'd probably still be hanging out with you," Nick reassured me. And it made me feel bad about lying in the first place. We sat next to eachother, laughing at memes until the sun started to set.

"It's getting late. I'm gonna start getting ready for bed," I relayed to Nick. We stood up and hugged each other. I thanked him again for his kindness, and he thanked me for my company. "By the way, I'm sleeping down here on the couch tonight. You can have my bed again," Nick offered. I couldn't let him. Not when I knew I'd be sneaking into Matt's room and falling asleep next to him anyway. "Nick, you're too sweet. But really, I think we should make Matt sleep down here and I can take his bed. Payback for him being a dick last night," I gave Nick a really sincere face. "That's a great idea actually," Nick's face lit up. "Don't worry, I'll tell him," I smiled.

I made my way to the bathroom with my towel, my clothes, and my vibrator. I started running the shower and once the water was hot enough to get in, I stood beneath the stream of warmth, vibrator in hand. Overcome by the incredible feeling of finally releasing pressure that had build up all day, I didn't even hear Matt come in until he was pulling back the curtain. My eyes shot open and I scrambled to shut off my toy.

"Awh. Trying to finish without me?" Matt chuckled, standing in front of me completely naked. "What are you doing?" I whispered to Matt, covering myself with the shower curtain. Bastard ruined my orgasm again. "I came to shower with you," he smiled. He got in and immediately pushed me up against the shower wall. "I think I've been keeping you waiting long enough," he gruffed into my ear as he propped my left leg onto the side of the tub.

He lined up his hardening cock with my entrance and inserted it in a brutal manner. I let out a small yelp as I felt him start violently bucking his hips. "Take my cock, you little whore," he rasped while my walls stretched around him. He grabbed onto my hair and yanked it hard while his cock grew to its full potential.

"Hey, sorry to bother you while you're showering, but did you see Matt anywhere before you got in?" Nick asked poking his head in through the bathroom door. "No, I didn't," I responded, biting my lip to hold back another satisfied sound and trying not to blow our little secret behind the shower curtain. "Have you noticed he's been acting strange lately?" Nick pondered out loud while Matt pounded into me from behind. "Stranger than normal? Kid's a freak," I snarked, and Matt started to fuck me harder for the jab I made at him to Nick, and he held his hand over my mouth to shut me up.

"Yeah, I've noticed he's been kind of distant from Chris and me, and he's been even meaner to you than normal. I just worry he may be going through something," Nick responded sounding worried. Oh, he's going through something alright, I thought to myself as Matt bottomed out in me, thrusting against my gspot with incredible force.

"If you see him, will you let him know I'm looking for him?" Nick asked, but while Nick said this Matt was whispering into my ear quietly enough for only me to hear, "Cum on my cock, you naughty fucking whore," while he released his hand from my mouth so I could respond to Nick. "Yes, Matt," I slipped up. My eyes widened when I realized my error. "Did you just call me Matt?" Nick inquired, chuckling. "Sorry, Nick. I mispoke," I held myself together long enough to correct my mistake.

Just then, Matt reached up and covered my mouth with his palm again, grabbing me even more roughly than before while we came in tandem, both our orgasms tearing through us silently. My eyes rolled back, and it took everything in my power to not scream Matt's name while I throbbed around him. Matt's cock twitched, depositing his seed inside of me while Nick stood in the doorway telling me to enjoy my shower and giving me shit for calling him the wrong name. When we heard the door shut and Nick leave, Matt chuckled and said, "You're so hot for finishing on my cock while Nick was in the room. You're such a naughty girl."

"You're hot for making me wait so long for that. By the way, Nick and I talked about it. I'm taking your room tonight. Have fun sleeping on the couch," you smirked back at him breathlessly while the two of you finished your shower.

taglist: @sturniolo-girl @st9niolos @theyluvme-2315 @luvs4matt @ribread03 @slutforsturnioloss @thepubeburgler @schlutt4matty @valkatriee @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @witchofthehour @alexisxena

part five posted here 💖

[straylightdream]

love is (not) easy

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: joshua hong x f.reader

Sometimes you fight with the person you’re truly supposed to be with. Sometimes it’s not easy loving someone.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non-idol au, established relationship

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lots of angst, smut warning below.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

𝐚𝐧: I might make a loose connecting series to this with other seventeen boys. Let me know if you’re interested in any other boys stories mentioned in this.

here is my SVT taglist if you’re interested being add please fill out this form.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

warnings: soft make up sex, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control)

Things with Joshua were never easy and you accepted that early on. He knew all the ways to push your buttons and piss you off, but at the end of the day he knew how to make you happy. According to him he fell in love with you the moment he met you. It wasn’t love at first sight for you. When you met him you weren’t sure if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. Even thought he drove you insane from the moment you met him, you couldn’t lie you were drawn to him.

All throughout college Joshua was by your side. You couldn’t imagine going through college away from home without him. You started out as just friends, and after eight months of friendship Joshua convinced you to go on a date with him.

-THEN-

Standing in line at your favorite coffee shop with Joshua and Seungcheol next to you. You were half paying attention to boys while you stared at your phone. Your mother was letting you know about a family gathering coming up.

“Are you even listening?” Joshua says as he pokes your side.

Looking up at him you realize you completely zoned out. Seungcheol bumps you gently on the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah sorry I just was reading some text from my family. What were you boys saying?”

“I was asking Shau if he has plans tonight,” Seungcheol gives you a crooked smile.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“I was telling Cheol I was hoping to go on a date tonight,” Joshua raises his eyebrow at you.

You had a feeling you knew where this conversation was going but you decided to play dumb. “Oh with who? Is it that girl from your lit class?”

He rolls his eyes at you, “no it’s the only girl I actually want to date.”

“Who could that be?” Seungcheol chimes in.

“Could it be the girl who always takes me to get coffee with her?”

The barista yells next before Joshua could even say anything else. You order your usual vanilla iced latte before moving to the bar to wait for your drink. Joshua quickly joins after ordering.

“Will you go on a date tonight with me?”

You stare at him for a long moment and you'll never get over how pretty he is. You still find it crazy he likes you.

“Do you really like me enough to go out with me?”

“Obviously you’re oblivious to how much I like you.”

Your first date with Joshua was special, he took you to a cute little restaurant away from the city, and then took you to the river to sit and watch the lights or the city. You ended the night with him holding your hand leaving you into his small apartment.

With your back pressed against his bedroom door. Your hands were tangled in hair pulling him close to you as he leaves a trail of wet kisses across your neck.

“Fuck,” he groans with his lips ghosting your skin.

“You know I’ve never had sex on the first date.” You told yourself when you agreed to go on this date that I would only end with a kiss. But here you were slowly losing your clothes as Joshua kissed you like he needed you to breathe.

He sits on knees and slowly pulls your jeans down your thighs. The way he’s looking at you is turning you on even more. The moment he has you fully naked laying on your back on his bed you knew that you wanted Joshua to be more than just your friend.

Resting on your elbows you watch a fully naked Joshua rolls a condom down his hardened length. He crawls on the bed towards you. He sits on his knees between your legs.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, rubbing your thigh.

“Of course I want to have sex with you. Do you want to do this?” You turn his question back at him.

“I have wanted you for so long. I remember seeing you walking with Seungcheol and I couldn’t get over how beautiful I thought you were. I still think you’re beautiful,” he’s blushing slightly as he speaks to you.

“Shau, why do I feel like I’m going to fall in love with you?”

“I know you’re going to be my everything,” he takes his length in his hand and slowly runs his tips through your wet folds.

“I want you so bad,” you moan as he runs his tip over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He lines up with your entrance. He slowly pushes in, giving you a moment to adjust to his length. He’s definitely thicker than anyone you've been with before. “Can you come down here I want you to be close to me?” You reach for him. He moves so he’s hovering right over you. He laced his fingers with yours holding your hands close to your head. He moves at a slow but steady pace.

If you weren’t sure about your feelings for Joshua before he asked you out, you knew that night you were going to fall head over heels in love with him.

From your first date Joshua claimed you were his girlfriend. Who were you to argue with him?

-NOW-

Your relationship has its ups and down from the beginning but that didn’t make you love him any less. You and Joshua fight but there isn’t a single night you don’t make up. You made a pack after your first date that you’ll never go to bed mad.

It’s been five years since your first date and here you are sitting in a coffee shop with Seungcheol sitting across from you. Your eyes are locked on your shiny engagement ring that’s on your finger. Your morning started with Joshua and you fighting over how often he’s been working. The last three weeks all it seems like your fiancé does is work. Even when he’s home he’s working on things for the office. You aren’t sure how much more you can take of him only being focused on work. After your screaming match you stormed out of the apartment and called Seungcheol asking for him to get coffee with you.

“Why are you staring at your ring like it’s a foreign object?” your best friend asks.

“What if I’m not supposed to marry Josh?” This is a question you’ve asked yourself over and over, but you’ve never said it out loud. You’ve been too afraid to admit one of the things you feared most. You were sure you could imagine your life without him by your side.

He knits his eyebrows together and looks at you with a look of pure confusion, “we both know that you and Joshua are meant to be. Sure you guys fight now and then, but it’s over stupid stuff and you always make up right away.”

A heavy sigh passes your lips, “isn’t this supposed to be easier?”

He shakes his head before taking a drink of his ice americano, “Love is not easy.”

“We fight over stupid stuff,” you sigh thinking back to your fight two days ago. You got mad at your fiancé because he used your favorite coffee cup. You feel like an idiot for getting mad over something so childish. You had a terrible day at work and got yelled at by your boss and when you came home and found Joshua using your cup it pushed you over the edge for some stupid reason.

You’ve been engaged for a little over a year, and your wedding is in six months. You know damn well you shouldn’t be getting mad at stupid little things like a coffee cup, or the fact that Joshua has been working more than usual.

“Can we not talk about my relationship?” You sigh.

“Sure what do you want to talk about?” He raises his eyebrow.

“How are things going with your ‘not girlfriend’?” You can’t help but wonder if he’s still sleeping with his friend. Seungcheol is a sweet guy with a heart of gold and recently he found himself in a situationship of sorts.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have shared that that I slept with her,” he sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair.

“It’s not like I’m going to go around sharing that information.” You hadn’t told anyone. Not even Joshua about Seungcheol’s predicament. “Do your roommates know?”

“I’m pretty sure they know. I don’t think Wonwoo will say anything since he’s trying to hide the fact he’s in love with my step sister.” You knew that relationship was extremely complicated. Anyone with eyes could tell Wonwoo was down bad for Seungcheol stepsister.

“What about Mingyu?”

“He’s got too much going on at work to pay attention to what is happening in my so-called dating life,” you can tell how frustrated Seungcheol seems.

You spent the next hour sitting in a coffee shop with Seungcheol talking about anything other than your relationship.

Walking into your apartment you find Joshua sitting on the couch with his laptop in his lap. The moment his eyes lock on yours he closes his laptop, and sits it on the coffee table.

He looks so defeated as he stares at you with sad eyes. Silently you walk over and sit next to him on the couch. Reaching over you, rest your hand on his thigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up.

“I’m sorry I’ve been working so much,” he responds, placing his hand on top of yours.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Baby?” he catches your attention. Looking over at him you pause taking in his features. “I never want to fight.”

Leaning forward you press your lips to his for a soft kiss. His fingers thread through your hair pulling you closer to him. Your soft kiss quickly turns heated. You kiss each like you’re trying to make up for all those stupid fights.

Pulling away from him you rest your forehead against his. He swallows loudly and runs his hands up and down your sides. You move so you’re straddling him. Reaching up you rest your hand where his heart lies underneath his skin. A smile tugs on his lips and he looks down at where your hand is resting.

“It only beats for you,” he whispers.

“I want to marry you Joshua and never want to fight again.”

“We don’t have to. We need to talk everything out,” he says looking up at you. “I love you so much.”

Leaning forward you press your lips to his. It doesn’t take before you’ve both shed your clothes and straddle his lap completely bare. His lips are leaving a trail of wet kisses up the base of your neck as he whispers sweet words to you. Slowly you sink down on his length, gasping as you sit on his thighs. His strong hands run up your sides as you sit still, completely filled to the brim. Closing your eyes you take in his closeness. Leaning forward you press a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. Taking your face in both his hands his warm eyes lock on yours and he takes a long moment to stare at you.

“No words can fully explain how much I love the girl who I had to convince to just go on a first date with me.”

At this moment this isn’t goofy and childlike Joshua talking to you. This is a man who is clearly madly in love with you and speaking from the heart, as you're both connected and sitting there fully naked baring your soul to each other.

“That’s good because I love you too Joshua.”

Leaning forward you crash your lips into his. Your lips move together like a passion filled dance. Slowly you move your body against his. With each slow thrust you feel a warmth taking over your body. His hand wanders your body like a man desperately trying to find something. Your hand rests above his heart while the other is tangled in his hair.

Low moans leave his lips with thrust. Your whimpers are like sweet music to his ears. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. Throwing your head back you moan his name. His lips latch onto the base of your neck leaving more wet kisses. His hands grip your hips helping you continue to move up and down his length as he chases his own release. He finishes inside you, holding on to your hips. His forehead rests on your shoulder as his chest rises and falls. Closing your eyes you take a deep still trying to come down from your own high. He pulls away from you slowly. Leaning forward he presses his lips to the tip of your nose gently.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he says with a smile across his face.

Looking at him you know you never want to fight with him ever again. You want nothing more than to walk down the aisle and marry the man who had to convince you just to go on a single date with him.

[caitlinsclark]

GOOD LUCK BABE! caitlin clark PART II. YOU CAN SAY THAT WE'RE NOTHING caitlin clark x reader ✰ bree's notes: tw: A MAN A MAN A MAN A MAN A MAN (sorry just had to add that) enjoy my loves!! I've missed writing for you fr <3 word count: 4.7k series masterlist masterlist and tag list

The sound of things in your bag clunking together echoed throughout the hallway as you ruffled through them, a breathless groan that reiterated all the building frustration from your day prior. In the haste of escaping the stressful situation, you'd forgotten your sneakers. 

You could play barefoot right? It wasn’t technically an advantage, you tried to reason with yourself internally to not have to enter the apartment again. 

What a joke, you scoffed as you rubbed your forehead, feeling like an intruder in your own home. With one hand on the door knob, you sighed and pushed it open quickly, believing that the quicker you did it the quicker it would be over.

Luke called your name when you passed by him sitting in the living room, his stupid bouquet of flowers clutched dramatically to his chest where his heart was rumored to be.

Of course, they were still in perfect condition too. You bitterly mumbled under your breath as you went right into the bedroom, ignoring his half assed attempts at reconciliation. 

“If those flowers even get near you,” You gently pet the cat lying on your bed as you whispered, “I’m blending them into a smoothie and he’s gonna drink it.” Your voice heightened in pitch toward the end, an affectionate boop on the nose to the furry animal before you went into the closet to retrieve your shoes. 

You were rustling around when something dropped, an echo of a hollow box hitting the ground grabbing your attention. It was a small felt box, something that didn’t belong among the shoes in the closet and definitely not something of yours. 

When you bent down to open it, you found yourself wishing you had gone with the decision to play barefoot. The intimidating glimmer of the diamond ring sucking all the light from your body, completely opposing how reflective it was.

Basketball clearly hadn’t taught you enough defense, leaving you startled when Luke had entered the room. The sudden imposing figure in your line of vision had you gasping, quick reflexes kicking in and throwing the ring into your bag to hide it. Your foot kicked the empty jewelry box underneath the dresser just in time for him to turn the corner.

Luke stared hard at your agitated figure, suspicion lacing the words he spoke, “You’re back. Let’s talk.”  He turned around without another word, assuming you were going to follow.

It didn’t seem to be a question, and you weren’t going to let it be. Especially with the frazzled buzzing of your head that had skyrocketed to a pulsating sensation.

“Nope, I can’t do this now.” The ring felt heavy in your bag, an unpleasant and scarily unwelcome milestone that prompted your blood running cold. Your sensible mind told you that it was your shoes adding that weight, but your mind didn’t let up.

Your feet carried you hurriedly out of the door again, not even taking a second to pett the whining cat near the door on the way out. That’s how you knew you were absolutely fucked.

The pounding in your head may have been attributed to the upcoming stakes of the game, but you feared it had more to do with the metaphorical weight making it difficult to get a full breath in. The pressure that lingered as a reminder of the man living in your apartment, if the 5 missed calls lighting up your phone and the ring stowed away in your bag weren’t enough.

You tried to sit in your car for more time than you wanted to admit, an attempt at collecting yourself before facing any of the cameras. Flashes that would probably read directly into your soul, prompting narratives that might not only be speculation and hearsay.

The physically sickening feeling was almost a happy distraction from the grief your mind had been relentlessly succumbed to since the phone call with your mother.

You couldn’t quite place what changed when you entered the building, what had your buzzing senses slowing to a steady and comforting pace but it surely couldn’t have been the entrance of your best friend to your left.

You gasped at the smug smirk on Caitlin’s face as you took in your correlating outfits, not torn away from her despite the flashing cameras. It made sense why she’d asked earlier if you had tan heels as you took in her tan pantsuit.

“You look amazing,” She hummed, grabbing both your hands and spinning you wistfully toward the press. She left you laughing and holding onto her arms for stabilization as you slowed to a stop.

Caitlin gladly indulged in your hands on her biceps, leaving a lingering warmth even after they slid down to her elbows. 

You wiped your forehead dramatically, letting out a puff of air at the show you two had just put on for the cameras, “I wonder where I got the recommendation from.” With an inability to take a compliment, you hid your warming face from her despite the smirk she held, signaling she’d already caught you.

One of your arms nudged her own wordlessly and she childishly did it back to you. You stumbled in your tall heels, saved  like clockwork when she pulled you against her before you could fall the other way, quick and effortless like the action took no thought.

You continued side by side walking down the hallway when Caitlin carefully linked your arms together. You turned your head at the contact and gave her a small adoring smile, one that had her turning to direct her grin at the ground so you wouldn’t see her red cheeks behind her hair.

The harmonious glimmer in the air was something you only felt in Caitlin’s presence, a bond that went unsaid as you both had learned each other too well. A blissful comfort your mind and body welcomed after the anxiety your prior day.

Warm ups came and went, a fleeting comfortability of distraction that went all too fast. As you walked off the court, the prominent cameras and microphones flocked to you as if they were seagulls fighting over a scrap of food. 

Your head hadn’t cleared since the discovery you made in the closet earlier, added with the pressure of their cameras pushing into your face. You tried to find something to train your eyes on, something to focus on and keep your nerves down.

You realized how bad of an idea that was when your other option was Caitlin as she waited, with her unwavering and intimidating attention focused on you. Her stature exuded confidence, legs spread as if she owned the space, her arm laid on the back of the chair beside her with a powerful grip on the metal that had the veins in her arm showing.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” You slowly blinked at the reporter, licking your lips to get rid of the dry feeling in your mouth. The brunette watched you shuffle on your feet, a nervous tell.

A gasp left your lips when a water bottle entered your side view, too focused on avoiding Caitlin’s distracting gaze to notice that she’d waltzed up with her water bottle for you. Her eyebrows were raised in an expectant manner when you took more than a second to grab it, simply knowing you all too well. 

You laughed and took it from her with a gentle ‘thank you’, ignoring the rush of giddiness when she decided to stay against your side as you took a small but much needed sip. 

The reporter repeated his question and put the mic toward your own mouth once he finished, though you deflated at the clearly narrative driven journalism that he showed.

“Do you think Liberty is coming into the match today looking down on your team for the previous three losses?” 

You resisted the urge to side eye the brunette to your left, who you felt gently squeeze the arm behind your back in a silent acknowledgement hidden from the cameras.

“I don’t think they can look down at us, most of us are pretty tall,” You shrugged off the question, sharing a mutually playful and amused look with Caitlin beside you. Her hand moved to rest on your back in encouragement, another small squeeze that was hidden from the reporters, meant for only the two of you.

The man looked down, an attempt at hiding from the antagonizing laughs that the rest of the journalists let out. Your head turned, your temple resting on Caitlin’s shoulder as you tried to hide the unprofessional giggles you were sharing with your teammate.

Your laughter died down slowly when Caitlin lifted her phone up to her mouth like a microphone, mocking the media right in front of their faces, “Pressing question, what is your favorite movie of all time?”

You leaned into the device, now putting your hand on her shoulder to get closer to the microphone, “My favorite movie of all time is Spider-Man.” Caitlin nodded as you spoke, eyes trained on you with an intent expression at your answer.

“That upside down kiss scene changed my brain chemistry, how do you even realistically do that?” You added absentmindedly with a laugh, noticing immediately how the athlete beside you perked up like a dog who’d heard a box of treats shaking.

“I think I can hang upside down from the hoop, if you wanna try?” Caitlin smirked at you, a cockiness tainting her words that had you wanting to melt into the floor.

Her brown eyes basked in the shy tilt of your head away from her as your cheeks warmed at the words. You stumbled for some kind of response and could only settle for a dismissive laugh despite a few seconds of troubleshooting.

“Stop,” Your words were cushioned with a laugh, hands gently pushing her stomach to get some distance, ignoring how much muscle you felt in such a small interaction. 

You fumbled with your hair, suddenly feeling hot and ] went back to looking at the camera to calm the increasing and intimidating beat of your heart. With a small sigh, you tried to move past the light-hearted teasing she always hit you with, but her comforting warmth against your side sucked you further in. 

It was in her nature to be an instigator anyway, you tried to tell yourself as you gave your full attention to the journalist.

If only you knew that everything she’d said to you in the last three years had been anything but light-hearted. The line of Caitlin’s teasing had been long forgotten in her mind when her words had simply become scattered truths disguised with a playful attitude.

She rocked back and forth on her heels silently and tried not to pettily pull away from your alluring presence, feeling rejected yet accepted at the same time. She couldn’t find it in herself to tear apart from you, too comfortable in the warmth of your touch. Perhaps she had earned a sadist title as she let herself fall into you once again, knowing damn well you weren’t hers. 

And it was a brutal reminder as you swallowed nervously and made the decision put some separation between your bodies.

The nerves began to set in as you sat in the locker room, messing with your hair as you tried to mentally prepare. Caitlin watched you from her corner, ignoring the way her teammates giggled at her repetitive glances in your direction.

Erica leaned over to whisper to Aliyah as Caitlin finally stood up and trailed across the room to sit next to you, the two giggling like school girls over gossip. The glare that the point guard sent them only made them laugh more, hiding behind their hands to communicate. The brunette’s scrunched up face was a dead giveaway to her worry for you, only hearing bits and pieces of your conversation on the phone.

“They were brand new flowers, Luke,” You insisted quietly, set on not allowing him to make you feel bad. This piqued Caitlin’s interest further when she realized what you were talking about, trying to tie her sneakers silently. She couldn’t help the way her eyes still flew to you.

“I can get you new flowers, I don’t know how to fix this,” He sounded anxious and it made your guilt spike up. You tried to ground your spinning head and give yourself a subtle reminder that this was a matter of ignorance, not incompetence. 

The confusion in his voice seemed genuine, as if he was searching for a way to read your mind. Maybe you hadn’t been clear enough?

You rubbed your forehead, your closed eyes being hidden from the light not doing much to ease the headache forming, “It’s like if I threw away a Play Station gift card you hadn’t used yet because I assumed it was expired.” 

The immediate ‘oh’ that left his lips in understanding was bitter sweet, an exhausting cycle of having to dumb things down as if you were babysitting a child and having to teach them respect and consequences.

“I’m sorry I made you upset,” He followed up and you felt like all the explaining you had just done had tumbled down upon analyzing his wording, “You know I’ve just missed you so much since you went pro, I don’t wanna fight when we barely talk as it is.”

The physical therapist would have yelled at you with the way your head fell aggressively back against the lockers, posture slumped and eyes still shut to shield yourself from reality. Defeat consumed you, the circles your mind had been running in paling in comparison to the circles you’d been talking in with Luke.

The hand holding your phone tiredly fell down to rest on the bench despite Luke’s voice still sounding from it quietly. There was no flinch when the device was taken from your hand, a familiar soft grasp settling on your wrist that assured you who it was. You assumed she had hung up for you when his voice was cut off abruptly.

“You’re gonna do great,” Caitlin’s voice was still easily recognizable behind your closed eyes, like a song you knew from the first beat. She didn’t miss how your lips quirked up.

“And whatever, or whoever,” the words were absolutely bitter to Caitlin’s own ears, “is upsetting you isn’t important right now.”

You peaked one eye open to glance sideways at her, “Sounds like the easy and confident words of a record breaking rookie expecting a triple double tonight.” 

“It’s whatever,” she brushed off what you said, more focused on your nerves than her accomplishments. It left you baffled, shoving her shoulder to which she grasped your hand to defend another attack. 

You still scoffed, giving her an incredulous look as if she’d just offended your first born, “That’s ridiculous, be proud of yourself for five seconds please.”

She silently counted five seconds in her head and you squinted at her unimpressed as you realized what she was doing. When the five seconds was up, you couldn’t help but share a laugh at her persistent sarcastic nature with a slight shove to her shoulder.

“You deserve more than five seconds, Cait,” You scolded, but laughed with her regardless.

“You should trust me, we’ve got this,” She barely acknowledged the praise and put her hand on your knee, you didn’t have to look away as you laid yours on top, “Ready?” 

The nerves regarding the game seemed to dissipate, insignificant when she held out her hands and pulled you up from the bench to chest bump quickly. You landed on the ground with a breathless chuckle, turning your attention to Coach as you prepared to go out onto the court.

The game started off with a buzzing crowd and ethereal energy that didn’t seem quite real. Fans were donned in an overwhelming amount of red, eager bodies jumping at the sight of the team exiting the tunnel.

You and Caitlin had been bouncing off each other since the first whistle blew, handing the ball off to her and watching as she drained her first 3 pointer only 30 seconds into the game. 

Only 5 minutes in and you couldn’t help but nudge Caitlin’s side with a glimmering smile as you passed her on the court, finding it impossible not to soak in the glory of a great lead and defense so far. 

The scoreboard still lead in Fever’s favor, reading out a cheerful sight of 15-6. The straight set look on her features broke when she looked at you, sharing the moment of excitement bashfully with no extra convincing, just the influence of your smile.

By the end of the first quarter, Fever was still off to an 8 point lead. This had you and Caitlin conjoining hands excitedly when the buzzer sounded, a quick celebration amidst the chaos of the crowd and game.

The second quarter was a give and take, feeling like every shot you made, Liberty would quickly answer back with. It’d grew to a score of 33-32, Fever being only one point ahead. That was until Sabrina stepped back to drain another three, putting Liberty in the lead and lighting another fire within the players on the court.

Your eyes subconsciously flittered around until they landed on the number 22 jersey you always looked for. Finding her gaze already on yours was comforting, like she knew you needed that subtle pick me up.

3 minutes into the last quarter and you could tell that your team was giving its all. With a close score in Liberty’s favor of 66-57, it was safe to say that the final 7 minutes were crucial.

You were already on the move to the opposite end of the court when a missed shot by Thornton bounced off the rim and fell into Caitlin’s possession, marking the triple double she had been working towards.

The crowd’s screams bounced off the walls, echoing and hurting your ears in a way that you welcomed gleefully as you cheered along.

Even though you were still running toward your own basket, Caitlin caught the moment as you turned your head back in her direction with a proud glimmer shining in your eyes, a look only reserved for her. The point guard was thankful for the fact that you’d needed to turn away so she could focus back on the game. And not on the way that a new fire had ignited within her just from your wordless praise.

The ball in her hands passed to yours flawlessly, charging up to the basket as the cheers from the fans watching continued relentlessly. The whistle blew as you attempted your layup, a foul called on Thornton in your favor with the referee granting two free throws.

The roars of the crowd couldn’t stop Caitlin from taking advantage of the whistle to jog over to you, being the first to check on you despite being the furthest away. She knew what she had just accomplished, but the way you were holding your arm with a slight grimace was more of a priority.

Caitlin thought of the cameras picking up on the hand that she kept on the arch of your back all the way to the free throw line, but she truly couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“You okay?” She spoke lowly, eyebrows furred in concern as her eyes flickered over your face, lingering on the taunting view of your lips, so close yet so far.

You weren’t focused enough to notice as your hand squeezed her arm, the excitement of her triple double ranking far higher than preparing for the shots. 

She set her hands on her hips and stepped back to watch you closely, less fueled by the score and more by the fact that you were the one shooting. The brunette put her arms out when the crowd continued to go wild, a clear gesture to silent the cheers and they somehow listened. Peering eyes watching her but she only focused on giving you a small nod of encouragement, now ready to take your shots and thankful for her dissipating the distracting screams. 

The crowd’s energy roared again when you’d drained both shots, another push toward closing the gap in score during the intense back and forth. With only nine seconds left and a 5 point advantage, Fever was running like a cohesive machine. The crowd began cheering when Liberty’s shot bounced off the backboard and Caitlin grabbed the rebound eagerly, only dropping it when the final buzzer sounded, marking the official victory for your team.

You hopped into her open and awaiting arms the second she’d dropped the ball, a bundle of force that she welcomed and expected. Her arms came to wrap around your thighs, lifting you so high up in the air that you had to squeal and hold onto her shoulders. 

Your forehead leaned to rest on the top of her head, “You are unreal.” Your voice amounted to less than a whisper, encompassing how proud of her you were. 

It was terrifying how simple it was to tune out the booming volume of the crowd for Caitlin when you spoke to her in that reserved, soft voice. The brunette didn’t answer verbally, setting you on the ground gently and burying her face in your chest. Her arms slid up to your waist and you loosely wrapped yours around her upper body, cradling her head against you as you swayed back and forth.

She let herself be consumed you for just a moment, a moment where Luke didn’t exist and you were celebrating as her girlfriend. The familiarity of her body against yours could’ve had her fooled, an unsaid and unaddressed intimacy you’d both been lacking with others. 

But for that split second, it went beyond words, a conscious choice to bask in the victory with only one another. Caitlin couldn’t keep the grin off her face and neither could you. Her touch only heightened the bliss you were working off of as the team retreated back to the locker room.

Caitlin was busy looking at the reporters in front of her and you took the chance to fondly flutter your eyes over her features, an enamoring glow radiating through her smile that only a win could provoke.

Her arm hung around your neck and yours around her waist, footsteps in a slow synchronization as you took your time walking down the hallway.

“I can’t believe we did that,” She breathed out, using her arm to pull your face just a little too close to hers in a fleeting moment of pure adrenaline.

You couldn’t help but admire how humble the girl in front of you had grown to be, a remarkable sense of team in a game that some played selfishly.

“Yeah,” You pretended to think and savored her gaze concentrated on your expression, “I guess you did enough to make it a ‘we’ situation.” One of your free fingers poked her stomach, indulging when she sunk right back into your side after shying away.

“Triple double, how does it feel?” A reporter cut in, walking backwards to match the pace of you and Caitlin. You cheered, your hands circling your mouth to echo the sound even louder as Caitlin laughed.

“Like another one of these,” She tugged you closer underneath her arm to make a ‘W’ with her hands, covering your overly cheesy grin from the camera, “Shoutout to the fans though, they kept us going in that second half.” The brunette couldn’t help but add humbly.

Entering the locker room felt like an orchestrated sneak attack, Caitlin thought as you lead her into the abnormally quiet area. Her teammates sat with incriminating grins, Coach standing at the front of the room with two empty spots directly beside her.

Like clockwork, the pair of you sat beside one another, a bashful grin appearing on Caitlin’s face at the building anticipation. You couldn’t help but join in on the giddiness, tinting her cheeks red when you gave her a teasing nudge.

The entire room was watching the two of you silently, fondly eyeing one another.

“First time for a rookie to get a triple double in franchise history!”

Screams erupted before Coach Sides could finish her sentence. The two of you being bombarded by a flood of cold water, courtesy of the bottles held by your teammates who ran around like sugar crazed children in the name of Caitlin’s accomplishment.

She leaned back against you fully, letting the water rain down on both of your bodies. Though the liquid was freezing enough to leave you shivering as it dripped down your jersey, you only focused on the warmth of Caitlin’s back against you and her radiant smile as the team cheered her on. 

Your loud and proud hollers were her favorite. Your voice standing out to her more than the rest of the room, prompting the bashful grin and light flush of her cheeks as she rested her head back against your shoulder.

The towel you wrapped gently around her shoulders was a weak comparison to the way you’d been wrapped around her. She tried to imagine the feeling again, the ghost of your touch haunting her the second it strayed away.

She got pulled around the room by the rest of the team, but her eyes refused to stray from you every few seconds. There had only been one person she wanted to celebrate with and she was currently packing her back in the other corner. “Good job everybody,” Caitlin called out, holding up the basketball in her hands toward the rest of her team with her radiant smile on full display. 

“Did you wanna do something after we get done with press?” She passed the ball back and forth between her hands, her nervousness making her movements rapid and causing her to stumble slightly.

“The franchise record breaker doesn’t have a hot date to tend to tonight?” You squinted, fumbling around with items in your bag, oblivious to the exasperation coating Caitlin’s features.

She had one particular in mind, she just wasn’t sure if the other party would consider it a date. Her hands clutched the towel on her shoulders to gain some self control back.

She’d went to open her mouth to reply, aiming to not sound overly desperate. The idea of desperation flew out the window when a tiny clink traveled into her ears courtesy of the small object that slipped out from your bag. 

You had no idea, rambling on about how proud you were, something about taking time to appreciate herself. But nothing could be heard over the deafening ringing intruding on Caitlin’s senses, eyes zoned in on the diamond ring staring tauntingly back at her. A nod to a milestone that she would never reach with you.

Caitlin stayed painfully still, not even allowing her eyes to stray from the sight, scared that moving would make this moment set in reality. You were a blissful level of unaware of the war going on in her head, while the sides of morally right and corruptively gray teetered back and forth.

“Alright,” You breathed out as you hiked your bag up on your shoulder, ignorant to the glittering ring just centimeters from your foot, “I could use a drink.”

With an expert like timing, the girl waited for you to head toward the door, back facing her for just enough time to allow her to scoop up the ring in her grasp. She squeezed her eyes shut as she rose to her full height again, a silent prayer for a good segway into playing this off.

“You coming?” You turned around to ask, facing Caitlin just in time to see her standing up in a rushed movement. One hand fiddled with her hair while the other was gripped in a fist, clasping tight to hold in all the secrets that threatened to break loose.

“Coming.” Her legs carried her to you with no further hesitance, a pit of dread slipping into her stomach, in unison with the harrowing ring sliding achingly into her jacket pocket.

taglist: @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr @cavillary @elizabethkitley @1-800-fantasy @into-f0lkl0re @mysticchildsuit @sapphicmermaid @ureleesian @stydiaownsmyheart

series taglist: @wnbaforthewin @stefanshope @sewiouslyz @kaelaheartsyou @caitlin-clark-obsessed @trinscam @julienbakerloverr @muhlsfilm @paigebueckresfan8282 @sadie-bug7 @madismadmad @dinosaurstrandedonnublarisland @kenzlovesyou @zolofts @gaydonutdino @jujubuckets @elliewilliamsthang @princes21w @bookendsandbrokenhearts @mayghosts @isntthatsweetiguessso @cookiecrunchyum @hellokitty-6996 @slutforpaige @the-other-half @simp4panos @charlottehughess

[goldenempyrean]

Do you think you could write a fic where we’re sick and our work place makes us show up to work, knowing fully well we are sick because we tried to call in but they denied us. Anyways Nat ends up wondering where we are because she came back from a mission and sees that their are utensils and tupperware around and medication bottles and just in general clues that we weren’t feeling well, so she goes to find us because she wants to see us and make sure we’re fine. Only to walk in on one of our managers yelling at us (in a public area) because we were slacking off at “our job” (a task that they told us to do for them but it’s not in our job description) when we were simply putting our head in our hands for a few minutes because we didn’t feel well. Anyways Nat swoops in, saves the day, and the manager miraculously gets fired, and we somehow have a better job.

If you write this thank you :) and if you don’t it’s fine

Too Good To Me

〚 Notes - Hey anon! God, let's not talk about how long this was sitting in my inbox. I wrote this while rewatching supergirl so I may start getting some of my old Alex requests done soon! :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Your boss wont let you take a sick day from work. Natasha isn't going to be happy when she finds out. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1620 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Sorry Y/N, there’s nothing we can do. You’re just going have to suck it up and get yourself into work I’m afraid. We can’t afford any missing staff.” 

“But I-“ Your hoarse objection was rudely cut off by the call clicking off. You stared at your phone in disbelief, a sinking feeling of dread settling in your stomach. The fever was making you lightheaded, and every muscle in your body ached, but you had no choice. You had to go to work today. 

It was ridiculous honestly. Your boss knew you were sick, in fact the whole office was slowly coming down with whatever virus had been circulating. But it was coming to the end on the month meaning deadlines were approaching and it seemed meeting targets was more of a priority than employee wellbeing. 

Dragging yourself out of bed felt like an insurmountable task, but you managed to get dressed and somehow make your way to the office - the only thing keeping you upright was several more doses of DayQuil then the recommended standard. Even though it was short the walk from the parking lot to the front door left you breathless, and by the time you sat down at your desk, a cold sweat had broken out across your forehead. 

“Damn, you look awful.” One of your colleagues looked up over their desk at the sound of a series of sneezes you couldn’t quite hold back. They gave you a sympathetic glance and pulled out a packet of tissues and chucked them over. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, catching the tissues clumsily. You wiped your nose and tried to focus on your computer screen, but the words blurred together, and your head throbbed with each keystroke. 

Meanwhile, Natasha had been having a fairly good day. Her mission had ended significantly earlier than she’d been expecting meaning she’d get to see you sooner. Of course, the two of you always kept in close contact whenever possible when she had to go on missions, but facetime was nowhere near as good as seeing you in person. 

Nat couldn't wait to surprise you. She had picked up some of your favourite takeout and decided to swing by the apartment. However, as soon as she stepped inside, her smile faded. 

The place was a mess. Not just a few stray cups or plates strewn about. The sink was piled up with unwashed pots. In the living room, the curtains were still pulled closed clouding the room in a dull haze. Meanwhile tissues and cough drop wrappers littered the coffee table amongst several half-empty medicine bottles. 

Nat felt her heart melt a little at the thought of you being sick and alone. Keeping her movements a little quieter now, she crept towards your shared room, pulling open the door carefully. Natasha had expected to see you curled up beneath the blankets, but she frowned and flicked on the light in surprise when all she saw was an empty, unmade bed. 

What the- wait, if you weren’t here then where were you? 

Hunched over, coughing miserably at your desk. That was where. Around midday, your manager approached you with a stack of papers, slamming them in front of you. “I need you to handle these reports. They need to be done by the end of the day,” He ordered, barely sparing a glance to look at you. 

“Sir, I’m really not feeling well,” You began, but he cut you off with a dismissive wave. 

“Not my problem. Just get it done.” He walked off, not willing to waste another moment on you. 

You stared blankly at the stack of papers, the text blurring in and out of focus. As time dragged on, you couldn’t stop yourself drifting in and out of a feverish haze, your productivity taking a swan dive. 

Every so often, you caught your colleagues shooting you concerned glances, but no one dared to speak up. Everyone was aware of the hostile nature of your manager, and no one dared to speak up incase that temper of his was thrown their way. 

Once an hour had passed, you could hardly keep your eyes open. You rested your head in your hands for just a moment, hoping to stave off the waves of dizziness. It was then that your manager reappeared, his face twisted with anger. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Slacking off again?” he barked, drawing the attention of the entire office. Heads turned, and conversations halted as everyone watched the scene unfold. 

“I-I’m just not feeling well,” you stammered, lifting your head to meet his furious gaze. Your vision swam, and you had to blink several times to focus. 

“Excuses! Always excuses with you! If you can’t handle the workload, maybe you should find another job!” 

“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha’s stern voice cut through the room like a knife. Everyone turned to see her standing in the centre of the room, her posture radiating quiet fury. 

“Scolding an incompetent employee,” Your manager blinked, momentarily taken aback. “And just who do you think you are?” 

“Natasha Romanoff.” She kept a quick pace as she walked towards him, her eyes narrowing, “The Black Widow, Superhero, Avenger and Wife.” 

Your manager's face drained of colour as Natasha's words sank in. He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. The entire office watched in stunned silence as she closed the distance between them. 

Nat’s voice remained cold and steady. "If you have a problem with my spouse, you'll answer to me." She turned her attention to you when you ducked into your elbow was a stifled sneeze. 

“Bless you sweetheart,” She murmured softly, swiping a tissue from a box on a nearby desk and handing it to you, “Come on, get your things, we’re going home.” 

You stood shakily, relieved and grateful, but still a bit dazed at how Nat could even be here. The redhead wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as you stumbled. "Lean on me baby," She murmured gently. 

Nobody else said a word as the two of you made your way out the building. Once outside the fresh air hit your face, and you took a deep breath, feeling slightly more grounded. Natasha led you to her car, helping you into the passenger seat before getting in herself. 

"Thank you," You murmured, leaning back against the headrest before curling into your side with a harsh cough. 

"Don't mention it sweetheart,” She replied as starting the engine, but you didn’t miss the way her brow crinkled as at the sound of you, “I'm sorry your boss is such a dick. How are you feeling?” 

"Terrible," You mumbled, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the cool glass window, “I’ve had a fever all day…. But you- you’re meant to be on a mission-“ Your voice was hoarse and cracked as you spoke. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nat raised a hand to your forehead before gently cupping your cheek, “And I finished my mission early, I swung by the apartment and well, you can guess the rest.” She kept one hand on the wheel and the other lightly resting on your knee as she drove. 

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet, Nat didn’t want to force you to talk, and it was obvious from the way your head kept periodically bobbing forward that you were exhausted.  

By the time she’d pulled up to the parking lot, you had dozed off against the window, small stuffy snores letting her know you were out for the count. Of course, it would’ve been easier to wake you, but she just didn’t have the heart. Instead, Nat carefully made her way to the passenger door, unbuckled your seatbelt and pulled you safely up into her arms. 

Trying her best to jostle you, Natasha carried you up towards the apartment, opening the door with ease and stepping inside. “Mm?” You gave a groggy mumble as you slowly blinked awake. 

“Shh, we’re home sweetheart.” Nat soothed you quietly, keeping her arm around your waist as she lowered you to be standing up by yourself. 

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the light in the room, and you made an audibly confused noise as you took in the surroundings. The place was spotless. The pots from earlier washed and stacked away. The stacks of tissues and wrappers had been thrown in the trash, the whole apartment looked fresh and clean - nothing compared to the absolute mess it had been several hours ago. 

“You cleaned? You didn’t have to-“ You began but 

Natasha cut you off with a gentle smile, her fingers brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “I wanted to,” she said softly. “You’ve been working hard and dealing with that jerk of a boss while feeling awful. You deserve to come home to a clean space.” 

You leaned into her touch, feeling a wave of gratitude and relief. "Thank you," You murmured again, your voice still raspy as you sniffled quietly. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Nat led you to the bedroom, her arm still securely around your waist. She helped you sit down on the edge of the bed, then knelt to untie your shoes, “Now you best believe I’ll have your manager fired for how he behaved earlier.” 

“You’re too good to me,” You murmured, watching her with tired eyes as you tried to hold back a yawn. 

“You’re my world Y/N,” she replied simply, slipping off your shoes and guiding you to lie down. She pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in with care. “Now get some rest, you need it.” 

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[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sober thoughts ] n. hischier

paring: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico appears on his best friend’s doorstep after the Stadium Series win and confessions are made

warning(s) : slightly drunk nico, mentions of alcohol (but no actual alcohol consumption involved)

author’s note : pls ignore any typos bc i thought of this while drunk and wrote it while tipsy so i will go back and edit when i am 100% sober. it’s a v short and cute thing that i wanted to write (even tho i am working on like 7 different requests rn)

༺═──────────────═༻

The moment ‘nico 🏒🤍’ appears on her phone screen, she thinks something is wrong. She’s especially worried because it’s nearly two in the morning. Something could be seriously wrong.

The last time they talked, Nico was getting in an Uber to go to the bar after they won the Stadium Series game against the Flyers. That was a half hour after the end of the game and nearly three hours ago at this point.

A very exhausted and confused (Y/N) quickly answers the phone as soon as she processes what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Do I need to come get you from the bar?”

“I’m outside your apartment building,” he tells her. “Can I please come inside? It’s so cold outside and I just played a game in this weather. Please let me in.”

She rolls over and turns on her bedside lamp before she walks to the window. Outside on the sidewalk stands her best friend and captain of the New Jersey Devils. He smiles up at her and waves. “Oh my God,” she gasps as she puts on a pair of slippers. “Why are you just standing outside my building like that?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you,” he tells her as she grabs her keys and leaves her apartment. “It felt very wrong that I wasn’t celebrating with my best friend after one of the most amazing games and one of the most beautiful moments of my career. If I woke you up, I’m sorry.”

Without tripping down any stairs, she says, “It’s okay. I was just worried you were passed out on the side of the road in East Rutherford.” She pushes the main entrance door open. “Yet here you are on my doorstep.”

Nico smiles and stumbles up the steps after he hangs up the phone when he sees her. He trips on the last step. She catches him and he catches himself on the doorway. She can smell the alcohol on his breath because of how close they are to each other, yet her heart races in her chest since they’re so close to each other.

“Are you drunk?” she asks as she backs away from him with a look on her face. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you drove because I might kill you and your team is going to be left without a captain.”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” he admits to her. “I took an Uber because I did have a few drinks. I didn’t drive here. Don’t worry. I still have brain cells.”

Nico walks into the building in a hoodie and jeans instead of the tracksuit he showed up to MetLife in. She’s happy he is in actual clothes because if he showed up in that tracksuit, she might lose it.

“Why did you come here instead of going home?” she questions as they make their way up to her apartment. “I thought that maybe after the game you’d celebrate with your teammates then go home to sleep.”

They walk into the apartment as soon as she unlocks the door. “I told you that I wanted to come celebrate with my best friend,” he replies. She closes the door behind her. “Especially since I couldn’t get you into the stadium to watch the game. I wanted you to be a part of this day.”

She pouts and sits on the couch as Nico turns on one of the lamps. “Your family flew in for the game,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t take priority over them. I get to see you play all the time. They don’t.”

He sits next to her. Not too close but close enough where she can feel the heat coming off his body. If he were to move his knee, it would bump into hers.

“You’re my family too,” Nico softly says. “I wanted you to be there.”

“I’m your friend, Nico,” she sighs. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife. I didn’t need to be there.”

It feels like she is trying to convince herself too because sometimes the line blurs. Sometimes she doesn’t know what she is to him. She has to remind herself that they aren’t together, and probably will never be together.

A moment of silence falls over them. She looks at her hands on her lap while she plays with her thumbs. Nico’s big brown eyes never leave her while she avoids looking at him.

Nico sighs and practically whispers, “I wished you were there as my girlfriend.”

Her head snaps up and she blinks at him. “You what?”

“I wished you were at the game as my girlfriend,” Nico repeats. “The entire time I wished that you were at the family skate and sitting in the suite with everyone else’s families. I wished you had one of those cute jackets that the wives and girlfriends had with my number on it.”

She stares at him until he’s done talking. Then she starts to shake her head. “You’re just saying that because you have been drinking,” she replies. “You don’t actually mean that.”

Never once has Nico shown that he wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her. He’s never given her any kind of hint or sign that he wanted to be more than just friends with her.

They’ve known each other since Nico moved to the US in 2017 to play in the NHL and never once did it seem like he wanted something more.

There is no way he means that.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he says.

“Then tell me when you’re sober,” she retorts. “Tell me in the morning if you actually mean it.”

Nico frowns and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Schätzli, you have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that,” he tells her. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until I wake up before I tell you again.”

Almost as if on cue, he yawns. “Go to sleep, Nico,” she says to him. “Tell me whatever you want in the morning. You know where the guest room is but do you need my help in getting there?”

He shakes his head and sinks down against the back of the couch. “I’ll get there eventually,” he replies. “You can go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she stands up. Nico’s eyes are half open so she takes off his shoes and pulls his legs up onto the cushions. She grabs a blanket to throw over him as he lets out soft snores. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that you wanted me to be your girlfriend,” she whispers to a sleeping Nico. “All it took you was having a few drinks and winning a big game before you told me how you felt.”

She presses a soft kiss to his temple before she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom just in case he wasn’t actually asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The smell of coffee is the thing that wakes her up in the morning. Not the sunlight or an alarm. Coffee. It takes a second before she remembers that Nico stayed over.

She remembers Nico telling her that he wishes she was at the Stadium Series game as his girlfriend. She has no idea if he remembers that he said that to her.

It’s time to find out.

Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen. She finds Nico standing at the coffee machine with his back to the hallway. She yawns and walks into the kitchen area.

“Morning,” she softly says so she doesn’t scare him. He turns his head and looks at her. “You making coffee?”

Nico nods and pours them both a cup. He puts cream in her cup and hands it to her. “I figured we could both use a cup,” he tells her. “Me to get rid of this hangover and you because I woke you up at two in the morning.”

She blows on her coffee before taking a sip. “How much of last night do you remember?” she curiously asks as she leans against the counter beside him.

The moment of silence that follows worries her. He probably doesn’t remember what he said, and she isnt going to remind him if he doesn’t remember.

He takes a sip of his own coffee before he asks, “Are you asking me if I remember telling you that I wish you were my girlfriend? Yes, if that’s the case. I told you that I meant it.”

“And you’re sober?”

“Very,” Nico replies. “And very hungover.”

It surprises her to the point where she almost drops her cup of coffee. Her eyes widen and Nico smiles. “Nico, I could kill you and kiss you at the same time because why did it take you playing in one of the biggest games in your career before you-”

Nico takes the cup of coffee out of her hand while she’s talking then cuts her off by bringing his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise then melts against him as he presses her against the counter. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her fingers in his hair so he can’t break the kiss.

Never in her life did she think that she would be in her kitchen kissing her best friend of nearly seven years. The thought only occurred in dreams and occasionally during games when she found him attractive, which is really all the time.

This is something she has wanted for two years. Since the moment she realized that she was in love with Nico.

He lifts her up and sits her down on the counter. He stands between her knees and rests his hands on her thighs.

It becomes too much for her and she has to pull back for a second to breathe. Her eyes meet his and finds worry in them. “I just- I don’t think you understand how long I have waited for this,” she breathes out. “Wanted this. Wanted you. I just need a second.”

Nico smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears before he cups her jaw. “I’m such an idiot for waiting so long before I told you,” he replies. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Schätzli.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper and his thumbs brush her cheekbones.

“We’re both idiots,” she tells him. “I’m glad you meant it though. I thought you were going to get my hopes up.”

He shakes his head and kisses her nose. “I would never lie to you about loving you.”

“Well I love you too,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Nico laughs and envelopes her in a hug. She smiles and happily accepts the hug.

“I told you that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“I believe you now.”

༺═──────────────═༻

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poisoned mercury | now you got me

ix. now you got me by inhaler

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the happy little bubble you and luke made for yourselves inevitably bursted a few days after you made it official– though if you asked luke, you rejected his advances, which always earned an eye roll from you followed by a long kiss to his lips that had him silent for the next five minutes. you knew he was milking the hell out of you saying no to his question until he let you listen to the song, but you were his and he was yours regardless of the title. 

you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing as you ran your fingers down the marks on your neck. you added a turtleneck under your chb shirt, not having enough energy to cover up the marks on your neck with makeup, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to explain to people how you got them. thankfully, the weather cooperated with you today. it was unusually cold for the summer, a slight breeze entering your room from your opened window. as you continued to get ready for the day, your phone buzzed with a text from your dad. 

‘hey kid, can you come to my office real quick?’

you hadn’t spoken to your dad in weeks, not since he stormed out of the cabin after finding out what started the fight with your teammate. this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him. you texted a thumbs up and made your way out of your room. 

luke was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of everyone, looking at you with wondering eyes, “where are you going?” 

“my dad wants to talk.” 

“do you want me to come with you?” luke got up from where he sat. you told him last night that you’d been avoiding your dad as much as possible, and he did the same with you. as much as you guys butted heads, luke knew that it was taking a toll on you. you shared that you were scared about what would become of your relationship with your dad. luke, being as close to his mom as you were with your dad, understood. he knew what it was like to feel like your biggest supporter was giving up on you. it wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on his worst enemy, and definitely not a feeling he’d ever wish on you. 

“no, it’s fine,” you clenched your jaw, shaking your head. 

luke’s shoulders slumped over as he stuttered in his actions to sit back down, “oh, okay–uh, let me know if you need anything.” 

you nodded and waved a small goodbye before exiting the cabin. your heart was pounding the entire time you made your way to your dad’s office. a lot of things had been weighing on you this summer– your probation, a possible dent on your record, your estrangement from your parents, luke– and it was a lot to handle. camp half blood was supposed to keep you away from the problems that existed in your day-to-day life, but it seemed to follow you. 

you entered your dad’s office to see him typing away on his laptop. his eyebrows raised when you walked in, motioning for you to shut the door. he closed his laptop and placed it in one of the drawers of his desk. he took a deep breath, “hey, kid.” 

“hi, dad,” you replied, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. you sat on the usual chair in front of his desk and leaned back, “what’s up?” 

“i, uh,” he cleared his throat, “i just wanted to say i’m sorry for how we left things. i shouldn’t have stormed out like that. i was just angry. but not at you, at myself for making you feel like you had to fight these battles for me.” 

he leaned across his desk to hold your hands, “you’re my kid, y’know. my job is to protect you, not the other way around. so i apologize if i ever made you feel like you had to come to my defense.” 

“and i’m sorry for being mia the last few weeks,” he chuckled, squeezing your hands, “i’ve been in contact with my lawyers and they’re working on making sure the charges against you don’t stick so i’ve been pretty busy with that.” 

“you think it’ll get sorted out?” you asked. 

“yeah, don’t worry about it. it’s finishing up and i think you might even be able to play this season,” your dad smiled. “but i have to deal with a pr crisis right now that sprung up on me this morning.” 

your shoulders relaxed at your dad’s words. at least your probation was getting sorted out. that was one less thing to worry about. you tugged on the sleeves of your turtleneck as you got comfortable on your chair, “what’s the pr crisis?” 

he sighed, pulling out his laptop, “something with the band.” 

you hoped your dad didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes. because you hadn’t been talking to your dad, he didn’t know about the recent developments between you and luke. you two didn’t show much pda outside of the cabin, scared that one of the campers would break their nda and post a picture of the two of you. neither of you were ready to tell the world about you two yet. it’s too soon. you didn’t even have the “what’s going to happen to us after summer?” conversation yet. 

“what happened?” 

“some pap pictures leaked. it’s of this new actress in hollywood and a guy leaving her hotel room. the press is reporting that the guy is luke. it looks a lot like him and you know the media– they run any story that’ll get them clicks even if it’s not fully fact-checked as long as they add the word ‘allegedly’ to the article,” he rolled his eyes, turning his computer to face you. “nobody knows where the pictures came from, so we don’t know if it’s actually luke or not, but i’ve been on the phone with may and their team all morning trying to do damage control. she’s telling the guys about the pictures right now.” 

at first glance, your heart dropped to your stomach. the guy did look an awful lot like luke. the rational part of you knew that this was probably taken before the two of you met because you’ve seen him every day since and he was practically imprisoned at chb all summer, but then you thought of your impromptu trip to achilles’ arcade and it made you want to throw up. if luke could sneak away with you like that, it would’ve been easy for him to do the same when he was alone. 

were the nights he didn’t spend in your bed because he was “writing” just an excuse to sneak off to meet up with the girl in the picture? she was gorgeous, after all. blonde, tall, the perfect new hollywood star. they’d make such a great power couple. the two rising stars in their respective industries, the perfect pair. 

the boy’s face, who may or may not be luke, was covered by his hood, but you can clearly see that he was kissing the girl deeply, with his hand placed on the curve of her back. the next picture was them with their fingers laced together as she led him into the hotel, giggling at something he said. the guy had a similar build as luke and dressed the same way as he did when he was having a lazy day– sweatpants, hoodie, and converses. 

bile made its way up your throat as you continued to scroll through the pictures. you looked at the time stamp of the photos and closed your eyes, wincing, when you saw that they were taken two days ago. luke didn’t sleep in your room two days ago, nor was he in the cabin. he showed up the next day saying that he was in the studio, trying to finish up the song so you would officially accept being his girlfriend. 

you squinted at a close-up picture of the pair, zoning in on the guy's hand. you breathed out a sigh of relief, fingers immediately clutching the ring that rested on your index finger. you turned the laptop back to your dad, “that’s not luke.” 

his eyebrows shot up, looking between you and his laptop screen, “how do you know?” 

“look at his rings,” you pointed at the bands around the guy’s fingers, “luke doesn’t wear a ring on his ring finger anymore. and look, the guy has a ring there and it’s gold.” 

“how are you so sure? what if he just decided to wear it that day?” 

“trust me,” you waved off, “he’s particular about his jewelry. he stopped wearing one on his ring finger a while ago. and luke doesn’t wear gold jewelry.” 

your dad narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, shutting his laptop, “i didn’t realize you were that close to luke that you had his accessories memorized.” 

“ah– well,” you cleared your throat, looking down at your feet. you felt caught. “s’your fault, really. you made us live together.” 

“is there something you need to tell me, kid?” 

you got up from your seat, quickly making your way to the door, “geez, dad, i didn’t realize the time! i promised clar that i’d help her with camp duties, so i gotta go. thanks for all your help on the probation and permanent record thing. you’re the best!” 

you didn’t bother to turn around to see your dad’s reaction to your excuse. you knew that he could see right through you. 

you dad called from behind you, his joking tone camouflaged by his “dad” voice, “tell castellan that if he does anything wrong, i’ll kill him and his career!” 

“love you!” 

your dad shook his head, biting back the smile on his face, “love you too, kid.” 

as you were rushing back to your cabin, you ran smack dab into luke who was frantic, worry evident on his features. his eyes widened when he saw you and he placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you so you didn’t fall at the impact. 

“five star,” he sighed out, out of breath, “i don’t know if mr. d told you but those pictures aren’t me, i swear!” 

you had two options– you could one, tell him that you knew it wasn’t him and put him out of his misery or two, you could pretend to not believe him and make him sweat. luke looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg you to believe him. you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a powerpoint presentation listing the reasons why it wasn’t him in those pictures. 

you pursed your lips, “i saw the pictures luke.” 

“and they weren’t me!” he said, exasperated. his eyebrows knitted in anxiety, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb, “you gotta believe me, babe. i don’t know who that guy is but i can promise you it’s not me.” 

you tried not to swoon at the pet name that left his lips. “how do i know that? you weren’t home the night those pictures were taken.” 

“i know it looks bad, but look,” he ran a hand through his curls. “i finished the song the boys wrote and you can go listen to it right now, but then that night, i got caught up with a song idea about you and i stayed up all night to write it. you can listen to the demo right now if you want. you can listen to all the demos you want if that gets you to believe me. i think the recordings have timestamps too, so you’ll see i was in there all nigh–”

“down, pretty boy,” you couldn’t keep it up any longer. luke looked like he was two seconds away from bursting into tears and as much as you wanted to hear him yap, you didn’t have it in your heart to drag it on. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly relaxed at the feeling. 

your lips moved in sync as his hands found your waist, pressing you closer to him. his tongue licked your bottom lip, asking for permission, which you gladly granted. it was the sound of clarisse and chris inside the cabin, tapping against the windows that pulled you and luke apart. you both turned to look at your friends who all had shit-eating grins on their faces. 

travis and connor were behind the couple, shaking their heads, “get a fucking room, you heathens.” 

luke flipped them off and pressed a softer, more innocent kiss on your lips before you spoke. “i knew it wasn’t you. just wanted to see you sweat a little bit.” 

“that was mean,” he pouted, but he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. he always seemed to smile after he kissed you. it made you want to kiss him again, starting a never-ending chain of kisses that would surely lead the two of you to be unproductive for the rest of the day. “i was so scared, five star, you have no idea. the fucker looked so much like me.” 

you laughed, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, “trust me, i know. my heart dropped to my ass when i first saw them, but i knew it wasn’t you.” 

“how’d you know?” 

“the rings,” you flushed, thinking about how crazy you must sound knowing these small details about him.

“shit, five star,” he whistled, surprised. there was a warmth in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body at the idea of you paying attention to these things about him. “nothing can get past you, huh? i didn’t even notice that.”

“yeah, at least you know not to sneak around behind me because i’ll find out,” you teased, lacing your fingers together as you slowly made your way up the steps of the cabin. luke stood in his spot, pulling on your hand to get you to to turn around. you walked over to him, confused, “what’s up?” 

“y’know i wouldn’t think of doing that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “i would never do that to you.” 

your eyes softened as a wistful look appeared on your face. you kissed his cheeks, relishing in the feeling of luke wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight hug. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a feather-light kiss on his jugular, “yeah, yeah.” 

“‘m serious,” he pulled away, holding your face in his hands. he was staring at you intently, making sure that you were hearing his words. you never gave him an indication that you didn’t trust him, but luke knew that it was better to tell you these things straight up if he wanted to have a real relationship with you. he knew it takes a toll on the people he dates (not that he’s had any relationships like what he has with you) to see these bullshit stories online. if he was in your position, he knew the reassurance would help. luke placed a kiss on your forehead, “i wouldn’t do anything to mess this up if i can help it, five star.”

you let out a forced laugh, awkwardly shifting in his grasp, “yeah, given that my dad controls your contract, i know you wouldn’t.” 

luke frowned, “not because of that.” 

“uh huh,” you said, feeling too vulnerable right now. you didn’t know how to handle this situation, so you coped with humor, “he likes you so don’t worry, your contract extension is practically in the bag.” 

“y/n.” 

you tensed at luke’s use of your real name. he never called you by your name. he always called you by the nickname he gave you when he first met you. five star. you knew luke wasn’t in the mood to joke around. “luke, it’s fine.” 

“i don’t want to pick a fight,” he sighed, playing with the hem of your shirt, “but i just need to hear you say that you believe me when i say that. i wouldn’t cheat on you or do anything to make you feel like i ever would.” 

your voice shook as you spoke, “what if you’re just saying that because it’s still summer and we see each other every day? what’s gonna happen when i’m back in school and you’re out in the world traveling and living your rockstar life?” 

luke’s heart broke at your words. did you really think that he would forget about all of this once september rolled around? as if you didn’t consume his thoughts every day since he met you, as if he didn’t count down the minutes until he got to see you again when he was forced to be away from you because he had things to do, as if he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his stomach when you weren’t next to him. he was starting to think you didn’t understand just how deeply he felt about you even when you assured him that you did understand. 

“i’m not gonna lie, long distance is gonna be hard,” he said, “but we can figure it out. i know it.” 

“i never knew you were such an optimist, castellan.” 

luke laughed at that. if only you knew how many times he psyched himself out of making a move on you because of his own pessimism. it only changed recently, when he finally decided to say fuck it and go for it. “for you? always. i’d be stupid not to be. you’re a good thing, five star.” 

luke fucking castellan. you pressed your head into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your face. he gave you a tight squeeze, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. he loved having you like this, all soft and cuddly with him like you didn’t want to let him go. he should be scared at how quickly he was falling for you, how attached he already felt. 

you kissed his lips again, pulling away with a smile, “so babe huh?” 

“babe, baby, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss you again. “anythin’ you want.”

[alchemistc]

So about that deleted scene:

(shovel) talks - read on ao3

"So how many shovel talks should I be expecting?" Tommy asks, once the cake is mostly gone and Eddie and Christopher have wandered off. He tilts his voice low, so as not to draw the attention of Eddie's aunt, who has been eyeing him closely since he came back without any cake for Evan.

"Shovel what?" Evan's eyeing the cake.

"You could just have a bite," Tommy tempts, letting his grin go a little teasing, waving his fork a bit for emphasis, and Evan sighs. Pats his stomach, which Tommy is intimately familiar with, and very fond of, even if Evan wants to be a bit more cut.

"You're trying to deflect. Who gave you a shovel talk?"

"So far?" There's no reason to keep it going, really, except when Evan gets exasperated he huffs and puffs about it and Tommy - he doesn't not like his little attempts at dramatics.

Evan rolls his whole head in an effort to emphasize how much he's not in the mood, but his smile gives him away. It always does.

"Well, Hen and Karen just accosted me. Christopher's already promised anatomically improbable harm."

Evan, if anything, looks a little chuffed about that. Considering some of the things he's gleaned about his home life growing up, it's not all that strange.

Still, it doesn't hurt to ask. "They do know you're an adult, right?"

"Y-yeah, of course they know. It's - you know, that whole family thing you were so jealous of sometimes includes them being a little overbearing."

"Personally, I think they were just looking for some gossip."

Evan's face goes red. "Uh - that might be - that might be my fault. I'm... usually an over sharer."

"Is there something wrong with what I'm doing that you don't feel like over sharing?" It's a dirty ploy, but he's already over invested in this, in them. He wants to weasel a bit of praise out of Evan, even though he hasn't exactly been shy about it to this point at all.

Evan's face does something - a series of tiny expressions he'd have been hard pressed to catch if he weren't staring so closely - before he kicks at Tommy's foot under the table. "You're teasing me again."

Tommy doesn't hide his grin, even as he shovels his fork around the plate to get the last of the frosting off. "Can you blame me?"

Evan's blush is deep deep pink, but he still bites his tongue, tilts his head, tips his foot so that he can slide his toes around Tommy's ankle. He really, really wasn't kidding when he joked that he was trying his best to keep up.

He taps two knuckles against the table, looking like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for Tommy's hand. "It's - it's not like I don't talk about you. I just - some of it I wanna keep for myself."

Tommy fields fifty questions a day at work about the man who has him smiling to himself randomly, checking his phone and losing track of conversations because something ticks at a newly made memory of Evan Buckley. He understands the urge to keep some of those memories for himself.

"So what have you told them?"

He's picking at the thread, trying to unravel it, and he doesn't know why. He's more than satisfied with the state of things as they are now. Things are... different than he's used to, this early in. He's never been with someone so intent on getting to know him, spending time with him, so ready to share himself. It's intoxicating, really, and Tommy's never had a great handle on when to cut himself off.

Evan's expression is overly fond, and Tommy feels the thrill of it down to his toes.

"I told them about our date at the aquarium," he says, eyes sparkling a little. It had been a spur of the moment thing, Evan texting him for three days straight about hammerhead sharks, Frederickson mentioning his son-in-laws obsession with manta rays and the glass-side dinner they offered Saturday's and Sunday's. Evan's eyes drifting to the creatures in the water only half-as-often as they drifted to Tommy, and the air expanding in Tommy's lungs every time that smile landed on him.

Tommy hums.

"I told them a... very abridged version of you trying to teach me Muay Thai."

Evan, gleaming and wide eyed, pinned beneath Tommy, his hands giving up any pretense of doing anything but bracketing Tommy's hips, the gentling kiss Tommy'd placed to the birthmark over his eye before Evan whined and Tommy decided he was done playing games.

"Well, now Hen thinks I lied to her." Tommy jokes, and Evan's brow jumps quizzically. Tommy can't quite help it. Even with Gerrard here, even with eyes around them, even though they'd both decided together to keep the contact to a minimum, this being a work event and all - he reaches out and taps his finger to Evan's nose just to see his face crinkle in confusion. It'll have to do, with friends and family and colleagues all around them, but he can feel the urge to drag him in, to give Evan a taste of the frosting still on his lips, to press their bodies together and feel Evan's heart beat beneath his. The desire is there, crawling beneath his skin, and Evan watches him lean back in his chair like he knows every spare thought rattling around in Tommy's head.

"I told them you make me stupid happy," Evan says, all bright and sincere, something softening around the edges of his eyes, and the cage around his heart strains under the pressure of the muscle pressing for freedom.

Tommy darts a look around the room. Things are winding down, families with children drifting off early to enjoy having the day off, members of the 118 returning to their duties now that they've been thrown back on the dispatch register, higher ups huddled off in groups whispering to themselves about how they all would have been fired if Chief Simpson wasn't gunning for a promotion. Evan tips forward, chin dropping to the bridge of his hands with a grin.

"What do you tell the Harbor people about me?"

"Oh, absolutely nothing," Tommy says, standing, tilting a hip sideways so that he can hide the thumb the presses to the divot of Evan's chin. "If I did they'd think you'd bewitched me."

Evan's smile curls over his cheeks with the dopey expression Tommy's grown to adore.

"Let's get out of here before we get recruited for cleanup."

Evan looks like he's thinking about staying, anyway, so Tommy sweetens the deal. "I told Hen and Karen you were setting the pace. Are you gonna make a liar out of me again?"

Evan barely waits until they're out of sight before he's got two hands bracketing Tommy's hips from behind. Tommy knows he's staring at his ass - can't quite blame him. He works hard on making it look good in dress blues.

They manage to make it to the far side of Tommy's truck before Evan spins him, presses him to the passenger door before Tommy can get it open for him. "When we get home," he starts, too busy pressing his tongue to Tommy's pulse point to notice Tommy's quiet inhale at the phrasing. "I'm gonna take this uniform off of you, piece by piece, and then I'm gonna blow you so good you see stars."

"We should both wear our hats," Tommy negotiates, hoping to keep it light enough that he won't hone in on 'home'.

"The medals can stay too," Evan says, and sucks a bruise into the side of Tommy's neck when Tommy tilts his head back to laugh.