#it had to be you

[mysteria157]

Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

| Twitter | Ao3 | Masterlist | Moment One | Moment Three...Eventually

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come. 

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her. 

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you? 

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?” 

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams. 

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can. 

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

[myheadcanonismymuse]

[rosalie-starfall]

Happy Birthday Ginger

July 16 1911

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain | mentions of drugs | "illusions" to smut

3k words

Steve always thought he’d meet the love of his life, his soul mate, at a bar. 

Which sounds kind of lame now maybe? It’s just that the movies make it feel like this magical moment - you know, the couple sees each other, the music swells, the lights change - it’s undeniable. 

But that’s not happening for Steve Harrington it seems, definitely not tonight. 

Maybe not ever. 

So here he is, just breaking up with another girl in another random Chicago bar. 

His thumb pulls at the damp paper label, his brows furrowed over hazel eyes girls tend to like to look into deeply from time to time - or so he’s been told. 

“It’s just not working.”

The words taste more bitter than the beer on his tongue because for Steve, that’s quite the opposite of how he feels a relationship should be described. Your relationship shouldn’t feel like a job. It should be easy. It should feel right. It should just work for lack of a better term. 

When there’s no response from the other side of the table he finally glances up from the shredded label to find her typing on her phone, reaching for her wine glass and nodding. 

“Brenda?”

The blonde finally lifts her eyes from the device, smiling under vacant eyes. 

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Steve sighs deeply. He rubs at his temple as he nods. 

“Yeah, yeah I did. I don’t…I don’t think we should…do this anymore?”

Silence. 

She’s typing on her phone again. 

“Brenda?” He blinks at her incredulously before leaning across the table, closer, as he lowers his voice, “Brenda, I’m breaking up with you.”

She snaps her gum, slides her phone into her purse and starts to slide out of the booth. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen, I didn’t even know we were dating? We haven’t even slept together and I didn’t think we were, like, an inclusive thing, you know?”

“You mean exclusive?” 

She’s already walking out the door. As Steve watches her go with a disbelieving stare, he sees one of the TVs suspended over the bar has the Cubs game on now. 

Well at least tonight isn’t a total bust. 

“Hey man, ‘nother beer?” The bartender who brought him his first one asks from where he’s collecting empty dishes at a nearby table. 

“Um,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, squinting at the tabletop before he sighs. “Sure, thanks.”

The bartender leaves and Steve rests his chin on his fist, watching the game but not really seeing it. 

He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. Is it all just normal? To be this hopeless, to be this unhappy with life, to be this lonely. There has to be someone out there for him right? 

His phone buzzes loudly on the table, stealing him from his spiral only for the dread he was barely allowing himself to dip into, swallow him whole and drown him. 

The contact ‘Dad’ displays with no photo for what feels like forever until it finally stops and the screen goes dark. 

Steve is still staring down at it when a large basket of breadsticks slides under his nose and a cold beer right behind it. 

He glances up and the bartender is taking his empty bottle, smiling in a sort of laid back way that makes Steve envious of his clearly relaxed state and demeanor. 

“On the house. You look pretty down about that blonde.”

“Oh,” Steve sits up, clearing his throat. He feels the warmth under his cheeks as he shakes his head, “No, um, she’s…yeah, I’m not missing her. Just lost in thought I guess. Thank you…” Steve trails off, looking for a name tag.

“Argyle, man,” the bartender slaps his hand out and grabs Steve’s. 

Steve points to the ceiling, smiling. “Like the name of the bar?”

“One and the same my dude. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Steve keeps his eyes on the game until he can’t resist the scent of butter and cheese and he grabs one of the breadsticks. He practically moans when he takes the first bite, and his eyes flutter open when he hears a laugh float across the quiet room. 

He swallows around the way too hot to have taken that big of a bite of bread as he sees you. You’re the only girl at the bar, head thrown back in a laugh he swears sounds like a favorite song as Argyle pours more red wine in your glass. There’s pizza in your hand and you’re gesturing to the baseball game. 

He might already be in love with you. 

And that’s before he watches you devour more than one piece of the pizza you’re eating alone and watching the baseball game like you actually care about it. 

Steve clicks his phone unlocked, ignoring the text from his father, and types one to Robin instead. 

Steve: Do you believe in soul mates?

It takes less than a minute for her to respond. 

Robin: Steve, I’m sorry, but I cannot do this. Brenda is NOT your soul mate Steve: we just broke up Robin: oh thank god Robin: I mean, I am so sorry, what can I do? Ice cream? Steve: no, listen… Steve: there’s this girl here Robin: no Steve: I haven’t even told you the best part Robin: let me guess, you think you love her already? Steve: if you’re gonna be a brat about it, I will not tell you that she’s watching the Cubs game right now Robin: wow? Steve: Robs, she’s ACTUALLY watching it Robin: Yeah, and? Do you even know her name yet, Dingus? Have you spoken to her? Dude, I love you, but you can’t keep doing this Steve: what’s a good pick up line?

Steve takes a swig of his beer and chokes around it when Robin responds.

Robin: I might not be a pro player, but when it comes to you, I won't stop until I’ve reached all the bases Steve: absolutely not Robin: I think I glove you Robin: my dugout, or yours? Robin: I’m an umpire. Can I have your number so I can make the call? Steve: I hate you Robin: why don’t you just go with “Hi.” idiot Robin: also, why are there SO many baseball pick up lines on google? And what do they mean? Wtf is a pinch hitter?

Steve rolls his eyes at his screen, locking it closed as he slides out of the booth. He approaches the bar slowly, deciding that Robin is right, he should take it slow, he always does this. 

And maybe he’ll go with the umpire line. 

But when he’s right behind your shoulder, so close he can smell your perfume that makes him want to fall inside the bottle, he sees your pizza. 

And it has fucking olives on it. 

“Shit.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he clearly did, and when you turn to face him, he sort of forgets how to breathe. 

You’re clearly taking him in just like he is you, and when he sees your mouth drop open a little as your eyes meet each other, he feels like someone is playing a prank on him. 

Because the bar lights dim and the lyrics of As Time Goes By plays loudly. 

And Steve knows, logically, that this is all because it’s the time of night where bars dim their lights and that the song is from the other TV playing Casablanca. He knows this. 

And yet…

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Steve kisses your temple as he leans around you and grabs a breadstick on the bar despite your protest. He groans around the bread as you turn to smile at him. 

“I swear, Argyle puts drugs in these.” 

He sighs, pushing more into his mouth as he blinks at you, nodding his agreement. Steve’s eyes roam over the little black dress you have on, stopping appreciatively on the lace neckline that dips nicely and not so innocently. His fist comes up over his mouth, clearing his throat around the bite he shoves into his cheek so he can talk. 

“You look nice.”

“What, this old thing?” You spin on the stool, shrugging your shoulders with a smile. 

“Did you have something going on at work today?” He asks, brows furrowing and at first you think he’s joking, but then he cocks his head, ripping at more of the breadstick.

“Um, no, I-”

“Hey,” Steve waves for Argyle’s attention before he turns to you, apologetic, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, do you care if we get the pizza to go? I’m beat from today, and I just need to get into something that isn’t this tie and eat that pizza and pass out.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You smile, sure it’s not quite meeting your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice because he’s already relaying the message to Argyle who looks at you curiously, then Steve, then you again before nodding. 

“Sure, man, I’ll box it up right now, it just got out of the oven.”

He walks away and Steve looks at you curiously, “That was weird, right?”

Except it wasn’t, because Argyle and you must see all the couples literally making out over their pizza, or snuggled up on the same side of booths and pressing their noses into cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into ears. Argyle and you must know that today is Valentine’s Day and Steve…doesn’t?

You quickly hop off the stool, grab your thick winter coat and shrug it on, pretending not to notice, “No? It’s busy, maybe he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Steve trails off, looking around until he lands back on you buttoning your coat, then down at your feet when he smiles. “Hey, you’re wearing the heels I bought you.”

A hum leaves your pursed lips as you roll your eyes. “Well, they’re really nice and they’re not doing anyone any good hanging out in my closet collecting dust on their red soles.”

Steve leans in and kisses you, quickly and subtly before he whispers, “It’s okay to admit you like the fancy things I buy you…speaking of…” He grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

He hands you his debit card, before he nods outside, “I’m gonna go run and pull the car up so you don’t have to walk in those all the way to where I finally found parking.”

“Steve, I can-” He’s already waving it off and kissing your cheek, disappearing out the door he barely just walked through. 

You slump against the bar and pull out your phone, looking around at the packed place with a sour feeling in your stomach. 

Normally, you hate this day. It’s overpriced consumerism at its finest. It's a sickening zoo of PDA everywhere you look, and places like here that normally are your peaceful, quiet spots, are packed. 

But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were sort of looking forward to the day this year. Because, in all honesty, you’ve never really had someone you’ve wanted to celebrate with or someone who cared to do so until now.

Until Steve. 

Which is what leads you to pull out your phone, open a text to Robin, decide absolutely not because she’d just text him and then he’d feel awful and instead you call Eddie who answers on the first ring.

“What.”

You go to bite at your lower lip at the sound of his curt greeting and think better of it, what with the lipstick you put on for tonight and all. 

“Are you busy?”

Eddie sighs, dramatically, and you hear the distinct sound of a can crushing. “Yeah, I’m fucking the love of my life after we just had a candle lit dinner for two.”

As you look at the window, waiting to see Steve’s car, your eyes roll. Argyle hands you the pizza box with a smile and your voice lowers.

“Steve’s a…has he…does he like Valentine’s Day?”

Eddie snorts as he slurps a sip of a fresh beer into the receiver, “What kind of question is that. Of course Steve likes Valentine’s Day. It’s his shit. One year he took a girl out to like this whole big, fancy dinner and ice skating. Presents, flowers, the whole thing. He even gets Robin flowers and a card every year. He’s always been like that. Got everyone in middle school like the really nice candy and cards. Superheroes and name brand shit.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence on the other end for what feels like forever and you hear his sharp inhale as the car pulls up. 

“I gotta go,” you start to hang up but then think better of it and hiss into the phone, “Don’t say anything to him or Robin or Nancy or I will kill you.”

“But-” You click off the phone before he can say another word and head out the door where Steve is already jogging around the front of his car and opening your door for you. 

The glaring reality of your situation hits you as Steve closes the door.

Steve didn’t forget Valentine’s Day, he just doesn’t want to celebrate it with you. 

You try to shake off the mood, to smile and nod as he talks the whole way to his apartment about the new job, because you are really proud of him and you love hearing how excited he is for this new work he’s doing. And really, isn’t being alone with him, eating pizza, in comfy clothes, a perfect night with him because anything you do with him is perfect? 

It’s just hard to shake the fact that it’s a known fact he’s gone above and beyond for everyone else on this holiday, but not for you. 

Steve grows quiet as you walk inside the apartment building, thumb swiping over your knuckles back and forth gently until you untangle your fingers so he can unlock his door. 

The heels are kicked off and your coat hung as Steve slides the pizza onto the island, turning towards his bar. “I got that wine you really liked, do you want a glass of that with it, or…” he trails off waiting for you to respond.

You nod and head towards his room, but his arm snakes around your waist, tugging you to a stop so you can see his eyes when he ducks his head to catch your gaze. Steve speaks softly, worried, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you smile and he frowns and you kiss the corner of his lips, “Sorry, I just had a long day too, I guess. Lady things. Heels hurting, whatever-”

“The heels hurt?” He looks genuinely concerned, and goes to reach for his phone, “I’ll get you a different size, they shouldn’t hurt-”

“No, no, no, I meant like…” you kiss him again, feeling something in your chest ache. 

Steve is wonderful, wanting to buy you new shoes because your feet hurt and here you are sulking because what? He didn’t get you overpriced bad chocolates? 

He kisses you back, hand cupping your jaw until you’re sighing and pulling away. 

“The shoes don’t hurt my feet. I don’t know why I said that. They’re perfect and the wine sounds great. I’m gonna change quick, okay?”

He nods, but he’s still frowning as you turn into his bedroom. You literally shake out your arms as you enter his closet, like you’re trying to rid your body of the bratty feeling as you roll your head from side to side, the tense feeling in your neck making you feel nauseous and guilty. 

You pad over to the tall dresser, pulling at the top drawer that’s slowly becoming yours as your phone rings, loudly, in the other room. 

“Steve, can you grab that? It’s in my coat pocket. It’s probably just Eddie, I hung up on him earlier…” you trail off as you remember what else is in the coat pocket and you race back out to the kitchen, sweats and one of Steve’s shirts in your hands. 

Your tights covered feet skid to a stop in his kitchen at the sight of what Steve holds in his hand. 

His tie is gone, white dress shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the white tank top underneath with a small glimpse of his chest hair peeking out the top of it. His hair is sticking every which way, like he ran both hands through it several times in less than the minute you’ve been a part. 

And in his fingers dangles a gold chain, his gold chain, with a little ‘S’ hanging from it.

“Steve, I-”

He looks up at you and his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes look a little glassy and he clears his throat as he holds it up higher. The ‘S’ spins with the movement, catching the light and sparkling as his voice breaks a little when he asks, “What’s this?”

Your eyes close as you groan and drop the items. The heels of your palms into your eyes as you shake your head. The words tumble out of you, unable to be contained any longer.  

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I just…I thought…I figured you’re a guy who, like, would eat this holiday shit up, and I don’t know, your chain just…I don’t know. I stole it and I brought it to a jeweler and got the ‘S’ for it and I know it’s technically a gift for me, but I just thought you’d like it if I wore it but it’s fine, I can return it or we can just…I don’t know, I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, now standing just in front of you. He tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face before his fingers tuck under your jaw so you have to look at him. “You got me this for Valentine’s Day?” 

The words of the holiday must make your face aching to be nonchalant twitch or shift or something because Steve leans down and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed you were very much not the kind of girl who would eat this holiday shit up,” he laughs at the parrot of your words as your lips twitch. “I thought you’d hate the fancy dinners and the flowers and chocolate, and just want today to be…normal?”

Your shoulders shrug as you step closer, letting your hands tug at his shirt collar. “I do…normally.”

Steve’s nose traces up yours and back down as he hums, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks, “Yeah? What changed?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment Harrington?” You whisper, heart stuttering in your chest as his lips catch your bottom one and linger, his breath exhaling against your skin warm as he laughs. 

“I wouldn’t complain if I got one,” his lips skim up your jaw, kissing just below your ear before he asks, “Can I put it on you?”

Something inside of your stomach flutters as you nod and spin for him. Steve’s nose follows your ear, down your neck as his hands reach around with the necklace. The cold metal hits your skin, your toes curl and legs press together as his fingertips skate across your collarbones with the ends of the chain, until they’re clasping it closed. 

You spin slowly, bodies refusing to stop touching each other as Steve swallows loudly and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His eyes remain on the necklace as you tilt your head back to look up at him. 

Steve’s hand reaches up, fingertips gently brushing down the chain until they’re on the ‘S’ where he pauses, his adams apple bobbing as the apartment grows warmer from the heat of his stare. 

He leans forward, and before you can even naturally follow, he tugs, lightly, on the ‘S’, making your brain buzz and something spark up your spine as the distance between you closes. 

Steve makes a sort of choked noise from the back of his throat, pupils blown wide when he finally looks into your eyes. 

Your lips hover over his mouth, whispering around their smirk, “Pizza’s getting cold.”

Steve groans as you slip out of his arms, spinning towards the food only to be caught around the waist by his arms. He practically drags you to his bedroom, growling, “Fuck the pizza,” around your laughter. 

You’re not sure what you were hoping for, really, with the gift, for your first Valentine’s day together. 

But watching Steve Harrington’s eyes practically roll back in his head with you grinding on top of him, his hands pressed to the mattress with fingers entangled in yours, as the chain and little gold ‘S’ hits his chin is pretty fucking great. 

Oh, and him coming with no warning when you kiss the pair of freckles on his neck and whisper, “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” was pretty cool too.  

[wowbright]

Anderson’s Guide to the Birds of North America, Chapter 7: Thinking of You

Summary: Fourteen scenes from the lives of Blaine Anderson, grad student and avid birder, and Kurt Hummel, clothing designer and Vogue writer, from before their first meeting during the COVID lockdowns of spring of 2020 through falling in love. Written for the Klaine Valentine’s Challenge 2025.

Also on AO3.

Chapter 7: Thinking of You

Blaine stared at his computer. His brain just wasn't working the way he wanted it to. The past couple of days had been rough. Reading the news was overwhelming. Social media was worse.

And the weather had disrupted his daily routine. Heavy morning rains had made sunrise birding out of the question. He’d managed to go out later when the rain lightened, but it wasn’t the same.

On top of that, the lack of sunshine was making Cooper moodier and more restless than usual. He paced the apartment, randomly barked out lines from television shows and, last night at dinner, had refused to converse with Blaine in anything other than song lyrics. Today, he’d barged into Blaine’s room so many times to accuse him of misplacing things or leaving the toilet running or eating the last of the granola that Blaine had finally shoved a step ladder under the handle so Cooper couldn't open it anymore.

Blaine wished he could go to a coffee shop or the library or anywhere, really, that wasn't here.

He wished even more that he could go to one of those places with Kurt.

Or, better yet, that he could go over to Kurt’s apartment and watch TV together in person instead of over Netflix Party. They’d sit on the couch and cuddle together, and Blaine would finally learn what Kurt’s body felt like, the shape of his arms around Blaine, the scent of his skin.

It killed Blaine that he didn't know what Kurt smelled like. How could he, when they’d never stood closer than six feet apart? After Kurt had told Blaine his nightly skin care routine, Blaine had ordered every single product and started doing the same routine himself just so that he could lie in bed and imagine it was Kurt he was smelling.

At least he would be hearing Kurt’s voice soon. They’d scheduled a check-in for 2 p.m., and that was just a few minutes away.

Blaine forced himself to do a little more work.

His phone rang at two on the dot.

“How are you holding up today?” Kurt's voice was such a welcome relief.

“Not that well, to be honest,” Blaine said, flopping onto his bed.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“Just the usual stuff. Wishing I could go somewhere else. Wishing I could spend time with you.”

“We're spending time together right now. And we’re still on for our socially distanced birdwatching date tomorrow, right?”

“I know. But I wish … I could touch you.”

“Oh?” Kurt’s tone turned flirtatious. “Tell me more, Mr. Anderson. In explicit detail.”

Blaine chuckled. “Well, yes. I do want to touch you like that. But I also want to hold your hand and snuggle up next to you on the couch and lean my head on your shoulder and play with your hair. All the little things—I want them with you.”

There was a brief, comforting silence, like Kurt was pausing to bathe in the words before saying anything back. “I do, too. Sometimes it makes me so sad. But then it makes me glad to be sad, because I'm thinking of you. The longing—it’s kind of delicious. Because it means that … my heart belongs to you, Blaine.”

Blaine closed his eyes. Kurt felt so close, like if Blaine reached across the pillow, he'd be right there. He'd been physically close with lots of guys, but he had never felt this kind of intimacy with anyone.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

It Had To Be You by Frank Sinatra

Why do I do just as you say Why must I just give you your way Why do I sigh, why don't I try to forget It must have been that something lovers call fate Kept me saying I have to wait I saw them all, just couldn't fall, 'til we met

It had to be you It had to be you I wandered around, and I finally found The somebody who Could make me be true And could make me be blue And even be glad Just to be sad - thinking of you

Some others I've seen Might never be mean Might never be cross, or try to be boss But they wouldn't do

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you Wonderful you It had to be you

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you Wonderful you It had to be you

*for more info about the challenge

[jamieblahhhh]

Chapters: 7/14 Fandom: Glee (TV 2009) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel Additional Tags: Klaine Valentine's Challenge 2025, Married Life, Post-Canon Summary:

Blaine and Kurt have been happily married for almost 13 years. They've worked through problems. Accomplished many things and are raising two crazy, but amazing children. Navigating through life with children and full-time jobs makes it hard for them to connect like they used too. They want to get back into their groove. So, Blaine decides to take his time reminding Kurt of just how much he loves him. Jesse and Rachel offering to take their kids to California with them for two weeks, just might give them that time they need.

Day Seven!

[candy-fluffs]

Happy birthday Kiri!! More pages of "It Had to be You" to celebrate!

links to all the other parts!!

Cotton Candy Fluff! | I draw a lot of pure fluff, so I wanted to try to... (tumblr.com)

Cotton Candy Fluff! | Part 1! Part... (tumblr.com)

Cotton Candy Fluff! | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is the first half of... (tumblr.com)

Cotton Candy Fluff! | It's Kirbaku month and also my birthday... (tumblr.com)

Cheers, ~Joy

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[blacksapphicguide]

Cleo x Imani It Had To Be You (short film)

[otherworldseekers]

It Had to be You: chapter something or other (to be edited when I figure it out)

A while back I posted a confession scene and then decided I hated it. I ended up completely reworking the way the confession goes in as much as it's more a progression of escalating confessions over like a couple weeks. These two don't do anything the easy way.

Meanwhile there was this Omega questline scene where Severia gets kinda drunk I'd written like 3 versions of already but was never totally satisfied with. That has now been integrated into the Great Severia x Nero Confession Arc, as I've started calling it to myself, and the result is this scene I'm about to post.

So, this takes place on the last night at the Yawn after defeating the Deltascape and everyone has been celebrating. This is part of the It Had to be You fic, which covers the Omega questline events, but since I've written it out of order I'm not sure what chapter it will be.

As the alcohol ran low the revelry died down and the members of the Ironworks crew one by one began to make their excuses and head for their tents. Severia rose and collected the empty bottles left behind, piling them into an empty crate. Then she stretched her arms over her head, leather and armor creaking. “I absolutely need to get comfortable,” she declared as she made for her own tent. 

Nero was left alone, lounging on the ground with his back against a conveniently placed log and staring at the campfire as he sipped slowly from the last cup of sake. The celebration had lasted hours, but Nero still felt wide awake. He could not free his mind from images of Severia, laughing and smiling and imbibing with the rest of them, acting out some of her battles from the previous week, more carefree than he had ever seen her before. It was a side of her that was new to him, and it was radiant. 

But, truth be told, he was feeling a bit grouchy. Though it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that her smiles and her laughter had had nothing to do with him. 

“You’re all alone.” A voice broke him out of his reverie. 

Nero’s head snapped up to see Severia walking back toward the campfire from her tent. She’d changed out of her adventuring gear, opting for a tight fitting tank top underneath a loosely worn open flannel tunic, a pair of scandalously short shorts and tabi. Her hair was loosed from its regular side braid and fell in glistening waves around her shoulders and thank the gods she had left her hat behind in her tent. She looked much more relaxed as she approached him from the other side of the campfire. 

“Can’t sleep?” she asked. 

“Apparently not,” he replied, raising his cup as if in toast to her and then emptying it. 

“Mind if I join you?” She tilted her head imploringly. 

“Never.”

She favored him with a bright smile, a smile just for him, and he found that suddenly he was in a far better mood. Brandishing a porcelain bottle she had been hiding behind her back she grinned and said, “How about we bring out the really good stuff?”

Nero smirked and held out his empty cup. She leaned over to pour for him and then fetched an unused cup for herself before settling down on the log next to him. They sipped in companionable silence for a few minutes before Nero felt compelled to say, “This is good.” Had she been saving it to share with him? Or was he just lucky enough to be the last man left?

“A gift from the Lord of Doma himself,” Severia said. “I’m told it’s the very best Doma has to offer.” Severia let out a soft sigh of contentment. “I don’t drink much, as a rule. But it’s been nice tonight. With everyone. And now. With you.”

From what Nero had seen, and admittedly, he’d been watching rather closely, Severia hadn’t indulged all that much over the course of the evening. But there was a light flush defining the scales on her cheeks and a subtle alteration to her body language. She seemed more comfortable in her skin, and more comfortable showing it off. He allowed his eyes to travel leisurely up the bare expanse of her legs. Dared he hope that this change of attire was for his sake? 

She turned to him and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Nero wondered if she had any idea what an enticing picture she made. Not that her shirt was particularly low cut, but when she leaned over like that, well he certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

“What’s it like, having a Third Eye?” Her head tilted again, this time in curiosity.

“What’s it like having horns?” he returned with a smug smile. 

Severia laughed softly. “I suppose I don’t know how to describe it any better than you do. It’s just normal.”

“How does it feel to use magic?” This time his question was sincere. He had always wondered, but normally his pride wouldn’t let him ask. 

“Hmmm.” She took some time to think. “Like having fizzy water flowing through your veins and stars shining under your skin.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the night sky with her hands, inadvertently spilling her drink. “Oops,” she said with a giggle.

An actual giggle. He’d never heard such a sound from her before. Normally he had no patience for gigglers, but somehow when she did it, it was adorable. 

Severia removed her flannel tunic and used it to wipe off her legs then discarded it onto the log next to her. Nero sucked in a breath. Without that cover, she was now shockingly underdressed. Not, again, that he was going to complain. But it was unlike her. Perhaps she was a little more drunk than she seemed. 

“May I touch it?”

“What?” Nero surfaced from staring at her breasts, unsure he had heard her correctly. 

“May I touch your Third Eye?” she repeated.

Nero gaped. She wanted to touch it? He searched her face but there was no indication that she was teasing him or that she had any idea what an invasion of privacy she was casually asking for. She was just curious. And he loved that about her. “All right.”

Severia clapped her hands with glee. Nero expected her simply to reach over from her seat on the log and give it a quick tap, but she had nothing so innocent in mind. He sat, wide eyed and dumbfounded, as she proceeded to lower herself from her perch and swing a leg over him. To his utter and complete astonishment, she was now straddling his lap and seemed to be completely at ease doing so. Leaning forward until her breasts were practically in his face, she studied the little pearl on his forehead. 

No one had ever asked to touch it before, or wanted to, as far as he knew. His heartbeat accelerated as he watched her bite into her lower lip as she reached out toward his Eye. 

“Oh, it’s hard,” she observed. 

It was certainly becoming so. Nero let out a slow breath. It was fortunate that the Eye wasn’t sensitive. He was already far too excited by this turn of events. Severia sat back, her weight on his legs. 

“Would you mind if I lick it?”

“Wha-?” It came out something like a squawk. He cleared his throat. She was drunk. That was all there was to it. There was no harm in humoring her. “Why not?”

And then her hot little tongue was on him and he might not be able to feel it through his Third Eye but he could feel it on the skin all around and it was possibly one of the strangest things that had ever aroused him. The evening certainly had taken a turn for the interesting. 

“Well?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay even. “Was it a fruitful experiment?”

“Maybe,” she said with a considering look. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what happens next.” Her ruby eyes pierced him, her expression expectant. 

And she looked, in the moment, so like the Severia that had been tormenting him in his dreams of late that his breath hitched and words failed him. She wanted something to happen. And she wanted him to initiate it. He shouldn’t be so surprised. She had, after all, been flirting with him all week, and he had been flirting right back. And unless he wanted their relationship to stay at that stage forever, he was going to have to make a move at some point. 

The problem was, when it came to Severia, he was a coward. Because the way things were now was so much better than those days after she had rejected him during the Crystal Tower expedition. When she had kept him at a distance, insisted there never could be anything between them. Those days when he had wandered the World of Darkness, fighting out of sheer stubbornness, wondering if anything mattered anymore. When he had nearly lost all hope as the darkness slowly consumed him. 

Anything was better than that, wasn’t it? Any small crumb of her attention was better than her rejection. Even now, when she was practically throwing herself at him. They had been drinking. What if it was just the alcohol talking? What if he gave in to his desperate desire to touch her, to tell her how he had never stopped wanting her… and then the morning came and once again she was ashamed of what had passed between them. What if he messed it up again and she disappeared from his life forever?

So he took the coward’s way. “What do you want to happen?”

Then he watched, his hands held cautiously idle at his sides, as her lips formed into an adorable little pout. Her eyes turned down shyly. “I’ve been waiting and hoping. But maybe you just don’t want to…”

“Don’t want to what?”

She squirmed on his lap, as if rallying the courage to say the words. “To kiss me.”

Nero closed his eyes. The squirming was having a definite effect on him. If she didn’t stop tempting him like this something was going to happen and he wasn’t at all sure she would like it. He exhaled slowly. “Of course I want to kiss you.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she demanded. 

“The last time I tried, you told me not to.” An excuse, really. He had simply been afraid to risk it. 

Again she squirmed, this time in irritation. “But that was years ago! Things have changed.”

“Have they?”

“Don’t you think so?”

“Nothing has changed for me,” he confessed, hoping she would understand. That his regard for her, and his desire for her, had never faded. 

She stared at him for a few silent moments before her eyes widened slightly as she grasped his meaning. Her hands, that had been resting lightly on his chest, grabbed at his shirt, using it as leverage to pull herself into him. The meeting of their lips was soft and sweet. Severia tasted exactly as he remembered, exactly as she did in his dreams, and he wanted nothing more than to wholly devour her. But he held back, letting her take the lead and choose their pace. 

When she broke off the kiss he couldn’t help a strangled groan. But she didn’t pull away. Her tongue darted out and he felt it slowly slide across his lower lip. When his jaw dropped in surprise, Severia’s tongue plunged into his mouth, seeking, exploring, taking his breath away. He couldn’t keep his hands off her any longer. They moved to grasp her thighs, sliding upwards until he was gripping those delicious scales on her hips that always taunted him as they peaked out beneath her shorts. He’d wanted to touch them for ages, and Severia made an appreciative sound into his mouth when he did. When she pulled back once more they were both panting. 

“Fuck, Severia, have you been practicing?” Nero asked between breaths. 

She leaned back and he saw her flush deepen. “Sort of,” she said a little sheepishly. 

Interesting. Nero smirked. “Tell me.”

Severia took in and exhaled a deep breath. “Lord Aymeric.”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “He’s the one you kissed?”

“He’s the first one I kissed.”

Nero thought he had been prepared but a sharp spike of jealousy speared his chest. 

Severia sighed again. “He invited me to dinner once all the Dragonsong War business was over. And well, we were talking afterward and I could tell he wanted to kiss me so… I thought, why not? Because… well, I wanted to know if kissing someone else would be like kissing you.”

“And?” Even burning with jealousy, Nero wanted to know what conclusion she had reached. 

“It was nothing like kissing you,” Severia said, staring down at her hands to avoid meeting his eyes. “It was… extremely awkward and I knew right away that I didn’t want to kiss him again. So I tried to politely let him down and fled as soon as I could. But I was still uncertain if… If there was something special about you or if there might be other people I would enjoy kissing.  So… I thought I’d better ask an expert.”

“I see.” That was logical, Nero told himself. And he had learned by now that Severia was perhaps even more logical than he. 

“I asked Thancred to kiss me,” Severia explained, fidgeting with her hands as they rested on his chest. “It was… well, it was better than Aymeric. I expected as much. But even with Thancred it wasn’t anything special.”

Which implied that kissing Nero had been special. He grinned smugly. “And was your curiosity satisfied then?”

“Mostly. I still didn’t understand what made kissing you so different.” 

“Perhaps I’m just that good.”

That coaxed a smile out of her. “Perhaps.”

“So, is there anyone else I need to be jealous of?”  

Severia put a finger to her chin as if considering. “Well, there was Hilda. That was somewhat unexpected, but it wasn’t bad. Then there was Hien and Yugiri. We were all a little drunk that night.”

“Hien and Yugiri? At the same time?”

“Well, obviously they took turns.”

“You have become quite adventurous it seems.” Nero was surprised and impressed and not a little envious. “Hien is that lord you mentioned?” She nodded. “Another bloody lord.”

“It makes you jealous, that other people have kissed me?” she asked with a coy grin.

She seemed a little too delighted by the idea. Nero’s hands moved up to grip her waist. “I’m a very possessive man, Severia. I want you all to myself. Is that so hard to understand?” He pulled her close again until their lips were almost touching. 

Severia combed her fingers through his hair. “And in return? Do I get you all to myself?”

Nero scoffed, hoping to hide just how much her bold manner was flustering him. “Allow me to remind you that I am not the one who has been traveling across the lands kissing other people. In fact…” He swallowed nervously. “In fact, there’s not been anyone I wanted to touch… Nobody since you.”

Her confident air fell away, showing something far more vulnerable. “You really do want me, Nero?” she asked tremulously. 

It occurred to Nero that Severia was a woman who was used to being needed and relied on for her strange power, but had trouble believing that she could be wanted for herself. And he was hardly innocent of causing her to feel that way. In the beginning, he had only wanted to use her. But this past week had shown him that he no longer wanted to consider his future without her. He could only hope there was a place in hers for him. 

He took her face in his hands. “Severia, Severia, forgive me for making you doubt it.” He pressed their foreheads together. “I desire you now more than ever.” 

And then she was kissing him again, her mouth hot and hungry. Nero wrapped his arms around her, crushing her into him, reveling in the feel of her. He wondered how he had managed to hold himself back this past week. If he had known that he could have had Severia like this, soft and eager and delicious, he never would have been able to. Now he never wanted to let her go again. 

The sound of a tent flap banging open startled them apart. One of the Ironworks interns stumbled out, mumbling to himself as if still half asleep, and headed toward the camp’s makeshift outhouse. They both breathed a sigh. Severia laid her head down on his chest. A minute or so later the intern shuffled back into his tent and soon they heard his snores resume. 

That was when Severia started to giggle, with her face still pressed into him and her shoulders vibrating. Nero wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He lifted her back into a sitting position and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, a relaxed smile on her face. “I’m just so relieved. I’m so relieved. I feel light as a feather.” At this she began to flap her arms as if she would fly away and Nero realized that the alcohol and exhaustion of the day must have finally gotten to her. 

He smiled in amusement and kissed her nose. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Oh?” Severia asked, her voice becoming low and sultry as she twisted her fingers into his hair. “You want to take me to bed?”

“You little temptress,” Nero growled, gripping her waist. Gods, of course that was what he wanted. But Severia was undeniably under the influence. He couldn’t be confident that she had unimpaired judgment. So he would bide his time. Closing his eyes and clearing his throat Nero said, “I will escort you to your tent and wish you goodnight.”

Severia pouted, but he lifted her off his lap and as they both got to their feet, Nero had to steady her. “I’m fine,” she protested. “I’m not drunk.”

“That is what people who are drunk say,” Nero pointed out. 

She pouted again and stomped off to her tent, Nero following. He grabbed her wrist before she entered the dark interior and spun her around, holding her against him. “Severia, when I make love to you, it will be because there isn’t a shred of doubt that it’s what we both want.” He smirked when she blushed and leaned down to give her a final lingering kiss full of longing. She whimpered when he pulled away and tried to cling to him. So he took her hands in his and brought them to his lips one at a time. “Goodnight, Severia.”

If you've read this far, thank you so much! And remember, I love getting feedback.

[mysteria157]

Chapter 1

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, profanity

Summary: Your life comes to a startling halt when you realize the abrasive and dismissive man you shared a passionate but drunken night with is now the father of your child.

Notes: Hello! First chapter for you all. Let me know in the comments, chat or messages on what you think. A like or reblog is great too if that’s what you want. <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

How?

You had taken every precaution and painstakingly logged your cycle every single day. An IUD, sex during a low fertile week, and a condom to seal the deal.

And yet.

After five tests with the same result, you held onto the denial for as long as you could. The phone call from the gynecologist to confirm that yes you are pregnant, was enough to seal the earth shattering deal.

Pregnant.

This had to be a mistake. Even with your occasional trysts and short lived relationships, you didn’t have one slip up or scare. But a drunken night five weeks ago so blurry that you could barely remember seemed to have been the final straw in your streak of good luck.

The steering wheel suddenly felt incredibly hot as you gripped the leather tighter. You pressed your forehead to wheel, squeezing your eyes tight and forcing a slow breath from your lungs. The morning sun beaming into the car window was too bright, the air conditioning blowing through the vents too cold against your skin, your thoughts too incessant, too anxious, too loud.

 It wasn’t that you were against having children. At twenty-nine years old, you were coasting steady in life. Magna Cum Laude in marketing from one of the best universities in Sendai, an internship that blossomed into a full-time job, and after years of overtime and grasping every opportunity you could, you’re now a Marketing Specialist of one of the best firms in the city. You had a sizeable income from years of working hard and saving, a small but cozy house that you fixed yourself, and the freedom to actually do the things you wanted.

But this was a big step. A step that you wanted to follow a certain way if you could help it. A serious relationship, marriage, and maybe a kid or two.

Now? When you were this close to a promotion, when your mother was finally showing a modicum of pride in you, and you had your vacation planned?

It was too much, everything was too much, too intense, too fucking loud.

The sharp vibration of your cellphone the cup holder jolted you from your thoughts and back into cold, hard reality. Work. You can deal with this later.

Omelia: I got the latte you wanted and its sitting neglected on your desk. Where are you.

You're being dramatic.

Omelia: I wont be dramatic when I say no the next time you ask me for coffee.

I just parked. I’ll be right up. Keep calm until I get there.

Omelia: 🙄 

You shook out another breath, pushing away from the steering wheel and smoothing a hand down your white button up blouse.

“You can do this. It’s going to be just fine.”

By the time the elevator dinged on the thirtieth floor of the skyrise building in the middle of downtown Sendai, your nerves weren’t as frayed. The anxiety still buzzed against your skin as you walked past various cubicles, smiling kindly to your coworkers before hitting the stretch of office doors that led to your own. There were days when you wished you were in a cubicle again. It was easier to meet others and socialize, forming a small family of the same people year after year. But the more you volunteered to stay after hours to assist for projects and the more your boss recommended you for opportunities you had only dreamed of, the less you saw your coworkers. But you tried to stay engage as much as you could, eating lunch with them, going out for dinner and drinks.

But you guess that would have to change soon.

“I used my rage to reheat it for you.”

Omelia’s low and raspy voice was a welcome distraction to the current thoughts in your head as you closed the office door behind you. Perched in an office chair across from your desk, the usual silver-eyed glower from your best friend stared holes into your skin. Even petite in nature, she was the most intimidating but also the most beautiful person you had ever met. You couldn’t be envious of her. Since meeting her in second grade, she was often chased by boys. When they pulled her thick kinky hair as a means of flirting, she responded with a punch to the gut that always ended her in the office and her mother’s usual response was to take her out for ice cream instead because she shouldn’t be punished for stopping boys using violence as a means to show affection. But as you both got older, her violence morphed into carefully calculated sarcasm capable of cutting anyone down before they could do the same to her. But you were never afraid of her mean words, because when you’re the only two black females in your second grade class, you naturally gravitated to each other. And being able to gauge her emotions behind her words always helped you understand her more.

You reached for the cup and hesitated, the anxious thoughts of the effects of caffeine and fetal development flashing through your mind before you ultimately gave up.

Her eyes narrowed, silver orbs laser focused and analyzing body language as you sipped the latte, the usual caramel flavor hitting your tongue.

“Ah yes, I can still feel the rage. Thank you.”

“It’s rare when you’re late and you usually text me if you’re gonna be.”

You shrug, setting your Michael Khors purse on your desk before sagging into the ergonomic chair.

“Forgive me for my transgressions.” She rolled her eyes at your attempt of a joke, crossing elegant skirt clad legs before sighing slowly. “I know you hate mornings Ome, but this level of disappointment is rarely directed at me. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t speak for a moment, opening her mouth and closing repeatedly, full lipgloss covered lips puckering to form words before she shook out another disappointed sigh.

“I’m sorry. Just boyfriend troubles and I’m taking it out on everyone I see. I’m so close to just dumping the fucker.”

“Then do it?”

It was no lie that Ome had more than had it with her three year on again-off again relationship. Years of short lived jobs, lack of interest in her or her family, and the latest cheating stint, she was ready to call it quits. But why she hasn’t, you’ll never know.

Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone. Having stone walls around you for most of your life will do that you imagine.

You hesitated again before taking another sip.

How much caffeine is too much? 50 mg? 200?? Your stomach lurched painfully, the sharp pang of nausea making your mouth water. You’ve been drinking three cups of coffee every day for the past five weeks.

Oh God.

“Y/n.” Ome’s voice rang in you ear, cutting through the loud echo of thoughts. Her gaze was less harsh this time, concern softening her ethereal features. “You good?”

You smiled at her, pushing the coffee away.

“I’m good.”

***

It turns out that you in fact were not good. Because every little thing seemed to send your mind into a frenzy. You spaced out at every meeting as you thought about just all you needed to prepare for.

College fund. Daycare. Medical care. Baby clothes. Furniture (baby furniture?). Telling your fucking mother.

You couldn’t eat your salad because you were curled over your phone instead, googling every ingredient to make sure nothing was toxic.

You couldn’t look your coworkers in the eye because you could feel the waves of irrationality in your mind as you imagined their disgusted filled stares as they looked at your stomach.

No matter where you went or what you did, everything seemed to set your mind off.

How much do babies even cost?

The thought made you groan softly, your stomach taking what felt like the millionth backflip of the day.

“Are you alright?”

You blinked, face heating instantly in embarrassment as you looked up at your boss. Jin Itadori’s glasses sat perched on his nose as he looked at you curiously, dark brown eyes soft but filled with concern.

“I-I’m. Yes, I’m alright. Sorry it’s been a weird day. I meant no disrespect, Itadori-san.”

He chuckled in reply, hands folding on his desk as he smiled softly at you. Jin was probably the nicest boss ever. He was always soft smiles, an even softer voice, and a demeanor that made others relax instead of stiffening in his presence. But despite his demeanor, he had revamped the entire marketing department fresh out of college, brought in triple the revenue the company had ever seen, and usurped the previous boss’ position in less than three years to become Director of Marketing Operations for the Sendai branch. He was serious about his work and refused to let anyone walk over him or his colleagues. And he was one of the few people who didn’t judge you by how you looked and instead admired your work ethic, your personality, and your goals.

So to zone out in the middle of a one on one with him was completely out of character.

“You’re not disrespecting me. You’re always so formal, please relax. I can tell you have a lot on your mind. Do you need to take a few days off?”

You shook your head. “No sir. Or at least I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

He pursed his lips before looking down at his planner. “Well, what I was saying is that our latest project will be our heaviest yet. It’s going to take a lot of work, a lot of attention to detail and therefore collaboration with others outside of our company. The branch in Tokyo that held the annual summit a few weeks ago has reached out and would like to be included.”

Ice cold water felt like it had been doused down your back, your nerves jolting in shock. Of all the branches, why Tokyo? Niigata’s branch was good. Albeit, not as big and popular and well known as Tokyo, but still good.

“We’ve projected about a year from start to finish. I wanted to visit Tokyo next week to begin initial talks, create a plan, statements of work, you know the whole spiel. I want you there.”

The anxiety washed away for just a second, your heart pumping at yet another opportunity to get your foot in the door.

“Of course. I would be honored to be apart of this sir.”

“Yaga was especially impressed with your work ethic last month and insists on your presence.” He smiled again at you, his kindness radiating off his skin and made your shoulders relax slightly. “You’re a great person on this team and I wouldn’t have anyone else. I’ll have details to you by end of day.”

***                                              

Your happiness had slowly melted away by the time you made if back to your office and sagged into your chair.

It was a great opportunity. The assistant to the leader of a large multiple branch project? The best thing to come into your lap in a while.

You’ve worked so hard for this. Another step closer.

But the fear of your future, the anxiety of something you had no contingency plan for, the frustration and sadness of having to do this alone was just too palpable to ignore.

Meetings that you would have to reschedule because of OB appointments. Money that you would have to rearrange to plan for a life you didn’t intend to nourish this soon. Disappointment that you would have to swallow from Jin when you told him that you would have to take maternity leave and someone else would have to fill your place.

It was too much. You’re not ready. You’re not fucking ready.

The door to your office opened before you could have another thought.

“Oh my god, if he texts me again I’m going to fucking scream y/n—” Ome paused, her hand on the doorknob as she looked at you softly. “Why are you crying?”

You reached for your face quickly, fingers touching the wetness on your cheeks before you pulled them away to look at the tears on your fingertips. Ome closed the door softly and walked to you, her hand resting on the side of your neck.

“Tell me.”

You should have said something as soon as you walked in the office this morning. You could never go long without telling her your thoughts. But from the moment you hung up the phone with the gynecologist in your car until right now, you’ve been on auto pilot. So much turbulence, but on auto-pilot all the same.

Your vision blurred as you looked up at her, her face distorted through your tears.

“I’m pregnant.”

Finally saying it out loud seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as you hiccupped harshly and broke down in front of her. She knelt down immediately, pulling you into her embrace and pressing your face into her blouse as you sobbed loudly into the soft fabric.

Accidents happen and you can never truly be prepared for a pregnancy. You wouldn’t get rid of it. While you weren’t against that choice, the thought of doing so only made you feel worse. But you thought you would at least be with someone when the surprise came.

But that one drunken night five weeks ago changed everything. His glares during a night out with coworkers were dulled by the many shots of sake you took and started the course of a path you didn’t even want to imagine him being the catalyst of.

Because the first day you met him, he was quick to judge and cut you down with words that made you swear you would never foster a stupid work crush again.

Of all the men it could have been.

It had to be Nanami fucking Kento.

[inktr3pid]

Capricious

[lilibetbombshell]

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) by Train // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain

2.8k words

A/N: After finishing this chapter, I highly recommend reading the one shot "You're Still The One" linked here, before reading the last story in the It Had To Be You collection | Also, as always, thank you to @rebelfell for her Halloween Party blurb about Eddie in this universe - you can read the story here which is hinted at in part of the story below

“This was a bad idea.” 

He drags his feet, shaking his head behind the girl dressed as Morticia Addams. 

“Oh my god, I did not listen to you talk about grand gestures and this movie for an hour while you changed in and out of the costume six times, Steve.”

“But-”

Leigh spins, resulting in Steve almost smacking right into her. She crosses her arms and huffs, “Did you or did you not say that if you show up in this costume maybe she would see how sorry you are, see how you really feel, see-”

“I know! But I really don’t think it was a good idea any more. She threw a beer in my face last time. Plus, I…I made my choice.” Steve goes to run a hand through his hair, remembering he has this stupid costume on and rests his hands on top of it instead. He kicks at the brick wall, avoiding Leigh’s perceptive gaze.

“Right. So then get inside. Tell her you’re a pirate. I don’t care. But I did not get dressed up for you to stand outside this bar all night and wallow.”

Leigh slaps at his chest, two quick pats and then spins him and pushes him into the crowded and dimly lit bar. 

“Drinks?” Leigh leans in, shouting over the throbbing bass playing, squinting in the purple neon light and strobes hitting her face. 

Steve nods and follows, glancing around, pretending he’s not looking for one person in particular. He needs to apologize, he needs to tell you what’s going on, he just needs…you. But when he finally spots a red dress, he’s suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe because you did come as Buttercup, and you’re more beautiful than ever. 

It feels a little like the first time he saw you at Argyle’s all those months ago. There’s a spotlight hitting you, and there’s suddenly a reprieve in the thrumming music and it feels a little like Steve is walking through jello to get to you. And when you engulf Robin in a hug, and your face is pinched in pain over her shoulder, every part of his body aches. 

When you separate, and face the bar, he watches the looks of bewilderment cross each of your faces, and he blurts out the first thing he can think of when Leigh elbows him in the ribs. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.”

Smooth, idiot. 

Steve doesn’t hear Robin at first, or watch Leigh. All he sees is the anger and hurt flash across your face at the sight of him. There isn’t an ounce of you that cares he’s in this costume for the reason he is. 

You hate him, and it’s too late to change that. 

“...if you want to ditch Dingus here…”

Steve’s too hot in this damn costume and he glares at Robin, because he can’t be mad at her for complimenting Leigh, but the way your face twitches when she does means it’s clearly not helping and he can’t say so…so…

“Seriously Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

When Leigh asks you where your dress is from and you look like you want to answer but then spin to the bar and blurt out the name of the most expensive drink, Steve wants to throw up. It was all a  big mistake. 

“Robin, where is Nancy? And Eddie? I wanna wish him luck before they go on!” Leigh loops her arm through Robin’s tugging her away from the bar. It’s not lost on Steve when she looks over her shoulder and Leigh points to you, mouthing ‘Talk to her’ with a frown and glare. He rolls his eyes and waves her away. 

Standing next to you, in this costume, not talking, hurts more than he thought possible. It’s like words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready, needing to come out, but he’s too afraid to say them. And what happens if he does say them? Will you suddenly be a fan of relationships? Will you suddenly be able to tell him everything about yourself? Will this suddenly work?

Maybe, if he pays for your drinks, it’ll be the open doorway he needs. Start the conversation.

But you ruin that plan as you push crumpled bills over the bar quickly when he pulls out his card, and he sighs. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.”

Steve’s not even sure you realize you said it. It comes out soft, timid, like you haven’t spoken in hours and aren’t sure you remember how to. Which makes sense, because he feels the same way, like not talking to you for the last few weeks has made him incapable of doing so all together. 

He watches your pulse on your throat like some crazy obsessive vampire-like guy, he memorizes the twitch in your jaw, the inhale and exhale making your chest rise and fall. He traces each dip and curve of your face, hardened and closed off when you finally look at him. Steve swallows, searching the entirety of your face for some sort of hint that you get what he’s trying to do. That you get why he’s in this costume. A sign. A nudge. A promise that if he keeps trying, it won’t happen right away, but you’ll try too. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?”

You gesture to his whole body and something inside of him starts to bubble, sick of you not admitting it either. How you know why he’s in this costume. You have to know. And instead of facing your own feelings about it, you’re blaming him. 

“I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Steve stares at you and you glare at him and he wonders if it’ll ever be okay again. Will you ever give him a chance to talk and will he be brave enough to spit it out if you do and will you ever be willing to do so yourself. 

It’s this horrible, painful, awkward, long moment of him not admitting and you not admitting that you’re definitely wearing a couples costume embodying truest love - that you both know he’s not just a pirate - when a random asshat claps Steve on the shoulder and says “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!”

As you flip Steve off, he decides to be the bigger person, to apologize, to try to explain why he’s in this costume even if it puts his heart out there for you to step on. But you’re already retreating through the crowd before he can, weaving in and out of it and towards the exit. 

Steve watches you blatantly ignore Eddie and that bubbling irritation inside of him starts to grow at the thought of Eddie coming to your rescue again. At the thought of you turning to him for comfort. 

“Dude, where are you-”

“I need to talk to her. Just…don’t let Robin see.” Steve pushes at Eddie, vaguely taking in the costume involving fur and glasses and the letterman jacket he can’t even begin to piece together, before he’s following you outside. 

The air is cool against his skin, forgetting how good it felt to not be inside that bar in only a few minutes. There’s a bouncer smoking, a few people down the block, and Steve pulls at the suffocating mask and hat when he spots you walking away. He reaches out for your shoulder, calling your name. 

“Don’t touch me, Steve.” 

When you yank your shoulder from his touch, the tone of your voice, something inside of him shatters. 

How can he be the reason you sound like that? How can he be the reason your face looks like that?

He holds his hands up in surrender, deciding he’ll just leave tonight. It was too soon. 

“Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-”

When you interrupt him, when you tell him he’s not your boyfriend, the irritation he’s been keeping shoved down begins to grow from its small simmer. And when you can’t help but get closer to him despite the words coming out of your mouth, despite telling him he’s not your friend, he knows he’s about to say things he can’t take back.

“You’d like that right?” That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything…” 

Maybe he doesn’t want to take it back. Maybe he needs to say this. To make it clear he’s not the one fucking this up. You are. 

“...You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

If he acts like it doesn’t hurt, maybe it won’t. 

Your scoff and eye roll punctuate your words, “Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

What the fuck do you actually have to be mad at him for? It’s not like you love him. It’s not like you care about him. It’s not like this was anything more than sex to you, right.

Right?

When he shouts, when he pleads for you to tell him what you have to be upset with him for, and your chin quivers and your eyes get glassy, he thinks you might admit it. He thinks maybe you’ll say it and he’ll say sorry and you’ll tell each other right here, right now, everything you’ve been holding back. 

And then you shove him. 

And you tell him he’s a hypocrite.

And a liar. 

An asshole. 

Bullshit.

Each word accompanied by a shove to his chest he doesn’t even try to defend himself against. He doesn’t even try to argue. Because are you wrong?

And when you tell him to lose your number, and he searches one last time for any sign of you feeling the opposite of what you just shouted at each other, he says the only thing he can think to say at that moment. 

The only thing to convey how sorry he is. 

The only thing to possibly tell you how he feels despite you breaking his heart right now. 

“As you wish.”

“This was such a bad idea,” you groan, tying a ribbon around a little mesh bag for the fifth time in less minutes. 

You sit in your living room on the carpet. The lights are off save one lamp glowing behind the couch, shining on Inigo passed out in his dog bed just under the blue glow of the TV screen.  Piles organized by category for the little favors to be left on plates for guests take over the entirety of the room and Steve stands in the dining room.

He swipes his wrist over his forehead, staring at his suit hanging from the overhead light fixture. Steam from the iron in his hand swirling around him as he grimaces at the stubborn wrinkles in the fabric. 

“I told you not to volunteer for that. Should have made Eddie do it. He hasn’t done a thing.”

It’s the hottest night of the Summer so far, and he stands there in only his boxers and a plain white shirt, barefoot, you in a sports bra and boyshorts, both surfaces of your skin glistening with sweat despite the AC running overtime. 

The way you both are wearing next to nothing would normally have you finishing the job, tangled limbs and messy kisses, cooling off in the shower together. 

Normally, a wedding of your best friends would have someone grow closer to the person they’re dating and living with. Surrounded by all this planning, all this public devotion, all this love, should make a person imagine themselves in the same situation. 

You’re not normal. 

You hum, starting to go around to the piles, collecting hershey kisses and disposable cameras, chapsticks and pencils as you respond, “Eddie isn’t the maid of honor or the best man.”

If you were to look up, you’d see Steve watching you closely, see the way his brows knit together when you roll your eyes at the customized tic tacs. 

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath, “This is exactly what’s wrong with weddings. I can’t believe Robin and Nancy are into all this.”

Steve sets the iron down, the newest but certainly not the first comment against weddings rubbing him the wrong way.

Again.

“Into telling everyone how much they love each other?”

You snort, shaking your head as you tie another bag closed and toss it in a bucket to bring to the venue tomorrow.

“I don’t think you need chocolate and lip balm and sunglasses and beer cozies to tell people how you feel.” 

“Sure,” Steve runs a hand through his hair and you look up, finding him leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps going, “Maybe they don’t need all  of that but-”

“I don’t think they need any of it, Steve,” you clarify before he can get too going about the beauty and meaning behind the day you’re all about to have tomorrow. 

Again.

“There’s nothing wrong with them wanting to tell everyone in any way possible they can, that they love each other.”

You sigh. “I don’t get why they need to tell people in the first place, Steve.”

Aside from a laugh track on the TV, it’s silent and you keep your eyes on your fingers tying green ribbon around pale pink bags. 

Steve finally breaks first, his voice soft when he asks, “What do you mean you don’t get why they need to tell people?”

Shrugging, you avoid his gaze you can feel on the side of your cheek as you start on another bag. “I mean, I don’t get why they need to tell people.”

“Like the entire wedding? You don’t get why they’re having a wedding?”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a shrug again. 

Steve’s heart hammers in his chest while yours pounds in your ears as his voice tries to remain even, but you hear it crack as it rises in volume. 

“You don’t think they should be getting married? You don’t think they should have a wedding?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I just don’t get why weddings exist. Does anything really change? Suddenly you have a legal piece of paper? Cool? After, what? Thousands of dollars. Stress. Bad food. Shitty music. I mean, we’ve watched Robin and Nancy fight over stupid shit like cake flavors the past year. How is that good for anything?”

Steve steps closer to you, his hand running through his hair making it stick up all over the place as his cheeks flush pink. 

“But they love each other and they want to tell everyone that-”

“Why do they have to tell everyone? Shouldn’t everyone already know? And why do they have to spend all this money and throw this big party? That’s all I’m saying.”

You stand again, going to grab the bucket of favors to bring it to the car so you don’t have to in the morning but Steve is shaking his head, volume and his thoughts ramping up.

“They want to throw this party because they love each other so much they just wanna scream it any way they can. Because they want it to be legal. Because they want to have fun with all the people they love and celebrate something so beautiful and unique and strong like their love. I don’t understand how you don’t understand that.”

You stand in front of him, holding the bucket, and maybe it’s the weight of the favors or the way his voice is getting louder and the apartment is getting hotter or the way his eyes seem to have you under a microscope that you snap back a little mean, that you get a little loud yourself.

“Because I don’t understand it, Steve, like I said! I don’t think you need to-”

“It’s not a need. They want to-”

“Fine! Want then! I don’t understand what possesses a person to want a wedding!”

Steve steps closer to you, his brows pinched and his hands running wild through his hair as he yells, “A fucking marriage! A partnership! A way to tell the world ‘hey this is my person, I love them’!”

“I don’t see why you need a wedding for any of that to be true!” You shout right back. 

You stand there facing each other, with ragged breaths that move your chests up and down almost in sync. 

Steve’s swallow is loud, his inhale louder. Time seems to stretch on forever as he stares at you, as his eyes soften into something you can’t quite describe, as flashes of the words he just said and what you said back swirl around you, almost tangible. 

You stand there, in a sea of pink and green, of things that are emblazoned with Robin and Nancy’s names and the words love and forever staring you down as Steve’s voice comes out sharp, cracked, vulnerable, loud. 

“You wanna marry me, right?”